#you’re really going for the throat here

[comatosebunny09]

serve & protect | sylus

— summary: you’ve stood dutifully by his side for years. seen him at his worst, not once letting that side of him deter you. can you blame him for craving more than your loyalty? — cw: royalty au, king sylus, femme reader, knight/bodyguard reader, mutual pining, marking, restraints, sexual tension, slow burn, sylus isn’t a normal king, this isn’t a medieval setting, there are cars and indoor plumbing ‘round here, reader has hair for the sake of plot — notes: a reimagining of something i wrote a few years ago. heavily inspired by final fantasy xv & the beast within (2024). tysm for reading! [ prologue ] — now playing: tender strength - yu-peng chan, hoyo-mix

Willing His Majesty to behave and him actually doing so are two foreign points on a map. 

It’s kind of your fault, really. 

You almost don’t. Nearly preserve your aloofness, your decorum. But then you do let your formalities slip for the briefest second, and that’s what heralds this mess. 

A traitorous sigh slips past your lips, summoning the attention of your wintry-haired charge.

Warmth pours throughout your person, a prickly spike of embarrassment clotting your veins. You stiffen, staring at the dark, heavy curtains shielding the dining hall from the sun’s brilliant spill. Try to ignore how your skin tingles beneath the curious study of your king. How those scarlet eyes crinkle mirthfully, wittingly, and you know all too well no good will come from that look. 

He’s in a playful mood, isn’t he? And you’re about to serve as his court jester. 

“Are you alright, dear friend?” he intones, loud enough for only you to hear, ignoring the monotonous prattle of his guest across the table. 

His voice curls around your brain, seeping through the folds of it. You straighten, arms stiffly folded behind you, quietly clearing your throat to ward off the spell of dizziness threatening to take hold. Curse him for sounding so devastatingly hot. For being so terribly distracting, so unfairly handsome.

You murmur an apology, not once taking your eyes off the far wall to look at him. To do so would be dangerous. Get you into more trouble. You hope by ignoring him, he’ll leave you be, but—

Well, His Majesty is a stubborn man, and once he gets going, there’s no stopping him.

He fiddles with a fork on the dining table with long, skillful fingers. Smooths out the little wrinkles forming in the tablecloth, adjusting himself in his wing-backed seat into an uninterested slouch. “You’ve been awfully huffy today. Are you bored?” 

A little, you inwardly reply. You don’t care much for politics. For these fickle conversations of wealth, alliances, and nobility. You merely follow orders, keeping your opinions to yourself unless they’re explicitly requested. 

Being a knight proves to be much more entertaining than serving as a tactician or advisor. At least you can keep your hands and feet busy instead of rotting away at a desk, ripping out your hair and fretting over the intricacies of running an entire nation. 

You remain quiet, tuning out His Majesty’s attempts to get you to break character. 

But, as mentioned before, your king is a persistent man. 

He sighs, slipping further down in his chair. Props his temple on his knuckles, an ankle resting on the pocket of his knee whilst the free set of fingers drum on the chair’s arm. “I don’t blame you if you are. She’s not very entertaining, is she? Nor is she very bright.”

You snort despite yourself. Quickly remember your decorum, a scowl twisting up your lips. Your eyes shoot to your wayward king. “Majesty!” you admonish on a whispered yell.

A smirk pulls at his lips. He playfully narrows his eyes at you from behind the shelter of his hand. Has you right where he wants you, feeding into his childish games. Just like old times. 

Your staring contest, however, is short-lived when the sharp click of a teacup meeting its saucer echoes through the stilled dining hall.

“I’m sorry,” quips a voice doused in vitriol from the table’s other end, causing your attention to snap to its source. “Am I interrupting something?”

The Queen of Universum ingests the pair of you with sharp, mead-infused eyes, vexation tugging at her red-painted lips. Like two scolded children, you straighten, King Sylus sitting up in his seat with a brilliantly fake smile.

“Of course not. Please, continue with your monologuing,” he says with a theatrical flourish of his fingers. He would roll his eyes if he could; you just know it.

You disguise a laugh as a cough, piping up when the queen’s glare snaps to you. You try not to bristle beneath the weight she carries. Beneath the thin stretch of her lips. She doesn’t like you very much. Of course, you don’t care for her, either. 

She’s made it perfectly clear that she views you as a threat to her plans—marrying her daughter off to your king to forge an alliance between your countries, to spread her family’s reign. No room for love. She’s mentioned more than once that your familiarity with the king is inappropriate, a threat to his crown. How scandalous it would be for him to take you as his bride instead of someone with noble blood.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers curling into a fist at your back until your nails bite unforgivingly into your palm. 

Like you don’t already grapple with the notion every time he touches you or smiles a little too charmingly in your direction.

You’re not fit to be a contender for his heart; not fit to be a queen. 

Her eyes finally slip away from you, refocusing on the center of your musings. Your relief is short-lived as an impish smile rounds her lips. You swallow thickly, the queen’s body language boding danger.

“Is it truly necessary for your lapdog to be here? Her presence is spoiling my meal.”

You blink rapidly. Incredulously, mouth spilling open.

Lap—

Lapdog?

I’m sorry, what?

If you had hackles, they would raise. Instead, your nostrils flare, the tendons in your neck pulling, jaw set in a rigid line. An omniscient smirk cants the queen’s lips. She knows just how to creep beneath your skin, how to wrap her claws around your pride and pull it apart. 

How dare she compare you to a bloody dog! You’re loyal, yes. At His Majesty’s beck and call. His shield. Have been for years. But to be compared to an animal, of all things—

He feels the malice sloughing off your skin in waves. Eyes you warily in his peripheral before raising a hand to quell your silent rage.

“Down, girl,” he teases, and you glower at him. 

It seems he also wants to play along with these dog jokes.

Leaning forward, your king perches his elbows on the dining table. Twines his fingers together, resting his chin atop his knuckles, a deceptively sweet smile boasting his teeth. Having known him for as long as you have, you can easily sense the irritation pouring over the tense set of his muscles. The stiffness between his shoulder blades, peering through the tailored pleat of his jacket.

“My Lady,” he begins, words bathed in silk. “I’m not sure how you treat your subjects in Universum, and frankly, I do not care. But here, we address our people with dignity and respect regardless of race, color, status, or creed.”

The queen’s expression morphs into one of mortification. She straightens in her seat, a steady creep of redness inhabiting her cheeks as she studies the doily texture of the tablecloth. You resist an urge to cheer.

“While you are my guest, you are expected to behave with poise and grace. And I would greatly appreciate it if you did not disrespect my friend here like that again.” 

Scarlet eyes briefly flit to you, shining with a spark of fondness—a tenderness that sets your body alight with heat—before returning to the queen. 

“Or anyone in my kingdom, for that matter. Understood?” His Majesty concludes with a raised brow, sparing no room for argument.

Pride swells in your chest, warm like the soft embrace of a fur shawl on a wintry day. He’s shut her up in his own way. Read her to filth with the poise and regality of a man of his stature, and you’re envious of his composure. They don’t call him a king for nothing. 

You straighten at his side, mouth twitching with the threat of an arrogant smile, and your chin lifts slightly. Defiantly. 

She studies her lap, pulling at her fingernails. You watch a kaleidoscope of emotions stroll across her face before a nervous titter falls from her lips. 

“My apologies, Your Majesty. That was very inappropriate of me.” Her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips while she sweeps a chocolate ringlet of hair behind her ear. “I was only hoping that the two of us could have a little…chat.” She looks at you, a note of caution stirring beneath her lashes. “Alone.”

Sylus sits back with a scoff as if he’s just as confused by her request as you are. It’s rare you leave his side. Rare you’re not in his shadow, head on a swivel, fingers wrapped about your sword. You’re even present when he’s sunk beneath the murky pull of sleep. 

“Does her being here pose some sort of threat to you?” he interrogates around a smirk.

“Not so much a threat as it is a distraction.”

A distraction to whom, you wonder. It’s a ridiculous request. You’re his bodyguard, for the Gods’ sake. You wouldn’t put it past her to make an attempt on his life in your absence. Forgo the pleasantries and proposal for marriage and end his lineage here and now. Not that she could.

Your mouth works around a protest, yet it dies in your throat when your king calls your name after some time spent deliberating. He peers at you from his shoulder, and you snap to attention.

“Sorry, dear friend,” he says, tone sloping with repentance. “Would you mind giving us some space for a little while? I fear your presence is making our guest uncomfortable.”

You cast him a pensive look. Lips tremble and part. His expression softens, and he winks at you, turning up the dial of his charm.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Of course, he will be alright. His Majesty is more than capable of handling himself. Sometimes, you wonder what purpose you serve. He’s a hulk of a man, brimming with untapped power and bleeding intimidation. Most days, you feel you’re by his side to create the illusion of protection. 

Remembering your place, you step back and excuse yourself with a curt bow. You caution one last look at your charge before pivoting, briskly making for the door, ignoring the thunderous drum of your pulse in your ears.

You feel his eyes track your every move as your boots click soundly against the glittering, marbled floor. Feel the queen’s gaze drilling into your back, exuding a quieted smugness as if she’s won your silent war of wills. 

As the solid, ornate doors of the dining hall draw closed behind you, you catch wind of their conversation over your shoulder, and your heart plummets to your feet. 

“So,” begins the queen, voice steeping low. “I hear you are in need of a bride.”

—

You’re a mess of grit teeth and unease on the doors’ other side.

You’ve paced back and forth for what feels like an eternity, warring with your emotions. You’re not sure what has you more on edge: having been made to look like a fool in front of your king, or the implications of that statement when you departed from the dining room. 

“I hear you are in need of a bride.”

The conversation was inevitable. Doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

It’s the entire reason Universum’s queen has frequented your kingdom so much. Trying to set him up with her daughter, the princess, under the guise of uniting your people. You both know she’s greedy for power following her husband’s untimely demise, and His Majesty is teeming with it. 

You scoff, stopping your march to lean against the double doors, arms crossed over your chest. With a shuddering breath out, your face turned skyward, and your eyes shuttered closed, you try to compose yourself. 

If you keep huffing and puffing about like this, you might convince yourself that you care for your king more than you should. More than you’re allowed to. 

When you’ve begun to settle your nerves, the chorus of boots striking the carpeted floor piques your interest. 

You open an eye as dark figures of varying heights and sizes ease into frame, moving past you, carrying laughter and camaraderie with them. Crownsguardsmen. 

They regard you with quick bows and wary smiles, their banter lulling to a dull murmur in the face of their superior. You acknowledge them casually, still propped against the oakwood doors, not at all in the mood for formalities. 

Amid the gaggle of guards, a set of curious sienna eyes alight on you, widening with recognition before crinkling with glee. 

The smaller guard shoves through her comrades, briskly approaching you as her teammates walk out of sight. You study the top of her sleek, brown hair before she stops before you. And you stiffen, stammering as she snatches up your hands, her excitement palpable. 

Tara. You recognize her as a new recruit with youthful eyes and enough enthusiasm to power the entire Citadel. 

She reminded you of yourself when you first joined the king’s army. A young woman with a target on her back because of her gender and status. She possessed exceptional prowess with an array of weapons and vast knowledge of the kingdom’s technology. Yet, she was constantly beleaguered by her comrades and, oftentimes, her trainers.

You threw around your brass a little, ensuring she was treated as fairly as her male counterparts whilst she trained as a knight. Sometimes sparred or studied with her on your rare occasions of downtime. You were there to congratulate her when she’d been appointed a member of His Majesty’s royal guard.

With King Sylus on the throne, the Crownsguard became more progressive, opening its doors to anyone willing to lay their life down for him. Too bad a bunch of egotistical, chauvinistic airheads still occupied his ranks. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am!” Tara sing-songs, overflowing with zeal. 

You wince at the pitch of her voice, the brilliance of her smile. But you find her infectious, a soft chuckle ducking through your lips. You unwind one of your hands from her grasp, ruffling her hair affectionately. Had she been anyone else, you would’ve reprimanded her for forgoing the proper customs and courtesies. 

But are you really in any position to lecture anyone about etiquette right now?

“Good afternoon, Tara.” You’re surprised by the mildness of your voice. The fondness of it.

If she had a tail, it would surely be wagging. Your innards color with warmth at the thought. You’ve found someone else you want to protect almost as much as your king.

“How are you today, ma’am?” she asks, dispelling the nebula of your thoughts. 

Averting your gaze, you sigh, recalling what’s got you so out of sorts in the first place. You cross your arms, your spine reacquainting itself with the intricate carvings of one of the dining room’s doors with a muted thunk. “I’ve had better days.”

Tara’s expression pulls into one of curiosity. “Something the matter?” 

She steps closer, bursting your figurative bubble. With her hands clasped behind her back, Tara scrutinizes you, ducking this way and that, giving you a visual inspection. 

“Come to think of it, isn’t His Majesty having brunch with the Queen of Universum right now?” She pensively taps her lip with her index finger, eyes narrowing in thought. “Behind you?”

You flinch, watching her from down your nose. She’s eerily perceptive for someone so young. Invasive, pummeling you with a hundred questions a minute. 

“That’s strange. Aren’t you normally by his side? Did something happen? Did you get into trouble?” Tara goads, nudging you with her elbow.

You scoff, pushing off the door. For all the years you’ve known your king, you’ve never been in trouble with him. Garnered the ire of his advisor once or twice, sure. Pissed off his royal entourage with your sharp tongue, maybe. But you don’t think Sylus harbors a malicious bone in his body for you. You don’t think he ever could.

You cross the hall, perching your hands on an adjacent windowsill. The marble texture is cold beneath your palms. Grounding. You study the mixture of historical and modern architecture lining the horizon, a scene reminiscent of a dragon’s maw. 

The land of Insomnia brims with life beyond The Citadel’s walls, a nation once war-torn slowly rebuilding itself under the guidance of your genial king.

“No, I’m not in trouble.” You turn, sitting on the ledge. Your voice descends as if you’re having a conversation with yourself. “But not everyone seems to like the idea of me at the king’s side.”

Tara moves towards you with a placating smile, taking up one of your hands and squeezing it. “The queen doesn’t like you very much, does she?” 

Your silence serves as her answer. 

The smaller woman pats your hand, thumb smoothing over the rough patch of skin stretched over the clutch of it. “Well, I could’ve told you that.”

You cut your eyes at her in warning. What’s with everyone testing your patience today? Picking on you?

“You’re competition,” Tara matter of factly adds, maneuvering to lean against the windowsill beside you. 

You study the weathered tips of your boots before your gaze slowly rises to Tara. Her eyes gloss over with tenderness. With pity as a slow creep of heat inhabits the pit of your stomach. You avert your gaze, boring into the dining hall’s doors. 

You don’t have to ask what she means by that; you’ve heard the statement numerous times as of late. Your king’s recent treatment of you doesn’t help matters, exacerbating the rumor that you’re more than just his loyal subject.

As if sensing your internal plight, Tara decides to shift gears. You’re grateful for the reprieve, getting too hung up in your mind again. 

“So, do you really think the queen killed her husband?” she whispers, leaning in with a hand cupped around her mouth.

You chuckle. Leave it to Tara to fill the space with gossip. “I couldn’t say. But I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a bit of a bi—”

As if on cue, the grandiose doors of the dining room groan open, spilling the artificial light inside onto the carpeted floor. You and Tara snap to attention like two youths caught dawdling, stone-faced, the remnants of your conversation corked in your throats. 

How anticlimactic, you muse, watching several figures emerge from the room until your eyes alight on a familiar, riotous mop of white. 

Your breath thickens in your throat as scarlet eyes capture yours. The lips beneath them quirk before the towering silhouette they belong to, strides past you.

Tara’s hand brushes yours. You don’t have to look to know she’s giving you the most impish side-eye. 

The queen turns on her heel to face your king, her entourage scuttling about behind her. She’s half-hidden by the mass that is His Majesty, but beyond his bulk, you make out her red lips curving into a deceitful smile. Bile singes the back of your throat, your fists tightening at your sides. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Your Majesty.” She punctuates her words with a small curtsy and head tilt. 

His Majesty stuffs his hand in his pocket, his wispy hair sweeping over broad shoulders. Boredom lances through his deep timbre, and you imagine his eyes rolling with disinterest. “The pleasure was hardly mine.”

An indignant sound salts the air, dredged from the queen’s throat. You bite back a laugh, recalling what got you sent out in the first place. Tara flinches in your peripheral, tamping down a laugh herself. 

Ignoring your king’s waywardness, the queen squares her shoulders and straightens her spine, her head held high. She clears her throat, holding out her hand for your liege to take. When he does nothing, she waggles it expectantly, wordlessly demanding he kiss it.

You watch the scene unfold with bated breath, tight lips. Inwardly cheer when Sylus scoffs, turning away from his obstinate guest. He waves a tired hand over his shoulder, summoning two guards stationed by the hallway’s entrance.

“Please ensure the queen makes it back to her car. Safely or harmed, I don’t care,” he tacks on under his breath.

The guards acknowledge him with nods and move to flank the queen and her royal retinue. The woman huffs, indignantly stomping her foot like a child deprived of their favorite snack. She grabs the tail of her dress and brusquely spins before being led out, carrying her jilted air with her. 

You resist a smile. Pride spools heavy in your chest. It’s almost like your souls are linked; your king’s never cared for rude nobles and their politics, mirroring your sentiment. 

He conquers the space between you in three measured strides. Pilfers the air from your lungs as electricity and pheromones spark between you, and you’re drawn into the ruinous stir of his eyes. 

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Tara dismisses herself with a bow, but not before discreetly nudging you in her retreat. Sylus barely acknowledges her, busy memorizing every detail of your face. Every tight breath slipping through your parted lips, every feathery flutter of your lashes.

You rapidly blink as if remembering where you are, keenly aware that the pair of you are alone. 

The king’s proximity throws you off-kilter. The earthy scent and comforting warmth he exudes permeate the thickened layers of your uniform, wrapping around your heart, squeezing, leaving you raw and exposed. Your jaw ticks.

His expression slackens, brows knitting in the inner corners, and he coyly cocks his head to one side. “Are you alright, dear friend?” The texture of his voice is gritty as sandpaper, yet it’s disarming in a way that leaves you weak-kneed with a heavy tongue.

“H-huh?” comes your foolish reply. You would kick yourself for how lovestruck you sound. 

Your king chuckles, a genuine sound reserved for hushed moments like these, tucked away from the prying eyes of his court. Your lips twitch before a slender finger pokes the space between your eyes, dispelling the dreamlike fog that once loomed overhead.

“I asked,” poke, “if you,” poke, “are feeling,” poke, “alright? You look a bit flustered.”

You swat his hand like an enraged feline, to which he chuckles, all manner of refinement thrown to the wolves. He’s as bratty as ever, a reflection of that child you once knew who’d shove you off the hill to be king of it. Who knew he’d grow to take an entire kingdom onto his shoulders?

You clear the phlegm from your throat, taking a step back, haughtiness meddling with your features as his hand falls listlessly at his side.

“I’m fine, Majesty. Though I’d be better if someone learned to keep his hands to himself.”

The monarch in question feigns innocence, blinking owlishly, a dramatic hand splayed over his heart. “What? I thought you liked it when I badgered you like this. When I kept you on your toes.”

You scowl, crossing your arms and impatiently tapping your foot. “Not when it borders sexual harassment. Need I remind you of your briefings, sir? Should we revisit them?”

He sputters, mortification descending on his face. You bite back a snicker. He’s much too handsome like this—playful, boyish, unguarded. An affectionate smile crests over his mouth when you let a bewitchingly sweet laugh slip. He takes a step forward, swaddling you in prickly static, dwarfing you by a good foot. Your traitorous heart thumps something wild, threatening to leap from your chest as the mirth melts from your face.  

“Would you believe that woman came here to coerce me into taking her daughter’s hand?” rasps your king, voice descending into a secret. 

You swallow, staring between his eyes, unconsciously leaning back. You nod when words fail you. Bristle as a set of spindly fingers creep down your forearm in pursuit of your hand, scorching through the fibers of your coat.  

Your breath catches whilst His Majesty brings your hand to his lips, and he kisses it with as much fervor as he did in the gardens. It’s a simple gesture. An innocent one that feels perverse in a way, burning down to your core, the molten heat creeping back up to take residence in your neck and face.

“The only hand I wish to hold,” he smooths his thumb over the notches of your knuckles like a blind mind committing their texture to memory, “is this one.” Another brush of full lips makes you wince as if branded by a hot iron. 

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Not with him so close, nor with the potency of his gaze drilling down to your soul. You wonder if he’s trying to kill you when he tugs you to him, a possessive hand falling to your hip. 

Whatever oxygen was left in your lungs abandons you in a sharp gasp, making way for a pleasant fuzziness and overwhelming heat. He snakes his arm around your waist before dipping you like the pair of you are waltzing, and your hand instinctively clasps around his shoulder to keep you from crumbling to the floor.  

Hooded eyes pan in, filling your vision with nothing but a beautiful wash of red. His stare centers in on your mouth, and he leans closer until your breaths intermingle, and your limbs feel like jelly, and you’re lightheaded, and…and—

You screw your eyes shut, pushing your palms against his catastrophically hard chest. He’s a dream forged by the Gods. Temptation sent to lure you astray.

“Majesty,” you gasp. You sound so incredibly pitiful, so breathless, and it makes you sick. “Majesty, please. You can’t—we can’t—” You twist your head, pillow-soft lips grazing your cheek instead of your mouth, pleasant tingles of sensation humming throughout your body.

“Can’t what?” he breathes, voice strained with the effort of containing himself whilst he roots his nose against the tender space behind your ear. He draws you closer against the hard press of his body whilst nosing along your jaw, ingesting the warm scent wafting off your skin.  

Your shoulder throbs beneath your uniform where two raw indentations reside. They’ve never truly healed after two years, the pain announcing itself in intimate quarters like this with your king. It’s a reminder of your anchor to him, to what truly lives beneath his skin. 

“The maids, the guards. What if—” You scramble for every excuse not to give in. Not to betray the oath you took to protect him. To always put him first, to never fall for him. “—what if someone sees us, Majesty?”

A bitten-off, barely there growl cleaves through your ramblings. Lithe fingers encase your jaw, coaxing you to look at your charge. A glacial thrill shoots through your body at the sight that greets you. White, mussed hair falls perfectly into his face, lips parted and glistening invitingly, eyes wrinkling with a mixture of anguish and yearning. He reminds you of something beastly, fighting to reign in his instincts. Fighting not to lose control. 

“You’ve known me for however long, yet you insist on calling me that.” 

He gathers your cheek into his pleasantly warm palm, angling your neck further back. You fight to keep your eyes open, your fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer. You’re spilling over the edge. Teetering over that blurry line between daydreams and reality. 

“I wish you would stop with the formalities. Majesty this, Your Majesty that.” Scoff. “Is this your way of shutting me out? Pushing me away?”

You haven’t the gall to tell him yes, too distracted by the flats of his nails dragging along your cheek, sweeping errant hair strands behind your ear. You shudder, and he pans in, your mouths but a whisker’s width apart.  

“If you carry on like this, I may have to punish you for your insolence.”

You suck in a breath at the underlying threat in his voice. Know it carries no weight. He’d never lay a finger on you outside of affection. But how wonderful it sounds, to be punished for your insubordination. 

Your noses brush, mouths ghosting over each other whilst careful fingers curl around your nape, scrawling through your hair. You fear that you might faint, the heat spooling in your belly threatening to burn through layers of flesh. You’re clutching the lapels of his jacket for dear life now. Torturing yourself, wanting to conquer what little space remains between your mouths and—

Forbidden. The accursed word echoes in your mind like the weighted chime of a church bell. It resounds so miserably in your mind, reminding you of your place. Your duty. You’re no noblewoman. No contender for his heart. 

“Please don’t,” you utter between a laugh and a sob. Begging is unbecoming of you, but when it comes to protecting your king and his crown, you would fall to your knees if you had to.

The body against yours stiffens. A pained sound tears through His Majesty’s chest, crackling like a hearth fire. You feel terrible for denying him again. For pushing him away like you always do. But many women regularly throw themselves at his feet, willing to ease his affliction—women of noble blood, of virtue. 

Grief furrows his brows, his eyes sweeping over your face. A forlorn smile touches his lips. He exhales loudly, shakily, his thumb cruising over the outward arc of your brow, his gaze tracking the gentle movement. 

“Of everything that resides within these walls, within this kingdom, you manage to elude me the most.” 

His eyes snap to yours, and you shiver beneath the weight they boast. He could easily flex his power over you. Command you to stay still while he ravages you. But that’s never been his style, has it? Another trait of his drawing you deeper into his spell. 

“Why do you run from me? Why do you continue to deny me? Why continue to deny yourself? I hear how your body calls to me. Your heartbeat, your scent. So ripe. So untainted.” 

The exasperation in his voice makes your stomach lurch. 

I’m not denying anyone, you wish to say. I just…I don’t know. I don’t—

“Where in the hells is he?!” a familiar voice ricochets through the empty hallway—your saving grace. Seems his advisor is on a rampage again. You’ve never wanted to kiss the eccentric man more.

“Impeccable timing as always,” sighs your king, rolling his eyes. He reluctantly releases you, his hands at your waist until your legs remember they are meant to support you. 

Just as you spring apart, and you begin smoothing out the wrinkles in your uniform, your hair spills in warm tendrils down your neck, puddling around your shoulders, water-falling from its usual coiffure.

You blink incredulously, taking note of the impish smirk canting the king’s lips. Something silver gleams in your periphery.

You watch with horror as he twirls your hairpin between dexterous fingers before bringing the warm, tarnished metal to his lips for a kiss. It’s an intimate sight. An image that makes a shiver wrack your spine, makes you dizzy, and you don’t know whether to be flattered or mortified. 

“Y-Your Majesty, give that back!”

The monarch in question chuckles something smoky, dangling the ornate pin out of reach when you swipe at it. He has an unfair advantage over you. You contemplate kicking him in his shin, figuring the risk of losing your foot is well worth it. 

Your breasts scrub against him as you struggle on tippy toes, clawing at your hairpin with the ferocity of a cat. And as your nipples knot beneath the rough glide of your uniform, you are reminded of the devastating press of His Majesty’s body.

By the Gods, it’s too much. You’re sure your face is all types of flustered now, heat spuming beneath your skin.

“My, my. Throwing yourself at your king like this. How scandalous,” he purrs, enjoying your plight a little too much. His twisted way of getting revenge for you staving off his advances. 

“Your Majesty, that is my mother’s,” you pant, taking a step back with beseeching eyes. 

He clicks his tongue, studying the pin as if it houses all the secrets to your bloodline. “That makes the spoils of victory that much sweeter.”

You watch with puffed up cheeks as he tucks the hairpin into his breast pocket, the jaded metal gleaming condescendingly at you. 

“Consider it collateral.”

For what, you haven’t the foggiest. 

With all the smugness of the world, your king brushes past you, his hands in his pockets. You stomp behind him, fighting to keep stride with his longer ones, clawing at his pocket when a moment presents itself. 

You try to sweep your hair into some semblance of neatness before the pair of you meet his advisor. Before curious eyes can form questions where there should be none. 

You hardly miss the enamored smile rounding his lips as he peers at you over his shoulder. 

“You lunatic,” you curse beneath your breath, barely concealing the hint of unguardedness inhabiting your voice.

— 

It all makes sense as you shackle his neck with a rusted collar. You can count on one hand how often you’ve had to do this in the past year. 

You step back after sliding your fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. His eyes harbor a deep sadness despite the smirk on his face, baring a pointed canine. 

“What? No muzzle this time?”

You scoff, kneeling before him, defiantly peering into his eyes, a harsh forefinger pressed between his pectorals. “If you keep talking, I’ll have one of the twins fetch it from the car.”

He chuckles at your brazenness. Leave it to him to try to lighten the mood in an atmosphere rife with tension. Thick with urgency, with fear. He tests the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, ensuring they won’t give too much when they’re put to the test later.

As if on autopilot, you reach out to ease sweat-slicked hair from his forehead, and he pauses, those brilliantly devastating eyes drinking you in. 

He swallows, studying the ground. For the first time in a long time, you’ve seen true fear stain your king’s visage. 

“One day, I won’t leave this cage as the man you know and love.”

You scoff, masking your anxiety as you placatingly pat his thigh. You stand, swiping his coat on the way up, dust speckling its sleeves. You have to be strong. You’re slowly falling apart at the seams but must remain fearless. He needs all the strength you can lend him right now.

You give him a quick look, a brief upward pull of your lips, before turning away from your king, the cage’s heavy door squealing shut behind you. You err in your steps when he calls your name. Slightly tilt your chin over your shoulder.

