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luvyeni · 3 months ago

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COMPUTER FREAK 𝕼. ( 제이크 )

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 제이크 x fem!reader ) ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. loser!jake. reader is a coder but not much of coding is talked about. handjobs. unprotected sex. sub!jake. word count. 4.1k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library !

synopsis … this couldn’t be happening right now; he had to be stuck in some fucked up nightmare. there’s no way his computer did this — not while he was doing that.

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ i don’t write sub often but when i do it’s like i go a bit crazy 😗… enjoy!

jake really had it all; he was smart, he passed every test he took. he was handsome, many girls would love to be with him; not like they had a chance though. he wasn’t interested in them. he was interested in you, the computer savvy girl who moved into the apartment he shared along with heeseung, jay sunghoon about a year ago.

but jake was terrible at talking to girls; especially you. he’s never been around a girl who’s both nerdy like him, but also fucking hot as you. when you first moved into the apartment he did his best to avoid you, knowing he’d never be able to hold a full conversation with you — but then he felt bad , because you were extremely nice to him , you even made him cookies to show your appreciation… you were even a good fucking baker, was their anything you couldn’t do.

“yn you have to put on some shorts.” jay said as you sat down. “i have shorts on.” you lifted up the shirt , they all averted their eyes. “be for real , you people are the last guys i’d ever flash.” you sat down. “i’ve smelt what that damn bathroom smells like after one of you's been in there.” you grimaced , pushing your glasses up on your face. “ you fixed the wifi?” heeseung asked. “you mean plug it back in? yes and if you call me at 12 in the morning to do it again im going wash my pink thong with all your white clothes.”

“he’d like that i think , he’d get to touch your panties.” sunghoon teased and you rolled your eyes. “no you know who would like it.” heeseung smirked pointing past you; which made you turn around. “good morning jake.” you smiled. “go-good morning yn.” he sat down. “go-good morning yn.” heeseung teased him , he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “now that the family is all together time for our morning meeting.” jay said. “you mean jays nagging time.” everyone laughed at your joke. “im gonna put you on the streets yn.”

“i pay my fair share of utilities; so no you can’t kick me out.” you smiled. “well then i’ll rent your room out , good luck with a new roommate.” you shrugged. “i’ll just share a room with jake, you don’t mind jake?” you turned to him. “hu-huh?” he stuttered. “we-well i mean.” he stressed to find the right words. “you say that now until you find a hard sock in the closet you’ll be sharing.” him and sunghoon snickered. “shut up.” the boy said softly from beside you. “heeseung you proudly show your fleshlight on the night stand?” you said. “it’s my room isn’t it.” your nose scrunched up in disgust. “you’re a pervert.”

“i am man yn , men do men things.” he shot back. “you’re hardly a man.” you stood up. “how about i follow you back to your room and show you how much of a man i am.” you pushed your glasses up , fake gagging. “i respect myself , no thank you.” you walked back to your room. “she knows she wants me.” the guys at the table shook their heads. “does she really?”

jake stood up , putting his cereal bowl in the sink. “i have to go to work,” he said. “do you have to work late today? i have a package being delivered and I need someone to be here and sign it.” sunghoon said. “yn doesn’t work today , she’ll be here.” sunghoon sighed. “she was here last time they came but she was too busy coding to pay attention.” he rolled his eyes. “she’s a coder , that’s her job.” heeseung said , he was another coder , just as passionate as you. “you can’t just pull away from it to open a door.”

“especially if just porn , i opened the box , that’s disgusting.” jake didn’t even entertain his friends , ready to leave. “she was trying make a code for a sims mod she wanted , it wasn’t that important and stop opening my damn mail.” jake spoke up. “i’ll be home.” and with that he was out the door.

his work day was exhausting; he just wanted to go home and sleep. he opened the door; kicked off his shoes at the front , stopping to get water from the fridge , before making his way to his room. “sunghoon is that you?” he heard your door open , sticking your head out. “oh hi jake.” you stepped out of your room , you were dressed in the same shorts from this morning— but instead of a long shirt , you have a cropped tank top on. he had to fight himself to not look at your boobs , but it was hard when they were so full and plump and he just wanted to lay his head on them , touch them… fuck them. “jake?” you waved your hands in front of his face. “h-huh?”

you chuckled; your boobs slightly bouncing. fuck , you didn’t have a bra on. “i asked how was work? did you eat?” he coughed awkwardly, his softened cock stirring in his pants. “o-oh yeah , i had some ramen.” he said. “you need to start eating more healthy , those ramens aren’t good for you.” you grabbed his shoulder. “if you want i can make you lunch to take , heeseung pays me to do it , but you don’t annoy me half as much , so it’s no need.” he nodded. “th-thank you.” he stuttered out , desperate to get to his room , not to sleep anymore , but for other reasons. “okay , it will be in the fridge with heeseungs in the morning.” you turned to go back into your room. “and if sunghoon comes , tell him the package did come and i got but im holding it hostage until he gives me the 100 bucks he owes me for hacking into his instagram account because his dumbass forgot his password.” he nodded and you closed your door.

he basically sprinted to his room; locking the door behind him. “fuck.” he cursed , his hard cock desperate to be touched. sitting down in his gaming chair , pulling up his screen on his pc , hand already palming his needy cock. “sh-shit.”

here’s where jake might be a pervert; he’s tried so hard to just go to twitter and watch the random porn there — but he just couldn’t , it had to be specific; he’s perfectly curated a playlist full of porn and pornstars… ones that look as close to you as they could , because in his eyes no one could look like you , but they could look similar to you. but not only that , they sounded like you too…

this started a few months ago; he stumbled across a video and he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the video; the pornstar looked like you. glasses , same build — and tits just as big as yours. not only that , she sorta sounded like you; but he knew it wasn’t you. she didn’t have same cute nose you had; and her voice was just a smidge deeper and of course no one else might’ve noticed , but he did. that was the first night he past out in his chair , covered in cum; his dick sore for the constant tugging of it. he came to that video more times than he liked to admit that night.

he then started a quest of finding videos just like it; saving them to his computer, all of them ranging from pov to cumshots; professional to amateur, hell he even had solo and couple porns , but they all had a common denominator — they resembled or sounded like you. he was yet to find one of titty fucking yet; but he was looking. “mmh , which one.” he groaned , clicking his favorite , cock now free from his underwear , slowly stroking it as he went through the playlist. “let’s do a real old one.” he clicked the video , sitting back in his chair.

the video is only 1 minute and nine seconds long; but it’s the perfect video — the closest he was ever to getting a direct look like of you; the glasses were identical , everything was… including the boobs. “oh fuck.” he began stroking his cock , just as the model began stroking the cock of her partner. it was a pov , his favorite. because then he could imagine it was him , and you were stroking his cock for real. “oh fuck that feels good.” he moaned.

he bit his lip to cover a moan; he couldn’t risk you hearing him or anybody in the house for that matter because then they’d never let him live it down. he began to speed up, the video replaying over and over as he hunched over in his chair , so close to a desperate relief. he watch the guy cum all over the girls glasses , which he dreamt of doing to you on numerous of occasions; your pretty smile as he covered you in ropes of cum. “fuck yn im gonna cum.” he moaned — then his computer stopped.

his hand immediately stopped; hissing as he ruined his own orgasm. “what the fuck?” he said , hitting the side of the screen; he knew it would do nothing but he still gave it a try. then he realized his worst nightmare has come true; his screen froze, with the porn still on it. this couldn’t be happening right now; he had to be stuck in some fucked up nightmare. there’s no way his computer did this — not while he was doing that.

he quickly unplugged the computer; waited for a bit — he was desperate; he even blew on the plug in hopes it worked. ”please.” he plugged it back in— and no , the screen was still the same, and on the worst part as well , right when he came on the girls face. he couldn’t believe his screen was stuck on this , what else he couldn’t believe is that he still wanted to finish.

he stuck his head out of his door; praying your door wasn’t open. he almost jumped for joy as saw that it wasn’t, he just had to make it to heeseungs room. he quietly knocked on the door , heeseung emerging right after. “what im on my way out.” he said. “no , wait come here.” jake said. “follow me to my room.” heeseung looked at his friend. “you’re good looking but i am a man who loves pussy.” jake rolled his eyes. “just come.” he pushed the door open. “make sure the door is closed.” he panicked. “what is it?”

“don’t laugh.” he started. “if you laugh i don’t know what i’ll do but it will be very drastic.” he said , heeseung grew tired. “come on, show me i have a hot hook up in about 30 minutes, something you’d know about if you did hide in here on your computer doing god knows what.” jake plugged the computer back in , the frozen screen popping back up into frame. “yo dude , what the fuck?” he exclaimed , jake covered his mouth. “don’t shout i don’t want her to hear.” he pointed to the door. “ew gross.” he pushed the boys hand away. “i clearly see what you do with those hands , never touch me again.”

“please help me.” he said. “it’s stuck and it won’t go away.” he whined. “get rid of it for me.” heeseung sighed walking over to the computer , bending down. “whoa , this looks like yn.” he said. “holy shit , if it wasn’t for the subtle differences i would think this was her…” heeseung trailed off. “is this why you’re watching this , because it looks like her?” heeseung smirked. “bro you’re a freak honestly.” he said turning back to the screen. “but respect.” he shrugged. “do you have any others.”

“is that important? can you get it off?” jake asked , already embarrassed. “no.” the boy stood straight. “this is out of my area of expertise,” he said. “heeseung please try.” the boy begged. “you know who might be able to figure this out.” no please don’t say her. “yn , she just helped jay unfreeze his computer too , his didn’t have porn that looked like her on it , but I’m sure this won’t freak her out that bad.”

he couldn’t possibly ask you; you’d probably stop talking to him. think he’s so weird, he thinks he’s weird. “you do school work on here so you’re gonna need her to do it , just pray she has a sense of humor.” he said walking out the door. “and if you get your computer working , send that to me.”

he dreaded doing this; how could he ask you this? he felt his heart in his ass as he knocked on the door. “yn?” he waited. “come in.” he heard your sweet voice , pushing the door open. “hi jake , what can i do for you?” you turned around in your pink chair , legs crossed in the seat. “um we-well i co-could use your help.” he said. “in what?” you chirped , god he was so sick , even in his time of desperation, he couple only think about sinking his cock in between your plush toys , and fucking them until he covered you in his cum. “it-its with my computer , it’s kinda hard to explained.” he said — and sure it was. “oh okay , let’s go take a look at it.”

you got up from your seat; walking past him and out the room. “it’s probably nothing i can’t fix.” you opened the door to his room. “it smells surprisingly okay in here.” you made your way over to the computer. “okay , now what’s wrong with it?” you said , searching. “oh wait it’s not even plugged in , let– wait not.” it was too late , you had already plugged it in; the dreaded screen popping up , you were face to face with what seemed like your doppelgänger — in such a compromising position. “um okay.” you said.

“yn im so sorry , it’s not what it looks like.” he said. “well what it looks like is me.” you said. “except my boobs are much nicer than those.” his eyes widened , did you really just say that? “she even has my glasses , are my glasses porn star glasses?” you were taking this extremely well. “yo-you’re not upset?” he said , you chuckled. “jake we live in a confined space and see each other every day, honestly i wouldn’t be concerned in the slightest if this wasn’t me but one of the guys.”

“can you fix it?” you laughed, he was confused. “did you ask heeseung?” he nodded. “wh-why are you asking?” you pressed the ctrl key , then the alt key and then finally the del key. “because it’s so simple to fix this.” you said clicking restart. “you didn’t need me , you just asked heeseung on the day he was being a dick.” he was even more embarrassed now. “there’s no need to be embarrassed jakey.” you sat down in his seat. “i told you im not upset about the video.” you said. “are there more?” you said his eyes widened. “i mean come on , this video is too accurate , hell i wouldn’t thought you edited my head on to it but that’s obvious you didn’t , so that means you had to go searching for this.” you said. “and this can’t be the only one jake , i know it.”

“show them to me.” you said. “yo-you want me to show you, for real?” you moved the chair back allowing him to move in front of the computer. “show me.” you watched him intently as he clicked on the keys; he could feel the burn from your stare as you watched him pull up the album with almost 100 photos and videos. “oh?” you scooted closer; so close that if even turned his head , he’d be staring directly down at your chest. “my god , why do i have so many pornstar look alikes?” you said. “so-some of them are the same.” he said. “ah i can see that.”

you scrolled through the videos; he watched you trembling, his cock twitching in his jeans , he never had a proper release. “oh is this the one you were watching when it froze.” you clicked on it. “wait yn.” you waited for the video to load. “he’s not the biggest.” you said , watching the model jerk him off. “y-yn.” he was so fucking hard right now he felt like he was gonna cum in his pants. “this video is too forced.” you paused it. “he’s barely even moaning.” you said , you were now turning facing him. “how do you sound?”

was this happening right now? were you seriously asking this? “u-um.” his hand went to his cock , to cover it. “don’t cover it.” you moved his hands. “im assuming you didn’t get to finish?” he nodded ; still thinking he was joking , until he felt your hand on his clothes dick. “y-yn.” he whimpered , you pouted. “oh poor you , you’re throbbing.” you stroked him through his pants. “you like my boobs jakey?”

he nodded and you stopped moving, he let out a whine. “oh don’t be so upset.” you took your tank top off , your boobs bouncing from the impact. “come on , i want you to cum just like he did.” you picked his cock back up; kissing his tip, looking up at him — this was his dream , to have you like this; stroking his cock. “you wanna cum jakey don’t you?” he whimpered , nodding. “ye-yes , please let me cum.” you cupped his balls which made him moan loudly. “fuck im gonna cum.” you were getting turned on from hearing him moan. “cum for me.” and he couldn’t help it , that set him off. “im cumming!” he shouted , as cum spurted from his tip on to your face, hitting your glasses. “fuck.” you kept stroking him , his legs twitching. “i can’t , i came , i came stop.” he whimpered. “please stop.” you finally gave him a rest , releasing his cock. “so cute.” you brought your fingers to your lips. “you’re so sensitive , you came so much and i barely did anything.”

you stood up , switching places with him. “i-i can go again , i just need a minute.” he huffed , you smiled. “yeah?” you straddled his lap. “is watching another one of these gonna help , or do you want me to help you get hard again?” you kissed the back of his ear. “i can help you.” your hand came to his , bringing it to your boobs. “do they feel nice?” he nodded. “i’ve seen you staring at them before.” you said , moaning as he began to knead it. “fuck that feels so good.” you grinded against him. “they're so sore , you’re making me feel so good.” your fingers tangling up in his hair. “su-such a good boy.” and just like that he was hard again. “oh i see you liked that?” you chuckled. “ca-can i put it in now?” he didn’t want to cum just from you sitting on it. “i don’t know , you really haven’t been a good boy.” he whimpered.

“i-i have.” he said , his hair sticking to your forehead. “really?” you moved again. “good boys don’t jerk off to their roommate without permission do they?” you said , he shook his head. “that’s right , only perverts do.” he was about to blow his load. “y-yn pl-please let me put it in , wa-wanna feel you.” he begged , you loved it , he was so willing to do anything to cum. “i don’t really think you deserve it , i think you don’t deserve to cum for the rest of the week.” you began to stand up.

no , he couldn’t go that long he was sure , he jerked off almost everyday, he knew this would kill him. “please let me put it in , please i’ll be a good boy i promise.” he said. “i wont cum with out your permission ever again. , please , i’ll do whatev– oh fuck!” he gasped as you sunk down on him. “oh fuck , fuck fuck!” he moaned as he felt the warmth of your cunt. “jakey you’re so big.” you began to move , his head was thrown back , eyes crossed almost as you rode him. “that’s it jakey , you like it?” he nodded. “so-so much , please go faster.”

you grabbed his cheeks forcing him to look at you. “you wanna kiss?” he nodded. “please.” you kissed his lips , bouncing on his cock. he was in heaving right now , if he could feel this for the rest of his life — or at least for the next two minutes, then he could die a happy man. “y-yn im gonna cum again.” he said , looking up at you with wide , tear filled eyes. “can i cum? please can i cum?” he moaned , you kissed his forehead , tugging at the nape of his neck. “good boy for asking , you can cum.”

his hips involuntarily shook as he bucked up into you cumming hard. “fuck.” he wrapped his arms around your waist , as he pumped what felt like the largest load he ever gave. “jakey.” you moaned , he slightly bit down on your shoulder. “can i keep going?” he nodded , he was willing to push forward even though his cock was sore. “ye-yes you can.” you began to speed up. “oh fuck , jakey yes!” you squealed , the boy below you moaning loudly as he felt overwhelmed by your cunt. “fuck im gonna cum.” you moaned , he brought his lips to your nipples , sucking harshly on them. “ah yes!” you tugged his hair. “im cumming.”

he felt you cumming , and he thought he was gonna get hard again. “did you cum?” you nodded. “it felt so good.” you praised , scratching his neck gently. “you’re such a good boy jakey , such a good boy.”

he woke up later from his nap later that night ; tired and hungry, you had really did a number on him. he stumbled his way to the kitchen opening the fridge. “fun evening?” heeseung stood in the hallway. “fuck off , you set me up.” he took the cookie off the plate. “I’m starving.” he said. “im sure , you want some ramen?” he nodded. “and i didn’t set you up , i knew she wouldn’t mind it?”

“how do know?” he said. “because she’s fucking obsessed with you bro.” heeseung said. “he’s right.” they both turned to where you were standing in his shirt. “you’re just haven’t been paying attention.” you said , sitting in his lap, his eyes widened. “too busy watching porn that looks like her.” heeseung waited for the water to boil. “but that’s okay , that means you can make it up to me right?” you smirked feeling him get hard again. “ye-yeah.” you stood up. “good boy.” you made your way back to his room. “oh that was gross.” heeseung gagged , but jake didn’t care. “just leave the ramen out on the stove.” he followed behind you. “please keep it down I have homework.”

“there you are.” you waited on his bed. “come here.” you moved your pointer finger; he moved towards you. “good boy.” he crawled on to the bed , your legs spreading for him to sit in the middle. “what do you want?” you asked. “to-to taste you , i really want to taste you.” he could almost taste it on his tongue. “go a head.” you pushed his head down , where you were already bare and ready for him. “you know what to do.” you moaned feeling him lick your clit. “oh fuck.”

“such a good boy.”

©️LUVYENI

#enhypen imagines #enhypen x female reader #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enhypen ff #jake sim hard thoughts #jake sim imagines #jake sim hard hours #jake sim fanfic #jake sim smut #jake sim x reader

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tfwbluu · 3 months ago

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PAIRING — ni-ki + f!reader + jungwon

WARNINGS — 8th member!reader, hints of reader having smth with all of them, some mentions of reader’s appearance but i tried to keep it friendly for everyone, heejay cameo, blindfolds and cuffs again, threesome, oral (f. rec), raw sex (stay safe!), squirting, cum eating(?), double penetration (mouth + hole), edging, pet names, praise/degradation.

WORDCOUNT — 3.3K

NOTE — this was long overdue but it’s here! not beta read so sorry if it’s a bit wonky (not intentional). lots of warnings on this one so lmk if i missed anything !

It was another day of recording, this time for one of your b-sides, Brought the Heat Back. The concept was intense, and all of you were adorned in scratches and faux blood to match the gritty, rebellious aesthetic. You were dressed in an off-shoulder dress shirt held up by thin white straps, a loosely draped tie wrapped around your neck, flared jeans, and black short heels—only for the shoot, of course.

Your hair had been left mostly untouched, styled as you usually wore it, with the addition of a few silver accessories glinting under the lights. Your look was completed with simple hoops in your ears and fake snakebite piercings on your lower lip, which you kept fiddling with absentmindedly as you waited for the next take.

“(Name) got some cool lip piercings over mine being scratched up,” Jay suddenly commented, drawing the camera’s attention to you.

“Hm?” You looked up before leaning toward the camera with a playful smile. “Look, everyone, I got these piercings recently!” you joked, puckering your lips for emphasis.

Jay snorted, playing along. “I got hurt while eating, so I couldn’t get those.” He gestured toward the fake scratches on his face. “And I banged my head on a door while rushing to not be late!” He nodded to himself, satisfied with his joke, while you giggled softly.

The day carried on as usual, taking shots here and there while filming for the behind-the-scenes content. The shoot wrapped up smoothly, with everyone exchanging the customary “Good jobs” and words of gratitude. You sank into the couch with a satisfied sigh, the exhaustion from the day settling in, while the others began scattering to do their own thing.

As you leaned back, you felt a lingering gaze on you. Looking up, your eyes locked with Jungwon’s. He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable but intense. Raising an eyebrow, you silently asked what he wanted.

“Meet me in my room later,” Jungwon murmured softly as he passed by, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His words sent a ripple of curiosity and nervousness through you, but you nodded in agreement without hesitation.

Later that evening, back at the dorms, Jungwon wasted no time. The moment you entered his room, he closed the door behind you and pressed you against it, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss.

“Mmph—Won, w-wait—” you tried to speak, your words muffled against his lips. But Jungwon simply grunted in response, his hands gripping your waist tightly as his body molded against yours.

“I can’t,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips trailing down to your jaw before returning to your mouth, his kisses growing more desperate. “I’ve been holding back for so long, watching you with those lip piercings of yours.”

His thumb brushed against your lips, as he took a moment to look at you. “Please,” he murmured, his voice soft yet pleading. His gaze was fixated on your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race.

A knock on the door made both of you flinch.

“Hyung, is Noona with you in there?” Riki’s voice rang from behind the door.

“What’s up, Riki?” you responded quickly, pushing Jungwon away slightly as you tried to tidy up your appearance.

“Can I come in? Need to give you something,” Riki replied, waiting for permission.

“Go ahead, Ki,” Jungwon muttered reluctantly, turning his back to the door to hide the growing tension in his pants. His annoyance was clear, though he tried to mask it. Meanwhile, you did your best to make yourself look presentable.

Riki stepped inside, holding a handful of snacks. “Got you these, Noona. You said you’d been craving them, right?” he said, handing them to you with a small smile.

“Oh! Yeah, thanks, Riki,” you replied, beaming in gratitude.

“Also, Hyung,” Riki added with a smirk, “if you’re gonna make out with someone, at least move away from the door. It’s obvious.”

Both you and Jungwon froze, snapping your heads toward him.

“Ha-ha, don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jungwon muttered, feigning ignorance.

“Yes, you do,” Riki shot back. “It’s obvious you like Noona. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened, but before he could retort, Riki continued, his voice tinged with playful defiance. “I know that because I like her too, Hyung.”

Your head darted between the two of them, the tension in the room so thick it was almost suffocating. You set down the snacks Riki had brought you, your hands slightly trembling.

“Well… what now?” you asked nervously, your voice barely above a whisper. Both of their heads snapped toward you at the same time, their intense gazes locking onto you, making your cheeks flush as you quickly averted your eyes.

Perhaps it was instinct or an unspoken agreement between the two because, within moments, Jungwon pulled you into his embrace and kissed you deeply, his hands gripping your waist with firm possessiveness. Before you could fully process it, you felt a warm chest press against your back—Riki’s.

“Stop being so greedy, Hyung,” Riki grumbled, pulling you away from Jungwon with a frown.

“Just say you’re jealous I got to her first,” Jungwon taunted, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

“You wish. You’re delusional if you think you’ve won—Noona and I kissed long before you two did, which means I’m better,” Riki shot back, his pride shining through every word.

Jungwon’s smirk faltered briefly before he proposed, “Why don’t we let her decide?”

Both of their gazes locked onto you, making your cheeks burn as you tried to hide your face behind your hands.

“You two…” you mumbled, your voice small and flustered beyond belief.

“Can’t we show you who’s better at treating you, pretty?” Riki asked, his voice soft as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, Princess,” Jungwon murmured, pulling your hands from your face to press a tender kiss on your forehead. “Don’t feel pressured. Just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

“Yeah, Noona,” Riki added, his tone gentle. “We can wait. It’s your call.”

You stayed silent for a moment, your mind racing. Being the only woman in the group had its challenges—and its perks. This wasn’t the first time you’d kissed one of your members, but this situation was entirely different. As much as you wanted to deny the offer, the slick heat between your thighs betrayed you.

“Maybe… if you treat me well,” you finally said, your voice soft as you broke the tension, agreeing to their offer.

“Of course,” Jungwon replied smoothly, his tone gentle yet firm. “But first…”

Jungwon guided the three of you into a quiet discussion, his words careful and measured. He ensured everything was clear, setting boundaries and understanding your comfort level before anything else. The conversation was brief but reassuring, leaving you with a sense of ease.

It didn’t take long for things to escalate afterward. Now, you found yourself perched on Riki’s lap at the edge of the bed, his lips pressing against yours in a fiery, hungry kiss. Meanwhile, Jungwon’s soft shuffling filled the background as he rummaged through a drawer. “Just grabbing the necessities,” he muttered with a low chuckle, amusement lacing his tone.

Breaking the kiss, Riki’s lips moved down your body, leaving feather-light kisses on your neck. “Remember, you’re in control, angel. Just tell us if anything is too much,” Riki reassured, his lips now suckling on your neck.

When he found your sensitive spot, a small moan escaped your lips. “Oh, here?” Riki teased, sucking a bit harder on your skin.

“That tickles...” you muttered, squirming slightly away. Suddenly, your vision was obstructed—a blindfold covering your eyes.

“W-what’s this...?” you asked, your voice unsteady.

Jungwon was quick to respond, his voice smooth and teasing. “Guessing game, princess. You’ll have to figure out who’s touching you, kissing you, and fucking you. Get it right, and you’ll be rewarded. Get it wrong...” he trailed off, his hands roaming slowly down your body before settling on your breasts, squeezing and kneading until a soft moan slipped from your lips. “And you don’t get to cum until you do.”

“We’ll take care of you, angel. Just relax,” Riki murmured near your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His deft fingers began unbuttoning your shirt, and Jungwon, working in unison, slipped it off with ease before unhooking your bra. Within moments, you were left in just your bottoms. Jungwon’s hands quickly found your wrists, and before you could register what was happening, the soft click of cuffs secured your hands behind you.

“No touching, no seeing, baby. Just guess. You can do that, right?” Jungwon whispered, pulling you off Riki’s lap. He moved you to the couch in the middle of the room, propping your legs up. “Can I take them off?” his voice asked gently.

You nodded, letting out a soft, “Please.” He slid off your pants and panties in one motion, exposing your soaked core to the cool air.

The rustle of clothing in the background caught your attention as you breathed in anticipation. “Can one of you please just touch me alread—ah~!” you yelped as soft lips pressed against your folds, teasing your thighs as hands spread your legs. You couldn’t even tell who was doing it, but you were already moaning in need.

“Please, just do it already...” you whined, bucking your hips. A soft chuckle echoed before a tongue started leaving kitten licks on your wet folds. “Mhm, right there...” you sighed in relief.

They moved to suck on your clit, spreading your folds with their fingers before pushing them in. A loud scream escaped your lips, only to be muffled by a hand from behind you.

“Fuhhhghk...” you cursed against the hand, the one between your legs now curling their fingers inside your dripping pussy while teasing your clit with their tongue.

The man behind you toyed with your nipples, pinching and stroking them with one hand while keeping your sounds muffled with the other. Despite knowing the room was soundproof, you couldn’t help but wonder why he silenced you—until his fingers prodded your lips. Obediently, you opened your mouth, sucking on them as drool coated his fingers while he thrust them gently.

Wet lewd noises filled the room—the sound of your moans, your juices, and their synchronized movements blending together. The knot in your stomach tightened, making your hips buck against their tongue. The one behind you removed his fingers from your mouth, using your own drool to coat your nipples before playing with them softly.

Despite the blindfold obscuring your vision, you started piecing things together. The fingers working inside you felt slightly shorter than the ones that had been in your mouth. Leaning your head back slightly, you felt the firm outline of abs behind you, hinting at his height and build.

The sensations overwhelmed you, your moans growing louder as your release drew near. Desperate, you made a guess. “Please, Won… fuck… c-close!” you whimpered, his name falling from your lips in desperation.

“Good girl...” Jungwon’s voice confirmed your guess as he worked faster, his tongue and fingers driving you toward your peak.

“Jungwon…!” you cried out, trembling.

“I know, baby. Let go f’ me,” he murmured, watching intently as you finally let go, your body twitching uncontrollably before you squirted.

He immediately lapped up your juices, savoring the moment as he cleaned you up, leaving a soft kiss on your folds before pulling away with a satisfied hum.

“You can take a few more, right?” Riki said, his voice low and teasing as he pulled your head back for a heated kiss before slipping away from behind you, leaving you panting and trembling from the aftermath of your high.

The room was silent except for the rustling of movement and your ragged breathing. Your body trembled, overly sensitive, every nerve alight and begging for relief. Suddenly, your legs were lifted, propped against strong shoulders, the action sending a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through you.

A familiar pressure followed—a thick, hard tip tapping lightly against your clit, dragging along your slick folds in slow, teasing strokes before pausing at your entrance.

A whine escaped your lips at the unbearable sensitivity. Without warning, the head pushed in, stretching you inch by inch until they were fully seated inside. They started moving immediately, their thrusts slow and deliberate, dragging every nerve along your walls and leaving you gasping.

“Fuck… yes, yes, right there—hngh…” you babbled incoherently, the stretch filling you so perfectly it made your head spin. They weren’t especially long, but their girth was sinful, every stroke pulling you deeper into the haze.

The lack of sight amplified everything—every sound, every touch, every sensation. Your wrists strained against the cuffs, but there was no escape from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. Their pace picked up, hips snapping into yours, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin echoing through the room, mingling with your cries. The knot in your stomach tightened, the pressure building rapidly, but just as you teetered on the edge of release, they pulled out abruptly.

“No—please!” you cried, your voice raw and desperate as the emptiness left you shaking.

Laughter, low and teasing, sounded on either side of you. Their voices followed, disorienting you further as they whispered in unison, one voice in your left ear, the other in your right.

“You have to guess, baby,” one murmured, his tone sultry and amused.

“Guess it right, and maybe we’ll both reward you,” the other added, his voice a breathy tease.

Hands roamed your body, stroking, squeezing, teasing, but their touches were indistinguishable. The anticipation was maddening, your body twitching with every featherlight caress.

“Who was it, angel?” one asked, the whisper brushing against your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver.

“Think carefully,” the other teased, his voice dangerously soft as his lips ghosted over your neck.

Your head spun, the sensory overload leaving you utterly at their mercy. Before you could answer, another set of hands slid up your thighs, lifting them slightly before a cock pressed back inside you, filling you in one smooth stroke. You gasped, your back arching as the rhythm began again, this time faster, more deliberate, coaxing every reaction out of you.

“Who is it?” one of them whispered, their tone deep and commanding, their lips brushing against the shell of your ear. A hand tangled in your hair, tugging gently, just enough to send a sharp spark of pleasure through you.

You opened your mouth to answer, but another voice purred against your lips before you could speak. “Careful, baby. Get it wrong, and we might have to start over.”

The stretch, the pace, the way they claimed you—it was impossible to think straight. Every sound, every movement, every word blended together, leaving you guessing, your mind a haze of desire and need.

“Take your time, princess,” one murmured, his lips grazing your jaw as the thrusts continued.

“No rush,” the other whispered, his tone dripping with amusement. “We’ve got all night.”

The overwhelming sensations made it nearly impossible to think straight. Your body trembled, teetering on the edge of delirium. Their teasing whispers, so close to your ears, blurred together, sending shivers down your spine.

‘Shit…’ you thought, barely able to focus, the lingering edge of your denied release making everything feel magnified. It didn’t help that the way they alternated, the subtle differences in their movements, forced you to pay attention to every inch of their touch.

“Ah—fuck!” you cried out suddenly as the current one inside you hit your g-spot with precision, causing your back to arch off the couch.

“Ahh, it’s right here, huh, angel?” he teased, his voice a deep growl as his lips brushed against your ear, his hips snapping harder and faster into you.

