#screaming on the playground and everything

[beargyu313]

Let’s not do this again .ೃ࿔ *:･

⋆✴︎˚Summary: you’ve known Riki since you were little, but as the years pass they force you apart. You never knew running into him after two years would make you meet the worst version of yourself.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Word count: 13k

CW: This story explores messy, flawed characters—read with caution.

 *ੈ✩‧₊˚Tags: angst with happy ending, smut, childhood friends, brat tamer Niki, subtle degradation, cheating, blackmailing, possessive behavior, sex as retribution, jealousy, angry sex, fluff at the end

જ⁀➴a/n: This was way angstier than I intended idk what happened taglist: @mrsjjongstby

mdni smut ahead, masterlist

You have known Riki your whole life. Being neighbors meant you saw each other often. And all it took to spark a friendship was him sharing his candy with you on a cold September day.

You still remember it, as if it happened yesterday. First day of school, overcast weather, and your chest tight for no real reason.

After school ended you went to the playground. And your younger neighbor was already there. He didn’t understand why you were sad, but he knew he wanted to make you smile again.

He just sat down beside you and placed the wrapped sweet in your hand. Like it was obvious that he wanted to make you feel better. That he would.

After that, it was always just you two. Matching Halloween costumes. Staying up too late on Fridays. Trading secrets. You had other friends, but Riki always came first. He felt like home.

As you two got older, things shifted. But not in a sudden, dramatic way. It was slow. Soft. The kind of change you barely noticed — until one day when you kissed him, and it didn’t feel wrong.

On his 18th birthday, you two had sex for the first time. It wasn’t planned. But it also wasn’t a surprise. That was the thing about you and Riki, everything just sort of happened.

He’d touch your wrist a certain way, and you’d end up in his lap. You’d fight, and then you’d make out in silence.

You weren’t a couple. But you weren’t just friends either.

Then Jungwon came along. Same age as you. Same classes. Smart, kind, charming in the right ways. It made sense to date him. To say yes to something real. Something normal.

So you did.

And for the first time, Riki wasn’t there. He hated it. Tried to act indifferent. Played along at first. But you could feel it. The resentment. The anger. The disbelief that you’d actually leave him behind.

Because here’s the thing… Riki thought you’d pick him. He thought he was your endgame. But you didn’t. And he never forgave you for it.

But you still dream about his mouth sometimes. You still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, especially on cold and foggy days that reminisce the early autumn weather.

And no matter how much time passes… you can’t move on. Even two years later, as you’re getting ready for a party you think about him as you look out at the blinking city lights hugged by the mist and fog.

You hug your bare arms, already wearing the backless ruby dress, matching with Jungwon’s shirt.

He steps out of the bathroom, his blonde hair impeccably styled into fluffy bangs. You force a tight smile as you look over him.

“Ready?” he asks you, holding his hand out.

You take his hand, “almost,” you say, spritzing the final beats of perfume and then you’re leaving.

The party was glamorous. Screaming Park Jongseong. Flashing lights, gold hues dominating the ballroom, at least five different types of wines to choose from, and you think you can even spot a champagne tower through the crowd of people dressed in fancy clothing. You grab onto Jungwon’s hand tighter as he happily leads the two of you to Jongseong. This is why you like Jungwon, he grounds you.

You’re still taking in the room once you reach Jongseong, you exchange greetings, let Jungwon take over the conversation with his lifelong friend, and then it’s like time freezes.

Right across from you, you spot him. Your heart beats harder in your chest as you stare. It can’t be him. Can’t be your Riki. This Riki was taller, broad shoulders, somehow intimidating. Which was weird because the Riki you remember always felt like home.

He still hasn’t noticed you. He was too busy smiling at a girl hanging off of his arm. Unknowingly your jaw clenches at the sight. What was worse even, you knew the girl.

Rei.

Sweet, kind Rei. She and Riki used to be classmates back in middle school. You never would’ve guessed this was Riki’s type. Selfishly you wanted, or hoped, he would chase the ghost of you in every girl he meets.

Same as you did, looking for traces of your Riki no matter where you were.

That’s when he spots you. And you quickly avert your gaze, cheeks burning at your shameful thoughts. You reach for comfort, for Jungwon – still in deep conversation with Jongseong – and he wraps his arm around your waist and you melt. A little. But it’s enough.

That’s when you hear what they’re talking about. And your blood runs cold.

“—still won’t tell anyone what the occasion is,” Jungwon is saying, laughing under his breath. “A little dramatic even for you, don’t you think?”

“Come on,” Jongseong grins, swirling his champagne. “I give you flowers, live music, gold everywhere — and you complain?”

“I’m just saying,” Jungwon tilts his head, “I’ve seen people throw royal galas with less mystery.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Jongseong smirks. Then like it’s nothing, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a velvet box. Flips it open.

“Oh my god,” you breathe before you can stop yourself.

Inside is a ring. Elegant, shimmering. Oval diamond, flanked by two smaller stones.

Jongseong’s grin widens.

“So you’re—?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “She said yes last week. Tonight’s just the warmup.”

Jungwon lets out a low whistle. “That’s what this whole thing is?”

“Soft launch,” Jongseong winks. “Dinner on Sunday’s the real reveal. Only close friends.”

You nod slowly, still a little stunned. That was the thing about men like Jongseong — everything was glossy, fast, and expensive. Even the life milestones felt like magazine spreads.

He notices your hand still looped through Jungwon’s, and his smirk returns, sharper now.

“What about you two, huh?” he drawls. “Two years and counting, right? When are you putting a ring on it, Mr. Romance?”

You force a laugh. “Don’t start.” And you can feel the bubble of anxiety growing again.

“Seriously,” he nudges Jungwon. “You gonna make her wait for a diamond or what?”

Jungwon chuckles. “I’m pacing myself.”

Jongseong raises a brow. “Yeah? Careful. Someone might steal her first.”

The words land strangely. Too pointed. You’re about to respond, to deflect, tease back but your gaze drifts again.

And across the room, Riki is still in your line of vision.

He looks happy. Or at least, he’s playing the part well. You watch as he leans down, lips brushing Rei’s ear, saying something that makes her giggle before she kisses his cheek. And you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

For the rest of the evening you can feel his eyes on you. You don’t see him look at you, but you know he’s watching you. His presence is like a dark cloud. Following you across the galla no matter where you go.

You can feel yourself getting drunk. Whether it’s on his attention, or the alcohol you don’t know.

Later, maybe an hour in, you see Jongseong cutting through the room, dragging Riki behind him. Jungwon straightens beside you, smile returning.

“Come meet my business savior,” Jongseong announces proudly. “Guy practically rebuilt the whole backend in a week. Couldn’t survive without him.”

Riki stands next to him, hands tucked in his pockets. His hair is a little tousled, jaw sharper than you remember, but he gives the same bored nod he always used to when being praised.

Jongseong gestures between them. “Jungwon, this is Nishimura Riki. Riki, this is my oldest friend in the world.”

Jungwon eyes him curiously, then tilts his head. “Wait... have we met before?”

There’s a beat. A flicker of something passes through Riki’s eyes.

And then, calmly he motions to you and your stomach swoops, “We used to be neighbors.”

Disappointment shoots through you.

“Oh—” Jungwon turns to you. “That’s right. You did say your old neighbor moved back to the city.”

You don’t remember saying that. Maybe you did.

You look between them, nodding softly. “Yeah. We go way back.”

Riki doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t need to.

But then Jongseong is waving over a waiter, and suddenly there are flutes of champagne being passed around, and someone’s asking what everyone’s drinking.

Without thinking, you grab a glass of Hibiki from the tray and hand it to Riki.

You don’t ask if he wants it. You don’t need to.

He takes it without hesitation. A soft hum of thanks.

Then, like nothing’s happened he says, “You still drink brut rosé?”

You blink. You’re holding that exact glass in your hand. Your cheeks warm.

“Guess some things don’t change.”

He smiles at that. Barely. Just a flicker. And still not once do your eyes meet directly.

You’re in a progressively worse mood as the week unfolds. Nothing obvious. Not the kind anyone can name. Not even Jungwon.

You still kiss him goodbye, still laugh when you’re supposed to, still hold his hand in public like it means something.

But your head’s somewhere else. Your body moves through the days like clockwork, while your mind stays circling back to a half-smile and a glass of Hibiki.

You lock the door to your bathroom. Turn on the faucet. Stare at your reflection. You swore you’d be fine. Swore he was the past. But your mascara’s starting to get smudged and your hands won’t stop shaking.

And worst of all you still want him. Not in memory. Not in fantasy. You want him now.

You bite your lip until it bleeds, desperately pushing down your arousal. But your thoughts keep betraying you throughout the week. Little things. Like if he has any new kinks, any new fantasies he wanted to try out. Maybe something Rei doesn’t want to do. But you would. You were always down for whatever he wanted.

An invitation comes a few days after the party. A private dinner hosted by Jongseong’s family. Only close friends and immediate relatives.

You don’t want to go. But Jungwon lights up at the mention.

“I think we should,” he says, smiling. “It’ll be nice. Just family, you know?”

You nod. Smile back. Pretend your stomach doesn’t drop.

The party’s held at a hotel you’ve only seen in magazines. Huge mirrored ceilings, white orchids adorning the room, the kind of ambient lighting that makes everyone look beautiful. Jongseong’s fiancée is radiant, warm in a way that’s clearly rehearsed, but still charming. Her and Jongseong’s parents sit near the head of the table. Jongseong’s sister flirts with a waiter.

You’re seated across from Riki. Of course you are.  You’re seated just barely enough to avoid conversation. Close enough to feel the weight of his stare.

The table is long, candlelit, buzzing with low conversation and vintage jazz from invisible speakers. Jongseong is laughing with his fiancée’s father. Someone makes a toast.

Rei leans into Riki’s side and loops her arm around his, she’s glowing in soft pink. Like a cherry blossom come to life.

You want to bite something.

It’s awkward between you and Riki. Too quiet. Eye contact too fast, too sharp. Every glance feels like a threat.

Rei is talking about something — her job? A skincare line? You’re not listening. You’re watching the way Riki cuts into his steak. The way he drinks water with his left hand. The slight curve of his mouth when Jungwon says something flirty in your ear and you laugh.

Riki doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flirt. But he keeps refilling your glass.

Twice. Three times. Brut rosé, always.

Your leg brushes against his under the table once. He doesn’t move it. You’re not sure if you’re even breathing. The room is suddenly too warm. Or maybe it’s you.

Still the dinner drags.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom.  You don’t expect him to follow. But the moment the door clicks shut, you hear it. Footsteps. Then the quiet lock turning.

His reflection appears behind you in the mirror.

You don’t turn around.

“You looked real domestic tonight,” Riki says, voice low. Flat. Like a dare.

Your breath catches. You grip the sink tighter.

“Still playing house? Even when I’m this close?”

You shake your head once. Not at him but at yourself. At this. You can’t look at him, not when your whole body’s already betraying you. His scent, his closeness… it was too much, too soon. You’re not ready to face him.

“I haven’t said anything,” you whisper. Your skin is flushed, something akin to nervousness (or arousal) building somewhere deep in your tummy.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it?”

He takes a step forward. You feel the heat of him now, not touching, but close enough to scorch. And even though there’s no touching, your body reacts like there is. Like it remembers what his breath feels like against your neck. What his fingers can do.

“You said you moved on. So did I,” he pauses. Smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “But wanna know something funny?”

You don’t answer. You already know it won’t be funny.

He lifts his phone. Swipe. Tap. Holds it just out of view, “Guess what I still watch when I can’t sleep.”

You turn your head just slightly and see it. A flash of movement. Your body. The sound of his name gasped like a prayer.  You flinch like you’ve been slapped. Heat rushes between your thighs. Your stomach sinks, and tightens.

That night. That angle. You know exactly what he’s watching. What you wore. How he looked when he came inside of you.

“Delete it—”

“Why?” His voice is calm. Dangerous, “You think you didn’t want the camera on you that night? You think I didn’t know exactly what that look in your eyes meant?”

You did, still do. You know exactly what he means. You remember the way you looked up at him. Mouth parted, eyes wide, begging without saying a word. You remember how it felt, being watched by him.

You turn to leave back to your boyfriend before you do something stupid. You try to push past him, but he’s already moving. Not blocking you. Just enough to remind you you’ll have to touch him to get out.

His hand grazes your wrist. Not by force, just subtle touch. It lingers like a promise.

Like a warning. You should pull away but your skin tingles from that one brush like it’s been lit on fire.

“You’re still lying,” he says softly, “Just not with your mouth.”

You flinch. Something in you twists — humiliated, exposed, wet. Your body still wants him. But your mind claws for a way out.

You snap your gaze to his, eyes sharp.

“I have to get back to my boyfriend,” you hiss. More bite in your voice than you intended. It echoes against the marble tile like a slap.

His face changes. Barely. A twitch of the mouth. But it’s enough to tell you you hit something raw.

He laughs once, bitter. Low.

“Yeah. That’s always been your line, hasn’t it?”

You blink.

“Run back to Jungwon when it gets too real. Just like before.”

Your jaw tightens. He doesn’t stop.

“You think I didn’t know you were using me? Letting me fuck you like that — whispering my name like I was the only one — and then going home to him?”

“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you didn’t think about me when he touched you.”

Your breath hitches. His words hit you straight between the thighs… and that’s the worst part. You do still think about him.

And he knows it.

You shove past him this time, physically push the door open and leave before you say something you can’t take back.

You return back to the table, flushed. Your chest is tight as you try to calm your breathing. Jungwon places a hand on your lower back.

You startle. But smile. Too quickly, too rehearsed.

Riki joins the rest of you a moment later, leaning boyishly across his chair. He places an arm around Rei’s shoulder, looking directly at you.

But you don’t give him the reaction he’s looking for. Instead, your hand rests on Jungwon’s thigh and he clasps your fingers together as he tells you about the dessert that’s about to be served.

And as the sky outside turns to black everyone starts slowly leaving the hotel.

You’re in bed when your phone buzzes. Jungwon’s in the shower. You’re half-scrolling, half-asleep.

It’s a screenshot of that same video he was showing you in the bathroom. The photo is blurred. But unmistakably you, pink thong pushed to the side, exposing your wet cunt that’s gushing with Riki’s cum.

He didn’t add any caption.

you’re sick

Is what you type back, knowing exactly who this is from.

u like it.

Is what comes back, a second later. Then, another buzz.

go somewhere you can be alone

 before I send it to your boyfriend

You stare at the messages. But your feet are already moving. You slip onto the balcony, tightly wrapping the black robe around your shoulders. The cold wind cuts through you. You shut the door just as your phone rings.

You don’t hesitate as you pick up.

“I told you to delete it,” you snap. No greeting. No pretense.

A beat of silence passes between you before you hear the crackling on the other side. Was he smoking? Then, his voice cuts through the line, deeper and rougher than you remember him sounding on the phone.

“And you also said you loved me.”

Your breath stutters. You grip the phone tighter.

He exhales, something sharp behind it, “You think I sent that to fuck with you?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, “I sent it because you’re mine. You always have been.”

Your lips part to argue, to say something cold. But nothing comes out. He hears it. The silence. The surrender.

His voice softens, but only slightly.

“Just spend one week with me,” he says. “Like before. No strings. And I’ll delete it for real.”

You laugh, bitter, “And Rei?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Don’t act like you’re any better.”

You stiffen. His voice is sharper now, no softness, “You were still fucking me when you started dating him. Or did you forget that too? Three months of you calling me baby, coming over at midnight, then going to brunch with him the next morning like your mouth wasn’t still swollen.”

Your stomach turns. Shame curls hot under your skin because he’s right. Because he remembers it better than you do. Because you never really stopped. You couldn’t. That’s why you had to leave.

He exhales into the silence slower now. Controlled. Cruel, “So don’t ask me about Rei like you’re innocent. You don’t get to moralize, baby. Not when you let me fuck the lie out of you for months.”

You feel it low in your gut, the feeling building the longer he taunts you. That horrible, aching twist of guilt and arousal, of memory and muscle memory. Like your body remembers every time you swore you’d stop, and every time you came crawling back.

“Does Jungwon know that?” Riki asks, so calm it could kill you. “That when he took you to your first fancy dinner, I was the one you called when you got home?”

Your mouth is dry. Your thighs press together, not because you want to but because your body’s already answering questions you haven’t asked.

“I thought you didn’t care,” you manage. “You’ve moved on.”

“Sure,” he says, too fast. Too sharp. “Me, Rei, we look good, don’t we? That what you wanted to say?”

You don’t reply.

“So why are you breathing hard into the phone right now like you want me to say more?”

You clench your eyes shut, grip the phone harder. You want to throw it. You want to drop it. You want to crawl through it. Anything to make it stop. To don’t’ make it stop.

“You kept that video,” you whisper.

“I did,” he confirms, without apology. “Watched it last week. And last month. And again the night before your anniversary.”

You gasp softly, shoulders curling inward. Shame coats your skin, thick and electric. But there’s no denying it anymore. You like his obsession with you. The confirmation that he was just as bad as you were was weirdly soothing.

“I told you not to make it so pretty,” he murmurs. “You think I was just gonna delete that?”

“You’re sick,” you say, but it comes out breathier and whinier than you intend.

“You liked it,” he says. And then, softer he adds, “And I know you still do.”

Your hand trembles. You press your fingers to your lips to quiet yourself, to swallow whatever sound might escape. You slide a finger down to your panties. Pressing down on your clit. You don’t move your fingers though, gaslighting yourself that this is okay. That you’re not about to masturbate while Riki’s taunting you with his deep voice and cruel words.

He lowers his voice. It’s barely a whisper now. “You’re still mine, even if you won’t say it.”

You feel your pulse stutter. There’s something dangerous about the quiet in his tone — not violent, not even angry. Just… sure. Like he’s not trying to convince you. Like he knows you’ll say yes. Eventually.

You press the phone harder against your cheek.

“I have a boyfriend.”

He lets that sit. Lets it rot.

“And I had you,” he says finally. “Every fucking version of you. Not just the good parts.”

You think about Jungwon’s hand on your lower back. How light it felt. Safe. Soft.

But it’s not what you ache for now.

“Where?” you whisper decisively.

A pause. And then, with brutal precision he answers – as if he’s thought it all out, “Hotel Majestic, on the top floor. Friday. Wear whatever you want, but no underwear.”

The line clicks dead.

And you’re left out in the cold, wind wisping hair all over your face. You sneak back into the warm bedroom and luckily Jungwon was still in some other part of the penthouse.

Throughout Monday and Tuesday you’re trying to stay composed. You’re soft-spoken, polite, and polished. You hold Jungwon’s hand a little tighter in public. Smile a little sweeter. Your makeup is perfect, your outfits more carefully curated than ever. You’re performing the role of the good girlfriend with a new level of desperate conviction.

But once you’re alone, you spiral. You can’t stop replaying the phone call in your mind over and over again. You’re easily startled. You zone out. You can’t stop anticipating and imagining Friday — his hands, his mouth, his voice.

He texts you on a Tuesday evening.

You’d stayed late at the office — some intern mixed up a calendar invite and your boss chewed through the whole team like wet paper. Your brain feels like it’s in a mush. You’re half-dressed out of your blazer, collar loose, wine-stained lipstick smudged, when your phone buzzes on the desk.

You glance over. Coupang Eats. You’d saved him under that name to avoid raising suspicion. Your stomach knots, low and sharp.

You unlock the screen. The message is already waiting.

Coupang Eats: u gonna wear white on friday

Your throat tightens. He doesn’t even say hello.

You: You don’t get to ask that.

Coupang Eats: didn’t think u’d answer didn’t think u’d say yes either

You: It’s just sex. That’s what you said, right?

Coupang Eats: sure. keep saying it if it helps

You stare at the text box. Thumbs hovering. You type ‘Don’t text me again’. But then you delete it.

You don’t send anything.

So he does.

Coupang Eats: u’ll be thinking about me either way might as well give you something real to touch yourself to

You turn your phone over and chuck it across the room.

The next day you’re jittery. Checking your – now cracked – phone over and over again. But he doesn’t text you. You don’t know if you’re happy or disappointed by that as you lay in bed next to Jungwon, staring at the ceiling. He’s warm. He always is. One arm thrown across your waist like you’re something precious. Like you’re not betraying him the longer this goes on.

And still, your legs are clenched tight together. Your breath uneven.

You check your phone again, around 3 a.m.

Nothing.

The next day you try distracting yourself. You fold laundry. Light a candle. Then give up pretending you’re not waiting. Your phone buzzes at exactly 11:04 p.m.

Coupang Eats: still thinking about the video?

Your stomach flips. You hate him. You hate him for knowing. You hate him for being right.

You: How long have you had the video?

Coupang Eats: long enough.

You: Why?

Coupang Eats: I like watching you when I miss you.

There's a pause. Long. You try not to breathe. But he’s typing again.

Coupang Eats: you miss me?

You: You’re disgusting.

Coupang Eats: and you’re wet, quit stating the obvious

You clench your jaw. You throw your phone across the bed like it burned you. But when you crawl after it again — your hand doesn’t go to the keyboard. Instead you open the gallery and click play on the video.

Your hand snakes between your legs. Just like Riki said it would.

You probably touched yourself more than you did when you were a teenager this week. And each time, you hated yourself for it. You’re consumed. It feels like Riki owns you. Again. You're ashamed that you still want him. It’s humiliating. And what’s worse, it turns you on.

On Friday Jungwon comes home with takeout and a new bottle of red. You’re pacing around the room, white dress on when you hear the front door open.

You greet him by the door, always the perfect girlfriend and he kisses your cheek, leaves his coat on the stand, and hums something low as he sets the table for you two.

Two plates, two candles, and the playlist you made him months ago still queued up from some night before. He lights the candles without asking. Like being with you has made him softer in all the right places.

“Surprise date night?” you ask, trying to sound playful. As if you’re not lowkey trying to rush out the door.

“You’ve been quiet this week,” he murmurs, brushing your hair off your shoulder. “I missed you.”

The words land in your chest like a bruise.

You pour the wine. Try not to shake. Try to smile. It’s real — the affection. But it feels like you’re loving him with your hands tied behind your back.

“Since when do you pour for me?” he laughs, eyes warm and teasing.

You smile, small. “You’ve had a long week.”

He hums. “You’re so good to me.”

Your stomach coils. Guilt, maybe. Or something worse — the part of you that wants to ruin it all.

He kisses your temple. “You’re gonna make an amazing wife one day.”

The glass nearly slips from your hand.

You don’t respond. Just press your face into his shoulder and nod like you believe it. Like that’s the version of yourself you want to be.

He doesn't notice. He leans in, kissing your jaw, his voice warm and low against your skin. “You look so pretty. Is that the dress I bought you?”

You nod. He beams like you just gave him a gift. You press your lips to his. Slow. Familiar. Gentle. But your head is somewhere else entirely.

The first message from Riki comes just as Jungwon is plating dinner.

Coupang Eats: tick tock.

You ignore it.

Jungwon sets your plate in front of you. Sits. Laughs about something his coworker said. Eats with one hand while he reaches for yours with the other. You let him hold it. Let him squeeze. Let yourself pretend this is enough. You don’t check your phone again until he leaves to get another wine bottle.

Coupang Eats don’t keep me waiting. again.

Your heart stutters. Then starts racing.

You: He’s almost asleep.

Read.

Coupang Eats: aww. such a sweet girlfriend want me to call? help tuck him in?

You bite the inside of your cheek. Hard.

He’s baiting you. Of course he is. And you hate that it’s working.

You: Shut up.

Coupang Eats: did he kiss you goodnight? did you kiss him back thinking about me?

You clench your thighs together. It’s not fair. It’s never been fair. And worst of all he knows it.

Jungwon comes back in a t-shirt and sweats, smelling like mint and dryer sheets. He drapes an arm around you on the couch, nuzzles into your neck.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles. “I love this.”

His fingers trace circles on your thigh. Not sexual just sweet. Just his. His version of forever. You feel him relaxing next to you. Melting into the couch as his breath evens out.

You leave a blanket on the couch. Place a kiss on his forehead so soft he doesn’t stir. The guilt is loud in your ears, but not louder than the pull. Your phone buzzes again in your coat pocket.

Coupang Eats: wear white.

And you already are. Because it’s not about being good anymore. It’s about seeing if he still burns.

You drive in silence. Not because you want to but because any music might make it real. The roads blur. Your hands grip the wheel tighter than they should. Every red light feels like a warning.

Jungwon’s scent is still on your clothes. Your lips still taste like the kiss you left on his forehead. And under all of it, you’re wet. You hate yourself for it. You hate how easy it is.

Your turn signal clicks. You’re five minutes away.

Your phone buzzes again in the passenger seat. You don’t even look. You already know who it is. You already know what you’re about to do.

The hotel hallway reeks of too much cologne and carpet cleaner. Room 912. You hesitate once, then knock.

The door swings open fast. Like he was already standing behind it.

He doesn’t speak.

You’re not sure who moves first, maybe him. But suddenly, you’re inside, your back against the door, his mouth inches from yours.

His voice is low, rough. “You wore white.”

You almost say for you. But you don’t. Because that would be too honest. Riki doesn’t care to wait for your answer. His big hands are on you as soon as the door locks.

"You missed this?" he gruffly asks, pinching your nipple through the dress as his hips grind against yours.

"I missed being treated like shit? No, thanks," you bite. But your body betrays you, chest pushed out, legs spreading to allow him access.

Riki's grip on your waist tightens, his hands find the curve of your ass. He hikes the short dress higher, exposing your ass.

His mouth is by your ear when he speaks, and you have to fight the urge to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

"Funny. Your pussy says otherwise," he lowly says, fingers prodding by your clothed wet entrance.

You clench around nothing, groaning in what you hope Riki thinks is annoyance.

He doesn’t.

He roughly turns you around and wraps his hand around your throat. Just enough to make your mind go numb, enough so your knees tremble.

Your hands are pressed against the door, as Riki pulls your hips back. He has you awkwardly half-way bent as he bunches your dress around your waist. Expertly tucking and folding it in so it doesn’t slide down.

He harshly spanks you and you moan at the contact.

“Stand still, take what you came for,” he gruffly tells you.

“I didn’t come for you,” you spit out, moaning as he lands another fat spank on your ass. You feel it jiggle at the harsh contact.

"No? Then why are you shaking?"

You don’t reply. You can’t, not when his hands slide up your back sensually. He’s pulling you back against his body and you let him.

Riki wraps his arms around you and guides you towards the bed.

He doesn’t let you lay down. Gripping your hips when you reach the edge of the bed and pushing your head forward.

Doggy. Of course. That was always his favorite way to have you. He finds your lacy panties, slowly slipping them down.

"You still wear lace for me, huh? Or is this what you wear when you’re playing house with him, too?"

"Don’t flatter yourself," you tell him, refusing to feed his ego. But you can feel your pussy gushing, the substance dripping past your lips, making your thighs sticky.

"Why not? I’m the reason your thighs are shaking right now," he whispers as he hovers by your neck.

"Fuck you," you hiss as you bite down on your lip.

"You will. But not yet," he tells you, his hands on your ass. You feel him press his hips into you and glance over your shoulders.

He was still dressed and that only made you even more turned on. Oversized gray tee, black chrome hearts boxers.

Riki hisses as he lets your pussy stain his boxers. You feel him twitch as he humps you once, twice, three times.

Then he slips two fingers past your mouth. His larger frame allowing him to do so from behind. "Every time you lie to me, I’ll make you gag on the truth."

“Shuck yoh,”

Fuck you is what you mean to say but it comes out muffled with his fingers pressing down on your tongue. He has them in so deep you can’t even swallow, saliva pooling at the corner of your mouth.

But Riki only presses closer, his other hand traveling to your clit.

"You already did. That’s the problem."

He starts playing with your pussy then. Just the way you like, and each time you moan, the fingers in your mouth pull back a bit.

"You looked real proud, playing perfect girlfriend. Walking around like you’re innocent."

"I am innocent," you complain and Riki immediately slides his fingers deeper into your warm and wet mouth.

"Not after tonight. You came to this hotel just for me.”

"I had to. You said you’d delete the video if I did."

“Oh sweetie,” he mocks you, “you and I both know you’d be coming regardless of the video.”

That when he pushes you fully on the bed. He flips you around so you’re laying on your back.

He positions himself between your thighs, gaze locked on your glistening cunt.

You move up on your elbows as you watch him watch you. His eyes flick to yours as he pushes past your entrance.

He shows you no mercy as he immediately pushes two digits deep into you.

"Slower— I haven’t—" you gasp, back arching off the bed.

"You haven’t been properly fucked. That’s what you meant, right?" he darkly mocks you. But you see the ghost of smirk on his handsome face.

"Riki—" you whine, trashing on the bed as he roughly pushes in and out of your wet pussy. Loud moans and squelching noise fill the otherwise quiet hotel room and you really hope it’s soundproof.

But Riki is merciless, almost cruel as he taunt you, "No one else gets you wet like this. Say it."

"No one," you quietly gasp, gripping onto his hair as he presses a wet kiss on your clit. His tongue swirls and sucks on it, just enough to make your mind spin. He pulls back with a popping sound.

Your breath hitches when he says it—

“That’s my good girl.” Like he’s been waiting to say it. Like he knew you’d earn it eventually.

Your eyes drag up, greedy, as he pulls his shirt over his head. The muscles. The sharp cut of his waist. And then the tattoo—dark, bold ink sprawled across his side, crawling up his ribs like a warning.

You stare. Maybe a little too long.

“You like that?” he smirks, thumbs hooking under his waistband. “Thought about this when you were with him?”

You say nothing. But he sees the way your thighs press together. The way your lips part when he drops his boxers and steps toward you, cock hard and already leaking.

You swallow. And nod. Just once. Honest, finally.

He smiles, cruel and slow.

“Of course you did,” he says, voice low as he crawls on top of you. “Bet you fucked him with this image in your head.”

You’re trembling now. Not from fear. From the weight of it — the ache, the guilt, the unbearable want. His tattoo is right there, close enough to touch, and your hands rise almost instinctively, splaying across his inked ribs. He’s warm. Solid. Real.

“Say it,” he murmurs, bending slightly, his mouth ghosting over your jaw. “Tell me you thought about me.”

You exhale shakily. “I… did.”

He hums, pleased. His hand slides to your neck, the other gripping your thigh, forcing it open.

“And now you get to have me. Just like this. Just like you wanted.”

You don’t say anything. Can’t. Because the truth is lodged in your throat — hot and humiliating and dangerous.

He leans in until his lips brush your ear.

“Good girls shouldn’t lie,” he says. “And you’ve been lying for so long. Would love to punish you, but some other day. Need you too badly right now.”

Then, Riki is on you. Body on yours, lips on your neck.

He growls ever so slightly as he grips his dick and positions it close to your pussy.

“Been waiting for this, for so long,” he softly mutters and then he’s slipping in.

He was way girthier than you remember, the stretch pleasurably painful and you claw at his back. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist.

Riki continues pushing in, slowly stretching your cunt with his big dick.

"God— I forgot—" you whine in a strained voice. 

"No, you didn’t. You pretended to forget. Just like you pretended he was enough," he replies through gritted teeth.

"Stop talking about him," you whine, lips brushing against his shoulder.

"Why? You’re dripping around my cock while he’s asleep thinking you’re loyal," he mocks as he sheaths his dick fully into you.

You cry out at both the pleasure and his cruel words, "You’re a fucking monster."

He pins your wrists to the bed when you press your nails into his back. Harshly. His other hand goes to your throat, squeezing you in silent warning.

"Yeah? And you let the monster ruin you every time," he taunts you, his hands move to your legs – still wrapped around his waist – and he adjusts your position so they’re resting on his shoulders.

You’re folded like a pretzel, left to his mercy. And Riki knows it too.

He smiles down at you as if he won a prize and then he starts fucking you. His thrusts are intense. Deep and unrelenting as the fucks you as if he’s punishing you. He is.

Your sounds are a mix of gasps, whimpers and moans, “Please—Riki, please—”

“Yeah? This how you wanted to get fucked? To be ruined?”

But he softens just a bit, slowing down ever so slightly, “You miss how I break you open, don’t lie.”

He’s softer. But not sweet. His thrusts fueled by the betrayal, the jealousy, the ache. This is sex punishment for leaving.

And you understand that this is him establishing control. So you let him, hips tilting up to meet his rhythm, hands fisting in the sheets instead of pushing him away, your body falling into obedience before your mind can catch up.

And it’s only when he sees you break, after your moans start to sound like sobs — that his mouth lowers to your throat, planting a gentle kiss. Then another on the inside of your knee, a subtle crack in the armor. Always a reward.

“I always knew you’d come back like this,” he breathes into your neck, his voice a low growl. “Opened up. Begging.”

He slows down then. Just enough to make you feel him in a different way, the angle almost brutal. He stays deep inside of you and leans down so your foreheads nearly touch. Not kissing. Just staring.

“You think he can make you feel like this? Tell me who owns this pussy. Say it.”

And you do. Pleasure swirls in all parts of your body, you don’t even register the building ache in your thighs.

You’re nearly crying, choked "Harder— please, I want—"

"Want what? Say it," he tells you, nuzzling into your neck.

"I want you to ruin me."

"Already have," he growls, and then his hand finds your small clit. Peeking through the gap between you two.

He rubs you, not to fast, not too slow – but just right. You lock in place, the pleasure of his fat cock entering you, stretching you open and his big hands playing with your cunt too much.

"I c-can’t— Riki— it’s too—" you beg.

"You’ll take it. You owe me this."

"Please— I’m gonna—"

"Cum for me. Prove it still belongs to me," his voice is strained as he speaks. He can feel your tight cunt squeezing impossibly tighter around his dick and he groans when he hears your breathy voice.

"Yours— yours— fuck, I’m—" you say, trembling and not breathing momentarily as you cum.

You’re still trembling when he pulls out. Riki fists his cock, teeth clenched, eyes locked on you as he cums hard, messy, all over your bare skin like a claim.

Neither of you speaks.

For a moment, the only sound is your broken breathing, shallow, trying to come down. You reach blindly for something, maybe a sheet, maybe him and feel the mattress shift under his weight.

He doesn’t hold you. Not fully. He doesn’t even look at you as he tosses you a towel and lies back beside you, chest rising and falling.

But when you move closer, he doesn’t stop you. Your head finds his chest, and he stays still. Heart pounding beneath your cheek.

You close your eyes.

Silence stretches.

Then, just as your fingers start to relax against his ribs, you hear his voice low and steady, dangerous.

“You left me once.” A pause. “You won’t get another chance.”

You lay there for a moment longer, catching your breath on his chest. He still hasn’t touched you, not really. He’s just letting you cling onto him.

You speak first. “I should go.” Your voice is quiet. Calculated. You don’t look at him.

Riki doesn’t move. “Obviously.”

You sit up. Wipe the mess from your stomach. Slip your dress back on, not bothering to fix your hair. You’re still flushed. Still swollen where he broke you open. But your voice? Steady. Controlled.

“I live with him,” you say, reaching for your phone. “I can’t be gone all night. He’ll wake up.”

You expect silence. Maybe something cruel.

Instead, Riki laughs, it’s short. Bitter, “You think I give a fuck about Jungwon?”

You turn, fixing your earring in the mirror. “You did this whole thing because of Jungwon.”

He sits up now, elbows on his knees. His stare cuts through your reflection.

“No. I did this because you pretended you were over me.” He stands, walks up behind you, not touching. Just close enough. “And you’re not.”

You hate how your knees almost give.

You snap the clasp on your purse shut. “I never said I was.”

He steps in closer. “So stay.”

You swallow. “I can’t.”

Riki’s jaw ticks. Something in his eyes dims. “Right. Because you’re such a good girl now.”

You don’t flinch, but your heart does, “Better than I was with you.”

It lands. It hurts him. But he doesn’t stop you when you reach for the door.

You pause before leaving. Glance back once.

He’s watching you with that look again, the one that never says what he wants, only what he can’t admit.

“Text me when you get home,” he mutters. “So I know you didn’t crash or something.”

You stare, “You’re not my boyfriend.”

“No,” he calmly says. “I'm not, but you're still going to text me.”

You don’t respond. Just close the door behind you. But you don’t stop shaking until you’re halfway back home.

You wake up sore the next morning. The ache in your hips is slow and low and everywhere. Your body remembers before your mind does.

You're curled against Jungwon’s warm and familiar chest and his hand rubs soothing circles on your back.

“Don’t feel good today, Wonnie,” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He presses a kiss to your temple. You flinch. Not enough for him to notice. But you feel it. The echo of Riki's mouth, rougher, crueler… it still burns under your skin.

Jungwon hums, his voice soft with concern, “You were tossing around a lot last night,” he says. His fingers trail down your spine. “I’ll make you tea. Go shower, baby.”

You do. Twice.

The water is hot enough to scald. But it’s not enough. You scrub behind your ears. Between your thighs. Inside your bellybutton. There’s still something on you. In you. His scent. His breath. The way he said mine like it was a curse and a promise.

You check your phone with wet fingers. One new message. A photo.

Riki’s hand, ringed and veined, fisted around something delicate and pale. Your panties. Twisted in his palm like a trophy.

Coupang Eats: forgot these.

You close your eyes. You bite your lip. And you save the photo.

And when you meet at night his mouth is everywhere, teeth against your thigh. His voice dark and amused, whispering to you what he’ll do next time.

This time, after you are done, you make sure to stuff your ruined panties into your coat pocket as you’re leaving.

On Sunday he simply texts you “come outside in 15” and you do. You slip out just as Jungwon get’s on a business call coming from overseas. You mumble something about needing air. He kisses your cheek without looking and you’re already halfway out the door.

Riki’s car is parked at the edge of the driveway. Engine low. Window down. He doesn’t say a word as you slip into the passenger seat. The smell hits you first — leather, smoke, cologne that clings to your skin even when he's gone. His eyes drag over you like he’s checking for damage.

You don’t greet him. Just say, “What if Jungwon finds out?”

He laughs, sharp and short. “You’re not worried about that,” he mutters, not even looking at you.

“I am,” you snap. “This is insane. We shouldn’t—”

But his hand is already moving, low between your thighs, and your body betrays you instantly. You flinch, it’s not from fear but from how fast your pulse spikes when he touches you like that. Like he’s entitled to it.

You climb into his lap anyway.

It’s cramped. Messy. Windows fog too fast, too loud, and you're fucking him in the front seat with your skirt bunched around your hips. Your back hits the steering wheel. He doesn’t care. Neither do you.

You tell him to be quick but the moment he’s inside you, time fractures. He grips your waist like a lifeline. You ride him like you’re drowning.

There’s no music. No words. Just breath and skin and the wet slap of your bodies colliding in the dark. You bury your face in his shoulder and his hands slide up your back like he’s remembering every inch of you.

Oddly, it feels romantic. Not soft. Not safe. But intimate in the way only ruin ever is.

He finishes with his mouth on you, not your lips — no kiss. Not yet. That would mean something.

When he pulls back, his eyes are still half-lidded, gaze fixed on you like you’re something carved out of sin. Your heart’s pounding in your ears. Your thighs are shaking.

You reach for your coat silently. Pull it around you like a shield.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice low, “don’t wear anything. Saves us both the time.”

You slam the car door harder than necessary.

The next day you’re halfway through lunch with Jungwon when your phone buzzes on the table. You glance at it absently, thinking it’s work—until you see her name.

Rei: I’ve been thinking! Maybe we do a little double date? It’s been forever! 🥹 I think Riki’s been down ever since he saw you again. I wanna patch you guys up 😭💗

You choke slightly on your iced coffee.

Jungwon looks up from his plate, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, setting the drink down and wiping your mouth. You try to play it cool, but your fingers tighten slightly around the phone.

He squints, playful. “Who is it?”

You hesitate. Just a beat. Then force your best smile. “Rei. She wants to set up a double date. Us and her… and Riki.”

Jungwon’s brows lift. “Really?” He seems genuinely surprised, but not suspicious. Just thoughtful. “That’s kind of sweet of her.”

“Yeah,” you lie. “It really is.”

You feel his foot graze yours under the table. “I’d be down,” he says with a grin. “Maybe you two can finally patch things up.”

Your stomach coils. Not from guilt. From the irony of it all. Rei wanting to help. Jungwon wanting to trust. You’re smiling through your teeth like you’re not already branded head to toe in Riki’s touch.

You: Totally! Would be fun.

Rei: He needs this. He won’t say it but I can tell 🥺

You turn your screen off.

You haven’t even seen Riki today, and still it feels like his hands are all over you. The rest of the day stretches, thick and frustrating. No texts. No missed calls. Not even a sign.

You go home with Jungwon. Let him kiss your cheek. Let him laugh against your neck. Let him touch your waist with hands that don’t know better.

You wait. All day.

You shower. You try not to think about the marks on your skin, the ache between your thighs that never really left. You try not to check your phone every ten minutes.

By nightfall, you’re pacing.

Finally, just before midnight, your phone lights up.

Coupang Eats: rei’s breathing down my neck. can’t today.

That’s it.

No “hi.” No apology. Just dismissal dressed like explanation.

You don’t reply. You leave it on seen. You throw your phone on the nighstand and crawl into bed. You hate that it hurts. You hate that it hurts because you miss him.

You curl up, blanket pulled to your chin, and close your eyes like that’ll stop the heat from spreading low and slow inside you.

You don’t expect another text.

But at 1:13 a.m., your phone buzzes again. You grab it with more desperation than you mean to.

Coupang Eats: but ive been thinking about you the whole day

There’s a slight pause, and then he’s double texting you.

Coupang Eats: think rei’s starting to catch on. she asked if i’ve been seeing someone else

Another pause. You keep leaving his messages on seen.

Coupang Eats: anyway. i want your mouth tomorrow

You stare at the screen. Your body flushes instantly, pulse skipping. He always knows what to say to wreck you.

You read it again. And again.

Your thighs clench under the blanket. You should block him. You should throw the phone across the room. Instead, you place it gently on your nightstand. And smile, just a little. You never stood a chance.

Tuesday he’s ignoring you. Again.

You try to stay rational. You tell yourself it’s because of Rei. Because of guilt. Because of everything this already is. But that doesn’t explain why your chest tightens every time your phone buzzes — and it’s not him.

You last until midnight. You’re curled under your blanket, half-dreaming, half-angry, when your screen lights up.

Incoming Call: Coupang Eats

You step into the hallway and gently close the door so you don’t wake Jungwon. Then you answer without a word.

Silence on the other end. Not awkward. Not hesitant. Just… breath. Slow and steady.

“Riki?” you whisper.

Still nothing.

Your voice sharpens. “What’s wrong?”

Another breath. Then finally, his voice — low, worn, unsweet.

“You’re mad.”

You scoff. “You think?”

You can’t help the raising of your voice, “I waited all day for you yesterday. I sat next to him thinking about you, and you haven’t even—” You catch yourself. Bite down the whine in your voice. “—you haven’t said anything. Not even a text.”

“I’m not here to make love to you. You have someone for that,” he says, flat and final.

You flinch. Like he slapped you through the phone. Your throat tightens. You wait for him to say something else.

He doesn’t.

You end the call first.

You stand there in the hallway with your phone pressed to your chest like it might keep your heart inside your body. But it doesn't help. Not even a little.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. You toss and turn so much that Jungwon at some point bear hugs you and keeps you close to his warm body. And finally you’re able to relax enough to let sleep overtake you.

The double date is happening late afternoon today. You don’t mention the call — not to Jungwon, not to yourself. You just get dressed. Not in red because that’s too obvious. But soft. Romantic. A pink silk dress that hugs your waist and slips off your shoulders with every movement. The kind of dress that would make someone believe you’re innocent. That you belong to someone.

The date is happening in a cute, but luxorious sweet shop. The café is a pastel-hued dream. Soft pink walls, delicate white lace curtains, and dainty gold accents catching the light. Glass display cases are lined with perfectly frosted cupcakes. Vintage floral teacups clink softly against saucers, and gentle indie music hums in the background, mixing with the faint chatter of quiet patrons.

Rei and Riki are already sitting down by the window overlooking the entrance. Your heart squeezes when you see him. He’s dressed in a crisp, black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the lean muscle of his forearms. A subtle flash of silver chain is glinting around his neck. His shirt is tucked neatly into tailored charcoal trousers, sleek and effortless, like he stepped straight out of a midnight city skyline.

You make sure Riki sees you walk in first. With Jungwon’s arm around your waist, smiling up at him like you mean it.

Rei waves you over. She’s sipping on her drink, other hand on his thigh like she owns it. You slide into your seat across from them, perfectly poised.

Jungwon orders for you, as always. You rest your chin on your hand and glance at Riki just long enough to make it look casual.

He won’t look at you.

Not at first.

But you can see the tension in his jaw. The white of his knuckles on his water glass. He’s trying not to react.

Good.

Rei watches you. Not warmly. She senses something — can’t name it, but it’s there. Then she blurts, “Didn’t you two used to be, like, inseparable?”

Her tone is off. Maybe playful. Maybe not.

“That was a long time ago,” Riki speaks.

You shrug, smile too sweet. “We were kids.”

You don’t look at him.

Jungwon laughs, reaching for your hand. “Didn’t you say you had a crush on him in high school?”

Your stomach tightens. You throw your head back and laugh, “God, don’t remind me.”

This time, Riki looks at you. Dead on.

Then, slowly, his hand drops to Rei’s thigh. He leans closer to her and murmurs something — something that makes her smile and adjust her grip on his bicep.

You almost break. But you don’t. Instead, you slide your hand under the table and rest it on Jungwon’s knee. Riki’s gaze drops. Then sharpens. You can feel it burning through your skin.

Jungwon starts telling a story to break the tension — something light about his boss messing up an email thread. You fake-laugh, brushing your hand along his forearm.

Still nothing from Riki.

So you go further.

You lean into Jungwon’s ear. Whisper something that makes him grin and kiss your cheek. You giggle and sip your coffee, letting your lips linger on the mug.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

You glance down.

Coupang Eats: Stop fucking smiling at him like you’re not going to be on your knees for me in 2 hours.

You excuse yourself. A moment later, in front of the bathroom stalls, you hear footsteps. You don’t turn around.

“So that’s how we’re playing it?” you murmur.

Riki doesn’t answer.

“She’s clinging to your arm like a trophy and you’re looking at me like you want to kill something.”

Still nothing.

You turn. Face him. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, shoulders tight, breathing slow and shallow.

“She asked about us,” you say. “You really gonna sit there and pretend we were nothing?”

His eyes narrow. “You’re the one pretending.”

You raise a brow. “I’m just being polite.”

Riki steps closer. Still calm. Still composed. But you know the signs… the way his jaw clicks, the twitch in his brow. He’s unraveling slowly.

“You smile at him like he’s enough,” he says quietly. “But I know what you look like when you’re lying.”

You look up, but Riki’s already turned back toward the tables.

And you follow.

Because you always do.

You return to the table with Riki just a few paces behind, the silence of the hallway still clinging to your skin. Jungwon glances up from his cappuccino, expression tightening. Rei’s head tilts ever so slightly, like she’s trying to catch a whisper she just missed.