“When that day comes, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

Your grip on his coat tightens, jaw set in a terse line. “That day will never come,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, and you hurry up the sand-laden stairs towards the structure’s entrance. 

The twins address you with curt nods as you pass them on your way to the car. Night and soaring evergreens stretch overhead like a yawning beast. The moon peers through the treetops, sluggishly cresting its way to the center of the sky.

You sling His Majesty’s coat across the backseat. Stiffen when a familiar glint of silver catches your sight from behind his breast pocket. You grit your teeth, leaning against the car door to grant yourself a moment of respite.

“How do you stand this? Does it ever get any easier?” you recall Tara asking, her eyes glossing over with a thin film of tears as she squeezed your hands. 

She was still fresh to this lifestyle. To this harrowing secret lurking beneath the kingdom. You couldn’t blame her for being scared witless. No one wanted to see the king in pain. Only a handful of people knew of his true nature. What bubbled beneath his skin. 

It never does, you think, pushing off from the car and slamming the door shut. 

Your boots crunch soundly over dead grass and splintered twigs as you make your way back to the twins. You squeeze Kieran’s shoulder reassuringly, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He nods, his somberness hidden beneath the gaudy beak of his mask. 

It never gets easier, hearing him scream like that. Bloodcurdling and raw, reminiscent of a demon clawing its way from the hells. Hearing him call to you in a voice so broken, you feel its talons sinking into your heart. You’ve just grown more skilled at hiding your pain. Holding back your tears.

What good are you if you can’t even protect your liege from himself?

— tags: @f1c-recs, @mt2sssss, @samoankpoper21, @lovemesomesaltysylus

prologue | masterlist

[astars-things]

 “One more kiss?” “You said that 20 kisses ago” with luke hughes? 🧎‍♂️

I stood by the front door, arms loosely wrapped around Luke’s waist, my forehead resting against his chest. His duffle bag sat at his feet, ready to be slung over his shoulder at any second, but he wasn’t rushing. Neither of us was.

“Are you sure you packed everything?” I asked, even though I’d already watched him triple-check his bag an hour ago.

Luke hummed softly, his hands tracing lazy circles on my back. “Yeah. But if I forgot something, it just gives me an excuse to FaceTime you.”

I smiled into his sweatshirt, tugging the fabric gently between my fingers. “Like you need an excuse.”

His laugh was soft, warm, the kind that made me feel like the only person in the world. “True.”

We stood there for a minute, the silence wrapping around us like a blanket, both of us unwilling to be the first to let go. The roadie wasn’t even that long — a week, maybe a little more — but every time he left, it still felt like a piece of me was walking out the door with him.

Luke tipped my chin up with a finger, his hazel eyes flickering down to my lips. “One more kiss?”

I raised a brow. “You said that 20 kisses ago.”

“Okay, but this one’s the real last one,” he said, trying (and failing) to look serious. His smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and I couldn’t help but lean up and press my lips to his.

The kiss was slow, soft, the kind of kiss that made promises, promises that he’d miss me, that he’d text me every night, that no matter how many miles stretched between us, I was still his girl. When I pulled back, he chased my lips with his, stealing one more quick peck.

I laughed, my hands sliding up to cup his face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned, leaning his forehead against mine. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you more,” I whispered. “It’s way too quiet around here when you’re gone.”

Luke’s hands moved to my waist, holding me like I might disappear if he let go. “I’ll call every night.”

“You better.”

“And I’ll send you all the terrible hotel breakfast reviews.”

“Perfect. My personal Yelp critic.”

His laugh rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against me. But as much as we tried to make light of it, the weight of the goodbye hung in the air. I hated this part, the letting go, the stepping back, the closing the door behind him.

He finally sighed, stepping back just enough to grab his bag. “Okay, I really have to go.”

I nodded, my throat tightening. “One more kiss?”

He smirked. “You said that 20 kisses ago.”

“Just one more,” I whispered.

He leaned down, brushing his lips over mine one last time. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Lukey.”

And with that, he was out the door.

[millers-angel]

patrol!joel x female reader

summary: joel scolds you because you messed up a patrol, until he makes you cry and realizes he crossed the line. warnings: scolding, mean joel, thumb sucking, smut ig, they get caught by tommy.

“are you stupid? you wanna die?” he grunted, clearly upset with you.

ha had been upset for a while, lecturing you on how you have to be more careful, but as he did, you both kept walking till you got inside the safe place—an abandoned house in the middle of the woods.

“i always have to repeat myself every goddamn time. stay quiet, do what i say, and most importantly, don't do anything stupid," he said, dropping his gear onto a table. "and that's exactly what you do."

you stayed quiet, holding back tears. you liked coming on patrols with him, except this time tommy came with you, but you fucked up. you didn’t listen, you put yourself in danger, and joel had to come find you—again.

he scoffed, shaking his head. “should’ve just left you out there. maybe then you’d finally learn.”

his words hit hard, and you felt your throat tighten, your vision blurring.

“you don’t listen, you never fucking listen,” he went on, voice rough with frustration. “i tell you to stay close, i tell you to stay quiet, and what do you do? the exact opposite. every goddamn time.”

he ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “you think this is a game? you think i like risking my ass for you every time you decide to be reckless?”

you bit your lip, trying to keep it together, but the lump in your throat only grew. he was mad—really mad. you were looking at your boots wipping your tears away, you didn't want him to see you like this.

he exhaled hard through his nose, his breath heavy with frustration. his hands were on his hips, fingers digging into his belt as he tried to calm down. but when he looked down, he saw you sitting there on a worn couch, head bowed, your pants dotted with tiny dark spots.

tears.

his jaw clenched. maybe he’d been too harsh. maybe he’d gone too far.

“you good?” his voice was still rough, but quieter now.

you nodded quickly, wiping at your face.

“use your words,” he muttered. “now you're quiet, huh?”

you swallowed thickly, voice barely above a whisper. “i’m fine.”

he huffed, unconvinced. “look at me.”

you shook your head.

joel sighed, deep and slow, forcing himself to be patient. then, with a gentleness that didn’t match his earlier anger, he reached out, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up.

watercolor eyes. tear-streaked cheeks. swollen lips.

his grip tightened just slightly, his own frustration shifting into something else.

you sniffled, wiping at your nose with your sleeve, but it didn’t do much to stop the way your shoulders shook. joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. without a word, he grabbed you and pulled you onto his lap, his arms firm around you as he sat.

you didn’t resist. you never did.

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, voice unsteady. “i didn’t mean to put you at risk. or tommy. i won’t do it again.” you swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. “i get it if you don’t want me on patrols with you anymore. or if you just want to give me the easy routes.”

joel sighed, his chest rising and falling against your back.

“i tell you this shit for a reason,” he said, voice quieter now. “it’s dangerous out here. you keep acting like this, and it’s gonna catch up to you. and i don’t want that. i don’t want anything happening to you.”

you hesitated, then whispered, “really?”

“yeah, really.” his grip on you tightened just slightly. “i get so goddamn mad ‘cause you’re stubborn. you don’t listen. you scare the hell outta me.”

you were still new to patrols, still learning the way things worked out here. and you liked going with joel for two reasons—because you wanted to learn from him, to be as capable as he was, and because no matter how bad things got, no matter how much he yelled, it always ended the same way. with him pulling you close, keeping you safe... and his cock deep down inside you.

you loved being with joel on patrol, the way he moved with such ease, like he was made for this. every step was calculated, every decision precise. the way he handled the knife, the rifle—how it all seemed so natural to him, like he was in complete control. when danger came, he didn’t hesitate. he knew exactly what to do, and you couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he commanded the situation.

and when things got tough, when he needed to push you out of harm’s way or pull you into cover, there was something about the way he manhandled you that drove you crazy. it was rough, but it was him taking control, keeping you safe. and in those moments, with his hands on you, you felt safe. you felt protected—like now.

you hiccupped, the sound shaky from how much you’d cried. joel’s thumb brushed your cheek, his hands gentle as he lifted your face to meet his eyes.

“i’m not gonna put you with anyone else,” he said softly. “we’re gonna keep going together, on patrols.”

you looked up at him, surprised. “really?”

“yeah, really,” he muttered, his voice a little rough. “i wouldn’t leave you with anyone else, not when you’re putting yourself at risk every damn minute. no one else is gonna risk their ass for you like i do.” he paused, a flash of frustration in his eyes before he noticed your lip trembling.

he softened, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, trying to calm you. “you’re damn stubborn, you know that?”

he pressed his thumb on your lips, parting them, so you sucked him. "that it," he said softly—too softly. "that's gonna calm you down."

you closed your eyes, holding his hand close to you, sucking his thumb as if your life depends on it, you pressed your tongue on it, lips tight around him. he loved the sensation, he loved when you sucked on his fingers just as you suck on his cock.

you opened your eyes when you felt a growing bulge beneath your thighs, meeting his gaze, all dark. nothing but desire behind them. he could yell at you all he wants—make you cry even, but you'll always end up like this.

his other hand made its way under your shirt, the feeling made you squirm. he played with the tip, squeezing it between his fingers, pulling it gently, getting muffled moans on his thumb in response.

and that was enough for him, he needed to fuck you now. he took his thumb out your mouth to tug your shirt over your head, your skin prickled when the breeze hit your bare breasts. he loved seeing thoes perky tips all hard for him. he got rid of your jeans too, throwing them somewhere in the dusty cabin.

"joel... we should go looking for tommy," you mumbled between gasps.

"he can take care of himself, i'm taking care of you."

he loved having you like this, all naked and vulnerable. he had fucked you behind a tree, over a rock, on the grass, in old cabins like this one, even in the back of an abandoned jeep, its wheels long deflated and covered in dust. he knows he's the only one who got to see you like this, back in jackson you're all shy with everyone, they don't know you're his personal little sex toy.

he made you stand up for him to unzip his jeans and then, he made you lean over the coach, while you positioned yourself on your hands and knees, you knew the drill, you knew what he liked. what he liked to see.

by god he loved the view.

all you felt then, was his dick trailing your slit, you were wet, and he can tell you got a while like that. you love being scolded, the tone of his voice, the way his eyes gets dark, the way you know it's because he wants to protect you. yeah, it got you wet.

he slammed his cock in you, you let out a gasp and gripped to the backrest of the couch. he dug his fingers on your hips when he thrusted. you were warm, too warm and soft inside, always making him feel like he's about to come as soon as he gets in, like a goddamn teenager.

"you take this cock so good," he muttered.

you were biting your lip to not moan, cause you had to be careful, right? he said it. you must be careful from now on.

"lemme hear you, baby," he grunted, fingers going white from his grip on you.

your grip on the couch loosened. "b-but you said we must be quiet and careful—"

he almost chuckled, you're adorable. "i don't want you quiet when i'm fucking you"

and his approval was all you need to let those breathy little moans bubble up from your mouth. he went harder, couldn’t stop once he saw how your skin jiggled with every thrust. he loved that.

he was leaving his fingerprints on your skin. one of his hands slipped between your thighs, making its way to your clit. you held your breath. he could feel it, swollen, probably aching and needy. he drew circles around it.

“poor baby,” he cooed, your legs trembled cause it was too much, he was too thick, and his fingers stroking your most sensitive spot, you went weak. “you like causing trouble?”

he pressed his fingers on your clit, feeling how it throbs. “no—“

he slapped it. “be fucking honest.”

you squirmed, it felt too good. “i do.” you admitted in a moan. “i like causing trouble.”

he rubbed the little button harder. “i know," of course he does, weird thing you always do the same to end up with his cock buried deep inside you. you love being trouble so he can fuck you right after. "stubborn as hell."

you curl your toes, his fingers worked so good, he sent you to a bliss, your walls choking him. he wasn't being gentle. he loved seeing you falling apart, seeing your legs get weak.

"joel, please—" you cried out.

"this mine, yeah?" you. you're his. "you ain't goin' on patrols with anyone but me, understood?"

you whimpered. "ah—yes."

he let out a chuckle, delighted to see you like this. he knows you're his, but he likes to remind you.

"i'm gonna get you all round so everyone in town knows you're mine too." his hand drifted to your belly. "right here."

he moved his hand a little lower just enough to feel himself, stretching you out. "attagirl," he cooed. "come f'me."

you fell apart beneath him, your body squirming, trembling legs, spasming walls that milked him out, but he didn't stop thrusting, not until he was sure you were filled up.

the cabin was a bunch of whimpering from both of you.

until…

the door swung open. you’ve been caught.

by tommy.

he had been looking for you since you didn’t show up to the meeting point they have in case something happened—so he came looking for you, thinking the worst, it’s been a while and he’s exhausted, sweating. he should be upset because you made him worry and waste his time when all you were doing was fucking.

but more than upset he was… aroused. the quiet girl he knew back in town wasn’t being that quiet and shy right now. the quiet girl loved having a cock buried inside her.

he had to adjust his jeans before coming further. “what the fuck is this?” he asked.

your face went pale and you tried to cover yourself but it was pointless—joel didn’t let you. he knew his brother well enough.

“‘s this what you’ve been doing? you have an idea how many time i’ve been looking for you? you—“

“cut the shit tommy,” joel growled.

“so this is the quiet girl from jackson, huh?” he leaned, fingers on your jaw, making you look at him. your lip was trembling.

joel pulled out with a loud pop sound, his cum dripping from your cunt, your thighs all sticky with the mess you made.

"you're gonna explain?" tommy asked to his brother, but not letting go his grip on your jaw, you were curling your toes, being in the middle of the miller brothers always got you nervous. "is she your

"she's mine," joel said firmly. "but i'm sure she wants you to fill her up, don't you sweetheart?"

you nodded, holding eye contact with tommy, then your eyes drifted to the bulge on his pants.

"she can be our secret."

[ivyues]

Reunited Moments: Stray Kids’ reactions to seeing their S/O after a long time

Bang Chan

The moment Chris sees you, his eyes widen in disbelief before softening with overwhelming emotion. A breath catches in his throat as he takes a step forward, then another – until he’s practically running.

"Y/N..." he whispers.

Before you can even respond, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close, as if making sure you're really there. His warmth engulfs you, and you feel the way his fingers clutch the fabric of your shirt, refusing to let go. His chest rises and falls unevenly, and when you tilt your head up, you notice the slight shimmer in his eyes.

"I missed you so much," he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

A tear escapes, but he doesn’t care. He kisses you gently, his lips soft against yours as though he’s afraid you might slip away again. His kiss deepens, letting himself believe that finally, finally, you're back in his arms.

Lee Know

As soon as Lee Know sees you, he freezes, his lips pressing into a firm line. His arms cross over his chest as he shifts his weight, trying to play it cool.

"Took you long enough," he mutters, looking away, but the way his fingers twitch at his sides gives him away.

You smile, stepping closer, and that’s when his façade cracks. Before you can even tease him, he sighs in defeat and pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“…Idiot. I missed you," he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. His grip on you tightens for a second before he quickly pulls back. "Don’t disappear like that again," he adds.

Even as he tries to regain his composure, his hands linger on your waist, unwilling to let you go just yet.

The rest of the day, Lee Know doesn’t let you stray too far. No matter where you go, he’s right there, a little too close, always glancing at you like he’s making sure you’re still within arm’s reach.

Changbin

The moment Changbin lays his eyes on you, his face lights up with pure joy. "Y/N!" he shouts, already moving towards you at full speed. Before you can even react, he scoops you up, spinning you around in the air as laughter bubbles out of you.

“I missed you so much!” he exclaims. The world blurs around you, but all you can focus on is his bright smile and the way his arms feel so secure around you.

When he finally sets you down, he immediately pulls you into another bone-crushing hug, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe.

"Binnie—I can't breathee!" you gasp, laughing while patting his shoulder.

"Shh, just a little longer," he mumbles against your shoulder, refusing to let go. You feel his arms tighten slightly as if he's afraid you'll disappear again. "I don't wanna let go yet."

And honestly, neither do you.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin stops in his tracks the moment he sees you. His eyes go wide, his breath hitching as he stares like he's seeing a ghost.

"No way…" he whispers, shaking his head in disbelief. He even blinks a few times before looking at you again. "Is this real? Am I dreaming?"

You laugh softly, taking a step closer. "I—I can't believe it," he says, voice trembling slightly.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics but smile nonetheless. "Yes, Hyunjin, I'm here. You can touch me if you want proof."

At that, he finally snaps out of it, rushing forward and pulling you into a desperate hug. His arms wrap tightly around you, his body molding against yours.

"I missed you so much," he murmurs, his voice quieter now as he simply holds you. 

You smile into his shoulder, squeezing him just as tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Han

The moment Han lays eyes on you, his expression shifts instantly – his playful smile falters, his lips part like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

The second he reaches you, he crashes into you, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it nearly knocks the breath out of you. His head buries into your shoulder, and that’s when you feel it – his quiet sniffles, the way his body trembles slightly against yours.

"You—" His voice cracks, and he grips you even tighter. "I was gone for so long…"

Your hands run soothingly through his hair as you hold him just as tightly, your own heart aching. Minutes pass, but Han doesn’t let go, as if making up for all the time spent apart.

“Just a little longer,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "As long as you need."

And so you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, neither of you willing to let go.

Felix

The moment Felix sees you, he completely freezes. His eyes widen, lips parting slightly as if he can’t believe you’re really there. Then, before he can stop it, his eyes glisten with tears.

You barely have time to react before the first tear rolls down his cheek. That’s all it takes for you to rush forward, closing the distance between you. The second your arms wrap around him, he melts into you, gripping onto you like you might disappear if he lets go.

A shaky sob escapes him as he buries his face into your shoulder, his whole body trembling against yours. “I missed you so much,” he whispers, his deep voice breaking with emotion. His hands clutch the back of your shirt tightly.

You rub his back soothingly, holding him just as tightly. “I’m here now, Lix,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his hair asyou feel a wetness on your own cheek.

You pull back, gently wiping away a tear from your face. “Hey, no fair. Now you’re making me cry too,” you tease, your voice light but full of warmth, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Seungmin

The moment Seungmin sees you, a playful smirk plays on his lips. But is gaze softens the moment he notices the glisten of tears in your eyes, replaced by an expression of concern.

You try to brush it off, sniffling and wiping your eyes. "Aren’t you gonna tease me for crying?" you ask, trying to laugh.

But instead of teasing you, Seungmin steps forward, his arms immediately enveloping you in a warm, reassuring hug. His grip is firm yet gentle, as if he’s trying to convey just how much he’s missed you without saying a word.

"Hey I'm not that mean," he murmurs softly, his voice quieter than usual. "I missed you, too, you know."

You rest your head on his chest, the warmth and comfort of his embrace enough to make everything feel okay again.

I.N

The moment I.N sees you, his entire face lights up with pure joy. His bright smile spreads across his lips, his eyes crinkling with excitement as he practically bounces towards you.

"Y/N!" he exclaims as he rushes to you without a second thought.

Before you can even react, he pulls you into a warm hug, his arms wrapping securely around you. There's no hesitation, no shyness – just the sheer joy of having you back in his arms. He rocks you slightly from side to side, his laughter bubbling up like he can’t contain it.

"I missed you so much," he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you again!"

Seeing him this cheerful makes your heart swell, and you can’t help but smile just as brightly. “I think I do,” you say, squeezing him again.

masterlist

[meinii]

"hoodie thief"

summary: Sylus' hoodies have been disappearing lately... the thief was closer than he thought •⩊•

content: fluffy fluff, Luke and Kieran cameo

                      ୨୧·。。·♡·∴·♡·。。·୨୧

Sylus was no fool

at first, he didn’t think much of it—one or two hoodies missing wasn’t a big deal. he probably left them somewhere, maybe in his office or tossed over one of the chairs in Onychinus. but as the days passed, his wardrobe slowly dwindled. hoodies, sweatshirts, even his thicker, oversized ones—all mysteriously gone

and there was only one person who had the audacity to steal from him

you.

Sylus narrowed his eyes. he had seen you wearing his hoodies a few times, the fabric swallowing your frame, the sleeves dangling past your hands. and each time, you acted as if it was no big deal. like it wasn’t a crime against the very fabric of his empire.

the moment you walked into his office that evening, wrapped in yet another one of his hoodies, he just stared

you blinked "what?"

he leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk, a slow smirk tugging at his lips "you’re awfully comfortable stealing from me, aren’t you?"

you feigned innocence, glancing down at the hoodie draped over you "oh… this? I—uh—found it"

"found it?" he repeated, amused

"yeah. just lying around"

"in your house?"

"…maybe"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. he could force you to return them—could pin you down and strip it right off your body if he really wanted to—but he let it slide, for now

because, truthfully, he liked seeing you in his hoodies.

that might’ve been the end of it—except Luke and Kieran, the ever-loyal informants, decided to stick their noses in where it did not belong

"boss, we have a report on your missing items"

Sylus looked up from his paperwork, giving Luke and Kieran a deadpan stare "You actually investigated?"

Luke grinned "of course. you seemed so troubled about it, after all"

Sylus rolled his eyes "go on, then"

Kieran pulled out a small tablet, tapping the screen "after some thorough research—which included some discreet surveillance—we have identified the culprit" he turned the screen toward Sylus

it was you, sneaking out of his penthouse with an armful of his hoodies, stuffing them into a bag like a professional thief

Sylus let out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief "she really had the audacity to smuggle them out?"

Luke smirked "oh, she’s been planning this. we even found a whole stash at her place"

Sylus raised an eyebrow "a stash?"

"mm-hm. neatly folded, stacked in her closet. she’s treating them like trophies, boss"

Sylus chuckled, tilting his head back in amusement. the fact that you collected them, carefully keeping them all together—it was both ridiculous and insanely endearing

"and here’s the best part," Kieran continued, clearly enjoying himself "we confronted her about it. wanna know what she said?"

Sylus smirked "let’s hear it"

Luke cleared his throat dramatically "'tell Sylus I have no idea what he’s talking about. those are legally mine now. he can’t do anything about it.'"

Sylus burst out laughing, dragging a hand down his face "legally hers?"

"she made a contract in her head, boss. if she wears it enough times, it’s hers now."

Sylus shook his head, amused beyond belief "She really is impossible"

Luke grinned "so? what’s the plan? gonna storm her place and reclaim your lost belongings?"

Sylus smirked "no, no… let her have them"

Kieran raised an eyebrow "really?"

"oh, yeah" Sylus leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with mischief "I want to see how long she thinks she can get away with this"

that night, you were comfortably curled up on your couch, wearing yet another hoodie of Sylus'. t smelled like him—faint hints of cedarwood, spice, and something unmistakably him. it was oversized, the sleeves pooling over your hands, the warmth of the fabric making you feel safe

you had no regrets. none at all.

until your phone buzzed

Sylus: I know everything

you stared at the message, heart stopping for a second

you hesitated before replying

You: everything about what? Sylus: you’re a terrible liar.

you swallowed, typing as nonchalantly as possible

You: I think you’re mistaken. I am simply a humble citizen living her best life. Sylus: living your best life with my entire wardrobe?

okay. he knew. he definitely knew.

you considered your options

1) play dumb 2) flee the country 3) beg for forgiveness

before you could type a response, there was a knock on your door

your stomach dropped

slowly, cautiously, you opened the door—only to find Sylus leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp with amusement

"you," he drawled "are the worst thief I’ve ever seen."

you cleared your throat, shifting slightly "what brings you here, oh great ruler of Onychinus?"

he smirked "oh, just checking in on my beloved hoodie thief."

You knew Luke and Kieran had snitched. those little traitors.

Sylus stepped forward, towering over you, his fingers tugging lightly at the hem of the hoodie you were wearing

"you didn’t even bother returning one," he mused, tilting his head "you just kept all of them"

you pouted "well… they’re cozy"

his eyes flickered with amusement "and that means they belong to you?"

"yes," you said shamelessly "finders keepers"

Sylus let out a low chuckle, shaking his head "unbelievable"

"you’re not mad, though," you pointed out, a slow grin spreading across your lips "you like seeing me in them."

he exhaled, a smirk playing on his lips "you’re lucky I do"

his fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your chin up slightly. his voice lowered, warm and teasing

"if you wanted to keep something of mine so badly… all you had to do was ask"

your face grew warm at the implication "I—"

"shh" he leaned down, his lips barely an inch from yours "enjoy your little collection while it lasts. I might just take one back… personally"

your heart definitely skipped a beat

Sylus grinned at your expression, clearly enjoying himself

"sweet dreams, hoodie thief"

and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away—leaving you flustered, warm, and absolutely unwilling to give back a single hoodie

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

Your work is amazing, I love the way you interpret Simon’s personality and speech patterns in the prosthetic arm Simon fic.❤️

hello, anon! thank you so much for the kind words. i just wanted to take this opportunity to post this deleted part of prosthetic arm simon.

sfw. angst (?). highschool dropout simon. shame.

the prosthetic is finished.

it fits like a second skin. moves smooth, seamless, with no lag between thought and motion. it’s perfect. better than anything he could’ve gotten himself. better than the overpriced models he looked at years ago, wondering if he could stomach the debt just to feel normal again.

and for a moment, as he flexes his fingers, as he watches the metal articulate like flesh, he feels… proud. proud of you, of your work, of the precision in every detail. he turns his hand over, watching the way the joints move, the faint hum of technology so advanced he still doesn’t fully understand it.

but then— the thought creeps in, unbidden, unwelcome.

his throat tightens.

does this mean he doesn’t have an excuse to see you anymore?

his fingers still, mid-motion.

the past few months have been good. better than he expected. seeing you, talking to you, getting to know you beyond the surface-level interactions he usually keeps with people.

but now?

now there’s no more check-ups. no more adjustments. no more need for him to stop by so you can make small tweaks, run diagnostics, ensure everything’s running smoothly.

simon swallows, something cold curling in his chest. he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. that if he really wanted to see you, he could just— just call, just text, just ask.

but that’s not how he works.

he’s spent so long just coasting with people. staying at arm’s length, keeping interactions simple, necessary, easy to walk away from.

but you? you’re not easy to walk away from.

“you did good,” he says, and he means it. he just hopes you can’t hear everything else under it.

you don’t seem to notice his unease, too excited as you bounce on your heels, practically beaming.

“oh- i have news!”

he blinks. tries to steady himself. “yeah?"

“my thesis got picked to be presented at congress!”

it takes him a second. longer than it should. he hears the words, knows what they mean, but they feel far away, like his mind is still caught in the spiral from before.

but then he sees the way you’re looking at him, the pure joy on your face, and something inside him lurches

“shit,” he breathes. “that’s- that’s incredible.”

and it is. you deserve this. you deserve more than this.

he shows up to the congress.

he doesn’t tell you he’s coming. he doesn’t even decide until the last minute, standing in front of his closet, staring at the one half-decent button-up he owns.

but then he’s there, standing outside the venue, and he brings flowers.

he’s never done that before. never even bought flowers before, really. but he stands outside the venue, fingers tight around the cheap bouquet, feeling ridiculous and out of place.

he feels out of place.

too big, too rough, too obviously not part of the sleek, academic crowd milling around in suits and dresses. he tugs at his sleeves, shifting his weight, half-ready to just leave the flowers somewhere and go before—

then he sees you. scanning the crowd, eyes searching.

and when you spot him— you light up.

like he’s supposed to be here. like he’s not just some guy who stumbled in, unsure if he even belongs in moments like these.

you rush over, practically colliding into him, and he barely has time to react before you’re grabbing the flowers, pressing your face into them, laughing breathlessly.

“you came.”

his throat works. he clears it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’course i did,” he mutters.

you smile.

…

he knew this was a bad idea.

he knew from the moment he walked into the restaurant, stiff in his chair, palm sweating against the napkin in his lap.

knew when you slid into the seat across from him, looking bright and effortless and so at ease, still glowing from your big presentation, still beaming about the congress.

knew when he looked down at the menu and realized he didn’t recognize half the words on it.

simon’s spent years in places like this— quiet, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of good food and low conversation. but he’s always been alone. always sat in a corner with his back to the wall, a meal in front of him and no one expecting him to talk.

but now— now there’s you.

and you’re talking, telling him about the congress, about the people you met, the questions they asked. you sound so fucking excited, like the whole world is opening up in front of you, and simon—

simon just nods.

he doesn’t know what to say. doesn’t know how to keep up.

he’s never been smart like you. never been the type to sit in lecture halls, to write papers, to stand in front of a room full of academics and present something that matters.

he barely finished school. left home at sixteen, signed his life away at eighteen, spent more years holding a gun than a pen.

simon’s just good at breaking it.

he doesn’t belong in places like this. doesn’t belong next to you. you who's all bright ideas and ambition, the kind of person who builds things, who makes the world better.

he shifts in his seat, hyper-aware of how he looks— broad shoulders hunched awkwardly, big hands clumsy against the silverware, a goddamn mutt at a dinner table.

he wonders if you notice. if you see it. if you realize you could do better.

your food arrives. you thank the waiter, pick up your fork—

and before you can even take a bite, it slips out.