“Feels so good, doesn’t it, pretty?” the other murmured from beside you, his hand gripping your neck firmly, holding you steady as you squirmed beneath them.

The combination of sensations left you on the brink of being completely cock-drunk, your mind fuzzy and your body responding instinctively. But you forced yourself to focus, trying to distinguish between them.

The one before was a decent length, thick and stretching you with every thrust. But the one in you now? He was longer, thinner, reaching places that left you gasping for breath. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to gather your thoughts despite the way your body was screaming for more.

“Have you decided?” one of them asked, their tone a mix of amusement and anticipation.

Taking a shaky breath, you finally spoke, your voice hoarse and trembling. Your lips parted, the answer teetering on the edge of your tongue, as another thrust sent sparks shooting through your nerves, nearly making you second-guess yourself.

“W-Won then, Ki…?” you gasped, breath hitching as his thrusts slowed before he pulled out again, leaving you whining in frustration.

“My, you seem to know us so well, angel,” Riki's voice rang clearer now, no longer whispering.

“Gonna have to treat her to something good, right, Ki?” Jungwon added, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Such a smart girl.”

“Mhm… please, ’m yours…” you murmured, breathless, as they carried you back onto the bed, your head hanging slightly over the edge.

“Blindfolds—on or off?” Jungwon asked softly, standing over you, his gaze intense as his hands stroked himself gently.

“O-on.. please,” you replied, causing Riki to comment, “What a dirty girl,” His body suddenly pushing back into you with a swift move, making you yelp. He moved quickly against you, his arms holding your knees tightly.

“Shh, you’re so loud, baby,” Jungwon said, tapping his tip near your lips, causing you to open them obediently. “Or you wanna show how much of a cockslut you are, hmm?” he teased, moving gently into your mouth, your moans muffled sending vibrations through him.

Jungwon groaned as you hummed on his dick, holding onto the back of your neck to balance you as he fucked your mouth. “Such a good cockslut for us, right Ki?”

“Mhm, such a good girl for us.” Riki replied, biting his lips as he watched himself going in and out of you.

Feeling their cocks filling you both ways had your head spinning, waves of pleasure surging through your sensitive body. Your muffled moans sent vibrations along Jungwon’s length, drawing a low groan from him as he bucked his hips, his restraint fraying with each passing moment.

Both of them began to pick up their pace, Riki’s hands gripping your hips firmly. “Your pussy’s taking me in so perfectly, angel” he growled, his hips snapping into you with a steady rhythm.

“Such a pretty girl taking us both so well,” Jungwon praised, his hand stroking your flushed cheek as his hips continued their relentless rhythm in your mouth. He gazed down at you, a hint of admiration in his voice. “Close?”

You hummed weakly, the vibration sent a shudder through him, and his voice grew more strained as his release teetered on the edge.

“Cum for us, angel.”

The next morning, it was safe to say they found themselves in a rather questionable situation. The boys assumed you were still peacefully resting in bed after the events of the previous day. But the same couldn't be said for the other two.

“I can’t believe you two,” Heeseung said, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as the two youngest members sat awkwardly on the couch.

“Sorry—” Jungwon began, but you suddenly cut him off.

“Seung-ah, it’s fine,” you said, appearing in the doorway with a gentle smile. “Besides, I think you’re just jealous. If you want me, just say so, baby—but keep these two out of it.”

Heeseung froze for a moment, clearly trying to process your teasing words, before completely blowing a fuse. The two younger boys cried out in panic, while you giggled and walked off, ready to go back to sleep.

TAGLIST — @kikidoul @rikiives @contyynishimura @ziiao @lilmarsh-t @bxcndd @laylasbunbunny

#( tfwbluu )#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen smut #enha smut #niki x reader #riki x reader #niki smut #riki smut #ni ki smut #ni ki x reader #yang jungwon smut #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon smut #jungwon x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enha hard hours #enha hard thoughts

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5secondsofmoxley · 1 day ago

Text

Good news! Part 2 is almost complete. Hoping to get it out Wednesday night.

Believe // Part 1

Pairings: Jay White x fem!Reader, OC (Trevor) x fem!Reader

Warnings: language, angst, reader’s current boyfriend is a major dick, stalker (not Jay), fluff, cheating, things get steamyyyy

Summary: Reader is home recovering from a knee injury in the ring when she begins being stalked. Her boyfriend, Trevor, doesn’t believe her. Luckily for her, her neighbor Jamie does.

Author’s Note: I’m posting this now before I second guess sharing it. This is set when Jay is on excursion living in Detroit. You can thank all of his old matches I’ve been watching recently that made me want to write about young Jay. This will be a two part story.

“I’m not crazy!”

“No one said you are.”

“You’re acting like I am.”

“Baby,” Trevor paused, “I think you’re just going stir crazy. You’re not used to being the one home all the time.”

“Will you stop trying to downplay my feelings? I’m telling you, someone has been following me.”

Trevor sighed. “You can’t give me any description of your so called stalker. If you have no physical evidence, how am I supposed to believe they exist?”

“Trevor,” he cuts me off.

“Might I also remind you, you’re supposed to be bed ridden. Your knee is still fucked up. The doctor told you to limit walking until you see him for reevaluation in two weeks.”

“If he didn’t want me walking, he shouldn’t have given me crutches.”

“He had to give you crutches for when I’m not here and you need the bathroom! They’re not for you to drag your ass to the grocery story. Also, you’re not even using them!”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I told him my knee hasn’t been bothering me as much. I need to get used to putting weight on it so I can get back in the ring faster.”

“You’re not going to get back in the ring if you don’t heal properly. You should be taking this time to relax. We could be making the most of this but you can’t wait to get back on the road.”

“This isn’t a vacation. Wrestling is everything to me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Baby,”

I put my hand up to stop him. “No, that tone you used. You knew when we started dating that wrestling is my life.”

Trevor sighed. “And I admire you for the passion you have for it. But I thought maybe as time went on, you’d at least try harder to be home more.” He paused to shake his head. Scoffing at me, he threw in, “Hell, you can’t even call this home. I picked this apartment while you were on the road. I had to empty out both of our old apartments and set us up in this one. We’ve had this place for seven months and you’ve spent a total of maybe five days home before you got injured.”

“You were the one that wanted to rush to move into a place together. You were the one that decided to take a job offer across the country and move us to a new city. I had just gotten my title shot and you knew I wouldn’t have time to help.”

“You’ve been putting it off for two years! There’s always an excuse. And it’s always wrestling.”

“It’s my job! What do you want from me?”

“My job isn’t interfering in our relationship.”

“You work a normal job.”

Trevor doesn’t respond. He just runs his hands through his hair frustratingly and turns away. “Seriously, Trev, what do you want me to say?”

He choked out a bitter laugh. “I want you to at least pretend you love me as much as you love wrestling.”

I was sick of this fight. It had happened so many times. Trevor and I met four years ago at a bar after a show I worked. A show he attended with his friend. Trevor wasn’t a wrestling fan, his friend had an extra ticket and he tagged along. They just so happened to go for drinks at the same bar some of us had chosen to go to. He approached me and the rest is history.

From the very start, I told him I was barely ever home and I’d understand if he didn’t want to do long distance. He assured me that he could handle it and he really liked me. The first two months were great. We texted all the time, and tried to video call at least once a day. At that time, I was coming home more often. I wasn’t getting as many bookings as I get now. But as our relationship grew stronger, so did my career. Opportunities came in back to back, and I took every one. It’s what I had always dreamed about and I wasn’t going to let a guy change that. My career started taking off and he supported me every step of the way. As that first year went on, my trips home became far and few between. Almost the entire second year of our relationship was spent hundreds of miles apart from each other.

When I was on the road, things were fine. As the saying goes, distance makes the heart grow fonder. The more time went on, things started to change. Every time I’d come home, we’d spend the precious few days we had together arguing about my career. Something I had reminded him many times he knew what he was getting into. The more we fought, the less I decided to come home. I started to dread seeing him.

On one of my visits home, Trevor brought up the idea of moving in together. He, like me, was sick of fighting and thought maybe we needed a change. A place to call our own. So when I would come home, our time together wouldn’t be split between our two separate apartments. I agreed, and we decided we’d begin the hunt the next time I was home. And then that tour got extended. On my next short trip home, I had just enough time to switch clothes, have a quick meal with Trevor and head back out. He started sending me videos of apartments he toured. Sometimes we’d video chat as he did the tours. But it was hard to feel a connection to a place without seeing it in person.

I asked him to cool it on the apartment hunting. I promised him when I was home after the tour, our time would be dedicated to finding a home. What was supposed to be a full three week break from wrestling, got shortened to barely two when another promotion booked me. We spent an entire week looking before I had to stop it again so I could actually rest a bit and start packing to head out again. History repeated itself time and time again and we got stuck in that endless loop.

Fast forward two years to where we are now. Freshly moved into our new apartment, what’s supposed to be the first step in starting a life together. And yet, it hurts me to think that none of this feels like mine. I know it’s partially my fault. Trevor is right, I wasn’t here to go apartment hunting and help move everything. His lease was coming to an end, and though I offered for him to just move everything in to mine, he insisted he wanted something that was ours. Then when his job offered him a position in Detroit, he thought that was the perfect opportunity to build something together. But as he got his promotion offer, I was given a title shot that I wouldn’t refuse.

By the time I finally got to come home for the first time, Trevor had everything unpacked. He said he had done it so I could just come home and relax, but I knew the true reasoning was the fear that I wouldn’t even touch the boxes in the short two days I’d be home. The result ended up being that it had felt like I moved into Trevor’s oasis. Though he had put up pictures of us, and had even put out some of the knickknacks from my old place, it didn’t feel like home. It didn’t take me too long to come to the harsh reality that Trevor didn’t feel like home anymore.

Trevor sighed, breaking me out of my deep thought. The tension was the thickest it had ever been. I knew I should’ve told him I loved him. I should’ve lied and told him I’d pick him over wrestling. But he wouldn’t believe me. At the end of the day, Trevor knows where he stands when it comes to him and my career. Sometimes I wonder why he still puts up with me and why we both choose to put ourselves through this. Don’t get me wrong, I do love him. Just not like I used to. He was my first love and he’ll always hold a special place in my heart. And I think that’s what keeps me with him. Thinking that we have arguably hit rock bottom of our relationship and things have to go up.

“I have to get to work. I’m going to eat dinner there since I’ll be late tonight. I’ll see you later.” Trevor walked out without another word.

I groaned, throwing myself down on the couch but quickly regretted it once I felt my knee twinge in pain. The last thing I expected to happen when I told Trevor I felt like I was being stalked was for us to fight. I should’ve seen it coming, everything has led to a fight recently. But I did expect him to believe me and take my concerns seriously.

I’ve been home for two months now. The first month, I did spend in bed following doctors’ orders. And maybe I did start going stir crazy. I’m in what’s supposed to be my home, in an unfamiliar city, nursing an injury while my boyfriend spends most of his time at work. I was glad he wasn’t here to coddle me, but I did wonder how he handled being alone all the time.

I started out just exploring our apartment. Trying to familiarize myself with what would be my home for the foreseeable future. After quickly memorizing every nook and cranny, I decided to tour the building. I found the gym, the mailroom, even went down to the front desk and made small conversation with the concierge.

I did this for a few days before I lost interest in seeing the same things over and over again. So yeah, I decided to leave the apartment building. I was sick of ordering food though I had plenty of options. Everything was still new to me. I figured going grocery shopping would kill two birds with one stone. I would do something productive and explore the city a bit. I looked up the nearest grocery story and made my way there.

I took my time walking around and familiarizing myself with the store, figuring it would be my go to one. Not having a list of what I wanted or needed, I just picked up anything that peeked my interest along the way. It was early into my trip that I noticed I had a tail. At first, I told myself I was being paranoid. I had the tendency to convince myself something was happening when nothing was really going on.

I figured out I wasn’t going crazy when I decided to go back to the cereal aisle for the third time and noticed the same guy in a black hoodie follow me back. At first, I thought it was a fan that was too nervous to approach me. He had been keeping his distance, but wasn’t trying too hard to hide the fact he was following me. I tried offering him a smile when I caught him looking, but he quickly turned away and left the aisle. I pretended to study the boxes, hoping I was giving him time to put distance between us. But I still felt his eyes on me. My suspicion of him hanging around was confirmed when I caught the flash of his hood ducking behind the corner as I turned to look at the options behind me.

I left my groceries behind that trip. I just wanted to get out. Normally, I wouldn’t have felt so threatened. I’m trained to fight. I was trained with a class of guys since not many girls were attending my school at the time. Though I realize I’ll always be at a disadvantage against a man, I’d like to think I could hold my own. And I try to quiet the voices in my head warning me that there are crazies out there who could have god knows what sort of weapons on them. But right now, being nowhere near one hundred percent with my knee, I was worried. More worried about getting more damage to my knee and my return to the ring taking even longer. It was almost scary how little concern I had for my actual life versus my concern about wrestling.

The entire way home, I was on edge hoping this man wasn’t following me. I was scared of him finding where I live and finding me alone ninety percent of the time. I wanted to take a longer route home, but with the fear of getting lost in the still foreign city, and with the ache in my knee getting worse, I rushed up to our apartment. The minute I was behind our door, I made sure to double lock it and run to the window to see if I’d catch a glimpse of him. I didn’t see anything suspicious. Over the course of the next few days, I kept looking out the window to make sure there were no unusual cars hanging around. If only I had looked up and noticed the figure in the window across from my own.

Even though I had no signs of the man following me, I still went back to ordering in for a whole week. Then I convinced myself that that situation was a one off. I was safe to go back out. So I decided to go for groceries again. I did decide to go to a different store. This one was a little further, but I figured the exercise would be good for my knee. I was twenty minutes into my shopping when I saw him again. Same black hoodie, same build, hands in his pockets following me not even pretending to shop. I cut my trip short. I paid for the few items I had and left. The entire way home, I was vigilant and made sure I wasn’t being tailed.

I had decided not to tell Trevor. I didn’t want to bother him. I never wanted to feel like a burden, and it had taken me a lot in the first place to convince him to go to work and not stay home with me as I recovered. Keeping the information to myself, I stayed in for another week and a half before concluding the third time’s a charm. There was no possible way if I went to another new grocery store, he would find me.

I pretended not to notice him. I thought feigning ignorance might keep me safe. Maybe he wouldn’t make a move if he thought I wasn’t aware of him following me. As I got the last thing on my list, I checked out and headed home. To my dismay, he trailed me. Unsure of what to do, I maneuvered my three grocery bags into one hand and tried calling Trevor with the other. The call went to voicemail, so I made the quick decision to stop at a little cafe I was passing.

The relief I felt of taking the pressure off my knee was nowhere near as strong as the relief of watching him pass the cafe without so much as glancing at me. I ordered myself a coffee and decided to hang around for a bit. Connecting to the free WiFi, I decided to go on social media and do a little q&a with fans to get some social interaction I had been missing. After about an hour, I determined it had to be safe to head home. Grabbing my bags and throwing out my empty coffee cup, I took my leave. I walked for not even two minutes before I felt like I had a shadow.

Being as discreet as possible, I studied the reflection of the windows I passed and there he was. There was a crowd of people between us, but I could still make him out. I rushed as much as I could without being obvious. I threw caution to the wind and headed straight home, not caring about him finding out where I live. I knew Frank would be at the front desk and he’d step in if the guy had the balls to follow me into the building. As I rushed in the front doors, the man went past. I turned around in time to make eye contact with him for a split second before he was out of sight. His dark eyes sent a chill down my spine.

That was yesterday. I tried calling Trevor again when I got safely into our apartment, but I once again got his voicemail. As I was unpacking the groceries and trying to calm my still racing heart, I got a text from Trevor apologizing for missing my calls. He said he was busy and he’d be late. He told me not to wait up as he was also going out for drinks afterwards. I fell asleep on the couch last night with SpongeBob playing in the background. This morning I awoke to an empty bed and the sound of the shower running. I sat at the end of the bed, and blindsided him with the information the minute he walked out of the bathroom.

Trevor gave me absolutely no comfort and left for work as if I hadn’t just told him I could very well be in danger. I sulked on the couch for hours until I got a text I had a package at the front desk. I made my way down to Frank to retrieve it, wanting nothing more than to get back upstairs. As Frank went into the back office to look, I couldn’t help but stare outside expecting to find the man but seeing nothing. That should’ve brought me some sense of security, but instead I was left feeling eerie knowing the man knows where I live, but I don’t know where he is.

After getting the parcel from Frank, I quickly thanked him and left the lobby. It was a fairly large box, with no sender on it. I had no idea what it could be, and I was sure I hadn’t ordered anything. I should’ve went straight back to my apartment, but stupidly decided to stop for the mail. Once I grabbed that as well, I left the mailroom and turned the corner towards the elevator. Unfortunately for me, I quite literally ran into someone walking out of the gym.

I could tell he made a move to catch me before I fell, but with the box between us, he was unsuccessful. I groaned as the box hit my knee on the way down.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” The accent took me by surprise. He sounded Australian, but I was sure there was a twang to it. I wondered what could’ve possibly brought him to Detroit.

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t exactly watching where I was going.” He gave me a hand, helping me to my feet. Once we were eye level, I finally got my first look at him. And boy, was I not ready. The blue eyes brought a flutter to my chest, and the soft smile on his face had me blushing. He was cute.

“I haven’t seen you here before. You visiting a friend?”

“No, I live here. Moved in seven months ago. I just travel a lot for work.”

“Right, sorry, stupid question.” He motioned to the mailroom. “Clearly you live here or else you wouldn’t have come out of there. How’d you hurt your knee?”

Glancing down at the brace, I hesitated to respond. “I fell off a ladder the wrong way.”

That got a chuckle from him. “How does one fall off a ladder the wrong way?”

I sheepishly smiled at him, bringing a hand up to rub the back of my neck. “Uh, I’m a professional wrestler.”

His face lit up in surprise. A smile began to grow on his face. “Funny, I am too.”

I grinned back. “Are you pulling my leg?”

He let out a hearty laugh. “Wouldn’t be the best idea right now with your injury. I really am a wrestler, I’m here on excursion from the New Japan dojo.”

“Oh wow. That’s awesome!”

As he went to respond, his eyes glanced down at the floor for a second. “Here, let me help you with that.” He collected the mail I had dropped into a neat pile and handed it to me before also picking up my box. He didn’t make a move to pass it over.

“I can take that.”

“After I almost plowed you over, the least I can do is carry this for you. It’s got a good weight to it. You definitely don’t need the extra pressure on your knee. May I ask what’s in the box?”

I shrugged as we headed to the elevator together, pressing the up arrow. “Not sure. I didn’t order anything.”

The elevator came almost immediately, and he motioned letting me get on first. I stepped in and immediately pressed the button for the fourth floor before asking him which he needed. His lips quirked up. “Same here.”

I couldn’t help the smile that grew on my face, but I did try to hide it as I turned away for a moment. I had wanted nothing more than to not feel so lonely in this new city, and the universe handed me quite possibly the cutest guy I had ever seen. If he wasn’t standing right next to me, I would smack myself for even having these thoughts as I was headed back up to the apartment I share with my boyfriend of four years. Things have been rocky with Trevor and I, but that gives me no right to be feeling the way I am right now.

When the elevator opened, we walked in a comfortable silence down the hall. As I stopped outside my door, he caught my attention as he chuckled. “So, you’re Trevor’s girlfriend. I honestly thought he was making you up since you’re never here. Now it all makes sense.” He tilted his head to the door behind him, the one across from ours. “This is me. I’m Jamie, by the way. Or Jay, whichever you prefer.”

He was able to maneuver the box onto one hand so he could hold out his other for a handshake. I didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, but I did try to ignore the flutter in my chest as I noticed how perfectly my hand fit into his. He also got me blushing again when he repeated my name back to me, as if having to test it on his tongue. I had never thought the sound of my own name could be so sexy until hearing his voice say it.

“Can I help you in with this?” Jamie asked, giving the box a little shake.

I chuckled, shifting to unlock my door for us to head in. “Even if I said no, I think you’d still insist on carrying it in for me.”

I held the door open for Jamie. “You can just put it down on the counter, thank you.”

He looked around as he set the box down. Trevor and him had talked, but clearly never hung out. Or at least, not in our place from the way Jamie was taking in every detail of our apartment. I threw the mail down on the coffee table, watching Jamie explore the way I had for so many days.

“Nice place.” He offered me a small smile.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Tell that to Trevor. He picked the place and did the decorating.”

“Not a fan then?”

I sighed. “It’s not that, it’s just,” I paused, looking around. I sighed again. “It just doesn’t feel like home. Guess it’s my own fault for being on the road all the time.”

“Trust me, I get it. I left New Zealand to train in the UK before I ended up in Japan. It was just starting to feel like home when I got shipped here for excursion. Another wrestler was kind enough to offer me a room at his home until I found this place. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong. But I hate the cold weather. I prefer more sun.”

“Are you going to move to Japan when they call you back?” I asked, taking a seat on the couch.

Jamie stuck his hands in the pockets of his gym shorts. “Probably not. I have friends here now and I think there’s more to the city I want to see.” There was a certain twinkle in his eye that had me blushing as he said that.

A sad smile grew on my face. “Maybe I’d feel better being here if my friends were here. Certainly wouldn’t be as lonely.”

“Well, how about I go wash the gym off of me, and I can come back to hang if you’d like.” Jamie said nervously, a slight blush taking over his cheeks.

I bit lip trying to contain the grin that threatened to take over my face. “I’d really like that.”

——

Not even fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I didn’t even think twice as I called out that it was open.

Jamie walked in with a teasing smile on his face. “Shouldn’t you have asked who it was first?”

My face dropped as I suddenly remembered the whole stalker thing. Jamie was right, I should’ve asked and definitely shouldn’t be sitting here with the door unlocked. Especially being I can’t move nearly as fast as I normally can.

The smile fell from his face. His shoulders slumped and he bit his lip as he made his way over to me. “I was just kidding. You were expecting me.”

I ran a hand through my hair before tapping the couch for him to take a seat. He left maybe a foot of space between us. “It’s not that, it’s just,” I paused. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell him. Besides the fact we literally just met so I didn’t want to trauma dump on him, I was afraid he wouldn’t believe me.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” Jamie broke me from my thoughts. He gave me a tentative smile, and hesitated for a second before deciding to place a hand over my own, giving it a gentle squeeze. Absentmindedly, I turned my hand over to interlock our fingers, squeezing his hand back.

I wasn’t sure what it was, but something made talking to Jamie so easy. I was a social person, but I couldn’t just talk to anyone like this. There was a sense of comfort and oddly almost familiarity between us. We just met, and yet it felt like I could talk to him as if I’ve known him my whole life. It sort of felt like we were meant to meet.

Jamie just quietly listened as I told him everything that had happened. Unlike Trevor, he gave me the chance to tell him how genuinely scared I was feeling. The word vomit didn’t stop when I expressed how stupid I felt for feeling like this, knowing I can defend myself if needed. I even blurted out how angry I was about how Trevor responded and brushed me off so easily.

When I finally got it all out, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I stared at the ground just playing with his fingers. His other hand reached over to lay atop both of ours. I hesitated another moment before making eye contact with him.

“Trevor is an asshole. He should’ve stayed home with you. And the fact he even had the nerve to tell you he’s staying late tonight,” he shook his head as his brows furrowed in anger. “I knew I didn’t like that guy.” He mumbled under his breath.

I tilted my head in wonder. “You don’t like Trevor?” I was genuinely curious what made Jamie feel like this. I had always known Trevor to be charming, easily likable. He made friends like it was second nature to him. Sure, lately I’ve noticed a change in him. But I thought it was just us. Maybe I didn’t know Trevor like I used it.

Jamie’s eyes met mine again. I could see the internal debate he was having whether or not he should reveal the cause of his obvious disdain towards Trevor. He sighed as he relented. “It’s the way he carries himself. Like he’s some big shot. He practically snarled at me when it came up that I wrestled.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, Trevor isn’t a fan of wrestling. He didn’t mind it when we first met, but the longer we dated, the more he hated it.”

“And the way he talks about you.” Jamie dropped my hands to stand up and pace the floor in front of me.

My eyes narrowed. “How does he talk about me?”

“Like you’re some prize he won. Like a consolation prize. He brags about you like you’re a supermodel but then makes it sound like he doesn’t want you around. Like you’ve latched onto him.”

I scoffed. “Trust me, if it wasn’t for my injury, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Jay crossed his arms over his chest as he met my gaze again. “He’s so hot and cold about you, add in the fact you’re never home, it’s why I assumed he made you up. It never made sense how he talked about you. And yet, it felt like he was trying to rub you in my face.”

Scoffing again, I looked away. Without thinking, I blurted out, “He’s probably threatened by you. You’re hot and could clearly kick his ass. It probably bothered him that he moved us into a place right across from the walking embodiment of my type.” My eyes widened as I realized what I said. I broke eye contact and I started fidgeting with my fingers as my cheeks burned a crimson red.

The air lightened as Jamie chuckled. He gave me a teasing smirk as he took a step closer to me. “Walking embodiment of your type?” He questioned.

I bit my lip. “Well, my dream type maybe. Blue eyes, well built, the accent,” I swooned. I shook my head quickly. “Bonus points because you’re a wrestler and wrestling is literally my passion. I didn’t think I’d ever meet someone like you.”

“Is that why you settled for Trevor?”

I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know how to.

“Sorry,” Jamie shook his head. “Wow, that was an asshole thing to say. I’m sorry. I don’t know your relationship with him and it’s not my business.”

“No, you’re all good. I didn’t think it was that obvious from both ends that we’re not really happy together. God,” I ran my hands over my face. “Can I be so honest and bold right now?”

I moved forward to sit on the edge of the couch. Jamie took another step towards me. “I have never in my life, not even when I first met Trevor or when we were truly happy, felt the way I’m feeling right now with you. And it’s crazy right? Because we just met. And fuck, I want to kiss you so bad right now.”

“I’m not going to stop you.”

I jumped to my feet and practically threw myself at him. I ignored the pain in my knee from jolting the way I did. Wrapping my arms around his neck and playing with the end of his hair, I connected our lips. Jamie’s hands instantly met my waist, before sliding down to the back of my thighs, giving me a light tap. I took the hint, jumping up to wrap my legs around him.

The kiss was fervent. Our teeth clanked as Jamie’s tongue slid into my mouth. It was messy. The kiss, and the situation I had put myself in. But I couldn’t bring myself to care. The only thing I had ever wanted more than this, was to wrestle.

Jamie carried me over to the door, pressing my back into the wall just next to it. I moaned as he started kissing down my jawline and my neck, all while pressing his bulge into my core.

“Fuck, Jamie,” I exhaled with pleasure. I tugged on his hair a bit, pulling a groan from him as he pressed harder into me.

“Tell me to stop.” He mumbled between kisses. He met my lips again. He gave me one long kiss before pulling back to press his forehead to mine. I gently bit his lip as he pulled away, drawing a moan from him.

“Tell me to stop.” Jamie repeated. His eyes flickered between my own. “If you don’t now, I don’t think I’ll be able to later. Tell me stop.”

I played with his hair as I held eye contact. So many thoughts swirled in my head. The angel on my shoulder was whispering in comparison to the devil howling at me to let go. I wanted to blame all this on my horniness. I couldn’t remember the last time Trevor and I had slept together. We had always spent the little time we had arguing, and though at times I had wished it would end in passionate, angry sex, it never did. But it wasn’t even that. It was simple. I just wanted Jamie.

“Fuck me.”

Jamie didn’t hesitate to pick up right where we left off. “My place.” He mumbled against my lips. Without letting go of me, he opened the door and carried me across the hall to his abode; We got lost in our own blissful paradise.

——

Jamie’s fingers ran through my hair as my head rested on his chest. The beat of his heart brought me a sense of peace. A peace I hadn’t felt in a long time. My arm was draped over his waist, and I couldn’t help but trace his abs with my finger. Our legs, the only thing being covered by the sheets, laid tangled together. It felt to me like we fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Hey,” Jamie called softly. I looked up to catch his eye. “I forgot to ask, what was in the box?”

“Huh,” I furrowed my brows. “I kinda forgot to open it. I just sorted through the mail and waited for you to come back.”

Jamie chuckled. “Aren’t you curious to what it is?”

I smiled. “Obviously, but I was a little distracted. I got an even bigger surprise than the package showing up.”

“Yeah, you got another large package.” Jamie smirked.

My face heated up instantly, and I smacked his stomach. I tried burying my face in his chest to hide my blush, but he moved the hand that was playing with my hair down to my cheek. He gently pulled my attention back to him.

“You’re cute when you blush.”

“Stop,” I giggled. “You’re making me feel like a lovesick teenager.”

Reality started to kick in suddenly. I found myself sighing, and I sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover my bare chest. I ran my hand through my hair as I tried to ignore the yearning I felt for Jamie’s warmth again. God, I had really fucked up big time.

Jamie followed suit, placing a hand on my back and rubbing gently circles. “What is it?” He murmured. He leaned forward, placing a soft kiss to my shoulder blade.

I bit my lip, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Jamie,” I exhaled. I brought my hand up to my mouth, chewing nervously on my nail. I sighed again. “I really fucked up.”

“Do you regret it?”

I moved back just the slightest bit so I could sit facing him. His blue eyes held a sadness to them. I bit my lip again as I looked away. “No. And that’s fucked up, right? I’m fucked up. Maybe I am going crazy.”

“You’re not going crazy.” Jamie’s hands rested on my cheeks, pulling my gaze to meet his. “Yeah, we just met. But there’s something here, a spark or something. You said it yourself, you’re not happy with him. And you felt this thing between us. Some invisible force pulling us together.”

“I swear, I’m not like this. I don’t do one night stands.”

Jamie smirked. “And you still haven’t. It’s not night. And you didn’t take off as one usually does after.”

“Jamie,” I grunted, giving him a gentle shove away.

“Look,” the playfulness dropped from his face. “If you want to go back to Trevor, I won’t stop you. We can pretend this never happened. We just, hung out here. It’s your call.”

“I don’t want to pretend this never happened.” I countered without hesitation. “I just wish it happened differently. The right way. I wish I had broken up with Trevor first. So I wouldn’t feel so guilty seeing what this is between us.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty. It sounds to me like emotionally, you and Trevor have been broken up for a long time. And sorry if this is overstepping, but I don’t think you’d try so hard to stay away from someone you love. Coming from someone in the business, I know you could’ve come home more in the past seven months. And on the other side, Trevor could’ve made an effort to come see you.”

“Trevor is busy at work.”

Jamie scoffed. “Trevor works a corporate job. He gets vacation days. And I know damn straight with how much he works, he’s accumulated plenty. It’s not just you that hasn’t put in the effort.”

“He did move us into our own place.”

“Did he ask if you liked it the first time you came home?” When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Did he ask if you were happy?”

“I get your point.” I relented. “Still doesn’t make what I did okay.”

“Listen,” Jamie took my hands in his. “I can’t say anything to make you feel better about what we did. But, I can tell you, I do want to see what this is, too. And I swear, I usually take a girl out first. And she usually doesn’t already have a boyfriend,” he joked.

“Jamie,” he cut me off.

“Do you regret it?”

“I already told you no.”

“So don’t dwell on it. Only thing to do now is move forward. It’s your decision where you want to go from here.”

I looked away as I thought for a moment. There was only one logical thing to do. “I’ll tell Trevor tonight. I don’t think I’d be able to wait even if I wanted to.”

“Do you want to start bringing some of your things here?”

My brow quirked up. “Are you asking me to move in already?”

Jamie gave me a frivolous smile. “Hey, we already started things out backwards. Might as well keep the train going that way.” He chuckled for a moment before his grin diminished a bit. “Also realistically, do you think you or Trevor would want you staying there after you tell him?”

