when the two of you are at school, you’re known as the daughter of sabine cheng and tom dupain, who own a bakery in paris. martin knows who you are, a shy girl who always frets when he’s around. he doesn’t see much of it, if anything he finds it kind of cute.

but when the two of you are ladybug and cat noir, he can’t help but be hopelessly in love with you. the way you take care of danger when it’s flying straight into your guys’s faces, he cant help but crush hard. and he’s very obvious about it, too.

。miraculous! au martin who fears that you won’t like him when you find out who he truly is— martin agreste, having no idea you have a dying crush on him; when he’s martin. when he’s cat noir, it’s different. you two are partners in crime. but can you deny that chemistry that’s building?

。miraculous! au martin who purposely goes to your house as cat noir just to get to know the version of you he could never see as martin better. the way you’re easily able to open up to him, sitting on your rooftop staring at the stars, makes him start to see you as more than just a shy friend. but as martin, he can’t bring himself to be as confident as he is when he’s cat noir. you’ll never openly talk to him like you do with cat noir, anyways.

。miraculous! au martin who talks about you about ladybug, having no idea that you two are the same person.

“yeah, she definitely has a crush on me. probably doesn’t want to admit because im way too cool.” he states, a cocky smile on his face as he sits on the railing your roof holds.

“yeah, right.” you laugh, getting a funny look from him.

“doubting me, are we?” he asks, leaning closer to you.

“maybe i am?” you smile, feeling your heart jump a bit.

。miraculous! au martin who loves when you call him ‘my kitty’ or kitty when he’s cat noir, replaying it in his head over and over.

“fightings over for today, kitty. i’ll see you later.” you say, seeing your time before you would transform back was about to run out.

“see you later, m’lady.” he says with a smile, watching as you fly away.

“ah, i love it when she calls me that.” he sighs dramatically, leaning against the chair the tied up villain sat.

。miraculous! au martin who worries for what the future holds for you two. knowing he can lose you anytime while fighting crime worries him, causing him to lose sleep and have nightmares.

you start to notice at school that martin seems to be losing sleep, and you notice your partner in crime is, too. two of the people you care most about are in pain and you don’t know what to do.

。miraculous! au martin who can’t help but fall in love with both versions of you. he knows it’s wrong to fall in love with ladybug, his partner in crime. but is it wrong to fall in love with y/n dupain-cheng? the way you hold onto him tightly as he swings through paris at cat noir, and the way you’re so shy when he’s martin; he realizes he’s in love with two people, not knowing that those two people are both you.

。miraculous! au martin who you also fall in love with both versions of. you know you’ve been in love with martin for ages, freezing up whenever he’s around. but when you hang around with cat noir, even as ladybug, you realize there’s a connection there that’s different with the regular martin.

。miraculous! au martin who cant help but cling to your side during missions. at first he told himself it was just because he needed to keep an eye on you, but soon he realized he couldn’t live knowing you died.

..

the mission was going smoothly, you two both fighting the villain smoothly. but, cat noir would just not stay away from your side. everytime you’d move a bit, you could feel your shoulders brushing.

“alright kitty, i get that you’re worried— but please.” you glared at him, causing him to give you a nervous smile.

“sorry, m’lady. just want to make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

。miraculous! au martin who you realizes purrs, like an actual cat. the two of you were on a mission together, and the villain used its power to make the ground unstable, causing you and cat noir to slip and land against the wall, you landing in cat noirs arms.

you grunted, but were paused by the sound of.. purring? you looked up at cat noir, seeing the blonde cat embarrassed.

“did i just hear you purr?” you said with a laugh.

“uh.. no way!” he said, looking away with an embarrassed expression.

。miraculous! au martin who you had your identity revealed to during a bad mission, a mission that left you two almost killed.

the world seemed to stop for martin when he watched your helpless body fall, the villain was downed, him getting so caught up in fighting he forgot to make sure that you were okay.

he rushed over to you, using one of his arms to hold your body.

“ladybug?” he asked, his shaky hand going to your face. “hey, look at me.” he shook you a bit, your eyes slowly opening.

“cat noir? what—“ you tried to sit up, wincing.

“shh.. stop- you’re bleeding a lot.” he leans back, looking at the wound. “the wound.. it’s under your suit— i can’t take care of it unless..”

“just let me go home.” you say, not wanting him to see your identity under this. if he did— everything would he different. there would be no more of ladynior, instead he’d know your real identity.

“please, m’lady. i won’t judge.” his voice is gentle, worried that if he spoke louder he’d hurt you more. “i won’t forgive myself if i know you’re not okay.”

you hesitate, but look down at the bleeding you have. you need to go to a hospital, especially with the way the wound looks.

“i— okay.” you gulp, looking down. “tikki. spots off.” the mask comes off, and your left sitting in your regular clothes. you can’t look up at him, but you can hear the gasp that comes out of his mouth.

“your-“ he can’t get the words out of his mouth, just staring at you in awe.

“i know— okay. you’ve been hanging out with two versions of me. please, cat noir just get me to the hosp—“

“plagg. claws off.”

you gasp, looking up. and when you do, you could swear you’re dreaming.

“martin? you’re—“

“yep, m’lady. im cat noir.” he smiles at you, and your heart clenches in awe.

“oh god, how could i be so stupid— it was right in front of me.” you cover your face in your hands while you both laugh.

“it’s okay, we can talk about this later. let’s go get you help.” he whispers, holding you close as he transforms back.

—

after realizing who you both are, everything seems to fall back to place. you’re both able to balance the life of being ladybug and cat noir, while also being martin and you.

once you’re healed, everything goes back to normal. the only difference is now you know you’ve both been in love with both versions of each other.

during the school day you’re able to talk to him more confidently now; and at night you get to fight villains together.

