#I love Mai so so so so much she was my idol when I first watched the series

[astraystayyh]

Bleeding heart dove

pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.

genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.

warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story don’t represent the idols in real life.

word count: 25.7k.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

a.n: she’s finally here!!!! i haven’t written for chris in such a long time and i’m so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties that’s why it’s so long now LMAO but i hope you’ll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but i’m slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all 🤍 thank you for waiting for me

They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesn’t graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.

No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.

You smell rust.

Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharp—like blood smeared on your tongue against your will.

As everything in your life has ever been.

Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.

It was a cruel smell at that— the scent of things stolen— childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.

You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?

That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.

And you were only ten.

But Seungmin was only six.

Your brother didn’t understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.

Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm him—not even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungmin’s resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.

You didn’t know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. You’d give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.

The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggage—tagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.

The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. That’s what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.

They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within you—a burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.

Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.

Seungmin didn’t understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. That’s when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.

By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungmin’s grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.

You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.

“I’m Winter,” she said, her voice soft.

You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanage’s doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didn’t pass from pneumonia.

Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didn’t bother to do so for her.

You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.

“I’m Y/n, and this is Seungmin,” you replied, gripping your brother’s clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasn’t to be touched.

But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.

Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Year’s. You always gave yours to Seungmin— the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.

But rust remained.

It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.

Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.

Perhaps it was your mind’s way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelids— even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parents’ airy laughter calling you to dinner— this was not home.

It never could be.

“Y/n?”

Han’s voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.

He’s the first one out of the stylist’s room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.

“Hey, Han,” you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.

His grin is as easy as ever—warm and full of mischief. “Like the makeup?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.

“The boys are still getting ready,” he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.

“Figured.”

Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.

Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.

“You seemed far away just now,” Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.

You exhale slowly. “The vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. “Why is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like I’m about to be sued?”

You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.

“Hey—“ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,” you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.

“Okay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didn’t I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.”

You do.

It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.

“There she is! You’re smiling,” Han says, poking your cheek.

“Just remembering our trip.”

He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Best summer ever. Next time, the vacation’s on me. Pinky promise.”

Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.

Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.

“You’re here,” Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Han’s arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.

“I finished up the case early,” you explain.

Seungmin’s gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.

“And why are you so dressed up?”

“Can’t a sister look nice for her favorite brother’s first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?” you tease, clasping your hands.

Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.

“I’m your only brother, and we both know you’re lying,” Seungmin deadpans.

It’s endearing—the way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasn’t spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.

It’s foolish too— as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.

“Fine. I have a date after the show.”

“With who?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.

You smile. “Jaehyun.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t love him.”

“And who said I do?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

“Then why do you still meet up with him?”

“Because he’s fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.”

Changbin leans in, grinning wide. “I’m fun too. Why not date me?”

He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.

“Alright, alright, stop the flirting,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I fear you’ll end up killing my brother.”

Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Look at you, performing in such a big arena,” the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thank you for coming. I really wanted you here.”

You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. “I’ll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.”

“You’ll do great,” you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.

His voice follows you down the hall. “We’re still talking about this date later, though!”

“Seungmin loves acting as if she isn’t older than him—” Swat.

—

There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brother’s concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvas— soaking your heart in wildflower hues.

You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.

It is Seungmin’s turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesn’t cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.

But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.

He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.

Deep down you already know the answer to this.

“My sister is here tonight,” he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. “If I’m here today it’s all thanks to her, so I– I hope you’re proud of me,” he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. “You know, I… I don’t believe in forever—” his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. “But just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, I— I want to believe in eternity with you.”

The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.

But you’re not here anymore.

You’re somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.

Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.

—

He was eight.

His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.

You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didn’t quite reach his toes. He didn’t mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.

“Did you make a wish?” you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretending— that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.

How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?

Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.

“I said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.”

The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.

You forced on a smile anyway. “You will,” you promised, voice soft but unsteady. “Soon.”

He paused, blinking slowly.

“What’s forever?”

The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a halt— Seungmin’s innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.

“Why do you ask?”

“I told Gyuvin I’ll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.”

Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streak—sharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.

Still.

“He’s joking, Seungminnie,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Forever just means something that doesn’t end. Like numbers. Numbers don’t end, right?”

He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.

“Would you like to believe in forever?” you asked, teasing gently.

“No,” he said quietly, “Because then I’ll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.”

Oh.

Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awake—long enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.

Seungmin was only nine.

But you were only thirteen.

And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.

You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down one— rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished he’d carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe you’d be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.

You thought of what it’d be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldn’t feel anything anymore. You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.

—

“Yah, Y/n why aren’t you smiling?” Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.

You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forward— “Because! You’re all sweaty and pressing onto me,” you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at once— “this is the sweat of hard work”, “but our sweat smells nice though!”, a groan, “that’s just you Hyunjin.”

Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felix’s, pulling into the middle for a group hug.

“Stop, your sweat will rub off of me!” Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.

You don’t give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungmin’s cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. “You all did well! I’ll have to go now! My date is waiting!”

You don’t leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.

You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.

You’re almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.

“Seungmin, I told you I’m—” you turn around expecting to see your little brother’s gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chan’s worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chan’s frown only deepens further.

“I—” you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.

Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyun’s name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. “And don’t say you’re just feeling emotional because we made it so far.”

You chuckle faintly. You know it’s no use lying to Chan, of all people. “Jaehyun is calling again,” you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.

“Cancel your date,” he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “you know you have the most fun hanging out with me”.

“Alright, Mr. Cocky,” your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if you’re forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? “I'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.”

“I won't,” his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. “We'll go on a drive okay, like old times?”

What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.

That is what being next to Chan is like to you.

“Fine,” you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. “I don’t want Seungmin to know though.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. “I’ll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.”

—

It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.

He didn’t know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.

Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flaw— Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.

His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chan’s small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didn’t mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joy—one that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.

It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.

It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldn’t bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?

See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed that—the syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heart—every vein, every molecule—tainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.

Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it here—if he closed his eyes long enough he’d pretend the salty air was Australia’s breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his father’s grilled meat, his mother’s lemonade, his sister’s shenanigans. He missed his dog.

Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?

It had.

The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?

Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of bursting— an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.

What is wrong with me? He’s been asking himself the same question ever since.

It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.

He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didn’t quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.

Because Chan wasn’t alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.

And then Seungmin.

It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.

You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You can’t cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.

Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.

“Do you still pick at your nails?” Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. “Can’t give up bad habits?”

“You’re the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.”

“Touché,” he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.

The seasons passed, and Chan’s fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together again—not to its original form. That would be a fool’s hope. People noticed the external changes—the different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with time—but they couldn’t see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.

Because pain doesn’t pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.

The heart Chan carries isn’t his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.

And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.

And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyone’s hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.

“Is this about Seungmin?” Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“No, yes—I… I don’t know,” you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.

You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boys’ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.

Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.

Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.

He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesn’t feel like a thunderbolt—a surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.

“It will bleed, and then you’ll come whining because it hurts,” he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“When did I do that?” you exclaim, but you don’t pull your hand away.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

“Besides,” you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know I’m the last person to ever whine.”

Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.

“Yeah, you should do that more often, actually,” he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.

It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. “You heard Seungmin’s speech,” you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.

Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.

“Hard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,” he jokes, and you finally giggle—a real laugh, not the artificial ones you’ve been giving him. It feels like Australia’s breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.

“You know,” you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, “It reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.” A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “Seungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You should’ve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.”

Chan’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.

“I remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didn’t quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.”

“He did,” you smile. It’s a bit different from all your grins. You’re always different when it comes to Seungmin—softer, bursting with pride.

“And…” Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. “I remember you.”

“Oh, please, no,” you hide your face in your palms. “That’s so embarrassing.”

Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many things—beautiful, brave, human. ‘Embarrassing’ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.

He remembers.

“Here,” Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadn’t known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.

You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.

“Thank you,” you said tentatively. “Something got into my eye.” You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.

“I figured. There’s a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,” He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.

“I’m Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.”

You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.

“Alright, Christopher Actually Chan,” you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed you’d account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.

“And I know you, actually,” you continued.

His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much he’d make a fool out of himself if he needed to. “I’m not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. He’s my brother.”

“Right,” Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkward—social prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.

Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.

A cherry lollipop.

“As a thank you,” you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. “Ah, and, you better debut with my brother!”

You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your face—one so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Chan’s fate was sealed right then and there—he would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.

For one would ask, what’s a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherries’ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if it’s you.

Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. “You were brave, Cherry. You still are.”

“You think too highly of me,” you snort.

“I think of you just right, actually.”

You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. “What if I told you I’m terrified?” The words rush out, as though you are afraid they’d die in your throat before they could reach him.

Chan’s heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you who’s like a Russian doll—layer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.

“Why?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.

“I didn’t want to tell Seungmin,” you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. “He’d be heartbroken... I know him, I—” you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. “My new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaire’s investment, with pools and golf courses.”

“Sun Corporation,” you explain, “it’s owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdings’ CEO. They’ve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. It’s a mess, Chan.” you’re angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.

“The city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but that’s bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. “I told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. They’re offering compensation but I’ve dealt with those kinds of people. They’re greedy. They’re corrupt.”

“I couldn’t turn my back on it,” you whisper. “I had to take the case. Those kids… they’ll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.”

Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fracture—like a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.

Chan’s palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. “You’re worried they’ll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?”

“Yeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I can’t stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.”

“They won’t. you’ll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.

“You will, okay? I have no doubt you will,” he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.

“I will.”

—

Chan: you up?

Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.

Y/n: What a fuck boyish text

Chan: akldkdkd so you’re definitely up

Y/n: I’m working on the case :(

Chan: open up!! i have snacks

You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. He’s wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still don’t understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“I got bored alone in the studio,” he shrugs casually. “So I thought I’d drop by.”

“Drop by?” you repeat, laughing softly. “Your studio is on the other side of town.”

“Okay, I guess you don’t want fish cake and tteokbokki—”

“Come back,” you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.

“It’s a mess, I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.

“Need me to tidy up again?” he teases, grinning as he steps inside.

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.”

“I don’t mind, Cherry,” he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. “I’d do it even if you weren’t sick, you know.”

Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrum—one long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when he’s near.

You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.

“Any updates on the case?” he asks.

You nod, running a hand through your hair. “I filed for an injunction,” you say, sighing deeply. “Trying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like it’s nothing.”

Chan’s eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what you’ve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?

“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind those apartment deals. Jaehyun’s helping me track it down.”

Chan’s eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesn’t realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you don’t notice.

“Jaehyun… are you guys together yet?” Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. “Hm? No. We’re just friends.” you say between bites.

“You go on dates with your friends?” he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes don’t morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.

“You know, we’re just messing around, or whatever,” you quickly say.

“Right.”

Chan remembers the moment with striking clarity—when you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.

You had said his name casually, A journalist you’d met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, you’d said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of him—something new, something soft and fond that made Chan’s chest tighten.

“Anyways, he’s friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,” you continue, voice tinged with frustration. “So he’s been trying to convince him to help us out.”

“An insider,” Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. He’s thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chan’s been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all he’d glimpse is you.

What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?

You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. “It’s tiring, Chan,” you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside him—a peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. It’s very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.

“Do you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?” he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your back. You don’t wish for it to.

“What is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?” you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.

“Everyone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.” He recounts the memory as if you weren’t there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. “And then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadn’t slept in days. You asked me, ‘Is it true? Are you debuting soon?’”

You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding you—how raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.

“You were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungmin’s vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,” his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You can’t speak even if you wish to.

“I said yes and you started crying. and I hadn’t seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.” You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.

“Seungmin,” you heaved, “please protect him, Chan, I— please, you have to protect him, please.”

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. “Talk to me Cherry, hm?”

“What if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out he’s an orphan and use that against him? He doesn’t like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if he’s hurt and he can’t tell me?”

His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasn’t crafted to handle it?

“Then when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.”

Chan’s heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.

His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says, his voice soft, “The most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. It’s that passion that makes you the best at what you do. You’ll win this case, and every case after it, because you’re the one handling them.”

His thumb brushes against your skin. “And you believed in me when I said I’d protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.”

You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, he’s frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you in—your shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. “You’re welcome, Cherry.”

For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesn’t love you? Chan doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be a waste if it’s spent loving you.

—

“Three penthouses are already registered under different names,” Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. You’re seated in a small café near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyun—names of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.

“Park Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,” you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, who’s already smirking.

“Park Yuna…” you pause, “isn’t she the wife of the city council president?”

“Bingo!” he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.

“Oh gosh,” you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. “This isn’t an action movie stop it.”

Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.

“Anyway, you’re right. She’s his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.”

“They didn’t even register them under their names. Subtle,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I bet they weren’t even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “They think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They don’t get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.”

The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongue—the bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over others’ lives.

“We’ll gather more evidence of their corruption,” Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. “And when we do, we’ll confront them. They won’t risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.”

You nod. “You’re right.”

He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. “By the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?”

The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.

“Chan came over,” you admit.

Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Chan,” he says, drawing out the name.

“Mhm,” you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“The man who calls you Cherry.”

“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re so oblivious.”

“Agreed,” a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t the subject of discussion,” you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.

You’re momentarily distracted by Winter’s appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.

“That man likes her,” Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.

You glare at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s my friend.”

Winter raises an eyebrow at you. “He always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.”

Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last night—to how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.

“What’s the point of him liking me if I can’t like him back?” you murmur, voice barely audible. “My heart isn’t made for this.”

“Have you ever given yourself a chance?” Jaehyun asks and you scoff.

“A chance for what? To hurt someone?” you reply, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,” you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.

This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ that’s too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.

“Anyway,” you say, forcing your voice to steady, “Can you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and he’s the only one who can help us. I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to convince him,” Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.

There are things you’ve always wished to escape—dark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still haven’t. Perhaps, you will never.

Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of another’s touch.

You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of grief’s favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all you’ve ever known.

—

Your mother’s fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.

You can’t see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that you’d forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldn’t forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.

You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.

You loved singing, for the three years before your parents’ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds… They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.

You were then forced to learn that there isn’t just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.

You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.

It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.

You’d told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.

Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfume—soft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice… Even your brother’s group when he debuted.

You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.

It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.

“You were brave, you still are, Cherry.” Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.

Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chan’s and Jeongin’s place.

It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.

You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Y/n: Are you home?

You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.

Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungmin’s

A heartbeat.

Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?

You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.

You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m okay,” you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.

“It’s 1 a.m.,” he replies, concern etched into his features.

“I can read the clock,” you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.

“I’m just anxious about the next few days,” you admit.

“What’s happening?” he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.

“I’m meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. He’s called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporation’s corruption for our case.”

Chan’s worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just… I wanted your company.”

Chan’s demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.

“I think I feel less anxious around you,” you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winter’s words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.

“Oh, I…” His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if they’re debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.

“So do I, Cherry,” he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. “And I could come with you to meet San, if you’d like.”

“Really, you’d do that for me?” his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask.”

You see it then—visions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chan’s neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.

Perhaps this is the most violent act of all—to have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.

“Were you working?” you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, working on some new songs. But I’ll take a break now.”

“The mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,” you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.

“Should we have a drink?” he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

It’s easy to recall with Chan—to relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.

The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you don’t feel tired. You’re tipsy, the wine warming your stomach—a bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.

Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. You’re close to all the boys—you care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.

“I was thinking on my drive home of this… melody my mom used to sing,” you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chan’s. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.

“She used to hum it to the ocean, to me when I’m about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,” you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. “I’ve been trying to replicate it on the piano but I’ve never managed to.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.

“Can I hear it?”

You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.

You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing,” he says.

“Thank you for listening,” you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.

You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: you’re in Chan’s room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you can’t help but wonder if he too felt it— the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.

You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.

‘I’ve made you breakfast, it’s in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)’

You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You can’t help but inhale their scent—traces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

—

You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almost—because you can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.

“I think we’ll scare the poor boy away,” you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.

“Do you want me gone? It’s fine, I can leave,” he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. “It’s not like I made all this effort to come here—”

“Oh my god, you’re still a whiny baby at your big age,” you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the café.

You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.

San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.

Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee you’ve yet to sip. “Thank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,” you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.

“Look, Miss Kim,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “I gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what you’re asking of me now... it’s dangerous.” He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “They’re not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.”

“I do,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “I know exactly how high it goes. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why I need your help.”

San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.

You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. “Look, I’m not asking you to go public,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just need the truth. Documents, emails… anything that proves there’s a corrupt force behind this decision. I’ll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.”

“I want to help you, I do,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “But they will find out, and I’ll lose everything,” he pauses, shoulders slumping, “I’m the sole caregiver for my mom… She’s in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?”

Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. He’s still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.

“San,” you start gently, “I once lived in Promise Orphanage too.” you admit and his eyes slightly widen. “Before that, I was in two other orphanages in the city…” You pause, looking for the right words. “I still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.” Your voice cracks, and Chan’s warm hand finds your knee.

“It’s hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. They’re happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But they’re well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They don’t deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.”

San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?”

“You’re here,” you reply, “you’re afraid, but you also believe in what we’re fighting for. Otherwise, you would’ve rejected this meeting.” You sigh, your voice softening. “You’re a good person, San. Don’t let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.”

“I do,” he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.

“Look, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I can’t prove intent. What we need is what’s inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I can’t do this without you, San. I mean it.”

San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “There are emails,” he admits quietly. “Some from the CEO, discussing how to ‘incentivize’ council members. And I’ve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as ‘consulting fees.’ It’s not hard to connect the dots.”

Your heart leaps in your throat. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you get copies?”

“I think so,” he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, “I lost my father too, you know.” There’s a rawness in his voice that only those who’ve been burdened by grief can understand. “I’ll find a way. For those kids.”

You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. “Thank you,” you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.

-

“Should we celebrate?” Chan asks, his voice light, once you’re settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. You’ve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like you’ve closed this case without needing a trial. That’s something worth celebrating.

“You know what? Hell yeah,” you giggle, and Chan’s face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. “Great! Because I already planned for us to!” His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.

“Cherry! you’re free tomorrow, right?” he shouts over the music, and you recognize the song—No. 1 Party Anthem.

So you’re on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or not…

“Hmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnapped…” you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. “Looks like I am!”

“Perfect! Let’s go on a trip, then!”

Sunglasses in doors are par for the course…

“Where to?” you laugh, and he simply winks in response, “You’ll see.”

“Fine, you be mysterious, and I’ll…” You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, “I’ll be your passenger princess.”

It doesn’t escape him— how readily you’ve let go, how much you’ve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts won’t catch up with the two of you.

Her eyes invite you to approach…

You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coast—one Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.

You’re served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongue—savory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. They’re buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chan’s gaze.

Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.

And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that you’ve just swallowed have got you going…

You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard you’re laughing. But then, in the mirror’s reflection, you catch his gaze—soft, unguarded, and filled with something you don’t dare name. Your breath falters. You’ve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.

Come on, come on, come on…

The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmer’s market along the road. You don’t question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You don’t question why you’re suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray it’s the latter.

Number one party anthem…

“Welcome to Gangneung,” he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the houses—painted in pastel blues and greens—climb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.

“You remembered,” you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.

“I’d like to go to Gangneung one day,” you had once told him during a late-night walk. “I heard it’s a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, giggling. “Well, except Winter—so she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldn’t worry. But I didn’t tell them where we’re—”

You don’t let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.

The look of love, the rush of blood…

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.

Come on, come on, come on…

Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. You’re the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

Number one party anthem…

“Here,” he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. He’s got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. “Come on,” he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.

He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. You’re lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You haven’t sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurface— to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you won’t resurface again.

But you haven’t felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.

“I made you something.” Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. You’ve seen Chan in many states— happy, angry, weeping. But you haven’t seen him this nervous before.

“What is it?” you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.

He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. “I’m sorry if this is too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?”

He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and then—oh god.

“Chan, I—” you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. It’s her. It’s your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. It’s as though he’s handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood back—her hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.

You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. It’s a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.

“Should we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.” You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.

“We’ll get sick,” he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.

“We haven’t been kids in so long”, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait, not like this!” you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But it’s no use—he’s already running and the next thing you know, you’re plunging into the cold water.

He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesn’t matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.

You’re both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your way—“only one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.”

Oh.

When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. “There’s only one room left,” he stammers. “The other one has a water leak. But it’s okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might be—”

“Christopher, I’m fucking freezing,” you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. “I’ll let you shower first, then.”

The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.

“Go ahead,” he says, “I’ll wait.”

You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.

Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?

Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?

Y/n: Yes, and we’re sharing one room 🫣

Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing

Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?

Winter: Of course i foresaw this

You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.

Y/n: I’ll kill you once I’m back!!!

Winter: you love me 😘 you’ll have to tell me everything when you come back

Y/n: I will ❤️ He’s very sweet… and confusing

Winter: Just trust your gut

Trust your gut? You’re quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.

You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. He’ll carry it with him, you think—a faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.

Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.

“Chan?” you whisper into the quiet.

He hums instantly. He hasn’t slept.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I am.”

“Should we move closer? Body heat and all,” you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.

Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.

“Good?” he asks, voice rough, and you nod. “Yeah, good.”

You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.

“Channie?” you whisper.

“Yes, Cherry?”

“How different do you think we’d be, if we hadn’t gone through the things we did?”

You don’t know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paper—uncrumpled, untainted, left to be.

He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.

“I think I would open my heart more,” he finally says, voice soft. “I’d be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. I’d stop chasing perfection. I’d just... exist.”

You nod against him. “You should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.”

It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.

“Yeah, Cherry,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you?”

“I’d allow myself to love. Without fear. I’d be someone worthy of being loved.”

A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.

“I’ve dated people,” you say quietly, “it drives Seungmin’s crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,” you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.

“He’s a good brother.”

“He is,” you smile, before sighing. “But I don’t know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what they’re getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... that’s all I have to give. I’m afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. I’m hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest can’t beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.”

His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself.

—

Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesn’t feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yet—he still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.

—

You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporation’s headquarters.

From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretary’s protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.

Fun!

The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.

“Miss, you can’t go in there,” she says, chest slightly heaving. “This is a private meeting.”

You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. “Private? How convenient! It seems like they’ve kept their corruption private too!”

Her face pales, and she stammers. “I… I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Choi is—”

“Expecting me,” you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.

With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. He’s young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.

Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Who let you in here?”

“Apologies for the interruption,” you say, though there’s not a shred of remorse in your voice. “I’m here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.”

Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply coolly. “But I thought I’d save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply can’t wait. Surely you understand.”

An executive to Choi’s right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. “This is a private meeting. You can’t just barge in—”

“Oh, but I can,” you curtly cut him off, “And I have. Now, if you’d prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought you’d appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.”

Choi’s mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Sit,” he says curtly.

You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. “No need for pleasantries. Let’s cut to the chase. I have evidence that the city’s approval for your demolition project didn’t come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.”

A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choi’s smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.

“I could sue you for defamation, you know,” he says, leaning forward. He’s beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.

“Is it defamation if it’s supported by your own emails?”

From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.

“These emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your grin widens as you add, “All of it obtained lawfully, of course.” You know they’re infuriated by you. You’ve learned over the years that men like these don’t fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.

“There is nothing illegal about consulting fees,”a voice quips from your right, “it’s standard practice.”

“Standard practice,” you repeat, tilting your head. “How fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isn’t your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddy’s approval?”

Choi’s fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You don’t flinch.

“How dare you speak to me like this?”

“And how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!” you fire back, your voice rising. “YOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.”

The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.

“You have two choices,” you say, straightening. “Withdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives you’re willing to destroy, or I’ll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, it’ll all be public knowledge. Let’s see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.”

Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. “So let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who won’t tolerate interference.”

You pick up your bag, winking. “Then I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if she’s just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.

Now that was fun.

Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. “Fuck you were so badass!” she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.

“I can and I have,” she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.

“God winter you should’ve seen his face,” you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, “he looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!”

“Ah I think this is over, right?” she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, “they’ll yield or else you’ll drag their reputation through the mud.”

“I think so,” you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. “If they’re any smart they’ll know that the general public will always empathize with children. We’ll wait and see,” you grin, pinching her cheeks. “Either way, I’m not letting them take away the orphanage from us.”

“Never doubted you will,” she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, “girls night then? It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. You’ve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when she’s the warmest person you know— she’s the saccharine taste of honey, she’s the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. She’s too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungmin’s lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.

“I love you,” you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. “Yah save this for the sleepover.”

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesn’t hurt as much to remember these days.

“So, will you tell me about Chan?” she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. “Come on. How was your getaway?”

It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. “It was the happiest I’ve been in a long while, Winter.”

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observes, and you nod.

“I’m terrified, because he’s confusing me.”

She’s silent, and you gather your memories—the ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you can’t say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.

“He remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winter” you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.

“He took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,” you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your mother’s piano piece secret. You feel as if you’d desecrate it by speaking of it, like it’s a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. “And then… since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.”

You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.

“How did you feel?”

You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.

“I felt safe. Like I could let go, and he’d be there to catch me.”

“I don’t think he would hurt you. I don’t think he could, even if you hurt him.”

You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Winter. That’s my issue. And I know I will.”

“Why would you—”

“I’m a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,” you cut her off, resigned. “You know that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.”

“What I know,” she says, taking your hands in her own, “is that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. That’s something not everyone can say.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Winter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. You’d change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? It’ll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.”

Your voice cracks, and the tears you’ve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. She’s quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe you’ve imagined this whole conversation. But then—

“What if that flower’s only wish is to be loved?”

Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding what’s left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.

Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.

Except it isn’t.

Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for San’s hospital bills.

You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.

Y/n: What???

Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurse’s description) paid for all his mother’s expenses.

Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaults—throbbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like he’s made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.

Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?

Somehow, it’s 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You can’t stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.

You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press ‘Call’.

“Cherry?” Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.

“Hi, Channie,” you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.

“Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?” His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.

“No, no. I just… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.”

“Oh, who told you?” he sounds sheepish, timid. “I thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.”

“Well, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.” The words slip out before you can stop them. You don’t hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?

“Well, it’s the least I could do.”

“No, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didn’t have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?” you ask, breathless.

He sighs softly. “Does it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Oh.

The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.

“Thank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.” You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you won’t let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.

—

Seungmin’s earliest memories have always been of you.

There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didn’t know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. They’d been taken too soon, he didn’t have much to hold on to.

So it was always you and him.

He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didn’t understand why the world was so cruel—to him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldn’t everyone else see you the way he did?

By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didn’t know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.

Seungmin started piecing together truths he didn’t yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didn’t want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.

He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.

And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldn’t be burned by him. So you wouldn’t cry when looking at him asleep.

Joy was scarce in Seungmin’s life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that he’d have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.

Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpected—a gift. A cheat code. “You’ve got a beautiful singing voice,” Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didn’t like singing in front of other people. He feared you’d be punished for it too. “Have you ever thought of becoming a singer?”

The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.

So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didn’t feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. “I want to be a singer.”

You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasn’t stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.

“Will you help me?” he asked, voice burning with resolve. “It pays well. I promise I’ll debut, and I’ll make you proud. And I’ll repay you, for all of it, I swear.”

“What’s this talk of you repaying me?” you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. “All of me is for you, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.

It was then he named it—the poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throat—the guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He should’ve asked what your dream was. He should’ve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.

Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphs—him ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.

He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels you’ve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guilt– gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.

He understood after a while that you weren’t looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day you’d fall for someone who’s still looking for fun, who wouldn’t care for your heart like it was your own.

His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.

He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. You’d laughed, and he’d felt sheepish under your gaze. “I told him it was a bad idea,” Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, “when do you ever?”

You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.

Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.

He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.

Which brings him to today.

Seungmin hasn’t seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasn’t their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.

It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.

Was he… Jealous?

“Thank you honey,” Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.

“She doesn’t like meat cut that way,” Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.

Okay. What?

“Is there something—” he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.

“Winter!” you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.

“W-what…?” you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Cherry, what’s wrong?” so does Chan.

Cherry?

“The orphanage…” you say, Chan seems to understand what you’re talking about perfectly. You don’t finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. “We’ll take my car,” Changbin says.

—

Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you can’t break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?

Because there is.

You think you’ve reached it now.

Time seems to have slowed down, so much you’re sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, it’s quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.

The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And you’d let it. You don’t have the nails to dig yourself out. You don’t have the will. You don’t have the hope.

You almost feel like laughing. You’re cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.

It’s hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And you’re before the orphanage but you don’t smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.

The orphanage is burning.

The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staff— Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.

The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but it’s spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. It’s eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.

It’s eating your memories, it’s eating you.

“What’s— what’s happening?” Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.

Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You don’t feel her warmth. You don’t feel anything, now that you’re thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?

“Cherry,” you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. “Who started it? The fire?” you ask breathlessly.

“Why?” they ask, cautious, “do you have reason to believe it was intentional?”

“Who started it?” you repeat.

“It’s too early to tell,” he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. “Preliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since there’s no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone must’ve sparked it, and now it’s out of control.” He sighs, “We’ll call the police.”

You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.

—

“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how this will end.

“Miss Jeeho called,” Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. “There’s enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.” Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. “I’ll drive you,” he says. She nods in reply.

