#no one is more frustrated by it than me i promise

[oneoftheextras]

down a peg | j.t

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paring: sub!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: jayce's ego has gotten the better of him, so you come up with a way to put him in his place

words: 7k (happy holidays ig)

warnings: +18, smut, pegging, eventual sub!jayce, dom!reader, male whimpering and begging, two tops fighting for power, hair pulling.

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Jayce Talis was the man of process. He was smart, caring, egotistical and most definitely in need of humbling.

He walked around the lab like he owned it, making so much noise with his fancy shoes and his constant monologuing.

His long muscular legs striding across the room to pick up pages of work that wasn’t his, just so he could be involved and comment on it.

He drove you and Viktor crazy on most days.

When he became counsellor his head grew so large that you were surprised he could fit through the doorframe.

In reality, he was harmless. Both you and Viktor knew that he cared about the two of you more than anything, but his new title gave him a false sense of bravado that you didn’t like.

The afternoon that Jayce accidentally slipped a ‘That’s an order’ to you, was the afternoon that began his downfall.

If the raised eyebrow and displeased look you shared with Viktor wasn’t enough to let Jayce know he’d gone too far, the sarcastic “Yes, Counsellor Talis,” from you, and the mocking “Anything you say, Counsellor Talis!” from Viktor should’ve been.

After Jayce left the lab, you and Viktor decided enough was enough.

“He’s got a good heart, but we need to do something about his ego,” Viktor had casually mentioned, unintentionally lighting the catalyst of your scheme.

You huffed, signalling your agreement and began reorganising the papers Jayce had messed up earlier, “What can we do? He’s the golden boy!” you feigned excitement.

“He just needs reminding of where he came from. Taken down a few pegs,” Viktor was concentrating on tinkering with something to calm his frustrations.

Wiping a dirty, ink covered hand over your forehead, you thought about his words and a sly smile formed on your lips.

“Say that again?” you turned your body from your work to face Viktor, “What? Remind him where he came from?” he was still concentrating on his gadget.

You shuffled your chair closer, “No, the other bit,” there was mischief in your voice.

At your sudden proximity to him, Viktor turned to face you, the magnifying glass in his goggles making his eye look funny.

“Take him down a few pegs?” he repeated himself, eyebrows slightly knitted with confusion, but they eventually relaxed at the realisation hit him.

He chuckled a little, but when you didn’t laugh with him he stopped, “You cannot be serious?” he gave you a surprised expression.

“I’m very serious,” you confirmed that his train of thought and yours were on the same tracks. "How?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

You grabbed some clean paper and a pencil, "Give me 10 minutes," you turned back to your desk and started scribbling.

It took you a little bit longer than the 10 minutes you had promised, but your design was done.

Handing it to Viktor, you held your breath, waiting for his feedback the same way you did the first time you showed him one of your ideas. "It is a little crude, don't you think?" he turned the paper ninety degrees to observe it at a different angle.

"I think it would be impossible to not make it crude, considering what it is," you put your hand on the back of his chair and lowered your head to study your drawing again.

Viktor leaned his head to the side and sighed as if to say that you were right. "It is simplistic, yet... beautiful," he complimented and your chest swelled with pride.

"Manageable?" you queried, that was the main concern of yours. "Oh, of course," Viktor put the page down on the desk in front of him, "Easily so," he confirmed and you smiled.

The clock showed 9:41pm, "Let's get started then," you picked up the paper and walked over to the shelves of resources you shared. "What? Right now?" Viktor was surprised at your eagerness.

"Might as well," you shrugged, putting what you'd need into a box under your arm, "A little hasty, no?" he'd stood from his desk and taken a few steps towards you with his cane.

He watched you pick and choose which materials you wanted and which you didn't. "No time like the present," you chuckled as you put the last piece into your box and headed for the workbench.

"Do you really want to deal with him for another day?" you raised an eyebrow, and the way that Viktor glanced to the ground and back up at you was all the assurance you needed.

In no time, Viktor had joined you at the workbench and the two of you got to work.

After a few hours, the main parts were basically done. There were a few modifications you'd needed to make along the way, but Viktor was good at problem solving on the fly.

He stretched his back and paused for a moment to watch you work. "One query I do have..." Viktor started and you hummed in a response for him to continue.

"Once it's made, how are you going to... you know?" it was as though vocalising the words was too embarrassing for him, but you didn't interject. "Execute your plan?" he finally asked.

In honesty, the realisation of what your scheme entailed hadn't fully set in just yet.

"I have some ideas," you shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, but your heart raced at the thought.

As if talking about him had summoned him, the door to the lab swung open. You and Viktor let out a small gasp, but you immediately grabbed a sheet and threw it over the workbench.

"Have either of you seen my-" Jayce had started to say, but stopped when he saw you both by the workbench, "-What's going on?" he interrupted his original question.

You walked out from behind the table and instead leaned on it, trying to body block anything you hadn't managed to cover.

"What were you looking for?" you tried to steer him back to his first thought. "My forging gloves- are you working on something?" he stepped forward and leaned to the side to try to see behind you.

"No!", "Yes!", you and Viktor spoke at the same time. You mentally cursed yourself for not preparing something for this exact scenario.

"We are-" you spoke quickly and loudly to indicate to Viktor that you would handle it, "-But it's not ready yet,". Jayce didn't even look at you, he had excitement and annoyance in his eyes that trailed the table.

"Without me? Let me see!" Jayce almost-whined, you could hear the small fraction of hurt in his voice.

Taking a silent and quick inhale, you knew what you had to do.

As Jayce continued to walk towards the table, you stepped forward to intercept him, your chest no more than an inch from his.

"Jayce..." you lowered your voice slightly and spoke with a soft and enticing cadence. The room fell silent, and Jayce blinked a few times as he glanced down to you, he'd never heard you sound like that.

He opened his mouth to say something but his jaw slowly closed again when your and gently trailed up the front of his shirt to play with his tie.

"I was wondering if I could borrow your soldering iron?" the tone of your voice and the words you were saying couldn't have been more contrasting.

You slipped your fingers under his tie and you could feel the warmth of his chest and the beating of his heart against your knuckles.

"Y-Yeah, sure," he cleared his throat after his words came out slightly shaky.

Running your thumb over the expensive red silk of his tie and smiling sweetly at him, you looked up at him with the best 'fuck me' eyes you could muster, and lightly pulled on the fabric.

His eyelids fluttered as his blinking sped up. In all the years the three of you had known each other, you'd never acted this way with him.

"Great, where is it?" you spoke even quieter than before so he really needed to focus on your words, so all of his attention was on you, "Forge," was all he could say.

You hummed to indicate you were happy with his response and let go of his tie, smoothing your hand down the front of his chest as if you were making in presentable again.

"Off you go then," you tapped his chest twice before stepping backwards to signal that he could leave. "Right, okay," he nodded and cleared his throat again, almost snapping out of the trance you'd put him in.

He nodded again to Viktor to say goodbye and promptly turned around and strode out of the lab.

As you spun back around to face Viktor, his jaw was being collected off of the floor, "Wha-Huh? How did you do that??".

You shrugged and smirked confidently, "I said I had some ideas,", Viktor was also as lost for words as Jayce was, "We don't have time for that, come on!" you laughed and gestured for Viktor to take the sheet off.

Conscious that Jayce wouldn't take too long returning from the forge, the two of you worked double time. The only thing that was left to do was connect the most important part.

"What're you going to use for the..." Viktor tried to make hand gestures instead of saying the word, and you saved him the embarrassment, "I have something already don't worry," somehow all shame had been lost the longer you worked on this.

He shook his head to erase the thought from his brain.

“I don’t mean, like, mine!” you tried to quickly backtrack, “I’ve made a prototype of something previously,” your hand gestures became more elaborate the more you tried to explain.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Viktor shook his head quicker than before, “I don’t need to know!” he protested but he was smiling, still finding the humorous side.

You spared him any further details and tapped the table as though audibly providing the full stop to your sentence.

The silence that followed was awkward and somewhat tense.

"Are you really going to do it?", Viktor was the first one to break the quiet between you. At first the whole scenario was kind of funny, but now that you'd actually made it, the seriousness of your plan was starting to rear it's head.

You picked at a piece of the wooden workbench that had began to splinter, nervousness running through your veins.

"What if he doesn't want me, and I make it weird?" you ask Viktor quietly, your voice showing an insecurity he'd never seen you have.

It was impossible for you to make eye contact with him after saying something like that, but the reality that you were about to attempt to seduce and sleep with, not only a friend, but your business partner.

"What if I try this and I ruin everything we've built together?" you still avoided looking at Viktor. Afraid that his expression would provide you with the answer you were dreading.

He exhaled sharply and he called your name with a soft and comforting tone, only then did you find the courage to meet his eye.

"We have known each other for a very long time, yes?" you nodded instead of verbally replying to his question, "In all that time you have never noticed the way Jayce looks at you,".

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. An exasperated one at that.

"The way he looks at me?" you pointed at yourself and it was your turn to look surprised. Viktor let out a 'Pfft' noise, "Please-" he raised an eyebrow, "Do you think he acts like that-" he gestured to the space where the two of you had been earlier, "-with everyone?".

The cogs in your brain were barely turning, all their power used on your creation that was laid out on the workbench in front of you.

"I guess not," you relented any further protests, and glanced towards the clock, 1:27am.

Viktor followed where your vision had landed and stood from his stool clearly noting how late it had become, "Right, I am going to my bedroom... which is on the other side of the building...".

He said the last part with faux innocence, but his smile gave away the context to his words.

"I need to get the thing from my room anyway, so I'll walk with you,".

Jayce grumbled to himself as he made his way back to the lab. The hallways were a ghost town at this time of night so he had nothing other than his own thoughts to accompany him.

Despite the never ending to-do-list that was handed to him over the last few hours, his mind kept drifting back to the interaction he'd had with you in the lab.

He had never seen you act like that. Why did it make him stumble over his words? How did he crumble so quickly under your touch?

He was perplexed at the involuntary actions of his own body; frustrated and annoyed at himself for following your instructions so blindly, yet a part of him yearned for that feeling again.

Whilst that want was strong, he still felt as though his pride had been wounded. He'd yielded at your commands like a lap dog, and it wasn't going to happen again.

He was simply caught off guard, that was all.

Jayce's grip on the soldering iron was tight as he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the lab.

He'd entered this room a million times over the years, but he felt the rush of adrenaline surge through him as he crossed the threshold, only for it to dissipate when he realised it was empty.

The only signs of you or Viktor was your messy station, and his shoulders slumped with disappointment he didn't know he had. He glanced down at the iron in his hand, maybe he'd taken too long.

Sighing, he walked to the workbench where the two of you had been standing before and placed it down on one of the only free spaces available.

He was about to continue his evening, maybe go for a walk around the grounds or find a bar to have a quick drink in, but the sheet of fabric was too tempting.

With no one else around, who would know that he took a quick look at your project?

All hesitation he previously had was replaced with childlike excitement as he peeled back the fabric to reveal what you both had tried to hard to keep from him.

Once his eyes landed on the object, he tilted his head to the side and his eyebrows furrowed with confusion - he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at.

He picked it up by one of the leather cords and held it in his hands, his thumb running over the hollow circle in the middle that was decorated by a metal ring.

The design was very simple, but a few embellishments decorated the soft triangular fabric and the belts that were connected to it.

He turned it over in his hands but couldn't quite figure out what it was, until he saw the accompanying sketches.

When you entered the lab, you didn't see him at first as you pushed the door open with your hip, but the clanking of tools and rustling of paper made you look up.

"Oh, I- uh-" Jayce fumbled with both his words and his hands as he tried to put everything back as he'd found it. The sound of metal clattering to the floor interrupted any excuse he was going to start making.

This was probably how he had found you and Viktor a few hours prior.

"I thought you'd left," he chuckled nervously, "I did-" you pointed to the door behind you, "-But then I came back," your finger redirected to the floor in front of you.

It was painfully obvious that you'd caught him in the act, but he was trying to play it off with that dashing smile he'd give during speeches.

Unfortunately for Jayce, you weren't the average population of Piltover that were so easily won over.

"Find anything interesting?" you folded your arms over your chest, "What, I- no?" he maintained the façade, but your scolding stare told him the gig was up.

"Fine, yes, I looked," he relented, "I'm sorry if you felt like you couldn't tell me, I wouldn't have judged-" he was making less sense the more he spoke, but there was an air of something to his voice.

"-What?" you studied his hand gestures to try and figure out what he was trying to say so poorly, "I had no idea you and Viktor-", "-Me and Viktor?" you interjected with even more confusion than before.

Jayce stopped speaking for long enough to stare at you, his eyes searching yours.

"Is this not for you to use with him?" he asserted and pulled back the fabric sheet; the seriousness of his tone made you laugh. "No, it's not," you unfolded your arms and rested your hands on your hips, your bag still hanging from your shoulder.

Jayce scoffed and glanced around the room with annoyance, clearly not believing you.

"Then why were you being so secretive about it earlier?" his words were less of a question and more of an accusation.

You approached him and placed your bag on top of the assortment of papers and materials.

"Why would you not include me?" he fired another question at you before you had a chance to answer the first.

The workbench was in between you, but you could still feel the heat of his emotions from where you stood.

"Did you really think Viktor and I were together?" you leaned forward on the workbench, his scent wafting over to you the more he gestured.

It was hard not to crumble as the notes of coal smoke, cherry and leather that filled your nostrils, but you stood strong.

"I think a lot of people do," he grumbled, "The two of you spend all your time together, you're basically inseparable-"

He stepped away from the workbench and angled himself towards the door.

"-I can't talk to one of you without the other being there, it's like you're attached at the hip-", his ramblings became more emotionally charged.

Although you couldn't see his face, you finally caught what his words were laced with - envy.

"-Are you jealous?", you cut him off. He clearly wasn't expecting the accusation as he stopped mid-step and turned back to you.

"Why would I be jealous?" he tried to sound nonchalant but failed miserably. His cheeks flushed a new shade of pink, and you knew your game had began.

You shrugged and leaned against the workbench, the same way you had earlier, but now it was just the two of you.

"It just sounds like you're jealous," you lowered your voice ever -so-slightly. Not as much as before, but enough that it made Jayce swallow the saliva that had caught in his throat.

Jayce's brain buffered for a moment, caught in the fog of your voice, but he quickly recomposed himself - he wasn't going to let you get the better of him again.

"I'm not," he muttered.

You shrugged and turned your back on him, reaching over to grab your creation from where Jayce had left it, you looked back at him over your shoulder as you leaned.

As predicted, his eyeline was not on your face. When he realised you were looking at him, he quickly averted his gaze.

His hands gripped at his sides as he took a few steps towards you.

Your heart leap in your chest when you saw him move, but it was short lived when he stopped, keeping an arms distance between the two of you.

"Where is Viktor anyway?" Jayce asked, avoiding your eyeline as you twisted back to face him.

You held your project in your hands but gave Jayce all your attention, "He's gone to bed," you explained, "Wont be back until the morning," you implied.

His lower lip darted in between his teeth for a second at how slowly and purposely you spoke. He could feel the suggestion in your voice as if you'd written it out in front of him.

Hesitantly, he took another step towards you and put himself within touching distance, if you wanted to.

He could feel his heart picking up speed under his ribcage. The two of you had been alone multiple times over the years, but it had never felt like this. Never felt so tempting.

He grabbed hold of the device in your hands, his middle and index finger overlapping yours sent fireworks through your body, and you knew he could feel it too.

"And this?" he was so close to you now that he only needed to whisper and you could hear him clear as day. "What about it?" you gazed up at him, trying to speak to him with your eyes, but he was focused on your hands.

"Who's it for?" he asked, and you smiled to yourself, "Me," you stated plainly, "And whoever else I want," the last part was almost inaudible, but he most-definitely heard it.

"And who do you want?" he leaned towards you, his confidence was starting to show again as his question caught you off guard. This whole time you had planned to be the one to initiate, but never actually figured out how to.

It seemed as if he was giving you the perfect opening, but now that the time was here, you found your words caught in your throat.

"Jayce..." was all you could manage, it wasn't needy or relenting, but the low and suggestive way you said his name made him act before he could think.

He forcefully stepped forward, his chest pressing against yours but the momentum not stopping until his hands - and your lower back - were firmly against the workbench.

At some point during the two or three seconds of movement, you'd let go of the strap and it was now in between Jayce's palm and the counter.

His eyes pierced into yours as he towered over you, giving you nowhere to move, but you knew this wasn't how this was going to go - no matter how much you enjoyed it.

Other than his body against yours, he hadn't actually touched you yet, and you decided that you were going to be the one to bridge that gap.

You gently placed your hand on his chest and untucked his tie from his waistcoat whilst maintaining eye contact with him.

His breath was hitting your face in hard puffs as your fingers intertwined with the soft red fabric, pulling it loose from his collar.

His eyeline dipped from yours to your lips and you knew what was coming. He closed his eyes and moved his head quickly, but your finger caught his pursed lips before they could make contact with your own.

He opened his eyes and glanced between your finger on his lips and your face, and immediately backed away.

"I'm sorry, I-" his thoughts were momentarily consumed with scolding, thinking he'd misread your messages and made a fool of himself.

To defuse the situation, you hooked your fingers into the front of his collar and pulled him back towards you, "You haven't earned that yet," you asserted.

His expression softened before returning to a sultry smile, "Earned?" he tilted his head to the side and mockingly repeated your wording.

You hummed to show your agreement as you pulled the remainder of his tie free and let it fall to the floor.

"Take this off," you lazily pinched the fabric of his waistcoat, "Then maybe you can kiss me," the command in your voice was new, even to you, but it felt comfortable.

He regarded you for a moment with his mouth slightly parted, you were sure you'd pushed him too far, but when he reached up and undid the first clasp you mentally let go of the breath you were holding.

The waistcoat slid off of his shoulders with ease, and he instantly leaned into you again, but you tutted.

"No," you pushed him away by his chest gently and tapped your finger to your chin as though you were thinking, "That too," you pointed at his shirt.

This time he didn't hesitate. He straightened his spine and shuffle backwards so you could properly see him as he undid every button.

He started at the bottom, untucking it from his pants, and slowly popping two of the buttons, one with each hand.

The first part of his skin you saw was the dark trail of hair that lead to his belly button, then his toned abdomen. He sped up when he got to his chest, his shirt fully open but still hanging from his shoulders.

He smirked as your eyes raked over his form, he was playing with you as much as you were playing with him, just in his own way.

In all the years you'd spent together, you'd never actually seen Jayce in a state of undress. Whenever he was in the forge, you were at a desk.

You nudged your head to the side, indicating for him to continue, so he did. With a shrug of his shoulders, the black fabric slid down his body effortlessly to land a few inches away from his waistcoat.

The sight of him with his torso bare almost knocked the air out of your lungs, "Pretty boy," you breathed absentmindedly.

He practically preened at the compliment and strode back to you, this time he waited before trying to kiss you again.

Your hands trailed up the front of his chest and between his pecks, it felt so different without the constraints of his shirt in the way, but you felt him shiver under your touch.

Drawing the outline of his collarbone with your fingertip, you felt his voice rumbling before you heard it.

"Can I?" he kept his composure but there was an underlying tone of pleading to his question, "You can-", the words had barely left your mouth before he'd grabbed the back of your head and encapsulated his mouth with yours.

His lips were soft and warm. At first he only pressed his lips against yours, but he quickly pulled away only to open his mouth and deepen the kiss.

The way his bottom lip dragged over yours made lightening sizzle through your body, if he wasn't already holding you up your knees would've buckled beneath you.

Your hands found their way into his hair and you returned the feverishness of his kiss.

The way you both timed your sharp inhales of breath between the milliseconds where your mouths weren't connected was nothing short of a display of years of longing.

His lips snatched every kiss from you as if he was never going to get the opportunity to do this again, stealing every inch of your mouth for himself.

He quickly and gently pressed his teeth against your bottom lip and pulled playfully, causing a quiet and unintentional moan to escape your throat.

He continued to kiss you, but you could feel the cocky smirk against your lips. He was playing your game and you were losing.

You realised how much you'd leaned into his touch, how his strong hands had moulded you to where he wanted you. You needed to regain control.

Sharply, you tightened your grip in his hair and pulled his head backwards - a soft whimper leaving his lips, and hitting you straight in your core, giving you a small tingle.

The two of you panted as his throat was exposed to you.

You leaned in and licked up the sensitive flesh, feeling prickles of his stubble against your tongue, "I want your pants off," you spoke against his throat, before you released him.

He stumbled backwards, obviously taken off guard by you. He was sure you'd melted in his palm, but you were back to giving him orders.

When you gestured to his lower half, he quickly undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants, pushing them to the floor and stepping out of them.

His underwear was slightly pulled down from the force he'd pulled his pants down with, so you could see the indents of his V line and a patch of dark hair peaking over the waistband.

You were going to tease him some more, but the clear outline of where he was straining against the fabric was too much of a temptation to wait.

"And those," you lazily gestured to his boxers as if you weren't as excited as he was. He just had the unfortunate biology of not being able to hide it.

He grumbled, but hooked his thumbs into his waistband and slowly pulled them down. Just as he was about to get to the halfway point, he put his hand into his boxers and pushed the rest of the fabric down.

Once again, he stepped out of the leg holes, but kept one hand on the base of his dick so his hand and wrist evaded it from your view.

"Let me see," you said in a gentle tone. For a moment you were unsure if he was shy, but has he slipped his shoes off with a smirk, you knew this was a man who had every confidence in his physical appearance and this was him trying to yank some control back.

"I think we need to even this out," he sauntered over to you with poise, he took hold of your collar and attempted to undo the first button, but you gripped his wrist and pulled it away.

"I think you need to remember your place," you corrected him, your index finger and thumb taking hold of his strong jaw and squeezing for a second.

You hand trailed up to the side of his face, it was gentle and a complete contrast to the way you'd just grabbed him.

Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip and he instinctively opened his mouth with a groan, allowing your thumb to slip in and hook over his teeth.

He could easily pull your hand away if he wanted, but he didn't.

"Don't you want me to touch you?" you asked with faux innocence, and he nodded with your thumb still in his mouth, "Then let me see," you continued the façade of purity.

He gazed into your eyes and you could almost see his golden irises searching for his next opportunity for the upper hand, but when he found none, he simply moved his hand.

It hadn't registered that he'd let go at first, it wasn't until his cock thumped heavily against your thigh that you realised he'd done it.

You looked down, thinking for a second that something had fallen off of the workbench behind you, but when you saw his thick member resting against your leg and stood to attention, you held back a gasp.

Of course he was big; not that you'd thought about it before.

As you wrapped your fingers around his shaft and started to slowly move your wrist, it was something that seemed obvious to you now. He was a large man, easily taller and more muscular than you, so of course you would struggle to make your fingers meet around his width.

He wanted to make a smartass comment, he'd seen the momentary surprise on your features and he wanted to capitalise on the opportunity, but the way you massaged his length left no room for anything other than strangled moans to come from him.

His hips started to move with your rhythm and his breathing got heavier, he was adamant to stay standing tall and keep eye contact with you, but he was struggling.

"I saw how much you were straining, isn't this so much better?" you purred, and he bit his lower lip with a quiet response of "Mhmm," as he fought to keep his eye contact with you.

You noticed how he was trying so hard to remain composed, so you sped up your hand. He gasped and audibly moaned; he stayed upright for another three or four seconds before he fell forward and caught himself on the workbench.

His forehead rested on your shoulder, with one hand resting on he base of your neck, and the other against the bench.

The noises that spilled from him were sinful, but you wanted more.

He got louder as his hips moved against your rhythm, and you got a brief glimpse as to what he would feel like inside you as the ridges and veins of his cock pressed against your fingers.

You pressed your legs together to try and relieve some of the tension but it was useless, feeling him grip you so tightly and breathing so heavily against you was almost too much.