“well, m’lady. we did pretty good today, don’t you think?” he asks, sitting on the roof of a building with you.

“yep, we sure did kitty.” you smile, the moon light shining on both of you.”

“hey, im glad we told each other about our identities.” he says quietly, his hand coming to finds yours.

you laugh, knowing he’s been eager to reveal himself to you even before the accident. “whys that?”

“because i got to fall in love with both versions of you.” he whispers, leaning in and kissing you.

The apartment was steeped in a rare, unhurried tranquility. Not silence, true silence had never existed in James’s presence. He was far too animated for that, forever filling empty spaces with stories, ridiculous observations, and endless streams of commentary that somehow never grew tiresome.

this was something softer. Something infinitely more intimate. The sort of quiet that descended after a demanding day had finally loosened its grip. The sort that settled comfortably between two people who no longer felt obligated to entertain one another because their mere presence was enough.

Outside, the city continued its restless rhythm, but within the confines of the apartment, time appeared to slow.

Golden sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting elongated ribbons of amber across the hardwood floors. The living room glowed beneath the warmth of the setting sun, every surface bathed in shades of honey and gold. Somewhere in the background, the television droned on mindlessly, its voices blending into nothing more than ambient noise.

Neither of you paid it any attention. Your focus had long since drifted elsewhere. Specifically, to the man sprawled across your lap, and, more importantly, his hair.

His newly dyed blond hair. You were beginning to suspect that your fascination had evolved into a full-fledged obsession.

For nearly an hour, your fingers had remained tangled within the silken strands, repeatedly threading through them as though you were attempting to commit their texture to memory. Every pass revealed another variation of color beneath the evening light.

Some sections gleamed like molten gold. Others resembled pale champagne. Occasionally, when he shifted beneath the sunlight, the strands shimmered with almost platinum undertones.

It was unfair, completely and utterly unfair.

James had always been attractive. That much had never been up for debate. Yet somehow this new hair color transformed him into something devastatingly beautiful.

The contrast was breathtaking. The pale blond framed his features with startling precision, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones while simultaneously softening the overall look. His dark eyelashes appeared even longer against the lighter shade. His eyes seemed brighter, more expressive, every glance carrying an intensity that left your pulse stuttering unexpectedly. It should have been illegal.

Across your lap, James looked entirely content.

One arm rested lazily over his stomach while the other dangled uselessly off the couch. His head was comfortably nestled against your thigh, using you as a pillow without a trace of shame.

Not that you minded. If anything, you secretly adored moments like this.

The version of James that the public rarely saw. Not the charismatic idol, not the performer who commanded stages and captivated arenas.

Just James. Sleepy, comfortable, safe. His eyes remained half-lidded with exhaustion, yet he continued speaking, determined to finish whatever story had captured his attention.

“…I still remember going up to the office jokingly if there is a chance i could dye my hair blonde,” he mumbled, voice roughened by fatigue, “the visual team told me blonde wouldn’t suit me.”

Your fingers swept through his q bangs again. A habit you could no longer control. A distracted hum escaped your lips.

James’s eyes fluttered shut momentarily beneath your touch. “So I informed them they were incorrect.”

The corner of your mouth twitched upward. “Hm?”

“I was very persuasive.” His tone carried the utmost confidence.

You looked down at him with obvious skepticism. “Very persuasive?”

“Extremely persuasive.” The smugness in his voice was immediate.

You laughed softly. “How exactly did you persuade them?”

One eye cracked open. A grin spread lazily across his face, the kind that always preceded trouble. “I annoyed them until they gave up, it was going on for three weeks.”

The laugh that burst from you was immediate. “Three weeks!?”

James frowned. “They were being stubborn as fuck.”

“It’s that serious?”

His expression transformed into exaggerated offense. “I’ll have you know that it was a carefully constructed argument.”

“You harassed them for three weeks.”

“It was a carefully constructed three weeks.”

Your laughter grew louder, and instantly, his smile widened. That happened every time, without fail.

No matter how exhausted he was, no matter how terrible his mood had been beforehand, your laughter seemed to illuminate something inside him. Like a flower turning toward sunlight, like a reflex he couldn’t suppress.

The realization made warmth bloom beneath your ribs. You glanced down at him again.

A mistake, because James chose that exact moment to look up. 

The setting sun caught in his blond hair, igniting the strands like spun gold. His features softened beneath the warm glow. The sharp planes of his face became almost ethereal.

Beautiful.

There truly wasn’t another word for it.

Beautiful.

His eyelashes cast delicate shadows against his cheeks. His lips curved lazily as he watched you. His eyes, dark and impossibly expressive, reflected the fading sunlight in a way that made them appear almost liquid.

For a moment, you forgot what he had been saying entirely. Forgot the television, forgot the apartment, forgot everything

Alll you could see was him, and God—He was breathtaking. Not in the polished, magazine-cover way that millions of fans admired. Not in the carefully styled, professionally photographed way people discussed online.

This was different. This was the kind of beauty that emerged during quiet evenings and lazy conversations. The kind found in sleepy smiles and messy bangs. The kind revealed only to those fortunate enough to witness it. The kind that made your chest ache with an overwhelming surge of affection.

James blinked slowly, then smiled. A small smile, entirely unaware of the effect he had on you, or perhaps completely aware. With James, it was honestly impossible to tell.

A dramatic sigh escaped you before you could stop it. The sound wasn’t particularly loud, yet James noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

Somehow, after all this time together, he had developed an almost supernatural awareness when it came to you. A shift in your posture, a subtle change in expression, the faintest alteration in your tone—nothing ever escaped him.