“Do the kids have a place to go tonight?” Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. “No, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.”

“Alright,” Han says, pulling out his phone. “Let me call the others for help.”

“You have my card,” Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winter’s hand.

“Text me,” you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.

And then there were three.

“Would you please tell me?” Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadn’t anticipated—hurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everything— the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fire— but your voice feels like someone else’s, void, unfamiliar.

“And why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks once you finish. There’s raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.

“I was going to tell you,” you murmur, “once the permit was withdrawn. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”

“But I want you to burden me!” his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. “I could have helped you. I would have stood by you!”

“Seungmin, please,” you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.

“You don’t always have to carry everything alone. It doesn’t make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,” he presses his eyes shut, “I wouldn’t have hid something like this from you.”

“Well, you’re not me!” You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like you’ve struck him. You’ve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.

There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.

“I’ll go help the boys,” he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like you’ve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.

“Cherry…” Chan’s voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. “Not you too, Chan.”

“Would you talk to me?” His voice is gentle. “You haven’t said a word in over an hour. This isn’t healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldn’t keep it all inside.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.

“Just talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. I’ll listen to you. It’ll feel better if you let it all out.”

“Except it won’t!” The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. You’re throwing up thorns, and you can’t stop it. “You don’t always know what’s best for people, alright? You can’t always fix people, Chan! And I can’t be fixed! Talking about it won’t help, keeping it in won’t help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all I’ve known.”

“Cherry, please. You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.

He still calls you Cherry. He’s still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. “Don’t you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years you’ve lost it?”

“Is this how low you think of me?” he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. “I never thought you needed fixing.”

“Well, it’s how I felt around you,” you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. “Like I’m the poor orphan and you’re the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.” He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face.

Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?

“You know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.” He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. “You only have one sin and it’s that you wish to be loved.”

He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.

“And I love you. God, I’ve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.”

“What?” you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesn’t answer. He leaves.

He left.

Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly you’re running after him. “What do you mean you love me?” you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You’re sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. “What do you mean, Chan?!”

“Forget it,” he mutters.

“You can’t say that and ask me to forget it!” you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.

“Has it not been clear? That you’d ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Can’t you see that I’d sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?”

You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?

“N–no, you… You shouldn’t love me.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” His voice rises, raw and hoarse. “I’m human too, it kills me to love someone who I know won’t ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like I’m dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do I—“ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.

Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. You’ll remain a disaster. You’ll ruin him too.

“Look at me.” You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. “Please, Cherry, look at me. Even if you’ll leave me right now, please, I— I’d rather you leave while looking at me.”

You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. “Say it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.”

“I can’t say that,” you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. “I can’t say that because I won’t mean it.” Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.

You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.

“Do you know what a bleeding heart dove is? It’s a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.” Your voice cracks like glass, Chan’s eyes soften more than you’ve ever thought was possible. “That’s how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that won’t ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I don’t want to taint you with it too.”

“What if I want you to taint me?” His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. “What if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that I’m loved by you?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “That would be selfish of me.”

“Then love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,” he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to you— his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. “I’d like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.”

He softens. “I waited for you for ten years. I’d wait for you for an eternity if I have to.”

A knot forms in your throat. “You’re so sweet, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t pity me, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I don’t know where to even begin now,” you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.

“Would you breathe now?” he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. “I'm not mad, alright? And we’ll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.”

Your voice is small as you mumble– “Seungmin is mad at me.”

“He’s not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you don’t let him in. You know that.”

You did, of course you do.

You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. You’ll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.

“Will you stay with me, Chan?”

“Always.”

—

“So, they burned down the orphanage?” Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.

Your small apartment is packed the day after the fire—Winter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. You’ve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like it’s their own.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” you reply. “We got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.”

“And remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,” Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. “The police are tracing it now.”

You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised he’d tell you first, if anything happened. “Yeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us I’ll file a lawsuit against them.”

“But can you believe the fucking nerve?” Felix scoffs, “I just read their statement: ‘We are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditions’. Do they think we are stupid?”

“They’re lying,” Miss Jeeho says bitterly. “Trying to save face while they can.”

Hyunjin’s face pales. “This makes me sick,” he whispers. “The fact that they’d endanger those kids just for their agenda…” He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.

“They stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,” San says, his voice tight. “They must’ve realized someone was leaking information. Now everything’s confidential.”

He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. “It’s okay. I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. We’ll find another way.”

“What about the kids? Are they okay?” Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

“They’re doing fine, considering,” Minho answers, nodding toward Han. “Yeah,” Han adds with a soft laugh. “We visited this morning. They’re warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we might’ve gone overboard with the toys.” The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Han’s face before smiling fondly at him.

“But this is all just temporary,” Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “We can’t keep them in a rented house forever. They’ll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.”

“Is there really no other way?” Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winter’s shoulder gently.

“Unless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. It’s all gone,” Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. You’ve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you can’t bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.

“What if we rebuild the orphanage?” Seungmin suddenly asks. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice during the night.

“We don’t have the funds for that, Seungminnie” you say softly.

“We do,” Chan interjects firmly, “If we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?”

You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.

“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Jaehyun says, leaning forward. “Media coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.”

“I can hold a press conference then,” you say, your voice quipping up. “Expose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.”

“And me,” Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. “I want to stand by your side. It’ll help us garner more attention too.”

“Are you sure?” you ask gently. “Are you ready to reveal where you grew up?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he replies softly. “It’s because of that place that I’m here today.”

Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. “Alright. Sounds like a solid plan.”

—

You’ve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesn’t wear a singular face.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.”

You’ve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow you’re unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether you’ll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.

“You are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.

“I am here to explain that this isn’t due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at arm’s length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.

But for the first time in years, you don’t feel lonely.

Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.

The legal case is airtight. You’ve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proof—police reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.

“We have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity we’ll keep anonymous. For now.”

Your eyes meet San’s, and he winks—he’s the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.

A journalist raises his hand. “Are you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t take my word for it, of course.”

You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.

The room falls silent.

Then, the recording crackles to life.

“Are you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.

“You idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea what’s at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help me—”

The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.

Journalists erupt all at once.

“Who is that speaking?”

“Was this obtained legally?”

“Is Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?”

You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.

“The voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,” you confirm. “This recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.”

You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her name—Jia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sister’s medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know she’s watching this at home too.

“This is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.”

You gesture toward the documents on every table.

“There is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.”

More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, “Are you pursuing legal action?”

“Yes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.”

You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyone’s view.

“There is someone I’d like you to meet now.”

He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.

The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.

“Is that…?”

“Wait, Kim Seungmin?”

“What is going on?”

“Hello,” he says, voice reverberating around the room. “My name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.” A pause. “I am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.”

The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewer’s count is rising up rapidly.

“I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,” he nods at you, “raised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,” he smiles softly, before sobering up. “We moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. She’s the one who helped me become a singer. She’s also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.”

He swallows hard, steadying himself.

“This crime is not just about corporate greed. It’s about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.”

His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.

“We are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.”

“Please don’t let this injustice go unanswered.”

He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.

It’s done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.

—

Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.

The past six months have been both, somehow.

You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with children’s laughter again— yours, your brother’s, your friends’, the fans’, the general public’s too.

And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.

That is until Seungmin talked to you.

“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, it’s quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanage’s reopening party.

“They look happy,” he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.

“They do.”

“I never apologized for that night,” he suddenly says, turning to look at you. “When I got mad because you didn’t tell me about the orphanage.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you sigh. “I knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just… didn’t want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plate” you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. “I guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.”

“You were a child too, protecting me,” he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I promise. I’d rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.”

Your eyes drift toward Chan. He’s playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.

“Do you like him?” Seungmin asks softly.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Chan. I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Why would your happiness ever bother me?” He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.

“Then yes,” you admit, breath hitching. “I like him. So much it terrifies me.”

You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculous— to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.

“Sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,” he says. “Because we’re scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we don’t deserve it.”

Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. “Look at you, saying such wise things.”

“I’m literally twenty-four,” he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. “But you’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.”

“All right, all right.” He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. “But would you do it? I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,” you go to interject but he stops you, “Please. Would you listen to your heart for once?”

It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwavering—stuck on a single note.

Chan.

You’ve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothing—an emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’d like to change in your being, the ones you’d like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.

But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.

But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.

You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?

You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he did—without hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.

“You look different,” Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you don’t shy away from his gaze, for once.

“Different?” you echo.

“At peace.”

You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.

“I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be human,” you murmur. “To soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I don’t have all the answers. But I found something.”

“What is it?”

“I found you,” you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. “I weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where you’d leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means you’d love me for a while, and that I’d love you too.”

He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.

“A while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.”

“So you still love me?” you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.

Chan blinks, then deadpans, “Are we sitting by the sea?”

You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see him—your beautiful Chan—the faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.

“I haven’t listened to my heart in so long,” you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. “But right now, it only wants one thing.”

“I’m yours,” he breathes, lips slightly parted.

There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.

You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.

You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.

You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heart’s rawest desires.

You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.

“I love you,” you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

“Nonsense,” He smiles against your lips. “Even if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.”

—

“So, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?” Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Wait, pause, I can’t believe I lost to Chan,” Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.

“She’s mine,” Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. “Go find yourselves your own partners.”

You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil you’ve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.

“Wait, but we liked you first!” Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. “God, I thought I would be free of this torture.”

“I literally liked her before you guys even saw her,” Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.

“So you’ve loved her for ten years now?” Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. “Wait this is so romantic.”

“I’m sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,” you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“Oh my god guys he’s BLUSHING!” Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. “This is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,” Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. “Wait, Innie pan over to Seungmin’s face!” Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.

“What? I’m still not used to… this,” Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but there’s a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but he’s happy.

“Who wants ice cream?” Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.

“What was that?” you ask once you are out of the house.

“Nothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,” he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re making it a habit to kidnap me,” you tease.

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Also, it’s Changbin and Jisung for you,” he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.

“Does Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?”

“Yes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,” he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.

“Are we standing underneath…” you draw out.

“A cherry blossom,” Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.

“This reminds me… Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?” you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.

“Yeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if we hadn’t met at all?”

He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. “I would’ve found you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. “In the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms… I would’ve found you, my Cherry, and I would’ve loved you just the same.”

What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didn’t come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought you’d walk in.

You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.

You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.

To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.

For you have the sun now.

You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.

[enwoso]

Could you write something maybe about Lucy Bronze having a younger sister that plays for Arsenal and she’s been dating Katie McCabe for a while but hasn’t told Lucy because she’s very overprotective and because of Lucy and Katie’s unspoken “rivalry” . Then at lionesses camp Lucy finds out by accident and they are playing Ireland next so the match is all a bit of chaos but the it all turns out fine and Katie and Lucy both just tease reader together?

Your work is amazing by the way!!

GAME OF HEARTS | katie mccabe x bronze!reader

masterlist

"i'm really gonna miss ya" katie spoke softly as the two of you soaked up your last morning together before you both went off on international camp.

you wrapped up in the warmth of katie's arms as every so often she peppered kisses along your collarbone, your eyes still closed as you hummed along to her words every so often to show you were listening.

"babe, i'll see you in four days" you rasped out as you moved slightly to turning so that you were facing the irish women as you could feel her chest rise up and down as you lay on it.

the two of you due to play each other in the upcoming fixtures, england travelling to ireland for the game. you being a little upset having to play against your girlfriend but it was only for 90' and then you could go back to being in your little love bubble.

"still- am i not allowed to miss my gorgeous, funny, beautiful, sexy girlfriend?" katie said with a her signature grin on her face as you opened your eyes, staring right back at the girl.

"your such a sap-" you whispered as she placed a kiss to your cheek, playfully rolling her eyes at your comment.

"yeah but only for you, and plus you love it little bronze" katie teased as now it was your turn to roll your eyes as she knew how much the nickname wound you up, lucy of course being the one who so proudly began the trend of calling you by that it was now something majority called you at international camps as well as by some of the girls at club level.

"oh actually" you paused for a second to let out a yawn, as katie moved a strand of hair from the side of your face tucking it behind your ear.

"please can we knock it down a level when it comes to my sister when we play against each other on tuesday" you pleaded, as a small glint in your eyes as you tried to convince the girl knowing the chaos which occurs in the league when the two come face to face.

you know it's just what happens when two very passionate players bump heads but you heard both versions of the story and adding fuel to that fire by telling your older sister that you were dating her arch nemesis may not go very well with a tray of cakes and a nice chat to say the least.

a sigh left katie's lips she understood why you were asking cause at the end of the day lucy was your older sister — someone you looked up to dearly and someone who protected you at all costs and she herself would do anything for any one of her sisters but katie also had a goal and that was to win.

"baby, i love ya but that's like askin' me to wear a tottenham shirt" katie grimaced at the thought of that even happening, it sending a slight shiver down your own spine.

—

being lucy's younger sister definitely came with its perks, like when lucy was first making her debuts you got to meet all the cool footballing idols you watched growing up and to be totally honest you were still able to do it now.

but on the other hand, she was still your sister. fiercely protective, sometimes too protective, and of course you always had your disagreements as well as the fact lucy knew all the ways to get under your skin. she was the typical big sister.

but when it came to football? she always had an opinion. especially when it involved arsenal and a certain player from there too. which just of course happened to be your girlfriend — katie.

the two of you had been together for just over seven months. you were keeping things quiet, it was a secret by no means you just hadn't exactly admitted to being in a relationship with the irish girl.

and as for your excuse for not telling lucy, well it just had never came up in a conversation.

so as camp rolled around and the upcoming friendly against ireland loomed in the next few days, you knew you had to be careful. but keeping secrets while sharing the same pitch as your sister, that was proving to be harder than you thought.

as you sat with a few teammates in the lounge area, scrolling through your phone and trying to mind your own business as lucy strode in.

her arrival as always was impossible to ignore, her energy filling the space effortlessly and her voice carried above the casual chatter.

"oi, y/n" lucy called out, waving something on her phone in the air a slight mischievous glint in her eye, "what's this, then?"

you glanced up, already dreading whatever was coming, knowing she loved to find some thing to take the mick out of you for.

lucy flopped down next to you as she thrusted her phone into your hands. it was a video posted by katie, to her story captioned 'reminiscing🩷', reliving a moment from a festival she'd gone to in the summer, you recognising it immediately as you were there two.

"i.. what am i looking at?"

"just wait"

just as the words left lucy's lips, the video flipped as the camera had been turned to face katie and that when your eyes went a little wider and your cheeks definitely went a little redder.

there was you, your arms wrapped around her waist as you head rested on her shoulder a lovesick smile on your face as you sung along to the music as katie had a massive smile on her face.

lucy squinted at you as you lowered her phone keeping it still in your hands, as her brow furrowed. "care to explain why you're looking at katie mccabe like she's just won you the world cup?"

your stomach lurched, you were usually so careful but this was clear as day as you scrambled to downplay it. "come on luce, you know we're close at club level your just being dramatic. we're just teammates"

lucy tilted her head, clearly not convinced, "a teammate thing?" she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. "that's not the ‘teammate' look. that's the 'i fancy you' look"

you opened your mouth to try and protest but nothing came out. your brain working overtime trying to figure out how to talk your way out of this when leah wandered into the room.

spotting lucy's phones in your hand, glancing at your panicked face and grinned knowingly. "oh has she found out then?" leah said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "took you long enough!"

lucy's eyes darted between you and leah, "found out what?"

"leah, shut up" you hissed shooting her a warning glare.

leah just completely ignoring you as she continued, "about katie, it's not exactly a secret anymore y/n. everyone with eyes can see there something going on between the two of you and i don't mean by just watching that small video on instagram-"

lucy's expression shifted from teasing to something more serious, as she leaned back slightly her arms crossed. "wait you and katie? that's.. actually a thing. i though they were just silly tiktok rumours?"

you hesitated, fiddling nervously with the hem of your hoodie. "yeah" you admitted not daring to look at your sisters gaze. "it's been a while, i didn't tell you because well — i didn't want to make thing weird. you and katie don't exactly.. get along"

lucy stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable before she let out a sigh, the tension in her shoulders easing. "weird? y/n i know i might be protective but i'm not a monster and that's just match banter. if she makes you happy then that's all that matters."

you blinked, slightly surprised at her sudden acceptance, "really, your okay with it?"

lucy smirked as she nodded, "yeah, but don't think i'm going easy on her when we play against ireland. she's still getting crunched in the tackles-"

you let out a small groan, "lucy!" as a chorus of laughter came from your sister, "i'm kidding.. well maybe." she whispered at the end but you still heard.

you laughed along, the weight suddenly lifting from your chest, as leah who had been watching the entire exchange with an amused grin, chimed in clapping her two hands together, "well that went better than expected!"

lucy raised an eyebrow at her, "don't think you're off the hook either williamson, if you knew and didn't tell me, your just as bad as her!"

leah held up her hands in mock surrender, "hey i figured it out myself, and plus it ain't my business and it was way more fun watchin' y/n squirm!"

you groaned as you buried your face in your hands as lucy and leah shared a laugh at your expense. but despite their teasing you couldn't help but feel relieved.

—

the match had ended in ireland, and the tensions from the ninety minute game between the players had melted away into the usual camaraderie of the post game routine.

players from both teams chatting, swapping shirts and taking photo as they celebrated another memorable clash as england had won, securing there space in the euros in switzerland.

katie and lucy were stood near the center circle, locking into a playful debate. from a distance you could see katie gesturing animatedly whilst lucy stood with her arms crossed, her signature smirk firmly on her lips.

curiosity and a little apprehension pulled you towards them, "what's going on here?" you as as you approached.

"oh just discussing which side of london is superior" katie said with a cheeky grin, titling her head slightly towards lucy. "you know london is better red, i'm sure you agree"

lucy scoffed, rolling her eyes, "please mccabe, london is blue on a whole different level."

"yeah yeah," katie said with a dramatic wave of her hand, "you guys are ok, i'll give you that but people who have a good sense of football know which is the better side of london"

lucy smirked, leaning forward slightly. "shame you picked the wrong side of it then."

katie gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror, "the wrong side? you mean the side which had trophies and the history to back it up?"

you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose knowing the two of them well enough to know neither of them were going to back down, "you two realise you're both ridiculous, right?"

ignoring you, katie pulled her phone out of her pocket. "we should document this moment, don't you think" she waved lucy closer, "cmon bronze, let's get a picture. and maybe one day you'll see the light and come to the proper side of london"

lucy rolled her eyes but stepped in next to katie, you stood awkwardly nearby as katie held out her phone for a selfie the pair throwing exaggerated smiles.

right as the photo snapped, katie nudged lucy with her elbow and said, "awe that's a cute photo to. shame you play for the wrong side of london."

lucy snorted, glancing at the photo, "your lucky i don't delete this right now."

katie grinned, "it's fine, just caption it: 'the day bronze met greatness!'"

lucy laughed, shaking her head, "greatness? that's rich coming from someone who can't even make it past the quarterfinals in the champions league-"

katie gasped, turning to you, "babe you better defend me and the club now or i'm tellin' everyone you still steal my hoodies!"

you threw your hands up in exasperation a small laugh coming from your lips, "oh no don't drag me into this. you both know where my loyalty's lie."

"your sisters impossible, you know that? she doesn't appreciate brilliance." katie leaned against you dramatically sighing.

lucy raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself, "brilliance? that's what they call it these days?"

katie tolled her eyes playfully as you just laughed, following the two of them as they both started to walk towards the tunnel. along with other players starting to make their way of the pitch.

katie had that familiar glint in her eye, the one that softened your heart no matter how chaotic the game had been.

"i'm goin' to go catch up the ma team," katie said as she reached out to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind you ear.

her touch was gentle and calm unlike her totally opposite persona on the field. a smile lingering on your face despite the lingering adrenaline from the match.

she leaned in, pressing a quick but soft kiss to your lips as she whispered, "i love you."

you heart swelled as you whispered it back, "i love you, too"

katie turned as she waved to your older sister as she star tee d to walk away, "see you soon bronze! don't miss me too much!"

lucy just shook her head muttering something under her breath as katie disappeared towards the irish team.

"what was that?" you asked an eyebrow raising as you turned to her.

lucy huffed, crossing her arms, "i said i don't think i’ll ever get used to that."

you laughed nudging your older sisters shoulder playfully, "you'll have to she's not going anywhere luce!"

katie fully disappearing in the tunnel as she turned a corner as lucy tuned to you with a grin, but it wasn't the usually teasing one.

"i like her." she said pausing for effect, "but she's still completely wrong about london."

you laughed shaking your head, "i don't think she's ever going to stop trying to convince you and it's two against one. london is red."

"your both wrong.." lucy said with a smirk, "but besides that i think she's good for you." you smiled softly "thanks, luce."

lucy clapped you on the shoulder, her usual teasing grin returning. "now come on. let's go find some post-match food before mccabe comes back and starts another argument."

you laughed, following her into the tunnel, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief. katie and lucy might still have their friendly battles, but they were your battles now, filled with teasing and love from the two most important people in your life.

[demaparbat-hp]

I love your are so much ! I wonder what mai would look like with your style tho

I love Mai-Mai 🖤

[sceletaflores]

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

[thoughtsforsoob]

how ateez shows their gf princess treatment <3

note: I hope this work finds you well! I really want to make this look good so please let me know if anything should be edited. Thank you and please enjoy. 

hongjoong

you're his PRINCESS! he takes it so seriously too. he puts a ring on your finger as soon as possible and treats you like actually royalty. is at your beck and call 24/7. his fsvorite thing to do is take you to events and show you off to all his friends and colleagues. "this is my wife. isn't she so beautiful? shes so smart and talented too." will show you off to anywhere and everyone. he's just so in love with you. he also let's you into his studio and has a special chair for you and plenty of pillows and blankets.

seonghwa

dresses you up in the finest clothing ever. sure, if you already have your clothes that you like that arent from any big name brands, he's not gonna toss them out or anything. he's only going to add your collection. designer bags, clothes, shoes, and even glasses if you wear them. he'll deck you out in only the more coveted brands.

yunho

he will turn off any game for you at any time if you ask for his attention. he wouldn't do this for anyone else but you. you're his special princess so you take priority over his games. he also teaches you all about his hobbies and take you to all the cool pop up's and museums. if you want anything, he always makes sure to get it for you.

yeosang

takes care of you with everything! literally everything. he may be a busy idol but he makes sure you take your vitamins, do your morning and night routines, take a little bit of personal time, and everything else. if you're studying, he'll make sure you take a break. he'll run your a warm bath and make you something to eat after. he gives mother hen vibes but it's not in an annoying, naggy way. he just loves you and want's to make sure you're healthy.

san

picks you up and carries you everywhere. he's so strong and he loves showing off his strength to you. if you're siting on the couch, minding your own business, he'll throw you over his shoulder and take you up to your shared bed room. he also carries everything for you, especially shopping or grocery bags. his princess should never carry anything.

mingi

buys everything for you! mingi needs a gf that is okay with him paying for everything but he will literally lose it if you pay for him. he has the mindset that dudes should pay for everything and take care of their partners, but it's not like in a toxic way where he won't let you work or anything. he would just prefer that your money goes towards spoiling yourself (although you never need to because he spoils you so much).

wooyoung

i have two for him so hang on tight. wooyoung is such a romantic and i cannot express that enough, first of all, he drives you everywhere! he would rather get hit by a train than let you ride the said train all alone. if he can drive you, he is going to drive you. also...he lovesss taking you on 3-4 day trips around the world. he takes you to paris, tokyo, la, Shanghai....everywhere! takes care of everything too. ugh i want my own wooyoung (im so scared of driving please drive me!)

jongho

he lets you sit on his lap. even if you get shy or complain that you're too heavy. he lterally does not care. he will pull you down onto his lap and bear hug you so you can't get up or leave. he thinks you look so cute and just like a princess when you're sitting on his lap.

[star-sim]

my love (mine all mine) ☆ jake sim

☆ non-idol! jake x fem! reader ☆ summary: after years of abuse, jake is afraid of love, so why do you have to be so warm? ☆ genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied adult! au, very domestic ☆ warning(s)? domestic violence and abuse, poor parenting, 1 mention of self harm, implied mention of suicide, kinda indulgent sorry ☆ word count: 1.5k

The earliest memory that Jake had was the sound of porcelain plates crashing against the tiled kitchen floor, and the wails of his mother. 

For a period of time, it was all that he could remember: going home to a cold house, hand-in-hand with his older brother, his heart pounding in his chest as his young mind wondered if Dad was going to hurt Mom again, or if they'd go back to loving each other tonight. 

He couldn't have been any older than nine when he experienced the wrath of his father first-hand, when he came to school in May wearing a long-sleeve shirt and long pants as if the early-summer weather wasn't rising, the scent of citrus filling the air. Sure, the bruises, and later scars (because of course, his father just had to try to stab him with a broken beer bottle), hurt, but nothing would compare to the silence that rang through the house after a screaming match. It would pierce his ears every single time, so loud that it was deafening, yet so silent that Jake could hear every single breath that his mother took as she pulled at her hair, driving blades into her skin, ignoring the quiet rumble of her child's stomach. 

He'd gone to bed hungry many times. Too many times.

But, perhaps the worst memory that Jake had was the morning after his seventeenth birthday. Jake spent his birthday outside the house, not wanting to be suffocated by the taste of salty tears and domestic violence in the air. He came back late, much later than he should have. 

Thank god, neither of his parents were home, and his brother was already off to college by then. When they weren't screaming at each other, physically assaulting their son, or neglecting him, his parents were either off to work, or hanging out with their sketchy friends, drinking all of their responsibilities (like their children) away like nothing else mattered.

Or so he thought.

Because the next thing he knew, his mother was shrieking at him, hitting him with the same hands that should have been cradling his face. And when his bastard of a father heard the commotion, it was almost like he was excited, excited to have an excuse to put his son in a chokehold. It seemed like the only time that his parents wanted to agree with each other was when they could hurt him.

As his lungs closed in on him, his choked breaths gasping for air while Jake tried to pry his father's hands off his neck, he felt light-headed, a fuzzy feeling filling his head until his body lost all its strength.

Jake swore that he would have died that night, if it weren't for the barks of the family dog.

If his perception of family, love, and marriage wasn't already warped, that early morning of his seventeenth birthday did.

He vowed to himself then and there, that he would never get married, nor would he ever start a family. 

Yet, as you held him in your arms, enveloping him with warmth as hot tears streamed down his face, Jake could feel all his resolve slipping away.

Indeed, his vow held up. It held up all throughout college and for years into his adulthood. He became known as the "single friend," the friend that was always the designated driver because he'd rather die than consume a drop of alcohol.

But then you pranced your way into his life.

You, with your beautiful face. You, with the brightest smile that he'd ever seen. You, with the softest, most gentle touch.

When you wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing tender kisses against the nape of his neck as you giggled a soft,"I love you," Jake's heart pummeled to his stomach.

It was suffocating.

His hands were clammy, so moist with sweat that he had to wipe his palms on his jeans. His chest would pound, loud enough for it to be the only sound filling his ears. His stomach twisted, a hot coil curling in his abdomen. It was nauseating.

But the worst was what he felt in his throat.

Something wicked— Something overwhelming and painful— clambered up his throat. It wrapped itself around his neck, pulling tight like the noose his mother threatened to put around her own neck. When it crawled up to his mouth, Jake nearly threw it up. He tried to swallow it down, but he gagged.

And it was already too late.

He'd already muttered the words, "I love you, too" back.

Love was terrifying. If he loved, what would happen? Would he get married, and enter a life of pure misery? 

And what if he had kids?

When Jake was angry and he looked in the mirror, he hated the way that all he saw was his father's eyes staring back at him. His mother always told him that he looked like his father anyway. 

Jake knew he wouldn't. He would never lay a finger on another person, let alone his own kin. But as days and years passed, his voice only sounded more and more like his own father's. He couldn't help the way his expressions scarily resembled his mother's, the same ones that he'd seen contort into fear, wrath, and indifference.

But here he was.

In the dark, his face was buried in your shoulder, the same ones that he'd kissed. You patted his back as he let out sobs, wet and salty tears wetting your skin.

It was another night, where you and him would hang out and flirt in your apartment, maybe do a little kissing. 

Maybe he shouldn't have laid down with you. Maybe he shouldn't have let you put your fingers in his hair, stroking it gently as he laid on your chest. Maybe he shouldn't have listened to your every word as you traced his face, muttering to him everything about him that you loved about him. He shouldn't have, he really shouldn't have. Especially when you ended it all with a kiss to his eyelids, whispering into his ear, "I can't wait to marry you one day."

Jake always did his best to contain his emotions. After all, he'd learn to do it so well because of his home life. No one had to know about his struggles.

Yet he couldn't help the wave of emotions that crashed down on his shoulders. One moment, he was smiling in your kiss, the next his face was wet.

It didn't help when you were so warm to him. You cradled his face, kissing his tears away, hands holding him like he was a piece of glass. 

"I'm scared," was all he could say.

Because that was all he felt in that moment.

Fear.

Fear, because he couldn't figure out why he was crying. 

Fear, because now all his emotions were spilling out. 