I bit my lip again. “I hadn’t really thought of that. Don’t you think it would be crazy to live together immediately?”

“I believe everything happens for a reason. Plus, Ring of Honor does travel a bit, and I have a couple other promotions booked so I won’t be here all the time. Neither will you once you’re all healed up. And if you really want, you can look at it as me giving you a place to crash until you get on back on your feet.”

“Is that another knee joke?” I teased him.

Jamie laughed. “It actually wasn’t meant to be, but it’s just too easy to joke about it.”

As our laughing died down, the seriousness kicked back in. “What would people think?”

“I don’t care what people think. It’s our business.”

“Jamie,” I uttered softly. “We barely met a few hours ago.”

“And yet, I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime.”

I leaned forward, giving him a tender kiss. “Let’s go get my things.”

We made quick work of redressing before heading back across the hall to what would soon be my former apartment. My stomach dropped when I went to turn the handle and realized I had left the door unlocked. I hesitated to go inside.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie questioned. “If you’re having second thoughts, we don’t have to do this. You can think about it.”

I leaned my back against the door to face him. “It’s not that. I left the door unlocked. What if my stalker knows the apartment number and went in? I basically gave him a free invitation.”

Jamie’s back straightened up. “Shit. I didn’t even realize as we left. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Neither of us were thinking clearly.”

“I’ll go in first and make sure it’s safe.”

“Jamie-,” he quickly shook his head.

“I won’t hear any arguments. You wait right by the door.” Jamie gently moved me out of the way before heading inside. I followed, shutting the door softly as to not alert anyone if they were in here. I planted myself right next to the door where Jamie had pressed me earlier. I watched as he cautiously scoped out the apartment. I craned my neck as he disappeared out of sight down the hall to check out the bedroom.

Thankfully, barely a moment passed before he called out. “Coast is clear.”

I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. When Jamie walked back into the room, he gave me a small smile. “So, where do we start?” His eyes flickered for a moment before landing on the box he’d put down earlier. His eyes lit up in fascination. “There. We start there.”

I rolled my eyes but gave him a teasing smile. “You’re not going to get over it, are you?”

“Do you know how much I’d love to get a package I wasn’t expecting?” Once he realized what he said, a mischievous look took over his face.

“If you make one more sex joke, I will shove the box right up your ass. How’s that for a package you weren’t expecting?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

Jamie smirked at me and opened his mouth to respond. I held up my hand cutting him off. “Don’t even.”

He laughed as we both moved over to stand on either side of the counter over the box. I didn’t hesitate to rip the tape off and open it up. We both peeked in before quickly snapping our gaze back to one another.

“What the fuck?”

—————————————————-

Tag List: @cowboywritersworld @oreillyskyle @madhatterbri

If you’d like to be added, let me know! :)

#aew fanfic #aew one shot #aew fanfiction #aew imagine #jay white fanfiction #jay white imagine #switchblade jay white #jay white #jay white x reader #jay white fanfic #aew #all elite wrestling

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manariee · 18 days ago

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𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (🕰️)

The look of love ───── Baby, take my hand I want you to be my husband 'Cause you're my Iron Man And I love you 3000

박성훈 & fem!reader wc: 478 cw: a teeny tiny bit angsty but then fluff and full on fluff

𝓜 anas notes: fic b4 i go to war (study for physics)

Sunghoon stood at the altar, hands clasped in front of him, trying to ignore the way his palms were sweating in front of everybody. The air in the room buzzed with anticipation, the soft melody of the piano playing in the background barely doing anything to calm his racing heart.

''She's not even here yet, and you already look like you're about to cry.'' Jay smirked, standing beside him.

Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his shoulders back in a weak attempt to look composed. ''I'm not crying.''

''You will,'' Jake chimed in, the signature grin on his face. ''Bet you 20 bucks he loses it the second she walks in.''

''I won't.'' Sunghoon bit back, though his voice lacked conviction.

''Dude, you cried to me once after a fight,'' Heeseung pointed out.

''This is different and it was once.'' Sunghoon said through clenched teeth, exhaling a shaky breath slowly.

''Yeah.'' Jay nodded, eyes glistening with amusement. ''It's worse.''

Sunghoon shot them all a glare as they continued making fun of him, but the truth was that he himself wasn't sure he wouldn't cry. Sunghoon was never the emotional type. Always so composed and sharp people were afraid to approach him. But the moment the doors finally opened and you stepped into the room ─── dressed in white ─── bathed in golden light, he felt like he couldn't breathe.

Everything else blurred, the whispers of the guests, the soft gasp from someone in one of the front rows. All he could see was you.

You, with that breathtaking smile.

You, walking toward him, toward forever.

His chest tightened, his vision blurred.

Ah, crap.

The teasing voices of his friends faded as he felt a tear slip down his cheek. He barely noticed it until Jake let out a victorious whisper. ''Knew it.''

Sunghoon let out a soft, breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he wiped at his eyes. His heart was pounding, overflowing, breaking and healing all at once.

And when you finally reached him, placing your hands in his he felt it ─── home.

''You're crying.'' you whispered, smiling up at him with so much love it almost hurt.

''I'm not.'' he whispered back, voice thick, but the way you gently wiped a tear off his cheek said otherwise.

You squeezed his hands, eyes twinkling. ''I love you.''

Sunghoon exhaled, a small, almost incredulous laugh leaving his lips before he whispered back, ''I love you more.''

He barely heard anything around him anymore.

Because in that moment, watching you right in front of him, knowing that you'd be the person declared as his wife, the only thing he could do was fall even more in love with you.

And if that meant shedding a few tears in front of everyone?

So be it.

He'd cry for you a million times over if it meant getting to love you like this.

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara

#────🪷 𝓝 𝑖𝑛𝑔𓍼 #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon park #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x female reader #enhypen #divider by v6que #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon enhypen #sunghoon imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff

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senascoop · 7 months ago

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GET WELL SOON , P.SH !

﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!

PAIRING: racer ! sunghoon × orphan ! afab reader.

SYNOPSIS: You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.

WORD COUNT: 19.2K

FEAT: WONYOUNG from IVE, JAY from ENHYPEN, HANNI from NEWJEANS, + some ocs

MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT, OVERALL FLUFF & CRACK !

MORE LIKE THIS? || MASTERLIST?

TAGLIST: @chexnluv @moonpri @wensurr @jiyeons-closet @isa942572 @jkslvsnella @woniefull @aleeza444 @capri-cuntz @vi-ri @hotteokisms @flwwon @shhth @lialaiakalaiiaia (the ones in bold couldn't be tagged)

AS YOU LAY IN THE HOSPITAL BED, the sterile scent of antiseptic in the air, your gaze drifted to the bouquet of white roses on the table beside you. A scoff slipped from your lips before you could stop it, a bitter reminder of why you were even here.

This was all his fault. Park Sunghoon.

For a second, you tried to maintain your calm, the nice person part of you struggling to hold on, but that guy—he tested all of it.

“Throw them away, please?” you asked, your voice clipped as you turned to the nurse adjusting your IV.

Before she could respond, an infuriatingly familiar voice cut through the room, smooth yet utterly exasperating. “You don't like white?”

You didn’t even need to look to know it was him. The sudden rush of irritation heated your cheeks as you whipped your head towards the door. And there he was. Park Sunghoon. Strolling in casually, hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive designer coat, as if he hadn’t ruined your entire week.

“Yeah, I don’t,” you shot back, your glare burning through him. The forced smile on your face was saccharine, dripping with the very clear message that he was definitely not welcome.

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. Of course, he had the audacity to smirk—like always. "Sadly," he drawled, clearly enjoying himself, “you gotta keep them.”

Without invitation, he sauntered over to the side of your bed, his presence filling the room, as if his wealth and arrogance alone could smother the oxygen. You watched him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over your chest in defiance.

“Just leave me alone, you rich jerk,” you spat, unable to hold back the venom in your tone. Your fists clenched beneath the thin hospital sheets, a reminder that you couldn’t even storm out of here like you wanted to. You were stuck—and it was all because of him.

His face faltered for a split second, the cockiness slipping ever so slightly as your words hit him. But like clockwork, he masked it, that composed, arrogant look sliding back into place.

It should’ve been satisfying to see the momentary flash of guilt cross his features, but it wasn’t enough. Not when your life had been flipped upside down, not when you were confined to this bed because of his mistake.

BUT HOW DID ALL OF THIS HAPPEN?

Well…

FLASHBACK!

Your eyes were stinging from the tears, and you clumsily wiped them away with the back of your hand. You weren’t exactly drunk—maybe two shots deep after an agonizingly stressful day—but it was enough to make your head spin. Why did it all have to be so sad?

Sniffling, you stumbled down the empty street, your shoes scuffing the pavement as you sobbed quietly into the night. The darkness felt overwhelming, like it was swallowing you whole, and even though your tears blurred your vision, you knew where you were heading—or at least you thought you did.

It wasn’t until you heard the loud, abrupt honk of a motorbike that you even realized you were standing in the middle of the street. You barely had time to turn your head towards the blinding lights before—BAM!

The impact wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, but it was enough. The bike, thankfully, had slowed down, but not nearly enough to stop it from hitting you. Pain shot through your leg as you collapsed onto the cold, hard ground, the breath knocked out of your lungs.

You groaned loudly, clutching your leg, wincing at the sharp sting that radiated through your body. Meanwhile, the rider, who had also fallen, was busy steadying himself, dusting off his helmet as if he wasn’t the reason your entire life had just flashed before your eyes.

“THE HELL?!” you screamed, your voice cracking as you tried to shift your weight but immediately regretted it. The sharp pain in your leg intensified, forcing you back down onto the concrete. You gritted your teeth, tears stinging your eyes once again as you glared up at him.

The guy finally looked your way, lifting his visor to reveal his face. "Ma’am, are you okay?" he asked, his voice eerily calm, as if he hadn’t just crashed his motorcycle into you. Like it was some minor inconvenience to him.

Your blood boiled. “Okay???" you spat out, your voice a mix of disbelief and fury. "I’m literally bleeding! Are you dumb?!”

The guy blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but remained calm. Too calm. “Alright, alright, just calm down,” he muttered, crouching down next to you, but that only made you angrier.

"Calm down?” you snapped, clenching your fists as the pain and the frustration built up inside of you. “Say that when you’re the one lying here, bleeding out!"

He flinched at your words but didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into his pocket, fumbling for his phone to call an ambulance. Meanwhile, you were still seething, glancing down at your leg where the blood was now slowly trickling down your thigh, staining your jeans. The sight of it made you dizzy, your head swimming with pain and exhaustion.

You could barely keep your eyes open, but you still had enough energy to notice him—freaking fixing his bike. He had the nerve to set it upright on its stand, making sure it was okay before coming back to check on you.

"If you even think about making this a hit and run," you rasped, your voice hoarse from both pain and anger, “I’ll haunt your entire family line.”

The guy stopped, visibly gulping as he knelt down beside you once again, clearly panicking now. "No, no, that’s not—look, the ambulance is coming, okay? Just… try to stay with me.”

Your vision blurred, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the world began to tilt. The last thing you remembered before everything went black was him leaning over, actually cleaning the blood off your thigh with his sleeve, his face a mask of panic and guilt. You didn’t know what was worse—the excruciating pain or the fact that you now hated him with every fiber of your being. Park Sunghoon.

And just like that, you passed out, your hatred for him searing into the darkness of your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.

AND WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED AFTER THAT?

You may wonder, but well...

Turns out, the guy—Park Sunghoon—was not just any calm, overly collected motorcyclist who’d crashed into you that night. No, he was the son of a wealthy man, one of those who didn’t have to face consequences because money speaks louder than the truth. And apparently, money really does talk, especially when you’re up against a system rigged to work in favor of the rich.

Even though Sunghoon had confessed to being at fault—had told the police it was his mistake—the tests showed otherwise. Your blood test, which revealed traces of alcohol, was enough to tip the scales in his favor. You weren’t even drunk, for heaven's sake—two shots hardly counted—but that didn’t matter. The system had already labeled you as the reckless one. Your claims of innocence? Brushed off, like dust from his expensive jacket.

It was humiliating. The police barely questioned Sunghoon. His parents swooped in like hawks, ensuring their precious son wouldn’t be held accountable for such a trivial incident, and just like that, there was no investigation, no justice. Just a quick sweep under the rug, and you were left to fester in your anger, helpless against the machine that protected people like him.

Being an orphan only made things worse. You had no guardian, no family to back you up or fight for you. Your best friend, Wonyoung, was the only one who came to your side. She tried covering your hospital bills—she had offered, insisted even—but you couldn’t let her. She needed the money more than you did, and you weren’t about to burden her with your mess. But you couldn't deny her when she showed up every day with packed lunches, smuggling in home-cooked meals like they were contraband.

On one particular afternoon, you sat in the hospital bed, poking at the warm rice she had lovingly packed in a small bento box. Wonyoung sat across from you, her eyes burning with the same hatred you felt. She stabbed at her own food, her anger simmering with every bite.

“I still can’t believe him,” she muttered, barely able to contain her frustration. “How does he get to walk away from this like it’s nothing?”

You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head as you swallowed a bite of food. “Because he’s rich. Rich guys don’t face consequences, apparently.”

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

You sighed, your gaze falling to your bandaged leg. It throbbed, a constant reminder of everything that had happened. “Join the club,” you muttered. “He hasn’t even tried to take responsibility. Not once.”

Wonyoung scoffed, glancing over at the sterile hospital room, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over everything. “How does he sleep at night? Like, seriously?”

You thought about that too. How did Park Sunghoon sleep at night? Probably on some ridiculously expensive mattress in his mansion, far away from the mess he’d left you in. You clenched your fists around the edge of your blanket, biting back the urge to cry. Not again. You were so tired of crying, of feeling powerless, of being at the mercy of someone else’s mistakes.

AND AS THE DAYS PASSED, the gnawing anxiety of being kicked out of the hospital clung to you like a dark cloud. Let's be honest—you had no money. The minute the hospital caught wind of that, you were sure they’d toss you out on the curb without a second thought. It wasn’t like you had any guardian to bail you out, no family waiting in the wings to cover the mounting costs. You were an orphan—alone, except for your best friend Wonyoung, who had already done more than she needed to.

Sitting up slightly in your bed, you glanced at the nurse as she came in to check your vitals. She seemed nice—too nice—and it was exactly that thread of hope you grasped at as you hesitantly asked, “So... when do I pay the hospital bill?”

You knew the question was pointless, knew the answer would sink like lead in your gut, but you had to ask. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen.

The nurse adjusted the IV drip, giving you a small smile as she jotted something down on her clipboard. “Someone already paid for you.”

Your jaw didn’t drop—not even a little—because let’s be honest, you knew who had covered it. Sunghoon’s parents. Of course they did. Anything to wipe their son’s record clean, to make sure no trace of this incident marred the reputation of their precious heir. Rich people.

“Right.” You muttered, sinking back into the pillows, staring at the plain white ceiling. It was always the same. Pay, forget, move on. No justice, just convenient cover-ups.

The nurse, oblivious to the tension building inside you, walked out of the room. You sighed heavily, closing your eyes, hoping—praying—that it wasn’t Sunghoon or one of his parents waiting for you outside. But your luck? Yeah, it never worked in your favor.

“Enjoying your stay here?” His voice was as smooth as silk, and when you opened your eyes, there he was, Park Sunghoon, standing in the doorway with that charming smile of his. It was the kind of smile that could have melted hearts—not yours, though. Not now, not when he was the reason you were lying here, stuck in this bed, smelling nothing but disinfectant and medicine.

“Yeah, it’s great,” you bit out, rolling your eyes. “A dream vacation. Smell of medicine, broken bones, IV drips—just paradise.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, like he wasn’t standing in front of you after nearly ruining your life. You could have thrown the flower pot sitting by your bed at him—would have if the nurse hadn’t spoken up at that exact moment.

“She has a fracture in her leg and some soft tissue damage, but with rehabilitation, she should recover in twelve to eighteen weeks,” the nurse said, looking at Sunghoon like he actually cared about your prognosis.

“Alright. I get it,” he muttered, nodding as if he was taking mental notes, and you wondered why. Why was he still here? Why did he even care? He had already done his job, hadn’t he? Paid the bills, covered the mess—so why was he still hanging around?

The nurse excused herself, flashing what you swore was a knowing smile before she left the room. “Okay, then, enjoy your time with your girlfriend,” she said as she slipped out the door.

Girlfriend?! You nearly choked on your own breath. Girlfriend?? Really?! Your eyes shot to Sunghoon, demanding an explanation as you sat up straighter, the hospital blanket clenched in your fists.

“Explain,” you hissed, glaring at him with all the hatred you could muster. Your leg ached with the movement, but you ignored it, your whole body brimming with frustration.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well... my dad wouldn’t let me get involved after the accident. But I wanted to take responsibility, and the only way I could stay connected to this without the media getting involved was to pretend you were my girlfriend. That way, it looks like I’m just... you know, paying your bills because I care.”

“Because you care?” You scoffed, your voice dripping with venom. “As expected. Rich people like you don’t actually care—you just want to clean up the mess and move on. Get the media off your back. Don’t worry about me though, Sunghoon. Just stay away from me, because if you keep hanging around, I swear, I will go insane.”

You grabbed the flower pot with one hand, aiming it directly at his face. Your knuckles whitened from the grip, the tension boiling over.

“Whoa, whoa!” Sunghoon raised his hands defensively, stepping back with a sheepish smile that only infuriated you more. “Calm down. I’m going, I’m going.”

He slipped out of the room with a smile that seemed too nonchalant, like none of this was serious to him. He disappeared into the hallway, leaving you to stew in your anger.

You let out a long string of curses under your breath, tossing the flower pot back onto the bedside table with a huff. Your head fell back against the pillow, and you closed your eyes, groaning in frustration.

Why did this guy have to be so infuriating? Every time you thought about him, your blood boiled, and now you were stuck in this mess with him as the person supposedly “taking care” of you. What a joke.

You clutched the blanket tighter, trying to shake off the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and the suffocating feeling of helplessness.

THE NEXT DAY?

SUNGHOON WAS BACK AGAIN.

You groaned inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye as he quietly settled into the chair beside your hospital bed. He didn't speak, just sat there, his eyes glued to you. What the hell was his deal? You were already too tired to deal with the fact that this guy, who had already caused enough trouble in your life, was now making himself a permanent fixture in your hospital room.

“Can you just go away?” you murmured, voice low and raspy, refusing to look at him directly. It was irritating enough that he was here—you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly as if he were genuinely invested in whatever non-existent conversation you were about to have. “I just... I just wanted to apologize,” he started, his tone softer than you expected. “Look, I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, didn’t want you to get this fracture—”

“Don’t bother me with your false apologies,” you cut him off, your voice sharp as your eyes narrowed in on him. There was no way you were going to sit here and let him play the nice guy when he was the reason you were stuck in this bed. As far as you were concerned, his words were as hollow as his concern.

Sunghoon flinched at your dismissal, but his face quickly returned to that neutral, unreadable expression he always wore. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a small, elegant container from his side, opened it up, and began arranging a steaming bowl of ramen. The fragrant aroma hit your nose almost instantly—rich broth, a soft-boiled egg on the side, and a hint of spice. His personal chef’s touch, no doubt. How typical.

“Here.” He pushed the bowl towards you, chopsticks in hand, offering it like it was some grand gesture of peace.

You stared at it, the smell tempting your empty stomach. But hell no were you going to eat anything he gave you. Not after everything. It felt like taking pity food, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d done something nice.

“I don’t want to eat this,” you refused coldly, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your head away as if the sight of it disgusted you.

Sunghoon blinked, clearly taken aback by your blunt rejection. The chopsticks hovered mid-air, the ramen dangling precariously off the ends. “Then... what are you gonna eat?” His tone wasn’t mocking, just confused—like he couldn’t fathom why anyone would refuse gourmet ramen made by a personal chef.

You bit back a sigh, feeling the frustration bubbling under your skin. “The hospital food,” you replied flatly, knowing full well you had no intention of eating it. Who in their right mind actually wanted hospital food? But you weren’t going to let him win. Even if it meant enduring that tasteless mush, you would.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, completely unfazed, and with the same calm indifference, he took a bite of the ramen himself. Leaning back in his chair, he made himself comfortable, savoring each bite like he had all the time in the world. The room was suddenly filled with the sound of his quiet chewing, and your irritation spiked.

“What the hell?” you muttered, glaring at him as he continued to eat in silence.

He glanced at you, the corner of his lips twitching as if he found this whole situation amusing. “You said you didn’t want it. So, I’m eating it.” His tone was maddeningly casual, as if the fact that you were lying there in a hospital bed while he enjoyed a meal meant absolutely nothing to him.

“I—” You started, but your words stuck in your throat. Was he doing this on purpose? You glared at him, eyes narrowing, your frustration palpable. Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him with all the strength you could muster.

It hit him square in the chest, the force of it barely making him flinch, but it was enough to get his attention.

“Just eat somewhere else!” you snapped, your voice raising a bit louder than you intended. “Not near me. You’re making me feel nauseous,” you added, feigning an exaggerated gag as you pressed your hand to your stomach, though in truth, your frustration was more mental than physical.

Sunghoon paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, his gaze flickering over to you. For a split second, you saw something in his eyes—something like amusement, or maybe even disbelief. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual blank, indifferent expression.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pushing his chair back a few inches as if to placate you. He continued eating though, leaning further back, seemingly unbothered by your outburst.

You watched him in silence, your hands clenching the hospital blanket in frustration. How could someone be so infuriating? Every fiber of your being screamed to tell him off, to shout at him for being so... so... indifferent.

But deep down, you knew you couldn’t push him too far. As much as you hated it, this guy and his filthy rich family were the ones footing your hospital bills. Without them, you’d be in deep trouble, maybe even kicked out by now. You needed to be civil—just civil enough—to keep this uncomfortable arrangement going. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

As Sunghoon continued eating, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. Your job. What the hell were you supposed to tell your workplace? They were going to fire you for taking such a long break, weren’t they? You were already behind on rent, behind on everything. And now, because of him, you were going to lose the only shred of stability you had left.

You glanced at him again, annoyance bubbling up inside you. This was all his fault.

Every second he stayed here, pretending to be remorseful, pretending to care—it only fueled your hatred more.

After finishing up his food, Sunghoon finally stood up from the chair, and for a blissful second, you thought he was about to leave. Peace, at last.

But no. You watched in dismay as he turned toward the door, only to return moments later with another steaming bowl of food—something undoubtedly made by his annoyingly talented personal chef again. Your stomach growled involuntarily at the sight of it, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing you wanted it.

Just as you were about to shoot him a glare, the nurse caring for you entered the room, pushing a small tray cart with the dreaded hospital food on it. Great. She offered a brief, polite smile as she placed the tray on your bedside table. The food looked even worse today—if that was even possible—bland and unappetizing, the kind of meal that probably hadn’t seen salt or seasoning in years.

“Here you go, sweetie. Make sure you eat something,” the nurse said warmly before quickly leaving the room, clearly unaware of the ongoing battle of wills between you and Sunghoon.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you looked over at him. He was watching you, his elbow lazily perched on the arm of the chair, his hand supporting his chin. A slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. That damn smirk. The one that made you want to throw something at him—if it weren’t for your fractured leg keeping you bedridden.

“Thank you,” you muttered halfheartedly, reluctantly picking up the plastic spoon that came with the hospital food. You took a bite of the mushy, tasteless concoction, and immediately regretted it. It was like eating wet cardboard. You fought hard not to gag, your throat tightening as the flavorless blob slid down.

Sunghoon chuckled quietly from across the room, his eyes never leaving you. “I thought you wanted hospital food?” he teased, leaning forward just a little as if to get a better look at your suffering.

You made a face, a sickened grimace pulling at your lips as soon as the nurse was out of sight. The taste was vile. And worse yet, Sunghoon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle.

“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his smirk widening. He knew you didn’t want the hospital food. He knew, and that only seemed to make this entire situation even more entertaining for him.

Your pride was the only thing stopping you from throwing the tray out the window and devouring the meal he brought, but your body was betraying you. Your stomach growled again, loud enough for Sunghoon to hear. He chuckled, clearly amused by your stubbornness.

Before you could protest, he moved closer, balancing the bowl of ramen on his knee as he picked up his chopsticks. With an exaggerated nonchalance, he twirled some noodles around the chopsticks and brought them to your lips.

“Here,” he said, voice soft but teasing. “Just try it.”

You stared at the chopsticks hovering in front of you, your resolve weakening. The savory scent of the ramen was intoxicating, and before you knew it, your body betrayed you once again. You leaned forward and took a bite, unable to resist the warm, perfectly seasoned noodles. The difference in taste was almost enough to make you groan in relief.

Sunghoon’s smirk deepened as he watched you chew, his eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue with a teasing lilt.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, and you glared at him through a mouthful of ramen. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered, voice muffled as you chewed.

“Why not?” He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking up in playful curiosity. “You don’t like being called a good girl?”

“It’s cringe,” you replied shortly, swallowing the bite. “Just... feed me, dude.”

He raised an eyebrow at the casual “dude” and let out a soft snort of laughter. “Don’t ‘dude’ me,” he shot back, his tone playfully offended. He twirled more noodles around the chopsticks and held them up for you again.

You glared at him but leaned in for another bite, chewing slowly, savoring the flavor. Dammit, the ramen was good. Stupid rich kids and their personal chefs.

“Why can’t you be nice to me for just one second?” he asked, his voice light but with an edge of genuine curiosity.

You scoffed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Maybe because you literally got my leg fractured.”

He let out a low sigh, his face softening as he leaned back in the chair, one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other still held the chopsticks. “That was a mistake.”

“A mistake that cost me my life,” you shot back, your voice laced with bitter sarcasm. You gestured to your leg, propped up awkwardly with a cast. “I can’t work. I’m stuck here. All because of you.”

He winced slightly, but it was brief, his calm expression returning just as quickly. “Yeah, but I’m paying for your bills and feeding you gourmet food. I think that counts for something.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks. I guess I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re throwing your money at the problem you caused,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

He leaned in again, closer this time, his face just inches from yours as he held up the chopsticks with a piece of soft-boiled egg. “You need protein to recover,” he said with mock seriousness, as if that somehow excused everything.

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare but opened your mouth reluctantly, letting him feed you the egg. It was delicious, of course.

Your bickering continued, the tension between you palpable—part frustration, part something you didn’t want to examine too closely. As much as you hated to admit it, there was something almost... comfortable in this strange back-and-forth. Even if he was insufferable. Even if he had ruined your life. There was something about the way he teased you, the way he looked at you with that annoying smirk, that was... unsettling in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“Next time,” you muttered between bites, “just don’t call me a good girl.”

Sunghoon grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “We’ll see.”

A WEEK HAD PASSED,

AND SOMEHOW, THIS GUY,

PARK SUNGHOON—

Had become an inescapable shadow in your life. He was always around, lingering like a ghost in the corner of your hospital room, and frankly, it was getting on your nerves. You’d half expected him to get bored and move on, but no, he was persistent. Today was no exception, as he casually strolled in, dressed far too well for someone who supposedly had nothing better to do.

As if the universe wanted to test you even more, you suddenly realized you needed to use the bathroom. Perfect. With a fractured leg and several other annoying injuries, it wasn’t exactly a simple task to just get up and go.

Your eyes flickered over to Sunghoon, who, as usual, was making himself comfortable in the chair beside your bed, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world. How does he not have work? you wondered. But then again, he was rich. He probably was the boss—no one to yell at him for skipping out.

An idea popped into your head, one so devious it made you almost grin. If you were stuck in this hell because of him, then he was going to suffer for it, too.

“I need to use the washroom,” you said, your voice dripping with forced sweetness. You shot him a smile so sugary it could give someone a cavity.

He looked up from his phone, raising a single eyebrow, his expression both confused and slightly suspicious. “And why are you telling me this?” His tone was casual, but you could tell he was wondering what you were up to.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Did he really not get it?

“Well,” you said, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, “because you’re going to help me get there.”

Sunghoon’s face twisted into an expression of disbelief, the confusion deepening as he stared at you. His brows furrowed, and he glanced from you to your cast, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. “Can’t you just call the nurse?” he asked, his voice filled with exasperation.

You shrugged again, acting as though the answer was obvious. “The nurse is probably busy with other patients. You’re here, so... help me.”

For a moment, Sunghoon just stared at you, realizing that this was your revenge—your small, petty way of getting back at him. You could see the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options, but ultimately, he sighed, knowing full well this was his fault. He couldn’t say no. Not this time.

He stood up from his chair, slipping his phone into his pocket, and walked over to you. “Fine,” he grumbled under his breath, though there was a subtle trace of amusement in his voice. “Let’s get this over with.”

You smirked, raising your arms toward him in a silent, exaggerated demand for help. He gave you a look—one that said he knew exactly what you were doing—but he bent down anyway, carefully placing his arm around your back to help you sit up.

His movements were surprisingly gentle as he shifted you, mindful of your injuries. For a moment, you almost forgot you were supposed to hate him, but the memory of your fractured leg came rushing back as you awkwardly stood, balancing on your good leg while he held you up.

“You’ve done this before, right?” you teased, leaning a bit more heavily on him than necessary.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t answer, his grip tightening around your waist as he helped you off the bed. “Just don’t fall on me,” he muttered, his voice laced with mild frustration.

You let out a small, fake gasp. “Are you afraid of a little contact, Sunghoon?” you asked, your tone dripping with mock innocence.

His jaw clenched slightly, but he ignored your jab, shifting his weight to better support you as he guided you toward the bathroom. “Gosh, why can’t you just call the nurse like a normal person?” he groaned, sounding far more exasperated now that he was actually having to deal with you.

“Because,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “this is your fault. You got me into this mess, and now you get to deal with it.”

He sighed again, clearly trying his hardest not to snap back at you. You could practically hear the patience draining out of him as he helped you into the bathroom, your body leaning heavily on his arm as you hobbled on one leg. His other hand hovered near your cast, careful not to jostle it.

Once you were inside the small bathroom, he slowly backed out, giving you space but not before shooting you a deadpan look. “You good?”

You smirked, biting back a laugh. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Sunghoon closed the door behind him with a soft click, but not before calling through the wood, “Just yell when you’re finished, Your Highness.”

Leaning against the bathroom sink, you couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction. Revenge tasted sweet, even if it was petty. You knew Sunghoon didn’t want to be here, playing nurse, but it felt good to trouble him—just a little.

You took your time, prolonging your stay in the bathroom for as long as possible, savoring the knowledge that Sunghoon was waiting outside. Maybe it was childish, but it made you feel a bit better, if only for a moment.

As you lingered in the bathroom, relishing in your small, mischievous victory, Sunghoon's voice rang out from the other side of the door, his tone laced with irritation.

“You done?” he called out, his voice slightly muffled through the door.

You smirked, leaning your head back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, debating whether to prolong this little game. But fate, it seemed, had other plans for you. In your attempt to stand up properly, your balance wavered. Your injured leg buckled slightly, causing you to slip, creating a loud thud that echoed off the walls.

“Oh God?! Did you break your leg again?” Sunghoon’s voice immediately shifted from annoyance to a surprising edge of concern. You could hear the door handle jiggle as he attempted to open it.

In a panic, you yelled back before he could barge in. “Don’t even try! I haven’t pulled my pants up!” Your voice wobbled between panic and embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks despite yourself.

There was a brief pause, followed by a mixture of relief and exasperation in his tone. “Seriously?”

You could practically feel his embarrassment from behind the door as he rubbed the back of his neck, caught between wanting to help and this awkward situation. “Then pull them up!” he said, as though that solved everything. The sheer audacity of his tone made your eye twitch.

“Listen, boy,” you snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm and frustration. “If I could pull them up, don’t you think I’d be able to walk out? I’m literally stuck on the floor. And it’s disgusting down here!”