His eyes fluttered open slightly. Concern immediately surfaced across his features. “What’s wrong?”

You absentmindedly twirled a strand of blond hair around your finger. “Nothing.”

His eyebrows knitted together. “You tired?”

“I’m not, don’t worry about me.”

“You sighed like a Victorian woman standing beside a rain-covered window while contemplating a forbidden romance.”

A laugh nearly escaped you. You managed to suppress it… Barely. Instead, you rolled your eyes toward the ceiling. “That’s oddly specific.”

James slowly pushed himself up on one elbow, his expression growing increasingly suspicious. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can stare at my boyfriend.”

“Not like that.” A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

“Like what?” You studied him for another second.

The soft blond strands fell effortlessly across his forehead. The fading sunlight illuminated them from behind, creating a halo of gold around his head.

Honestly? He looked ridiculous—Ridiculously beautiful.

You exhaled slowly. “You just look really good.”

James blinked. “Oh.”

There was a brief pause. “Like…” You narrowed your eyes. “Like really hot.”

The transformation was immediate. His entire face brightened, the sleepiness vanished. A grin spread across his lips, slow and devastatingly pleased. “Keep talking.”

You immediately reached forward and poked his cheek. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No.”

His grin only widened. “Sweetheart.”

Your resolve weakened instantly.

Dangerous. That was the only word capable of describing James when he used that voice. Low, warm, affectionate. The kind of voice that felt like being wrapped in your favorite blanket, the voice specifically engineered to dismantle your dignity.

His eyes sparkled mischievously. He knew exactly what effect he had, the menace. “Look at you” he cooed.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not that innocent.”

You groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Unfortunately, he sounded entirely confident, because he was entirely correct.

You returned your attention to his hair before he could become any more insufferable. The strands slipped effortlessly between your fingers. Silky, featherlight, far softer than you had anticipated.

Every time you touched it, you became increasingly convinced that blonde had been the best decision he had ever made.

Well… Maybe second best. The first had been dating you, obviously.

Without realizing it, you began absentmindedly playing with the ends again. Twisting a small section around your finger, letting it unravel. Repeating the motionagain, and again.

The sunlight transformed individual strands into ribbons of gold. You were fascinated, completely captivated. Eventually, a quiet chuckle broke the silence.

“You really like it, huh?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I love it.”

James gasped dramatically, his hand flew to his chest. “More than me?”

You immediately looked horrified. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

His jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

You burst into laughter.

James stared at you in mock betrayal before finally reaching for your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours effortlessly. The way every physical interaction between the two of you had become.

“Good answer,” he murmured. Despite his teasing, his thumb brushed across your knuckles with unmistakable fondness. The gesture sent warmth flooding through your chest.

For a while, neither of you felt compelled to fill the room with conversation. The silence that settled between you wasn’t awkward nor empty.

The apartment seemed enveloped in a tranquil stillness. The television continued playing in the background, though neither of you registered a 

single word.

Nothing beyond this moment seemed particularly important. Not schedules, not responsibilities, not tomorrow. Just this, just him.

Without warning, James shifted. The movement was subtle, he simply gravitated closer, as though some invisible force continuously drew him toward you.

His cheek found its place against your stomach, nestling there comfortably. One arm slid around your waist.

The action carried such natural familiarity that it made your chest ache. There had once been a time when physical affection felt deliberate. When reaching for each other required thought. When holding hands still caused nervous butterflies.

Now it was effortless, an ingrained habit, a language all its own. James sought you the same way flowers sought sunlight. Without hesitation, conscious intent.

Simply because it felt right. Your fingers immediately slipped back into his hair. No thought preceded the gesture, no decision was necessary.

It happened automatically. A reflex cultivated through countless evenings spent exactly like this. Your fingertips threaded through the silky blond strands, gently combing them back from his forehead.

The texture remained almost absurdly soft. The color still fascinated you. Each golden strand gleamed beneath the fading sunlight like spun silk. 

The moment your nails lightly scratched against his scalp, James visibly relaxed. A quiet sigh escaped him, his shoulders loosened. The tension he’d been carrying throughout the day gradually melted away beneath your touch.

“That’s nice.” His voice emerged low and drowsy. Softened by exhaustion, the words were nearly slurred together.

Your lips curved upward. “Is it?”

A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah...” The response came immediately, as though there had never been another possible answer.

You laughed quietly. The sound was swallowed by the warm atmosphere surrounding you both.

God, he was tired.

You could hear it.

His energy had slowly diminished throughout the evening, leaving behind a version of James few people were fortunate enough to witness.

The exhaustion stripped away every carefully maintained layer. What remained was simply him. The James the world rarely saw.

The public knew the dazzling idol who effortlessly commanded attention whenever he stepped onto a stage.

They knew the confident performer whose charisma seemed limitless beneath flashing lights and roaring crowds, the polished celebrity who appeared in interviews, magazine covers, and promotional videos. But they didn’t know this James.

They didn’t know the one who became impossibly clingy whenever he was sleepy. The one who searched for your hand beneath restaurant tables without even realizing he was doing it, who refused to sleep until he heard your voice after particularly difficult days, who stole your hoodies, sweaters, blankets, and occasionally entire pillows before insisting they had somehow become his property.

The one who sent you three-minute voice notes at absurd hours of the night because a random thought had entered his head and apparently couldn’t wait until morning, the one currently sprawled across your lap.

The realization washed over you with startling force. You had fallen in love with him countless times before. In crowded airports, in late-night phone calls, in quiet mornings, in fleeting glances.

Yet somehow, your heart continued discovering new reasons, as though loving him was an endless process rather than a destination.

The affection swelling within your chest felt almost overwhelming, warm enough to ache, gentle enough to make your throat tighten unexpectedly.