“Everything okay?” Jungwon asks, voice easy, but his hand slips off the back of your chair like he’s not sure if he should still be touching you.

You nod too quickly. “Just—long line.”

“Hmm.” His eyes stay on you for a beat too long. You know he doesn’t believe you, but he smiles anyway.

Rei's stirring her iced latte with her straw, the clink of ice loud in the delicate atmosphere of the café. The scent of vanilla and buttercream hangs in the air. Around you, couples laugh softly, forks clinking against pastel plates.

But at your table, the energy has shifted.

You take your seat, careful not to brush against Riki’s knee under the table. You don’t want to give anything away… except maybe in this moment you do. Maybe you want to be caught.

Jungwon reaches for the last macaron, brushing a crumb from your plate as he does. “Try this one, it’s raspberry.” His voice is soft. Familiar. And it makes you ache.

But before you can answer, Riki’s voice cuts in, sharp around the edges. “She doesn’t like raspberry.”

The table stills.

You freeze mid-reach.

Rei blinks. “Oh?”

You force a laugh. “I guess I… grew out of that.”

Jungwon sets the macaron down slowly. “Right,” he says, like he's trying to convince himself.

The tension spirals, thick and sticky as frosting. You try to redirect, compliment the café wallpaper, anything to smooth it over. But Rei’s already watching Riki too closely now. Her fingers trace the edge of her water glass. Her mouth presses into a thin line.

“So,” she starts, “you guys been seeing each other lately?” She phrases it light, like it’s casual. But her eyes are too sharp, scanning you both.

You smile like you’ve practiced it. “Not really. We ran into each other a couple of days ago. Unexpectedly.”

Riki doesn’t say anything. He’s staring down at his coffee like it personally offended him.

Rei hums, glancing between you again. “Weird. Riki never mentioned it.”

You sip your drink to avoid answering. It tastes like syrup and guilt.

Jungwon shifts beside you. He’s been quiet too long. Observing. Calculating. He reaches for your hand under the table—and you flinch. Just slightly. Just enough.

You see the flicker in his eyes. Something cold, unsure, tightening his jaw before he lets go.

Riki’s chair scrapes softly as he leans back. He stretches one arm behind Rei’s chair. It’s casual. Possessive. Performed. But when your eyes flick to him, he’s already watching you. And he doesn’t look away.

The silence stretches too long.

You glance at the time. Not late, but suddenly, it feels like you've been here too long.

Jungwon clears his throat softly. “We should probably get going. You have work early, don’t you?”

It’s a neutral out. A subtle offering. But the edge in his tone is unmistakable.

You nod too quickly. “Right. Yeah.”

You stand, smoothing the hem of your dress. Across the table, Riki doesn’t move. Rei offers a tight smile as she pushes her hair behind her ear, eyes flicking between you and Riki again.

“You two heading out too?” Jungwon asks, polite.

Rei shakes her head, “I think we’ll stay a bit. Riki’s sweet tooth hasn’t kicked in yet.” She laughs, light but forced. Riki doesn’t even blink.

Jungwon places a warm hand on your lower back, guiding you toward the door.

You don’t look back.

But still in the café, as you and Jungwon are leaving Rei watches Riki pick at a dessert he’s not even eating.

“You wanna tell me what that was?” she asks.

Riki shrugs. Doesn’t look at her.

“You couldn’t fake it for two hours?” she says, still trying to keep it light, but her voice is breaking at the edges.

He doesn’t respond.

She swallows. “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

Still nothing.

Rei sits back, blinking fast.

“I hope she’s worth ruining everything.”

In the car you and Jungwon are barely halfway down the block before he speaks.

“You don’t like raspberry,” he says. Quiet. Not accusing. Just… unraveling the thread.

You stare out the window.

He doesn’t push. Not yet. He just lets the silence sit between you both, letting you feel the weight of it.

And when he parks the car outside his and yours penthouse, his voice drops lower.

“How long has this been going on?”

You blink. “What?”

He turns to look at you. Not angry. But hurt. And that’s worse. Way worse. You never meant to hurt him. You were just too blindsided by Riki. Like you always are. Everything is always too much with him. Too colorful, too loud, he makes you too ha-…

“Whatever this is between you and Riki,” he says. “You think I can’t feel it?”

You open your mouth. Then close it again.

He nods, jaw clenched. “I didn’t want to be right.”

You don’t say anything. Not because there’s nothing to say but because anything you could say would sound cruel. Or worse, dishonest. And you’ve lied enough.

The penthouse is quiet when you step inside. Not soft quiet — hollow. Like all the warmth Jungwon tried to build with you has finally leaked through the cracks. You trail in behind him, your eyes skimming over the small signs of his care… the flowers he replaced just this morning. The charger he keeps plugged in for your phone. The pink cupcakes you like in the fridge, even though he doesn’t eat sweets.

You should feel something. But you only feel heavy.

You sit on the edge of the bed. Your dress folds gently at your thighs. The same dress you wore to hurt someone. Or maybe yourself. You can’t tell anymore. Somewhere between the fucking, something in you blurred.

Across the room, Jungwon doesn’t move. He stands like he wants to ask for something, an explanation, an apology — but knows he won’t like the answer.

And maybe the worst part is… you wish he would yell. Or cry. Slam a door, something. But Jungwon is still himself, still his calm self and it only makes you feel messier. Uglier.

Your phone buzzes.

Coupang Eats: We should talk.

You lock it. Set it face-down on the nightstand.

Coupang Eats: Whenever you're ready.

Your hands shake slightly as you unzip the weekender bag. You don’t pack much. Just what you need. You tell yourself you’ll come back. That it’s not permanent. You lie to yourself the way you always have. Softly, sweetly.

You glance toward Jungwon once more. He hasn’t moved from his office. His back is to you now, one hand gripping the edge of the desk like he’s trying to ground himself.

You want to go to him. Say sorry. Say something. But you don’t know how to comfort someone while still choosing someone else.

So instead, you whisper “I’m staying at a hotel. Just for a while.”

He doesn’t answer.

You leave the keys on the credenza. The door clicks shut behind you.

And just like that, you become the kind of girl who walks away from a man who would’ve never walked away from you.

You last 5 minutes in the car by yourself before you’re shaking. Your vision blurs and you pull over. Your hands stay on the wheel, but your shoulders can’t stop shaking.

No noise escapes you, the kind of breathless crying that comes only after you’ve been thoroughly overwhelmed. You don’t even know why you’re crying. Because you hurt Jungwon? Because you left him? Because you chose Riki this time and you’re sorry for hurting him too? Because you don’t know if you’ve ruined it with him too?

You gather yourself slowly. Just enough to drive to the closest hotel.

It’s shabby. If you were your usual self you wouldn’t be found within 10 feet of it. But right now the small and dim room brings you comfort.

The lighting is yellow and uneven, the hallway carpet faded with time and secrets. But right now, the small, dim room wraps around and it's enough.

The walls are a muted pastel green, chipped at the corners, soft and sleepy. The heavy curtains are the color of oversteeped tea. The rug beneath you is old, scratchy in some spots and suspiciously soft in others — probably disgusting. But it’s warm. And it doesn’t ask anything of you.

The bedspread is stiff. The air smells faintly like cheap linen spray and leftover takeout from whoever was here before you. But there’s a strange comfort in how off it all is — like the room knows you don’t belong here, and it’s choosing not to care.

You drop your bag. The zipper’s still half open.

You lie down on the carpet, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The glow from the streetlights outside crawls in through the blinds in thin gold lines. You trace them with your eyes like they might lead you out of this moment.

But they don’t.

They just remind you that morning will come whether you’re ready or not.

Eventually, you sit up with heavy limbs and pull your dress off in silence. You throw on an oversized tee, one that smells faintly like Jungwon’s laundry detergent, and immediately hate it. You shrug it off your shoulders as if it burned you.

You flick the TV on, scroll through the channels until you land on one that only plays indie love songs and soft piano ballads. You try to sleep to it, but your brain won’t quiet down. The pillow feels too loud. The room feels too full of everything you left unsaid.

So you grab your phone.

The screen lights up with missed calls. Coupang Eats (3 missed calls) 11:08 PM. 11:42 PM. 12:17 AM.

You don’t call back.

Instead, your fingers start flying across the screen. You swipe through your notes app, scroll past voice memos and lists you never finished, until you find it: “Shared account pw 🫣🤐🤞”

The login still works.

The finsta you and Riki made when you were fifteen. No followers, no bios, no comments. Just a locked archive. You remember laughing about it back then, calling it your “burner for memories.”

The feed loads.

First photo you see is a blurry close-up of your pinky with his pinky wrapped around it. Captioned contract sealed.

Then you scroll past selfies at the convenience store, your faces mid-laugh, Riki sticking out his tongue. Then a video of him trying to teach you how to skateboard, failing miserably and pretending to die in the parking lot. You can hear your own cackling in the background.

The further you scroll, the harder it gets to breathe.

A picture from your sixteenth birthday. He’d made you a paper crown from receipts and straw wrappers. You wore it all night. He wrote in the caption ‘Queen of making me soft’. You’d replied ‘Ur weak anyway’.

You press the screen. Let the image fill up your phone. Let the ache press into your lungs.

He was your best friend before he was anything else. And now everything feels like too much.

You set the phone face down and finally let yourself cry. Quietly. Face buried in your arms. Not for Riki. Not for Jungwon. Just for the version of yourself who didn’t know how complicated love could get.

You fall asleep like that, head pounding, throat sore and dry and eyes swollen. And wake just as the sun is starting to paint the skyline yellow-

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Your heart leaps. You sit up too fast. The pounding continues, it sounds urgent, not frantic. Like whoever’s on the other side knows you’ll open. Like they’re sure of it.

You reach for the first thing you can find (your old hoodie) and slip it over your head as you stumble barefoot to the door.

You peek through the peephole.

Riki.

Hair a mess. Hoodie half-zipped. Jaw tight. His shoulders are hunched like he’s been holding his breath for hours. His eyes are ringed with exhaustion, skin pale under the hallway light. You open the door slowly.

Neither of you says anything at first.

He just looks at you. Takes in the hoodie. Your bare legs. The redness around your eyes.

You swallow hard. “How did you even find me?”

He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze for once. “Went to your place. Jungwon opened the door. Didn’t say much… just said you were staying at some hotel. That you left.”

He looks up now. “So I checked every hotel near the highway. Every cheap one I thought you’d never usually pick. I figured, you’d want to be somewhere that didn’t ask questions.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your chest tightens just seeing him there.

Riki doesn’t wait for an invitation. He doesn’t speak again. Just steps inside, shuts the door behind him with a soft click. Tosses off his jacket onto the nearby chair.

Then he walks over and pulls you into his arms.

No tension. No games. No hunger.

Just holds you.

You cave instantly, burying your face into his chest like your bones have been aching for this. And you cry. Again, but it’s not like last night, not quiet or restrained — but open. Loudly. Like a kid.

Riki says nothing for a while, just moves you both to the bed. His hand just runs slowly over the back of your hoodie, warm and careful. You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Then, just barely above a whisper he tells you, “I told you I’d never stop choosing you.”

And that’s all it takes.

You let yourself collapse into him, fully.  His hands splay across your back, holding you close enough to feel every shaky breath. The kind of hug that says stay here. That says I’ve got you.

Time moves differently in his arms. You don’t know how long you stay there, pressed against his chest, legs tangled, hearts a little quieter now.

Eventually, your tears slow. You sniffle and wipe your cheek against his shirt, then freeze. “Sorry. I got snot on you.”

Riki glances down. “I don’t care.” He slightly pauses before speaking again, “I like when you ruin my stuff anyway.”

You roll your eyes, even as the corners of your lips threaten a smile. “You're such a freak.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you — his thumb brushing beneath your eye gently. “And you look ridiculous in that hoodie. It's swallowing you.”

“It’s yours.”

“Exactly.”

You both laugh. A small one. But real.

Riki presses a kiss to your forehead. It's gentle. No pressure. No expectation. Just warmth.

You sit on the edge of the bed while Riki disappears into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. You hear the faucet, the clatter of the cheap soap dish. It’s quiet again, but this time, not lonely.

When he steps back out, his hair is damp and pushed back, and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows. He looks younger this way. Less like the person who ruined you, and more like the boy who used to make you laugh until your stomach hurt.

You curl your knees up to your chest. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

He glances at the crusty hotel menu on the nightstand and lifts a brow. “Room service?”

You nod. “Please don’t judge me if I order pancakes and miso soup.”

Riki smirks. “That’s disgusting. I’m getting that too.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting cross-legged on the bed with trays between you.

Miso steam fogs your lashes. The pancakes are a little dry, but Riki drowns his in syrup and makes a show of pretending it’s gourmet. You throw a rolled-up napkin at him and he catches it mid-air with his mouth. He’s so smug, it’s ridiculous (ridiculously endearing).

For a while, it feels like the world outside doesn’t exist. Like you’re not running away. Like this is just... the two of you again. Existing in a quiet pocket of peace.

“I forgot how easy it is,” you murmur.

Riki chews, swallows. “What is?”

“This. Us. When we’re not trying to hurt each other.”

He’s silent for a second, then reaches across the tray and tugs your sleeve. “Then let’s stop trying.”

After breakfast, you both stretch out on the bed. You lie back. He lies beside you. Not touching. Just breathing together. And after a while, without saying anything, Riki slips his pinky against yours.

You link it.

He glances at the clock. “It’s still early,” he says. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You turn to look at him. “Where?”

He smiles. Soft. Secretive.

“Somewhere we left a part of ourselves.”

A short drive later with the windows cracked and the morning sun warming the car you’re on your way.

You recognize the route before he even parks.

The overlook.

It’s stupid, really. Just a hill that peers out over the city, tucked behind an old park and some bike trails. You used to sneak up here after dark when you were both barely sixteen. It was the first place you ever kissed. On a hot rainy summer day. Hair soaked, heart pounding, shoes caked in mud. Neither of you ever talked about it much after — like it was a secret even from yourselves.

You stare at the familiar curve of the hill, the chipped bench still there.

“You remember?” Riki says as he kills the engine.

You nod slowly. “Of course I do.”

Neither of you says this is where it started. But you’re both thinking it.

He helps you out of the car like he always used to, like you’re fragile and treasured and something he doesn’t want to lose again. You sit on the bench, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the skyline.

And when he takes your hand, he doesn’t lace your fingers together… he just holds it, palm to palm. Still. Soft.

“Do you think we could ever do it right?” you ask quietly.

Riki looks over at you. His lashes catch the light. His voice is a little hoarse. “Maybe not perfect. But honest this time.”

You nod. “I could live with that.”

And then, he finally kisses you.

Slowly. Gentle. The kind of kiss that makes time stretch like the world softens just to give you this. He kisses you like he remembers every version of you — the girl from next door, the one who used to steal his hoodies, the one who left him, the one who came back. Like he’s been holding his breath since the last time you touched and finally gets to exhale.

And you melt into it. Your hands slide into his hair without thinking, like it’s an old habit. He tilts his head just slightly, deepening it, and your heart stumbles because it’s not lust that makes you shiver — it’s how much you feel. The love. The passion. The yearning you’d been hiding from yourself.

There’s something unsaid in it. A hundred unsent messages. All the years in between. An apology. A promise. A beginning.

And when he finally pulls back just an inch, your forehead rests against his. Both of you a little breathless.

“I missed you,” he says quietly. “More than I should’ve.”

You don’t speak. You just kiss him again. Because saying it aloud would break you.

But he already knows.

You sit beside him on the old bench by the reservoir for the long time after that. Shoulder to shoulder, reminiscing together.

You glance at him. “It hasn’t changed much.”

Riki smiles faintly, eyes forward. “You have.”

You huff a laugh. “Thanks?”

“I mean it in a good way.” He tilts his head toward you, expression open now, so rare for him. “You always had all this light in you. You just… didn’t know how to carry it.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Letting it in. Letting it sting.

Then you nudge his knee with yours. “You were the first person to ever see me.”

[jaylaxies]

YOURS (MAYBE?) | part I

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader x jay

GENRE: enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff, humour, angst, cunnilingus, fingering, choking, blowjob, squirting, multiple orgasms, cum in vag, praises, degradation, double penetration in one hole, threesome, lots of kissing, slight body worship, aftercare, mentions of nicknames, mentions of food, lmk if i missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 16.9k out of 34.2k words!

SYNOPSIs: Your best friend’s wedding was supposed to be the well-earned vacation you’d been dreaming of, the perfect escape and much needed breather. Instead, you’re stuck sharing a room with your ex-rival, and the previously quiet, enigmatic boy from university, both seemingly perfectly poised to turn this trip into a carefully orchestrated plan to woo you. Alternatively: Challengers, but your playground isn’t a tennis court, it is the bedroom which you share with Jay and Jake.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

PART TWO: here.

A/N: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic is finally here! gosh, this is the longest fic i have ever written, i hope you guys will enjoy it! all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Chapter 1: The boy I forgot Vs. The boy I can’t. 

Being late to your best friend’s wedding trip was the lowest you could have sunk down, and you did. 

Well, granted, it was courtesy of your work which never gave you holidays, but alas, you managed to get a week off, now rushing out of the airport with your two heavy luggage bags, not to mention the backpack and purse you managed to carry along, trying to spot the bride, Karina, who still proceeded to pick you up in the midst of all the wedding preparation chaos. 

She launches herself at you even before you had the time to react, engulfing you in a hug so tight as if you hadn’t met her over dinner just the week prior. 

“You’re so fucking late,” she screamed, shaking you as you finally elicited a laugh, waving back at her fiancé, Jeno, who was smiling like a puppy seeing his fiancée so joyous. 

“Blame my boss, he fucking made me work overtime to the point I had to cancel my flight and take the ticket for the next one,” you groaned, letting the couple help you with your luggage and share everything you’ve missed so far—which somehow didn’t include the room assortment, yet. 

Karina chats your ear off the entire ride to the Airbnb villa booked especially for the friends, other families and guests having different villas all to themselves, her voice practically vibrating with sheer excitement, but it’s not until the car takes a sharp turn into a winding hill that your stomach twists with something else—anticipation.

“You’ll love the place,” she says, “and the people—well, mostly.”

You shoot her a look. “Mostly? You let me take care of everything, from helping with your wedding dress to finalizing the flowers and arrangements, but didn’t let me take a single look at the guest list, should I be worried?” 

“Let’s just say, there are a few strong personalities. You’ll see.”

You narrow your eyes but let it slide, muttering, “yeah I’m worried.” She’s already looking smug, and you had a bad feeling about it now that your car neared the villa for the next few days, and you did have a slight hint about what was to come, to which you simply prayed for it to be wrong. 

It was something straight out of a pinterest board, cream coloured walls, string lights adorning it, the faint scent of gardenia drifting through the slight breeze, cooling down the otherwise warm atmosphere. You’re still staring at the view as you get another hug attack from Winter, who was more than excited to see you after the few weeks you spent away, because you still met up after subsequently completing the university. 

A small genuine smile graced your face as you started catching up, “god—wait. I need Karina to finalize the aisle placements, I’m sorry, Y/N, we’ll be back in a second.” She says, rushing away, seeming more bothered than the bride to be herself, who was enjoying every second of it. 

You weren’t sure what you expected when you stepped into the villa, but it definitely wasn’t this.

The place looked like something out of a design magazine—open plan with warm wooden floors, arched doorways, and morning light spilling across the ceilings. Plants dangled beautifully from the pots, and a soft ocean breeze danced through linen curtains like the house was exhaling out elegance.

It was like a perfect Pinterest wedding destination, almost like a spot where people would fall in love seamlessly. 

Unfortunately, you were not here for love.

You were here for Karina’s wedding, and most importantly, you were especially not here to run into—

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigy herself.”

That voice—you froze mid-step, every muscle in your spine stiffening like instinct. No. Absolutely not, that could not be him, could he? 

You turned slowly, already preparing your sigh, and found yourself face to face with none other than Park Jongseong. 

Great.

Same perfect posture, same cocky half-smile. Tall, annoyingly handsome, and dressed like the poster boy for a casual rich man at a coastal wedding—open shirt, silver chain, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes dark enough to drown someone, and his heart shaped birthmark on the neck still standing out. 

Jay.

Your academic nemesis, your eternal debate partner. The guy who turned every university presentation into a showdown and somehow made you want to win even harder, the guy you swore you hated all three years of your undergrad uni. 

You hadn’t seen him since graduation. You’d hoped that would be the end of it, but of fucking course, fate hated you.

“Well, I see you’re still as stiff as ever,” you said, looking bored, hoisting your backpack bag higher on your shoulder, “still studying like a madman, huh?”

Jay gave a lazy smile, eyes flicking over you with the practiced indifference of someone used to winning, his eyes still wandering around your figure before he clicked his tongue, “you’re late.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, already irritated, “I’m fashionably late, there’s a difference, you wouldn’t understand, of fucking course.” You said, pointing at your amazing airport fit. 

“I’m sure there’s a spreadsheet in your bag that proves that, you always came over prepared anyway.”

You opened your mouth to deliver a killer comeback—and were immediately interrupted by another voice.

“Woah—woah, I’ve only been here ten minutes and there’s already fights unleashing, huh?”

You turned again, this time finding yourself staring into a face you hadn’t expected at all.

Jake.

Sim Jaeyun, you recognized him immediately—your old batchmate, the quiet one from your year, you remembered him as soft spoken, always with a shy smile, never really one to speak unless called on, only if you omit out recalling that one night when he did talk to you, just one night. 

Except now—now he stood beside Jay, lean and sun-kissed, wearing a faded tee that clung just right and black sweatpants that made him look nothing like the awkward boy you remembered. There was a warmth in his eyes, sure—but also something new, a flicker of playfulness, of newfound confidence.

His hair fluffier than ever, lips still pouty but in a teasing manner, and his aura now strong and warm, as if he had a halo around his head. 

“Jake?” you said, unsure, but you did remember him, not just the newly transformed version of him.

His grin was unnaturally attractive as he replied, “you remember.”

Barely, you thought, but said instead, “wow, you were—uh quiet.”

Jake chuckled, and the sound was different than you remembered too, richer, more teasing, accent evident in his voice, “yeah. Not so much anymore, I guess.”

Jay scoffed from beside him, “he still is when he loses. Don’t let him fool you.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “ignore him. He gets cranky when he’s not the smartest in the room, Mr. Know it all.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Is that why he always sulked during academic week?”

Jay turned to you with a sarcastic smile. “You were the one who stole my thesis idea in senior year.”

“I didn’t steal it, I simply executed it better.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh my god,” Jake said with a laugh, looking between the two of you, “this is amazing. It’s like watching the academic war off, but, well, this is actually interesting.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, but you quickly caught yourself. No, absolutely no humanizing your rival, not when he was right in front of you. 

Jay leaned against the entryway wall, clearly amused, “didn’t expect to see you here, honestly.”

“I’m Karina’s best friend,” you replied with an eye roll as if he was dumb, “of course I’m here.”

Jay’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his gaze sharpened slightly. “Right. Makes sense.”

Jake tilted his head as if he didn’t know, “you and Karina were close in uni?”

“We roomed together all four years,” you said, lips curving, “she’s like my sister.”

Jay gave a half, sarcastic smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “hm, that does explain the pity invite.”

You scoffed as you stepped closer, gaze daring, “are you always this good at projecting?”

“I’m always this good at reading people.”

“Then read this and stay away,” you said sweetly, flipping him off.

Jake blinked, then burst out laughing, leaning forward like the moment was a personal win, genuinely amused, “I’m sorry, that was iconic, never gets old.”

Jay shrugged, shaking his head at you, “she always had a flair for the dramatics, I wonder why she didn’t join the drama society.”

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered, but before Jay could respond, the front door opened again and Isa rushed in, grinning.

“There you are!” She said, grabbing your arm. “Come on, Karina’s doing the room assignments!”

You let yourself be dragged back inside, throwing one last glance at the boys—Jay smirking like he’d already won something, and Jake watching you with a curiosity that sent a shiver up your spine.

Room assignments, right. You could handle that, or so you thought. 

The rest of the house was gathered in the living room, lounging on floor cushions and sipping iced drinks and vodka? Well, afternoon drinking is fun, meanwhile, Karina stood in the center, a clipboard in hand and a wicked glint in her eye, that was reserved for you, apparently.

“Okay,” she announced. “Here’s how it’s going to work. We’ve got three rooms for guests. Each one has its own fun layout.”

You narrowed your eyes. That tone was never good, not when she used it looking your way, and you simply hoped that your gut feeling wasn’t right this once. 

“Room One, Isa, Winter, Yunjin.”

The girls high-fived and squealed, already plotting aesthetic corners and matching pajamas, and you stood there, knowing what was to happen when you weren’t put up with the girls. 

“Room Two, Yeonjun, Heeseung, Beomgyu, Jaemin, and Hyuck.”

Someone groaned in the back, definitely Hyuck, “why do we get the bunk beds?”

Karina grinned, “because you snore, Hyuck.”

Then she paused, flipping the page. “Room three—hm, this one’s interesting.”

Your stomach dropped when it was finally the time to say it out loud. 

“No,” you said immediately, “whatever it is you’re about to say, no.”

Karina ignored you, “room three has one double bed and one single, and it goes to—Y/N, Jay, and Jake.”

Silence.

Then the crowd erupted into laughter, Beomgyu complaining about how it should be him with you instead, meanwhile, the girls wondering who’s gonna make it out of the room alive, because with that pairing, someone was bound to murder the other.

“You’re fucking kidding,” you whispered, horrified, already reaching out to Karina who was on the verge of running away, laughing hard at your expressions, “what? No. Are you serious?”

Jay looked up from his drink with mock surprise, as if Jeno had already told him what was to happen, “Huh? That’s unfortunate.”

Jake’s eyes went wide, almost comical, “wait—what? All three of us?” He asked, pointing at himself. 

Karina nodded, grinning too wide, still rushing around trying to not get caught by you, “unless someone wants to sleep on the couch?” She asked, chuckling as she hid behind Jeno for shield. 

“I’ll sleep in the ocean,” you said flatly, moving back now that you knew Karina was safe and hiding behind a tall, muscular man. 

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I don’t mind the single bed—unless you want to share.”

Jay choked, not expecting that kind of reaction from Jake, “she’d rather sleep with a thesis on stem cell regeneration.”

“Oh my god, this can’t be happening,” you muttered.

Karina clapped her hands. “Settled! Take your bags upstairs. Good luck.”

You stood frozen as the group dissolved into laughter and chatter, your fate sealed, this trip was going to kill you.

And it hadn’t even begun yet.

Chapter 2: Drunk on you, I lose control. 

The moment you walk up the stairs to your room, it’s chaos. Jake brushes past you, grabbing your suitcase with a grin, “relax, I’ve got it,” he says smoothly, his fingers brushing yours just a second longer than necessary.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your stomach does a stupid little flip at the change in his personality, the confidence he oozes so easily now, “you know I can handle a bag, right?”

“Sure you can,” Jake says, smirking as he sets it neatly by the wall, “but why would I pass up the chance to be your hero tonight? I’m a gentleman, y’know?”

He takes your bag so easily, muscles flexing under the T-shirt he wore, it was evident that he worked out. 

Before you can fire back, Jay’s voice cuts through the room, smooth and sharp, “wow. You’re laying it on thick, aren’t you?”

You turn to find Jay stretched out on the double bed like he owns it, arms folded behind his head, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth. His dark eyes track you, sharp and amused at the sudden display of Jake’s chivalry. 

“Don’t you have anyone else to annoy, Jay?” You snap.

“Nope,” he says easily with a smirk, “you know you’re my favourite.”

You clench your jaw, grab your clothes, and storm toward the bathroom, not having it in you to stay in the same room as Jay by any means.

Behind you, you hear Jake’s low chuckle, “easy, man.”

“I’m not the one overstepping,” Jay murmurs, and you slam the door shut before you hear the rest.

The second you enter the bathroom, you let out a long breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. You were here for a wedding, sharing a bedroom with two guys. Could this truly get any worse? 

You thought a long, hot shower would make you feel better, but it didn’t, because the moment you stepped out in your shorts, you could feel the tension in the room thickening. Jake’s sitting on the single bed, scrolling through his phone, but his eyes flick up the moment you appear, his eyes now fixated on you. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “you sure you don’t want the double?”

“I’m good.” You toss your things onto the narrow mattress and meet his eyes, “but thanks, enjoy sleeping together boys.” You threw them a look of mischief. 

Jay’s voice reverberated across the room, “damn, aren’t you polite.”

You whip your head toward him, sharp. “You want polite, Jay? Try giving me the damn bed, or actually, the whole room, and leave.”

“Not my fault you came in late, y’know?” Jay says, smiling like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “you snooze, you lose, baby.”

“Don’t you dare call me—” before you could throw something at him, Jake’s up, slinging an arm briefly around your shoulder. 

“Come on,” he murmurs close to your ear, too close, enough for you to feel his warmth and scent, “save the murder plot for later, I’m pretty sure you’ll get your chance, I’ll even help, hm?”

And you stepped back, gulping and cursing yourself for getting into this mess, leaving the boys to themselves now. 

The villa was alive with noise, soft music bouncing off the walls as your friends’ laughter echoed down the hall by the time you were done taking a tour of the whole place, Heeseung and Jaemin guiding you through it along with Isa. 

Only for everyone to gather in the main living room area for drinks and games, just like the old times, they said. 

You sat cross-legged on the floor, wedged between Jake and Karina, “I swear you’re the most evil person alive,” you mumbled as the girl only laughed at you.

“Hey! I’m only doing what’s the best for you!”

“And that involves me being in a room with two insufferable men?” You deadpanned, glad that Jake was occupied in a conversation with Hyuck, keeping him away from hearing your words. 

“By keeping you near the men who’ll probably make sure all your frustration will be gone by the time the wedding is over,” she smirked and you only shook your head with an expression that screamed ‘save me’.

Jay lounged warmly with his back against the couch, fingers tapping mindlessly against his glass as his eyes were sharp and unreadable every time Jake leaned a little too close—which he did a bit too often. 

Jake was fast, a little too fast when it came to occupying any space near you, practically running to sit down next to you, leaving Jay to sit right in front of you, across the table. 

“Truth and Dare, let’s fucking go!” Beomgyu screamed, and so did everyone else, while a few groans could be heard too. 

“What are we, kids?” You asked with a chuckle.

“No, but we can make some?” Gyu said, wiggling his eyebrows and you shook your head. 

“Hard pass,” you replied, eyes flicking up to Jake, who looked visibly annoyed. 

“C’mon, Y/N, let’s play at least,” Gyu said, “trust me it’ll be fun.”

You shrugged, nodding alongside as you found no point in arguing with them, urging him to start the game as everyone sat down in a circle, your eyes wandering around, settling on the two of your roommates every few minutes. 

The bottle spun, wobbling dangerously before landing on you. That’s just how your luck was.

“Oh, this’ll be good,” Isa giggled softly. 

Beomgyu smirked, “Y/N, truth or dare?”

You narrowed your eyes, not thinking much before you said, “dare.”

Without missing a beat, he leaned forward, voice laced with mischief, “then, I dare you to sit on my lap for two minutes.”

The room practically exploded at that—whistles, shouts, Karina gasping and swatting at Jeno’s arm as he laughed, “oh i’m having the time of my life,” she said, trying her best not to laugh at your face. 

You shot Beomgyu a sharp look, “you’re a menace, I swear.”

“I know,” he grinned, arms wide in mock innocence, “you don’t wanna make babies so.” He dragged with a smile. 

With an exaggerated sigh, you moved toward him, settling lightly on his lap. His hands flew up in surrender, but his smirk didn’t fade, hands now wrapped around your waist to help you sit comfortably. 

Jake stiffened watching the whole scene unfold, his grin tightening just at the edges. Across the circle, Jay’s fingers curled slightly against his glass, knuckles whitening as his gaze locked on you.

Two minutes never felt so long, even more so when Gyu couldn’t stop with his flirty remarks every few seconds, yelping when you pinched his arm. 

The timer beeped on Isa’s phone, and you slid off Beomgyu’s lap with a triumphant smile, a sigh of relief as you sat back down in your place, “finally survived that.”

“Barely,” Jake muttered, low enough for only you to hear.

A few spins later, Isa’s grin turned sly as you turned out to be the victim of this game again, a huff leaving your mouth as you took another shot of tequila rose, you’d definitely need it. “Y/N—seven minutes in heaven, and we choose the guy.” 

You groaned, “you people are beyond evil.”

“Democracy, baby!” Beomgyu cheered, arms thrown wide, “I vote for me!”

“Jay,” Winter declared, biting back a grin, “obviously, the soul tied rivals.”

Your eyes shot up to look at him, only to find his intense stare fixated on you already. 

“Oh yes!”

“I agree, Jay for me too.”

“Damn, this will be fun,” everyone kept on agreeing and you only looked at Karina with a glare of accusation, as if she was the reason why this was happening. Which is partly true. 

Jake shot upright, “hold on—I have to vote too.”

“Rules are rules, majority already voted for Jay and Y/N!” Isa sang, practically pushing you toward the hallway closet.

The door clicked shut behind you, plunging you and Jay into dim silence. 

He broke the silence after two minutes of absolutely nothing but the sound of your breathing, “scared?” He challenged. 

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight, “oh fuck no, don’t get any wrong ideas.”

Jay leaned casually against the opposite wall, one brow lifting, “please. As if I’d do anything with you.”

You scoffed, “you’d combust before making the first move, never had the balls to do anything but study anyway.”

“How do you know that, huh?” He pushed off the wall, taking a single step forward, “you’re all talk, you know that? Acting as if you know me when you’re no better.”

Your heart jumped as his tone got an octave deeper, but you tried not to look fazed, “yeah? And you’re all ego, challenging me when you clearly always lose.”

Jay’s mouth curved, just slightly—the kind of smile that was all sharp edges, something he reserved only for you. A lot of things had changed over the years, but not his attitude. 

He closed the space between you slowly, the air thickening, your breath catching in your throat as he caged you between his arms, hand resting near your shoulder on the wall—not touching you, but just close enough to make your skin feel his presence.

“Flustered yet?” he murmured, voice low and demanding.

“Not even close,” you shot back, but your heartbeat said otherwise. How could you not be immune to anyone who comes this close to you, to the point the scent of their perfume invades your senses?

His gaze flicked over your face, lingering at your mouth for a breath too long—and before either of you could break, the door banged open.

“Time—oh wait, are you guys kissing?” Hyuck’s voice rang through, laughter spilling into the room, with a few screams of questions. 

You practically stumbled out, cheeks blazing as you smacked Hyuck on his shoulder, him fake crying on the ground, “nothing like that will ever happen, you idiot.”

“You sure about that?” Jay whispered casually, before walking ahead, his cool mask firmly back in place. Jake’s eyes tracked you across the room, jaw tight, his hand gripping his drink just a little too hard.

The bottle spun again as you settled in your place, and you prayed to stay out of the game by now, you couldn’t handle it no more.  

“Jake,” Jaemin grinned, “truth or dare?”

Jake flashed a lazy grin, “dare.”

“Give Y/N a kiss—cheek only though, she’s feisty when you get too close.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the fate wasn’t with you today by any means 

Jake’s head tilted, a spark lighting in his eyes, “uh-huh, gladly.”

He leaned in smoothly, slender fingers brushing your jaw as his plush lips pressed a warm, slow kiss to your cheek, your eyes closing at the warmth of his breath, the kiss lingering just long enough that your own breath hitched.

The room turned feral again, Karina happier than ever as she clapped at the little show of affection.

You swallowed hard, caught between a smirk and a flustered laugh, “you guys won’t let me live, will you?” 

When you glanced up, Jay’s gaze was razor-sharp, his posture rigid, his glass held a little too tight in his hand as he drank the whiskey in one go, dramatically so. 

By the time the game spiraled into chaotic karaoke battles and empty bottles, you slipped away upstairs, heart pounding like it hadn’t settled all night.

Karina cracked her door open, grinning. “Y/N—what the hell’s going on down there?”

You collapsed onto her bed with a dramatic groan, “our friends are out of control.”

Karina tugged you into her room, half laughing at your unenthusiastic state, “spill.”

You buried your face in her pillow. “Beomgyu dared me into his lap, I spent seven minutes in a closet with Jay bickering the entire fucking time, oh god that asshole, will he ever change? And then Jake kissed me on the cheek like he meant it, like I didn’t even remember the guy up till today, kinda? And now he’s hellbent on making his presence known?”

Karina wheezed, clutching her stomach, “oh, you are so in trouble.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“It’s for your own good, maybe if one of them fucks you good enough—”

You groaned louder, “I want to disappear.”

She smirked, “you’re glowing, by the way, gonna have the best sleep with the boys?”

“Shut up—shut up,” you mumbled again and again, dreading to walk into the room with those two again. 

When you finally dragged yourself to the shared room, Jake was sprawled across one double bed, shirt off, hair a stylish mess, eyes gleaming when he saw you.

“Single’s all yours, princess,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. 

You shook your head at the nickname, which only made him smile wider. 

Jay sat on the other bed, scrolling through his phone, but his gaze flicked up sharply as you entered, as if your presence was too strong for him to ignore. 

You collapsed onto the narrow single mattress, pulling the soft blanket over your face, “I don’t want to hear a single word now, go to sleep.”

Jake laughed softly, turning onto his side, eyes glinting in the dim light, making his face glow while Jay shook his head faintly, but the tension hummed in the room like a live wire waiting to cause trouble, wrapping around the three of you.

And as you drifted off, one thought pounded through your head, keeping your body nervous as you realized. 

You are absolutely, completely doomed.

Chapter 3: Come right on me, I mean camaraderie. 

You didn’t have the best relationship with sunlight, especially when you were tired and well, low-key hungover. The curtains did nothing to stop the streaming rays of the sun, lighting up the room in hues of gold. The single bed wasn’t comfortable per se, but at least you weren’t sharing it with one of those—you froze, thoughts screeching to a halt. 

You had turned around to find the two boys, shirtless might you just add, wrapped around each other in perfect yaoi proportions, almost like they were cuddling, a small smile on Jake’s face made the whole ordeal even more amusing. 

Oh, this would be a solid picture to use for blackmailing the two. 

Jay, who slept like a pretentious vampire—back straight, one arm draped over his forehead—was somehow curled toward Jake, his face half-buried in the pillow. Jake, meanwhile, had an arm slung carelessly over Jay’s torso, his fingers gripping his waist. Their legs were a mess of tangled sheets, and Jake’s knee was nudged against Jay’s thigh like they’d fought for space and called a truce in their sleep. 

It’s unnatural how perfectly sculpted their bodies are, which does irritate you, because why do your dorky uni batchmates now have abs and a strong v-line? You shake your head, focusing on the main task again, watching their sun kissed faces sleeping peacefully.  

You bit your bottom lip, stifling your laugh as you reached out for your phone, trying to capture the best piece of blackmail material ever, tiptoeing a bit closer so you were on the edge of the bed, a smirk on your face as you angle your camera towards the crime scene, the soft sound of clicking pictures was heard as you did so, but that’s exactly when Jake shifts. 

Shit. 

Your breath hitches as his lashes flutter, and you freeze, half crouched, phone in hand, wide eyed like a deer caught mid hunting as his gaze landed on you. You expected confusion, embarrassment or maybe even a look of horror on his face. 

However, instead, his lips curl into a sleepy, lopsided grin, the one which made him look like a pretty boy, “good morning, stalker.”

You open your mouth, “I—” 

You start to move back, fumbling for a response as your brain stops working for a solid second, but he suddenly reaches out—quick despite just waking up, and tugs you forward by the wrist.

You yelp, your balance tipping as you fall onto the bed. Right on top of him, chest to chest.

Jake groans as you land, but it’s not from pain, it’s the smug kind, the kind that means mischief, that just ensures how much he’s enjoying his morning. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, trapping you as he props his head on the pillow, completely unbothered.

“Was I dreaming,” he murmurs, “or did you just sneak over to take pictures of me sleeping, shirtless might I just add?”

“You were practically spooning with Jay,” you hiss, struggling to push yourself up, but his grip only tightens as you squirm around to get up, “I had to document the evidence.”

He chuckles, sleep still thick in his voice. “So I’m photogenic, even unconscious huh? Good to know.”

“Jake, let me go,” you mumble, face heating up from both proximity and the fact that he is completely shirtless and warm, holding you like you’re the most comfortable plushie he owns.

“Didn’t know you were a perv, sweetheart.”

Jake had been shy back in university, barely looked at you even though you shared lectures. You remember his quiet smiles from across the room, the way he’d always seem to vanish when you turned to speak. But this Jake? This version has an attitude in his smirk, confidence in the way he’s comfortably holding you against him like you belong there, though you didn’t miss the faint red that painted his ears. 

“Fuck—no. I’m not!” 

“You always this much of a menace in the morning?” he murmurs.

You glare at him, “you don’t remember how shy you were back in college, do you?”

“Hm, maybe I do. Maybe I remember everything. Like how you used to wear that oversized navy hoodie during finals week, and bounced your leg when you were nervous.”

You blink, not expecting such a response, especially when he’s this close, too close to you. 

“You’re the one who used to stalk huh, not talk.”

“I was terrified of you,” he admits, almost fondly, “but you were hot, so it balanced out.”

“Still terrified?” You ask, raising a brow at his utter truthfulness. 

“Terrified,” he answers in a beat, then leans in, “but not enough to let you go.”

And now Jay groans slowly, making you both freeze, and you try to move again.

You push at Jake’s chest, only for him to laugh under his breath and shift his grip. His bare skin is warm under your palms, and you realize, way too late, that he’s still holding you down, your knees are tangled with the blanket, your face far too close to his.

Jay shifts around lazily, not expecting the view of you being on top of Jake the first thing in the morning, “wow,” he scoffed, voice deeper than ever, “am I interrupting something?” 

Jay’s awake now and not even mildly amused. Propped up on one elbow, his dark eyes locked on you two, your body sprawled over Jake’s, your hands resting against his chest. 

His gaze flicks to Jake’s arm still wrapped around your waist, then to your phone, still clutched in your fingers, then back to your face.

“Good morning to you too,” Jake mutters.

Jay doesn’t respond, instead, he holds out a hand, “phone, now.”

You shake your head, trying to push off Jake again, “Oh—no fucking way, It’s not what—”

“I said give me your phone.”

“Jay—”

He grabs it from your hand before you can blink or say more. 

“God—no!”

He scrolls, his face doesn’t show emotions  at first—but you see the twitch in his jaw when the first image appears.

He raises his brows, “really? Seven pictures?”

Jake chuckles, “she’s got an eye for detail, or maybe just me.”

“You were cuddling,” you exasperated defensively.

“You’re on top of him.” Jay says, eyes dark as if no sleep was left in them anymore. 

“Because he—”

Before you can finish, Jake’s hand finds your waist again and tugs you back down—just enough for you to lose your balance and land squarely on his chest again.

“Jake, I swear I’ll kill you if you don’t let go.”

“What?” He says innocently, “ I’m helping you be comfortable.”

“You’re not!”

Jay’s hand suddenly curls around your upper arm and pulls you back toward him, prying you off Jake like you’re the rope in a damn game of tug-of-war.

“She doesn’t need your help.”

Jake narrows his eyes, “and you think she needs yours?”

Jay’s arm tightens around your waist as he pulls you into his side, your head spinning with whatever these testosterone filled assholes were up to, not making it easy for you to leave, which only made your heart beat faster. 

“She needs someone who isn’t playing every side.”

Jake sits up now, a lazy smirk on his face, “uh-huh, says the guy who flirts just to win arguments.”

“I don’t need to flirt,” Jay says coolly, “she already knows I win regardless.”

You scoff at his lie, “excuse me? You do not—“

Jay glances at you, lip twitching up, “see? So full of passion.”

Jake pulls you back toward him chuckling, “you’re delusional.”

You’re officially sandwiched between them now—Jake on one side, Jay on the other, both shirtless, smug, and insufferable. Their legs brush yours, their hands still on you, and neither seems interested in letting go.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, squirming. “Let me go—”

“Not until you tell me which picture’s your favorite,” Jay says, holding your phone out.

“I hate you.” You glare at them both, trying to break free, but their combined grip keeps you pinned.

Right then, the door swings open to reveal Karina stepping inside, definitely not expecting the sight she had in front of her, making her stop dead in her tracks, eyes wide, mouth parted. 

Her gaze scans the three of you, you caught between two shirtless men, tangled in sheets, your face full of irritation, or was it embarrassment? Both boys looked far too entertained.

Karina raises a single brow, “I knew this would happen but not this quick, oops, anyway, I’ll let you guys continue whatever this is.” She says, pointing her perfectly manicured finger your way.

The door shuts again, followed by complete and utter silence, which is how you finally manage to tear yourself free and bolt up from the bed.

“Oh my god—Karina!” You groan, giving both of the boys a look which clearly said you’re dead, before you took your fresh clothes and rushed into the bathroom, in dire need of cooling yourself down.

Back in the room, Jake and Jay sit in silence. Then Jake tosses a pillow toward Jay.

“You couldn’t give her two minutes without starting something?”

Jay catches it easily, “funny. I was about to say the same to you.”

Jake glares at the door you just disappeared through, “you think she likes the attention?”

“From you? Of course not,” Jay chuckled. 

Jake leans back on his palms, “yeah? We’ll see.”

Jay meets his gaze.

Challenge accepted.

Just the slow, silent ignition of a rivalry neither of them plans to lose.

Chapter 4: Common effects of deprivation.  

You had rushed out to see Karina post your quick shower, only to find her at the other Villa, with her family. They all were always kind to you, which is why you spent an hour there, talking to everyone and making sure to clarify what exactly went down in the morning to your best friend. 

“Fine, but it doesn’t really change the fact that they both want you.” She shrugged, and you sighed. 

“Jay hates me and Jake flirts with everyone,” you deadpanned. 

“Has Jay ever done anything to harm you?” She cocked her brow. 

“Literally always—”

“Not academically,” she clarified and you shut up in an instant, “also, have you seen Jake flirt with anyone else but you since you arrived?” 

“Uh,” you tried to think, only to see Karina sitting with a smirk because she knew she was right, “wow, this is annoying,” you mumbled, gulping and looking elsewhere. 

“Well, if you do need an escape, I have a task for you and Minjeong,” Karina said, “I need to pick up the necklace set I ordered so you can take a break and go out to get it, plus it’ll give you some time away from the boys, besides, Winter is dying to get the gossip from you.”

You chuckled, “Sure, but I still hate you for doing this to me,” you mumbled, hugging the laughing girl. 

“You’ll thank me later, trust me,” she said, only encouraging you to play with those two devils, “you’ll have the upper hand just, trust me,” she said again. 

That’s how you found yourself hand in hand with Winter, rushing out of the Villa making sure no one else notices your absence. You laughed when she opted for the golf car to make your exit quicker. 

The town was beautiful, especially the narrow boutiques near the coastline, where you juggled the bags on your arms after grabbing the necklace set for Karina, making sure to get her yet another set as a gift from you both. 

“So, why was Jake stretching—oops, flexing extra hard during breakfast? And Jay? Acting unbothered but adjusting his shirt every few seconds as if doing an advertisement for Dolce & Gabbana? Which he actually can if I’m being honest.”