Fear, because you said you wanted to marry him.

Fear, because he, too, wanted to marry you.

You didn't let him go that night.

You stayed there with him, letting him cry into your shoulder until the sun rose. You didn't know why exactly, but the way he gripped your waist like you'd leave him was enough to tell you.

"I know, I know," you'd whispered into his ear. "I know, Baby."

All he did in response was pull you closer, and chant your name like it was a prayer, like you were his god and he was your worshiper.

Jake's favorite memory was the sound of wailing.

Not the wailing of his mother, not the wailing of his older brother, but the wailing of the child in your arms.

He could only watch with misty eyes as the small newborn clung to your chest, loud crying filling the hospital room. 

"Jakey," you said weakly, flashing him a smile. "Look what we made."

We.

That's right. 

This child was his and yours. As he held the baby, being careful not to do anything stupid, Jake stared into its crying eyes (as if his eyes weren't crying, too). 

When Jake looked at his child, he saw his eyes. He saw the same eyes that his own father gave him. He wasn't filled with fear, or anger, or guilt— he felt love. 

This child didn't have his father's angry eyes, the eyes that Jake spent his entire life believing he inherited.

No, this child had Jake's eyes, Jake's eyes that were filled with love.

You giggled softly as you watched your husband's intent and utterly fascinated gaze at your child. He snapped his head up at you.

"I love you," he blurted. He didn't say it a lot. It felt like poison on his tongue when he did, something unnatural and not meant for him. But in that moment, it felt like his entire being was made to say it. "God, I love you so much."

Yes, Jake would run. 

He'd run, and run, and run, from love. 

He'd run as far as he could, until his legs gave out.

He'd run for eternity, because he knew that one day, he'd walk to you.

[euphoria-looney]

Hold Me, Console Me, And then I’ll Leave Without a Trace, No One Noticed by The Marias

Before we start this has many ideas for authors and some are specific, so if you notice “Hey that looks like what idea I put into my post” PLEASE TELL ME, I would love to give you credit, bc I probably would have never made this without it!

and greatgooglymoogly (my friend, I don't discriminate against other greatgogglymoogly's) if you see this scroll, admire how aesthetic this post is and scroll./j

(This has a mother!darling and a daughter!darling, and they are separate from the reader- unless you decide they aren’t 😍😍)

gn!reader (if I accidentally make them seem too feminine, I’m sorry 😞)

So Much More.

Pt. 1 Pt.2

All my life, I held onto this thin piece of thread called hope. It started off as a rope, almost strangled myself with it, but as time went on and as it started dwindling down, it started snapping.

So, now, the only thing that kept this “rope” connected was a thin piece of thread, too bad, it broke. Due to people who were honestly victims.

Bruce Wayne.

Everyone knows him, who cares if you love him, who cares if you hate him, I mean eat the rich, and who cares if you don’t care about him. To me, he’s a good-for-nothing sperm donor who was also my landlord.

My dear mother, (M/N) (L/N). What a diva she was. She gave me everything and so much more. She embraced me in such comfort that I could feel myself slipping when it disappeared from right under me.

Gotham City is one of the many crime-raided cities there is in the world, anything could go wrong.

Luckily for momma, she died through a natural death, unluckily for me, she was my everything. I mean really, a child no older than 4 frantically searching for something, anything. Desperation creeping in, dialing an emergency call, with terrible service and small fat fingers that didn’t even know how to operate such a stupid telephone that only worked if you used it at an angle.

May my dearest momma lay in a field of flowers, sunlight kissing her skin, that was the fantasy she told me she’d love to take me to. Something Gotham City could only be reached if there was no such thing as heroes, villains, or vigilantes.

If it wasn’t for my appearance I’d would had gone to an orphanage, th officer or whatever he was, Gorgan? Gordon? Doesn’t matter, he called him someone.

a man who seemed so formal and elegant showed up, he would be my father figure, for the time I would spend in the manor. Since, it just so happens I had a 100 percent match with a certain millionaire, billionaire. The man that showed up was none other than my light in the dim, depressing place.

Alfred, the butler for the Bruce Wayne.

Ecstatic, I was, that’s when the rope appeared, my thoughts ran rapid.

Do I have siblings? How many? How’s my dad?

Questions after question, answered with… I hope you’re hungry for…

nothing 😐-

Alfred had answered all my questions, of course I met them all… eventually,

Richard, other wise known as “Dick”

He tried to give the impression to the family as a caring big brother. Well, not to me obviously. When he first met me, his first words were “Who’s the kid?”

“Who’s the kid?” Dick asked

“This is your new sibling, [name] Wayne”

He was there, for y’know that one second, moving on Tim.

Tim

I’ve never held a conversation with him, he breezed past me.

Jason.

BFFs, before he died, then came back to life, then shut me out.

Barbara, Cassandra, and Stephanie

Was my idol, but they stuck their head up so high that they didn’t notice me. Making her nothing more than a second thought in my head.

Duke

Sweet kid, from what I've seen in the shadows.

Damian

He really, broke me in, hell if anyone’s impacted me, it’s him.

degrading me like I was a bug infestation.

Then he stopped, saying “I don’t have time to waste on you.”

Are you kidding me?

I did everything and more for the attention of my family.

Sports? You name it. I probably did it.

Instruments? Do you even know how many medals I've won?

Singing and dance are challenging but that doesn't mean I'm not perfect to the T.

But nothing worked, it's funny you'd think, with how pathetic I am, especially with all these attempts that idiotic thin thread would've already snapped.

No.

Do you know what made it snap? [M/D] and [D/D]. (The second D- stands for darling)

The pair were everyone's obsession.

[M/D], Bruce Wayne's one true love, if this hasn't been obvious my mother was a fling/rebound of Mr. Wayne. [M/D], beautiful, kind, and the object in the family's eyes. It's quite sad if anything, she's like a caged bird.

[D/D], younger than Damian.

Oh, I haven't given you the age scale from oldest to youngest.

Dick and Barbara are the same age, being the oldest

Jason

Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra

Me

Duke

Damian

[D/D]

Out of these many children. Three are blood-related with Bruce Wayne, Me, Damian, and [D/D].

I'm getting off track.

[D/D], adored, so small you'd want to keep her in your pocket.

One thing was clear about these two. They were everything to the Wayne family.

That's when the string broke.

They came probably by force and hated the very thing I wanted, attention, and love.

I wish I could say I hate them, as they were parallel to me and my mother.

My mother, who was the other woman.

My mother, who never held a grudge.

My mother, who died in a cold, dark room.

My mother, who could never see what type of person I am today.

But I couldn't hate them. I can't. They were the only other ones who gave me that family bond that wanted for so long.

It didn't help that they seemed to deem me to be the favorite. [M/D] loved to be my 'mother' and in her eyes, I was her favorite child, of course behind [D/D] since I was normal compared to them.

[D/D] If I'm near her, maybe grabbing a snack while the family is having 'family game night' she'd somehow spot me, giving that puppy-eyed look, pulling me to join them.

I would, if it's not for the way I would feel these eyes boring on me.

'Why do you have to be here, why are you ruining the moment, who are you?'

I'd pull my hand away, shaking my head, patting her hair, before making it back to the dim, dark hallway, so empty, that you could hear each echo of the step.

As I sit here complaining, at least today's, the day. I'm officially 18.

That's right. 18 years of age and everything I just wrote down has been a recap of my life.

This is my 14th journal. For each year that I've been in the manor, I had a journal, that captured each year of my life, from my emo phase to my popular phase, and now here, the year I graduate, the year that I officially move out.

My first journal was a composition journal, Alfred had no idea what I would like, everyone else was busy according to him, he gave me this journal and told me to write everything I felt, and nobody would ever see it. It's stained definitely. My first-ever entry was: "I wish I got a pet to keep me company, at least that would be better than this stupid silence."

Okay, so maybe there were a lot of spelling mistakes. I don't need to write it down. Even trying to decipher that whole sentence was hard. Not the point I would lose interest every few months before coming back to it. Then it became a hobby. It's very important to me.

I graduated yesterday, too bad nobody was there. Alfred was too busy to come to celebrate it, since graduations are long and take a while, his job came first before anything. Today is my birthday, it's a joke if anything. The day before my graduation is my birthday. I bought this journal yesterday as a little celebration gift and to me in general to celebrate my birthday.

That should be all for my entry.

Yours truly,

[Name] [Last Name]

-

Standing up I glance at my bookshelf filled with different genres of books, split into non-fiction and fiction. Journals filled with information from books, facts that mattered, and scenes that hit me deeply.

Junk journals, bullet journals, and the sheld that mattered the most to me.

My personal journals. 15 journals including the one that I was holding my hand.

A knock broke my thoughts, I slipped the journal I had in my hand onto the shelf before opening the door.

"Happy birthday, young master. I made a cupcake batch for you. Even an edible candle." He held cupcakes to me arranged so delicately with a candle on the center cupcake.

I'm going to miss him so much when I leave. So much so that I didn't even notice the tears slipping from my eyes.

"Oh dear, young master, I'm so sorry that I missed your graduation yesterday, and of course, the others wanted to be there- they were-"

"No, it's not that Alfred- Thank you so much, for everything." I engulfed him in a hug. Something I hadn't done since I was a child.

He held me and consoled me before leaving as it seemed [D/D] had adopted another feral animal or something like that.

I smiled and nodded at him when he apologized for having to go, shaking my head in understanding.

I looked over everything in my room. I would leave everything behind, including my journals. Even the newly bought one. If I was going to leave. I wanted to at least have something that showed.

I existed.

I would leave without a trace that I had left in the first place. And even leaving all these books here, I'm sure you couldn't even tell this would be a room without the bed, just some library with random entries from this random room.

Like a coward, I'll leave a letter for Alfred. For him, and only him.

With that, I bid the manor goodbye. With whatever presents I had anyway.

Also if this is cringy, just let me be delusional and believe that I ate this shit up.

Kind of new to how to format on Tumblr, and how to make posts pretty.

Anyway I wrote this with Grammarly so if you see any mistakes with the writing, I say "boo"

Hoped you enjoyed, bc I'm brewing up the next part... and also how to make a masterlist and all that jazz.

[screams-of-the-damned84]

(flops on stage) i now present to you my very silly swap au,,,

essentially jasper is now the co-leader of the society who was bitten by a werewolf and is trying to hide it, jekyll is the uni student who got kicked out due to his experiments and then picked up off the streets, etc. jasper and rachel can’t communicate and jekyll and lanyon are living the world’s weirdest horror romcom you’ve ever seen. more info under cut hehe (feat. bad explanations and doodles)

in simpler terms, jekyll and lanyon swap narrative positions (?? is that the right term) with jasper and rachel respectively. (lanyons and rachels swap doesn’t technically work as well as Jekyll’s and jaspers does but shhhhh). Frankenstein becomes the mad scientist that attacks the society and moreau becomes jaspers idol.

longer explanation but WARNING!! it is 3am when i am typing this and i am terrible at explaining. it may be slightly incomprehensible.

so like jasper and rachel founded the society after jasper publishes his research and gets semi famous. two years before current events jasper is out on a research venture and gets bitten by a werewolf. he doesn’t want to scare rachel or the lodgers so he keeps it a secret (to his own detriment). flash forward to now and jasper gets a call to investigate a “creature” terrorizing the streets of london only to find hyde.

before jasper can process the dumpster man he is looking at hyde transforms back into jekyll. jekyll explains that while trying to prove his theory of spiritual alchemy at his university he may or may not have split his own soul. and got kicked out. and is now living on the streets.

jasper, not really knowing what else to do and kinda relating to the poor guy, takes him back to the society. he introduces his co-leader rachel, who pretty much keeps this entire thing up and running. (rachel and jekyll still become friends but she especially takes to hyde. that little brother shaped hole in her heart is still very much present!) then theres the lodgers (idk how they all swap) and then there’s lanyon, a university student at the society because it was mandatory for one of his courses. he is not enjoying it and would very much rather be breaking boy’s hearts back at school. lucky for him tho, there’s jekyll!

this goes about as well as you would expect. lanyon then spends the rest of his stay at the society trying to understand (and woo) the conundrum that is jekyll and hyde. it’s very fluffy and they learn to communicate like jasper and rachel in canon (yippee!)

unfortunately for jasper and rachel, they have been playing the “just friends” game for the last decade. im having a bit of trouble trying to flesh out swap rachel so i don’t really know if she’s in a lavender marriage like canon lanyon is or is estranged/divorced or just single but whatever the case is she likes jasper but thinks he just sees her as a friend while jasper is madly in love with her and is too scared to tell her. this problem has only worsened since jasper got bitten. everyone else tho is aware of how they feel about each other and are stuck witnessing their tortuously long slow burn.

(hyde and lanyon at some point probably come up with a scheme to try and get them to confess. it goes horribly wrong.)

so yeah. this au has been floating around in my head ever since i read the comic for the first time. it mainly came to be because of how well jasper and jekyll parallel each other and because i wanted to draw stupid fluff and older jasper lol.

if anyone has any ideas/questions/etc TELL ME!!!!! this is just a rough idea if you have a better concept go for it awhdvgevd

[circesastro]

Circe's Note #3

Note: These are just my own observations, ideas, thoughts and theories. This is just for entertainment purposes. Also, please be respectful of my observations! It is perfectly understandable to not resonate with some of my personal observations but please do not leave any disrespectful comments! Lastly, please don’t plagiarize/copy/steal any of my works! Without further ado, enjoy!

**All photos are from Pinterest**

MASTERLIST

✿ Aries Mars tend to have a quick reaction or just move very fast

✿ Men with Sagittarius placements tend to have a very active lifestyle. Also they LOVE to spend time in nature/outdoors 😭. Most of their hobbies include skydiving, hiking, camping, etc.

✿ Individuals with Virgo placements hate having leftover food sit in their fridge…

✿ Also, individuals with Cancer suns always seems so calm? Whether it’s true or not is a whole other story but they always seem like the shy and quiet upon first impression…ex: Ateez’s San, Seventeen’s Wonwoo, NCT’s Taeyong, etc.

✿ Virgos tend to do a lot of editing/proofreading before submitting anything (if they could change it afterwards, they would too)

✿ Sagittarius Mars on the other hand are on a whole other level of competitiveness like they’re out for blood…there’s Yuqi from G-idle, Gunwook from ZB1 and even Li Chen…. if you can't tell just watch running man china and you'll know what I'm talking about 🤣

✿ Remember the time when Seok Matthew (Cancer Mars) won an arm wrestling match with Kim Donghyun (6th best UFC Wrestler who participated in Physical 100/ Virgo Mars) but lost to Gunwook (Sagittarius Mars)? Yeah, out for blood

✿ I noticed that in many idol groups, idols with libra placements tend to get popular and praised for the way they act/their mannerisms and charisma…there’s something fresh and unique that they bring to the table that the audience loves (Ex: BTS’s Jimin, Aespa’s Ningning, Gidle’s Yuqi, NMixx’s Lily, SKZ’s Bang Chan, Monsta X’s Joohoney, P1Harmony’s Keeho, Shinee’s Key, etc.)

✿ There’s two types of Scorpio mars— 1) Relies on their strength and drive to get through things (ex: BTS’s Jungkook, Ateez’s San & Seventeen’s Dino) and then there’s 2) One who relies on their mentality and emotional strength to get through things (ex: BTS’s Jimin and Seventeen’s Jeonghan)

✿ You know what is funny? Cancer mars won't get into a physical fight but they are strong??? Their strength is kind of unexpected because they don’t use it all that much.

✿ Aries placement tend to have the type of beauty that captures people’s attention first (ex: Hyunjin of SKZ have an Aries Mars, Karina of Aespa is an Aries Sun + Venus, Mingyu of SVT is an Aries Sun + Venus, Lisa of BlackPink is a Aries Stellium, Jackson Wang is an Aries Sun + Venus, Asa + Ahyeon of BabyMonster is an Aries Sun + Mercury, Cha Eunwoo is an Aries Stellium, Ryujin of ITZY is an Aries stellium, etc.)

✿ Leo placements and their hyperfocus on their hair is so real like my mom is a Leo sun and she always say to take care of your hair, my brother is a Leo Venus and he would always style his hair and use multiple different products before leaving the house and my friend is a Leo Venus and she would change hairstyle every other month….

✿ Pisces Mars women make excellent "gold diggers". I think its because they easily play into people's fantasies. (Ex. Sheraseven, Lauren Sanchez, and my aunt in law 💀.) Also they have this intuition to knowing what it is that the other desires so it may come easier for them to play into the "ideal woman" but before you know it you're trapped...point is I think they can easily bag up a provider.

✿ Pisces Mars women in general seems like the ideal fantasy women. I also notice that their "mask" slips easily but they make it up just as quick. They are the type of people to play a persona/character so well that they eventually end up embodying that energy. (Ex. Marilyn Monroe, Paris Hilton, Im Yoona) Not saying that they are fake, I am just saying that these people often make others fall in love with their personas.

✿ Adding on to the previous statement pisces mars can make great manifestors and I think they will benefit a lot from Law of Assumption. Congratulations 🥳🎉.

✿ This might as well become a pisces mars (both men and women) post but i think its a great deal of delusion + intuition + acting that pisces mars end up manifesting their dream life. (quite literally delulu until it becomes trululu...)

MASTERLIST

[edenesth]

The Paradox of Us

Pairing: Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: Relationships are rarely as simple as they seem. It becomes heartbreakingly complicated when two souls, bound by a love that still burns bright, come to realise that sometimes, love alone may not be enough to keep them together.

A/N: Seonghwa's 踊り子 (odoriko) cover has been on repeat since the moment it came out. I couldn't get it out of my mind and just knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't write anything inspired by it.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"I don't love you."

Strangely, those words would have been easier to bear. But instead, you heard the ones that shattered you in ways you never thought possible: "I love you so much... but we can't go on like this anymore."

The ache was unbearable, as if your heart was tearing itself apart with every replay of his broken voice in your mind. You would have preferred if he had said his love had faded, that the spark was gone. At least then, you could grieve, accept, and move forward. But no—he still loved you. Deeply. And that cruel truth left you stuck in a purgatory of emotions, unable to let go.

Yet, you understood him. You always did. And perhaps that was the most painful part of all—knowing he was right. You had felt it too, this growing divide neither of you could bridge. But you hadn't been brave enough to say it aloud, to admit that love wasn't enough to hold together two people who simply weren't meant to be.

So, he said it for you. And now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been, and the love that would never quite fade.

"It'll be alright, sweetie. Time heals everything," your mother murmured, her hand gently rubbing your back as you blinked away tears and refused to meet her gaze. Her tone was soft, even comforting, but you couldn't stand it—not when she sat there pretending she hadn't played a pivotal role in this heartbreak. You could almost feel her satisfaction simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind her facade of concern. After all, hadn't she always believed he would never measure up? That he was never good enough for you?

You hated it—hated her.

Hated how she had turned your relationship with him into a battlefield, her disapproval so loud, so ever-present, that it became impossible for him to feel at home in your life. How dare she sit beside you now, feigning sorrow, when her constant criticisms had planted the seed of doubt that grew into the conclusion you dreaded? How dare she, of all people, offer comfort when she had made you believe that love—your greatest love—wasn't enough?

Her words echoed in your mind, the ones she'd repeated time and time again: "Love and compatibility aren't the same. Love is powerful, yes, but relationships are more than just feelings—they require shared values, aligned goals, and practical compatibility." She had said it so often that it became a mantra, one you tried to ignore until it became impossible.

And then there was him.

You hated him too—hated him for giving in, for not fighting harder, for agreeing with everyone else. For being too selfless, too considerate, too good. He'd always told you, "Family comes first. Everything else—including me—comes second." You hated that he meant it. Hated that he let you go because he believed it was the right thing to do, the thing that would hurt the least.

But most of all, you hated yourself.

Hated yourself for knowing, deep down, that they were all right. That maybe love really wasn't enough. You hated yourself for being too afraid to defy them, too afraid to risk it all for him. While he was brave enough to let you go, and your mother was relentless in her convictions, you had been the coward. You let everyone else make the choice for you because you couldn't bear to make it yourself.

And now, you were left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of what-ifs and the haunting ache of knowing you had lost not because you didn't love enough, but because you hadn't been brave enough to fight for that love.

"The right person will come along," she said softly. You pressed your eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Without another word, you pushed yourself up from the dining chair, leaving your barely touched meal behind, and headed to your room.

Before you could step through the door, her voice followed you, cutting through the air like a knife. "You'll thank me one day when you meet a man who can give you all the things that boy never could."

Your fists clenched as you slammed the door shut behind you. Sliding down to the floor with your back against the wood, you let her words fester. Maybe she was right. You weren't getting any younger. Around you, friends and cousins were all settling down with partners your mother would call 'suitable.' And you hated it—hated that, in her eyes, Seonghwa could never be that person for you.

But then, the thought struck: you were your mother's daughter. How much of this was truly her fault? At some point, hadn't you begun to believe her? Slowly, insidiously, her words had taken root in your mind. You did this. To him, to yourself.

You remembered watching others build their perfect, storybook lives with partners who ticked every box society demanded. And you wondered—quietly at first, then louder—if you and Seonghwa could ever achieve the same. Could he be that for you? Could you be that for him?

It wasn't fair. Not to him, not to you. You hated yourself for the way doubt crept in, for how your mother's voice echoed in your head, pointing out the cracks and differences you had tried so hard to ignore. You hated yourself for wishing things could be different, for swallowing those thoughts because you loved him too much to ask him to change. He was who he was—his own person.

How could you ask him to mould himself into someone your mother would approve of? Someone society deemed 'right' for you? And if he did, would he even be the man you fell in love with?

It was those questions, those doubts, that began to live rent-free in your mind. Bit by bit, they widened the gap between you. And Seonghwa wasn't blind. He saw it. He felt it.

"You deserve someone better—someone who can give you so much more," he had said that final night, his voice breaking under the weight of goodbye.

It was your fault—your doubts, your actions, your silence. They had pushed him to that conclusion. And now, as the door behind you trembled with your suppressed sobs, you wondered: How dare you blame your mother for what you had done to him? To yourself?

How dare you?

"Gaming at San's place next, you coming?" Wooyoung asked, tossing a napkin onto the table as everyone scrambled to leave. The ridiculous game they'd invented—where the last one to leave had to pay the bill—had everyone laughing and darting for the exit.

Seonghwa's smile barely touched his lips as he shook his head and reached for his wallet. "Go on with them. I'll cover it."

The younger man hesitated, glancing at him before blurting out, "Dude, you can't always give in like this. Your poor financial planning skills are exactly why she left you."

The table fell silent, the air suddenly heavy. Wooyoung's grin faltered as he realised what he'd said, too late to take it back. Seonghwa didn't flinch outwardly, but the words sliced deep because they were true. Partly, at least.

It wasn't like he made much, not compared to the rest of his friends with their steady corporate jobs. And yet, he wasn't careful with what little he had. You had always been the one saving, planning, building a future he could barely contribute to. People his age were buying cars, investing in property, making strides toward a stable life. But he wasn't like them. He had chased his passion as a figurine crafter—a dream that didn't come with a steady paycheck—and he'd known the risks. Your mother was right: you deserved someone who could offer you the stability he never could.

"Hey, man," Wooyoung said quickly, guilt colouring his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I got the bill already, so don't worry about it. Just come with us tonight, yeah? Relax a little."

But the eldest only gave a faint shake of his head. The apology didn't soften the truth of the remark. He was the reason things fell apart. Not because he didn't love you enough—he loved you too much—but because love wasn't enough.

He'd failed you. Failed to provide the kind of life you deserved. He couldn't believe you'd even agreed to be with him in the first place, so different were your worlds. Your family background, your education, your values, your ambitions—they all set you apart. He had nothing to offer someone like you. And yet, he had been selfish enough to hold on, to want you despite knowing he could never measure up.

He should have worked harder. Should have tried to step up and be the man you needed. But he hadn't, because deep down, he knew he couldn't. Perhaps he had always known it wouldn't last. That one day, you'd wake up and realise the same.

You didn't leave right away. You stayed longer than he deserved. And when you finally began pulling away, when the signs became impossible to ignore, he had to let go. It wasn't courage that made him end it—it was inevitability.

"Come with us, hyung," Wooyoung tried again, his voice gentler this time.

But Seonghwa shook his head once more. "You guys go ahead without me. I... I have somewhere to be."

It was a lie, and they all knew it. He had nowhere to be. Nowhere that mattered, at least. Just his empty apartment, where the echoes of your absence would greet him like old, familiar ghosts.

He didn't care if they saw through the lie. What mattered was that he deserved this—the loneliness, the self-pity, the regret. He had almost broken you apart from your family because he was selfish enough to believe his love was enough. He had almost stolen your future because he couldn't face the truth.

But now, it was over. You had given him the courage to do what was right in the end. He was grateful for that. Grateful you'd started pulling away. Grateful you'd given him the signs. Grateful you'd broken his heart with the words he couldn't bear to say himself.

It's time.

Time to stop pretending.

Time to let you go.

Time to let the misery end.

Yes, let it all go. Let the misery end.

He repeated the words in his head like a chant as he drove, gripping the steering wheel tighter with each mile. The familiar streets blurred past him, their lights shimmering in his tear-filled eyes. He swiped at his face with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming, warm and unrelenting. He hated himself for it. Hated that, even now, he could almost see you sitting beside him, your laughter echoing faintly in his memory.

These night drives had been your sanctuary. Just you and him, wrapped in the quiet of the world, as if nothing else mattered. Not the expectations, not the disapproving glances, not the relentless whispers about how you two didn't belong together. It had always been just you and him against everything.

But now, it was just him.

He didn't dare glance at the passenger seat. He couldn't bear the sight of its emptiness, couldn't face the truth of your absence. His mind played cruel tricks on him, filling the silence with phantom conversations, fleeting glimpses of your smile.

Everything around him reminded him of you. The way the streetlights hit the pavement, the faint smell of your favourite perfume lingering in his car, the songs on the radio you'd sing along to when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He wanted to escape it, but he knew going home would only make it worse.

Home.

The word felt hollow now. How could it be home when you weren't there? Every corner of that apartment held traces of you—the books you'd stacked neatly on the shelf, the coffee mug you always left on the counter, the sheets that still carried the faintest scent of your shampoo. He knew he should let those remnants go, pack them away, make it easier to move on. But the thought of erasing you felt like losing you all over again.

As the weight of it all pressed down on him, he slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. His hands trembled as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool leather grounding him for just a moment.

Is this hurting you too?

He wondered if you were struggling as much as he was. Part of him selfishly hoped you were, that you missed him the way he missed you. But another part—the part that loved you more than he loved himself—hoped you were finding peace. Hoped you were happier without him, that his decision to let you go had given you the chance to find the stability, the life, you deserved.

Clutching a hand to his chest, he finally let the tears fall freely. The ache in his heart felt unbearable, like a piece of him had been ripped away and might never grow back. Would he ever be okay again? Would he ever know happiness without you?

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. But he told himself, over and over, that this was the right thing to do. It didn't matter if he was happy. It didn't matter if he felt whole again. All that mattered was you. And as he sat there, broken and lost, he prayed you were finding the happiness he couldn't give you, even if it meant he would never find it again.

It's okay... she'll find the right person now.

The right person. Who even decided what that meant? Who had the authority to label someone as right or wrong for you?

Maybe it was the lingering ache for Park Seonghwa, the way his name still carried the weight of memories you hadn't yet learned to let go. Or maybe it was the frustration bubbling inside you, resentment toward your parents for tricking you into meeting this man—the son of your father's business partner—the one they couldn't stop praising.

Jung Yunho, the perfect man, as they called him. He was everything they'd ever wanted for you, a textbook example of stability, charm, and success. But the problem wasn't him. It was you. You weren't ready, not yet. Maybe not ever. Years had passed since the breakup, but the ghost of what you had with Seonghwa still clung to you, a shadow that even time couldn't chase away.

"Hey," Yunho's voice pulled you back from your spiralling thoughts. His gaze, warm and sincere, met yours as he leaned in slightly. "You feeling alright?"

Caught off guard, you glanced down at your untouched plate of steak and managed a small nod. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

But he didn't look convinced. Instead, his lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile—the kind that could probably disarm anyone, just not you. "How could I not, when such a pretty lady is sulking before me?" he teased gently. Before you could reply, he reached across the table, taking your plate without hesitation. "Here, let me help you."

With careful precision, he began cutting the steak into neat, bite-sized pieces. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, and yet it left you feeling hollow. It wasn't the act itself—it was the way it lacked the weight of familiarity.

Seonghwa used to do the same thing, but it had always been different with him. He'd grumble playfully about how you'd never learn to do it yourself, though he never minded doing it for you. His hands were smaller, more delicate, and you'd always find yourself staring at the faint scars from his crafts. Yunho's hands, while steady and practised, didn't hold the same history.

"All done," Yunho said cheerfully, sliding the plate back to you. "Now you have no excuse not to eat."

You forced a polite smile, murmuring a quiet "thank you" as you picked up your fork. Yunho didn't seem to notice the distant look in your eyes, or perhaps he was kind enough not to point it out.