His groan was audible through the door, no doubt paired with him running a hand over his face in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

The back-and-forth bickering continued for what felt like forever, with you calling out orders and him grumbling on the other side of the door. After what seemed like an eternity, you finally gave up trying to maintain any shred of dignity in this situation.

“Okay, I pulled them up! Now, help me get out of here,” you finally yelled, exhausted from the struggle.

Sunghoon let out a deep, exaggerated sigh of relief, one that almost made you want to smack him if it weren’t for your current predicament. “Phew, finally.” You could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

The door opened, and Sunghoon stepped inside with a mix of irritation and amusement. He bent down to help you, slipping his arm around your waist once more, lifting you up with practiced ease. You let out a small huff as he guided your weight against him, his warm hand steadying you as your body adjusted to standing again.

Without another word, you wobbled toward the sink, more than ready to return to the bed, but you couldn’t just ignore the fact that your hands were still dirty. Sunghoon kept his arm around you as you leaned over the sink to wash your hands, his eyes narrowing as he observed what you were doing.

"You..." he started, trailing off, his eyes slowly widening in horror. “You haven’t washed your hands yet, have you?”

You glanced up at him through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “Obviously not. I fell, genius,” you muttered, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sunghoon’s face instantly paled, his eyes darting from his hands to yours, his expression shifting from shock to absolute disgust. He immediately let go of you, stepping back like you’d just told him you had the plague.

“You did NOT just touch me with unwashed hands,” he said, his voice a mix of horror and disgust as he dramatically recoiled. His hand hovered in the air, shaking slightly, before he rushed to the other side of the sink, furiously scrubbing his hands with soap, as though he were trying to rid himself of every possible germ.

Watching him panic was somehow immensely satisfying, a smug grin curling your lips as you watched him suffer in disgust. “Eww, eww, eww!” he muttered to himself as he scrubbed, his face twisted in revulsion.

“Serves you right,” you quipped, leaning back against the wall, watching him frantically rinse his hands as though his life depended on it.

“You’re disgusting,” he shot back, glaring at you through the mirror, but the corner of his mouth twitched as though he were trying hard not to smile.

"Don’t act like I planned to fall, Sunghoon,” you retorted, crossing your arms as you continued to lean on him for support, your smirk never faltering. “But seeing you in pain—this... disgust—I gotta admit, it feels kinda good.”

He shot you a look, half exasperated and half amused, running a hand through his hair. “You’re something else,” he muttered, shaking his head as he helped you back toward the bed.

As much as you wanted to hate him, there was something oddly... endearing about his reaction. The tension between the two of you simmered beneath the surface, a strange mix of frustration, amusement, and something else you refused to acknowledge.

“I know,” you said, smirking as you let him help you lie down on the bed again. “I’m the best kind of trouble.”

Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his eyes, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something that made the air between you shift. For a moment, the banter fell silent, replaced by an unspoken tension. You both looked away at the same time, the quiet hum of the hospital room filling the space where your words had been.

It wasn’t hatred, not anymore—not exactly. It was something far more complicated than that.

AGAIN,

The next week went by in a haze of frustration, playful revenge, and shared irritations. What had started as your deep-seated hatred for Sunghoon for causing your fractured leg evolved into something less easy to define. It became a bizarre game of you tormenting him with every small inconvenience, while he reluctantly dealt with the trouble, almost as if he believed he deserved it. You had no idea why he kept coming back, why he hadn't just left you to the hospital staff—yet here he was. Every day. Helping you.

And today? Today, you were bored out of your mind, sick of the sterile walls of your hospital room and the bland hospital gown clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The thought of sitting in that stiff bed for another minute was unbearable. Naturally, you decided Sunghoon should suffer the consequences of your boredom too. After all, he was the reason you were here in the first place.

“Take me out for a walk,” you’d said earlier, putting on your best guilt-trip face. “It’s the weekend, you have time. I’ve been stuck here for days.”

Sunghoon, standing at the foot of your bed with an exasperated sigh, had rubbed his temples as if debating whether to throw you into the wheelchair himself or just walk out. But he didn't. With a reluctant grunt and a muttered “Fine, whatever,” he agreed, grabbing the wheelchair from the corner and helping you into it.

Now, as he pushed you down the hospital hallway, your eyes gleamed with mischief. Your fractured leg was propped up awkwardly, wrapped in thick layers of bandages, and your body was still healing, but you were reveling in making him work for it.

"The garden!" you demanded, pointing outside through the glass doors like a queen giving orders to her servant.

Sunghoon, visibly tired from both the physical effort and the mental strain of dealing with you, gave a long-suffering sigh. “You enjoy this,” he muttered, his voice barely hiding the annoyance beneath. It wasn’t a question. He knew you were having way too much fun making his life difficult.

You didn’t answer him. Instead, you leaned back in the wheelchair with a smug grin, watching the trees and flowers of the hospital garden come into view. The warm sunlight kissed your skin, a far cry from the cold hospital walls. This, oddly enough, felt freeing. And it was even better knowing Sunghoon was stuck with you through it. He owed you, after all.

As you rolled along the garden’s paths, you caught sight of something from the corner of your eye—flashes. The unmistakable click of cameras. Paparazzi.

Your smile widened. You remembered the lies Sunghoon had told the nurse—how he had casually, with that infuriating confidence, claimed you were his girlfriend to save face. He was wealthy, privileged, and undoubtedly terrified of the media catching wind of the real story—that he was the one who crashed into you and got you in this mess.

A WICKED IDEA BLOOMED IN YOUR MIND.

Without warning, you let out a loud, exaggerated sob, your shoulders shaking dramatically as you hid your face in your hands. The sound echoed across the garden, loud enough that even the photographers several feet away perked up, their lenses immediately focusing on you.

Sunghoon immediately froze, halting the wheelchair in confusion. “What are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he moved to your side, kneeling down beside you. His eyes darted around, realizing the attention you were drawing.

But you didn’t stop. You cried even louder, your voice cracking as you spoke, “It’s because of you! You ruined me! You ruined my life!” Your words were over the top, a dramatic sob story for the cameras.

Sunghoon’s eyes went wide with panic, his expression a mix of horror and disbelief as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He glanced over at the paparazzi, whose cameras were now flashing like crazy, capturing every tear, every quiver of your voice. “You’re kidding, right?” His voice was low, trying to keep his cool but clearly rattled.

You shot him a look through tear-filled eyes that could have won you an Oscar for Best Actress. “I can’t believe you did this to me,” you sobbed again, clutching your leg for dramatic effect. “All because you weren’t paying attention!”

He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he desperately tried to contain the situation. “Please, don’t do this,” he pleaded, his eyes darting nervously between you and the flashing cameras.

But you weren’t done. Oh no. You were just getting started. “I should’ve never trusted you!” you wailed, loud enough for the photographers to pick up every word.

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, panic flooding his features as the paparazzi moved closer, their cameras capturing every second of your breakdown. He looked desperate, and it was almost... satisfying. Watching him squirm under the weight of his own lies felt like sweet revenge.

You were just about to spill the whole truth—about how he’d been the one to hit you with his motorbike, how he’d been pretending you were his girlfriend to save his reputation—when Sunghoon, clearly sensing what you were about to do, suddenly placed his hand firmly over your mouth, silencing you in an instant.

Your eyes widened in shock as his palm pressed against your lips. Without saying a word, he grabbed the wheelchair handles with his other hand and started pushing you back toward the hospital entrance, ignoring the flurry of camera flashes now going wild as the paparazzi captured the scene.

You muffled against his hand, glaring at him furiously as he practically ran down the hospital pathway, steering you out of sight from the media frenzy.

He didn’t stop until you were back inside the hospital, away from prying eyes. When he finally removed his hand from your mouth, you gasped, shooting him a withering glare.

“What the hell, Sunghoon?!” you yelled, still breathless from the intensity of it all.

He turned to face you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn’t quite place. “What the hell? Are you insane?! You were going to ruin me out there!”

“I should ruin you!” you shot back, crossing your arms as best as you could in the wheelchair. “You deserve it!”

His face softened for just a split second, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Yeah, maybe I do,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to let you drag me down that easily.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden tension between you—something beyond the irritation, beyond the bickering. Something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

He turned away, gripping the wheelchair handles once more as he moved you back toward your room in silence. And as much as you hated him, you couldn’t help but feel something else too.

As Sunghoon pushed your wheelchair back into the hospital, you couldn’t help but notice the other patients scattered throughout the halls. Most were older, their faces worn with the kind of wisdom you only get from enduring the passage of time. You saw them glance your way, eyes lighting up with admiration, clearly assuming that you and Sunghoon were some kind of tragic but loving couple, destined to overcome hardship together.

Ha. As if.

There wasn’t a drop of love here. The very thought made you internally cringe. If only they knew the truth—that Sunghoon was the reason you were in this wheelchair in the first place. That this whole ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ facade was just a cover-up for his recklessness. But, no. To them, he was probably some knight in shining armor, dutifully pushing his beloved around the hospital.

You caught a glimpse of an elderly woman giving you a soft smile, and you had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. This wasn’t a fairytale romance—it was a mess. A tangled, ridiculous mess.

Sunghoon finally maneuvered you back into your hospital room, the wheels of the chair squeaking as he parked it beside your bed. He bent down, his fingers curling around the handles of the wheelchair as if ready to help you out. For a brief second, you could see the faint lines of stress etched into his face, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tightly.

Before he could do anything, though, his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. He hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to answer, but eventually muttered, “I’ll just take this real quick.”

He stepped away, answering the call with a curt, “Yeah?” His voice was low, tense. As the conversation unfolded, you heard snippets of his replies: “I know better,” and “I’m an adult,” followed by a string of sighs. You couldn’t hear the other person on the line, but you could guess. It was probably one of his parents, likely lecturing him for spending so much time around you. After all, why would the rich, polished Sunghoon waste his precious time with some girl he’d accidentally injured?

But the truth was, Sunghoon couldn’t just up and leave you. Oh no. The media was already onto you both, snapping pictures every time you were in public together. If he suddenly disappeared now, they’d think he was the kind of guy who bailed on his girlfriend just because she got injured. His reputation would plummet faster than you’d hit the ground earlier.

Still, was it the truth? That Sunghoon didn’t want to be around you?

The reality was more complicated. You couldn’t even imagine calling him a friend, let alone anything more. This was a weird, temporary arrangement—nothing else.

“I’ll be back,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, still distracted by his phone. Without a second glance in your direction, he hurried out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he disappeared.

Wait. What?

You blinked, staring at the empty space where he had been just moments ago. Did he seriously just walk out without helping you get back into bed? Your mouth fell open in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered to the empty room.

You waited, expecting him to come back any minute now, to walk in with that same frustrated expression and a sarcastic apology on his lips. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Fifteen. Nothing.

An entire hour dragged by, and still—no Sunghoon. The nurse was nowhere to be found either, probably off on her rounds, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

The frustration boiled inside you. There was no way you were going to stay trapped in this wheelchair any longer. It wasn’t comfortable, and the bed—despite being stiff and unwelcoming—looked like heaven compared to the cold seat you were stuck in.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to do it yourself.

Carefully, you placed your hands on the armrests, trying to hoist yourself up. Your fractured leg protested immediately, the dull ache turning into a sharp pain, but you ignored it. You couldn’t afford to fall, not now. You just had to get onto the bed.

One step. Then another.

You winced as your good leg took the brunt of your weight, wobbling unsteadily. It was like trying to walk a tightrope while holding a stack of plates. Your body swayed, arms trembling as you gripped the bed frame for support. Almost there. You could feel the edge of the mattress pressing against your fingertips.

And then—your foot slipped.

With a sickening thud, you fell face-first into the mattress, your body collapsing awkwardly against the bed frame. Pain shot through your leg as you let out a sharp gasp.

“Damn it!” you cursed under your breath, your voice muffled by the bedspread. “Sunghoon, this is all your fault!”

You lay there for a moment, too stunned and too furious to move. How could he just leave you like that? The idiot was probably off taking some important call while you were stuck in this miserable situation. Your hatred for him simmered again, bubbling to the surface like boiling water ready to spill over.

With a groan, you tried to push yourself up, your muscles straining as you fought to get into a proper position on the bed. Your face burned with embarrassment and anger. All you could think about was how Sunghoon was going to get an earful when—if—he ever came back.

But, despite the frustration, there was something else gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge. Something about the way his expression had softened just before he left, like he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you. Like there was something there, beneath all the sarcastic quips and exasperated sighs.

No. You shook your head, refusing to entertain the idea. This wasn’t some cliché hospital romance where the guy who ruined your life suddenly became your savior. Sunghoon wasn’t some misunderstood prince charming. He was just... Sunghoon. Annoying, frustrating, and absolutely the last person you wanted to deal with.

Still, as you lay there, face buried in the hospital bed, you couldn’t help but feel that gnawing frustration twisting into something else. Something far more complicated.

THE NEXT DAY PASSED IN A HAZE.

And the day after that.

And another day.

Each one crawled by, dragging itself through hours that felt like days. But Sunghoon didn’t return. Not a text, not a call, not even a shadow of his presence outside your hospital room. You didn’t want to admit it, but his absence gnawed at you. Was he sick? Had something happened? Why the hell were you even wondering about it?

You shouldn’t care.

You didn’t care.

In fact, you should be overjoyed if he had caught some miserable flu. Or—better yet—if he had gotten into trouble of his own for once. You’d be happy. Relieved, even.

Right?

Except, you weren’t. Something unsettling tugged at the back of your mind. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t said a word before disappearing. But the more you tried to push the thought away, the more it latched onto you.

And then the door to your hospital room creaked open, a slow twist of the knob announcing a presence you hadn’t expected.

In walked a woman.

Her aura screamed wealth, a kind of quiet, effortless opulence that you recognized instantly—the tailored coat, the way her silk scarf draped perfectly over her shoulders, and most notably, her glasses. You had never seen anyone wear glasses that looked like they cost more than your entire hospital stay.

She didn’t spare you much of a glance at first, too busy taking off her glasses with a dismissive flick of her wrist. But as soon as her eyes met yours, you felt the air shift. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, and instantly made you sit up straighter in bed, pressing your back against the headboard.

Was this Sunghoon’s mother?

The question popped into your mind, but the answer came without you having to ask. Her next words confirmed everything.

“So, you’re that girl,” she said, her voice clipped as her eyes flickered over you. It wasn’t even a question, more of a statement. You were that girl—the one her son had dragged into this mess. You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, but somehow managed to muster some sarcasm.

“Yeah, the girl your son fractured the leg of,” you shot back, the words leaving your mouth with a little too much venom. But, realizing this was probably not the time for jokes, you cleared your throat.

The woman didn’t look amused. Instead, she merely hummed, clearly not interested in exchanging pleasantries.

“I’m here to talk,” she said flatly, ignoring your tone entirely. Her eyes, sharp as ever, stayed fixed on you, not even bothering with an introduction. You could hear some faint commotion outside the room, likely the nurses eavesdropping, curious about the sudden appearance of such an elegant woman.

“Okay…” you replied, scratching the back of your neck nervously, your mind already racing. What could she possibly want?

Without a hint of hesitation, Sunghoon’s mother stepped closer to your bed, pulling something out of her bag—a cheque. She laid it on your blanket-covered lap with a kind of quiet authority that made it clear this wasn’t a negotiation.

“Take this,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “And leave my son.”

You blinked, staring at the cheque in disbelief. Was this really happening? It felt like a scene ripped straight out of a cheesy drama. Your mouth opened to respond, but before you could, she continued, her tone icy and business-like.

“If the media says anything, tell them the two of you broke up because of something you did.”

The words hit you like a slap. So this was it, huh? A payoff. A quick exit plan for the inconvenience you had become. Without thinking, you picked up the cheque. Shamelessly, even. You weren’t going to pretend like you weren’t curious. Your eyes widened slightly as you glanced at the amount.

It was a lot.

Enough to cover an expensive surgery. Heck, enough to completely change your life—your face, your identity. Maybe even start fresh. Your heart raced for a moment, but then a sneaky idea popped into your head. Maybe you could push this a little further.

“I can’t take this,” you muttered, putting on your best ‘reluctant’ act. You hoped it came off as genuine, like you were too noble to accept a bribe. You glanced up at her from under your lashes, waiting to see her reaction.

For a split second, her eyes narrowed, and then—without a word—she reached into her bag again, pulling out another cheque. This one was double the amount of the first.

Your internal grin nearly split your face in two.

“I’ll take it,” you replied immediately, the words leaving your mouth faster than you could process them. You grabbed the second cheque, abandoning any pretense of hesitation. This was too good to pass up. Who cared about Sunghoon? You weren’t even his girlfriend. You didn’t owe him anything, and this was way too much money to let go.

Sunghoon’s mother arched a brow, a small smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “You’re smart,” she said, her voice dripping with a patronizing kind of approval. Before you could even react, she patted your head like you were some kind of obedient puppy. The gesture made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself to stay still, biting back the urge to snap at her.

With that, she turned and strode out of the room, her heels clicking against the tiled floor in a rhythm that oozed confidence and control. You watched her leave, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the distant chatter outside the door. You glanced down at the cheques in your hands, the weight of them sinking in.

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. This was it. After years of living in that godforsaken orphanage, of scraping by, of enduring the endless bullying—you were finally getting a break.

Who knew a fractured leg could be this profitable? If this was what came from one little accident, maybe getting hit again wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

At least you knew one thing for sure: money beats boys. Every time.

YOU EXPECTED TO NEVER SEE SUNGHOON EVER AGAIN. In fact, you had made peace with it—or, at least, you thought you had. But that didn’t stop the daily ritual that had developed between you, Wonyoung, and Hanni.

They sat on either side of your hospital bed, a swirl of indignation and venom, bitching relentlessly about the guy who had caused all of this—Sunghoon.

At least you had your friends. They were here, taking time out of their lives to be by your side, and if that wasn’t love, you didn’t know what was. Wonyoung sat perched on the edge of the hospital bed, her legs crossed with effortless grace, while Hanni lounged at the foot of your bed, absently stroking your hair like you were a cat. They had barely paused for breath since they’d walked into the room, diving headfirst into their favorite topic: how much they despised Sunghoon.

"I mean, the guy just fractures your leg and disappears without so much as a note?" Wonyoung scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief as she flung her arms in the air like she wanted to strangle him. She shot you a look that said how could you have possibly put up with this idiot?

“And let’s not forget,” Hanni added, leaning forward conspiratorially as if Sunghoon might somehow hear them through the walls, “he’s probably just out there living his little rich boy life while you’re stuck in here, waiting for your leg to heal.”

She shook her head in disgust, fingers still lightly grazing your scalp. “Rich bastards are always like this,” she muttered under her breath, giving you a soft pat like she was reassuring you that you weren’t alone in your suffering.

You could feel a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, watching the two of them fuel each other’s fire. Neither of them had actually met Sunghoon, but they hated him with the burning passion of a thousand suns, and honestly, it was kind of hilarious to watch.

“I know, right? Like, how dare he?” Wonyoung continued, practically vibrating with indignation. “Does he think just because he’s rich and pretty, he can just act like that and not have any consequences?”

Her eyes narrowed, lips pulling into a thin line, as she mimicked slapping someone in the air. “If I ever see him, I swear to god I’m going to knock some sense into that stupid, spoiled—”

“Oh, please,” Hanni interrupted with a snort. “If you ever saw him, you'd probably get distracted by how disgustingly handsome he is and forget all about punching him.”

Wonyoung blinked at her, feigning innocence. “Me? Never. I’m immune to pretty boys.”

“Sure.” Hanni teased, rolling her eyes. “Tell that to your last crush.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at their bickering, the sound surprising you. It was strange how comforting their presence was, even though all they seemed to do was rip into Sunghoon. Not that you minded, of course. They were right—he deserved it. Completely.

…Right?

You listened as they went back and forth, each taking turns trashing him for his ghosting act. The more they bitched, the more venomous their words became, but somewhere deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a small, annoying tug of… something else.

Sure, you hated Sunghoon. You absolutely detested him. He had caused this whole mess, fractured your leg, and then vanished into thin air without so much as a “Sorry, hope you’re doing okay.” The guy didn’t even have the decency to send flowers. Who does that?

But… still. A part of you—a very, very tiny part—missed him. Even though he was infuriating. Even though he’d probably caused you more stress than anyone else in your life. You couldn’t shake the strange pang of absence, the way the hospital room felt oddly emptier without him awkwardly hovering around like your personal nurse. Maybe it was the fact that, for a few fleeting moments, you’d been able to annoy the hell out of him and enjoy watching him fumble over basic hospital tasks. There was a twisted kind of satisfaction in making a guy like him—a spoiled, oblivious rich boy—take care of you.

But more than that, you missed having someone to direct your frustration at. As much as you enjoyed watching Wonyoung and Hanni tear him to shreds on your behalf, it wasn’t quite the same.

“Seriously, though,” Hanni said, dragging you out of your thoughts, “I bet he’s out at some fancy restaurant right now, eating caviar or whatever rich people eat, without a single thought about you.”

Wonyoung huffed, leaning back on her elbows. “Probably. You know, I bet he’s never even eaten instant ramen. Can you imagine?”

You snorted. “Yeah, because the moment he tastes anything less than five-star cuisine, his delicate palate might collapse.”

Wonyoung laughed, but then her expression grew more serious. “It’s just messed up, though. He leaves you here to rot, and for what? Did he even like you?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “Who knows? I think I was just a… distraction for him.”

“That’s even worse,” Hanni said, crossing her arms. “Honestly, you should’ve asked for more when his mom came by with that cheque. They owe you a hell of a lot more than just money after all this.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widened. “Wait, his mom came here? And gave you money?”

“Oh, right. I forgot to mention that part,” you said, suppressing a grin as you leaned back against your pillow. “Yeah, his mom basically bribed me to stay away from him. Two cheques, actually.”

Hanni’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” you replied, the grin breaking free. “Apparently, I was such a nuisance that she wanted to pay me off to disappear from Sunghoon’s life for good.”

Wonyoung let out a low whistle. “Damn. You should’ve held out for a third cheque.”

“Honestly,” Hanni added, shaking her head in disbelief. “Rich people are something else.”

You laughed, a bit more genuinely this time, as they continued to bitch about Sunghoon and his high-society family. But despite the humor and the camaraderie, there was still that nagging feeling. That tiny, irritating itch in the back of your mind.

You didn’t miss him—not exactly. But maybe, just maybe, you missed the chaos that came with him. And, unfortunately, chaos had a way of finding its way back.

You just didn’t know it yet.

“Woah, I didn’t expect you to bad bitch about me the second I disappear,” came a familiar voice from the doorway, smooth and dripping with sarcasm. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who it was. The all-too-familiar dramatic hurt expression was already imprinted in your mind—the same one Sunghoon wore whenever he wanted to be the center of attention, which was, frankly, all the time.

You snapped your head in his direction, and there he was—leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed as if he hadn't just walked in unannounced, with that smug smirk plastered on his ridiculously perfect face. His brows were raised in mock disbelief, his lips twisted into an amused pout, as if he'd caught you red-handed in the act of a crime. How dare you talk about me when I’m not here? his expression screamed. But it wasn’t just that. No. Sunghoon looked… annoyingly good.

The worst part? He knew it.

Hanni and Wonyoung, who had been enthusiastically leading the charge in your anti-Sunghoon crusade just moments ago, froze mid-rant, their jaws practically hitting the floor. The air thickened with awkward tension, the kind that made your stomach do a weird flip. You glanced at your friends, fully expecting them to keep up the bitching. Surely, they wouldn’t back down now—not after all the trash-talking they’d just unleashed on his name, right? But when you turned to look at them, all you saw were wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Wait a minute. Were they… shy?

Hanni was the first to break. Her voice, usually sharp and unfiltered, faltered as she stared at Sunghoon like he had descended from the heavens. “Were we talking about him?” she whispered under her breath, as if you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes cursing his existence. She blinked, clearly taken aback by his presence. So handsome, so— you could practically hear her thoughts scrambling for coherence.

Wonyoung, on the other hand, was shamelessly gawking. Gone was the fire-breathing dragon ready to rip Sunghoon to shreds. Instead, she was wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen a human so beautiful in her life. “Uh…” She trailed off, her brain short-circuiting under his gaze. So much for being immune to pretty boys.

You huffed, rolling your eyes at their sudden change of demeanor. Traitors.

Before you could say anything, Sunghoon took a leisurely step into the room, his presence practically swallowing the space whole. “Your mom told me to stay away from you,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him in the hopes that it would somehow send him running for the hills. As if mentioning his mother would magically undo his annoying existence. “And by the way,” you added, “I’m not giving that money back. No way.”

Sunghoon’s smirk only widened, the infuriating bastard. “Well, yeah,” he said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather, “she told you to stay away from me, but I’m still allowed to stay close to you. You’re not the one initiating this.” He shrugged, as if his logic was sound and you were the one being difficult.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. What? You actually had to tilt your head back to process that nonsense. Was he serious? You blinked, glanced up at the ceiling as if the answer to his ridiculous statement might be written up there, and then back at him.

He wasn’t joking.

You were about to retort—about to remind him just how absurd that sounded—when you glanced at your two supposed best friends, expecting them to jump in and tear him a new one. But instead, they were still sitting there, suddenly very preoccupied with… being shy? Their gazes darted anywhere but at Sunghoon, as if he was some untouchable, otherworldly figure they couldn’t dare criticize anymore.

You scoffed under your breath. Unbelievable.

“Well…” You tried to gather your thoughts, but before you could finish, Hanni shifted beside you—by accident, of course—and her elbow brushed against your injured leg. Pain shot through your body, and you winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “Ow!”

Immediately, Sunghoon was at your side, crossing the room in a flash, his expression now serious as he kneeled beside you, his hands hovering over your injured leg. “Are you okay? Let me see.”

Your instinct was to push him away—to tell him to back off and leave you alone. The last thing you needed was him fussing over you like he actually cared. But you were injured, and Sunghoon had the upper hand—literally. His fingers gently pressed against your leg, checking to see if you were in pain, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop him. You tried to shove him off, but he was stronger, and your body wasn’t exactly in fighting shape.

“Stop—” you muttered, but your voice was weak. And, truthfully, despite how much you hated him, you let him check because… well, he was good at it. Annoyingly good.

Hanni, meanwhile, had the audacity to mutter under her breath, “Should’ve brought popcorn. This is hella interesting.” She shot you a guilty look, clearly aware that she’d caused the whole thing by bumping into your leg, but that didn’t stop her from thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding right before her eyes.

Wonyoung, who had somehow recovered from her stunned silence, leaned back and muttered, “Right.” She was watching the whole scene play out like she was stuck in the middle of some romantic comedy, her eyes darting between you and Sunghoon like she was waiting for the inevitable kiss scene.

“Weren’t you two on the #hatehim team?” you hissed, glaring at both of them as Sunghoon finally pulled back, satisfied that your leg wasn’t worse off than before.

Wonyoung blinked innocently, already gathering her things. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Hanni added with a shrug, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “We’re just, uh… neutral parties.”

Before you could even comprehend what was happening, they both stood, gathered their bags, and exchanged quick looks like they had just silently agreed on something. In unison, they made their way to the door, Wonyoung gesturing for Hanni to follow her like they were in some secret mission.

“Wait—are you leaving?!” you called after them, your voice laced with disbelief.

Hanni flashed you an apologetic smile, but her feet didn’t stop moving. “We’ll see you later! Good luck!”

With that, the two of them excused themselves, slipping out of the room like nothing had happened, leaving you alone with Sunghoon. You blinked after them, incredulous. They had changed their minds way too fast. How the hell did that even happen? Just ten minutes ago, they had been ripping Sunghoon apart, and now? Now they were acting like he was some kind of romantic hero who had fallen from the stars to sweep you off your feet.

You sighed, sinking back against your pillow.

But even as you stared at the door, trying to figure out how your two best friends had suddenly betrayed you, the nagging worry crept back into your mind. The cheques. You couldn’t help but glance at Sunghoon out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he would tell his mom about this little reunion. You would kill him if the money got taken back.

And just like that, Sunghoon was once again at the center of your frustrations—always, always causing trouble.

THE FACT THAT THE SUNGHOON — the only son of Park Corporation—had re-entered your life wasn’t exactly a secret, nor did it stay hidden from the one person who mattered most: his mother. There was no way she’d let this slide. And just as you predicted, not long after Sunghoon's unexpected return, his mother showed up at your hospital room door once again, this time with backup.

And by backup, you meant Sunghoon's older cousin brother, Jay. A man whose only crime, as far as you could tell, was being related to the Park family. If Sunghoon was infuriating, Jay seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. His discomfort radiated off him like a bad cologne—too strong, and kind of pitiful. His eyes darted nervously around the room, like he was scared to make eye contact with you. Honestly, you weren’t even sure if he knew why he was there.

Mrs. Park nudged him sharply, her manicured nails digging into his arm. “Tell her,” she hissed, clearly fed up with his lack of initiative.

Jay, however, looked more like he was preparing for a high school speech than an intimidating favor-demanding confrontation. He rubbed the back of his neck, looked down at his palm, probably reciting some mental script he had prepared on the way here, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Uh… so…”

You raised an eyebrow. Was this really happening? The Park Corporation sent this guy? This was their best shot at trying to intimidate you? First, Sunghoon barges into your life like a hurricane, and now his cousin shows up, looking like he’s one deep breath away from fainting. Honestly, you felt bad for Mrs. Park. How did she expect these two to run a massive conglomerate? You stifled a laugh, pity almost bubbling up in your chest.

Before Jay could stumble through another word, though, the door burst open, and in walked the person you least wanted to see. Of course. Of course Sunghoon had perfect timing. He always seemed to show up when things were about to get interesting, like some messed-up alarm system that detected whenever you were about to make some extra cash off his family’s dramatics. You barely blinked before he was standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe as if he hadn’t just barged in.

“Jay,” Sunghoon muttered, his tone heavy with disappointment, “You too?”

Jay immediately straightened up, as if trying to salvage what little pride he had left. “Your mom asked me to. Trust me, I didn’t want to do this.” He stepped back, throwing his hands up as though he were surrendering to the inevitable.

Sunghoon’s mother, however, had zero patience for this nonsense. She let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her temple as if dealing with two grown men acting like toddlers was giving her a migraine. “What else could I do when my son is wasting his time on this?” She waved a hand in your direction, as though you were an unpleasant distraction from Sunghoon’s otherwise charmed life. Her voice dripped with irritation, as though you were personally responsible for ruining her perfectly laid plans.

You paused mid-bite, glancing at her with an amused smirk. She had brought her son’s cousin to what? Scare you? Threaten you into backing off? You leaned back against the pillows on your hospital bed, casually spearing another piece of the expensive meal Sunghoon had brought you earlier. A luxurious spread, by the way. How thoughtful. You chewed slowly, savoring both the food and the unfolding chaos in front of you. It was like watching a soap opera, but better, because it was real. And because you were the center of it.

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed by his mother’s theatrics. “This again? Seriously, Mom?” His gaze flickered toward Jay, who was doing his best to blend into the wallpaper. “You got Jay involved in this?”

“He didn’t have a choice,” Mrs. Park snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood in the middle of the room, clearly expecting to command the entire situation with her presence alone. “I can’t just stand by while you throw away your future on—” She glanced at you with disdain, the kind only a Park could muster. “This girl.”

You snorted, taking another bite of food. “This girl is sitting right here, you know.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to you, briefly softening in what might have been sympathy—or maybe annoyance. Hard to tell. Either way, he turned back to his mother, exasperation bleeding into his voice. “I’m not ‘throwing away’ anything. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

His mother wasn’t having it. “You’ve been running around for days, ignoring your responsibilities for this… this situation!” She gestured dramatically toward you as if you were some scandalous tabloid headline.

You set down your fork and raised an eyebrow. “It’s cute that you think you can still control him.”