You burst out laughing at her statements, “they’re annoying,” you grumbled right after, grabbing your coffee and sitting next to Winter, “I’m actually not sure what’s happening, It’s been one day, like? One! What is going on?”

“They’re fighting for your attention, babe. Jay is not used to sharing it, y’know? Meanwhile, Jake is pushing his luck as best he can, you’re practically being used as a tug of war rope from what i’ve heard happened in the morning.” She smirked, as if asking you to choose one. 

“That’s absurd if you ask me,” you said and her smile only widened once she checked her phone as Yunjin and Isa gave her live updates of how the boys were practically crashing out, “oh this is like, olympics level male stupidity if you ask me.” 

You slumped a little. “Jay always acted like he couldn’t stand me back in uni. And Jake, he used to blush if anyone looked at him for longer than three seconds. What am I supposed to do with this version of them?”

“You, my dear, are the rope in the world’s slowest and sexiest game of tug of war. I mean, I heard what happened this morning. Two men holding you down on a bed? That’s fanfiction material.”

You groaned, “It wasn’t like that! Jake woke up and pulled me onto him. Then Jay got all weird and—ugh. Then Karina walked in.”

“Yeah, so—fanfic.”

Meanwhile, back at the villa, Jake was pacing around wondering if you were actually mad because of what he did earlier in the morning, is that why you left? Where did you go? When will you come back? Did you get kidnapped?

Jay on the other hand, had read the same page of the book about sixteen times now, not being able to comprehend anything, which only irritated him further. 

You got scared as Minjeong laughed, “Oh my god. Yunjin just sent me a picture of Jay reading his book upside down!”

“You’re lying,” you said.

 Jay? The smart guy Jay who doesn’t let anyone or anything falter him? That Jay? 

She turned the phone to you.

Sure enough—Jay, perched on the edge of a sun lounger, sunglasses on, brows furrowed like he was deep in thought, while holding the book completely the wrong way.

You almost snorted, “looks tragic, is he okay?”

“Clearly, not.” She said, sipping her drink, “honestly, i’d be more concerned if he was okay, also Jake is competing with everyone in the house, doing burpees? Gosh, he needs you to come back stat.”

“This feels illegal for some reason.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said with a grin, “but also—no, wait—definitely flatter yourself. You’ve got the academic heartthrob reading books upside down, and the once shy Jake out here trying to impress you with shoulder definition and burpees.”

You groaned, but it turned into a laugh halfway through. “Okay, but be honest now, does this make me a bad person?”

Winter stopped walking and gave you a look, “no. It makes you someone who’s getting attention from two ridiculously attractive men. You’re not playing with them, when you clearly should. You have the upper hand here, even if you think otherwise. Just follow my lead to survive now.”

You sighed dramatically. “Survive, yeah.”

“Exactly.” She looped her arm with yours, “test them, just test them enough to see if they react, you’ll get your answer then if you don’t believe us.”

“So, what? I rile them up until one of them blasts and I face the consequences?”

“Precisely,” She smirked. 

Meanwhile, back at the Villa, Jaemin was laughing at Jake, “maybe three years away from Y/N were not enough for you to get over her, huh?” 

“You dare mention any of it in front of her,” Jake warned, and Jaemin held his hands up in surrender. 

“But it’s funny, he practically dedicated his whole uni life trying to talk to her, only for Jay to hog up all her attention,” Heeseung chuckled, casually mentioning how Jake had the fattest crush on you. 

Jay only smirked, eyes still on the page of his book—not upside down this time, but no one believed he was actually reading. “What attention? All she ever did was argue with me about grades and deadlines.” 

“Yeah, and you loved it,” Heeseung added, tossing a grape into his mouth like he was enjoying front row seats to a drama, “come on, man, you used to pick fights with her for fun.”

“She started it,” Jay muttered.

Yeonjun cackled, “Dude. You rearranged your entire thesis timeline just to one-up her submission date. That’s not a competition—that’s obsession, or romantic academia, whatever you prefer.”

Jay’s jaw clenched after he gulped, but he didn’t do much to deny it.

Jake, on the other hand, looked ready to spontaneously combust. “Are we seriously doing this now? What are we, twelve?”

“No, but you might be regressing,” Heeseung said, holding up his phone like he was ready to take notes. “Seriously, you two are like a romcom waiting to happen. If this were a movie, you’d be the brooding lead, Jay, and Jake would be the funny guy who always wears the crazy sweatshirts.”

Yeonjun pointed dramatically between them as if planning something, “don’t worry, gentlemen. I’ll organize another truth or dare game tonight so both of you can publicly fumble your way through kissing Y/N.”

Jay scoffed, “I’m not kissing her, I have standards.”

“I would.” Jake shrugged. 

Everyone turned around in silence. 

Jay looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon too citrusy, “excuse me?”

Jake smirked casually. “What? If the moment’s right, sure. Unlike some people, I don’t need to fake read philosophy books to avoid my feelings.”

Yeonjun howled. “Gosh. Someone get a camera, this is gold.”

Jaemin wiped away a fake tear, getting his phone out, “do it again. Say it again but slower, more dramatic.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “You’re all idiots.”

Just then, the door slammed open and in marched Hyuck, holding a water gun and a Gatorade, looking mildly caffeinated and completely unhinged.

“Alright,” he said, scanning the room. “Why does it smell like fragile masculinity and repressed longing in here?” 

“They’re arguing about who gets to kiss Y/N,” Yeonjun announced, like he was reporting live from the battlefield, using the beer can as a mic.

“I’m not—” Jay started.

“Well, I am—but not in a weird way.” Jake interrupted seamlessly. 

Hyuck blinked, then nodded as if it was normal, “cool. Anyway so—grab your shoes. We’re playing dodgeball.”

Jake frowned. “What?”

“Dodgeball,” Hyuck repeated. “Y’know—throwing rubber balls at each other until someone cries of pain or confesses their feelings. Preferably both in your case, drunken Romeo.”

Jay narrowed his eyes with a chuckle, “what kind of deranged therapy is this?”

“The budget friendly kind,” Hyuck said, already loading his water gun for dramatic effect. “Five minutes. Backyard. Loser has to write Y/N a love poem in Comic Sans.”

 Heeseung gasped dramatically, “not comic Sans!”

Jake stood, cracking his knuckles. “Fine. Let’s settle this like men—with dodgeballs,” he said, faltering when he heard everyone snigger at how stupid he sounds. 

Jay groaned but got up anyway. “If I get hit in the face, I’m writing all of you out of my will.”

“You weren’t in mine to begin with,” Heeseung chirped.

Yeonjun tossed Jay a headband. “Here, for sweat and, well, just fashion in case Y/N comes back to see your sweaty ass.”

Jay rolled his eyes and Jake scoffed, “and I get nothing?”

“Well—”

Hyuck was already halfway out the door. “Let’s go, lovers. I expect no one to play like a good sportsman, I need to tell Y/N crazy stories, so, show your worst.” 

As Jay and Jake followed him out, Yeonjun turned to Heeseung and Jaemin with a dreamy sigh.

“Ah—the best wedding ever.”

Heeseung nodded with a smirk, “and they say romance is dead.”

Soon, the backyard beach was full with everyone, gathering around and tying red and blue scarves around their wrist, arm, or neck. Team blue consisted of Jay, Heeseung, Hyuck, and Jaemin. 

Red team was full of Jake, Beomgyu, Yeonjun, and Isa who claimed that the boys can’t hurt her by any means. 

Yunjin was on standby to judge the game. 

Sand was flowing around, testosterone at an all time high with the abandonment of shirts, trash talk on cue as the game started. 

Hyuck hurled a ball at Beomgyu’s knees, missing only because Beomgyu was in the middle of retying his shoelace and fell mid dodge, face full of disbelief. 

“I’m not even standing upright!” Beomgyu shouted from the ground, “this is practically a hate crime!”

“You’re on Jake’s team,” Jay replied, already winding up for another throw, biceps flexing, “collateral damage,” he smirked. 

Jake dove to block it—barely missing, and sent his own shot back, straight toward Jay, but it grazed off Jaemin’s shoulder instead.

“I’m not even the target!” Jaemin screamed, falling dramatically into the ocean foam like he’d been shot.

“It’s just friendly fire guys,” Yeonjun yelled, already running for cover.

The match got dirtier by the second.

Jake tackled a ball midair, skidding in the sand and probably pulling a muscle in the process. Jay threw with enough force to send a coconut tumbling, the shot directed towards Jake. Hyuck started commentating his own moves in third person. Heeseung “accidentally” tripped Beomgyu.

Beomgyu threw himself into the sand, limbs flailing. “I’m innocent! I’m the emotional support teammate!”

“You’re a human shield,” Jay called back, smirking.

Beomgyu lay dramatically in the sand, arms splayed out. “Tell Y/N I died bravely!”

“Yeah, as if that’ll get you anything,” Jake muttered.

“I hope she brings me an ice pack,” Beomgyu groaned. “And love. I deserve love.” 

The sun was just beginning to dip when you and Winter returned to the villa, arms loaded with shopping bags and cheeks still puffed with smile from a successful boutique raid and a plan to rile up the boys even more. 

You opened the gate with your elbow and stepped inside the backyard patio—only to immediately stop dead in your tracks with the sight laid in front of you. 

Because sprawled across the sandy grass was what looked like the aftermath of a dodgeball themed apocalypse slash war.

Beomgyu lay motionless on a beach towel, eyes closed like he was auditioning to be a corpse in a movie. Jake was dramatically stretching his arm like a wounded war hero, hissing in pain slightly. Jay stood nearby with a damp towel over his neck and a scrape on his neck, sulking for absolutely no reason. 

“What the hell happened?” You asked, eyebrows raised. 

It was almost comical how Jay was at your side in seconds, reaching for your bags before you could blink, which was comical by all means for someone who swore he hates being in your proximity. 

“I’ll take those,” he said smoothly, plucking half of them from your arms, “you shouldn’t be carrying so much, that’s heavy.”

Jake was not far behind, “did he just mansplain gravity to you?”

“Shut up, Jake,” Jay muttered. 

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” You asked, dumbfounded, fingers burning from where Jay touched you. 

“Why? Jake’s not the only gentleman in the house,” he muttered, close enough for only you to hear. 

You looked up at him, not expecting to see his serious face, which only made your heartbeat faster as you gulped as turned away, stifling up your laugh midway. 

“Wait, I‘ll help,” Jake said, gathering the two bags left in your hand. 

“I didn’t ask any of you for help,” you said, though you made no move to take the bags back.

Behind you, the witness gallery had resumed commentary.

Isa shot up from her spot in the shade and launched herself at you, hugging you as if you’d just returned from war. “Finally! I thought I was going to die surrounded by flying dodgeballs.”

Yunjin stood nearby, arms crossed and face unimpressed, “never—ever, leave us alone with these men again. I’ve aged ten years.”

Beomgyu raised a weak hand from the towel, still flat on the ground. “I’ve been hit repeatedly without any cause.”

You crouched beside him, “why did you even play?”

“I existed,” Beomgyu said solemnly, “and that was apparently enough for me to be targeted.”

“Jay hit him in the thigh. Jake hit him in the back,” Yeonjun added helpfully, sipping from a coconut, clutching his own arm in pain. 

You turned to Jake, narrowing your eyes. “Did you aim at his back?”

Jake looked scandalized, shaking his head like a dog. 

“Your exact words were, ‘Oops, guess he blocked my shot at love,’” Jaemin chimed in from a hammock.

Beomgyu groaned, “my trauma is now a fuckass punchline.”

Jay reappeared on the patio, having dropped off your bags inside, and walked straight to you with the solemn dignity of someone who just ran errands for a queen. “You left for three hours and everything fell apart.”

“I can see that,” you said, not maintaining eye contact at the sudden appearance of them both, turning toward Jake.

Which probably wasn’t the finest choice either since he was sweaty all over, especially over his torso, trails of sweat dripping down his abs—same with Jay, who’s back was strong and flexing with his stretching. 

Jake immediately leaned into the dramatics. “Might’ve pulled something during a save, i’m not too sure—might need a shoulder massage. Or, y’know—moral support.”

You just stared, a smirk on your face right after as you stepped into his space, “you just sprained your ego.”

Beomgyu wailed from the ground. “I sprained my soul!”

Winter, who had quietly been watching all of this unfold with the calm of someone used to unhinged group dynamics, nudged Isa. “Place bets?”

Isa grinned. “Ten bucks Jay nonchalantly offers her juice in five minutes. Jake will say something flirty and completely inappropriate in three. Gyu will fake a limp again, right about now.”

As if on cue, Beomgyu tried to sit up and instantly grabbed his leg. “Ah—uh! The pain—Y/N, ice me again. You’re the only one with healing hands.”

Jay stepped between you, “you’ve had enough ice. Let someone who actually played get some attention.”

Jake opened his mouth, then froze. “Wait, are we fighting over ice now?”

You turned to Winter, deadpanning, “let’s leave again.”

Winter only smirked, “yeah, the boutique was definitely a better place with the young owner flirting with you, helping you try earrings and all—those tattooed arms, yum,” she said. 

None of this had happened. 

She only wanted you to see the boys’ reaction. 

“Who did what now?” Jake asked as if he had just been told that the Villa is haunted. 

“Are you not capable of trying your own jewellery?” Jay asked, jaw clenched as he put on a shirt. 

“Why? She helped us get a great discount—not to mention she got his number,” Winter said, way too happy as you laughed with her. 

“Ahah—Can I have your phone for a second, Y/N?” Jake asked, wanting to check and delete the number of a guy he didn’t even know the name of. 

“Way to be subtle, Jake,” Jay deadpanned and you only patted both their cheeks with a laugh, which made them freeze. 

Absolute stupid men. 

You sighed a second after, already regretting your return. “I swear, if one more person gets fake injured before the wedding, I’m throwing the entire villa into the sea.”

Jake beamed. “That means she cares.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “You do know you look pathetic, right?”

“And you’re in denial,” Jake shot back.

The tension thickened just as someone’s Gatorade exploded in the background.

Chapter 5: Desire never dies. 

The bonfire cracked and sparked like it knew it was hosting chaos. A giant circle of mismatched bean bags, folded towels, and stolen pool chairs formed a rough arena around the flames. The ocean breeze was fresh, the fire hot, and the people? Unhinged beyond words. 

You were freshly showered, makeup smudged just the right amount to look accidental, legs bare under your oversized hoodie. You claimed it was fate, and Jay hadn’t claimed anything, but he hadn’t stopped looking either.

“Welcome to the bonfire,” Hyuck bellowed, wielding a half melted marshmallow stick as if it were a sword, “where the rules are made up and your dignity—well, it doesn’t matter, except mine!”

Ever so theatrical, that’s Hyuck for you. 

“Never did,” Beomgyu said from his dramatic sprawl near the fire, one arm tossed across his face as if he was participating in a Shakespearean play, way too dramatic. 

You sat between Winter and Jake, a move that had been totally, completely random—except Jake had slid in before anyone else could, a déjà vu from last night, and Jay had taken the spot directly across from you. His arms were crossed, legs wide, face unreadable.

But his eyes? Those were locked on you like you were a particularly complicated riddle he didn’t want anyone else solving first. Academic issues much?

Isa spun the bottle like she was conducting a séance, her first victim being Yeonjun. 

“Truth,” he said, already sipping his beer.

“Did you kiss the Dean’s daughter back in uni, yes or no?” Yunjin asked.

“How the actual fuck—”

“Yeah, we got our answer.” Yunjin chuckled.

Laughter roared, along with whistles especially from the boys. Jake’s knee nudged yours softly.

Then the second spin happened, then third. Fourth. Games, truths, safe dares. And then, of course, the bottle landed on you.

“Y/N,” Isa grinned like a villain. “Truth or dare?”

You hesitated for a second, taking a deep breath.

Jay tilted his head slowly at your hesitation, smirking, “what’s wrong? Scared?”

Jake smirked alongside, “Say truth. I dare you.”

Your head whipped to him. “You can’t dare me before I choose dare.”

Jay’s voice was soft, yet smug, “oh, she’s definitely choosing dare now.”

You gritted your teeth, rolling your eyes as you looked at him and said, “dare.”

Isa’s grin widened, “let’s fucking go—kiss someone’s neck. Dealer’s choice.”

Someone fake fainted as the few others screamed, groaning alongside. 

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re all kids, school kids honestly.”

“But well, at least we know how to have fun,” Karina added helpfully, which did make you smile. 

You could feel Jake’s presence beside you like a heat layer on skin, you could hear his heartbeat if you leaned just a little closer, meanwhile Jay hadn’t blinked once.

You turned, Jake’s breath caught, barely, but he sat still as you leaned in slowly, one hand on his thigh to steady yourself, the other resting against his shoulder.

Your lips hovered, just for a moment—long enough for everyone to stop breathing—then you pressed a soft kiss to the space just below his jaw.

It was warm, gentle, yet firm, making Jake exhale out sharply, his heartbeat rising at an abnormal pace as you pulled back.

Jay’s expression screamed that he was not amused by any means, not surprised either, or smug. It was simply tight lipped, almost dangerous. 

Well, oops?

“Let’s keep going,” he said, his voice low, “It’s my turn, yeah?”

“Truth or dare?” Jaemin asked with a mischievous grin. 

“Dare.” He said in a beat. 

Beomgyu lit up, ready to stir trouble, “kiss Y/N, but—but somewhere worse than where she kissed Jake.”

You almost choked on your drink, “what do you mean worse?”

“I mean like—worse for you,” Beomgyu added. “Psychologically worse, something that you’ll remember, and since neck’s already taken, do better.”

Jay stood slowly, like he had all the time in the world. His shirt had sleeves rolled up just enough to make you question your moral compass, which was struggling to calibrate in all honesty.

“May I?” he asked.

He didn’t even look at the others—just you, and your heart betrayed you with how fast it pounded, yet, you nodded slowly. 

He crouched in front of you, hand brushing your knee as he leaned in—not toward your face, but down to your wrist, and then, with obscene slowness, Jay turned your palm down and pressed his lips to the upper side of your knuckles.

It was gentle, unlike Jay’s personality, but also burning in a certain manner, almost possessive if you squint. 

And you felt it all the way up your spine, when he looked back up, his face was close to you, too close for two average rivals. Your mouth was dry by now and Jake had gone statue still beside you.

You were pretty sure someone was clicking a picture of this, which only made it worse. 

“That okay?” Jay asked.

You blinked once, clearing your throat as you said, “y—yeah.”

He stood up, successfully hiding the red in his ears, meanwhile Jake looked ready to commit arson.

You should’ve left after the first “kiss someone’s neck” dare. That was your mistake.  

But no—you were still here. Sitting around two walking, talking, male ego laced puzzles who had now declared a full-blown psychological warfare via glances, smirks, and accidental touches.

Another round passed and you had to exchange hoodies with Jake, who now sat in your oversized cropped hoodie, sniffing your scent every now and then like a puppy, his own scent engulfing your body.  

“New round,” Hyuck announced, kicking his flip-flop at Yeonjun, “no more kiddie dares, let’s get real. Who’d Y/N rather cuddle with during a thunderstorm?”

“Is this still a game or maybe, targeted harassment?” you asked, irritated at the teddy bear like boy. 

“Just answer the question,” Winter said, eyes shining like a villain’s apprentice.

Jake was lounging beside you, one leg stretched out, his arm casually behind you, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder, almost warm. 

Jay was still across from you, leaning back on his elbows, the firelight making his skin glow golden, his lips set in a flat line like he was already predicting the answer and bracing for disappointment.

Your gaze flicked between them in a sudden competition but you had an answer in mind, you took a breath, making everyone scream as you said “Jay.”

Jake’s body stiffened, not expecting that name coming out of your mouth. 

Jay stilled for a second as well, before slowly composing himself, his lips curving into a smirk, despite his heart hammering against his chest, “good choice, smartie.”

“Yeah, nevermind, I’d like to change my answer,” you muttered, glaring.

“No take-backs,” Karina called.

“Oh, but wait,” Isa grinned wickedly, “next one’s for balance. Y/N—who would you fake date to make an ex jealous?”

You didn’t even pause, the answer obvious, “Jake.”

Jake turned to you, that flirty tilt back in his grin, “yeah? Interesting, babe.”

“Why?” Jay asked, sharp.

“She’d eat her ex alive with me on her arm,” Jake said smoothly. “Let’s be real, I’d wear tight shirts and pretend not to understand personal space.”

“As if you do now,” you muttered under your breath. 

Jay rolled his eyes, “she doesn’t need a walking thirst trap. She needs strategy, understanding.”

“I’m the distraction, you’re a fucking PowerPoint presentation, who wants that, huh?” Jake shot back.

“Exactly,” you said before they could fight more, “Jake would make them regret, and Jay would make them suffer.”

Hyuck nearly choked on his drink. “That’s the most accurate thing ever said.”

“I have range,” you added with a proud sip.

Jay’s eyes held yours, “you have no idea.”

Oh.

You swallowed hard.

Before anyone could recover, Yeonjun clapped like a conductor. “Alright—final dare of the night. Y/N.” 

You met his eyes, accepting your fate, “dare, again?”

Isa chuckled, “whisper the dirtiest thing you want, one to Jay, one to Jake. Well, just say anything that would drive them crazy.”

Everyone lost it, having fun at your expense oh so perfectly, a laugh leaving your own mouth as Winter winked at you, urging you well to rile up the boys. 

Jay raised an eyebrow as Jake sat perfectly still.

You stood up, slow and deliberate, first leaning towards Jake, bending down, your lips brushing his ear, giving him goosebumps in the process. 

“I want you to pin me down and make me fall apart on your tongue,” you whispered with the newfound confidence, courtesy of alcohol, but you couldn’t deny, you loved playing this game. 

How could you not? Not when he inhaled sharply, jaw flexing as his eyes followed you when you crossed, making your way to Jay, who didn’t move an inch. You leaned in, lower this time, lips ghosting his neck.

“I want you to fuck the attitude out of me the next time we argue,” you said as Jay’s knuckles went white around his glass, his face turning towards you, lips almost brushing against your cheek. 

You sat back down, cool and composed, Karina let out a dreamy sigh. “God, I love my wedding.”

Everyone laughed, fanning their faces at the sudden increase in temperature too. Jake’s hand was still twitching while Jay didn’t bother blinking, the fire crackled, the silence screamed as the game finally got over. 

You stood up first. “I need sleep. And therapy probably,” you muttered. 

Jake stood too. “I’ll walk you back.”

Jay was already turning toward the villa. “Don’t bother. I’m headed there too.”

You chuckled, almost scoffing at the two boys and their childish ways. You thought that would be the end of it. A few cheeky dares, some group laughter, an awkward side hug from Beomgyu—but no.

No, apparently hell hath no fury like two competitive men losing a fantasy battle they never even agreed to play in the first place.

Because as soon as the group began dispersing, the fire embers dimming into a warm glow, both Jay and Jake were on their feet.

And closing in.

“Hey,” Jake said, quiet, casual, his eyes were sharp.

Jay’s voice came in just after, low and dry, “so—”

You turned slowly, you could smell it coming, the confrontation. Tension coiled in the air as you were cornered, on the beach, at night, between two men who looked like they could be models for opposing fragrance campaigns.

“Just curious,” Jay said, stepping a little closer, “what made you pick me for the thunderstorm question?”

You blinked, not expecting them to ask this and not what you had whispered, “really?”

Jake crossed his arms, “actually—yeah. That was interesting.”

You opened your mouth, shutting it back for a second, “do I need a lawyer if I don’t wanna answer?”

“Jay for cuddling,” Jake said, eyes flicking to you, “but me for the jealousy plot? I’m just trying to understand the criteria.”

Jay narrowed his eyes, “yeah. Sounds like mixed signals.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead.

Jake’s voice dipped, quiet and smug. “Must’ve been a good whisper.” Jake said looking at how intensely Jay looked at you. 

“I’ll kill you,” Jay snapped. 

Jake grinned, “In your dreams.”

Your eyes widened, a laugh leaving your lips, “you guys are not actually fighting about this—”

“We’re not fighting,” they said in unison, not even looking at each other, making the whole situation more comical. 

“We’re having a mature conversation,” Jake added.

“Very mature,” Jay agreed, “so, explain.” 

“You want me to explain why I picked each of you for obvious different hypothetical situations?” you asked, incredulous.

They both stared at you—dead fucking serious as if this wasn’t a matter to be joking about at all. 

You groaned, stepping back into the moonlight like it would save you, “okay, fine. You,” you said, pointing at Jay, “I picked for the thunderstorm cuddle because, and I hate saying this out loud—you’re stable. You don’t flinch at anything, you know me better, it’ll be safer, only if you behave and calm me down,” you cringed as you said so.

Jay froze on the spot, gulping as he looked elsewhere. 

“Safe?” he repeated, like the word offended him. Like it wasn’t the highest compliment anyone had ever paid him.

You turned to Jake, “and you—I picked for the ex jealousy dare because you’re charming, effortlessly. You’d flirt with the plants just to make someone jealous, and somehow it would work, not that I’m charmed so, don’t give me that look.”

Jake’s brows lifted as he tried to look smug but he failed. Instead, he looked stunned. Neither of them said anything anymore. And for a moment, standing between them, you realized the fire wasn’t the warmest thing in this circle.

“But—” you added quickly, stepping back, “that doesn’t mean anything, it was a game, yeah? Chill.” You said testing the waters. 

“Right,” Jay said, but his tone had cooled to something unreadable.

Jake nodded once, jaw tight. “Game, yup, got it.”

You looked between them and you swore—for one split second—they both looked at each other and decided simultaneously to back off.

Temporarily.

Like they knew the real game was starting now.

Chapter 6: A Sim and a sin. 

It was hard to go back to your room, so you took a detour, talking with Karina about your day, and how she only smirked telling you how proud she is now that you’re finally getting some cock—to which you groaned. 

That was basically her mission for her wedding, to get you dicked down. 

Alas, you decided to get some well deserved sleep before the wedding rehearsals tomorrow, opening the door to your shared room and immediately regretting every decision that led you to this moment. Because inside, sprawled comfortably across the double bed, was Jake, in your hoodie, still, the same cropped hoodie from earlier, stretched over his torso like a model. One leg bent lazily, the other stretched out, jaw loose from tiredness, but eyes—alert. Watching you like he’d been waiting all this while for you to return. 

Your body had the audacity to shiver, to show him that he affects you. 

“Hey, princess,” he said, voice low, teasing, almost deeper than usual, “room service good enough for you?”

You didn’t answer, poking your tongue on the inside of your cheek at his blatant flirting, and because just then, the bathroom door creaked open.

Steam blew out, followed by Jay—freshly showered, towel slung low on his hips, water droplets trailing from his chest down to that dangerous dip of his abs.

He ran a towel over his hair and looked up, right into your eyes, pausing for a beat, only to smirk right after, remembering what you had whispered in his ear before he spoke up, “you’re staring.”

You snapped your eyes away, heat creeping up your neck, “you came out here like that on purpose.”

“Sure,” he said, accepting it, “I always forget clothes when I know someone’s waiting for me to fulfill their fantasies, and I’m not talking studies now, you sapiosexual.”

Jake rolled his eyes behind you, “yeah, mate. She’s already halfway there. See this is why you’re single, and she’s mine.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, turning your back to both of them and walking toward the closet.

You didn’t see the look they exchanged behind your back, didn’t see how both of them shifted—sat up straighter, watching you like you were a deer in a den of wolves, which was halfway true. 

You rummaged through your bag, flustered, breathing uneven, that’s when the knock came, and you froze wondering who it could be. 

Jake grinned, “well, that’s the sound of chaos.”

You opened the door, and there he was—Beomgyu, dramatically hunched, clutching his lower back like a poor animal who was hurt. 

“I—I need you,” he gasped, acting perfectly to get his eyes watery. 

Jay, towel still firmly in place, muttered, “you’ve got a solid five seconds to disappear.”

“It’s because of you both,” Beomgyu hissed, “you both killed me with your dodgeball bullshit. Doesn’t matter, Y/N, you’re the only one who can save me.”

Before you could react, he was already limping inside like a wounded war general, heading straight to your bed, and you let out a little laugh at his stupid antics. 

Jake narrowed his eyes, “oh you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m dying,” Beomgyu whispered, “and her hands are the only thing keeping me alive.”

He flopped onto the bed next to yours with a painful groan, “need your healing touch.”

You chuckled, “why are you like this?”

Jay’s voice was low, flat almost, “again, you’ve got three seconds to walk out or be carried out.”

“Carry me away, go on,” Beomgyu challenged, “do it, muscle boy.”

Jake moved first. “Okay, that’s it.”

He strode over and grabbed the nearest pillow—then smacked it across Beomgyu’s head.

“Gentlemen!” Beomgyu shrieked, almost falling down, “there’s a lady present! Where are your manners, let’s just behave now.”

“I’m trying not to kill you in front of her,” Jake muttered.

Beomgyu rolled onto his back with a dramatic moan, “Y/N, I need you to press right here, just gently, real slow—”

Jay appeared at the foot of the bed, “you want slow?” His voice was low.

Beomgyu gulped.

Jake was beside you now, way closer than he had to be, “god he’s testing us.”

“I’m testing the boundaries of my own trauma here,” Beomgyu corrected, “why are you even naked?” He asked, pointing at Jay who was in towel, and Jake who sported your cropped hoodie. 

You reached for the ice pack Jay had set down earlier and leaned over Beomgyu’s back to press it, whispering in his ear, “okay, who put you up to this?”

“Uh—well, Winter and Yeonjun,” Beomgyu whispered back, and you laughed, making the other two boys wonder what was going on, so essentially, you followed his lead, not knowing how crazy Beomgyu could be. 

Because, unfortunately, the moment your hand touched his shirt, he moaned. Like, a real moan, soft and dramatic, actually just downright ridiculous. 

Jake tensed beside you while Jay’s towel almost fell off from pure rage. Now, that would have been a solid scene. 

“Oh my god,” you hissed, yanking the pack back, “yeah, no, you’re done.”

“I was almost healed—”

“You’re almost dead,” Jay deadpanned.

Jake grabbed his arm. “Up. Out you fucking gremlin.”

Beomgyu pointed at you as he was frog marched to the door. “I’ll remember your kindness.”

“You’re crazy,” you muttered.

Then the door slammed and Beomgyu’s moan of “I’ll never forget you!” echoed down the hall. 

Then came the silence.

Not the kind that meant the night was over, but the kind that meant it was just getting started.

Jay leaned against the dresser, towel slung dangerously low, water still trailing down his muscular chest like it belonged there. His arms were crossed, but his gaze was anything but casual, it was precise.

Jake was on the bed, still wearing your cropped hoodie, sleeves shoved up, the hem bunched halfway up his abdomen. He looked like a problem, the one you couldn’t solve. 

You didn’t bother moving and neither did they.

“So—” you said, voice deliberately low, “those were a weird five minutes.”

Jake grinned slowly, almost challenging, “could have been six if you’d rubbed a little lower.”

You rolled your eyes, “you’re disgusting by the way.”

He nodded, unashamed, “yeah? And flexible for you.”

Jay exhaled softly, “you did look—focused, y’know?”

You turned to him, “for Beomgyu?”

He tilted his head, “still, got a reaction.”

Jake hummed, “not from you, though.”

“What does that even mean?” You asked, furrowing your brows. 

He sat forward, straighter, “just saying. Maybe it wasn’t him that had your attention.”

Jay’s voice was low, as he said, “you’re still flustered.”

“I am not—” you paused, cursing internally. “Okay, this is ridiculous.”

You spun toward your suitcase, actually flustered by now, but you didn’t even get two steps before Jake called out.

“You know,” he said, voice deceptively light, “if you wanted someone else to moan your name tonight,” he stretched, a smirk on his face as usual, “all you had to do was ask.”

Jay didn’t laugh, nor did he smile, only bothering enough to say, “you really want to test that theory, Jake?”

Jake raised his hands, “just putting ideas out there, no harm dude, no harm.”

You stared at both of them with disbelief, also feeling it, the heat rising in your chest, curling low in your stomach like butterflies, while also twisting somewhere behind your ribs.

You needed to do better, they wanted to push? You could push back, and so you turned, walking slowly towards Jake first, confident, making his smile falter at the sudden shift in your demeanor.

You stopped right between his knees, staring down at him as he looked up at you, lips parted slightly, breath quieter now despite the rise in his heartbeat.

You reached down, hand grazing his thigh just barely, just a brush, just enough to feel the tension snap through his body like he’d get something he’s been after for ages. 

“You really want to be next?” You asked.

“Next in—uh, what way?” He asked, gulping.  

You leaned down, placing your hand on his chest over the hoodie, resting your palm there, pressing it further.

“You’ve been acting like you’re ready,” you whispered, “but you’ve barely touched me, Jakey.”

“Is that—an invitation?” He whispered, eyes darkened. 

You smiled. “No, it’s just an observation.”

Then you pushed back gently—just enough to stand again, Jake’s face was unreadable, almost like a mix of holy shit and fucking hell do it again.

You turned your back on him then, walking towards Jay who hadn’t moved, his eyes flicking up as you approached him, and when you reached him, the only part of him that shifted was his mouth—twisting into a smirk that he knew drove you crazy.

“You planning on saying something, or will you just stand there looking hot?” you asked.

Jay’s eyes dropped to your lips, a little laugh escaping him at your boldness, “why choose one?”

You stepped closer, close enough that your shirt brushed his stomach faintly, close enough that you could see every drop of water still clinging on to his skin.

Then you reached up, slow, intentional, and slid your hand over his shoulder, across his collarbone, dragging a line down the center of his chest, down his torso. 

Just a single finger and it was enough for Jay’s breath to be stilled. You tapped a droplet off of his sternum, “aw, you missed a spot.”

He looked at you, sharper than ever, stepping closer, putting up faux confidence, “why? You volunteering to dry me off?”

“Tempting,” you said as you leaned in, voice softer now, almost like a pity, “but I don’t think you’re the one who needs drying off right now, Jongseongie.”

That was all it took for Jay to lose his smirk, his composure and probably the last bit of sanity he held inside him. 

Meanwhile, you smiled, taking a step back, eyes still shining with mischief, before you turned and stood right between both of them, hands loose at your sides.

Jake let out a soft, surprised breath, while Jay still didn’t bother blinking. You stepped back once more, letting them take you in, their arms almost opening to actually touch you. 

But then you turned, walking back to your bed, slowly pulling back the blanket as you climbed in, your lip twitching up as you said, “but if either of you still tries to get brave after lights out,” you paused, looking both of them in the eye, “then try knocking. You never know what I’ll say.”

Neither of them spoke after that, they didn’t have to, not when you had clearly won this round. As tempted as they were, they knew you were playing with them, but soon, it would be otherwise, especially with their head gears turning at the fastest possible speed they could achieve. 

And their silence? It felt like the loudest thing in the room.

Chapter 7: Cufflinks go on the inside, mate.   

This morning was supposed to be peaceful, being the day of wedding rehearsals, you somewhat expected people to be on their best behaviour, not knowing the intense chaos that awaited you, destroying the peace.  

Because downstairs, it was no less than a war zone with how Jaemin and Hyuck argued about the pancake toppings, Isa and Yunjin trying to find the lipgloss she lost yesterday, and Winter, who blasted her unhinged playlist on the speaker. 

You stood at the center of it like the classic standing emoji, just guarding and sipping on your coffee, silently observing the explosion of the bridal duty chaos that overtook the villa. 

Winter sat beside you, sipping on her mimosa, clad in her silk robe, “I have survived Mrs. Kim’s lectures, internships, a rodent in my pants, but this is where I draw the line—a wedding? The wedding of my close friend, mind you.”

You chuckled, “yeah well, you don’t expect the rehearsal to go smoothly, do you?”

Before either of you could reply further, in came the bride with her royal looking robe and hair curlers, clutching her phone as she fumed, “okay, i’ll ask this very respectfully—who the actual fucking fuck changed the seating chart? Why is my dad sitting next to the professor who still sends me weird memes? Actually, who even invited him here?”

You snorted along with all the other girls, “technically, I moved it cause there’s no way your uncle Park should be sitting near the open bar.”

“You literally colour coded my family based off of their chaos level and made the seating arrangement out of it?” Karina asked, disbelief clear on her face, soon turning into an expression which screamed impressive. 

She sighed before her eyes landed on you and she launched herself, hugging you tight, almost making you lose balance but thankfully your coffee stayed safe, “you,” she said, leaning back, “your mind is working fine thank fucking god, I need you to wrangle Jay and Jake, your supposed boyfriends, for the rehearsal because god forbid one of them shows up shirtless then you’ll have to be the one to answer my family.” 

You shook your head, “god no, why me? You’re the reason why they’re being this stupid too,” you said, accusing her. 

“Because they both listen to you, and they’re in love with you,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, Winter and Isa nodding along. 

And cue, you are choking on your coffee. 

Karina chuckled, “yeah, swallow your truth, babe.”

You couldn’t believe this was happening, it was simply hard to wrap your mind around the fact that the not so shy anymore Jake, and the smartass Jay were actually after you. 

It didn’t take you much time to get dressed up in a silky blue dress, not the one you will be wearing to wedding, just something you all ordered together to wear at the rehearsals, while Karina was clad in a white blazer dress with a clipboard, standing next to the wedding planner to orchestrate it all. 

“Let the chaos ensue now,” Winter said, high fiving Yunjin.

“Amen,” Isa grinned. 

You rolled your eyes, watching Jay and Jake argue about something, halfway dressed up, standing near the aisle. 

“Cufflinks go on the inside mate,” Jake said, crossing his arms over his vest, with the top few buttons undone. 

“Since when do you care about accessories?” Jay asked, rolling up the sleeves of his black button up. 

Yeah, they looked as if they were ready for some sort of magazine shoot, especially with Jake’s curls looking effortless, and Jay’s jawline being sharper than ever, the sun making them shine more than usual. 

“God forbid someone tries to look good,” Jake muttered. 

“Who do you even have to impress?” Jay pressed. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jake smirked and Jay only looked annoyed. 

The sound of your heels clacking made them look up, and straight to you. There was no subtlety in their reactions, especially when Jake let out a low whistle, eyeing you like you’re the only morsel left for him to devour. 

Jay stood up straighter, as if he was more spatially aware now, licking his bottom lip and trying his level best not to make it obvious that he was staring at you, miserably failing as he did so. 

“Hey,” you smiled, making Isa chuckle as she watched the interaction from a distance. 

“You’re—stunning,” Jake breathed out, losing composure, almost sounding like a pathetic loser. 

“You clean up well,” Jay cleared his throat, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

You raise your brow, “just well? And thanks Jakey,” you mumbled, and you swore you saw red creeping up Jake’s ear, almost making him seem like the Jake you knew during uni. 

“Trying to be respectful, for now,” Jay replied, maintaining eye contact. 

“Wow, that’s a first,” you teased, making the corner of his lip twitch up just a fraction before he composed himself again. 

“He’s just saying that to get you riled up,” Jake mumbled. 

“Bold of you to assume I don’t always do that,” Jay retorted, looking you in the eye. 

You let a breath out, tilting your head with a little smile, “alright, enough of this.”

Karina marched in right then, “okay so, will you guys stop flirting so we can practice walking down the aisle?”

“Let’s go with both,” Hyuck slid in, arm around your shoulder, “would be a great show if you ask me.”

“Oh please, I already know who i’ll be voting off already,” Yunjin said, making both the boys look at each other with doubt. 

“Not me for sure,” Jay shrugged. 

“Excuse me? Not me for sure,” Jake argued. 

You sighed as they looked one second away from arm wrestling, or well, wrestling in general if you must. That’s when you stepped in between them, grabbing Jake’s vest and Jay’s shirt, making them short circuit for a solid second. 

“Now, behave before Karina throws you out of the wedding.” You pointed out at the girl, who glared at the boys instantly, her expression full of mischief (at the obvious tension between you three) changing in a split second. 

“In position. Now.”

“You heard her, now no more arguments or I’m changing my partner,” you announced and Jay stilled. 

“Well, I would love that, I’ll be your partner then—” Jake started. 

“Shut it,” Jay said, being the one who is gonna walk with you. 

The planner gave a relieved nod at the tension which was sorted now, somehow, till some extent.

“You guys are so dramatic,” Isa muttered, taking her spot a few steps behind with Heeseung, who looked like he was just here for the complimentary champagne.

“I’m literally sweating just watching them,” Beomgyu added. 

“Okay!” the wedding planner clapped. “From the top! Groom’s party walks down first, then bridesmaids and groomsmen in pairs, followed by the maid of honor, and finally the bride. Let’s go!”

Karina stepped aside to join Jeno near the altar setup, mouthing good luck to you as she went. 

“Shall we?” Jay asked, offering you his arm, giving a look to Jake in the background who clenched his jaw.

“One wrong step and I’m taking over,” Jake muttered to himself. 

You linked your arm with his, and he only pulled you closer, to the point you were highly aware of his scent, his body heat, and how he gulped when he felt the proximity too. 

“You’re doing this on purpose, right?”

You tilted your head toward him innocently. “hm? Doing what?”

“That dress, that look that smug little smile like you know exactly what you’re doing to me, to Jake.”

The tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t get a chance to respond, because from behind, Jake muttered, “Keep your voice down, man. She’s walking, not seducing.”

“Who says I can’t multitask?” You said, making Jay hold you tighter, while Jake looked as if he could combust on the spot. 

You reached the end of the aisle, pausing in front of the altar. Jay stepped aside, but not before he brushed your waist with his hand, not being subtle about it by any means. 

“We should walk together more often,” he whispered, letting you go. 

Good fucking lord. 

“You do realize I’m not letting him have the last word, right?” Jake said, offering Isa his arm as they moved, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Isa patted his shoulder, “oh honey, at this point, I’m just praying we make it to dinner without a physical fight.”

Once the whole party had taken their turns, twice, Karina called everyone back and congratulated them for not fucking up this time. 

Then it was the time for the next step, the rehearsal dinner, and you weren’t sure how much of it you could survive, but you were surely looking forward to it, taking a look at Jake first, who was already staring at you, then Jay, who too was fixated on you. 

Karina blew her whistle, yes, an actual whistle—snapping everyone’s attention back.

“Alright my stupid little bridal and well, groom party, time to head to the rehearsal dinner. Move before I start pairing you up with random aunts and uncles.”

Jake let out a dramatic groan, “if I have to sit next to Aunt Haeun, I will riot. She force fed me sea cucumber a few minutes back.”

Jay smirked, “want me to hold your hand when she brings out the pickled fishes too?”

Jake cocked his head, eyes sharp, “want to build it outside?”

“Oh my fucking god,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose, “yeah, no, I’m  gonna need a shot before dinner, or maybe three actually.”

Right on cue, Beomgyu charged beside you with the energy of someone who absolutely lived for this. “Say no more, princess. I already know where the good tequila is hidden.”

“See, that’s why you’re my favorite,” you told him as he looped your arm with his and started leading you away from the aisle.

“I aim to serve,” he said. 

You glanced over your shoulder—only to catch both Jake and Jay already watching you, both visibly annoyed that Beomgyu was the one at your side. Jay stuffed his hands in his pockets and muttered something to himself. Jake’s jaw ticked as he ran a hand through his curls, glaring holes into Beomgyu’s back.

Beomgyu didn’t even flinch, expecting that much, “and the feral boyfriends awaken,” he whispered proudly.

The rehearsal dinner was set outdoors, perfectly decorated with fairy lights wrapped around the low hanging trees, long tables already prepped with starter dishes and temporary name cards. 

You were sat between Winter and Jay, with Jake sitting directly across from you, making it easy for him to look your way with lovesick eyes. Way to be subtle. 

“One man will surely cry tonight,” Winter winced, clinking her glass with yours as you shook your head. 

Jay had gone quiet, only for him to lean over and say, “you smell good.”

“Excuse me?” You said, looking at the man who chuckled, and it sounded way too rich for you to even comprehend. 

“Just saying, as no one else has the balls to do so.”

You raised your brows, “is this your way to what? Flirt with me?”

He took a sip of his champagne, “if you want it to be.”

Jake leaned in, “she’s been using the same perfume since uni, nothing new—but yeah, you smell so good,” he said. 

“Doesn’t make it any less distracting,” Jay answered. 

You tried to calm your poor heart as now the two boys fought for your attention shamelessly. 

“Funny, you said you don’t notice perfumes when I asked you about mine before the rehearsal started,” Jake challenged. 

“Guess I only notice the people I like.”

You almost spit out the piece of chicken you had just taken a bite of at the absurdity of the situation, and of course, what Jay had said, not to mention the fact that Jake just knows about your perfume. 

“Okay hold the actual fucking fuck up, did the Jay Park, the annoying broody old man, just admit he likes his rival?” Hyuck gasped and you groaned, hiding your face. 

“Yeah, Beomgyu, bar again,” you said, grabbing his arm. 

“Anything you want babe,” he replied. 

“Oh yeah? Do tell him about the night, the perfume,” Jake said, leaning back and smirking. 

“What night?” Jay asked, tensed all of a sudden and you literally ran as fast as you could, almost bumping into Karina’s mother who asked if you were okay and you nodded quickly. 

“Okay, what night? Spill, when did you cheat on me?” Beomgyu asked, almost offended and you rolled your eyes, getting another drink. 

“The farewell after party, I was drunk, went out on the balcony, it was raining and Jake followed me, sat down with me, gosh I don’t remember much but yeah he let me lean on his shoulder and told me he loved my scent,” you rambled and Gyu’s smile grew like a wicked man. 

“Oh he’s been so down bad since uni,” he chuckled. 

“Lord save me,” you groaned, “but it’s okay, we never met again, well, up until now.” 

Gyu only laughed harder, leaning on the bar beside you with a dramatic sigh, as if this were the juiciest drama he’d ever come across, which fairly enough, was the truth, “no wonder he clutches his chest every time you wear that perfume and go near him.”

“Oh they’re coming again,” you groaned, trying to act normal, confident. 

Jake arrived first, sliding up beside you with a smirk, “hope I didn’t scare you off with that memory.”

Jay came in on the other side, narrowing his eyes at Jake before turning to you. “So—this night he keeps bringing up, care to elaborate?”

You raised your brows, looking from one to the other, “why? You jealous you didn’t have a balcony moment with me in uni, Jay?”

“Wait what?”

You stared at both of them, exasperated and, frankly, two seconds away from running, “okay. Since we’re all apparently incapable of normal interaction, let me lay it out for you guys,” you turned to Jake, “yes, I remember the night, barely, I was drunk okay? You said I smelled good. I leaned on your shoulder. We did not kiss.”

Then you looked at Jay, “and yes, I’m wearing the same perfume. Not because I’m trying to seduce you two idiots, but because I like it, now if you’ll excuse me.”

You rushed out to get your two new glasses of whiskey as the guys stared at you, “she’s a problem, y’know?” Jay muttered. 

“And you like that,” said Beomgyu. 

“Oh I fucking love it,” said Jake with a smirk. 

“Damn, she got y’all feral,” said Gyu. 

“Yeah and imagine what will happen if I actually fucking try,” You said, turning and smirking before you walk away fully. 

