⋆｡°✩ Landin' That Job

⋆｡°✩ [jay, jake, ni-ki, sunghoon] your bf takes care of your nephew

u got texts // drabbles | park jongseong x male!reader + sim jaeyun x male!reader + nishimura riki x male!reader + park sunghoon x male!reader

pairing: jay x male reader + jake x male reader + niki x male reader + sunghoon x male reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

notes: busy with your duties, your bf decides to join the family fun and spend time with your nephew joonwoo, aka woowoo aka woo2! might as well earn some brownie points while there at it hehe (also might have some innuendos but that's it LOL)

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hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

AAAAAAAAAA that was so fun to do! literally just curious how my faves would react to kids, and i came up with woowoo!! really inconsistent but woo2 is a cutie and he definitely loves your bf as much as u do hehe.

WOOWOO EVALUATION COMPLETE ✨🙏

my masterlist!

made by writhyv 💘

⋆｡°✩ in his warmth ✦ sim jaeyun

there's just something in the air when jake comes home all sweaty and tired –  honey-glazed skin and messy hair – there was definitely a storm brewing up inside…

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — sim jaeyun x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — fluff, then suddenly suggestive, and then ACTUALLY seggs soooo there's that, m!reader really wanna get that because who DOESNT, fun, y'all wanted this okay PART 2 !!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — I AM SIM JAEYUN DEPRIVED … I NEED HIM … minors or people who dont like male reader stuff LOOK AWAY DNI BYEEEE

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 1.8k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ looking for my main masterlist? — here's the legacy one!

The door clicks open with a tired sigh, hinges groaning as Jake shuffles inside.

You see it before he even speaks—the exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. His shoulders are slumped, the proud line of his spine bowed under the weight of a long practice, his movements slow, deliberate, like every step is an effort. Sweat glistens on his temple, his golden skin flushed, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead in messy strands.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just drops his bag with a dull thud, toes off his shoes, and stands there for a moment, swaying slightly, as if he’s too tired to decide what to do next.

Your chest tightens.

You know this version of him—the quiet, drained Jake who gives everything until there’s nothing left. The one who pushes too hard, runs too long, forgets to stop. The one who needs to be reminded that he doesn’t always have to be strong.

So you don’t speak. Just open your arms.

And he comes to you like a man collapsing into an oasis.

His weight settles against you, warm and heavy, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck. His breath gusts against your skin, uneven at first, then deepening as he finally lets himself relax.

You can feel the tremble in his muscles, the faint shiver running through him as your hands glide up his back, soothing, possessive.

“Tired,” he murmurs, voice thick, muffled against you.

You hum in response, fingers tracing the notches of his spine, the damp fabric of his shirt sticking to his skin. He smells like salt and exertion, like the sharp tang of effort and the faint sweetness of his cologne, worn thin by hours of movement.

You press your lips to his temple—just a quiet reassurance. I’ve got you.

He sighs, melting further into you.

Then, after a long moment, his fingers tighten in your shirt.

“Jake?” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just shifts slightly, his breath hitching, like he’s wrestling with something. Then, softer than you’ve ever heard him, almost hesitant—

“Wanna feel you.”

Your pulse stutters.

“F-feel? Like what—?” You asked, not with hesitation, but just surprise. After all, he was tired.

“Like … you know,” Jake mumbled. “Inside …”

It’s not the words themselves—it’s the way he says them. Not demanding, not teasing, just… raw. Needy in a way that isn’t about lust, but about connection. Like he needs to be close, to be filled, to be yours in the most intimate way possible.

For a second, you just hold him, letting the request settle between you.

"Okay just…" You glanced around, the urgency in the air thickening between you both—hungry, impatient. The bedroom was too far, and the floor was too hard. "Let’s at least get to the couch."

Jake exhaled through his nose, lips pressing together in a fleeting pout—so close, he was so close to having you, and the delay was torture. But he nodded, fingers tightening in the fabric of your shirt as you guided him backward.

His steps were unsteady, his body already thrumming with anticipation, his mind dizzy with these selfish thoughts of you.

The couch welcomed you both, soft and familiar, but Jake barely registered it—all he could think about was you, you beneath him, your hands on him, your heat pressed against his.