Sunghoon gave you a look that screamed you’re not helping.

Mrs. Park glared at her son, then at you, her lips pressing into a thin line. “This isn’t about control,” she said icily, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “It’s about ensuring you don’t ruin your life over some impulsive decision.”

Jay, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. He kept glancing between the three of you, clearly regretting every single decision that led him here. He took a step back, slowly edging toward the door, clearly hoping no one would notice him escaping.

“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, your voice teasing but firm, “You’re part of this mess now, Jay.”

His eyes widened in mild panic. “I—I don’t—”

But before he could defend himself, Sunghoon’s mother cut in, “Jay, tell her.” She prodded him again, practically pushing him into the spotlight.

Jay rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room like he was looking for an exit. “Uh, look, I… I don’t really want to do this, but…” He paused, throwing an apologetic look your way, “Can you just… maybe think about backing off? Just… consider it? For me?” His voice was pleading, clearly not cut out for this whole intimidation thing.

Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this entire situation was giving him a migraine. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His mother snapped. “You’re wasting your time. There are other priorities for someone in your position.”

Sunghoon’s patience was clearly wearing thin, his jaw tightening as he responded. “You keep saying that. But you’re not listening to me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, low and quiet, as you continued to enjoy the spectacle. The three of them—Sunghoon, his mom, and Jay—bickering like some dysfunctional family sitcom, while you sat back, fully immersed in your gourmet meal.

“This is better than TV,” you muttered to yourself, watching as they tried to one-up each other.

Mrs. Park shot you a death glare, but you just smiled back innocently, because really, what was she going to do? Take your meal away?

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward you again, and for a moment, there was a hint of something softer in his expression. Frustration, maybe. Or something that bordered on concern. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jay, finally finding his courage, jumped in again.

“You know,” Jay said, sounding more desperate than threatening, “this would all be easier if we just… moved on. You know?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “Easier for who?”

Jay hesitated, clearly realizing he was in over his head. His shoulders slumped, clearly realizing that he wasn’t getting out of this alive—figuratively, at least. His eyes darted back and forth between you and Sunghoon, probably weighing whether it was safer to keep talking or to just bolt. He ended up choosing the safer route: silence.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was far from done. His gaze sharpened as he turned toward his mother, who was glaring at him with the ferocity only a woman scorned by her own son could muster.

“I’m serious, Mom,” Sunghoon said, voice tense but controlled. “You can’t keep barging into my life like this. It’s not going to work.”

Mrs. Park scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “I barged into your life? Are you kidding me, Sunghoon? You’re the one who keeps throwing everything away for… for her,” she spat, pointing an accusing finger in your direction.

You almost choked on your food but managed to swallow it down, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, hey. Don’t drag me into this. I’m just eating.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked back to you for a moment, his expression softening. It was brief, but there was something almost apologetic in his eyes before he looked back at his mother.

“Whatever you think is going on here, it’s not what you think,” Sunghoon said, his voice taut with frustration. “I’m not ‘throwing anything away.’”

Mrs. Park’s jaw tightened, her nostrils flaring as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re wasting your time, Sunghoon. You should be focusing on the company, your future, not this… whatever this is.”

She waved a dismissive hand in your direction, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t exactly a fan of being treated like some pesky side project Sunghoon needed to get rid of, but the whole situation was too ridiculous to take seriously.

“So, what,” you said, leaning back in your bed, eyes flicking between the three of them, “You’re all here to—what? Threaten me? Make me back off? Because I gotta be honest, this isn’t working.” You gestured toward Jay, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, and Mrs. Park, who was glaring daggers at you.

Sunghoon’s mother took a step forward, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’m not here to play games with you, girl. I’m here to ensure my son’s future. You’re nothing but a distraction.”

“Ouch,” you muttered, feigning hurt. “You really know how to make someone feel special.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated with the whole ordeal. “Mom, you’re not helping. Just… stop, okay?”

“Helping?” Mrs. Park echoed incredulously, as though the very idea was laughable. “You think I’m not helping by trying to save your future from her?”

You were starting to get a little irritated, even if the whole situation was more laughable than threatening. “Look, I don’t know what fantasy land you’re living in, but Sunghoon is the one who came to me. Not the other way around. If you’re so worried about his future, maybe start with him.”

Sunghoon gave you a look that said please stop fanning the flames, but you were past caring at this point. You’d had enough of this woman coming into your life and treating you like you were some common gold-digger. She didn’t know the half of it.

His mother, however, seemed immune to reason. She shot her son a glare. “You’re throwing your life away, Sunghoon. I raised you better than this.”

And finally, something in Sunghoon snapped. His usually calm demeanor cracked as he stepped forward, his voice low and sharp. “No, what you did was control my entire life. And guess what? I’m done. I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t need you micromanaging every decision I make.”

His mother’s eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting this outburst. Even Jay looked taken aback, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. This was getting good.

“Sunghoon—”

“No, Mom. Stop,” Sunghoon cut her off, his voice unwavering. “You’re not doing this because you care about me. You’re doing this because you care about your image. About the company’s image.”

His mother recoiled as though she’d been slapped, her perfectly manicured nails curling into fists at her sides. “How dare you—”

“How dare I?” Sunghoon laughed bitterly. “You’ve been treating me like a business deal my whole life, Mom. This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

The room fell silent, the tension so thick you could practically feel it pressing down on your chest. Sunghoon’s mother stood frozen in place, her face a mixture of fury and shock.

Jay, sensing the growing hostility, started inching toward the door again, but before he could make his grand escape, Mrs. Park turned to him, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Jay, we’re leaving.”

Jay practically tripped over his own feet in his eagerness to comply. He glanced at you briefly—an apologetic look that almost said sorry for the drama—before scurrying out of the room behind his aunt.

Mrs. Park paused in the doorway, turning to throw one last glare in your direction. “This isn’t over.”

You raised an eyebrow, nonchalantly taking another bite of your meal. “Looking forward to round two.”

She glared, and with a sharp turn, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed through the room, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the bickering that had just taken place.

For a moment, neither you nor Sunghoon spoke. He stood there, still reeling from the argument, his jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You swallowed the last bite of your meal, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you glanced up at him.

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence with a wry smile, “that was fun.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond at first, his eyes focused on the floor, as if trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “For what?”

“For all of… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the door where his mother and cousin had exited. “I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

You shrugged, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m used to it. Your mom’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sunghoon muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, humorless smile.

A beat of silence passed between you, the tension slowly dissolving now that the storm had passed. But there was still something unspoken lingering in the air, something that felt heavier than the drama with his mother.

You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “So… what now?”

Sunghoon hesitated, his gaze softening as he looked at you. For the first time, there was no sarcasm, no playful banter. Just the weight of everything unsaid between the two of you.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw. “But I do know one thing.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his tone firm, his eyes locked on yours. “No matter what she says. No matter what anyone says.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity in his voice, but you kept your expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away. “That sounds like a lot of trouble for nothing.”

Sunghoon stood by the edge of your hospital bed, arms crossed over his chest, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the room as the dim light from the ceiling flickered slightly. His gaze was a mix of disbelief and frustration, but there was an edge of something softer, something unreadable, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or get defensive at your latest jab.

"Anyways, aren't you the heir?" You muttered, the words slipping out casually as you fiddled with the blanket, your tone attempting to sound neutral. But deep down, you knew exactly what you were doing. Trying to reason with Mrs. Park—despite her endless insults—wasn’t out of some newfound respect for her. No, this was a survival tactic. Sunghoon might equal trouble, but his mother? She was the gateway to all those fat cheques. You knew better than to entirely burn that bridge, even if it was hanging by a thread.

Sunghoon raised a brow at you, clearly not expecting the sudden change in direction. "You think she's worried about me?" he scoffed, almost incredulous.

You shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to meet his gaze for too long. "I just think… maybe she's concerned about your future," you muttered, your words laced with an attempt to seem logical, though your true motive lay elsewhere. You tugged the hospital blanket tighter around your legs, which still ached from the accident. A small price to pay for someone like him smashing into you.

He leaned against the wall, his stance casual but his expression anything but. "Future?" Sunghoon repeated, almost bitterly. He huffed before muttering under his breath, "I'm a racer."

You nearly choked on your own breath at that. A racer. The very notion of it was absurd, especially given how he ended up here with you in the hospital in the first place.

"No wonder she's worried." The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice barely audible, but loud enough for him to catch. You glanced at him through the corner of your eye, noticing how his expression morphed from mild irritation to downright disbelief.

“What do you mean, ‘no wonder she’s worried’?” He demanded, straightening up, arms uncrossing as he took a step closer to you, like you’d just accused him of being some criminal mastermind.

You didn’t even try to stifle the small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "Come on, Sunghoon. Let’s be real for a second. You're not exactly... the best driver." You gestured lazily towards your leg, which was propped up in a cast. “Even on a motorbike, you managed to get my leg broken.”

He let out a deep sigh, frustration evident in the way he rolled his eyes, muttering, “Shut up,” under his breath, though the edges of his lips twitched upwards for a second. He hated that you had a point. But there was no real venom in his words, just mild annoyance, the kind that came from knowing someone had you cornered.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze drifting from you to the small bouquet of flowers on the side table, then back to you. His posture screamed discomfort, as if he wasn’t used to being in such close proximity to his own vulnerability. After a long pause, he finally asked the question you’d been dodging for a while now, his voice dipping into something almost concerned. “But why were you drunk, though? I mean, they found alcohol in your tests that day."

Your breath hitched for a moment, but you quickly waved it off, eyes flicking away to avoid his gaze. "I just had a bad day, okay?" The words came out a little too quickly, a little too defensive, and you knew it wasn’t the full story. But the last thing you wanted was to dive into your own mess, especially not with him.

Sunghoon didn’t push further, his gaze softening slightly, but he wasn't one to leave a conversation dangling for too long. “Why were you speeding, though?” You shot back, raising an eyebrow in return. If he was going to dig into your mess, you had every right to poke at his.

The corner of his mouth twitched nervously as he chuckled, his usual bravado faltering for a split second. You knew something was up. Sunghoon never got nervous. Not like this.

"Well..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, his eyes darting away from you, unable to maintain eye contact for too long.

“Well?" You pressed, folding your arms across your chest as you waited for whatever ridiculous excuse he had to offer.

Sunghoon let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "My dad saw me riding," he muttered. "So I was kinda in a hurry."

For a second, you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "That’s it?" you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief. "Your dad saw you riding, and that made you speed? You didn't even bother to stop when you crashed into me?”

He fidgeted slightly, clearly uncomfortable under your scrutinizing gaze, but he shrugged helplessly. "I didn’t see you, okay? I was too busy trying to avoid him."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, sinking back into your pillows with a sigh. “That's it? And here I thought you were doing drug deals or something.”

The sarcasm in your voice was unmistakable, though you couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation had turned out to be. For someone who was supposedly the heir to a powerful corporation, Sunghoon had a way of complicating the most straightforward situations.

He blinked at you in disbelief, the tips of his ears turning red. "What? Drug dealing? Really?" he muttered, crossing his arms again as he leaned against the bed frame, clearly not impressed by your comment. But his reaction only made you grin wider.

You shrugged, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean, with how secretive you’ve been acting, who could blame me for assuming the worst?”

Sunghoon huffed, shaking his head in mild exasperation, though the ghost of a smile lingered on his face. "Trust me, my life is complicated enough without any of that.”

“Complicated, huh?” you echoed, your gaze drifting toward him. His posture had relaxed slightly, but there was still an air of frustration hanging between the two of you. You could tell there was more to the story, more that he wasn’t saying.

But you weren’t one to push, not when you had your own secrets buried deep.

You let the conversation die down after that, the room filled with a quiet sort of tension that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Sunghoon stayed by your side, despite everything, leaning against the frame of your bed as his eyes softened, watching you finish your meal with quiet focus. And for a moment, the tension between you eased, like the storm had passed, leaving behind a fragile calm.

But even in the silence, you couldn’t help but notice the small gestures—the way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the bedpost, the way his gaze lingered a little too long on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. There was something between you two, a line that neither of you wanted to cross, yet both kept flirting with.

And for the first time, the thought of it didn't scare you.

THE NEXT MORNING,

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the sterile white walls of the hospital room. The monotonous hum of the machines, the occasional beep from the heart monitor, and the muted footsteps of nurses outside became the background symphony of your stay. You blinked your eyes open slowly, your body stiff from yet another restless night, and as your vision adjusted, the familiar dull ache in your leg grounded you back into the reality you’d been living for the past few days.

BUT TODAY, SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT.

As you shifted slightly, careful not to agitate the cast on your leg, your gaze fell to the chair beside your bed. There he was—Park Sunghoon, slouched in the chair with his head resting against the armrest, his mouth slightly parted as soft, steady breaths escaped his lips. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him, one arm draped lazily across his stomach while the other rested close to yours, mere inches from the side of your bed. The sight was enough to make your breath hitch.

He’d stayed. Again.

For days, he had made this hospital room his second home, despite the biting remarks and the cold distance that had defined your relationship thus far. As if it was some kind of duty he couldn’t escape, some obligation he had to fulfill for the sake of his reputation or his family. At least, that’s what you convinced yourself. There’s no way he actually cares.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder, especially in moments like this, when his face was stripped of its usual bravado, his guard completely down. He looked… peaceful. Innocent, even.

“If I didn’t know you were doing this for your reputation,” you murmured softly, barely above a whisper, “I would’ve thought you loved me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and laced with something unspoken, something you weren’t quite ready to confront. You didn’t mean for him to hear it—he was asleep, after all—but there was a strange comfort in voicing the thought aloud, even if only to yourself.

You found yourself leaning a little closer, the distance between your bed and the chair barely enough to separate you two. Your fingers moved almost of their own accord, hesitating at first, before gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm under your touch, soft despite the cold exterior he often portrayed. Your heart gave a nervous flutter as your finger ghosted over the delicate curve of his cheek, down to the bridge of his nose, and finally stopping at his lips.

Your breath caught as you stared at them—soft, slightly parted, and so close. There was something about this moment that felt dangerously intimate, a line you weren’t sure you should be crossing. But before you could pull away, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and firm, halting your retreat.

Your heart stilled, the world suddenly reduced to the quiet space between the two of you. Sunghoon's eyes fluttered open slowly, his lashes casting faint shadows across his cheeks. He blinked once, twice, before his sleepy gaze focused on you, still hazy with the remnants of sleep. His grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, but not enough to hurt—just enough to keep you from escaping.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and raspy from sleep, the kind of voice that sent shivers down your spine. His words hung in the air, thick with confusion but also curiosity, as if he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be offended or amused.

Your mind scrambled for an explanation, anything to diffuse the tension suddenly filling the room. "There was a mosquito," you blurted out, your voice barely steady, attempting to sound casual as you tugged on your wrist, but he didn’t let go.

His brow arched in suspicion, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "A mosquito… on my lips?” he questioned, the incredulity in his tone barely masked by amusement. He pushed himself up from the chair, his hand still holding yours, and in a fluid motion, he was leaning over the side of the bed, closer—much closer—than he had any right to be.

The proximity was suffocating. You could feel his breath fan across your face, warm and steady, each exhale sending a fresh wave of heat across your skin. His dark eyes, still half-lidded with sleep, were locked onto yours, and for a split second, you forgot how to breathe. The space between you was so small, so intimate, you could practically hear the rapid beat of your own heart pounding in your ears.

Your face flushed crimson, the heat crawling up your neck as if you’d been caught doing something far worse than tracing his face. You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert, every muscle tensing under his intense gaze. "There… was something in my eye," you stammered, quickly averting your gaze as you finally pulled your hand away from his grip, your fingers trembling slightly as they found refuge behind your palms. You could feel the burn of embarrassment creeping up, your hands covering your face as if that could somehow hide the fact that you were blushing furiously.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed by your flustered state. He stood there for a moment longer, watching you with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something unreadable. He straightened up, stretching his arms above his head lazily, as if the moment that just passed was nothing more than a casual conversation.

But you knew better. There was something unspoken between you two, something that neither of you were ready to admit, but it lingered in the air, thick and undeniable.

"Something in your eye, huh?" he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice as he glanced down at you, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead with a casual familiarity that sent another wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.

You peeked through your fingers, still hiding most of your face as you mumbled, "Shut up."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, the tension in the air eased, replaced by something lighter, something teasing but… comfortable.

But even as he turned away, walking towards the window to stretch his legs, the ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—there was more to Sunghoon’s presence by your side than just reputation.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily as the midday sun spilled golden light into the hospital room, brightening the sterile white space that had become your temporary home. You sat on the edge of the bed, the nurse’s soft, encouraging voice still echoing in your ears after she had just removed your cast. The air felt electric with anticipation; you could finally walk again!

Sunghoon hovered by your side, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied you. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, but the seriousness behind it was unmistakable. You nodded enthusiastically, your heart racing with excitement. It felt like a monumental moment—like the first step of many to reclaiming your independence.

With the adrenaline coursing through you, you stood up, a determined grin stretching across your face. But as you took your first step, everything shifted dramatically. Your foot wobbled, and before you knew it, you were tumbling forward, hitting the floor with a thud that echoed around the room.

“Ugh!” you groaned, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you lay there, staring up at the fluorescent lights.

Sunghoon rushed forward, worry etched across his features, but before he could say anything, Wonyoung and Hanni burst into laughter, their giggles ringing like chimes through the room.

“Oh my god! Did you really just fall?” Hanni wheezed, nearly doubling over as she struggled to regain her composure.

“Looks like someone needs a little more practice!” Wonyoung added, her laughter infectious as she bent down to help you up, her hands extending towards you.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at yourself as they pulled you back to your feet. “Thanks, guys,” you mumbled, trying to hide your flushed cheeks.

As they waved goodbye, still chuckling, Sunghoon remained behind, a bemused expression on his face. “That was quite the entrance,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall, a playful glint in his eye.

“Shut up,” you retorted, trying to brush off your embarrassment as you plopped back onto the bed, sulking a little. “I’m still getting used to this.”

“Come on, you can’t let a little tumble discourage you!” Sunghoon grinned, stepping closer with a theatrical flourish. “I, Park Sunghoon, will be your walking coach! Let’s do this!” He mimicked a sports announcer, waving his arms as if hyping up a crowd. “And by the end of this session, you will be the champion of walking!”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile. “I don’t need a coach. I just need to not fall again.”

“Too late for that! You’ve already set the bar pretty low,” he teased, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. He leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But don’t worry; I’ll help you reach new heights, or at least keep you from faceplanting again.”

With that, he extended his hand towards you, a gesture of encouragement. You hesitated for a moment, your heart fluttering as you met his gaze, but the absurdity of the situation was too much to resist. Taking a deep breath, you grasped his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

“Okay, Mr. Walking Coach. Show me the way,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

He positioned himself next to you, his grip firm yet gentle. “First lesson: Keep your center of gravity low. Think like a ninja! Light on your feet!”

You couldn’t help but snort at his ridiculousness, the tension of your earlier fall dissipating as you stood next to him. “Ninja? Really? You think I’m going to be stealthy when I can barely stand?”

“Exactly! You’re going to be a stealthy ninja who, like a graceful gazelle, glides across the floor!” he exclaimed, his arms gesturing dramatically as he took a step back to give you space.

With his comedic antics distracting you from your nerves, you took a tentative step forward, wobbling a bit but managing to keep your balance. “See? Look at me! I’m practically a gazelle!” you proclaimed with mock bravado, your voice tinged with sarcasm.

“Gorgeous! Absolutely majestic!” Sunghoon exclaimed, feigning applause as you took another step. “But you know, a gazelle might want to avoid falling on its face. You should really work on that.”

You shot him a glare, but a smile broke through your facade. “You’re such an idiot.”

“That’s why I’m here!” he laughed, inching closer again, still holding your hand to steady you. “Now, let’s go for round two. This time, no falling!”

With a deep breath, you focused on your balance, your heart racing not just from the thrill of standing but from the way his warm hand felt enveloping yours. You took another step, then another, Sunghoon’s encouraging words ringing in your ears, his steady presence anchoring you.

But with every shaky movement, reality set in. You were acutely aware of the gulf between the two of you—the wealth and expectations that surrounded his life, the disparity that loomed like a shadow over this moment of laughter and lightness. He was an heir, bound for greatness, while you felt like a mere accident in his world.

“Just a few more steps,” he encouraged, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he sensed your hesitation. “You’re doing great!”

With his support, you managed to make a few shaky strides, laughter bubbling up with each unsteady movement. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to walk out of here after all,” you joked, feeling lighter with each step.

“See? I told you! You’re going to be my ninja walking prodigy!” he laughed, his eyes bright with excitement.

But as the moment drew on, a bittersweet realization sank in. Once you were well enough to leave, his part in your story would fade into the background like a forgotten dream. You could already picture it—a world where he resumed his life, his responsibilities, leaving you behind like a chapter closed.

Yet here you were, the two of you intertwined in this moment, laughing and learning how to walk again, and for a fleeting second, you wished it could last just a little bit longer.

THE DAY HAD FINALLY COME,

THE ONE YOU DREADED MORE THAN ANYTHING.

Weeks had passed, and despite all the mental notes you made to remind yourself that this was temporary, you couldn’t shake the attachment you’d developed to Sunghoon. Maybe it was the routine, maybe it was the fact that he had been there every step of the way while you healed, or maybe, it was something else entirely—something more dangerous.

You watched from a distance as Sunghoon handled your final hospital bill. The cold sterility of the hospital didn’t bother you as much as the thought of walking out of it without him by your side. He paid the fees like he had promised from the start, his sleek credit card effortlessly handling the expenses that you knew would have financially crippled you otherwise.

You tried to convince yourself that this attachment, this gnawing feeling of loss before he even left, was simply because you had spent too much time with him. After all, you practically lived together for months. But even telling yourself that over and over again didn’t stop the sting behind your eyes, the prickling of tears that threatened to spill.

You took a deep breath and wiped them away quickly, just as you saw him walking towards you, his tall figure cutting through the hospital corridor with ease. His face was calm as usual, though his eyes held a quietness that made your chest tighten. You forced a smile, the same one you always gave him, but this time, it carried a weight of sadness you couldn’t shake.

At least Mrs. Park wasn’t here. You couldn’t imagine how much worse you’d feel with her scrutinizing every little move, every interaction, like she was tallying it up in some invisible ledger. But in this quiet space, where it was just you and Sunghoon, you started to believe that maybe… just maybe, he was worth more than the money she flaunted, more than the reputation you helped him protect.

He smiled back at you, but even that felt distant, as if the finality of this moment weighed on him too. His hand rested casually on your shoulder, the same way it had for the past few weeks, a gesture of familiarity that was once just for show in front of others, but now… now it felt different.

As you walked out of the hospital together, the flashing of cameras and the swarm of paparazzi waiting outside hit you like a tidal wave. They were here, of course they were. The media had been all over this—your fake relationship, the story of his girlfriend who nursed him back to health after an accident. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that the only reason you were here was because of a fractured leg caused by that same accident. It had all been to protect him from public backlash, to clean up his image, to shield him from the criticism that would have followed.

But now, as his hand lingered on your shoulder longer than necessary, as he guided you through the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t fake at all. Not anymore.

The car ride back was filled with a silence that felt almost suffocating. You stared out of the window, watching the city blur by, your heart heavy with the realization that this was it. Your leg had healed, the bills were paid, and now Sunghoon was going to disappear from your life just as quickly as he had entered it.

You sighed, the sadness in your chest growing. This was it. The end of whatever this was, of whatever you had convinced yourself wasn’t real.

The car came to a stop at a quiet street, far from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. It wasn’t your home, not really—just the rented apartment you could barely afford. But it was where you were headed, and it was the place where Sunghoon would say goodbye.

You couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped your lips, filled with an aching sadness that even you couldn’t fully comprehend. It felt almost comedic, like the setup for some bad joke. The rich boy, the poor girl, the fake relationship—they always ended like this, right?

“You seem to not enjoy getting better,” Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence, his words light, almost teasing, but you could hear the undercurrent of something more.

You let out a short, bitter laugh, not even bothering to hide your emotions anymore. What was the point? “How could I enjoy it when it meant you would go away?” The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered, before you had a chance to stop them.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. The soft hum of the engine faded into the background as he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to understand the weight of your words.

And then, in one swift movement, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll always be there,” he whispered, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. “Wherever you are, in bad shape or sick, I’ll be there.”

“Why?” You barely recognized your own voice, so soft, so vulnerable, as if you were afraid of the answer.

His lips were so close now, his breath fanning across your skin, the space between you shrinking to almost nothing. He paused, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you didn’t, when you stayed frozen in place, his lips brushed against yours. It was barely a kiss, just the softest touch, like a promise not yet fully spoken.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, “Even when you get sick, I’ll be there. Waiting for you… to get well soon.”

His words were like a balm to your aching heart, but also a dagger to the fear you’d been holding inside. You felt a wave of emotions crash over you—relief, confusion, frustration, but above all, hope.

And just like that, everything between you shifted.

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bullet-clubs-bitch · 11 months ago

Text

King Switch 🩸🗡️

Jay White X Fem Reader

Jay White Masterlist Main Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ knife play, wax play, blood, unprotected sex, oral (f) receiving

Summary: It started off as a joke. Everyone always called Jay a knife pervert because he was a freak who wore a switchblade around his neck. Soon the nickname got to his head and Jay started feeling things he hadn’t felt before. Feelings that made him want to try new things in the bedroom.

An: I'm alive, I haven't posted anything in weeks because I have been so busy but I finally sat my ass down and wrote this fic I was meaning to write for months. Enjoy!

There was no secret that Jay White was different than other men. He was a total freak that was bat-shit crazy for you. Everyone knew about his things for knives but everyone assumed it was just a gimmick. It was for a while until it became much more than just an act. The first person to call Jay a knife pervert was Chuck Taylor, he said it jokingly at first but the nickname quickly caught on. One might think Jay was offended by the word, that he didn’t like the names but he loved it. The name was quick to get to his head, his freakish behaviors became more risky and noticeable. At times you had to beg him to stop, he couldn't just eat you from under one of the tables in catering. You could see the look in his eyes change every time someone mentioned the nickname. He became predatory, he looked psychotic, it turned him on. There were times when Jay refused to take off the switchblade around his neck. He liked the way the cool metal felt on his hot skin. He liked the sight of him pounding into you while the blade dangled from his neck above you, he loved the way you would sit on his cock, keeping him warm as you carefully played with the blade. At the end of the day it was a real knife he wore around his neck, he had to be careful he didn’t cut himself or you by mistake but he always wondered what if. Jay had become so fixated on being called a knife pervert that he knew he had to explore what exactly a knife pervert would do.

When Jay texted you to come over you knew what he wanted. He had been texting you all day about how badly he missed you, how he was a starving man and your cunt was the only thing that would save him from salvation. Jay was never shy about how hard you made him, he always wanted you to know that no one else could make him feel the things he felt when he was with you. When you entered his apartment you were greeted by darkness. Just as you were about to call out his name you noticed the piece of paper on the floor. ‘Keep all of the lights off. Follow the candles honeybee’

You noticed the trail of candles that led to the bedroom. When you opened the door you saw him. Your boyfriend lay in bed, the thin white sheet had made a tent, he was extremely hard and was staring into your soul. The room was dark, multiple candles being your only light source. As you approached him you noticed handcuffs and a variety of knives on the nightstand. “What’s all this?” you asked nervously. “I want to try something new,” he told you calmly. He could see the fear in your eyes and was quick to calm you. “Don’t worry honeybee, I won’t be using any of this on you. I want- no need for you to do this for me. Do you think you can do that for me?” “I don’t want to hurt you,” you told him but he assured you he would be fine.

You followed his instructions carefully. He watched you strip before him. How you slowly took off your shirt and pants. How you played with yourself as you took off your bra and underwear. He was salivating at the sight of you playing with your nipples, fighting back a moan. “Come here baby girl, I need to taste you,” He told you. You carefully climbed on the bed and sat on his face as he instructed. There was something about the way you came on his face that drove him to insanity. He was a madman who loved nothing more than to get drunk on your sweetness. He ate you like he was a starving man, like his life depended on it. He always knew exactly what he was doing, he knew what you needed without you ever having to say it and right now you needed to cum. Jay continued the assault on your pussy as your orgasm washed over you, making sure to lap up every drop. “Fuck, you taste so sweet,” Jay told you “As much as I want to eat you out to the point where you are crying there are some other things I want to do with you”

You carefully placed kitten licks and kissed his hard cock before slowly sinking down on him. Jay handed you a candle and asked you to pour it on him. You hesitated at first before pouring the wax on his chest. You could feel how turned on Jay was as the hot wax landed on his skin, instantly hardening. “Fuck, it feels so good” Jay wined out. Next, you picked up a knife and carefully removed the wax from his chest. You left light scratches on his chest and arms with the blade, admiring the pleasure you were able to bring him. “Y/n…” Jay asked sheepishly. “Yes” “Do you love me?” “Of course I love you, what kind of stupid question is that” “Than I need you to do this for me”

You couldn't believe what he was asking you. He wanted you to take the blade he wore daily and create 5 deep cuts on his right peck. “Are you sure you want me to do this?” You asked him nervously. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life” You watched the beads of blood form as you made the first incision. You felt almost like a doctor performing surgery. “Fuck” He grunted as his hips bucked into yours unintentionally. The blade was now covered in his blood as you created the second mark. Jay began thrusting up into you as you continued to draw blood. The two of you slowly became covered in his blood. You had never felt so full in your life. “I need more” Jay cried out once you created the third and fourth cut. The fifth mark was the hardest, the incision going diagonally through the other four wounds. The fifth wound was the deepest, you kissed him passionately to silence the moans and grunts that fell from his lips. You kissed the wounds and began to ride Jay hard and fast as you could knowing Jay was desperate for that release. You continued to ride him through his release which triggered your own, cumming for the second time tonight. The sensation that washed over you both was something you had never felt before. You carefully traced your fingers over the fresh wounds. Jay hissed at the touch, he was overstimulated and sensitive everywhere, never experiencing such a powerful orgasm. “You really are a knife pervert” you told Jay playfully as you put the switchblade around your neck. “I can’t wait to see what else this blade can do” He told mischievously.

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mygnolia · 7 months ago

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YOU MAKE ME GO CRAZY OVER YOU !!

୨୧ -› hey, that boy over there..isn't he the most popular student athlete on campus? how did you two meet, anyway?

pair -› jock/athlete! enhypen x fem! reader | wc -› 3.5k (700 per member) | no warnings! | library

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ LEE HEESEUNG

im gonna sigh dreamily when i say he’s most DEF basketball captain.

yes ik i wrote about this in wrong number i dont CARE i will say it with my whole chest

DORK DORK DORK but cute dork with lethal face card. smirks after making yet another basket and winks at you

age old question how tf did yall meet!!!

you pass by the gym and some guy on the way stops to talk to you

like “hey i know you from somewhere”

“yes heeseung we were partners from a project two weeks ago how do you not remember..”

he’s embarrassed asf especially because he remembers a lot of people’s names

after that he wants to be in your good graces and be friends

totally not because he remembered how you did a lot of the work for said project no complaints!!

and he doesn’t want you to rat him out to the teacher… or tell other people he’s not friendly

‘hey y/n, come to my game? i’ll do better if you’re there :)”

you go only because you needed to complete an assignment while you were there at school anyways

but sometimes you’d see him laughing with his friends, or how serious he is on court and woah, heeseung looks cool for once

you wait for him after because you figured he needed you for something

“awh, you wanted for me?” “i could be doing much better things.” “awh, come on y/n let’s get some ice cream! my treat since we get to spend time together”

he’s annoying but you let him tag around because he doesn’t bother you LOL

more under the cut!

drags you along when he practices alone so he can have some company

you like the company and the white noise too

you definitely doubt if he likes you because he is SUCH A FLIRT but no he DOES! he writes a confession on a basketball and ‘misses’ so you can catch it

you pass it back without seeing the message

but heeseung keeps missing and it almost hits you on the head and you’re like ‘dude you SUCK hello??” he says ‘oh lol maybe it’s the ball” byee why was he smooth with it!!!!

you check the message and roll your eyes

“if i make this you have to kiss me” you tell him and you’re about to shoot but he picks you up and brings you right next o the next to let you throw it in and then kisses u!!!!

not to be like oh im writing an smau on basketball captain heeseung but.. *tucks hair behind ear*

most definitely tries to be mysterious and cool when you’re dating

dribbles in front of you, trick shots, runs up to you when you’re alone, gives you one kiss between ever basket he makes

teaches you how to play!!!!