“i-”

you pause, fork halfway to your mouth.

simon grips his napkin under the table, flexes his fingers, heart thudding heavy in his ribs.

he shouldn’t ask. should just let this be a nice dinner, let you go home, let you move on.

but—

“would you…” he swallows, throat dry, stomach tight.

he shouldn’t ask.

“would you want to go on a date with me?”

the words hit the table like lead.

silence.

he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t move. because fuck, he actually said it.

and now there’s nothing but the space between you, the quiet hum of conversation, the faint clink of cutlery against plates—

and you. staring at him.

he braces for rejection. tells himself it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“yeah,” you say, voice light with something he can’t name. “i would.”

his stomach drops.

relief. disbelief. something dangerously close to hope.

he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. nods, just once, like he’s acknowledging an order. like his hands aren’t trembling under the table.

“okay,” he mutters.

then, quieter—

“good.”

[daddydixonscrossbow]

You step towards Daryl, “Daryl.”

He gives you a funny look, like why are you my space, kinda look. You ignore it, “I don’t think we should be here.” He looks at you more, “What do y’mean?”

You shrug, “I don’t- this place doesn’t feel safe. There’s something off about that Dr. Jenner dude.”

“Wait n’see what Rick says.” He mumbles, looking back towards Rick, “M’sure he’ll be a’right.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself, the eerie feeling growing harder to get rid of.

Your eyes focus on the screen, watching the lights flicker within the brain of the scan. You feel like you could puke. After a little bit, a loud alarm starts buzzing.

Everyone starts questioning what it is.

You look at Daryl and he tilts his head, “Maybe y’were right.” He reaches out, pulling you to him. The screen lights up with a red box and numbers, a voice counting down booms through the room, “thirty minutes ‘til decontamination.”

Everyone starts panicking. You hold onto Daryl’s arm and he looks at the doctor.

“What’s going on here doc?”

“Yall heard Rick, get yer’stuff and let’s go. Go now!” Shane yells. Daryl pulls you with him towards the exit, his hand tightening on yours. The door closes and you stop, spinning around to look for another way out.

“Did you just lock us in?” Glenn asks scared.

You start to breathe faster, but Daryl shakes his head, “Don’do that, calm down. We’ll get outta here, just- hold on.”

He gets more agitated, letting you go to go after the doctor, “You son of a bitch. You locked us in here!”

You and Shane go after Daryl, keeping him away from the doctor. You grab his arm, “No, no, no.” Shane pulls him back, and you step in front of him, “Stop, stop. That’s not gonna help.”

He looks down at you, huffing as he glances up at the doctor.

After a little bit of freaking out and the doctor losing his shit, Shane cocks a gun, aiming it at Jenner. You stand closer to Daryl and he wraps his arm around you.

Shane fires the gun repeatedly and you grip onto Daryl’s shirt, “Oh my god, I want out.”

He nods, “I know, we all do. Jus’relax, okay.”

Jenner moves to a key pad, and as soon as the door is open, Daryl pulls you to where the weapons are, and you book it with him.

He glances back every so often to make sure you’re still with him, “C’mon, girl. We gotta go.” You huff, following him ho the steps, “I’m goin’ as fast as I can, Daryl.”

You make your way to the doors, and nothing is working. He runs over, hacking at the windows with Rick. Nothing works until Carol pulls out a grenade.

Daryl grabs you, pulling you with him. He gets you down onto the floor, his arm around you as you use your hands to cover your ear, “Fuck, fuck.”

As it goes off, he holds you tighter, looking up as the glass shatters and he nudges you, “C’mon. C’mon.” You stand up, running out of the now broken window. Your heart was racing, you’ve never been this scared before. Even though Daryl wasn’t really a comfort kind of person, you somehow managed to feel safer with him by your side, at least.. a little bit.

You run out over the yard towards the vehicles. Shane, Rick, and, Daryl taking out walkers as you all hustle.

He reaches back for your hand, pulling you up to him, “c’mon.” He opens the truck door, pushing you in, “In, in, in.” You climb in, Daryl following you in and he lays his body on yours, “Stay down.”

You listen to the explosion of the building, closing your eyes as you try to control your breathing.

He sits up slowly, eyes on the building, “Y’okay?”

You nod, sitting up, “Mhm.” You mumble, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” He clears his throat, “Don’t expect it again.” You roll your eyes, “Asshole.” You look over at him and he gives you a slight smirk, shaking his head as he looks back at the burning building, “Fuck.”

You move away from him as he starts to drive, following the other vehicles. After a while, you come to a stop. Daryl ditches his truck and gets his bike from the back, “Get on and hang on.”

You swing your leg over the bike, adjusting your sitting position. You slide your arms around his torso and rest your chin on his shoulder, and that was a very scary, yet beautiful start to yours and Daryl’s relationship.

Here’s a kiss for likin’ and rebloggin’ 💋

[kathaelipwse]

If Only You Could See Yourself | Bang chan

Synopsis: You’ve never seen yourself the way Chan does—where he sees beauty, you see flaws. Every time he calls you beautiful, you dismiss it, unable to believe. But one night, as your doubts consume you, Chan refuses to let you fade into them. With gentle words and unwavering patience, he holds you together, determined to make you see what he’s always seen. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll start to believe him.

Warnings: self-hate, honestly just angst, comfort

Word Count: 1.1k

Author's Note: This might trigger a few readers. I am going through a turmoil and honestly chan is my comfort person so yeah..

It was a day off, you and chan have been dating since 4 years now, though he was busy he never really failed to make time for you and compliment you every now and then.

The first time Chan called you beautiful, you laughed. Not out of joy, but because the word felt foreign—misplaced, even. You thought he was joking. Maybe being playful, the way he always was. But when you turned to see the sincerity in his eyes, something inside you twisted. Uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. You brushed it off.

The second time, you just shook your head. A soft, almost involuntary reaction, like swatting away a fly. You didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to make it a thing. But Chan noticed. He always did. He let it go that time, but the way his brows furrowed told you he was thinking about it.

The third time, you flinched.

That was when Chan really started paying attention.

Tonight, the weight in your chest is heavier than usual. You don’t know why—maybe you do, but it’s easier to pretend you don’t. It’s just another night, another round of existing in a body that doesn’t feel like yours, in a mind that never stops whispering cruel things.

Chan sits on the couch beside you, his arm draped lazily over the backrest. The room is warm, cozy, filled with the soft hum of background noise from the TV. You should feel safe here. But that voice in your head is louder than the comfort of his presence.

“You okay?” Chan’s voice is soft, careful.

You nod automatically. “Yeah. Just tired.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. You don’t look at him when you say it. Instead, you focus on the way your fingers pick at the hem of your sleeves.

Chan shifts, turning to face you more fully. “You sure? You’ve been quiet all night.”

You shrug. “Just one of those days.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching. You know he wants to press, but he doesn’t. Instead, he offers you a small smile and says, “You’re still beautiful, you know.”

You freeze. The air in the room changes. The words hang between you, heavy and unbearable.

Your stomach twists violently. Your throat tightens. Something inside you snaps, raw and unfiltered. Before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“I don’t get it,” you whisper.

Chan blinks. “What?”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “Why do you keep saying things like that?”

He tilts his head, brows knitting together. “Because they’re true.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “No, they’re not. You just—” You take a shaky breath. “You see me through rose-colored glasses, Chan. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

Chan stares at you, something unreadable flashing in his expression. “You think I’m lying?”

You swallow hard, unable to meet his gaze. “I think… I think you’re wrong.”

His voice is quieter now, more careful. “Wrong about what?”

“About me,” you say, finally looking at him. “About everything you think I am.”

Chan’s jaw tightens. He shifts forward, closing the distance between you. His hands reach out, hesitating for only a moment before cupping your face, thumbs grazing your cheekbones. His touch is warm, grounding.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You do. And it’s a mistake, because the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the most precious thing in the world—makes your chest ache.

“I don’t see you through rose-colored glasses,” he says, voice steady but thick with emotion. “I see you exactly as you are.”

Your lip trembles. “Then you must be looking at the wrong person.”

Chan exhales sharply, shaking his head. “No,” he says firmly. “No, I see you. The real you. I see the way you care about people more than yourself. I see the way you laugh when you think no one’s listening. I see the way you light up when you talk about the things you love. I see every little thing that makes you you—and you have no idea how fucking beautiful that is.”

Tears blur your vision. “Stop.”

“I won’t,” he says, voice cracking. “Because I wish—God, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Your breath catches. The words hit something deep, something you didn’t know was still soft inside you. A sob escapes before you can swallow it down, and then the dam breaks.

Chan pulls you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong, unshakable, as if he’s trying to hold together all the pieces of you that are falling apart. He strokes your hair, whispering soothing things you can’t make out over the sound of your own broken cries.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.”

You clutch onto him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt like he’s the only thing tethering you to this world.

For the first time, you let yourself believe him.

Later, when your breathing evens out and the tears have dried, you’re still curled against him. He hasn’t let go, hasn’t loosened his grip even once.

Chan presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to believe me yet,” he says quietly. “But let me prove it to you. Let me remind you every day until you do.”

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily. “Okay.”

And for now, that’s enough.

That night, Chan doesn’t let you sleep alone. When you hesitate, standing by your bedroom door as he prepares to leave, he simply tilts his head. “Do you want me to stay?”

You don’t answer right away, but the way you tug at your sleeves gives you away.

Chan sighs softly, stepping forward. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

So he does.

You lie in bed, facing away from him at first, trying to keep space between you. But the storm in your head doesn’t quiet, even with him near. After a while, your body moves on its own, shifting closer, until your back is pressed lightly against his chest.

Chan doesn’t say anything. He just wraps an arm around you, securing you in place like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re safe,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re enough. Always.”

You don’t know if you believe him yet, but you let his warmth chase away the cold. Just for tonight.

The next morning, you wake up to soft sunlight filtering through your curtains. Chan is still there, one arm draped protectively over your waist. His slow, even breaths brush against the back of your neck.

You shift slightly, and he stirs. “Morning,” he murmurs sleepily.

You swallow thickly. “Morning.”

Chan tightens his hold just a little. “How are you feeling?”

You don’t have an answer. Not yet. But for the first time in a long time, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

So you settle for the truth.

“I think… I think I’m okay.”

Chan smiles against your skin, kissing your forehead and says. “Good.”

---

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (16 - A Heart to Break)

Chapter Summary: This was cold, deliberate. Wanda wasn’t avoiding you, not exactly. She was around, always there at team meetings, in training sessions, and the common areas. But she never acknowledged you. When she did look at you—on those rare occasions—it wasn’t to meet your eyes. It was to look through you, as if you weren’t even there.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags: Angst

A/N: I'd like thank all of you again for following this series. Getting asks or feedback for this story is always the highlight of my week, especially how busy I am with school. Hope you like more angst :) P.S. @justagaynerdsblog it's not what you think. It's not THAT kind of triangle, it's just two idiots in love and being stupid // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wanda started dating Vision right away.

Much to your chagrin.

Not that you had any right to feel that way. You’d practically shoved her toward him, hadn’t you? Painting Vision as the perfect choice, the logical choice, the safe choice. You could almost laugh at how quickly they’d made it official. 

Well, almost.

Every time you saw them together, that laugh stuck somewhere in your throat. The compound wasn’t exactly big enough to avoid them. You saw them everywhere—Vision holding open a door for her, Wanda tilting her head back to laugh at something he said. It was all perfectly polite—just like you’d told her it would be. 

You told yourself it was fine. You had no right to feel jealous, no right to feel the knife that twisted in your chest every time Wanda smiled at him the way you wanted her to smile at you—how she used to smile at you.

Still, it grated.

You didn’t realize how much until the team dinner that Friday.

The dining room was rampageous, everyone laughing and talking over each other in a way that only happened when Tony was footing the bill and the drinks were flowing freely. Wanda sat next to Vision, their chairs too close, their hands brushing often enough to make your jaw clench every five minutes.

You’d taken a seat at the far end of the table, two spots down from Sam, who was loudly recounting some mission story that had Natasha rolling her eyes. You weren’t really listening. Your attention kept drifting to the other end of the table, where Wanda was leaning in to whisper something to Vision, her lips curving into a soft smile at his response.

You looked down at your plate, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken a little harder than necessary.

“Having fun there?”

You glanced up, startled, to find Sam smirking at you, his arms crossed like he’d been watching for a while.

“What?” you asked, your brain still catching up.

“You’re murdering your dinner,” he nodded toward your plate, “What’d that chicken ever do to you?”

You looked down and realized your fork was practically embedded in what used to be a respectable dinner. Now, it was just a mushy lump, draining what was left of your appetite. You loosened your grip and mumbled, “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Sam said with a wink, his grin widening before he went back to the group discussion.

At the other end of the table, Vision said something that made Wanda laugh. It wasn’t one of those fake ones (you could honestly tell) she gave when she felt like she had to. Against your better judgment, you risked a glance. Wanda’s eyes were bright, her head tipped slightly toward him, looking positively smitten. Vision said something else, and she laughed again, this time quieter, her hand brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“God, this is pathetic,” you muttered to yourself, barely audible.

“What’s pathetic?”

Natasha this time. For someone trying to keep their head down, you were doing a terrible job. 

“Nothing,” you mumbled quickly, hoping she'd let it go. 

Of course, she didn’t. “You’re sulking like a teenager, and it’s making everyone uncomfortable. Come on,” she said.

Before you could make your defense she was already on her feet, nodding for you to follow. You hesitated for a fraction, then pushed your chair back, grateful for the excuse to leave. You could feel Wanda’s gaze on you as you stepped away from the table, Natasha leading the way out.

By the time you reached the balcony, you were ready to empty the meager contents of your stomach. You hadn’t been eating well lately, and it was starting to take a toll on your training regimen. You’ve been skipping workouts more often this week, and Natasha had been noticing that too.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asked, though there’s no pressure in her tone of voice.

“Nope,” you replied, short and to the point.

Natasha shrugged, unbothered. “Suit yourself.” 

She shifted to one side of the balcony, pulling a cigarette from her back pocket and lighting it with the kind of flair that made you wonder if she smoked to think or just to piss people off.  She inhaled deeply, held it, exhaled away from you in a long, steady stream. 

You leaned against the railing, your fingers curling around the cold metal, trying to focus on the night sky rather than the conversation you knew was coming. Natasha never forced anything, but she didn’t let things go either. Not when she thought there was something worth digging into.

“This… push and pull with Wanda. It’s exhausting to watch, honestly,” she started.

You scoffed, almost exaggerating it. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“You were friends, real friends, and now you can’t even be in the same room without turning into this.”

“Into what?” you asked.

“Like a zombie, Y/N. And Wanda—or maybe Vision—is the brain you want to eat. You’re not yourself. What happened?”

“That’s ridiculous.” You bristled, looking away. “Nothing happened, okay?”

“Right. Because ‘nothing’ turns people into brooding messes who barely eat, barely train,” she countered.

You kept quiet. Natasha had no business knowing about this. If your face gave you away this evening, you were just going to have to fake it until you make it.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Natasha said, not even bothering to disguise the accusation. “Between you two. Because this? This isn’t just awkward. It’s worse. My guess? You broke your own damn heart.”

“I don’t have—”

“A heart to break?” she cut in, rolling her eyes so hard you could practically hear them scrape against her skull. “Stop it. The more you deny it, the more it owns you. That’s how it works.”

You frowned, trying to parse where she was going with this.

“There’s a way to handle it,” she continued, exhaling smoke as if it carried some of her frustration with it. “You move on, Y/N. But, clearly, you’re doing it wrong.”

“You’re the expert now?”

“I’m saying I’ve been there,” Natasha said, taking another drag of her cigarette. “You’re stuck because you haven’t accepted the decision you made. And it’s eating you alive.”

“How do you know that I—”

“Oh, come on. Everyone knows Wanda’s been obsessed with you since she joined the team,” she said with a faint smirk. “And now she’s with Vision. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. You chose something—or someone—and now you’re second-guessing yourself.”

What she said settled over you like a suffocating blanket. Natasha was right. It was the ‘what if?’ that’s been haunting you since you denied your feelings for Wanda—rather impulsively if you were being truly honest. 

“Do you… Do you think I made the right choice?”

“As much as I’d love to hand you the answer on a silver platter, I don’t have it,” Natasha said, brushing ash from the tip of her cigarette. “Only time will tell, I guess. But I will say this: you made your choice for a reason. Trust yourself on that, at least.”

Natasha pushed off the wall, brushing her hands against her pants. “Better get back inside before she comes looking for you.”

“She won’t.”

Natasha let out a dry, skeptical hum before heading back inside. You’d thought she’d dragged you out here to convince you to get Wanda back. But this was harder to swallow.

Trust yourself. 

As if it were that simple.

—

The fallout with Wanda this time was different. Different from all the other times you tried to jumpstart some version of a friendship or a co-working relationship and failed. It wasn’t the wary distance you’d both kept when she first arrived at the compound, when trust was something neither of you could afford to give. This was worse.

This was cold, deliberate. Wanda wasn’t avoiding you, not exactly. She was around, always there at team meetings, in training sessions, and the common areas. But she never acknowledged you. When she did look at you—on those rare occasions—it wasn’t to meet your eyes. It was to look through you, as if you weren’t even there.

She was always with Vision now. Rarely did you see her without him by her side. The team had started referring to them as Wanda and Vision, like they were one entity. It wasn’t, “Ask Wanda,” or, “Ask Vision.” It was, “Ask Wanda and Vision.” As if they’d merged into one seamless, perfect unit. When Vision wasn’t around, the questions still fell to Wanda, as if she spoke for him. When Wanda wasn’t around, Vision became her proxy. The separation between them had dissolved in everyone’s minds, and you hated it. Not because they didn’t deserve to be happy—no, you’d told yourself you wanted that for her. You just hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to watch it unfold right in front of you.

You told yourself you’d get used to it, that it was just a phase, but it wasn’t. It was more like a drawn-out misery you couldn’t escape. You missed her. You missed the easy banter you’d started to build before everything fell apart. You missed the way her sharp wit challenged you, the way she’d smirk when she knew she’d gotten under your skin just enough to make you react. You found yourself wondering if she still trained, if she was keeping up with the progress she’d been so proud of.

And sometimes, when you were alone in your room, you wouldn’t even turn up the music. You’d sit there in the quiet, waiting, straining to hear anything from her side of the wall. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you’d hear her playing the guitar—something she’d started doing more often in recent weeks. Most nights, though, it wasn’t the guitar you heard. It was Vision. Wanda’s voice rarely reached you, but when it did, it was laughter. Laughter that you didn’t cause, that wasn’t yours to hear anymore.

The worst of it came when they started leaving together. Late at night, when the compound had quieted down and most of the team had gone to bed, you’d hear the faint sound of their footsteps, see them heading toward the exit. You told yourself they were just walking, just talking, but you weren’t naïve. You knew what couples did late at night.

And they were a couple now.

—

You considered going back to your apartment in the city. It wasn’t far—just a few miles—but the missions were rolling in again, and timing was everything. It was easier to stay at the compound, to be ready for whatever disaster came next. Besides, throwing yourself into work was better than sitting alone in an empty apartment with your thoughts circling Wanda and Vision like vultures.

Missions came and went, and luckily, you weren’t paired with Wanda or Vision. Someone else was always available, someone else always volunteered. It was a small mercy you clung to as you poured yourself into the work. You kept yourself busy. Busier than usual. You took on every assignment thrown your way, volunteering for extra shifts, running double-time during debriefs. 

But the work didn’t just distract you—it became a way to punish yourself. You didn’t take unnecessary risks; you took reckless ones. If the odds were stacked, you went in headfirst.  It wasn’t that you wanted to get hurt—at least, not consciously—but somehow, the pain on the outside felt like the only thing that could dull the pain within.

And the wounds came. Small ones at first—a sprained wrist, a shallow cut above your brow. Then larger ones. A nasty gash along your arm during an ambush. Against protocol, you never went to the in-house medical team. You handled it yourself—bandaging wounds in your room, stitching yourself up with clenched teeth, biting down on a scrap of fabric to muffle the sounds of pain.

It was only a matter of time before your luck ran out.

—

The bullet grazed your side during a narrow escape, tearing through your jacket and slicing into your skin with brutal efficiency. You barely had time to think about it in the heat of the moment, too focused on getting out alive. But by the time you returned to the compound, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving nothing but the sharp, unrelenting pain and the blood—hot and stick— seeping through your fingers as you clutched your side.

Turning a corner, you nearly collided with Wanda, who was coming back from the gym. She was still in her workout gear, a towel slung over her shoulder, her hair pulled back, a light sheen of sweat on her skin. Her eyes darted up to meet yours, and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t look away immediately.

You managed a small nod and tacked on a weak smile for good measure. She returned the nod but the smile didn’t come. She moved to step past you, and you thought that would be the end of it.

But then you faltered—just a split-second wince as the pain surged, a grimace you couldn’t quite hide. Her steps slowed, her head turning slightly. Her eyes landed on your hand, pressed against your side, and then on the dark red stain spreading through your shirt.

“Wait,” she said sharply.  

“It’s fine,” you muttered, trudging along, trying to walk straight even though your side burned like hell.

Without a word, she turned back and then unwound the towel she had draped around her shoulders, stepping closer and pressing it firmly against your side. You jerked back at the pressure but didn’t stop her. Her hand stayed steady, though her expression betrayed none of what she might’ve been thinking. It wasn’t anger, or at least not just anger. 

“I’m calling the medic,” Wanda said.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just a graze. I don’t need the medics.”

Wanda merely glared at your wound, though you could see the tightness in her jaw, the way her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You’re bleeding through a towel,” she said flatly.

“I just need the first-aid kit,” you mumbled, glancing toward the storage room. “That’s all.”

She didn’t look at you as she asked, “Where is it?”

“Why?” you asked cautiously.

“So we can patch you up.”

We.

Did she mean you and her? Or was this some prelude to Vision walking into the hallway and the couple patching you up together? You didn’t ask, though the thought burned in the back of your mind.

“It’s just right there,” you finally said, pointing weakly toward the door a few feet away.

She didn’t move right away. Her hands stayed where they were, pressing the towel firmly against your side, applying just enough pressure to slow the bleeding but not enough to stop your brain from wondering why the hell she was doing this. Wanda had made it pretty clear she wanted nothing to do with you. A wound like this wasn’t life-threatening at all. But she was treating it like you were on death’s doorstep, making it more difficult for you to ignore the flutter of feelings you’d been working so hard to bury.

After what felt like too long, Wanda stood, releasing her grip on the towel. “I’ll get it,” she said simply. You stayed where you were, slumped against the wall. The absence of her hands left you trembling slightly, and for the first time, you really felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at you, the weakness from blood loss settling in.

Fine. Maybe you’d lost more blood than you’d let on. Maybe being stubborn about not calling the medic wasn’t your brightest move. Still, you’d had worse. This didn’t even rank in your top five.

Wanda returned a moment later, but instead of handing you the first-aid kit, she surprised you by crouching beside you and looping your arm over her shoulder. Without a word, she guided you to the storage room, half-carrying you with surprising strength. Once inside, she maneuvered you to sit on a low bench against the wall, then turned away to open a cabinet. When she crouched back down in front of you, first-aid kit in hand, she didn’t so much as glance in your direction. She snapped the lid open and laid out the supplies.

“You don’t have to do this, Wanda,” you whispered, your voice scratchy and weak, which annoyed you more than the actual wound. You were starting to feel a little loopy, unsure if this was really happening or just a dream—if you were dead somewhere else or still lost in sleep in your bed. If it were the former, you thought, it was certainly a good way to go. It made you smile without realizing it, which only seemed to make Wanda more alarmed.

Now moving with a bit more urgency, she grabbed a bottle of antiseptic and a piece of gauze, pouring the liquid onto it before pressing it against your wound unceremoniously. You hissed, waking you up a little, your hand gripping the edge of the chair as the pain flared. She didn’t acknowledge the sound, her attention fixed on cleaning the blood away.

“Stay still,” she warned after you’ve shied away too far.

When she pulled out a needle and thread, your stomach sank like a stone in dark water. “Stitches?” you muttered, though it barely qualified as a question—more of a sigh, defeated before the fight even started.

“It’s deep enough,” she reasoned, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

The first stab of the needle lit up your nerves, a white-hot jolt that ripped through your side. You sucked in air through clenched teeth, fists balled tight at your sides.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath.

“Stop moving,” she said, her voice maddeningly calm.

You didn’t stop moving, not entirely, but you managed to keep your whimpers to a minimum as the needle went in again. And again. At some point, the pain dulled—not because it got easier, but because it started to blur, your skin either numbing or your brain deciding it had enough.

When she tied off the last one, she grabbed the bandages, wrapping them around your torso.  The bandage had to loop around your waist, and for that, she leaned in, her arms slipping behind you. She was so near that you could almost count the freckles scattered across her nose. The proximity made you hyper-aware of yourself—how you reeked of blood, smoke, and sweat, and how there was nowhere to hide from it.

And then it was over. She finished without ceremony, knotting the bandage with quick fingers before standing and turning away. For a moment, she hovered by the cabinet, her back to you, her shoulders stiff.

“Don’t make me do this again,” she murmured so quietly that you couldn’t quite decipher the emotion behind it.

Her words should’ve felt like an admonition, but instead, they landed like a plea. You weren’t sure if she was talking about the stitches or something much more complicated. And as you watched the way her shoulders sagged slightly, the way her head dipped like the fight had drained out of her, it hit you—this wasn’t easy for her either. None of it was.

“Wanda…” Her name came out too soft, like you didn’t really want her to hear it. Like you weren’t sure what you were going to say next.

“Get some rest,” she murmured, the words almost tender—

But final.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: sugar daddy!anakin x f!reader

FLUFF ❦

"Ani, please," you pouted, clutching your phone in both hands, before out stretching them to practically shove the screen in his face. There it was, a picture of the fluffiest, most ridiculous little guinea pig staring back at him with those little black eyes.

Anakin didn't even blink. "No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no, sweetheart," he muttered, gaze moving down to the file, hand already flipping a page in the obnoxiously thick contract he has been reviewing at the kitchen table since breakfast. He didn't even gave you a further glance.

But you’re known for being relentless. You won't back down so easily. So, you moved closer to him before sliding onto his lap with grace. Your arms looped around his neck, expression twisting into a pout like the manipulative little minx you were. "But look at her, Ani," you whispered, tilting the phone so he had no choice but to look. "She’s just a baby."

He barely spared a glance at it before his eyes flicked back to his paperwork. "She’s a rodent."

"She’s a soft, sweet, helpless little baby," you corrected dramatically. "Like me."

His lips twitched—but he refused to let that take over , let that make him smile. Refused to let you win.

"Baby, they stink," he said painly, adjusting the gold cufflink on his sleeve. "I’m not keeping a tiny, smelly furball in my penthouse."

"They don’t stink!" you argued, of course, trying to pout even harder. "And I’d clean up after her, I swear! You’d never even notice she’s here."

Anakin snorted. "Oh, really? Because every time I get you a plant, you forget to water it. I don’t think a living, breathing animal is a great idea."

"Wait, Ani! It's different! Plants are boring. A guinea pig is—"

"No."

You huffed. Fine. Time for plan B.

With a slow, sweet smile, you nuzzled against his neck, before pressing soft kisses to his pulse point.

"Baby," he sighed, but it was weaker now.

You only hummed innocently, dragging your lips up his jaw, then lower, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his throat.

"Not gonna work," he muttered, but the voice got already deeper.

"You sure?"

His breath hitches when your fingers trail down his chest, toying with the buttons of his silk dress shirt. "Y/N—"

"You’re so good to me, Ani," you whispered against his lips, rolling your hips just slightly against his lap.

And damn—

Anakin grabbed your waist, yanking you closer, groaning softly when your lips finally collided. It was slow, deep - just like everytime he kissed you, with passion, actual love and worship - his hand cradled your jaw, tilting your head just how he wants.

He surrendered so easily

You whimpered, pressing closer, letting him take full control. Letting his large, calloused hands roam up under your shirt, squeeze your waist, tease your ribs, go higher and higher, fingertips finally meeting the--

You pulled away.

He tried to chase your lips, but to no use. You shoved his hands away, leaving him breathing heavy, eyes hazy. "The hell was that?"

You grinned innocently. "So… about the guinea pig?"

Anakin blinked. Then groaned in annoyance, kind of betrayal (he should have known better), head tipping back against the chair, hands tightening on your waist.