The moment you sat, he was moving, shifting, his body surging forward before he could think better of it. He launched himself onto your lap, his weight crashing into you with a needy urgency, his thighs bracketing yours, his chest pressed flush against yours.

You chuckled, low and warm, and his stomach twisted. God, he loved that sound. Loved knowing he could pull it from you.

Your hands slid down, gripping his hips—steady, grounding—and Jake’s breath hitched. His fingers fumbled at your waistband, clumsy with desperation, trembling with the sheer want curling hot and insistent in his gut. He needed you now, needed to feel you, needed you inside him so badly his skin prickled with it.

"Fuck—" His fingers slipped, betraying him, and he let out a frustrated whine.

"Here," you murmured, voice rough and indulgent, and your fingers covered his, helping, guiding, freeing yourself for him.

The first brush of skin against skin sent a shiver racing down his spine. Yours. He was yours, and the thought alone made his pulse stutter.

He licked his lips, fingers flexing against your shoulders as he lifted himself just enough—just enough to press the head of your cock against his entrance, just enough to make his breath come in shallow, uneven bursts.

Then he sank.

Slow. Agonizingly slow.

Because he wanted to feel it. Wanted to savor the stretch, the burn, the way you filled him so perfectly, so completely. He bit his lip, lashes fluttering, throat working around a silent moan as he took you in inch by inch, his body adjusting, his muscles clenching around you as if to keep you there forever.

And then—then—when you were buried deep inside him, when he could feel you in his bones, he stilled.

His breath left him in a shaky exhale, his fingers digging into your shoulders like you were the only thing tethering him to this world. His lips parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes—glazed, half-lidded—locked onto yours.

Yours.

All yours.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Not moving, not rushing—just feeling.

His breath steadies. His weight settles. His forehead drops back to your shoulder.

“There,” he whispers, voice rough. “Just like that.”

And for a long, quiet moment, that’s all there is—the two of you, tangled together, breathing in sync.

No words. No demands.

Just this.

There’s no rush. No frantic rocking, no desperate chase for friction—just the two of you locked together, his body snug around yours, so warm and so right. His arms loop around your shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on.

His forehead rests against your collarbone, lips brushing your skin in lazy, open-mouthed kisses—not quite intentional, just the slow drag of his mouth as he nuzzles closer, drunk on your warmth.

“M-missed you,” he stutters, voice thick and sleep-soft, like the words are spilling out without his permission.

His hips shift in tiny, unconscious circles, barely enough to be called movement, just the faintest roll of his pelvis as his body seeks more of you. His rim flutters around your cock in quiet, involuntary pulses, each little clench pulling a low groan from your throat.

Jake whimpers in response, pressing even closer, chest to chest, like he wants to crawl inside your chest and stay there.

You tighten your grip on him, one hand splayed between his shoulder blades, the other cupping the nape of his neck. His skin is fever-hot under your palms, damp with sweat and trembling faintly with the effort of holding himself up. But he doesn’t pull away—just sinks deeper, his breath hitching as he adjusts to the stretch, the fullness of you.

“S’good,” he mumbles, words slurring together, voice wrecked already. “Just… just needed to feel all of you.”

It’s not about the sex. Never really was. It’s the way he breathes when you’re inside him—like his lungs finally remember how to work. Like he can only relax when there’s no space left between you, when he can feel your heartbeat against his own.

You stroke his back, tracing the damp lines of his spine, the ridges of muscle gone soft with exhaustion.

He melts further, boneless and pliant, his weight a perfect, grounding pressure in your lap. Time blurs—minutes or hours, it doesn’t matter. Not when Jake is like this, soft and sweet and yours, his body a living prayer against yours.

He shifts again, just slightly, and you feel the way his thighs tremble, the way his hole tightens around you as he chases the sensation—not for release, just for the feeling, the proof that you’re here, that he’s not alone.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Don’t—don’t pull out. Not yet.”

As if you could.

You press a kiss to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth—gentle, reverent. He sighs, blissed-out and hazy, lips parting under yours without demand, letting you take what you need. His fingers thread into your hair, not guiding, just holding, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

You could stay like this forever: sticky with sweat, slow and heavy, senses full of him in every way that matters. And from the way he clings to you—like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored—you think maybe he could too.