Jake whistled, and Jay smiled just a smidge, both losing their cool. 

Beomgyu only smirked. 

“Down fucking bad.”

Chapter 8: Double bed caters to three. 

You were beyond tired and ready to retire to bed after the intense day you had today, only to find Karina waiting for you right outside your room, a sheepish smile on her face. 

She hugged you the second she saw you, “hey, so, Jeno’s great aunt arrived today when she wasn’t even gonna attend the wedding and we don’t have any beds left so we’ve taken yours—I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry please share the bed with your two hot boyfriends who are ready to devour you, okay bye,” she rambled everything in one go, leaving you stunned. 

And then, she ran away before you could say anything in return. You stood there, frozen, blinking once, and twice, then your eyes widened. 

“Oh fuck—no, absolutely not,” you almost cried out, this couldn’t be happening, not when you had practically teased the boys all day, god no. 

You took a deep breath, opening the door with more force than required and were instantly hit with the view of two men, or more accurately, wolves who were waiting for their prey (read: you).

Jay sat against the headboard with his grey sweatpants on and nothing else, his shirt was thrown somewhere across the floor, hair damp from a shower, jawline sharp, and lips red from how he bit them in anticipation the whole time. His arms were folded behind his head, biceps flexed, and eyes focused lazily on the ceiling like he wasn’t diving you crazy.

Jake was on the other side of the bed, laid out like a prince who was carefully, clad in your hoodie from earlier, hood up, soft wavy hair spilling out, collarbones peeking where the fabric drooped just enough to make your imagination run wild, his legs were stretched, one arm behind his head, the other scrolling through something on his phone like he hadn’t been waiting for this exact moment all night.

They both wanted to pounce on you by all means, the difference was, one was aware and flirting, the other in denial but full fledgedly flirting too. 

Both their heads turned in sync when they heard you, as if they had finally spotted their prey. 

“Welcome back, princess,” Jake chuckled. 

Jay’s gaze dragged down your body like he still couldn’t get used to how good the dress looked on you, and imagining how it would look even better on the floor. 

You didn’t speak, just slowly turned around in hopes of like maybe, maybe, walking away and sleeping on one of the chairs near the pool. 

“Yeah, don’t even try to run,” Jay said smoothly, already sitting up straighter. 

“Cute,” Jake added.

“I cannot do this,” you muttered, almost tugging at your hair. 

“Hey, we’ll behave y’know?” Jake said. 

“Yeah, being gentlemen and all,” Jay added not so helpfully. 

“Touch me,” you said, holding up a finger as a warning, “either of you, and I swear I’ll smother you with a fucking pillow.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, unbothered, “you think that’s gonna stop us?”

You stared at him in disbelief, the nerve of these men oh gosh. 

Jake just winked, “we’ll be so good, I promise.” He whispered, a hint of suggestive undertone lacing his voice, the kind that made you feel weak in your knees. 

“Uh-huh, you’re literally not capable of that,” you said, storming toward the bathroom, “don’t even look in my direction. Turn off the lights. Face opposite walls. Do not breathe near me. No touching I swear to god I’ll chop your hands off.”

You slammed the door and changed into the comfiest, least sexy pajamas you could find, which still somehow didn’t provide enough protection from the two hungry men outside, who were willing to offer you their everything, or better, they knew they were already yours. 

So, when you emerged in your tank and shorts, you saw the shift in their expressions. Jake’s smirk flickered. Jay’s eyes lowered slowly, then snapped back up like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and you hated how warm your skin suddenly felt.

You walked to the bed like it was the new battleground you were sent to with no armour or ammo; and yanked the blanket back, crawling in between them with the slow dread.

Jake exhaled, low and amused, ‘’middle, huh? Bold move, princess.”

The nickname, that fucking nickname, it should have been illegal how perfectly it rolled off of Jake’s tongue, especially laced with his accent. 

You glared at him, “yeah, want me to go to Jay’s side then?”

That shut him up for a second, “hey, I’m warmer than him.”

“Oh, the fuck you’re not,” Jay replied. 

“See, this is why I’m in the middle, now, say one more word and I will throw hands.”

Jay’s voice came low, “yeah? Don’t make promises you’re not ready to keep.”

You groaned and buried your face into your pillow, muttering, “I’m going to start sleeping in the car, or the pool, or just with Jeno’s great aunt at this point.”

Beside you, Jake leaned in just enough for his voice to reach your ear, completely ignoring your previous comment, “you still smell like that perfume.”

And on the other side, Jay murmured, “it drives me crazy.”

You closed your eyes, rubbing your thighs together to prevent your composure from breaking. This bed was hell reincarnated.

Jay had started behind you like a gentleman, but now his bare chest was flush to your back, his palm low on your stomach—so low you were sure it had stopped counting as innocent a long time ago. His thumb stroked tiny, lazy circles there, each one drawing you closer to a possible cardiac arrest.

Jake, in front of you, had long abandoned the sweet idea of personal space. His leg was tangled with yours, his hand resting right at the upper part of your thigh. That would’ve been fine if his fingers weren’t moving, occasionally touching the edge of your shorts like he was counting how far he could go before you snapped.

Some gentleman they were. 

You were still, losing your mind, almost afraid that others would hear the erratic beating of your poor little heart.

“Still awake?” Jake murmured, voice ready to commit sins. 

“I can’t sleep with sticky fucking limbs all over me,” you muttered, voice tight.

Jay chuckled deeply behind you, his nose brushing your neck, inhaling your scent, “you seemed pretty comfortable five minutes ago.”

“That was before you started petting me, I was asleep.”

Jake’s fingers only trailed higher, “petting? I wouldn’t call this petting.”

Your whole body tensed at his voice getting deeper each second, body shaking ever so gently as you tried not to lose your composure, because what will these idiots even do if you threaten to actually leave?

“Okay,” you said, breathless, “touch me again and I’m leaving.”

Jay’s lips caressed your jaw, “oh fuck no, you’re not.”

You twisted your body, trying to free yourself from the two horny creatures, flinging off the blanket and sitting up, heart pounding, ready to test them, or well, get them to behave. 

“I’m going to Beomgyu’s room.”

Jake lifted his head, jaw ticking, “you’re doing what now?”

Jay propped himself up on an arm, eyes sharp, “I said, no. You’re not.”

“He has a single bed and self restraint, unlike the two of you.”

You stood, reaching for your hoodie and the boys panicked big time, before their eyes darkened at the thought of you in someone else’s bed. Like that’s ever gonna happen. 

Jake’s voice went low, “you’re bluffing.”

“If either of you touch me again,” you started saying and they froze before you turned, smiling sweetly, “I’m going to go sleep on Beomgyu’s bed. Naked.”

Then came the silence, loud, dead, almost suffocating. 

Jake sat up so fast the blanket fell off his lap, “oh fuck you’re not, you’re not serious.”

Jay was already reaching for you, “try taking one more step.”

“I dare you to stop me.”

Jake stood too, grabbing your waist, “yeah? Try walking out like that.”

Jay pulled you backward by your waist in record time, like he’d done it a hundred times, like he knew exactly how to handle you, and you landed flat on your back between them again, breath stolen from the force of it.

“Guys—”

“You think we’re letting you go to Beomgyu’s like this?” Jay’s voice was low.

Jake’s hand slid over your exposed thigh, firm now, holding you in place, “you wanted a reaction, princess? Congratulations, you got one. Now, get back to sleep.” 

You squirmed beneath the blanket, but Jake’s leg hooked over yours again, locking you down.

Jay leaned over you, one hand rested beside your head, “say it again.”

You blinked up at him, voice now faltering, “s—say what?”

Jake’s lips brushed your collarbone, “that you’re gonna go to his bed—naked, hm?”

You stuttered, “I—I wasn’t actually—“ 

Jay smirked, an attractive chuckle leaving his lips, “right answer, baby.”

He dragged the blanket back over all three of you and collapsed beside you with a satisfied hum, pressing his hand to your stomach again—higher this time.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Jake’s hand was back too, fingers gliding down your inner thigh now, warm and unbothered, “next time, just ask for attention, yeah?”

You let out a shaky laugh, body warm, “you two are impossible.”

“You love it,” they said in unison.

You groaned and covered your face with the blanket, but under it, you were burning.

And their hands? Absolutely everywhere, holding you down with a strong sense of possessiveness.

Oh, you were so in trouble. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

GO TO PART 2: HERE.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[kingkaisen]

“I miss him too.” — Kento Nanami

Your young daughter sees someone who looks like Nanami.

Nearby shoppers all grimaced in utter annoyance as they pushed their carts down the aisles packed with goods.

A young child was throwing a tantrum, probably because they wanted a box of cereal and their mother told them no, they assumed.

“A bratty, spoiled child is a result of poor parenting,” one woman whispered to another, and together, they glared at the scene in front of them: you, kneeling in front of your inconsolable daughter.

Her face was a mess of streaming tears, ones that soaked the front of her butterfly-themed shirt. Her eyes were closed, fists clenched, and her mouth hung open as she released one ear-piercing sob after another.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay,” your words were pointless.

You had no choice but to scoop your daughter up, abandoning your cart of groceries, all the while rushing out of the store while fellow shoppers glared, watching the scene unfold.

Everything was fine just five minutes prior. Five minutes.

Your sweet girl was walking beside you down the aisle, rambling on and on about whatever interesting subject crossed her mind, from cheesy pizza to “rainbow birds.”

Just as you grabbed a loaf of bread off one of the shelves, a man walked by.

He was tall. Fit. Blonde. Dressed like a man who had just clocked out of his nine-to-five, holding a phone to his ear. He even sounded similar. He was, in fact, similar enough to him for even you to do a double take.

But while you knew well who it wasn’t, the same couldn’t be said for your daughter.

You told her several months prior that her father would never come home again.

He was gone. Long gone.

She didn’t quite understand at first. Not until she ran around her home, the gentle pitter-patter of her feet accompanying her sweet giggles as she wrapped her little fingers around every single doorknob in her home, twisted it open, and saw that her dear dad wasn’t there to greet her with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek.

But here he was! After so, so, long, her dad had returned.

She squealed, running as fast as her small feet could carry her in the direction of the man before you could drop your bread and grab her.

The man saw her coming. He swiftly moved around her as if she was an obstacle in his path, shot you a cold glare, and said, “Control your kid, lady. This isn’t a playground.”

Your daughter’s smile vanished, her footsteps coming to a halt.

“Oh, honey,” you walked in front of her and kneeled. “That wasn’t your daddy, sweetheart. We talked about where he was, remember? He’s in a . . . a better place.”

You gripped her arm with trembling hands, but her eyes, widened with shock, weren’t on you, but rather, the floor below her feet, which her tears splattered against as she started to cry.

“Why is daddy gone?” She sniffled. “He wo-won’t come back?”

It took everything — everything — in you not to cry at the sound of her sad voice.

You stroked her hair and told her no, and that was it.

Her first heartbreaking sob came, one that was created out of grief, sadness, and confusion. She missed him. She missed him more than anything. She tried to beg you to make the man who was gone forever return, but her words were broken up by her neverending cries.

All she could do was scream and cry for him in hopes that he would hear her from that better place, that he would come running and scoop her up in his arms like he always did when she was upset. Then, the ouch she felt in her chest would stop hurting.

But that never happened.

Instead, you were the one who lifted her despite the way she kicked and screamed.

“I know,” you said softly, your own tears falling this time. “I know. I miss him too.”

You made a turn to exit your current aisle, which brought both you and your sobbing child in front of the next aisle over, where the man from earlier froze and stared at you both with glassy eyes filled with sorrow and sympathy.

He heard the conversation that took place after he walked past your child and gave you an inconsiderate remark.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to say to you as you made your way to the exit doors, but you couldn’t hear him. Not over the loud cries of Kento’s little girl, who missed him more than she needed to breathe.

@sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @thequeenofcurses @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @iwanttohitmyself @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @he11okitty-mari@dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @koikohib @http-bell

[catchastarorten]

—You’ll be with me.

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x wife!fem!reader

Summary: being a previous winner of the games, the memories still haunted you. In-ho knew how bad it could get and he wanted you to feel safe, so he tried his best to give you comfort.

Warnings/content: fluff, comfort, temple kiss, a bit of angst, mentions of reader’s backstory as a player in the games, mentions of trauma, mentions of gunshot, blood, violence, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: 906

The air in the compound always felt thick, the silence lingered in the air. A quiet kind of weight that clung to the walls, the floors, even the people who roamed them. It had been years since you had been a participant in the games, years since you survived when so many hadn’t—where the memories of those days whispered in every corner. And yet, you were back here, year after year. You found yourself with him, In-ho.

You were a survivor. Years ago, you had stood on that blood-streaked ground, faced death at every turn, and somehow clawed your way out alive.

You hadn’t won because you were ruthless, but because life had refused to let you go. He oversaw your games, saw the way you fought but still left a piece of your heart filtered, still kept something kind. It was what drew In-ho to you in the aftermath of it all.

He was the Frontman, a man who wore a mask to the world and had barriers around his heart. But now with you. With you, he softened. He was unguarded, even. You had seen him beneath the cold exterior, you gave him gentleness and a sense of peace he didn’t know he needed, the kind that healed him in ways he didn’t know was possible.

But what you could never get used to was the feeling of knowing. Knowing that beyond these walls, people were fighting for their lives, as you once had. It lingered in the shadows of your mind, surfacing in flashes that made you sweat through the nights or turn cold at the sound of anything resembling a gunshot.

In-ho always noticed before you could hide it. He would find you, pull you into his arms, and remind you with his steady voice and warm embrace that you were safe now.

He understood in ways no one else could, because he too had been shaped by the games, though in a different way.

“You don’t have to watch,” he said to you the first time you expressed interest in sitting with him during one of the games. He was seated on the leather couch in front of the screen, the monitor displaying the players being led into one of the ‘playgrounds.’

His hand rested on the armrest, fingers curling slightly as if restraining himself from reaching for you. “It’s not something you need to see again.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, stepping closer. “I’ve faced it before.”

In-ho looked at you then, his mask already set aside on the table. His eyes searched yours, and you could see the conflict in them—the worry, the love, the fear that he might be wrong to let you stay.

His expression softened further, and he reached out a hand to you. You took it, and he pulled you close, guiding you to sit beside him. His arm wrapped around you instinctively, his warmth enveloping you as if he could shield you from everything. “Are you sure?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder. The screens flickered, showing the players, their expressions were hauntingly familiar—those wide eyes, the curious glances, the way they clung onto the hope that they might win the prize money to pay off their debts.

You sat close, knees brushing his as the game unfolded on the screen before you. It didn’t take long for the first shot to ring out. A player dropped to the ground, lifeless, and you felt it then—the cold rush of panic creeping up your spine.

Your fingers twitched, the memories clawing their way back into your mind. The sound of gunfire echoed in your ears, overlapping with screams you could still remember too vividly.

In-ho noticed, his hand was on yours in an instant, fingers firm but gentle as they wrapped around your trembling hand. “You don’t need to put yourself through this,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

You didn’t say anything, but continued watching.

In-ho exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. He didn’t argue, but he didn’t let go of you either. His presence was steady, like an anchor keeping you from being swept away by the tide of your memories.

As the game progressed, the inevitable deaths began to unfold. You flinched at the sound of gunfire crackling through the speakers, at the way the players dropped one by one, their dreams snuffed out in an instant. Your breath came quicker, your chest tightening as if an iron band was wrapping around your ribs.

In-ho pulled you closer, his other arm wrapping around your shoulders. He pressed you against his chest, his heartbeat steady and calm against your ear. “Breathe,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “It’s over now. Just breathe.”

You did as he said, focusing on the warmth of his body, the gentle pressure of his arm around you. The screen in front of you showed the survivors—those who had managed to stumble through the carnage—but you didn’t look at it anymore. You buried your face in In-ho’s chest, letting his scent and his touch ground you in the present.

He never made you feel like you had to be stronger than you were. And you knew he carried his own weight too—his role as the Frontman, the choices he had made—but he never let it interfere with his devotion to you.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which she'd always wait for you

Minnesota smells like wet leaves in the fall and frozen basketball nets in the winter. You always liked that about it—the way it feels like it remembers things. People. Moments. Promises.

You were eight the first time you saw her.

Your mom had just dropped you off at the rec center playground, warning you not to get your new sneakers muddy. You promised. They were already muddy by the time you spotted her across the court.

She was loud. Blonde hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, baggy T-shirt too big for her, high socks rolled down like the boys did. She was barking plays like she was coaching a real team—telling two kids where to cut, waving her hands for the ball.

“Hey!” she yelled at a boy who missed the pass. “Eyes up, Ben! Come on!”

You leaned against the fence, half-curious, half-amused. She caught your stare and tilted her head.

“You play?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know. Sometimes.”

“That’s a yes,” she said, already tossing the ball your way. “You’re on my team.”

You didn’t even hesitate. That was the thing with her from the beginning—Paige Bueckers said something, and the world tilted to make it true.

You stepped onto the court, pushed your sleeves up, and passed her the ball.

She grinned. “You got a name, or do I have to make one up?”

“...Y/N.”

She repeated it under her breath, then pointed at her chest. “I’m Paige. Let’s win.”

You didn’t. You lost 11–6. But she high-fived you like you’d just won a championship.

And then she said, “Wanna walk home with me?”

You blinked. “I don’t even know you.”

“Exactly. What better way to fix that?”

So you walked home with her. And then again the next day. And the next. Until it just became… a thing. Paige and Y/N. Always together.

By middle school, you were known as her shadow.

You weren’t flashy like her. You didn’t light up every room or make people laugh until their stomachs hurt. But she always turned to you first—at lunch, on the sidelines, before tip-off.

She would find you across a gym packed with screaming fans and point. Just a subtle nod. A silent thing.

That was hers.

You once heard someone whisper, “I don’t know if they’re dating or just soulmates.”

And honestly, you didn’t know either.

You were fourteen. Paige had just scored the game-winner in a weekend tournament, and her dad drove you both home with pizza in the backseat.

She crashed on your living room floor, both of you staring up at the ceiling, still sweaty and laughing.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly quiet.

You turned your head. “Yeah?”

“If we make it big one day,” she said, “like, real big… you’ll still walk me home, right?”

You smiled. “Even if it’s across the country.”

She rolled onto her side to look at you. “Promise?”

You reached out your pinky. “Promise.”

Her finger hooked yours.

And something shifted in the silence.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no single moment where you said this is love.

It just… was.

The way she leaned into you when she was tired. The way you tied her shoes before games. The way she said “I got you” like it meant everything.

It did.

By the time high school rolled around, you were the one she trusted with the things she couldn’t say out loud. Her nerves before scouts came. Her doubts about being good enough. Her fears of leaving Minneapolis.

And she knew your fears, too. That you didn’t want a normal life. That maybe college wasn’t the only way forward.

That you were thinking of joining the military.

She said nothing at first when you told her. Just stared at her hands for a long time.

“Is it because of your dad?” she finally asked.

You nodded.

“And because… you want to do something bigger than this?”

You nodded again.

She reached across the bench and gripped your hand.

“I don’t like it,” she whispered. “But I’m proud of you.”

You didn’t know it yet, but that would be the last version of you she’d get for a long, long time.

High school felt like a countdown—though neither of you said it out loud.

Paige was on fire from the minute she walked into Hopkins. Freshman phenom. Banners with her name. Coaches from every D1 program in the country showing up with clipboards and fake smiles.

But when the gym lights went down, it was always still just you and her. Stretching side by side before practice. Sharing one AirPod on the bus. Eating postgame fries in silence because she was too tired to talk and you already knew what she was thinking anyway.

It wasn’t perfect. Not always.

Sometimes, she’d miss a movie night because she was reviewing film. You didn’t take it personally. Other times, you’d forget to text back because you were three hours deep into a military history rabbit hole and she’d pretend to be mad but she wasn’t, really.

You had this rhythm. A quiet, humming understanding. People mistook it for romance. It wasn’t. Not yet.

But it was close. So close it hurt sometimes.

You never told anyone, but your favorite part of game nights wasn’t when she scored thirty points. It was when she looked for you in the crowd before tip-off, eyes scanning until they landed on you—and then she’d relax. Just a little.

Like you were a lighthouse and she was always, always coming home.

It happened after a big win—regional finals. The gym was loud, the air thick with sweat and confetti and cheerleaders screaming. Everyone was pulling her in every direction.

But you were leaning against the back wall, hoodie up, letting her have her moment.

She found you anyway.

Grinning like she just discovered oxygen. She crashed into your chest and wrapped her arms around your waist, laughing into your hoodie.

You didn’t even think. You just kissed her. Quick, stupid, stunned.

She pulled back, wide-eyed.

And then she laughed again—brighter this time.

“Took you long enough,” she whispered.

And then kissed you back.

You didn’t label it.

You weren’t dating. You weren’t not.

You were her person. She was yours. And that was enough.

The real talk started senior year. She got her UConn letter first. You were there when she opened it—your hands shaking harder than hers. You were the one who screamed first. She tackled you to the floor, the paper crumpling between your bodies.

A week later, you told her your plan.

Military.

Silence.

“Are you sure?” she asked, after a long minute.

“No,” you admitted. “But I think it’s what I’m meant to do.”

She didn’t try to talk you out of it. She just leaned forward and pressed her forehead to yours.

“Then I’ll wait.”

The air was thick with bonfire smoke and the low buzz of future dreams.

She wore your hoodie. You wore her jersey. You both sat on the roof of her car, parked near the lake, legs dangling off the edge of the hood.

“Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“What if we’re different after this?”

She looked up at the stars.

“We will be.”

You turned to her.

She looked right at you.

“But I’ll still know how to find you.”

You didn’t cry. Not then. You just memorized her profile under moonlight and kissed her one more time.

A soft, quiet promise you’d both carry across oceans.

The first goodbye wasn’t really a goodbye. It was an airport hug.

She buried her face in your chest at the airport terminal, fingers fisting the fabric of your shirt like maybe if she held tight enough, you wouldn’t board that plane. You held her just as hard, whispering everything you couldn’t say out loud, “I’ll come back. I’ll be safe. I love you.”

Except you didn’t say that last part. You almost did.

But Paige pulled back first, tears in her eyes but trying to smile. “Text me. Every day. Even if it’s just dumb stuff.”

“Especially the dumb stuff,” you said.

Then they called final boarding.

And you kissed her temple, took one last look, and turned away.

You didn’t look back. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you knew if you did, you might never leave.

Basic training was a blur of sand and shouting. But you wrote her every week.

She didn’t write back at first. She FaceTimed.

“Why are you smiling?” you asked, sweaty and sore and exhausted.

“You look like you lost a fight with a boot camp manual,” she teased, then softened. “I missed your face.”

You missed hers too.

Letters started coming after that—hers were messier, scribbled between film sessions and plane rides. You’d read them under a flashlight, folded up in your bunk, her words the only soft thing in a place built for steel.

We won by 20 tonight. I dropped 34. But I kept looking at the bleachers like an idiot. You weren’t there. I hate that you’re not there.

I’m proud of you. I mean it. But I miss you so bad sometimes I have to put your hoodie on just to breathe.

Please don’t die, okay?

You kept her letters in the inside pocket of your uniform. Right over your heart.

Time moved like molasses and lightning.

She became a national name. Interviews. Awards. Draft projections. ESPN highlights. A household face with a smile everyone wanted a piece of.

But when you spoke on the phone, she was still just Paige. Still the girl who called you “goofball” and asked for updates about your bunkmate’s weird snoring habits. Still the one who asked, softly, “Are you eating enough?” like she was feeding you through the phone.

You sent her a video once—your squad doing push-ups in sync to the beat of one of her game highlight reels. She laughed so hard she cried.

“I’m saving this forever,” she said.

You replied, “Then save a place for me, too.”

She didn’t respond for a full minute.

“Always.”

It was mid-season, year five of your deployment. Things had gone quiet on the basketball front—you knew she was tired, sore, battling injuries. She didn’t want to say it, but you could hear it in her voice.

So you wrote her a long one.

Hey, superstar. Just wanted to say I watched your last game. You looked like you were flying. I know your ankle’s not great, but somehow you still move like you’re being chased by angels.

I think about you all the time. The way you talk when you’re excited, how your hands move when you’re nervous, the way you used to whisper “go get ‘em” before I did anything scary.

Funny how I’m not afraid of anything over here. But sometimes I think about you, and my whole chest hurts. I miss your laugh. I miss home. I miss…

That’s where it ended.

She never got the rest.

The next time Paige tried to call, your number didn’t go through.

Her texts stopped delivering. Your unit’s website stopped posting. Your mom didn’t have answers.

Three weeks passed. Then a month.

Then, the knock on her apartment door.

Your older brother. Pale, shaking.

“They don’t know what happened. Just that the team was separated. And she hasn’t been found.”

Paige didn’t speak. She just crumpled to the floor like her body forgot how to stand.

She read your last letter 103 times. Folded, unfolded. Smoothed out the crease down the middle where the words cut off.

She memorized the final line. The one that haunted her.

“I miss…”

Connecticut never got quieter.

Paige just got better at pretending.

She played through it all—training camp, press conferences, the draft. Cameras followed her like shadows. Her agent told her to smile more. Her coach told her to push harder.

So she did.

But every morning, before she laced up her sneakers, she pressed her fingers to her chest—right where your last letter lived, folded flat in a pouch inside her bag.

She never stopped carrying you.

Even when the world told her she might have to let go.

She was stretching before practice when her phone rang.

Your brother’s name lit up the screen.

“Hello?” she answered, already standing up.

There was a beat of silence on the other end. “There’s been… no contact. Three weeks. They’re calling it missing in action.”

Paige stared at the wall. Her heart didn’t beat. Her breath didn’t come.

“Paige?”

“I—I have to go.”

She hung up.

She walked off the court and into the nearest storage room and shut the door. Curled into herself on a pile of Gatorade crates. She didn’t cry.

She shook.

Then, hours later, she emerged, wiped her eyes, and played the best game of her life that night—32 points, 9 assists, 4 steals.

When asked how she did it, she said, “I was playing for someone.”

Paige never told the media. Never posted. She didn’t want your disappearance to be clickbait. Didn't want strangers speaking your name without knowing what it meant.

Only a few people knew. Her family. Her teammates. Geno. Azzi.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted once, quietly, sitting in a dark gym after practice.

Azzi handed her a bottle of water and sat down next to her.

“You don’t have to know,” Azzi said. “You just have to keep waking up.”

Paige nodded. “I feel like if I stop moving, I’ll fall apart.”

“Then keep moving,” Azzi said, her voice soft. “But don’t pretend she wasn’t everything.”

That was the only time Paige cried in front of someone else.

She started wearing your dog tags during games—tied and tucked into her shoelaces.

The team didn’t ask. No one had to.

Sometimes, before tip-off, she’d whisper something to herself that the cameras couldn’t catch.

“Come back to me.”

“I’m not done loving you.”

“Please.”

She was back in Minnesota for the off-season. Alone in her childhood bedroom. Posters still on the walls. Your sweatshirt still folded in her drawer.

She pulled the shoebox of your letters from under her bed. Set them on the floor.

And she started reading.

All of them.

In order.

She read them through the night, until the sun broke through the window. Until the air felt like you’d touched it.

And when she finally reached the last one—the one that ended with I miss…—she didn’t cry.

She closed her eyes and whispered, “Me too.”

The world never knew your name.

Paige made sure of that.

To them, she was just growing up. Evolving. Hardening into the face of a franchise, into someone who could carry a team, a league, an entire sport.

But behind closed doors, her story stayed the same.

She was playing for someone they couldn’t see.

She told herself it would only be a few weeks. A month, maybe.

People go missing in combat. It’s chaos. Misinformation.

She watched every news update with a clenched jaw. She memorized the names of other recovered soldiers and felt sick when yours never came up.

She played harder.

She trained until her joints burned, iced until her skin went numb, shot free throws until her hands bled.

Every drop of sweat said your name.

She didn’t need cameras to catch it—she whispered it at the line.

Every game.

Before the buzzer.

Into her wrist.

Y/N.

Your dog tags became her talisman.

Before every game, she would take them out and kiss them once.

“For luck,” she’d tell her teammates.

But they knew better.

She didn’t pray anymore, not really. But this? This was faith.

Not in God. Not in war.

In you.

That somewhere, somehow, you could feel her playing.

That you were still out there.

It was a sold-out home game. National broadcast. Paige dropped 40 and broke the team record.

Everyone expected her to jump on the scorer’s table, to scream, to celebrate.

Instead, she looked up at the rafters, took the tags from her laces, and held them in both hands.

She mouthed something no one could hear. “That one was for you. Did you see it?”

The internet exploded.

“Who is she holding those for?” “Is it a memorial?” “Did she lose someone?”

She didn’t answer any of it.

Some stories weren’t meant for the public.

Some love deserves silence.

A month later, after a brutal loss and a postgame press conference she barely survived, Paige found herself alone on the bus, forehead pressed to the window, fingers curled around your dog tags like they were her last anchor.

Azzi slid into the seat across from her.

“You ever think about letting her go?” she asked gently.

Paige didn’t move.

“She’s been gone almost two years,” Azzi said. “You haven’t even—”

Paige turned, eyes glassy, voice like shattered glass.

“She’s not gone. You don’t get it. I’d know. If she were… if she really was…”

She broke.

Azzi reached across the seat and held her as the sobs finally tore free. The kind you choke on. The kind that only happens when you’ve waited too long to cry.

Paige gripped the dog tags so hard they left bruises on her palms.

To the fans, she was just Paige.

Focused. Unshakable. Laser-eyed and graceful.

They didn’t know that she woke up every morning and checked her phone for a text that never came.

They didn’t know she kept a post-it by her bed with one word on it, Comeback.

They didn’t know she still wrote your name in her journal every night.

She never said you were gone.

Not even once.

She just kept playing.

For you.

The silence wasn’t just quiet. It was a presence. A second shadow. It followed Paige everywhere.

She stopped listening to voicemails. She couldn’t take the static of it. Couldn’t hear your voice in her memory and not know if she’d ever hear it for real again.

Some people said you disappeared. She hated that word.

You weren’t lost.

You were somewhere.

And silence just meant you weren’t ready to come home yet.

Paige never changed it.

The room you stayed in when you visited—back in Minnesota. The navy-blue blanket. The folded hoodie. The photo of the two of you from junior year after her buzzer-beater—your arm slung over her shoulder, her hair half-falling out of a ponytail, your smile barely hiding how in love you were.

She went in there sometimes. Sat on the edge of the bed and just... stayed.

Sometimes with a letter. Sometimes with a memory.

She’d run her fingers along the edge of the desk and whisper your name under her breath.

Once, her mom found her curled up in the corner, clutching your dog tags like they were a lifeline.

“She’s not dead,” Paige said fiercely, even though no one had said a word. “She’s not gone.”

Eventually, Paige started writing you again.

In a tattered notebook, the kind you'd tease her for hoarding.

April 6th – I dreamt you were sitting court side. You had your boots on the seat in front of you like you always do, and I told you off for it, and you just grinned. I woke up crying. I wish you were there to see me win the championship.

April 14th — I got drafted to the Dallas Wings. I wish you were next to me when they called my name up. You were the first arms I wanted to be in.

May 19th – I told Azzi about the first time you kissed me. I think I needed someone else to remember it with me. Someone else besides me.

June 5th – I’m wearing your sweatshirt again. I can still smell you in it. Is that insane? It’s been years. I don’t care. It’s the only place I sleep anymore.

She filled pages. Dozens.

Each ending the same way…

Come home. Please. Just come home.

She started dodging interviews.

Not because she couldn’t answer the usual questions—WNBA schedules, stats, upcoming matchups.

But because no one ever asked the one she was begging for.

“Who are you still waiting for?” “Whose ghost are you loving?” “What did silence take from you?”

One night, Paige stayed after practice, alone in the gym.

She shot free throws in silence.

One.

Two.

Three.

She missed the fifth.

The sixth clanged off the rim. So did the seventh.

She dropped the ball and sat down, right there at the line, heart pounding like it was trying to remind her she was still alive.

And then she screamed.

A sound torn straight from her lungs—raw and shattering and full of every word she never got to say to you.

It echoed off the walls like it didn’t want to leave her, either.

After that, she went home. Took the notebook. The shoebox of your letters.

She lit a candle. Not to mourn you.

To guide you.

And then she wrote one last entry.

If you're still out there... I’ll be here. I’ll wait forever if I have to. I’ll wait until the world ends. I’ll wait until your voice breaks the quiet. Just give me something. Anything. Please.

She tore the page out, folded it, and tucked it into your last letter.

I miss…

It didn’t come with fanfare.

No parade. No advance warning.

Just a short news segment buried under election coverage and early playoff chatter.

“BREAKING: U.S. soldier previously declared MIA has been found alive after two years. Name: Y/N L/N. Location: undisclosed for recovery and debrief.”

That was it.

No footage. No interview. Just a name.

But for Paige Bueckers, it was the only name that mattered.

She’d just drained a corner three when her phone buzzed on the bench.

DiJonai was the one who saw it first—Paige’s mom had texted.

Mom: Turn on CNN right now. Sit down first.

Paige blinked, confused, wiping sweat from her forehead as she unlocked her phone.

She didn’t get past the first sentence.

The world blurred. The gym fell away. Her knees gave out.

She sank to the floor, phone still in hand, your name burning across the screen.

Nai dropped beside her. “Paige. Paige, what—”

Paige choked on a sob so violent it came from somewhere ancient. Something sacred.

“She's alive,” she whispered.

Over and over.

“She's alive.”

Practice ended early that day.

Not because Paige asked. Because the team knew.

Arike sat with her in the locker room, one arm slung around her shoulder while Paige just kept staring into space, as if blinking might make it vanish.

“She’s alive.”

“They found her.”

“She’s really alive.”

And then the silence broke, and the sobs came, and the entire locker room sat with her until her breathing steadied.

Not one person filmed. Not one word leaked.

Some moments deserved to live only in memory.

You trended within the hour.

Your name. Your story. Your face—blurred in old photos, smiling in uniform, standing next to fellow soldiers.

The world wanted to know everything.

Where you were. What happened. How you survived.

But you weren’t ready.

So the military gave you privacy. Gave you time.

You stayed in an undisclosed hospital somewhere quiet, limbs sore, mind fractured but still yours. Alive. You were alive.

But you didn’t want the cameras.

You only wanted her.

Paige didn't know if you'd get it.

Didn't know if they'd even let you see it.

But she sent it anyway.

A photo. The last one you ever took together—her in your lap on her porch swing, eyes closed, smiling.

Below it, just one sentence, “If you’re ready… I never stopped waiting.”

You were given a secure phone.

You unlocked it the second you were allowed.

There were hundreds of missed calls. Dozens of texts. Messages from family, friends, teammates.

But it was hers your eyes searched for.

You opened the photo. Stared at it for five minutes without blinking.

And then you called.

“Hi,” you said. Voice soft, hoarse, barely yourself.

There was a sharp inhale on the other end. Then silence.

“Come home.”

You agreed to it on one condition.

“She can’t know.”

The league had reached out. The team. Even the commissioner.

There were plans, whispers of tributes, military salutes, halftime ceremonies—but you only cared about one thing.

You wanted to surprise her.

You wanted the first time she saw you to feel like it stopped time.

Like no one else existed.

Just her.

Just you.

The game was nationally televised. Her team had home court. Fans were packed into the arena an hour before tip-off, buzzing with playoff energy.

And somewhere backstage, behind security lines and curtained tunnels—you waited.

Fidgeting with the cuffs of your formal uniform, your knees bouncing.

“You nervous?” a Dallas Wings rep asked you.

You didn’t answer.

Because nervous wasn’t the word.

You were holding years in your chest—letters left unfinished, nights unlived, a promise that somehow never broke even when everything else did.

You were about to see her again.

After everything.

She didn’t know.

Not at tip-off.

Not in the first quarter, when she scored ten points with her usual quiet brilliance.

Not during halftime, when she rehydrated on the bench, laughing at something NaLyssa said, her hands still steady, her heart still wrapped in that ache she never gave a name.

She didn’t know.

But she was wearing your dog tags again.

Still tied to her laces.

Like a thread connecting her to something she thought might’ve been a ghost.

End of the fourth quarter.

Something different was happening.

The arena darkened. The jumbotron flickered.

She wiped her face with a towel, confused, glancing around as the crowd fell into a low, electric hush.

The screen began to play.

Images of soldiers.

Of sacrifice.

Of silence.

“Tonight, we honor one of our own…”

She blinked.

Froze.

A childhood photo of you flashed on the screen. Then one of you in uniform. Then another—your face older, weathered, still unmistakably you.

“…who returned home after being declared missing in action for two years.”

Her towel dropped.

So did her hands.

Then came your name.

Loud.

Proud.

Spoken over the speaker system with reverence and awe.

“Please welcome home… Staff Sergeant Y/N L/N.”

From the tunnel. From the shadows.

Into the floodlights.

Your boots hitting the court like thunder. Your breath shaking.

You could barely hear the crowd over your own heartbeat. The sound was deafening—cheers, gasps, cries—but all of it blurred behind the only thing that mattered.

Her.

Paige.

Standing at center court.

Frozen. Mouth open. Eyes wide.

Her whole body trembling.

You saw the exact second her knees gave.

Arike caught her by the elbow, whispering something, but Paige was already moving.

Running.

Not walking.

Running.

Straight at you.

You barely had time to brace before she slammed into your chest—arms around your neck, tears already wetting your collar, her whole body folded into yours like a prayer finally answered.

“You’re here,” she sobbed. “You’re real. You’re—oh my god—”

You held her.

Tighter than ever before.

And whispered back, “I told you I’d come home.”

She pulled back only enough to touch your face.

To study every scar. Every line. Every part of you changed, and unchanged.

“You look like hell,” she whispered.

“You look like heaven,” you whispered back.

And then, in front of thousands—millions watching from home—

She kissed you.

The kind of kiss people write books about. The kind that rewrites history.

You could feel her whole soul in it.

Years of silence. Years of hope. Years of waiting.

All pouring out of her like she never expected to get this chance again.

Neither did you.

Phones were everywhere. The broadcast replayed it in slow motion.

Social media exploded.

“Paige Bueckers reunited with MIA childhood sweetheart—LIVE mid-game.” “She never moved on. And now she doesn’t have to.” “This… is the love story of the decade.”

But none of it mattered.

Because the only headline that lived in your bones was this.

You made it back to her.

The cheers still echoed through the arena.

Your name was still trending. Clips of the kiss were already viral. Your story was being dissected, romanticized, turned into legend by every major outlet.

But you weren’t listening.

Because Paige had your hand in hers, dragging you down a hallway with her heartbeat in her throat and your pulse pressed against her palm.

Not speaking.

Not yet.

Just walking fast.

Until she found a door. Pushed it open. Pulled you through.

And shut the world out.

It was empty.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly. The bench where she usually laced up her shoes sat undisturbed, a towel draped neatly over the backrest. Her jersey still hung in the open cubby, sweat-soaked and clinging to its shape like it knew it had just lived through something historic.

You stood near the wall, unsure if you should sit or speak or breathe.

Until she turned.

Slowly.

Eyes full of everything she'd held back for two years.

She walked straight into you again. But this time, it wasn’t frantic. Or desperate. Or breaking. It was slow. Crushed. Sacred. Her arms slid around your middle. Her head tucked under your chin. And she just… held you.

You stood there in silence, letting her remember what your body felt like. Letting yourself remember how she fit against you like muscle to bone.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

“I was, a little,” you murmured. “Until I remembered I had to find my way back to you.”

She let out a soft sound. A sob half-swallowed by a laugh.

“You’re such a cheeseball.”

“Still worked,” you said.

“Still works.”

Just enough to look at you.

Her hands cupped your face. Her thumbs brushed under your eyes like she couldn’t believe they were still yours.

“What happened?” she asked softly. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I just—”

“It was bad,” you said. “But not enough to make me forget you.”

That did it.

The tears came back.

She sat down on the bench, pulling you with her, your knee brushing hers as you both leaned into the impossible miracle of this moment.

“I kept your letters,” she whispered. “Read them every night. Wrote you some too.”

“I know,” you said.

She looked up, startled. “You read them?”

You nodded.

“They gave them to me once I was stabilized. Your mom saved them all.”

“All of them?”

“Even the one where you threatened to fight God if he didn’t bring me back.”

“Okay,” she muttered, cheeks flushing. “That one was private.”

You smiled. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to forget it.”

“I don’t want you to forget anything,” she said, suddenly serious. “Not a single thing. Even the bad parts. Even the waiting. I just—” Her voice cracked. “I just want you here. For real. To stay.”

You reached for her hand.

Interlocked fingers. One heartbeat.

“I’m here.”

“To stay?”

“If you’ll have me.”

She didn’t answer with words.

She answered by climbing into your lap, wrapping herself around you like she was claiming her missing piece, forehead to yours, lips brushing yours.

“Always.”

You sat together for over an hour. Just talking.

Catching up on nothing and everything. Teammates. Therapy. Her favorite shows. Your favorite food again. How your body still flinched when you heard loud noises. How her nights were filled with dreams of you showing up, just like tonight.

“I always imagined this,” she whispered. “You walking onto the court. Everyone gasping. Me running to you.”

“You looked so good I almost forgot how to walk.”

“You looked like my whole life coming back to me.”

“You are my life.”

She closed her eyes.

You kissed her forehead.

And she didn’t move for a long, long time.

The house you live in now isn’t big.

Paige didn’t want a mansion. You didn’t want a city. You picked a quiet neighborhood outside Dallas, far enough to hear birds instead of traffic. Close enough that her commute to practice isn’t a headache.

There’s a front porch with a swing you built by hand. A tiny backyard garden she insists on overwatering. A fridge full of sticky notes and protein shakes and letters you leave for each other just because.

The walls are painted in warm colors.

The rooms are full of soft things.

The whole place smells like clean laundry and cinnamon candles and home.

You wake up before her.

You always have.

The dog—Bentley, a rescue with floppy ears and too much energy—sleeps curled at the foot of the bed. Paige sleeps tangled in you.

Most mornings she doesn’t speak right away. She just buries her face in your neck and breathes.

“Still here?” she whispers, like she’s checking.

“Still here,” you answer every time.

You kiss her temple. She kisses your scar. It’s a ritual now.

Neither of you say I missed you anymore.

It’s in every touch. Every sigh. Every morning.

You coach youth basketball on the weekends. Paige comes when she can, sunglasses low, hoodie up, cheering louder than any parent.

Once, one of the kids asked if you were married.

You glanced at her across the court and said, “Not yet.”

Paige smiled like she already had the ring.

One Sunday, while cleaning the hall closet, you find it.

Folded between two shoeboxes of old photos and game-day programs.

The letter you never saw.

The one Paige wrote you during the two years you were gone but never sent.

You sit on the floor and unfold it carefully. The ink is smudged. The paper smells like her perfume and heartbreak.

Y/N,

If you ever get this, it means I found a way to speak even when you're not here to hear it.

I don’t know where you are, or if you're breathing, or if you're laughing somewhere with someone who isn’t me. But I hope you’re not in pain. I hope you know that I would’ve waited a hundred years. I still would. I just want you safe. I want you whole.

I want you to come back and walk through my door and kiss me like the world didn’t win.

But even if you don’t, I’ll still be yours.

Love always,

Paige

You sit there for a long time.

Then you find her in the kitchen, lift her onto the counter, and kiss her until she forgets how to stand.

“You did wait,” you whisper.

“You were worth it,” she answers.

It’s the anniversary of your return.

The Wings are playing a home game. You’re in the stands—front row. Paige scans for you before warmups and grins when she finds you.

She taps her chest twice, over her heart.

You do the same.

Still here.

There are fingerprints on every surface of the house.

Sticky juice cups. Crayon murals on the hallway walls. A glitter-covered soccer cleat on the kitchen table.

You used to live for silence.

Now you live for this chaos.

For the soft pitter-patter of feet running down the hall. For squeals of laughter at bath time. For the way your daughter yells, “Watch me, Mama!” every time she throws a ball six inches off the ground.

She’s five. Bright-eyed. Fearless.

Her name is Hope.

Because that’s what she gave you when she was born.

You sit on the couch with Hope in your lap while Paige makes breakfast—messy ponytail, sleepy smile, her old college hoodie falling off her shoulder.

Bentley is older now. Greyer. Still insists on sleeping under the kitchen table.

“I want braids today,” Hope declares, handing you a brush and three elastics.

“Again?” you tease. “You know I only learned how to do those for your mom, right?”

“Then you should be really good at it.”

She’s got her mother’s sass.

You pretend to groan. Paige laughs into her coffee.

“That’s my girl.”

You both retired within two years of each other—Paige with two MVPs, three championships, a career that left the sport different than when she entered it.

You left the military after receiving an award they told you couldn’t be disclosed publicly. But that wasn’t the legacy that mattered to you.

The real one lives in your home.

In the stories you tell Hope about bravery that doesn't always wear medals, about love that outlasts war.

“Did Mama really wait for you for two whole years?” she asks one night while you’re tucking her in.

You nod, heart aching at the memory, now soft around the edges.

“She never let go of me. Even when the world tried to make her.”

Hope stares at you like you’re a myth.

“I want to be brave like Mama one day.”

“Me too,” you say quietly.

That weekend, you all go to a Wings game.

Paige is honored at halftime—her jersey raised to the rafters. The crowd stands for five full minutes.

Hope clutches your hand, eyes wide.

When they call your name too—“for a life of service, for love that defied silence”—you freeze.

Paige squeezes your hand.

“This is your legacy too,” she says.

You step onto the court, Hope between you.

And together, as a family, you stand beneath the jersey that once carried her name alone.

Now it carries all of yours.

That night, Paige posts a photo.

It’s simple.

You, Paige, and Hope in front of the banner. Her arm around your waist. Hope on your hip. Everyone smiling like nothing ever broke.

Some love stories survive silence. Ours learned how to sing through it.

The comments flood in.

“You were always endgame.” “Their daughter is the living proof that love always comes home.” “Crying in a CVS right now, thanks.” “Brb telling my future wife I’d wait for her forever too.”

But none of that matters.

Because later that night, as you lie in bed with Paige curled into your chest, her fingers tracing slow circles over your wedding ring, she whispers, “We made it.”

And you whisper back, “We made forever.”

Dear Paige,

I don’t know when you’ll find this.

Maybe Hope’s off at college. Maybe you’re coming home from a coaching session, your hair pulled back the way you used to wear it when you were 17 and still trying to convince me to play H-O-R-S-E for kisses.

Maybe I’m upstairs taking a nap and you just needed to hold something that felt like us again.

Either way, if you’re reading this… hi, baby.

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while now. Not because anything’s wrong—but because love like this deserves to be documented. Carved into the page. Tucked between grocery lists and bedtime stories and all the normal things that never felt so beautiful until they were ours.

I want you to know something.

You saved me.

Not just the first time, when you waited for me. But every time after.

Every time you looked at me like I was still whole.

Every time you made pancakes in the shape of hearts and called them “accidents” even though we both knew better.

Every time you reached for me in the dark and didn’t flinch when I told you I was afraid.