The grasp you had on him loosened until you fully let go, "No, please," he protested breathlessly and looked up at you with pleading eyes.

That image of him would be ingrained into your brain forever; his hair messy, with a few strands stuck to his sweaty forehead, whilst his glossy eyes bore into you with desire and desperation.

That would've been enough to get you through any more of his egotistical demands, but you were greedy, and too turned on to stop now.

"What do you want?" you cooed at him, brushing his hair back out of his face, "I want to fuck you," he quietly confessed.

You smiled, "What was that?" you teased, wanting him to say it louder.

"Please let me fuck you," he begged, and you affectionately caressed his cheek.

You reached behind you on the workbench until your fingers found what you were looking for, and once you did, you held it up proudly.

"Not today, pretty boy," you pinched the tip of his chin with your thumb and index finger to make him look at you, "I want to fuck you instead, is that okay?" you said with as much confidence as you'd ever had in your life.

He rapidly looked between your face and the strap you were holding, before he glanced towards the floor with a blush, but nodded.

"I'm going to need to hear you," you forced his eyeline back to you again. When he didn't immediately reply, you added with sincerity, "If you don't want to, that's also okay,".

Almost as soon as you'd provided him with a proverbial 'get-out-of-jail-free card', he shook his head "No, I want to, I really want to,".

"Are you sure?" you dropped all teasing and mocking tones you'd previously had to let him know that it was okay if he wasn't certain.

"One hundred percent sure," he confirmed with a smile, his eyes blown out and filled with desire.

You pulled his face to yours and kissed him deeply, your tongue exploring his mouth for a second before gently pushing him away.

You pointed to the black leather couch in between two of the desks and started to slip off your own pants as you ungraciously stepped into the harness, relieved that he had his back turned when you stumbled on one of the belts.

Once it was on, you reached into the bag you'd left on the side and pulled out the silicone cylinder you'd made months prior, and a bottle of lube.

When Jayce sat down and saw what you were holding, his eyes went wide with curiosity, "What is that?" the blue light reflected in his eyes.

You chuckled as you approached him, "I made it for me, for the rare times I get to be alone, it's intuitive to the user. If you want it bigger it'll get bigger, if you need it smaller it'll-" you explained but he interrupted.

"You've used it on yourself?" he asked with some of his usual confidence, his dick twitching as his mind clearly ran rampant, "Yes," you said with a mocking tone as an answer to his stupid question.

He was going to continue his questioning as he reached towards your crotch, but you playfully slapped his hand away, "You can touch me when I say you can," your voice reverted back to it's commanding tone.

"But I want to make you feel good too," he laid down on his back, taking up the majority of the couch by himself, but there was a small space for you between his legs.

"It will," you reassured him and placed the device through the metal ring, reaching into your own pants to move your underwear out of the way, and pressing the hooked end of it find your own hole.

The blue light got stronger as it slipped inside you, the sudden intrusion making you moan suddenly.

Jayce watched you eagerly as his breathing sped up again, his dick bouncing against his stomach when your moans hit his ears.

Now that it was in place with the phallic part protruding from the metal ring, you drizzled some lube onto it and rubbed it in with your hand.

He wouldn't admit it, but watching you stroke the device as if you had a dick of your own was extremely hot to him.

"Ready?" you asked as you positioned yourself between his legs. He lifted his hips and nodded eagerly.

You lined the tip of the dildo up with his asshole and rubbed gently, smearing the lube against it. When the device made contact with Jayce it moulded itself to be thinner, already working as you'd designed it.

As slowly as you could, you pushed the tip into him, breaching his tight ring with ease. Jayce whimpered as his eyes rolled back into his head, you pushed in a little further and then pulled back as far as you could without it coming out of him.

"I can t-take more," he moaned, and glanced down to where your crotches were connected.

You gave him a scorning look, "That's not how you ask," you pushed into him a little bit more, letting another whimper fall from him.

Inside you, the dildo reverberated and pushed itself deeper into you, but you were able to hold back the moan.

"Please, more," he begged, fully giving into your control. He wanted to hold out a little longer but it was impossible, between your lust-filled gaze and the dildo's ridges massaging his insides, he had no chance.

Happy with his pleading, you thrusted softly forward, pressing deeper into him, "Fuck!" he moaned loudly.

His hips squirmed as he tried to fuck himself onto it more than you were giving, the dildo slowly got thicker once he'd gotten used to the sensation.

You would be merciful this time since he had adjusted so well, and thrusted at a more natural pace, the device mimicking your movements inside you.

It pounded into you with a bit more ferocity than you were giving Jayce, it already being accustom to you. Moaning, you fell forward, catching yourself on Jayce's chest.

Somehow you'd managed to keep your eyes open. Watching how his cock bounced with every thrust, you could've help but imagine what it would feel like to be riding him instead.

Your genius had become your downfall as the intuitive nature of the dildo kicked in, widening and lengthening itself to be a replica of what you were seeing.

"Oh, g-god!" you threw your head back with pleasure, the constant pounding against your g-spot, alongside the stretch of the new design was all too much, your strangled moan echoed through the room.

Jayce's eyes opened so he could see your face and he almost came on the spot. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyebrows lifted into a knot of ecstasy, his own moans and whimpers a harmony of your own.

The fire inside you was burning hotter and hotter as you struggled to keep up your pace, whilst Jayce had found the perfect rhythm to manoeuvre his hips to your own.

He begged and pleaded with you not to stop, the word "Please" becoming his new mantra.

"Can I cum?" he asked you with a broken voice, his eyes finally meeting with yours. He looked so messy, pathetic and beautiful all at once, you couldn't deny him, "Yes," you barely got out.

You were barely holding on yourself, the tingling up your spine and your muscles going solid made it almost impossible for you to move anymore, but Jayce's bouncing kept the pace going.

A string of curses fell from Jayce's mouth as he gripped the base of his cock and pumped it a few times, that was all he needed to release the spurts of cum from him.

The moans and whimpers that Jayce made was enough to throw you over the edge, your hips thrusted wildly as you clenched around the dildo, your head going dizzy with euphoria.

Jayce watched your jaw fall open and the most beautiful sounds leave your throat, he never wanted to forget them, he only wished it was him that made you sound like that.

When the cloud of ecstasy faded, you removed the device and put it in the cleaning bag you'd brought with you.

Jayce cleaned up the mess he'd made on his own abdomen whilst you pulled your pants back on, the silence wasn't uncomfortable although it was obvious that you both wanted to address what had just happened, but neither of you wanted to be the first one to speak.

You picked up his clothes and handed them to him, "I'll see you in the morning," you caressed his cheek and he leaned into your palm with a soppy smile and puppy dog eyes that could melt your heart.

Things would be different in the morning. You weren't sure by how much, or for better or worse, but you knew everything would change now.

[ktownshizzle]

A Christmas Encore | Part 1 of 2

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: You never thought you’d see Min Yoongi again, not in this lifetime, not in this place. He left years ago with big dreams and bigger talent, trading snow-covered Seollim Hollow for the city lights of Seoul. But now, with the cultural center—the heart of your hometown—on the verge of being sold to a soulless corporation, you’ll do anything to save it.

When Yoongi appears on your doorstep, it feels like a miracle wrapped in regret. But as the two of you work together to save the center, old promises resurface, along with feelings you thought you’d left behind. Can you trust someone who was never meant to stay? Or will you just get hurt again?

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Childhood Friends to Kinda Lovers to Kinda Strangers to Friends to Lovers (WHAT?! Yeah I got dizzy too) Second chances basically, Fluff, Smut, Mild Angst, Very Hallmark

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ only. Cheesy sometimes theatrical dialogue (just roll with it please), christmas cliches, virgin and vanilla sex (written in flashback scene), penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it), reader is in an FWB arrangement with a different male character, a couple of cute kisses, yoongi’s a little messy (thinks you have a boyfriend, but flirts with you anyways), lots of pining and yearning but MC is still a baddie who is fighting capitalism, Maknae line are here

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 11k (i knowww. 😬 That's why i’ve broken it in 2 parts)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting Date: December 28, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello ho ho. We are back with another Ginger Yoongi fic, because I lub him 🧡 If you’ve read the teaser, I added one significant line here which I placed in boldface. Flashbacks are in italics. Hope you are enjoying your holidays! :)

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Part of A Holly, Jolly Holiday with Min Yun-Kay collab with @yooglefics

The air in Seollim Hollow’s town hall is colder than the streets outside, though snow has been falling all day. You stand stiffly in front of Mr. Choi’s desk, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you try to keep the trembling in your hands at bay. Mr. Choi, the man who holds the fate of the cultural center in his grasp, leans back in his chair, his gaze apologetic but firm.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he says, his tone measured, almost regretful. “You have to understand, the town needs this money. We’ve been running on fumes for years, and this offer… it’s more than we could have ever hoped for.”

“Fuck money!” You slam your hand on his desk, voice thick with frustration. “You know what that center means to this town. It’s not just a building—it’s where the kids go after school, where the seniors quilt their memories together, where people connect in ways they can’t anywhere else. Without it, Seollim Hollow loses a part of itself.”

Mr. Choi’s expression softens for a moment. “I know,” he says quietly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. “I really do. That’s why this decision wasn’t easy. But this isn’t just about sentimentality. The town’s been struggling, and we can’t keep running on good intentions alone. The offer they’ve made—it’s more money than we’ve seen in years. It’s enough to keep us afloat.”

“By selling our soul to a corporation,” you counter bitterly, your grip tightening on the edge of his desk. “By tearing apart the heart of this town.”

“It’s not personal,” he replies softly, though his tone carries the weight of his own conflict. “It’s not easy, either. I’m just trying to do what’s best for the town.”

“What if…” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you’ve even thought them through. “What if I can find the money to match their offer? Would you give me the chance to save it?”

“Do you know how much they’re offering?”

“Tell me.”

He rattles off a number, and–shit–your heart sinks. It’s worse than you imagined, the kind of figure that feels impossible. 

Mr. Choi’s voice softens. “It’s a lot, I know. And honestly, I don’t think it’s fair to put this on you. But if you’re serious, and you think you can do it… I’ll give you two months. Two months to pull it together. If you can match the offer, I’ll bring it to the council.”

His gaze is steady, earnest. You can tell he doesn’t believe you’ll succeed, but there’s a quiet sincerity in his voice, like he wants to give you the chance, even if it’s a long shot.

You nod, jaw tight, and push away from his desk. “I’ll do it,” you say firmly, even as your stomach churns.

“The buyer’s representative will be in town soon to finalize details,” Mr. Choi says, shuffling papers. “They’ve been… persistent.” He hesitates before looking at you with a grimace. “I just hope they’re as reasonable as they seem.”

As you turn to leave, his voice stops you. “For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I hope you succeed.”

The cultural center feels like a refuge as you step inside, shaking snow from your boots. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and make your way to the meeting room where the rest of the team is waiting.

Everyone is already bundled up in their winter layers, scarves and hats still clinging to stray flakes of snow. They sit around the table, faces ranging from cautious to hopeful. These people are the lifeblood of this place—they’ve poured countless hours into keeping the cultural center alive and making the people feel the same way through music, sports, and art.

There’s Jungkook, a pitch-perfect singer whose natural talent and boundless energy makes every day a little brighter, his enthusiasm infectious even on the hardest days.

There’s Jimin, a former ballerina whose grace and dedication to dance and sports inspire everyone to push a little harder, his charm and easy warmth a constant source of comfort.

And there’s Taehyung, an artist with a quiet yet magnetic presence, his creative soul always dreaming up murals, community projects, and ways to make the town a little more beautiful.

Oh, and between the three of them, their face card never declines. 

With their immense talent, killer looks, and hearts of gold, you couldn’t ask for a better group of soldiers to see you through this ordeal.

You take a deep breath and face them. “Alright,” you say, and your voice is steady this time. “We’ve got two months to save this place. That’s it. We need to raise enough money to match the offer from the corporation, or it’s gone. We can do this, but it’s going to take everything we’ve got.”

“How much is the offer?” Taehyung asks hesitantly.

You tell them, and a ripple of gasps moves through the room. It’s a huge number. Maybe impossible. But it’s not completely out of reach.

“We’re going to hold a benefit concert,” you say. “A big one. Something that’ll get the entire town involved. We’ll sell tickets, get sponsors, take donations—whatever it takes. This can work. It has to work.”

Ideas fly around the room. Jungkook says the children’s choir he conducts can perform. Taehyung lists a couple of local baker-artisans that can organize a bake sale, and he volunteers to start a website so they can accept online orders. There’s a spark of energy in the air, cautious but real, and it makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this isn’t impossible.

“Do you think this will be enough?” Jimin asks as he surmises all the ideas he’s scribbled on the whiteboard.

Silence falls over the group. They’re looking at you, waiting for a solution you don’t have yet. You force a smile and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

The meeting wraps up, and the others file out, leaving you alone in your office.

You stay through the night thinking of ways to make this work. You sit at your desk, scribbling a to-do list, chewing on the end of your pen. Next, you’re drawing up budgets, listing contacts. God this is a fuckin’ mess. You’ve made a promise to your team, but the cracks in it are already starting to show.

Then, you hear a shuffle of footsteps outside your office and freeze. It’s late. Too late for anyone to still be here. Shit.

You should’ve locked up when the boys left earlier. Too late now.

Your pulse kicks up as you glance at the coat rack in the corner, grabbing the old baseball bat you keep propped against it. You stand, holding the bat tightly in both hands as you approach the door.

“Hello?” you call out, trying to sound calm but firm.

The figure standing in the doorway doesn’t move. They’re tall, dressed in a black coat, with a ball cap pulled low over their face. Your heart races. An intruder? Someone sent by the corporation to intimidate you?

“Don’t fuckin’ try anything,” you say sharply, raising the bat a little higher. “My… my boyfriend’s a cop.”

The figure finally shifts, lifting their hands slightly in surrender. “Relax,” they say, their voice low and familiar. Too familiar.

You freeze. That voice is impossible to mistake.

The man reaches up and tips his cap back, revealing a face that stops you in your tracks. Min Yoongi.

Your mind scrambles to catch up. It’s him. But not exactly how you remember. His eyes are even sharper, his jawline more defined. Tufts of bright hair peaks from his cap. He’s wrapped in a black coat that fits him perfectly, the snow-dusted collar somehow making him look like he’s stepped out of a k-drama.

“What…” Your grip loosens on the bat, and it clatters to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks into the faintest smile, the same one you’ve seen in every polaroid and Christmas card he’s sent over the years. “Hi,” he says simply, as if he hasn’t just materialized in your life after years of absence.

You stare at him, your thoughts a snowstorm. He looks good—too fuckin’ good, if you’re being honest. But he doesn’t belong here, standing in the doorway of your tiny office like he’s just another guy in town.

And yet, here he is.

(Flashback)

You’ve always known Min Yoongi. At least, that’s how it feels. He’s been part of your life for so long that imagining a version of it without him is impossible. 

Your parents had been neighbors, then friends, and you’d grown up sharing porches and bike rides and bowls of tteokguk on New Year’s morning. When you were younger, you’d bicker like siblings, but by the time you hit your teens, something had shifted—an unspoken understanding between you, like you’d been playing different roles all along and had finally settled into the right ones.

You’d always thought of Yoongi as yours, in some indefinable way. Not like a boyfriend, not like family, but something in between. 

It’s late one night when the bond between you is cemented forever.

You’re sixteen and walking home from a talent show at the community center. Snow falls in lazy flurries, clinging to your scarf and catching in Yoongi’s coat. The air smells crisp and clean, and the night feels like something out of a dream.

Yoongi’s carrying his guitar slung over his shoulder, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He’s quiet, still riding the high of his first-ever performance. You’d clapped so hard your palms were stinging by the end, and the memory makes you smile.

“You were good,” you tell him. “Not just ‘good for your first time,’ but, like… really good.”

He shrugs, but the tips of his nose turn red. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, pulling his beanie lower to hide his eyes. “Thanks.”

You laugh, a puff of white in the cold air. “I am truly honored to know such the nation’s next musical superstar.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. You know Yoongi well enough to recognize it for what it is—real pride, buried under layers of modesty.

“You should keep doing this. You’re going to be great at it.”

Yoongi stops, turning to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are soft. “You really think that?”

“Of course,” you say without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He glances down at the snow for a moment, his breath fogging the air. Then, quietly, he says, “If I’m serious about this, I’ll have to leave. I can’t do it here.”

The words settle heavily between you, and for a moment, you can’t find anything to say. You knew Yoongi wanted more, wanted a life bigger than Seollim Hollow could give him. But hearing him say it out loud feels different. More real. You swallow a lump in your throat.

“Not now,” he adds quickly, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. “Not yet. But someday.”

Your chest tightens, but you force a smile. “Well, when you’re famous, you better not forget me. I’ll show up in Seoul and embarrass you in front of all your fancy friends.”

That makes him laugh–his soundless shoulder chuckle you always love seeing. “Forget you? Nah, you’re too weird...”

“Promise me, then,” you say, holding out your pinky. “You’ll never forget the weird girl.”

He looks at your hand for a moment, then hooks his pinky around yours. His fingers are warm against the cold night. “Fine,” he says. “But only if you promise the same.”

“Deal.”

You’re about to let go, thinking that’s the end of it, when Yoongi glances up at the streetlamp above you. Hanging there, half-hidden by the snow, is a sprig of mistletoe.

He hesitates, his hand still holding yours, and looks at you with an unspoken question in his eyes.

Your pulse skips. For a moment, the rest of the world seems to fall away. Just you and him, standing under the mistletoe.

You nod, giving him your answer without a word.

He leans in slowly, his breath warm against your cold cheeks. His lips brush yours, soft and careful, and the moment is an ice sculpture, so fragile you’re afraid to move, afraid it might shatter.

When he pulls back, you’re both quiet, the snow falling around you like a curtain closing on a scene. Yoongi’s cheeks are pink, looking away but his lips hold the faintest of smiles.

He walks forward, glances back though he’s not quite meeting your eyes when he says, “You won’t forget that, will you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, biting your lip as you surge forward, bumping him as you walk ahead with a happiness you couldn’t quite contain.

And in that moment, you believe it. You believe you’ll carry that moment with you forever.

(End of Flashback)

Adulthood changes everything.

Yoongi leaves a few years after that night. Three to be exact. He tells you quietly one day, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cultural center’s music room, that he’s moving to Seoul to chase his dream to be a serious musician. You wish you could say you’re surprised, but you’re not. You knew he’d leave eventually. You’d prepared yourself for it.

Or at least you thought you had.

At first, you keep in touch. There are phone calls, texts, even a few visits during holidays. But slowly, inevitably, the gaps between those moments grow wider. Yoongi gets busier, and you try not to hold it against him. You hear whispers from mutual friends about how well he’s doing, about the producers and idols he’s working with. You’re proud of him. You always knew he’d be brilliant.

But sometimes, late at night, you feel the ache of his absence. You miss him. You miss the way he used to make you laugh when you were having a bad day, the way he’d quietly push his half-eaten snacks in your direction because he knew you’d forget to eat when you were stressed.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. You’ve learned that love—real love—isn’t just about wanting someone. It’s about being able to keep them. And Yoongi was never yours to keep.

Even as your lives drift apart, there’s one thing Yoongi never forgets. Every year, without fail, a postcard arrives in your mailbox a few days before Christmas.

They’re always simple—no long, heartfelt messages, just a quick note scrawled in his familiar handwriting. “Merry Christmas.” “Hope you’re doing well.” Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous, he’ll add, “I miss home.”

You keep every single one. They’re tucked in a small box under your bed, and every December, you take them out and read through them. It’s a ritual you never admit to anyone. The postcards remind you of a part of him you thought you’d lost, a thread of connection that still holds, no matter how frayed it might feel.

Sometimes you wonder what they mean to him—if he sends them out of obligation, out of nostalgia, or because he misses you in the same way you miss him. But you never ask.

You think of Yoongi as the one who got away. And you’ve made your peace with it. He deserves to chase his dreams, and you deserve a life with someone who won’t leave.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

“Fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

“I’m not stopping, princess.”

The grip the man has on your waist tightens as he drives his cock to your entrance, fast and deep. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the quiet of your room, matching the beat of your headboard banging against the wall. The neighbors are gonna hate you.

“C’mon, princess, cum with me” his hand reaches forward, parting your slick folds to rub your swollen clit furiously. Shit—

“I’m almost there…” you pant.

After a particularly hard thrust, you’re moaning, and he’s groaning, and you’re both coming at the same time, bliss washing over your body in waves.

You fall flat against your pillows as he pulls out and you sigh. You really needed that release.

Minutes later, Sgt. Jung Hoseok—Seollim Hollow’s most cheerful cop and your sometimes stress relief—grins at you from the other side of your bed like you’ve just handed him the best news of the year.

“Min Yoongi’s back in town? Wowwww…” he says, dragging the words out as he stretches his arms behind his head. His grin widens when you don’t answer right away. “Is that why you called me tonight? You never initiate. Is this some kind of nervous breakdown booty call?”

You throw a pillow at him, but Hoseok just catches it, laughing so hard his shoulders shake.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but the warmth in your cheeks gives you away.

When you were in your teens, Yoongi and Hoseok were the town’s favorite duo, the cute boys everyone couldn’t help but smile at. Hoseok was the one who dragged Yoongi into b-boying, claiming they’d be unstoppable if they combined Yoongi’s rhythm with his own moves. And even though Yoongi liked to grumble about how much he hated it, he was actually pretty good—not that he’d ever admit it. Still, you knew he was way more into playing instruments than throwing himself into flips and spins.

They were total opposites—Hoseok all sunshine and endless energy, Yoongi the moody, chill counterpart—but somehow, it worked. The town loved seeing them running through the streets, jumping off ledges, or randomly breaking out into a routine just for fun. They were just two boys with way too much chemistry and rhythm to keep to themselves.

But just like you and Yoongi, he and Hoseok also drifted apart when he moved to Seoul. Hoseok took the more practical approach, used the innate energy and strength he has to keep the community safe. He followed in the footsteps of his dad and became one of the neighborhood policemen.

“Your face…” He cackles, sitting up now, bare chest gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. “Did you just realize you’re still hung up on him after all these years?”

“Yah!!!” Your stomach flips, and you hate that he’s got you pegged so easily. You mutter a feeble, “Fuck you.”

“Already did,” he teases and you roll your eyes.

The “friends with benefits” part of your relationship started casually, almost accidentally early this year, and over the past months, it became something routine. A distraction. A comfort. Nothing more, and you both liked it that way.

Except right now, Hoseok looks entirely too smug, like he knows things you haven’t admitted to yourself.

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish, and Hoseok’s sharp eyes catch it instantly. He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well…” You pick at a loose thread on the blanket, avoiding his gaze. “I might have said something… dumb when I saw him.”

“Define dumb.”

Your cheeks burn. “I told him my boyfriend’s a cop.”

Hoseok blinks. Then he bursts out laughing, so loud and sudden it startles you. “Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “You mean me? You told Yoongi I’m your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say it was you!” you snap, throwing another pillow at him. “I just panicked, okay? He showed up out of nowhere, and I thought he was gonna murder me!”

“Yah... He’s gonna figure it out, you know. You think he’s stupid?”

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I don’t know, Hoseok! I was already having a bad day.”

That shuts him up for a second. Hoseok straightens, his laughter softening into something more thoughtful. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re really messed up over this, huh?”

“No, I’m not—”

“Can’t wait to run into him soon. See how the big-shot producer’s doing,” he says.

You sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I was thinking about asking him to help with the benefit concert, actually.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to ask your childhood best friend—who also happens to be the guy you’ve been quietly pining for since forever—to save the town’s cultural center with some grand Christmas concert?” 