He was wonderful. Thoughtful, patient, and sincere. By all accounts, he was the right person. But as you sat there, forcing yourself to chew, you couldn't help but wonder:

What if the right person wasn't the one who checked all the boxes? What if they were the one who didn't, but still felt like home?

The rest of the night crawled by like a snail, every passing second stretching unbearably long. You shifted in your seat, wishing you were anywhere but here. Yunho was a great guy—attentive, charming, and genuinely kind. But that only made it worse. He deserved someone who could meet his enthusiasm with equal fervour, someone who didn't have her mind wandering to someone else entirely.

You sighed quietly, pushing your barely touched drink to the side. What the hell was wrong with you? This was what you'd agreed to, wasn't it? This was what you'd sacrificed so much for. Years ago, you walked away from the love of your life because it felt like the right thing to do, to pursue the kind of stability and compatibility everyone insisted was more important than love alone. And now here it was, right in front of you.

The right person.

Yet, as you glanced at Jung Yunho's radiant smile, so effortlessly warm, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him felt less like the happy ending you'd envisioned and more like a cage. A beautiful, gilded cage that offered everything a woman could ever ask for—security, stability, admiration. Everything except the one thing your heart still longed for.

All you could ever find inside yourself was the same man you'd tried so hard to let go of.

Park Seonghwa.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, your mind betraying you with memories you'd worked so hard to bury. You wondered how he was doing, though it wasn't as if you hadn't heard. Mutual friends kept you updated more than you cared to admit, their words painting glimpses of a life that no longer included you.

You'd heard he was finally making progress with his work, his passion—the very thing you'd once defended but later doubted. He'd opened a small store, modest but filled with so much of himself. It sold various collectable art pieces: action figures, miniatures for tabletop games, and custom character figurines crafted with meticulous care. Fans of Star Wars and Animal Crossing flocked to him, drawn to the detail and love that radiated from every piece he touched.

And you were proud of him. God, you were so proud of him.

He'd stayed true to himself, despite all the judgement, all the whispers about how he'd never make it, how he'd never be good enough. He'd proved them wrong. He'd built something meaningful, something entirely his own. You were happy for him, truly, but beneath that happiness lay an ache you couldn't ignore. You regretted not being there to witness it, to cheer for him when he finally achieved what he'd always dreamed of.

But maybe that wasn't what he wanted. For all you knew, he'd moved on, found someone who stayed by his side through all the highs and lows. Someone who loved him openly and without reservation, who didn't make him feel like he'd never measure up.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd sworn off love entirely after the way things ended between you two.

Either way, you couldn't blame him. You wouldn't blame him. Not after the pain you'd both endured.

Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. "Is... everything okay? You've been quiet tonight." His concern was genuine, his eyes soft with worry, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

But deep down, you knew you weren't fine. And you didn't know if you ever would be.

"How much for that one?"

The tiny voice drew Seonghwa's attention, and he glanced down at the little girl standing on tiptoes, her small finger pointing eagerly at the figurine encased behind the counter. It was the only one displayed under glass, like a prized treasure—and in a way, it was.

He hummed, his eyes softening as he turned to look at the figure in question. The Kuromi figurine sat proudly on the top shelf, right next to the LED sign that glowed softly with his store's name: Star Mars. The design was intricate, every detail was carefully crafted with love and precision.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said gently, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "That one's not for sale. It's reserved for someone very special."

The little girl pouted, her lips forming a perfect curve of disappointment, and his heart melted a little. But no amount of adorable pouting—or even persuasive whining—could ever convince him to sell it.

That Kuromi figurine wasn't just a piece of art; it was a promise, a memory frozen in time. It was one of the first figurines he'd perfected, the culmination of years of practice and the relentless pursuit of his passion. He'd made it as a gift for you—his favourite girl.

It still is yours, if only you wanted it.

The child's father stepped forward, lifting her into his arms as he gave Seonghwa an apologetic bow. "Don't worry about her, Mr Park. I'll convince her to go with the Isabelle one instead."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, standing upright as he waved off the father's concern. "No problem at all. Isabelle's a great choice," he said, though his eyes lingered briefly on the Kuromi figurine.

As the father and daughter moved on to browse the other displays, Seonghwa found himself lost in thought. He didn't display that piece out of pride or for show—it was there because it reminded him of you. Of the nights you'd spend sitting cross-legged on the floor of his studio, playfully teasing him about his obsession with getting every detail just right.

"She looks like you," he'd said when he showed it to you for the first time. You'd laughed, brushing it off, but the glint of affection in your eyes told him you secretly loved the comparison.

He'd planned to give it to you on your birthday, but the timing never felt right. And then, before he knew it, you were gone.

The bell above the door jingled, the familiar sound slicing through the haze of his thoughts and yanking him back to the present. He straightened up, plastering on the polite smile he reserved for customers, though the weight in his chest never eased.

"Good evening! Welcome to…" His voice faltered mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat as his entire world screeched to a halt.

There you were.

It had been years, but time seemed to melt away the moment his eyes landed on you. You stood there in the soft glow of his store lights, more beautiful than he remembered—if that were even possible. Your silk dress shimmered gently with each subtle movement, an elegant coat draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The once long hair he used to run his fingers through was now cropped to your shoulders, framing your face in a way that made you look older, wiser—but still you.

Even after all this time, his heart betrayed him. It thundered in his chest, each beat screaming your name. He clenched his fist tightly at his side, willing himself to stay rooted where he stood. Every fibre of his being ached to run to you, to close the distance, but he couldn't. He shouldn't.

Slowly, shakily, he mustered a smile, though it felt like his heart might burst from the sheer force of its racing. Then, to his astonishment—and heartbreak—you returned it. A soft, familiar curve of your lips that nearly undid him.

But then, it fell apart.

The moment shattered as a tall, striking man stepped in behind you. He moved with easy confidence, his presence commanding attention as if the universe itself had tilted slightly to make room for him. Without hesitation, his hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"See anything you like?" the man asked, his deep voice carrying the warmth of intimacy as he looked down at you.

You blinked, startled, as if shaken from a dream. "Oh… I was just…" Your voice trailed off as your gaze flicked back to your ex-boyfriend, lingering for a moment longer than it should have.

Seonghwa's smile faltered, but he quickly schooled his expression, burying the ache that clawed at his chest. He nodded politely, forcing himself to focus on the customer standing in front of him—the both of you.

The Kuromi figurine sat silently on its shelf, bathed in soft light, waiting for a moment that might never come. The air inside the store suddenly felt stifling. Seonghwa stood behind the counter, his hands gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Welcome to Star Mars," he said, his voice steady but his smile trembling under the weight of emotions. He forced it wider, hoping it would mask the whirlwind within. "It's been a while. How have you been?" His heart clenched as the words left his mouth. He wanted to sound casual, as though you were just another customer, but he couldn't. You weren't just anyone. You never had been.

You gave him a hesitant smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I've been good. How about you?"

Before he could answer, the man beside you—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding warmth—stepped forward, his curiosity evident. "Oh, you two know each other? What a small world!" His voice was friendly, his smile sincere, and Seonghwa's chest tightened further.

He should feel relief. This man, presumably your boyfriend—or worse, your fiancé—seemed perfect for you. He was everything Seonghwa had wanted for you when he stepped away, believing he could never give you the life you deserved. And yet, it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, this is Seonghwa. He's... an old friend of mine."

Old friend. The words landed like a punch to his stomach, but he kept his composure.

The man extended a hand toward him, his smile unwavering. "I'm Yunho. It's nice to meet you! Next time my nieces and nephews need new toys, I'll know who to come to."

Seonghwa took his hand, shaking it firmly while managing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too." His gaze flickered back to you, catching the way you avoided meeting his eyes.

As if on cue, Yunho's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he excused himself, stepping outside to take the call. For the first time since you'd entered, the air felt heavy with unspoken words.

You turned back to your ex, your eyes meeting his briefly before dropping to the counter. "Congratulations... Seonghwa," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a fragile memory. "It's good to see how far you've come."

He nodded slowly, his smile softer now, though the ache in his eyes remained. "Thank you. And... congratulations to you as well," he said, glancing toward the window where Yunho stood. "He seems amazing."

The kindness in his tone made it hurt even more.

"No," you blurted, shaking your head. "He's not... we're just... friends. I don't..." Your words faltered, your voice trembling. "I'm not with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. You wished he'd say something, anything, but the way his eyes softened, brimming with a mix of emotions—relief, hesitation, and something deeper—was answer enough.

Your breath hitched when your gaze landed on the figurine behind him. Kuromi. Encased in glass, displayed on the highest shelf. You remembered the countless hours he'd spent perfecting it, the way he'd proudly shown you the finished piece.

He still kept it.

Before you could find the courage to ask why, Yunho reappeared, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hey, sorry to cut your little catch-up session short, but something urgent came up at work, and I—"

Seonghwa straightened, his polite smile snapping back into place. "Of course, don't let me keep you."

Your heart sank as he turned to you, bowing slightly. "It was nice seeing you again."

You forced a smile, though your chest ached with everything left unsaid. "It was nice seeing you too."

As you followed Yunho out, you couldn't resist glancing back one last time. Your eyes met Seonghwa's, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though a thousand words passed between you.

Regret. Longing. Love.

The bell above the door jingled again as you stepped out, your heart heavy with the weight of the encounter. Yunho was quiet as he drove, his hands steady on the wheel. The silence between you felt thick, almost suffocating, but you didn't know what to say. How could you explain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you without sounding selfish or ungrateful?

"It's him, isn't it?" Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, soft but resolute.

Your head snapped toward him, your heart pounding in panic. "What… what do you mean?" you stammered, the guilt already clawing its way to the surface.

He sighed, pulling the car to a gentle stop in front of your home. Turning to face you, he gave you a small, knowing smile. "The man from the store. Park Seonghwa, right? He's the one you've been thinking about all night. Tell me if I'm wrong."

Your breath caught, your hands fumbling with the seatbelt as you tried to come up with a response. But the look in his eyes told you that lying wasn't an option. "I…" You paused, finally managing to unfasten the seatbelt, but your words seemed caught in your throat. "I'm sorry, Yunho. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He leaned back with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologise. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I knew from the beginning that you weren't exactly thrilled about this arrangement, but I still went along with it, hoping… I don't know, that maybe something would change."

You felt tears sting your eyes, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "You deserve better than this," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Hey." He reached out, his hand covering yours with a comforting warmth. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you turned back to him, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "This… whatever this was supposed to be, it wouldn't have worked if both of us weren't fully in it. And that's okay. You know why?"

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

"Because this decision—choosing who you want to be with—it's for you, not for your parents, not for me, and certainly not for anyone else. It should never be about what people think or what they want. It's your life. Live it for yourself."

His words struck you like a bolt of lightning, unravelling years of self-doubt and regret. He was right. How had you allowed yourself to be swept up in everyone else's expectations, losing sight of what truly mattered to you?

You sat back in your seat, letting his words sink in, feeling a strange mix of guilt and liberation. After a long moment, you nodded, your voice steadier now. "Thank you, Yunho. For everything."

He smiled, his eyes kind and understanding. "Go on," he said, tilting his head toward your house. "And don't let fear hold you back this time."

As you stepped out of the car, his words echoed in your mind, igniting a spark of courage you hadn't felt in years.

You turned back, watching as Yunho drove away, his figure disappearing into the night. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sliver of clarity.

It wasn't too late. You still had a choice to make. And this time, you'd make it for yourself.

The shop was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of paper as Seonghwa meticulously wrapped the Isabelle and Grogu figurines the pair of father and daughter finally agreed on getting. His movements were precise, his focus seemingly sharp, but his mind was elsewhere—stuck on the brief yet piercing encounter that had just walked out of his life again.

"That Kuromi one… it's for the pretty lady earlier, isn't it?"

The father's voice broke through Seonghwa's haze, and his hands froze briefly before resuming their task. He didn't look up, focusing instead on folding the edges of the wrapping paper with unnecessary care. "You might be right," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than intended. "But it doesn't matter if it is."

The man tilted his head, a subtle frown forming as he cradled his daughter closer. "And why's that? It clearly still means a lot to you both."

Seonghwa finally glanced up, forcing a polite smile, though it faltered almost immediately. "You saw it yourself... she's with someone else. Someone better." The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, laced with a resignation he didn't quite believe in.

The man sighed, shifting the little girl in his arms so she could hold her new Grogu figurine. He regarded your ex with a look that felt far too knowing. "I also saw how she looked at you," he said softly. "And she didn't look like someone who's better off."

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard, but the customer wasn't finished. His gaze drifted toward the cute purple figurine that was not for sale, and for a moment, his expression softened into something fragile—something etched with pain.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "my wife used to love Sanrio too. She had this little Cinnamoroll keychain she carried everywhere." He chuckled faintly, the sound bittersweet. "I always thought I'd have more time to make her smile, to give her the little things that made her happy. But time doesn't wait for anyone. One day, it was just… gone."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Seonghwa felt something tighten in his chest.

The man glanced at him then, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to pierce through Seonghwa's carefully built walls. "I don't know what's between you and her, Mr Park. But I do know this: regret is a heavy thing to carry. Don't let it weigh you down, not if you can still do something about it."

He gave Seonghwa a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of lessons learned too late, before taking the bag of purchased items. "Sometimes, all it takes is one step in the right direction. Don't let the chance slip away."

And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling faintly as father and daughter disappeared into the night.

Seonghwa stood motionless behind the counter, his gaze drifting back to the Kuromi figurine in its glass case. The light reflected off it, casting faint shadows on the shelf behind it. It was meant for you. It had always been for you.

The father's words replayed in his mind, unrelenting in their simplicity and truth. He leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on the figurine made just for you, but his thoughts were elsewhere—back to you, back to all the moments that had led to this one.

Back then, he'd convinced himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go so you could find the happiness he didn't think he could give you. He thought he was being selfless, noble even, sacrificing his own heart so you could find someone better—someone who deserved you. But now, the cracks in that logic were glaringly obvious. What had any of this accomplished? Neither of you had found happiness in the way he'd hoped.

The truth was harsh: he hadn't even tried. He hadn't fought to be better for you, to grow into someone worthy of your love. Instead, he'd accepted the version of himself the world seemed to see—a man with dreams too small and ambitions too impractical. He'd let himself believe that you deserved someone like Yunho, someone who fit the mould of what your parents and society thought was 'right.'

But things were different now. He wasn't that man anymore. He'd worked hard, not for anyone else but for himself. Every step he'd taken to build his store, every figurine he'd crafted with his own hands, every small milestone he'd achieved—it was proof that he could create something meaningful. And if he could do that, maybe he could create a life with you.

His heart clenched at the thought of you with Yunho, not because he doubted the man's worth, but because he knew Yunho could never hold your heart the way he still did. Yunho was everything society said you should want—stable, charming, perfect on paper. But love wasn't about paper. Love was about the way you used to light up whenever he showed you his newest creation, about the quiet nights you'd spent talking about everything and nothing, about the way your hand had always felt right in his.

Suddenly, the idea of the 'right person' seemed so absurd. There was no such thing. The right person wasn't someone who ticked all the boxes. The right person was the one you chose to love, again and again, flaws and all.

And you had chosen him once.

The real question now was whether you still would.

He straightened, his resolve hardening like molten metal cooling into steel. What kind of love was it if he could stand by and watch you settle for less than what you deserved? Not less in status or wealth, but less in the kind of happiness that made life worth living. What kind of love let you spend the rest of your days with someone who could never truly make your heart race?

Seonghwa wouldn't let that happen—not if he could help it.

His gaze lingered on the Kuromi figurine one last time before he moved toward the back room. He needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to tell you everything he should have said years ago.

If there was even the slightest chance that you still felt the same way, he would take it. Because this time, he wasn't letting fear or pride or anyone else's expectations get in the way.

This time, he was going to fight for you.

"Well...? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" you asked, your voice sharp, as you stepped into the house. Your mother flinched, bowing her head slightly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. She hesitated for a moment before coming up to you slowly, her eyes brimming with guilt.

"Yunho called," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said he wishes not to force you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humour. "Of course, it took an outsider's words for you to finally see how exhausting this has been for me," you said, your tone cutting. "All this talk about marriage, about finding the right man... who is it really for? Who am I doing this for, hm? Is it for my own happiness? Or... oh, right." You smiled grimly. "It never was about my happiness, was it? It was about keeping up appearances, about pleasing everyone but me."

Your mother's face crumpled as her gaze fell to the floor. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken truths.

Your father, who had been sitting silently at the dining table, let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as though trying to steady himself. "We thought we were doing what was best for you," he said, his voice low, burdened with regret. "We thought... if we guided you toward someone like Yunho, we were ensuring a future where you'd be safe, secure."

"Safe?" you repeated, your voice breaking. "From what? From being myself? From choosing the person who actually makes me happy? You never trusted me to make my own decisions. You never thought I was capable of knowing what I want, what I need."

Your mother reached for your hand, her touch tentative. "It wasn't like that," she said, though her voice wavered. "We were scared. Scared that you'd make a mistake, scared that you'd regret it later, scared that—"

"You mean you were scared," you interrupted, pulling your hand back. "Scared of what people would say. Scared of what the neighbours, the relatives, society would think. But you never stopped to ask me what I thought. What I felt."

Tears glistened in her eyes now, spilling over as she shook her head. "You're right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're absolutely right. We were selfish. We thought we knew better, but we didn't. We never meant to hurt you, but we see now that we did. We hurt you by not listening, by not trusting you."

Your father stood, his movements deliberate, his face sombre. "If he's the one you want, if he's the one who makes you happy, then we'll support you. No more pushing, no more trying to control your life. It's your choice. It always should've been your choice."

For a moment, the room fell silent. The tension that had loomed for so long finally began to dissipate, leaving behind a tentative sense of relief.

You inhaled shakily, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. It wasn't a perfect resolution—there was still so much to work through—but this was a start. A start you'd been longing for. "Thank you," you said softly, the words fragile but sincere. "Thank you for finally understanding."

And as your mother pulled you into a trembling embrace, you allowed yourself to hope that things could finally change. She smiled softly, brushing a hand against your cheek as if to assure you it was okay now. Your father stood behind her, his expression a mixture of pride and something deeper—perhaps the weight of finally letting go.

They exchanged a glance before your father nodded toward the door. "Go," he said quietly, his voice firm but warm. "Go where your heart tells you to. We'll always be here."

You blinked, stunned by their words, and for a moment, you couldn't move. But then, the weight in your chest lifted, replaced by an urgency that made your pulse race. Without another word, you turned and rushed out, barely remembering to grab your keys on the way.

Your car roared to life as you sped through the streets, your destination clear as day in your mind. Star Mars. The silly name you'd suggested in passing all those years ago, never imagining he'd actually use it. Your heart pounded harder with every turn, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Would he still want you after all this time? Did it matter? Even if he didn't, you needed him to know. You needed to tell him how you felt—how you still felt.

Parking haphazardly in front of his store, you didn't waste a second before bolting toward it. But as you reached the doors, your heart sank. The store was dark, the lights off, the doors locked. "Closed" hung starkly on the door, though the shops around it buzzed with life.

You froze, staring through the glass, confusion and dread pooling in your stomach. It's not even closing time yet... Had seeing you earlier bothered him that much? Had you pushed him away again, without even realising it?

Slumping against the door, you bit back tears, the overwhelming sense of missed chances clawing at your chest. Sure, you could come back another day. But you'd already lost so much time, wasted so many years pretending you didn't want this, pretending you didn't love him. You didn't want to waste another second.

Your gaze drifted inside the store, scanning the shelves. Your breath caught when you noticed something was missing. The Kuromi figurine—the one you'd lingered on earlier—was gone. You frowned, stepping closer to the glass. It had been there before. Where had it gone?

"Looking for this?"

The familiar voice made you spin around so fast you nearly stumbled. There he was, standing just a few feet away, the Kuromi figurine clutched in his hand, still encased in its protective plastic.

Your breath hitched as tears filled your eyes. "You took her off the shelf?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you took a tentative step toward him. "Where were you planning to take her?"

He smiled softly, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears of his own. "I was going to take her to her rightful owner," he murmured, his voice steady but tender.

Your heart stopped at his words, and you whispered shakily, "Was? So you're not taking her anymore?"

He shook his head slowly. "No."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, the weight of years of longing and regret pressing against his chest. But then, the words of the customer from earlier echoed in his mind. Don't wait until it's too late. He looked at you—really looked at you—and knew, without a doubt, that this moment was the answer he'd been waiting for.

Taking a careful step forward, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours. His breath hitched when your fingers instinctively curled around his, holding on as though letting go would shatter everything.

"Because you're already here," he murmured, his voice trembling with unspoken emotion.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, your heart felt whole again. The ache of countless nights spent longing for him, convinced you'd never feel his love again, melted away. Here he was—right in front of you—just like all those years ago. Yet, it felt different now. It felt... right. Because this time, neither of you would let fear or doubt stand in the way. This time, you were both ready to fight for it, to grow, to compromise, and to hold on.

"Hwa, I... I need to tell you something," you began, your voice shaking, each word heavy with the weight of years spent in silence. Your eyes searched his, desperate to convey everything your heart had been screaming in his absence. But before you could say more, he smiled—a small, trembling curve of his lips that held every ounce of love and pain he'd been holding back.

His eyes glistened as he leaned in, his forehead gently meeting yours, grounding you, binding you in a way that no words ever could. The moment felt infinite, a pause in time where your souls met in unspoken understanding.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, raw and honest. Before you could process the words, his lips found yours, soft and warm, carrying all the unspoken promises, all the years of longing, all the love you thought you'd lost.

The world blurred and softened around you—the hum of the street and the glow of the city lights dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was him, the familiar scent of his cologne, the steady warmth of his hands cradling your face, the way his heart seemed to beat in perfect rhythm with yours.

In that kiss, you felt everything: the heartbreak, the yearning, the hope, and, most of all, the love that had endured time, separation, and pain. It was as if every broken piece of your heart was mending, every crack filled with the warmth of his love.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads remained pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen, his touch tender and sure.

"This time," he murmured, his voice steady but full of emotion, "I'm not letting you go."

And you knew—you both knew—that this time, nothing would keep you apart.

Istg, this wasn't meant to be so long. I wasn't even sure I wanted to give it a happy ending at first, but then I just kept getting carried away and voila. I swear I am working on Yunho's chapter of By Order of the Black Pirates bit by bit hehe just had to get this out of my system first.

As always, thank you for reading and hope y'all liked this one! Do let me know your thoughts! <3

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[yv0nn1e]

"'cause i don't feel alive 'til i'm burnin' on your backburner."

backburner — rafayel

summary: in every life, in every timeline, the god of the sea is doomed to sacrifice everything for his beloved, angering the deep sea, and causing lemuria to fall. in every timeline, the sea god's most dedicated follower cannot stop that from happening.

pairing: rafayel x (non!mc) fem!reader

cw/tw: pure angst? and blurry timeline & lore (heavily implied relation to myths and anecdotes from the game, but will have some non-canon twists of my own)

note: have i been gone for 2 years only to come back to write a gut wrenching thought i can't contain anymore about my beloved fishboy? yes.

wc: 2k+

thinking about non!mc reader who can see and remember every timeline she has ever been in. with those timelines being intertwined with lemuria and the sea god, rafayel, her beloved but not his.

non!mc reader starting in the forgotten sea timeline as a lemurian herself whose family is closely associated with the sea god, rafayel. when young, she finds herself unexplainably infatuated with an adolescent version of rafayel himself and his aura. he was just so mischievous and cheeky in a way that it made her admire his bravery and eagerness to just explore the world. she becomes close friends with him and eventually, she realizes the underlying danger she has put herself into.

"when lemurians fall in love with someone, all our senses are committed to perceive them."

at first, she found it sweet. cute even. she adored rafayel. even if she had no oath or celestial bond that bounds her to follow anything rafayel asks, she knows it deep down that she will still obey and do whatever he wants. rafayel, ever so kind, kept her near and considered her as one of the closest companions he's ever had in such a large yet lonely position as the next sea god. their bond was somehow intimate—with her keeping rafayel stable whenever the pressure of lemuria's expectations get to him and rafayel accepting her for who she is whole-heartedly. every flaw, every freckle, and every scale in her body and soul that he could see, he could understand.

but then one faithful day, years after their younger selves have formed their close friendship, a loyal group of humans who simply idolized the god of the sea set out to offer a sacrifice to rafayel. unknowingly, when their mission goes south due to a storm, this sacrifice of theirs manages to escape and unknowingly meet the sea god himself, asking if he were lemurian and for him to help her, only to get teasing from rafayel in response. then everything happens so quickly with a kiss that sets off the mark of their oath. to the girl, mc, it may seem as though she was just trying to survive since legends held tales of a lemurian's kiss blessing one with the ability of breathing underwater. yet to non!mc reader and rafayel, they knew that it was something much deeper. something binding. sooner, the sea god then chooses mc to become his 'devout follower', failing to see that there was already one who was so willing to be in that position. with that, non!mc reader realizes she's already lost rafayel, her beloved. their ever so holy tome (tome of the sea god) states the everlasting bond that the sea god has when he has chosen his devout follower—meaning, he is bound to that very person. every command and ask must never be disobeyed or rejected; otherwise, the bond breaks.

and non!mc reader's heart breaks, especially with that girl down in lemuria and the sea god's ceremony approaching where the sea god, rafayel, and his devout follower exchange vows. jealousy was an understatement. whilst all of lemuria await in excitement, she wallows in the truth that rafayel has undoubtedly chosen mc as his beloved and his bride. before the ceremony, rafayel meets non!mc reader one last time, jokingly teasing her to not worry for he won't forsake his friendship with her which only earns him a soft chuckle and a hidden pained smile. he then thanks her for all those years he stuck by her side, that he could not have gone past the challenges and hurdles of his training and his pursuits if not for her. 

"you mustn't forget to bestow us your utmost protection when you ascend to a higher level of godhood." she jests, trying to make light of the situation and distract herself with some light banter than she hopes might just change his mind and choose her to become his devout follower instead. 

rafayel could not promise her that. with the slight shift of his eyes, flickering a hint of guilt, non!mc reader supposes that she knew that too.

"to love you is a privilege." that i do not have. non!mc reader says to rafayel with a soft smile, her eyes calm yet hurt, somehow helpless too. she is unsure of what he plans to do but something within their conversation told her that perhaps, it would've been the last.

and it was.

outside the temple of lemuria, the civilization starts to shake and crumble. the lemurians run with panic, wondering what could have made the deep sea enraged on such a momentous occasion. as bloodshed stained the waters of the city, non!mc reader stood amidst the chaos, shutting her eyes in disappointment and regret that she could not have stopped rafayel from whatever he was planning to do. that she could not stop rafayel from giving his heart away to his beloved costing him lemuria and his most treasured friend.

non!mc reader remembering her life during the sea of golden sands timeline where she is a guide with abysswalker!rafayel. in this timeline, they strive hard to find a way to restore lemuria and when they find out that the princess of philos has what they need to achieve that, she insists on coming with rafayel to visit her, only for rafayel to refuse. 

she warns rafayel that it's dangerous. that he was already caught once when he was younger. that he was lucky for the princess to be kind enough to let him go. rafayel reassures her by telling him what happened that faithful day when rafayel was gifted to the princess of philos. he told her that one day, he'll come back for her. 

non!mc reader knew that rafayel would only be captured if he wanted to. meaning that he purposely wants to be caught just to see the princess. then it hits her. the princess of philos was the same girl who became the sea god's devout follower in another life. she doesn't know how or why she knows this kind of information but something in her just recognizes the emotional and literal agonizing pain of lemuria falling and her heart being torn to shreds. she then sets out a theory that she may have gained the ability to see her past lives. 

non!mc reader only finds herself becoming angry when rafayel brings the princess to the sand ruins, telling her his plans of reviving their homeland, lemuria. it angers her even more when the princess mentions dreams of the strangely familiar land. that's when she confirms that the princess was indeed rafayel's devout follower. when the princess regains her past memories after the tome reveals the symbols that stated the god of the sea killing his beloved to awaken the seas, non!mc reader knows that she's lost rafayel in this lifetime again. with much love for lemuria, she tries to set rafayel back to the right track, ignoring the fact that the princess was rafayel's beloved and convincing him to just take her heart already and revive lemuria. the princess then wished to return rafayel's heart after it is revealed that in the past life, during the ceremony of the sea god, rafayel had given his heart to mc instead of the other way around. this revelation lights fury within non!mc reader due to the clouding judgement that lemuria had fallen underneath its own god's sacrifice, seeing it as an act of betrayal on rafayel's part. yet, she said nothing. she said nothing even when rafayel refuses to take the princess' heart, even resorting to erasing her memories so that she'd forget this encounter. 

"you are such a paradox, rafayel." she says with underlying venom under her voice as she sits down on a dusty rock. "you wish to revive lemuria and yet you cannot make the one true sacrifice you need to do so."

"perhaps there are other ways." rafayel gently yet assertively says.