You keep him close, your hands moving in slow, soothing strokes down his relaxed back, feeling the way his body gradually loosens in your hold—like a knot unraveling, like tension bleeding out of him with every exhale. His breathing evens out, warm puffs against your neck, his fingers still tangled loosely in your shirt, still holding on, even now, even when he’s too exhausted to do anything but melt into you.

He’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

The thought lodges in your chest, sharp and tender.

“You’re okay,” you murmur, lips brushing his temple, your voice so low it’s almost a rumble against his skin. “Just relax.”

Jake makes another soft, drowsy noise—half-sigh, half-whimper—his hips rolling in the faintest, laziest grind. It’s not deliberate, not really; just instinct, that part of him that needs you, that craves the proof of your presence deep inside him. His rim flutters weakly around your cock, and you bite back a groan, your fingers flexing against his back.

You could move. You could snap your hips up and chase your own pleasure, could fuck into that tight heat until he’s sobbing your name.

But this isn’t about that.

This is about the way Jake clings to you like you’re the only solid thing in his world. About the way his body opens for you so easily, so trustingly, like he was made to take you, like there’s no version of him that exists without your hands on him.

This is about love, slow and syrupy and aching in its sweetness.

“Love you,” he mumbles, barely audible, his voice thick with sleep, with you.

Your chest tightens. You press another kiss to his skin—his temple, the slope of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth—your hands sliding down to cup the curve of his rear, holding him steady against you.

“Love you more.”

Jake huffs a tired laugh, nuzzling into your shoulder. “Nuh-uh.”

You smile, but don’t argue—just let your fingers drift between his legs, brushing feather-light over where you’re joined. The barest touch sends a jolt through Jake, his rim fluttering around your cock, achingly sensitive.

Oh fuck.

He shudders, a quiet whine escaping him, his hips twitching forward like he can’t help it. The friction is electric, overwhelming—your cock still buried deep inside him, your fingers teasing the stretched, tender rim around it. His body pulses with it, every nerve alight.

"S’too much," he slurs, voice thick, wrecked.

But he doesn’t pull away. Couldn’t if he tried.

Instead, he presses closer, his body yielding, opening up even more, like he’s made for this, made for you. His cock twitches where it’s trapped between your stomachs, already leaking, already so fucking desperate for more.

He’s always been like this—so responsive, so easy, falling apart under the barest touch.

And you know it.

Your fingers trace his rim again, slow, deliberate, and Jake whimpers, his thighs trembling. He can feel everything—the way his body grips you, the way your cock twitches inside him, the way your fingers tease just enough to make his breath hitch.

"Want me to fill you up?"

The question is low, rough, and Jake’s stomach tightens.

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

He nods, barely lifting his head, his lashes fluttering as he meets your gaze. His eyes are half-lidded, dazed, his lips parted around shaky breaths.

"Please."

The word is wrecked, raw with want.

You don’t make him wait.

But you don’t rush, either.

You roll your hips up, just once, slow and deep, and Jake gasps, his fingers digging into your shoulders. The drag of your cock inside him is maddening, the pressure building, building—

And then you do it again.

Fuck.

Jake’s mouth falls open, a silent moan caught in his throat. He can feel it—the way your cock pulses inside him, the way your grip on his hip tightens, possessive, needy.

He’s so full.

So yours.

And when you finally spill inside him, hot and thick, he shudders, his body clenching around you, milking every last drop like he can’t bear to let you go. A weak little moan slips past his lips, his cock twitching between you, untouched but so fucking close—

"Fuck," he breathes, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

Because this?

This is everything.

“There you go,” you murmur, rubbing his back as he slumps against you, completely spent. “All yours.”

He hums, already halfway to sleep, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. “M’yours,” he agrees, voice slurred.

And God, the way that settles in your ribs—like sunlight, like something too big to even name.

You kiss his forehead, holding him close as his breathing evens out, as his body goes slack and heavy in your arms. He’s out within seconds—warm, sated, and utterly content, still full of you in the best way.