“You roll your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” he says, dragging the word out with all the disbelief he can muster. “Honestly, it sounds like the plot of a good story, and I can’t wait to read it.”

“Hoseok,” you warn, but he just chuckles, standing up and grabbing his clothes from the floor.

“Look,” he says, tugging on his jeans, “if you think you want to start something with Yoongi—like, really start something—I’m cool with calling this,” he gestures between the two of you, “off. No hard feelings. I’m not about to stand in the way of a Christmas miracle or whatever.”

You gape at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m serious,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head.

You shake your head, trying to play it off. “I’m not–Yoongi’s just… probably in between things. He’ll be gone again before New Year’s. I’m not counting on anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“A thousand per cent.”

“Alright,” Hoseok shrugs. “Knew you couldn’t last a week without hopping on my dick anyway…”

“Boy! If you don’t–” you throw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face.

That makes him laugh again, his bright, warm laughter filling the room as he pulls on his jacket. “Aight, I’m just playing,” he says, still chuckling, but his tone is lighter now. “I’m out. But call me if you need me.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you lean back against your pillows, staring at the ceiling. You know Hoseok means well, but he doesn’t get it. Yoongi was never meant to stay. He made that clear years ago, and you’ve made your peace with it. You’re not about to let yourself hope for anything more. Not this time.

Why couldn’t you just fall in love with someone like Hoseok?

The next time you see Yoongi, he looks like he’s stepped straight out of some idol photofolio.

It’s mid-morning, and you’re walking toward the café on Main Street when you spot him across the square. Shelby, the dog his mom got years ago, is tugging at her leash, bounding through the snow while Yoongi trails behind her, americano in hand. His orange hair glows against the overcast sky, a cobalt jacket pulling his frame together like he’s stepped out of an editorial.

He looks striking. Expensive. Entirely out of place in Seollim Hollow.

You don’t realize your feet are moving until you’re halfway across the street. “Yoongi!”

He looks up, pausing mid-sip of his coffee, and tilts his head slightly when he sees you. Shelby stops sniffing a patch of snow and wags her tail furiously at the attention.

“Hi Shelby!” You say, scratching the back of her ear for a few seconds before turning to the cat-like man who was looking at you amusedly. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.”

You hum, pouting as you try to string together the words you wanted to say.

His lips form a straight line, the edges of his mouth bracketing his awkward smile.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you say, willing your voice to steady. 

Yoongi’s brow lifts slightly. “What about?”

“You’re a music producer, right?��

He shrugs, “Why? What do you need…”

So you tell him your predicament. How some greedy, low-life motherfuckers want to tear down the cultural center. (His eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline when you say this, but you’re just getting warmed up.)

“Like, who even does that?” you rant. “Only the worst kind of people. The type who steal candy from babies, kick dogs—not you Shelby girl—and probably thinks pizza tastes good with pickles.” You pause, pointing at him for emphasis. “And not in the fun, quirky way either. Like, sociopath level.”

Yoongi blinks at you, clearly trying to process your spiraling rage. “So… you’re upset.”

“Fuck yeah I’m upset!” you snap, gesturing wildly. “They’re trying to destroy something important! For what? To build another strip mall no one’s going to shop at because Amazon exists? It’s evil. Straight-up Squid Games territory.”

“Is that what they’re doing with it?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I don’t care. They’re all the same capitalist motherfuckers in my book. But they’re not taking the beating heart of this town. Over my dead body.”

At this, Yoongi just nods slowly, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Remind me never to cross you.”

You further explain your ideas to save the town. But where he comes in is the benefit concert. You tell him you need his help in song arrangements, coordinating and coaching the performances, even performing himself, if he’s willing. You’re careful to manage your tone, to make it sound less desperate than it is. He listens, his face unreadable, but he’s probably qualifying if he can actually help you, or maybe if he even wants to.

“All the proceeds are going toward reclaiming the cultural center,” you say firmly. “If we hit our goal, we can match the corporation’s offer and keep it from being sold.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Shelby, apparently bored, starts sniffing his shoes. “I can help,” he says finally.

Your chest loosens with relief. “Seriously?”

He shrugs, lips twitching upward. “Yeah. But you’ll owe me a drink. Or dinner. Something.”

“I can do that.”

His smirk grows faintly. “So… you want me to perform too, or just help with arrangements?”

“You’d perform?”

“Depends.” He tilts his head. “How desperate are you?”

“Enough to go down on my knees.” 

His eyes are like saucers, but he keeps the rest of his face neutral. “Mm. Noted.”

Suddenly you realize what your words could’ve meant and your nervous laughter spills out before you can stop it. “I just meant I’m not too proud to beg.”

“Again, noted.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t think you meant anything else,” he tells you, although you can tell he’s lying by the way he’s poking the inside of his cheeks with his tongue.

Just as you’re wrapping up the conversation, Yoongi glances at you, his voice shifting slightly. “Oh, I ran into your boyfriend earlier…”

You tilt your head dumbly.

“Hob-ah.”

Oh shit. Your stomach drops. “Ah, Hoseok. My boyfriend…” you quickly remember the lie, and you recover, kinda. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone as casual as ever. “We ran into each other at the bakery. He was picking up red bean buns for his appa.”

You nod, throat dry.

Yoongi hums, sipping his coffee. “Guess nice guys really do get the girl in the end.”

Before you can even process what he just said, you hear the unmistakable voice of his eomma from across the street.

“Well,” he says, adjusting Shelby’s leash. “See ya.”

He lingers for a beat, then gives a small wave before turning to walk away. 

You stand frozen, Yoongi’s words looping through your head. You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. A pang of bitterness settles in your gut. Yoongi’s wrong. The type of guys that get the girl? The ones who stay.

When Yoongi shows up at your office the following Monday, and it takes everything in you not to gape like an idiot.

He’s wearing a black turtleneck that fits him too well, sharp and effortless in a way that makes him look untouchable. He’s leaning against your doorframe like he has nowhere else to be, a small notebook tucked under his arm, which looks just like the notebook he used to scribble lyrics in back when you were teenagers.

“You’re early,” you say, as you settle your bag on your desk.

“Well, you’re the one running the show. Figured I’d want to stay on your good side.”

You roll your eyes, “Sit. I’ll get you up to speed. And Yoongi, you’re working pro bono, you’re already on my good side.”

He grins slightly, scratching his nose as he shakes his head. It’s the same mannerism he’s had when you were young, when he’s just a tad embarrassed. You try not to be too endeared even though it’s virtually impossible.

You walk him through your plans for the benefit concert, pointing out the lineup you’ve pulled together so far. Yoongi listens quietly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of your desk as you speak.

“You’re really pulling this together,” he observes.

“It’s been a group effort. You should meet the maknaes, they’re the reason everything is moving so swiftly,” you say, brushing it off. “But we’re still short of a showstopper. Someone who’ll get the town buzzing.”

Yoong nods his head. “If you want I can make some phone calls, see who I can rope in from my contacts.”

“You’d do that to save the center?”

“Yeah, I’d do it for you,” he nods. “And the town.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. “Thank you. I owe you.”

He exhales softly and leans back in his chair. “I already told you, just buy me dinner once and we’ll call it even.”

You let the silence fester for a bit, but curiosity got the best of you.

“Why are you here anyway?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but you kind of appeared like some apparition all of a sudden.”

Yoongi looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s debating whether to tell you the truth. Then he shrugs, eyes dropping to his notebook. “I guess I was just missing home. And eomma’s been on my case about coming back for the holidays this year, so…”

You don’t understand why he looks sus. His answer is casual, but unconvincing. You still don’t know if you’re buying it.

“Okay,” you say, because pressing him won’t get you anywhere. But as you move on to the next topic, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more he’s not telling you.

“It’s funny,” he says casually, looking around the cultural center. “I didn’t think this place would look as well as it does.”

You give him a funny look. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought it’d be more… decrepit? It’s been here since we were young.”

“You’d be surprised what this town can do when it comes together. The Kim’s donated paint one year, even did all the labor. We did a fundraiser to get new musical equipment. The maknaes did all the regrouting and retiling in the bathrooms and the pantry.”

“You’re amazing.”

“It’s all them,” you say, kicking your shoe lightly on the carpeted floor.

Yoongi smirks, “you don’t know the effect you have on people, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flush.

“They may have done the brunt work, but you’re the leader that inspired them to do it,” he says, with the confidence of someone who’s known you all his life. Even if he did disappear for years. “It’s not easy keeping things alive.”

Your heart stops for a second at his words. You know he’s just talking about the center. He’s not talking about anything else. Certainly not his unspoken feelings towards you that were obviously left in the past. So you manage a curt, “Thanks, Yoongi.”

When he comes over the next day, he’s all business. He steps into your office with his notebook and a couple of sheets of paper, saying he has ideas for the lineup.

You’re expecting something good, but what he shows you takes your breath away.

“These arrangements are perfect,” you say, flipping through the pages he’s handed you. It’s been years since you’ve seen his work up close, but the brilliance of it still stuns you. “You’re still… incredible at this, Yoongi.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are faintly pink, and the sight tugs at something deep in your chest.

“And this…” You pause at the last page. “What’s this song?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he nods toward the piano in the corner of the room. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

You hesitate, your heart already pounding, but you follow him. He sits down on the bench, and without a word, he gestures for you to sit next to him. The space is too small. Your shoulder brushes his, and you suddenly feel nineteen again. The last time you sat beside each other in this very bench, in this very room, is still ingrained in your memory. You wonder if he even remembers.

Yoongi’s fingers press against the keys, and the first notes ring out softly, reverently. The melody is mesmerizing, weaving through the room like smoke curling through the air. You watch his hands—elegant and sure and effortless. 

And somewhere between the rise and fall of the music, you can’t stop yourself from still wondering: Why did he leave? Why did he let so much time pass without a word? And why, now that he’s back, does it feel like you can’t breathe when he’s near?

The song ends too soon, the last note lingering in the air as Yoongi turns to you. He catches you staring, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, unable to look away. “I– I don’t know.”

His gaze drops to your lips, staying there for just a moment too long. And, wait–is he leaning just a little closer?

You think he’s going to kiss you. You want him to kiss you.

But then Yoongi pulls back slightly, his expression shifting. “Hoseok’s probably waiting for you at home.”

The words douse the warmth in you like a bucket of ice cold water.

Your stomach drops, and you can’t stop the truth from falling between your lips, “No, he’s not.”

Yoongi nods once, his face unreadable again as he stands. “Still, I should go.”

You don’t stop him. You can’t. Because you have to remind yourself, he’s not here for you. You don’t even know if he wants to stay or if you could ever ask him that. If your past is an indication, Yoongi was never yours to keep and you were never enough to make him stay.

When the door closes behind him, you’re left sitting at the piano bench alone, your heart still racing and your thoughts an absolute mess.

(Flashback)

It had been a quiet winter evening, the kind of cold that numbed your cheeks and made your breath fog up in front of you. The cultural center was nearly empty, save for you and Yoongi, tucked away in the rec room where he was hunched over an old piano. The air smelled faintly of dust and wood polish, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room.

Yoongi’s fingers moved over the keys with absent precision, but the music wasn’t soft tonight. There was tension in the notes—sharp and uneven, like his thoughts were spilling out of him one chord at a time. You watched from the doorway, arms crossed, the anger in your chest building until it felt like you might burst.

“So that’s it?” you blurted out suddenly, your voice loud in the silence. “You’re just leaving?”

Yoongi’s hands stilled immediately, the final note ringing harsh and hollow before fading out. He looked up, frowning. “You knew I was leaving.”

“You didn’t say it was this soon.”

He sighed, turning back to the keys, playing a few softer notes now—like he was trying to calm both the piano and himself. “You make it sound like I’m never coming back.”

“Are you?” You stepped into the room, the accusation sharp in your tone. “Because it sure feels like you’re running, Yoongi. From this place. From… everything.”

He turned to face you fully then, his brows drawn together. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are!” The words came out louder than you’d intended, and Yoongi blinked, surprised at your volume. But you didn’t stop. “You’re leaving your mom, leaving me—all so you can go chase some stupid dream in the city.”

Yoongi flinched at that, his expression darkening. “It’s not stupid.”

“It feels stupid,” you shot back, your voice trembling now. “What’s wrong with staying here? With making a life here? ”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite read. “For you, maybe. But not for me.”

The words hit like a slap. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Yoongi wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter but just as cutting. “You’ve never wanted to leave this place. You don’t need to look elsewhere to give your family a chance at a better life. You’re happy here, stuck in this tiny town where nothing ever changes. But that’s not me. I can’t stay.”

“Why not?” you asked, the question breaking out of you like a plea.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. “Because I want more, okay? I want… I don’t know. I wanna be rich, I wanna be me, I wanna be something.”

“And what am I?” you whispered, the words barely audible. “Am I nothing?”

Yoongi froze, his expression faltering for the first time. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s what it feels like,” you said, your voice breaking as you turned away from him. “You make it sound like staying here means I’m such a loser. Like I’m not enough.”

“That’s not—”

“No.” You spun back to face him, tears pricking at your eyes. “Just go, Yoongi. Go to Seoul. Go be something, like you keep saying. I hope it’s worth it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You waited for him to say something—anything—that might fix the jagged edges of the fight, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his face unreadable, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

That night, you toss and turn in your sheets, the ache in your chest refusing to let you sleep. The silence of the room feels heavy, the kind that makes every sound louder—the creak of the floor, the rustle of your blanket.

Then there’s a knock. A soft, deliberate rap on your window.

You sit up, heart already pounding, and there he is. His silhouette is familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten, hunching over the windowsill before he lands on your carpet with a dull thud.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, rolling on your bed to face away from him, hoping the distance might make it easier to breathe.

“I can’t go like this,” he says.

“It’s fine,” you reply quickly, your voice quieter than you meant.

“The hell it is.”

You hear the shuffle of fabric as something—probably his coat—falls to the floor. And then the mattress dips under his weight, and before you can steel yourself, warmth blooms behind you. His arms slide around you, pulling you against him with a kind of confidence that feels too natural for something you’ve never done before.

“What are you doing, Yoongi?” Your voice shakes, and you hate how it betrays you, how it cracks under the weight of the tears threatening to spill.

“Shh…” he murmurs, tucking you closer to him, his forehead pressing against the back of your head. “Don’t cry.”

Your breath hitches, and you choke out, “I hate you.” It’s a lie, of course, but your heart pounds against your chest, calling you out for it anyway.

Yoongi hums, his breath warm against your neck, and the sound is a smirk made audible. “No, you don’t.”

You roll over to face him, your vision blurry now. His face is close, closer than it’s been in years, and the glassiness of his eyes mirrors your own. There’s a sadness there, deep and heavy, that he doesn’t say out loud but you can feel pressing against you like a second heartbeat.

“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I did,” you whisper, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Before you can process what’s happening, Yoongi leans forward and kisses it away, his lips brushing your skin so softly it makes you shiver. He pulls back, searching your face.

“Is it okay if I…” He trails off, the question hanging in the air.

You know the question. You answer without words, leaning in and closing the gap between you. Your lips slot against his, and it’s slow at first but it deepens quickly, your fingers tangling in his hair, his hands pulling you closer like you’re the one who’s skipping town.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. But he doesn’t stay still for long—his hands find your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt until they rest just beneath your ribs. His touch is warm, and your breath stutters in response.

“I want you,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his voice rough when he says, “Me too, baby. I want you so bad.”

The shirt is gone before you know it, leaving you exposed to the cool air, but the warmth of Yoongi’s touch quickly erases the chill. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again he cups the underside of your breast and smooths a calloused thumb over a nipple. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Off,” you mumble against his mouth, tugging at his sweater. He obliges, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this—bare, unguarded.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

When he sinks into you that night, it feels like your world is spinning off its axis. The fullness, the warmth, the way his body feels against yours—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes you feel complete. His taste, his softness, his scent, you’re drowning in everything Yoongi and you’re not sure you want to resurface.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out, air sucked out of your lungs as he bottoms out.

“Shit,” he grunts, voice raw as he stares at the area where your bodies have connected. “You feel so good.”

“Baby…” you test the name on your lips, wishing this wasn’t the first, and likely last. You plant your hands on his shoulders. “Go slow.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, and he does—slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every moment, every sound, every gasp, every single feeling.

It’s a little painful at first, the stretch of his cock against your walls pulls a soft whimper from your lips. Yoongi notices immediately—of course he does. His fingers slide gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward him as his mouth finds yours. He kisses you slowly, tongue sweeping against yours in a way that steals your focus, drowning out every inconsequential ache.

Soon, there is nothing else but bliss. Pleasure has bloomed full force as he fucks into you.

His mouth moves to your neck, teeth sharp as he clamps down your soft skin, no doubt wanting to leave his mark. It’s a little cruel, you would think days after when a Yoongi-shaped hole suddenly forms in your heart, but tonight, you revel in the fact that he wants to claim you as his.

“Baby,” you plead. God, why do you sound so desperate?

Something builds and builds inside you, threatening to explode and you’re afraid, so fucking terrified that you won’t find every single piece of yourself when you shatter.

“Yoongi…” you call his name again, the storm in you gaining strength, even though the pace of his thrusts are unchanged.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks you half-heartedly, busy pushing your tits upward to capture a nipple in his mouth and sucking gently.

“Ahh, shit.” That’s nice. You love it but you need more. “Can you go faster?”

“Okay, yeah,” he adjusts his stance, slipping out of you momentarily, and you feel your juices seeping out of your cunt and onto your sheets. “Can you maybe raise your leg higher?”

You do so, holding the back of your knees, opening up to him wide and wanton, shame out the door and into the flurry of snow outside.

He lines himself up on your slick entrance, this time slipping straight inside without much resistance. He thrusts again, hitting you deeper and better at this angle.

Your eyes meet as he bucks his hips into you over and over. Your eyelids grow heavier with every passing second, but you fight to keep them open, desperate to hold onto this moment. You want to memorize him—every detail, every fleeting movement. The way his hair falls, framing those sharp, feline eyes that hold something soft beneath their intensity. The way his pink, pillowy lips part slightly, his sinful tongue skimming the corner of his mouth. He looks tender yet determined, his focus unwavering as he works to make this good for you. There’s a gentleness to it, a care that leaves your chest aching even as your body melts under his touch.

His hand makes its way down to where your sweaty bodies are linked, thumb searching your clit against your slippery folds. Has he done this before? Because how can he know that the wiggle of his single digit is enough for you to lose your goddamn mind. You want to scream, at the risk of getting caught by your eomma, but you can’t care about that right now. The pads of his thumb brushes over you, pulling a gasp from your lips as your senses blur, overwhelmed by him—his touch, his heat, the way he seems to know exactly how to unravel you.

“Take it, baby,” he urges, voices as reverent as his every movement.

Soon you’re keening at the pressure on your nub and the friction against your inner walls. Your pleasure crests without warning, body arching towards him as you ride out your orgasm.

“God you’re so tight, shit I’m about to—“

A few sloppy thrusts, a stutter in his breath and a stretched out groan. You close your eyes, every feeling increasing in intensity, and suddenly you’re empty, you hear a grunt, and his warm cum spills on your pussy lips, sliding towards your ass.

It’s messy. He’s sweaty. You’re spent.

The feeling is unfamiliar, the sensations coursing through your body strangely new. Yet, it’s the whirlwind of jumbled thoughts in your mind that unsettles you the most.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head resting against his chest. The weight of the moment feels too much, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out: “I wish I could keep you.”

Yoongi tenses, his hand coming up to rest against your back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he presses a kiss against your hair. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The next morning, you woke to find that Yoongi was gone.

It wasn’t until two days later, when you finally found the courage to sit at the piano in the rec room, that you found the note. It was tucked carefully inside the piano bench, folded neatly and written in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting: Don’t forget.

As if you could. He’s made it impossible not to.

(End of Flashback)

It starts with a phone call from your mom. “Yang-hee invited us over for dinner tonight. Isn’t that nice?”

“Huh?”

“Dinner with Yang-hee and Yoongi,” she says, unbothered by your fake disinterest. “You’re coming too, obviously. It’s been years since we’ve all sat down together, and you know how Yang-hee is. She’s been so excited her son’s back.”

It’s not like you can say no, so you don’t.

Later that evening, you find yourself standing on the porch of the Min’s, a whole casserole of your mom’s homemade japchae in your hands. 

It’s not the same house. It’s still built on the same street, but it’s completely renovated, extended, pimped the hell out. The spoils of Yoongi’s successful career are definitely visible in the way their mansion (I guess you can’t call it a bungalow anymore) stands proud.

Yoongi opens the wide wooden door, dressed in a festive green and red Christmas sweater and white pants. His orange hair is a little messy, and he greets you with that cocky little smirk as if he doesn’t have a goofy Santa Claus headband perched on top of this head.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N.” he turns to your mom, who gives him her sweetest smile. She’s always really loved him.

“How have you been, Yoongi my dear?”

“I’m doing well. You’re looking even younger than when I last saw you.”

He’s so full of shit. But your mom is none the wiser as she breezes past you both with a giggle, already chatting animatedly with Yoongi’s mother, leaving you standing in the doorway with him.

“You came,” he says, finally taking the casserole from you.

“Of course I came,” you shoot back, trying to sound unaffected. “Consider this the dinner I owe you.”

He shakes his head, “Nice try.”

“Nice headband.”

“Hoseok not coming?” he asks a little too casually as he leads you to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know the invitation was extended to him.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think eomma will mind.” Then he pauses, looking at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I–umm. It’s nice to have you here.”

It’s so simple and yet hits like a punch to the gut. 

Dinner was sublime. The table is covered in a festive red cloth, tiny gold stars scattered across its surface. Platters of food crowd every inch—kimchi stew steaming in a clay pot, neatly sliced rolls of gimbap, and bowls of your eomma’s japchae glistening with sesame oil. A plate of sugar-dusted cookies sits at the center, shaped like Christmas trees and snowflakes. But the best part is that it feels like old times—full of laughter, familiar stories, and his mother fussing over both you and Yoongi. Your mom talks about the concert, and you catch Yoongi listening quietly, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. There’s something grounding about being here, the four of you around the table, like no time has passed at all.

After dinner, Yoongi’s mom insists on showing your mom something in the kitchen, leaving you alone with him. 

“You still remember where my room is?” he asks behind his mug of eggnog.

“Please.” You push your chair backwards, standing up. “I practically lived here when we were kids.”

So his old room hasn’t changed much. Despite the makeover from outside, the expansion of the living room and dining areas, you guess Yoongi had asked his eomma to preserve this room like a little time capsule of sorts. The walls are still plastered with faded hip hop posters, plus an SNSD one that made you unreasonably jealous way back when. 

You point to it with a laugh. “What was your favorite line from that song?”

“Listen, boy! My first love story!” he replies without missing a beat and you both erupt into giggles.

Your eyes dart around a bit more, and you find scribbles from years ago. On the far corner, your handwriting is etched faintly into the paint, and you feel a pang of nostalgia. You step closer, brushing your fingertips over your names and the date. It was the night of your first kiss.

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, soft and steady. “Vandal.”

“You let me,” you try for casual, though your throat feels oddly tight at the memory. “I didn’t think you’d still have it here.”

He doesn’t answer, and you turn, glancing at the study desk and there’s the old notebook you gave him for his seventeenth birthday. The one you’d filled with doodles and little prompts, telling him to write music “so the world would hear it.”

“You kept this, too?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Yoongi shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You gave it to me. Why wouldn’t I?”

Something about that makes your chest ache. You shake it off quickly, turning back to him with a small grin.

Later, the two of you end up on the porch, mugs of whisky-spiked eggnog between you, your breath clouding the cold air. You’re both a little tipsy, maybe drunk even, the edges of this nostalgic night already fuzzy around the edges.

You tilt your head toward him. “Yoongi-yah… you got a girlfriend back home?”

Yoongi glances at you, one eyebrow raised. “No.”