"perhaps." she responds which may seem polite and complacent enough, yet anyone with delicate ears can definitely dissect the mockery in her voice.

days later, as their crew prepares to leave, non!mc reader notices the light glow of the fishtail beacon rafayel carries with him. with amund questioning whether or not rafayel and the princess' bond was truly even broken, non!mc reader silently scoffs in irritation, especially when the princess somehow just arrives in their hideout. despite the anger she had for rafayel, her heart gets deja vu with the way the princess declares her wish to follow rafayel wherever he goes, as if swearing she'll be his devout follower in this life too. 

non!mc reader who swears she will not fall for rafayel in the next timeline she falls into when rafayel manages to put her life in death's door on this universe once more.

non!mc reader in the current timeline who, after the tsunami that revealed the reappearance of lemuria southeast of linkon, leaves the sea. leaves rafayel. leaves lemuria and her mermaid form to pursue becoming an actress on land, proceeding to be one of the most popular actresses as rafayel travels around the world, becoming a well-renowned painter who took revenge for those who wronged lemuria and his people on his own, secret ways.

non!mc reader whose heart stops on a windy day, with the sun setting and the waves of linkon city's beaches were playful once she sees rafayel walking towards her with a cheerful smirk. 

"it's been a while. if i didn't know better, i'd think you were avoiding me all this time." rafayel teases to which she shakes her head to ground her thoughts.

"if only i could truly avoid you." she responds with a well-practiced smile, feigning a friendly banter that long calls back to their very first timeline. 

"have you been well?" at this point, rafayel invites her to walk along the shores of linkon city, catching up on the years they've been apart. she could not deny it no matter how much she tries. she was fated to always be next to rafayel.

perhaps, it was also destiny's fault that she inevitably falls for him in every one of her lives.  

"i couldn't be happier." she lies. after the multiple lives she's lived, hiding her true feelings for the man, she's learned the skill of lying so swiftly as if she were actually uttering what she convinces herself was the truth. perhaps that was why she had grown to obtain a penchant for acting.

because in every universe, she has had to act as though she was not broken by the fact that she was undeniably in love with a man who was forever bounded to his beloved.

non!mc reader who foolishly accepts rafayel back into her life when he mentions that he's staying in linkon, even though something in her already knew that he was there for a reason. even though she long realized that rafayel agreed to also leave lemuria to travel the world only to search for his devout follower, his bride, his soulmate.

non!mc reader who is no longer surprised when rafayel introduces his new bodyguard, a young woman with a heart condition. she could only smile at the girl, knowing that rafayel, has once again, found her. that, once again, destiny has shoved it in her face that she was only meant to yearn for rafayel's love, forever by the sidelines.

a celebratory party was held for yn when she just reached a greater height for her acting career. she finds herself walking the shores of linkon at night in her velvet blue dress, the mermaid cut of the skirt softly brushing against the white sands. she adores the warmth of the yellow string lights within the trees and posts, engulfing herself in the solitude and respite she needed. truth be told, despite her love for her career, one of the main reasons she even pursued the thing was to distract herself from the impending doom and painful fate she was destined to go through, like in every timeline she was ever in. to be killed under her own deity's hands. 

"i never took you to be such a loner." a familiar voice takes her out of her trance, eyes shifting from the whispered waves of the beach and towards rafayel.

"just thanking home, i suppose." she responds elegantly, head tilting a bit to point to the ocean.

there was an awkward silence when she turns her body away from rafayel, her back facing him as she hugs herself to give some warmth from the cold brush of the sea breeze. 

"afraid to get in the water?" rafayel gently teases as he walks closer to her, arms already taking off his dark blue blazer, not even giving her a chance to react as he wraps the garment around her shoulders.

taken back, she tilts her head to look at him, eyes slightly wider than normal but not enough to show shock. 

"you looked like a cold fish." rafayel points out, justifying his actions. 

for a moment, she takes rafayel in once more. it's been so long that she's avoided true connection with him to lessen the pain she would have to endure in this timeline. he seemed the same. different yet the same. his purple hair softly brushing against his forehead, bringing out the multiple hues within his eyes, and the glint of different colors making up his skin under the glow of the moon. 

the longer she looks at him, the more she remembers every life she had suffered because of him. 

destiny is far too cruel with fate to let her fall in love with him over and over again.

destiny and fate be damned.

"i love you, rafayel." she didn't expect her voice to quiver but as soon as those words slipped past her lips, her eyes blinked with crystalline waters pooling above them, almost teasing their fall.

"i wish i didn't, but i can't help but fall for you in every life i can remember." rafayel, still taken back with what she said could only stand there.

"i don't know if you can remember but i certainly do, as if they were just memories of yesterday." biting her lips, she lets out a heavy breathe, letting the weight of centuries of pain after every timeline and every life go. "and i am most definitely tired of having to endure those lives standing by your side and keeping quiet of what i truly feel."

"i love you, rafayel, and words can not begin to describe the longing that my heart must go through just by standing next to you. i can not continue moving on from one life to another and pretend as though my heart does not beat for you. as though i am not ready to carve it out and serve it to you if that's what it took to open your eyes. it pains me, so to know that i am destined to a sad ending of being alone, without you. but perhaps, it's high time i fight against it."

non!mc reader who fails, falling in love for rafayel in this life and realizing that she will keep falling for him in every other one that may come.

"destiny had always been my biggest enemy, with you as my greatest regret."

[simpxxstan]

lunch

pairing: elementary school teachers lee seokmin x f.reader

genre: fluff, fluff and some more fluff. a tiny pinch of angst.

summary: as a veteran at sebong elementary school, you don't let any of your juniors get too close to you. the new science teacher, lee seokmin, doesn't seem to get the note, though.

word count: 9.6k words

rating: pg 13 

warnings: use of a few profanities, mention of alcohol and illegal gambling. reader is a bit cold in the beginning. slight age gap.

a/n: SO MUCH FLUFF my body hurts but it was so nice to just write good guy dokyeom after all that angst for wonwoo. i'm sorry to any hyungwon fans who may be reading this though T_T

would love to hear feedback!! reblogs and comments are so so much appreciated <3

this is part of the boys over flowers series featuring booseoksoon + chan! this is the first instalment in that series.

It was a day of much ruckus and excitement. The teachers and students were all waiting eagerly to meet the four new teachers who were joining Sebong Elementary School that day. Children with bright cherub faces peeped from their classroom windows, some crowded in the corridors, and teachers whispered loudly, as they all waited to see the four faces of the new teachers emerge from the Principal’s office. And when they finally did, a loud, collective gasp was heard rippling through every room and corner of Sebong Elementary School. And then the bubble broke, as loud whispers and giggling overtook every other noise, as the four men smiled at the kids and adults gathered through the school. They shone brighter than the tubelights on the ceiling-

“Okay, I think you’re exaggerating, Sohee. I’m sure they don’t have 1000 watt smiles.”

“Oh, Y/N, but they do! Even an ice queen like you is going to melt when you see them. They just exude warmth, kindness, and handsomeness. They look like idols, really!” 

“Now you’re definitely exaggerating. Park carefully, and don’t daydream please. I’ve been nervous from the moment I let you drive my car.”

“It’s a third-hand car. I should, in fact, smash it, so that you can buy something better. The government’s just moments away from declaring it as junk.”

“This is all I can afford, Sohee.”

“Car loans exist!”

“Bankruptcy exists!”

Sohee huffs, and you meticulously check the rear view mirror to ensure she parks neatly. Once done, (read, once Sohee has finished touching up her lipstick and her mascara, and put a few cute hairclips in her long brown hair, cute by her metrics), you both step out of the car. The heat has become harsher, and you’re a little taken aback by the sting of sunlight on your skin. But it feels good to be out again after that stupid bout of fever which had kept you away from school, and consequently, your life. 

You meet several students getting out from the bus in front of the school, some smiling and already chattering with their friends, others shyly holding on to the fingers of their parents. Some of them wave hi to you, others loudly squeal their welcome backs. Your morning grumpiness is slowly wearing away, and you can feel energy bubbling in. It’s barely been the start of the year, and the little ones are very, very gradually warming up to the idea of being away from home for longer than three hours. It’s a trying time for their teachers, and you’re grateful that you don’t teach the youngest class. 

On the short walk from the parking area to the school, and it’s such a miracle that Sohee doesn’t start talking about the four new teachers, because you’re frankly tired of hearing about them. It feels like they don’t exist, and even if they do, they’re going to be massive letdowns compared to Sohee’s descriptions. Sohee does have the habit of hyperbole. 

But you fall headfirst into it as you slide open the door to the staffroom. Everyone stands up and greets you, as you’re one of the earliest members of the staff. You’d like to think that their greetings are out of affection, and not just respect, but you don’t mind. Majority of the staff is quite young, and people look up to you as the sunbae, and it’s a position of respect you crave and enjoy. It’s not like you’re great at showing how you love them either. You can just hope that they get to know about it from time to time, and don’t hate you for not being too affectionate.

As everyone stands up, you bow to the general crowd, and greet them back, but you’re also welcomed by four unknown faces. 

Oh. They must be the new teachers. 

Well, Sohee wasn’t really wrong-

Sohee immediately sparks up and begins talking about how you had really high fever, and every evening she found you lying inside your bed, covered in blankets like a burrito, messy in snot and sweat-

“Okay, that’s enough. Sohee, please spare them the details of my ugly illness.” You’re embarrassed and quite red all over, and out of the corner of your eye, you’re watching the reactions of the four new men. Sure, you may not care much about what other people think, but it’s your first impression after all. Everyone is quite vehemently cooing at you now, and the four men have confused, but concerned expressions on their faces. 

Minseo comes to the rescue, when she diverts the topic to introduce the new faces to you, and you’re grateful for the first time to hear about these new teachers. 

“This is our sunbae, Y/L/N Y/N! She’s one of the first teachers at Sebong Elementary School.” “Aaah, Minseo-yah! You make it sound like she’s old!” Sohee scolds, but you don’t mind. You sure feel old after the way that fever broke your immunity like a twig.

“Aah, sorry. And Y/N Unnie, these are our new joinees this year!” She gestures towards the men, and they bow. You bow in return, and take a full look at them, smiling back at them. 

“Hello! I’m Lee Chan, I’m a ‘99 liner! I’ll work hard and show my best side to you, sunbae!” “Good morning! I’m Boo Seungkwan. Nice to meet you!” “Oh, sunbae, hello! I’m Kwon Soonyoung, I’m also glad to meet you Y/N-ssi!” “And I’m Lee Seokmin! I’ll work hard, please take good care of me, sunbae!” They shake your hands like dominos, and your eyes linger a second too long on the last one, the tall one with the brightest smile. 1000 watt seems about right? “I’m happy to meet you too! Let’s work hard for a long time!” You smile back, and there’s a collective Fighting! through the room, before the school bell rings, and the cacophony of kids entering their classrooms breaks the silence of the school building. 

_

It’s lunchtime, and you’ve already forgotten their names. Sohee insists that you sit with them at the same table for lunch, but you’re not hungry enough to take lunch. It’s been a tiring day, and you just want to sip your iced americano and finish the pending work on your desk in the staffroom. Missing a week of school is as burdensome for teachers as it is for students. There are piles of things left to be done, and you assign yourself the task of finishing filling in the register with the names of the students for that lunch break. The staffroom is empty, and you’re happy to work in peace. 

You’re so focused on your work that you don’t even notice when a tall man walks into the staffroom sometime in the middle of the lunch break, peeps at you from his desk at the other corner of the room, and then leaves. 

_

It’s finally Friday, and that’s how you’ve spent the last four lunch breaks. You’re finally getting through the pile of work at a steady pace. On top of it all, the Principal has promoted you to the Head Teacher of Science Department, as the previous head’s tenure is over, and that means all the science teachers have to approve their lesson plans for this term through you and you’re also in charge of allotting field trips for scientific experiments. 

That’s why Lee Seokmin ambushes you when you’re about to leave at the end of the school day. “Sunbae, I was wondering if you could perhaps look at my lesson plan once? Maybe you could go over it during the weekend?”

You halt your actions of packing your bag, and carefully take the folder from the outstretched hand of the tall man towering over your desk. “Umm, I could look through it now.”

“No, I mean! I’m sorry I didn’t know how to approach you earlier, Sunbae. I’m sorry, I don’t want to keep you from heading home, I’m really sorry-”

“Please stop apologising, Seokmin-ssi. It’s not a big deal. It’s better for me to go through it now in your presence, rather than take it home. I’ll be able to discuss it more smoothly with you then, in case any changes are needed.” 

His puppy brown eyes become tiny slits as he smiles wide. You realise that his hair is draping over his forehead in black curls, and the white shirt he’s wearing reveals the column of his neck very elegantly. He does look good enough to be an idol, you think. 

“Seokmin-ssi, come take a seat here. I won’t bite, in spite of what you may have heard-”

“Oh no! The kids are all praise for you. I’m so thankful to be succeeding you in the classes, because you’ve set such a strong foundation for the students. You’ve made my job a cakewalk, truly.”

“I’m just thankful that you deal with the younger ones now. I enjoy teaching them, but sometimes they can…” You smile lopsidedly, and Seokmin grins. “I’ve heard that I have a lot of patience, sunbae…” “And you have a lot of fighting spirit that we tend to have when we’ve just joined the school. You’ll manage.”

And then the conversation halts. It flows in bits and pieces, as you flip through his lesson plan and discuss changes with him, speaking from experience of having taught these same classes six years more than him. His lesson plan book is very colourful, filled with stickers from cartoons, and brightly drawn smiley flowers. Something in you makes you think that maybe he’s not just doing this as a show for the kids, but also because he likes to do it. He’s very animated in every statement he makes, hand gestures all over his face, but he quietens down when he realises you’re no longer looking at his face, and would rather just get through the work quickly. You’re not annoyed at him, no. It’s just a little overwhelming to see all this energy being thrown at you, and it makes you tired, wondering how to reciprocate it. So you just silently finish your task, and bid him goodbye. He offers to drop you home, but then you say you have your own car, so he gives you another smile and with a natural ease, hops on to his electric bicycle and rides off into the road. 

_

Seokmin-ssi, you realise, doesn’t want reciprocation. He greets you cheerfully every morning, whenever you see him in the campus, whenever you’re making eye contact before leaving for the day, and whenever you both arrive at the same time at school. He doesn’t just say hello, but he also asks if you had a good weekend, if you had a good sleep, if you ate breakfast, if you’ve recovered fully from your cold, if you’re taking your vitamins. It makes you more uncomfortable than before, confusing you whether he’s just buttering you up as a sunbae or whether he’s genuinely this nice. It’s also a little worrying because it makes you feel like he’s trying too hard to be close and you don’t want to be a bother for him, so you hope he takes the hint. But he obviously doesn’t, because the next time you walk into the staffroom determined not to leave your desk, and instead enjoy the peaceful solitude of the staffroom to recharge your battery, you notice a very neat lunch tray sitting on your desk with a note attached on top, “Sunbae, please don’t skip your meals!” It takes you aback, and you stare at it for a good four minutes. Finally you realise you’re too flustered to eat it, and you just keep it aside and get back at your work. 

When Seokmin comes back from his lunch break, he makes the mistake of looking at your desk to see if you’ve eaten, and there. He makes eye contact with your razor sharp eyes looking at him from above your reading glasses. He walks up to your desk and says, “You didn’t eat, sunbae?”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I- I- just wanted to-”

“Firstly, Seokmin-ssi, I’m not skipping meals. Secondly, I don’t know if this is normal for you, but I’d appreciate it if we could be harmonious as colleagues. I don’t need you to be my mother for me and feed me. I’m an adult and I know when to eat.”

You can see him gulp and fumble, and for a second, you think you’ve been too harsh. You almost backtrack and apologise, scared that the little light in his eyes is going to go out, but he speaks faster, “I just don’t want you to fall sick again, sunbae. I’m sorry if I was too presumptuous. I’ll do better from now on.” And without another second, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you speechless. The light in his eyes may not have gone out, but you sure were too mean. Afterall, he was just being nice to you, wasn’t he?”

_

So, the next week, when you’re finally on track and completed all your pending work, you walk into the cafeteria looking to take a lunch break. And you spot Seokmin sitting with Chan on one table on the teacher’s side of the cafeteria. Chan is a sweet boy, and you want to make amends with Seokmin, so you carefully walk across the room to their table and ask, “Can I have lunch with you?” You ask them both, and Chan instantly begins to clear space for you to sit down, but you’re distracted by how wide Seokmin smiles, and you know the ice has melted. He’s forgiven you, so you gently sit down next to him.

It’s a mistake. You hadn’t accounted for how broad he is, and how much he moves his body while speaking. His thighs inch closer to yours with every movement, although very much unconsciously. Even though you’re both sitting, he’s still taller than you, and it makes you shy.

You’re thankful when Soonyoung joins you across the table and you can distract yourself by speaking to him. “Sunbae, it’s so nice to see you in the cafeteria! We rarely ever see you outside the staffroom.” You smile as wide as you can, your mouth full of food. Chan joins in, “Yes, sunbae! Seokmin hyung’s been so-” “We’ve all been worried,” Seokmin interjects, and you’re hit by a pang of guilt. It is pretty natural for coworkers to care about each other. Especially since you’re their senior and they must be looking to make a good impression. 

“I’ve been a little busy with all pending work. The start of the year can be stressful for us senior teachers.”

“I hear Seungkwan hyung is being put in charge of the after-school creche duty?”

“You’ve heard right, Chan. He did apply for it, and given his congenial personality, I think he’d do well if he joined the creche roster.”

“A roster? That means he won’t have duty every day?” Soonyoung asks you.

“Yes, there will be two teachers alternating from Monday to Friday.”

“Oh! Someone lucky gets two days only!”

“We try to ensure even distribution through the month,” you say. “Plus, of course, there can be others volunteering from time to time. So for example, next month, there’s a storytelling week at the creche. Sohee and I will be volunteering for that week as storytellers- that way, the ones responsible for the creche can have a week’s leave from the extra duty.”

Soonyoung and Chan nod in understanding, but you’ve noticed Seokmin is extra quiet, uncharacteristically even. “Do you enjoy the cafeteria food, Seokmin-ssi?” you ask him, speaking softer so that Chan and Soonyoung can’t hear you. It must surprise him, because he looks up at you with wide, boba eyes, and he looks more like a puppy than ever. “I do! The variety is good.” “I’m glad. The caterers recently got changed. The previous ones were seriously falling behind on quality.” Seokmin smiles and eats a big bite of rice and soup, and you chuckle at the comical way his mouth fills up. 

_

You didn’t even think Seokmin would remember. In fact, you’d forgotten that you’d mentioned it yourself. 

But he does. He doesn’t just remember, but he also brings a bag full of old picture books.

You swear your heart stops the moment he enters the hall where the after-school creche is organized and hands you the bag. “These were books my mother had kept for ages even after I’d finished reading them a million times. Thought I’d use them somehow, instead of just letting them gather dust on shelves,” he says as he smiles that pretty, wide smile again. It’s been long enough into the new semester now for you to get used to both Seokmin’s smiles, so you can bask in it. The children bask in it too. Most of the tiny members of the creche know him from the class where he’s teaching about animals, and they squeal in excitement. “Aah, Seokmin-ah, you really didn’t have to. You could’ve gone home and rested for the weekend.” His smile drops, and you mentally slap yourself. You really should take care of your words better, so you rephrase it, “What I meant is… you don’t have to do this out of your way.” “I’m not… going out of my way. I just thought I’d come and watch you, sunbae. I want to learn how to handle little children even better.” 

So he sits in a corner of the hall, Byul and Jiwon sitting on his lap, while his eyes are fixed on you. You’ve taken the storytelling class two days this week, and this is your third day, so you really shouldn’t be so slippery, but something about how he’s looking at you so intently is making you stumble and fall over your words, and your pronunciation often comes out as jumbled as the three year olds sitting in front of you. You’re made even more aware of Seokmin’s presence when snack time arrives, and the kids are too distracted with the picture books to pay attention to their food and eat. Thankfully, Seokmin uses his charm and somehow gathers everyone to sit in a circle around the table. The children have incessant questions, some about the characters they met in the story, and some random questions too, like Are you married, Teacher Seokmin? It doesn’t matter that you pause in your movements to hear his response, a wide-eyed Minhyun looking confusedly at you, wondering why your hand holding his candy is stuck mid-air. It also doesn’t matter that your heart paces up when you see Seokmin glance in your direction before loudly proclaiming that he’s not married. 

The parents arrive soon after that, and then there’s only a crying Byul left, who’s wrapped in Seokmin’s arms as you three wait for her father to arrive. You wonder for a second, how did you ever handle kids, because when you see how Seokmin handles them, you think you’ve done it all wrong for years. He holds her two tiny hands in his own, places her in between his legs and quietly brushes her hair while whispering more imaginary stories about the elephant Byul saw earlier in the picture book. You feel unwanted in this perfect scene, Byul going perfectly silent as she listens to Seokmin talk. But then, honestly, who wouldn’t be in rapture of this beautiful young man?

Byul’s father arrives twenty minutes later, and Byul gives Seokmin a little peck on his cheek before she leaves his arms and goes off with her dad. 

“Sunbae, thank you for letting me be here! I had so much fun, and I also learnt so much from you.” You laugh, “I doubt, though. You’re such a natural with children.” He smiles, “That’s just because I have a lot of cousins. But it’s different handling kids at school. I always have to be extra-careful with them because I’m a complete stranger and not a relative.” “You’re right, and that shows in your care too, Seokmin-ah.” He blushes, and you smile as you lock up the hall and finally make your way to leave the campus. Your back hurts from sitting on the floor for so long and you’re surely glad to go home.

“Sunbae, did you bring your car?”

“Aah, no. Today was Sohee’s carpooling turn, she left early. I’ll just take the bus.”

“Let me drop you home, sunbae! It’s late already.”

You pause, and turn to look at him. His hopeful face, still radiant after the long day. And you feel that same overwhelming feeling take over you. Till now, Seokmin has only given and given, never expecting anything in return. He’s extended a helping hand without you asking for it, he’s reminded you for meals even when you’ve ignored him, he’s been nothing but kind to you. And if he’s doing this even after three whole months of him joining the school, then it can’t be just buttering tactics. 

“I don’t want to get you late, Seokmin-ah.”

“I won’t, sunbae. It’s not a worry, honestly.” He bites his lower lip, his eyebrows furrowed as he asks you again, “Please let me drop you, sunbae.”

It’s been years since a man has been this kind to you. Kind enough without coming off as a creep. A part of you is wary, but something in Seokmin’s eyes makes you feel guilty for ever mistrusting his intentions. 

“Alright, Seokmin-ah. Noona owes you one.” 

You can see the stutter in his eyes even before you hear it in his voice. 

“N-noona? Oh. Noona! I’ll drive you safely!”

And he does. Diligent, puppy-like, kind Seokmin drives you home quickly and safely. For the first time in years, you sleep with a smile on your face.

_

You enter the Principal’s office to find a very nervous-looking Seokmin standing next to the Principal. “Good Morning, Mr. Han. Is something wrong?” “Yes, good morning Y/N. I’ve just received a complaint from a parent, and as the head of science teachers, I’d like you to look into it once.” “Of course.”

Then you turn towards Seokmin, who is standing very upright, but you can see him nervously twitching his feet. “Seokmin-ssi, is the parent here in school, or have you received a written complaint?” Seokmin’s voice is barely audible the first time he speaks, so you take a couple of steps to be closer to him. “Don’t be so nervous. Please tell me everything so that I can help resolve this.” He looks at you, his eyes still wide, and the tension obvious in his face. But he takes a deep breath and says, “They’re here, in my science classroom.” “And can you tell me the gist of the matter?” “I… I… I had asked her daughter to not draw with crayons on the walls of the science classroom. And one time… I’d asked her daughter to bring more nutritious food to class instead of chips every single day.” He says softly, his eyes focused on the blue linoleum tiles on the floor. You take a deep breath. As you’ve grown more senior, you’ve eventually detached yourself from the classes of the youngest students, those below four years of age. So naturally, you’d not gotten into messes like this for a long time. But with your experience, you know just how to deal with such cases. 

So you excuse yourself from the office and walk down to Seokmin’s homeroom, gesturing him to enter as you both walk into the classroom. It is deserted, except for a very grim-looking gigantic woman standing next to a tiny girl with even tinier braids. “Good morning. I’m Y/L/N Y/N, Head of the Science Department.” “Yes, well, I’m hoping you’d be more competent about it all rather than Mr. Lee here.” 

You forcefully smile tightly and ask, “Please let me know the details of the matter.” “Where do I begin! Mr. Lee has been… very dictatorial with my daughter. First he forbids her from colouring, and then he forces her to starve herself! It’s absolutely ridiculous that a teacher can do such things!” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Seokmin shrink further away into the corner, his eyes wide. 

“Based on how well I know Mr. Lee, I can’t imagine him forcing a child to starve themselves. Correct me if I’m wrong, but did he ask her to bring a different set of food for lunch, rather than chips?” “Yes, but-” “And that was purely based on nutritional concerns, Ma’am. As teachers at Sebong Elementary School, we want to ensure our students receive proper nutrition at their growing age. And I can assure you that chips are not the most nutritious food your daughter can eat every day.” “I’m a working mother-” “I’m sure you can buy a fruit or toast a single slice of bread along with a slice of cheese along with the chips, if you’re so busy.” 

 The woman in front of you stands speechless for a second, before continuing in her boisterous tone, “But who are you to dictate what I feed my child?” “Nobody, truly. But Mr. Lee is a kindhearted man, who cares for every child in this school, and even his colleagues and peers like me. As a teacher, he has the best interest of his students in mind, you see.” “Certainly can’t be more than that of her mother.” “Of course, which is why I’d advise you too, as would any other paediatrician, that only chips is not the diet a four-year old child should be exposed to on a daily basis.” 

The woman takes a step back. Her grip on her daughter’s fingers loosen, and the child takes a step forward. “Miss, I really like the grapes Mr. Lee gave me the other day! That’s why I’ve stopped eating Eomma’s lunch!” She smiles at you, and you bend down on your knee to meet her at eye level. “Is that so? But darling, you should always eat what your mummy’s giving you. Good girls don’t skip meals, understood?” She nods her little head very seriously, so you pat her once on her head. Then you stand up again and look at her mother. “I see your daughter does enjoy eating grapes. Perhaps you could buy her some fruits for lunch.”

She tilts her head a little bit, looking fully like a kid who’s been punished for being too outspoken, and honestly you’re glad to have made that effect. Some people can be so entitled and so rude, and it leaves such a harsh impression on softer teachers like Seokmin. Which is exactly what you see when the parent does leave with her child a few minutes later, as the man, who hasn’t spoken a single word since entering the room, comes up to you gingerly. 

“Noona, thank you so much. I was so- so scared.” You smile at him as warmly as you can, “Please don’t be. It wasn’t your fault at all that some parents can misunderstand even the best intentions of teachers. It’s pretty common- as time goes on, people will just find more flaws, whether it be in your teaching skills or your child-handling skills. You just need to be less nervous when things like this happen. If you ever need help in these things, of course I’m always here… as are your other seniors. But it’s best if you learn to handle these things without taking them too much to your heart, unless you see there is genuine room for improvement for you.” He nods throughout, and his eyes have become round like a puppy’s eyes again. “I will introspect, Noona.” He laughs a bit, “This honestly isn’t the first time someone’s misunderstanding my intentions. But I will try harder to be more clear and not … not be presumptuous,” he says, looking deep into your eyes, before he bows and leaves the room.

As you stand there in the classroom, alone you realise that the situation oddly reminds you of a similar conversation you had with him at the beginning of the semester. When you’d asked him to keep his distance and not interfere … all while, he was just trying to be kind. Oh god. You’d been just as rude as the parent had been today, hadn’t you? Oh dear god. No wonder he’d looked so downcast and rejected after that.

_

Sohee’s thousand-day anniversary at the school is coming up so Minseo’s put on a surprise party at her house. It’s not a surprise to just Sohee, but also to you. “Oh, why didn’t you let me know earlier, Minseo-yah?” “We would, but you’ve just been so busy with the end of term reports and grades that we didn’t want to bother you.” “Well, that’s not something only I’m doing. I’m sure you all were busy too.” “But none of us are head of departments, you know?” She giggles, and you know it’s not a jibe. But it still feels bad to not be able to contribute when everyone is contributing in some way or the other. 