And you? You don’t move. Not yet.

You’ll let him sleep just like this—sticky and sweet, your cum dripping lazily from his well-used hole, your cock still buried inside him, because Jake has always been clingy in the best way, and you wouldn’t have him any other way.

Because this?

This is home.

EN—D

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — okay … bottom jake agenda .. ESPECIALLY THAT FUCKING DELICIOUS EDIT OF HIM BITING AND SITTING AND BEING ALL CUTIE PATOOTIE FUCKKKKKKKK okay sorry guys i … im unhinged … asjfgiaa

my masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

you guys are liking so much of my content ... im so in love with yall 😭😭😭

he's working lateeeeeee cuz he's a singerrrrrrrr 🥹🫶✨

⌨ ✍

⋆｡°✩ [jay, jake, ni-ki, sunghoon] i mean ... $200 is $200 ...

u got texts // drabbles | park jongseong x male!reader + sim jaeyun x male!reader + nishimura riki x male!reader + park sunghoon x male!reader

pairing: jay x male reader + jake x male reader + niki x male reader + sunghoon x male reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

notes: how would you feel is your bf sends you $200? me personally? would buy tons of fried chicken 😭

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okay so i definitely just wanted to explore this because i actually experienced this with my friend ... and we just sent money back and forth LMAO

also HOONNNNNN i will have him stapled here until i get a gist of what stories i can write for him hehe

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv 💘

omg is he covering it because of that infamous open eye pic of him of what 😭

[SUNGHOON] Jjongssaeng HBD~

⋆｡°✩ your idol answers your call

I-800-LOVE-YOU | nishimura riki x male!reader

pairing: niki x male!reader

genre: fluff (silly ni-ki)

word count: 1.6k

notes: couldn't wait so i had to do another round for ni-ki AAAAAAA i love him sm guys 🥺

After a lively fan meeting, you grapple yourself with self-doubt and curiosity, ultimately dialing ENHYPEN Ni-ki’s number, unsure of what to expect.

You fiddled with your phone as your fingers moved through the virtual keys. Contemplating, you bit your lip while burying yourself in deep thought.

Should I expect him to personally answer? you thought to yourself. He's probably messing with me, another thought fluttered through your mind. Is this really it? The final realization hit you hard.

With a hesitant push, you dialed the number that was given to you. You didn't even know why you did it, but curiosity propelled you forward.

Out of all the people inside that hall, why you? Why had that idol paid attention to you? Was it because of how you looked? How you spoke? A myriad of reasons swirled in your mind, but it was never too late to—

"Hello?"

You jolted in shock and nearly tossed your phone onto your bed. Fortunately, you had pressed the loudspeaker, allowing the somewhat familiar tone to resonate through the room.

"Hellooo~" the other person tried again, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

"Ah, um…"

"Ah, um?"

"I-it's me… The guy from—"

"Yeah!" Ni-ki hurriedly responded, catching his breath before attempting to regain his composure. "I-I mean, I wasn't… waiting or anything. Ahem."

"Oh." You spoke, surprised by his abrupt tone change, but strangely, it didn't bother you.

Ni-ki felt a surge of cringe as he realized he had come off too dismissive. "I-I meant I had something to do… But it's good to hear from you."

A smile crept onto your face. You probably misunderstood what the young idol meant, so you let that small bit go unnoticed.

"Busy?" you asked, genuinely concerned.

"As a bee," Ni-ki answered quickly.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Bzzzzz~"

You laughed as you heard him starting to speak gibberish from across the line. Little did you know, your laughter triggered something in him—an unexpected flutter of butterflies dancing within. Just folly, he thought, but the feeling was undeniable.

"Don't laugh at me. I am busy as a bee," Ni-ki insisted with mock sass.

"I know, I know, you're a performer and all."

Both of you fell quiet for a moment, caught in a comfortable silence. It was a raw bit, something rarely captured in dramas—the unspoken thoughts lingering between you.

"Let me get straight to it." You shifted in your chair. "Why did you want me to call you back?"

Ni-ki spun around in his chair, searching for a reasonable answer but struggling to articulate his thoughts. "You just… seemed different to me. That's all."