"You’re fucking impossible."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden

[cherrycheolkat]

Hi kat!!!

Omg hmo ✋️

Big dick cheol + hate sex from bingo v.3 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️

okie so i've heard you and your doppleganger lol so this is your version of this and they will get something else - ideally you both enjoy them

♡ kat

bingo square: bigdick!cheol + hate sex

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

summary: seungcheol wants to know if y/n really hates him

genre: college au, collegestudent!cheol, collegestudent!reader

word count: 0.7k

rating: 18+, mdni

warnings: explicit language, smut, fingering, mentioned penetrative sex

he groaned as he pulled out, “fuck, you’re gaping for me, baby,” he breathed roughly, his fingers replacing his dick, stretching you, literally just playing with your pussy. 

you smacked his hand away, “such an idiot,” you shighed. 

he was already running his hands along your inner thighs, biting his lip roughly, “how do you have such a perfect cunt?” 

you rolled your eyes, “how did you end up with a decent cock?”

he laughed, “decent? is that all it is - just ‘decent’ when i’m making you scream for me?” he squeezed your thighs roughly - his touch felt too familiar. it was annoying how familiar he felt between your legs - how good he felt. 

you groaned and moved to sit up, but he was quicker, leaning down and pressing you back into the mattress, nipping roughly at your throat. your hands seemed to go to his hair without thought, tracing over his scalp, loving the things his lips were doing. 

“did i say we were finished?” he whispered, breath warm and sweet next to your ear. 

you whined softly, pulling his hair gently, “it’s like 3 am - you don’t want your roommates to know you’re in here fucking me, the queen bitch or whatever you call me now,” you whispered. 

“why not? i can tell them how i finally made you so dumb for my dick, you actually shut up for once,” he kissed your throat roughly, “it’s actually kind of a win for me,” he mumbled, licking gently over the places he had been rough with before, “my dick is so good, even you like it, miss-i-hate-seungcheol,” he nuzzled close, his lips teasing your collarbones.

your hands traced over his shoulders, loving how wide they were, how muscular. his body was one thing you had never complained about. and he was right - you did love his dick. 

you hummed softly, “maybe i don’t want them to know you’re fucking me, since it’s kind of embarassing,” you said, your fingernails pressing gently into his skin. 

he only nuzzled closer, “when are you going to stop being mean to me?”

his voice was so low and good and entirely too soft - you were still playing with his hair, smoothing the tangles you had made. you had been with him for hours. you had been fucking on and off since early that night - you had started in the living room and ended up in his bedroom like any time you came over. 

“when are you going to stop calling me a ‘bitch’?”

he pressed closer, “i don’t call you a ‘bitch’, anymore.”

you didn’t answer - maybe he didn’t call you a bitch anymore, but he had said plenty of shitty things about you freshman year. and a few good fucks didn’t exactly change your feelings about him. even if he was an especially good lay. 

you tried pushing him back again, “aren’t you dating someone?” you asked, voice sharp, meant to put some distance between you.

he didn’t budge - he only leaned up to look down at you - to trace his fingers gently along your cheek, and shake his head, “no, not since,” he stared at you and bit his lip, “not since it kept happening with you.”

even in the low light of his room, you could see the flush blooming across his cheeks. you wondered how long he had been toying with that thought - how long he had been thinking about telling you about that thought. 

your fingertips were still tracing against his skin - you knew you could shoot him down - tell him to ‘fuck off.’ you could really be mean to him if you wanted. but you were quiet.

which only served to make him brave, “stay the night?” he whispered, voice barely audible, “stay with me,” he was watching you, his pretty eyes taking you in, waiting for something.

you sighed, “cheol”— you started.

he immediately started to pull away - it was like you had slapped him. 

you were annoyed that he was actually going to get up - that he wasn’t even going to listen to you. you grabbed his arm roughly, “idiot,” you said sternly, “i was going to say ‘yes’.”

“oh,” he whispered. 

a/n: i love writing cheol - fr you have no idea how usually when i write a long fic it's cheol-centric - him and his boba eyes and his amazing eyelashes - he is def the definition of sexy 30s

♡ kat

if you want to submit a bingo ask the newest bingo is [here] but there are still open squares from the previous two [here] and nsfw only bingo is [here]

tag list: @syluslittlecrow ☁︎ @gyuguys ☁︎ @haik-chu ☁︎ @tinyelfperson ☁︎ @lovetaroandtaemin ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite ☁︎ @gigglensnort ☁︎

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here] & this is my [master list] if you want to read more

[elalfywhore]

begging for more Jana and bimbo 🙏 it was sooo good

jealous jana jealous jana jealous jana

nsfw!!

the front door opening and closing followed by heavy footsteps drew you from the bowl of cupcake mix you were mixing. “pretty girl? i’m home.” your lovers voice music to your ears.

it had been exhausting without her. she was gone for about a week in the bahamas for basketball, of course you had wanted to go but you couldn’t afford to miss a week of school. you couldn’t put the pots and pans away in the tall cabinets by yourself, you hated the bed being empty, you couldn’t even drive!!! but what you hated the most was it just being you and your right hand.

jana being the amazing lover she is had offered to pay for you to go to a spa day with one of your friends, just to make her being away a little more bearable. you had went and got your nails, hair, toes, facial treatments but there was two things you and jana did not agree on, waxing and body massages.

too you it was just another thing you did, you had always gotten them done before jana but to jana, the idea of someone getting to rub your body down with oils and lotions and then get to see your private area immediately after didnt sit right with her. “baby!” you cheer, the cupcake mix now left behind as you run to your lovers arms. “miss me, habibti?” she reaches under your butt to scoop you up in her strong arms. “‘s much, baby.” you giggle, pressing soft pecks all over her face.

your smile bright the entire way as she goes to sit you on the counter. “was making you cupcakes but you got here earlier than i thought.” you hum and your legs don’t unwrap from her as your butt hits the counter. “mmm thank you, princess. how was it without me?” her hands rub up and down your thighs. “was good, had such a fun time at the spa, i got my toes done and oh! look at my nails, they’re so cute!” you flash the fresh set to her “and the facial was soooo nice and don’t even get me started on the massage-.” you abruptly stop realizing, you had snitched yourself out.

“massage? habibti, i thought we talked about this.” she groaned, letting go of you to pinch the bridge of her nose before tucking her face in her hands. “i’m sorry, baby! my back has just been aching lately and i really needed it!” immediately turning on baby mode, the dough eyes, whiny voice and arching your back forward to grab onto jana. “did you let them wax you?” her hands at her sides with a nasty look on her face. you debate in your head for a second should you tell her yes or no before a panicked answer comes out.

“nope!” the second it comes out you know, your voice was too high and perky and also- “pull your panties off, baby.” she wanted to check. “r-right now?” you whimper now scooting back on the counter and away from jana. “yes right now.” “but what about the cupcakes!!” you’re trying to find any excuse for her not to check. “now.” and with a whine bubbling from your throat you lift your butt up a bit and letting her pull your panties down your legs and the purple baby doll you’re wearing up a bit.

“lemme see pretty girl.” her voice is soft, kind and alluring but you know what’s gonna happen once she’s see all to well-making you hasty to spread your legs. you spread them wide, hands leaning back on the counter holding you up as her eyes widen. “habibti, i thought you said you didn’t let them touch you.” she whispers, in awe at your pussy on display, leaning into you and allowing one of her hands fingers to run in between your folds.

“m’ sorry baby! i was just feeling lazy and i wanted to be ready for you when you came back and-.” you’re silenced by her lips pressing to yours, it’s so soft you melt into it until you feel a stinging sensation on your area, followed by another and another making you pull back. “ow! jana that hurts.” you whine. “yeah well you should’ve thought about that before letting them see my pussy.” she grabs the back of your neck with one hand before laying another harsh slap to your pussy. “it’s like you just wanna piss me off, all the fucking time.” she groans, slapping your pussy again before shoving a finger inside, making you moan.

“feel good?” you can’t find words to respond as she adds a second finger, slowly thrusting them in and out of you. “yeah.” you gasp out “so good.” “you just like pissing me off? huh princess?” she puts her face in your neck, sucking at the skin. “no baby, don’t mean too.” you moan as she scissors her fingers inside of you. “play with your titties for me baby.” she instructs. you pull the thin straps of your baby doll down, letting the top fall to your waist. you reach up, both hands pinching and rubbing your nipples.

“so sexy, baby.” she groans, licking your neck before falling to height with your pussy. you moan as she latches onto your clit, sucking tightly with he fingers still fucking you. “ohh my god, mommy, feels so good please don’t stop.” you blabber, brain scrambled at how good she was making you feel.

you don’t expect or get a worded response from her just a groan and she flatters her tongue on your clit taking long licks.

it’s embarrassing how fast you feel it building in your tummy but its been so long since you’ve seen her! how could she expect you to last when she looks like this, doing what she’s doing and you’ve been by yourself all week!

“j-jana, think ‘m gonna cum.” you let go of one of your nipples and tangle your hand in her hair, pulling her deeper in. you assume she’s approving as she speeds up her fingers and takes your clit back into her mouth once more, licking and sucking simultaneously.

“oh my-.” you’re cut off by a jagged moan erupting from your throat as your high washes over you. “so..good.” you squeak out as she pulls her fingers out, all wet and creamy before putting them to her mouth, sucking them clean.

“you okay, baby?” she smiles, coming back up to face you, you look gorgeous to her, all fucked out, baby doll still sitting at your waist, makeup ruined and legs still spread wide. “yeah, felt so good my love.” you lean into kiss her, tasting yourself on her lips. you almost moan into before you feel another slap to your pussy and jana pulls back.

“if you let them do that to you again, i will fuck you up.”

[loafysainz]

FIGHTING TOGETHER | CL 16

charles leclerc x fem!reader

warn: angst, bit fluff, grief & loss

summary: When Y/N’s cancer worsens despite treatment, the doctor says there’s no cure—only time. She begins to lose hope, but Charles refuses to let her give up, promising they’ll fight together, no matter what.

The world around Y/N blurred, the sterile white walls of the hospital room closing in as the doctor’s words settled into her bones like ice.

“The treatments aren’t working as we hoped. Instead of slowing it down, the cancer is progressing faster than expected.”

She couldn’t breathe. Her hands trembled on her lap, fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater as she forced herself to listen. To understand. But the words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else’s story, not hers.

“At this stage, aggressive treatments will only prolong your life. There is no definitive cure.”

No cure.

Y/N’s heart clenched so tightly it physically hurt. She wanted to scream, to ask how this was even possible. They had caught it early. They had started treatment immediately. Everything should have been fine.

She turned her head, eyes searching for the one person she needed most.

Charles sat beside her, unnervingly still. His lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His green eyes—usually filled with warmth and love—were wide, blank with shock.

She had never seen him like this before. Charles was always the strong one, the one who could make her feel safe even in the worst situations. But now, he looked just as lost as she felt.

“I’ll give you both some time.” The doctor’s voice was distant, muffled, before footsteps faded away.

Silence filled the room.

Y/N exhaled shakily, her throat burning. “Charles…” Her voice cracked, and the sound of it made something snap inside him.

Charles reached for her hands instantly, gripping them so tightly it almost hurt. His warmth, his presence—it was the only thing tethering her to reality.

“Baby,” he finally spoke, his voice low, hoarse, barely above a whisper. “We’ll fight this. Together.”

Her heart ached. “Charles, you heard what the doctor said. There’s no—”

“No.” His voice was firm this time, and he shook his head sharply. “Don’t say that. Don’t say it like it’s over.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him. His jaw was clenched, his eyes glassy, and his entire body was tense as if he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

“Charles,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “I don’t want to die.”

A sharp inhale.

Charles closed his eyes for a brief second before shifting forward, pulling her into his arms. “You won’t,” he murmured into her hair, his voice trembling. “You won’t, because I won’t let you. We’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll be here every step of the way, Y/N. I swear it.”

His arms were wrapped around her so tightly, as if he could hold her together when everything else was falling apart.

A sob tore from her throat. She didn’t even realize she was crying until Charles pulled back slightly, cupping her cheeks with the gentlest touch, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ll carry this with you, no matter how heavy it gets. We’ll fight this. Every single day, we’ll fight.”

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would mean losing everything.

And in that moment, even with fear consuming her whole, she believed him. Because Charles had never broken a promise to her before.

And she prayed he never would.

—

One day, the first time Y/N noticed her hair falling out, it was just a few strands on her pillow. Nothing alarming. Nothing too serious. But then it started happening more often—on her sheets, in the shower, tangled between Charles��� fingers when he stroked her head absentmindedly.

She tried not to care. She tried to tell herself it was just hair, that it would grow back. But when she looked in the mirror and saw how thin it had become, how the once-full locks that Charles used to run his hands through now barely framed her face, she couldn’t help it—she broke down.

That night, she sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the strands that had fallen onto her lap, eyes burning as she stared at the evidence of her body deteriorating. She heard Charles come in, but she didn’t move.

“Mon amour?” His voice was soft, hesitant.

She didn’t respond.

Instead, she whispered, “I look awful.”

Charles knelt before her, hands resting gently on her knees. “No, you don’t.”

“Charles, please,” she choked out, her grip tightening around the hair in her hands. “Look at me. My hair is falling out. Soon, I’ll be—” She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’ll be bald. I’ll look sick. I’ll look—”

“Beautiful,” he interrupted, his voice trembling. “You’ll look beautiful.”

She let out a broken laugh, shaking her head. “You’re just saying that.”

Charles reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I have never lied to you about this. Since the moment I met you, you have been the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And nothing—nothing—will ever change that.”

Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but Charles wasn’t done. He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You think your hair makes you beautiful? It’s not just your hair, mon amour. It’s you. It’s the way you smile. It’s the way you talk. It’s the way you exist.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. “And even if—no, when—you lose all of it, I will still look at you like I did the first time I saw you. Because you are you. And you are mine.”

She broke. A sob tore through her chest, and Charles pulled her into his arms, holding her as she cried into his shoulder. He pressed his lips against her temple, whispering, “You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You will always be beautiful.”

But no matter how much he reassured her, no matter how many times he told her she was still the most breathtaking person he had ever seen, it didn’t change the truth of her condition. It didn’t stop the way her body was failing her.

And Charles saw it.

Every single day.

Every single moment.

Every time she winced in pain but tried to smile for him. Every time she grew too tired to even sit up properly. Every time she held his hand during treatment, her grip weak and trembling.

He cried often.

Silently.

When she was asleep, when she wasn’t looking, when he excused himself to the bathroom just to let out a sob. He wasn’t strong enough to watch the love of his life suffer like this.

And then—then came the news that shattered what little hope he had left.

The doctor sat across from him in the dimly lit office, the air thick with unspoken grief. “Charles,” the doctor began carefully, “we’ve done everything we can.”

Charles’ hands clenched into fists. “No.”

“The treatments—”

“Try something else.” His voice was tight, desperate.

The doctor sighed. “At this point, they’re only prolonging her life. They’re not helping anymore.”

Charles felt like he had been punched in the chest. “So, what? You’re telling me to just sit back and watch her die?”

The doctor remained quiet.

Charles shot up from his chair, slamming his hands against the desk. “I am paying you to save her!” His voice shook with barely contained rage. “You’re supposed to help her! Do your job!”

“Charles,” the doctor said firmly, “I understand this is difficult, but we have reached a point where—”

"NO!" He was breathing heavily now, his entire body trembling. “I refuse to accept that. I will do anything—I don’t care how much it costs, I don’t care what I have to do—fix her!” His voice cracked on the last two words.

The doctor’s expression softened, but his next words were like a dagger to Charles’ heart.

“All we can do now is make her comfortable.”

Charles felt his knees buckle. His hands slid off the desk, his breath coming out in short, painful gasps. “No,” he whispered. “Please. Please, no.”

“She doesn’t know,” the doctor continued gently. “I wanted to tell you first.”

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, his chest aching with the weight of it all. He wanted to scream, to cry, to fight against the reality of the situation. But all he could do was stand there, shattered and broken.

Because no matter how much he loved her—no matter how much he was willing to give up, to sacrifice, to suffer for her—love alone wasn’t enough to save her.

—

The words left Charles’ lips in a trembling whisper, his forehead pressed against Y/N’s. His fingers gently cradled the back of her head, careful, as if she were made of the most fragile glass. He kissed her forehead, lingering, as if he could seal his love into her skin—so deep that it would anchor her here, in this world, with him.

She had been quiet for a long time. Too long.

The hospital room was bathed in a soft glow from the evening sun filtering through the half-closed blinds, but it did nothing to warm the cold fear seeping into Charles’ bones. Y/N had always been his light, but now, she was dimming right in front of him, slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Then, in a voice so quiet, so fragile that it shattered him, she spoke.

“If I go early, it’s okay… We’ll meet again there, I’ll still be the same. I’m sorry for the imperfect journey”

Charles' breath caught in his throat.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

"No," he whispered, his voice breaking instantly. "No, don’t say that. You will survive. You will stay here with me. You’re not going anywhere, do you hear me? You’re not going anywhere without my permission."

His hands tightened around hers, desperate, as if holding her tightly enough would keep her grounded to this world. His eyes burned, but he couldn't stop the tears that spilled freely, tracking down his face as he pressed kiss after kiss to her forehead, her cheeks, her nose—wherever he could reach.

"You’re not leaving me," he repeated, his voice unsteady. "Not now, not ever. I won’t allow it."

Y/N only smiled softly, tired, weak, but filled with the kind of love that made it hurt even more. She raised a shaky hand, brushing her fingertips against his damp cheek, wiping away his tears even though she was the one who needed comforting. That was always who she was—selfless, too good, too kind.

And it only made it harder to watch her suffer.

The pain was unbearable.

Y/N clenched the sheets beneath her, her knuckles white, her entire body trembling. Every inch of her ached, burned, screamed. It felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out, and she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Charles,” she whimpered, her breath hitching.

He was by her side in an instant.

“I’m here, my love. I’m right here,” he murmured, his fingers immediately finding hers, threading them together, grounding her.

Tears gathered in Y/N’s eyes as she gasped for breath, her body convulsing under the agony that never seemed to stop. She had been strong for so long, had fought for so long—but right now, she just wanted it to end. She wanted the pain to go away.

“Charles…” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. “It hurts. It hurts so much. I— I can’t—”

Charles swallowed thickly, his own pain reflected in the way his lips quivered. His chest tightened as he watched her struggle, completely helpless to take away her suffering. It was the most agonizing thing he had ever experienced.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “I want to stop. I can’t do this anymore. Please, let me stop.”

Charles felt like his entire world was crumbling.

His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as he fought against the sob threatening to choke him. He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, his own tears falling freely.

His strong, beautiful girl. His Y/N.

He wanted to give her the world, but all he could do now was hold her through the pain.

“Shh, it’s okay, Mon Amour,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s okay. The pain will go away soon, I promise. Just hold on a little longer, alright?”

Y/N whimpered, her fingers tightening around his as another wave of pain wracked through her body.

Charles felt utterly powerless.

“You can do this,” he murmured, pressing a shaky kiss to her forehead. “You’re strong. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

Another broken sob escaped his lips as he kissed her again, over and over, desperate and full of love.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. We’ll get through this together, I promise.”

But the truth was—he didn’t know how much longer they had left.

And it was killing him.

—

“I want to see Lord Perceval become World Champion this year.”

Charles paused, his hand tightening around the spoon he was holding. He had been feeding Y/N carefully, making sure she ate properly despite how weak she had become. But her words made his heart sink. He didn’t answer immediately, staring at her as if hoping he had misheard.

“When are you leaving for the circuit?” she asked softly, looking up at him with tired but expectant eyes.

Charles swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. He set the spoon down gently on the tray and reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear—what was left of it, at least. His fingers lingered against her cheek, tracing the curve of her face as if memorizing her. His voice was quiet but firm when he finally spoke.

“I'm not going this year.” His eyes find hers, his expression unwavering. “I'm staying here with you.”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “Charles—”

“I already made up my mind.” His voice was laced with finality. “I don’t care about racing right now. Nothing matters more than you.”

A lump formed in her throat as she saw the raw emotion in his eyes. She had always known how much she meant to him, but this—this was different. This was Charles giving up everything he had worked for, his lifelong dream, just to stay by her side.

She hated it.

She loved him for it, but she hated it too.

“Charles…” Her voice wavered as she reached for his hand, holding it between her frail fingers. “You can't do that. You can't just give up everything for me.”

“It's not giving up,” he countered, squeezing her hand gently. “It's choosing you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a second, she felt like crying. But she couldn't let him do this. She wouldn't.

“Please,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his. “I never ask you for anything, do I?”

Charles inhaled sharply.

“I always do what you want,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I always support you, I always cheer for you. But just this once… please grant me this wish.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Charles felt his resolve cracking.

“I want to see you win,” she said, her lips trembling. “I want to see Lord Perceval become World Champion this year.”

His heart shattered.

Her eyes—God, her eyes were still shining, still full of so much hope. Despite everything, despite the pain, the exhaustion, the way sickness had drained the color from her face… she still had that fire in her. And it was burning for him.

Charles exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face. “Y/N…”

“Please.”

It was that word that broke him completely.

He could never say no to her, not when she looked at him like that. Not when she was still trying to give him hope, even when she was the one suffering.

With a heavy heart, he nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I'll do it. I'll race for you.”

A small, weak smile appeared on her lips, and Charles immediately leaned in, cupping her face gently. His forehead pressed against hers as he closed his eyes, breathing her in.

“You have to promise me you'll watch every race,” he murmured.

She giggled softly. “Of course, I will.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “And you have to wait for me. I'll win for you, but you have to be here when I do.”

Y/N swallowed hard, nodding. “I'll be here.”

Charles didn't hesitate. He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers with so much love it made her breath hitch. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, a desperate plea for her to hold on just a little longer.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “More than anything.”

She smiled against his mouth. “I love you more, Lord Perceval.”

And in that moment, he knew—no matter what happened, he would give her the championship she dreamed of. For her. For them.

—

Charles had always made time for Y/N. No matter how hectic his schedule was, no matter how exhausted he felt after a race, he would call her. Even when she was too weak to talk, even when her responses were nothing more than soft hums or whispered words, he still called. He would tell her about his day, about the track, about the weather—anything, just to keep her company. And when she couldn’t talk anymore, he would simply admire her.

"You’re so beautiful, mon amour," he would say, voice thick with emotion. Even when her body had grown frail, even when her hair was gone, even when her skin had lost its color, to him, she was still the most breathtaking woman in the world.

The night before the final race of the season, he called her again. She was barely awake, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you tired, mon amour?" he asked softly.

"A little,"she admitted.

"Then sleep, my love. Dream of something nice. I’ll call you after the race, okay?"

There was silence for a moment before she murmured, "I love you, Charles."

His chest tightened. It wasn’t often that she had the energy to say it lately. He closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat before whispering back, "Je t’aime, mon amour. Always."

That was the last time he ever heard her voice.

—

Race day arrived, and Charles felt… calm. Confident. As if something greater than himself was pushing him forward. He had promised Y/N he would win this for her, and he wasn’t going to let her down.

Before the race, as always, he called her. But this time, she didn’t pick up.

Charles frowned, but quickly reassured himself. She must be sleeping. She needs rest. I’ll talk to her later.

And so, he raced.

And he won.

He did it. Charles Leclerc was the World Champion.

He climbed out of his car, heart pounding, overwhelmed with emotions. He had dreamed of this moment for years, and yet, the only thing he wanted was to share it with her.

As soon as he had the chance, he grabbed his phone. He called her. Ring. Ring. Ring.

No answer.

"Come on, Y/N, pick up," he murmured under his breath, bouncing his knee anxiously.

Then, he saw his brother approaching him. Lorenzo’s face was pale, his eyes red. Behind him, Arthur looked like he was struggling to hold himself together.

"Charles…" Lorenzo’s voice was hoarse. "It’s Y/N."

Charles felt his entire body go cold.

"No." His voice barely came out. "Don’t say it. Don’t—"

"She’s gone, Charles."

Something inside him shattered.

A strangled sob ripped from his throat as he dropped his phone. His legs gave out, and suddenly he was on his knees, hands gripping his face as a raw, broken wail tore through him.

The cameras were still rolling, the interviewers waiting for him, the entire world watching—but he didn’t care.

"No, no, no, please—" He gasped between sobs, rocking back and forth, his chest heaving as if the weight of the entire world was crushing him.

When they finally pulled him up for his WDC interview, he looked like a ghost. His eyes were hollow, filled with endless grief, and yet, tears wouldn’t stop falling.

"Charles, congratulations on winning your first World Championship."

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His lips trembled, his hands clenched into fists. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

"This… this was for her." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing. "The love of my life."

He tried to say more, but his throat closed up. His face crumpled as more tears fell, and suddenly, Carlos was beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Then the other drivers, his friends placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The world had just watched him win everything, only to lose the one person he wanted to share it with.

—

When Charles returned to Monaco, he went straight to see her.

She looked so peaceful. Almost as if she was just sleeping.

Charles knelt beside her, his fingers brushing against her cold hand.

"Mon amour… I won." His voice trembled. "You kept your promise. You watched me become champion, didn’t you?"

Silence.

A choked sob escaped his lips as he leaned down, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her hands.

"It’s okay now, my love. No more pain. No more suffering." He cupped her face gently, his thumbs tracing the curve of her lips. “You’re so beautiful today. Just like always.”

Tears dripped onto her skin as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Wait for me, mon amour. We’ll meet again. I promise.”

He stayed with her for as long as they would let him, whispering sweet words, kissing her gently, holding onto her as if he could keep her there a little longer.

Even as they finally took her away, even as he watched her disappear into the ground, he couldn’t let go.

Because how do you say goodbye to the love of your life?

END

[ravensuperr]

Danny Valentine's mess

The usual buzz of homeroom was in full swing when Danny pulled his books from his backpack, only for a small red envelope to slip out and land on his desk. Star, who was sitting nearby, immediately took notice.

"Ooooh, Danny, you got a Valentine’s Day card!" she teased, reaching for it before Danny could stop her. "Who’s it from?"

Danny blinked at the envelope. "I have no clue."

Dash, always eager for gossip, snatched it up before Star could open it. "Let’s see what we got here," he said, dramatically clearing his throat before reading aloud. "Danny Fenton, I’ve admired you for so long—"

He suddenly stopped, frowning. "Wait… why is this typed? And in Times New Roman?"

Tucker leaned over, taking a quick photo of the letter with his PDA. "Yup. Black ink. Default font. Bro, if you’re gonna type a love letter, at least switch up the color, add a cute font, or do something creative. This looks like an essay. Where’s the personality?" He shook his head in disappointment.

Paulina, who had been listening, sighed dramatically. "As much as it pains me to agree with Foley, he’s right. A love confession is supposed to be personal! You put effort into making it stand out, not make it look like an MLA-formatted assignment."

"Exactly!" Star nodded. "Like, where are the little hearts? The cute doodles? This person clearly likes you, but they could’ve at least signed their name."

Danny sighed, taking the letter back. "I mean, it’s sweet, but yeah, kind of weird they didn’t personalize it more."

Tucker suddenly smirked. "Maybe it’s from Amy."

The entire group froze before a chorus of confused voices filled the air. "Amy?" "Wait, Amy?" "Who’s Amy?"

Dash’s eyebrows shot up. "Dude, you dated an Amy? Since when?"

Danny, looking a little flustered, rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah. Back in sixth grade."

Tucker, now enjoying the reactions, grinned. "Oh, you guys don’t even know the half of it. Danny’s had three ex-girlfriends."

Silence. Then—

"Three?!" Multiple voices rang out in shock.

"You? Had three girlfriends?" Kwan asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"I mean, yeah?" Danny shrugged. "It’s not like I go around bragging about it."

"Wait, wait, wait," Paulina interrupted, flipping her hair. "Who are these girls? I demand details."

Danny sighed, realizing there was no escape. "Alright, fine. So, first, there was Amy. We dated for most of sixth grade, but she broke up with me in May."

"Dang, almost a full year?" Star raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

Danny shrugged. "Never really got a straight answer, honestly. Just that she thought it was best if we broke up."

Tucker crossed his arms. "And then there was Rei."

"Who?" Sam finally spoke up, her voice controlled.

"Rei was my summer girlfriend," Danny explained. "We met while she and her family were staying in Amity Park for the summer. When she found out her dad’s job was supposed to move them here, she was super excited. But at the last minute, her dad lost the job offer, and they had to go back to Japan. We broke up right before she left. I gave her a necklace as a goodbye gift."

"Okay, that’s actually kind of sweet," Paulina admitted.

"And then," Tucker continued, "there was Heather."

This got the biggest reaction.