Your thumb brushed across his forehead. The pad of your thumb skimmed his skin before sweeping a few loose strands away from his face.

Immediately, James leaned into the touch without hesitation, like a cat seeking warmth from a familiar hand.

The sight nearly destroyed you. There was something indescribably precious about being loved so openly.

You looked down at him. The soft blond hair scattered across your lap. The relaxed features no longer sharpened by cameras or stage makeup, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the contentment written into every line of his expression.

His eyelashes rested against his cheeks. His lips remained slightly parted. His entire body seemed to radiate comfort, and suddenly, the realization struck again.

God.

You loved him, not because he was talented, or because he was admired, not even because he was beautiful, though he undeniably was.

You loved him because he was James, because he laughed too loudly, or he talked too much when he was excited, especially when he trusted you with every version of himself.

The thought settled warmly inside your chest, and as your fingers continued gliding through his blond hair, you found yourself smiling.

Several minutes drifted by in comfortable serenity before James finally stirred. One eye slowly cracked open.

The movement was sluggish, weighed down by lingering exhaustion, yet the instant his gaze landed on you, a familiar look of amusement surfaced.

“There you are.”

You blinked. “There who is?”

“The person who’s been staring at me for the last ten minutes.”

A smile immediately threatened to betray you. “Maybe.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Maybe?”

“I was just zoning out.”

James huffed a laugh through his nose. “You absolutely were staring though.”

“Was i? I can’t even remember.”

His expression became increasingly incredulous. “Don’t play dumb now, doll.”

You offered your most innocent smile, the one that never fooled him. James stared at you for several seconds. Then, without warning, he reached upward and pinched your cheek.

You immediately swatted his hand away. “Ow.”

“You deserved that.”

“For what!?”

“You were being suspicious.”

Your jaw dropped. “Suspicious for admiring my boyfriend?”

“See?”

“See what?”

“You were staring.”

You groaned. “Just talking to talk.”

James laughed, the sound reverberated softly throughout the room. The kind of laugh that seemed capable of dissolving stress simply by existing.

Your chest tightened unexpectedly, because the truth was embarrassingly simple.

James noticed the subtle alteration in your expression almost instantly. 

At this point, you were thoroughly convinced that your boyfriend possessed some sort of unfair advantage when it came to reading you. After years of memorizing your habits, studying your mannerisms, and paying attention to details most people overlooked, he could decipher your emotions with alarming accuracy.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he studied you from where he rested against your lap. “You know you’re pretty, right?”

Your heart completely betrayed you. The words struck with embarrassing effectiveness. Warmth flooded your face instantly.

Then he leaned closer, not enough to invade your space. Just enough for you to notice every detail. The faint mole near his cheek, the curve of his smile, the pale blond strands falling carelessly across his forehead, the warmth hidden within his dark eyes, the affection that lived there so openly.

Your breath caught immediately.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, the touch was featherlight, tender, affectionate. “So cute.”

You rolled your eyes. “You say that like I’m a puppy.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean...” His smile deepened. “You’re very cute puppy.”

Before you could retaliate, he leaned forward. A soft kiss landed against your cheek.

You blinked. Then another landed beside the first, then another, and another.

Each one accompanied by increasing levels of satisfaction, like he was accomplishing a very important mission.

The ridiculousness of the situation eventually became too much. A laugh escaped you. Soon you were laughing so hard your shoulders shook.

“James.”

“Hm?” He didn’t stop. Another kiss, then another.

Your laughter only grew. “What exactly are you doing?”

James finally pulled back. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, the expression was so sincere that you almost laughed again. “Showing affection.”

“Really? Cause ever since you dyed your hair blonde, you gotten more clingy.”

“I’d say the same about you.”

The confidence was infuriating, the smile accompanying it was even worse. Warm sunlight illuminated his blond hair, transforming the pale strands into molten gold. Combined with the ridiculous grin currently stretching across his face, the effect was devastating.

You hated how attractive he looked, you hated it even more because he knew it.

Then, without another word, he rested his forehead against yours. Immediately, the distance separating you vanished.

Suddenly, your entire world narrowed to the person sitting directly in front of you. The warmth radiating from his skin, the faint scent of shampoo lingering in his blond hair, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the comforting pressure of his hand resting securely against your waist.

Everything felt impossibly close, neither of you spoke, there was no need. The silence felt intimate rather than empty. Comfortable rather than awkward, a sanctuary constructed from countless shared moments. The kind of peace people spent entire lifetimes searching for.

You simply sat there, gazing at one another while evening sunlight painted everything gold. His eyes drifted over your features as though committing them to memory.

The tenderness in his expression nearly undid you, and then, as if drawn forward by instinct alone, James smiled.

Your fingers automatically slid through his blond hair once more, then, completely unashamed, he settled more comfortably against you.

You'd texted him earlier, asking him to come over as every Saturday night, and of course, he accepted it before you could even tell him what you wanted to try; a detail that made your plan even better.

Once he arrived, using the spare keys he knew the location of, he heard loud, incredibly yours, music from the bathroom. He made his way there and opened the door, eyebrows already furrowed as his handsome figure appeared in your mirror's reflection. He immediately noticed the bowls, the brushes, a bunch of bottles of hair bleaching, and of course, your wet, sectioned and now kind of yellowish coils. But no worries, the toner sat not far from you.

He smiled, before stepping behind you, patting your hip and picking up your cup. "Hi babe"

"Hi, love." You said, smiling to yourself, happy to have him with you.

"I thought we'd meet to watch a movie or something, and of course you're dying your hair."

He picked up the dye bottle, his adorable confused expression appearing. "It's not even the brand you usually use."