Although you found his answer somewhat vague, you had to believe it. There was probably no other reason, but you were willing to accept anything over nothing to satisfy your curiosity.

"Hmm. Is it because I'm the only guy there earlier?"

"What do you mean? There's us—"

"You're from a boy group. It's not really commonplace, so I understand." You spoke, drawing from your earlier life experiences.

"Ah yeah. But no!" Ni-ki leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat to emphasize his point. "I just wanted to get to know why someone like you was there that day."

Another curious answer from Ni-ki made you tilt your head.

"It doesn't seem strange to me," he continued. "I just wanted to know why you're a fan."

You smiled, beginning to understand his perspective. You were well aware of how much idols valued their fans, but this was close enough to make you melt into a puddle.

"Actually," you tried to speak clearly through the phone. "I just got into Korea. Back home, I was caught up in a lot of things. And before that, I wasn't really familiar with you guys."

Ni-ki's surprise was palpable. "You're not Korean?"

Now, it was your turn to be shocked. "Wah… That's the part you're surprised about?"

"I mean, you looked cool," he mused, trying to recall how you had appeared earlier. "You were definitely there to tease me, trying to catch my attention and stealing it from my other fans." He chuckled, a slight smirk forming on his lips.

"Hey!" You defended. "I wasn't really doing anything!"

Ni-ki laughed loudly, attempting to ease the atmosphere. "I was kidding."

A brief silence followed.

"You really looked quite different, so I had to take the chance," he said earnestly.

You contemplated his words. Ni-ki seemed like a young guy who probably never truly got to enjoy his teenage years. It must have been endless practices and recitals, training and such. You couldn't even fathom what he had to endure all those years before meeting him.

"So you wanted someone to be friends with, hmm?" you ventured, surprised at your own boldness.

"That and… I don't really like talking to just anyone," Ni-ki sighed. "It may get me hate, but sometimes, people feel too comfortable with me. It bothers me that I can't move without people constantly trying to get a hold of me."

You listened carefully as he spoke, his words revealing a sincere longing for companionship. Despite the uncertainty, you found yourself wanting to lend an ear.

"I get it," you replied after a moment of silence.

"Yeah."

"Then I'll lend you my own ear. Or whatever you want."

Ni-ki's face lit up with pure gladness. As he heard your words, he leaned closer to the phone. "Then be my fan."

You quirked your brows at this unexpected request. "Huh?"

"You said you really weren't an Engene as much as you want to be, so I'll challenge you to be one. Maybe someone solely supporting me. Yeah?" Ni-ki said, trying to frame it as a challenge.

You pondered for a moment before arriving at a conclusion.

"Fine. I'll be a fan."

Ni-ki raised his hand triumphantly. "No wait! Something better. I've got one!"

You waited, curious about what he might come up with this time.

"Let's get closer with each other. How about that?"

You were taken aback. Was he trying to hit on you, or was this some kind of prank? Surely he wasn't joking at this hour?

"Ni-ki, right? Are you okay? How can a fan be—"

"Just keep me company," Ni-ki smiled, his sincerity shining through. "I would love to have a new face keep watch over me."

You tried to process the ridiculous idea but all you could do was agree and comply with his whimsy.

"You sure it's okay?" you asked cautiously. He was a popular idol, after all. There were too many caveats to befriending someone this famous.

"We'll be fine," Ni-ki reassured you, wanting you to trust him. He aimed to prove himself reliable in moments like this.

You thought for a long while, weighing your options. All of that led to an answer you had already predicted.

"Sure." You smiled. "I'll be your friend, Ni-ki."

"Nishimura Riki." He stated proudly. "That's my full name."

You chuckled lightly. "I knew that. I've read tons of guides about you guys."

Ni-ki rolled his eyes, a playful grin on his face. "Sure. But you've got the actual me here right now. Let me be your guide. Hmm?"

You thought again, but this time, it didn’t require much deliberation. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

"Call me whatever you want," Ni-ki offered.

"Ni-ki still sounds cool."

"You don't think it's boring?"

"I think it's uniquely you. Ni-ki."

Ni-ki smiled as he heard his name from your voice. It felt like a sweet haven to him.