So you order a six-pound blueberry cheesecake for the party, knowing blueberry to be Sohee’s favourite flavour. And, as expected, it’s a party hit. It turns out to be the favourite flavour of a lot of people, even Seokmin, who helps himself to three slices, and you’re just glad to see them all enjoying it. There’s drinks, pizza and music playing in the background. And although the teacher community at Sebong Elementary School is not too big, you’re a lot of twenty-six people, and you’re thankful that Minseo comes from a rich family that has a big house. And yet, it feels cosy and familiar. You barely attend parties or social gatherings,  and unless it’s family occasions, having been out of the dating scene for years. But this type of party seems fun to you- perhaps it’s you growing old, perhaps it’s you no longer finding staying up late exciting, perhaps it’s you realising that getting wasted is not as interesting as you used to think it was in college. So you settle for being the woman who’s dressed in a sweater although it’s barely autumn, already mentally classified as a spinster for almost everyone you meet, thirty and with no life outside of work, and you’re happy. You’re happy right now, sipping a cocktail and eating the fried chicken Minseo’s airfrying and constantly supplying to the party, celebrating your closest friend, Sohee. You know that although Sohee’s a couple of months younger than you, and definitely has a more active love life, she’s just like you at heart, and she’s the sister you’ve never had. As she gets drunk (you can tell it’s the first time in a long time by the way she’s getting tipsy even faster than she usually does), she leans over to smooch you loudly on the cheek, and you laugh and give in to her. It creates a loud wave of cheers across the room, but it’s such a warm moment. She clinks her glass with yours and rests her head on your shoulder, while raising a toast to the teachers at Sebong Elementary School. There’s another round of cheers, and then your phone reminds you it’s ten pm, and you should be heading home because it’s a school day tomorrow. The buzz feels good, and you want to stay longer, but you’re not drunk enough to forget your responsibilities. And so the party gradually disperses. You hug Minseo and thank her for organising the wonderful party, and somehow Sohee manages to stand up on her feet steadily. Seungkwan takes the duty to drop Sohee home as he lives near her house, and before you can say anything, Seokmin takes on the responsibility of dropping you home. 

“I don’t want to impose-” “But I insist, Y/N Noona.” “Why do you always insist, Seokmin? I feel like I’m a burdensome sunbae, not a nice sunbae.” You try not to pout when he leads you to where his car is parked and opens the door for you. He giggles, his face red with the dopamine (and drinks) from the party. “You’re just fishing for compliments, Noona. You know I never think of taking care of you as a burden.” 

Perhaps drinking that third cocktail was a mistake. 

But you did drink it, so you lean over the centre console of the car and say, with a soft giggle, “If you say things like that, Seokmin-ah, people are going to misunderstand and think you like like me.”

“But I do like like you, Noona.” 

You almost miss his words while waving goodbye to the other teachers standing on the pavement in front of Minseo’s house, waiting for their rides. 

Almost. 

“What?” You spin your head so fast it gives you whiplash, and you feel like you’re instantly sober, the way you become alert instantly. Seokmin’s looking at the road as he drives into the main road, his eyes bright by reflecting the street lights. “I do, Noona.”

“No- no, you can’t. Are you serious, Seokmin-ah? Because if you are, you can’t.” 

“Why?” 

There’s a red light, and he’s looking at you, the street lights shining on his face and the gentle handsomeness of his features are glowing in their full glory. This isn’t the first time you’ve found him awe-strikingly beautiful, but right now, he looks positively angelic. His eyelashes form delicate shadows on his cheeks, and the way his hair gets swayed by the wind coming in from the open car windows makes him seem even prettier. 

“Because… you’re so… young. And fresh, and beautiful. And I’m thirty, I spend my days working and my nights reading romantic classics, and I’m so boring a-and you deserve better.”

His mouth twists bitterly, and he says, “But none of that is true, Noona.”

“It is, Seokmin-ah. You barely know me.”

“But I want to. I’m just asking for a chance.”

You stay silent for a long time. In the sparse traffic of the night, you’re reach your house quicker than you’d thought. 

“I don’t want you to make a mistake, Seokmin-ah. I shouldn’t be someone you like more than simply as a sunbae.”

He pauses, then replies, “If you don’t want to give me a chance, that’s okay Noona. I can make peace with it. But you can’t ask me to stop liking you, Noona. My feelings are mine.” 

You don’t say anything on the rest of the journey. You don’t have anything else to say. You can’t even be harsh to him because what he’s saying is logical. You cannot take away his right to like you, even if you don’t think it’s the right choice for him. You’re an adult, he’s an adult, you both have your own opinions and choices. 

It’s only when the car does reach your house that you attempt to say something. 

“I feel sorry for making you come all the way to my house to drop me. Do you want to come in to eat something? I had some dakgalbi made for tonight’s dinner before I got to know about the party.”

He looks at you for a long time. You can see the wheels turn in his head, before he says, “Okay.” 

_

Your flat is on the third floor, so you’re patiently climbing the stairs. Seokmin makes light conversation, breaking the ice, and you actively try to respond. You don’t want him to feel dejected, but you also don’t want to feel like you’re taking him to your house because you pity him after you outright rejected him. 

Your efforts go to waste when you see a figure sitting on the floor in front of the door to your apartment. 

“Hyungwon?” 

Seokmin pauses behind you, as you stand stunned on the last staircase before the landing, and the man you addressed looks up at the two of you. Even in the dim light of the single bulb lighting up the stairwell, you can see that he’s very wasted. “Y/N-ah! I- I’ve been waiting for you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you haven’t changed, have you? Straight to the point. No hellos, no-”

“Yes, Hyungwon. What are you doing here?”

He sighs as he stands up. “I missed you.” 

Your head starts to spin. It’s like you’ve been transported back to 2022, when Hyungwon had confessed to you that he’d gambled away all your money, and that he’d been doing so for the last seven months, and that was where he was spending all his evenings at instead of the evening college you’d enrolled him into and whose fees you thought you’d been paying.

Your head spins again, and you’re stumbling back until someone catches you midway before you tumble down the stairs. 

“Noona!” that someone whispers in alarm in your ear, and you realise it’s Seokmin. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, not Seokmin. 

Why does Seokmin, out of all people, have to see this?

“Seokmin-ah, leave-”

“Ooh, who’s that?” Hyungwon takes a step closer, and takes a drink out of a soju bottle he’s holding in his left hand. “Boyfriend? You’re still into pretty boys, aren’t you?”

Seokmin pulls you closer to him, your back nearly touching his chest. “Who are you?”

“I’m Hyungwon, Y/N’s first love. You better get out of here, kid.”

“What do you want, Hyungwon? Don’t bullshit with me about missing me. No apology, no regrets, and now you’re suddenly at my doorstep?” You carefully break away from Seokmin’s gentle clasp, and walk towards your ex-boyfriend. “You want my money again.” The lanky man in front of you grins, that fucking lazy, pretty grin you’d fallen so hard for in college. 

“Y/N, where’s the love gone, jagi? Why are we talking about money?”

“Fuck off, Hyungwon. The love was gone long before I even broke up with you.”

He lifts his free hand and tries to reach out to you. “Jagiya-”

“I’m not your jagiya! Hyungwon, I’m not giving you anymore money, so you should just leave! And stop coming to me every time you want money, for god’s sake! We’re done, Hyungwon.” 

The man in front of you falls to his knees, “Please, I’m begging you, Y/N-ah! I’ll get into serious trouble if I don’t repay this debt by the end of this month! Y/N, for the sake of old times-”

“Hyungwon, please don’t! I’m not giving you any of my money, no matter how much you beg.”

His hand wraps around your leg, “Y/N-ah, please, just hear me out once! I am sorry for everything I did, and I’m so willing to amend my ways-”

“Please leave, Hyungwon-ssi, you’re making Noona uncomfortable.” Seokmin suddenly says from behind you, and you walk backward down the stairs until you’re again close enough to him that you can feel his body heat on your back. It makes you feel oddly safe.

“Who are you to say anything about Y/N, huh? You don’t even know her for long, I bet! Y/N and I dated for seven years!”

“It doesn’t matter how long I’ve known her, Hyungwon-ssi. What matters is that right now, she feels safe with me, and not around you. So please leave, Hyungwon-ssi.” You don’t even realise when his hands have come to wrap gently around you, not quite touching your body, but caging you away from the man who’s looking at you both with frantic and desperate eyes. You don’t know he knows that you’re feeling safe around him, but you’re so grateful. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll have to call the police, Hyungwon-ssi.”

The man in front of you gulps. “Fuck! I’ll be back, Y/N-ah. And then I’ll see where this boyfriend of yours will be!” And he storms down the stairs, cursing under his breath, and you’re still shaking in Seokmin’s grip. 

Five minutes pass before he asks you, gently whispering in your ear, “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” You slowly turn around and face him. You’re awfully close to him, and as you stand on the higher staircase, you’re eye-to-eye with him. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, Seokmin-ah.”

“No, Noona. I’m just upset thinking of what would happen if I hadn’t come up with you here tonight.”

“No, don’t be. He’s… harmless. He’s all talk and no action.”

“Has he been here before?”

You bite your lip. You don’t want to tell him things which will involve him deeper into this. He doesn’t know anything, he’s a complete stranger to it all, and yet, he is right, you do feel safe around him. But that doesn’t mean you burden him any further.

“Seokmin-ah, I don’t want you to get worried about this. I can take care of myself, it’s just Hyungwon. Like I said, he’s only bark and no bite.”

“Noona-”

“I’ll be fine, honestly! I’m sorry you had to see all this happen.” 

He opens his mouth to say something, but then he becomes silent again. 

“Do you want to come in-”

“No, Noona. I’ll just leave. I won’t take any more of your time. Have a good night, Noona.”

“Seokmin-ah, pl-”

“Goodnight, Noona. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then he walks away, and you’re left there, unarmed, uneasy and all alone, swimming in your own thoughts. You feel like you should run after him like in the movies, and stop him from leaving, but your legs feel like lead. There’s a sinking feeling in your heart and a sense of emergency, and it’s not because your ex-boyfriend came up to your door asking for money to waste again.

_

You don’t go to school the next day. The day after that is a Saturday, thankfully a holiday, and you can spend a day moping in regret, stuffing popcorn into your face and pretending like you’re not an adult anymore and you can live without worrying about responsibilities and keep time standing still. 

It doesn’t work. 

Sohee arrives to your door on Sunday morning, sunglasses perched on her head. “Where have you been, sweetie?” She doesn’t wait for you to respond and shoves herself into your flat. 

“Nowhere, Sohee.”

“You’re pouting, your bed isn’t made, and I can smell caramel popcorn. Something’s up. Tell me, baby.”

She sits down on the couch, pulling you down next to her, and taps twice on your shoulder prompting you to spill. So you do spill. 

You tell her every thought that has crossed your mind these last 48 hours. How Seokmin confessed that he likes you. How you’d turned him down instantly. How Hyungwon had turned up at your door and ruined the night after the party. How you’d practically shooed Seokmin away although he’d been nothing but protective and helpful to you. How you’d wallowed in regrets since then, having realised that you’re such a coward. 

“Yeah, you are a coward. In what right mind would you turn down Seokmin when you’re so down bad for him?”

“Huh?”

“Dummy. You can’t even realise your own feelings, and you act like you’re so mature. Age is truly just a number,” she sighs before digging into your bowl of popcorn. 

“I don’t… I don’t have feelings for Seokmin.”

“What makes you think so?”

“He’s… he’s just a hoobae.”

“So are Chan and Soonyoung and Seungkwan. Why do you always blush when you talk to Seokmin, even if it’s over something as mundane as lunch? Why do you so often go to his classroom and aid him in his lessons during your free periods, even though he doesn’t necessarily ask for it? Why do you talk more to him than to your other hoobaes?”

You stay silent for a second. 

“Y/N-ah, think carefully about this.”

“I shouldn’t think of him in this light… he’s so much younger.”

“You’re just three years older than him, Y/N! Stop acting like you’re so old!”

“But…”

“Oh fuck, this isn’t about age, is it? You feel like you’re going to be to him what Hyungwon became to you? Predatory?”

You’re left silent again. Sohee understands from your (lack of) actions, and jumps across the couch to hug you. “Oh, Y/N-ah. Stop beating yourself up for that. It’s been so, so long. Stop blaming yourself for something that’s not even your fault.” 

“But Seokmin deserves better, don’t you think?”

“And you deserve better than beating yourself over an ex like Hyungwon. You deserve a second chance at love too, baby.” She hugs you tightly, and you don’t know when tears have started rolling down your cheek.“I’m a coward, Sohee. I can’t get the courage to even accept my feelings.” “Then let Seokmin help you. Honestly, with the way he always looks at you like you spin his earth and you’re his god, I don’t think he’ll have any issues waiting for you to realise your feelings.” You blush and hide your face in her neck at her sly words. She’s too outspoken for her own good. 

“What if it’s just a crush for him, that’ll pass soon? There’s not much about me that will keep him interested in me after a few months.”

“You’ve got to stop being so pessimistic. Again, just because one guy was stupid and decided to rip off your hard-earned money and your blind trust in him, doesn’t mean another guy will! I’ll say it again, you deserve a second chance!”

The doorbell rings right then. You get up to open the door, to find a letter on the doormat. 

“It’s from the local police station.” You pick it up and show Sohee, who’s equally confounded as you are. “Well, open it, girl!” 

It’s a letter stating a level one restraining order has been requested for your protection against Chae Hyungwon, who has repeatedly disturbed you while drunk, and demanded money for illegal gambling purposes. 

And the request has been made from Lee Seokmin.

“So you just have to sign it and that’s it? Hyungwon out from your life forever?”

You nod, unable to reply, you’re still shocked by the letter. So is Sohee, it seems. Because all she can manage is, “Wow. Y/N, you’ve gotta marry him.”

“Who?!”

“Seokmin, of course. If this is his level of devotion-”

“You don’t think this was unnecessary?”

“Y/N, are you for real? He’s literally looking out for you and doing what you should’ve done ages back, and you think he’s overstepping boundaries? He’s one gem of a person seeing that he’s doing all this without even you prompting him and even after you literally rejected his confession.”

You take a deep breath. She’s right. She’s so right that your heart hurts and you want to bend down on your knees because your body feels limp. How much more does Seokmin have to give you for you to be able to start giving back to him? One voice in your head chastises you. Love isn’t quid pro quo! You fight back. Fair. But at least you’ve started admitting it is love. The voice laughs at you, leaving you vulnerable. 

“Well, he said yes.”

“What?” You spin your head to look at Sohee who’s holding your phone in her hand. 

“Seokmin. He said he’ll meet you at the park near school. In about an hour.”

“Did you just text him from my phone?”

“I did, for your own good. Because if it were up to you, you would have overthought yourself into a hole you’d dig for yourself and not made a move at all even when he’s literally played all his cards and proved his commitment.”

“Aishh, you’re so annoying,” you playfully shove her. 

“Your annoying friend just wants to see you happy,” she pouts cutely, and you laugh at the face she’s making. 

“Okay, now go get dressed. You have to finish this game now, Y/N. I’ll drop you to the park.”

_

When Sohee drops you a little far away from the park, kissing your forehead and wishing you fighting!, you find Seokmin already sitting on a bench on a relatively empty side of the park. He looks up at you as you get closer, and you wave at him. You feel so timid, so nervous, just walking up to him, his handsomeness hitting you with full force as you see him in more casual clothes than ever before, knowing that this man, this beautiful man likes you. And he wants you, and he’s proved how far he can go to care for you, even when you’ve rejected his care.

“Noona, how are you? We were worried after you called your day off on Friday.”

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t sick or anything.” You laugh awkwardly. “Just, taking some time to ponder over things myself.”

“Oh.” He sits down on the bench, the loose end of his checked shirt gently swaying in the breeze. 

“And I regret how I acted that night. I’m sorry for being so harsh-” he starts to say something, but you gently put a finger on his hand, and that makes him shush. “I’m not just talking about Thursday night. I’ve been harsh to you ever since the beginning of the year. You’ve been nothing but kind and generous to me. But… time has made me unnaturally wary and I find it so hard to accept attention or even kindness easily. Thus, time and again I’ve pushed you away, yet you’ve kept coming back. It’s true that I didn’t realise your intentions earlier, but I know, deep down in my heart, that I’ve liked you too for quite some time.”

His eyes are wide, and you move an inch closer to him on the bench.

“I thought it was silly, to have a crush on a man so obviously young like you. I’m thirty now, turning thirty-one in a few weeks. I’ll always be older than you, less energetic, more boring and to be honest, I think it’s not even age but just experience which has made me like this. And I denied myself your attention because I thought you deserved better. And I still do. You sent a restraining request to the police on my ex-boyfriend on my behalf. You… you’ve gone out of your way so many times, even when I’ve been so harsh with you. You’re the one who’s precious, you’re made out of stardust. I’m just a broccoli that’s stacked in the corner of the fridge because no one wanted to eat me when I was fresh and no one should eat me now because now I’m stale.”

“That’s a ridiculous comparison. Even Soonyoung comparing himself to a tiger is better than you comparing yourself to a broccoli.” He finally says, and you laugh before you realise it. 

“Stop calling yourself old, Noona. Three years of an age difference isn’t a big deal. If the reason you’re holding yourself back is Hyungwon-ssi…”

“It is, I won’t lie. Hyungwon and I started dating when we were in college. We were so good, for so long. Until the pandemic came and took his job. That’s when he started getting into these bad habits. He took to gambling, and to stop him, I enrolled him into an evening college, hoping he’d get more productive and use the time we were stuck at home to get himself more educated and get a better job soon. It turned out he was wasting all my money on gambling, again. Every fees I’d paid to him had actually gone down the drain at a local club. And he even had the audacity to refuse me when I told him I want to break up with him.”

“Well, but he eventually did. That didn’t stop him from coming to my doorstep ever three or four months, asking for cash. Sometimes I’d drive him away, sometimes I’d give in if I was too tired to argue with him and if he was sober and dangerous.”

“Would you have given him money that night… had I not been there?”

You look down at your hands in shame. “I may have. I don’t know.”

“Do you still have feelings for him, Noona? It’s okay if you do have feelings, you know.”

“God, no. I don’t have feelings for him. It’s just that… we were together for seven years. We’ve grown up together. Seeing him in a pitiful state like that makes me sad. And I hope each time, that this will be the last time he’s at my door asking for money.” You look away, too ashamed to look at Seokmin. But he uses a hand to gently grip your chin and turn your head towards him. 

“You’re too kind for your own good, Noona.” You blush at the proximity, and the gentle way he’s touching your face. “This is why I like you. Because you’re so human in a world where everyone is plastic. I don’t like you because you’re a sunbae I want to impress. I don’t like you because boys like me find older women hot. Well, I do find you hot-”

“Seokmin!” You haven’t heard someone call you hot in so long, and it makes your skin burn. 

He giggles, and slowly flattens his palm to cup your cheek. 

“I think the restraining order should do the trick, then. He’ll not harass you any longer.”

“Thank you. You’ve been brave when I’ve been a coward.”

“That’s what makes us a good team, Noona.” 

You finally make eye contact with him, gazing into his doe-like brown eyes which are crinkled at the edges with a hint of a smile and wide with hope. 

“Your eyes are so pretty, Seokmin-ah. Just like the rest of you. Especially your heart.”

“It’s pretty because it belongs to you, Noona.”

You blush harder, and turn your face away from him. “I’ll not like you any more if you’re cheesy like this.”

“But it feels good to make you blush like this. How dare you compare yourself to a broccoli, huh? You have no idea what you do to me- when you enter any room, you light it up with your aura, you make it so much warmer, so much brighter. And then a fucking broccoli?”

“Stop! I didn’t mean it to be so deep. It’s just what I ate for lunch because that’s all I had in my fridge.” He giggles again, and you giggle along with him. You realise you’ve both moved closer to each other on the bench, until your thighs are touching. 

“Then you’ve got to have lunch again. No one should exist by eating just broccoli.” 

“With you?”

“If you’d like that.” He cups your other cheek with another hand, and you can feel your skin on fire. His eyes are gently inching towards your lips so you slowly close your eyes. “If you’re going to kiss me, know that I don’t have much experience in that. I’ll be your hoobae in that regard, sunbae.” You hear a soft giggle, and the kiss doesn’t arrive, so you open your eyes again, just to see him blush all over. “God, you’re so pretty, Noona. I could look at you all day.”

“How about you tell me when you started liking me?”

“Umm, I think that time you came to eat lunch with us for the first time? I think it all started with me just trying to get you to eat meals on time. Good girls don’t skip meals, as I heard someone once say,” you playfully hit his chest lightly, and he laughs. “I don’t know, maybe it was before that. But that afternoon, I realised my crush on you was so serious. I was getting tingly all over every time our shoulders touched.”

“Oh! Well, thank goodness it wasn’t just me.”

“Really? From so long ago? Oh, Noona, if you’d just told me earlier…”

“Shh!” You giggle, “I didn’t even realise anything. I was just desperate to get you to forgive me.”

“But I was never angry at you. I could never be.”

You smile again, and he pulls you closer until your entire body is touching him. “So are you giving me a chance, Noona?” 

“Yes. I like you, Lee Seokmin, and I’m still shocked that you like me, after everything you’ve had to see.”

“Well, I do. I like you so much that I might be seeing stars over your head every time you come into my line of sight.”

You giggle again, your insides turning to mush. “Will you be my girlfriend, Y/N Noona?” His voice is, oh, so soft, like a melody. And his eyes so earnest, like an autumn leaf. “I’d be very honoured to, Seokmin-ah.” “May I kiss you?” You feel yourself getting red with anticipation as you quietly nod your consent. 

And so he kisses you. Like your very own Prince Charming, he kisses you, one hand on the back of your neck, and the other cupping onto your cheek, first gentle and slow, and then a little more passionate, as you pull him closer by holding on to his slender waist. “Fuck, Noona. You taste so sweet,” he says while taking a breath, and then attacks your face all over by placing tiny pecks all over your nose, cheeks and forehead. “I like you so much, I think I might die from it.” You laugh once again at his words, unable to say anything else because he’s effectively shut you up through his incessant kisses. When he finally moves his face away from yours, his 1000 watt signature smile bright on his face, you say to him, “Not before we have lunch together, though.”

a/n: read the stories of the other three boys here! lmk your thoughts <3

tagging: kokoiinuts

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[yoongiseesawmp3]

own my mind - san (m)

summary: part of the idol series. idol!san x producer!reader. san hates you, you're sure of it, and the feeling is pretty mutual. are these feelings true, or does he just need to spend some time getting to know you?

word count: 10.6k

warnings: smut. afab reader. oral (f and m receiving) unprotected sex w pull out method, don't do that. recording during sex, don't do that either.

masterlist

"so the practice rooms are down this hall," your new boss explains as he shows you around kq, "and over here are the boys' studios, but your's will be this way..."

you're trying to take it all in and simultaneously remember where all of the confusing hallways lead. kq may not look like much on the outside, but within it's basically a maze. you keep nodding and smiling as you follow your boss around, politely greeting anybody you encounter. he ends by bringing you into a conference room to finalize some paperwork, and after that you're on your own. you're officially the newest producer at kq, and...you have no idea what to do next.

you step out of the conference room and try your hardest to remember which direction leads back to the studios, but you also need coffee. you remember where the kitchen is, so you head that way as you text your friend jen. she recommended you for this job, and she promised she'd say hi on your first day. she's one of the make up artists for ateez, so she's always around, but her schedule is a little more frantic than yours. you understand if she doesn't answer right away, so you send the text and forget about it. you take a moment to yourself in the company kitchen as you try to figure out the coffee machine, letting your thoughts wander.

are you really cut out for this? it's your first day and you already feel overwhelmed. do they expect you to just go into your studio and start producing? what kind of tracks do they have planned for the next album? will the current producers even let you touch anything important, or will you have to prove yourself first? you're thinking about all this and more when someone bursts into the kitchen with a screech.

"Y/N!!!" jen yells as she scoops you into a hug. "you're here! it's finally happening!"

"this isn't very professional," you laugh as you hug her back. "you're helping me make a bad first impression."

"not possible, i've been talking about how great you are for months," she smiles. "they're gonna love you, seriously. i can't wait to hear what you make."

"what if i suck though?" you ask, but jen shakes her head.

"don't do that. no negativity on your first day."

"whatever."

"so what are you doing first?" she asks, taking the coffee you just brewed and having a sip for herself.

"dude, that was mine," you cry, and she hands it back to you with a half assed apology. "um, what am i doing first...well, i got confused on my welcome tour, so i guess i'll wander around until i figure out where my studio is."

"oh i can show you," jen brushes you off. "it's not that confusing, you just need to walk it all a few times. lots of doors, but you'll get the hang of it."

"do you want to make your own coffee, or can you show me around right now?" you ask as you finish doctoring up your mug.

"i can just have another sip of yours," she says as she reaches for it, but you hold it just out of reach as someone else walks in.

"hey jen," hongjoong greets her, his eyes falling to you next. "are you y/n? i've been summoned to help you get started."

"thank god," you sigh in relief. "i wasn't sure what to do, so i appreciate it. it's nice to meet you, finally."

"likewise," he smiles. "i'm a big fan of your work."

"really?" you feel yourself blush. "thank you. you were one of the reasons i started producing, so that means a lot."

"really?" now it's hongjoong's turn to blush. "well, that's...nice."

"great," jen claps her hands, easing over the awkward silence. "you can show y/n her studio and the two of you can keep gushing about how great you both are." she turns to you and puts her hands on your shoulders, giving you a playful shake. "you're gonna do great things here. be nice to yourself. and uhhh, go team!"

"thanks jen," you laugh as you wave goodbye, following a respectable distance behind hongjoong. he looks back to make sure he hasn't lost you and motions for you to come closer.

"no need to be shy," he tells you. "we'll need to be pretty comfortable with each other considering how close we'll be working together."

"how often will i be working with you?"

"mmm, every day maybe?" he thinks about it. "in the beginning at least. you'll shadow me for a few days to see how the studios run, and then you'll sort of report to me with whatever you're working on. hopefully we won't get tired of each other."

"i don't think that'll be an issue," you assure him. you catch the tips of his ears turning red and you smile to yourself. "so, what makes a good producer here?"

you watch in admiration as hongjoong explains the creativity and collaboration that makes kq work so well, and you kick yourself for getting distracted again. you were supposed to be watching your surroundings, keeping an eye out for where to go to find your studio, but you can't help it. in this moment, it hits you: you get to make music with one of your favorite producers for one of your favorite artists. you must be dreaming, right?

if this is a dream, you're knocked out of it abruptly. while you were watching hongjoong, you weren't watching where you were going, and you walked right into the human equivalent of a brick wall. you spill your coffee everywhere, but don't worry, most of it lands on the most handsome man you've ever seen in your entire life. you're currently staring at choi san, singer of ateez and one of your new coworkers. he's looking down at you, a little bit of shock in his eyes, and you rush to correct the situation.

"oh, shit, i'm sorry," you apologize. you look to hongjoong for help and he's running off to find napkins, leaving you with a very buff man in a soaking wet white t shirt. "i am so so sorry, really, here, let me try to-"

"don't worry about it," san takes a step back. he starts to walk away, but you follow behind him.

"at least let me-"

"i said don't worry about it," he tries again, his tone calm but his eyes tell a different story. he's glaring down at you, which makes your blood boil. he has a right to be mad at you for spilling coffee on him, but why's he pissed at you for trying to help clean him up?

"sure, go drip coffee all down the hallway then," you grumble as you brush past him. "i'll tell hongjoong to follow the trail when he comes back with your napkins."

"fine," san sighs, stopping where he stands. he throws his hands up and asks, "happy?"

"sure."

"who are you anyway?" he mumbles to himself, looking you up and down. you feel his eyes linger, and it makes goosebumps rise over your skin. you take that as a further sign that this guy is getting on your nerves.

"i'm y/n, i'm the new producer," you answer. "nice to meet you."

"you spill coffee on all of your coworkers, y/n?" he asks, and you roll your eyes.

"i said i was sorry-"

"here's hongjoong," san cuts you off. he reaches out for the napkins and smiles at his bandmate. "thanks man."

"so you've met y/n," hongjoong chuckles, trying to ease the tension. "she's really great, we're lucky to have her on the team." san doesn't reply, just nods and sends you a tightlipped smile as he dabs at his ruined t shirt. the fabric is basically translucent now, showing san's tan skin below and the definition of every single muscle. hongjoong clocks the way your eyes are trailing over san's torso and he clears his throat. "um, should we continue our tour?"

"yeah, sorry," you gesture for him to lead the way, and you hold san's gaze as you walk away. he's a dick, you think. that'll be fun.

-

"so is san always an asshole?" you yell over the loud music to jen as you follow her to a table. she insisted on taking you out for drinks to celebrate your first day, and after the morning you had, you need this.

"is he what?!" she shouts back.

"an asshole!"

"san?" she looks at you bewildered. "he's a sweetheart!"

"are we talking about the same guy?"

"are we?" jen questions as she finally pulls you to a table in the back. it's a little quieter back here, so you don't have to shout, but the music will still drown out your conversation so no one can eavesdrop. once you're both settled, she takes a sip of her drink and then, "spill."

"nothing to spill, i just think san is mean and i hate him," you say simply. "i spilled coffee on him, totally an accident, but he was a huge dick about it. wouldn't let me help him, didn't really introduce himself...it all felt off."

"to be fair, i would've been pissed if you had spilled coffee on me when we met," jen points out.

"yeah, but you would've been nicer in the aftermath," you shake your head. "it's whatever. i hopefully won't have to work that closely with him."

"and what about hongjoong?" jen wiggles her eyebrows. "i hear you two hit it off."

"he's nice," you smile shyly. "made my first day a lot easier. he was really patient with all my questions, which helped ease my nerves."