ABSOLUTELY lights up when someones mentions you when you two date

“oh yeah my partner in math is ___”

“omg ___?? the love of my life ___??”

you lowk have to drag him away i fear

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ PARK JONGSEONG

baseball captain *faints*

enhypen x mariners and him speaking in english…so you want me DECEASED

baseball captain jay and you who attends his games because jake aka ur friend on the team knows you have nothing better to do

“i bet you won’t make it even to five games before buying cotton candy” jake says because you have a MASSIVE sweet tooth

you tried really hard because $15 and a burger was on the line

and you kept coming because…well there was a cute captain who always knew how to rally his teammates and get them excited

also great sportsmanship and was super friendly to everyone!

definitely got mad when the umpire makes a wrong call

sharp reaction times. EVEN SHARPER JAW.

of course you stared! of course you were not paying attention to whatever jake was saying about his test after their game..how could you when jay was doing his lopsided smile as his friend pats him on the shoulder from ten feet away??

one time you come early because they’re practicing on the field and you see jay and jake passing to each other

jay just so effortlessly throwing the ball…oh my god

he’s just so perfect and jake cheers from the sidelines because he knows his captain pays attention to every single person who has stepped foot on the baseball field iNCLUDING YOU

you come up to jake after the fourth game, showing him you still had your $5 and your tongue wasn’t stained with any blue or pink

jay comes over, arm thrown around jake’s shoulder as he waves and smiles to you

dark hair with a twinge of sweat as he runs a hand through it, pulling it back to place on his cap

JAY IN A BASEBALL CAP *faints again*

he walks you out to the parking lot and asks what the $5 in your pocket is for because he keeps seeing you pull it out

you explain your whole bet to him and he nods

next game. before it starts. he gets you cotton candy and makes sure it gets to you somehow

you smile and you’re all giddy when you eat it because there’s a p.j. on the cap and he’s just so cute

jake doesn’t say anything he already knows it’s happening between you two.

jay finally writes on a baseball and tells you to catch, and it says ‘let’s date’ and you grab a sharpie and scribble ‘kiss me first’

OH YEAH HE WALKS OVER AND KISSES YOU.

soon every game instead of cotton candy it’s his baseball cap when it’s sunny, his jacket when you’re cold, baseballs with notes on them, and roses for his girlfriend aka youuuuu

jay is such a romantic and he is not afraid to show it

he orders custom jerseys that say jay/n on the back with the day you got together!!!!!

BEST BOYFRIEND EVERRRRRR

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ SIM JAEYUN

rugby player jake but he has dark long hair let that settle in

campus flirt campus playboy but in reality he doesn’t go on dates and nothing really happens past the smiles, he’s just super popular

you are also pretty well known! a little flirty but super sweet and your charm and how expressive and open you are with other people is what people like!

and he sees you cheering with your friend who he remembers is dating someone from the team

rugby has no gear so he just runs like no tomorrow

smiling in the sun or determined stare as he talks to his team, you never know

he yells either in frustration, victory, or defeat, literally will never be silent

so after a game you follow your friend down to the railing and she has her little moments with her boyfriend

and you and jake kind of awkwardly stand there for a moment

he wipes his sweat off with a towel and smiles at you, cracking the ice

“how long have you had to deal with that?” he points over to them

you shrug and tell him “however long you’ve been dealing with it” he laughs

oh wow his smile when he’s right in front of you is just so pretty

and his little chuckle as he shakes his head and looks back up at you

‘who do you watch on the field?’ he asks, with a little smirk because he likes you

‘whoever catches my attention’ you tell him also smiling

oh its a CHALLENGE. he will make sure to run on the side of the field you’re watching from, winking at you on the field, ugh just everything

you come to a party at the end of the season to celebrate and he sees you

“you came!!” super happy and makes sure you are next to him all the time

“y/n you know the teammates, yeah?” you smile and congratulate them

he leaves to get you a soda/water and jungwon leans in

“jake LOVES to talk about you by the way”

“yeah he always says how pretty you are in the library or in class, he likes when your friend comes because that means you come with her”

heeseung nods, “super into you, no joke”

jake comes back trying to play it off “who’s into y/n?”

you poke at his shoulder and smile, “you” and he’s all bashful and giggly

loves to call himself ‘y/n’s girlfriend’

‘sorry, i can’t i have to buy flowers for y/n’ ‘sorry y/n needs me to help her study’ ‘sorry y/n needs a ride here’ STUCK TO YOUR HIP

ofc he doesn’t abandon his friends but he loves spending time with you :3

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon’s reputation proceeds him—cold on the court and just as reserved off of it

ugh he’s so annoying, he always has his bag in the same spot as yours and he always is at the water filling station with hos annoying 32oz bottle before you

also hogs that automatic tennis ball throwing machine like how are YOU supposed to practice tennis too

‘hey i need that’ he furrows his eyebrows and shrugs

‘i was here first’ ‘what are you twelve????’ sunghoon tells you ‘get here earlier next time then

oh yeah. for the next week you ran to the courts everytime to get it before him

one day he sees you and races you to the gates and you beat him

sulky after as if his career is over

definitely varsity and one of the best, but he never approaches girls after his games

one time you go to a men’s game because it’s one of the most anticipated of the season

its neck to neck, third set with 40-adv, sunghoon’s serve

he chases after that ball and sends it over, it barely hits the net and tumbles over, AND HE WINSSSS BRAHHHHH

even if you hate him you will admit that he made the game extremely interesting

you see his friends congratulate him and you notice that he never gets his clothes dirty

always wears white to practice—pristine asf

secretly he loves watching you too

even if you hate him for getting on your nerves some days and almost never doing more than bare minimum, you cannot lie and say sunghoon isn’t a huge inspiration

just as you are to him

sunghoon thinks your tenacity and passion for tennis is what makes you so fun to watch

so even if he has homework, he goes to a game of yours and comes down to the court after the game

bumps your shoulder after, ‘good game, y/n’ and you’re like ?? ‘you’re here?’ and he’s sooo nonchalant when he says ‘of course, i can’t miss a fun game can i?’

there’s a fun mixed doubles tournament for a whole gift basket of things and you come up to him

‘hey let’s pair up’ and he grins

you two play each other for practice and you’ve tied the score so many times you’ve lost count

and sunghoon’s a little annoying but oh lord he’s so attrative??? so maybe he wasn’t THAT annoying…

mixed doubles tourney rolls around and oh yeah. you two win.

you know much he likes natto and you say ‘here you take the natto’ he shakes his head ‘no you eat it all the time’

you two bicker and you say ‘fine lets just share it!’ and to your surprise..he opens the package and just mixes it all in

you two sit and share the natto, then he tells you he thinks you’re pretty cool on court

you raise your eyebrow cuz where is this coming from!! and he rolls his eyes

‘nevermind maybe you’re only bright on the court’

‘hey what’s that supposed to mean!!!’ you take the natto and eat all of it LMFAO and then he pouts because noo his natto!!!

you kiss his cheek. it’s ok everything is ok now he is a happy boy

“you’re my match” you write on a tennis ball pin and he keeps it on his bag like his life DEPENDS on it

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ KIM SUNOO

THE CUTEST VOLLEYBALL SETTER EVER

i hate to be like oh you’ve had the fattest crush on him for like two months BUT ITS TRUE

you’re on yearbook and you make an excuse to go see sunoo play!!

you two met when you were at a volleyball game and you told him to smile, but he’s one of those guys who says “wait delete that take another one!!”

and ofc you agree, snapping a few cute photos of him

he posts to his social media, tagging you with a cute song saying ‘thanks photographer :3”

and so you it begins, your small little crush on him..

he loves seeing you at his games, always makes sure to wave to you on the court

hey so setter sunoo is insanely good at what he does

so graceful when he places a NASTY setter dump on the other team, a glare shot at one of the other team’s members bad-mouthing him, but a glowing smile as he high-fives all his teammates!

super supportive, and you loveee that about him!! he cares so much about everyone it makes your heart warm

“here, let’s eat together,” you tell him, and you bring him some noodles you made because he said he was craving some

he smiles at you and sits down, beginning to slurp slurp slurp and SCOREEE he loves it

“thanks y/n, let me treat you some time :)” UGH DEAD DEAD

KIM SUNOO KING OF FLOAT SERVES

huge smile on his face when it lands where it needs to, he loves that feeling of satisfaction and soaks up all of your praise after his games are over

he slips out of practice sometimes to see what you’re doing in yearbook, and he’ll take your camera to tell you to smile as he takes pics

someone in your class tells you too to look overfor a photo , so he loops an arm around your shoulders to pull you close and smile

AND OH EM GEE UR LIKE TOTALLY GEEKING OUT OVER IT HELLO??????/

you ask her to print you a copy of it to save in your scrapbook, but sunoo cuts in and asks for another one

“i like seeing you” DEAD IN A DITCH esp when he smiles at you and then runs off to practice before he gets in trouble

so competitive on the court and it makes him a little sulky when he loses

“argh i did so bad today” he’d tell you, but in your eyes hello kim sunoo could do no wrong!! and you share your snacks while reassuring him

he swears tho, “nooo, i had to look cool for you!” and you’re tired of hearing him say and do all of these sweet things and straight up

“why?” “what do you mean, y/n?” “why do you want to look cool for me?” “well i liked you duh!”

but sunoo never wanted to confess, he was too scared he wasn’t good yet at showing you all of his perfect bf traits

WELL HE THOUGHT WRONG!! he’s been perfect from d1 so now he just sneaks in like 40 kisses before every game

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ YANG JUNGWON

see so jungwon, he’s been a little FLIRTY as of recently.

“you like older guys? but im a younger guy with rhythm” WHAT THE FKSCNHDJFD

whatever. anyways jungwon focuses on badminton like it’s a lifeline

hitting birdies in his sleep would be smth he would do if he could, he loves how aggressive he can be in the sport without moving too much, lots of strategy involved

you come to one of his games because your friend is on the other team, and you want to cheer him on

but jungwon notices you’re literally from his school??

isn’t it weird you’re going to a game for someone on the other team…

so he sets off a plan

he goes to you after the game before your friend can

“hey, how come you don’t support anyone on our team” so straight to the point help

and you tilt your head in confusion because “well i don’t know anyone from the team and you’re all scary”

scary??? jungwon makes it his personal mission to debunk that cuz no one is SCARY

maybe sunghoon but that’s because he’s varsity 1 and the best player within 150 miles but whatever

he makes it his mission to wave to you when he sees you and when he’s sat next to you in one of your classes he’s like yay perf

“you’re the guy from that badminton game huh?” “is that a good or bad thing”

you shrug “whatever you want it to be”

and he asks you to go to his next game but if he wins, you have to support the team and if he loses

and you stare at him like “wtf do i get out of it”

jungwon did NOT think about that

he promises to buy you a snack after

and it’s free food so you can’t complain

you two talk more and he finds out you used to play badminton before you hurt your ankle and wanted to focus on school

so he takes you to practice and gives you one of his expensive rackets

lowk falling in love everytime you laugh and chase the birdie

jungwon pretends to hate chasing after it but he’ll still hit it back even if it’s out of bounds because he doesn’t want to waste your time picking it up

you two sit down and you tell him how fun it was to be able to play, and how much you missed it from your childhood

your school holds a small festival where other school athletes go against your team modified lighting rounds

paired with vendors and fun carnival stands, but the main attractions are always the variety of sports to watch

jungwon is one of the representatives from your school but so is your friend from the other school, so it’s heated when they play

you tie a ribbon around his racket (curtesy of sunghoon for helping you out) and write a note saying “if you do good ill cheer for you”

AND HE WINS. so you keep your end of the bargain and cheer for him after the game is over, giving him a high five and a hug

he walks with you and asks about what you two are BECAUSE THIS IS A DATE this is date behavior

“of course i like you won who wouldn’t”

let’s just say he gives u little kisses all over when you two are alone sigh so cute

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ NISHIMURA RIKI

he’s been on the soccer team ever since he was a freshman and even before, retaining his cute features and mischievous personality

when you became assistant manager you were scared but your brother heeseung was on the team and your mom told you to look after him at school

and riki takes after heeseung a LOT when they play and heeseung even goes as far as inviting riki over

so riki’s super good at soccer by the time heeseung leaves, but he also has this small crush on you that heeseung’s told you about

you just never said anything because you never had a reason to nor were you uncomfortable with it

but junior year hits and riki comes back from winter break with pitch black hair all styled

also…a lot taller than you. and no more baby fat

and you paid attention to some of it because you saw him for practice, but the hair really did it

during practice he loves to mess with you saying things like “can you fill up my water y/n pleaseeee” “no you have two feet” “ill win the next game against ____ if you get me water” “i’ll kick you off the team if you don’t win”

he sighs and gets up, glaring down at you and you try not to let his playful stare affect you, but SOMETHING was different something was in the air

if riki doesn’t play good, it’s because his team manager aka you is NOT there

you come back the next day to find out he was sulking and didn’t play super well because you weren’t encouraging him

“go run a lap, riki” and HE DOES JUST THAT “go practice on the field by yourself”

“how about you ask me to date you next” he grumbles

and you HEAR him. loud and clear.

but you’re like agh what if he doesn’t mean it what if he’s just joking

at the next game he does super well and you congratulate the whole team

yas team hybe eats

you two are getting ready to go home when he finally brings it up

“you heard what i said on tuesday” and you know exactly what he means

“yep.” “so why didn’t you say anything back” “i didn’t know if you were being serious”

he scoffs “y/n when have i ever not been serious about you”

he opens your door even if he’s passenger princess

makes fun of you for how much closer you need the wheel to be to drive

YAYYYY Y/NKI IS REAL

he loves to drape an arm around your shoulder walking around school

acts as if he’s older when you two are literally the same age HELP

reblogs/interactions are appreciated always!

have some shameless self promo for my spiderman!riki fic!

and my upcoming jake fic!

2K notes · View notes

onlybeeewrites · 22 days ago

Text

Echos

Request: Could I request a one shot where Finnick odair x fem! Reader reunite after the reader is saved from the capital?

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Fem!reader

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mockingjay violence, torture, psychological torture, jabber jays, peeta’s torture in the capital, Johanna’s torture in the capital, PTSD, anxiety, fear, capital manipulation, president snow

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain. It was all you knew. Every breath, every moment since they dragged you from that godforsaken arena was laced with agony. You never should have left Finnick’s side. You had promised—sworn—that no matter what, you’d stick together. That you’d never risk losing each other again.

But you also remembered what Haymitch had told you before the Games. The plan.

He had pressed a golden bracelet into your hand—almost identical to Finnick’s. A token, a silent promise. A reminder of what you had to do. Keep Katniss and Peeta in the dark. Keep them both alive. But above all else, get Katniss out.

For a while, everything had been going according to plan. The bread had come, the signal was given, and the time had come to put Beetee’s strategy into motion. You had hope. This could work.

And then it all fell apart.

The explosion hit.

A blast of force sent you both you and Peeta flying, slamming you against a tree, knocking the wind from your lungs. The last thing you saw before everything went black was the blinding white light of destruction—debris raining down as the arena shattered.

Pain drags you back to consciousness.

It’s different now—sharp, aching, thrumming through every nerve in your body. Your head is heavy, your thoughts sluggish, and when you try to move, your limbs feel foreign, unresponsive.

The first thing you register is the cold. Not just from the sterile air, but from the hard surface beneath you, unforgiving and clinical. The second is the color. White. Blindingly white. The walls, the ceiling, the floor. Even the flimsy gown draped over your battered body. It’s like you’ve been erased, stripped down to nothing.

A cell.

You try to sit up, but the movement sends a sharp spike of pain through your ribs. Bruised—maybe cracked. Your wrists are raw, red marks circling them, though you don’t remember why. You don’t remember much at all beyond the explosion. Beyond the moment the arena fell apart.

The soft hiss of a door opening snaps you to attention.

Boots echo against the floor, slow and deliberate. You force yourself to look up, and ice coils in your veins.

President Snow stands before you.

He’s composed as ever, dressed in crisp white, his cold blue eyes studying you like you’re an insect pinned beneath glass. A faint, almost amused smile tugs at his lips. In his hands, he cradles a pristine white rose.

You steel yourself, masking the fear clawing at your throat. You don’t speak first. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Snow takes a slow breath, inhaling the scent of the rose before his gaze locks onto you. “You’re quite the survivor, aren’t you?”

You say nothing.

“I must admit, I was quite disappointed to see you among those extracted from the arena. A shame, really. I had hoped for better from a Victor of District Four.” He tilts his head. “Finnick Odair’s love.”

Your stomach twists at Finnick’s name, but you keep your face blank. You don’t know where he is. If he made it out. If he’s even alive.

Snow takes a step closer, watching you carefully. “You see, we know there was a plan. We know the Quarter Quell was never meant to go as intended. The rebels orchestrated this, didn’t they?” He crouches slightly, lowering himself to your level. “Why don’t you save us all some time and tell me what you know?”

You blink at him, forcing your expression into something blank, confused. “Plan?” Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Snow sighs, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “Lying is beneath you.” He leans in slightly, and you catch the faintest hint of blood beneath the overwhelming scent of roses. “Very well. We have ways of making you talk,”

And you know he’s right.

And the pain he afflicts never left. It simply changed—sometimes sharp and searing, sometimes a dull ache that settled in your bones—but it was always there.

Time blurred in the Capitol. You didn’t know how long it had been since they ripped you from the arena, since the explosion stole you away from Finnick. Days, weeks… it could have been months. You weren’t sure anymore. You weren’t sure of anything anymore.

They never let you rest. The sterile white walls, the blinding overhead lights, the sound of footsteps approaching and retreating—it all became part of your existence. And then there were Peeta and Johanna.

You caught glimpses of them when they dragged you through the halls, when you passed rooms where screams bled through the walls.

Peeta was barely recognizable anymore. The hijacking, the tracker jackers, had shattered him, stolen the light that used to live in his eyes. He couldn’t focus for long, his mind darting from one fleeting thought to the next. His words were broken, a disjointed mess of confusion and hurt. His body trembled constantly, his hands shaking as if they couldn’t hold onto the fragments of his sanity. He would mumble to himself, apologize for things he didn’t understand, and then, in a fit of panic, beg you to stay, to tell him he wasn’t lost. And you would do your best to assure him, sooth him from across the room.

It was unbearable.

Johanna was different. She was quieter, but there was something hollow in her. Her body shook violently from withdrawal, her lips cracked from dehydration. The Capitol had drowned her over and over again, only to pull her back just before she crossed the line between life and death. When she looked at you, there was no spark of rebellion, no fire. Just exhaustion and pure resentment that kept her going.

And then there was you.

They had their own way of breaking you.

At first, they kept it simple—pain, starvation, isolation. Keeping you across the room from your friends. Close enough to talk. Close enough to hear their screaming. But not close enough to comfort.

But then they brought you to that room. The one with the speakers hidden in the walls, where the shadows were deeper, where the air felt heavier. And they made you listen.

Jabberjays.

You had heard them in the arena before, their eerie mimicry of loved ones’ voices meant to torment you. You had seen Finnick fall to them, and Katniss. And it had broken your heart seeing how they were reacting.

But that had been nothing compared to this.

The pain had been your constant companion, gnawing at you, twisting every second into an eternity.

They didn’t just sing—they screeched. The birds were torture incarnate, their calls designed to break the mind, to twist the memories into something ugly. They brought you to the room, the sterile walls designed to keep you isolated, to amplify the terror in your heart. They had programmed the birds to sound like those you loved—those you had failed.

At first, it was a whisper. A voice you thought you recognized, but it was distorted, cracked, like the sound was being pulled through a filter of madness. It came slowly, building, growing louder.

It was impossible. You had never heard that tone from him before. Finnick never spoke like that. But there it was, his voice accusing you, twisting the memory of his care, of his laughter, into something venomous. The birds sang it over and over, forcing you to hear the words that ripped at your very soul.

And then the voice changed again.

The words cut through you like a knife, too sharp, too raw. His voice, so young and full of trust, was unmistakable. But it was a voice that had long since faded from your memory. The bird had twisted it, made it sound like something darker, like something hateful. Your little brother who you did everything to keep safe.

It wasn’t the voice of a child who loved you. It was the voice of a child who felt abandoned, who had been left alone. The bird screamed again, louder this time, its voice shrill and echoing, sending waves of nausea through you.

The birds’ voices layered one on top of the other, drowning out your thoughts, breaking the barrier between reality and the spiraling nightmare that consumed you. It was as though every painful memory, every regret, every mistake you had ever made, was being replayed and twisted into something ugly. Something unforgivable.

The walls seemed to close in as you sank deeper, the birds’ calls surrounding you, clawing at your mind, twisting your thoughts. It was endless. The repetition, the overwhelming weight of their words, started to chip away at you. You could feel your sanity slipping, each scream from the birds tearing a hole inside your chest.

The pain, the guilt, the spiraling madness was too much. You had no defense left. The voices echoed, screamed, whispered, and everything you had held onto was cracking, shattering like glass. Your hands trembled, your heart raced, and you were drowning in the sound of their accusations.

The sound of Finnick’s broken voice, Annie’s hollow sadness, and the desperation in your brother’s cries—each one felt like a new blade slicing into you. Each call, each accusation, only deepened the spiral you were trapped in. Your chest ached with the weight of their pain, your soul shattered from the guilt of it all. The torment was endless, suffocating.

In the haze of madness, time felt like an abstract concept—blurred, stretched beyond recognition. The room seemed to shift around you, but the stillness of it pressed in like a vice. It was as though you were stuck in this moment forever, caught between memories and nightmares. You couldn’t tell when you were moved from one place to another.

Even then as you laid on the cold, white floor of your cell, the sterile walls closing in around you. The trembling never stopped. It was like a constant hum in your body, a fear that never quite left. Your back was pressed against the smooth, unforgiving surface of the wall, your eyes staring blankly at nothing in particular.

Your mind felt detached from reality, a fog clouding every thought. The voices of the Jabberjays still echoed in your head, their cruel distortions of Finnick’s, Annie’s, and your brother’s voices a constant reminder of the horrors they had subjected you to. You couldn’t escape it. You couldn’t escape them.

You barely noticed the sounds at first—footsteps, muffled voices, the faint shuffle of boots on the hard floors. Then the door to your cell opened with a sharp hiss, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you looked up. Someone was standing there, silhouetted in the dim light, their features too blurred to make out. You didn’t know if it was real, if you were dreaming again, or if it was just another cruel trick of the Capitol.

A hand reached out, tentative, like they were unsure of how to approach you. “You’re alright,” a voice said softly, but with a firmness that cracked through the haze in your mind. “We’re here to get you out.”

But the words felt distant, disconnected, as though they were coming from underwater. You couldn’t trust anything. Your heart pounded in your chest, fear bubbling up from deep within. This could be another trap. Another lie. You weren’t sure who this person was, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

Before you could even form a coherent thought, a sharp scent flooded the room, heavy and sickly sweet. The next thing you knew, the room swirled around you—shapes and sounds warping—and the last thing you heard was the voice again, more urgent this time: “It’s okay. We’re getting you out.”

And then, as the smoke thickened and your vision blurred, everything went black.

The first thing you felt when you woke up was confusion. It was disorienting—your senses a blur, your mind fragmented. You were in a room, but it wasn’t your cell, wasn’t the sterile white of the Capitol. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic, and the soft hum of machines around you was both strange and oddly comforting.

But that didn’t mean you were safe. Not yet. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the chaos. Doctors in white coats were moving quickly, their voices a frantic buzz. Someone was touching your arm, their hands too firm, too urgent.

You flinched away, panic surging through your veins as memories of the Jabberjays twisted into your mind. The screams of Finnick, Annie, and your brother—distorted and cruel—ripped through your thoughts again. Was this just another trick? Were they going to use the birds again? Were you being captured all over again?

“Please, just… just stop,” you gasped, your voice raw, barely audible. You scrambled, trying to pull yourself away from their grasp, but your limbs were weak.

“Shh, shh, you’re safe,” one of the doctors whispered, but you didn’t trust it. You couldn’t. Safe didn’t exist anymore.

They tried to hold you down, to reassure you, but the more they touched you, the more your skin crawled. Your breath was coming in ragged gasps as the room closed in, and the walls felt like they were suffocating you. Everything felt too bright, too loud. You wanted to escape, to run, to hide from the chaos.

Then you heard it—his voice.

“Where is she? Where is she?”

Your heart skipped a beat, a raw, desperate sound. Finnick’s voice. But it couldn’t be him. You tensed, a jolt of panic shooting through you. No, no, no—this isn’t real. It’s not real.

The words that came next weren’t comforting—they were the birds, mimicking him, twisting his voice. It was too much. Your pulse raced, your body trembling violently as you backed away from the doctors, too afraid to look.

“Where is she?” Finnick’s voice called again, closer this time. “Please, please, I need to find her.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The memories collided in your mind, his voice and the twisted birds, and you weren’t sure where one began and the other ended.

Then, out of the chaos, a familiar face emerged. Finnick. His face was drawn, haunted, but his eyes—his eyes—they were the same. He was real. The fog in your mind started to clear, the panic slowly ebbing away as you locked onto him. The sight of him, standing there, filled you with a raw, aching relief. But the confusion still clung to you, the terror that this was a trick.

He stepped closer, his hand outstretched. “It’s me, sweetheart” he said softly, his voice full of something gentle, something full of warmth you thought you’d lost forever. “I’m here. You’re safe. It’s over.”

Your body froze, heart hammering in your chest, but then something inside you broke. You couldn’t hold onto the fear anymore, couldn’t push him away. You collapsed into him, falling into his arms, the weight of the months of torture pressing down on you, flooding you with every raw emotion you’d been holding in.

The warmth of Finnick’s embrace is overwhelming, like a beacon in the dark. For a moment, it feels surreal, like you’re still trapped in the nightmare, that you’ll wake up any second and be back in that place, alone and broken. But when his arms tighten around you, when he whispers against your hair, you realize that this—this is real.

Finnick was home. His scent, his touch, the way his body feels against yours—it’s everything you’ve been missing, everything you’ve been longing for. For so long, you thought you would never feel this again. You thought you were going to die there, in that cold, endless nightmare.

“I thought I was going to die there,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper, a broken sob escaping as you clutch him tighter. The words spill out before you can stop them, the weight of them sinking deep into your chest. “I thought… I thought I’d never make it out. That I’d never see you again.”

Finnick pulls back just enough to look at you, his face full of sorrow, guilt swirling in his eyes. “You’re here now,” he says, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek, wiping away the tears. “You’re safe. You’re with me now, and I’m never leaving you again. I swear it.”

The sound of his voice, steady and unwavering, cracks something deep inside of you. It’s like the world around you shifts—like you’re not alone anymore. Like you’re finally home.

He takes a slow, deep breath and leans his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your face with gentle care. “I know… I know it’s been hell,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m never leaving you again, sweetheart,”

You nod against him, your breath shaky, but his presence is like an anchor, grounding you, pulling you back from the abyss. Your body trembles, not from the cold or the fear, but from the raw relief that courses through you.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel safe, or at least the illusion of it. Either way, you didn’t care. And for the first time since the reaping, maybe you can properly start to breathe.

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enhaflixer · 1 month ago

Text

pjs - Signed, Sealed & Undone. - Part 1

A TIME TRAVEL CONTRACT MARRIAGE FIC -PART 2 OUT NOW

Synopsis: Fake marriage proposals are a tired billionaire trope.

But when Jay Park—former golden boy of Park Industries, now chaebol exile—comes back from disgrace (and back in time), he’s got one goal: rewrite the past before it destroys him.

When you, an unassuming journalist with nothing to lose, get an offer of a lifetime, you’re sure it’s a mistake.

A contract, a relocation to Seoul, and one fake wedding later, you’re still trying to convince yourself none of this is real. The only problem? Neither of you seem to remember where the performance ends and something devastatingly real begins.

Release Date: 8th March, Part 2 - Monday 10th March

WC: 13K CW (18+ MDNI) : fake marriage, slow-burn romance, power dynamics, corporate intrigue, arranged marriage trope, emotional angst, unresolved sexual tension, longing glances across boardrooms, contract loopholes, financial manipulation, morally gray billionaire!Jay, forced proximity, family expectations, betrayal, public displays of affection (for the cameras, obviously), enemies-to-allies-to-lovers, suppressed feelings, business politics, one bed trope (but make it corporate), dramatic confessions, late-night whiskey-fueled arguments, high society drama, backhanded compliments as flirting, dramatic departures followed by even more dramatic returns, lingering touches that mean too much, feelings clause not included in the contract, deep intimacy, power dynamics in a romantic context, possessive tendencies (but soft), light dominance/submission themes, clothing being undone at a painfully slow pace, tension so thick it could shatter glass, breathless dialogue, interrupted kisses that lead to frustration, and the inevitable realization that this was never fake at all.

The Original Timeline

Five Years Ago

The first and only time you met Jay Park was at the gallery opening of your college roommate's photography exhibit in New York. You wouldn't have been there at all if Priya hadn't practically begged you to help her make up the numbers.

"Just mingle for an hour," she'd pleaded over coffee that morning, eyes wide with artistic desperation. "Drink free champagne, eat expensive hors d'oeuvres, and pretend to understand modern art. I need this exhibit to succeed. My parents are still convinced I should have become a doctor."

So you'd ventured out into the crisp October evening to a renovated warehouse in Chelsea that now housed the Klein Gallery.

The moment you walked in, you regretted your decision.

The gallery was crowded with Manhattan's elite—people whose casual conversations name-dropped summer homes in the Hamptons and winter getaways in Aspen. You recognized a few faces from glossy magazines—a popular actress, a tech entrepreneur, a fashion designer.

You spotted Priya across the room, surrounded by attentive listeners, looking nothing like the frazzled artist who had practically lived in sweatpants throughout college. Tonight she was transformed—elegant in a silk jumpsuit, her long black hair swept into an artful updo.

Not wanting to interrupt her moment, you moved toward the bar, securing a glass of champagne that definitely wasn't the top-shelf variety promised. Glass in hand, you began the obligatory circuit of the room.

Priya's work had always struck you as technically skilled but emotionally distant. Tonight's collection—titled "Urban Dissolution"—featured black and white images of city landscapes in various states of decay. To your untrained eye, several looked like artistic shots of garbage.

You were examining one such photograph when someone spoke beside you.

"It's quite terrible, isn't it?"

The voice was pleasant—a warm baritone with just the slightest hint of an accent.

You turned to find a man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit studying the same photograph with thinly veiled amusement. He was handsome in that polished, untouchable way of the extremely wealthy—perfect hair, perfect posture, everything about him screaming old money.

Under normal circumstances, you might have nodded politely and moved on. Men who looked like him rarely engaged in genuine conversation at events like these.

But something in his expression—a hint of genuine mischief beneath the polished exterior—made you respond honestly.

"I wouldn't say that," you replied diplomatically. "Art is subjective."

"So is food poisoning, but we can still recognize it when we experience it." He gestured toward the photograph with his champagne flute. "This is visual food poisoning."

A startled laugh escaped you, drawing disapproving glances from a nearby couple examining the same piece with exaggerated intensity.