"Wait, wait, wait—Heather?" Star practically choked. "As in Heather Heather? Ice-skating champion, fluent in five languages, exchange program star, that Heather?"

"The same Heather who got a dog from the Prime Minister of China?" Dash added, eyes wide.

Danny groaned. "Yes, that Heather."

The room exploded.

"DUDE!" Kwan shouted. "How do you date Heather and not talk about it?!"

"It was eighth grade!" Danny protested. "It’s not like we advertised it!"

"Still, you were dating the girl everyone thought was gonna take over the world! How did it even happen?"

Danny smiled a little. "Honestly? Heather liked being around me because I didn’t put her on some pedestal. She was always under pressure to be perfect, but when we hung out, she could just be herself. I introduced her to music she loved, and she enjoyed listening to me rant about stars and NASA. She even had a wallpaper of me looking at the stars because she thought it was cute."

Paulina placed a hand over her heart. "That’s actually adorable."

"Yeah," Danny admitted. "We dated for a while, but… she broke up with me, too."

The room fell quiet for a moment.

"Wait," Star said slowly. "Amy broke up with you. Rei broke up with you. Heather broke up with you. They all said you were, like, the best boyfriend they had… and yet they all broke it off? That doesn’t make any sense."

Danny frowned slightly. "I mean, I never really thought about it. I don’t sit around analyzing my breakups, you know?"

Tucker muttered, "Except on Valentine’s Day."

Meanwhile, Sam had gone silent, her fingers gripping her desk as a memory surfaced—a confrontation from months ago.

Heather’s cold, knowing stare.

"I know what you did, Sam. I know you made Amy break up with Danny. I know you somehow had a hand in Rei’s father losing that job offer. And now I had to break up with him, too. So tell me—what’s your endgame here? Sooner or later, Danny’s going to figure it out. And when he does, and you get called out for your toxic behavior, I hope I’m there to take a photo of your face. Because I will not let you forget what you did."

Sam swallowed hard.

Heather was the girl who could stop any rumor. The one who could read people like a book. If she had put the pieces together, how much longer before Danny did, too?

She clenched her fists under the desk.

"Sam?" Star called, pulling her out of her thoughts. "You okay?"

Sam forced a smirk. "Yeah, just… surprised, is all. Didn’t think Danny was such a heartbreaker."

Danny groaned. "Oh, come on! I was not a heartbreaker!"

Dash smirked. "Three exes say otherwise."

Danny slumped in his seat as the teasing continued, but Sam’s mind was elsewhere. Because Heather was right.

And sooner or later, Danny was going to figure it out.

[heartsriki]

LOVE SOUNDTRACK⌇음악

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇NI-KI | Prev

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader | word count: 2k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ friends to lovers, lots of beating around the bush, no other warnings I think.

synopsis — Riki creates a playlist for you, each song reflecting your shared moments. As you listen, you uncover his hidden feelings and the confession tucked within the final track, leading to a sweet, music-filled moment where your love story plays out in perfect harmony.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊the ot7 series is done :( BUT NOW I CAN WORK ON LONGER AND DETAILED PROJECTS HURRAYYYY, hopefully yall like those when they come out!

The playlist shows up on your phone one evening without warning.

You’re sprawled across your bed, textbooks pushed to the side, a half-empty coffee cup perched precariously on your nightstand. The dorm is quiet except for the distant murmur of voices in the hallway. You’re mid-scroll through your music library when you notice it—For Y/N.

Your thumb hovers over the screen.

Weird. You don’t remember making this.

Curious, you tap on it, and the first song begins to play.

A soft melody hums through your earbuds, and immediately, something tugs at your memory. You know this song. It’s the one that you played in your dorm last winter, the night you and Riki sat by the window watching the first snowfall of the year.

You close your eyes, and the memory comes back in vivid detail.

“You think it’ll stick?” you had asked, blowing on your hot chocolate. The glass pane beside you was fogged up from the warmth inside, but beyond it, the snowflakes swirled under the streetlights.

“Doubt it,” Riki had said, drawing random doodles on the glass window like a kid. He had been watching the snow too, his expression calm. Then, he smirked. “But hey, if it does, I’ll let you abuse me with snowballs as a reward.”

You had laughed, rolling your eyes. “Like I need your permission for that.”

Now, lying in bed, you wondered about the playlist and its meaning.

Wait how did it even get on your phone?

The next day drags by in a haze of half-heard lectures and restless thoughts.

You barely remember getting dressed, barely remember grabbing your bag, and now you’re here—seated across from Riki at your usual table in the campus café, fingers curled around a cup of coffee that’s gone lukewarm.

And he says nothing.

Not a single word about the playlist.

You watch him, searching for any sign that he’s waiting for you to bring it up. But Riki is as casual as ever, scrolling through his phone between bites of his croissant, occasionally glancing up to make some offhand comment about a ridiculous campus rumor or the professor who showed up to class with the worst fashion sense ever.

Meanwhile, your thoughts are a tangled mess.

The playlist. The songs. What do they mean?

Your heart slams against your ribs just thinking about it.

Does he know you listened? Does he want you to say something?

You grip your coffee cup a little tighter, clearing your throat. “So… did you do anything interesting last night?”

It’s a test. A chance for him to bring it up naturally.

Riki hums, still staring at his phone. “Not really. Just played some games with Jake, went to bed late. You?”

You blink. Your fingers tighten around the cup.

Seriously?

He’s going to act like nothing happened?

Your eyes narrow, and you wait—wait for the moment he cracks, for the smirk, for the teasing remark, for anything that shows he knows exactly what he did.

But nothing comes.

“Just slept,” you mutter, forcing yourself to take a sip of coffee, even though it tastes bitter now.

The silence stretches between you.

It’s unbearable.

Your mind races through possibilities. Maybe he sent it by accident. Maybe it wasn’t meant for you at all. Maybe—

Riki stretches lazily in his seat, his hoodie slipping off his shoulder. “Oh, by the way,” he says, and for a second, your breath catches. Finally.

But then—

“Wanna grab ramen after class?”

You stare at him, your stomach flipping.

That’s it? That’s all?

Your grip tightens on your cup as you force a nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

Riki grins, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

And as he goes back to his phone, casually sipping his drink, you realize—

If he won’t bring it up, you might just have to.

but of course Riki doesn’t bring up the playlist over ramen either.

You sit across from him in the crowded little shop just off campus, the air thick with the scent of broth and spices. The steam from your bowl curls between you, but it does nothing to chase away the tension sitting heavy in your chest.

You’ve been waiting—waiting—for him to say something, to acknowledge what he sent you. But instead, he slurps his noodles like it’s just another night, like he didn’t put together an entire playlist filled with memories.

And it’s driving you insane.

“You’re quiet today,” Riki remarks, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl as he watches you. His tone is light, but there’s something in his gaze—curious, a little teasing. Like he knows something is up.

You set your spoon down a little too forcefully. “Am I?”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk. “Yeah. So weird too. You usually don’t shut up.”

Your jaw tightens. Unbelievable.

If anyone else had made that comment, you’d have thrown a napkin at their face. But right now, you can barely focus on coming up with a comeback.

Your stomach flips just remembering it.

The worst part? Riki looks normal. Like none of this is affecting him at all.

Fine. If he wants to play it cool, two can play that game.

You lean back in your seat, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

Riki quirks a brow, tilting his head slightly. “That’s new.”

Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks. Say something. Bring it up. Ask him.

But just as you open your mouth, he reaches over, stealing a piece of your fish cake right off your plate.

You slap his hand, scowling. “Excuse me?”

He just grins, chewing obnoxiously. “What? You looked distracted. Figured you wouldn’t notice.”

You do throw a napkin at him this time.

And just like that, the moment passes. The conversation shifts to something else—an upcoming test, some campus drama, a new game he’s been obsessed with.

But underneath it all, the tension lingers.

Because you know the truth.

Riki put together that playlist for you.

And no matter how hard he tries to pretend it’s nothing, you know.

The only question is—when are you going to make him admit it?

That night, you give in.

You’re lying in bed again, phone resting on your chest, screen glowing softly in the dark. Your thumb hovers over For Y/N, heart hammering like it’s some kind of forbidden secret.

Riki still hasn’t said a word about it.

But you can’t let it go.

With a quiet breath, you press play.

The next song starts slow, familiar guitar chords filling your ears. The moment it plays, you recognize it—it’s from that weekend trip to the beach last summer.

Your lips part slightly as the memory washes over you.

The sun had just started to set, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. You and Riki had been sitting in the sand, sneakers discarded, the distant sound of waves blending into the music playing from his speaker.

“If I had to pick a favorite sunset, this would be it.” You had stretched your arms behind you, leaning back, letting the breeze tangle in your hair.

“You say that every time.” Riki had scoffed, but his voice was softer than usual.

“Because it always feels true in the moment.”

He hadn’t responded right away. You remember that part clearly. He had just looked at you for a second, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, instead of saying anything, he had reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before quickly looking away, pretending like he hadn’t just done it.

You had pretended, too.

Now, lying in the dark, you exhale shakily.

You’re not imagining this. You can’t be.

These songs—they’re not just random picks. They’re moments, his moments, things that must have meant something to him.

And the more you listen, the clearer it becomes.

You need to talk to him.

The next day, it happens by surprise.

Because of you.

You’re sitting outside the café on campus, staring at your untouched drink, mind replaying the song over and over, when Riki slides into the seat across from you with a lazy grin.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teases, stealing one of your fries without asking.

You don’t respond. Just stare at him, long enough that the grin fades slightly from his lips.

“What?” he asks, chewing.

“Why won’t you admit that you made it?.”

His chewing slows. “Made what?”

You inhale sharply. “The playlist.”

Silence.

Riki freezes for half a second—so quick you almost miss it—before he forces a shrug, looking off to the side. “Yeah, so what? I made it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the casual admittance. “So what? You weren’t ever going to bring it up?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t know I had to.” Then, before you can say anything else, he pushes his phone across the table toward you, screen lighting up with his music app. “Just—listen to the last song.”

Your stomach twists. “Riki—”

“Just listen.”

And the way he says it—quiet, firm, almost nervous—makes you reach for his phone without another word.

You hesitate for only a second before pressing play.

The song starts slow, just like the last one—soft piano notes trickling in, delicate and familiar. It takes only a few seconds before you recognize it.

Your breath catches.

This song—it’s from that night.

The night it rained.

You remember it so clearly now, like the memory has just been waiting to resurface.

You and Riki had been caught in the sudden downpour, running through the empty streets, your shoes slapping against the wet pavement. You had been laughing, breathless, soaked to the bone, and Riki had grabbed your wrist, pulling you under the awning of a closed bookstore.

“We suck at checking the weather.” You had panted, pushing your dripping hair out of your face.

“No, you suck at checking the weather,” Riki had corrected, shaking out his arms like a wet dog.

You had rolled your eyes, shivering slightly. Without a word, Riki had tugged off his soaked hat, shaking off the rain before draping it over your head.

“Riki—”

“Just wear it,” he had muttered, avoiding your eyes. “Protects you from the rain a bit.”

The moment had stretched between you, heavy despite the laughter that had just filled the air. You remember how his fingers had brushed against yours when he adjusted the hat, how close he had been, how the rain had clung to his lashes when he finally looked at you.

And now—this song.

It had been playing from the small speaker outside the bookstore, blending into the sound of raindrops and your pounding heart.

Back in the present, sitting across from Riki in the café, you slowly set his phone down.

He’s not looking at you, gaze fixed on the table, fingers tapping against his cup.

Your chest feels impossibly tight.

“This song,” you whisper. “I remember it.”

Riki lets out a quiet breath, barely a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? thought you wouldn’t with your short term memory.”

Your heart stutters. “Why—” You swallow. “Why put this one last?”

Finally, he looks at you. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite place—something cautious, something vulnerable.

“Because that’s when I knew.”

Your stomach flips. “Knew what?”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s frustrated with himself. Then, he meets your gaze, eyes steady.

“That I liked you.”

The words hang between you, weighty and real.

“Me too” you responded.

Series Taglist — prev

@saphiranishimurashan @elairah @baribaaari @m1kkso @letwiiparkjay @jellyluv4eva @manuosorioh @moontyun @mbsnow @taesanoreohair @tiny-shiny @glimmerinaaa @e-r-i-15 @starbyeol1512 @seyoungiesleeps @vrusha01 @enhaprettystars @luv-rizzimura

[moonriizing]

invisible string | s.jy (18+)

Less than a month before your wedding, a stranger calls, introducing himself as Jay Park—the exact name of the man you once believed to be your soulmate. Driven by a reckless sense of fate, you abandon everything and fly to Italy to meet him, convinced this is destiny’s final chance to set things right.

Genre: destination au, mistaken identity, smut Pairing: Sim Jaeyun/Jake Sim x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), MDNI, lying Notes: 21k words. Loosely based on the 1994 film, Only You. I noticed that long fics are uncommon in 5th gen fics here on Tumblr, but I'm shooting my shot with this one. I hope you like it! Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally nor claim they would ever behave in real life like they were portrayed in this story. ALSO, if you see a similar story from a different blog for a different idol, that is me. lol xoxo, cal.

Enjoy~

The flickering candlelight shone on your faces as you, your sister, and Katie huddled around the Ouija board, the air cold from the summer storm raging outside your house. A shot glass, upside down and resting on the board, was the only thing standing between you and whatever spirit you had just summoned.

“Are you here?” Katie whispered, looking around slowly and nervously.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then slowly, unnervingly, the glass inched toward YES.

You all yelped, immediately shushing each other. “Keep your hands on the glass!” your sister hissed, eyes wide. “If we let go, the spirit might get mad.”

Your fingers clung to the glass tighter, your pulse hammering in your throat. Katie exhaled sharply. “Okay, okay. Um… what’s your name?”

The glass trembled beneath your fingertips, dragging across the board. J. Then O. Then N.

“Jon?” you echoed.

“Jonathan?” Katie guessed.

Your sister shushed you both again, her face serious. “Don't interrupt. It might stop talking.”

A chill ran down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was from the candle’s wavering light or the idea that there really was something with you in the room, something unseen but present.

One by one, you and Katie took turns asking questions—How did you die? Are you a good spirit? Will we be rich someday?—each answer making you shriek, then dissolve into nervous giggles. But when the laughter faded, the heavy silence that followed always felt chilling.

Then, feeling reckless, feeling thirteen, you blurted out the one question that had been on your mind for years. “Who’s my soulmate?”

Katie gasped. Your sister shot you a look. “Are you sure you wanna ask that?”

But the glass had already started moving. It slid to J. Then to A. Then to Y.

You barely breathed as you read the letters aloud. “Jay…”

A rush of excitement fluttered in your stomach, getting more nervous. “Do you know his last name?”

The glass stilled for a second. Then it moved again. P. A. R. K.

“Jay Park,” you whispered. You repeated the name to yourself, the way it rolled off your tongue, the way it already felt right. Destiny had spoken. The universe had handed you a name, a direction, a soulmate. And from that night on, you chased it.

You had a comfortable life—a good job, a cozy home, loyal friends, and Sunghoon, your kind, dependable boyfriend. He’d proposed a year into your relationship. Your family adored him, your friends admired him, and you felt… happy, for the most part.

But something was off. The thought of marrying him felt too easy, like a decision you were supposed to want, yet couldn't fully commit to. After the proposal, you confided in Katie, admitting you weren’t sure if you loved him enough to take that step.

“It’s not the right time yet,” you lied, knowing it wasn’t time that was the problem. You loved the idea of stability, the way Sunghoon made everything seem simple, like life would follow a clear, predictable path. But something about that terrified you more than it comforted you.

“Maybe you’re just scared,” Katie had said. “But he’s a good guy, and he loves you. You should talk to him.”

You hadn’t, though. Instead, you bottled it up, relieved that Sunghoon hadn’t told anyone about the proposal yet. You said you’d think about it, and that’s all you’d done for the last few days.

Now, lying in his bed, his arm wrapped around you, you tried to picture forever. It should’ve felt comforting, but it didn’t.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his breath warm against your neck.

“Yeah. I was just thinking about us,” you replied, almost in a whisper.

His voice fell when he spoke, and guilt twisted inside you. “I know it’s sudden. If you’re not ready, I understand.”

“No, I’m fine. Let’s do it,” you replied briskly, smiling at him and hiding the fact that you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I don’t want to force this on you.”

Your dearest Sunghoon—so gentle and thoughtful. You forced another smile. “I’m sure, Hoon. Let’s get married.”

The warmth of Sunghoon’s presence should reassure you, but instead, it felt like a tether pulling you further into something you didn’t know how to escape. When he kissed your forehead, you wished you could love him the way he deserved—but the words 'Let’s get married' tasted hollow, even as you forced yourself to say it.

Days passed quickly, and suddenly, the wedding was just twenty days away. The venue, guest list, and reception were all set—only the invitations and the final dress remained. Your mother pushed for a custom gown, but you insisted on RTW, wanting at least one decision to be entirely yours.

At the boutique, Katie and your sister helped you pick dresses. It was fun at first, but with every gown you tried on, the unease in your stomach deepened.

“Okay! This is the tenth one,” your sister called, and as you stepped out, the room fell silent and everyone had their hands over their mouth. 

Curious, you looked at yourself in the mirror and sure enough, you even ended up gasping at the beautiful image reflected back to you. The dress was perfect—elegant, breathtaking. It fit like a dream, like it belonged to someone sure of what they wanted.

“You look stunning!” Katie gushed, hugging you.

Your sister teared up. “My baby sister is getting married!”

But as you stared at yourself, the lace felt suffocating. Your stomach churned. The boutique walls seemed to close in. Your breath turned shallow, ragged. Panic gripped your chest. Then the room began to spin, forcing you to close your eyes.

“Excuse me,” you muttered, pushing past them. You barely made it to the sink before throwing up.

Katie and your sister rushed in after you. “Are you okay?” Katie asked, concern etched in her face.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” your sister blurted.

“No, of course not,” you said, shaking your head. Your hand instinctively touched the implant in your arm, reassuring yourself it was still there. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh, dear,” your sister sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you stepped out of the restroom. “It’s the stress, isn’t it?”

She might have been right. Stress often manifests this way for you. But they didn’t ask again until you were sitting at a nearby coffee shop, sipping a citrus drink to calm your nausea.

“You’re still not sure about this, are you?” Katie asked gently.

You hesitated and they could see it in your eyes. “What’s bothering you?” your sister asked softly.

You sighed. “I don’t know if I’m overthinking or if I really just don’t want this.”

Your sister’s gaze softened. “If you need more time, take it.”

“It’s not time,” you admitted. “It’s him. I love Sunghoon, but I never pictured us getting married. Now that it’s happening, it all feels… wrong.”

Your sister’s expression turned serious. “Then don’t. It’s not just nerves if it doesn’t feel right.”

Katie took your hand. “Talk to him. Whatever happens, choose what makes you happy.”

You promised them that you would, but you couldn’t. Not when you came home to him smiling brightly at you, kissing you tenderly and holding you in his arms as warmly as he always did.

The next day at the office, you were in your boss’s office to get some paperwork signed when the secretary’s phone started ringing. You ignored it at first, knowing it wasn’t your job to answer. But after the third ring, you picked it up, just in case.

“Mr. Lee Heeseung’s office. How can I help you?”

“Hi. Is Heeseung there? He’s not picking up his cell, and I need to talk to him urgently,” came a clear voice on the other end.

You grabbed a pen and pad. “He’s out for lunch right now, probably left his phone behind. But I can pass on the message.”

“That’ll work. Thanks.”

“No problem. Can I get your name, so I can let him know who called?”

“Jay Park. Just tell him I need to chat.”

You froze, fingers tightening around the receiver. “Sorry—what was your name again?”

“Jay. Jay Park.”

The name echoed in your head like a spell conjured straight from the past. Jay Park. Your Jay Park. The one the Ouija board had spelled out ten years ago. The name you had whispered to yourself on sleepless nights, half-laughing at the absurdity of believing in it, half-wishing it meant something.

Somewhere along the way, you had let it fade. You had convinced yourself it was just a childhood whim. But now—out of nowhere—he was real. On the other end of this call.

“Jay Park,” you repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

“Uh… yeah?” He sounded mildly amused. “Listen, I was supposed to meet Heeseung, but I overslept, and now I’ve got a plane to catch. Can you let him know I called?”

“A plane?” you asked, gripping the receiver tighter. “Where are you going?”

“The airport,” he replied casually. “Heading to Venice.”

“Venice?!” you blurted, trying to figure out how far Venice was from where you were. You didn’t know for sure, but you knew it was very far.

He chuckled, probably at your stunned silence. “I know. It’s a shame we couldn’t meet, but unavoidable. Anyway, gotta run. Can I count on you?”

Don’t go yet. “No,” you blurted before quickly correcting yourself. “I mean, yes. Yes, of course.”

“Cool. Thanks a lot. Bye.”

“No. Wait—” But the call had already ended, and all that ever made it back to you was the beeping tone of the call being hung up.

You lowered the phone onto the desk, your hands trembling. Then, in a single breath, you dropped your folder onto Heeseung’s desk and sprinted out of the office.

By the time you reached your own desk, you had already dialed Katie. She picked up after two rings.

“I found him!” you burst out.

“Who?” she asked, sounding distracted.

“Jay Park!”

She paused, then said, “Remind me how I know a Jay Park?”

“Jay Park! The guy from the Ouija board!” you practically shouted, adrenaline coursing through you.

A beat passed before her excited squeal echoed through the phone. “Wait. You’re telling me you found your soulmate Jay Park?”

“Yes! He’s friends with my boss, and he’s heading to Italy—right now!”

“Italy? Why Italy?”

“I don’t know!” you squealed, pacing wildly. Your heart was racing, your skin tingling, your mind whirring in a thousand directions. You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath. When you spoke again, your voice was steadier, but the conviction was the same.

“Katie… I think this is it. The sign. I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Oh my god. Girl, no,” she deadpanned.

“Katie, my dearest friend, we have been through everything together.”

“Yes, and you are not an impulsive person. Don’t start now.”

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You had spent your whole life making careful, rational choices. Always choosing the safe, predictable path. And now, standing on the edge of something wildly uncertain, the thought of staying still terrified you more than the thought of running.

“I love you. I’m going to Venice.”

“Wait—”

You hung up, hands shaking as you pulled up flight tickets. The screen loaded painfully slowly, your pulse hammering with every passing second. Maybe this was insane. Maybe you were making the biggest mistake of your life. But something about this just felt right.

But maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what you were meant to do.

When you were thirteen, you played Ouija with your sister and Katie during a blackout. It was supposed to be just for fun, but when you asked the board for your soulmate’s name, the glass moved—spelling out Jay Park.

As a teenager, you half-believed it. Enough to spend hours searching the internet for a Jay Park that felt like your Jay Park. There were plenty, but what were you supposed to say? Hey, a spirit spelled out your name on my Ouija board. Are we soulmates? It was ridiculous. Katie had laughed at you then, telling you that if it was fate, you wouldn’t have to search—he’d find you eventually.

Now, pacing around her living room, you pointed at her dramatically. “This is it, Kate. The moment you were talking about! I forgot all about him, and now, just when I’m questioning everything, he appears.”

Katie watched you with her arms crossed, unimpressed. “This is madness.”

You stopped mid-step, the playful grin slipping as you turned to her. “I know.” Your voice was quieter now, more uncertain. “But what if this is my chance?”

She sighed, giving you a long, hard look, clearly hoping you’d snap out of it. But when you didn’t, she exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. But I’m coming with you. I’m not letting you run off to Europe alone for some random guy.”

Joy burst through you, and before she could change her mind, you threw your arms around her. “Good! Great! We’re going to Venice!”

Katie groaned. “I hate you already.”

Later that evening, you came home to find Sunghoon lounging on the couch, feet propped up, half-asleep in front of the TV. He looked up when you walked in, his face lighting up as he beckoned you over. Without a word, he wrapped an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Crazy. How was yours?”

He exhaled dramatically. “Oh, you would not believe it. First, I had to assist a seven-hour surgery where the patient suddenly went into cardiac arrest, and while we were reviving him, the head neurosurgeon decided it was the perfect time to grill me about my suturing technique—because, you know, that’s obviously what matters when a guy’s flatlining on the table.”

Your eyes widened. “What the—?”

“Oh, it gets better,” he cut in, shifting so he could see your face properly. “After that, I went to the university to teach a class of third-years, and right in the middle of my lecture, one of the students passed out—just full-on face-planted onto the desk. Turns out he was pulling three all-nighters in a row, living off nothing but caffeine and biscuits. Poor kid woke up to me standing over him and thought he had died and I was some kind of angel.”

You burst into laughter. “No way.”

“I swear.” He nodded solemnly. 

“You do look like an angel though,” you mused, kissing his cheek.

“I spent half an hour convincing him that no, he was not dead, and yes, he should consider eating a proper meal from now on.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “Okay, that’s insane.”

“Not as insane as yours, I bet,” he said, his smile softening as he studied your face. “What happened?”

Your laughter faded as nerves twisted in your stomach. You’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times on the way home, bracing yourself for anger or heartbreak. But when you turned off the TV and faced him, you saw only warmth in his eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you started softly, “and I would never want you to think you deserved anything less than the best. But… I don’t think I can marry you, Sunghoon.”

For a moment, silence settled between you. Then, to your surprise, he let out a quiet breath and cupped your cheek. “I know.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. “You do?” you whispered.

He nodded. “I’ve known since the moment I asked you.”

“How?”

He took a deep breath and kissed your knuckles. “Because it wasn’t just you. I’ve felt it too—this… feeling that something wasn’t right. I kept brushing it off, thinking maybe I was just overthinking things, but then I saw it in you too. And I realized, no matter how perfect we seemed, something was missing.”

Your throat tightened. “Oh, baby…” You curled into him, pressing your face against his shoulder.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I know that for sure. And I kept hoping that if I proposed, that strange feeling in my gut would go away.”

“Did it?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

“It got worse.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Sunghoon exhaled, his fingers brushing your hair. “I don’t regret us. Not for a second. But I think we both deserve more than just… settling.”

You nodded, blinking back tears. “I love you, Sunghoon.”

“Just not enough to spend the rest of your life with me,” he finished for you.

Your silence was answer enough. His lips pressed against your forehead, lingering there, before he pulled back with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry I asked,” he said. “It wasn’t fair to you.”

“I’m sorry I let it get this far,” you admitted. “I almost dragged you into an unhappy marriage.”

His expression softened. “I wouldn’t have been unhappy with you. I just… would have always felt like something was missing.”

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard. “Me too.”

For a long moment, you just sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing this was one of the last times you would. It was strange, how love could still be there—real and warm—but not enough to hold you together.

Sunghoon let out a slow breath. “So… what do we do now?”

You told Sunghoon you were going to Italy with Katie for some soul-searching, leaving out the part where the ‘soul’ you were searching for might actually be your soulmate. He only nodded, telling you to have fun, and after a calm discussion, you both decided not to call off the engagement just yet—only to cancel the wedding date.

A part of you ached at the thought of what you were leaving behind, but another part felt relieved. You weren’t wrong. This wasn’t where you were meant to be. So that night, you held onto Sunghoon, whispering sweet nothings into the darkness, both of you pretending this wasn’t the beginning of the end.

The next morning, he drove you and Katie to the airport. There were no dramatic goodbyes, no messy emotions, just an exchange of quiet I love you’s that somehow felt like a farewell. He pulled you in for one last hug and a small kiss on your temple.

As you walked away, you resisted the urge to turn around, knowing he was still watching. And as the plane lifted off, a thrill surge through you, something unfamiliar and intoxicating. Fear. Freedom. Possibilities.

Whatever it was, you knew there was no turning back now.

The flight to Italy was long, but you didn’t feel tired at all. Instead, you were giddy, filled with excitement about searching for your soulmate. Your boss had called your story ‘mental’ when you told him, but he still gave you Jay’s Instagram, warning you that Jay mostly kept to himself and rarely used electronics.

“Why do you think he loves Italy so much? It’s the vintage charm. He goes every year,” Heeseung had explained.

You had thanked him for his help, but he waved it off, saying it was the least he could do since this was your first real vacation in the three years you’d been with the company. You even asked for a photo of Jay, but Heeseung couldn’t find one. Jay’s Instagram was just filled with landscape shots and street photography. Apparently, he does photography part-time and had been contributing to the magazine ever since its launch, but his work was mostly behind the lens, not in front of it.

“Shouldn’t you have known if a Jay Park was contributing to your magazine?” Katie had teased.

“Katie, I’m an accountant. I don’t know anything about who’s behind the production side.”