You actually finished wrapping a towel on your head. "My supplier recommended this brand so I wanted to test it first before using it on my clients. Plus, I guess I'm apparently changing too often, so I thought I would kind of need to use lighter products this time."

“Talking ‘bout lighter products”

By taking a closer look, his face became even more shocked. "Did you cut your hair? Could be shrinkage but your ‘fro seems smaller”. You let out a chuckle. "Just split tips, don't worry." James sat on the edge of the bathroom's bath tub, fidgeting with his fingers for a while before whining like an impatient kid wanting his favorite toy back. "What do I do? I'm so bored, I wish we could do something fun right after." He trailed off the end of his sentence, side eyeing you innocently.

Your smirk appeared, amused, and your plan started. "Oh, gosh, won't you stay still?"

Half an hour later, you were sitting on your bathroom sink, legs slightly parted just so his hips would fit in between them. That man felt under zero pressure, he kept moving his head side to side, trying to see what the heck you were doing to his hair.

You'd decided to do something actually cool and that would make him even hotter than how he already is. So you'd start bleaching the back of his head just like you first did, which was a dangerously good idea.

"You know im nosy as hell." He justified himself, before starting to detach his attention from his reflection to your face in front of his. Suddenly, he'd gone quiet. He started to analyze your bare face, from the forehead to the nose, faint acne scars here and there on your cheeks. His gaze lingering on the places where you had moles, he had learned to remember each one of them.

You used your hand to gently guide his face to look sideways, and check your work of art. You were very satisfied, and you couldn't wait to see the result.

"Alright now, it’s looking good."

"You look better." He said, voice dropping an octave.

"Woah," You chuckled and released his chin, putting the brush back in the messy looking bowl and shaking your head. "That was smooth."

All of a sudden, his hands grabbed your waist a little firmer than usual, making you instinctively look back towards him, only to be shut up from his lips on yours. You let go, enjoying your time with your man, since you two don't always kiss for a long time or make out, that was kind of secondary. James treasured different types of quality time. But rarely you two also shared your little heated moments.

Your arms automatically wrapped around his neck, careful not to mess up with the bleach on the back of his upper neck, even though, while you kissed, you always adored touching his hair (and he did too). His hands slid down to your hips and brought them closer to his own, seeking closeness and contact.

Your pajamas, being brushed from his gentle yet bold hands, internally making contact with your skin, had this kind of effect that made your spine shiver. The kisses got bolder, and with bolder, it meant him towering over your figure and forcing you to lean back against the mirror, as you both started letting out little, clumsy yet incredibly hot sounds against eachother's mouth.Also, tongue wasn't absent at all.

"Yufan.." You murmured breathlessly, your voice rough and uneven from the kissing. He pulled away just an inch and opened his eyes, staring into yours deeply.

"Yeah?"

You smiled and held his shoulders with your hands, ignoring what just happened but mentally replaying it for the tenth time. “Just let me finish, after that, we can do whatever you want yeah?.” The hint of a little smirk became clearly visible, before he hugged you tightly and carefully buried his face into the nape of your neck.

Days later, during his stream, he'd proudly hide his hair under one of his beanies like he does each time, making everyone freak out knowing the fans will eat it up. Because he liked it so much that you ended up dying his whole head.

martin was currently arguing with his mom. this wasn’t some small disagreement or heated discussion that would be forgotten by the next morning. this was a full-on screaming match. the kind where voices cracked from shouting too much. the kind where neither person was actually listening anymore because they were both too angry to hear anything besides their own frustration.

music had always been martin’s thing. ever since he was little, it was the one thing that made sense to him. no matter what was going on around him, music always seemed to calm him down. it kept him grounded when everything else felt overwhelming. he couldn’t go more than thirty minutes without listening to something. a song. a melody. even random humming. silence drove him crazy.

his mom hated that.

ever since he was a toddler constantly asking her to play songs for him, she had been trying to pull his attention toward literally anything else. she signed him up for boxing first. when that didn’t work, she tried karate. then football. basketball. volleyball. at one point she even forced him into ballet classes, which he absolutely hated. every time something failed, she immediately moved on to the next activity, convinced that eventually he would find something he loved more than music.

the closest thing she got was dancing.

for a while she was relieved. she genuinely thought she had finally succeeded. martin seemed happy. he was practicing all the time. he actually looked forward to classes. for the first time in years, she thought music wasn’t the center of his world anymore.

then ten-year-old martin accidentally ruined everything.

during a conversation, he casually admitted that the only reason he liked dancing so much was because it gave him an excuse to listen to music.

that had been the first time his mom ever yelled at him.

martin still remembered the look on her face. the anger. the disappointment. the fear. he had never seen her like that before. after the argument, he refused to speak to her for an entire week.

his dad had never been around.

according to his mom, he left shortly after martin was born. apparently he stayed for around four months just to make sure she could manage on her own before disappearing completely. martin had never met him. never spoken to him. never even seen a picture of him. the man might as well have never existed.

and now, years later, martin was standing in his living room arguing with his mom about the exact same thing they had always fought over.

music.

when he was fifteen, he discovered he could sing.

not just sing. sing well.

a few months later, he secretly joined a band.

now he was eighteen, and somehow his mom had finally found out.

she had completely lost it.

the guitar he spent years saving up for was now lying in pieces across the floor. every extra shift. every odd job. every bit of money he managed to scrape together had gone toward buying that guitar, and she had destroyed it within seconds.

this was easily the worst fight they had ever had.

“get the fuck out of my house.”

the words hit martin harder than anything else she had said that night.

he froze.

his face was already wet with tears. anger was twisting inside his chest so tightly it hurt to breathe. frustration. sadness. confusion. disbelief. every emotion possible seemed to be crashing into him all at once.