"Then I won't bother you anymore tonight," Ni-ki said, preparing to let you rest.

"That's alright. You should go rest too," you replied, sending your regards. "Thanks for answering."

Ni-ki brushed his hair back as he heard your gratitude. "I just had the phone in my hand; you were very lucky."

You chuckled. "Whatever. Goodnight, Ni-ki."

"Goodnight!" Just then, he heard the beep signaling the end of the call.

"Aish! I tapped too early!" You muttered as you slipped your finger toward the end button. "He probably thinks I'm inconvenienced by his call! Ughhh!"

As you thought about that awkward end call, it was a separate situation for Ni-ki.

"Wait, I hung up on my ear?!" Ni-ki exclaimed, clutching the skin flap of his left ear.

Heeseung laughed as he watched Ni-ki fumble with his phone, pacing around the room in confusion.

"He's totally going to think I got bored! Hyung, help me out!" Ni-ki plopped down on the soft couch, bouncing Heeseung from the other side.

"Yah!" Heeseung wailed. "Ugh. Don't dwell on it too much. You did pretty good."

Ni-ki scratched his head, contemplating whether he should call you again.

"Don't even bother; the guy was already confused as to why you liked him," Jay chimed in from a seat away. "It's best if you talk together somewhere outside. A nice meal would be a good treat for him, no?"

Ni-ki looked at Jay, a smile creeping onto his face. "That actually sounds nice. Thanks, hyungs!" he clasped his hands together, acting with a respectful bow as he exited the living room.

Left to their own devices, Heeseung and Jay settled into the couch Ni-ki had just vacated.

"He clearly had the hots for that guy the moment he saw him," Jay said, cracking open a pack of chips.

"Love at first sight, I guess?" Heeseung smiled at the memory, diving his hands into the cheesy snack in front of him. "God, that's good. Mmhm."

"Hopefully, he can be honest with the guy," Jay remarked, munching away. "He needs someone to be his emotional support right now."

Heeseung turned to Jay, a questioning look on his face. "Don't we all?"

Jay chuckled. "Just let him be. We've got his back if things go south." He tapped Heeseung's back reassuringly.

Heeseung smiled, reflecting on how Ni-ki was growing up each day. It was a thought that warmed his heart, and he hoped for the best for his friend.

HEHE I HOPE YOU LIKED IT YALLLL

| masterlist! | previous | next |

⋆｡°✩ [ch.2] for when you see me

Songs on the charts, sold-out shows, the kind of career most musicians dream about—everything’s perfect. But success doesn’t fill the emptiness. And then, just when you think you’ve moved on—there he is. Your past, standing in front of you like a love song you never finished.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 1.8k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, estranged exes to lovers, famous singer!reader because we're built like that, is this angst? i have no clue, memories of your past together just hits hard ughhhh, jay has a new lover omg the drama-mama-mamah, you are dramatic as hell but we love you for you, you are insane to still think of him, i understand though you are in love with jay we see each other WE SEE EACH OTHER, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, mentions and use of alcoholic substances, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

The whiskey still burned in your chest when you woke up. You hated the feeling of alcohol within your system, but god does it soothe your tangled mess of a head.

Sunlight stabbed through the blinds, unforgiving. You groaned, rolling onto your side, half-expecting the bed to dip under someone else’s weight. But the sheets were cold. Empty.

Just like always.

The CD player had long since shut off, but the song still looped in your skull.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes until colors burst behind your lids.

Pathetic.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Leah’s name flashed across the screen, followed by a string of texts:

Leah: u alive?

Leah: also sarah says sorry abt last night. she didn’t know it was ‘that song’

Leah: …u gonna answer or am i sending mira over?

You typed back with one thumb.

You: i’m fine. don’t worry.

A lie. But what else was new?

The boxes in the corner taunted you. You’d only opened one last night, and already it felt like picking at a scab. The rest were a minefield of old playlists, ticket stubs, and the kind of photos that made your ribs ache.

You kicked the nearest one under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

The day was bright and bold. You set yourself up on your feet and got ready. Today is work day.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

“Going to Floor 26.” The pristine elevator voice echoed around you as you got in it.