You never ran.

Even when it would've been easier.

You stayed.

You loved.

And because of that, I learned how to breathe again. How to live. How to dream past the damage.

I used to think I came back for you.

But now I know the truth.

I came back because of you.

Because something in your love refused to let go of me—stretched across time and silence and ocean, stubborn and radiant, like it always knew we'd find our way back.

And we did.

We found forever.

I don’t need fairy tales. I just need you. Bent knee and tired laugh and soft hands in mine.

So when you find this letter—when you reread these words years from now—I hope you remember that there was never a moment I stopped choosing you.

Not once.

Not even when the world tried to pull us apart.

Not even when I disappeared.

I still found my way to you.

Because home was never a place.

It was always your heartbeat.

Still yours.

Forever,

Y/N

[angelyuji]

more yan!nolan x yan!debbie x gn!reader because i want to partake in an eiffel tower with them (me inbetween)

i wasn’t sure if i should write mark into this ngl like how old would he be, this obvi takes place before season 1, so i was like ???teen mark???baby mark??? but then i was like… this would be more interesting if i show everythinggg so lemme do that ig

tw // kidnapping, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME!!!!, noncon/dubcon, exhibitionism, shitty smut in the middle and end (sorry im still awk as hell writing smut :P)

18+!!!!!!!! MINORS DNI!!!!

it took you a while to convince them you wouldn’t do anything stupid (i mean, omni-man is watching your every move, so how could you).

but once you’ve settled down, and stopped crying and screaming, complying with all of debbie and nolan’s requests, they had let you upstairs.

“good morning,” debbie places a kiss to your temple as she serves breakfast. mark babbles in his high chair, reaching out for his food and a kiss from his mom. debbie smiles and showers him with her love. you silently watch the exchange, knowing what could happen if you make a fuss in front of mark. you feel a weight in your stomach, not letting you eat. the smell of the syrup and butter almost makes you gag.

“everything alright?” you jolt as you hear nolan behind you. he places his hands on your shoulders, a reminder.

“y-yeah. everything’s… fine.” you silently start to eat as nolan moves to his wife.

“(y/n), sweetheart, can you feed mark? i need to finish up breakfast before nolan leaves.” debbie calls out from the stove. you watch nolan start to help debbie and you look towards the front door, “(y/n)?”

“…sure.” you swallow and move closer to the baby. mark lets you feed him, happily playing along with you. you stroke his hair as he finishes his food, “you’re a cutie, aren’t you?” you gently pinch his cheeks and mark lets out a loud giggle at the feeling.

“you’re really good with him.” nolan sounds proud, watching the two of you, and the feeling comes back.

“i guess…” you move away from mark and he frowns, bottom lip quivering. debbie comes back with more food right as mark starts to wail.

“here nolan, you and (y/n) finish up while i take care of mark.” debbie leaves, cooing at mark as he reaches out to you. the two of you eat in silence, with you forcing the breakfast down and nolan watching your every move. debbie comes back with mark, dressed in new clothes.

a blast of air almost knocks you over as nolan comes back in full uniform, “i expect you to behave while i’m gone, (y/n). i don’t want to be disappointed on your first day upstairs.” you shakily nod and nolan smiles, “good.” he bends down to press a kiss to your head. you hear debbie and mark wish him goodbye, nolan whispering something to her as he kisses her goodbye.

the rest of your day passes smoothly, with you helping debbie around the house and playing with mark when she worked.

“h-how about we take mark to the playground? it might be nice for him to get some fresh air…” you test the waters occasionally, “it… it would also be nice if i could get some sun too.” you lean on the counter where debbie sits, resting your hand on her arm.

debbie looks over from her laptop, eyes searching your face. she sighs, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to it. “oh i’m not sure, sweetheart.” she looks at you, saddened, “maybe tomorrow, we can all go on a family trip.” she smiles, patting your face gently. you nod, trying to hide your dismay.

you put mark to bed, you play with mark, you feed him and change him

you start to become more of a third parent to him

with mark liking you more, nolan and debbie start to trust you more

“really?” you straighten in surprise, barely hiding your glee. nolan looks over his newspaper and chuckles at your voice.

debbie continues, “mark hasn’t seen a beach before, so it’ll be fun to get him used to things like that. plus,” she gets close to you, “i know our baby wants to go out and feel some sun too.” she tilts your head with a finger to press her lips to yours. you melt into her, letting her touch comfort you. you could feel her tongue against your bottom lip, but before your body could betray you, debbie pulls away. she winks at nolan shifting in his chair.

freaky time at the beach cuz im freaky like that

you lay in the sun in the swimwear that nolan had bought you, leaning back on your hands. you watch as the three of them splash around in the water and let your eyes drift, watching the strangers far away from you. the two of them had chosen a spot away from onlookers, and taking a glance towards the parking lot, far from the car. you consider what would happen if you ran. ‘no, too far away, nolan would grab me before i even made it to the cars.’

“penny for your thoughts?” nolan’s deep voice pulled your attention back.

you pull your legs up, resting your head against your knees. “nothing interesting.” you mutter.

“are you sure.”

‘can this asshole read minds? jeez.’ “yeah, i’m sure.” you look back towards debbie and mark, mark giggles wildly as she splashes him, gently. nolan takes a seat next to you. he pats his lap, gesturing to you. you look around, “th-there could be people watching.”

“so?” he quirks an eyebrow at you, puzzled by your attitude. he doesn’t wait for a response, easily pulling you by the waist into his lap. “i knew you would look good in this,” his hands squeeze your thighs, moving back to your waist, “and debbie says i have no taste in fashion.” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine. you try to shift away, but nolan grips your waist tighter, “i don’t think you wanna move like that, (y/n), it’s only going to make things harder.” he chuckles to himself. you relent, leaning back against his chest. you close your eyes with the warmth of his skin on your back and the sun against your face. “keep your eyes closed for me.” nolan whispers into your ear as he starts to move you against him.

“nolan wait-”

his grip on your waist hurts as he hisses, “don’t make a scene in front of mark and debbie. this is your only warning, (y/n).” you nod, and his hold on you loosens.

he keeps rocking you against him and you could feel him getting harder against you. you clutch his arms as he starts to move his hips in time with yours. as nolan grinded into you, you couldn’t help but whimper at his touch. you try to squeeze your eyes and dig your nails into his skin, trying to ignore the thought of strangers leering at you, watching as you were getting close to falling apart in one of your kidnapper’s arms.

“(y/n)! nolan! are you guys ready for lunch?” debbie’s voice forces nolan to still. nolan moves you aside as debbie comes over to put mark into your lap. “hold on to him for me, sweetheart.”

you nod, letting mark cuddle closer to you, “hey markie, you liking the beach?” he giggles as you pinch his cheeks. your eyes drift back to watch nolan whisper into his wife’s ear. she bites back a smile, looking over to you. your peaceful beach day was ruined as shame crept into your skin.

debbie and nolan start to trust you more, but not enough to leave you alone in the house.

debbie starts to take you with during errands and when she takes mark to the playground.

it felt nice, getting out of the house.

“god, i’m gonna be late.” you finish making debbie’s coffee, leaving it on the counter for her to take to work. “shit- NOLAN. TAKE MARK TO SCHOOL PLEASE.” she grabs her coffee and presses a kiss to your lips, “i’ll be back a little late, could you tell nolan to pick up from the preschool?” you nod and she kisses you once more before darting out to her car, without bothering to close the door. you blink and she’s gone, nolan replacing her with mark in his arms.

he looks around frantically, trying not to jostle mark. “sweetie, do you know where mark’s-”

you interrupt nolan, “here, i packed everything already. and debbie told me to tell you that you need to pick mark up cause she’s going to be late.” you smile with the bag in hand. nolan sighs.

“thank you, (y/n). what would do without you…” he presses a kiss to your lips before grabbing the bag. “oh, i need to run some errands for the house and i have some stupid meeting about the book-” he waves a hand, annoyed, “-so, i’ll be back a little late too. go ahead and have lunch without me.” he takes off with mark through the back, leaving you alone.

you sit down, exhausted from the normal chaos. you enjoy the silence in the house after being left alone. your eyes fall on the open front door and you sigh, “gosh, debbie…” you walk over, hand ready to close it when you pause. it’s open. for the first time since you were brought here, they left the door open. “is… is this a trap?”

if this was set-up by nolan and you run, you’ll lose the freedom you earned from them.

if this was an accident… you have time. time to run and never be found.

but what if you are found, omni-man would be hunting for you. he will find you.

you could hear your heart beat faster; you couldn’t breathe. this could be your only chance.

stockholm syndrome had taken root in you a long time ago. the couple had already molded you into their perfect plaything. you just hadn’t realized it until that day.

“(y/n)? what’re you making?” mark drops his bag on the couch.

“hey, markie. i’m just getting started on dinner. not hanging out with your friends today?” you smile as mark comes over to lean on your back. you feel him cringe at the pet name.

“nooo, they’re all busy. dad back from space yet?” his voice is muffled with his face pressed in your back.

“no, your mom said cecil doesn’t expect him to be back for another couple days, but cecil doesn’t know your dad like we do.” you chuckle to yourself. you turn around, letting mark properly hug you. “you should get started on your homework before dinner.” you give him a kiss on the head and mark leans into your touch.

“ughhh, can’t i just help you with cooking? i’d rather help my parents out than do homework.” mark mumbles into your shoulder.

you laugh, holding him closer, “oh my sweet markie,” you hear a muffled response at the name, “go finish your work and we can go a family movie night or something.” he pulls away from you with a pout. you pinch his cheeks and he grumbles.

“alrighttt, but i get to pick the movie.” he shoots you a fake glare and you nod with a laugh.

you helped raise mark since he was a baby, so you really are a third parent to him

he didn’t really understand the nature of your relationship with nolan and debbie, so they waited to really explain stuff when he get a little older.

when nolan explained to mark what actually happened in the beginning, he talked to you after his parents left

asking if you were happy and if you needed help, but by that point, you were too far gone

you just nod and say of course, but tell him to never mention to his parents what he asked you

debbie’s moans were music to your ears as you licked up her slit. you could feel nolan’s finger press into you, “god, (y/n), it’s like you get tighter no matter how many times i stretch you out.” you moan at the feeling, but debbie uses a hand to keep your head between her legs.

“don’t distract-” you cut debbie off, your tongue pressing against her clit. she moans and grinds onto your tongue, using you for her pleasure.

“relax for me, angel.” nolan grunts as he presses into you. you moan, unable to move, sandwiched between the two. before long, you were getting manhandled by both of them. nolan’s hands squeeze your hips as he pistons into you; debbie’s legs crush your head as she keeps you caged. all you could do was let them use you, letting yourself drown in pleasure.

they like to switch it up sometimes, but usually they’re both using you or tying you down to watch them make out

they used to do that in the beginning, since you were so “unruly”, and they liked seeing you squirm :)

anyway, these freakmeisters are into a lot of freak shit so don’t be surprised if there’s a weekend getaway to some cabin in the woods while mark is staying over at william's, and they end up fucking you against a tree

or going to some nice hotel and making you go down on them in the pool

idk they’re freaky as hell

i can imagine a lot of things…. writing it is a whole other issue lolol

this got too long… bye <3

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙗𝙤𝙮

Pairing: Lensless!Mark Grayson x Reader

Warning: Violence

Inspiration: “Loverboy” by A-Wall

—synopsis—

you break up with Mark and he absolutely loses his shit

a/n: i keep thinking about the turning point for all the variants, the moment when they finally go full psycho. this is my take on how it went down for the most unhinged of the bunch 😛 if y’all like this idea i might do the same setup for some of the other variants c: also can someone tell me how to center shit? i can't stand the way this photo is aligned to the left

Mark Grayson stood there, staring at his phone like it was some kind of strange, foreign object. The message from you, the words that had just shattered his world, danced in front of his eyes, flickering and mocking him.

We need to break up. I can’t do this anymore.

He blinked, once, twice—hoping the words would change. But no, they stayed there, taunting him. We need to break up. I can’t do this anymore. Over and over. His mind spun, his heart dropped. The world felt like it was suddenly tilting sideways.

No, no, no, he thought, shaking his head, trying to make sense of it. This can’t be happening. He had fought aliens. He had stopped monsters. He had beaten back threats from across the universe—and yet, here he was, powerless, staring at a screen.

His hands started to shake. He dropped the phone, watching it crack on the floor.

Why?

The question echoed in his head, over and over again. Why? What had he done wrong? He was Invincible, wasn’t he? He had saved the world. He had fought for the good of everyone… And you just throw it all away?

He couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened. The suffocating pressure, the sting of betrayal—it all built up, bubbling beneath the surface.

But I’m not enough, am I? His voice, in his head, started to change—warped. Bitter. Angry. The hero, the one who always stood tall, suddenly felt small. No one was there to save him. Not you. Not anyone. Everyone had left him to stand alone, even when he gave everything for them.

His eyes darkened. His teeth clenched. The anger… it was coming. The rage, the darkness—it was pulling at him like a tidal wave.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending.

The phone rang. It was his father—Omni-Man. The same man who had told him all those awful truths about the world. The one who had turned everything upside down.

Mark didn’t even bother to answer. No one could save him anymore. Not his father. Not anyone.

His fists clenched, and the room around him started to crack. He could feel it—the power surging through his body, the rage making him tremble. Every muscle in him screamed for release.

They all leave eventually. He thought of you. Of how you’d just thrown him away like a broken toy. It was sickening. He could feel it crawling under his skin—like something was snapping inside him.

I tried. I really tried to be good, to do everything right, but it never mattered, did it? Now? Now the world was his playground. They all wanted him to break. And they would get exactly what they wanted.

He stepped outside, shot into the air with charged energy, the world below him nothing but a blur of lights and noise. He needed this. Wanted it. It was the only thing that felt real anymore. He could hear the people below, terrified. They had no idea. They had no idea what he was about to become.

Mark grinned. It was a twisted, manic grin—a grin that didn’t belong on the face of the boy who had once been a hero.

“I did everything for you.” He muttered to himself, his voice thick with insanity. He floated over the city, his eyes gleaming with something darker than hate. “Everything. For you. And you—” He laughed, an unhinged, breathless sound that filled the empty space. “You don’t even care, do you?”

The city trembled beneath him, a test, a challenge.

He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t need to. In fact… it felt good. No, it felt great.

With a violent snap of his wrist, the skyline cracked, buildings folding under his power. People screamed below him, running, hiding.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Mark called out, his voice light and playful, as if this was just another game. “It’s not the end. Not yet, anyway. We’ve got all night, right?”

He paused, letting the devastation sink in. The city was crumbling, and he was loving every second of it. He hovered there, savoring it, as the world around him burned.

Hours later, the night was still. The destruction was only a whisper now, the silence hanging in the air like a promise. Mark flew through the streets, his mind buzzing with a strange kind of glee. His thoughts were chaotic, but one thing was clear.

He knew where you were.

Mark floated toward your house, the familiar street now a place of twisted anticipation. It was so quiet. Too quiet.

He could see your lights on through the window. He could hear your heartbeat, faint but steady, inside.

A manic grin spread across his face. He didn’t need to think anymore. It was all so simple now. The game was changing. The stakes? Well, they were everything.

Mark landed gently on the lawn, the grass bending under his feet. He didn’t knock. He didn’t have to.

He could feel the power surging through him, making his skin hum with excitement. He was a bomb ready to explode, and you were the fuse.

“You know,” he said, voice dripping with dark amusement as he slowly approached the door, his steps heavy, controlled. “I thought maybe I’d let you see what happens next. But I think it’ll be more fun if you feel it.” He grinned, twisted, and so full of madness.

The door creaked open, just a crack. He leaned in, his eyes glowing with a dangerous light.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll enjoy this. Not so sure about you though.”

And with that, the door flew open, the shadows swallowing the light from inside.

Part Two!

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

forever young - m. kaiser

fem!reader

your heels were killing you.

standing on the velvety red carpet for the premiere of your new movie, the one that you played the leading role in, your smile dazzled brighter than the sweltering sun above you, your cobalt dress adorned with thousands of crystals glimmering in the sun. from all around you, fans screamed and cheered, some even crying. at the mere age of 21, the world was in the palm of your hands, with the media and paparazzi adoring you and your fans being truly devoted.

you seemed to have reached the pinnacle of fame and glory.

immediately after having signed a fan's poster of you, an interviewer showed up, their face glowing with excitement. “miss (y/n), it's so nice to finally meet you! so many of your fans in your fanbase ship you with the young and powerful soccer player michael kaiser, how do you feel about that?”

you laughed. “well, i don't have much of an opinion. i find it hilarious, truly. who knew that simply saying i like blondes with blue as their main color would lead to so much drama?” you had never actually seen michael kaiser before. you knew of his existence and you've heard of him before, but you were never interested enough to actually search him up. the name was oh so familiar to you, your childhood best friend sharing the exact same name. he even had the same blonde hair and blue eyes; but you haven't seen him since you were 15, it's been 6 years. he had disappeared out of nowhere.

your eyes softened at the thought; he certainly had his problems, but you adored your mihya when you were younger. always getting him bread from the local bakery, always pushing each other on the swings, always talking to each other about anything and everything. he vanished one day when you were both 15, with no goodbye or note. there are still times when you would visit the playground that you and mihya always played at, expecting for him to just be there.

after four long hours of photos, interviews, and autographs, you finally went home, taking a five month break from acting. the moment you reached your neighborhood, you stepped out of the limousine and walked a few blocks to the park, the one you always played with mihya at.

you expected dusty equipment and woodchips as usual, perhaps a few kids as well, considering how it was a warm summer day.

but—

“mihya…?”

he turned, long blonde and blue hair swishing onto his back. he lingered on you, eyes widening and blue eyes brightening. “(y/n).”

for a few moments, you were both silent only meeting each other's eyes. you had always expected to jump at him and tackle him into a hug if you both ever met again, but now that you really did meet him again, you only felt awkward and stiff.

it was almost if the gods were mocking him; his mother was an actor who left his father in pursuit of same. and now the love of his life and childhood best friend became an actor and din't see him for years.

looks like you were both doomed from the start.

a/n: i saw a peter and wendy edit the other day to forever young, and it inspired me to do this. also, just imagine forever young was playing in the background when kaiser reunites with you, or actually just play it. idc.

[big-poppa23]

Something Like Her

synapse: in a game built to kill, y/n didn’t expect to feel anything—until she meets hyun-ju, a former soldier with steady hands and a guarded smile. she’s only ever dated men. but there’s something about hyun-ju—something like safety, like defiance…like possibly love.

pairing: cho hyun-ju x female!reader

contains: objectification, transphobia, awakening of sexuality, death

a/n: i can’t believe I haven’t written for my queen until now. im so in love with her and dae-ho. btw i just found out the doll in red light green light is actually saying “the mugunghwa flower has bloomed”

PART TWO

. . .

The air is too still.

Hundreds of players stand frozen on a faded, oversized playground while the mechanical doll at the far end slowly turns her plastic head. Her pigtails sway unnaturally. Eyes scan with robotic calculation.

“무궁화 꽃이 피었습니다,” the doll’s robotic slowly hums. (Mugunghwa Kkoci Pieot Seumnida)

Everyone bolts forward in scattered chaos — some with desperation, others with deadly focus. Y/N sprints across the dirt like her life depends on it, because it does. Her heart slams in her chest like a hammer against rusted metal.

She’s halfway to the finish line when it happens.

Her shoe catches a ridge in the ground — a root, maybe. She stumbles, just slightly — a breath, a blink.

She’s going to fall as the doll’s phrase slowly comes to an end.

Time slows. There’s a flicker of acceptance in her chest — the quiet knowing that she’s about to die. Then—

A hand wraps around her wrist, firm and unshaking.

Player 120.

“I’ve got you,” a soft voice whispered urgently, barely audible over the gasps and screams around them.

She moves with the precision of someone who’s been forced to live carefully. In one graceful motion, the arm now around her waist as she yanks Y/N upright, steadying her just as the doll’s head turns and the eyes flicker over them, she looks up at her savior just in time.

They freeze.

The woman holding her was tall, with dark hair that framed her face like curtains. Her expression was sharp — serious — but there was something warm in her eyes. A quiet strength. Her painted fingernails were digging into Y/N’s jacket from where she held on, unmoving, as still as a statue.

They don’t move.

The doll scans. Pauses. Moves on.

Gunshots crack in the distance. Someone screams.

But the two of them are alive.

And then the doll is humming again.

Hyun-ju lets go. Y/N’s knees tremble, but she runs towards the finish line. They both do.

. . .

The cold hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzes like a warning. The vote is over. The decision made.

They’re staying.

Despite everything — the blood, the screams, the slaughter masked as a children’s game — the majority chose to keep playing. Desperation outweighs fear.

Y/N sits stiffly on the edge of a steel bunk, staring down at her hands. They still tremble a little. Not from the game — but from how close it came. One misstep. One second slower. She would’ve been—

“Dead,” she mutters under her breath.

She looks around the room. Players avoid eye contact. Some cry quietly. Some already lie down, curling into themselves like children. The air smells of sweat and despair.

Then her eyes find Player 120.

She’s sitting by herself, legs folded. Calm on the outside, but her fingers pick absently at the corner of her sleeve. A mask of composure, but Y/N knows that kind of loneliness. The kind that keeps you apart even in a crowd.

Without thinking, Y/N gets up and walks forward in the line. She grabs a fresh dosirak box, still faintly warm, and an extra water bottle.

Then she crosses the room — quiet, unsure. “Hey.”

Hyun-ju glances up. Her eyes soften just a little.

Y/N holds out the food. “I figured you probably didn’t feel like getting in line.”

A pause. Hyun-ju looks from the box to Y/N’s face, then takes it gently. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

Y/N shrugs, trying to mask the awkward warmth building in her chest. “You, uh… saved my life earlier. Felt wrong not to say thank you properly…Well, as much as I can in here.”

Hyun-ju smiles — not wide, but real. “You’re welcome. Just don’t die in the second round, alright?”

“That’s the plan.”

They sit there for a moment — not talking, not eating, just existing side by side in the strange quiet after violence. Somehow, this tiny act of kindness feels like rebellion in a place designed to strip away humanity.

Y/N finally exhales. “You always look out for strangers?”

Hyun-ju opens her water bottle, thinks for a beat. “No,” she finally says softly. “But you didn’t feel like a stranger.”

And for the first time that day, Y/N smiles too.

The tin of the dosirak clicks softly as Y/N peels it open, the scent of lukewarm rice and kimchi filling the air between them. It’s far from appetizing, but it’s something. They eat in silence for a few minutes, the tension slowly bleeding out of their shoulders like a muscle finally relaxing.

Hyun-ju glances sideways at her. “You eat like someone who grew up fighting for the last bite.”

Y/N huffs a faint laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

A pause.

“What’s your name?” Hyun-ju asks.

Y/N looks up, a little surprised. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Hyun-ju repeats, as if tasting it. “It suits you.”

Y/N tilts her head, eyes narrowing curiously. “You say that like you’ve known me longer than a few hours.”

Hyun-ju smiles softly. “Some people don’t need long.”

Y/N looks down, hiding the ghost of a smile. Then— “You?”

“Hyun-ju,” she says. Her voice lowers slightly, like she’s weighing whether to give more.

Y/N nods, then decides to take the chance. “I… didn’t know what to expect when you pulled me up earlier. I thought maybe you were just one of the quiet types.”

“I used to be a sergeant,” Hyun-ju says, the words spilling out without ceremony. “Special Forces. Never really had the luxury of being loud.”

Y/N’s eyes widen slightly. “Wait, really? You—were military?”

“Was.” Hyun-ju sets her spoon down. “I got discharged a while ago.”

“What happened?”

A beat. Hyun-ju’s eyes flick to the floor. She’s quiet for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice is steady, but heavy. “…I told them I wanted to transition. Live openly. As myself.”

“And?”

“And that was enough for them to throw me out.”

Y/N doesn’t respond right away. She just watches her. Takes her in. Finally, she says, “Well… for what it’s worth and from what I saw, they lost a damn good soldier.”

Hyun-ju lifts her eyes to meet hers. There’s something unspoken in her gaze — surprise, gratitude, maybe even a flicker of hope “Thanks,” she murmurs. “Most people just stare or whisper.”

“Screw ‘most people.’” Y/N says. “You pulled me off the ground today like it was nothing. Like you’d done it a hundred times before. Everyone here would’ve let me fall and die. But not you. You’ve got more courage in your little finger than half the people in this room.”

Hyun-ju chuckles. “Don’t make me like you too fast.”

Y/N grins, leaning back on her hands. “Too late.”

The fluorescent lights buzz above them, but for a moment, they feel a little warmer.

Not friends. Not allies. Not yet.

But something’s beginning. And in this place — this hell — beginnings are rare.

. . .

It was a new day which meant it would be time for the second game. As the remaining stepped into a new room, it was announced they all had five minutes to get into groups of five.

Y/N blinked, heart already racing. Five. It wasn’t enough time. Not for strangers. Not for trust.

People scattered like frightened rats, some sprinting toward familiar faces, others grabbing whoever was closest.

She looked across the sea of bodies and saw Hyun-ju standing alone.

Their eyes met.

And then the crowd surged.

Y/N moved fast, weaving between players, reaching out—but a shoulder slammed into hers before she could get to Hyun-ju.

“Hey! Group of four!” a man barked nearby. “We need one more!”

Y/N turned hopefully, but his expression changed as he looked her up and down — not with camaraderie, but with something that made her skin crawl.

Like she was for sale.

Another man beside him grinned, elbowing his friend. “She’s cute. Bet she’ll keep us warm at lights out.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She stepped back without a word.

“Suit yourself, sweetheart,” the first one called after her. “You’ll be begging to join us when the clock runs out.”

She ignored him and turned to the next group.

Three women. One man.

All eyes shifted as she approached.

“Already full,” one woman said coolly, before she could even speak.

Another offered a sympathetic shrug, but didn’t fight it.

Y/N moved on. Fast.

Around her, people were forming up in uneven circles, huddling in tight, wary clusters. She spotted someone waving others over — until Hyun-ju approached.

The shift was immediate.

One of the men in the group looked her over judgement in his gaze and sneered. “No, we’re good.”

Hyun-ju’s jaw clenched. She said nothing. Just nodded once, stiffly, and walked away.

Y/N’s chest burned. She turned sharply and forced her way through the throng, her voice rising. “Hyun-ju!”

Hyun-ju looked up — and this time, didn’t hide the relief in her eyes.

Y/N reached her, breath short. “Guess we’re the leftovers.”

Hyun-ju smiled faintly. “Maybe we’re just the ones who haven’t forgotten how to see people.”

Y/N didn’t reply. Instead, she grabbed Hyun-ju’s hand and held it tight. “Then let’s survive together.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, the crowd moving around them like a tide. Cold glares and cruel whispers bounced around the room, but neither flinched.

1:04… 1:03…

Y/N and Hyun-ju stood firm in the corner of the room, back-to-back against a tide of rejection, judgement, and half-formed alliances. The chaos was beginning to quiet — not because people had settled, but because options were running out.

Then they saw them.

A woman in her late 70’s or 80’s — slight, trembling but proud — moved through the thinning crowd with a young man beside her, maybe mid-fourties’. He gripped her hand tightly, knuckles white, his face a mask of worry as he scanned the room.

Player 149 and Player 007. Mother and son.

Their steps hesitated as they neared Y/N and Hyun-ju’s duo.

Y/N felt it too — the uncertainty, the desperation. She took a half-step forward, voice almost shy.

“Would you…?”

At the same time, the older woman spoke.

“Can we…?”

Their mirrored hesitation said everything — four outcasts finding one another at the final hour.

Hyun-ju glanced at the mother’s hands — worn, calloused, trembling not with fear but with determination. The son, silent, nodded in solidarity.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond—

“You insolent fools!” The voice sliced through the air like a blade. Player 044 marched toward them, her eyes gleaming with something unhinged. “You made me come to you when you should’ve come to me.” Her lip curled. “I should just slay you with my knife.”

Silence fell between them like a dropped stone.

Y/N looked at Hyun-ju. Hyun-ju looked back — deadpan, blinking once in disbelief.

Is this really happening?

But the clock was still ticking.

00:12… 00:11…

“We need five,” Hyun-ju said under her breath, gaze not leaving 044. “We don’t have the luxury to be picky.”

“Can we survive her?” Y/N murmured.

“We’ve survived worse.”

Ten seconds.

Without another word, 044 joined them, uninvited but technically valid.

The group of five now stood complete — a mismatched portrait of the rejected, the forgotten, and the unhinged.

And as the countdown hit 00:00, the doors slammed shut behind them.

There was no turning back. Not from each other. Not from the game.

. . .

They made it.

Somehow — through near falls, and the frantic clatter of childhood games turned deadly — they made it.

The Six-Legged Pentathlon had pushed them to the edge: five games in rapid succession — Ddakji, Flying Stone, Gonggi, Spinning Top, Jegi — all tethered together by cuffs on their ankles and coordination. Every misstep pulled someone else down. Every second counted. There was no room for ego, no time for hesitation.

But they worked as one.

Clumsy. Fast. Breathless. Alive.

Y/N hadn’t realized just how tightly she’d been clenching her jaw until they crossed the finish line and she felt her teeth ache from the pressure. They were one of the first groups back to the dormitory — bruised, limping, and victorious.

Now, the room hummed with exhaustion and leftover adrenaline. Murmurs. Shallow breathing. The occasional dry cough.

Y/N sat on the cold steel steps of their bunk, her back against the frame. Beside her, Hyun-ju sat close, their knees nearly touching. Neither of them spoke at first. They just breathed. Together.

It wasn’t peace — not in the real sense. But it was a moment without panic, and that was rare enough to feel holy.

Then, finally, Y/N broke the silence with a small, raspy voice: “You know…” Hyun-ju turned her head, a slow tilt of curiosity. Y/N smiled — crooked and tired — as she looked down at her own scuffed shoes. “I’d pay every last won I have to see you slap Player 044 again.”

That caught Hyun-ju off guard. A pause. Then the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. “She was panicking.”

“She was being a maniac,” Y/N countered, letting out a breathy laugh. “I mean, yeah, we were all freaking out, but she could’ve gotten us killed.”

“So I slapped her.”

“So you slapped her,” Y/N echoed, grinning now. “And it was beautiful. Like, poetry. Especially after all the shit-talking she did during each of our games.”

Hyun-ju chuckled under her breath — short and quiet, but real. “Next time, I’ll let you do it.”

“Oh no,” Y/N said, nudging her knee against Hyun-ju’s playfully. “That was your moment. I’d only ruin the art of it.”

They both fell into silence again, but this time it was warmer. The air between them carried something unspoken — not quite flirting, but not far from it either.

Y/N glanced at Hyun-ju from the corner of her eye. The soft curve of her lips. The way her hands rested calmly in her lap, even after everything. That quiet strength again. That stillness.

Y/N didn’t mean to stare. But she was. Again.

Hyun-ju was sitting there, the dull overhead lights casting soft shadows over her features — strong, serene, undeniably beautiful.

Y/N’s eyes traced the curve of her jaw, the slope of her neck, the calm set of her mouth.

She felt the flutter again. That weird flutter in her chest. Like excitement dressed in nerves.

It wasn’t the first time.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face against them briefly as if to block out the heat rising in her cheeks. Get it together.

She’d had boyfriends before. Some serious. Most forgettable. Some good in bed. Most…selfish.

But none of them ever made her feel this aware.

Aware of every glance Hyun-ju gave her.

Every silence they shared. Every time their fingers brushed just a little too long when passing a bottle of water.

It wasn’t like falling for a guy. It didn’t hit with testosterone and friction and predictability.

No — this was quieter. Deeper. It crept in slowly like warm water in a cold tub — and now she was in too deep to tell when it started.

And maybe what shook her most was the way it felt so natural. Not like a mistake. Not like confusion.

It just…was.

She found herself listening for Hyun-ju’s voice when others were talking. Watching her mouth when she wasn’t speaking. Feeling something twist — something good — when Hyun-ju smiled at her, like she was letting Y/N into some secret world no one else was allowed in.

Is this a crush?

Y/N let her head fall back against the cold metal of the bunk frame, staring at the ceiling like it held answers.

God, what even is this?

But the thought didn’t bring panic.

It brought the ghost of a grin. A thrill that buzzed beneath the exhaustion of survival.

Y/N looked at her again.

Hyun-ju was watching her now — calm, soft-eyed, curious.

Y/N looked away quickly, heart thudding.

Too fast. Too loud. Too hopeful.

She didn’t know what this was becoming.

But it made her feel alive. And in a place built to kill everything human, that felt like a kind of rebellion.

Hyun-ju glanced toward Y/N with the beginnings of a smile — small, quiet, but warm enough to thaw ice. She looked like she was about to say something.

But the moment was interrupted.

“Listen,” said Player 149, settling across from her on the bunk like they were old friends in a public park instead of prisoners in a death game. “Can I ask you something?”

Hyun-ju nodded politely. “Yes.”

“When you were playing Jegi… why didn’t you want us to look? Are you shy?” There was no mockery in her tone, only curiosity — the kind older women sometimes carried, blunt but not malicious.

Hyun-ju didn’t flinch. “It’s not that,” she said calmly. “I’m just… not completely done.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up at that.

“What do you mean?” Player 149 asked, genuinely puzzled.

Before Hyun-ju could answer, her son — Player 007 — shifted uncomfortably. “Mom, stop asking questions. You’re being nosy.”

But Hyun-ju only chuckled, her fingers folded in her lap. “It’s alright,” she said. “I still have some procedures left. I just didn’t want people to stare at me.”

The air stilled slightly.

“What procedures?” Then Player 149 blinked and, after a beat, gestured vaguely toward Hyun-ju’s chest, speaking without judgment — more like someone puzzling out a riddle. “Oh… so that’s how you got those too? I knew they were too big to be natural—”

“Mom, please,” 007 groaned, gently tugging at his mother’s arm.

Y/N’s gaze drifted, unbidden, to where the older woman had pointed.

She hadn’t really looked before. Not closely. Not in that way.

But now, her eyes found the soft curve of Hyun-ju’s chest, how it rose and fell slowly with her breath. And for one suspended second, her thoughts blurred.

Then realization slammed into her.

She was staring.

Her cheeks flushed instantly, blood rushing to the surface like a guilty alarm. She yanked her gaze away, jaw tightening in shame. The last thing she wanted was to make Hyun-ju feel watched, like a spectacle — especially after what she’d just confessed.

Stupid. Don’t do that.

Y/N’s heart thudded unevenly. She hugged her knees closer to her chest, face half-buried, trying to will the heat from her skin to vanish.

It wasn’t about curiosity. It wasn’t about shock. It was something else. Something complicated. Something real.

The truth was… she found Hyun-ju beautiful.

Not despite her being trans.

Not because of it.

But alongside it.

Hyun-ju was beautiful in ways that couldn’t be boxed in or labeled — not by surgery, not by old habits, or what she thought she understood about herself.

And if her body was still in transition… that didn’t matter.

Because what Y/N felt — this pull, this gentle ache in her ribs every time Hyun-ju smiled — wasn’t about biology. It wasn’t theoretical.

It was personal.

God, Y/N thought, pressing her fingers to her burning cheeks. This is really happening, isn’t it?

And yet, despite her embarrassment, a flicker of something stayed alive inside her: Warmth. A kind of wonder.

[jaylaxies]

TEASER: YOURS (MAYBE?)

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader x jay

GENRE: enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff, humour, angst.

TEASER WC: 1988 words! (est. 33k words)

SYNOPSIs: Your best friend’s wedding was supposed to be the well-earned vacation you’d been dreaming of, the perfect escape and much needed breather. Instead, you’re stuck sharing a room with your ex-rival, and the previously quiet, enigmatic boy from university, both seemingly perfectly poised to turn this trip into a carefully orchestrated plan to woo you.  Alternatively: Challengers, but your playground isn’t a tennis court, it is the bedroom which you share with Jay and Jake.

WARNING: the fic will contain 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic got way longer than intended! so i’ll just leave a little teaser as something to compensate while i finish editing. <3

taglist is open! comment/send an ask to be added <3 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog!)

Chapter 1: The boy I forgot Vs. The boy I can’t. 

Being late to your best friend’s wedding trip was the lowest you could have sunk down, and you did. 

Well, granted, it was courtesy of your work which never gave you holidays, but alas, you managed to get a week off, now rushing out of the airport with your two heavy luggage bags, not to mention the backpack and purse you managed to carry along, trying to spot the bride, Karina, who still proceeded to pick you up in the midst of all the wedding preparation chaos. 

She launches herself at you even before you had the time to react, engulfing you in a hug so tight as if you hadn’t met her over dinner just the week prior. 

“You’re so fucking late,” she screamed, shaking you as you finally elicited a laugh, waving back at her fiancé, Jeno, who was smiling like a puppy seeing his fiancée so joyous. 

“Blame my boss, he fucking made me work overtime to the point I had to cancel my flight and take the ticket for the next one,” you groaned, letting the couple help you with your luggage and share everything you’ve missed so far—which somehow didn’t include the room assortment, yet. 

Karina chats your ear off the entire ride to the Airbnb villa booked especially for the friends, other families and guests having different villas all to themselves, her voice practically vibrating with sheer excitement, but it’s not until the car takes a sharp turn into a winding hill that your stomach twists with something else—anticipation.

“You’ll love the place,” she says, “and the people—well, mostly.”

You shoot her a look. “Mostly? You let me take care of everything, from helping with your wedding dress to finalizing the flowers and arrangements, but didn’t let me take a single look at the guest list, should I be worried?” 

“Let’s just say, there are a few strong personalities. You’ll see.”

You narrow your eyes but let it slide, muttering, “yeah I’m worried.” She’s already looking smug, and you had a bad feeling about it now that your car neared the villa for the next few days, and you did have a slight hint about what was to come, to which you simply prayed for it to be wrong. 

It was something straight out of a pinterest board, cream coloured walls, string lights adorning it, the faint scent of gardenia drifting through the slight breeze, cooling down the otherwise warm atmosphere. You’re still staring at the view as you get another hug attack from Winter, who was more than excited to see you after the few weeks you spent away, because you still met up after subsequently completing the university. 

A small genuine smile graced your face as you started catching up, “god—wait. I need Karina to finalize the aisle placements, I’m sorry, Y/N, we’ll be back in a second.” She says, rushing away, seeming more bothered than the bride to be herself, who was enjoying every second of it. 

You weren’t sure what you expected when you stepped into the villa, but it definitely wasn’t this.

The place looked like something out of a design magazine—open plan with warm wooden floors, arched doorways, and morning light spilling across the ceilings. Plants dangled beautifully from the pots, and a soft ocean breeze danced through linen curtains like the house was exhaling out elegance.

It was like a perfect Pinterest wedding destination, almost like a spot where people would fall in love seamlessly. 

Unfortunately, you were not here for love.

You were here for Karina’s wedding, and most importantly, you were especially not here to run into—

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigy herself.”

That voice—you froze mid-step, every muscle in your spine stiffening like instinct. No. Absolutely not, that could not be him, could he? 

You turned slowly, already preparing your sigh, and found yourself face to face with none other than Park Jongseong. 

Great.

Same perfect posture, same cocky half-smile. Tall, annoyingly handsome, and dressed like the poster boy for a casual rich man at a coastal wedding—open shirt, silver chain, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes dark enough to drown someone, and his heart shaped birthmark on the neck still standing out. 

Jay.

Your academic nemesis, your eternal debate partner. The guy who turned every university presentation into a showdown and somehow made you want to win even harder, the guy you swore you hated all three years of your undergrad uni. 

You hadn’t seen him since graduation. You’d hoped that would be the end of it, but of fucking course, fate hated you.

“Well, I see you’re still as stiff as ever,” you said, looking bored, hoisting your backpack bag higher on your shoulder, “still studying like a madman, huh?”

Jay gave a lazy smile, eyes flicking over you with the practiced indifference of someone used to winning, his eyes still wandering around your figure before he clicked his tongue, “you’re late.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, already irritated, “I’m fashionably late, there’s a difference, you wouldn’t understand, of fucking course.” You said, pointing at your amazing airport fit. 

“I’m sure there’s a spreadsheet in your bag that proves that, you always came over prepared anyway.”

You opened your mouth to deliver a killer comeback—and were immediately interrupted by another voice.

“Woah—woah, I’ve only been here ten minutes and there’s already fights unleashing, huh?”

You turned again, this time finding yourself staring into a face you hadn’t expected at all.

Jake.

Sim Jaeyun, you recognized him immediately—your old batchmate, the quiet one from your year, you remembered him as soft spoken, always with a shy smile, never really one to speak unless called on, only if you omit out recalling that one night when he did talk to you, just one night. 

Except now—now he stood beside Jay, lean and sun-kissed, wearing a faded tee that clung just right and black sweatpants that made him look nothing like the awkward boy you remembered. There was a warmth in his eyes, sure—but also something new, a flicker of playfulness, of newfound confidence.

His hair fluffier than ever, lips still pouty but in a teasing manner, and his aura now strong and warm, as if he had a halo around his head. 

“Jake?” you said, unsure, but you did remember him, not just the newly transformed version of him.

His grin was unnaturally attractive as he replied, “you remember.”

Barely, you thought, but said instead, “wow, you were—uh quiet.”

Jake chuckled, and the sound was different than you remembered too, richer, more teasing, accent evident in his voice, “yeah. Not so much anymore, I guess.”

Jay scoffed from beside him, “he still is when he loses. Don’t let him fool you.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “ignore him. He gets cranky when he’s not the smartest in the room, Mr. Know it all.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Is that why he always sulked during academic week?”

Jay turned to you with a sarcastic smile. “You were the one who stole my thesis idea in senior year.”

“I didn’t steal it, I simply executed it better.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh my god,” Jake said with a laugh, looking between the two of you, “this is amazing. It’s like watching the academic war off, but, well, this is actually interesting.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, but you quickly caught yourself. No, absolutely no humanizing your rival, not when he was right in front of you. 

Jay leaned against the entryway wall, clearly amused, “didn’t expect to see you here, honestly.”

“I’m Karina’s best friend,” you replied with an eye roll as if he was dumb, “of course I’m here.”

Jay’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his gaze sharpened slightly. “Right. Makes sense.”

Jake tilted his head as if he didn’t know, “you and Karina were close in uni?”

“We roomed together all four years,” you said, lips curving, “she’s like my sister.”

Jay gave a half, sarcastic smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “hm, that does explain the pity invite.”

You scoffed as you stepped closer, gaze daring, “are you always this good at projecting?”

“I’m always this good at reading people.”

“Then read this and stay away,” you said sweetly, flipping him off.

Jake blinked, then burst out laughing, leaning forward like the moment was a personal win, genuinely amused, “I’m sorry, that was iconic, never gets old.”

Jay shrugged, shaking his head at you, “she always had a flair for the dramatics, I wonder why she didn’t join the drama society.”

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered, but before Jay could respond, the front door opened again and Isa rushed in, grinning.

“There you are!” She said, grabbing your arm. “Come on, Karina’s doing the room assignments!”

You let yourself be dragged back inside, throwing one last glance at the boys—Jay smirking like he’d already won something, and Jake watching you with a curiosity that sent a shiver up your spine.

Room assignments, right. You could handle that, or so you thought. 

The rest of the house was gathered in the living room, lounging on floor cushions and sipping iced drinks and vodka? Well, afternoon drinking is fun, meanwhile, Karina stood in the center, a clipboard in hand and a wicked glint in her eye, that was reserved for you, apparently.

“Okay,” she announced. “Here’s how it’s going to work. We’ve got three rooms for guests. Each one has its own fun layout.”

You narrowed your eyes. That tone was never good, not when she used it looking your way, and you simply hoped that your gut feeling wasn’t right this once. 

“Room One, Isa, Winter, Yunjin.”

The girls high-fived and squealed, already plotting aesthetic corners and matching pajamas, and you stood there, knowing what was to happen when you weren’t put up with the girls. 

“Room Two, Yeonjun, Heeseung, Beomgyu, Jaemin, and Hyuck.”

Someone groaned in the back, definitely Hyuck, “why do we get the bunk beds?”

Karina grinned, “because you snore, Hyuck.”

Then she paused, flipping the page. “Room three—hm, this one’s interesting.”

Your stomach dropped when it was finally the time to say it out loud. 

“No,” you said immediately, “whatever it is you’re about to say, no.”

Karina ignored you, “room three has one double bed and one single, and it goes to—Y/N, Jay, and Jake.”

Silence.

Then the crowd erupted into laughter, Beomgyu complaining about how it should be him with you instead, meanwhile, the girls wondering who’s gonna make it out of the room alive, because with that pairing, someone was bound to murder the other.

“You’re fucking kidding,” you whispered, horrified, already reaching out to Karina who was on the verge of running away, laughing hard at your expressions, “what? No. Are you serious?”

Jay looked up from his drink with mock surprise, as if Jeno had already told him what was to happen, “Huh? That’s unfortunate.”

Jake’s eyes went wide, almost comical, “wait—what? All three of us?” He asked, pointing at himself. 

Karina nodded, grinning too wide, still rushing around trying to not get caught by you, “unless someone wants to sleep on the couch?” She asked, chuckling as she hid behind Jeno for shield. 

“I’ll sleep in the ocean,” you said flatly, moving back now that you knew Karina was safe and hiding behind a tall, muscular man. 

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I don’t mind the single bed—unless you want to share.”

Jay choked, not expecting that kind of reaction from Jake, “she’d rather sleep with a thesis on stem cell regeneration.”

“Oh my god, this can’t be happening,” you muttered.

Karina clapped her hands. “Settled! Take your bags upstairs. Good luck.”

You stood frozen as the group dissolved into laughter and chatter, your fate sealed, this trip was going to kill you.

And it hadn’t even begun yet.

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified @prkhaven @kristynaaah @tinycatharsis @filmnings @mwahvvis @hoonprksung

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[lxvvie]

Couples Shit with Simon Riley, Stay at Home Missus Edition:

Simon Riley is a SAHM (stay-at-home missus). Yes, he's fine with it. Yes, you're fine with it. No, taking care of Beanie and the house is not bloody hard. Yes, he enjoys it, even when Beanie wakes him up at the asscrack of dawn to play Princess Daddy Bandit Heeler. No, it's not babysitting, it's called being her FATHER, and no, it's not emasculating what Simon does, it's called being a MISSUS and taking care of his family. What the fuck?

You and Simon are a team, a well-oiled machine playing the game of life on your own terms, and while what you do may not work for others, it works for you two and you're all the happier for it. Plus, it's adorable how much Beanie has Simon wrapped around her finger.

Simon's an organized fellow. Keeps a checklist of things to do around the house, things pertaining to Beanie, etc. Nothing he can't handle. He likes working with his hands.

And speaking of Beanie, she is your alarm clock. Once she's up, the whole house is up preparing for the day. You're usually sleepily trailing behind Simon into the kitchen. At the same time, Beanie sits comfortably on Simon's shoulders and lives her best Queen Bean life like she should, happily talking your ears off about everything on her mind.