“mom, what?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“get out of my house. come back once you’ve come back to your senses.”

her voice was cold.

colder than he had ever heard it before.

martin stared at her.

for a moment neither of them said anything.

his eyes looked completely shattered. like something inside him had finally broken.

then he turned around and walked out.

his mom wasn’t a bad mother.

far from it.

she had spent her entire life taking care of him. she worked herself to exhaustion to make sure he always had food. clothes. a roof over his head. she supported him through every problem he ever had.

but there was always something strange about her. something that never quite made sense.

she was never truly happy. she smiled. she laughed. she made jokes, but it never reached her eyes.

her eyes always looked sad.

sometimes, late at night, martin would hear her crying through the walls.

and then there was her hatred for music.

it wasn’t normal dislike.it wasn’t annoyance. it was something deeper. maybe something personal. it looked almost like fear.

it was well past midnight by the time martin found himself walking toward the park.

it was the same park he always visited whenever life became too overwhelming. the same park he used to sneak off to when he couldn’t sleep. the same park he knew better than his own neighborhood.

he made his way toward the large tree near the center and sat beneath it.

then he cried.

he cried until his head hurt, until his throat burned, until there were no tears left.

the night was completely silent around him.

eventually his breathing slowed, the lump in his throat faded, and little by little, he calmed down.

with a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet.

his vision was still slightly blurry from crying. he tilted his head upward, and immediately froze.

“woah…”

his eyes widened.

the moon above him was blue. actually blue.

for a moment he just stared.

it was beautiful.

but then confusion slowly crept in as his eyebrows pulled together.

why hadn’t anyone mentioned this? a blue moon wasn’t exactly something people ignored. there should have been posts about it everywhere.

news articles, videos. something.

and when he had left the house earlier, he could have sworn the moon looked completely normal.

his gaze drifted away from the sky.

that’s when he noticed something carved into the bark of the tree.

he frowned, slowly stepping closer.

“y/n and lee wonhee… forever?”

his fingers brushed against the engraving.“why have i never seen this before?”

the carving looked really old, like it had been there for years, yet somehow he had never noticed it.

his frown deepened. “lee wonhee? that’s my…”

before he could finish his sentence, a sudden wave of dizziness hit him.

he stumbled backward. the world around him tilted. his heartbeat started pounding in his ears.

“what the fu…” his vision blurred. the park seemed to spin around him. darkness slowly crept into the corners of his sight.

he tried to stay standing. tried to grab onto the tree, but his legs gave out before he could.

the last thing he saw was the strange blue moon hanging above him.

then everything went black.

martin felt something grabbing onto his shoulder and shaking him repeatedly. at first, he thought he was dreaming. his entire body felt heavy, and his head was pounding hard enough that he wanted to curl back up and go back to sleep. he groaned quietly and tried turning away from whatever was bothering him, but the person didn’t seem interested in leaving him alone.

“hey man. are you alright?”

martin slowly opened his eyes.

the bright sunlight immediately made him squint. he lifted a hand to shield his face before blinking several times, trying to focus on the figure standing over him.

a guy with dyed blond hair was crouched beside him.

before martin could even process what was happening, the stranger grabbed his arm and pulled him upright. martin stumbled slightly once he was on his feet and had to steady himself before he fell right back onto the grass.

“you looked dead for a second there.” the guy laughed awkwardly. “i wasn’t sure if i should call somebody.”

martin barely heard him as his brain was trying to catch up.

the last thing he remembered was sitting beneath the tree. he remembered the blue moon. the carving. the dizziness.

then nothing.

it honestly felt like he had only closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. so why was it daytime? and why did everything feel so strange?

martin rubbed his eyes and slowly looked around.

immediately, something felt wrong.

there were students everywhere.

some were jogging down the sidewalks while trying to shove notebooks into their bags. others were riding bicycles. groups of friends were talking loudly while making their way toward school.

none of them looked familiar. not a single one.

martin frowned.

that wasn’t possible. he lived in a small town. he had spent his entire life here.

even if he didn’t personally know everyone, he recognized faces. there weren’t enough people living here for complete strangers to suddenly appear overnight.

yet every person he looked at seemed unfamiliar.

who were these people?

“uh…” the blond guy scratched the back of his neck. “you good?”

martin completely ignored him. instead, he slowly turned around.

the town looked familiar, and yet it didn’t.

the roads were where they should be. the buildings were where they should be, but everything looked different somehow.

older…simpler? maybe ‘less developed’ was the right word.

it felt like looking at a photograph of the place he grew up in instead of the actual town itself.

martin’s stomach twisted. something wasn’t right.

he turned back toward the blond guy.

“what’s your name?”

the question seemed to catch him off guard. “woojin…?” he answered.

martin stared at him. “full name.”

the guy blinked. “what?”

“your full name.”

the blond guy narrowed his eyes. “why?”

“just tell me.”

the guy hesitated for a moment before answering. “jeong woojin.”

martin immediately frowned. he searched through his memory. absolutely nothing.

he didn’t know any jeong woojin. he had never heard that name before in his life. if someone named jeong woojin lived in this town, martin would know.

every second that passed made the uneasy feeling in his chest grow stronger.

something was seriously wrong.

without saying another word, martin turned around and started walking.