You’re surprised by the sharp flicker of relief in your chest. You try to play it off, swirling the cup in your hands. “Oh? Why not?”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, before he finally says, “Because the girl I wanted didn’t wait for me.”

Your breath catches as he looks straight into your soul. You pull your sweater tighter against your frame. “Yoongi. You can’t say shit like that,” you admonish him, but your voice doesn’t sound as strong as you want it to. 

He says nothing, just watches you with that quiet intensity that always intrigued you. Then, slowly, he tips his chin upward.

You follow his gaze, your stomach dropping when you see it: a sprig of mistletoe dangling above you, its leaves swaying gently in the breeze. He knows it’s there—hell, he may have been the one to hang it.

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Why would he even—

Yoongi grins faintly, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean closer, doesn’t close the gap. He just lets the moment hang there, full of unsaid words and unanswered questions.

“What am I going to do with you…” you shake your head, admonishing him again.

“Honestly, anything you want…” He shrugs, his smirk softening into something else. “Goodnight,” he says quietly, standing up and stepping back inside the house, leaving you sitting on the porch with your thoughts spinning and your heart completely out of control.

That night, you lie in bed staring at your phone, your interactions looping in your mind.

You don’t know what you’re doing when you pull up Hoseok’s contact, but the text you send is short and simple:

You: Can we talk?

It doesn’t take long for Hoseok to call back. You swipe to answer it.

“You finally breaking up with me?” he asks with a giggle.

You groan, “Stop.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s been fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

“Aw, quit the bullshit.” 

“It’s true!” he claims, laughing slightly. “Tell him if he doesn’t take care of you, I can literally throw his ass in the slammer. Make up some compounded traffic violation or whatever...”

You can’t help but laugh, even as your stomach twists uncomfortably.

“You’re insane,” you tell him, but you know Hoseok’s words will stay with you.

Because now you’re left with no more distractions. No more easy answers. Just the weight of Yoongi’s return and the question you’re not ready to ask yourself: what if this is finally your time?

You don’t see it happen, not all at once.

There’s no single moment where you look at Min Yoongi and realize you’re slipping back into something that feels alarmingly like love—just tiny, inconsequential moments strung together like fairy lights on the cultural center’s drafty ceiling.

Yoongi spending hours at the piano, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys as the children’s choir sings, while you sneak glances at him.

Yoongi, elbow-deep in sheet music, his sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his eyes as he concentrates.

Yoongi joking around with the maknaes like they’ve known each other all their lives.

Yoongi handing you an americano every afternoon like clockwork, his only explanation being, “You’re too grumpy without caffeine.”

It’s nothing, really. Nothing you can’t brush off.

Except when the three stooges notice and start taunting you relentlessly.

“The maknaes won’t stop teasing me,” you tell him one afternoon, watching as he scribbles something onto his notebook. “Jungkook especially.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “About what?”

“About you,” you say, huffing dramatically, though your heart thuds a little at admitting it out loud. “They think you—” 

Now Yoongi glances up, dark eyes fixing on you. “I what?”

You wave a hand vaguely. “You look at me.”

Yoongi blinks, clearly holding back a smirk. “I look at you?”

“They make it sound like you’re composing an epic romance ballad in your head every time you glance my way,” you say, curious to see how he’d react.

“Hmm.” Yoongi taps his pen against his notebook. His gaze doesn’t waver. “And what if I am?”

You freeze, caught entirely off guard. “You’re not.”

He shrugs lightly, looking back at his notes. “If you say so.”

And just like that, the conversation ends, but you’re left staring at the back of his head like an idiot.

You’re closing up the center after a particularly grueling rehearsal when you hear a voice in the piano room. It's Yoongi.

You pause just outside the door, catching the tail end of his conversation. His voice is low, clipped. “I already told you—it’s not that simple. Just… hold off until I figure it out, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then he sighs, frustrated. “Yes. I’ll take care of it. Don’t contact them directly.”

Before you can process the tone of his voice, he spots you in the doorway and quickly ends the call, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Everything okay?” he asks, his expression neutral. But something in his eyes feels off.

“Hey,” you say finally, stepping into the room. “You hungry?” The words are out before you can stop them. 

“A little.”

“I still owe you dinner,” you remind him. “You want to come over?”

For a moment, Yoongi just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

At your place, you keep it simple. You’re too tired for anything elaborate, so you throw together a few bowls of rice, leftover stew, wagyu cubes you tossed in a pan, and whatever banchan you can find in your fridge. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind—he sits at your table with his sleeves rolled up, his beer bottle half-empty, watching you with a faint smile as you fuss over the food, refilling his plate once in a while.

“You don’t have to do all that,” he says. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t get spoiled,” you shoot back, setting a bowl in front of him. “This is a one-time thing.”

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

Dinner feels like something you’ve once yearned for especially during the first few years after he left. You talk about little things—how rehearsals are going, Shelby’s stubborn refusal to follow him anywhere, the little quirks of your team. Yoongi listens more than he talks, but when he speaks, it’s thoughtful, like he’s been holding the words in until they’re worth saying.

At some point, you find yourself finally telling him about the lie you blurted out the day he showed up.

“So you remember when I told you my boyfriend was a cop?” you say, poking at your rice with your chopsticks.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

“Well…” You hesitate. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why? Didn’t realize you were dating Hoseok.”

“I’m not!” you say quickly. “I mean… Hoseok and I are… friends. But he’s not my boyfriend.”

“What’s with the pause?”

Your cheeks are on fire. You should have just kept it smooth, but your poker face is crap.

“Oooh Hoseok-ie, huh?” Yoongi’s expression is full of mischief, with a playful tone as he teases you. 

You groan, covering your face. “We just, like to keep each other company, sometimes. But not anymore. It’s over. So over.”

His eyes narrow on you, a smirk on his lips. “Okay.” He says.

You glance up, flustered. “Okay?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t push further. Instead, he studies you for a long moment, his smile softening. “I’m glad you’re not with Hoseok,” he says simply.

The words hit harder than they should. You look down at your bowl, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

The night you hit your first funding goal feels electric. Outside, the snow falls softly, blanketing the world in white, while the glow of Christmas lights spills through the frosted windows of the cultural center. Inside, the air hums with celebration, the kind of unrestrained joy that feels almost too big for the room.

The office is a whirlwind of holiday chaos. Jimin’s sporting a Santa hat, twirling like a figure skater in the middle of the room. Taehyung is wrapped in tinsel like a human Christmas tree, tossing candy canes to whoever will catch them. “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blares from the speakers, almost drowned out by the sound of laughter echoing through the halls. The air smells faintly of peppermint, hot chocolate, and the faint spice of cinnamon—Taehyung’s candy stash has clearly been raided, by Jungkook.

You check your laptop one last time, and there it is: the donation total, glaring on the screen like a miracle. The sight makes your stomach flip in disbelief and relief.

“Do you know what this means?” you yell, spinning in circles as Jimin grabs your hand and cheers beside you. “We might actually do this. We might actually save the center!”

“FUCK CAPITALISM!” Taehyung hollers from the corner, pumping his fist in the air, and you can’t help but laugh.

“We’re halfway there!” you add breathlessly, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “This is insane.”

Jungkook whoops in victory, charging across the room and tackling you and Jimin into a clumsy, giggling group hug.

Amidst the chaos, your gaze drifts toward the far end of the room. Yoongi stands by the piano, arms crossed as he leans against it, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say a word, but the way his eyes meet yours sends warmth spreading through your chest, as if he’s silently celebrating right along with you.

“Be right back,” you say, slipping away from the others before you can think better of it.

Yoongi doesn’t move as you approach, but his smile lingers. “You’re happy.”

“Of course I’m happy,” you say, unable to keep the grin off your face. “We might actually do this, Yoongi.”

“I always believed in you,” he replies softly.

Before you know what you’re doing, you close the gap between you and throw your arms around him. “This is amazing!”

Yoongi lets out a startled huff of air as you collide into him, his hands instinctively finding your waist to steady you. “Careful,” he says.

Except, suddenly, you’re both off balance, and the next thing you know, you’re falling—collapsing together in an awkward heap on the office floor.

“Oh my God,” you groan, sprawled half on top of him. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi blinks up at you, his expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Fuuuuuck. My back.”

“I’m sorry–shit!” You scramble to sit up, but his hands tighten gently at your waist, holding you in place.

“Don’t move,” he says softly, eyes just opening from a grimace.

Your breath catches. The laughter dies in your throat as you realize how close you are—close enough to see the faint flush at the tips of his ears, the way his dark feline eyes are fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Yoongi…”

You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you don’t get the chance to figure it out. Because suddenly, he leans up, closing the distance, and kisses you.

It’s a simple peck at first—chaste, like he’s testing if you’d retreat. But you don’t.

He catches the pout on your lips and smirks. This time, he fixes his grip on your waist, rolls you onto your back, positioning himself above you.

Before you can react, his lips are on yours again, slotting against your plush seamlessly like it belongs there. You kiss him back, of course you do, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as the world narrows to just this—him and you.

You don’t exactly remember the feeling when you kissed for the first time in the snow-covered streets or the second in your childhood bedroom, but this third time...

It’s a feeling you don’t want to end—

But, out of nowhere, you hear unmistakable sounds of whoops and hollers and when you peel your eyes open, confetti rains down on both of you.

“What the—” you gasp, jerking back as colored paper sticks to your hair and shoulders.

Above you, the maknaes are causing a ruckus, Jungkook clutching an actual pail (like where did that even come from?), while Jimin looks dramatically at the two of you on the floor, wiping pretend tears.

Suddenly, piano music is added to the mix as Taehyung plays some Christmassy tune you can’t remember the title of because there’s just so much shit happening all at once.

You glare at them. “Yah! Get out of here! You’re ruining the moment!”

But they’re not listening, clearly high off the adrenaline from the funding milestone, but also might just be high in general, because they’re already breaking into exaggerated oohs and ahhs, chanting, “Hyung and noona sitting in a tree—”

Yoongi, to his credit, hasn’t moved. He’s still on the floor, his face redder than the poinsettias decorating the cultural center, but his eyes are locked on you. He’s embarrassed—mortified, even—but there’s a quiet determination in the way he looks at you, like nothing could shake him now.

“Jungkook-ah, Jimin-ah, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi roll calls, his voice low but firm.

The maknaes pause, mid-tease, blinking at him.

“Leave.”

Jimin smirks, nudging Jungkook. “Should we?”

Jungkook shrugs dramatically. “I mean, they’re not even getting up…”

Taehyung’s head appears between the two, his arms resting on each of their shoulders. “I think–”

You point toward the door, scowling. “GO.”

With one last round of laughter, they finally fuck off.

The silence settles quickly after they’re gone, and for a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. You glance back at Yoongi, honestly not knowing what to expect.

He’s gnawing at his lip. You reach up and touch your finger on his mouth, shaking your head so he releases his plush that’s gone red from his teeth pulling on the skin.

Finally, he speaks: “Go out with me.”

Your heart stutters, the words catching you off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” he tilts his head. “Say yes.”

You stare at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, and there’s only one correct answer to give.

“Yes,” you whisper, your lips curving into a shy smile. “Okay.”

Yoongi exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you can’t help but notice the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Well,” you say, brushing confetti off his sweater, “The maknaes were right after all.”

“Don’t even give those fuckers any credit right now.” He chuckles softly, his hand slipping into yours. “They’re lucky I didn’t throw that pail at them.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there on the confetti-strewn floor, your hands intertwined, and it feels like this is your second chance to get it right after everything that fell apart before.

Your Christmas encore.

:)

A/N: Happy holidays, Yoongi's ho ho hos! How did we like this first part???

Coming in Part 2: - Why did Yoongi really come back to town? - Is Hoseok as nonchalant about calling off the arrangement as he seems?

We’ll find out soon!!! See you in the comments.

As always, thank you for reading this, you lovely, beautiful human xo Comments and Reblogs are always loved and appreciated. 🙂

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@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

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@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm @angellekookie

[bodyswap005]

"Borrowed Bodies, Reunited Lives".

Dylan’s Perspective:

I always thought a cruise vacation would be perfect: the sun, the sea, and the chance to disconnect from everything. But when your only travel companions are your parents, who can barely spend a minute together without arguing, the idea loses its charm. So, when my parents announced we’d be spending the holidays sailing to Miami, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and frustration.

They are Ethan and Susan, the perfect representation of a marriage that has lost its way. They argue about everything, from which channel to watch on TV to how to park the car. They never agree, and being in the middle of their endless arguments is a place I’d rather not be. That’s why the idea of spending weeks locked on a ship with them seemed more like a punishment than a break.

If only I could bring Alex and Joshua, my best friends from the gym, things would be different. They’re like my older brothers, always with advice, jokes, and that camaraderie that only forms between those who share long training sessions and complaints about the same exercise machines. Alex is more reserved, but he has a sarcastic sense of humor that always makes me smile, while Joshua is the extrovert of the group, capable of lighting up any room with his energy.

Of course, bringing them along was an impossible dream. My parents would never allow it, and they certainly couldn’t afford it. But sometimes, even the most unlikely things have a strange way of coming true.

One afternoon, as I was walking back from the gym, I saw an elderly woman trying to lift a heavy bag off the sidewalk. I stopped to help her; I didn’t think much of it, it just seemed like the right thing to do. When the woman thanked me, she looked at me with eyes that seemed to pierce through me and said something strange:

—Make a wish, young man. A real one.

I didn’t think much of it. I thought it was some kind of game or joke, but in the end, I said the first thing that came to mind:

—I wish my friends could come with me on the cruise.

The old woman smiled, murmured something I didn’t understand, and walked away. I didn’t dwell on it, although that night I couldn’t help but think about her words.

The day of departure arrived, and as expected, nothing extraordinary happened. Alex and Joshua weren’t there. Everything was the same: my parents arguing, me wishing I wasn’t there. Until, suddenly, things started to get strange.

As the ship set sail, I noticed my parents weren’t just arguing, their voices sounded completely out of place. My dad let out a rude “What the hell am I doing here?”, while my mom muttered a “No way, dude!”. They both looked at me with a mix of confusion and bewilderment.

Then my phone rang. It was Alex. Or at least, that’s what the screen said. I answered, and what I heard on the other end froze me. It was my dad. Or rather, his voice, saying something completely absurd:

—Dylan, it’s me! I’m your dad.

And just like that, my cruise adventure, which already promised to be uncomfortable, took a turn I never could have imagined, even in my worst nightmares.

Ethan and Susan Perspective:

Ethan woke up startled in a place he didn’t recognize. The room was small, with dull-colored walls, barely lit by a beam of sunlight filtering through the curtains. He brought a hand to his face and felt something strange: his beard was gone.

When he looked down, the shock was even greater. This wasn’t his body. His torso was strong, defined, and his hands, large and youthful, weren’t the ones he remembered.

—What the hell is going on?!—he shouted, jumping up.

On the other side of the room, someone else moved. Susan, or at least what should have been Susan, slowly sat up from a single bed. But instead of her slender figure, it was the body of a muscular young man with messy hair and a bewildered expression.

—What happened to me?—Susan asked, touching her face with hands larger than she expected. Then she looked at the mirror in front of her, and a scream escaped her mouth—It can’t be!

Ethan staggered slightly as he approached, trying to control his movements. He looked at both their reflections and confirmed the impossible: he was in Joshua’s body, one of Dylan’s friends, and Susan was in Alex’s.

—This has to be a nightmare…—Ethan said, running a hand through his short hair.

—This isn’t real!—Susan screamed, touching her arms and chest, feeling the muscles now belonging to her. Her gaze was filled with horror—This can’t be real!

At that moment, Susan’s phone—or rather Alex’s, which was in the pocket of her pants—began to ring. They both looked at each other, uncertain. Ethan took the phone and answered.

—Hello?

On the other end of the line, Dylan answered immediately, his tone filled with panic:

—Dad… it’s me.

Ethan squinted.

—Dylan? What’s going on?

—Dad, mom…—Dylan stammered, trying to explain while listening to Alex (now in Ethan’s body) argue with someone in the background—I think… I think you switched bodies with Alex and Joshua.

Susan, who had been listening from across the room, quickly approached.

—What did you do, Dylan?—she asked with Alex’s deep voice, snatching the phone from Ethan—What did you do?!

—I… I didn’t know this was going to happen—Dylan defended himself, his voice full of guilt—I helped an old woman, and she told me she’d grant me a wish. I just asked for Alex and Joshua to come on the cruise with me.

Ethan huffed, snatching the phone back.

—An old woman?! What kind of joke is this?

—It’s not a joke, dad—Dylan replied—This is real, but… I don’t know how to fix it.

—Of course you don’t!—Susan growled from the back, crossing her arms—We’re stuck in the bodies of two guys we barely know!

—Please, just calm down. We need to think…—Dylan tried to say, but his voice sounded weak, even to himself.

—Calm down?—Susan screamed—We lost our cruise, our lives, everything!

Ethan sighed deeply, trying to remain calm, even though his hands were trembling.

—Listen, Dylan. For now, we’ll look for that old woman, if she even exists. You stay on the cruise and try to keep those two idiots under control.

Dylan swallowed hard.

—Got it.

Ethan hung up and placed the phone on the bed, his expression hardened.

—This can’t be permanent, right?—Susan asked quietly, though she knew no one had the answer.

Ethan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked at his new arms, so strong that it almost seemed like a joke.

—While we figure out how to reverse this… I think we should make the most of this vacation.

Susan glared at him.

—Make the most of it? Ethan, we’re in the bodies of strangers!

—I know, but we can’t just sit around feeling sorry for ourselves—he said, though a nervous smile crossed his face as he flexed his arms—I never had muscles like this…

Susan ran a hand over her face, frustrated.

—Maybe this is a sign—she murmured, more to herself than to him—A lesson for us.

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

—A lesson?

—To solve our problems… as a couple.

Ethan let out a snort but didn’t argue. Though they both knew that the only thing they could agree on was finding that old woman and returning to their lives as quickly as possible.

In the city, Ethan and Susan walked down a narrow alley, following the coordinates Dylan had provided over the phone. However, the place was empty, with no trace of the gypsy old woman who had set everything in motion.

—This can’t be, she doesn’t even exist!—Susan exclaimed, crossing her arms and shooting a reproachful glance at Ethan—This is your fault.

Ethan raised an eyebrow, clearly tired of his wife’s constant accusations.

—My fault? Please! Dylan was the one who made the wish, and we’re the ones stuck in this mess with his little friends.

Susan snorted, turning around to head back to the apartment they were now sharing.

Once they arrived, they both collapsed on the sofa. Susan sighed with frustration, while Ethan stood up to inspect the small living room.

—This is a disaster—Susan said, bringing her hands to her face—I just want my normal life back.

—I wouldn’t complain too much, you know?—Ethan responded with a smile, taking off his shirt in front of the apartment mirror. He admired his defined and sculpted muscles, something he hadn’t seen in years—Look at this! When was the last time I looked like this?

—For the love of God, Ethan! Put your shirt on. This is ridiculous—Susan scolded, though her gaze briefly drifted to her husband, now in Joshua’s body.

—Ridiculous?—Ethan chuckled as he flexed his arms in front of the mirror—This is like turning back time.

Fed up with his attitude, Susan jumped up and, in a burst of frustration, decided to check for herself how she looked now. She stood in front of the mirror and, with some curiosity, slid her hands down the muscular arms of Alex’s body.

—This… this is weird—Susan admitted quietly, staring at her reflection. Her new body was strong and bulky, something she never imagined experiencing—I’ve never felt like this in my life.

—Weird?—Ethan said, approaching her with a teasing smile—Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying it a little.

Susan rolled her eyes and stepped away from the mirror.

—I don’t care how I look now. What I want is to get my life back, not walk around showing off like you.

Ethan raised his hands in a peace gesture, although he still had a satisfied expression.

—Alright, alright. But, while we find the old woman, we could make the most of it… How about we go out for dinner?

—Dinner?—Susan repeated, raising an eyebrow.

—Yes, of course. But first, I think we should go to the gym. Isn’t that what Alex and Joshua would do? Besides, I’m sure these bodies need exercise to stay like this.

Reluctantly, Susan agreed. After all, there wasn’t much else to do.

At the gym, they faced the demanding routines of Alex and Joshua. Ethan, used to a much more sedentary lifestyle, tried to keep up with the weights, while Susan, clearly annoyed, followed the instructions she found on Alex’s phone.

—This is crazy—Susan murmured, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she watched Ethan drinking an energy shake—How do they do this every day?

—It’s a matter of habit—Ethan replied, smiling as he approached a treadmill.

Suddenly, a young man approached them. He was wearing tight athletic gear and had a relaxed attitude.

—Alex? Joshua?—Ethan asked with a smile, looking them up and down.

Sergio and Susan exchanged quick glances. They had no idea who he was, but decided to play along.

—Yes, it's us—Ethan replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

The young man nodded, as if he already knew them well.

—Great. Hey, I’m hosting a party tonight. You guys should come. It’ll be at my place, nothing formal, just friends.

—Party?—Susan repeated, surprised.

—Yeah, sure. It’ll be fun—the young man responded before giving them more details and walking away with a smile.

When the young man disappeared from sight, Ethan turned to Susan with enthusiasm.

—This is perfect.

—Perfect?—Susan said, crossing her arms—Are you suggesting we go?

—Of course. When was the last time we went to a party with young people? All we do is attend boring adult gatherings. This could be an opportunity to experience something new.

Susan looked at him incredulously, but deep down, something in his words sparked her curiosity.

—Suppose I agree… But no acting like an idiot, Ethan.

—Deal!—he replied with a triumphant smile.

Meanwhile, Susan couldn’t help but wonder if this experience might be more than just a bad nightmare… Maybe, even, an opportunity to rediscover something lost in their relationship.

The night came, and Ethan and Susan, more nervous than excited, tried to pick the best clothes they could find in Alex and Joshua’s wardrobes. Ethan chose some tight dark jeans and a white shirt that was a little too snug, while Susan, uncomfortable, put on a sleeveless shirt and shorts that left little to the imagination.

—This is ridiculous—Susan said, adjusting her clothes in front of the mirror—Do young people really dress like this?

—Relax—Ethan replied, straightening his shirt collar—We’re doing this to fit in, remember?

With little money in their pockets, they decided to stop for a coffee before heading to the party. Sitting at a small table by the window, the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. For the first time in years, they weren’t arguing.

—This is… strange—Susan commented, stirring her coffee.

—What’s strange?—Ethan asked, looking out the window.

—Us. Here, not fighting. As if… as if we were another couple.

Ethan smiled faintly.

—Maybe this change has something good after all.

Before Susan could respond, Ethan’s phone started ringing. It was Dylan.

—How’s everything going over there?—Ethan asked as Susan moved closer to listen.

—Fine... I think. Alex and Joshua are keeping it together, although it’s total chaos.—Dylan sighed on the other end of the line—Did you find the old woman?

—No—Susan responded with frustration—We followed the coordinates, but there was no sign of her.

—Well, at least you tried.

Ethan cleared his throat.

—By the way, we’re going to a party tonight.

—What?—Dylan exclaimed—What party? Whose?

—A guy from the gym invited us. We don’t know him, but he seemed insistent.—Ethan paused—Dylan, do you know who he is?

—No. Maybe he’s new in town or at the gym. Be careful.

They hung up shortly after, and Ethan and Susan finished their coffees before heading to the party.

The place was full of energy. Colorful lights blinked while music echoed in every corner. People were laughing, dancing, and chatting in small groups. Ethan and Susan looked at each other nervously before entering, trying to appear relaxed.

—Remember, act like we know them—Ethan whispered.

Inside, they recognized several people from the gym. Probably Alex and Joshua's friends. Susan tried to chat with a few people, but couldn’t fully connect, while Ethan helped himself to a drink at the table.