Beanie turns getting ready for the day into a family affair, especially when she goes to nursery (she doesn't go all week, only a couple days to get her acclimated to a school setting and to socialize), and she wants to look her absolute best. You two help her get ready and all's well until you and Beanie decide that Daddy should be twinsies with his baby girl. Oh... bloody fuckin' hell. And so he does—matching shirts—and he's on official Princess Daddy Security duty.

Lunch? Already packed and ready to go. And like clockwork, you forget yours. And like clockwork, Simon has to drop it off to you after he drops Beanie off.

Though Simon in general doesn't have two fucks to give, he's all too aware of the stares he gets when he's with Beanie. Some wariness, a little bit of fear, and some... interest? When he drops her off at daycare, takes her to the playground, takes her on playdates with her friends, or is at the store getting groceries, he gets stares. What, they've never seen a man on Princess Daddy security duty before? The shock value and looks on their faces are worth it all, especially when Beanie is screaming-laughing "Daddy!" as Simon hoists her over his shoulders.

But if he isn't getting stares when he's out with Beanie, he gets stares from your co-workers. Your co-workers who STILL can't believe he's the missus. Your co-workers who can't believe he's the one who keeps the house while you work. You make it a point to kiss him every time he drops your lunch off, right in front of your co-workers, before staring at them pointedly. And Simon, your MISSUS, chuckles every time.

Grocery runs with Beanie is an adventure all its own. The Queen has to give her approval and it's his daughter's world after all. "What do you think, Beanie?" She contemplates a little before nodding and going, "That one!" 'cause Rileyland has to have the best food after all. And then they go to the bakery. They keep it a secret—"Pinky promise, Beanie." "Pinky promise!"—from you. Rileyland has to have the best sweets after all.

When you come home, you're greeted by the Queen Bean herself who's helping Daddy make dinner. Your usual greeting is to hug him from behind and just hold him. Your husband, your missus, the bedrock who gets shit done, and supports you and your daughter with everything in him. You couldn't ask for a better partner.

After a hearty dinner complete with Beanie talking about her day, cleaning up, packing your lunch for tomorrow, and taking your evening bath, you three usually wind up on the couch. Everyone is pilled on Simon and just... being. Relaxing. Well, you and Simon are relaxing and Beanie is fighting sleep and trying to convince you both to get a dog because her friends have dogs. Yeah. Just another day in the Riley household.

[zulashi-the-writer]

A Fever Dream

Romance x Girlfriend

Credit goes to therosettasun on TikTok

Summary: to love but never to forget, how could someone claim to love you but disappear when you needed them most

1st/2nd person pov

His eyes stared out into the crowd emotionless at the screaming fans, the bittersweet smile plastered on his lips as he blew out hearts then his eyes caught it the glimpse of something familiar, his heart fluttered seeing the sway of your hair, it couldn't be you, could it? He didn't get time to check as the red mist wrapped around his body taking him back to the demon world.

He couldn't get you out his head the thought of his past life resurfacing, all the memories flashing in front of his eyes, oh how he'd do anything to be back in your arms, to feel your warmth and hear your angelic voice say his name, but the remembrance of old memories comes fondness but also regret.

He'd look for you everywhere, hoping you'd be there looking straight back at him but you never were, all the girls screaming for his attention none of them could compare to you, he yearned to feel like that one more time to feel loved by you.

He decided to sneak away after the idol award trails following the exact route he used to take, his heart ached as he saw your favourite restaurant with a for sale sign blocking the door and the small playground you used to take him to sit on the swings with hazard warnings all over and the gate chained shut.

He wandered through every ally way, remembering everything that happened and watching the memories like an hallucination, from the kitten you found and nurtured cradling it in your arms keeping it from the rain to where you stood shouting at him when you were fighting, he was so lost in thought but his feet moved so perfectly knowing exactly where they need to go.

He looked at all the old things you pointed out when he'd walk you home, the neighbourhood kids that always played games on the sidewalk you boasted how the kids you would have together would win every single one, but the kids were no longer there they'd all probably in their teenage years now, a lump started forming in his throat as he started nearing your house.

He didn't even know you still lived there maybe it was his imagination playing tricks on him, maybe it was Gwi-ma being cruel, he tried swallowing the lump in his throat he peered around the corner his eyes softening as he saw your house, his heart fluttering as he saw all the modifications you spoke about, the beautiful colour garden that was maintained modestly, his steps faltered as he came to the path leading up to the door.

His eyes wondered over the porch, his eyes caught sight of the small engraving he made on the banister it was your initials in a heart his eyes squinted seeing another initial added he rolled his shoulders the feeling of uncertainty feeling him up once more, his eyes moved as he slowly stepped closer he saw the shoes he brought you for your birthday settled by the door frame he remember how you always wanted them but didn't have the money, his brows knitted together seeing pink kids show next to them, did you have a kid?.

A feeling of jealousy filled him, you found someone else? his eyes fluttered in sadness, he lifted his hand to knock on the door but his body froze what is he supposed to say 'oh I made a selfish deal with a demon king that's why I left you' he bowed his head in distress his eyes bolting up as he heard the click of the door his breath hitching as it opened, he didn't dare to blink scared that he was going to blink and you'd be gone.

"Yn" he watched your face panic, your chest raising up and down due to your shallow breathes "it's me" his voice was low just above a whisper he watched your eyes squint your eyes filling with curiosity then sadness "it can't be" your voice cracked your head turned as small footsteps charged towards you "mama" you bent down picking up your little girl keeping her close in your arms, Romance stood shocked seeing this little child with pink hair similar to his "is she..." the words caught in his throat.

Even you didn't know what to say he disappeared never said goodbye now he's here "uh-yeah" I murmured before whispering her to go play in the back she nodded quickly and ran off as I put her down "where did you go" I tried sounding emotionless but my sadness showed I hugged myself giving me a little comfort "I made a deal with a bad person" his voice dwindled "I'm so sorr-"

"No" I muttered interrupting him "you don't get to apologise, you left me when I needed you" I paused catching my breathe the anger boiling up in my chest "we needed you" I dropped my head to the ground tears streaming down my cheeks, my eyes stared at the ground fill of anger and confusion "why" I asked but he didn't answer I looked up glaring at him "why" I yelled pushing him making him stumble back.

He stared at me not saying anything his mouth opened and closed silently, he stood up straight composing himself "if I could go back in time I would my love, I never wanted to hurt you" his voice was soft holding so much emotion "but you did you weren't there you hurt me, hurt us" I shook my head weakly my body collapsing to the ground his body colliding with mine as he caught me holding me against him "I wish I was I swear, I've missed you every day" his tears slipped down his cheeks falling onto your hair.

My fists balled up his shirt as I pressed my face into his neck, my tears wetting his shirt "you left us" my words were hushed as he stroked my hair like he used to when I was stressed "I know" he said his voice breaking his lips shakily pressing a soft kiss against my head before taking in a shaky breath.

"I promise to never leave you again"

[catchastarorten]

—“Come back alive”

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x eventuallover!fem!reader

Summary: he never told you how he really felt about you, believing you deserved more than a man consumed with finding his brother and that island. But now, with the island gone, he returned home to you, and did what he should’ve done a long time ago—truly be with you.

Content: very brief mentions of s3 events, happy endings for you and Jun-ho, childhood best friends to lovers, Jun-ho having emotional conflict, kisses, a little angsty(?), fast-paced, English isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.1k

You were his everything long before he ever admitted it to himself.

Jun-ho always knew that. Knew that since you were kids, voices hoarse from screaming each other’s names across the playground.

You two had grown up together, attached at the hip. Kids who met on a rainy schoolyard and never let go. He scraped his knees, and you were the one who washed the blood away. You got your heart broken in middle school, and he showed up with a small boquet he made with flowers he picked and told you that anyone who didn’t love you was a damn idiot.

As time passed by, the world changed—got colder—but you didn’t. Or maybe you did, in the same way he did. But you still looked at him like he mattered when he didn’t even feel real to himself anymore.

When In-ho disappeared, it was like the whole city turned to grey static. People offered "sorry"s, a few helped at first, but you—you stayed. You looked through police reports with him, stayed up late when he looked through footage frame by frame, and asked anyone you thought had a chance of knowing In-ho.

You never once asked him to stop. Never once told him to move on like everyone else did. You just looked at him with that patient grief in your eyes that mirrored his, and it made something hurt deep in his ribs, something too full to name.

There were nights when he wanted to say it. You’d be sitting on his couch with cups of cheap convenience store coffee, exhaustion hanging between you, and he’d look at your face—tired, steady—and want to say, I love you.

But how could he? How could he look you in the eye and ask for your heart when his was still buried under the weight of his missing brother? When he still woke up cold in the middle of the night from that dream? The cliff, the gunshot, the ocean.

He thought if he really said it, if he really let himself have you—you'd feel like a placeholder. Like comfort he ran to because his brother was gone.

And you deserved so much more than being second to his grief.

He was terrified. That loving you meant dragging you into his shadows. That you’d smile that soft smile of yours and nod, but never really feel like you meant enough to him. Because how could you be, if he hadn’t made peace with himself yet?

But he never stopped thinking about it. About you. About the things he didn't say.

And maybe you knew. Maybe that’s why you never said anything either. You never pushed. Never asked. But you were there. You were always there. You waited.

—

The night before Jun-ho left for the island again, he stood outside your apartment for five full minutes, just staring at the door. He thought about turning around. About leaving without seeing you. Maybe it would hurt less that way.

But when you opened the door—like you already knew he was coming—he forgot all of that.

You didn’t ask why he was there. You just let him in.

He stood there in your tiny living room, his eyes didn’t meet yours right away. “...I'm leaving tomorrow.”

You swallowed, your hand tightening slightly on the edge of your sleeve. But you were calm. “So you came to say goodbye.”

He hated the sound of that word in your mouth. Goodbye. It wasn’t supposed to sound so final.

“I came because I didn’t want to leave without seeing you.”

That’s when you reached for him.

A hand to his chest first, gentle and warm. Then your other hand cradled the side of his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone like you were checking to see if he was real. Your eyes flicked to his lips for just a second.

That was all it took.

You kissed him.

Slow.

Soft.

He froze.

Not because he didn’t want it—but because he did, he wanted you ever since he was fifteen and you tackled him during a stupid pillow fight. But because he was afraid. Afraid that this would be the only kiss he would ever share with you. Afraid that he might never get the chance to have you in his arms again if he left today.

But you didn't kiss like that. You kissed him like you knew there would be more. Like you were certain he'd come back.

Then he melted.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. He kissed you back as his chest pressed against yours, and it felt like home.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his.

“Come back alive,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer for a second. He just held you. Closed his eyes and imagined your life together—quiet kisses in soft-lit rooms, laughter over dinners, long nights where the only war was deciding what movie to watch.

“I will,” he finally said, and he hated how much his voice wavered.

—

The next day, he was gone with Woo-seok and the team

He could still feel the touch of your kiss. He leaned against the boat, eyes scanning the horizon, but all he saw was your face.

He thought about you the whole time they drifted on the ocean, trying to find the island. He thought about your laugh. He thought about how you never told him not to go. You just asked him to survive.

And he tried. When everyone on the boat nearly died from a betrayal. When he got the confrontation he wanted with In-ho, moments before the island exploded.

And he came back for you.

—

The second he saw you again, standing in that same doorway, he dropped everything and wrapped his arms around you.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Your fingers curled into his back like you were afraid to let go. His lips found your shoulder, your temple, your cheek, then finally your lips.

And this time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t hesitant. It was years of ache and longing and quiet waiting that finally let loose.

He pulled back only once, to whisper the words he’d carried for so long.

“I love you.”

You smiled, voice breaking, but eyes steady. “I know.”

He was home.

[xxsinisterbunniexx]

Running into Spider Webs - Ticci Toby x Female reader NSFW

Warnings: dubcon

Originally published on AO3, which you can read here if you’d prefer :)

Tags: partying, drinking, reader is a DUMB IDIOT, degradation, fingering, oral sex, face fucking, overstimulation, forced orgasm, squirting, German dirty talk, creampie

Words: 8.8k

Summary: After a heated argument with your roommate you find yourself alone at a playground in the middle of the night, trying your best to cool down. Your rage filled antics inadvertently capture the attention of Toby. Charmed by his ability to say whatever he thinks and intrigued by his mysteriousness, you find yourself going along with whatever he says. As the night goes on, you start to realize this strangely attractive boy may be more than you bargained for.

As always: ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ all canon will be flexible to make way for sexy ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

This is my last fic to crosspost from AO3 so my fics will undoubtedly come out at a slower rate from here on out :P

This was my first attempt at a more lore accurate Toby! I had to do a lot of research on his original characterization and his disorders but I’m satisfied with how it came out!

I was also greatly inspired by @annokan she makes really awesome art of Toby and she has an excellent characterization of him so I recommend checking out her blog :3

“FUCK YOU!” You screamed before slamming the door behind you. You raced down the steps of the porch and down onto the sidewalk. The cool summer night air felt good on your face, but it was doing nothing to cool your temper.

You were seething with rage, stomping down the street, not even sure where you were planning on going. All you could see was red. You only knew one thing.

I need to get the fuck away from her!

It was already dark outside. Normally, your common sense would’ve told you not to be walking around alone at night, but you were so livid you couldn’t think straight.

You trudged all the way to the playground at the end of the neighborhood. It was completely empty. No kids were playing at this time of night. They actually had some sense, unlike you.

You walked up to a bench and plopped down, angrily mumbling to yourself. “Fuck her… stupid fucking…. Ugh!”

You couldn’t sit down for long. You were still fuming. Your feet hit the pavement and you rose up, still stomping around and throwing your hands around angrily while mumbling. Unbeknownst to you, someone was watching you from the woods. He was rather intrigued by your behavior. What was a pretty girl like that doing out here alone?

You were still ranting on angrily, pacing around the playground. “I swear I’m gonna fucking kill her!” You half shrieked.

The words you had just uttered fully piqued his curiosity. Now he wanted to play with you.

You groaned again in frustration, pressing your head into one of the poles that supported the playground for dramatic effect. You closed your eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, almost feeling like you had gotten everything out of your system.

A hand on your shoulder jolted you out of your thoughts as you whipped around and shrieked.

A tall guy with messy brown hair looked slightly startled by your reaction. He was wearing a mask that covered half his face, but you were still able to see a good amount of it.

“Sorry.” He said half-heartedly, chuckling a little. “I just -fuck- I saw you out here acting crazy and wanted to see what you’re up to?” He jerked his head to the side in the middle of his sentence, correlated with the swear.

His answer seemed innocent enough, yet internally he was loving the scared little bunny look you got when he surprised you.

“Shit! Fuck… sorry you really scared me.” You let out a deep breath, feeling a bit relieved it wasn’t some scary murderer.

You looked him over a bit better now. From what you could see of his face, you could tell he was fairly attractive. He wore a hoodie and jeans, a pretty normal outfit except for the goggles on his head. You wondered what those were for.

“I caught you throwing your hands around and talking to yourself so I just wondered what the hell you were doing. Are you a crazy person?” He asked, rather bluntly.

“Oh my god…” The realization of how you probably looked from his perspective washed over you. “Fuck man, I’m sorry. I know it looks like I’m some type of crazy person. I swear I’m not. Truth is, I actually just got in a big argument with my roommate so I’m out here trying to cool my head but it’s not really working.”

“Oh, yeah? What -fuck- happened?” Once again he jerked his neck in tandem with the swear.

You paused for a second. Were you really just gonna air out all your business to a total stranger? Did it really matter though? You were still boiling with anger and very conveniently there is a guy here who is willing to listen to you.

“Well basically, she keeps having her boyfriend over like 24/7, and like I don’t mind him being there sometimes, but everyday? It’s just ridiculous. Like I don’t pay to live with a dude y’know?”

“Sounds to me like you got yourself another roommate.” He laughed to himself.

“Yeah, and it’s not one I wanted. It’s like I can’t walk around my apartment without feeling a little on edge cause there’s a man around. What if I wanted to walk around wearing tiny booty shorts? Well, can’t now.” You said with a huff, leaning against the pole.

He laughed at your booty shorts comment. “Why not just tell him to get the fuck out?” He sounded like he didn’t quite understand the issue.

“Well, I can’t do that.” You joked. “That would make her really mad.”

He looked like he still didn’t understand for a second. “So you’re out here having a spasm cause you didn’t want to make her mad?”

“A spasm?” You smirked a little. “I mean yeah I guess so.” You smiled a little more.

“That’s funny. You’re funny.” He laughed. “-fuck-"

You just eyed him for a moment, before gaining the courage to ask. “Do you mind if I ask what’s with the…?” You imitated the jerking motion he had just done.

His face went dark for just a split second, so quickly you almost thought you imagined it, then immediately went back to normal. “I have Tourette’s, actually.” He said a little awkwardly.

Your hand slapped over your mouth. “Oh my god. I’m so fucking sorry. That was super fucked up of me.” You apologized profusely.

He laughed a little at how panicked you got, you were so naïve. “A little bit, but I’m willing -cough- to overlook it cause you’re funny.”

“No, I’m super fucked up, I really am sorry. Damn.” You kept babbling like an idiot.

He laughed more, and you couldn’t help but think he was a little cute. He had a nice laugh too. You started to wonder what he looked like under that mask.

“It’s fine. People have said a lot worse.” His comment made it sound like it was no big deal, but it still made you wonder what people have said in the past.

“Well that’s super fucked up!” You blurted. “If people have said bad stuff about it I mean…” you continued. When he didn’t say anything you felt the need to keep going. “Cause like, you know, it’s not your fault and people shouldn’t judge you for that.”

The longer you kept talking the more stupid you felt, but it was like word vomit, you just couldn’t stop. He was enjoying watching you stumble over your words.

“You really are funny.” He said in a tone that almost sounded flirtatious. Almost. You were quite intriguing to him. He had the urge to mess with you more, to watch you squirm. He could attack you or chase you but… that wouldn’t be very fun... yet. Maybe later.

The wind blew, and you shivered a bit. It then dawned on you that although it was summer, it was still nighttime. Your crop top and shorts weren’t doing much to keep you warm. That’s what you get for being impulsive and running out of the house.

“Are you cold?” He asked, now sitting a little closer to you.

“Yeah, I just kinda ran out of the house in what I had on.” You laughed. “If you couldn’t tell, I don't think much.”

“Do you want to wear my hoodie?” He asked.

“What?! No, no! That’s yours. I wouldn’t take it and make you cold.”

“It’s okay, I can’t feel it.” He said casually, already taking off his hoodie.

You cocked your head to the side, a confused expression on your face. “What, you mean like the cold doesn’t bother you?”

“No, I can’t feel it.” He said again, as if it were a no brainer.

He already handed it to you before you could refuse it again, so you put it on. It was quite warm and smelled like the woods, a faintly pleasant smell. “That’s kind of funny actually, I figured you were just super chilly, since you have that mask on.”

“No, -fuck- that’s for a -fuck- different reason.” He ticked twice in one sentence, it seemed like you pointing out the mask might’ve put him on edge. He was jerking around a bit more too.

“Oh… I mean you don’t have to tell me why.” You stated adamantly, waving your hands in front of you, signaling it was no big deal.

“I have a scar on -fuck-” he coughed and jerked a bit more. “On my face. It -fuck- freaks some people out so I keep it hidden.”

“Oh. Well… you don’t have to hide it from me?” You said. “I won’t judge you if you take it off.”

He mumbled something to himself that you couldn’t quite hear and then slowly took it off. Under his mask was a large gash on his left cheek, it went all the way through his face, exposing his teeth. He also had two silver lip rings on either side of his mouth.

You took in his face with awe, your jaw slowly falling open a bit. The scar was something to behold for sure, but to you it only made him more interesting. It was like gazing at a work of art, terrifyingly beautiful.

“Woah… that’s… gnarly.” You said softly, as if to yourself. Then you realized what you said and slapped your hand over your mouth. “Shit! I mean, sorry, that was fucked up.”

His facial expression hadn’t changed but you kept going, the word vomit was back. “I meant gnarly as in like it’s really cool, not that it's gross or something! I think it’s awesome! Well wait… is that fucked up to say too? I feel like the way you got it probably wasn’t pleasant...” You rambled on.

He only watched you with a little amused expression, letting you dig your grave further cause he found it funny.

“Can I touch it?” You asked, already bringing your fingers up to lightly touch the edge of the scar. “Oops, I’m already touching it.” You continued verbalizing all your thoughts like the filter in your brain was broken.

Realizing your mistake, you instantly retracted your hand at lighting speed. “Did that hurt?!”

“Nope. I can’t feel pain either.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Hm?” You cocked your head again. “What do you mean you can’t feel pain?”

“I have CIPA. It has a longer name but I won’t say it cause it’s a mouthful and you won’t remember it anyways. But basically, I can’t feel pain. Oh and also, I can’t feel temperature, that’s why I’m not cold.”

“Oh! Well… still I’m sorry for touching it.” You looked at the ground, feeling a little embarrassed by your impulsive actions and words.

“You don’t want to touch me? Cause the scar is nasty?” He smiled.

Your face immediately became shocked. “No! That’s not it at all! I meant what I said when I said I think it’s cool.” You took a breath. “I… well I kinda think it makes you look like a work of art.” You said awkwardly, a slight blush on your cheeks.

He eyed you for a second before saying, “You’re kinda weird.” He was very blunt about it but was still smiling.

“What?” You cracked a smile. “You’re kinda weird.”

You found yourself drawn in by him. You wanted to know more about this strange man who seemed to pop up out of nowhere and fix your mood. He was so direct and honest, different from the majority of people. You found yourself feeling really relaxed around him somehow, even though you were majorly fucking up at every point in this conversation. Maybe it was because he was so blunt, it was like you didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking.

“Yeah, I know. But you’re weirder. Something’s seriously wrong with you.”

“For what? Just cause I think your scar is cool? You’re the weirdo here, you approached me out of nowhere when I was bugging out like a crazy person. What were you even doing out here anyways?”

“Oh.” He said like he just remembered. “Actually, I was on my way to a -cough- party.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh! You should get going then! I don’t wanna keep you here if you have people waiting on you.”

“No, it’s not a party like that. It’s a big party. Besides, no one would be waiting on me.” He chuckled. Then his face lit up a bit, like he got an idea. “You should come with me.”

You were a bit thrown off by his offer. It was so sudden and you barely knew him.

But… you didn’t want to go home, you were still fuming from that argument. Plus, there was something so intriguing about him, so magnetic.

Was it a good idea? Probably not. You can’t trust someone you don’t know. Only an idiot would go with him. The situation was full of red flags. A logical person would’ve said no, however, it was a well known fact that above all else, you were impulsive, naïve, and a little dumb.

“Really? Okay, let’s go!” You said excitedly.

—

The party was a short walk away, but in that time you were able to uncover just a little more information on him, like his name. As you approached the house you realized Toby hadn’t lied, this was a big party. The yard was full of people, lining the porch, standing in little circles on the grass, and scattered around, and that was just outside.

You could hear the music from outside and see the lights flashing in the windows. A giddy feeling rose in your chest. This is exactly what you needed to get your mind off things.

You recognized a few people as the two of you strolled up to the door. You didn’t know who was throwing the party, but you figured it was someone who went to your university, since it was close to campus and some of your classmates were here.

As you approached the door Toby slid to the side and opened it for you.

“Oh my, how chivalrous.” You said dramatically.

“Giving you my jacket, open -fuck- opening the door for you, I think I may be in the running for gentleman of the year.” He said sarcastically, placing a dominant hand to your lower back to guide you inside.

His lack of respect for personal space didn’t seem to bother you, but you were a little surprised at how easily he could get close to you and touch you, considering you had only just met. Despite this, it still made you feel a little safer, almost like you were being protected. This party was full of people you didn’t know, so it was nice to have him guide you through the house.

The music was booming, so Toby leaned in close to your ear, “Do you want a drink?”

Although the gesture felt pretty necessary given the noise, you still felt a little tickle go down your spine when he did it. Your face blushed just a little bit. “Oh…! Uh… yeah! Let’s get some.” You answered as you both made your way to the kitchen.

The kitchen was full of alcohol. Bottles of all kinds of liquor decorated the counter. Your eyes ran over the choices a couple of times.

“Don’t know what to pick?” Toby asked.

“I’m just really indecisive.” You laughed.

“I’ll make you something.” He said and then started pouring you a drink, mixing a few liquors and some Sprite.

“You’re only making one?” You asked.

“I can’t -fuck- really drink since I -fuck- have to wear the mask.” He said a little nervously, which made you feel kinda stupid.

Duh, of course he wants to wear it here.

He turned and handed you the drink. Since you watched him make it, you figured it was safe enough to drink. You took a sip, coughing a little as the liquor burned your throat. “Fuck, that’s strong.” You coughed more and added a bit more Sprite to your cup to make it drinkable.

He laughed at you. “Didn’t know you couldn’t hold your -fuck- liquor.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” You gave him a playfully skeptical look.

“Of course. How else could I get you to hang around me?” He said sarcastically and guided you into the living room.

You both sat down on the couch and once again you took notice of how close he sat to you. You were intently trying to decipher whether or not he was into you, but you were always kind of bad at being able to tell.

His eyes continuously scanned the room, like he was looking for something, or rather, someone.

“Are you looking for a friend?” You asked.

He looked a little thrown off by your question, defensive almost?

Odd…

He cleared his throat and then answered, “No, just scoping out the room.”

A little burst of excitement hit you, that drink was already kicking in. “Ooo~ do you wanna walk the floor?” You asked.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like you walk around a party just to see if there’s anyone you know here and to get a feel for everyone. You wanna do it?” You smiled.

“You bet.” He grabbed you and pulled you up with him.

You linked elbows with him. “Okay, let’s go!” You were giddy with excitement.

You felt a little stupid about it since it hadn’t been that long, but it seemed like you were already developing a bit of a crush on him. Being this close to him made your heart race. Your chest felt warm and at this point you couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or Toby.

You strutted around the house with Toby in tow, your eyes wandering over all the people.

You bumped into someone with a little “oof.” You looked up to see Cassie, a good friend of yours who was in a lot of your classes.

“Hey!!!” She immediately exclaimed, the intoxication apparent.

“Omg hiiii!!!” You had already drank about three fourths of your cup and it was starting to show.

“Who’s this?” She said with a little giggle, her eyes flitting up to Toby and then back to you.

“Oh! His name’s Toby!” You grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to you. “We met like an hour ago at a playground.”

“I caught her acting like a maniac.” He added.

“Okay, so your usual?” Cassie laughed.

With your attention directed at Cassie, you missed the way Toby’s attention was caught as someone passed through the room. He leaned in close to you, his voice now serious. “I’ll be right back.”

You failed to notice his change in tone, too distracted by everything going on around you. “Okay, don’t get lost.” You giggled again.

“Hey.” Cassie grabbed your hand. “We were just about to play Just Dance, you wanna join?”

Drunk Just Dance? There was nothing that could’ve peaked your interest more.

“I’m in!”

—

Song after song later, you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed. You were starting to sober up, but you were still well into the tipsy stage.

You looked at the time. “Fuck.”

I forgot about Toby!

You felt like a massive idiot. He had said he was going to be right back and then you had walked away from where he left you. You were really starting to like him and now he probably thought you had just blown him off. Was he even still at the party?

You wandered around trying to scope out if he was still around. It was a bit easier now since less people were at the party. You were starting to panic a bit, the feeling of anxiety aching in your chest now. You felt like you really fucked up.

Next thing you knew, you had bumped into him.

He instantly leaned down, getting close to your face, his voice sounding a little sultry. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Toby!” You sounded relieved and excited, it seemed like he wasn’t mad at you at all, keeping the same playfulness he had earlier.

“So, where have you been?” His voice sounded slightly flirtatious.

“Playing Just Dance!” You said goofily. Your eyes trailed down to his shirt, which now had a small stain on it near the bottom. It was hard to tell since it was still dark in the house, but it almost looked like blood. “What’s that?” You pointed to it.

“Oh. I ended up helping -cough- my buddy who got a really bad nosebleed.” He said nonchalantly, then immediately changed the subject. “Let’s leave.” He said, grabbing your arm before you had a chance to respond.

You looked around, the party was dying down anyways. You still didn’t want to go back home to face your roommate, but it seemed like you didn’t really have another option.

Just before you were about to walk out the door together you felt a tug on your arm. It was a friend of yours, one you didn’t know too well but you’d seen her around during classes and at parties. Amber… was her name? Maybe? She pulled you a little closer and then attempted to whisper but it seemed this girl was a little tipsy herself so it wasn’t that quiet. “Hey… are you good?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, also failing to whisper.

“Y’know.” Her eyes darted to Toby standing behind you and then back to yours. “I’ve never seen you with him before.”

“Oh thattt.” You let out a tipsy giggle. “Nah, nah. I’m fine. I know him.”

“And you wanna go with him…?” She eyed him warily again and then looked back at you.

“Like haha shhhhhh.” You giggled, trying to be more secretive about your little crush. “Yes, I wanna go with him. Don’t worry.”

Given your abhorrent attempt at whispering, Toby was following this whole conversation. Neither of you could see due to the lack of lighting in the room, but he got the absolute worst wolfish grin on his face when he heard you say that.

He’d successfully trapped you.

—

You felt like you were really winding down once you guys got outside. The slight chill of the wind and the lack of music in your ears made you feel a lot more placid, almost sleepy.

Toby noticed your change in mood. “Tired?”

“Mm.” You hummed in agreement. “But I don’t wanna go home. I don’t wanna see that bitch yet.” You realized the way your statement sounded belatedly, after it had already left your mouth.

Well now it sounds like you want to go home with him!

Truth be told, you weren’t opposed to doing so, but it wasn’t your intention to be so forward. “Wait- I mean-"

“Are you saying you want to come home with me?” You could tell he was smirking underneath his mask.

“I wasn’t trying to- I mean I wouldn’t mind but- well- what I’m trying to say is-" The way you stumbled over your words felt like you were falling down a hill, catching on branches and rocks the whole way down.

“No, I understand.” He giggled a little. “We’ll have to sneak, though.” He didn’t hesitate to pick you up bridal style, which felt so sudden to you that your whole face went red. He held you like you were weightless and it dawned on you that he was a lot stronger than he looked.

“You don’t have to carry me! And what do you mean sneak?”

“I’ve got some… uh… roommates. They -fuck- would definitely try to eat a pretty girl like you up.” He chuckled a little darkly. “Your face is very red.”

“Because you picked me up out of nowhere!” You exclaimed.

“You’re kind of perverted, you know that?” He was grinning under his mask.

“I’m not!”

“I bet your head’s just full of dirty thoughts.” He giggled.

“I’m not thinking anything like that!” You almost whined, trying to defend yourself.

He only giggled in response, continuing to tease you.

—

After a long walk in his arms you came upon a huge mansion in the middle of the woods. It looked quite old, but not rundown. No, it was very well kept, looking almost… unnatural.

Just who is this guy?!

It wasn’t at all what you were expecting. What guy his age could afford to live in a house like that, even with roommates? On the other hand, it was out in the middle of the woods, far from the rest of town. Maybe someone had died here and it was haunted so him and a few buddies were able to buy it for super cheap? No, but still, a house like this was insane.

“This is where you live?”

“Why else would I bring you here?” He acted like it wasn’t weird at all. “Now shhh, we’re gonna have to get past my roommates.” The last word came out like it wasn’t very natural for him to say. He set you down on your feet. You were glad you were feeling a lot more sober now, otherwise something like this would be a real challenge.

The door creaked slightly as he slowly pushed it open. You followed behind him.

The mansion was even more shocking on the inside. The whole place had a very gothic feel. The ceilings were high, the lighting was dark, and the detailing was so intricate. It was stunningly beautiful, but something about the place sent a chill down your spine. Maybe it really was haunted or maybe someone really did die here. You couldn’t quite place why you felt on edge.

Something just felt off.

He held your hand and pulled you along, guiding you through the house which felt like a maze. You heard distant voices and figured those were the roommates you weren’t supposed to meet. Even though a situation like this was seemingly low stakes you felt overly anxious. You were deathly afraid of getting caught, as if you were hiding from a serial killer or something.

He brought you to a door you assumed led to his room and ushered you in. Upon entering you looked around. It was pretty messy but not in a dirty, rotting food kind of way, more of an organized chaos kind of way. There were clothes strewn about the floor and different pieces of paper and sticky notes with scratchy handwriting on them lined the walls, organized in no particular way. A lot of them had a symbol that you didn’t recognize. It looked like a circle with an X through it. There was a bookshelf that was filled with anything but books. It had lots of old CDs and DVDs, along with random trinkets. There were so many things to look at your eyes were darting around like ping pong balls.

You didn’t have long to take in the room before you were slammed against the door, Toby’s lips on yours. A warm feeling grew in your chest as you returned the kiss. One of his hands slid down to your waist as the other tangled in your hair. He bit your bottom lip a little bit, signaling you to open your mouth for him.

Your hands gripped at the front of his shirt as you obliged. He slid his tongue into your mouth and you felt a jolt of electricity travel down your body to your core. The kiss was intense. You barely felt like you could keep up, like you were drowning in him.

Your heart was racing, your whole body became pleasantly warm, excitement rushing through you. His borderline ferocity made you feel incredibly desirable. He wedged his leg between your thighs and you became very aware of his need for you, feeling his erection press against your stomach.

His lips found your neck, trailing warm open mouth kisses down it. You shivered, arching into his touch. You unconsciously began to move your hips against his leg, craving more friction. He made a noise that sounded almost like a growl and hooked his hands under your thighs, picking you up effortlessly.

He moved over to the bed and sat down, helping you straddle his waist. He kissed your neck again as soft moans escaped your lips. He bit down without warning, causing you to squeak a little both from the surprise and the pain. He sucked hard over the skin he had just bitten. Your moans got a little louder as he left a dark purple hickey on your neck.

He pulled away just enough to look at it, his breath still hot on your neck. “You’re marked.” He chuckled huskily. “How pretty.” He gently ran his fingers over it, causing you to shiver again.

He mumbled something amusedly that sounded like “pathetic.” But you couldn’t quite hear it.

He moved to the other side of your neck, intent on making more marks while his hand slipped under your shirt, squeezing your chest through your bra. His movements were a bit twitchy, but it didn’t bother you.

He was buzzing with excitement, elated to be touching you in such a way. He started to pull up your shirt and you raised your arms, helping him take it off.

You could tell he was holding back a bit, trying to take his time with you. You were starting to feel a little impatient as well, so you decided to grind yourself in his lap, feeling his erection pressing against your aching core.

You bit your lip when you heard him groan. He moved to unhook your bra, awkwardly fumbling with the clasp for a moment before he got it. He took one of your nipples into his mouth and you wrapped your arms around his neck, encouraging him to continue.

His free hand snaked down your stomach to your waistband, the light touch feeling ticklish before he dipped his fingers into your shorts and into your panties.

He sighed when he felt how dripping wet you were. “Lift your hips for me.”

Your face got red but you did as he asked, lifting up so he could pull off your shorts and your panties. You settled back into his lap as he continued to coat his fingers in your arousal. You felt so exposed, especially considering the position he had you in and the fact that he was still fully clothed.

“Spread your legs for me a little more, pretty girl.” He looked overwhelmingly pleased as you once again did as he asked. He ran his fingers over your clit, applying gentle pressure and teasing your entrance occasionally. You bucked your hips involuntarily as he did. “So needy.” He sneered.

He continued to tease you for a little, loving the way you squirmed and tried not to moan. Without warning he dipped his finger into you. You gripped his shoulders hoping to ground yourself a bit.

“Fuck…!” You breathed out.

He curled his finger inward, pressing against your g-spot. You squeezed his shoulders harder, your head tipped backward and your eyes fluttered shut. He was absolutely entranced watching your reactions. He wanted to see more of you, to see how far he could push you.

He slipped a second finger in and used his other hand to hold you still, his fingers gripping your hip with a bruising force.

“You like this a lot, don’t you?” He whispered in your ear. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tightly. I can’t wait to put my cock in you.” He brought his thumb up to rub your clit in circles.

You inhaled sharply, both from his words and the overwhelming stimulation. You felt yourself squeeze his fingers even more. Your arousal was dripping down your thighs and surely all over his hand too. You couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit embarrassed about how worked up you were getting.

Your moans started to increase in frequency, getting higher and breather as you felt your orgasm start to build deep in your stomach.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Tell me how good it feels.” He continued to whisper in your ear, his grip on your hip somehow getting tighter.

You continued to whimper, not wanting to verbalize exactly how he was making you feel.

“You better tell me or I’ll stop right now.”

An extra pathetic sounding whimper escaped you before you spoke, “So good… s-so fucking good, Toby…” You slurred. You were getting so close, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“That’s it. What a good girl. You wanna come for me, pretty girl?” His voice sounded breathier now too.

“Toby…! I-I can’t…!” You leaned into his shoulder, your whimpers and moans muffled.

“Fuck.” He breathed as he felt your walls convulse around his fingers. He kept moving his fingers but slower, helping draw out your orgasm.

You shuddered in his lap, trying to regain your ability to think after how hard you just came. It seemed you wouldn’t be getting that luxury though, as Toby immediately gripped under your thighs again, pulling you up so he could roll over on top of you. In seconds he was down by your still throbbing heat.

“Wai-”

“You’re really sensitive.” He breathed over your clit. “I want to make you come more.” He looked almost feral, completely drunk on lust. It was like he wasn’t going to be able to hear anything you were saying.

He pushed your thighs apart, once again using such a force that would undoubtedly leave bruises. You wondered if maybe he didn’t realize how strongly he was gripping you since he couldn’t feel pain.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, sucking it at a rhythm that had you arching off the bed and gripping onto his hair for dear life. He only chuckled darkly and then lapped over your clit a few more times before dipping lower to tease your entrance.

You were still so sensitive from the last time you came, it only took seconds before you felt another orgasm building. He was back at your clit, licking it and sucking it so sloppily that a mix of your wetness and his spit was making a puddle on the bed under you.

Tears formed in the corners of your eyes as the mind numbing pleasure took over your body. “Toby….!” You squeaked out. There were a few full moments that your head went fully blank before you came down, panting from how hard you just came.

Toby climbed back up your body, hovering over you with his hands placed on either side of your head. He stared down at you, a glint in his eyes that seemed almost obsessive, like he was completely amazed by you. “You’re perfect.”

Your whole face flushed, even after what you guys had just done, words like those shot an arrow through your heart.

He leaned down and captured your lips again; you could taste yourself on his tongue. His body pressed close to yours as one of his hands snaked down to clasp yours, pulling it up by your head. Your chest felt warm and giddy. You secretly hoped this wouldn’t be just a one time hookup because you were starting to really like him.

He pulled away from your lips and pressed kisses down your jaw again, making it down to your neck, nuzzling it a bit while you giggled. This was almost too perfect.

A blood curdling scream shocked you out of your lovesick daze. You jolted up while Toby stayed put, still lightly kissing and sucking your neck.

“Toby, what was that…?!” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

“It’s probably just one of my roommates.” He mumbled nonchalantly into your neck.

“But-" You were cut off by more screams, one of which vaguely sounded like a cry for help.

“Toby…!” You exclaimed. “What the hell is going on out there?!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Something was very, very wrong here. You were out at this creepy old mansion in the middle of the woods. You instantly got murder vibes when you got here. Toby had blood on his shirt earlier. Now you’re hearing someone scream bloody murder and Toby is completely unconcerned.

You took a deep breath before pushing Toby up gently so you could look him in the eyes. “Toby, can I ask you a question and will you answer me honestly?”

He sat up fully, looking like he knew what was about to happen.

You sat up as well, still clutching his hand. “Toby, are you a murderer? Is this some kind of murder house?”

He got a lazy grin on his face. “I had a feeling you were gonna ask me that.”

“Toby…” you said his name again, desperately needing an answer to your question.

“Yeah, I murder people sometimes.” He admitted, jerking his head a few times.

Great. Just great. You really liked this guy and he just had to be a murderer. You didn’t know what to think. Maybe it was the shock. You couldn’t have been thinking straight because the next thing you asked was, “Were the people you killed… were they at least bad people?”

“Everyone is sort of a bad person when you really think about it. No one is truly good, even you.” He smirked, lifting your chin. “Besides, I don’t really -fuck- choose who I kill. I just kill whoever Slenderman tells me to kill.” More twitching.

“Slenderman…?” You asked, dumbfounded.

“He’s like an evil entity thing that’s been alive for thousands of years. He makes people his proxy to kill for him. It’s a lot to explain but he’s like my boss.” He said, like it was the most casual thing ever.

Right, just drop that like it’s nothing I guess!

“He’s your boss? Why… how did you start working for him?”

“Oh yeah.” He pulled off his shirt, revealing his somewhat muscular frame, littered with scars. Something clunked to the ground, and you looked down to see a bloodstained hatchet. Prying your eyes away from the weapon and back to him, your eyes ran over him. What really stuck out was the mark on his chest, just below his right collarbone. It looked like a tattoo, but somehow different, like it wasn’t human made. It was a circle with an X through it. The same symbol on the walls. “Slenderman just kind of chose me and then -fuck- I became a proxy. I d- -cough- don’t really remember.”

“Toby.” Your voice cracked as you said his name. You felt like you were about to cry. What the fuck was going on here? What could you do? You needed to help him. Toby seemed like such a sweet person, so how did he get caught up in all of this?

You grabbed both of his hands, holding them tightly as you met his eyes. “Listen, I don’t know what exactly is going on here, but you don’t have to do this, you know? I don’t know how but… I can help you. We can get you out of this-"

“Are you pitying me?” Toby cocked his head to the side, a demented grin on his face. “I’m not some sick child. I don’t need your help.” His voice was now depraved.

He smiled even wider when he saw your almost wounded expression, he reached out to lift your chin. “But don’t worry. I still like you a lot.” This time his smile was more reassuring. It sent another pang through your heart.

You should be screaming. You should already be up and running away from him. So why did you lack the urge to? It was almost like you didn’t believe it, even though the evidence was all there. He had even blatantly admitted it and yet your brain couldn’t make sense of the incongruity of the boy you had spent time with the whole night and the alleged murderer in front of you.

Before you could unscramble your thoughts he had closed the gap between your lips, his hands all over your skin again. It became hard to think of anything but him, the warmth of his hands running across your skin, the scent of his skin so close to yours.

How many people had died by the hands that were now touching all over your body?

His tongue slipped into your mouth again and once again you felt like you were drowning in him, except this time it was worse. This time you knew you wouldn’t be coming up for air. You didn’t want to.

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling and you were reminded of how hard your clit was throbbing. You wanted this so badly, despite everything. It was like you were spellbound.

You reached your hand out to grip his cock, wrapping your hand around it and giving it a few pumps before he pulled you off the bed and brought you to your knees. His thumb ran across your bottom lip before he pressed down, opening your mouth with no resistance from you. He smirked, “So obedient.”

You didn’t hesitate to take his cock in your mouth, slowly taking him in as deep as you could before starting to bob your head slowly.

“Fuckkkk.” He breathed out, gripping your hair in his hand, starting to guide your head.

You moaned around his cock as he started to get rougher, taking control of the pace entirely.

“Du fühlst dich so gut an, mein Mädchen.” He groaned in a low voice.

The fuck….? German?

You were a bit blown away by the sudden language change, especially since you couldn’t understand a word of it. It sounded like German but then again you weren’t entirely sure.

He chuckled darkly at your confusion and started thrusting harder into your mouth. You choked on his cock, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes as his cock went deep into your throat. At this point he was fucking your face, you had no control whatsoever.

“Tut das weh?” He said in a taunting voice. You could tell he was mocking your pain, even if you had no idea what he said. For some reason that made you even wetter, you could feel the way your arousal dripped down your thighs once again.

There is definitely something wrong with me, clinically.

He continued to taunt you in a language you couldn’t understand, his pace unrelenting. “Du liebst es, wenn ich dich quäle, nicht wahr?” You could tell he was getting close as his voice was getting breathier.

You hoped he would finish soon, you could barely take the pace anymore. Your throat burned each time he brutally thrusted his cock into it, even if you were secretly enjoying the way he was humiliating you.

His pace became less rhythmic as he desperately rutted his hips into your mouth, gripping your hair harshly. “Du fühlst dich so gut an.” He groaned out.

After a few more deep thrusts into your mouth, he came down your throat. He pulled out of your mouth, lifting your chin since you could barely hold your head up after that. “Was für ein gutes Mädchen.” He said affectionately.

“What…?” You asked, exhausted and out of breath and sick of hearing shit in a language you can’t understand.

He pulled you back up onto the bed, once again like you were weightless. He nuzzled into your neck again, showering you with kisses. “You did good.”

The way he switched from brutally fucking your throat to giving you ticklish kisses on your neck was giving you whiplash.

His hand snaked down between your legs and he sighed when he felt how wet you were. “You get that wet from having me come down your throat? What a slut.” He chuckled, amazed by it.

A small gasp of shock escaped you, baffled by what he had just said.

“What, you’re embarrassed?” He laughed as he slipped his fingers into you easily. He desperately wanted to watch you come again, he was entranced by the reaction he saw earlier. He needed to see it again.

He immediately found your g-spot and hooked his fingers inwards, making you see stars as moans slipped past your lips. “Wait, Toby- slow down-” Your orgasm was already building at a ferocious pace as he slammed into your g-spot over and over with his fingers.

“Go slower?” He asked, still laughing a little, a smile on his face that held no malice despite his actions. “No way. I want you to come around my fingers.”

He was pumping his fingers in and out of you, making sloppy wet noises fill the room alongside your moans. He hooked his fingers in deep, making sure to press against your g-spot each time as his palm applied pressure to your clit.

You felt a pressure building deep in you, building uncontrollably. Each time he slammed against your g-spot you felt it build more and more. It felt like something would release, and you held it as long as you could until it felt so good you just didn’t care anymore. Your body shook lightly as you came, a gushing heat releasing from you.

He kept his fingers going, prolonging your orgasm. “Mm… that’s it, pretty girl. Let it all out.”

You panted hard, struggling to regain your ability to think after coming that hard.

Did I just squirt…?!

You were absolutely mortified, “I- I didn’t mean to do that! I’m sorry-”

He hugged your body close to him, burying his face in your shoulder. “I knew you were perfect. I can’t wait to keep you here with me.” His words were muffled but still clear enough for you to hear what he said.

You were glad he couldn’t see your face as it fell. “Wait a second, Toby.” Your voice trembled as you pushed up so you could sit up. “What do you mean keep me here?”

He pulled back to look at your face, loving the way it had twisted in fear. He lifted your chin to meet his eyes again. “I like you. I wanna keep you here with me. You can’t leave.”

“What…? You can’t be serious.” You said in disbelief.

“I just told you I murder people. Did you really think you could leave?” He asked like you were stupid. “God, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

The shock washed over you. There wasn’t a hint of humor in his tone. He was clearly one hundred percent serious.

This is all my fault. How could I have been so stupid, just going along with him even after I knew what he was capable of?

You felt something wet drop down on your leg.

Oh, I’m crying.

Watching you start to cry only made Toby more excited. “Haha, why are you crying? -fuck- It could be a lot worse. I could’ve just -fuck- killed you immediately. It would have been easy.” He twitched a few times, correlated with the swears.