“uh… i’ll see you at school?” woojin called after him.

martin didn’t respond. he just kept walking.

woojin watched him for a few seconds before snorting. “weirdo.”

then he adjusted his backpack and headed toward the crowd of students moving in the opposite direction.

meanwhile, martin walked as quickly as he could. his heart was beating faster with every step.

he knew exactly where he was going.

if there was one thing that would prove whether he was losing his mind or not, it was his house.

he followed the familiar roads and turned down the street he had lived on for nearly his entire life.

the second he saw the house at the end of the road, he stopped walking.

his stomach immediately dropped.

that wasn’t his house.

martin’s house was small, but modern.

it had clean white walls and large windows that let sunlight pour into every room. the front yard was neatly maintained, with a short stone pathway leading toward the front door. there was a small wooden deck in the back where his mom liked to sit during summer evenings, and the entire place looked like something built fairly recently.

the house standing in front of him looked nothing like that.

instead of modern walls and large glass windows, there was a cozy little cottage sitting where his home should have been.

the exterior was painted a warm cream color that had slightly faded over time. flower boxes sat beneath every window, overflowing with colorful flowers. ivy climbed partway up one side of the house, and a small wooden fence surrounded the yard. smoke lazily drifted from a brick chimney on the roof, giving the entire place a warm and lived-in feeling.

it looked comfortable and welcoming.

it also wasn’t his house.

martin felt sick. he stared at it for nearly a minute.

this wasn’t just some random place. this was where his house was supposed to be. his house should have been right there.

instead, it looked like it belonged in an entirely different decade. or century.

he was so distracted staring at it that he didn’t notice someone sprinting toward him.

the collision nearly knocked him over.

“shit. sorry.”

martin stumbled backward.

a guy around his age had crashed straight into him.

the stranger looked panicked as he adjusted the bag hanging from his shoulder.

“sorry. i’m late for school.”

before martin could say anything, the guy was already running again. within seconds, he disappeared down the street.

martin sighed, then he noticed something lying on the ground.

apparently the guy had dropped it when they collided.

martin bent down and picked it up.

it was a newspaper.

he stared at it. “a newspaper?” his eyebrows furrowed. who the hell still bought newspapers in 2026? weren’t those basically extinct by now? everyone used their phones. even old people used their phones.

martin flipped it over and glanced at the front page. at first, nothing seemed unusual. there were headlines. pictures. articles.

everything looked normal.

then his eyes drifted toward the date printed near the top corner. he stared at it.

then looked again. then looked a third time because surely he was reading it wrong.

his heart slowly sank.

because the newspaper wasn’t showing the year 2026. it wasn’t showing 2016. it wasn’t even showing 2006.

the date printed on the paper clearly said 1995.

martin stood frozen in the middle of the street.

his eyes remained locked on the newspaper.

for several long seconds, his brain simply refused to process what he was seeing.

then he laughed a short nervous laugh.

because obviously this was some kind of joke. it had to be. there was absolutely no way the date said 1995.

there was absolutely no way he had gone to sleep under a tree and somehow woken up thirty-one years in the past.

right?

you and wonhee were leaning against the brick wall outside the convenience store, waiting for the others to finally show up. the original plan had been to meet up twenty minutes ago, but at this point both of you had accepted that none of your friends had any respect for time whatsoever. wonhee had her arms crossed while staring down the street with an annoyed expression, and honestly you looked pretty much the same.

“if they’re late again i’m actually going home.” wonhee complained for what was probably the fifth time, her arms tightening across her chest as she glared down the empty street.

you snorted. “you say that every time.” you replied with a laugh, already knowing she wasn’t serious.

“and one day i’ll mean it.” wonhee insisted, lifting her chin stubbornly.

“no you won’t.” you shot back without missing a beat.

before she could argue, two familiar figures appeared at the end of the street.

ohyul and ryul.

ohyul was yawning so hard it looked painful while ryul looked like he was actively fighting for his life just to stay awake.

the second they got close enough, you and wonhee immediately started yelling at them.

“you’re late.” you called out the moment they were within earshot, annoyance obvious in your voice.

“again.” wonhee added sharply, already looking ready to start a fight.

“do either of you know what a clock is?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes at them.

ohyul rubbed his eyes. “good morning to you too.” he muttered dryly, looking completely unbothered by the greeting.

“it stopped being morning twenty minutes ago.” wonhee shot back instantly, pointing accusingly at him.

ryul sighed dramatically. “can we stop pretending we’re the only late ones? woojin and louis aren’t even here yet.” he argued, dragging a hand down his face.

you opened your mouth to continue yelling before immediately closing it. unfortunately he had a point.

that didn’t stop wonhee from smacking the back of his head though.

about ten minutes later, woojin finally showed up.

unlike the other two, he didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

his hands were shoved into his pockets and he had a relaxed smile on his face like he wasn’t late at all.

“hey.” woojin greeted casually, as if he hadn’t kept everyone waiting.

the second the greeting left his mouth, you and wonhee started yelling at him too.

woojin let it happen. in fact, he looked like he had already prepared himself for it. once the lecture finally ended, he shrugged. “i got distracted.” woojin admitted with a careless shrug.

“by what?” you asked suspiciously, already expecting a ridiculous answer.

“there was this guy unconscious near the park.” woojin explained, finally sounding a little more serious.

that immediately caught everyone’s attention.

woojin continued walking alongside the group as he explained. “i found him lying on the ground near that big tree. i thought he was dead for a second.” he said, gesturing vaguely as he spoke.

“and instead of calling someone you decided to play hero?” ryul asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“he wasn’t dead.” woojin replied flatly.

“wow. thank god detective woojin was there to figure that one out.” ryul deadpanned, earning a glare. woojin rolled his eyes.

“anyway. i woke him up and helped him stand. he looked completely out of it.” he continued.

you sighed dramatically.

“so basically you’re late because you found some random guy taking a nap.” you summarized, unconvinced.

“he wasn’t taking a nap.” woojin argued immediately.

“that’s exactly what it sounds like.” you replied.

before woojin could defend himself further, another familiar figure appeared in the distance.

louis attempting to run.

his legs were moving but whether he was moving efficiently was another story.

you stared for a moment before pinching the bridge of your nose.