It was then that the guy who had invited them appeared. He was tall, with dark brown hair and a charismatic smile.

—Alex, Joshua, I’m glad you came—the young man said, shaking their hands—I’m Elijah, by the way.

—Nice to meet you, Elijah—Susan replied, trying to sound casual.

Elijah smiled in a peculiar way, as if he knew something more.

—So, how are you adjusting to... the new?—he asked with a tone that seemed both innocent and mocking.

Ethan felt something stir inside him. That phrase had been too specific.

—What do you mean?—Ethan asked, feigning disinterest.

Elijah shrugged, his smile barely visible.

—Nothing, just a way of saying. Enjoy the party.

As Elijah walked away, Ethan was left thinking. How could he know something? The idea that he might be connected to the old woman crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. However, something didn’t add up.

He decided to find Susan to talk about it, but at that moment, someone else approached him.

—Hey, Alex, wanna grab a drink?—a young man asked, calling Susan, or rather, Alex’s body.

Susan, unsuspecting, accepted the invitation and walked away, leaving Ethan alone.

Ethan sat at one of the tables, reflecting on what had just happened. He looked around, observing the other guests, but couldn’t get Elijah’s words out of his mind.

—So, how are you adjusting to... the new?

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed when Susan came back. But what really snapped him out of his reverie was seeing her without a shirt, wearing a swimsuit she had found in the apartment.

—What the hell are you doing?—Sergio asked, alarmed.

Susan shrugged.

—Apparently, this is normal here. Besides, who cares? No one knows who we really are.

Ethan put a hand to his face, stifling a sigh. This night was going to be longer than he expected.

Susan, still animated by the festive atmosphere and clearly affected by the drinks, approached Ethan with a radiant smile.

—There’s a pool!—she said excitedly—I need a swim, and you do too.

—Susan, I think you've had enough to drink—Ethan responded cautiously, noticing the peculiar gleam in his wife’s eyes.

—Oh, come on! Don’t be boring.—Without waiting for a response, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the pool.

Ethan, surprised by the gesture, felt a strange warmth rise to his face. It was something so simple, but it had been so long since he felt that spontaneous connection with Susan. Was he blushing?

When they reached the pool, the atmosphere was completely different: laughter, softer music, and a group of young people enjoying the water under the colorful lights. Susan, without a second thought, jumped into the water, while Sergio stood at the edge, watching her.

—Ethan, come on!—she shouted, splashing him playfully.

He sighed, finally giving in, and stepped into the water. However, just a few minutes later, Susan moved away again, leaving him alone.

Ethan got out of the pool, drying himself off while looking for Susan in the crowd. That’s when he noticed Elijah, standing near a table, looking at him with a smile that seemed more calculated than friendly.

—Hey, Joshua…—Elijah said, walking toward him—Sorry for what I said earlier, about “adjusting to the new.”

—No problem—Ethan replied, though his tone made it clear he didn’t believe the apology—Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm looking for someone.

But Elijah placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

—Wait, let me explain why I said that.

With a mix of suspicion and curiosity, Ethan decided to follow him. Elijah led him to a room downstairs and closed the door behind them.

—So, what’s this about?—Ethan asked, crossing his arms.

Elijah didn’t answer right away. Instead, he got closer, his eyes locked on Ethan’s.

—You know, Joshua... there’s something about you tonight. Something different.

Before Ethan could react, Elijah surprised him by leaning in to kiss him. Elijah’s lips met Ethan’s, and for a moment, Etnan was frozen. He had never kissed a man, nor had he ever imagined being in this situation. Why wasn’t he pulling away?

Finally, he reacted and pulled back abruptly, his heart pounding.

—What the hell are you doing?—he said, breathless, as he stepped back toward the door.

Elijah showed no remorse, just a mysterious smile.

—Maybe… Joshua isn’t as different as you think.

Without responding, Ethan hurriedly left the room, determined to find Susan.

When he finally found her, what he saw left him stunned. Susan, in Alex’s body, was standing close to a young woman, talking in a way that was far too familiar. The girl was laughing while Susan touched her arm, as if she were flirting.

Ethan furrowed his brow as he watched them both head upstairs.

—Susan! —he called, rushing after them.

Susan stopped, turning to face him with an annoyed look.

—What now?

—What are you doing? —Ethan demanded, trying to stay calm—. This is not the time to pretend to be someone else.

—Oh, please, Ethan —Susan replied, crossing her arms—. We're stuck in this absurd situation, what does it matter?

—It matters because we need to take care of each other and stick together. The best thing is that we leave now.

Susan glared at him, shaking her head.

—Do you always have to ruin everything? For once in my life, I just want to have fun.

Before Ethan could respond, Susan turned around and left with the girl.

Frustrated and angry, Ethan decided he’d had enough. He returned to the changing room, grabbed his clothes, and left the party without looking back.

Back at the apartment, Ethan locked himself in the small room he was now occupying, throwing himself onto the bed with a sigh of exhaustion. He waited, phone in hand, for a call or message from Susan, but nothing came.

As he tried to calm himself, his mind drifted back to the kiss from Elijah.

Why didn’t I pull away sooner? he thought, bringing a hand to his lips. He’d never kissed a man before, but there was something about that moment… something that unsettled him.

—I’m not gay… —he murmured, as if trying to convince himself.

Still, he couldn’t ignore what he had felt. Was Joshua gay? The idea troubled him, but it also stirred a strange curiosity.

With conflicting thoughts and emotions, he closed his eyes, and eventually, exhaustion overtook him.

The sound of the alarm clock vibrated softly, and Ethan opened his eyes, hoping everything had returned to normal. But it hadn’t. He was still in Joshua’s body. He glanced at the clock: 11:15 a.m.

He got up sluggishly, running his hands over his face and walking toward the bathroom to do his morning routine. As he washed his hands, an unmistakable smell hit his nose: food. Who was cooking?

When he reached the kitchen, he found Susan, still in Alex’s body, preparing what looked like a balanced breakfast: eggs, avocado, oatmeal, and a protein shake.

—Good morning, “J-Machine”! —Susan said with a smile, using a nickname that seemed to belong to Alex for Joshua.

Ethan frowned at the use of the nickname but decided to ignore it.

—Good morning… —he replied as he sat down at the small kitchen table—. Do you feel alright after last night?

Susan shrugged.

—Yeah, nothing a shower and coffee can’t fix.

—Well, I wanted to talk about what happened at the party…

—About what? —Susan asked, not looking at him as she served a plate.

—About what you did —Ethan insisted—. You drank too much, flirted with a girl, and then left with her. What the hell were you thinking?

Susan briefly looked at him, then returned her attention to her phone, typing messages and smiling as though she wasn’t in the middle of a serious conversation.

—Yeah, yeah… I’m sorry. Do you want avocado or double oatmeal? —Susan said indifferently.

—Susan, listen to me! —Ethan exclaimed, tapping the table gently to get her attention.

Finally, she looked up, slightly irritated.

—What? What did I do wrong now?

—Everything! —Ethan replied with frustration—. You’ve been acting like this is all a game. Not just last night, but always. Even when we were in our original bodies.

Susan frowned, setting her phone aside.

—What do you mean?

—I mean you and I have been distant for years —Ethan confessed, his tone more serious—. But last night, while I was trying to take care of you in that body, I felt something… something I haven’t felt in years. That connection we had when we were younger.

Susan looked at him in disbelief, then let out a sarcastic laugh.

—Connection? Or are you confusing things? Are you gay now?

—What? —Ethan asked, surprised by the question.

—Yeah, because all of this sounds weird. You’re telling me you felt “something” for me while I’m in Alex’s body. What’s going on, Ethan? Are you falling in love with your friend son?

Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come immediately.

—It’s not that… —he murmured finally, averting his gaze—. It’s more complicated than that.

—More complicated? —Susan repeated, raising an eyebrow—. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I hope this isn’t about the kiss with Elijah or something like that.

Ethan suddenly stood up, pushing the chair aside.

—You know what? Forget it. I don’t know why I try to talk to you. You always avoid everything, even now that we’re not ourselves.

—Where are you going? —Susan shouted, raising her voice.

—Anywhere where I don’t have to deal with you —Ethan responded, leaving the kitchen and leaving Susan with an expression of confusion and anger.

As he walked toward his room, his thoughts swirled in his mind. Was Susan right? Was he confusing his emotions? Between Elijah’s kiss, Joshua’s body, and his accumulated frustration, nothing seemed to make sense.

Days passed in which Ethan and Susan barely spoke to each other. The resentment from breakfast still lingered, and each one had opted to focus on their own routines. Susan, in Alex's young and athletic body, had become the life of the gym; always surrounded by people, she generated glances and conversations wherever she went. Meanwhile, Ethan preferred to isolate himself in the apartment, playing video games and reflecting on what had happened at that party.

The image of Elijah continued to haunt his mind, especially the kiss they shared. Ethan felt confused, as if that experience had awakened something in him, something he still couldn't fully understand.

On the fifth day, finally, something changed. Tired of the awkward silence, Susan approached Ethan in the living room while he was playing.

—Can we talk? —she asked, in a softer tone than usual.

Ethan paused the game and looked at her, hesitating for a moment.

—I suppose so.

Susan sat next to him, settling into the couch.

—I want to apologize. Not just for what happened at the party, but… for everything. For how things have been between us, even before this strange exchange.

Ethan watched her, surprised by her sincerity.

—I’ve messed up too. I’ve been too wrapped up in myself… and, well, you saw what happened that night. I shouldn’t have scolded you like that.

—No, you were right —Susan admitted—. I’ve always been the type to avoid things instead of facing them. But after all this… I think it’s time to change, for Dylan. Although now, technically, he’s our best friend.

They both chuckled lightly, easing some of the tension.

—For Dylan —Ethan said, raising his fist.

—For Dylan —Susan repeated, bumping her fist against Ethan's.

For a moment, silence settled again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was something in the air, a connection they both felt but didn’t know how to express. Susan looked at him with a mix of curiosity and nervousness.

—Can I ask you something? —she said.

—Sure.

—What happened with Elijah?

Ethan sighed and looked away.

—It was strange. I don’t know why he did it… but when he kissed me, I didn’t hate it.

Susan looked at him intently, processing his words.

—You didn’t hate it?

—No. In fact, I think… I liked it.

The atmosphere grew more intimate. Susan placed her hand on Ethan's, and he looked directly at her for the first time in days.

—Maybe all of this is a sign —Susan whispered—. A way to show us that we don’t have to cling to who we were before.

Ethan nodded, and before he could respond, Susan leaned in toward him. It was a soft kiss, filled with a mix of nostalgia, curiosity, and something new that neither of them had ever felt before.

What started as a kiss soon turned into something more. Their bodies, although not their original ones, seemed to fit in a way they had never imagined. They surrendered to the moment, leaving behind the doubts and conflicts that had separated them for so long.

Days later...

Life went on. They hadn’t returned to their original bodies, but it no longer seemed to matter. Ethan and Susan had decided to stop searching for the old woman and, instead, embrace this new opportunity to get to know each other from a completely different perspective.

Dylan, still on the cruise, was completely unaware of what had happened between them, but he would surely find out when he returned. In the meantime, Susan and Ethan found a new routine, learning to live with their new realities and with a relationship that, although unexpected, had given them a new perspective on what it meant to be partners, friends, and companions in this surreal experience that they now called life.

The end

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Levi: Is it lame to say I missed you? Robin: No-.. don’t you think it’s nice when people say things like that? [Levi shrugged loosely, heel scuffing against the pavement as he avoided the question] Levi: Why’d you start talking to me again? Robin: I’m over it, in the grand scheme of things… Levi: But? Robin: Not everyone’s gonna be as understanding as me, Levi. You’re gonna have to learn-… Levi: I’m sorry, okay?! [Levi huffed; smoke from a stolen, slightly disgusting cigarette billowing from his mouth-.. that hadn’t come out right] Levi: Sorry-.. I’m sorry-.. like, genuinely sorry. Robin: I know. Levi: That’s it? Robin: What’d you expect? Levi: I don’t know… Robin: It didn’t have to be a big deal. Levi: Penny just doesn’t get it, y’know? Otherwise, she wouldn’t have joked about it. [Robin highly doubted that, but Penelope was a whole ‘nother kettle of fish entirely] Robin: You shouldn’t have told her either-.. you fucked up as well. Levi: I didn’t mean to-.. but yeah, my bad. Robin: It could’ve been over and done with if you’d just said that from the start. Levi: Guess I had to learn the hard way… [Robin let out a snort, knowing full well who’d planted that seed within Levi’s mind] Levi: If you ever tell me anything again, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Robin: Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Levi: Well, I intend to keep it, so… [Robin smiled warmly; comforted by Levi’s conviction and relieved by the weight lifted from his friend’s shoulders] Robin: Good. Levi: You get it though, right? Like.. I still have to hang out with them, it’d make things awkward if I didn’t. Robin: I’m sure there’s more than one way to get a scholarship. Levi: [hums] I’ll try n’ keep them off your back anyway-.. pretty sure you did a good job of that on your own though. Robin: I shouldn’t have done that. Levi: Eh, he was asking for a smack. Robin: Kinda…

…

Robin: What..? Levi: Can I ask you something? Robin: Always. Levi: Do you like boys? Robin: [laughs] Why, have you got a confession up your sleeve too? Levi: HAH-.. NO! I only like girls, but what about you? Robin: I don’t know-.. I think I’m pan. Levi: What’s that, like bi? Robin: I guess I don’t really think of people in terms of gender, like it doesn’t matter. Levi: I knew it! Okay, I just had the best idea ever. [Robin’s brow raised-.. whatever Levi was thinking, it must’ve literally just popped into his head] Levi: So, Aster totally has a crush on you, right? Robin: Oh-.. right? Levi: If you went out with him, it’d be like a free ticket to being cool. Robin: I don’t really want to be cool, to be honest. Levi: Okay, whatever-.. but that’d pretty much guarantee them leaving you alone. Like, it’s an unwritten rule you can’t be a dick to someone’s other half, y’know? [Robin squinted, less than convinced-.. he wasn’t sure Aster would be so open to parading him around like that] Levi: C’mon, it’s genius! Robin: I wouldn’t even know how to ask him out-.. I still can’t speak to him. [Levi huffed, frustrated by Robin’s lack of enthusiasm for his master plan] Robin: I guess I could-… Levi: Leave it to me. Robin: I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Levi: Just trust me! I’ll think of something. Robin: Hmm… Levi: Please? We’d get to hang out way more often. Robin: It wouldn’t be the same. Levi: Better than nothing? [Robin couldn’t help but laugh as Levi shoved him excitedly] Robin: [snorts] Fine. Levi: YES! Okay, okay.. just make sure you get detention again on Monday. Robin: Easy-peasy.

[techhiz]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do es Bee x reader with him either being protective or maybe jealous (or both 👀/j)? Btw love your work :)

Sincerely, 🦝 anon

Bumblebee's sweetheart.

It was a typical evening in the base, with the familiar hum of machinery and the soft chatter of the Terrans. But as you walked in, something felt off. Bumblebee, who was usually full of energy and always so eager to spend time with you, seemed distant—his optics flickering as he glanced over at you.

“Hey, Bee!” you called out with a smile, walking over to where he was working on a small repair.

He didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he looked up at you, his optics scanning you as though something was bothering him. There was a slight tension in his posture, his normally relaxed demeanor replaced with something more… defensive. It didn’t take long for you to realize what was going on. You had just spoken to one of the Terrans, maybe a little too friendly, and Bee had been watching the interaction.

“Something on your mind?” you asked gently, stepping closer.

Bumblebee hesitated, his hands twitching as though unsure whether to speak. Finally, his voice crackled out, his tone uncharacteristically low. “I saw you talking with… Twitch. You seemed close.”

You blinked, your smile faltering for just a moment. “Oh, it’s nothing, Bee. We were just chatting. You know, helping her figure out something with her equipment.”

But Bumblebee wasn’t convinced. His optics narrowed slightly, and there was a flicker of something dangerous in his expression. Protective, yes—but also jealous.

“I just don’t want you getting too close to anyone else,” he said quietly. “Not when… when I don’t get to spend enough time with you as it is.”

You could see the frustration in his movements now, the way he shifted on his pede. Bee was trying to mask his feelings, but his body language betrayed him. The Scout wasn’t good at hiding things, especially when it came to you. You were important to him, and sometimes, that meant he got a little possessive.

“Bee, it’s not like that,” you reassured him, placing a hand on his servo, trying to calm him. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one I care about.”

For a moment, he seemed to relax, his tension easing slightly at your touch, but then, he sighed, his voice low again. “I know… but sometimes, I just feel like I can’t protect you enough. You don’t know what could happen out there.”

You knew that wasn’t just about Twitch. Bumblebee had always been protective of you, even before you two had become close. But now, as things grew more serious between you, that protectiveness was bordering on jealousy. And you understood. Being an Autobot, constantly facing danger, especially on Earth, could put anyone on edge. But you weren’t afraid. Not with him by your side.

You smiled softly, reaching up to gently cup his face with your hand, your thumb brushing over the edge of his faceplate. “I trust you, Bee. You protect me more than anyone else ever could.”

Bumblebee’s optics softened at your words, the tension in his frame starting to melt away. You could see the love in his expression, despite his earlier jealousy and protectiveness. Slowly, he leaned down, nuzzling against your hand in a soft gesture of affection.

“You mean the world to me,” he muttered, almost as if to himself, though his words were meant for you. “I’ll always protect you, no matter what.”

And just like that, the tension broke. He relaxed, giving you a small but sweet smile, though there was still a lingering softness in his gaze—something deeper, something protective.

“You don’t have to worry, Bee,” you whispered, stepping closer to him. “You’re all I need.”

Bumblebee’s expression shifted, and before you could even process it, he leaned down and kissed your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering. “I’ll always be here for you,” he promised.

The moment was perfect. Even though he’d been jealous, even though he’d been protective, the love you both shared was undeniable. Bumblebee wasn’t just your protector; he was your partner, and that made all the difference.

(spoiler: you die/j)

anyways, thanks for the compliment:))

[et6rnalsunshine]

࣪˖ ִ⭑ ࣪ avoidance (chris sturniolo)

⭑ soph's note. second post hi. idk how i feel about this, ive never written something like this so hopefully it's not that bad.... also, thank you for almost 70 followers already and the likes on my last blurb, appreciate the love so much ♡

"is this what we do now? have sex, and not speak about it?" you ask, the question hanging heavy in the air as you look over to chris, who pauses his actions on his phone. he stays silent, not responding, but you knew he had heard you. you look away from him, sighing quietly as you glance around the slight darkness of the bedroom. you were tired of opening yourself up to chris, just for him to push you away.

"what?" he responds after a moment, looking over to you, but he knew what you meant.

you scoff slightly, looking over to him and sitting up slightly on the bed, "you know what i mean, chris." you had tried to talk to him. over and over, but it was like a wall had been built between you. one that felt impossible to break down.

"what 'd you do that for?" he murmurs, still staring blankly at his phone. you furrow your brows at his stupid question, opening your mouth to speak before he interrupts you. "make things into a big deal, i mean. why do you want to keep complicating things?" he looks over to you, setting his phone down.

"do what? i don't want to complicate things," you correct him, slight frustration bubbling up. "i just wanna talk, chris. can't we just talk, for once? you don't get to push me away like this. it isn't fair."

things were complicated, sure, they always were with chris. in the beginning, it felt like everything was falling into place. his words were sweet, wrapped in promises, ones that lingered even after he said them. for a while, those words felt like enough. even if there was no label on your relationship, it was enough. but then, slowly, something began to shift. it's like he realized how close he was getting to you, and immediately started pushing you away emotionally. the way his gaze would linger on you, but never quite meet your eyes. he was always there, always close, but never really there. not anymore.

every time you showed him the parts of yourself that you kept hidden from everyone else, he would pull back a little more, retreating into himself. you had began to wonder if maybe, you were the problem. if your presence was too much, too heavy for him. but it wasn't. you weren't the problem.

the silence stretched between you after you spoke. the air felt thick as he sighed at your words. no, it wasn't fair. but that didn't matter to him, did it? you could feel it—his avoidance. it was a feeling you had grown familiar to when it came to chris.

"seriously, chris. i'm tired of acting like everything's fine." you speak again, needing him to talk to you, to at least give it some acknowledgement. you look over to him, silently begging him to open up, to say anything. instead, he looks down at his hands, his expression unreadable.

his words full of affection, promises that were never quite fulfilled, had turned into nothing more than distant echoes. you had been vulnerable with him, you had opened yourself up in ways you hadn’t with anyone else, and yet, it was like he was too afraid to let you see him as he really was. you wanted to be there for him. you wanted to show him that you cared, that your care for him was beyond lust. that you weren't going anywhere. but he wasn't letting you in. and you realized, maybe he wasn't going to. maybe he couldn't—no. maybe he didn't want to.

and so, you sat there, both of you in that dimly lit bedroom. two people who had once been so close, but now felt like strangers. you hear chris let out a heavy sigh, meeting your eyes for a moment before getting up from the bed.

"where are you going?" you ask, disappointed as you once again had no answer to the questions lingering in your mind. you watch, a frown plastered on your face as he grabs his car keys and phone from the bedside table.

"are we seriously talking about this again?" he huffs to himself, running a hand through his hair before answering your question, "i just need to clear my head. ill be back," he mumbles before leaving you there, the bedroom door left open as you hear his footsteps retreating and eventually the faint hum of his car driving away.

you were left with nothing but your thoughts, the quiet hum of the ac, and the weight of something that never quite blossomed. 

© et6rnalsunshine

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Ooh how about a lil secret relationship for the Lucius blurbs?? Either as a gladiator or after up to you :)

EEEEK JEANIE YES !!!! It HAS to be gladiator Lucius aahshdiskwksksls

——————

The sound of clashing steel rang through the air as you arrived at Macrinus's barracks, where his gladiators were sparring. You glanced over your shoulder, thrill dancing under your skin at having successfully escaped your chaperones for a few stolen minutes with your secret lover. You would return to the market as soon as possible, having tasked one of your maids to stall for time, but you hadn't been able to help yourself. His pull was too strong.

The guard at the main gate smiled as he let you slip inside, recognizing you despite the hood that covered most of your face. Your heart was racing with excitement, reminding you of a hummingbird batting its wings. You made your way to the edge of the training yard, where you spotted Ravi next. He also smiled conspiratorially, motioning for you to linger in the shadows while he fetched Lucius.

Soon, he returned with him, your lover's eyes immediately lighting up when he saw you, though his surprise was evident as well. Your eyes were drawn downwards, to his sculpted chest glistening with sweat. His hair stuck charmingly to his forehead, his lips parted with pants of exertion. You felt a familiar stirring of heat inside you.

He and Ravi shared a glance, and the latter took his leave to give you some privacy, though not before shooting another smirk your way.

"What are you doing here?" Lucius asked, raising an amused eyebrow at your ogling.

"Oh, you know, I was just in the area..." You said casually, unable to help smiling mischievously. "Well? Aren't you going to kiss me hello?"

"I fear I will soil your fine clothes, my lady," he said, following your game as his gaze trailed over you appreciatively.

You rolled your eyes, reaching up to grasp his face and bring your lips to his. He chuckled but immediately responded to your kiss, one of his hands at the small of your back to hold you close. You hummed with delight, wanting to melt against him. He always managed to make you feel more lightheaded than any sweet wine could.

"Well, never mind about that," you mumbled as you reluctantly pulled away, still cupping his face. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," he said, kissing the tip of your nose. "I thought I would not see you until the Floralia."

"I simply could not wait that long."

He laughed, fondness unmistakable in his eyes. "But it is only a week away!"

You shrugged one shoulder, as if that was still too long. "Granted, I will have more time to linger then, but this is just to hold us over until then."