"he's really good at that," jen nods. she goes into a story about her first meeting with hongjoong, and it makes you laugh and endears you to the man more. she tells you stories of the other members, none of whom you met today, but now you're excited to get to know them. "they're all really nice, especially san and yunho. i feel like they're the ones that always check up on everybody-"

"san?"

"yes, your mortal enemy," she rolls her eyes. "he's a good guy, i promise. you just need to make up for the coffee thing and i think you'll be on his good side."

"i'll think about that," you mumble, taking a sip of your drink that almost drains the glass. "so who's this guy you're seeing?"

"whoa, looks like you need another one!" jen deflects. she grabs your glass and runs off to the bar to get another round, leaving you to sit and stew on your own. if san was such a nice guy, why was he only rude to you? it sounds like he isn't mean to other newbies, so it can't be some kind of hazing. whatever dislike he holds for you is personal, and that's making you even angrier. when jen comes back with your new drink she says, "you look mad. what did i miss?"

"can you find out why san hates me?" you ask, and you swear jen would punch you if she could reach across the table.

"he doesn't hate you!! you just made a bad impression! stop making him a villain," she begs you. "man, you're so obsessed with him. maybe someone has a crush?"

"please," you scoff. "just because he has muscles doesn't make up for his shit personality."

"so you like his muscles," jen smirks. "tell him that tomorrow, it'll boost his ego."

"i'm not listening to you anymore."

"but i have so much knowledge to share!" she whines, and you let jen tell you all the do's and don'ts of working at kq as the night goes on. maybe you'll take her advice and try to patch things up with san in the morning. could be worth a shot, right?

-

the next day, you're in one of the bigger studios to help hongjoong with a vocal arrangement. since the last album did so well with the unit songs, you and hongjoong wanted to experiment a little further. you excitedly told hongjoong about your hopes to compose and produce a harmony heavy vocal track, and he was all for it. you worked on the music for it last night, bringing about half of the song to hongjoong for you to play around with today. you both agreed it'd be good to have a guide version ready before you share it with the entire vocal line, so seonghwa offered to help out, too. he's in the booth now as you and hongjoong instruct him from your seats behind the soundboard. he finishes the final layer for the first harmony, and you wait as hongjoong lines it all up. he plays the snippet for you and seonghwa, and you notice both boys are waiting for your reaction.

"that was great, seonghwa," you encourage him. "i really liked it, but..."

"don't be shy," hongjoong nudges you, "he can take it."

"i can," seonghwa agrees. "give it to me straight. did it suck?"

"no, it was really beautiful actually," you assure him. "but for the melody, could you make it more...monotone? that might sound weird, but we're trying to play with the high and low harmony like they're the angel and devil sitting on your shoulder, and for those to stand out the melody needs to be less...captivating."

"you hear that? she thinks your voice is captivating," hongjoong smiles to seonghwa, and he beams at you.

"i get that," he nods. "can i try it another way?"

you help hongjoong reset, and then seonghwa tries another layer in a sadder voice. it's just as powerful, but will be the perfect conduit for the story you're trying to tell. when he finishes, they look to you again and find you smiling proudly.

"that was it," you nod. "great job."

"thanks boss," seonghwa says as he steps out of the booth. "who do you want me to bring in next?"

"you can call san, we'll get him to do the high part and then-"

"san?" you look at hongjoong. "i thought seonghwa was doing the guide vocals."

"well, usually we could do with just one voice, but this song would work best with three distinct voices," hongjoong explains. "i don't think the guys would get it if it's harder to distinguish the different levels, you know?"

"right," you agree, just a little dejected.

"so..." seonghwa trails off. "should i go get him?"

"yeah, tell him to meet us here in ten," hongjoong tells him. seonghwa says his goodbyes and then hoongjoong turns to you. "you alright?"

"i'm good," you reply. "feel a little in over my head, but good."

"you're doing great," hongjoong says, placing his hand over yours on the desk. "it's a lot to jump into, and i'm sorry if it seemed like i was-"

"no, i needed the insight-"

"because i value your opinion-"

"i know that-"

"and-" hongjoong is cut off from finishing his thought because the studio door opens to reveal san. he's wearing another skin tight t shirt, black this time, so even if you spilled another coffee on him it would be harder to notice. he's paired it with a beanie and baggy black pants, and if what you're seeing is correct, he's not wearing any underwear. he stands there staring at you both before his eyes fall to your hand still beneath hongjoong's, and the two of you separate like you've just been shocked.

"i'm not interrupting anything, am i?" san asks suspiciously, and you viciously shake your head as hongjoong tells san to get into the booth. he explains the idea to san and queues up seonghwa's melody as san struggles to put the headphones on over his hat, so you lean into the mic and suggest, "try taking the hat off, maybe?"

"thanks, big help," he says sarcastically. he listens anyway, tossing his beanie away like he's mad at it. "so what am i doing? copying hwa?"

"no," you say sternly. "you're singing the high harmony. we'll layer it over seonghwa's vocals, but your voice needs to be distinct. you can practice if you want-"

"i don't need to practice," san cuts you off, staring daggers at you. "just play it." he keeps his eyes on you as he listens, and you feel nervous. he's listening to your song, your lyrics, and you think you see the slightest flicker of emotion in his eyes as seonghwa's voice fades. he doesn't comment on it, just continues staring at you and says, "yeah, got it. you can record this."

"let's listen to it first, and then record the next one," you tell hongjoong, and he nods in agreement. you watch san get ready, and then you hear the most beautiful falsetto flowing over your track. it makes you emotional, and it's another instance of the coolness of your job hitting you. you're so mesmerized you miss san finishing on a bit of a creative note, so the boys are staring, waiting for your input.

"y/n?" hongjoong calls your name. "what'd you think?"

"that was," you clear your throat, "that was perfect, san."

"great," he nods, taking the headphones off, but you stop him.

"ah, we need to record it," you remind him, and you catch his groan through the mic.

"i thought i said to record that one?"

"you don't decide that," you reply, and hongjoong tries to diffuse.

"she has a specific vision for the song, so we wanted to hear you first and then decide if there were any notes before we record you."

"what's the vision?" san asks you, and he listens intently as you explain. when you're done, he takes a deep breath and says clearly into the mic, "that sounds stupid. but i'll do it again. make sure you're recording this time."

"whatever you say, asshole," you mumble, angrily getting the track ready for his bratty voice. you wish you could stay mad at him, but as soon as he starts to sing you're enchanted. again, you get distracted by his voice, the emotion in it and all over his face as he sings, and you think, if he says your idea was stupid, why was he putting so much heart into just a guide vocal? he finishes and you thank him, saving the track quickly before you turn to hongjoong and inform him you need a water break. he's left in the studio with san as he saunters out, but hongjoong meets him at the door.

"what's your problem?" he barks, livid at the way san was treating you during that session.

"uh, you're blocking my exit?" he asks, but that was the wrong thing to say. hongjoong dives into a lecture about respect, and san has to laugh. "oh, you want me to respect the girl who spilled coffee all over me yesterday? who thinks, on her second day, she can tell me how to do my job?"

"she's a producer, her job is to literally tell you what to do-"

"well i'm sorry i hurt your girlfriend's feelings," san spits. "but i did what you asked me to do, so please let me leave." hongjoong steps to the side, still fuming, and san walks out. you catch him in the hall as you return, and you want to stop him, to tell him how great he sounded, but when you lift your hand in greeting he turns the other way and disappears.

-

you get a break from work later that day and find jen making a coffee. she sees you coming and has a cup ready for you to make your own, and you catch up on your days as your coffee brews. you tell her about san's lovely time with you in the studio, and jen listens, but when you finish she asks, "and he was still like this after you said you liked his muscles?"

"i'm not telling him that," you mumble.

"telling who what?" wooyoung asks as he pops around the corner.

"mind your business?" jen replies. "have you met y/n yet? she's the new producer."

"no, but i've heard mixed reviews," wooyoung says as he dramatically shakes your hand. "can't wait to decide which side i'm on."

"there's sides?" you ask nervously.

"yep," he says with a pop on the p. "hongjoong and seonghwa worship the ground you walk on. san hates your guts, although i'm not sure why. you seem lovely."

"she is lovely," jen points out.

"hm," wooyoung squints playfully. "guess we'll have to wait and see."

"what about innocent until proven guilty?" you ask. "just assume you'll like me and then you will!"

"yeah, but san is a good judge of character," wooyoung shakes his head. "if he doesn't like you, then he's got a reason."

"is the reason because he's maleficent?"

"oo, maleficent, i like that," wooyoung coos. he turns to jen and asks, "why don't you use big words like that?"

"i'm afraid you wouldn't get them," she sighs.

"try me, i'm full of surprises baby," he winks at her before smacking her ass and walking away. you watch in confusion, and she waves it off.

"don't worry, he does that sometimes."

"to everybody?!"

"just to me," she shrugs, and then it clicks.

"he's your fling," you smile. "very nice."

"nuh uh."

"no, he totally is. that's elmo," you piece it together. "is that his nickname because of his laugh?"

"you were never supposed to meet him," jen defends herself.

"so getting me a job here wouldn't interfere with that?"

"i figured i could keep it a secret," she pouts.

"you did! for a whopping 36 hours, good job!"

"don't patronize me," she complains. "i could call san and have him here in seconds-"

"oh man, i need to go record something," you frown, "maybe you two could talk though? figure out why he's got an all burning hatred for me, an angel?"

"i'll get to the bottom of it," jen says, and you realize the error you've just made.

"wait, no, don't talk to him, please," you beg.

"too late, you've asked for my help, so i'll help," jen concedes easily. "he'll either love you or simply tolerate you by the end of the week, i promise."

"great, thanks..."

-

you've made it through your first week, yippee! you really like it here, you fit in well with the members, and the producers seem to really like your ideas. the only problem is san. you enter a room that he's in and it goes quiet. he passes you in the hall, and you're fuming for the rest of the day. everyone knows about your little rivalry at this point, but no one understands where it came from. even jen, who was determined to make you and san best friends, has lost hope.

you're able to make it a couple days without any more san run ins, and for that you are grateful. you and hongjoong have made a lot of progress on the vocal line track, and he's invited you to a few writing sessions with mingi for the rap line track. you're feeling invincible after one of those sessions, walking back to your studio, when you get the scare of your life. you enter the code to your studio, guard completely down, and jump out of your skin when you see someone sitting at your desk.

"what the fuck?!" you shriek, using the door as a shield. you peek around it and see that it's not an intruder. well, at least not one that wants to hurt you. maybe. it's san, so this interaction could go in any direction.

"hello," he says simply. "nice way to greet your guest."

"how'd you get into my studio?" you ask as you close the door. you wonder if you should keep it cracked open, just in case you and san get into it and you need a witness that he probably started it.

"i needed to ask you a question," san responds instead, and you cock your head in confusion. "i can't do that?"

"i don't know, can you?"

"your song. the vocal one. how's it going?"

you're surprised this is what he wanted to talk about but, honestly, what else were you expecting? this is a normal work interaction, you think. you're just not used to having those with san. since san is sitting in your desk chair, you pull your stool over to the desk pathetically and perch on top of it as you shoot san a glare.

"can you move over? i need to get to my keyboard."

"aw, can't reach over my muscles?" san teases, and you feel your blood run cold.

"what?"

"my muscles? little birdie told me you liked them."

"what are you doing in my studio, san."

"i wanted to hear your song," he shrugs. you wait for him to move out of the way, but apparently that's not happening. you grumble as you lean over him and type, pulling the project file up on your screen. you check the volume before you hit play and look back to see san watching you intently. he's close, your arms brushing and his head only a few inches from yours. you hold his gaze for a second and then hit play, sitting back as you watch him listen. you can't read his expression as the song plays, but you don't care what he has to say. you love this song, and you think it's turning out great. whatever he has to say isn't important to you-

"wow," he whistles. "i get it now."

"get what?"

"why you're so pretentious about your work," san smirks as he side eyes you.

"is that supposed to be an insult?" you ask, trying to gauge his reaction.

"not really," he shakes his head.

"well it's not a compliment," you tell him.

"i'll work on that," he says as he stands. he puts his hands on your desk to support himself as he rises, and you swear to god, he's flexing his arms a ridiculous amount. nobody needs that much upper body strength just to get out of a rolley chair.

"hey!" you call as he walks away. "what the hell?"

"do you have to curse all the time?" san asks with look of distaste. "it's not very polite."

"nor are you."

"nice," he nods. "well, i'll be around-"

"no, wait, why'd you come in here?" you ask as you follow him out of your studio. "you just wanted to listen to the song?"

"yeah?" he shrugs, turning to face you in the hallway. he's standing so close you have to lean back to look at him properly, and you frown.

"i don't believe you."

"why not?" san smirks. "you wanted me in your studio for another reason?"

"no-"

"you're not the only one who likes to stare, doll," he says quietly, leaning down so his ears are just barely brushing your ear. he straightens back up before you can melt into a puddle on the floor, and then he smiles what might be his first genuine smile in your presence. "so maybe i didn't just come here for the song. but now i've heard it, and i know don't hate it, so i think we're done here."

and with that very confusing information, san walks away.

-

san is tired. he's been practicing for their seoul concert since the early hours of the morning, and he needs a break. it's almost an acceptable time to eat lunch, so he grabs his things and starts the short walk to his favorite convenience store. he likes this one because it's got a seating area in the back where he can eat, giving him some time to himself. it's secluded enough he doesn't have to worry about being bothered, but it has a good view of the street outside so he can people watch. it's the perfect spot for him to rest and enjoy his food, so he leaves the company with a pep in his step.

he grabs all of his favorites, moving on autopilot, and pays for them quickly. he takes everything back to his usual table and prepares his feast. now that he's stopped working, he feels the tiredness in his bones and realizes how hungry he actually was. when did he eat last? was it dinner? that was more than twelve hours ago, so maybe he can get away with eating another ramen before he goes...

san is considering whether or not he should get up and grab more food as he stares through the store window. there's people rushing to work, couples going to lunch, families wrangling kids. he watches with a smile as one family, a mother and father, try to handle what looks like a girl and two twins. that job is way harder than anything he's doing as an idol, he thinks. he watches fondly as they walk away, and when he turns back, his smile falls.

you and hongjoong are crossing the street, engaged in some conversation that's making you both laugh. you make a joke that sends a laugh crashing up from within hongjoong's chest, and san scoffs as he watches you stare in admiration. hongjoong rushes forward and opens the door to the convenience store for you, and san hears the end of your sentence as you enter.

"-didn't have to do that," san catches, and he hears hongjoong make a dismissive sound in response. "wow, there's a lot of food here."

"you see why we like this place so much," hongjoong responds. san can't see you, but your voices are getting closer. "there's something for everyone."

"there's so much, i don't know what to pick..." you trail off.

"get whatever you want," hongjoong says. "it's on me."

"what? no-"

"ah ah, no arguments. consider it a welcome gift."

"well thank you," san hears you squeak, and he can just imagine the way you must be blushing, looking at hongjoong so shyly, pretending to be coy-

"oh, hey san," hongjoong greets. you come to a stop behind him, bumping into his back, and san has to laugh. "didn't know you were here."

"didn't tell anyone i was leaving," san shrugs. he leans over, trying to catch your eye, and waves. "hi y/n."

"hi san."

"are you eating here?" san asks, and hongjoong shakes his head.

"ah, no, we were just taking a break," he replies. "i was going to buy us lunch and then we're gonna head back."

"got it," san nods, still looking at you. "carry on then."

"thanks for your permission," you mumble, holding onto the back of hongjoong's shirt as he turns you down another aisle. he starts looking for a snack he wants you try, but he can't see it. he looks up, eyes flitting around the store, and his face lights up.

"oh! it's over there! be right back!" he runs off, and you continue scanning the shelves. you're not that hungry, but you know you won't have time to leave again, so you need to get enough food for lunch and dinner probably. you're reading the ingredients on one of the prepackaged meals when you feel a presence behind you. turning, you see san looming above, and you jump.

"shit," you hiss. "wear a bell."

"need help pronouncing the big words?" he asks.

"yeah, come closer and let me show you."

"you having fun?" san sneers, and your confused expression makes him clarify, "with your boyfriend."

"what?"

"oh come on, letting him buy your lunch, holding onto him like that...you're eating it up, aren't you?"

"i don't know what you mean," you say as you step around san, but your face is red. he's getting to you.

"it's cute, really," he says, beating you to the end of the aisle. he puts his arm out, effectively blocking your way, and he continues staring down at you in that frustrating way of his. like he wants to swallow you whole. "how long do you think it'll last?"

"if you're asking about my patience i'm afraid that ship sailed a while ago," you try to fight back, but san just laughs.

"you're cute, you know? you try to be so tough, but it doesn't work. i see right through you."

"and what do you see?" you ask as you cross your arms. san bares his teeth, ready to quip back, but his eyes catch on something behind you. you look over your shoulder and see hongjoong holding up a bag, a confused look in his eyes.

"found the sweet potatoes," he says as he approaches. "what are you doing?"

"getting to know our coworker," san says nonchalantly, removing himself from your personal space. "i'll let you go. my food's getting cold."

"sure," hongjoong says skeptically, reaching for you. he tries to guide you away with his hand at your back, but you can feel san's eyes still on you. you turn and his hand politely falls away, but san's eyes follow you through the rest of the store. he gets an idea when you go back to the drink coolers, so san finishes his food quickly and heads to the front.

when you and hongjoong are finally ready to pay, you go to the register and hongjoong reaches for his wallet. the woman behind the counter shakes her head, showing a stack of bills to tell you it's been taken care of. you look around and find san halfway out the door, a wicked smile on his face. he waves at you teasingly before the door dings closed, and hongoong happily takes the food, babbling about how nice san is as you leave.

-

later that day, the boys are getting fitted for their tour outfits. each practice room has been converted into a walk in closet + vanity combo, so you peek your head in to see how it's going. jen spots you and waves you over to her station, and you duck through the racks of clothes to say hi to your friend. you're taken aback when you see who she's working on, but jen laughs and assures you it's ok.

"he won't bite, he's asleep," she says about the pouting san she's working on currently. "he was here all night, apparently. he knocked out before i could even say hi."

"are you sure he's asleep and not faking it?" you ask as you tentatively sit in the chair next to him. it's enough distance away that you're not concerned by the proximity, but you keep an eye on him as you talk. "maybe he doesn't want to talk."

"hey, san likes me, so i know he's not faking it," jen tells you. "he and i get along really well."

"congratulations," you mumble as you reach for a makeup brush to play with. "so how was your day?"

you and jen catch up as she works on san, periodically asking for your opinion on the look she's created for him. you know she's trying to get you to say something nice about him, to slip up and call him handsome or sexy, but you won't budge. all the compliments you give are very makeup forward, but she won't let up. she's also not being gentle in her application, so you really are afraid san is awake and listening. she's almost done with him when wooyoung walks up, greeting you happily.

"hey y/n!" he chirps. "nice to see you! you're in my seat."

"oh, my bad," you scramble to get up. you got comfortable, your feet propped on one of the giant makeup cases before you. jen puts a hand out to stop you, turning to wooyoung with a trying-to-be-stern look in her eyes.

"my friend and i are not done talking."

"well your boss told me to come over here and get my makeup done, so unless you want me to stand..." wooyoung trails off as jen finishes with san's face. she turns to him and nods.

"standing is fine," she says, quickly getting to work on wooyoung's base layer. "i'll work fast so you don't have to stand long."

"but then i don't get to bug you as long," wooyoung whines.

"life's cruel like that, huh?"

"come on, i know i'm your favorite part of this job," wooyoung teases, and you share a silent laugh with him as jen blushes profusely. once wooyoung catches your eye, his attention turns to you, and he asks, "what about you, y/n? now that you've been here a few days, what's your favorite part of this job?"

"san's abs," jen answers for you, and you try your best to kick her. you accidentally nudge san's chair and freeze, but he doesn't stir.

"oh yeah? let's tell him-"

"no!" you shout, and if he wasn't awake now he definitely is. he still doesn't move, but you continue in a softer voice, "um, no. don't do that. uhh, my favorite part of the job...i don't wanna be a kiss ass, but it's probably working with hongjoong."

"of course it is," san mumbles, and even though he spoke quietly it makes you jump. he opens his eyes and your skin sets fire as soon as he looks at you. "you're in wooyoung's chair."

"he's having jen time," you counter. "let him enjoy it."

"yeah, let me enjoy it!" wooyoung agrees.

"san, what do you think of the eye makeup i did? tried something new," jen says as she focuses on wooyoung's eyes now. san sits up and looks in the mirror, but he's not looking at himself. he's watching you pretend like a strand on your sweater is the most interesting thing in the world, so he decides to call your attention.

"y/n? what do you think?" san asks, and you meet his gaze through the mirror. you're shocked to realize he's checking you out, blatantly, your cardigan falling off your shoulder to reveal your bra underneath. you were in a rush this morning and thought that would be enough. surely no one would notice you weren't wearing a tank, since this bra could pass as long as your sweater stayed up. but right now it's not, so san can see an entire cup, and he's almost drooling. instead of answering his question you look over at jen and repeat your earlier compliments as you pull your sweater tight around your torso.

"yeah, it looks good," you say again. "now that he's awake and you can see his eyes, you did a good job, uh, highlighting them."

"eloquent," san chides, and this time you intentionally kick his chair. he grabs your ankle before you can pull back, and tugs, bringing you closer.

"big word," wooyoung whispers, and you can hear jen smack him as you lift your eyes to san's. he's looking at you with that hungry gaze you're coming to get used to, and he rewords his question.

"what do you like about it specifically?" he tries as he leans in, and you hold your breath as you stare. this is closer than you've ever been, and you can smell hints of cologne that have your head spinning. alarms are going off in your head to run, but with san's hand still on your leg, you're trapped.

"you drool in your sleep, you know that?" you decide to say, ignoring his question completely. he's surprised enough that his grip on you loosens and you're able to bolt from the chair, grabbing your things as you say a quick goodbye to jen and wooyoung. they're watching on, amused with your little show, and when you're fully out of the room san collapses back into the chair with a groan.

"she's right," jen says. "i had to get napkins to mop up your spit."

"sorry," san grumbles.

"when are you gonna tell her?" wooyoung asks, and san makes a confused sound to encourage him to explain. "y/n. when are you gonna say that you're into her?"

"i'm not into her," san rolls his eyes.

"yeah, right," wooyoung laughs. "and me and jen aren't fucking."

"hey!" and another smack. they continue bickering as san stares at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes falling to the chair you just occupied.

-

the next few days, you spend a lot of time in your studio. too much maybe, but you need to get this vocal track finished. all the boys have recorded their parts, and now it's down to you to get the final mix to the other producers by monday. it's friday now, and you know you can't pull any all nighters this weekend - the boys want you to come to their shows, so you'd like to be finished with the track before you leave today.

it's weird, being here so late at night. you think you're the last one left, hongjoong left with the rest of the members and the producers started trickling out about two hours ago. you don't mind being here on your own, you know the security is fine, but it's still eerie. when you got another coffee just now, you caught yourself jumping at the slightest sounds. you could've sworn you heard footsteps following you, but after investigating you realized it was the sound of your own that scared you. you hunker down for another spell in your studio, and you get a lot closer to the product you want. hongjoong kept telling you it didn't need to be perfect, it still had to go through critiques so it would probably change a lot, but you can't let your first project here be a mess. it at least needs to meet your standards, so you keep working.

you're not sure how much later it is, but you wake yourself when your head falls off your propped up arm. you fell asleep listening to the final track, wanting to check for any mistakes, so you don't know how long it's been looping while you slept. you listen through one last time, almost satisfied, but you hear something that sounds off. you try another listen, and realize it's not coming from your speakers, it's coming from somewhere else.

heart racing, you press your ear to the door of your studio and curse the sound proofing. you can make out a noise, but not enough to figure out what it is from the safety of this room. you look around for a weapon, something to protect you, and all you see are stray wires. you find one long enough and wrap it around your fists, pulling the wire taught between them. worst case scenario you garrote the intruder and then call for help, but you're being dramatic. whatever is out there can't be a threat, can it?

you open your studio door and follow the sound. in your tired state, you recognize a song, but you can't place it or where it's coming from. you tiptoe down the hall toward the practice rooms, and spy light coming from a door at the end of the hall. so it must be one of the members, you think. or maybe the bb trippin guys came early to prep for the show. whatever it is, you keep walking, aware now that the song you heard is wake up, one of your favorites. the boys were cryptic about the setlist, wanting it to be a surprise for you this weekend, but you get excited at the thought of what kind of mystical performance they could do for this song. when you reach the door, you stop cold, seeing maybe the last person you expected it to be.

san is dancing, quite sexually, to the music bumping through the speakers. he's in baggy sweats and a tank top that shows off his figure and his ridiculously chiseled muscles, and you can't help it. you stare, watching in awe as he drops it low and grinds around to a song you never expected to be portrayed like this. as he's on the ground, a tie hanging from his teeth, his eyes flick to yours through the mirror. you gasp, and he smirks, somehow able to catch the sound of your breath hitching over the loud music. he feels proud of himself, knowing he's got you so shocked, but when he finishes the portion he's working on, he looks to the mirror and you're gone.

you're rushing down the hall back to your studio. what the fuck was that. you had a physical reaction to san, and not a good one. and he saw you! that's humiliating, you'll never be able to look at him again-

"where ya goin doll?" his deep voice asks. he's right behind you, and before you can sprint off to your studio, he grabs your shoulders and pushes you against the nearest door. when you come face to face, he's breathing heavy, and you assume that's because of the intense choreography he just worked through. little do you know, being this close to you, smelling that annoying perfume that follows you around, touching you, all of this is taking his breath away. his hands trail down your shoulders to your hands, and he looks at you quizzically when he finds the wire wrapped tightly in your fists. "what's this?"

"i, uh, i thought i was the only one here? so when i heard something i looked for uh. i wanted something to protect myself with," you explain, embarrassed by how dramatic that sounds.

"you're a badass," san chuckles, lifting your hands by the wire hanging between them.

"i thought cursing wasn't polite," you remind him of his own words, and he laughs again.

"i just said that to piss you off."

"you're insufferable," you groan, trying to twist away from the man in front of you.

"and you're in a bit of a pickle, aren't you?" he smiles at you evilly. "can't get away, little kitten?"

"let go of me, san," you say steadily, but he just keeps smiling.

"why would i? i've finally got you right where i want you."

"what?" you breathe out.

"you couldn't tell? i've wanted you since i laid eyes on you."

"wanted me?" you scoff. "i'm not a steak."

"but you went and spilled that coffee on me, and then you were so delightful during our recording session, i just kept falling harder and harder for you," he teases.

"you're shit at showing how you feel."

"and you're shit at hiding how you feel," he smirks. "i know you want me, doll. that's why i acted the way i did. it was fun messing with you, letting you think i hated you. wanted to see how far i could push it."

"that's so middle school of you san," you complain, pushing your finger into his chest. "if you were a real man you would've done something about this already instead of playing a bunch of games."

"if i was a real man?" he chuckles lowly, and he's so close you feel it in your stomach. "baby, you haven't been with a real man til you've been with me."

"prove it," you whisper, but your breath gets caught as san pulls your hands above your head by the wire still wrapped around them. he holds your wrists in place as his other hand squeezes your waist, and he watches you squirm with glee in his eyes.

"prove it? you sure you can handle me doll?"

"do your your worst," you smirk, and then he's crashing his lips to yours. the kiss is fierce, all teeth and tongue, and you gasp as his hand travels up your waist and beneath your shirt. he traces the skin beneath your hoodie, smirking into your lips when he discovers you're not wearing a bra.

"i like it when you make things easy for me," he breathes out against your neck, his lips making their way across your skin and leaving little marks as he pleases. his hand beneath your shirt traces beneath each breast before leaving a featherlight trail to your nipple, and he surprises you with a quick pinch. you gasp again, giving him a chance to return his lips to your mouth and press his tongue past your lips. he kisses you one last time before pulling from your lips, asking, "should we take this inside?"

"wha?" you murmur, twisting to look at the door behind you. "but, san, this isn't my studio-"

"i know, it's hongjoong's," he says as he punches the code in. "he won't mind."

"i do!" you squeak out as san opens the door and pushes you inside. "san, seriously, we're not having sex in here!"

"we're having sex?" san teases, and you use your newly released hands to beat against his chest. "take that stupid wire off, baby. you're gonna need your hands."

"for what?" you grumble, listening to him anyway. when your hands are free, you notice the little indents left from the wire, and san surprises you by taking your hands into his softly. his thumb rubs over the raw skin, and he stares darkly at you as he lifts your hands to his lips. he kisses over the sore spots and up your wrists, whining cutely when he hits the fabric of your shirt.

"take this off," he tugs on your sleeve, and you shake your head.