When you landed, you wasted no time pulling up Jay’s profile. A fresh post showed a hotel in Venice, and you and Katie rushed to get there. But speed was impossible in a city of canals, so you settled for soaking in the scenery, capturing snapshots as you floated past elegant bridges and centuries-old buildings.

“Whatever happens with this search, we have to go sightseeing,” Katie gushed. “It's so beautiful I could literally pass out. Look at that gargoyle sculpture thing!”

You giggled, finding it cute how easily impressed she was. A few minutes later, you arrived at the hotel and a porter helped you off the boat, carrying your luggage with a polite inquiry about where you were headed.

At the front desk, Katie immediately asked about Jay Park.

“Jay Park?” the elderly receptionist asked back. In heavily accented and broken English, he said he does not give out information about their guests.

“Look, sir,” Katie persisted, leaning in with determination. “We came all this way to see him. If you could just tell us if he’s here, that would be enough.”

You tugged at her sleeve. “Let’s just check in. His post was only an hour ago—he’s probably still here.”

“Fine,” she muttered. Then, turning back to the receptionist, she added, “But just so you know, my best friend thinks this guy is her soulmate. So, if you’re withholding information, you’re basically interfering with fate.”

“Katie!” you hissed, scanning the lobby to make sure no one overheard.

“The boatman said there are five branches of this hotel. We need to know if we’re even in the right one!” she insisted.

Just then, a smooth voice cut in. “Excuse me, ladies. May I help?”

You both turned to see a handsome Italian man watching with amusement. He had the kind of charm that made heads turn, confident but not overbearing.

“Yes, thank you!” Katie said, exhaling in relief. “Could you please tell this kind old man that my best friend’s soulmate is Jay Park, and we just need to know if he’s here?”

A flicker of amusement crossed the stranger’s face, but he dutifully translated your story to the receptionist. The two of you stood there gawking cluelessly. If he was translating for real or talking crap about you in Italian, you wouldn’t have known. You just trusted this stranger to do your work for you.

After a brief exchange, he turned to you. “It looks like Mr. Park has already left the premises.”

“Left? He was here just an hour ago,” Katie questioned.

“Indeed he was, but he left just a few minutes ago. I’m afraid you missed him.”

The receptionist said something else and the Italian stranger translated smoothly. “He stayed the night and left just after breakfast.” Then, the receptionist held up a key with a number on it, adding one last detail.

“He also said your friend is heading to Rome.”

“Rome?” you repeated, heart pounding.

The elder man nodded with a smile. “Yes, Rome.” 

You thanked them both and got ready to leave, pulling up your phone to see if Jay had a new update. But just as you were stepping out of the building, the Italian man called after you.

“Ladies!” 

You turned, and he approached with an easy smile. “I am under the impression that you need a place to stay for the night.”

You hesitated. “Thank you, but we really need to find this guy.”

“Yes, but Rome is a long way from here.” He gestured around with a flourish. “It’s Venice. Wouldn’t it be a shame to leave without seeing its beauty?”

“He’s right,” Katie said, already walking toward him. “We could use a tour. And a nice handsome local to show us around.”

They exchanged flirtatious looks, and you sighed, giving in. Maybe you could use a little break from the chase. You were tired, anyway.

Andre, as he’d introduced himself, took you on a motorboat to another hotel. The ride was short, the cool breeze skimming over the water as the city lights flickered against the rippling surface. Soon, your luggage was being hauled out of the boat and into an elegant, upscale hotel. You and Katie booked a suite with a Queen-sized bed to share, and the moment she told you to head up first, you wasted no time making a beeline for the bathroom.

A hot shower worked wonders, washing away the fatigue from the long journey. By the time you stepped out, towel-drying your hair, you found Katie sprawled on the bed, giggling at her phone.

“Where’s Andre?” you teased, eyeing her amused expression.

“Oh, he left,” she replied with a sly grin. “Said he had to take care of something at his store.”

“His store?”

“Yep. A dress shop.” She wiggled her brows. “He must be doing pretty well, ‘cause he paid for this room.”

You paused mid-step. “He paid for the room?” Katie hummed, still grinning. You raised an eyebrow. “And you just let him?” 

“It’s fine, he likes me.” She flipped onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hands. “A girl shouldn’t buy her own drinks at the bar, and a lady definitely shouldn’t pay for her room in Italy.”

You snorted. “Sounds like you’re cashing in on ‘pretty privilege.’” You nudged her foot off your lap as you walked to the dresser for the hairdryer.

“Hey, his words, not mine,” she shot back, sticking her tongue out.

Rolling your eyes, you turned on the dryer, running your fingers through your damp strands. “So, has Mr. Andre invited you to dinner yet?”

“No, but,” she sing-songed, “he did say he’d be back at seven to take us to an opera house.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“Right?” Katie wiggled her eyebrows. “You should come.”

You and Katie spent the rest of the day sightseeing, hopping from one landmark to another, filling your phone with endless snapshots of the city’s charm. You tried a variety of food that left you both stuffed but happy as you wandered through the nostalgic streets. By nightfall, Katie was dressed in a sleek black bodycon dress, ready for the opera. You clapped, approving her choice, and took a few pictures for her Instagram.

She struck a few playful poses, flashing sultry smirks and mischievous winks.

"Are you sure you don’t want to come?" she coaxed, swiping through the pictures. "It might be fun! You never know what might happen."

"I’m fine, Katie," you reassured her. "After all that walking, I’m beat. Besides, I’m sure Andre would appreciate having you all to himself tonight."

She giggled. "You're right, but I’d hate to leave you all alone."

"Just go, hun. And make sure he’s not a creep."

Katie laughed. "If he was, would you come with me?"

You made a show of heading for your suitcase. "Let me grab something nice, and I’ll join—"

"No, no!" she interrupted with a dramatic wave of her hand. "I’m a big girl. I can handle myself."

You smirked. "Seems like you’re the one who wants some alone time with him."

She giggled again, clearly unbothered. "Well, he is cute."

Shaking your head, you plopped back onto the bed, waving her off with a teasing have fun! The moment she left, you flipped on the hotel TV, settling in for a cheesy romcom. It wasn’t the most thrilling way to spend the night, but it did the job of passing the time.

Halfway through the movie, drowsiness crept in. You were just about to doze off when your phone buzzed.

Jay just posted a photo!

You shot up, tossing the remote aside. Heart pounding, you opened the app. A single image filled the screen, accompanied by a cryptic caption: “Two.”

Confused, you studied the photo—a collection of pastel dresses. When you tapped the location, your stomach sank a little. A dress shop in Rome.

“He really is in Rome,” you sighed, standing up to pack your stuff quickly. As soon as the day breaks, it’s GO time for you and Katie.

What were the odds that the dress shop Jay visited was owned by Andre? Maybe 0.10%—unless he secretly owned every boutique in Italy. But as luck would have it, he owned that specific one, which was how you found yourself cruising to Rome in his sleek convertible, seated in the back while he and Katie shamelessly flirted in front of you.

Not that you were paying much attention—you were too busy scrolling through your phone for any updates.

“How much longer till we get there?” you asked, stretching your legs. Two hours in the car had you itching for a break, so when they pulled over by the roadside, you stepped out for some air. The road stretched endlessly ahead, mostly empty, but the surrounding scenery was breathtaking. Rolling hills, sunlit fields, and rustic vineyards—it was like something out of a postcard.

“Just thirty more minutes,” Andre replied, gesturing toward an approaching crossroad. “If we take this route, we should arrive sooner.”

Katie, who had borrowed your phone to stalk Jay’s feed, suddenly shot up from where she’d been lounging on the grass. “How much sooner?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”

“Perfect, let’s go now,” she declared, shoving the screen toward you. “Our mystery man is at this church.”

Your eyes widened as you grabbed the phone. "Two minutes ago?!"

"I know! Let’s move!"

Your heart pounded, caught between her infectious excitement and a nagging sense of guilt. Katie didn’t have to come along on this ridiculous chase, yet here she was, urging you forward like she always did. Since you were kids, she had been there through every wild idea, every leap of faith, every heartbreak—cheering you on, even when she didn’t share your beliefs about fate and love.

With Katie, you had come to understand that love in friendship was just as powerful, just as unwavering.

“Is this it?” Katie asked as the three of you stood before an imposing church.

“Yes. Basilica of St. Agnes,” Andre confirmed. “Same one in the photo.”

You compared the images, your gaze sweeping over the church’s grand façade. Even after confirming it was the right place, you couldn’t help but be awed by its sheer beauty. Tourists wandered about, snapping pictures, their voices echoing through the open square.

“Something’s off,” Andre murmured.

“What do you mean?” Katie asked.

He pointed at the entrance of the church. “It’s closed. No visitors allowed in.”

Your stomach dropped slightly. “Why?”

“I’ll go find out,” Andre said, walking off in search of an answer.

You and Katie remained where you were, scanning the crowd for any sign of Jay Park—not that you even knew what he looked like. All you had to go on was a name and a vague assumption that he was probably Asian. Yet, even as you studied every possible contender, you couldn’t make a single guess.

“If the church is closed, does that mean he never made it inside?” you asked, glancing at Katie.

“For all we know, he could’ve left ages ago,” she sighed, frustration creeping into her voice.

When Andre returned, he confirmed that the church was undergoing renovations. You longed for a break, but Katie insisted on looking around first. You humored her, even going so far as to ask random Asian men if their name was Jay Park—unsurprisingly, you had no luck.

As lunchtime approached, you finally admitted defeat and suggested heading to a nearby restaurant. Normally, pasta could lift your mood, but today, it tasted bland.

You were starting to feel like coming here was a bad idea. A part of you is still giddy for the adventure but seeing Katie made you feel like you were bothering people for something ridiculous. Even Andre, a complete stranger, had been roped into this wild search, all because of your stubborn belief in fate.

You shook your head, pushing the guilt aside. Instead of feeling like a burden, you reminded yourself to be grateful. Katie was here because she cared. And while Andre’s interest seemed to lie more with her than with you, he had stuck around too.

You ate in silence, scrolling through Jay’s feed again. His photographs were breathtaking. You wondered if he was as beautiful as the images he captured—if he was as delicate as the subjects of his photos. Did he take them at random, or was there meaning behind every frame?

As you mindlessly scrolled, something caught your eye—an old post from last year, taken in Italy.

So he really does come here every year, you realized, your heart racing.

You kept scrolling, and a pattern emerged. The very first picture from that trip was of a hotel in Venice, captioned simply, “1.” The next was a dress shop in Rome—“2.” Then the church you had just visited. The sequence continued, leading to a restaurant, also tagged in Rome. You scrolled back another two years. Different photos, same places.

“He travels in a pattern,” you blurted out.

Katie and Andre stopped mid-flirt to look at you. “Who?”

“Jay. Look at this!” You thrust your phone toward Katie, your excitement bubbling over as you explained the pattern you’d discovered. She caught on immediately.

“So if you’re right, he’ll be at this restaurant next?” she asked, her eyes shining with anticipation. You nodded confidently, feeling a surge of hope.

Katie turned the phone toward Andre. “Do you know this place?”

He read the location and nodded. “I do. It’s a local favorite, about fifteen minutes from here.”

Since it was already past lunchtime, you assumed Jay would go there for dinner. Andre confirmed that the restaurant opened at 3 PM, making it primarily a dinner spot.

After checking into a hotel downtown, you planned to rest before the evening. But you were feeling restless, and instead of lying around, you decided to explore the city. Katie offered to join, but you urged her to take a break. She didn’t argue, which only confirmed what you already knew—she preferred to spend time with Andre. Not that you minded. It was nice to see her having fun, rather than just being dragged around by your whims.

You wandered through charming streets, going in and out of shops, mostly window-shopping but picking up a few souvenirs along the way. Andre was adamant that you visit his dress shop and told you its location. He said he’d call them to let them know you were coming. You felt grateful for his help in this journey, and decided to take him up on it.

The moment you stepped inside, the staff greeted you by name. Within minutes, a few attendants gathered around, treating you with the kind of care reserved for VIP clients. As it turned out, Andre had instructed them to help you pick out something stunning for the evening.

Accepting such generosity from someone you had just met felt daunting, but you were grateful nonetheless. The staff encouraged you to choose your favorites, and you eagerly tried them on, feeling giddy at the prospect of finally meeting Jay.

An hour later, you returned to the hotel with a large box containing a dress far bolder than you’d planned. You pouted as you walked in, immediately catching sight of Andre and Katie looking cozy on the second bed of your suite.

“I really appreciate this, Andre, but why make me go through all those trouble if you were just gonna pick the dress for me anyway?” you asked, feeling both shy and exasperated.

Andre raised his hands in innocence and pointed at Katie. “It was me,” she admitted, grinning. “To be fair, you still got the dress you chose,” she added, looking far too pleased with herself.

“Yes, but not the color!” You huffed. “I almost freaked out when they insisted I take this one.”

Katie sauntered over and lifted the lid, revealing the dress inside—red satin, draped elegantly over white feathers.

It was a really nice dress. The original cream color you had chosen was soft, classic, safe. But in red? It was something else entirely. Vivid. Captivating. Sultry.

Dinnertime arrived before you knew it. Katie helped you get ready, lacing you into the dress and fussing over your makeup. You stared at your reflection, feeling nervous. The dress was daring and bold but your delicate makeup felt like it didn’t match the fire of the outfit.

“What are you talking about? You look amazing!” Katie reassured you. She grinned, adjusting the straps on your shoulders. “The goal is to get noticed, hon. Red will definitely grab his attention. And unless Jay Park is blind, you’ll be the star wherever you go tonight.”

You sat by the window of the restaurant, curiously looking around the quiet place. You are now convinced of Andre’s influence, getting you a table easily even with the long queue outside. You wondered if Jay was already here or if he was outside queueing. 

The thought crossed your mind to message him but that made your stomach twist. You had flown across the world to find him, yet the idea of actually reaching out felt more terrifying than anything else. And what would you even say?

“Hey. I followed you all the way to Italy because I think you're my soul mate.” Cringe.

For now, you were content with just catching a glimpse of him. You’d decide what to do next after that. Surely you’d know if he was the one, right? It wouldn’t be something you could explain, but it should feel right.

“Now where are you, Mr. Park?” you muttered to yourself as you refreshed his feed, heart fluttering when you found his most recent upload—a table filled with food, one that looks similar to your table. He’s here! 

Your fingers tightened around your phone as you examined the photo, scanning for any identifying details. In the corner, you spotted a glimpse of navy blue fabric—a sleeve, barely visible. You leaned back, gaze flickering around the restaurant, searching for a navy blue jacket. Several of them were dressed in similar shades, their jackets blending into the dim ambiance.

Then you looked at the picture again and wondered if instead of him, maybe it was whoever he was with. Maybe he wasn’t alone. With that thought, you could narrow down your search to tables with two people in it.

You sighed, shaking your head at yourself. “I’m a creepy stalker,” you muttered under your breath.

The waiter soon arrived with your order and you took the opportunity to ask him. “Excuse me, but… is there a Jay Park dining here tonight?”

The waiter blinked, then broke into a knowing smile. “Jay Park? Ah, Mr. Park! Yes, he’s here.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” You couldn’t help but question.

The waiter chuckled confidently, “Madam, Mr. Jay Park always makes his reservations a year in advance. He is here tonight. Right there.” He pointed toward a table halfway across the room.

You followed his gesture, and your eyes landed on two Asian men seated together. Both wore navy blue—one in a sharp suit, the other in a button-down shirt. Your breath caught in your throat, but your excitement wavered.

Which one was Jay?

You turned to ask the waiter again, but he was already walking away.

You turned to ask the waiter again, but he was already walking away. Sighing, you picked up your fork, pushing your food around your plate as you stole glances in their direction. From here, you could faintly make out their features.

The one in the suit had medium-length hair, styled in a comma hairstyle that was trendy nowadays. The other had longer hair that reached the nape of his neck. A mullet, maybe? You weren’t sure. They looked similar in build, and from the way they were seated, you couldn’t tell which one was taller.

So one of them was Jay Park. They look great, but now what?

They stayed for a while and you stayed too, mostly because you didn’t know where to go and you were hoping they’d somehow glance your way and you’d manage to take a better look at their faces. But since you only stole glances instead of flat-out staring at them the whole time, you wouldn't have known if either of them noticed you at all.

By the time you finished your fifth glass of wine, a tipsy warmth had spread through your skin. Katie had been checking in through texts, and as you lazily tapped out a response, your fingers moved a little too freely over the screen.

Katie: What do they look like? You: I’ll take a picture of them after paying.

You waved down the waiter for the bill, fumbling slightly with your bag as you reached for your card. But before you could hand it over, the waiter smiled and said, “No need, madam. Mr. Jay Park has already covered it.”

Your stomach plummeted and your head snapped toward their table, pulse racing only to find that was already empty. The chairs were neatly tucked in, the wine glasses half-finished. They were gone.

He paid for your food. He noticed you. How can he pay for your food and NOT talk to you at all? That’s just ridiculous. 

Without thinking, you bolted out of the restaurant, the cool night air hitting you like a shock. Your eyes darted wildly over the crowd, searching for navy blue amidst the crowd of tourists and locals. And then, you spotted him—the man in the suit, walking ahead in an unhurried pace.

“Hey.” you called out to him, but he was too far to hear your voice over the noise of the city. You pushed forward, weaving through people, determined to catch up.

As you did, your heel got caught in a crack in the pavement. You wobbled, nearly toppling over, cursing under your breath as you yanked at your foot. The damn shoe wouldn’t budge, and he was getting farther away, disappearing into the sea of moving figures.

“Fuck it.” you grunted, kicking your foot free, abandoning the shoe entirely as you took off barefoot, chasing after him.

The uneven pavement pricked at the soles of your feet, but you didn’t care. You ran and ran, until finally—he was gone. The streets stretched before you, unfamiliar and strange. The city surrounding you was lively, but all you could feel was the disappointment and defeat sinking into your chest.

He was right there. Just almost within reach, but you’d been too shy to approach him, now he was gone. What was the point of all this, then? Did you really come all the way here to find him, and assumed it would all magically fall into place?

Your foot throbbed where the missing shoe should have been, and that reminded you that it was a shoe your sister had gifted you. The thrill of the chase had fizzled into something hollow, leaving you standing there, lost in a city that no longer felt exciting. You felt ridiculous. Heartbroken over someone you had never even met.

With a sigh, you slumped down onto the edge of a fountain and pulled out your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed Katie. It didn’t take her long to find you.

“We were close by. What happened? Where’s your shoe?” she asked, her worried gaze sweeping over you.

You exhaled shakily. “He’s gone.”

“Who, Jay? Did you meet him?” she asked, but you shook your head, staring blankly ahead.

That’s when a man approached you, asking in Italian if you were alright. He was holding your abandoned shoe with a smile playing on his lips. Amidst the words you didn’t understand, you caught a chuckle as he referred to you as Cinderella.

“Your shoe!” Katie exclaimed at the man. “Thank you, sir! Thank you!”  she beamed, while you remained dazed.

The man’s eyes lit up. “Ah, finally, someone who speaks my tongue,” he said, kneeling beside you. “Allow me?”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, barely paying attention. He carefully pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping your foot, brushing away the dirt from your reckless chase.

“My, is that you, Prince Charming?” Katie teased, making the guy chuckle.

“You look gorgeous, by the way. Mind giving me your name?” he asked smoothly.

His question went past you as your turned to Katie. “Should I just DM him?” you murmured, anxiety creeping into your voice.

“Honestly, I was wondering what was taking you so long to do just that,” she replied, smirking.

“You’re right. That would’ve saved us a lot of trouble,” you sighed, pulling out your phone and staring at the screen like it held all the answers.

Katie nudged your shoulder. “So what happened at the restaurant?”

“Well…” You hesitated, replaying the events in your head. “He paid for my meal. That has to mean he noticed me, right? But if he noticed me, why didn’t he talk to me? Was he just out there paying for everyone’s dinner tonight?”

“Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt,” Prince Charming interjected, “but may I ask how long you’re staying in the city?”

You didn’t look up from your screen, leaving Katie to respond. “Not long. We’re here looking for someone.”

“Would you tell me his name? Maybe I know him. The Asian community isn’t that big in places like this.”

Katie shrugged. “I don’t know… He’s a tourist, not a local.”

“Oh, I’m a tourist too, so—” he started, but you suddenly stood up.

“I did it. Let’s go. I can’t be here when he replies. I’d freak out,” you blurted, grabbing Katie’s wrist and dragging her toward the car. “Oh! Thanks a lot, by the way!” you called over your shoulder, offering him a quick bow.

“Wait!” He rushed after you, stepping in front of the car door to block your way. “I didn’t catch your name.”

You reached for the handle, unimpressed. “I didn’t say it.”

“Well, I’d love to know it.”

“Thanks for finding my shoe, sir, but I really have to go.”

His lips twitched. “Then at least tell me who you’re looking for. If I can’t have your name, I’ll take that instead.”

“Who is it then? The guy you’re looking for? I’ll take that if you can’t tell me yours,” he insisted. 

You sighed in frustration, staring straight at him. You gasped when you realized who he was. “It’s you.”

He backed away slightly. “You know me?”

“No, not really, but…” You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. “At the restaurant. I saw you there.”

A smile curled his lips, his sharp cheekbones lifting with amusement. “Yeah, I saw you there too.”

Your breath hitched, exhilaration coursing through you. “I’m actually looking for Jay Park,” you admitted, pulse racing. “He paid for my dinner.”

His jaw dropped for a split second before he quickly recovered. “That’s funny because…” He let out a short laugh. “I’m Jay Park.”

Your knees nearly buckled. The rush of wine, adrenaline, and disbelief swirled together, making your head spin. Before you could stumble, his arms caught you, steadying you on your feet. His hands were warm against your skin, his eyes wide with concern.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, gripping his forearm for balance as you stared at him—really stared at him. “Yeah,” you murmured, still breathless. 

“It’s just… I’ve been looking for you since I got here.” Your voice wavered. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been searching for you way longer than that.”

Jake felt a pang of guilt for lying, but the truth could wait. If he told you now, you’d get in that car and disappear from his life forever. He’ll just tell you the truth later.

So he smiled, tilting his head slightly. “Well,” he chimed, “I guess you found me.”

Rome at night was magnificent, and you were reveling in it as you walked the cobblestone streets with Jake, who you now believed to be Jay. You had no idea of his pretense, but you were on cloud nine, convinced you had found what you came for. He was everything you had dreamed of, and considering he had found you while you were chasing someone else, you couldn't help but believe fate was behind the whole thing.

“Accountant? That’s cool. I work for a fashion brand.”

You hummed. “Let me guess… shoes?”

He chuckled. “What gave it away?”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure, but you were pretty delicate with my foot tonight, and you even mentioned it wasn’t the right size. That was true, by the way. These were gifts, and they’re a size too small.”

“They look beautiful on you either way,” he chimed.

You scowled at him, though you couldn’t quite suppress your smile.

“And I’m a photographer for the brand,” he added. “Not a designer or anything.”

“Photographer, huh? Yeah, I heard you were.”

Jake stepped over a short fence enclosing a neatly trimmed lawn, then reached out to help you over. You hesitated for a second before taking his hands, letting him pull you in.

“Please tell me you don’t have this weird fixation on…” You paused, pursing your lips before adding, “…feet.”

He laughed loudly, tossing his head back. “For a first date, that’s a pretty big question.”

You chuckled. “This is a date?”

“I hope so,” he murmured, tilting his head as he studied you. A warmth spread through your chest. “And to answer your question,” he continued, smirking, “no. Some feet are pretty, but no, that’s not my thing.”

“I see. Good to know.” You sat down on the lawn, and he followed suit, stretching his legs out beside you.

Jake propped himself up on his hands, then nudged you lightly. “Come here.”

You leaned in without hesitation, resting your head on his shoulder. The night sky stretched vast and deep above you, the stars hidden, but the moon glowing bright. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily across it, painting soft streaks in the dark.

“That’s pretty,” you murmured, admiring the waning moon.

“It is,” he agreed. “But it’s prettier in Positano. By the beach, with the stars and the sea breeze.”

“You’ve been there?” you asked, instinctively leaning closer to his warmth.

“Yeah, once. A long time ago, during a short break in college. I’ve come here several times since, but I never really went back there; I was mostly just here for work.”

“I see. Your Italian is really good.”

“Well, I come here often. One of our designers lives in Rome. He holds a showcase every year, and I always come to take the photos.”

“So… you’re busy?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore. The show was earlier today. I’m officially off the clock.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, letting the quiet settle for a moment. Jake relaxed beside you, resting his cheek against your hair.

“Take me to Positano,” you murmured, trying to sound confident despite the shyness in your chest.

He hummed, nuzzling into your hair slightly. “I’ll take you tonight if you want me to.”

You scoffed, nudging him playfully. “Tomorrow, maybe?”

“Tomorrow then.”

You smiled to yourself, but a thought tugged at the back of your mind, prompting you to sit up and turn toward him. “Right. Earlier tonight, at the restaurant.”

Jake straightened slightly. “What about it?”

“You paid for my food. Did that mean you noticed me?”

He exhaled, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “Are you serious? Of course, I noticed you. Ever since you walked in, actually. I could barely keep my eyes off you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Then why didn’t you talk to me? I was eyeing you all night.”

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “If I had known that, I would’ve approached you. But I was with a friend, and I didn’t want to disturb you. Plus… I didn’t think you’d be alone all night.”

“Why is that?”

Jake shrugged, his lips lifting into a smile as he gazed at you with warmth and admiration in his eyes. “You were too beautiful. It was hard to believe you were alone in that restaurant.”

You couldn’t help the grin that formed on your lips. “Well, we should be grateful you picked up my shoe then.”

“I know,” he chuckled, exhaling like he had narrowly escaped something. “I was actually on my way back to the restaurant to see if I could talk to you, but then I found you running around and leaving a shoe behind like Cinderella.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Quite a story.”

“One for the books, if you ask me,” he agreed, smiling, his dreamy eyes fixed on you. 

You met his gaze, caught between feeling self-conscious and utterly seen, as if he could stare at you forever. And the way he looked at you like you were something precious, something to be cherished made your heart swell.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked, his voice low and thoughtful.

You snorted. “Are you seriously asking me that? Me, the person who flew all the way here because I believed in fate a little too much?”

You had told him everything: the Ouija board, the search, how you had followed him just because you’d answered a call that wasn’t meant for you.

“Touché,” he shrugged, lips curving into a smile. They looked so full, so inviting, even under the moonlight. You stared at them for a second too long, wondering if they were as soft as they appeared.

“Would you like to try and see?” he asked, catching your gaze on his lips.

Your breath hitched. “Huh?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his indirect invitation, and before you could compose yourself, he tapped his bottom lip. You instinctively bit your own in an attempt to mask your shyness, but it only revealed your hesitation.

Then he leaned in. His intention was obvious, with your lips set as his goal. You could tell him no, dodge, even make a move to refuse, but you didn’t. Instead, you leaned forward, meeting him halfway.

Your lips brushed, then pressed together, soft—just like you imagined they’d be. But as he moved, his kiss grew firm, insistent, claiming yours in a slow, deep pull that sent warmth coursing through your veins. Instinctively, your hands found his neck, fingers curling at his nape as you surrendered to the moment, eyes fluttering shut.

When he finally pulled away, you opened yours to find his beautiful brown ones gazing right back at you. He smiled, and your heart swelled.

“Hi,” you blurted out, brain momentarily short-circuiting.

Jake laughed, then stole a brief kiss—quick, playful—before pulling you back into his arms.

It was past midnight when you finally parted, lingering at your door, neither of you willing to let go. His fingers brushed against yours even as he talked about tomorrow, and you kept saying "yes" to Positano, over and over, as if the promise of it wasn’t already sealed between you.

If it weren’t for Katie scolding you for leaving the door wide open, you might have spent the entire night just standing there, lost in each other’s eyes.

“See you in the morning,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as you rested your head against his chin.

“See you in the morning, Jay.”

You felt him freeze at the name, his expression flickering for a split second before he smiled, saying nothing. Instead, he waved, taking a few steps backward before finally turning to leave.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the giddy rush bubbled over, and you twirled in place, unable to contain it.

Katie chuckled from the couch. “You look obscenely happy.”

“Thanks. I am,” you admitted, a proud smile stretching across your face as you stepped into the bathroom for a quick wash, the warmth of his kiss still lingering on your skin.

The morning was beautiful from your window, but sadly, you were set to leave Rome today for the beaches of Positano. You were excited and it seemed like Katie was too because she was the first to drag her stuff out of the room. 

A hotel attendant helped with your luggage, leading you down to the parking area, where two sleek cars and two equally gorgeous men were waiting.

“Good morning,” Jake greeted, opening his arms just as you ran into them. “Are you excited?”