He shook his head with a huff, gently tracing his knuckles against your cheek. "You are trouble, my lady."

"Isn't that exactly what you're always looking for?" You countered, raising an eyebrow.

From the main courtyard, you could hear a booming voice calling his name, searching for him. He glanced over his shoulder, his muscles tensing once more, and sighed with frustration.

"I must go back," he said, pulling you in for another dizzying kiss. "Go now, before you get in trouble yourself. I shall see you in a week."

You nodded. "I'll be here at midnight, my love. Be good until then."

He smirked, kissing your hand. "The thoughts you leave me with... I am unsure if I can make any promises."

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

[atleastpleasetelephone]

53. holding the other’s jaw with Greg Nolan please 🫶🏾

A/N: Yessssss Greg!! This is just a little drabble.

Afters

Pairing: Greg Nolan x housewife!reader

Word count: 729

TWs: Reader cries, there's a little bit of dirty talk. Think that's it!

Greg shrugs his jacket on and straightens his tie. “Gotta go, baby.”

You’ve literally just pulled a pot pie out of the oven, and you huff in frustration as you place it on the pot holder. Putting the oven mitts on the side, you smooth your apron down over your dress and try to keep it together. Turning around with your best attempt at a smile. 

“But it’s dinner time, Greg.”

This is the third time this week he’s had to go back to work in the evening. You’re starting to get worried. 

“Sorry, baby. Have to get this photoshoot done.”

He grabs his camera bag and slings it over his shoulder. 

“But I made chicken pot pie. It’s your favourite.” You know you sound whiny but you can’t help it. Tears are shining in your eyes but he’s too busy grabbing the things he needs to notice. 

Stepping towards you, he kisses the top of your head lovingly. “I’m sure it’ll be just as good warmed up later, honey.”

“N-no it won’t!” You exclaim, frustrated and upset. “You know it won’t! It’s better now, just out of the oven!” Tears spill down your face as you rage about the pie, hands balling into fists. 

Greg blinks in surprise. He knows you like to cook, and you like to spoil him with your delicious food, but he didn’t think you’d be so upset about a pot pie. He wipes your tears with a thumb. 

“C’mon darlin’. I promise I’ll love the pie just as much when I come back later.”

You push his hand away, angrily. “It’s not about the pie!”

���It’s… not?”

“You don’t love me anymore, do you? You’re seeing someone else.” It comes out in a rush and you tremble with emotion.

Your lower lip wobbles, and then suddenly you’re really sobbing, body shaking as the tears flow down your cheeks, bringing your hands to your face to try and control it but it’s far beyond control at this point. All of your fears and insecurities come pouring out of you in the form of salty water. You’ve always been a little worried that you’re not pretty enough for Greg, but ever since he started the late nights at work, coming home and going out again, you’ve been convinced that he’s found someone better. No-one needs to do this much photography, surely?

Greg is shocked, letting his bag fall off his shoulder and catching it just in time to place it on the floor. How on earth can you think he doesn’t love you anymore? Because of the pie?

He gently prises your hands away from your face and sets them by your sides, before raising his large hand to your jaw, holding it gently. When you keep looking down, sniffing, he carefully tilts your face towards his. Your eyes find his blue ones, reluctantly. 

“What makes ya think that, baby?” He asks, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. 

You groan. “All these late nights. You can’t be taking photos. Unless they’re photos of some other girl.”

He blinks slowly. Well, he is taking photos of other girls, that’s his job. But he decides now isn’t the time to be literal. 

“I promise you I’m jus’ doin’ my job. The new boss is fussier than the old one and he keeps wantin’ things redone. And tomorrow mornin’ is the deadline for publishin’. I’m sorry, baby. I don’t want ta work either.” He looks deep into your eyes as his grip on your jaw tightens. “Can’t think of anything I’d like ta do more than eat your gorgeous home-cookin’ and then put ya between my legs under the dining table for your desert…” 

You stop crying abruptly as warmth spreads between your own legs. “R-really?”

“Really, baby.” His thumb brushes over your lips. “I haveta go, but I’ll be back as soon as I can for that dinner.” He wiggles an eyebrow suggestively. “And afters.” Pressing a kiss to your lips he pulls back a little, his hand still on your jaw, making sure he’s got your full attention. “I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you too, Greg," you whisper, reassured.

“You’re the only one for me, baby,” he tells you as he lets your jaw go, reluctantly, and picks his bag back up again. “I’ll be thinkin’ of ya waiting here for me.”

***

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[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ CH. 3 TEASER

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you. 『 series masterlist 』

✧ TEASER WARNINGS: none!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay, so we're like 80% of the way there!! it feels like this chapter is taking me forever, but i'm finally getting to the end, so i figured i'd give you guys a teaser while i get through the final stretch! i'm hoping to get the chapter posted sometime next week, but i'll keep you guys updated if anything changes <3

P.S. just like with all of my teasers, wording is subject to change when the chapter actually comes out

✧ TEASER WORDCOUNT: 534 words

✧ STATUS: ongoing

“Hey. You in a meeting?”

Your eyes snap up from your laptop to find Jeongguk poking his head into the bedroom. With a quick glance to your calendar, you realize you’ve just finished your last call of the day, and it’s not even two in the afternoon.

“No, I’m all done,” you say, shutting your laptop and waving him in. “What’s up?”

“Namjoon-hyung’s gotta go back to Seoul, so we’re taking him to the airport,” Jeongguk says, kicking the door closed behind him before sitting on the edge of the bed. “And then we’re gonna fuck around in Jeju City for a little bit. See the sights and all.”

“Oh, okay.”

Is this an invite, or…?

“Yoongi-hyung’s staying, though.”

Fuck. Nope, not an invite.

“Is he,” you hum, acting as unbothered as possible.

“We got some songs started today,” Jeongguk says, studying your expression for a moment. “The rest of us are burnt out, but he wants to keep going.”

“Well, do you want me to join you guys, or—”

“I want you to stay and talk to him.”

There it is.

“Jeongguk,” you huff, a protest on the tip of your tongue.

“YN, it’s worth a shot! Maybe if you two have a chance to talk you’ll find out you have more in common than you think.”

“I don’t think he’ll be happy if I interrupt his songwriting to have some kind of Kumbaya moment, Guk,” you sigh.

Jeongguk stands up from the bed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“Can’t you at least try?” he says, his voice clipped as he paces. “Both of you are so fucking stubborn. Maybe you can bond over that.”

He’s one to talk about being stubborn, but whatever. You’ll let it slide, only because you feel so fucking guilty.

A long moment passes, and at your silence Jeongguk stops in his tracks to look at you expectantly. Fuck. Fuck this man and his stupid big brown eyes.

“I can’t promise you anything,” you finally say.

“Like I said, I just want you to try.”

He’s still tense, but at the hint of acquiescence from you, he softens. And that little bit of softness is enough for you to fully give.

“Fine,” you huff. You can already feel a migraine coming on.

“Thank you,” he beams, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, patting his back. Your heart flutters just the slightest bit because you’re a weak, weak woman. “Just don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

“I won’t!” he promises, pulling away with a bright grin. Hopes absolutely all the way up.

Goddammit. You hope Yoongi is feeling talkative today, because if not, you’re going to be the one crushing this poor guy’s dreams.

At this point, you’ll make him talk if you have to. Anything to keep that from happening.

“Go,” you say, nudging him towards the door. “I can’t talk to him until you guys leave.”

He clearly doesn’t need any more motivation than that, because then he’s out the door.

“You’re the best, YN!” he calls as he books it down the hallway, leaving you to flop back onto the bed with a groan.

Well. You’ve fucked yourself now.

✧ TAGLIST:

@jajabro @pitchblack0309 @sugar-snap @ot72025 @ktownshizzle

@futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl @namjoonsbuspass @wobblewobble822

@kkaetnipjeon @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @this-most-assuredly-counts @sugafun @binniesbabe

@1800lxcifrrr @whoa-jo @amarawayne @kimsaerom @bangtangsworld @angellekookie

@jalexad @tarahardcore @valhallawhispers @chimmisbae @notsevenwithyou

@jimingirl95 @jadestonedaeho7 @bontensbabygirl @silencionyx @nnybtitts08

@kpophosblog @yoonmetogether @curse-of-art @daskewl @rebloginfics

@perfctlyunstable @ennvfv @chimmchimmm

[solxamber]

If the holiday event is still open!!! Savanaclaw, 7, and hurt/comfort, please!

Enough || Leona Kingscholar

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything." ; Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Leona’s room was its usual state of organized chaos: clothes draped over furniture, books stacked haphazardly, and the scent of the sun lingering in the air. You didn’t mind—it felt like home by now. Balancing a bag of takeaway in one hand and a few borrowed novels in the other, you nudged open the door.

“Hey, I brought—”

“Herbivore, you ever knock?” Leona’s voice was gruff, but his ears perked up as soon as he spotted the bag.

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “If I knocked, you’d just grunt at me to come in anyway.”

He let out a low chuckle, propping himself up against the headboard. “Fair enough. What’d you bring?”

“Your favorites,” you said, handing him the food before settling beside him on the bed. He made a sound of approval, already pulling the containers open.

For a while, the two of you ate in companionable silence, the quiet only broken by the rustle of packaging and the occasional murmur about the book you’d brought. This had become your routine—takeaway, a cozy spot in Leona’s room, and shared stories.

It was simple, but it was yours.

Yet tonight, something was off. Leona wasn’t lounging in his usual carefree way. His tail twitched more than usual, and his eyes held a distant look, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, nudging his knee with yours.

He stiffened slightly but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared down at the container in his hands, his expression unreadable.

“You deserve better than this,” he muttered finally, almost too low for you to hear.

“Better than… takeout?” You frowned, trying to make sense of his words.

“Better than sitting in this damn room all the time. Better than a guy who can’t even take you out somewhere nice without people whispering about the lazy second prince,” he bit out, his tone sharper than intended. “I should—I don’t know—do more for you.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You knew how deeply Leona cared, even if he rarely said it outright. His guilt now, his frustration with himself—it wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this, but it still hurt to hear.

“Leona…” You reached out, placing your hand over his. His grip tightened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “I don’t care about fancy dinners or big gestures. You know that, right?”

He didn’t respond, his ears twitching as he avoided your gaze.

“Hey, look at me.” You gently cupped his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You show me you care in a hundred little ways. Like how you always make sure I’m comfortable when I’m here, or how you let me hog the blankets even though you complain about it. I know you care. I don’t need anything more than what you already give me.”

His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re too good for me, herbivore.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Then, his voice dropped, low and sincere: “I'll try harder. For you, anything.”

It was rare for Leona to be so open, so vulnerable. The weight of his promise hung between you, heavy with meaning.

“And for you,” you said softly, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his, “I’ll always be here.”

He exhaled deeply, pulling you into his arms. The rest of the night was spent like so many others, wrapped up in each other, sharing quiet moments and whispered reassurances.

It was simple, but it was enough.

Masterlist

[kanasbinwriting]

If it’s okay with you - I never see fics that continue on from the “you gave him some new holes” or “You’ll replace ren’s scars” and overall just a mean MC so if you want to - a fic like that would be nice^^

Happy holidays btw <33

REN HANA X READER

Mean MC, here I come!!

I'll definitely write more mean MC in the future...

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Ren sat in front of you on his knees, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes narrowed in frustration and despair. You didn't look at him, and you didn't need to, you already knew how pathetic he looked. His head hung low, his usual sharp gaze now downcast and uncertain. His ears were pinned back, and his tail was lying still against his leg. Your attention was solely on the television, finally watching something other than these sick videos Ren forced you to watch. You couldn't help but let a bitter laugh escape from your lips, making his ears twitch. He looked so threatening when he put that collar around your neck, but when you turned the tables on him, his confidence quickly fell out of the window.

You might've felt bad for him if it weren't for the scars on your body that he had inflicted. You can still remember the day when you decided to fight back as if it were yesterday. How he looked at you in terror and cried when you replaced his scars, what fond memories. Ren's shoulders trembled slightly as he let out a sigh. Normally, you had him stay in the basement, only coming down to give him food, but you were bored and decided to switch things up a little. Being alone and isolated in that basement already felt like torture, but he didn't think that having you ignore him, while he was right in front of you could be just as bad. He tried to talk to you, begging for a single second of your acknowledgement, but you didn't grant his wishes. He was free to walk around, or so he assumed since when you untied him from the pole and went straight upstairs, you didn't utter a single word the whole time. He let out a whine in frustration and laid his head on the couch, continuing to look straight at you. You could feel his gaze burn straight through you. Ren longed to scream for your attention, but he knew better than to tick you off.

When the credits began to roll, you sat up straight and stretched out your limbs, letting out a satisfied sigh. Finally, after hours had passed, you looked down at him. His ears instantly perked up when you caught his gaze. Embarrassment slowly crept up on him, but he couldn't ignore his heart racing the longer you kept your attention on him. You felt his tail wag rabidly against your leg, making your brows furrow. "You really are pathetic, aren't you?" You muttered, your voice laced with disgust, though a flicker of curiosity danced in your eyes. You didn't know why you didn't run when you had the chance, some might call you insane for it, but seeing him like this gave you some sense of control. It felt as if you've been unconsciously searching for it all your life. Even though your tone was harsh, he felt his face flush red and his eyes tear up. “I-I just... Please, look at me... keep talking to me. I’ll be good, I promise...” his voice trembled as your gaze darkened. You smiled down at him, not replying to his pleas, and his eyes widened. Ren tried to be patient and wait, but even after just a few seconds without your voice passed, his breath hitched. His wagging tail slowed as he felt his desperation grow once more. "N-No... I- Please talk! I need to hear you-"

"Don't you have many demands...?" You interrupted the beginning of his rant, sighing in annoyance "Seriously, aren't you even a little ashamed?". His lips trembled as he caught the edge of your tone. Ren lowered his head, his ears drooping as a pitiful whimper escaped his lips.

"I don't care." He muttered, his voice cracking. "As long as you pay attention to me in one way or another..." You tilted your head, a cruel smirk forming as you leaned closer, feeling his breath against your skin. "Good," you murmured, brushing his cheek with your fingers, feeling him tremble against your touch. "Because I won't stop anytime soon."

[httpsnali]

WEALTHY CHARADE

CHAPTER TEN: Tensions Pt.1

✬ Pairing: Park Sunghoon x Female Reader

✬ Genre: strangers to lovers!AU, angst!romance

✬ Synopsis: Forced into a union that promises more complications than peace, you must confront the ghosts of the past and decide if you will bend under the weight of family duty or carve out your own path.

✬ C/W: sensitive language, implications of drug abuse, mentions of death, psychological trauma, toxic family, suggestive themes (lmk if i missed anything)

✬ A/N: this is a work of fiction. none of the descriptions of the characters are an actual representation of them in real life. if you wanna be tagged reply or send me a dm...i love reading your comments and interacting with you guys so reblogs, likes and feedback are highly appreciated! xx

✬ W/C: 7.8k

You sat cross-legged on your bed, phone in hand as you scrolled through yet another sting of nasty comments about yourself. Each swipe reveled a fresh wave of vitriol: accusations, rumors and lies. You sighed, your thumb pausing over one particularly disgusting claim about you having an abortion—something you had seen countless times in the past week. Your stomach churned with frustration, but you were too exhausted to react. Your image obsessed mother had given the go to have the articles released claiming that it was going to be good publicity. ‘They won’t be able to twist the story if we release it ourselves, we have more control this way,’ she had said. Rolling your eyes, you tossed your phone onto the mattress beside you.

“Seems pretty twisted to me,” you mumble, stirring the attention of your best friend Aeri.

“I wish you’d get off your phone,” her voice broke thorough the silence. She was perched at your desk chair, carefully applying mascara. “It’s not doing you any good.”

“I know,” you muttered, throwing yourself back against the pillows. “But it’s hard to ignore when people are out here acting like they know my entire life story.”

Aeri glanced over, her brow furrowed with concern. “You don’t have to fight every battle, Y/n. People will say whatever they want to say. Let them talk. Just don’t let it get to you.”

You groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over your eyes. “Do you know they’re saying that Yun’s the father of my imaginary child now?”

Your best friend snorted, but her tone was sharp. “I heard. Jake is absolutely livid about it. If he weren’t so busy with his dad’s campaign, he’d be suing everyone with a Twitter account.”

That earned a small chuckle from you, but it quickly faded. You let your arm drop and stared at the ceiling, voice turning solemn. “How do you think Seungho would have reacted to all of this? The engagement, the charade…everything.”

Aeri’s hand paused mid-application. She turned to you, her gaze softening. “You know he wouldn’t have let it get this far. He would have stopped it before it even started.”

You chuckled lightly, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Your brother, you always believed, was the braver one. You assumed it was tied to his role as the firstborn, a role he played exceptionally well—always coming to your aid when you needed him and defending you during arguments with your parents. In many ways, he was your rock, someone you trusted with your life. You swallowed hard, trying to clear the familiar lump in your throat that always formed whenever you thought or spoke about him. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Aeri’s tone softened further. “But I think he’d be proud of you, too. For the way you’re handling all this.”

Your smile faltered. You hoped Aeri was right. There had been so many moments when you felt like you were on the verge of losing it completely. But something kept you hanging on—a stubborn determination, or maybe just the unwavering support of your friends. You didn’t know which. What you did know was how much you hated depending on them so heavily, even though they had assured you time and time again that you weren’t a burden.

You glanced at the bedside clock. The time made your stomach flip. Downstairs, guests were beginning to arrive. The caterers and staff were moving in a flurry, making last-minute adjustments for tonight’s engagement dinner party. The thought of it all—the scrutiny of judgmental eyes, the web of lies you had to maintain, and the overwhelming pressure to perform flawlessly—made you feel like throwing up.

Aeri, ever perceptive, nudged you gently. “Come on, stinky. Time to start getting ready. Your mom’s going to freak if you’re even a minute late.”

Before you could protest, she tugged you up by the arm and practically shoved you into the ensuite bathroom.

“I’m going, I’m going,” you grumbled, shutting the door behind you.

After a quick shower, you emerged feeling marginally refreshed. Aeri was busy unpacking your dresses for the evening, humming to herself. You slipped into your silk robe and settled at your vanity to start on your makeup, trying to force yourself to be present in the moment. It reminded you of the nights you used to spend getting ready together in high school and college, prepping for parties or nights out. The nostalgia was comforting, even if the circumstances weren’t.

Aeri’s phone pinged with a notification. “Is that Yun?” you ask, glancing at her through the mirror. She hums in confirmation. “He says he’s on his way… His dad’s coming too. He hates that he’ll have to stay sober all night.” She scoffs, and you chuckle softly.

You and Jake’s family had always been close. In fact, the two of you first met in the hospital just after you were born—only two hours apart. Your parents were hardworking individuals who barely had time for their kids, so regular playdates became the norm to keep you both entertained. It also helped that you lived less than 20 minutes apart.

Growing up, you shared joint birthday parties, endless sleepovers, and countless milestones. Jake was, in many ways, like your twin brother. You had seen each other at your best and worst. You watched his father rise through the ranks, from prosecutor general to minister, to prime minister, and now, possibly, the presidency.

Despite their busy schedules, Jake’s parents had always been generous with their love for him. His mom, especially, extended that affection to you, filling in the gaps where your own parents fell short. She loved to tease you both, often jokingly calling you her future daughter-in-law.

The thought left a sinking sadness in your gut. You knew she must have been surprised—or even a little disappointed—when she heard the news of your engagement to someone else. You weren’t blind to how people loved to ship you and Jake. At first, it had been irritating to constantly correct them, to remind everyone that you were just friends. Over time, you stopped paying attention and simply ignored the comments. The two of you were just friends, and you loved how Jake understood that, keeping things natural and free of awkwardness.

“Tell him he can sneak up to my room for a few shots later, after everyone’s too drunk to notice,” you say with a grin. “I’ll leave a bottle under my pillow.”

Aeri respond by shooting him a quick text.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, catching the sound of her quiet snicker.

She grinned, “I was just wondering if you’ve spoken to Sunghoon since, you know, since you’re supposed to be all over each other tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, “I haven’t spoken to him since he explained the whole plan to me. Why?”

Aeri shrugged, her expression amused. “It’s just... bizarre, don’t you think? Here’s this guy you barely know, and now you’re tied to him. You’re supposed to love him—or at least act like you do.” She paused, then tilted her head. “What do you think about him?”

You sighed, turning your attention back to your reflection. “I think he’s professional. Responsible. I trust him to play his part.”

Aeri raised a brow. “And?”

“And nothing,” you replied firmly. “This is a contract. If feelings were involved, it would complicate everything. I wouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place.”

She smiled knowingly but said nothing. You noticed the look but decided to let it go, focusing instead on the finishing touches of your makeup.

A sudden knock at the door interrupted you. A maid entered, bowing politely. “Miss Y/n, Mr. Sunghoon Park is requesting your presence for a moment.”

Aeri muttered under her breath, “Speak of the devil.”

You arched a brow and frowned. “Tell him I’m not ready yet. I’ll see him when the party starts.”

The maid hesitated. “He said it’s urgent and promises not to take up much of your time.”

You exchanged a glance with Aeri, who shrugged. With a sigh, you stood and tightened the sash of your robe. “Fine. Lead the way.”

The maid guided you down the hall to a quiet room on the same floor, away from the commotion of the party preparations. Sunghoon stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, looking every bit the composed businessman. But there was a tension in his posture, a tightness to his jaw that hadn’t been there before.

“You wanted to see me?” you asked, closing the door behind you.

He turned away from the window as he heard the soft click of the door, his eyes immediately landing on you. You froze under his gaze, your breath catching when his eyes raked over your figure. You cursed herself internally for wearing the flimsy silk robe that barely did anything to cover you. Hugging yourself in embarrassment, you became painfully aware of how thin the fabric was and how chilly the room suddenly felt—or maybe that shiver down your spine was from the way Sunghoon hadn’t blinked once, openly studying you.

Clearing your throat, you tried to break the tension. “You wanted to see me? I still have to get ready.”

Sunghoon blinked rapidly, seeming to snap out of his trance. He cleared his throat, his voice low. “Forgive me. I wasn’t trying to…”

“You don’t need to apologize,” you cut him off quickly, your cheeks burning.

He shifted awkwardly, gathering his composure. What the hell is wrong with me? he thought. The exhaustion of the past week must have been catching up to him because he couldn’t understand why he was thrown off balance by the sight of you. Yet he let his gaze linger too long on the curve of your waist, your slender legs, and bare neck, which looked almost too inviting—as though it was begging for something to adorn it. A necklace. His hand. Bite marks…

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stop. He was being inappropriate. With a deep breath, he focused on why he’d asked to meet you.

“I won’t take much of your time,” he said, taking a hesitant step closer. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, dainty leather box, extending it toward you. “For you.”

You arched a brow, your curiosity piqued as you took the box. Flipping it open, your jaw dropped. Inside was an exquisite square-cut diamond engagement ring with rounded edges and a diamond-encrusted band. You stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Sunghoon, who stood there with his lips pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to avoid your gaze.

“How… why…” you stammered before correcting yourself. “I mean, I know why, but… why?” You gestured at the ring.

“It’ll help with the ruse,” he said simply.

You blinked, unsure how to respond. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure if I can accept this.”

The man stepped even closer, his expression softening as he reached for the box. “May I?”

When you nodded, he carefully removed the ring and gently reached for your left hand. His touch was firm but warm as he slid the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly.

“It fits,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

He hummed in agreement. Standing so close, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle details of his face: the dark circles under his eyes, the faint crease in his brow. He looked exhausted, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a pang of concern. He probably hasn’t been sleeping much since this whole thing started, you thought. You clenched your free hand into a fist, stopping yourself from reaching up to touch his cheek.

“What would you have done if it didn’t fit?” you opted for lightening the mood instead.