"That's my friend's work you're insulting," you said, lowering your voice.

"Ah." He didn't look remotely embarrassed. If anything, his smile widened, creating a small dimple in his left cheek. "Then I assume you're here out of obligation rather than appreciation."

You studied him more carefully. There was no malice in his expression, only genuine amusement and refreshing honesty.

"Isn't everyone at these things?" You glanced around the gallery. "Half the people here couldn't distinguish between a masterpiece and a child's finger painting, but they'll all have very strong opinions."

"Touché." His smile reached his eyes, transforming his face from merely handsome to genuinely compelling. "I'm Jay."

"Just Jay?" You raised an eyebrow. "No family name? No title or position that should impress me?"

"Tonight, just Jay." He seemed to appreciate that you didn't immediately offer your name in return. "And you are?"

"Just someone who defends her friends' artistic endeavors, no matter how questionable."

"Loyalty," he nodded, as if noting something important. "An underrated quality in rooms like this, where allegiances change with the season's trends."

There was something wistful in his observation, a flash of genuineness beneath the practiced charm. Before you could respond, a commotion near the entrance drew your attention.

A group had arrived, their entrance causing a ripple effect through the crowd—backs straightening, conversations pausing, attention shifting.

"Duty calls," Jay murmured, his expression cooling. The playful stranger who had joked with you was vanishing, replaced by someone more controlled. "It was refreshing to meet you, Just Someone."

And then he was gone, moving toward the new arrivals. You watched as he transformed with each step—shoulders squaring, chin lifting, smile shifting from genuine to practiced.

He bowed respectfully to an older couple at the center of the group, clearly his family. The woman—elegant, with silver-streaked black hair—examined the gallery with the cool assessment of someone accustomed to making judgments that mattered.

It was only when Priya rushed over that you realized who you'd been talking to.

"Do you know who that was?" she hissed, gripping your arm. "The Jay Park. Park Industries! The Korean conglomerate that's expanding into American markets. Did you get his number?"

"We just talked about your photographs," you said, suddenly feeling out of place in your carefully selected but obviously off-the-rack dress. "He called them visual food poisoning."

Priya's expression didn't even flicker. "Jay Park insulted my work? That's practically a career highlight!" She snapped a discreet photo. "Wait until I tell my parents—they'll finally believe this wasn't a waste of my education."

You watched as Jay circulated through the room with practiced ease, his charisma deployed with strategic precision. The man who had stood beside you making irreverent comments might as well have been a different person entirely.

As you left the gallery hours later, you glanced back once to find Jay watching you from across the room. For just a moment, his public mask slipped, and he gave you a small, conspiratorial smile.

You never saw him again. Not in person, anyway.

Three Years Ago

"PARK HEIR ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCED: JAY PARK TO WED ITALIAN HEIRESS"

The headline splashed across your phone screen during your morning subway commute. Normally, you'd have skipped past such celebrity gossip, but the name caught your attention—that brief memory of champagne and honesty in a New York gallery.

Curious, you tapped the article.

"Jay Park, 29, heir to the Park Industries empire, announced his engagement yesterday to Seraphina Visconti, 26, daughter of Italian shipping magnate Giorgio Visconti. The match unites two of the most influential business families across continents after a whirlwind romance of six months.

"'Seraphina represents everything the Parks value—business acumen, family loyalty, and global vision,' said Chairwoman Soo-min Park in a statement.

"The couple met during Park Industries' expansion into European markets. Sources suggest the marriage will cement a strategic partnership potentially worth billions."

Below the text was a photograph of Jay with his arm around a stunning woman with olive skin and a camera-ready smile. He looked exactly as you remembered—handsome, composed, untouchable. But something about his eyes seemed different. Harder, perhaps. The smile that had crinkled their corners in the gallery was nowhere to be seen.

You stared at the image longer than was reasonable for someone who had spoken to the man exactly once. There was something almost theatrical about the pose, the smiles, the carefully framed opulence.

"Good for him," you muttered, closing the article as the subway reached your stop. "Hope they're very happy together."

You found yourself wondering if he'd made that woman laugh genuinely, or if their relationship was built on the kind of performance you'd witnessed when his family arrived at the gallery.

You didn't think about Jay Park again for a long time.

Last Year

"PARK INDUSTRIES HEIR DISGRACED: JAY PARK REMOVED FROM FAMILY COMPANY AMID SCANDAL"

This headline caught your eye during lunch break. The photograph showed Jay leaving a building, face partially obscured, expression hidden behind dark sunglasses. Even in disgrace, he wore an impeccably tailored suit, though his tie was loosened and his normally perfect hair disheveled.

Something tightened in your chest at the image. You tapped on the article, pushing your salad aside.

"Jay Park has been removed from his position following allegations of corporate espionage and fraud. The Seoul Economic Prosecutor's Office confirmed yesterday that Park is under investigation for his role in the controversial merger between Park Industries and Hanjin Global.

"'Evidence suggests Mr. Park orchestrated the theft of proprietary information to facilitate the merger on terms exceptionally favorable to Park Industries,' stated Chief Prosecutor Kim. 'This represents a serious breach of corporate ethics and possibly criminal misconduct.'

"Sources revealed that Chairwoman Soo-min Park, Jay's mother, personally signed the termination papers. 'It was like watching an execution,' said one executive. 'The family cut him off completely. No defense, no second chances.'

"Adding personal tragedy to professional disgrace, Park's engagement to Italian heiress Seraphina Visconti was terminated shortly before the scandal broke."

You frowned at your screen. Something about the story felt wrong—the swiftness of his family's abandonment, the convenient timing of the broken engagement, the way everyone seemed to distance themselves simultaneously, as if following a coordinated script.

But what did you know? You'd met the man once, years ago. That brief interaction hardly qualified you to judge the situation or the complex dynamics of global corporate politics.

Still, you couldn't shake the memory of his genuine smile, so different from the corporate mask he'd worn for his family. The way he'd spoken about loyalty as an underrated quality.

"Rough fall from grace," your coworker commented, noticing the article on your screen. "Guess even the mighty Parks can't escape karma."

"I guess not," you agreed absently. But privately you wondered what karma had to do with it. From what little you knew of chaebol families, they created their own destinies—and occasionally, their own destruction.

Over the following months, you occasionally saw follow-up articles. The investigation seemed to drag on without clear resolution. Some outlets questioned aspects of the evidence. Others suggested political motivations behind the prosecution.

But as the story faded from headlines, you found yourself wondering sometimes what had happened to the man who had once made you laugh in an art gallery—the man who, for a brief moment, had seemed genuinely human beneath the wealth and privilege.

Four Months Ago - Jay's Perspective

Jay Park stood at the window of his empty apartment, watching Seoul's lights glitter below. The city looked exactly the same as it had before his life imploded—indifferent to his disgrace. Photographers still camped outside his building, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fallen heir.

The penthouse that had once been featured in architectural magazines now echoed with emptiness. Most of the art and furnishings were gone—some seized in the investigation, others reclaimed by his family when they'd cut him off.

His phone—a new one, with a number known to fewer than five people—vibrated on the counter. He ignored it. The nearly empty bottle of scotch beside it held more appeal. He poured another measure into a glass that didn't match the crystal tumblers he'd once collected.

Jay took a long sip, noting with detached interest that his hand no longer shook. Progress, of a sort. The first few months after his downfall, he could barely hold a glass steady.

The evidence against him had been impeccable. Each document, each testimony, each transaction record forming a perfect constellation of guilt. So perfect that, had he not known with absolute certainty he was innocent, he might have believed it himself.

That was the elegant brutality of it—the case was built not on crude forgeries, but on actual actions he had taken, actual meetings he had attended, all recontextualized to tell a story of corruption rather than innovation.

By the time he understood what was happening, the narrative had solidified. His former fiancée had disappeared back to Italy. His family had closed ranks against him. His so-called friends had vanished overnight.

"You always were too trusting, Jongseong."

His mother's words, delivered as she personally collected his company credentials. Not in private—she had ensured there were witnesses. The perfect chairwoman, putting corporate ethics above family loyalty.

He'd spent his entire life trying to prove himself worthy of the Park name, only to be discarded the moment it became expedient.

His phone vibrated again. A text from his attorney: "Prosecutor offering deal. Meet tomorrow."

Jay didn't bother responding. There would be no deal. Not because he was noble, but because accepting a deal meant accepting guilt. And while the world might believe him guilty, he refused to validate the lie.

He returned to the window, scotch in hand. Somewhere in that landscape were the people who had orchestrated his downfall. Were they celebrating still? Or had they already moved on to their next target, his destruction just another successful transaction?

One photograph lay face-down on the counter—Seraphina smiling beside him at their engagement party, her eyes fixed on the camera with practiced warmth. The perfect couple. The perfect alliance. The perfect lie.

"I never saw it coming," he murmured. "Not from you."

That was the truly unforgivable part—not the betrayal itself, but his blind failure to anticipate it. All the signs had been there: her sudden interest when the Hanjin merger was first discussed, her questions about his meetings, her friendship with his cousin.

But he'd been too enthralled with the idea of her—the perfect partner who fit the plan he'd constructed for his life.

Jay drained his glass. He should sleep. Tomorrow would bring more meetings, more denials, more evidence of his spectacular fall.

He was turning from the window when it happened—a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes, so intense he dropped his glass. It shattered as he clutched his head, the pain expanding outward like a supernova.

The room tilted sideways. His hand passed through the wall as though it were mist. The familiar contours of his apartment seemed to dissolve, replaced by swirling darkness.

His last conscious thought was strangely clear, cutting through the pain:

I would do it all differently.

Jay opened his eyes to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains.

No—not unfamiliar. His old curtains, from his suite in the family compound. The heavy navy drapes his mother had replaced three years ago.

He sat up with a jolt, banging his head against the headboard with an undignified thud.

"What the—" he muttered, rubbing his forehead while blinking at his surroundings.

This room had been redecorated after he moved out. The traditional furniture, the blue walls, the precise arrangement of his diplomas—all of it had been erased when his mother decided the space needed to "reflect the modern sensibilities of Park Industries' future."

Jay scrambled out of bed, tangling himself in sheets he hadn't slept in for years—1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton in navy blue, not the minimalist white linens of his apartment.

He stumbled to the bathroom. The face that stared back from the mirror made him grip the countertop until his knuckles went white.

"Impossible," he whispered.

The face was his, but not the one he'd seen yesterday. No dark circles. No stress lines. No gray hairs at his temples. This was him from... before.

"I've lost my mind," he announced to the empty bathroom. "This is what a psychotic break feels like."

He splashed cold water on his face, half expecting the hallucination to dissolve.

Back in the bedroom, his phone chimed. Not the anonymous device he'd been using since his disgrace, but his old phone—the one with the Park Industries logo, the one seized by prosecutors.

He approached it like it might explode, picking it up between two fingers.

The calendar notification made him drop the phone directly onto his foot.

"Son of a—" he yelped, hopping awkwardly.

He snatched up the phone again and stared at the date.

Five years in the past.

Another notification: "Meeting with Chairman Kang's team at 11. Merger exploration talks. Confidential."

Kang. The first domino in what would become his downfall. The meeting that would eventually lead him to Seraphina Visconti.

"This can't be happening," he said, running his hands through his hair until it stood in a manner his perfectly-coiffed future self would find horrifying.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open. Jay yelped and grabbed a decorative pillow to cover his chest.

His mother's executive assistant, Mrs. Joseph, stood in the doorway, her expression somehow even more judgmental as she took in his disheveled state.

"Mr. Park," she said with glacial formality, "your mother wishes to remind you that the board meeting begins in forty-five minutes."

"Mrs. Joseph," Jay managed, clutching the tasseled pillow, "what day is it today?"

One perfectly plucked eyebrow rose a millimeter.

"It is Tuesday, Mr. Park. The 17th of October, 2018."

Five years in the past. Confirmed by the human calendar that was Mrs. Joseph, who had never been wrong about a date in twenty years.

"Thank you. Please tell my mother I'll be there."

Mrs. Joseph nodded and closed the door.

Jay stood frozen before bursting into motion, pacing and gesturing wildly.

"Time travel isn't real," he informed his empty room. "This is a complete psychological break."

He stopped in front of the mirror, pointing an accusatory finger at his reflection.

"You are having a nervous breakdown."

His phone chimed again. A text from his cousin Danny: "You look like hell on the security feed. Board meeting in 44 minutes. Pull yourself together."

Jay glanced at the discreet camera in the corner, then back at his phone.

Other people could see him. Other people were interacting with him. This wasn't just in his head.

"I've gone back in time," he whispered, testing the words. "I've gone back in time!"

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest. He had a second chance. A chance to avoid Seraphina. A chance to prevent the merger catastrophe. A chance to protect himself from betrayal before it began.

Then he froze, composing himself. If this was real, he needed to be strategic.

"Park Jongseong," he told his reflection sternly, "pull yourself together. You have a board meeting in forty-three minutes. And then you have a life to completely rebuild."

As he headed for the bathroom, he caught himself whistling. Park Jongseong didn't whistle. Park Jongseong was dignified, serious, and focused at all times.

But then again, Park Jongseong also didn't time travel. So perhaps some new rules were in order.

Forty-two minutes later, Jay found himself seated in the most uncomfortable chair in Seoul—not because of its design, but because of who surrounded it.

The Park Industries boardroom was exactly as he remembered it from before its renovation. Twenty-four seats around a massive mahogany table, each position equipped with a recessed screen and an elegant portfolio. The room smelled of sandalwood and concentrated power.

And around him sat the very people who would one day abandon him without hesitation.

His mother, Chairwoman Soomin Park, presided at the head, her silver-streaked hair in a severe chignon. His father sat opposite, expression fixed in the distant contemplation that had always characterized their relationship. Next to him was Uncle Jiho, whose vote would be first to condemn Jay when the time came. Beside his mother sat Aunt Mina, who would publicly declare his actions "disappointing but not surprising."

They were all watching him. Or perhaps he was just paranoid. Hard to tell which was more reasonable when you'd time-traveled into your younger body.

"The Q3 projections for the semiconductor division," droned CFO Yun. "As you can see, we're exceeding targets by 4.3% despite supply chain challenges..."

Jay nodded mechanically, trying to appear engaged while his mind raced. He kept catching himself staring at people who shouldn't be noteworthy—like Director Kang, who would later introduce him to Seraphina Visconti.

"Jongseong."

He jerked upright, realizing his mother had addressed him directly.

"I—" he began, having no idea what had been asked. "Could you repeat the question?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed his mother's face. "I said, do you have the projections for the European market expansion? The ones you insisted were ready for board review?"

Right. The European expansion. The document that would eventually lead to the Visconti partnership. The first step in his downfall.

"I've been reconsidering those projections," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "I believe we should focus on domestic consolidation before extending into Europe."

A heavy silence fell over the room. In the original timeline, he'd aggressively championed European expansion for months.

"You've been... reconsidering," his mother repeated, each syllable precisely weighted. "Since last night's strategy meeting, where you presented a seventy-page report detailing exactly why European expansion cannot wait?"

Jay cleared his throat, tugging at his suddenly tight collar. "I've had some... insights."

"Insights," she echoed flatly.

"Yes. About... market volatility." Jay caught sight of his reflection in the darkened screen—he looked like someone trying to defuse a bomb while wearing oven mitts. "And geopolitical considerations. Brexit currency fluctuations. You know. Business... things."

Director Kang frowned. "But your analysis specifically addressed Brexit concerns, concluding they presented opportunity rather than obstacle."

"Well, people can change their minds," Jay said, a bit too forcefully.

His mother set down her pen—never a good sign. "Are you feeling well, Jongseong?"

"Perfectly well. Never better."

"You look flushed. And you're sweating."

Jay reached up, mortified to find his forehead damp. Park Jongseong did not sweat in board meetings.

"It's rather warm in here."

"It's sixty-eight degrees, as always," his mother replied. "Your grandfather had similar symptoms before his stroke. The disorientation. The contradictory statements."

"I'm not having a stroke," Jay said, horrified that this conversation was happening in front of the entire board.

"He said the same thing," contributed his aunt helpfully. "Right before he tried to sign a merger agreement with a potted plant."

"I know what day it is," Jay offered as proof of his mental faculties. "It's Tuesday, October 17, 2018."

This did not have the intended effect. If anything, his mother's concern deepened.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Most people with calendars know the date. More relevant is your explanation for this sudden policy reversal."

Jay scrambled for a plausible explanation that wouldn't sound like 'I've seen the future and it ends with all of you betraying me.'

"I received some... intelligence," he said finally. "About certain European partners. It requires verification before we proceed."

This, at least, was the language of business his mother understood. Her expression shifted from concern to calculation.

"What intelligence, and from whom?"

"I'd prefer to discuss that privately," he said, finding his footing. "After I've confirmed some details."

His mother studied him, then gave a slight nod. "Very well. We'll revisit the European strategy next week."

As the presentation resumed, Jay exhaled slowly, only to catch his father watching him with an evaluative expression he couldn't quite interpret.

His phone vibrated. Grateful for the distraction, he discreetly checked the message.

From Jake: Dude, what was THAT? Your mom thinks you're having a stroke, and Danny says you were talking to yourself this morning. Also, Priya's exhibition is Friday, don't forget you promised to come. Her parents are visiting from Mumbai and she's freaking out.

Jay blinked, momentarily confused. Priya? Jake's girlfriend. The photographer. The exhibition.

A distant memory stirred—something about an art gallery in New York, some terrible photographs, and...

He frowned, trying to recall. There had been someone there, hadn't there? Someone he'd spoken to briefly. He couldn't remember a face or name, just a vague impression of a genuine laugh and an honest conversation.

He typed back: Not having a stroke. Just reconsidering some strategies. What time Friday?

Jake's reply came instantly: 8PM, Klein Gallery in Chelsea. Wear something that makes you look less corporate robot, more human person.

Jay tucked his phone away, the half-formed memory already fading as more pressing concerns demanded his attention.

"Jongseong, do you have anything to add to Director Park's assessment?"

Jay looked up to find the entire board staring at him again. He hadn't heard a word of what Director Park had said.

"I think Director Park's assessment is... comprehensive," he managed, having no idea what he was endorsing.

"He asked for your input on canceling the Daewon acquisition."

"Right." Jay straightened. The Daewon acquisition—a company they had purchased and later sold at a significant profit in his original timeline. "I believe we should proceed with the acquisition. Their patent portfolio alone justifies the investment."

Director Park nodded approvingly. "Exactly my point."

Jay relaxed marginally, only to tense again when his mother spoke.

"That's interesting, considering Director Park just recommended we cancel the acquisition due to their overvalued patents."

The room fell silent. Jay felt heat creeping up his neck.

"I was... testing to see if anyone was paying attention?"

His mother's sigh could have withered steel. "We'll take a ten minute recess. Jongseong, my office. Now."

As the board members filed out, his father paused briefly beside him.

"Whatever's going on with you, fix it before your mother decides you need medical intervention. Or worse, reassignment."

With that less-than-comforting advice, Jay followed his mother to what would undoubtedly be the most awkward conversation of his newly-regained past life.

"Close the door," his mother instructed as they entered her office, a minimalist sanctuary of glass and steel.

Jay obeyed, steeling himself for the dissection that was about to occur.

"Sit," she commanded, taking her place behind a desk large enough to land a small aircraft.

He complied, automatically adjusting his posture to the rigid formality expected. Twenty-nine years of conditioning didn't disappear even with temporal displacement.

"What is happening with you?"

"Nothing serious, I assure you. Just a temporary—"

"That was not a board performance worthy of a Park," she interrupted. "You contradicted yourself, failed to pay attention, and gave the impression of someone who is either incompetent or unwell. Neither is acceptable."

"I apologize, Mom. It won't happen again."

The moment the word left his mouth, Jay was surprised at his own casualness. Mom. Not "Mother" or "Chairwoman" as he'd taken to calling her in professional settings.

His mother's expression softened almost imperceptibly—visible only to someone who had spent a lifetime learning to read her minute facial cues.

"It's been a while since you've called me that in this office," she noted, neither disapproving nor sentimental. The Parks might be ruthless in business, but family was family. "Though it doesn't exempt you from explaining your behavior this morning."

"I'm simply... reconsidering certain aspects of my approach."

"Your approach," she echoed skeptically.

"Yes. I've been thinking that perhaps I've been too rigid. Too focused on following a preset path without questioning whether it's the optimal route."

Her expression shifted subtly. "And this revelation came to you when, exactly?"

"Recently," he hedged.

"I see." She tapped one nail against her desk. "And does this 'reconsideration' include your personal life as well?"

Jay tensed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you've spent five years claiming to be too focused on your career for serious relationships, despite my repeated reminders that a suitable marriage is an essential component of your position. If you're reconsidering 'preset paths,' perhaps this is an area you might prioritize."

And there it was. In the original timeline, this conversation had led to his first introduction to the Visconti family.

"I don't believe my focus should be on marriage at this time," he said carefully.

"And yet you're now suggesting we delay European expansion, which leaves you with considerably more bandwidth." She opened a drawer and removed a slim folder. "I've taken the liberty of updating your candidate dossiers."

Of course she had. In his mother's world, suitable marriage partners were assessed with the same due diligence as potential acquisitions.

"I appreciate your thoroughness, but I'll handle this aspect of my life myself."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "You've been 'handling it yourself' since graduation, with no results. The Kang family has been quite direct about their interest in an alliance through their daughter."

Jay suppressed a grimace. Se-yeon Kang. The woman who had introduced him to Seraphina at her father's request.

"The Kangs are not a suitable match," he said sharply.

"On what basis?"

On the basis that they were integral to his destruction, he thought bitterly.

"I have concerns about their long-term business ethics," he said instead.

"Interesting." She made a note on her tablet. "I wasn't aware you had investigated the Kang operations."

"I make it my business to be thorough."

"Perhaps you're not as distracted as you appeared in the boardroom, then."

Jay recognized the familiar pattern—his mother testing him, probing for weaknesses. In his first life, he'd been so desperate for her approval that he'd missed the manipulation.

"I should prepare for the Kang meeting," he said, rising. "I'll need to review the materials given my reconsideration of our European strategy."

She nodded, dismissing him with a wave. "Don't embarrass yourself again. The board already thinks you're following in your grandfather's neurological footsteps."

At the door, he paused. In his previous life, he'd walked out of this office and directly into the trap being laid for him.

"One more thing," he said. "Who originally suggested the Visconti Group as a potential European partner?"

If the question surprised her, she didn't show it. "I believe Chairman Kang mentioned them at the economic forum in Davos. Why?"

"Just mapping connections. It helps me visualize the relationship web."

Her eyes narrowed slightly—the look she gave when recalculating her assessment. "Your grandfather used to say something similar. Before the stroke, of course."

With that parting barb, she dismissed him.

As Jay left, his phone vibrated again. Another text from Jake:

Almost forgot—Priya says to bring that friend of yours from the investment firm if he's still in town. She needs all the connections she can get.

Jay frowned. What friend from what investment firm? He didn't recall...

And then it clicked. The half-remembered interaction from the gallery. There had been someone else there that night—not just the person he'd spoken to, but someone he'd been introduced to later.

If he attended this exhibition, he might run into that person again—the one whose laugh he vaguely remembered. Not that it mattered particularly. Just a curious coincidence in his reshuffled timeline.

He pocketed his phone, mind already turning to more immediate concerns. The Kang meeting. The European strategy. The trap he needed to dismantle piece by piece.

A random stranger he'd once met at a gallery was hardly worth dwelling on when he had an entire future to reconstruct.

Autumn in New York welcomed Jay with crisp air and streets still gleaming from an afternoon shower. He stood outside the Klein Gallery in Chelsea, straightening cuffs that needed no adjustment.

The city felt different now—full of possibility rather than the shame and failure it would represent in his original timeline. Here, five years before his downfall, no photographers lurked hoping to catch the disgraced Park heir. He was just another wealthy visitor, anonymous in a city that specialized in ignoring the important.

The past three days had been a calculated offensive against his future ruin. Altered procurement strategies. Reassigned personnel. Extensive documentation that couldn't be manipulated later. He'd even faced down Kang himself, politely declining the European expansion that would eventually lead to his destruction.

All while maintaining the perfect Park Jongseong façade.

This trip to New York offered both strategic cover and unexpected relief. For a few precious hours, he could breathe without the weight of his name.

He checked his watch. He was early, deliberately so. Jake and Priya would arrive in twenty minutes, giving him time to assess the gallery and determine if his half-remembered encounter would repeat itself.

But the vagueness didn't matter. What mattered was the opportunity to alter one small variable in the equation of his life.

Since his mother had mentioned marriage in her office, a strategy had been forming in his mind. In the original timeline, the months following this trip had seen increasing pressure about his relationship status. His mother had begun introducing him to eligible candidates—all with their own agendas, all connected to the world that would eventually close ranks against him.

And then came Seraphina. Perfect, beautiful, accomplished Seraphina. The woman who would eventually help orchestrate his destruction.

But what if he removed that variable entirely? What if he preempted the whole process? Elementary business strategy: block your opponent's best move before they make it.

Inside, the gallery was minimalist—white walls, polished concrete floors, strategic lighting. Jay moved through the space with practiced ease, accepting champagne from a passing server.

Priya's work was exactly as he remembered—technically proficient but emotionally distant. Black and white urban landscapes hinting at decay and renewal. He paused before one he remembered discussing in the original timeline—the one he'd compared to food poisoning.

"Considering an acquisition?" a voice asked. Not yours. The gallery owner—Klein himself.

"Just appreciating the composition," Jay replied smoothly.

He scanned the room peripherally. The space was filling with the expected crowd—moneyed New Yorkers performing interest in emerging artists, critics with studied expressions of judgment.

But no sign of you.

A flicker of concern crossed his mind. Had his earlier manipulations altered the timeline so significantly that you wouldn't attend?

"Mr. Park!" Priya approached with nervous energy

"The exhibition looks excellent," Jay said, offering Priya a polite air-kiss. "Your work has evolved considerably."

A kind lie. Her work was exactly as he remembered it.

"That means so much coming from you," Priya gushed. "Jake said you've been impossibly busy with the European expansion plans."

Jay shot Jake a warning look, but his friend merely shrugged.

"Sorry, forgot it was all very hush-hush and corporate espionage-y." Jake clapped Jay's shoulder. "You look terrible, by the way. In an expensive, tailored way, but still terrible. Are you sleeping these days?"

In his first life, Jay would have bristled at such criticism. Now, after everything, he felt unexpected gratitude for Jake's honesty. He'd forgotten this about their friendship—how Jake treated him as a person, not the Park heir.

"Sleep is for those without quarterly projections," Jay replied dryly.

"You're not fine, you're just good at faking fine. The Park family specialty." Jake surveyed the crowd. "Speaking of fake, look at all these people pretending to understand Priya's art when half couldn't tell profound commentary from pictures of garbage."

Priya elbowed him. "My parents will be here any minute. Please pretend to be cultured."

"Fine. I'll practice my 'this speaks to me spiritually' face." Jake grinned and headed for the bar.

"He's impossible," Priya sighed affectionately. "But he's been amazing with my parents. Even learned Hindi phrases for my father."

Jay nodded, remembering with a pang how Jake and Priya's engagement had been "postponed" after his disgrace. No one wanted ties to a pariah, not even his oldest friend.

"Jay?" Priya studied him. "Are you okay? You seem... different somehow."

Before he could answer, the gallery's atmosphere shifted—the crowd parting for Priya's parents. She excused herself, leaving Jay alone.

His mind returned to his strategy. He needed someone who could occupy the space Seraphina would fill, disrupting the timeline ending in his ruin. Someone far removed from his world.

You—if you showed up—would be perfect. Not for any particular quality, but for what you weren't. You weren't connected to his family's web of alliances. You had no ties to competing conglomerates. You carried no hidden agenda.

Your ignorance of his world wasn't a liability—it was your greatest asset. You couldn't be manipulated by the forces that orchestrated his destruction because you existed outside their sphere.

It wasn't personal. He didn't need a soulmate; he needed a shield. The fact that he remembered your laugh was merely incidental. A convenient connection point for his strategy.

The gallery door opened, admitting a gust of cool air and a latecomer—you.

Recognition hit immediately. How had he forgotten so many details? Your self-conscious movements. Your genuine curiosity instead of affected boredom.

Jay moved toward you before consciously deciding to, drawn by the chance to rewrite this small piece of his past. He intercepted you at the photograph he knew you'd examine—the one you'd defended despite its quality.

He reminded himself: this was strategy, not sentiment. Business, not emotion. This was about survival.

"It's quite terrible, isn't it?" Jay said, repeating his original words.

You turned, and he was struck by your direct gaze—no calculation, just human curiosity.

"I wouldn't say that," you replied, amusement tugging at your mouth. "Art is subjective."

"So is food poisoning, but we recognize it when we experience it." He gestured with his champagne. "This is visual food poisoning."

A startled laugh escaped you—genuine, unguarded. The sound hit Jay with unexpected force. For a moment, his calculated facade cracked, replaced by a genuine impulse to connect.

He pushed the feeling aside. Focus on the objective.

"That's my friend's work you're insulting," you said quietly.

"Ah. Then you're here from obligation rather than appreciation?"

"Isn't everyone?" You glanced around. "Half these people couldn't distinguish masterpieces from finger paintings, but they'll have strong opinions borrowed from the last opening."

The conversation unfolded exactly as before—eerie yet comforting.

"I'm Jay," he said, memorizing your face.

"Just Jay? No impressive title?"

"Park. Jay Park. But I'd prefer to be just Jay tonight."

You assessed him with refreshing directness. "And what does Just Jay do when not critiquing photography?"

Another deviation from the original timeline. A small ripple that could grow into a wave.

"Corporate strategy," he replied vaguely. "Nothing as interesting as defending questionable art. And you are...?"

The gallery door opened, and Jay felt a cold jolt as his family entered, causing the usual ripple through the crowd. His mother, father, relatives—all unaware they would eventually abandon him when convenient.

This was the moment. Originally, he'd left without your name, swept back into the path leading to Seraphina and his destruction.

Not this time.

"I should warn you," he said conspiratorially, "I'm about to transform into someone less honest and more boring. Corporate obligation." He nodded toward his family. "But before I do—your name? In case our paths cross again."

Behind this casual request lay his entire strategy. Your name would be the first stone in his new foundation.

As he waited, his gaze intensified slightly. To you, it might seem like normal interest. To him, it was the focus of someone placing extraordinary significance on an ordinary exchange.

This wasn't just about a name—it was about architecture. The careful redesign of his future. And you, unknowingly, were about to become a cornerstone.

"Y/N"

The syllables hung in the air between them for a moment. Jay's smile shifted—genuine now, not the practiced expression he deployed at corporate functions.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Y/N." He reached for your hand, a brief, professional clasp. "Unfortunately, duty calls."

He slipped you his card—not the formal Park Industries one, but a sleeker personal version with just his name and private number. A deliberate choice. The first move in his new game.

"Perhaps we'll cross paths again," he said. His tone casual, but his gaze wasn't. It held yours a moment longer than social convention dictated.

Then he was gone, transforming with each step toward his family. Shoulders squaring. Expression cooling. The brief glimpse of honest humanity tucked away beneath the polished exterior of Park Jongseong, corporate heir.

You watched him bow to his mother, exchange handshakes with other family members, fluidly inserting himself into their formal orbit. The man who had made irreverent comments about art seemed to evaporate entirely.

"The exhibition demonstrates impressive technical skill," Jay's mother observed an hour later, champagne flute held at a precise angle. "Though the subject matter is rather... conventional."

This assessment came after a methodical circuit of the gallery, during which the Park family had drawn considerable attention without seeming to notice it.

"Priya has potential," Jay replied diplomatically. "Her composition exhibits strong understanding of negative space."

Art criticism wasn't the point of this conversation, and they both knew it. His mother was watching him carefully, calculating something behind her perfect smile.