"only if you take your shirt off too," you counter, and he easily lets go of you to remove his tank top. you hate the way you're staring, but you can't help it. he's beautiful, and you're mesmerized. he calls your name, the first time he's said it all night, and you find his eyes staring at you softly. "right, sorry," you mumble, pulling your hoodie off, not so accidentally catching it on your tits so they release with a bounce. san groans as he watches on, and then his hands are on you again, cupping your tits and teasing your nipples. you moan softly, reaching for his head to pull him into another kiss. your hands wrap around to his neck, one sweeping down to feel his soft, sweaty skin. you trace over the muscles in his chest, the lines of his abs, and end at his waistband. his hand reaches down to stop you before you can continue, and he pulls back to ask, "do you trust me?"

"do i trust you? not completely," you answer honestly. "maybe you don't hate me as much as you made me believe, but i still think you're despicable."

"if i'm so despicable why are you letting me use you like a toy?" he jokes, pushing you down into hongjoong's desk chair. "if you trust me, i want you to do something for me. if you don't, tell me to shut up, and we'll go back to having sex. but it'll be more boring that way."

"can i get that in writing, you saying that sex with you is boring?" you tease, and san growls as he captures your lips in another kiss. he's caging you in, and when he releases your lips, he leans his forehead against yours as he speaks.

"start a new file on his computer," san says lowly. "and hit record when i say."

"you're kidding."

"like i said, do it if you trust me," he shrugs, his hands moving from the armrests to your waist. he starts tugging your pants down as he continues. "if you don't trust me, then we just fuck like normal and go on with our lives."

"san, i-"

"are you gonna make the file?" he asks, kneeling in front of you. you open and close your mouth like a fish, but then you're moving without thinking. you twist in his hold, punching in hongjoong's password and finding the mixing app. you start a new project, label it inconspicuously, and then settle back in the chair. san is looking at you proudly, and he praises you, "good girl."

"what now?" you ask quietly, and san separates your legs further. he starts kissing up your leg, starting at your knee, and when he gets to your panties, he whispers, "i make you come."

he pulls yours panties down then, hissing as he watches your arousal cling to the fabric, and he smiles. "oh, she's pretty."

"i didn't know you were capable of giving me a compliment," you quip, and san bites your thigh to shut you up.

"wasn't talking to you," he says against your skin, leaving kisses along the inside of your thigh until he reaches your core. he brings his hands up to spread you open for him, and he stares in admiration at how wet you are, just for him. he leans in and you wait to feel his lips, his tongue, something, but instead you feel something wet land on your clit. san spit on your pussy, and he brings his hand up to rub the sensitive spot as he blows on your entrance.

"i thought you said you were gonna make me come," you whine, and he nods.

"i will. when i want to."

"san-" you whimper, lifting your hips as he continues playing with your clit and neglecting the rest of you.

"you want more doll?" he asks, his eyes staring at you darkly. you look down at him and nod, but he pinches your thigh in response. "words, baby."

"want more, san," you groan. "need your tongue."

"hit record and i'll give you what you want," he smirks below you, and you're so horny you can't even think about fighting back. you turn around and press record, san's lips finding your clit immediately. he licks over the bundle of nerves, prodding a finger at your entrance as he listens to your sweet moans. he fucks his finger into you once, twice, then adds another. you whine above him, your hands catching on his hair as you try to push him closer. he licks up every drop of you, fucking you on his fingers, and moans into your pussy for good measure. the vibration seends you reeling, and you whisper out, "fuck, san."

"who?"

"san, fuck! feels so good."

"yeah? you wanna come?" he asks, leaning his head on your thigh as he stares at you writhing above him. you're watching him with hooded eyes as he adds another finger, fucking you open for him. you lift your hips again, trying to make him move faster. "d'you still hate me, doll?"

"no," you whisper shyly, and he smiles.

"say it louder."

"i don't hate you," you moan out, his fingers scissoring you open as his lips return to your clit. he sucks harshly, and you let out a whine that turns into a frustrated scream. "faster."

"hm?"

"faster, please," you beg, "please, please, fuck. 'm gonna come."

"let me hear you, baby," he mumbles into your core. "who's making you feel so good?"

"san, you, fuck-" your voice tapers off as you hold your breath and crash into your release. you're clenching around san so deliciously, he groans into your clit and does his best to help you ride out your high. you're trying to catch your breath as. san cleans you up, slurping obscenely, and in your post-nut clarity you realize what you've done. you turn around, frantically trying to stop the recording, but san stands above you and catches your hands again.

"what are you doing?" he growls, and you blubber out a response.

"he can't, we can't, i have to delete it, i'm not-"

"not what? not enjoying yourself?" san asks. "because i'm looking at a dripping pussy that tells a different story."

"we need to go somewhere else," you hiss, and san shakes his head.

"i think we're doing fine right here," he smirks, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. you bite his bottom lip as he tries to pull away, and he groans.

"is it my turn now?" you ask, and you watch fire spark across san's eyes.

"your turn to what, baby?"

"drive you insane?" you ask innocently, pushing san away so you can stand. you keep pushing him until he hits the wall, and you drop to your knees. you waste no time pulling his pants down, revealing his lack of underwear. you look up at him and ask, "you makin things easy for me, babe?"

"no," he smirks down at you. "bet you can't even fit it in your mouth."

"you're full of yourself," you point out as you spit into your hand. you bring it to his cock, stroking over his soft skin. "you liked eating me out this much?"

"it wasn't bad," san nods. "wouldn't mind doing it again."

"maybe later," you mumble, bringing his tip to your lips. you spit again, watching as it dribbles down his shaft, you stroke him a few more times, flicking your tongue over his tip teasingly. he's trying so hard not to lose it above you, and the way he's biting his lip to keep quiet pisses you off. without warning, you swallow him whole, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you try to fit him all in your mouth. he cries out above you, his hands tangling in your hair. he pulls you off of him completely, gasping for breath above you. "hey. i wasn't done."

"not gonna last," he says shyly, and you feel your ego grow ten sizes. "need to fuck you."

"eh, i'm getting tired-"

"shut up," he growls, pulling you up by your hair and slamming his lips into yours again. "go bend over his desk."

"you're sick," you tell him, obeying anyway.

"you're into it," san says cockily, adjusting your hips as he comes up behind you. "make sure you're right up to the mic, doll. wanna hear this." you hate yourself for it, but you find the mic in front of you and pull it closer. you feel his hands on your ass, pulling you apart as he stares at your pussy again. "so pretty for me," he sighs, removing a hand to bring his cock to your entrance. he teases your hole a few times, laughing when you jerk back and try to catch his tip. "impatient girl."

"just fuck me," you say clearly, and he responds by giving you exactly what you want. he thrusts into you, splitting you open, and you moan so loud it's embarrassing. san stays still, giving you a minute to adjust, but you start fucking back into him, and he gets the hint. he grabs onto your ass again, and then he's fucking into with no control. your mouth hangs open as he fucks you hard and fast, and san frowns. he smacks your ass and feels you clench around him as he barks, "lemme hear you." so you moan, and whine, and altogether let go. you're a babbling mess, mumbling incoherently about how good it feels, how he fucks you just right, how his cock is perfect, you can't stop. san is eating it up, fucking into you so deep you can feel him in your gut.

too soon, he's pulling out, and you let out a pathetic cry. san pulls you up by your hips, his hands smoothing over your skin, as he explains, "wanna watch you when you come." he helps you sit on hongjoong's desk, lifting your legs up so you're completely exposed to him. he holds your thighs open and tries to fuck back into you, but you have to help him, taking his wet cock and guiding it back to your entrance. he thrusts into you, slotting his hips against yours, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. he should've fucked you like this the whole time, he thinks, because he can't stop staring. you look so perfect, so blissed out, and it spurs him on. he holds one thigh down as his other hand wraps around your waist, holding you in place as he fucks you.

"i'm gonna come, baby," he warns. "where do you want it?"

"my stomach," you gasp out. "wanna see it."

"fuck, you're insane."

"don't slow down," you whine, holding onto san's broad shoulders like your life depends on it. you let him fuck you senseless, clenching around him as you get closer. he brings his hand around to rub his thumb over your clit, and you jerk away in sensitivity. "can't take it, san, gonna come-"

"then come for me," he begs. "need you to come first."

"fuck, san, fuck," you gasp, digging into his shoulders as you hold him in place. you clench around him until he can't take it anymore, and he pulls out, his forehead against yours as you watch him stroke himself. he comes quickly, painting your skin, and you moan breathlessly as you watch him empty himself over you. "fuck, that's hot."

"we should do that again," san smirks at you, and you playfully push against his chest. you leave your hands on him as you respond, "not now. i'm exhausted."

"how long have you been here?" san asks, sudden concern in his voice.

"too long," you sigh, noticing how raw your throat feels. you cough, your back bumping into the mic behind you. "oh shit. i need to turn this off." you look at san as you crouch down, saving the file and sending it to yourself. "what the hell am i supposed to do with this?"

"listen to it when you get lonely?" san jokes, and you push him. "use it in a song, maybe?"

"that would get me fired," you inform him, making sure you've deleted all traces of it from hongjoong's computer. satisfied, you turn to san and cross your arms over your chest. "was this your plan all along? you get me to record a salacious audio and then blackmail me with it?"

"you still think i hate you?" he asks, brushing your hair behind your ear. "bummer. thought we'd moved past that after your first orgasm."

"i'm just saying, if this was an elaborate plan to get me to leave, i commend the effort-"

"y/n," he says softly, and you meet his eyes. they're serious for once, which is odd. "i don't hate you, and i don't want to get you fired."

"good to know," you squeak. his gaze is too intense for you, so you start looking for your clothes and then remember the mess on your stomach. "oh, yuck-"

"here, let me clean you up," san says, searching for tissues. he holds onto you carefully as he wipes up his release, pulling a few extra tissues to clean the mess between your legs.

"see, if you'd just let me help you like this on my first day, we wouldn't have been mortal enemies for so long," you joke.

"yeah, but we wouldn't have fucked like that if i had been nice to you from the start."

"so what now?" you ask as you get dressed. "you said you wanna do that again?"

"don't you?" san asks, his pants halfway up his legs. you unashamedly stare at his cock before you respond, but he's got his answer.

"i mean, if you want-"

"i do," he interjects. "whenever you want me. i'll be there."

"is this what everyone means, when they say you're so nice?" you ask genuinely. san comes over to you, wrapping his hands around your waist before he kisses you.

"guess you'll have to find out, huh?"

[hongthoven]

one-shot 𖹭 3k w

pairing 𖹭 kim hongjoong (ateez) x fem reader

tags 𖹭 fluff, smut, established relationship, idol!hongjoong, family trip, you know he'll be having you in that hot tub at some point

✏️ okay so this wasn't planned but Bumjoong's vlog got me spiraling into some ⊹ ࣪ ˖ thoughts ⊹ ࣪ ˖ and I couldn't stop thinking about joining Hongjoong on that family trip -- and may I add, that hotspring? You know I had to.

pls reblog & comment if you like it 𖹭

© hongthoven

When Hongjoong had asked you to join him and his family on a trip to Sapporo, your first instinct was to panic— This would be your first time meeting his parents and only your second encounter with Bumjoong ever since your boyfriend’s last tour. Back then, even the idea of having lunch with Hongjoong and his older brother was already nerve-wrecking enough. Lucky for you, Bumjoong was the most welcoming human and had worked extra hard to make you feel comfortable by sharing some precious childhood memories including his younger brother pulling a tantrum over an ice-cream and how he would always crash his football games with his friends when he wasn’t much bigger than the ball itself. 

Now this was different. Meeting his parents, spending days with his whole circle and living under the same roof seemed like a commitment your anxiety couldn’t seem to handle peacefully. Of course you were more than happy and flattered he would even consider bringing you along with him— any signs of this man committing to you more than enough to have you kicking your feet and screaming into a void. Hongjoong was a busy man and dating Ateez’s captain wasn’t always easy when it came to matching your schedules so you could spend quality time together. When he wasn’t spending the night at his studio, your man was either busy promoting his music, writing for other artists, working on his next photography exhibition or flying to Paris’ Fashion Week. 

Still— every single one of his accomplishments felt like yours and Hongjoong always made sure to include you in every single step towards another successful experience. So when your lovely boyfriend had kindly suggested for you to take a couple days off from work so you could fly to Japan with his family, there wasn’t much left for you but to agree as Hongjoong did his best to reassure you when you immediately told him about your worries: his parents not liking you, embarrassing yourself, crashing their family time when you weren't even part of it— to which Hongjoong was quick to reply with the most unexpected piece of informations, sending you spiraling into thoughts of a future you were too afraid to dream about.

“Y/N— you’re part of my family already…” That was the validation you needed from him. The thought of him talking about you with his parents, letting them know about meaningful details of your relationship, made your heart grow twice its size. And while you were still nervous to meet them, you knew nothing could possibly go wrong when Hongjoong was by your side. 

By the end of your first day, you already felt like part of the family. After hours spent walking in the snow, taking pictures, gazing at the gorgeous landscape and tasting some local delicacies, you were practically tight by the hip with Hongjoong’s mother as you walked back to the beautiful accommodation your boyfriend had rented for the entire family. 

“My mom is kind of obsessed with you” Hongjoong growled as you finally caught some time to yourselves, spread out over the bed with your boyfriend resting on top of you, the coldness of his palms sending shivers all over your stomach as he slipped his hands under your sweater with a content sigh. “I’m a bit jealous actually— she’s keeping you all to herself” he almost whined, his lips reaching for your neck, forcing a soft giggle out of your lips “can’t even hold my girl’s hand or anything— such a thief” he added, biting your skin while the tip of his tongue collected your scent, reaching for your earlobe.

“Joongie— your family’s right next door” you huffed, trying to wiggle out of his embrace as he looked up to lock his beautiful yet sleepy eyes with yours. It had been a long day, following a long week of a packed schedule and you could definitely tell he was a minute from passing out from intense fatigue— but he still looked breathtaking with his blonde streaks covering half of his face and his pink lips, tempting as candy, desperately reaching for yours, only to melt into the softest kiss as he eventually complied. Closing his eyes for a minute, Hongjoong made himself comfortable with his face buried into your neck and his hands still resting under your sweater, framing you with his entire body. 

It wasn’t long until you heard his breathing slowing down, its delicate sound mixing with some slight snoring from being completely burned out. Happy to see him resting at last, your hands found their way into his hair and at the back of his neck, kneading his skin tenderly as you watched the beautiful winter scenery getting darker by the end of the afternoon. 

A knock on the door made you flinch into your slumber and your first instinct was to look down and make sure Hongjoong was still fast asleep— when he failed to react, your eyes found Bumjoong standing in the doorway, trying to make himself as discreet as possible, his palm covering his eyes.

“Are you guys decent?” he asked with a nervous chuckle as you immediately cleared the scene with a soft tone, the sight of his passed out brother making the older one smile endearingly. 

“I think we’ll pass on dinner, can you excuse us to your parents? I think he needs this…” You whispered with one hand still locked into your boyfriend’s hair, scratching his scalp softly. Without a word, Bumjoong gave you an understanding nod as an answer and closed the door behind him, leaving you with nothing but the peaceful quietness of the bedroom as company. 

After a while, you figured Hongjoong was gone for the night and decided not to rot in bed any longer— your body was getting pins and needles from staying in the same position for hours, keeping your boyfriend locked into your embrace as he snored peacefully against your chest. Though you were slightly reluctant to let go of him, the warmth of his skin as a reminder of how long it had been since you two were in the same bed, you eventually managed to roll Hongjoong over to his side, stealing a muffled complaint out of him as he called out your name in his sleep, to which you replied with a tender kiss at the crook of his neck before rolling out of bed and escaping the bedroom as quietly as possible. 

The hotspring was practically calling your name as you walked into the private patio on the second floor, ready to dive into your book and enjoy some snacks while bathing in hot water— now this looked like a holiday. Everything around was quiet, peaceful if not for a couple of birds still chirping into the night. You were thankful for Hongjoong asking you to take a bathing suit although you were left a little puzzled at his odd request for a snowy weekend away— but you also couldn’t miss the little evil smirk on your boyfriend’s face when giving you a house tour, his hand palming the small of your back as he made sure to let you know just how much he expected to have you there, in this bath, as soon as his family would be gone. He would find an excuse, book a table at some fancy restaurant, pretend to have some work emergency and keep you around for support, only to bend you over the tiles and make you scream his name over and over again.

Unable to focus on your book as you kept reading the same page until it made some sort of sense, you tried to remember the last time you and Hongjoong were able to share that type of intimacy, your thighs instantly clenching at the sudden memory of his last concert in Saitama. You typically tried not to ever miss a concert whenever you could travel along but this tour you wouldn’t miss for anything— for months, you had seen Hongjoong practice his guitar skills, lessons after lessons, massaging his calloused fingers every time he took it too far — almost every day, so when it was time to witness your boyfriend in all his glory as he stood on stage ready to wreck an entire Dome, you were actually thankful to be seating alone, your entire body radiating with lust and  the absolute urge to kneel in front of him to swallow his junk entirely. 

Which you did, precisely 2 hours later, as soon as you were left alone with him backstage. Hongjoong had practically kicked the other members out without any effort to hide his intentions. You could actually hear Wooyoung snickering behind the door and making some crude comment to Mingi about how their captain was about to ‘get some’, which you both decided to ignore. Without any sort of ceremony, Hongjoong was quick to spit into your open mouth and guide himself between your lips, both his hands pushing at the back of your head until you could feel the familiar taste of precum spilling off his slit and into the back of your throat. You could never get enough of the way he seemed to melt against your tongue as you traced every single vein along his cock with just the tip like he was your favorite flavor. 

When it came to being vocal, Hongjoong knew how to drive you past the edge of insanity with little whimpers and the nastiest words wrapped into the delicacy of his voice, like the melted chocolate heart of your favorite cake. You would never get rid of the way he often crossed the line, way past his usual cute pet names, only to call you his ‘little slut’ as he rutted himself into your mouth, stealing air out of your lungs as his hands started to tremble into your untamed hair. 

The water was getting too hot, suddenly— the simple thought of Hongjoong slowly pushing your lips open with his tip making you foam at the mouth. Without realizing, your thighs had started to press against one another, rolling up and down slightly, just to give you enough friction for a quick relief. You could tell your entire body was now getting worked up over your fantasies, your back arching naturally as you eventually pushed your book to the side, suddenly uninterested in any sort of Literature. Wrapped into a cloud of steam, your body was craving a touch— yours, but mostly Hongjoong’s, and as you slowly slid your hand along your chest, brushing your erected nipple on your way down, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous at the thought of being caught. What would your in-laws think? What would Hongjoong say if he heard about his parents walking on his girlfriend touching herself in the hot tub? 

All these thoughts were quickly gone as soon as your hand found its nest between your thighs, three of your fingers pressed against your core as a soft moan escaped your lips, echoing into the empty patio. Or so you thought. 

“Baby?” Though you immediately recognized Hongjoong’s voice, you were quick to stiffen back into the corner of the tub, red at the cheeks as you turned around to face your boyfriend’s mixed expression. He was definitely confused— but also quite obviously aroused. Not to mention half naked now that his sweater was gone, leaving him in a pair of sweatpants, his hair now a chaotic blond mess from sleeping for too long and his bare chest already coated with steam from the temperature of the room. He looked like an absolute snack you couldn’t wait to devour. 

“You should have woken me up if you needed it so bad?” Hongjoong smirked, peeling himself off his sweatpants only to leave you gasping at the sight of his exposed, already semi-erected cock for a second before he dived into the bath. 

“You looked like you needed some good sleep” you half-pouted as soon as he pulled you against him, forcing you to sit on his lap with one leg on each side of his frame. 

“I need you more” without any sort of warning, Hongjoong reached for your throat, wrapping all five of his fingers around it as his lips found yours, tongue teasing until you caved and deepened the kiss, soft moans dying into his mouth as you started to grind over his lap while his stiffening member threatened to push your bikini bottom to the side with each thrust from your aching hips. 

“Fuck— I’ve missed you so much baby— fucking insane—” his words were coming out a little sharpier, halfway between a confession and a command while his lips traveled down to your neck, sucking a soft, pink bite out of your skin with one hand already pulling at your bikini top. You couldn’t help but feel extremely exposed as one of your tit disappeared into Hongjoong’s palm, the other already settled between his lips as he sucked desperately at your flesh like a starving newborn.

“You gonna let me fuck you here?” he asked, his tone the opposite of innocent as you clenched over nothing, pushing your core against his groin until you couldn’t take it anymore. Nothing else mattered now. The glass windows surrounded you, making you both vulnerable and exposed— the idea of his family coming home any minute, only to find you there with their youngest son balls deep into your cunt. All you could think about was to be filled and to reach climax as soon as possible. It had been weeks since you had last felt Hongjoong’s body so close to yours and a treat was overdue. 

“Please” you almost weeped, using your fingers as a hook to push your bikini to the side until you felt his tip pushing against your entrance, thicker than ever. 

“Oh you’re gonna beg, love?” you couldn’t say a thing— not a word— as you nodded almost hysterically, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth like a misbehaving child ready to be grounded. Though his words were tempting and his gaze wrapped into that cocky frown you knew too well, Hongjoong’s hands were nothing but tender over your skin, his love pouring out of him in the shape of his palms stroking your arms, shoulders and the back of your neck like you were nothing but glass, about to shatter against his chest. 

“You’re so fucking pretty— can’t believe you’re mine” his words took you by surprise, his thumb brushing your bottom lip while you felt him aligning himself perfectly against your aching core. His eyes were locked on the way your mouth instantly wrapped around his digit, sucking at the tip like the ghost of that part of him you were now craving. 

“Go ahead and beg” he added, more demanding this time, your body going limp against him as you struggled to even breathe from the absolute urge to be consumed entirely by the love of your life. 

“Hongjoong— please?” you finally begged, lips turned into a pout while your hand reached for his cock, ready to wrap around it. You had never felt emptier. 

“What do you think you’re doing, love?” Hongjoong smirked, his own hand wrapping around yours but never truly stopping you.

“Need you” you were a blurbing mess by now, lids heavy and hips almost jolting against him as you felt him stretching you out a little with his tip only, both your hands still tightly wrapped around his shaft. You could feel every inch of him— into your palm, pushing against your walls, everywhere, always amazed at the way his cock seemed to be exclusively crafted for your cunt. 

Once he was settled, balls deep into you, Hongjoong reached for the small of your back, pulling you closer to his chest as you instinctively rolled your hips against him, collecting the sweetest sound out of his throat as your boyfriend tilted his head back, hitting the tile with his wet hair while thrusting painfully slow into you. The room was filled with soft, muffled moans and the sound of water splashing over the rim, soaking the floor with each, deeper thrust. Everything felt and sounded like absolute bliss— the roughness of his chest against your palms, the way his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass cheeks everytime he pulled you harder, bottoming out only to rocket his hips back into you— nothing could beat this feeling, this fullness, the sincere love you could see in his eyes as his lips turned into an ‘o’ every time your eyes met. 

Reaching for your neck, Hongjoong pulled you closer to melt his lips into yours, his kiss more eager this time as his tongue battled with yours while his hand kept you still with a soft grip around your throat. Lost into his embrace, it took you a minute to realize he was now completely still inside of you. 

“Could stay like this forever” he smiled, his palm cupping water on the surface only to pour it over your chest, his eyes following every drop as it raced over your breast like the most beautiful piece of Art. While still tightly clenched between your folds, the way he gazed at you, his fingers tracing some invisible forms over your chest, was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced with anyone. Something in his eyes made you feel safe and vulnerable at the same time, like you were precisely where you belonged. 

It only took a few more thrusts for you to bite a moan into his shoulder, your entire body stiffening with bliss as Hongjoong chased you to the top, his entire face buried into your chest as he lifted himself just enough to rocket back into you harder until his cries echoed into the quietness of the night while your walls locked around his load, turning him into absolute shambles as Hongjoong started to shake slightly into your arms from a hint of overstimulation. 

Red at the cheeks, blonde streaks pushed back, Hongjoong tried to compose himself, his breathing gone to absolute chaos as he kept his arms locked around your figure, unwilling to let go just yet. 

“Think I’m gonna marry you” he blurted out, his forehead pressed to yours— leaving you once again, completely speechless. 

[kkuraissante]

✧ ultimate bias ✧

In which y/n is a big fan of Sakura (ft. aespa!y/n)

[y/n confessing her love for Sakura during an interview]

“so, y/n who is your celebrity crush?” the radio host in front of her asked. 

hearing the question, the rest of her members looked at each other, sharing a knowing glance. “huh, well… I think some of the fans may noticed it based on my phone wallpaper, but my celebrity crush is sakura from le sserafim.” y/n admitted shyly, lightly scratching the back of her head.

“I actually became her fans during pd 48 and have been her fans ever since. You don’t know how happy I was when I heard that she will debut again into a new girl group after the disbandment. I cried so hard after watching the intro videos,” y/n confessed. 

karina laughed after hearing her comments, “yeah, you wouldn’t believe how crazy she is for sakura. she collected albums and merch, basically a hardcore fan”.

“no, but do you guys remember how she sneaked out of the dorm during our free time to attend izone fansign? It was legendary. She talked our ears off about sakura that day” giselle added, groaning at the memories. 

the host and members laughed hearing the remarks. 

“well, I mean, who could blame me, she was perfect. a literal angel.” y/n tried to defend herself. “hopefully I will be able to go to her fansign again” y/n sighed happily at the thought. 

“you heard it guys, you need to steal y/n heart from sakura” the host joked.

[y/n’s room tour during her vlog]

“hi guys, today I will be showing you my room” y/n waved at the camera, standing outside her bedroom door. 

“so, here is the entrance. this is a custom-made sign that I bought on the internet and essentials to keep my sanity,” y/n gestured to a red sign that read ‘yoo jimin do not enter unless permitted’ in the middle of the door.

opening the door, y/n waved her hand excitedly for the camera, “welcome to my sanctuary.”

“first thing first, this is my closet, it’s a little messy since we’ve been busy these past few weeks, but its usually not this bad, I promise!” y/n said seriously, raising her pinky finger up.

“here is my desk, with my gaming setup. I’ve been playing valorant and lol whenever I’m free. over there is my keyboard and guitar wall. the black guitar is a gift from jimin unnie and the white one is from taeyeon unnie. this is actually my first guitar that I bought with my money” y/n showed everything before raising a red fender Stratocaster, showing it proudly. 

“moving on, this side is the bed. it looks comfy right?” y/n shoot the bed before raising the camera upwards, showing the hanging shelf, filled with albums, mainly her senior and izone albums. “and here is my album collection. most of these are gifts from sunbaenim during promotion and the only albums that I bought myself are the izones one” y/n smiled proudly at the camera. 

“look, this one is signed by all members” she showed the bloom*iz album. “Sakura was so pretty during this era,”

“and this is my photocards collection” y/n opened a photo album. “it’s mostly Sakura but I have other people too. this one is my favorite,” y/n raised sakura perfect night pc, “she look so cute with the glasses right?  oh!  I also want to flex a little, are you curious? this is not sakura, but I really like it” y/n show off a chaewon photocard. “ I think this is one of the rare photocard and are sold very expensive, so i’m really happy that i have it. also, chaewon-ssi looks so pretty here"

“so, that’s all for my vlog. thank you for watching the video. I love you MY’s, byee” y/n blowed a kiss at the camera before the vlog ended. 

[karinanana]: y/n is literally one of us

[y/n_wife]: I never expect that I will finally see an idol that collect photocards

[fimmily222]: y/n is the biggest sakura stan. we have an idol piona!!

[amboya.amboya]: I know the rest of her members are tired hearing her fangirling over sakura. look how much she rambled about her throughout the vlog. 

[thirstyfory/n]: the rare chaewon pc is killing me

[y/n showing her things during live]

“hi! Welcome to my weverse live!” y/n grins at the camera in front of her before reading the comments on her phone. 

“unnie, what items has you bought recently?” y/n read out loud. she scratched her chin before standing up abruptly, “wait a moment guys, let me pick some stuff up” she apologized, moving out of the frame, towards her bedroom. after 5 minutes she came back, holding a bunch of stuff on her arms.

“sorry for the wait but I’m back! let me review all the things that I bought recently” 

“first thing! its a t shirt” y/n raised a white t shirt, “it’s very cute right? i bought it in Japan during one of our schedules”

“this hoodie is also bought in Japan” y/n raised a black chrome hearts hoodie, “now I have a matching hoodie with Sakura” she blushed slightly at the thought.

remembering that its live, she tried to change the subject, quickly picking up the next item which is a headphone accessory. “oh, I bought it because it look cool, like, why does sakura always wear the coolest stuff” y/n whined at the camera. “she’s just so perfect”

“and the last thing is this” y/n raised a big basket filled with knitting yarn and needles. “I’ve noticed that sakura has been knitting a lot recently and I want to also try it. maybe trying to give her a handmade beanie if i succeed later”

“this is the first thing that I make” y/n picked up what looks like a knitted leaf. “it’s for headphones, but I think I screwed it to the point its unrecognizable, it’s way too crooked and ugly. minjeong teased me the other day saying that a year old could do it better than me” y/n pouted, remembering the teasing that she has to endure from her members that day.

“let’s move from my bad knitting projects…”