The studio was your sanctuary. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

Atlas Records had given you the space after your first album surprisingly went platinum immediately after it was released (only days before it went double.) It was a token, a ‘reward,’ they’d called it. As if the pristine soundboards, the premium tech setup and gears, and some Grade-A acoustic paneling could make up for the fact that they owned you.

You slumped into the chair, scrolling through the latest track list your producer had shoved at you: that and a mere bunch of memos from the people upstairs.

Upbeat. Radio-friendly. More of what’s working, just like last cycle.

You crumpled the stupid paper into a ball and threw it straight into the can.

"Rough night?" You almost flinched as you heard a booming voice behind you.

Mira, your manager, leaned against the doorframe, sipping a matcha latte with extra foam. Walking just enough meters beside you, she offered another cup with the same taste — your favorite.

"Something like that," you muttered, taking the cup and popping the lid off instantly. You smelled the fresh aroma, before sipping soundly.

She arched a brow. "Leah’s wedding, right? Tell me about it."

You strummed a dissonant chord on the nearby guitar. "Played ‘Wonderwall.’ The crowd loved it."

Mira didn’t laugh, sitting with her back against one of your designer chairs. "Liar liar, pants on fire."

You shrugged. "It’s in my contract. Must lie convincingly to press."

“Press!? We lived in the same roof for a year and that’s all I am to you?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m famous.”

She groaned, taking it lightly. But then her eyes flicked to your hands—the way your fingers trembled ever so slightly against the strings.

"Who was it?" she asked, softer.

You didn’t answer. You could feel her eyes burning through your thick skull as if almost reading the contents of your brain.

She exhaled. "Take the day, hmm? Sleep it off. We can push the schedule to—"

"I’m fine." You grabbed the nearest lyric sheet, jaw tight. You sat across her in your leather chair, focusing on sorting out the busy contents of your workspace before speaking yet again. "Let’s just work. We’ve got three hours before we go, yeah?"

Mira studied you for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah.”

After taking a long winding breath, she slowly went to the door to take her leave.

“If you start crying into the microphone later, I’m charging you for ruined equipment." She retorted one last second.

“Blah blah, go do your manager things!” You smiled as you tried to throw a crumpled sheet to her.

“Alright, alright!” She shut the door gently, leaving you alone on your vices.

Right ... you were going to sing today. A lot.

When you least expected it, the skill you had fun as a hobby had already become a chore.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

The neon sign outside flickered—YE OLD TAVERN—in all its peeling, ironic glory.

You hadn't set foot in this place since your university years. Back when sticky tables and cheap beer felt like an adventure, not exhaustion. Back when he was still beside you, laughing into his drink as you butchered a karaoke song.

Now, the bar was packed—word had spread about the "intimate, unplugged" tour Atlas had forced you into. Authenticity sells, they'd said. Fans eat this shit up.

You just wanted nothing but sleep.

"Five minutes," Mira muttered, nudging you toward the old stage—a vintage relic of this bar’s storied past, all with a single mic stand waiting.

The crowd was a blur of your fans; young adults like you, some adults that you remind of their youth, and a lot of younger people that definitely fit the criteria of modern fans, holding up LED signs and phone screens. You adjusted the guitar strap digging into your shoulder and forced a smile.

Your signature voice flowed through the space like a gentle autumn breeze, carrying warmth and nostalgia with every note. The raw emotion in your delivery resonated deeply with your supporters, who hung on every word and inflection.

You can definitely see it in their eyes. They were enamored by you.

Your voice filled the room with a simple kind of magic. The crowd melted into the music as you sang, each word honest and raw. This wasn't just another show - it was real, and everyone could feel it.

Then you saw him.

Blond hair, roughly swept back to the side like he'd run a hand through it one too many times. Broad shoulders under a fitted black shirt. That face—sharp, unfairly handsome, watching you with an intensity that made your fingers twitch against the strings.

Jay.

Right there. On the side of the bar area, sat on a comfy wooden stool.

Your breath caught. And his too.

He hadn't meant to come.

But then he'd seen the posters outside the tavern—your name in bold letters—and suddenly he was nineteen again, sneaking in with his new ID just to see you play again and not miss his shot.