“I’d have had it resized,” he replied casually. “Or I’d buy a new one.” his tone so nonchalant that it caught you off guard.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, stretching out your hand to get a better look.

He felt a twinge of satisfaction as he took in your impressed reaction. You seemed like you were doing okay, at least on the surface. His thoughts drifted back to Jay’s suggestion to check up on you after the wave of nasty comments about you online. If he were honest, he had considered it, but the terms of your agreement made him hesitate.

Contrary to what Jungwon believed, Sunghoon hadn’t gone home to rest after clocking out early that day. Instead, he had spent hours combing through online comments, reading old stories about you and your family, and even trying to find you on social media—only to discover that your accounts were private. You guarded your personal life closely now, though it hadn’t always been that way. From what he gathered, you had once been quite active on social media, a rising influencer of sorts, until three years ago when you suddenly disappeared.

He hadn’t found anything conclusive about why you left. There was no proof to support the rumors about your relationships with multiple men or alleged drug abuse. Jungwon had already confirmed that those were nothing more than baseless accusations. Still, there was one lingering mystery that even Jungwon hadn’t been able to find information about: the boy in the picture.

Sunghoon’s thoughts were interrupted when you blinked and pouted, noticing his quizzical gaze. The subtle action caught his attention, drawing his eyes to your lips before he quickly refocused.

“Are you okay?” he asked suddenly, his tone soft but curious.

You looked confused, prompting him to elaborate. “I mean, about tonight. Are you nervous?”

You smiled appreciatively. “This isn’t my first time being the center of attention in front of people,” she admitted. “But if I’m honest, I haven’t been around this many people in a while, so… yeah, I guess I’m a little nervous.”

Sunghoon was tempted to press further, a little curious, but he decided against it. Instead, he opted for reassurance. “Don’t worry too much,” he said with a small smile. “Just follow my lead.”

His calm demeanor had a way of putting you at ease, but it also left you conflicted. There was an air of confidence around him that made you want to trust him, yet Jake’s words of caution echoed in your mind. How much did you really know about him? Other than the fact that he was a workaholic?

Realizing how close you two had been standing, you stepped back, wrapping your arms around yourself again. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, her tone serious.

Sunghoon tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you going along with all of this? It’s obvious that I need you more than you need me. So why are you being so…open-minded about it?”

He watched as you began to pace, your words spilling out faster now. “You came up with this plan—this ingenious plan—which you didn’t have to, by the way. And it feels like I’m the one gaining more than I’m giving.”

Sunghoon’s lips curled into a small smirk as he asked, “Would you rather I demand you give me something?”

The suggestive tone caught you off guard, and your face flushed deep pink. “Th...that’s not what I meant,” you stammered, flustered.

Amused by your reaction, he took a deliberate step toward you. Your breath hitched as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “And what would you have to offer me?”

You swallowed hard, placing your hands on his chest to push him away, but he caught your left hand instead. His eyes dropped to the ring now sitting snugly on her finger.

“I have no ulterior motive,” he said, his tone more serious now. “If that’s what you’re worried about.” He paused, his gaze flicking back to your face. “But who’s to say I won’t change my mind later? Three years is a long time. A lot can happen.”

He let your hand fall gently back to your side before stepping away. Sunghoon’s eyes lingered briefly on your exposed neck before he turned to leave. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he said over his shoulder, his voice even.

You stood there for a moment, dazed and confused. You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair as you tried to process what the hell had just happened. What did he mean by that? she wondered. You thought back to the way he’d looked at you, like he… wanted you. No, that’s ridiculous. You shook your head, trying to push the thought away.

It’s just the circumstances, you told yourself. We’re alone in a closed room, we’re both young, and I’m dressed like this. That’s all it is. You groaned, frustrated with yourself. “I mean, what could I possibly even have to give him?” you muttered under your breath. The thought of him wanting something more from you—whatever it was—made your stomach churn. No way. Tensions are just high. That’s all.

Determined to shake off your ruffled state, you rushed back to your room. You leaned against the closed door, exhaling deeply. Aeri, now fully dressed, turned to you with a concerned look.

“What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. And you need to hurry up; we have, like, five minutes.”

Without a word, you slipped out of your robe and into your gown, Aeri helping you with the zipper. As you adjusted the fabric, Aeri grabbed your hand, her eyes widening at the sight of the ring.

“Holy shit! What the hell, Sunghoon? That’s one huge rock! And for a marriage that’s not even real?”

“It is real,” you corrected, “in every way except personally. There will be a contract, and I’ll have to take his last name too.”

Aeri grinned knowingly. “Mrs. Y/n Park, huh? That’s hot. He’s hot for giving you this ring.”

You shot her a stern look, but Aeri didn’t bother hiding her growing smile. She stopped teasing but hummed softly.

As you slipped on your heels, there was a knock at the door. Your mother entered, her expression as stern as ever.

“Good, you’re ready,” she said curtly before spinning on her heel wordlessly beckoning you to follow her.