"I spotted you speaking with someone earlier," she mentioned with practiced casualness. "Before we arrived."

And there it was. Nothing escaped her notice.

"A friend of the artist," Jay said, matching her casual tone. "We were discussing the merits of contemporary photography."

"I see." His mother's gaze swept the room, locating you within seconds where you stood chatting with Priya near the bar. "Not the usual social circle you frequent."

"Perhaps that's refreshing." Jay sipped his champagne, strategic in his mild defiance. "One tires of the same conversations."

His mother's eyebrow arched slightly—the equivalent of open surprise from anyone else.

"Interesting," she said, recalculating variables in her mental dossier. "Does this relate to your sudden disinterest in the European expansion?"

"Not directly," Jay replied. "Though both reflect a broader reassessment of paths worth pursuing."

She studied him with the penetrating gaze that had intimidated business rivals for decades. "You've changed, Jongseong. Since when, I'm not certain. But something is different."

"Growth isn't change, Mother. It's evolution." He'd never spoken to her this way in his first timeline—confident but not confrontational. "The core remains the same."

His father approached, ending their private exchange. "The Visconti Group's representative just arrived," he informed his wife. "The one you wanted to meet."

Jay's pulse quickened. In the original timeline, this casual introduction had been the first seed planted. The beginning of his eventual destruction.

"Another time, perhaps," Jay interjected smoothly before his mother could respond. "I promised Jake I'd speak with some potential collectors. His girlfriend would be devastated if the night wasn't successful."

His father's expression registered mild surprise at this unusual prioritization of friendship over business.

"Of course," his mother said, analyzing this new data point. "Family supports family's associates. That's the Park way."

The subtle reminder of obligation came with her practiced smile. Not a reprimand, but a note being filed away for future reference.

Jay inclined his head respectfully and moved away, circulating through the crowd with practiced ease. He exchanged pleasantries with critics, complimented the gallery owner, and strategically positioned himself near a group of potential collectors, laying groundwork for a purchase that would help Priya's career.

All while remaining acutely aware of your location in the room.

Two hours later, Jay found himself in a strategic position near the coat check as you prepared to leave. The gallery had begun to empty, the initial excitement of the opening fading into the routine pattern of a Thursday night in Chelsea.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, timing his approach to appear coincidental.

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. "Just Jay. I thought you'd be trapped in corporate obligation all night."

"A temporary reprieve." He smiled. "The family business discussions have moved to dinner at Le Bernardin."

"Very fancy," you commented. "I'm headed for much humbler fare—the subway and takeout."

Jay glanced at his watch. "Actually, I find myself with an unexpected hour before I need to join them. Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you a proper dinner? There's an excellent place just around the corner." He kept his tone casual, the invitation seemingly spontaneous.

You hesitated, studying him with that direct gaze he found so refreshing. "Why would you want to have dinner with a complete stranger when you clearly have more important places to be?"

The directness of the question caught him slightly off-guard. In his world, people rarely questioned Park Jongseong's motivations to his face.

"Because you're the only interesting conversation I've had all evening," he replied, allowing a hint of genuine feeling to color his words. "Everyone else is either trying to sell me something, impress me, or secure an introduction to my mother."

You considered this, head tilted slightly. "And what makes you think I'm not doing the same?"

Jay laughed—a real laugh, not his polished social chuckle. "The fact that you just asked that question, for starters."

Something in your expression softened. "One hour. And it had better be good food."

"I never compromise on quality," Jay assured you, suppressing the satisfaction of a well-executed strategic move. "The restaurant is just three blocks from here."

As you walked together into the crisp autumn evening, Jay maintained the perfect balance of professional distance and personal interest. He asked about your work (freelance journalism), your history with Priya (college roommates), your thoughts on New York's cultural scene (overpriced but occasionally transcendent).

Each piece of information carefully filed away. Each response analyzed for potential complications or advantages to his developing strategy.

The restaurant—an upscale Italian place with discreet lighting and well-spaced tables—provided the ideal setting for his purposes. Impressive without being intimidating. Exclusive enough to require his name for a last-minute table, but not so ostentatious that it would make you uncomfortable.

"So," you said once you were seated and had ordered, "are you going to tell me what Park Industries actually does? Or am I supposed to pretend I don't know you're practically royalty in South Korea?"

Again, that directness. Jay found himself genuinely smiling.

"Technically, we do everything from semiconductors to shipping," he replied. "But that's hardly dinner conversation. I'd rather hear more about your work. Journalism must give you a unique perspective."

"Nice deflection," you noted, but allowed the conversation to shift.

For fifty-three minutes, Jay executed a perfect performance of genuine connection. He asked thoughtful questions. Shared carefully selected personal anecdotes. Displayed just enough vulnerability to seem authentic without revealing anything truly significant.

He studied your reactions, adjusting his approach subtly based on what resonated. When you responded to his dry humor, he offered more. When certain topics sparked genuine interest in your eyes, he explored them further.

A strategic seduction—but not a romantic one. He was securing an ally. Establishing a connection outside the corrupted network that had eventually destroyed him.

When his phone vibrated with a text from his mother, he allowed himself a calculated show of reluctance.

"Duty calls," he said, echoing his words from earlier in the gallery. "I've enjoyed this conversation more than you know."

"It was surprisingly pleasant," you agreed with a hint of amusement. "Despite the suspicious circumstances."

He signaled for the check. "Suspicious?"

"Wealthy heir suddenly interested in random gallery-goer? That's either the beginning of a romance novel or a cautionary tale." You smiled to soften the words. "I'm still deciding which."

Jay laughed again, caught between strategic calculation and genuine appreciation of your perception.

"Perhaps neither," he suggested. "Perhaps just two people enjoying conversation without agenda."

"Everyone has an agenda," you replied, gathering your things. "Even if they don't recognize it themselves."

How right you were. If only you knew the elaborate mental chess game he was playing, with you as a central piece.

Outside the restaurant, he made his final move of the evening—perfectly calibrated for maximum effect without seeming too eager.

"I'll be in New York for another two days," he said casually. "If you're free tomorrow evening, perhaps you could show me a part of the city tourists don't usually see. Something authentic."

The invitation was designed to appeal to your evident independence and local knowledge. To position you as the expert rather than the pursued. A subtle flattery that didn't register as manipulation.

"I might be available," you said, considering. "Depends on my deadline."

"Of course." He nodded respectfully. "You have my number. No pressure either way."

As he hailed a taxi for you, he allowed his hand to brush yours briefly—a manufactured moment of connection carefully designed to seem accidental.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said as you stepped into the cab. "I hope to hear from you tomorrow."

You smiled through the window, giving a small wave as the taxi pulled away.

Jay watched until the taillights disappeared into Manhattan traffic, then straightened his tie and hailed his own car. His expression shifted seamlessly from warm interest to cool calculation.

Phase one: complete. You had been introduced into the equation. A new variable with the potential to disrupt the entire sequence leading to his downfall.

As his driver navigated toward Le Bernardin, Jay mentally mapped the next steps. He would need to provide his mother with enough information to satisfy her curiosity without triggering her strategic instincts. Plant seeds with his father about potential advantages of connections outside their usual network. Begin building documentation that would position you as a completely independent connection, not part of any competing corporate interest.

His phone buzzed with a message from his cousin Danny: Mom says you're acting strange. She wants intel on whoever you were talking to at the gallery.

Jay smiled tightly. The family machine was already turning its attention to this unexpected development. Exactly as he'd anticipated.

He typed back: Just making connections. Nothing significant.

Let them underestimate this move. Let them dismiss you as a casual interest, a temporary distraction.

By the time they recognized the strategic importance of what he was building, it would be too late. The timeline would be irreversibly altered.

And Jay Park would never again find himself standing alone in an empty apartment, betrayed by everyone he had trusted.

Another message appeared on his screen—this one from an unknown number.

Tomorrow, 7pm. Wear comfortable shoes and nothing that screams "I'm worth kidnapping for ransom." – Y/N

Jay allowed himself a moment of genuine satisfaction. The pieces were moving exactly as he'd calculated.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.

The next evening proved Jay's instincts correct. You were indeed the perfect variable to introduce into his equation.

You arrived at the designated meeting spot in Washington Square Park wearing jeans, a well-worn leather jacket, and boots that suggested you actually walked places rather than being chauffeured. Jay had followed your instructions, trading his usual bespoke suit for dark jeans, a cashmere sweater, and shoes that would survive more than a board meeting.

"You clean up nicely," you said, appraising his attempt at casual attire. "Almost pass for a normal person."

"My greatest performance yet," he replied with a self-deprecating smile. "Where to first?"

"That depends. What's your tolerance for authenticity? Real New York isn't exactly five-star accommodations."

Jay's smile widened. "Test me."

And you did. For the next three hours, you led him through a New York he'd never seen despite countless business trips. Hidden speakeasies accessed through fake phone booths. A Ukrainian diner where the servers scowled and the food defied description but somehow tasted like memory. A rooftop garden secretly maintained by an elderly couple who'd been cultivating it since the 1970s.

Throughout the evening, Jay maintained his careful balance—genuinely enjoying himself while strategically gathering information. Your job prospects (promising but unstable). Your family situation (supportive but financially modest). Your relationship status (refreshingly unattached).

Each piece of data confirmed what he'd hoped: you were the perfect candidate. Independent enough to make your own decisions, stable enough to be reliable, ambitious enough to appreciate opportunity, and disconnected enough from his world to be safe from manipulation.

"Admit it," you said as you sat on rusty chairs atop the secret garden, city lights spread before you. "This is better than whatever fancy restaurant your family's at tonight."

"Infinitely," Jay agreed, and meant it. The evening had been unexpectedly liberating. Here, he wasn't Park Jongseong, heir and corporate prince. He was just Jay, a guy experiencing New York's hidden corners with an interesting woman. "Though my mother would need smelling salts if she saw these chairs."

You laughed, the sound still as honest as he remembered. "Why do I get the feeling you're not often allowed to just... exist? Without expectations or performance metrics?"

The observation was so accurate it momentarily disrupted his careful strategy. For a second, he considered telling you everything—the time travel, his disgrace, his desperate plan to rewrite his future.

But of course, that was impossible. Who would believe such madness?

"The privileges of my position come with corresponding obligations," he said instead, allowing a rare glimpse of genuine feeling. "My path was charted before I was born."

You studied him in the dim rooftop lighting. "And you've never considered drawing your own map?"

Jay looked out over the city, contemplating how to answer. The strategic response would be something vague but intriguing. But something about this night—about you—made him unexpectedly honest.

"I'm attempting to redraw certain sections now," he said quietly. "It's... complicated."

"Family complications or business complications? Or are they the same thing for you?"

"Inextricably intertwined," Jay confirmed. "The Parks don't separate business from family or family from business. It's all one ecosystem."

"Sounds suffocating."

"It can be," he admitted, surprising himself again with his candor. "But it's also... secure. Structured. There's comfort in knowing your role."

"Until the role becomes a cage," you observed.

The conversation was veering dangerously close to truth. Jay redirected gently.

"What about you? No family business directing your path?"

You shook your head. "Just student loans and rent directing my career choices. Not exactly the same scale of problems."

"Different cages," Jay said. "Different gilding."

A comfortable silence fell between you. Below, the city pulsed with energy—millions of lives intersecting, diverging, each on their own trajectory.

"I should probably get you back to civilization," you said eventually. "Before your security detail reports you missing."

Jay checked his watch, surprised to find it was nearly midnight. The evening had passed with unexpected swiftness.

"I've dismissed security for the night," he said, rising from the rusty chair. "But you're right, it's late. Let me walk you home."

You shook your head. "That defeats the purpose of me showing you hidden New York. I'll walk myself home like a proper New Yorker."

"At least let me get you a car."

"The subway is faster this time of night."

Jay smiled at your stubbornness. Another quality that made you ideal for his purposes. "Then I'll accompany you to the subway."

As you descended from the rooftop, Jay made his decision. The evening had confirmed everything he needed to know. You were perfect—self-sufficient, perceptive, and most importantly, unconnected to the web that would eventually try to destroy him.

It was time to set his actual plan in motion. Earlier than he'd originally calculated, but the opportunity was too perfect to ignore.

Outside the subway entrance, you turned to say goodbye. "This was surprisingly enjoyable, Just Jay. You're not at all what I expected."

"Is that a compliment?"

"An observation." Your smile took any sting from the words. "Maybe I'll see you next time you're in New York."

It was the opening he needed. Jay took a calculated breath.

"What if it were sooner than that?" he asked, carefully casual. "What if I had a proposition for you?"

Your eyebrows rose slightly. "A proposition sounds suspiciously like business."

"Perhaps a merger of interests," Jay said, watching your reaction closely.

"I'm not qualified to consult for Park Industries, if that's where this is going."

"Nothing to do with the company. This is personal." Jay paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow? There's something I'd like to discuss that could be mutually beneficial."

Wariness crept into your expression. "That sounds ominous."

"It's not illegal or immoral," he assured you. "Just... unusual. But I think you might be the perfect person for it."

"Now I'm definitely concerned."

Jay smiled, allowing genuine warmth to show. "Trust me enough for one more dinner? If you hate the proposal, we part as friends with an interesting story about the time a Korean businessman made you a strange offer."

You studied him for a long moment. "Fine. But a public place, and I reserve the right to walk out if things get weird."

"Perfectly reasonable terms," Jay agreed. "I'll text you the details."

After you disappeared down the subway steps, Jay hailed a car back to his hotel. His mind was already composing the proposal, weighing phrases and possibilities. The timing was delicate. Too direct, and you'd be justifiably alarmed. Too vague, and you'd dismiss it as absurd.

But if presented correctly, with the right incentives and assurances...

It could work. It had to work.

The restaurant Jay selected for their final evening was elegant without being ostentatious. Private enough for serious conversation but public enough to meet your safety requirements. He arrived early, ensuring the perfect table—secluded but visible, with clear sightlines to exits.

You arrived precisely on time, wearing a dress that suggested you'd taken this meeting more seriously than yesterday's casual exploration. Good. It indicated you were intrigued enough to make an effort.

"I half-expected to be stood up," Jay said as you sat down.

"I considered it," you admitted. "But curiosity won out. I spent all day trying to imagine what this mysterious proposition could be."

"And your theories?"

"Either you're recruiting me for corporate espionage, or this is an elaborate setup for asking me on a real date."

Jay smiled. "Neither, though the second option is less absurd than the first."

The waiter brought menus and wine recommendations. Jay ordered for both of you—not to control, but to expedite. The sooner pleasantries were addressed, the sooner he could present his case.

Once the preliminary course was served and privacy assured, Jay leaned forward slightly.

"Before I explain, I want to establish context," he began. "My family situation is... complicated. As the heir to Park Industries, certain expectations exist regarding my personal life."

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Among these is the expectation that I'll marry strategically. Someone who enhances the company's position, preferably from a compatible business family."

"Arranged marriage in the 21st century?" You raised an eyebrow. "That seems archaic."

"It's framed as 'guided choice,'" Jay explained. "But the outcome is essentially predetermined. The candidates all fit a specific profile, vetted extensively by my mother."

"And you don't want that," you guessed.

"I've seen where that path leads," Jay said carefully. "It's not favorable."

"So what does this have to do with me?"

Here was the critical moment. Jay took a measured breath.

"I'm proposing an alternative arrangement. A marriage of convenience, with clearly defined parameters and mutual benefits."

Your expression froze. "Excuse me?"

"I know how this sounds," Jay said quickly. "But please hear me out before deciding."

You sat back, arms crossed. "I'm listening, but this better be good."

"What I need is someone outside my world. Someone my mother can't manipulate or compromise. Someone with no hidden corporate agenda or family ambitions." Jay held your gaze steadily. "Someone like you."

"And what exactly would I get from this arrangement, besides the obvious headache?"

"Financial security," Jay said simply. "Complete financial independence. A generous settlement that would eliminate your student loans, housing concerns, and career pressures. You'd be free to pursue your writing without worrying about making rent."

He could see the calculation happening behind your eyes. The journalist weighing an unbelievable story.

"This would be a temporary arrangement," he continued. "Two years maximum. After which we would part amicably, with your financial future secured and my family obligations satisfied."

"You're serious," you said, realization dawning.

"Completely."

"But why me? You could find countless women willing to make this deal."

"Because you don't want anything from me except what we explicitly agree to," Jay explained. "You don't care about the Park name or legacy. You have no connection to our business rivals. You're honest, independent, and most importantly, you see me as a person, not a position."

You were silent for a long moment, processing.

"What would this arrangement involve... practically speaking?"

"A legal marriage. A public relationship that appears genuine. Attendance at certain family and business functions. Cohabitation in Seoul, though with separate living spaces." Jay outlined each point precisely. "No romantic or physical obligations whatsoever."

"And after two years?"

"A quiet divorce with a generous settlement. You return to your life with complete financial freedom. I gain time to secure my position without my mother's interference."

You studied him intently. "What aren't you telling me? This seems too... calculated."

Jay hesitated. How much could he safely reveal without sounding deranged?

"My mother is pushing me toward a specific alliance that would be disastrous," he said finally. "I need to block that move decisively. Your presence provides that blockade."

"Corporate chess using marriage pieces," you murmured.

"An apt metaphor."

The waiter arrived with the main course, forcing a pause in the conversation. Jay waited patiently as you considered his proposal.

"I'd have to move to Korea," you said finally. "Learn a new language, navigate a completely foreign business world, pretend to be in love with someone I barely know."

"All significant challenges," Jay acknowledged. "Hence the substantial compensation."

"How substantial?"

He named a figure that made your eyes widen slightly.

"Plus all living expenses, travel, and a housing allowance upon our separation," he added. "Financial security for the foreseeable future."

You took a sip of wine, buying time to think. Jay remained silent, giving you space to process.

"Why should I trust you?" you asked finally. "No offense, but this sounds like the beginning of a thriller where the protagonist never returns from Seoul."

"A valid concern." Jay reached into his jacket and removed a USB drive. "This contains a draft contract outlining everything we've discussed, plus insurance clauses to protect you. Have your own lawyer review it. Make any reasonable amendments."

He placed the drive on the table between you.

"I don't expect an answer tonight," he continued. "Take time to consider. Research me, the company, the arrangement. I'll be in New York three more days."

You didn't touch the drive. "Are you always this prepared?"

"I don't propose convenient marriages on a whim," Jay said with a hint of humor. "This is a strategic decision for both of us."

"And if I say no?"

"Then we enjoy this excellent meal, I thank you for considering it, and we part as friends with an unusual story."

You finally reached for the drive, turning it in your fingers thoughtfully.

"Two years of my life," you mused. "Pretending to be someone I'm not."

"Or two years experiencing a world few ever see from the inside," Jay countered. "With material for the book you mentioned wanting to write. And afterwards, complete freedom to pursue whatever you wish."

He could see the writer in you considering the possibilities. The practical side weighing the financial security. The cautious part still suspicious of his motives.

"I'll think about it," you said finally, slipping the drive into your purse. "That's all I can promise right now."

"That's all I ask." Jay raised his glass slightly. "To unusual propositions and careful consideration."

You hesitantly clinked your glass against his. "To whatever the hell this is."

The rest of dinner passed in lighter conversation, Jay deliberately steering away from the proposal to give you mental space. As they finished dessert, he sensed you had more questions brewing.

"Just ask," he said gently. "Whatever you're thinking."

"Why marriage?" you asked bluntly. "Why not just date someone your mother doesn't approve of until this mysterious alliance threat passes?"

A perceptive question. Jay had prepared for it.

"Because dating is easily dismissed as temporary infatuation. Marriage is definitive. It removes me completely from the candidate pool and blocks the specific alliance my mother is orchestrating."

You nodded slowly. "And there's really no romantic component to this? No hidden agenda where you're hoping for more?"

"None whatsoever," Jay assured you. "This is a business arrangement with clearly defined boundaries. Any personal friendship that develops would be separate from our agreement."

Outside the restaurant, you paused before parting ways.

"This is insane," you said, shaking your head slightly. "Completely insane."

"From a conventional perspective, yes," Jay agreed. "But sometimes unconventional solutions are necessary for unusual problems."

"I'll call you," you said. "After I've thought about it. And possibly had my head examined."

Jay smiled. "I look forward to hearing from you, whatever your decision."

As you walked away, Jay allowed himself a moment of cautious optimism. You hadn't immediately rejected the idea. You'd taken the contract. You were considering it.

Phase two: initiated.

The path to avoiding his destruction was unconventional, certainly. But with each step, each calculated move, he was redrawing the map of his future.

And for the first time since waking up five years in his past, Jay felt something akin to hope.

"He asked you to what?"

Priya's voice carried across the café, drawing glances from nearby tables. You winced, motioning for her to lower her volume. Two days had passed since Jay's proposal, and you'd finally broken down and called Priya. Some things were too bizarre to process alone.

"Keep it down," you hissed. "I haven't decided anything."

"Sorry," Priya whispered dramatically, leaning across the table. "But you can't drop 'Korean billionaire wants me as his contract wife' and expect normal volume control."

You stirred your coffee absently. The USB drive sat heavy in your bag, untouched since the dinner. Every time you considered plugging it in, reality reasserted itself. People didn't just get propositioned for fake marriages by corporate heirs. Not in real life.

"Maybe I imagined it," you said. "Stress-induced hallucination."

"Honey, you don't hallucinate trust fund provisions and prenuptial terms." Priya tapped the table emphatically. "And Park Industries is the real deal. My cousin works in finance and says they're basically royalty in Korea."

You sighed, glancing at your phone. Three missed calls from your editor about a deadline. Two emails from your landlord about the rent increase. A notification about your student loan payment.

Normal life, insistently demanding attention while some alternate universe beckoned from a USB drive.

"What would you do?" you asked.

Priya considered this, stirring her chai thoughtfully. "I'd wonder why me. Of all the women in New York—hell, in the world—why pick someone he met at my mediocre exhibition?"

"He said I don't want anything from him. That I see him as a person, not a position." You shrugged. "And apparently I'm not connected to any rival companies."

"That's... oddly specific." Priya frowned. "Like he's running from something."

A memory flashed—Jay on the rooftop garden, talking about redrawing sections of his path. The wistfulness in his voice when he mentioned roles becoming cages.

"Maybe he is," you murmured.

"Look, Y/N, this is either the strangest fantasy or the most interesting opportunity of your life." Priya grabbed your hand. "But either way, you should at least read the contract. Writer curiosity, if nothing else."

You nodded slowly. She was right. Whatever this was—elaborate joke, midlife crisis, legitimate offer—you couldn't make a decision without information.

"What about Seoul?" you asked, voicing one of the hundred practical concerns cycling through your mind. "My life is here."

"Your life is a studio apartment with questionable plumbing and editor who underpays you," Priya said bluntly. "Seoul has universal healthcare and a subway system that actually works."

"And a language I don't speak."

"And a completely fresh start, financial security, and material for that book you've been talking about writing since college." Priya squeezed your hand. "I'm not saying do it. I'm saying don't dismiss it without considering the insane possibility that this fever dream might actually be real."

Your phone pinged—a text from Jay:

No pressure on your decision. But if you'd like to discuss further, I'll be at the same restaurant tonight at 8. Whether you come or not, I enjoyed our time together.

Priya peered at the message. "Polite. Not pushy. Gives you space." She raised an eyebrow. "For a corporate shark offering a fake marriage, he's surprisingly... decent?"

"That's what makes this so confusing," you admitted. "He seems genuine, even when discussing something completely manufactured."

"Maybe that's why he thinks you'd be good at this. You're both honest about the dishonesty." Priya sat back. "So, are you going tonight?"

You stared at your phone, the mundane world of deadlines and bills momentarily suspended as you considered stepping further into whatever alternate reality Jay Park occupied.

"I guess I'll start by reading the contract," you said finally.

Priya grinned. "That's my practical journalist. Verify, then trust."

"I didn't say I trust him," you protested.

"Honey, you wouldn't have called me if you weren't already halfway to saying yes."

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again. She wasn't entirely wrong.

Whatever this was—fever dream or opportunity—you couldn't shake the feeling that Jay Park had seen something in you that even you hadn't recognized. Something valuable enough to upend both your worlds.

And despite every rational objection, part of you wanted to find out what it was.

After accepting Jay's proposal, everything moved quickly, but not without moments that made you question the purely contractual nature of your arrangement.

The first time you caught yourself actually looking at Jay—not as your contractual fiancé but as a man—was during a video call about logistics. He'd just finished a workout, answering your call in a fitted t-shirt damp with sweat, hair disheveled in a way you'd never seen before.

"Sorry for my appearance," he'd said, seemingly unaware of how the thin fabric clung to his chest and shoulders, revealing a physique usually hidden beneath perfect tailoring.

"It's fine," you'd replied, fighting to keep your eyes on his face rather than the defined muscles visible through his shirt. "We were just discussing flight details, right?"

You'd blamed your distraction on the strangeness of the situation. Just a natural reaction to an objectively attractive man. Nothing more.

Your Korean lessons began three weeks after you'd accepted his proposal. The language was challenging, but Jay insisted on joining occasionally, his pronunciation impeccable as he demonstrated sounds your English-trained mouth struggled to form.

"Fuck," you muttered one evening, dropping your head to the table after another failed attempt at a particularly difficult honorific. "I'm never going to get this right."

Jay looked up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. "I've never heard you swear before."

"I'm usually more professional," you admitted. "But this language is kicking my ass."

He closed his computer and moved to the chair beside you. "Try again. It's all in the tongue placement."

You made another attempt, mangling the syllables spectacularly.

"No, like this." Jay demonstrated slowly, exaggerating the mouth movement. You found yourself staring at his lips, noticing their perfect shape, the way the bottom one was slightly fuller than the top.

After your third failure, he sighed. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward your face.

You nodded, not entirely sure what he was asking permission for.

He reached out, placing his thumb gently against your lower lip. "You need to press your tongue here, behind your teeth, not against your palate."

Heat surged through you at the unexpected contact. His thumb lingered, moving slightly against your lip as he demonstrated the position. Your eyes locked, and something shifted in his expression.

"Try again," he said softly, his voice lower than before.

You attempted the word, hyperaware of his fingers still resting lightly against your jaw.

"Better," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your mouth. "Almost there."

The air between you thickened. His hand should have moved away by now. It hadn't.

"Jay," you said, barely audible. Not a question, just an acknowledgment of whatever was happening.

For a moment, you thought he might lean in. Instead, he blinked and withdrew his hand, clearing his throat.

"That's enough for today," he said briskly, returning to his original seat. "You're making progress."

But that night, alone in your room, you caught yourself touching your own lip where his thumb had been, replaying the moment when his professional demeanor had briefly cracked.

Three weeks in, during dinner at a restaurant in Tribeca, Jay brought up the public aspects of your arrangement.

"We need to discuss how we'll appear as a couple," he said, his tone practical but not cold. "Physical boundaries. Forms of address."

"Like pet names?" you asked, taking a sip of wine.

"Exactly." He seemed relieved you understood. "In Korea, especially in my position, excessive public displays would seem inappropriate. But certain... intimacies are expected between engaged couples."

"So hand-holding, yes. Making out in boardrooms, no." Your joke earned a genuine smile from him.

"Precisely." He hesitated, then added with uncharacteristic uncertainty, "And regarding names..."

"What do people usually call you? Besides Jay or Mr. Park?"

His expression shifted subtly. "My mother calls me Jongseong. Business associates use Mr. Park. No one has ever used anything... affectionate."

The admission felt strangely vulnerable coming from him.

"What would you be comfortable with?" you asked.

His eyes met yours directly. "I've always thought 'babe' or 'baby' seemed... nice. Natural." The words seemed difficult for him to say, as if admitting to a secret preference. "But only if it feels comfortable for you."

The request surprised you – this controlled, strategic man wanting something so ordinary, so human.

"I can try that," you said, watching as relief softened his features. "Might take practice to say it without feeling weird, though."

"We have time to practice," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

Shopping for your new wardrobe didn't happen in a fairy tale montage. Instead, it involved practical discussions of events you'd attend, climate considerations, and cultural norms.

"These social signifiers matter to my family," Jay explained as you examined a designer dress that cost more than your rent. "But your comfort matters to me."

"To our arrangement," you corrected gently.

He paused, meeting your eyes. "Yes. And to me personally."

The statement hung between you, neither acknowledged nor dismissed as you continued through the high-end boutique. The personal shopper brought Jay a selection of suits to try as well, and despite your best intentions, you found yourself watching as he emerged from the fitting room in each new outfit.

The last one—a charcoal gray suit cut to perfection—made you momentarily forget the contract entirely. The tailor knelt, making adjustments to the trousers while Jay stood in front of a three-way mirror. The jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the tailored pants fitting perfectly across his ass.

You didn't realize you were staring until Jay's eyes met yours in the mirror, one eyebrow raising slightly. You quickly looked away, heat rising to your cheeks at being caught.

When you glanced back, the corner of his mouth had lifted in a small, satisfied smile.

Your parents were understandably shocked by the engagement announcement. The video call with them and Jay could have been disastrous, but he navigated it with surprising warmth.

"I understand this seems sudden," he told them, his formal demeanor softened. "I value your daughter's independence and perspective. Those qualities are rare in my world."

Later, alone, your mother had texted: "He's careful with his words around you. Watches how you react. Not sure if that's good or concerning."

"Still deciding," you'd replied honestly.

Six weeks after your agreement, you found yourself helping Jay pack for Seoul in his hotel suite, the reality of what you'd committed to finally sinking in.

"Second thoughts?" he asked, noticing your silence.

"Seventh or eighth, at least," you admitted.

You expected a strategic reassurance. Instead, he sat beside you on the edge of the bed, not touching but close.

"I have them too," he said quietly. "This arrangement... it's unusual for both of us."

"You seem so certain about everything."

"I'm certain about what I'm avoiding," he clarified. "Less certain about what we're building."

The honesty was refreshing. Not romance, but genuine transparency.

"Let's try something," you suggested. "Just to see how it feels."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You cleared your throat, feeling slightly ridiculous. "Could you pass me that folder... babe?"

The pet name hung awkwardly between you. Jay blinked, then a small, genuine smile formed.

"Here you go," he replied, handing you the folder, then hesitating before adding a tentative, "...babe."

You both laughed at the strangeness of it, the tension breaking.

"That was terrible," you admitted.

"Catastrophic," he agreed, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. "But it will get easier."

It was the first time you'd seen him truly laugh. Something shifted subtly between you – not love or even attraction necessarily, but the foundation of something human and real beneath the contractual arrangement.

Eight weeks after the proposal, you boarded his family's private jet bound for Seoul.

As the plane leveled off, Jay handed you a thin folder. "Key family members and dynamics. Not a test, just preparation."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding that you wanted to succeed at this, whatever "this" was becoming.

"Thank you," you said. Then, after a moment's hesitation, added, "...baby."

It still felt strange, but less forced. Jay's expression softened in response.

"You're welcome," he replied, his voice warm in a way it hadn't been during those first calculated conversations weeks ago.

Neither of you were in love. That wasn't part of the contract. But as the plane carried you toward Seoul, there was a growing sense that whatever performance awaited might be built on something more substantial than just legal terms.

Not romance, not yet. But a partnership forming its own unique shape – part strategy, part genuine connection, and all uncharted territory.

Arriving in Seoul felt like stepping into another dimension. A fleet of black SUVs with tinted windows. Security personnel with earpieces. Photographers kept at a careful distance by a team of efficient PR staff.

"Ready?" Jay asked quietly, his hand finding yours as the plane door opened.

You nodded, though "ready" seemed an absurd concept for what awaited.

The moment you stepped onto Korean soil, Jay transformed—his posture impeccable, his smile exactly the right blend of pride and discretion. His arm slid around your waist, protective but not possessive.

"Perfect," he murmured, his lips close to your ear. "Just like that."

The performance had begun.

to be continued.

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