Now, he‘s frozen as he sees you perform so whole heartedly under the might of a single incandescent light.

You looked beautiful. Real.

Not the polished version from magazines or Leah's wedding—where you'd stiffened the second Sarah requested that song. Where your voice had cracked on the chorus, raw in a way no studio could autotune.

Where he’s just able to see you again.

And now here you were, strumming the opening chords of something new—voice low, rougher than he remembered. The crowd swayed, but Jay didn't move.

Couldn't.

Not when you glanced up mid-verse, gaze snagging on his like a caught breath.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

You finished the set in a daze.

No one noticed the way your hands shook. No one except him.

Backstage—if you could call a storage room with a large old leather loveseat a ‘backstage’—Mira shoved a bottle of branded distilled water into your hands. "Good crowd. Atlas'll be happy."

You didn't answer.

Mira sighed, looking at you with that same concern yet again. She knows your situation, and she feels bad being so helpless and useless to ease your pain the way you want.

She taps your shoulder and presents a light grin back at you. "Van’s out back. Avoid the fans, yeah?"

You nodded, seeing her leave the room shortly.

Until when can you stomach this feeling? This sensation? Being trapped in world you dreamed of was never in your plans, yet here you are, sitting inside your gilded cage.

As you took a deep breath, you fixed your hair and showered yourself in your favorite perfume yet again. You took a faithful step and approached the exit.

When your senses met the stench of New York’s streets opposite the alley door, Jay was already there. Leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed, like he'd been waiting for years.

"Hey," he said.

The streetlight caught the gold in his hair. God, he looked good.

"Hi." Your voice came out hoarse. You walked slowly, approaching him with some needy caution. Just for yourself.

A beat of silence passed. Then Jay pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "You killed it in there."

You scoffed. "It was a dive bar, Jay."

"Yeah. Our dive bar."

The words hung between you. Quiet, and more of that still silence.

“The dim lights suit your features.”

You shot up a glance towards Jay, hearing him say such a ridiculous thing in the middle of your self-inflicted turmoil.

You could say the same for him.

Right then, you forced yourself to look away. "Shouldn't you be with … Naomi, right?"

Jay's jaw tightened, his hands flexing against his sharp jaw. "I … wanted to see you."

Why?

You didn't ask. Couldn't possibly.

Instead, you watched as he pulled something from his pocket—a crisp white card.

PARK JONGSEONG, with some unreadable fine print at the side you couldn’t see much under the street lights. His name is embossed in sleek black and accents of regal purple.

"If you ever want to grab matcha," he said, holding it out. "No pressure."

You stared at it. Four years ago, you'd have taken it without hesitation.

Now?

"Jay," you said softly, "what about … her?"

As he opened his mouth—

Ring.

His phone lit up. As your curious eyes darted over, the name span the screen. Naomi.

Jay cursed under his breath, still not answering as he held out for your advise.

"I should—"

"Yeah." You stepped back. "I don’t mind."

He hesitated, card still extended. "Just please... think about it."

Nervous as you can be, you took the card in hesitation.

“A card, huh?” You flipped the sheet of stiff paper on your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Jay perked up his one-sided smile, genuinely happy at the gesture. You couldn’t help but smile back — it was contagious when you see Jay act that way.

“Park Jongseong … got your whole government name here too, hehe.” Jay couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that comment, and neither could you.

Then he was gone—turning by the corner—swallowed by the city lights.

You stood there, fingers clenched around his card, until Mira honked the car horn.

“Drive or bust, superstar!”

Lost in thought, his voice played like a broken record in your head.

Think about it.

As if you could do anything else.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — HAHAHA THE GODS HAVE GIVEN ME THE SIGN SO ITS UPDATE TIME AND OH WE'RE IN CHAPTER 2!! what is all the juice abouttt, find out next chapter~ also excited for en-chella!! GO TEAM WOOOOOO

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — tagging @kaiyunsim @firstclassjaylee @ryes-brownies08

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the masterlist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~ 

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

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my masterlist! | don't forget to reblog! | made by writhyv 💘

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he's making me melt what the fuck is that hongkong boraeneul tongue technology 😭😭😭