“Toby… You can’t keep me here! People will be looking for me!”

He had an unconcerned expression. “Eh, they’ll forget about you soon enough.”

You gasped again in shock, unable to say anything in return. Toby just twitched to the side and started muttering to himself. You recalled the bloodstained hatchet you watched fall to the ground earlier. That’s right. You were completely stuck. If you tried to do anything he could kill you so easily.

His hands came up to softly cup your face, seemingly having turned his attention back to you, wiping away the tears. “Now come on, don’t be li- -fuck- like that.” He pushed you back onto the bed and started aligning his cock at your entrance.

You weren’t sure if the fear somehow confused your body into becoming aroused or if you seriously just had a mental disorder, but your cunt ached with need for him. You could barely contain how bad you needed this when he rubbed the tip of his throbbing cock against your clit. You let out another needy moan.

He chuckled huskily and mumbled under his breath. “Du bist eine kleine, gierige Schlampe, nicht wahr?”

You had no idea what the fuck he said. It didn’t even matter, you needed him so badly. This was wrong. So wrong.

You could no longer care about morals as he slowly pushed his cock into you, feeling the way you stretched around him inch by inch, until you took him in fully. He let out a low groan as you shakily exhaled.

He began thrusting a little faster than you would’ve liked starting out. You tried to hold back your voice, but little whines and whimpers still came out of you.

“Don’t tell me those pathetic whimpers are all you’ve got? C’mon you can do better.” One of his hands came up to clasp yours as he started slamming into you at a vicious pace. You could no longer contain your voice, you were a whining, moaning mess.

You couldn’t decide between asking him to slow down or begging him to keep going. He gripped your face, capturing your lips again, sloppily kissing you as he pumped his cock into you. Blissful pleasure took over your mind. He pulled away from the kiss, a line of spit still connecting your mouths. Your mind was fuzzy and your unfocused eyes lifted to meet his, eliciting a low growl from him.

“You love taking my cock, don’t you?” He was still gripping your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

You nodded as high pitched whiny moans escaped you.

“You don’t even care that I’m a murderer. You’re really fucking sick aren’t you?” A wicked grin on his face.

Guilt washed over you as you heard his words. “No…!” Your voice came out weaker than you wanted it to. “I’m not!”

“Yeah you are.” His tone was venomous. “You’re a sick little thing.”

He was right. You had no rebuttal to that. All you could say was, “You’re the one who’s sick…!”

“Maybe. But so are you. You’re feeling so good right now because of a sick murderer’s cock now aren’t you? You want to stay here with me don’t you?”

“I don’t…!”

“How about this?” He leaned real close, whispering in your ear. “If you come you have to stay here with me forever.” He hooked his arms under your knees, pushing them up closer to your chest so he could go deeper.

There was no way he just said that. That wasn’t fair. There was no way you’d be able to hold back.

He picked up the pace again, thrusting into you at a pace that was making your mind go fuzzy. You already felt the orgasm building and he just kept ramming into that damn spot over and over.

“Not there…!” You pleaded.

“Oh, right there?” He responded by driving into it even harder.

You got closer and closer to the edge, trying your hardest to keep yourself from coming. He noticed the way your body tensed. The way your moans became whinier and higher pitched.

“You want to come don’t you? You really want to come.” He taunted you.

“Don’t-” It was too late. The tightly wound coil had snapped. You let out choked moans as you came.

He slowed to a stop, just so he could feel the way you clenched around his cock. He shuddered, “Your cunt is milking my cock.” He suddenly resumed his quick pace causing you to let out a startled gasp. “Fuckkkkk, I can’t stop.”

“Toby…!” You whined, gripping his arms.

He let out another low groan. “Du fühlst dich so gut an, mein Mädchen. Du wirst so schwach für mich.” His voice was gravelly.

He kept thrusting as deeply as he could into you, starting to lose the pace, just slamming into you like his life depended on it. “Du gehörst mir.” He breathed out.

His groans became breathier and breathier, almost becoming whines. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you with my cum.” He leaned down and bit your neck hard, eliciting a sharp wince from you as you felt his hot cum flood your pussy.

Your mind had gone fully blank, it felt like TV static. Just like before, you felt drawn to him, like a magnet.

He gripped your face again, loving the way your face was flushed, your lips were glossy and slightly swollen, and your eyes were dazed. “You’re all fucked out now aren’t you?” He ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “So pretty.” He sighed before kissing you again, this time softly, sweetly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, matching his soft kiss. If you had run into the spiderweb full speed, you might as well enjoy being caught in the web.

He pulled away to hug you close, burying his face in your neck.

“I knew you’d want to stay.”

Now I gotta admit that I used google translate for the German parts so if there are any German speakers reading this I’m sorry man.

I'm always open for feedback and constructive criticism so please feel free to leave me every thought in your head

I hope u guys enjoyed ~\(≧▽≦)/~

~pls remember to distinguish fiction from reality

[goldfades]

congrats on 6k it’s well deserved! 💗

paige x reader with: "oh? were you worried? do you really care about me that much?" / "what? no. what gave you that idea?" / "your heart is beating too fast for someone you don't care about."

light angst with fluff, maybe they can be exes playing against each other but when reader gets injured during the game paige’s instinct is still to go towards her. then they realize the breakup is stupid and make up

thank u sm and congrats again 💕

hi baby! thank you so much<3 that means the world to me!!! i hope you enjoy

warnings: light angst w a fluffy ending, knee injury, unresolved tension that gets resolved (yay), paige bueckers being stubborn but in love, reader being stubborn and in love, hurt/comfort but mostly just "you scared me" energy and emotional whiplash in the best way possible

You're not sure who decided this matchup was poetic but if it was the universe, then the universe has a particularly twisted sense of humor.

UConn vs. Stanford, Sweet Sixteen. National stage. Primetime.

You, in cardinal and white. Paige Bueckers, in navy and that sharp, clinical UConn font across her chest. Everything clean. Polished, unbothered.

God, she looks unbothered. You hate that about her.

The truth is, you haven’t spoken in months. Not since the fight though calling it a fight feels too dramatic, too cinematic. There were no slammed doors, no screaming matches. Just a slow unraveling. Miscommunications that turned into missed calls. Jealousy left unsaid. Games played on opposite ends of the country. You told yourself it was inevitable. That you were both too ambitious, too stubborn, too hungry to make it work.

You still told your mom it ended amicably. You still lie to your teammates when they ask what she was like off the court. You say “cool,” like that word means anything like it could possibly contain the way she laughed into your neck or the way she kissed you like you were both running out of time.

But tonight, none of that matters. Not in theory.

It’s just another game. Another opponent, another shot at the Final Four.

Except you can feel her across the court before you even see her. It’s not the kind of presence that sneaks up on you. It hits you square in the chest, like a memory you didn’t ask to revisit. She’s stretching at half court when you walk out of the tunnel. Her head turns, instinctively, like she knows you're there.

Of course she knows.

Your eyes meet for a second too long. Long enough for one of your teammates to nudge your arm and whisper something about “Bueckers being out for blood tonight.”

You don’t answer. You just pop your gum and walk past like your stomach isn’t folding in on itself.

The game is brutal in the way only March Madness can be. Fast, physical, emotional. The crowd is roaring. Your hands sting from every rebound, every dive. You’re neck and neck in the third quarter, trading leads like playground dares. Paige is locked in. Not smiling. Not even smirking. Just clinical. Just cold.

You’re not sure if it makes you want to cry or kiss her.

Because that’s the thing, right? It wasn’t just a breakup. It was a shift in orbit. You used to finish each other’s sentences, read each other’s plays before they were even called and now, you pretend like she’s a stranger. Like you didn’t spend a whole summer living out of each other’s suitcases, driving up and down the coast with no destination but each other.

Now, she’s guarding you. Now, she’s watching you like a hawk, like she knows all your tells, your fakes, the way you hesitate half a second on your left. And she does, of course she does.

The fourth quarter starts. Your legs are burning. You’ve got sweat dripping into your eyes. You wipe it away and glance at the scoreboard. Down by two. Four minutes left.

It happens in a blink and yet, it feels like slow motion.

You’re sprinting down the sideline, cutting across the wing, your defender a half-step behind. The ball is swinging from the top of the key to the corner, your teammate yelling your name, the play unfolding with the kind of precision that only comes when instincts take over. You’re supposed to curl around the screen, flare out, catch and shoot. You’ve done it a thousand times in practice. It’s muscle memory. It’s clockwork.

But in this game, nothing is clean.

Your plant foot lands, except it doesn’t quite land. There’s someone else’s shoe under yours, a split-second misstep, a too-tight space. You don’t see whose. It doesn’t matter. All you register is that your ankle doesn’t have the room it needs. The roll happens so fast, so violently wrong that your body betrays itself before your mind catches up.

There’s a sickening pop, deep and intimate like something fundamental giving way. A violent twist. Your knee folds sideways. The hardwood rushes up to meet you.

You hit the ground hard but the pain has already taken center stage.

It’s not a dull ache, not something you can grit through. No. This is different. This is bright, white-hot. A jagged explosion that radiates up your leg, past your hip, to your ribs, to your throat. You gasp — a sharp, wounded inhale that punches out of your lungs like it was ripped from you. The kind of sound that shuts up a crowd.

The arena falls quiet all at once. That suffocating, eerie hush that only means one thing.

You hear it in waves. Benches rising, sneakers squeaking, a whistle shrieking into the stillness. Coaches yelling, trainers sprinting but all of it feels far away, distant and underwater. Like you’re on a different frequency.

And then — her.

Before you can sit up, before anyone else reaches you, she’s there.

Paige.

You don’t know how she crossed the court so fast. You don’t remember seeing her move. One moment you were writhing on the floor, and the next, she’s kneeling beside you like her gravity pulled her in without asking.

She says your name.

Softly at first. Then again, more urgent. Like maybe if she keeps saying it it’ll undo what just happened, like the syllables can rewrite the moment.

“Hey — hey, hey, hey,” she murmurs, her hand hovering just over your arm but not quite touching it. “You with me? You’re okay. You’re okay.”

You try to speak but nothing comes out. The pain is a live wire pulsing behind your eyes.

You blink hard and catch the way she looks at you. That raw, wild panic swimming behind her pupils. Her mouth is tight, like she’s biting back everything she wants to say. Her hands are trembling. Barely. But enough for you to notice. Enough to know she still cares.

Her knee brushes against yours (not the bad one) and her presence grounds you in a way nothing else does.

There’s shouting now. The trainers are finally at your side, shouldering Paige out of the way with practiced efficiency. They’re asking questions, speaking quickly, trying to figure out the extent of the damage. You know it’s bad. You can see it in their faces when they gently lift your leg and you flinch so hard you nearly black out.

But all you can think about is her.

Paige hasn’t left. She’s crouched a few feet away, watching everything with clenched fists and gritted teeth. Her eyes keep flicking between you and the court, like she doesn’t know where to put her panic.

The game has stopped. The world has stopped.

“I’ve got her,” one of the trainers says. “We need the cart.”

You groan softly and turn your head to the side. Away from the overhead lights, away from the looks but not away from Paige.

She’s still watching. You hate how easily she sees through you.

Your teammates are huddling now, trying to stay warm, trying not to look too shaken but you can feel the energy shift. The rhythm’s been broken. You were up by two. You were in rhythm. You were fine.

And now? You don’t know.

The cart arrives. You hate the sound it makes — loud, clinical, too final. Like a closing chapter.

The trainer helps you sit up, then hooks an arm behind your back to steady you as they transfer you onto the board. Your leg screams in protest. You try not to let your face show it but your body’s betraying you again. You can’t hide the tears pricking your eyes. Not just from the pain, but from everything else.

And then, Paige again.

She’s back at your side, walking alongside the cart like she’s forgotten which team she’s on. Her coach is yelling for her, you hear Geno’s voice, sharp and commanding. She doesn’t even flinch.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she says, low, her hand brushing yours. “You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”

You don’t answer. You don’t trust yourself to. But you don’t pull away either.

The locker room is sterile and silent.

You’re sitting on the exam table, leg elevated and wrapped in a temporary brace, painkillers finally dulling the sharpest edges of the agony. The trainers are talking in low voices across the room, giving you space. Your phone buzzes on the bench next to you, lighting up with messages you can’t bear to read yet.

You feel dazed. Hollowed out. Like everything happened to someone else.

And then, a knock.

Not from the hallway. From inside the tunnel. Closer, familiar.

You already know it’s her. The door creaks open a few inches. Paige leans in, hoodie pulled up, eyes soft but guarded.

“Can I come in?”

You want to say no. Want to tell her that this is all too much, that she doesn’t get to show up now, after everything. But the words don’t come. And maybe some part of you wants her here. Needs her here.

So you nod.

She closes the door behind her and steps inside, like she’s walking on sacred ground. Her shoulders are tense, hands buried in her sleeves like she’s trying to hold herself back from touching you.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

You snort, the sound dry and bitter. “Didn’t mean to.”

She looks down, like she’s ashamed to laugh, then leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

There’s a long silence. One of those thick ones that says everything neither of you have been brave enough to voice.

And you know, deep in your chest, that the game wasn’t the only thing paused tonight, because something cracked open between you two on that court — something that never fully closed in the first place.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s still not too late.

You don’t speak for a while.

It’s not a tense silence, exactly. More like… an old, comfortable one. The kind you only share with people who have seen you at your worst. Paige isn’t fidgeting anymore but she’s still standing stiffly against the wall like she doesn’t quite trust herself not to rush over.

You break first.

“You’re not gonna get in trouble for being in here?”

She shrugs, a little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Probably.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s it? Probably?”

“They can fine me. Whatever.” She pushes her hood back, finally. Her hair’s damp with sweat, the wispy ends curling around her ears. “I’m not gonna just sit on the bench and pretend I didn’t see you go down like that.”

You look away. The brace on your leg feels heavier suddenly.

“Did they say what it was?” she asks, quieter now.

You exhale through your nose. “Partial MCL tear, maybe. They’re not sure. They’ll do the MRI tonight. I guess I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Paige makes a sound under her breath, something between a scoff and a sigh.

“Yeah. Lucky,” she mutters, and you hear the bitterness in it. Not toward you. Toward the situation. The moment, the randomness of it all.

And then she crosses the room.

No hesitation this time. No careful slow-motion choreography. She moves toward you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she belongs next to you, like she remembers.

You brace yourself, but all she does is sit on the bench next to you. Not touching. Just close enough to feel.

There’s another beat of silence.

Then, softly, she says, “You always did land weird on your right foot.”

You glance over. Her eyes are teasing now, the edge of a smile forming. You roll yours.

“Oh, don’t start acting like you’re some biomechanics expert now.”

“I am,” she says, mock serious. “I took one sports med class my freshman year.”

“Ah, of course. That explains the diagnosis you yelled across the court before the trainers even showed up.”

“Which was correct, by the way.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re unbearable.”

“You’re injured,” she retorts. “So technically, I win.”

You shoot her a dry look. “Pretty sure my knee exploding isn’t a win for anyone, Paige.”

She snorts. “Fair.”

Another pause. Softer now.

Then she nudges you gently with her shoulder. “But for real… I’m glad it wasn’t worse. You scared me.”

You tilt your head, lips quirking. “Oh? Were you worried? Do you really care about me that much?”

It’s meant to be light. A joke. A jab. Something to distract from the tight feeling in your chest that hasn't gone away since she first appeared.

But her eyes flick to yours — quick, sharp. Like you caught her off guard.

She recovers fast. Rolls her eyes. Scoffs. Classic Paige Bueckers.

“What? No. What gave you that idea?”

You grin. “I dunno. Maybe the fact that you sprinted halfway across the court like I got hit by a sniper.”

She opens her mouth to reply, then pauses. You catch her hesitating. Just for a second.

You lean in, just a little, voice lower now. “Your heart’s beating too fast for someone you don’t care about.”

That gets her.

She stares at you, lips parted. No quip. No comeback.

You can hear it now, too. Her breathing, a little too shallow. Her pulse visible in her neck. And not from the game, not from the run.

It’s because of you.

She swallows. “That’s not fair.”

You shrug, suddenly feeling bold. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

The air shifts again.

Something unwinds in her posture, all at once. She leans forward, forearms resting on her thighs, fingers twisting together.

“I didn’t know if I should come,” she says eventually. “Like, after it happened. I figured your whole team would hate me on principle. Or like, I’d make things worse. But I just… couldn’t not.”

“You didn’t make anything worse,” you say. “Well. Unless you count the emotional whiplash.”

She huffs a laugh. “You mean the part where we haven’t talked in months and then I show up at your side like it’s 2022 again?”

“Yeah. That part.”

Paige nods. She’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I never wanted to leave it like that. You know that, right?”

You blink. The confession lands like a drop of water on hot concrete—fast, surprising, gone before you can fully process it.

“I thought you were the one who left it,” you say, a little defensively. “I tried, Paige. You were always too busy or too… far. I couldn’t be the only one reaching out.”

“I know.” Her voice is soft now. Honest. “I know you tried. I just didn’t know how to let you in when everything was so... loud. Expectations. Pressure. And I thought if I made space for you, I’d lose track of me.”

That hits.

Because you remember. How she went silent after away games. How she’d fall asleep on FaceTime without saying goodnight. How she’d disappear into film sessions, interviews, charity stuff, endorsement shoots. She was everywhere and nowhere, and you were just… waiting.

“I wasn’t asking you to lose yourself,” you say quietly. “I just wanted you to keep me somewhere in it.”

Paige turns to you. And now she’s looking at you like it hurts not to, like she’s been aching to for longer than she’d admit.

“I know. I messed it up.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “You kinda did.”

She gives you a look. “Wow. You’re not even gonna pretend to let me off the hook?”

“Absolutely not.”

She smiles. That lopsided, smug Paige Bueckers smile that you haven’t seen since the last time you were in her hotel room, pretending to hate watch The Office reruns on her iPad, both of you pretending the season wasn’t ending.

But this one is different, softer. Like maybe she knows she doesn’t deserve forgiveness but hopes for it anyway.

“You’re still mean,” she says.

You bump her shoulder with yours. “You’re still annoying.”

There’s a quiet moment. A warmth settling between you like dust.

Then Paige reaches out and threads her fingers through yours, tentative.

You don’t pull away.

“I missed you,” she says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

You squeeze her hand. “I missed you too.”

She looks down at your knee, then frowns. “You’re gonna be out for a while, huh?”

“Probably. Maybe done for the tournament.”

Paige exhales hard through her nose. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat.

Then she tilts her head. “So you’ll have a lot of free time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, you want me to come to your Final Four game now?”

“Obviously,” she says. “Someone has to remind me how annoying I am.”

You laugh. It’s real this time. Warm, loose.

And for the first time in months, it doesn’t feel like something’s missing.

You glance down at your joined hands. Her thumb’s brushing lightly against your knuckles now, rhythmic, familiar. It doesn’t feel like a question.

“I’m not saying we just… go back,” Paige says softly. “I know we can’t un-screw-up everything but maybe we don’t have to start from zero either.”

You consider that. Let it sit. Then: “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

She grins, wide and stupid. “You would.”

“See? Still annoying.”

“Still yours.”

You glance sideways at her, startled.

She blinks. “I mean, unless you’re not-”

You kiss her.

It’s soft. Just a press of lips and familiarity and unfinished things finding a place to land.

When you pull away, her smile is smaller. More private. And you realize something — maybe some things do change, but some things stay. Some things find their way back.

And Paige? She always was the finding kind.

my 6k celly!

[seospicybin]

EVERMORE.

PROLOGUE

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (16k words)

Author's note: You guys asked for Hyunchan so here you go. As always, hope you enjoy it and don't forget to share your thoughts after ♡

Rock Royalty Welcomes a New Heir: Chris Bang Becomes a Father October 13, 2000 — by Robert Yang. Move over, guitars and groupies—Bang Theory’s wild-hearted frontman Chris Bang is now a dad. The 23-year-old rockstar and his longtime partner, beloved 90s "It Girl", welcomed their first child into the world early this morning at a private hospital in Seoul. A healthy baby girl named Tigerlily was born at 5:47 AM, weighing in at 3.1 kg, just hours after Chris wrapped his set at the Soundscape festival. “He cried. Both of them did,” a nurse from the delivery room said. “He looked more nervous than on stage.” Despite being known for his stage dives, pyrotechnics, and tabloid-worthy antics, insiders say the famously untamed musician turned into “a complete marshmallow” the moment he held his daughter for the first time. “She's got his nose and her mother’s everything else,” a source close to the couple shared. The pair has yet to release an official photo, but fans are already flooding forums with love and name guesses—though Tigerlily, a bold and whimsical choice, feels perfectly on brand for the iconic couple. No word yet on whether this new chapter means a break for Bang Theory, but one thing’s certain: Chris Bang just had his loudest, most life-altering debut yet. Rockstar? Yes. But now… Dad.

-

Tigerlily came into the world on a rainy Tuesday in October. The sky cracked open like a dramatic cue, thunder shaking the windows of the hospital room while you clutched the sides of the bed, barely old enough to drink but old enough to know your life was about to change forever.

You were twenty-two. The industry's darling, all soft glam and sharp edges, gracing every magazine cover and walking every red carpet with a gaze that dared people to look twice. Chris had just come off a whirlwind tour with The Bang Theory the rock band that had somehow become the voice of a generation overnight—gritty, golden, and chaotic in a way only the 90s could pull off.

He didn’t make it in time. Missed the delivery by two hours, stuck in a storm somewhere between the airport and the hospital. But when he burst through the hospital doors, hair damp and chest heaving, the world slowed down for just a second.

And then—Tigerlily.

Born screaming, like she already knew how loud the world could be and wasn’t afraid of it. She had your mouth and his eyes and the softest tuft of dark hair, like velvet. She stared at you both like she’d been waiting lifetimes to meet you.

She was born with the kind of name that sounded like she came from a song. And maybe she did. Bang Chan insisted on it—“She’s going to be a force,” he said. “She needs a name that doesn’t sit quietly.”

And she never did.

For the first five years of her life, her world was a tour bus. Not playgrounds or preschool, but green rooms and stadium seats. You learned how to swaddle her with one hand and fix your eyeliner with the other. She’d nap through soundchecks and dance barefoot on stage during rehearsals, curls bouncing as she clutched her little stuffed bunny.

She loved the hum of the road, the neon-lit nights, the way her dad would scoop her up mid-song and let her press her tiny hands over his guitar strings. She called every band member “uncle,” and by the time she was four, she could identify a Fender Strat by sight.

Sometimes, you worried she was missing out on normal things. But then you'd see her curled up in Chan’s lap as he strummed lullabies that weren’t written for the charts, or the way her eyes lit up when the crowd sang back to him.

She was safe. She was loved. And she was extraordinary.

And now, she stands under the golden light of a university auditorium, dressed in a powder blue gown, clutching her art degree in hands that once clung to your hair as you sang her to sleep.

You sit in the front row, surrounded by strangers, with pride ballooning so hard in your chest you think you might float right off the seat. Chris isn’t here—touring again, or producing, or lost in some other corner of the world. You’re used to it by now. So is Tigerlily.

Still, you clap until your hands sting, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

She didn’t just survive the whirlwind you brought her into—she bloomed in it. And in that moment, you realized—you didn’t just raise a daughter. You raised a woman who knew exactly who she was.

You wait just outside the auditorium, clutching a bouquet of Tiger Lilies—just like her name. The kind she used to doodle in the margins of her notebooks as a kid once she knew she is named after the flowers. The crowd spills out around you in waves: parents with cameras, graduates in gowns, professors in velvet hoods, all buzzing with joy and relief. But you only have eyes for her.

And then—there she is.

Tigerlily spots you instantly, weaving through the crowd with that effortless grace she must’ve inherited from someone else entirely. Her gown flows behind her like a cape, and when she reaches you, she throws her arms around your neck without a word.

You breathe her in. She still smells like vanilla and that earthy perfume she never leaves the house without. You hold her a little tighter than you mean to.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper into her hair, blinking fast against the sting in your eyes.

She pulls back with a bright, tear-glossed smile. “Tulips,” she says, beaming. “You remembered.”

“I always remember.”

You hand her the bouquet, watching as she presses her nose into them with a soft sigh. For a second, you think you’ve made it through without a cloud. But then—

“Did Dad text you?”

The question comes gently, not accusing—just hopeful. You hesitate.

You shake your head. “No. He couldn’t make it.”

Tigerlily’s smile falters for the briefest second, but she nods like she was already bracing for it. She always was good at bracing. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I figured.”

You reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear the way you used to when she was five and nervous about her first ballet recital. “He’d be here if he could. You know that, right?”

She shrugs, looking down at the tulips. “I guess.”

You give her a soft nudge with your elbow. “He’s probably somewhere feeling miserable about it. You know how dramatic he gets. I’m sure he’s got his face buried in his hands, whispering lyrics about lost time into a notebook.”

That earns you a smile—small, but real.

“Anyway,” you continue, linking your arm through hers. “We have a reservation at Monarch. I even bribed them for extra truffle fries.”

“You never bribe restaurants,” she says, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Well,” you say, leading her toward the sidewalk, “you only graduate from college once. And we’re celebrating you. No distractions, no missed moments.”

Tigerlily squeezes your arm, resting her head on your shoulder as you walk.

“Thanks, Mom.”

You smile softly. “Always, my little cub.”

-

The restaurant is glowing, lit with soft amber lights that reflect off the polished windows and make everything feel a little more golden than real life. You guide Tigerlily through the front doors, her gown bunched in one hand, bouquet in the other, cheeks still rosy from all the congratulations.

“You really booked Monarch?” she whispers, wide-eyed. “You never let me eat here growing up.”

“You never had a degree before,” you murmur with a small smile. “Besides, I figured you deserved something special tonight.”

The host greets you with a polite nod and gestures toward the back corner booth, the one with the plush velvet seats and the view of the city through the tall windows. Tigerlily starts forward, then pauses.

Someone’s already there.

He’s sitting casually, fingers tapping against a water glass, hair pushed back like he just walked off a photo shoot—still effortlessly cool after all these years, even with the faint silver near his temples that he’s stopped trying to hide.

Chris.

Tigerlily stops in her tracks, staring for a beat too long.

“Dad?”

Chris stands up slowly, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. “Hey, little cub.”

Her bouquet hits the table with a soft thud as she launches toward him.

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed and grinning as you watch her collide into his chest with all the force of a girl who may have been preparing herself for disappointment, but never quite stopped hoping.

“You told me he wasn’t coming!” she shouts over her shoulder, arms still around her dad’s neck.

You shrug, stepping further into the room. “Well, it’s called a surprise for a reason.”

Chris laughs as he holds her tighter, eyes closing for a second like he’s breathing her in. Like the years he’s missed are pressing against him all at once.

You stand quietly by the table, taking them in—the way her arms wrap around him like she did when she was small and sleepy, always reaching out for one more hug, one more story, one more night tucked between the two of you on a too-small tour bus mattress.

She always was a daddy’s girl. You murmur it to yourself, too soft for anyone to hear. “She still is.”

And for a moment, you forget all the complications. Forget the past, the missed birthdays, the growing distance. All you see is your daughter, glowing with joy, exactly where she’s supposed to be.

Dinner arrives in warm, fragrant waves—plates of truffle fries, roasted duck, handmade pasta that glistens under the golden lights. The booth feels like its own little world, wrapped in velvet and candlelight and the soft murmur of clinking glasses in the background.

Chris sits across from you, Tigerlily nestled between you both like she’s still your little girl, even if she’s outgrown everything but her stubbornness. She’s glowing with the kind of joy that makes her look younger and older all at once.

“So,” Chris says, setting down his fork and looking at her with that proud, slightly overwhelmed expression he wears every time he sees her after too long. “What’s next, cub?”

Tigerlily leans back, reaching for her water glass. “I’ve got a few freelance gigs lined up. Illustration work. Book covers, a couple zines.”

Chris lets out a low whistle. “Look at you. Graduating and conquering the world.”

“I learned from the best,” she says, her eyes darting between the two of you.

You smile but stay quiet, sipping your wine and letting them talk. Chris starts telling her about the band—how The Bang Theory is planning a small reunion tour, something acoustic and intimate, “just for the old fans,” he says, though you know he still lives for the stage.

“How about you?” he asks, his eyes landing on you. “Are you working on something right now?”

You glance at him, caught slightly off guard by the way his attention shifts so effortlessly from Tigerlily to you—gentle, but direct. Like he hasn’t asked in years, but he’s always been curious.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. A new book,” you add quickly, chuckling. “It's the same old thing with me.”

Chris grins, eyes crinkling in that way that used to undo you. “Of course,” he murmurs. “You’d make it sing, no matter what.”

Before you can respond, he reaches out—just casually—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It’s a simple gesture, something he’s done a thousand times, but it feels different now. Familiar, yes. But also fragile. Like it belongs to another version of yourselves.

You glance down, and Tigerlily watches it all with a knowing little smile curling at the edge of her lips. She doesn’t say anything. She just picks up another fry, pops it into her mouth, and mutters around her grin, “You two are so obvious.”

You both look at her—startled, defensive, amused.

“What?” Chris says, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t say anything,” she sings, tossing you a wink. “Just... observing.”

You and Chris exchange a glance—brief but loaded.

And for a flicker of a moment, something shifts. Not loudly. Not urgently. Just... there. Still alive. Still quietly beating.

Not wanting to let it carry you on, you shift the attention back on him as curiosity taps at your shoulder.

“So,” you say, tilting your head and setting your glass down gently, “how’s Rowan?”

“Busy,” Chris answers a little too quickly and you didn't expect less since you're asking about his wife but you notice his expression shifts—just slightly. “She’s working on a TV series right now.”

“That’s wonderful,” You say as you nod, reaching for your glass of wine. “How about Riley?”

“She’s good,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Fourteen now. Which is… a whole thing.”

You smile softly. “Puberty, huh?”

“Puberty. Mood swings. Existential dread. She’s got this journal she guards like it's the nuclear codes. One second she’s hugging me and the next I’m the reason for global warming.”

You laugh, leaning back into the velvet booth. “Sounds like a riot.”

Chris sighs, but there’s affection beneath it. “She’s just at that age where everything feels like the end of the world, you know? I’m trying, but… I don’t think she knows where to put me right now.”

You nod gently, your fingers curling around the stem of your wine glass. “At least you didn’t have to go through that phase with Tigerlily,” you say with a teasing smile. “She skipped all the angst and went straight to being perfect.”

Tigerlily’s jaw drops, scandalized. “Excuse me?”

Chris laughs, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Mom,” Tigerlily says with a warning tone, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you dare bring up—”

“—the blue eyeliner phase?” you interrupt sweetly. “Or the time you tried to cut your own bangs and cried for three hours?”

Chris nearly chokes on his water, face lighting up. “Oh my god, yes!” he laughs. “I remember that! She came with a hoodie on and wouldn’t take it off for two days!”

Tigerlily groans, burying her face in her hands. “This is actual betrayal.”

You’re laughing now, shoulders shaking as you reach over to pat her hand. “You were still cute. Even when your bangs were... slanted.”

Chris grins across the table, eyes sparkling. “She’s always been cute.”

Tigerlily lifts her head, glaring at you both. “You two ganging up on me is a hate crime.”

You share a look with Chris—soft and easy and full of old inside jokes—and for just a second, the world feels like it used to: three of you on the road, laughing about eyeliner and heartache, living out of suitcases and old songs.

Tigerlily’s still grinning though, even through her mock-offense. “God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I forgot what it’s like when you two are in the same room.”

The plates are nearly empty now, forks slowing down as conversation takes over. Tigerlily is laughing at something Chris said about a funny episode happened at a show, and you're quietly sipping what’s left of your wine, content to just watch them exist like this—bright and close and connected.

Then Chris checks his watch with a sigh, the familiar shift in energy settling over the table. The end of the night.

“I’ve got to head out,” he says gently, looking toward Tigerlily with a reluctant smile. “Early flight to Tokyo. I'm helping this band with producing.”

Tigerlily pouts, her bottom lip pushing out the way she used to when she was five and didn’t want him to leave for tour. “Already?”

He opens his arms, and she rises without hesitation, burying herself in his chest like she’s still that little girl on the road, climbing into his bunk after shows. “Come here, little cub,” he murmurs into her hair, voice muffled but warm.

His arms wrap tight around her, his hands moving gently up and down her back in slow, comforting strokes. You watch from your seat, quiet and still, as he leans down to whisper something in her ear—something only for her. Her eyes flutter closed, lashes brushing against her cheeks, and she nods without speaking.

He presses a kiss to her temple before pulling back. “I’m proud of you,” he says, with a smile that breaks a little at the edges. “Always.”

Tigerlily wipes quickly at her eyes. “Text me when you land.”

“Promise.”

Chris turns to you next, his expression softening even further. He steps closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “Thank you,” he says. “For tonight. For putting this together. I didn’t know how much I needed this.”

You wave a hand, trying to brush it off like it’s nothing. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

But when your eyes meet, there’s something there—unspoken but tangible. Like a thread still connecting you, stretching quietly between what you were and what you still might be. You’re the one to look away first, afraid if you don’t, you’ll forget yourself. Again.

He opens his arms, and this time it’s you stepping into them. The hug is brief, practiced, safe—but the warmth is real. His scent is still the same, something familiar and distant that tugs at the back of your throat.

“Take care,” you say softly, pulling back.

“You too,” he murmurs, before walking away.

You and Tigerlily step outside together just in time to see his car pull away from the curb, red taillights fading into the evening traffic. The moment stretches in silence until Tigerlily leans her head on your shoulder.

You wrap an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s moments like this,” you murmur, “that make me wish I could’ve given you the kind of family you deserved. One that stayed whole.”

Tigerlily doesn’t move for a second. Then she lifts her head, frowning a little. “But I did get a family,” she says. “Just a different kind. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

You hold her a little tighter, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze to ground you and in that moment—standing in the glow of the city lights, hearts full of love and loss—you let yourself believe that maybe different wasn’t always a bad thing.

-

The cursor blinks accusingly at the top of your blank document, waiting for you to stop procrastinating and start delivering something brilliant. You rub at your temples and glance at the email from your agent again—third reminder this month.

Hey, just checking in again on that chapter draft. Hope everything's alright. Deadline's creeping up—let me know if you need anything!

You sigh, reply with a vague promise of "soon" and click out of the inbox. But right as you're about to close your browser, something catches your eye.

A headline.

The Bang Theory Frontman Chris Bang and Wife Rowan Announce Divorce After 15 Years of Marriage

There’s a photo of them beneath the headline—Rowan in oversized sunglasses, Chris beside her, jaw tight. They look distant. You don't even need to read the article to know that smile on his face is the one he wears when he’s pretending everything’s fine. Still, you click.

The article is full of vague statements from publicists and “sources close to the couple.” Nothing scandalous. Just the usual—“growing apart,” “amicable,” “focused on co-parenting their daughter, Riley.”

You’re halfway through skimming the quotes when your phone suddenly rings, the sharp sound startling you so much your mouse skitters across the desk.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom!” Tigerlily’s voice is bright, a little rushed, like she’s walking fast somewhere. “Hey, is it okay if I bring someone over for dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” you say instinctively. “Anyone I know?”

There’s a pause. “Not yet. But you will.”

Your brow lifts. “Should I be nervous?”

Tigerlily laughs. “No. Maybe. A little. But mostly no. Love you!”

Before you can ask anything else, she hangs up. You stare at your phone for a second, then set it down beside your laptop.

The article’s still open. You look at the photo of Chris again. His expression is guarded, tired. You haven’t spoken in months—maybe longer. There’s a number in your contacts that hasn’t been used in too long. Just his name. Just “Chris,” like that’s all he’s ever needed to be.

You scroll down and hover your thumb over it. For a moment, you just sit there, staring at his name, thumb resting above “Call.” You wonder if he’s okay. If Riley’s okay. If he needs someone to talk to. If he even wants to hear your voice again.

But then your hand drops and you press the power button on your phone, letting the screen go dark. Some things are easier left in silence. You push the article aside, shut the laptop, and head for the kitchen.

There’s dinner to cook—and someone new to meet.

-

You’re just setting down the last of the cutlery when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and head for the front door, already guessing it’s Tigerlily. She never remembers to text when she’s close.

When you open the door, there she is—wearing a grin that says be cool, Mom—and beside her, a tall man with floppy brown hair, a shy smile, and arms full of flowers and wine.

“Hi, Mom,” she says sweetly. “This is Julian.”

“Hi,” he says quickly, stepping forward and offering the flowers. “It’s such an honor to meet you. I mean, you’re—I know who you are. I’ve seen your old interviews. Your film stuff. You’re even more beautiful in person.”

You blink, pleasantly amused, and take the flowers with a smile. “Oh, is that so?”

He nods, a little too eagerly.

With a small smirk, you take a step closer to him, lowering your voice just slightly. “You know… I’m not nearly as beautiful up close.”

Julian lets out a breathy little laugh, shoulders going stiff as his cheeks flush. “I—I mean, I think you definitely are. I mean, it’s not just your face. I mean, not just—” He throws a helpless glance at Tigerlily, who’s already rolling her eyes.

“Julian,” she cuts in dryly, “stop flirting with my mom.”

“I’m not—! I wasn’t—” He stammers, then finally gives up and laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “Okay. Maybe just a little.”

You chuckle, stepping aside to let them in. “Well, come in, both of you. The food’s warm, the wine’s breathing, and apparently, I still have some star power.”

Tigerlily snorts as she kicks off her shoes. “You love it.”

You wink at her. “Of course I do.”

The dining table is cozy, the food still steaming in its dishes as the three of you settle in. Conversation flows easily at first—small talk, compliments about the meal, and the occasional sarcastic nudge from Tigerlily when Julian tries too hard to impress.

“So,” you begin, picking up your wine glass, eyes darting between the two of them. “Tell me—how did you two meet?”

Tigerlily doesn’t miss a beat. “At an art exhibition. He was standing in front of a piece I hated and we started arguing about it.”

Julian grins. “I maintain that it was a brilliant statement on digital isolation.”

“It was a pile of tangled wires and a single desk lamp,” she counters. “But apparently, that’s all it takes to find love.”

You laugh and tilt your head. “And how long have you been dating this tortured art soul?”

“Four months,” Tigerlily answers, her voice dipping into something soft, almost shy.

You hum thoughtfully, then turn to Julian with a gentle smile. “How old are you, Julian?”

Before he can even open his mouth, Tigerlily pipes up again, “He’s only a few years older than me, mom.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not his spokesperson, sweetheart?”

She flushes, biting her bottom lip as Julian chuckles beside her.

You nod, still looking at Julian. “And may I know what do you do?”

Again, Tigerlily jumps in, “He’s a data analyst.”

You slowly blink at her, lips curling into a knowing smile as you turn your attention fully on Julian. “Well, with a job like that, I’m sure Julian can answer my questions himself.”

Tigerlily lets out a sheepish laugh, covering her face with one hand. “Sorry. I just—habit, I guess. Go ahead, interrogate him. Just… please be nice.”

You laugh softly, giving her hand a quick pat. “Don’t worry, honey. I only interrogate the ones I like.”

Then you look back at Julian, folding your hands on the table like a queen giving audience.

“So, Mr. Data Analyst,” you say, eyes twinkling. “Tell me everything. Start with your worst trait and work your way up.”

Julian gulps dramatically, already smiling, and the table bursts into gentle laughter.

-

You’re scooping sorbet into little bowls when you feel Tigerlily’s presence beside you, her hand already reaching for the berry compote you made earlier.

“Need help?” she asks.

You nod. “You read my mind.”

The two of you move in sync, falling into an easy rhythm as she spoons sauce and you add mint leaves for garnish. After a moment, you glance toward the dining room where Julian is sipping his wine, politely waiting.

“He’s a little serious, your Julian,” you say lightly, nudging her with your elbow. “He always seems… nervous. A bit rigid.”

Tigerlily rolls her eyes. “He’s just shy, Mom.”

You smile knowingly. “He’s the complete opposite of your usual type.”

“Okay, ouch,” she retorts, though she’s clearly amused. “Maybe I’m growing up.”

You chuckle, bumping her hip playfully. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I can tell you fancy him. You’ve got that stupid little twinkle in your eyes.”

“Oh my God—” she groans, face turning red as you slide a bowl toward her and bump your hip against her again.

The soft music playing from the living room hums a dreamy melody, and without warning, you start dancing along to it, swaying your hips as you plate the last dessert.

Tigerlily watches in horror. “Please stop.”

You throw her a wink. “What? I’m not trying to embarrass you in front of your boyfriend.”

“Yes, you are!”

You let out a cackle, spinning once with your spoon in the air like a microphone. “You didn’t say I couldn’t entertain him.”

Tigerlily practically begs, “Mom, please, I’m trying to keep some mystery in this relationship!”

“Fine, fine,” you say, finally setting down the spoon. “I’ll stop torturing you—for now.”

You hand her the last plate, then glance at her gently. “Did you know about your dad and Rowan?”

Tigerlily nods, not surprised. “I'm honestly surprised that their marriage lasted that long.”

You hiss. “Tigerlily Bang.”

She nonchalantly shrugs in response. “What? I’m just being honest.”

You give her a look. “Have you called him?”

She hesitates. “I’m going to visit him next weekend. I’m… introducing Julian.”

You pause for a moment, then soften. “Be nice to him, okay? It probably wasn’t easy to him. Maybe just give him a call before that—ask if he’s okay.”

Tigerlily stays quiet, pressing her lips together. Then she nods, her voice soft. “Okay.”

You slide an arm around her shoulder and pull her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Good girl.”

Tigerlily leans into you for a moment. The kind of lean that says she’s still your little girl—even now. And then you’re back at it, nudging her with your hip again. “Now come on, sing with me. You know this part!”

“No, no, no—Mom!”

But she’s laughing as you start twirling, and eventually, she gives in, half-singing the chorus while the two of you finish plating desserts, moving in sync like the good old days.

Just as you’re setting the final plate down with a flourish, you hear someone clear their throat. You both turn.

Julian is standing at the kitchen doorway, blinking. “I—uh. Should I come back later?”

You and Tigerlily look at each other. Then you beam.

“She made me do it,” Tigerlily says instantly.

“Sure she did,” Julian grins.

-

At the end of the night, you walk them to the front door, the last of the dishes soaking in the sink and the music now reduced to a soft hum in the background. The night air is cool when you step outside, a gentle breeze brushing past as you follow Tigerlily and Julian to the car parked along the curb.

Tigerlily turns to you first, her eyes soft and glassy in the porch light. “Thanks for the lovely dinner, Mom.”

“Of course,” you say, pulling her in for a long, grounding hug. You squeeze her tighter than usual, feeling the familiar comfort of her arms wrapped around you—still your little girl, even with the grown-up job and the boyfriend waiting by the car. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” she mumbles into your shoulder.

You step back, brushing her hair from her face like you always do, and she gives you that shy smile she used to have when she was caught sneaking snacks before dinner. Then she walks over to the passenger side, leaving Julian standing awkwardly at the bottom of the steps.

“Thank you again, ma’am,” he says, wringing his hands slightly.

You give him a look, amused. “Ma’am makes me feel ancient.”

He swallows. “Right. Sorry. I mean—thank you for having me.”

You step forward, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “You’re welcome, Julian. And for what it’s worth…” You pause, smiling. “You’ve made quite an impression tonight.”

He exhales a laugh, relieved. “That’s good to hear.”

“Drive safe, okay?”

“I will,” he says, nodding a little too eagerly.

You step back as he gets into the car. Tigerlily waves at you through the window, and you wave back, your arms folding over your chest as you watch the headlights blink on. They pull away slowly, the car disappearing down the quiet street.

You stay there for a moment on the porch, your fingers brushing your elbows, listening to the stillness of the night settling in around you and even though it’s quiet, your heart feels full.

You close the door behind you and lean your back against it for a second, letting the silence of your home settle over your shoulders. You walk into the living room and glance at your phone on the coffee table. You hesitate, then reach for it.

Your thumb hovers over Chris’s name in your contacts.

You check the time—too early to be asleep, too late to know what he’s up to. Probably pacing around his house with his guitar strapped to his chest, or lying on his couch with the TV on and his mind elsewhere.

Still, before you can talk yourself out of it, you press call. The line rings once. Twice. A third time. You shift your weight, ready to hit “end” when—

Click.

“Hello?”

You blink at the sound of his voice, low and familiar through the speaker. “Guess what?” you say, your tone light, almost teasing.

“What?” he asks, curious.

“Your daughter just brought her boyfriend over for dinner.”

There’s a beat of silence. “She what?”

You laugh. “His name’s Julian. Very polite. Very nervous. He looks like he’d rather face a firing squad than meet me.”

Chris groans. “Great. That’s exactly the kind of guy who’d try to steal my daughter from me.”

“She’s not being stolen, she’s dating.”

“Same thing.”

You smile to yourself, curling your legs under you on the couch. “They’re going to visit you next weekend. Be nice.”

“Define nice.”

“Chris.”

“Okay, okay,” he sighs. “I’ll give him a chance. But I’m not promising I won’t make him sweat a little.”

You chuckle. “That’s your job, I suppose.”

A silence stretches between you, not uncomfortable—just weighted with history. You take a breath before saying, “So I uh... I saw the news.”

Another pause.

“I was going to call earlier,” you continue, gently. “But I didn’t know if you’d want to talk. Are you okay?”

Chris lets out a quiet breath. “I’m… getting through it.”

“How’s Riley handling it?”

“She’s…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “She looks okay, but I don't know.”

You hum in agreement. “Check on her once in a while to let her know you're there if she wants to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I will,” he mutters, sounding defeated.

“You know,” you say with a small, lopsided smile, “at least your second marriage lasted longer than ours.”

Chris chuckles, the sound softer this time. “Low bar.”

“You set it, not me.”

There’s a quiet moment again. Then your voice softens. “I mean it, Chris. If you ever need to talk, or vent, or scream into the phone—I’m here, okay? As much as I hate it… you’re still my daughter’s father.”

He exhales slowly, and you can hear it through the phone, like something he’s been holding in is finally slipping out.

“I miss it,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Miss what?”

“This,” he says simply. “Talking to you.”

You swallow. The lump in your throat arrives fast, uninvited. “I should let you rest,” you say quietly, clearing your throat before your voice can crack. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thanks for calling.”

“Anytime.”

You hang up before the silence turns into something else. Something too close. Too familiar. You set the phone down and lean your head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

And for a while, you just sit there bcause sometimes, missing someone is quieter than you expect.

-

Summer sunlight spills through your kitchen windows, casting warm, golden streaks on the hardwood floor as you pack the last of your sunscreen and sunglasses into a tote bag. The hum of cicadas fills the air from outside, and you can already hear Tigerlily’s voice carrying from the living room—teasing, excited, just a little chaotic, as always.

Julian stands nearby, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, his hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts. He’s always been a little stiff around you, still nervous after all this time, but today… it feels different. Extra twitchy.

“Hey,” he says quietly, catching your attention just as Tigerlily calls out that she’s running to the bathroom to reapply her sunscreen.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?”

“Can I—” he clears his throat, gestures toward the back door. “Can I talk to you for a second? Just… out there?”