“Can’t wait.”

He chuckled and tapped your nose affectionately. Glancing over at the other car, Jake asked if they were ready too. Andre raised a thumb in response.

“We’ll be right behind you,” he told Jake, who waved before ushering you into the car.

The ride was lively, filled with music and wind whipping through your hair. Jake’s camera rested in the center console, and when you asked if you could use it, he handed it over without hesitation, walking you through the settings. Once you got the hang of it, you turned the lens on him, snapping pictures as he drove.

Noticing this, he started posing dramatically, making you giggle.

“You look great, Jay,” you commented, flipping through the shots.

“I’ll take pictures of you later,” he promised, reaching over to press a kiss to your hand.

Positano unfolded before you in a breathtaking display—lush greenery, vibrant cliffs, and the sparkling sea stretching beyond them. Compared to Rome, it was quieter, more provincial, yet no less stunning. Jake mentioned your hotel was right by the beach, and after a few more winding roads, you arrived. The driveway was expertly lined with tall trees on each side, giving it a majestic entrance.

“Food!” Katie declared the moment she spotted the hotel restaurant. “Great, because I’m starving.” She grabbed your wrist and dragged you along, leaving the men to handle the check-in and your luggage.

You ordered a feast, and before long, Jake and Andre joined you at the table, both noticeably lighter without their bags.

“Miss Destiny,” said Andre, referring to you by the nickname he’d coined for you as he sat next to Katie. “I hope you don’t mind if Katie and I share a room.”

You cocked an eyebrow at Katie, who smiled sheepishly. “Oh, come on. You have Jay,” she reasoned, pouting. “You won’t be alone.”

You met Jake’s gaze, and he gave you a small nod. “If you’d rather have your own room, I can book another,” he offered.

“No, it’s fine,” you replied, even as the thought of sharing a room with him so soon made you nervous.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his hand resting lightly over yours on your thigh.

You placed your free hand on his arm, offering him a reassuring smile. “Yes. I don’t mind.”

“Alright.”

The food was, as expected, incredible. Katie had picked the restaurant’s best-selling dishes, earning her praise from both Jake and Andre. You were especially impressed by how familiar Jake was with the cuisine and language. Despite his earlier claim that he only visited Italy for work, he seemed to really like it here.

Later, as you wandered the beach together, he continued to share small facts about the seashells you picked up, his camera never straying far as he snapped random pictures of you. You listened intently, amused by his little trivia moments.

“That one’s different,” he commented, taking a shell from your hand for a closer look. “It’s not usually found here. Must’ve been carried in by the current.”

“It looks like you,” you mused, holding it up beside his face for comparison.

He grinned. “How?”

“The color. It’s got the same deep brown as your eyes. This shell is you, Jay.”

Jake laughed, taking the shell and tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll keep it then. Souvenir from the best vacation of my life.”

You scoffed playfully. “You’re such a flirt, Mr. Park.”

“That’s because you’re pretty, Miss,” he shot back, pulling you snugly against his side.

You giggled, slipping your arm around his waist as you continued walking, the waves crashing softly in the distance.

At some point, you managed to steal his camera again, snapping pictures of him as he stood against the backdrop of the sea. He looked regal through the lens, but even the camera couldn’t quite capture what you saw in real time. He was breathtaking, like the sea breeze and the view right before you. He was gorgeous and golden, like the sun that was setting down the horizon.

“Look,” he said suddenly, pointing toward the sunset as he stopped in his tracks. You followed his gaze, taking in the golden hues painting the sky.

Without thinking, you leaned into his chest, letting his warmth wrap around you as silence settled between you. None of you were talking, tired from goofing around all afternoon and just utterly speechless by this—the quiet, the beauty, the understanding between two people who had stumbled into something that felt impossibly perfect.

Yet, in the back of your mind, a small fear was lurking. This moment felt too good, too perfect, and you didn’t want it to end. You wished you could stay here forever, pressed against him, watching the sky change colors until night fell and the sun eventually rose again.

“Would you be surprised to hear that I might be falling in love with you?” Jake asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant—like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“Yes,” you admitted, tilting your head slightly. “But it would make me happy to hear it too.”

His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek. “I like being here,” you murmured. “Right by your side. It feels right. It feels good. And I don’t think I’m gonna let anyone take this away.”

Jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head, making you look up. On impulse, you reached for him, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

“Would you stay?” you whispered against his mouth.

He lifted your chin, deepening the kiss just enough to seal his answer before pulling back slightly. “I’ll be wherever you are,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “Wherever you want me to be.”

And so, as the last traces of sunlight dipped below the horizon, you kissed again, understanding, without needing to say it, that this moment wasn’t just fleeting. It was the start of something inevitable. Something fated.

Days with Jake blurred into a dream of sun-drenched adventures and stolen kisses. You went boating, scuba diving, hiking, and cruising along the coast in Andre’s small yacht. If you weren’t taking pictures of each other, you were tucked away somewhere cozy, his lips moulding with yours. In the privacy of your suite, you were tangled together beneath the sheets, talking about each other’s lives, strengths and fears, childhood memories, favorite songs, and the kind of futures you had always imagined. Five days in Positano had you realizing you had never told so much about yourself to anyone until now. 

He photographed you endlessly, claiming the camera loved you almost as much as he did. And you, oblivious to the truth, still believed he was Jay Park—the person fate had written into your story.

Jake, on the other hand, found it harder to maintain the lie. The closer you got, the heavier it sat on his chest. He told himself it shouldn’t matter. A name was just a name. But you spoke about destiny with such conviction, as if the universe had carefully arranged every thread of your lives to lead you here. You still believed that thread was tied to Jay, but Jake wanted to believe it was tied to him. Maybe it was. Maybe fate had simply used another name to bring you together. He wanted to believe that when you eventually find out, you’d understand. 

But when you looked at him like this, like you were certain that he was the Jay Park of your dreams, he wasn’t so sure anymore. What would happen if you found out?

“Jay, where are we going?” you asked as he led you through the dense bushes.

“You’ll see.”

Faint orchestral music drifted through the air, growing louder with each step. Beyond the hedge, golden lights shimmered, illuminating a grand estate that looked more like a palace than a house. Silhouettes of elegantly dressed guests moved through the gardens, their laughter mixing with the music.

You tightened your grip on Jake’s hand. “Please tell me we have an invitation for this.”

He barely glanced at you before chuckling. “Of course not. We’re not Italian socialites.”

Your jaw dropped. “We’re gatecrashing?”

He pressed a finger to his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’re just a couple of lost tourists who took a wrong turn looking for the bathroom.”

“Yeah, no. I’m going back.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Oh, it’s currently having tea with my common sense. Let me go.”

But Jake didn’t let go. He just grinned and kept walking, tugging you along with him.

You exhaled sharply, scanning the lavish scene. “I have a feeling you’ve done this before.”

“For once, you’re wrong,” he said, too cheerfully. “This is my first time.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Wait—so you don’t have an exit plan?”

“Have you heard of spontaneity? You should try some.”

You scoffed. How dare he say that to you, of all people. “I literally flew to Italy on a whim.”

Jake straightened his tie and smoothed his jacket. You did the same, thanking the fact that you were both out for a fancy dinner tonight and your nice clothes are helping you blend in easily with the crowd.

With an exaggerated bow, he held out his arm. “Welcome to the Baron’s Ball, my lady. Shall we?”

Despite yourself, you giggled, slipping your arm through his. “Lead the way, my lord.”

Inside, the grandeur was almost dizzying. Gowns and suits shimmered beneath the glow of a massive chandelier. There was an actual orchestra playing a waltz, and while some guests lingered by the edges of the room, others twirled effortlessly at the center.

Jake maneuvered through the crowd with ease, nodding and offering brief greetings as though he belonged here. The casual confidence made you feel a little less like an imposter—until he steered you straight toward the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” you hissed under your breath.

He only squeezed your hand in reassurance. “We can’t pass up a chance to dance at a swanky party,” he whispered in your ear, kissing the side of your head right after and leaving you warm and nervous.

“Good evening,” a passing gentleman greeted, and Jake nodded smoothly in return.

“Good evening,” he replied, his posture relaxed, his charm effortless.

That’s when you realized—he’d been doing this all night. A nod here, a smile there. Enough to make you look like you belonged. And somehow, against all logic, it was working.

The moment you reached the dance floor, Jake pulled you into position, guiding you effortlessly into the same graceful stance as the other couples. One hand settled gently on your waist, the other laced with yours, while you rested your free hand on his shoulder, your thumb unconsciously stroking the nape of his neck.

“Relax, love,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “You got me. We’ll be fine.”

His voice was a melody of its own, putting you at ease. You closed the gap between you, pressing your ear on his chest as you swayed. Just like how it had always been ever since you met him, you felt the fulfillment of belonging to something, to someone. It put your heart at ease.

You had been right to book that flight, and fate had been generous to let you pick up that call. Everything in your life had felt uncertain for so long, but now, with him here, it was as if the universe had finally put things into place, you were right where you were supposed to be. 

“Is this destiny?” he asked. You lifted your head, smiling as you met his gaze. He was already smiling too, cheekbones lifting and eyes crinkled at the corners.

“It is,” you said softly. “Because if it isn’t, then it shouldn’t feel this right, Jay.”

His smile faltered for just a second—so brief you might’ve imagined it—before he masked it with a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just asking because I’m not big on destiny and soulmates and all that stuff. But a friend told me that everything you do, everywhere you go, everyone you meet, you meet them for a reason. The reason was destiny. Do you think so too?”

You nodded. “I always have. I believe people are placed in our lives on purpose. Every friend we’ve lost, every enemy we’ve made, every person we’ve loved and stopped loving. Even the stranger at the grocery store or the student scrolling through his phone on the train—we were meant to cross paths. Sometimes we play a role in their lives, sometimes we don’t. But every meeting happens because it was supposed to. And we begin in a random place, navigating through people and relationships and places until we find where we belong.”

“That’s beautiful.”

You smiled, tiptoeing to press a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s even more beautiful now that I’ve found you. This… this is where I belong.”

His arms tightened around you. “I feel the same,” he whispered. “Does that mean everything that lead up to this moment doesn’t matter anymore? I mean, we’re here now. We’ve found each other.”

The music shifted before you could think of a response. People started cheering and heading for the dance floor, cramping the space. Someone bumped into you, throwing you off balance, but Jake caught you immediately.

Your heart pounded as you took in the scene. Everyone was moving into formation. Everyone except for you two.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you muttered. The music had paused, and the dancers stood poised, waiting for the cue to begin. You glanced around anxiously. “Should we leave?”

Jake only grinned. “Relax. It’s a cotillion. Just blend in.”

Before you could argue, the music resumed—and the dancers sprang into motion with eerily coordinated formations and synchronized steps. Jake twirled you, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Dance, love! Dance like this is your last night in Italy!” he beamed.

With a breathless laugh, you gave in, mirroring his exaggerated, silly dance moves. The embarrassment melted away in the absurdity of it, but it wasn’t long before you noticed heads turning. People were starting to watch you.

“The guy in the red suit,” Jake said under his breath, “I think he’s a guard. Or a butler. Or something.”

“What?” You followed his gaze and spotted a man flipping through what looked like a guest list. Your stomach dropped.

Jake leaned in. “When he comes this way, we run for that door.”

Your head whipped toward the exit he was pointing to. “Wait, that’s not where we came from—”

“It’s a better escape route.”

“Oh god,” you breathed, eyes darting back to the guard. He was looking right at you now, brows furrowed in suspicion. You didn’t wait for Jake’s signal—you grabbed his hand and bolted.

“Oi! Hey!” a voice called out behind you.

Jake abruptly stopped, dropping to his knees. “Shoes.” He tugged at your heels. “They’ll slow you down.”

Cursing, you kicked them off, barely giving him time to grab them before you both took off again.

Shouts rang out behind you, the man barking orders in rapid Italian, but you didn’t look back. You tore through the grand entrance, past a sprawling garden, and straight toward the massive gates.

The guards outside barely had time to register the sight of two guests sprinting into the night before you were already gone.

You didn’t stop running until you were far from the venue, your laughter mixing with Jake’s as you both collapsed by the seawall. Breathless and giddy, he hoisted himself onto the ledge, patting the spot beside him in invitation.

You sank down next to him, still panting, and leaned against his side for support.

“You good?” he asked, his arm coming around you, his fingers kneading gently at your shoulder.

“Yeah. You?”

“Better than ever.” He grinned, and you both broke into laughter again—genuine, breathless, and a little bit wild.

After a moment, you straightened, turning to look at him. His face was still alight with exhilaration, his eyes gleaming under the dim streetlights. “You’re a bad influence,” you murmured.

His grin widened. “I know.” Then, after a breath—“Can I kiss you?”

You glanced at his lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He closed the gap between you in a kiss that was long and slow, lingering like the adrenaline still thrumming in your veins. He kissed you until neither of you could tell if your lightheadedness was from the run or from this—whatever this was between you. And by the time you pulled apart, breathless and undone, you were sure of one thing.

You didn’t regret a single second of it.

When you arrived at the hotel, the receptionist greeted him as Mr. Sim. You frowned, catching his sleeve as the elevator doors closed behind you. “Mr. Sim? I thought you were Mr. Park.”

He barely looked at you, too busy tugging you flush against him. “Probably another Asian guest. To these people, we all look the same.”

You laughed because, knowing him, he was probably right. But before you could dwell on it, his lips were on yours, swallowing any thought that didn’t involve him. You barely made it to his suite before your hands were everywhere—fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching at the fabric of his shirt as he pressed you against the door, kissing you like he was starving.

You knew where this was going, had known it since the first time his lips brushed against yours. But even as you gasped against his mouth, even as he trailed kisses down your neck, you forced yourself to slip from his grasp, your hands still lingering on his shoulders.

“There’s something you should know,” you murmured, breathless. His fingers were already tracing the curve of your waist, sending shivers down your spine. “It might change things.”

He exhaled a laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t think anything you say can change how I feel about you.”

Your chest tightened, his words making your resolve waver. You kissed him, long and deep. His mouth traced a path down your jaw, nipping at your pulse, making you shudder. “The truth is…”

“Hm?” he hummed, lips brushing your collarbone.

“I’m…” You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “…engaged.”

Everything stopped. His grip on your hips tightened, his heavy-lidded eyes snapping open. “You’re what?”

“I’m engaged. I was supposed to be married in a week.” You exhaled, searching his face.

He backed away just enough to take a good look at you. He was still holding your arm when he asked, “Then why are you a thousand miles from home looking for a soulmate in a complete stranger?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to get married. And I—I answered your call by accident. It was meant for my boss, Lee Heeseung. But when you told me your name… I don’t know, I just felt like I had to find you.” Your fingers traced his cheek. “I thought maybe it was fate.”

His silence made your heart pound, but then he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier—like he had decided for himself what fate meant. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed as his lips claimed every inch of skin he could reach. You arched against him, his hand slipping underneath you to unzip your dress.

“That doesn’t change anything?” you asked.

His mouth curved against your shoulder. “If we found each other… isn’t that all that matters?”

You nodded, pushing your hand inside his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. “Well, yeah. What could be worse than that?”

He flashed a grin before he kissed you breathless, pressing you into the mattress. His hands roamed lower to palm your breast, setting your skin on fire, but just as you started to lose yourself in him, he mumbled against your lips, “My name’s not Jay Park.”

In a daze from the sensation of his kisses and his touches, you couldn’t quite process what he just said. “You're not?”

“My name is Jake Sim.”

Suddenly, clarity crashed down on you. “WHAT?!” You shoved at his chest, but he barely budged.

He groaned, laughing breathlessly. “Oh, come on. You just said none of it matters!”

“Yes, except for that!” With a burst of strength fueled by sheer outrage, you pushed him off of you. He tumbled onto the floor with a thud.

He groaned, rolling onto his back. “Wow, you’re strong.”

“You lied to me?” you asked, appalled like you couldn’t believe he was capable of doing that.

“Hey, it’s just a name.”

You stood up angrily, grabbing your purse, coat, and shoes from where they were scattered across the room. “You’re a liar. A jerk! A horrible, horrible person!”

“Hey, calm down,” Jake tried, reaching for you, but you shoved his hands away.

“Don’t touch me!”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Alright. I lied. But only about my name. The rest of it was true. All of it. My dreams, my hopes, how I feel about you... all of it. My dreams, my photography, I didn’t lie about any of those.”

“You lied about the one thing that mattered most!” you snapped.

Jake exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Come on, love—”

“Don't call me that.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“I did when I thought you were Jay.”

His jaw tensed as he followed you to the door. “Jay isn’t even the guy you think he is. Be real. He’s a stranger. You don’t know him.”

“You would be a stranger too if you hadn’t lied about being him.” You pressed the elevator button, glaring at him. “Do you even have a conscience?”

He stepped closer. “Just—please. Give me a chance. How do you even know he’s the man you’re looking for?”

“I’ll figure that out myself.” You stepped into the elevator and pulled the steel gate shut before he could follow. “Why did you even do that?”

Desperation flickered in his eyes. “I did it because I’m in love with you!”

You scoffed, completely, utterly frustrated and exasperated. “And you expect me to believe that? What am I stupid?”

“Baby!”

“Leave me alone!” you hollered, just as the elevator door closed.

You pounded on Katie’s door with trembling fists, your vision blurred by tears. When it finally opened, she stood there, bleary-eyed from sleep, Andre peering over her shoulder. You didn’t care. Pushing past them, you collapsed onto the couch by the window, sobbing uncontrollably.

Katie rushed to you, her hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Let’s go home, Katie.” Your voice cracked between sobs. “You were right. This was madness—coming here, chasing after some ghost, believing in stupid fate. All of it. This is the worst trip of my life.”

Katie glanced at Andre, silently asking him to give you both space. He understood and slipped out without a word. She sat beside you, offering a glass of water once your sobs quieted.

“What happened? Where’s Jay?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “He’s not Jay, Katie. He lied. His name is Jake Sim.”

Her brows furrowed. “What? Why would he do that?”

You shot up from the couch, pacing the room. “Because he’s a terrible person, that’s why! He probably thought this was all some joke. Like he could just lie his way into my bed and get away with it. Well, guess what? His honesty was five days too late! He wasted my time, my effort, everything! I will never believe in fate or destiny or love or any of that crap ever again!”

Katie sighed, taking the glass from your shaking hands. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” you snapped.

Her voice softened. “Really? You won’t believe in fate or destiny? And love too?”

The words hit sent a pang in your chest. You sat back down, burying your face in your hands. Your whole life, you had believed in love and destiny. Every good thing that happened to you, you thanked fate. Every bad thing, you told yourself it was leading you to something better. You believed in love because your parents had shown you it was real, because you grew up in a home where love was the foundation of everything. And now, just because one stranger had broken your heart, you were ready to throw all of that away?

Katie’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. “Maybe this is destiny too,” she murmured. “Getting hurt is part of everyone’s growth. What he did was wrong, and he was a jerk for doing it, but don’t let him be the reason you stop believing in the things that make you who you are.”

You sniffed, wiping at your damp cheeks. “Let’s go home, Katie.”

She squeezed your hand. “Okay. We’ll go home.”

The next morning, Katie was alone in the hotel room, packing up both your things and hers for your flight home. She had taken it upon herself to gather all your belongings from the room you had shared with Jake, finding it empty when she arrived. You had left early with Andre to book tickets, determined to get out of Italy as soon as possible, leaving Katie to clean up.

She was nearly finished when a sharp knock sounded at the door. At first, she thought it was you or Andre, but when she opened it, she was greeted by a massive bouquet of flowers. Katie sighed, immediately swatting it away, already knowing who was behind it.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Not-Jay-Park?”

Jake peeked over the bouquet. “Katie. Is she here?”

“She’s not.”

Jake exhaled sharply. “Can you tell me where she is?”

Katie scoffed. “She’s booking tickets for our flight home.”

“You’re leaving already?” His voice dropped slightly.

“Yes. Early tomorrow. But if she finds a flight for today, she’ll take it. The sooner we leave, the faster she forgets about the jerk she met in Italy.”

“Come on, Katie. Not you too,” he pleaded. Katie just scoffed louder and started closing the door, but Jake wedged his hand against it. “Okay, I know. I know I messed up. But can you please hear me out?”

“You’re not worth my time, Jake.”

“I get that,” he sighed, pushing his way inside. “But I’m begging you. Please listen to me because she won’t.”

Katie folded her arms across her chest. “Fine. Three minutes.”

“Great.” He set the bouquet on the table. “The thing is… I’m in love with her.”

Katie let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Are all guys like this? Willing to say anything to get laid?”

“Hey, for the record, I have no problem getting laid.”

“You’re admitting that you sleep around? Gross.”

“No—wait. That’s not what I meant—” He ran a hand through his hair and took Katie to sit down on the chair before he crouched on the floor before her. “Listen to me.”

Katie rolled her eyes but stayed put. “Make it quick.”

He nodded. “Okay. So, I never believed in fate the way she does. I think it’s crap.”

“Is that why you tricked her? Because you think she believes in crap?”

“Will you let me finish?”

She motioned for him to continue, unimpressed.

“I wasn't even supposed to be here. I was supposed to be home, taking care of my dog. For the first time since I started working, I finally had a vacation. But then—boom—last-minute call. The photographer who was supposed to come here canceled, and I got sent instead.”

He took a deep breath. “So there I was, back in Italy, tired of shooting the same things every year. Taking pictures of that old, grumpy Marchetti’s shoes—which, by the way, are nice, but not nice enough for him to earn my respect.”

Katie frowned. “You're rambling, Jake.”

“Right, sorry.” He took another breath, refocusing. “So I’m in Rome, relieved the show is over, thinking I can finally go home. Then I run into my old friend, Jay Park. We haven’t seen each other in ages, so we grab dinner. And then—” He gestured dramatically, “in walks this gorgeous, gorgeous woman in a red dress. It’s like whole world was out of focus, and all I can see was her, looking around before sitting alone.”

“She was there for Jay.”

“I know! I mean, I didn’t at the time, but I do now.” Jake let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to talk to her, but I had Jay with me, and ditching a friend for a girl is kind of a dick move. So I just… stole glances. Jay noticed and told me to go talk to her. I figured I’d just pay for her food instead, but he insisted.” He gave a small, almost amused shake of his head. “He even paid her bill and said I should repay him by talking to her.”

Katie nodded slowly. “I see. So that’s what happened.”

“Yes,” Jake said, shifting his weight. “And then my friend left, and there I was, just watching her sip wine after her meal, waiting for the right moment. But then—” He huffed, looking away. “I chickened out. So I left.”

Katie cocked an eyebrow, clearly waiting for him to continue.

Jake pushed off the chair and started pacing. “So I left, right? I was walking the streets, thinking about her, and then suddenly this girl rushed past me. Same dress, same hair, and I just knew it was her.” He gestured vaguely, like he could still see the moment playing out. “I followed her because I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t. But your friend is a fast runner, did you know that?”

Katie smirked. “She did track and field in high school.”

Jake snapped his fingers. “That explains it.”

Then, without missing a beat, he went on. “Anyway, I found her shoe, stuck in the cobblestone. So I picked it up and started looking for her. Luckily, she wasn’t hard to spot in that dress.” He shot Katie a pointed look. “Thanks to you, by the way. I heard it was your idea.”

Katie gave a small shrug.

“So, I finally caught up to her, and she was… upset. And then, out of nowhere, you guys were leaving.” Jake exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I knew I had to stop her. I had to at least get her name because I’d regret it if I didn’t. If she got into that car and disappeared forever—” He shook his head. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

His voice softened. “And then she told me she saw me too. That she had been looking for Jay.” He hesitated before continuing, rubbing his temple. “I thought… I thought it would be easier to make her stay if I just said I was Jay.”

Katie let out a sharp scoff. “Or you could have just said you knew who Jay Park was.”

Jake groaned, throwing his head back. “I know! But hey, I panicked, okay?” He let out a humorless laugh. “I was… desperate, I guess. I’ve never felt this way before. Ever.”

His voice grew quieter. “My mom told me to take this trip. Even though I had to work, she said something great might happen to me here.” He looked down, then back up at Katie, eyes filled with something raw. “And I know this is it. Finding her was the ‘something great’ my mom meant. I don’t know how I know. I just do.”

He swallowed hard. “And now I messed it all up. I can’t let her leave, Katie. Not when I just got to know her.”

Katie sighed, crossing her arms. “That’s actually kind of romantic.” Then, with a pointed look, she added, “But it was wrong from the get-go.”

Jake’s shoulders tensed.

“This was a big deal for her, Jake,” she continued. “She left home to pursue this. She left her fiancé. And you? You lied to her.” Katie shook her head. “She’s mad at you right now, and honestly? If I were her, I’d be mad too.”

“Is there any way I can make it up to her?”

“Bring her to your friend, Jake. She just needs a look, a confirmation that she won’t be making the wrong decision.”

“What? About her marriage?”

“Yes. It's not my place to tell, but she’s conflicted.”

“Yeah, I think I know the gist of it.”

“You know? Good. Then you also know how much this means to her.”

Before he could respond, the door suddenly swung open. Andre stepped in, freezing for a moment when he spotted Jake. Then, with a dramatic shake of his head, he sighed. “Buddy, you messed up, man.”

“I know,” Jake sighed, standing up from the floor and grabbing the bouquet. To Katie, he said, “Thanks, Katie.”

Katie nodded. “Good luck, Jake.”

The tickets were booked, and you were set to leave in the morning. As you knelt beside your suitcase, you gave your belongings a final inspection. “We have to leave super early, Katie. The flight’s early, and we don’t want to miss it.”

“I know, I know,” Katie said, fastening an earring. “Andre and I are just going to drive around for a bit. It won’t take long.”

“You don’t have to rush your date,” you said, zipping up a side pocket. “Have fun tonight. Just make sure we’re on time tomorrow. We have to leave before that jerk comes looking for me.”

You hesitated, fiddling with the zipper pull. “Did he… come looking for me?”

Katie turned to you with a knowing smirk. “You like him, don’t you? You’re crazy for him.”

You scoffed. “I am not. I mean… I liked him because I thought he was someone else. I thought he was my soulmate.”

Katie tilted her head, considering your words. “So you liked him just because you thought he was your soulmate? And now that he’s not, your feelings just disappeared? That doesn’t really sound like fate to me.”

“You don’t even believe in fate.”

“I don’t believe in chasing fate,” she corrected. “I believe it comes to you when it’s time.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Whose side are you on?”

“No one’s.” Katie grinned, clipping on her other earring. “So tell me… you’re really not in love with him?”

“I hate him,” you said with conviction.

Katie’s grin widened. “Good. Because that’s what I told him when he came here with flowers for you.”

Your heart stuttered. “He came here?”

“While you were out booking tickets.”

Your stomach twisted. “And you told him I hated him?”

Katie shrugged, all too pleased with herself. “You don’t?”

You pressed your lips together, looking away as you shoved a pair of shoes into your suitcase. “None of that changes the fact that he lied.”

Katie gave you a look—one of those smug, all-knowing looks you hated. “Good. Then we can go home without regrets. I’ll go sightseeing with Andre, and you can stay here and… I don’t know, weep?”

“You’re mean.”

“Maybe,” she giggled, grabbing her purse and heading for the door. “Have fun being lonely.”

“Katie—”

“Bye,” she called out, slipping through the door before you could protest.

The night came and went. Morning arrived with the sound of birds chirping outside your window, but you hadn’t slept much. Instead of feeling relieved about finally going home, a strange heaviness settled in your chest. Part of you wanted to leave, to put everything behind you—but another part hesitated.

“Ready?” Katie asked as you buckled your seatbelt in the backseat of Andre’s car.

“Ready,” you exhaled, forcing a smile.

Andre started the engine, but just as he was about to pull out, a loud thud made all of you jolt. Jake stood in front of the car, his palms pressed against the hood, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“Wait,” he panted. “Don’t go yet.”

You scrambled out of the car, heart pounding, expecting him to plead his case again. “What are you doing?”

Jake inhaled sharply, then gripped your shoulders. “Please don’t leave. Let me make it up to you.”

You scoffed, shaking him off. “Nothing you do will ever change my mind, Jake.” You made sure to emphasize his real name.

His jaw tensed at the way you said his name, something flickering in his expression—fondness, longing. He swallowed. “Oh god,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blinked. Then, with an incredulous scoff, you turned to get back in the car.

“No, wait—please.” Jake stepped in your way again, more urgency in his voice now. “I messed up, okay? I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be. That’s why I’m here. I want to apologize and make it up to you.”

“How? By sweet-talking me?”

Jake shook his head. “No, Jay. I know where Jay Park is.”