You exchanged a glance with Aeri whose expression had turned sour. You gathered your composure and stepped out into the hallway.

~~~~~

You descended the grand staircase with her mother and Aeri in tow, your gown flowing elegantly with each step.

At the base of the stairs, Sunghoon was engaged in conversation with Jungwon. However, the moment he looked up and saw you, his words faltered. His jaw went slack, his eyes following your every movement as if entranced. Jungwon noticed Sunghoon’s sudden silence and turned to see what had caught his cousin’s attention. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he saw you.

“You’re staring,” Jungwon whispered, clearing his throat to snap Sunghoon out of his trance.

But Sunghoon didn’t respond. He remained frozen, standing there like an idiot when he should’ve been at your side, playing the part of the doting fiancé. The room’s attention shifted toward the staircase, and the low hum of chatter softened as heads turned to admire you. Your father stood near the bottom, his face beaming with pride as if presenting his daughter to the world. A mixture of sadness and betrayal swelling within you, and your heart clenched. You quickly redirected your focus to Sunghoon, locking eyes with him. Your heart skipped a beat, the memory of your earlier interaction upstairs still fresh in your mind. You silently prayed your face wouldn’t betray your emotions. But perhaps a hint of bashfulness would even add to the act.

Jungwon nudged Sunghoon in the ribs, breaking the spell. “Move. She’s waiting for you,” he muttered.

Sunghoon blinked rapidly, composing himself before stepping forward to meet you at the base of the stairs. He offered his arm, and you took it with a bright smile, your fingers gently curling around him. Your gazes locked briefly, a calculated moment of affection for the audience. Together, you turned to face the crowd. Your grip on his arm tightened, both for support and to play the part of the loving fiancée.

Your father’s boisterous voice broke through the quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present my daughter and her fiancé, Mr. Park Sunghoon!” The announcement was met with applause and murmurs of admiration. You forced yourself to smile through it all, even as the weight of the lies pressed heavily on your chest.

You and Sunghoon moved through the crowd together, greeting guests and responding to endless comments. “What a stunning couple!” “Your gown is simply exquisite!” “Such a handsome man you’ve got!” “When’s the wedding?” “Your children will be gorgeous!” The compliments felt unending.

Once again, Sunghoon proved himself to be reliable, seamlessly taking the lead and answering most of the questions. You couldn’t help but admire him. His ability to craft convincing explanations and weave believable stories about the two of you on the spot made you feel an odd rush of heat. He sold the narrative of your families being close for years, leading to a natural blossoming of feelings that eventually grew into mutual love. Your heart skipped a beat every time he delivered that line, locking eyes with you like he truly meant it. If the circumstances had been different, you might have believed he actually harbored some affection for you.

Smiling brightly, you maneuvered through the crowd of at least 400 guests. The backyard gardens had been transformed into an elegant hosting area, with tables scattered across the lawn. Caterers and waitstaff weaved between guests, refilling flutes of champagne and offering hors d’oeuvres. A string quartet played softly in the background, their music blending with the hum of chatter and laughter.

Spotting your father in the crowd, you noticed him beckoning you and Sunghoon over to greet the Sim family. Mr. Sim, the prime minister, was undoubtedly the most important guest tonight. While the engagement was technically about you and Sunghoon, you knew many attendees were far more interested in the prime minister’s presence. The whole charade felt absurd, and the weight of the lie left a nauseous pit in your stomach.

You waited as Sunghoon shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Sim. Jake’s mom surprised you by pulling you into a tight hug. She whispered how happy she was for you, adding that you were always welcome in their home and should never hesitate to reach out if you needed anything. You swallowed hard, fighting the lump rising in your throat and blinking away the moisture threatening to form in your eyes. She had always been like a foster mom to you, filling the emotional gaps left by your own mother.

Mr. Sim offered his congratulations and reminisced about your childhood, recalling a particular incident with chocolate cake. The group erupted into laughter, except for Sunghoon, who looked slightly out of place. Jake, standing beside his father, flushed red and groaned, “Dad, can you not?” Mr. Sim only laughed, clearly enjoying his son’s embarrassment. You couldn’t resist chiming in, mentioning that you still had the picture from that day.

Jake’s eyes widened, and he turned to you with mock horror. “Yah! I thought I told you to get rid of that!” The laughter continued, the group agreeing that such memories were worth keeping. Sunghoon stood beside you, smiling politely, occasionally adding a comment but clearly an outsider to the dynamic.

As the Sim family moved on to mingle with other guests, Jake gave you a subtle nod, silently asking if you were okay. You nodded back reassuringly, and he left with his parents. Sunghoon adjusted his tie and cleared his throat, breaking the brief silence. “I didn’t know you were so close with the prime minister’s family,” he remarked.

You explained that you and Jake had grown up together, that he was your best friend and so naturally, your families became close. Sunghoon nodded, but a flicker of doubt crossed his face. “Just a friend?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” you assured him, “just a friend. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why would I worry?” he replied coolly. “Our relationship isn’t personal, so you’re free to be with whoever you want.”

The reminder of your arrangement stung, but you nodded in agreement. The two of you stood there awkwardly, smiling at guests who passed by, until Sunghoon broke the silence again. “What was that ‘chocolate cake incident’ about?”

You raised an eyebrow, and he elaborated. “If we’re selling this story about being in love, it makes sense for me to know some details about your life—like that, for example.”

Realizing he had a point, you decided to share. You explained how, at your joint fourth birthday party with Jake, you had eaten far too much chocolate cake and ended up throwing up all over yourself. Seeing you in distress, Jake started crying—and then promptly threw up on himself too. Your mothers had to put both of you in the same bathtub to clean up. “I still have the picture of us in the bath,” you admitted with a laugh. “Jake’s crying his eyes out while I’m grinning at the camera.”

Sunghoon chuckled, noticing the fondness in your tone. “Does that mean you have trauma around chocolate cake?” he teased.

You shook your head. “Not at all. I actually love chocolate—chocolate ice cream especially, which, by the way, is controversial to some people. Jake, on the other hand, can’t even stand the sight of chocolate. It’s like he breaks out in hives just looking at it.”

Sunghoon watched you speak animatedly, and smiled at how open you were being with him. When you caught yourself rambling, you apologized, but he grinned. “It’s fine. You’re allowed to do that.”

That odd rush of heat returned, and you quickly looked away. By the time you had made your way around the entire party, your face ached from smiling, your feet throbbed from walking, and your heart felt heavy from the relentless lies. Sunghoon noticed your tightening grip on his arm and glanced down at you. You were leaning into him slightly, your steps faltering. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you to your designated table.

“You okay?” he asked quietly as he helped you into your seat.

You let out an embarrassed sigh, trying to mask your exhaustion. “I’ve had enough already,” you admitted, your voice low.

Sunghoon nodded, his expression understanding. “I’ll get you some water,” he said, stepping away towards the refreshments.

You slumped slightly in your chair, resting your elbows on the table and rubbing your temples. You barely knew half the people in attendance, yet you’d been performing for all of them. The absurdity of it all made you want to roll your eyes.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice drawled, cutting through your thoughts.

You looked up to see your cousin, Ningning, leaning over the table with a smug expression. “Look what the cat dragged in,” you muttered, unable to mask your annoyance.

Ningning scoffed. “I could say the same. How was sightseeing in Peru? Or was it Nepal? Honestly, I have a hard time remembering insignificant details.” Her tone was as slimy as ever, laced with mockery. She was referring, of course, to the excuse your mother had given to relatives to explain your sudden and prolonged absence.

Despite being cousins, you and Ningning have never shared a good relationship. There has always been underlying animosity between you, particularly from Ningning’s side. From a young age, you two were often pitted against each other, with you consistently coming out on top—a fact that only fueled her resentment.

Your strained dynamic was further complicated by the tension between your mothers. Your mother and Ningning’s mother, who were sisters-in-law, didn’t get along. More accurately, your mother didn’t trust Ningning’s mother which created an atmosphere of suspicion that clearly trickled down to the next generation.

Your eyes narrowed. “Prague, actually,” you replied sarcastically. “Shouldn’t you be bothering someone else?”

Feigning offense, Ningning sat down beside you. “Can’t I congratulate my dear cousin on her engagement?” The sarcasm was thick in her voice. She leaned in closer, her tone turning cold. “You’re not fooling anyone, Y/n. It’s obvious this is all fake.”

A chill ran down your spine, but you forced yourself to remain composed. “What are you talking about?” you asked evenly.

Ningning chuckled darkly, her eyes narrowing. “Seriously? You’re going to sit there and pretend like you don’t know?”

Your heart raced, but your expression didn’t falter. You knew the danger Ningning posed. If your cousin discovered the truth, it wouldn’t be long before others did too. But then, Ningning’s smirk faded, and she let out a short laugh, leaning back. “Relax, I’m just joking.”

Your muscles remained tense as Ningning added, “It’s just hard to believe someone like you could pull someone like Sunghoon. He’s so proper and poised, while you’re...” She trailed off, giving you a pointed look up and down.

You refused to take the bait. You sighed, looking around desperately for Sunghoon to return. Ningning’s mocking voice pulled you back. “Where is the man who stole your heart, anyway? You’ve been clinging to him all night. One would think you were joined at the hip. Or maybe...” She smirked. “He doesn’t feel the same way?”

Gritting your teeth, you decided to steer the conversation elsewhere. “How’s your mom?” you asked pointedly.

Ningning glanced toward her mother, who was seated nearby, her eyes fixed on the two girls. Raising her glass in a greeting, your aunt returned her attention to her own conversation. Ningning’s voice turned bitter. “Like you care,” she spat, and you rolled your eyes. “She’s never been one for parties, but tonight was mandatory. All board members were expected to attend. Would’ve looked bad if she skipped.”

Ningning sulked, her expression almost convincing enough to stir sympathy. You began to feel a twinge of pity for your cousin. You knew Ningning’s parents had impossibly high expectations for their daughter—in many ways mirroring your own parents—but with one key difference. Where your parents expressed their disdain through cold silence and neglect, Ningning’s parents chose a more physical approach to convey their disappointment. It was hard not to feel bad for her.

But the moment was short-lived. Ningning’s demeanor shifted sharply, venom dripping from her words as she turned to you. “If you think you can just waltz into the company acting like you own the place because you’re married to Sunghoon, think again,” she snapped.

You blinked, taken aback. “What are you talking about?” you asked cautiously.

Ningning’s sneer deepened. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve worked my ass off these past two years to rise through the ranks—through merit, not because Daddy gave me a free pass.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“God, are you thick in the head?” Ningning shot back, her tone biting. “If you think you’re going to outrank me just because your father’s the chairman and you’re now tied to Sunghoon as well, I’ll make your life miserable. Mark my words.”

Your frustration bubbled to the surface. “Do you have a stick up your ass or something? Ranks? That’s what you’re worried about? We’re not in high school anymore, Ningning. We’re all here for the same reason: to see the company improve.”

Ningning’s teeth clenched as her glare darkened. “You might think it’s stupid, but this means everything to me. I’ve sacrificed too much to let you waltz in and ruin it. I won’t hesitate to make sure nothing gets in my way.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “In the way of what?”

“Of me possibly becoming heir,” Ningning said coldly. Her gaze flickered toward her mother briefly before quickly looking away. “While you were off sightseeing and doing God knows what for three years, I was here. Working. Proving myself.”

You sat back, stunned into silence. You hadn’t anticipated your cousin becoming a potential obstacle to your plan. Why was she even talking about wanting to take over as heir? Your father was the chairman—he always had been—and leadership was meant to pass directly to his descendant: you. That’s how it had always been. Was Ningning expecting that to change? Had someone told her it might?

Ningning cleared her throat, regaining her composure, but the malice in her tone was unmistakable as she tsked, “Too bad about Seungho, huh? Too much potential, gone to waste.”

The sudden mention of your brother’s name sent a shockwave through you. Your jaw tightened, and your breath grew heavier as rage simmered beneath the surface. Ningning’s eyes gleamed with a cruel glint as she watched you struggle to keep your composure.

She was goading you—bringing up her desire to inherit the company and now mentioning your deceased brother. As if to suggest that if he were still alive, you wouldn’t have to worry about the company slipping into her hands. It was both insulting and utterly ridiculous. The suspicions you had about her nature just in general, grew a tenfold. You needed to keep your guard up around her from now.

Your voice was low and steady, each word a warning. “Don’t you dare talk about my brother again.”

Ningning tilted her head mockingly. “Struck a nerve, did I?”

You were torn between lunging across the table to tear your cousin’s hair extensions out or maintaining your composure. The weight of the guests’ admiring gazes, oblivious to the venomous exchange currently happening, kept you grounded. You gripped the edge of the table, your nails digging into the wood.

The tension was mercifully broken by Aeri’s sharp voice cutting through the atmosphere. “Move along, witch,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. “Take your ugly face somewhere else.”

Aeri and Jake had appeared just in time. Ningning turned to them, her expression shifting into a mocking smile. “Oh, look. The mediocre bunch.”

Aeri stepped closer, glaring daggers at Ningning. “Say one more thing, and I’ll bite you,” she growled.

Ningning raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “How predictable. Classless, as always.” She turned back to you. “Should we expect you at the office on Monday? Let me know and I can ask them to have a red carpet rolled out for you,” her tone dripped with contempt.

Aeri slammed her glass on the table, sneering at Ningning. “I’ll let you know what you can expect, my Jimmy Choo’s so far up your ass, you’re gonna start seeing stars.”  

Ningning flinched at Aeri’s crudeness. She scoffed, stepping away from all of you. Turning back to you, she blew you a kiss. “See you later, cuz.”

She cast a fleeting glance at Jake, who avoided her gaze entirely, before rolling her eyes and sauntering off into the crowd with a haughty air.

Jake immediately turned to you, concern etched across his face. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, though her clenched fists and tense shoulders betrayed her unease. You exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the encounter.

Aeri took a seat beside you crossing her arms. “What the hell did she want?"

From a few yards away, Sunghoon had witnessed some of the scene. He stood with a glass of water in hand, his jaw tightening as he watched Ningning torment you. On his way back to you, he’d been stopped by Jay and Heeseung, who were animatedly discussing something with wide grins.

“Damn,” Jay had said with a low whistle. “This estate is insane. Look at the size of this yard.” He gestured dramatically around them.

Heeseung nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food from the plate he was holding. “The Ahn family used to host yearly galas here. They were the talk of the town. First one in years, though.”

Jay and Sunghoon exchanged a look of mild disgust as Seung continued stuffing his face.

“What?” Seung asked, mouth still full. “It’s either this or I start downing champagne. Your choice.”

Jay rolled his eyes and turned to Sunghoon. “So, what do you think of Y/n? She’s…” He smirked. “Attractive, right?”

Sunghoon frowned. “You’re being ridiculous.” He had braced himself for the inevitable teasing from his friends about you, but he wasn’t confident he’d be able to keep a straight face if they brought you up. In his defense, it wasn’t his fault he was drawn to you—your pretty smile and those doe eyes that always seemed to soften when you looked up at him, how you looked when you spoke about something amusing and your seemingly stubborn determination. He’d caught himself mesmerized by you more than once tonight, each time leaving him more conflicted than before.

He could tell you’d started to trust him. You didn’t need to say it outright; it was in the way you looked at him, the way you let him take the lead without hesitation. It was in your agreement to this whole act in the first place. And as much as his emotions threatened to cloud his judgment, he knew better than to let them take over. You had expectations of him, and he’d be damned if he ever let you down.

“Oh, come on,” Jay pressed. “We’ve been watching you watch her all night. Either you’re a fantastic actor, or there’s something there.”

Sunghoon’s thoughts drifted back to his earlier interaction with you upstairs. How he’d been drawn to you in a way that felt… unsettling. The way your skin felt warm as he slipped the ring on your finger and how inviting your scent was, leaving him momentarily dazed as he breathed it in. Your flustered reaction to his teasing had been adorable, and he’d found himself smirking at the memory. His friends noticed immediately.

“See that?” Jay pointed, grinning. “He’s smiling. Told you.”

Heeseung leaned casually against the table. “You know,” he began, looking directly at Sunghoon, “Jungwon mentioned something interesting to me earlier. Apparently, you were totally dumbstruck when you first saw Y/n today.”

Sunghoon shot his older friend an agitated glare. “Stop fishing for gossip from my assistant,” he snapped.

At that moment, Jungwon himself approached, beaming with excitement. “Hey, guys—”

Sunghoon cut him off, pointing a finger. “HR. Monday. Be there.”

Jungwon’s smile froze, then quickly dropped. “What? Why?” he stammered, glancing over at Heeseung, who was grinning sheepishly.

“Don’t do that!” Jungwon defended himself. “This guy’s relentless, okay? He’s always badgering me to spill stuff.” He pointed at Heeseung. “I swear, I’ve never said anything too sensitive!”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes. “What exactly does that mean, Jungwon?”

Jungwon hesitated, then began fumbling with his words. “Uh, you know... nothing, like, serious! Just little things! Things that don’t matter!”

“Oh, so my meeting with my lawyer didn’t matter?” Sunghoon countered, his voice sharp with disbelief.

“You were going to tell us anyway.” Jay defended.

Seung snorted, clearly enjoying the exchange. “It’s not like he told us your deepest, darkest secrets, man.”

Sunghoon turned back to Jungwon, exasperated. “That doesn’t make it okay, okay? Why am I even arguing with you about this?”

Jungwon raised his hands defensively. “I don’t know! I’m just saying, that even when I spill, I’ve got boundaries, okay?”

“Boundaries?” Sunghoon repeated, incredulous. “Clearly, they’re not strict enough.”

Heeseung, unable to contain his laughter, chimed in, “This is the most entertaining shit I’ve seen all week.” He reaches out and grabs a champagne glass from a passing waiter’s tray.

Sunghoon shot him another glare before turning back to Jungwon. As frustrating as it was for Jungwon to share details about him with Heeseung and Jay, Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to fully resent the guy. Deep down, he understood that Jungwon didn’t mean any harm. The three men standing before him were his closest confidants, and it was almost natural for them to discuss his business—even when he wasn’t involved. Maybe it was because Sunghoon trusted them, knowing they would always come clean if they learned something important. Secrets didn’t last long in their circle; sooner or later, they’d spill, especially if it was something concerning.

Firing Jungwon wasn’t an option either. Despite his occasional lapses in discretion, no one was as meticulous or hardworking. It also didn’t hurt that they were family. In Sunghoon’s demanding line of work, having someone trustworthy to handle important tasks, keep him grounded during moments of weakness, and genuinely look out for him was invaluable. And no one did that better than Jungwon.

Before Jungwon could respond to Sunghoon, Jay tapped him on the shoulder and gestured toward your table. Sunghoon followed Jay’s gaze and immediately noticed something off. Your posture was stiff, your jaw clenched, and your fingers gripped the table tightly as you spoke to the girl seated next to you. Your irritation and discomfort were palpable. Sunghoon’s brows furrowed in concern, and he leaned forward slightly to observe the interaction.

“Man, is her whole family this ridiculously attractive?” Jay asked, his eyes flicking to the girl beside you.

Sunghoon hummed noncommittally, his attention still locked on you and the tension radiating from you. He studied your body language and the way the other girl’s lips curled in what could only be described as satisfaction. Something was definitely wrong.

“Did you see the Prime Minister earlier?” Jungwon chimed in, breaking the momentary silence. “Crazy that her family has ties with him. Just goes to show how powerful they really are.”

Jay nodded, nudging Sunghoon. “Must be intimidating, huh? Being tied to a family like that?”

Sunghoon’s focus wavered, his gaze briefly flickering back to his friends. He’d been so engrossed in watching you that he’d barely registered the conversation. He remembered greeting the Prime Minister earlier, feeling distinctly out of place when the two of you exchanged pleasantries and laughed at a joke he didn’t understand. It had been a stark reminder of how little he knew about you and your family—a gap in knowledge he was beginning to wish he could fill. Not for personal reasons, of course. It was for the sake of the charade.

He gave a vague hum in response, making no effort to hide that he hadn’t been paying attention. The men exchanged amused looks before sighing in unison.

“You should get back to her already,” Heeseung said, swapping his champagne glass for another from a passing waiter.

Sunghoon didn’t respond. His gaze returned to you, whose knuckles had turned white from gripping the table so tightly. Your companion seemed to relish your reaction. He saw two figures approach the table, and moments later, the girl seated beside you stood and left, her expression shifting to one of slight annoyance.

The prime minister’s son placed a hand on your shoulder, his posture protective. Sunghoon’s feet moved before his mind could process it, carrying him toward the group. By the time he reached you, he heard your friends murmuring to, urging you to calm down and ignore the other girl.

Your brow was furrowed in frustration, but your expression softened slightly when you noticed Sunghoon. “Sunghoon?” you said, voice tinged with surprise.

Aeri and Jake turned to face him. Aeri’s face lit up with a bright smile, and she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Aeri, Y/n’s best friend.”

Sunghoon bowed slightly as he took her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said smoothly.

He turned to Jake, who hesitated before shaking his hand. “And you’re the Prime Minister’s son? We saw each other earlier, but I didn’t get the chance to say hello. Forgive me.”

“It’s fine,” Jake replied curtly, his attention shifting back to you.

You and Aeri exchanged a glance, immediately sensing the tension between the two men. You wondered if Sunghoon’s standoffishness had anything to do with you mentioning Jake earlier and calling him your best friend. Was he… jealous? You shook the thought away, deciding it was ridiculous.

Aeri broke the awkward silence with an exaggerated scoff. “Alright, this is weird. I’m getting a drink. Jake, come with me.”

Jake started to signal a waiter for champagne, but Aeri stopped him. “No, something stronger. Let’s find the good stuff,” she said with a mischievous grin and a wink.

Your heart sank momentarily. You could already imagine them raiding your parents’ liquor collection. Your parents wouldn’t notice, but you still hoped they wouldn’t make too much of a mess.

“Find me if you need anything, Y/n.” Jake said over his shoulder and Sunghoon narrowed his eyes.

Aeri waved at Sunghoon. “Lovely to meet you. Take care of her, alright?”

Once they were gone you turned to your fiancé who for some reason was still standing. You raised an eyebrow, your voice cutting through the lingering silence. “Are you planning to sit at all?” your tone was light but edged with exhaustion.

He ignored the remark, his gaze softening slightly. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low but carrying a genuine note of concern.

You hesitated before letting out a quiet sigh. “My feet are killing me,” you admitted, glancing down at the unforgiving heels you’d been wearing all evening. “I was just thinking about slipping into something more comfortable.”

Sunghoon nodded, noting how your guarded tone and distant eyes betrayed more than just physical discomfort. He didn’t press you; you clearly weren’t ready to discuss what had unfolded earlier. Instead, he extended his hand toward you in a silent offer.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but took his hand. His grip was firm yet gentle as he helped you stand. For a fleeting moment, you were acutely aware of the warmth of his touch. But you pushed the thought aside, reasoning that this was just another example of Sunghoon’s impeccable manners—nothing more.

You began weaving through the clusters of guests, moving past pockets of laughter and animated conversation. The party’s energy had shifted as the champagne flowed freely, with voices rising and laughter growing louder. You clung a little tighter to Sunghoon’s arm, partly for balance but mostly for a sense of steadiness amidst the chaos.

Inside the house, you reached the grand staircase. You paused, staring up at the daunting ascent. Your shoulders sagged slightly, and you muttered under your breath, weighing the pain in your feet against the effort it would take to climb.

Sunghoon watched you closely, his brow furrowing. For a moment, he considered offering to carry you or walking you all the way to your room. But he stopped himself, unsure if such a gesture would be overstepping. Instead, he stayed silent, ready to assist if needed.

Just as you had gathered herself to take the first step, a soft, melodic voice called out your name. “Y/n?”

You turned, your posture straightening in surprise when you saw the source of the voice. Your voice was a mix of shock and warmth.

“Sana?”

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TAGLIST: @domfikeluva @quilevyt @wildtigerlili @enhaverse713586 @tasnemluvs

[aspenmissing]

ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ

In a reality far from the one you knew, where timelines bled together like rivers meeting at an impossible delta, a singular existence wove its thread through the vastness of the cosmos. Y/N, untethered by time and space, gazed down at the lives of mortals, each existence a fleeting dance. To feel, to love, to exist in a body bound by fragile flesh—this, she yearned for. So, she descended.

She chose a world where ambition and brilliance sparked like the brightest of stars. A man named Viktor, consumed by intellect and an insatiable hunger for discovery, became the anchor for her desire. In his pursuit of knowledge, she saw a kindred spirit. And so, Y/N walked among them, cloaking herself in the mortal guise of a young woman.

But love, love was never meant for her. Not in the way mortals knew it.

Viktor, once a man of pure intellect, became obsessed with the paradox she posed—an immortal being in the form of a woman who could love him and yet, not be bound by love's chains. To possess her, to make her his, became his only desire, so he sought to bind her soul to his. He cast his magic upon her, tore her essence apart, and scattered the fragments of her being across infinite timelines. Every timeline, every version of him and her, became a reflection of the other. A perfect mirror, forever intertwined, but not whole.

Jayce, a man of conviction and heart, found himself caught in the ripples of their shattered reality. He had loved Y/N —before the fracture, before the magic and madness. In his own world, she had been his. They had shared quiet moments, whispered promises, and dreams of what could be. But now, standing in the ruins of a dystopian world where magic had twisted and broken everything, he saw her again. Not the same Y/N. No, she was far more than he remembered. Her eyes, once full of warmth, now shimmered with the weight of countless lives and deaths. She was a star, burned and torn by the very forces that had created her.

"Y/N?" Jayce’s voice trembled, a fragile whisper that echoed through the desolate air. He took a step forward, but the ground beneath him seemed uncertain, as though his very existence faltered with each movement. "How? What happened to you?"

Her hand gently rested atop a moss-covered statue, one that clutched a hammer, its stone face long weathered by time. She smiled, but it was a sad, bittersweet thing—an expression that carried the weight of untold stories, of lives lived in the quiet spaces between worlds. Her gaze met his, a soft understanding in her eyes, as if she were an embodiment of sorrow itself. "Spoilers," she replied, her voice light yet heavy, each syllable resonating like a distant, unspoken truth, the kind that could break a heart if you listened too closely.

Jayce’s breath hitched, his chest constricting in a wave of memories too painful to bear. "I watched you die," he choked out, the words as jagged as shattered glass. "In my arms."

A soft sigh escaped her lips, but her eyes were unyielding. "She was never truly gone," a voice interjected from behind them. Jayce spun, his heart hammering in his chest, to find Viktor stepping forward. Y/N offered him a quiet smile, one that seemed to span the distance between them.

Viktor’s voice was raw, thick with regret. "Not in the way you think. The Y/N you knew was just a shadow, a façade. But this..." He gestured toward Y/N, "This is who she truly is. She is everything now."

Jayce’s fists clenched at his sides, his frustration bubbling, threatening to spill over. "What did you do, Viktor?" His voice quivered with anger, disbelief twisting his every word. "What have you done to her?"

Y/N’s gaze softened, a tender sorrow lacing her every movement. She stepped toward Jayce, her presence like a quiet comfort in the face of the storm. "He wanted to keep me," she said, her voice almost a whisper, fragile with the weight of grief. "For both of you. But I wasn’t meant to be kept. I wanted to experience your world—the joy, the sorrow. So when I died, my body was gone, but not my essence, so I could return back to the cosmos...But Viktor… he couldn’t let me go."

Her words trembled with the weight of countless lifetimes, of loves both lost and found, of endings that stretched across infinite realities.

Viktor stepped forward, his voice shaking with the agony of a love that had consumed him. "I loved her. You loved her," he said, his eyes filled with an anguish that mirrored Y/N’s own. "I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again. Not after everything."

Jayce’s breath caught in his throat. "So, what? You ripped her from the world, tore apart time itself, just so you could have a piece of her?" His voice cracked, anger mingling with a profound sorrow. "Even if it means she dies in every universe, in my universe? Was this all just a game to you, Viktor?!"

Y/N’s gaze fell back to him, her eyes full of empathy and quiet understanding. She stepped closer, the weight of their shared pain settling between them. "No, Jayce," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "It was never about games. Viktor couldn’t let me go. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing me again, so he did what he thought was the only way to keep me with both of you. But it wasn’t a choice made lightly. It wasn’t selfish. It was love, desperation, and grief all tangled together."

Her words lingered in the air, soft yet final, before she looked at Viktor with something unspoken, something he would never truly understand. She turned back to Jayce, her expression unreadable. "What happened to me… what Viktor did, it’s not something that can be undone. I am... part of something much larger now. When you return to your world, you'll see it for yourself. And I can't stay—not in the way you want me to. I know I’m not your Y/N, but I carry her memories."

She smiled sadly at the statue, her gaze distant. "I carry her love for you. But also for Viktor."

Her voice faltered, a quiet tremor of grief passing through her. "The timelines are shattered. The paths we walked are broken. But I’ll carry the memory of you both. I’ll carry the love, even if I can never return to it."

Viktor, standing beside her now, seemed to shrink under the weight of her words. His face was full of guilt, of an impossible sorrow he could never undo. "She’s right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What I did… it wasn’t control. It was about trying to save something that was already lost. I couldn’t let go."

He turned his gaze to Jayce, his eyes filled with raw grief. "I never meant to destroy what you had with her. I just… I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again."

Jayce’s anger flared once more, but it was tempered by a deep sense of helplessness. "You didn’t just tear her away from the world, Viktor," he said, his voice breaking, tears threatening to fall. "You tore apart everything we had together."

For a moment, Jayce turned to Y/N, his heart torn between love and confusion. His voice quivered, the weight of his grief pressing down on him. "We loved you. We still do. And we always will."

Viktor’s hands reached out, trembling, as if he could still hold onto the fading remnants of her presence. "You were everything to us," he whispered, his voice full of despair. "Don’t leave us again. Not like this."

Y/N’s gaze softened, the finality of her words hanging in the air. "And you were a beautiful experience," she said, her voice heavy with tenderness and regret. "But you were always a chapter in a story I could never finish."

Jayce's eyes filled with anguish, his fists clenching at his sides as he tried to hold onto the fleeting moments of her presence. His voice trembled as he spoke, raw and desperate. "We loved you. We still do, and always will." he whispered, the weight of the words pressing on him like a heavy stone. His breath hitched, the grief rising in him like a tidal wave he couldn’t escape.

Viktor, his eyes reflecting the same torment, stood motionless. His outstretched hands shook, as though he could still feel the remnants of Y/N’s essence slipping away from him. "You were everything to us." He took a hesitant step forward, as if testing whether he could hold onto something that was already vanishing

Y/N shook her head, her gaze soft yet filled with an unspoken regret. “And you were a wonderful experience,” she said, her voice filled with both tenderness and finality. “But you were always a chapter in a story that I could never finish.”

Jayce stood frozen, the ache in his chest unbearable. His heart screamed for her, for a chance to make things right, but he knew it was hopeless. She had lived a thousand lives, and in each one, she had died. For her, they were fleeting moments—wonderful, painful, but ultimately fleeting.

As Y/N’s form began to dissolve, fading into the air like smoke caught in a storm, Viktor reached out one final time, his hands trembling, desperate to hold onto something already slipping through his fingers. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Don’t leave us again. We can’t lose you. Not like this."

Her voice, soft and haunting, floated back to them, like the last note of a song carried by the wind. "You were everything to me, but I am not yours to keep."

And just like that, she was gone.

Jayce stood there, paralyzed, his heart torn between Viktor—whose love had shattered the very fabric of reality—and Y/N, whose presence had filled their lives with both light and shadow. There were no answers, no resolution, only the overwhelming weight of their loss.

Only silence.

Her absence hung in the air, the remnants of her essence scattering like stardust in the void.

Viktor stood beside him, eyes hollow with grief. The world around them was broken, twisted beyond recognition, a stark reminder of the sacrifice they’d made, of the love they had tried so desperately to keep. The weight of their shared history, of the pain they had caused one another, was unbearable, but Jayce could feel the shared longing between them—a desire to have held onto something that was always meant to slip through their fingers.

Jayce glanced at Viktor, their gazes meeting, silent understanding passing between them. They both knew: Y/N was never meant to stay. She had been a spark, a moment of warmth in their otherwise cold worlds, but in the end, she was a part of something far greater than them. Something beyond their grasp.

With one last, lingering look at the place where she had been, Jayce turned away, his steps heavy, each one harder than the last. Viktor hesitated but didn’t follow. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on the space where she had vanished, as if hoping she would return, even though they both knew she couldn’t.

Jayce’s hand brushed against the moss-covered statue, the hammer in the statue’s grip catching his attention. Without thinking, he pried it free, holding it in his hands—a symbol of the bond they had shared, the weight of his love for both of them. As he held the hammer, he felt the echoes of the reality they had just left behind, the choice he had to make. If he didn’t act, if he didn’t find a way to restore balance to his own world, this fractured reality would become his—an endless cycle of loss, broken dreams, and unspoken grief.

Jayce’s heart clenched as he stepped toward the swirling portal that had opened in the air, ready to return to his own universe. As he passed through the rift, the world around him seemed to shift and flicker, like the last remnants of a fading dream. He could feel her, Y/N, her essence lingering in his thoughts, in his heart. She had been a part of him, of Viktor, and yet she was now something more—something eternal.

When Jayce emerged on the other side, back in his own world, the air was thick with tension. The hammer, now clasped firmly in his hand, pulsed with energy, its presence a reminder of what could happen if he didn’t make the right choices, if he didn’t act swiftly. The timeline he had witnessed—the future of a world where love had been corrupted and reality bent out of shape—was the future they could face. A world where Y/N’s sacrifice had meant nothing, where Viktor’s desperation had caused nothing but destruction.

Jayce’s fingers tightened around the hammer’s grip. He could feel the power of it—the weight of decisions yet to be made. If he didn’t find a way to heal the fractured timelines, if he didn’t make the right choice, their world could end up like the one he had just left behind. A broken place, where their love for each other would remain unfulfilled.

But Y/N, Viktor, and he—they still had time. There was still hope. And no matter what it took, Jayce would not let their love be consumed by the void.

As he stepped forward into his world, the hammer pulsed once more, the promise of what could be, and the burden of what must be done, weighing heavily in his chest.

He knew one thing for sure now: their love—his love for both of them—would not fade. It would endure, even across broken timelines, even through fractured realities.

And somehow, someway, he would find them again.

[romeo-fiore]

23 December 2024 - Rome, Italy

Romeo paced across his living room, rubbing at his forehead in immense frustration. His one hand was balled up in a tight fist beside him, while the other held his cellphone to his ear.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," he hastily promised the caller, before snapping. "I said I'll be there, alright?!"

Just then, three knocks were heard on his front door. Romeo whipped his head around, momentarily tuning out of his current conversation. Who could that be? he wondered. He wasn't expecting anyone. Was it...? He looked at his phone, then out the window. Could they be watching him right now?

"Remember Fiore," the caller warned him. "You need us more than we need you." Before he could reply, he was met by a dead dial tone.

And another knock on the door.

For a minute, Romeo stood perfectly still. His mind reeled with the possibility of who it could be. He'd told his family he had gone on a work trip and wouldn't be back for a month — his convenient excuse as to why he wouldn't be coming home for the holidays. So, who would know he was home?

"Ro?" A familiar voice came from behind threshold, and for a second, Romeo didn't know whether he was annoyed or relieved. Dragging his feet, he pulled the door open.

"Chi."

Sure enough, his older sister, Chiara, was standing there with a small, hopeful smile and a small carry-on luggage.

"What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly.

Chiara's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, frowning. "I think the phrase is 'would you like to come in?'"

Romeo stared at his only older sister, irritation scratching lightly at his skin. She spoke so softly, yet her eyes promised no nonsense. It gave Romeo no choice but to step aside, allowing Chiara in.

"I know why you're here," Romeo said as he locked the door behind them. He passed Chiara to head to his mini bar, making them drinks. The pills he'd taken shortly before she arrived would not be enough for whatever conversation awaited him.

"Then why ask what I'm doing here, silly?"

With his back to her, Romeo rolled his eyes and continued to pour Campari in one glass — Chiara's preferred spirit, and his favourite whisky in the other. Once he was done, he handed her his drink and sat across from her with a drink of his own. He chugged the whole thing before she could continue.

"I know you told Gemma that you'd be working this Christmas," Chiara started, sitting cross-legged on the leather couch opposite him. The brilliant red-orange drink in her perfectly manicured hand swirled lightly with the ice he'd put inside. "But you never said when. So, I thought I'd try to see if you're still home."

Romeo eyed his sister. Chiara wasn't the type to be suspicious, but she's known to be very thorough. Her businesses depended on it. Still, Romeo said nothing, quickly wishing he'd gotten himself a bigger drink.

"Now, I know the holidays have never been your favourite but," she paused to drink. The whole thing, too, to Romeo's surprise. Placing the now empty glass on his sleek coffee table, she looked him in the eye and said, "If I could go through near bankruptcy, betrayal and divorce in one year, you can pull up your big boy pants and join us for Christmas."

Romeo swallowed. Just minutes before, he had every excuse in the book ready. But given what Chiara had just said, his cards held no such value.

Stumped, he watched his older sister stand to refill their glasses. Again, another surprise. It wasn't Chiara to drink so much. Concern crossed his face. Was she okay? She looked so put together, no one would've known she was going through any hardships. How does she do it?

"One condition." Romeo spoke at last. Chiara turned, crossed the floor, and handed him his drink. She said nothing, simply and patiently waiting for him to name his condition. "No one is to bother me on my birthday."

Chiara made the tiniest reaction, as if to argue, to which Romeo shut down immediately. "That's my only condition."

Minutes ticked by, and for the life of him, Romeo couldn't read the expression on Chiara's face. It was a gamble, he knew, because although his father's yearly present for him was a healthy reminder of what a failure he was compared to the eldest, Giovanni, Romeo knew that missing his birthday would break his mother's heart. But at least she'd be getting Christmas, right? he thought. And he really needed to be in Rome by New Year's. Recalling his phone conversation earlier, it was imperative he be in town without question, and without bother.

"This year." Chiara raised her drink, finally agreeing to his terms, but with a condition of her own.

With one deep breath, he clinked their glasses together, sealing the deal. Lump stuck in his throat, he promised the only leverage he had.

"This year."

* All conversations are in Italian.

[museeeuuuum]

I promised you all a recap on YouTube, so here goes!

In 2024, my videos were viewed 72,517 times. I only posted 7 long form videos, but I did post many more Shorts in the last two months. My goal every year is to create at least 10 long form videos, but it's a lot of work!

Creators get 55% of the income that YouTube generates from ads on their videos - this is adsense. I made $380.29 in adsense in 2024.

I had one sponsor (Carr Mclean). I won't disclose the exact amount they paid me, but it was less than my annual adsense income. I'd love to work with them again in 2025, as well as any sponsors that I feel align with my channel.

This is the most income I've ever made off of YouTube. In an effort to improve the quality of my videos, I pay a friend to edit/proofread my script notes, and I've also paid for a *ahem* legal editing program.

Basically, I've put most of the money I've made back into the channel in one form or another.

Now let's talk hours.

Script-notes take anywhere between a few hours to a few days to bring together. If it's something that I feel I need another set of eyes on, I send it to my editor. Once the script is finished, I then spend about an hour putting my set together, setting up my camera, my microphone, and (if the video calls for it), putting a specific "look" together. My videos are generally under 30 mins in length, but it usually takes me about two hours to record. This is because I flub, I stutter, I don't read a line correctly, etc. I'd love a tablet with a teleprompter in the future.

Once I'm done recording, I then have to edit, which I have a love/hate relationship with. On one hand, it's tying up all of the loose ends and putting the polish on the project. But also, it can be extremely tedious and frustrating. Editing takes anywhere between 4 and 12 hours, depending on the length of the video, how many visuals I need to add, etc. Add another hour or two for writing the description, subtitles, creating a thumbnail, and other finishing touches. I'd love to create videos more frequently, but as you can see, it's a lot of work. I also have two jobs, so sometimes the energy just isn't there. But I do my best.

I love making videos. It's a lot of work to create the type of content I want to create. I'd love to upgrade my camera at some point so I can do more ~cinematic~ things when I visit museums and such, but I'm happy with my slow and steady growth on the channel. I'm so excited to read people's comments because I feel like my videos are finding other people who love museums and history. I feel pretty confident that no one else is talking about museums as consistently on YouTube, and I'm proud of the work I've put into the channel and I'm so so so touched that people even watch my videos. That nearly 4400 people decided to hit a button that says they wanted to see more of me.

I'm excited for 2025. I've set some goals for the channel, and I'm looking forward to having you all along for the ride.

[alkalinc]

there was a soft smile on his lips as he rested in the bed beside her. torey was the one who would push him to make sure he took care of himself and didn't overdo it. she wouldn't let him, no matter if he tried to push himself or not. she was the one person always on his side. he let out a soft breath before she mentioned talking to his dad and that had logan's brows pulled together. "you did what?" his voice was even, low and full of confusion more than anything else because he couldn't wrap his head around why she would go talk to his dad.

as she went on speaking, logan inhaled a deep breath and slowly let it out. "dammit, torey," he muttered and pulled away enough to push himself to sit up in the bed. "what the fuck were you thinking?" his head turned to look at her and he knew exactly what she was thinking. she was looking out for him and he couldn't be mad at her for that, but he was stull frustrated at the thought of her talking to his dad. "you can't do that and you know you fucking can't. you know him. you know what he's like." and logan knew what she was like, too. he knew torey could be pushy in her own way and he knew his dad would push back in his own way. "do not do that again. i already told you i would be careful. i already told you i wouldn't do shit. just trust me that i'll keep my promise. when have i ever not? i always do with you."

"i'm not gonna let you do anything. i'll do everything here for you when i'm not working on the guys." when he looked over at her, she smiled gently, "i love you." she sighed and brought his hand up for a kiss to his bruised knuckles. "good. -- i talked to your dad while you were sleeping." she gave him a look. "he said he wasn't gonna push you. that he never demands things of you and i told him he was a real comedian." torey shrugged because she saw the look on logan's face. "i told him you aren't physically or mentally well enough to go out on jobs for a few weeks, so..."

torey looked up at her boyfriend and raised her eyebrows, "don't look so surprised. he's lucky i didn't fucking slug him, lo. i know he heard what you were doing and he could've fucking gone, too. that was his son. you're his son." she furrowed her brow and bit into her lower lip. "he's a real piece of work." she took a deep breath and pressed another kiss to logan's knuckles. "please don't hate me, but i was afraid you would still go out for him and you can't. you fucking can't, lo. it's a matter of life and death."