You eye him for a beat, curious, then nod and follow him onto the back porch. The breeze is warm, but there's a nervous chill rolling off of him.

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flitting toward the floorboards. “I, um. I wanted to ask you something.”

You fold your arms loosely, head tilting. “Okay…”

“I know this might seem fast,” he begins, eyes finally meeting yours, “but I’m going to propose to Tigerlily today. On the boat. I’ve been planning it for a while.”

You blink. The words hang in the summer air like a firework frozen mid-explosion. Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come right away. You stare at him, heart swelling and squeezing all at once.

Julian continues quickly, hands half-raised in panic. “I know we’ve only been together for a little over a year, but I love her. She’s everything I’ve ever hoped for, and I want to build a life with her. And I—I wanted to ask your permission, before anything else.”

It is fast. But you’ve seen the way she looks at him, how he looks at her. The way they orbit each other like two stars pulled by gravity stronger than reason. You’ve watched them fall in sync like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And he’s never once made you doubt his intentions.

You smile softly, eyes going a little glassy. “Well,” you begin gently, “you’ve been nothing but a wonderful boyfriend to my daughter. And you clearly adore her.” You pause, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. “So yes. You have my blessing, Julian.”

His shoulders drop in visible relief and he lets out a small, nervous laugh. “Thank you. Really. That means the world to me.”

Just then, the door opens behind you, and Tigerlily’s voice cuts through the moment. “What are you two doing out here?”

Julian spins on his heel a little too fast, and you clear your throat quickly, your brain scrambling for the first believable thing. “Julian was helping me, uh… figure out the sprinkler. It’s acting weird.”

She narrows her eyes. “The sprinkler?”

“Yep,” you nod, way too quickly. “Super weird. Total mystery.”

Julian gives a stiff little smile, playing along. “We, uh, think it’s the pressure valve.”

“Okay…” she says slowly, clearly not that interested. “Well, come on. Let’s go. The boat’s not going to wait for us.”

You grab your bag and follow her out the door, heart still racing a little from the moment you just shared. Julian gives you a grateful glance as he opens the car door for Tigerlily.

And as you sit in the passenger seat, watching the two of them exchange playful banter and knowing glances on the way to the dock, something in your chest softens.

Tigerlily is happy. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

-

The dock stretches out before you like a ribbon of sun-bleached wood, groaning faintly beneath your steps. The sea sparkles under the sun, dazzling and blue, dotted with boats and the occasional flash of seagulls flying over the sunny sky. Julian walks ahead, a few steps in front of you, leading the way to his family's boat.

He turns around as you reach the boat, climbing down to the edge and holding out a hand. “Here, let me help you guys on.”

Tigerlily climbs on first, holding onto the railing before turning back to you with a grin. You pause, just for a second, taking in the image of her—sunlight in her hair, smile wide and easy, laugh lines already forming around her eyes—and something about it makes your throat tighten.

Julian offers his hand to you next. “You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, pressing your lips together as you take his hand.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping onto the boat. “More than okay.”

Tigerlily helps you with your bag, the two of you settling in as Julian introduces you to the rest of the guests on board. He offers his hand again as he helps you up a narrow stair to the upper deck, guiding you through the boat with gentle ease. “Come on, let me give you the grand tour.”

You follow him with a soft chuckle, brushing your hair away from your face as the wind picks up. The boat is beautiful—sleek, well-kept, definitely not the kind of thing you expected to find yourself on this summer.

He leads you into a cozy lounge area, where his parents are seated on a cushioned bench, sipping drinks and chatting quietly. They both rise when Julian gestures toward them.

“Mom, Dad—this is Tigerlily’s mom.”

His mother greets you first with a warm smile, her hand extended. “We’re so happy to finally meet you. Thank you for joining us today.”

You take her hand and return the smile, nodding. “Thank you for having me. It’s a beautiful boat.”

Julian’s dad nods along. “Julian’s told us a lot about you,” he says kindly. “You raised a wonderful daughter.”

You laugh lightly, brushing off the compliment. “She pretty much raised herself, honestly.”

You move on to another corner of the deck where a younger girl sits with headphones half off her ears.

“This is my little sister, Maude,” Julian taps her shoulder, and she pulls them off, blinking up at you with instant recognition.

“Oh my God,” she says before she even stands. “You’re her. I knew you looked familiar.”

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Her?”

“Her, as in you,” she insists with a grin. “You’re—wow—you’re even more beautiful in person. My girlfriend, Alexa, is going to freak.”

Before you can respond, she’s already pulling her phone out. “Lex!” she calls. “Come here—come meet Tigerlily’s mom!”

A second later, a tall girl with red curls appears from below deck, raising a brow. “What—”

“She’s right here,” Maude says, practically bouncing. “Isn’t she stunning?”

You press a hand to your chest, laughing shyly as you look away. “Okay, okay, I think that’s enough of that,” you say. “You’re all going to make me too self-conscious to stay on this boat.”

Fortunately, Julian swoops in, hand landing lightly on your shoulder. “Alright, you two, quit scaring my girlfriend's mom,” he teases before turning to you. “Come on—front deck’s clearing up. Let’s relax a little.”

You nod gratefully, and he guides you to the front of the boat where cushioned seats curve around the bow. Tigerlily’s already lounging there, hair whipping in the breeze, sunglasses perched on her nose.

Julian hands her a kiss on the lips—quick, sweet—and tells her, “I’m getting us drinks. Be right back.”

He disappears down into the cabin again, and the sound of the water takes over.

Tigerlily turns to you, pulling her sunglasses up into her hair. “See?” she says. “Everyone loves having you here.”

You roll your eyes playfully, folding your legs beneath you as you settle into the cushions. “They’re being polite.”

“They’re being real,” she insists. “Especially Maude. I think she’s about to print out your Wikipedia page and frame it.”

You laugh, and she grins wide.

“And especially me,” she adds with a meaningful look. “I love having you here.”

You reach over and brush her cheek with your knuckles, your heart tugging at the corners. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

The boat rocks gently as the three of you lounge on the front deck, sun cascading over everything in a golden glaze. You’re tucked in one corner with a book in hand and sunglasses shading your eyes, only half-focused on the page. From your peripheral vision, you catch glimpses of Tigerlily curled up against Julian, their conversation floating around like soft background music—something about a movie he promised to watch, something else about her weird dream last night. You smile faintly at their easy affection, eyes dropping back to your book—until a shadow lengthens beside you.

Someone joins the group. You can feel it immediately, like a ripple in the calm. Not just the presence, but the weight of a gaze on you—curious, unwavering. You glance up briefly, eyes peeking over the rim of your sunglasses.

It’s someone you haven’t seen before. A tall, lithe man with buzzcut hair and delicate, striking features that contrast sharply with the sharpness of his frame. His eyes linger on you in a way that feels oddly direct, and it’s only when he finally speaks that the spell breaks.

“Hey, who’s this?” he asks, his voice smooth, amused.

Julian blinks, glancing between you and the man. “Oh—right. Hyunjin, this is Tigerlily’s mom.”

Hyunjin’s mouth twitches into a small smile as he steps closer and extends his hand. You slip your bookmark in place and close the book, slipping off your sunglasses. His hand is warm in yours, long fingers wrapping around gently—but his eyes, they hold your gaze like they’re reading something in you.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, voice low, and then adds with absolutely no hesitation, “You’re really beautiful.”

Tigerlily bursts into sudden laughter, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “Hyunjin!” she gasps. “Are you trying to hit on my mom?”

“So what if I am?” he says, totally unbothered, still looking at you.

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks—not the sun, this time.

Julian groans good-naturedly. “Hyunjin, why did you think I’m dating the daughter, not the mom? She’s the it girl of the ’90s, man.”

Tigerlily gives Julian a glare before elbows him on the side.

“I had no idea,” Hyunjin says, his gaze not leaving yours. “I just know she’s beautiful.”

You’re not used to compliments like this anymore—not said so earnestly and with such ease. You laugh lightly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear as you give a polite, slightly flustered smile. “Well, thank you.”

Tigerlily, still grinning, leans over to nudge Julian. “He missed the part where you say in the ‘90s, right? Like… a while ago.”

Hyunjin just shrugs, his tone almost challenging. “Like I care about that.”

Tigerlily blinks at him. Then turns to you. You raise your brows, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. You try to return to your book, but the page blurs a little. Not from the sun, not from the wind—but because there’s something about the way Hyunjin is still watching you like there’s more to read in you than the pages you’re holding.

The boat stops once it's far enough from the shore and the splashing sound coming from the side of the boat startles you. You fumble to check only to find Julian’s sister, Maude, has jumped into the sea.

You decide to sit at the edge of the boat, legs curled beneath you, a cold drink in one hand and the sun warming your shoulders as Tigerlily, Julian and Alexa are also jumping into the water, splashing around like kids, their laughter echoing over the waves. You watch them with a fond smile, chin resting on your palm, feeling oddly full just witnessing your daughter so happy. Then, you hear it.

Click. Click.

Your head turns instinctively toward the sound, and there he is—Hyunjin—standing a few feet away with a camera in hand, lowering it with a guilty smile when he notices you’ve caught him.

“Sorry,” he says, not looking sorry at all. “I just… couldn’t help it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, half-amused, half-incredulous. “Were you just taking pictures of me?”

He shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was. You're beautiful—it’s hard not to.”

That makes you let out a breathy, surprised laugh, half-shy, half-entertained. You shake your head, glancing back out to the sea like it’ll cool your blush. “You’re something else.”

“Hyunjin,” he says, finally coming closer and offering his hand again, this time more properly. “I don’t think I introduced myself earlier.”

You take his hand again, noting how warm and familiar it already feels in yours. “Nice to meet you, Hyunjin. I take it you and Julian go way back?”

He leans casually against the rail beside you, his sunglasses hanging off the collar of his shirt. “High school. He was exactly the same back then. Sweet. Smart. Terrible at talking to girls.”

You grin. “So you’re saying he’s always been this… nervous?”

“Like a scared puppy,” Hyunjin confirms, laughing. “But the kind that would take a bullet for the people he loves. You don’t have to worry about Tigerlily. He worships her.”

You nod softly at that, touched. “That’s very reassuring. Thank you.”

Hyunjin looks at you for a beat, then tilts his head. “Aren’t you curious to know about me?”

You laugh. “Are you offering up a full character profile?”

“Only the interesting parts,” he says with a wink. “Let’s see… I’m a pottery artist. I throw clay for a living. Julian actually met Tigerlily at one of my exhibits, so I’ll take partial credit for their love story.”

“Wow,” you smile. “Multitalented and a matchmaker.”

“And single,” he adds, eyes sparkling. “Also, apparently… recently discovering I might have a thing for older women.”

You laugh—a real one this time, unfiltered and light—and toss your head back slightly. “Oh, is that so?”

Hyunjin leans a little closer, voice low and teasing. “You’re kind of making it hard not to.”

Your gaze flickers to his—those sharp eyes softened by sunlight and mischief—and you find yourself laughing again, caught completely off guard by how amused, how seen you feel in that moment.

It’s been a long time since someone made you feel this way. Curious. Flattered. Just a little bit reckless. And the fact that it’s someone like him only makes it worse—and better.

-

The sun is hanging low over the horizon, spilling its golden light across the calm sea, and you’re in the kitchen galley, shoulder to shoulder with Julian’s mother as you help prepare dinner for everyone. The boat gently sways beneath your feet, and the sounds of laughter and soft music drift in from the deck. There’s something peaceful about it—this simple, domestic moment, so different from the chaos your life once knew.

Fresh from her shower, Tigerlily joins you, her cheeks still flushed from the sun and her hair damp around her shoulders. “Smells good in here,” she says, bumping her hip against yours as she grabs a stack of plates and starts setting the table on the back deck.

You're watching her, quietly smiling, when Julian appears beside her, freshly changed into dry clothes. He takes her hand gently and calls, “Hyunjin, hey—would you mind taking a few photos of us with the sunset?”

You glance over, your heart skipping a beat. So this is it.

Hyunjin, camera in hand, gives a playful salute and positions them with their backs to the sunset. “Alright, stand right there. A little closer. Julian, put your hand around her waist… yeah, perfect. Lils, look out at the ocean.”

Tigerlily does as she’s told, oblivious and relaxed.

Julian’s other hand slips into the pocket of his pants. You freeze where you stand, breath catching in your throat. Julian slowly pulls out a small velvet box.

“Okay, now, Lils,” Hyunjin calls gently, “turn around and look at Julian.”

She spins playfully, half-laughing—until her eyes land on him. She goes still. Her breath stutters.

Everyone else falls quiet.

Julian is on one knee, holding the box open, his face awash in the soft, fading sunlight. You grip the edge of the table, your heart racing in your chest.

“I knew from the moment I saw you at that gallery that I wanted to know everything about you,” Julian begins, voice a little shaky but clear. “I love how your laugh comes out before your jokes do. I love that you always steal fries off my plate even though you say you’re not hungry. I love that when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I need to be anyone else.”

Tigerlily blinks, tears welling fast in her eyes.

“You make everything feel like home,” Julian continues, his own eyes glassy. “And I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way. Will you marry me?”

It hits you like a wave—pride, joy, a strange ache in your chest like you were the one being asked, you were the girl in love with the sea glowing behind her.

Tigerlily gasps, a hand over her mouth, and then—she nods. “Yes,” she chokes out. “Yes, Julian.”

Cheers erupt around the boat. Julian slips the ring onto her finger, his hands trembling, and then stands to kiss her, slow and reverent, with the ocean breeze dancing through their hair.

You blink back tears, feeling them slip down anyway—and then a gentle arm wraps around your shoulders. Julian’s mother. She gives you a knowing squeeze, her own eyes shiny with emotion. “It’s something else, isn’t it?” she murmurs.

You nod, biting your lip to keep from crying harder. “It really is.”

And as Tigerlily and Julian hold each other beneath the peach-streaked sky, their silhouettes backlit by the fading sun, you can’t help but whisper under your breath, “My little girl’s getting married.”

You’re still trying to collect yourself, when you hear the hurried footsteps—barefoot and light—and then suddenly, she’s there.

Tigerlily throws herself into your arms, nearly knocking the wind out of you. She’s laughing, breathless, trembling with joy as she hugs you tight.

“Mom!” she exclaims, pulling away just enough to hold her hand out in front of you. “Look!”

The ring glints under the fading sunlight, elegant and simple, but it might as well be the crown jewel by the way she’s staring at it, eyes wide, still dazed. “I’m getting married,” she says in a whisper, like she doesn’t believe the words even as she speaks them. “I’m actually getting married.”

You nod, slow and soft, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. “You are,” you manage, voice thick with emotion. “You really are.”

And then you pull her back into your arms, wrapping her up like you did when she was small, when she’d scrape her knee or have a bad dream or just need her mom.

“Are you happy, little cub?” you murmur against her hair.

She pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes, cheeks still wet from tears but her smile—oh, her smile is luminous. “Yes,” she says, with a kind of certainty that steadies your heartbeat. “I’m so, so happy.”

You nod again, brushing her hair gently back from her face, your fingers lingering at her temple.

“If you’re happy,” you whisper, “then I’m happy.”

You lean in, kiss her softly on the temple, and for a moment, the world falls still. It’s just the two of you—mother and daughter, hearts full, tears barely held back, connected by something deeper than words.

Then Julian approaches, his steps quiet but purposeful, and you break the hug to turn to him. His face is still flushed from the proposal, his eyes a little watery, but he smiles at you—nervous again, like always. You step into his arms and hug him too, firm and warm.

“Congratulations,” you whisper. “Take good care of her, will you?”

“I will,” he says, voice a little shaky. “I promise.”

When you pull back, Tigerlily is beaming at both of you, and then she takes Julian’s hand, and just like that—the celebration continues.

Dinner is served on the upper deck under a string of fairy lights. Music plays, laughter rings out across the boat, and champagne glasses clink in celebration. Everyone is radiant—Maude and Alexa dancing barefoot, Julian’s parents looking proud, Hyunjin snapping candids in the golden hour light, and you—

You sit back for a moment, just watching. Watching your daughter. Your daughter, laughing with her fiancé, cheeks flushed with happiness, her whole future ahead of her.

A mix of emotions rolls through you—pride, awe, disbelief, joy, and that familiar ache that comes with letting go. You think of all the versions of Tigerlily you’ve loved: the little girl with scraped knees and messy braids, the teen who rolled her eyes but still hugged you goodnight, the woman now, who wears engagement rings and about to be someone's wife.

And something blooms in your chest, wide and full. Not just joy—but peace. Profound, bone-deep peace. In this moment, you feel it completely. You are happy.

-

The house feels impossibly still after a day so full of life. You move through the quiet halls, still smelling faintly of salt and sunblock, your bag abandoned by the front door. The lights are dimmed low, just enough to guide your way to the bedroom. You’re halfway through brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Chris.

You hesitate before picking up. It’s late. But you know him—you know that if he’s calling at this hour, it’s not casual. You slide your finger across the screen and press the phone to your ear. “Hey.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then— “She’s getting married.”

His voice is low, worn out. Not angry. Not sad. Just… broken.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your breath catching slightly. “She called you?”

“Just hung up,” he says. “She was so excited. Said it like she couldn’t believe it herself.”

You smile faintly. “She was glowing all day, Chris. You should've seen it.”

Chris lets out a laugh—quiet, hollow. “I remember when she used to light up like that just from sitting on my shoulders.”

There’s a long pause, one of those where neither of you needs to speak to understand the ache the other is carrying. “I know it’s stupid,” he finally says, “but it feels like I’m being cheated on. Like—she was mine. My baby. My little cub. And now some guy gets to come in and just—just take over. Call her his family.”

You close your eyes, pressing your lips together. “It’s not stupid.”

“I used to be her whole world,” he says, his voice cracking. “Now I’m... a scheduled phone call. A guest at her wedding.”

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart heavy with a quiet ache. “You’ll always be her dad, Chris. Nothing will ever take that from you.”

He sighs, and you can hear the way he’s holding back more. Memories. Emotions. Regrets.

“I missed so much already,” he mutters. “Her graduation. Her first heartbreak. All those stupid in-between things. I thought maybe I’d have more time.”

“You’ll have different moments now,” you say gently. “Maybe not the same ones. But new ones. Important ones.”

Chris goes quiet, and for a second, you wonder if he’s still on the line. Then, softly, he asks, “Did you cry?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Of course I did.”

“I wish I could’ve seen her,” he says. “Wish I could’ve been there. With you. For her.”

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. “She looked so much like you when she said yes,” you whisper.

That gets him. You hear the hitch in his breath. The rest of the night is spent like that—Chris talking, remembering, grieving something that was never really lost, just changed. And you listen, the way only someone who’s loved him deeply once can. You let him be selfish, fragile, ridiculous—because this isn’t about being rational.

This is about love.

And when he finally falls silent, you whisper, “We did good, you know. Raising her.”

There’s a long silence before he murmurs, “Yeah. We really did.”

You set your phone down gently on the nightstand, the screen going black like the closing of a curtain. The house is quiet again, but the silence feels different now—thicker somehow, like it’s holding something inside of it. You lean back against the pillows, exhaling slowly as your eyes drift up to the ceiling.

It’s not just you.

That’s the thought that settles over you like a blanket. You’re not the only one caught in this strange in-between—between the past and the future, between holding on and letting go. Chris, too, is reeling. Grasping. Feeling like he’s losing something he thought he had more time with. There’s a quiet comfort in knowing that.

Because tonight, watching Tigerlily say yes with the sunset blazing behind her, part of you had felt like you were standing still while the rest of the world moved on without asking. Like everything was changing too fast, too soon.

But now, lying here in the soft hum of the night, you realize that maybe change doesn’t have to be something to fear. Maybe it’s just a new season arriving—quiet, inevitable, and hopefully, kind.

You turn your head, eyes landing on a photo of Tigerlily on your dresser. She’s younger in this one, her cheeks round, her smile toothy. You remember taking it. You remember everything. You smile faintly. Maybe this is what growing up looks like—not just for her, but for you, too.

And maybe it’s all changing for the better.

-

It’s a slow Saturday afternoon when you hear the familiar creak of your front door opening and Tigerlily’s voice calling out, “Mom?”

You glance up from your notebook, pen still in hand, and before you can answer, she’s already walking into the kitchen like she owns the place—as she always has—plopping her purse on the counter and reaching straight for the cookie jar.

“You want something?” you ask without looking up, grinning as you hear her bite into a cookie.

“Yeah,” she says around a mouthful, “I want you to come out with me tonight.”

That gets your attention. You raise an eyebrow as you swivel in your chair, playful curiosity in your voice. “Wow, inviting your mom out on a Saturday night? What, Julian couldn’t make it?”

From the kitchen, she groans. “He’s been swamped at work this week. He said he might fall asleep standing if he tries to go out tonight.”

You smile as you stand and stretch. “So I’m the backup plan.”

“No,” she says pointedly, another bite of cookie halfway to her mouth, “you’re the main event. I wanted to spend time with you. Before I become someone’s wife.”

You’re halfway to the kitchen when she says that, and your steps falter just a little—just enough to register the weight of her words. You reach her side and pluck a cookie from the jar, mirroring her stance, leaning against the counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask softly, a teasing edge to your voice.

Tigerlily doesn’t answer—not with words. She just gives you a knowing look, the kind of look that says everything without saying much at all. And you know. You know what she means.

That she won’t always be yours first.

So you gently pat the top of her head, a silent acknowledgment of what’s changing—of what will never change, too.

And then you take a bite of your cookie, brushing the moment aside with practiced ease. “So where are you taking me, future wife?”

She perks up, cookie forgotten. “There’s this art exhibition downtown—Julian got me the invite—and I thought maybe after, we could get drinks or something. Just us.”

You nod, finishing your cookie. “Alright then. Let me go throw on something cool and age-appropriate.”

“Please do,” she says with a smirk. “Because you’re about to be seen with a young woman.”

You flick a crumb at her, already walking away. “Then I better wear heels. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking I’m your mother or something.”

The city hums quietly around you as Tigerlily drives, her fingers drumming lightly against the wheel to the rhythm of the song on the radio. The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting golden light across her face—her cheekbones highlighted, her eyes focused, her lips painted a shade that suits her too well.

You’re watching her in silence, your elbow propped on the car door, cheek resting against your hand. It hits you all at once—how grown she is. Not just older, but grown. A woman. Not just your daughter, but someone’s partner. Someone who knows what she wants, who walks into rooms with her head high and her heart wide open.

She catches your stare during a red light and raises a brow. “Do I have something on my face?”

You blink yourself back into the moment and smile softly. “No. I just… I like your lipstick.”

She grins. “It’s in my bag if you want to use it.”

You reach down and grab her purse from the floor, fishing through it. Lipstick, sunglasses, tissues, receipts, mints—and a folded, glossy brochure catches your eye.

You pull it out, unfolding it. “Is this the exhibition we’re going to?”

Tigerlily glances over. “Yeah. Julian’s firm helped sponsor it.”

You scan the list of artists until a familiar name stops you cold. Hwang Hyunjin.

Your brow arches. “Wait. Is this… the Hyunjin I met on the boat?”

Tigerlily’s grin is instant, wicked, and wide.

“Yes,” she says, dragging out the word. “That Hyunjin.”

You slide her a look.

“Oh my god,” she says dramatically, “you totally forgot he was an artist, didn’t you?”

You feign innocence, setting the brochure in your lap. “I didn’t forget. I just didn’t know he was showing here.”

She laughs, delighted, tapping the wheel. “You like him.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You do. You got all flustered the second he called you beautiful.”

You roll your eyes. “Tigerlily.”

“Mom.”

You look out the window, but you’re smiling now, the kind that tugs at the corner of your lips despite yourself. And she sees it.

“Oh my god, you do like him.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “He’s like, what, twelve?”

She snorts. “He’s as old as Julian.”

You glance back at her. “That’s not better.”

“That’s hot,” she says instead. “You’ve still got it.”

You shoot her a look. “Please stop.”

You hadn’t expected to feel nervous—this wasn’t a date, it was an art exhibition with your daughter. But ever since spotting his name on that brochure, there’s been a flutter of something low in your stomach, delicate and unshakable.

You walk beside Tigerlily into the exhibition, all clean lines and soft lighting. Art lines the walls—paintings, sculptures, ceramics—and you try to keep your eyes on them, but you can feel it. His gaze.

And when you look up—there he is. Hyunjin, standing near a tall display of pottery, dressed in relaxed black slacks and a linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His buzzcut somehow makes his cheekbones look sharper, but it’s the way his eyes immediately find you that makes your breath hitch.

Tigerlily grabs your hand and tugs you toward him. “Let’s go say hi to your potter boy.”

You gently swat her arm but don’t argue.

Hyunjin straightens as the two of you approach, a soft, knowing smile spreading across his face. His eyes flick between Tigerlily and you, but linger on you—open, unbothered, like he has no intention of pretending otherwise. “Hi,” he says simply, like the word is meant only for you.

Tigerlily grins. “Congratulations, Hyunjin. This whole thing is incredible. The colors, the forms—like, it’s weirdly emotional. I didn’t expect to feel something over clay.”

Hyunjin nods, appreciative. “Thank you,” he says, and then, softer, to you, “I’m glad you came.”

You swallow, fingers tightening slightly around your clutch. “It’s beautiful. Everything.”

Tigerlily glances between the two of you, and you catch the flicker of realization in her eyes. Her gaze lingers on Hyunjin, then you. A smile curves her lips, but she doesn’t say anything—just lightly touches your arm.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks,” she says, far too casually. “You two go ahead and talk about... I'll just go.”

Before you can say anything, she’s already turning away, leaving you alone with Hyunjin in the middle of his world.

Hyunjin smiles, as if this was always meant to happen. “Would you like a tour?” he asks. “I’ll show you my favorites.”

You nod, trying to collect yourself as he leads you across the room to a display of delicate, curved vases and explains a bit about it.

“Have you ever worked with clay?” he asks, that slight tilt to his voice—casual, but laced with suggestion.

You shake your head. “I don’t know the first thing about pottery. But it’s… really beautiful.”

“I could teach you,” he says.

You laugh, a little flustered. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

“For you, I’d make time.”

It’s so simple, the way he says it. No hesitation. No games. And that’s what throws you.

You look at him, really look—and he’s looking at you like you’re the centerpiece of the exhibition, like he curated the entire room just to bring you here. It’s intense, that kind of attention. Unapologetic.

“I doubt I’d be any good at it,” you say, trying to deflect.

“Come to my studio,” he says. “Let’s find out.”

His voice is low, but not pressing. Just enough to leave space—for you to lean in or walk away. But his eyes… his eyes are burning. Admiring. Wanting. A quiet pull you can’t quite escape.

You break the gaze, looking down at the smooth glaze of the pot nearest you, your fingers brushing lightly over its curve. Hyunjin’s smile deepens, and you don’t have to look at him to know. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

And somehow, you don’t hate it.

-

After the exhibition, you and Tigerlily settle into a cozy booth at a bar just down the street from the gallery. The music is mellow, the lights low and golden, and the clinking of glasses and quiet hum of conversation wrap around you like a blanket. You each have a drink in hand—something fruity and pink in Tigerlily’s, something simpler in yours.

You sip, exhale, and lean back. “Well… that was unexpectedly interesting.”

Tigerlily’s lips curve around the rim of her glass. “You mean the exhibition?” she teases.

You lift an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling him now?”

She laughs, a full, unfiltered sound. “I saw you and Hyunjin, you know. Sneaking off for your little pottery tour.”

You feign a gasp, dramatically clutching your chest. “What are you saying, Tigerlily? You want a new dad?”

She chokes on her drink, coughing through her laughter. “Oh my God, please don’t ever say that again.”

You grin as you stir your drink with the little straw. “Just checking.”

But then, her tone shifts—still playful, but more earnest now. “I’m serious, though. I think it’s a good time for you to start dating again.”

You glance at her sideways, teasing, “Oh? So you’ve finally given up on the dream of me and your dad running off into the sunset?”

Tigerlily chuckles, soft and knowing. “I mean… yeah. I used to hope, but now? I just want you to be happy. However that looks.”

Something in you stirs. It’s not sadness—not quite—but something tender. Moved. You coo, placing your hand over hers on the table. “You’re all grown up now, aren’t you?”

She gives you a sheepish smile, then rolls her eyes as she groans, “Even if that happiness means Hyunjin becomes my stepdad. Ew.”

You burst into laughter. “He’s not—Tigerlily!”

“I’m just saying,” she lifts her hands in defense, eyes wide, “if it ever comes to that, I’ll be supportive. Slightly traumatized, but supportive.”

You laugh until your chest aches, then sigh as you cradle your glass between your hands. “I don’t know… dating at my age, it feels kind of—”

Tigerlily gasps. “Don’t even start with that age talk.”

You shrug, playful but honest. “It just seems a little late to open up my heart again.”

She leans forward, voice soft but firm. “Then don’t open it wide. Just crack the window a little. Let some air in. You never know what might fly through.”

You look at her, this remarkable woman you raised, and something about her words nestles itself right under your ribs. “I’m not saying it has to be Hyunjin,” she adds, sly smile returning. “But… you could do worse.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile that lifts your lips is genuine. “You’re kind of sweet when you’re not being annoying.”

She raises her glass. “To annoying daughters who want their moms to be ridiculously happy.”

You clink glasses with her, the sound small but meaningful and for the first time in a long while, the idea of something new—something a little wild, a little uncertain—doesn’t scare you. Not when you’ve come this far. Not when your daughter is rooting for your heart.

-

So here you are, standing in front of the brick building tucked into a quiet corner of the city, the late afternoon sun casting warm shadows across its facade. The metal plaque reads Studio Hwang in a clean, simple font. You pause at the door, your hand hovering just before the handle.

This doesn't mean you're going to open your heart.

You're not here to be charmed or swept off your feet or written into some kind of romantic plot twist. No. You’re here because—well, because you were curious. And maybe a little flattered. And maybe, maybe, you wanted to try something new.

You exhale through your nose, give a small nod to yourself. Who knows, you think, maybe I’ll like it. So you push the door open.

Inside, the soft hum of conversation mingles with the earthy scent of clay and dust. Afternoon light spills through the high windows, warming the space in golden hues. Shelves are lined with ceramic pieces—some smooth and glazed, others raw and half-finished, waiting to become something more.

You spot Hyunjin almost immediately. He’s across the room, mid-conversation with someone—maybe a buyer, maybe a fellow artist, you’re not sure. He’s gesturing toward a set of tall vases, his tone focused, expressive. He hasn’t seen you yet.

For a moment, you hesitate. Your instinct tells you to step back outside, to give yourself an out before this becomes something real.

But then Hyunjin turns. He catches sight of you—and his entire face lights up. His smile is instant, genuine, radiant in a way that makes you forget you were just about to retreat.

“I’m happy to see you,” he says, stepping away from his conversation without hesitation. “You came.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say, glancing briefly toward the person he was speaking with, your hand still loosely gripping the strap of your bag. “I can come back later, if you’re busy.”

But Hyunjin’s reaction is immediate. He takes a small step toward you, shaking his head with a pleading softness in his eyes. “No. Don’t go.”

You blink, a little surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“I was just finishing up anyway,” he says, flashing you a crooked smile, one that almost feels like a quiet apology for making you feel like you weren’t welcome here. “I’ve been looking forward to this. Stay—please.”

And it’s the way he looks at you. Open. Warm. Like your presence just made his whole day better. Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather have you be.

You feel your hesitation melt, bit by bit. Your grip on your bag loosens. Your heart softens in a way you didn’t expect. So you nod. Quietly, simply, you say, “Okay.”

As you wait, you take slow steps around the studio, letting your eyes wander over the carefully displayed pieces—bowls, vases, sculptures that seem to carry a sense of motion even in their stillness. Each one is uniquely imperfect, textured with fingerprints, small ridges, grooves. They're beautiful in the way something made by hand always is—full of soul, full of intention. But as much as you're trying to focus on the art, your attention keeps drifting. To him.

Hyunjin stands a few feet away, still finishing his conversation, and you can’t help but look. The way he’s dressed is simple—just a white tank top tucked into jeans, the fabric hugging his frame in all the right places, and an apron dusted with clay tied around his waist. His buzzed hair is wrapped under a bandana. He gestures with his hands as he talks, his words low and animated, his passion palpable.

There’s something magnetic about it—the way his brows pull together when he's describing a shape, the way his hands mimic the curves of the piece, like he’s still molding it in the air. You find yourself watching too closely. Admiring too much.

God, he's attractive. Really, really attractive.

You realize you’ve been staring, your thoughts trailing somewhere they shouldn’t, and you quickly look away, pretending to examine a nearby vase like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.

Your pulse does this little skip in your chest and you remind yourself again: You're just here to learn pottery.

The soft click of the studio door signals that Hyunjin’s guest has just left, and suddenly, it's just the two of you. The room feels quieter now, like it’s holding its breath, waiting. You run your fingertips along the rim of a ceramic bowl, pretending to study it as you hear the sound of his footsteps getting closer. Your heart does a little flutter as you straighten your posture, but you don’t dare turn around until you hear his voice.

“So…” he says, his tone lighter now, a little teasing, “ready for your first pottery lesson?”

You finally turn to face him, and he's looking at you with a smile that makes you feel warm all over. His apron is still dusted with clay, his arms streaked with it, and there’s a tiny smudge on his cheek you have to force yourself not to reach for.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving a small laugh. “I guess so. I mean, I don’t want to break anything.”

He grins, dimples and all. “Don’t worry. The only rule here is to enjoy yourself.”

The way he says it—calm, easy, inviting—makes you relax a little. You nod, your lips curling into a smile. “Okay. Teach me, then.”

Hyunjin reaches for an apron hanging on a hook, shaking the dust from it before offering it to you with a quiet smile. “Here,” he says, “can’t have you ruining that pretty outfit.”

You chuckle softly as you slide your arms through the apron, smoothing it down the front. Before you can reach behind to tie it, he’s already stepping closer—close enough that the heat of his body brushes your back.

“Let me,” he murmurs.

His fingers gather the straps at your waist, slow and deliberate, and as he knots them behind you, you feel the firm brush of his knuckles against the small of your back. Your breath hitches—just slightly—and you’re thankful he can’t see your face just yet. But then… he moves higher.

Without a word, his hand lifts to your hair, gathering it gently, fingertips brushing your nape as he lifts it away from your neck. “Can’t let it get messy either,” he says quietly, voice dropping an octave as he twists your hair and pins it up with a clip from the table. “There. Perfect.”

Hyunjin doesn’t step away. He lingers, his hands falling slowly, deliberately, to rest lightly on your shoulders as he leans in—just enough for you to feel the soft, warm brush of his breath against your neck. You close your eyes for a moment, heat rising in your cheeks, heart fluttering like it’s never been touched before.

“You smell really good,” he says, low and sincere, as if it’s a secret he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

You swallow, pulse quickening. “I—um… thank you.”

When you finally turn your head slightly to glance back at him, his eyes are already on you—dark, unreadable, but soft. And the look he gives you makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

He smiles, the corners of his mouth curling up like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Let’s make something beautiful,” he says.

And you’re not entirely sure if he’s still talking about pottery.

-

Hyunjin leads you to the table, where a solid mound of clay sits waiting. He picks up a thin, taut wire with wooden handles on each end and holds it out for you. “This is a cut-off wire,” he explains gently, “you use it to portion the clay before you bring it to the wheel.”

You take the handles in your hands, unsure, and glance at him. He steps behind you again, not too close this time—but close enough that you can feel the presence of him, the quiet patience he carries.

“Pull it tight,” he says, “and glide it through like you’re slicing butter.”

You do as he says, but your motion is a little hesitant, uneven. He doesn’t correct you right away. Instead, his hands come up to rest over yours, steadying them, guiding the motion with a softness that makes your breath catch.

“Like this,” he murmurs, his voice brushing your ear.

Together, you slice through the clay. When it’s done, he lets go—slowly—and steps around to lift the cut piece with ease. He smiles.

“Perfect,” he says. “See? Not so hard.”

You follow him as he carries the clay over to the wheel, your heart still fluttering from the brief contact. He pats the stool next to the wheel.

“Come sit. Let’s get your hands dirty.”

You do, smoothing the apron over your lap as you settle in.

He slaps the clay down at the center of the wheel with a satisfying thud, then sits beside you, adjusting the pedal with his foot. “We’re going to start by centering the clay. That’s the most important part.”

You look down at your hands, already dusted with faint clay residue. “What if I mess it up?”

Hyunjin leans in with a smile that borders on a smirk, eyes flicking up to yours. “That’s part of the fun.”

His hands take yours again, guiding them toward the spinning mound of clay. The wheel starts turning, slow and steady, and he wraps his fingers around yours as the clay begins to take shape beneath your touch.

The sensation is strange—cool, smooth, pliant—but with him guiding you, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels… grounding. Intimate. “Just feel it,” he says quietly. “Don’t overthink.”

You nod, even though your heart is racing—not from nerves over the clay, but from the way his voice settles into your spine. The way his hands feel sure and gentle over yours. The way his focus is split between the clay and you.

Then, Hyunjin moves to the wheel across from you, his own piece of clay already set and spinning. “Watch me first,” he says, looking up with a soft grin. “Then you can try.”

You nod, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you lean forward slightly, eyes on him. On the way his hands wet with slip move gracefully over the surface of the clay. His fingers are long, precise—expert—and there’s a natural rhythm in the way they press and pull, coaxing form from the formless.

Your gaze drops to his forearms, where veins run along the skin like rivers, his muscles subtly flexing as he controls the wheel. The way his biceps shift beneath the snug fit of his tank has your breath hitching just slightly, and then your eyes move up again—past the bandana holding his hair back, past the little smudge of clay near his jaw—to his face.

Hyunjin is all focus. Calm, unbothered, completely at home in the motion of his craft. And for a moment, you forget where you are.

You’re watching him—not just the process, but him—and your thoughts go quiet. All you hear is the hum of the wheel, the soft squish of clay, and your own heartbeat tapping against your ribs.

Then, as if he senses it, his eyes lift. He catches you staring. You look away fast, cheeks warming, pretending to busy yourself with your own shapeless lump of clay. But across the room, you hear his soft laugh. Low, amused, unbothered.

“I can feel you watching me,” he says, not looking up this time as he dips his fingers in water and smooths a new edge into his piece.

You glance up at him again, trying to sound casual. “I’m just observing. You said to watch.”

“Right,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye now. “Strictly academic.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads on your lips. He doesn't push, just continues shaping his work with that same focused grace—while every now and then, you catch his gaze flicking back to you. And each time it does, it lingers just a little longer.

Not long after, you find yourself sinking into it, the stillness not awkward but comforting. The kind of quiet that wraps around you like a warm blanket, where nothing needs to be said. Your hands move gently over the clay, smoothing it, shaping it—not entirely sure what you're making, but enjoying the process anyway. It’s oddly therapeutic, the coolness of the clay, the give and resistance of it, the freedom to make anything. You let your fingers trail along its form, until—

The wheel spins too fast beneath your hand, wobbling wildly, and your once-decent shape collapses inward with a wet slap. You sigh, pulling your hands back, covered in clay and frustration.

Hyunjin looks up from his own wheel. He sees your frown, your ruined creation, and he doesn’t laugh like you expect him to. Instead, he wipes his hands with a rag and rises, walking over with an amused curl to his lips and that glint in his eyes. “You panicked,” he says softly, voice dipped in warm amusement.

“I messed it up,” you mutter, eyeing the deformed lump.

“You can still fix it,” he simply resolves.

Before you can ask how, he’s already behind you. Not too close—but close enough that you can feel his presence, the gentle press of warmth radiating from his chest. Then, with zero hesitation, he reaches around you, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he guides your hands back to the clay.

“Slow down,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against your neck.

You try not to shiver as he continues, “Just feel it. Let your hands listen to what it wants to be.”

His hands gently cup yours, steering them over the clay as the wheel spins again—slower this time. Controlled. Intimate. His fingers never leave yours, and every time he leans in to speak, his lips come dangerously close to your ear. “You’re doing good,” he whispers. “See? Told you we could fix it.”

You manage a breathy chuckle, though your focus is split—half on the clay, half on how close he is. How his chest nearly grazes your back, how his voice sinks into your skin, how his fingers linger just a little too long with each adjustment.

“Feels a little like cheating,” you murmur.

He huffs a laugh behind you. “I like helping.” His voice dips a little lower. “Besides… if it means I get to be this close to you, I’m not complaining.”

You glance back at him—only to find his face already angled toward yours, eyes heavy-lidded with that teasing smile. Your breath catches. For a moment, neither of you move. You pull in a breath, trying to center yourself again—on the clay, the motion, the wheel beneath your hands, not on the way Hyunjin’s breath felt brushing your skin just moments ago.

“Okay,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “Let’s just finish this.”

And you do. You put all of your focus into the shape, your hands moving more confidently now. Every curve, every pressure, you begin to feel the rhythm. Hyunjin stays close but doesn't interfere anymore—just lets you work, watching with quiet eyes and the occasional, almost imperceptible smile. A few times, he gently murmurs encouragements, soft like a breeze: “Just like that… slower on the edge… good, yeah, that’s it.”

And slowly, it comes together. A little uneven, maybe. Not perfectly symmetrical. But it has a charm—your charm, your hands in the shape of it.

When you lift your hands and look at what you've made, you let out a quiet breath. “It’s… kind of a plate?” you say, unsure.

Hyunjin chuckles, stepping in. “It is a plate,” he says warmly, reaching for the cut-off wire. He carefully loops it beneath the clay, slicing it from the wheel with practiced ease, and lifts it with gentle hands like it’s a masterpiece.

He turns to you with a smile so genuine it makes your chest swell. “You did a really good job,” he says.

You smile back, your cheeks still warm. “Only because you practically made it with me.”

“I was just your guide.” He winks. “You’re the artist.”

You roll your eyes with a soft laugh, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you stand a little taller. Like maybe you are capable of making something beautiful—even if it’s just a slightly lopsided plate in a small studio, with a man who’s slowly but surely making a mark on your heart.

-

The clay’s still under your nails a little, but there’s something oddly satisfying about it. A trace of the afternoon etched into your skin. You wash your hand in the nearest sink and feel a little more relaxed as you're toweling your damp hands.

Not long after, Hyunjin walks in, balancing two cups of coffee with ease, still in his paint-smeared apron and bandana, looking effortlessly undone in the most deliberate way.

“Made us coffee,” he says, handing you one of the mugs. Your fingers brush for a second as you take it, and it sends a small jolt up your spine.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking a sip and leaning against the big wooden table beside him. The studio is quiet now, just the soft hum of life outside the windows and the lingering scent of clay and coffee between you.

You admire the wall-to-wall shelf of pottery on the other side of the studio, each piece unique, imperfectly perfect in their own way. “You’ve made all of these?” you ask.

He nods, glancing at them over his cup. “Each one’s like a memory.”

You smile at that, letting the silence wrap around you both for a beat. Then, from beside you, he says casually, “So… I might’ve done a little internet stalking about you.”

You glance at him, brow arching. “Oh?”

He smiles into his cup, lowering it slowly. “I was curious.”

“And what did you find out, detective?”

He turns his head to look at you, something playful and soft behind his eyes. “That you were… different.”

You narrow your eyes, amused. “Different how?”

He tilts his head, thinking. “Fiery. Effervescent. A little wild, in the best way.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Are you disappointed now?”

He shakes his head, eyes still locked on yours. “Not even close.” His voice is low, steady. “I like who you are now.”

Your heart flips, unprepared for the way he says it—so matter-of-factly, like it's the easiest truth he's ever spoken. Then he adds, almost as if speaking to the room, “But I think that part of you is still in there. Just… quieter now. I wonder if I'll ever meet her.”

You look down into your coffee, lips curling slightly before glancing back at him. “Or maybe you should’ve been born sooner,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

But Hyunjin just smiles, slow and knowing, as he turns to face you more fully. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “If I was born sooner… you wouldn’t have noticed me. I’d be nobody.”

Your smile falters, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says, stepping closer. “You would’ve looked right through me. But now…” His eyes lock on yours again, this time deeper, weightier. “Now you see me.”

Your breath hitches, the space between you shrinking, thick with something electric.

“I think,” he murmurs, voice low, “we met at the right time.”

You swallow, caught off guard—not just by his words, but by the way he says them. The way he makes you feel. And you realize, maybe it’s not about being ready to open your heart. Maybe it’s about someone walking in and making it feel safe enough to try.

And then, he takes a small step closer, close enough that you can see the brown of his eyes, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his temple from earlier.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, voice low, husky with hesitation… and intent.

You nod before you can think better of it.

“I’ve been trying to keep it cool,” he murmurs, his hand brushing the edge of the table near yours. “Trying not to be… too much.”

Your lips twitch, heart hammering. “You think this is you trying to be subtle?”

Hyunjin lets out a quiet laugh, one that curls around your ribs and settles in your belly. “I guess I’m not very good at subtle when it comes to you.”

And then, slowly, he reaches out—his hand gentle as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the curve of your jaw before falling away. The touch is light, but it lingers in your skin like fire.

“You make it really hard,” he says, barely above a whisper, “not to want... more.”

“More?” you echo softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

His eyes don’t leave yours. “More moments like this. More of your time. More of you.”

The silence stretches for a beat—your heart racing, cheeks burning—but you don’t pull away. You don’t stop him. Because in this moment, with the earthy scent of clay still hanging in the air and the fading sunlight washing golden across the floor, it feels terrifyingly easy to let yourself lean in—just a little closer.

And Hyunjin sees it. He sees the way your eyes flick to his lips for half a second too long. So he closes the space between you, just barely, until his face hovers inches from yours. Not touching, not yet. Waiting. Letting you decide.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly, “and I will.”

But you don’t, you don’t say a word. Instead, you meet his eyes—warm, steady, searching—and you let yourself lean in just enough to close the last inches between you.

And then, finally, his lips meet yours.

It’s soft at first—so gentle, as if he’s afraid to break something delicate. His lips move against yours with reverence, like he’s been waiting a long time for this moment, and now that he has it, he’s not going to rush. He kisses you like it means something. Your hand finds the front of his apron, clutching the edge of the fabric just to ground yourself, to make sure this is real. And when you respond—when your lips press back into his, just a little more certain, a little more open—he sighs softly into the kiss, like relief, like gravity finally pulling him where he belongs.

His hand cradles your face, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek, and the other finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer—not demanding, but asking. You let him. You let yourself fall into the warmth of him, the quiet hum of something new and terrifyingly beautiful blooming between you.

When he finally pulls away, it’s only just—his forehead resting against yours, eyes still closed, breath mingling with yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that,” he murmurs, “since the first time I saw you.”

You smile, breathless, your heart blooming in your chest like something brand new. “And here I thought you were just being polite.”

Hyunjin huffs a quiet laugh, his nose brushing yours. “Not even a little bit.”

And for a while, you stay like that—close, quiet, wrapped in something warm and soft and maybe even a little magical—before the moment gives way to the next.

Because this doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like the very beginning.

-

✨ Chapter I of Evermore is available on my Patreon ✨

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