You froze, hand hovering over the car door handle. Slowly, you turned back to face him. “You’re not lying?”

“I’m not.” He ran a hand through his hair before exhaling. “He told me in Rome that he’d be in Amalfi on the 5th. Today is the 5th. He’ll be there for a few days.”

“Amalfi?” you repeated, turning to Katie and Andre. “That’s nearby, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Andre confirmed. “And it’s worth a shot.”

Jake nodded, pulling out his phone. “Here. I have his hotel number. You can contact him.”

Your eyes narrowed. “How did you get this?”

“I pulled some strings,” he admitted. “But I’m sure it’ll work. Have you changed your mind about finding him?”

You hesitated, glancing at Katie for her opinion. She gave you a small nod. You sighed, looking back at Jake.

Looks like Destiny didn’t want you to leave just yet.

You changed your route from the airport to Amalfi. The trip wasn’t long—less than an hour—and soon, you arrived at the hotel Jake had mentioned. He followed, of course, though you had refused to ride with him, settling instead in the backseat of Andre’s convertible. You felt a little ridiculous for pursuing this after everything you’d said about fate being a sham, but you’d come all this way. A glimpse of Jay Park should be enough. You weren’t even trying to see if he was your soulmate anymore—you just wanted to fulfill the goal that had brought you here in the first place.

At the reception desk, you asked to use the phone, and the receptionist pointed you toward it before leaving you alone. Your friends had gone off as well, leaving you standing there, staring at the white receiver as nerves took over.

“Gosh, you can’t back out now,” you muttered under your breath. Just as you reached for the phone, your own buzzed in your hand. Reading the notification made your jaw drop.

By some miracle—one whole week since you’d sent the message—user jaypark_js had finally replied!

You stared at the screen in disbelief before quickly opening the chat. Jay apologized for seeing your message so late, and after a bit of back-and-forth, you asked if he’d be willing to meet for dinner since you were in the area. He agreed without hesitation, even promising to treat you to some great food.

It was set. You were going to meet Jay Park.

Back in your hotel room, you picked out a simple yet elegant white dress from your luggage, getting ready while Katie did the same. She was excited for you—even more so since she and Andre had plans for the night too. You were halfway through getting dressed when Andre arrived, Jake trailing in after him with a box in his hands.

You yelped and ducked into the bathroom, clutching your dress to your chest.

“I’m gonna go,” Katie announced, looping her arm around Andre’s. “See you later, okay?”

“See you!” you called out from inside.

As she passed Jake, Katie smirked. “See you later, Jake.” The way she said his name was teasing, almost conspiratorial, before she shut the door behind her.

Jake knocked on the bathroom door. “I got something for you.”

“Maybe later, Jake. I’m kind of naked right now,” you chided and Jake’s ears reddened at the idea of you naked in there.

“Uh… Just take it. I won’t look. You’re gonna need it.”

You cracked the door open slightly, just enough to grab the box from his outstretched hands. Inside was a pair of white shoes. “Thanks, but how did you even know my size?”

Jake hesitated before grinning. “Uh… intuition?”

You gave him a skeptical look through the gap before shutting the door again.

Left alone, Jake turned away, glancing around your room—until his eyes landed on the dress you’d left hanging in the closet. Without thinking, he plucked it from the hanger, brushing his fingers over the fabric as he moved back to the door.

“Good guess. It fits perfectly,” you called out from inside.

Jake smirked. “Of course it does.”

The door cracked open again, a single hand reaching out. “Hey, Jake, can you grab my dress? It’s the white one on the—”

Before you could finish, he hooked the hanger onto your finger. You blinked, surprised, before pulling it inside. “Thanks.”

Jake then went over to the dresser and picked up a set of earrings and a bracelet. Sure enough, the door cracked open once more.

“Oh, and I also need my earrings—” You stopped when he placed the pair in your palm before you even finished asking. You frowned slightly. “And my silver bracelet—”

Again, he handed it over without hesitation. This time, you poked your head out, eyeing him curiously. He was standing right outside, waiting, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“What?” he asked, amused.

You shook your head. “Nothing. Thanks.”

After getting dressed, you stepped out of the bathroom to find Jake lounging on the couch, flipping through an Italian magazine. He barely glanced up, but when you hesitated, fidgeting with the back of your dress, his eyes finally met yours.

“Can you button me up?” you asked, a little shyly. “I usually manage on my own, but zippers are easier.”

Jake set the magazine aside and pushed off the couch. “Yeah, no problem.” His fingers brushed your exposed shoulder as he gently turned you toward the mirror.

You met his gaze in the reflection—just as handsome as when you first met him. That effortless elegance, his smooth skin, the fullness of his lips. You caught yourself staring, remembering how they felt against yours, your hand absently touching your lower lip. 

Jake fumbled with the buttons, his brow furrowing in concentration. When one hand wasn’t enough, the other left your shoulder, grazing the bare skin of your spine. A slow, warm shiver spread through you.

“Damn buttons,” he muttered under his breath before fastening the last one. He met your eyes in the mirror and smiled. “You look great.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, still caught in his gaze. He clenched his jaw slightly and shoved his hands into his back pockets.

“You should go. Jay’s probably waiting.”

You exhaled, smoothing down your dress. “Thanks for bringing me here, Jake.”

His expression darkened. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t call me Jake.” He took a step closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“But… that’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he murmured, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “And it sounds so good when you say it. It was meant for your lips, for your voice…”

“Don’t do this right now, Jake…”

He let out a sigh that made you hold your breath. His lips brushed against your shoulder in a featherlight kiss. Then he backed away.

“Go to Jay. See if he’s really your soulmate.”

You let out a bitter chuckle, turning to face him. “Are you mocking me?”

But there was no amusement in his expression. Only frustration. Only defeat. “I’m telling you to go,” he said quietly. “Because maybe if he makes you happy, I’ll finally move on.”

Something in you ached at the way he said it. You lifted a hand to his face, and he closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth of your touch. When you started to pull away, he caught your wrist, pressing your palm back against his cheek. His other hand found your waist, tugging you closer.

You weren’t sure what it was that drew you to Jake. Was it his charm? The way he made you feel like you were all he wanted? Or something deeper, something you didn’t want to name? Whatever it was, it pulled you under again, made you tip forward and wrap your arms around his neck just as he captured your lips in a tender kiss.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded, eyes shut, his forehead resting against yours. “Stay.”

You swallowed hard. “This is what I came here for, Jake. I have to do this.”

You let go of him and took your purse. Jake turned his back, not giving you a look even as you bade him good night. 

He opened his eyes, searching yours, then he let go.

You grabbed your purse and turned for the door. He turned away too, not sparing you another glance as you bade him a quiet goodnight.

The night was young, and the breeze carried a biting chill. You regretted not bringing a coat, but the thought barely lingered as you made your way down to the restaurant on the lower floor. The warmth of the space wrapped around you, easing the goosebumps on your arms.

At the entrance, a man greeted you. You gave him the name on the reservation, and he gestured for another to escort you to your table.

Jay was already seated, and the moment you saw him, your intuition from that night in Rome was confirmed. You had followed the dark-haired man back then, and he had turned out to be the real Jay Park.

He stood as you approached, offering a handshake. “Hi.”

You accepted it. “Thanks for accepting my invitation,” you said as you took your seat, the waiter pulling out the chair for you.

“Thanks for asking,” he replied smoothly.

You ordered food and chatted for a bit. He was a bit different from what you thought he would be. You had based his personality on the quality of his photography. They were taken with delicate care and attention so you assumed he’d be the sentimental type, but the man before you seemed to be on the manlier side; suave, easygoing with a more rugged demeanor. His build, his voice, and even his mannerisms. But then again, you reminded yourself that appearances could be misleading.

“By the way,” you said, setting down your glass. “That night at the restaurant in Rome… you paid for my dinner.”

He paused, as if searching his memory. Then his expression cleared. “Oh, the girl in the red dress? That was you?”

You nodded.

“I remember now.” He leaned back slightly. “I was with a friend—Jake Sim. We ran into each other in Rome, and I told him I’d treat him to dinner. Then he saw you.” Jay’s lips curled into a small smile. “You looked incredible, by the way. That dress definitely turned heads. Mine included.”

You chuckled lightly. “Is that why you paid for my meal?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted. “That was Jake’s idea. He wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to leave me hanging, so he decided to cover your bill instead. I told him I’d pay and that he should just go talk to you.”

The realization sank in slowly. “Ah… so that’s what it was.” You stared down at your plate, a strange feeling settling in your chest.

You felt an odd sense of dissatisfaction with this meeting. Something that made you feel like you were forced to be here, like you were complying with something even when this dinner was your idea in the first place.

Jay’s voice pulled you back. “Did he?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Did he talk to you at all?”

“Yeah. We talked.” You hesitated. “Actually, he’s the one who brought me here. I really wanted to meet you.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered. But what for?”

You didn't want to reveal more about the whole crazy soulmate thing to him so you cooked up an excuse. “I’m a fan of your work. I follow you on Instagram and I saw that you were here so I thought I’d meet you since I also happened to be around.”

Jay seemed pleasantly surprised. “Oh, wow. Thanks. I appreciate that.” He paused. “Though, I mainly do photography as a hobby. My wife liked looking at pictures.”

Your heartbeat faltered for a second. Relief flooded through you before you could process why. “You’re married?”

“Was,” he corrected gently. “She passed away a few years ago.”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said easily. “I’m fine. I’ve moved on. But right now, I’m not in a place where I can entertain the idea of a relationship. Might sound obnoxious, but I hope you didn’t come looking for me for that.”

You shook your head. “That’s okay. I really just wanted to get to know you.” Desperate to steer the conversation, you added, “My boss, Lee Heeseung, you know him, right?”

Jay’s face lit up in recognition. “Right. Heeseung. Of course. You work for him?”

“Yes. I saw some of your pieces in our magazine. That’s how I knew about you.”

You could barely believe yourself. After all the ways you had tormented Jake for lying, here you were, doing the same to save face. It was minor, sure—but a lie was still a lie.

No, it was completely different. Jay didn’t need to know you obsessed over his name through your teens. You needed to know if the person you almost hooked up with and threw your relationship with Sunghoon for was really Jay. It was different and whatever Jake’s excuse was, he still did a terrible thing to you.

“You okay?” Jay’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“Huh?” You looked up. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

The dinner was nice. Despite the uncertainty you felt in the first part, he turned out to be fun to talk to. You found that you were more alike than you initially expected, interests on a couple of similar things.

Afterward, you agreed to take a walk by the beach, wrapped in his coat to shield yourself from the chill. He mostly told stories about his travels—crazy encounters with strangers, unexpected adventures overseas. He asked about you, too, and you shared a few interesting bits about yourself. At some point, the conversation drifted to how he met his wife in Italy. Ever since, they had visited the country every year, always drawn back to the sea in Amalfi, their favorite place to be.

“Must be nice to be in love like that,” you mused, spotting the restaurant as you neared your starting point.

“It is.” He exhaled, the faintest smile on his lips. “I was lucky to experience that kind of love.”

You hesitated, then said, “I know it’s not my place, but… I think you should try again. Maybe you’ll find someone else who makes you happy. Maybe you’ll get to experience love like that again.”

He chuckled. “You know, sometimes I think she’s up there saying the exact same thing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s the kind of person she was.” His voice was steady, no trace of sadness—just reminiscent and fond. “She wouldn’t want me to be lonely just because she’s gone. That’s why, instead of grieving, I chose to live. I still revisit the places we loved, still carry those memories with me—but I do it with a happy heart. And if someone else comes along, someone who changes my life the way she did…” He shrugged, smiling softly. “Then I’ll welcome her with open arms.”

You nodded, returning his smile as you reached the stairs leading up to the seawall. He offered his hand for balance, and you took it without hesitation. At the top, you slipped off his coat and handed it back.

“I think we both know that someone isn’t me,” you quipped, prompting him to tilt his head playfully.

“Well…” He slipped his coat back on. “You’re a lovely woman, and I probably would’ve fallen for you in no time, but nah. I don’t think so.”

You both laughed.

“I’m big on soulmates and destiny, you know?” he continued. “I like to believe that if she’s out there, I’ll know. There has to be a sign. Or a feeling. I don’t know exactly what, but when it happens… I’ll just know.”

You felt an odd sense of familiarity with him, not in a romantic way, but in a way that made you feel like you’d known him much longer than just tonight. He was proving once again that you two were more alike than you’d expected.

“That’s funny,” you mused. “Because I actually came here to fulfill my destiny.”

You giggled at how ridiculous you sounded, but Jay only looked intrigued. “You did?”

“Yeah. I was looking for my soulmate. I got his name when I was thirteen, and ever since then, I believed he was the one for me.”

Jay stopped walking, staring at you with growing realization. “Wait,” he said slowly. “Don’t tell me…”

You winced. “Yeah. The Ouija board gave me your name, Mr. Jay Park.”

His eyes widened. He covered his mouth with one hand, but you could see the laughter threatening to spill out.

“Don’t laugh,” you warned. “I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

He pressed his lips together, but amusement danced in his eyes. “I’m not judging.”

You threw your head back with a laugh. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Now that I think about it, my friend or my sister was probably behind the whole thing. They must’ve rigged the board or something.”

Jay grinned. “Hey, who knows? Maybe you were right to come here.”

You snorted. “No offense, Jay, but I don’t want to be the stand-in for your great love.”

He laughed. “That’s not what I was gonna say.”

“Oh? My bad. Go on, then.”

“I’m saying… you came here looking for something. At first, you thought it was me. But maybe what you were really chasing was your destiny. And maybe, if you stick around a little longer, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

ou caught a glimpse of Jake at the restaurant’s veranda. He had a glass of wine in hand, which he downed a little too quickly when he realized you’d caught him looking. Then, as if it hadn’t happened, he turned away, pretending to be absorbed in conversation with Andre and Katie. Not even a few seconds later, he stole another glance, only to look away again just as fast.

Meanwhile, Jay was still talking. “I always believe that everything you do, everywhere you go, everyone you meet, you meet them for a reason. The reason was destiny. Destiny brought you to Italy. I’m sure she has big plans for you.”

You froze. A sudden sense of déjà vu swept over you. You’d heard that before from Jake. A friend said it to him. Was that friend Jay Park?

“You know what? I agree,” you muttered, still watching Jake from afar. Then, turning to Jay, you asked, “Hey, listen.”

“Hm?”

“Are you sure you’re not just saying that to be a wingman for your friend?” The accusation in your tone was light, but you were determined to know the truth.

Jay blinked. “What friend?”

“Jake Sim.”

“Oh, Jake?” He looked thoughtful. “No, the last time I saw him was in Rome.” Then, after a beat, he added, “Didn’t you say he was here too?”

“He is.”

Jay perked up. “Great. We should all meet for a drink.”

“We should. Look. He’s right there.” You gestured toward the restaurant. “Would you like to join us? We’re here with some friends.”

“I’d love to.”

“No need to call him. He's right there,” you said, pointing at the restaurant. “Would you like to join us? We're here together with some friends.”

“I would love to.”

Back inside, you led Jay to the bar, introducing him to Katie and Andre—making sure to subtly warn Katie not to act weird around him. You had drinks by the bar, chatting and laughing through the night. 

Jay fit in effortlessly, and Andre took an immediate liking to him, prodding him for stories about his travels. Jake, on the other hand, barely looked at you. His attention was fixed on Jay and Andre, his expression was unreadable, though he chimed in every now and then. 

You, meanwhile, stood by, sipping your drink, quietly laughing along while thinking hard about the Jay Park that you obsessed over, Jake Sim who you thought was Jay, and the fate that brought the three of you here in the beautiful Amalfi.

“Are you okay?” Katie asked, noticing your silence.

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” you replied. It wasn’t even an excuse. You really were tired and just wanted the night to end.

“We can go back now if you want,” Katie offered, her concern evident.

You appreciated it, but after seeing how cozy she was with Andre, you didn’t want to ruin her night. “I’ll be fine. I can go back by myself. You guys have fun.”

Slipping away quietly, you left her to explain your absence to the others. The stairs leading to your suite were winding, and as you ascended, a wave of dizziness hit you. You weren’t drunk—just a little tipsy from the wine and dizzy from all the thoughts about Jaek swirling in your mind. 

You huffed when you reached the second-floor landing. One more set of stairs and you’d reach your suite, so you inhaled and took another step. But you ended up losing balance on your heels and falling over. The next thing you knew, you were on the floor, the impact more frustrating than painful.

“Hey,” came a voice from below, followed by hurried footsteps. Jake reached you quickly, eyes scanning you in concern as he helped you up. “What happened?”

“Your shoes are stupid,” you grumbled, yanking them off and standing with his support. “Why would you even give them to me?”

Jake let out an awkward chuckle. “I don’t know. I saw them and thought you’d look great in them.”

“Well, I did. But they’re crap,” you huffed.

Jake sighed as he walked up the stairs beside you. “Was the date bad? You seem to be in a mood.”

“No. The date was great. Jay is a great guy. He’s funny, he’s nice, and he’s honest.” You emphasized the last word, making sure he caught your point.

Jake exhaled. “I’m sorry. I really am. I brought you here to make it up to you. But seeing that you’re still mad, I guess it didn’t work?”

You stopped in front of your door and turned to him with a stern gaze. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I told you. I wanted to make it up to you.”

You sighed. “By setting me up with your friend? I thought you were in love with me.”

“I am!” he confessed, running a hand through his hair. “But you were mad at me because I messed up.” He let out a defeated sigh. “So to apologize for wasting your time, here’s Jay Park.”

“But you’re in love with me,” you repeated.

“That’s still true.”

You sighed as frustration swelled inside you. Dropping your purse, you reached for his collar and clutched it tightly. “Then why?” you asked, voice raw, close to breaking. “Why would you set me up with him if you’re in love with me?”

Jake seemed startled, his hands instinctively gripping your elbows. Confusion flickered across his face as he searched for the right words. “I… What—What do you want me to say?”

“You even bought me shoes,” you went on, voice shaking. “What if we ended up liking each other? What if he really was my soulmate? Were you just gonna let me go?”

“Fuck, no,” he blurted, quick and desperate, cupping your face in both hands. “I’d fight him for you. I’d keep trying until you told me to get lost. Hell, I’d even follow you back to Seoul and stop your wedding.” His grip tightened, his breath warm against your skin. “If I lost you here—if I missed this chance—I would… I would…”

He exhaled sharply, pulling you into a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “I would never forgive myself,” he murmured.

You stood still, feeling his warmth seep into you, his breaths unsteady against your skin.

He kept going. “I know how stupid it sounds to fall in love with someone so quickly, but I did. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. I knew you were the one for me. I knew you were everything that was meant to be.” He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “And I’m sorry I lied, but I did it because I was scared I’d lose you forever without even knowing your name.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you reached for his cheek, your fingers tracing over his skin as you stepped closer. Then, without hesitation, you kissed him.

He croaked out your name but you silenced him by kissing him again. This time, when you started to pull away, he didn’t let you. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back with everything he had, reeling you into a surge of sensations and emotions that clouded your head. 

When he pulled away for a brief moment to look into your eyes, you wanted to reach for him again, to feel him and be engulfed by his warmth again.

“Take me, Jake,” you pleaded and that made Jake exhale sharply before holding your hand firmly and pulling you into his room.

Jake barely made it two steps inside before he kicked the door shut, hands already roaming your back as his lips devoured yours. Your fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, impatient and desperate. The fabric slipped from his shoulders and hit the floor just as his own hands worked at the fastenings of your dress.

A sharp rip echoed through the dimly lit room. You pulled back, gasping. “Jake!”

“Sorry, love,” he murmured, unapologetic as he tugged you close again. “I’ll get you a new one.”

His lips found yours before you could argue, his kiss hot and consuming, stealing your breath and any lingering protests. He stepped back until his knees hit the bed, sinking down and pulling you with him, your legs straddling his lap. The heat between you intensified, kisses turning feverish—tongues tangling, teeth grazing. His hands slid up your back, deft fingers unclasping your bra with ease, and before you could react, it was gone, flung somewhere into the room. You barely noticed.

His lips traveled down your throat, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, leaving heat in their wake. When his teeth scraped over your pulse, a gasp escaped you. He sucked at the spot, hard enough that you knew it would leave a mark.

You knew how it would look in the morning and you knew everyone would see it but you didn’t mind. The thought of people seeing it tomorrow, seeing proof of tonight, made your head spin.

Your hips rolled against him instinctively, and he groaned, his grip tightening on your waist as you ground down, desperate for friction. His hands roamed greedily, fingers tracing your curves, learning every inch of your skin.

Then, in one swift motion, he flipped you onto the bed, hovering over you, eyes dark and full of hunger. The dress, or what remained of it, slid off with ease, leaving you bare and naked beneath him. Jake’s gaze burned as he took you in, his breath ragged and quick. He reached out, trailing the back of his fingers over your cheek, slow and reverent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice raw. “It hurts.”

Your fingers curled around his wrist, guiding his touch lower, placing his palm right on your breast. “Touch me, Jake,” you pleaded, voice barely above a breath.

His lips parted, a hushed curse falling from them before he obeyed, hands mapping out the softness of your body, fingers exploring, worshipping.

His lips followed the same path, leaving heated kisses down your collarbone, between your breasts, along your stomach. He palmed your breast, kneading firmly before diving in to put his mouth where his hand had been. Your fingers curled in his hair, urging him on, desperate for more. 

“You’re impatient,” he murmured against your skin, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Jake,” you whined, arching into him, seeking friction.

He chuckled, hands gripping your thighs, pushing them apart. His head followed, teasing at your inner thighs, exploring and inching closer to where you want him to be. The closer he got, the quicker you breathed, and when he finally gave you what you wanted, a gasp tore from your throat.

Your fingers tightened in his hair as pleasure rolled through you in waves. He was relentless, lapping and sucking at your sensitive sex, memorizing which angle made your breath hitch and your body twitched. When your thighs trembled around him, he only gripped you harder, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. 

The pleasure built higher and higher until it crashed over you, leaving you breathless and dazed.

Before you could fully come down, Jake was already moving, lips trailing back up your body, whispering sweet nothings against your skin. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, while his hands slid down your thigh, folding your knees up.

“I need you,” he rasped against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours, breath unsteady.

“Then take me,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him closer.

His gaze locked onto yours, dark and filled with something deeper than lust—something consuming. He reached down to tug his boxers off, manhood springing free. He prodded at your sex, teasing just enough to make you whimper before finally pushing in, stretching you, filling you completely.

A grunt left his lips as he halted, savoring the delightful clench. “Fuck,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut, as if trying to keep himself together.

Your fingers dug into his back, and you lifted your hips, urging him to move. That was all it took for him to snap, his control falling apart as he began to set a steady rhythm—deep, slow thrusts that had you gasping into his mouth. He kissed you through it, swallowing your moans, his own sounds muffled against your lips.

When you came here, you never imagined having sex with someone, not even the soulmate you were desperately searching for. And Jake—he was a stranger, and the way he made you feel was something entirely new. You’d always been the sensual kind, taking things slow and steady. Jake was steady, but rough. Each thrust sent a sharp, delightful ache through you, unraveling you in ways you hadn’t known were possible.

You gasped, clutching onto him as he moved, hitting that perfect spot that sent your mind spinning. The pleasure built rapidly, coiling tight in your stomach, making you cry out his name.

He moved harder, deeper, chasing his release as you spiraled toward yours. Every thrust, every touch, every breath between you pushed you closer until—

“Oh, Jake,” you gasped, holding onto him for dear life as waves of pleasure surged through you in a dizzying rush.

His movements turned erratic, his grip tightening as he buried his face against your neck, groaning as he followed right after you. His body tensed, and then he froze, his breath warm against your skin as he came undone.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled together, breathless and spent. The only sound was your unsteady shallow breaths, and the pounding of your heartbeats.

Jake finally lifted his head. “Fuck,” he blurted, looking down at your fucked out expression and grinning. He leaned to place a lazy kiss to your lips before rolling onto his side, pulling you against him. 

“Well,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “That wasn’t how I planned to end the night, but I’m not complaining.”

You let out a breathless laugh, nuzzling into his chest. “Me neither,” you admitted.

His arms tightened around you, and he pressed another kiss to your forehead, murmuring something against your skin that you couldn’t quite catch. But you felt it—in the way he held you, the way he touched you.

And somehow, that was enough.

Two years later, you stood at the podium, facing the person who would be officiating your wedding. Friends and family were present to witness this day, even Andre Marchetti—who, much to Jake’s grumbling, turned out to be the son of the Italian shoemaker he loathed. He and Katie had ended their fling before you left Italy, but he still earned an invitation for playing a role in your love story.

Park Sunghoon was there too, holding his beautiful baby girl in his arms, his wife beaming beside him. The two of you had remained good friends, and as fate willed it, he had even found his own destiny and married before you. Everything had fallen into place, just as you always believed it would.

And now, standing before Jake, it felt like everything had been leading to this moment. He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off nerves. Then he smirked—because of course he did—and said, “Before I met you, I never thought much about fate. To me, life was about choices, and love was just something you built, not something written in the stars. And then you happened.”

His grip on your hands tightened. “You came crashing into my life, with all your stubborn belief in destiny, and somehow, despite all my skepticism, I started to believe too. Not because of some cosmic plan, but because I couldn’t imagine a world where I don’t end up loving you. And that’s a big deal coming from someone like me.”

A small laugh rippled through the guests, but Jake kept his eyes locked on you. “So, I don’t know if the universe wrote this for us. But I do know that if I had to choose over and over again, I’d still end up right here. With you.” He tilted his head, smiling slightly. “Even when you drive me crazy.”

You let out a soft breath, eyes stinging, and squeezed his hands back. You tried to steel your resolve, willing yourself not to cry too soon. With a shaky breath, your spoke next, “I spent my whole life believing in destiny. I followed signs, searched for meaning in the smallest things, and held onto the belief that somewhere in this world, fate had written a love story just for me. But no sign, no name on a Ouija board, no whispered wish upon a falling star could have prepared me for you.”

Your voice wavered slightly, but you pushed through just like you’d practiced dozens of times before today. “You were unexpected, messy, and completely wrong by every rule I thought I had set for myself. And yet, I found you because, somehow, even through all my searching, all my mistakes, you were always meant to be the one.”

Jake exhaled, something flickering in his gaze that made your heart ache in the best way.

“I love you not because fate said so,” you continued, voice softer, “but because I wanted to. I chose you. So today, I don’t just promise to love you because it’s meant to be. I choose to love you, again and again, every day, in every lifetime, in every version of the story. I will always choose to love you.”

Jake swallowed hard, his hands tightening around yours, and when the officiant finally spoke, inviting you to seal it with a kiss, you surged forward before he even finished the sentence. The crowd erupted into cheers as Jake kissed you like it was the first time all over again, like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. 

Across the room, Katie and your sister stood together, glasses in hand, watching as guests approached your table to greet you and congratulate you. At one point, Katie nudged your sister, motioning toward where you stood chatting with Jay Park. 

“Look, it’s Jay Park. The soulmate she was raving about for years. Looks like he played a completely different role in her destiny.”

“Jay Park?” your sister echoed, tapping her glass as she too stared at the guy greeting you and Jake.  “Why does that name sound familiar?”

 “The Jay Park. The one from the Ouija board. The soulmate the spirits chose for her.”

Your sister gasped. “Oh, yeah. The one I made up!” she exclaimed, bursting into laughter.

“What?” Katie questioned, confused.

“Jay Park. I made him up. I didn’t even think hard about it, I just randomly came up with that name.”

“No. You couldn’t have. I was there too.”

“Yeah and you were both dumb enough to freak out over moving glass so I kept messing with you all,” she laughed, taking a sip from her glass.

Katie was fully scandalized. “Do you have any idea how long she held onto that name? She was online searching every Jay Park on the internet and guessing which one was her soulmate. She even had a crush on the singer Jay Park because of it!”

“Of course I know. It was hilarious,” your sister said with a shrug. “She stopped bringing it up, so I figured she got over it.”

Katie sighed in exasperation. “Eonnie, we literally flew to Italy for Jay Park. That’s how she met Jake.”

It was your sister’s turn to gasp. “No, you did not!”

“Well, we did,” Katie deadpanned. “And now she believes the Ouija board led her to Jay so he could lead her to Jake, her real soulmate.”

“Oh my poor sister,” she winced. “Who’s gonna tell her?”

“Don’t tell her,” Katie chided, shaking her head. “She’d freak out and she’ll never forgive you. That almost happened with Jake.”

You, oblivious to their conversation, laughed at something Jay had said, completely unaware of the revelation unfolding behind your back.

But then again—who’s to say your sister’s innocent little prank wasn’t destiny’s design all along?

[fin]