“jesus christ, louis. why are your legs so long if you can’t even run properly?” you called out as he stumbled closer.

louis finally reached the group and immediately doubled over. he looked seconds away from collapsing.

“i’m…trying…” louis wheezed between breaths, clutching his knees.

“clearly.” you replied without a shred of sympathy.

while louis was busy gasping for oxygen, wonhee suddenly frowned.

“where’s the newspaper?” wonhee asked, her expression immediately turning suspicious.

louis immediately froze. he stood up.

“what newspaper?” louis asked a little too quickly.

nobody said anything.

louis looked away, which was basically a confession.

“louis.” wonhee said warningly.

“listen.” louis started nervously, already backing himself into a corner.

“louis.” you repeated, somehow sounding even more threatening.

“it wasn’t entirely my fault.” he defended weakly.

“louis.” wonhee said again, completely unimpressed.

he sighed dramatically.

“i dropped it.” louis finally admitted.

immediately everyone started yelling.

“you what?” you exclaimed in disbelief.

“are you serious?” wonhee demanded.

“that was literally the one thing you had to bring.” ryul added, staring at him like he’d committed a crime.

louis looked offended.

“i accidentally bumped into somebody.” louis explained.

“and?” you asked flatly.

“and i dropped it.” he continued.

“and?” wonhee pressed.

“and then i forgot to pick it up.” louis finished sheepishly.

there was a collective groan.

you rubbed your forehead.

“mind you, every single person here is late because of you and you didn’t even bring the newspaper.” you said, sounding genuinely exhausted.

“technically not everyone is late because of me.” louis pointed out.

“louis.” you warned.

“please stop saying my name like that.” he said with a sigh.

wonhee let out the most exhausted sigh you had ever heard.

without another word, you grabbed her arm and started walking. “come on.” you said, deciding you’d heard enough.

“gladly.” wonhee replied immediately.

behind you, ryul and ohyul immediately followed. before leaving, ryul smacked the back of louis’ head. then ohyul did the same.

“ow.” louis complained, rubbing the back of his head.

“deserved.” ryul replied without looking back.

“ow.” louis repeated, sounding even more offended.

“still deserved.” ohyul agreed. louis stared after all of you in betrayal.

“guys. come on. i’m sorry.” he called after the group.

nobody acknowledged him.

eventually he was forced to jog after everyone while continuing to complain.

the group walked together for a few minutes before woojin suddenly spoke again.

“hey. has anyone ever seen a really tall blond, skinny guy around town before?” woojin asked, breaking the comfortable noise of everyone’s bickering.

everyone looked at him. you thought about it for a moment then shook your head.

“don’t think so.” you answered.

wonhee shook her head too. “never.” she said.

“nope.” ohyul replied.

“nah.” ryul added.

woojin frowned.

“why?” louis asked curiously.

“because that’s the guy i found this morning.” woojin explained.

“the unconscious guy?” you asked, immediately connecting the dots.

“yeah.” woojin confirmed. there was a brief silence.

“okay?” wonhee said slowly, not seeing the issue.

woojin looked strangely thoughtful. “i don’t know. there was something weird about him.” he admitted.

“weird how?” wonhee asked.

“i can’t explain it.” woojin said with a frustrated frown.

“great explanation.” ryul replied dryly.

“shut up.” woojin shot back.

woojin ignored ryul and continued.

“he looked completely lost. like genuinely confused. when he woke up he kept staring at everything around him.” he explained.

“maybe he hit his head.” you suggested.

“maybe.” woojin admitted.

“maybe he was drunk.” louis offered.

“at eight in the morning?” woojin asked skeptically.

“don’t judge people’s hobbies.” louis replied.

you laughed and woojin rolled his eyes before continuing.

“i’m serious though. he kept looking around like he’d never seen the town before.” he said.

“maybe he’s new.” you suggested.

“then why was he unconscious under a tree?” woojin pointed out.

“good point.” you admitted.

wonhee shrugged.

“he’s probably one of those people nobody notices. don’t overthink it.” she said.

woojin still didn’t seem convinced.

“no, but seriously. it felt weird. i’ve lived here my whole life and i’ve never seen him before.” he insisted.

“congratulations.” ryul deadpanned. “you discovered strangers exist.”

“that’s not what i’m saying.” woojin argued.

“it should be.” ryul replied.

“you’re annoying.” woojin muttered.

“thank you.” ryul said proudly.

for a moment nobody said anything, then ryul suddenly turned toward him. “woojin.” ryul called.

woojin hummed.

“shut up.” ryul said bluntly.

the slap to the back of his head came so fast that nobody even saw it.

woojin immediately grabbed the back of his neck.

“what was that for?” he demanded.

“i got tired of listening to you.” ryul replied with a shrug.

“no. you shut up.” woojin shot back.

ryul looked ready to hit him again but woojin quickly moved out of reach.

the rest of you watched the two start arguing like children while louis took the chance to start complaining about being bullied.

at that point, nobody was paying attention to him anymore.

©cortismoon all rights reserved. Please do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

“Disrespectful little rat–” Ryul grumbled, looking up from his phone when receiving no response, only to be left stunned.

He was on a narrow street that stretched far out into a deep darkness. Houses upon houses were to the left and right of him, all of them seeming normal but having a very disturbing presence to them. 

And it was dark. Even though he was 100% sure it had only been 1:32pm it looked like it was midnight. 

“What the hell…” he mumbled, looking behind him, only to see more houses stretching back. He ran a hand through his hair in confusion only to freeze. 

As he squinted into the darkness, his eyes started making out the form of something that was most definitely not a human.

He took a few cautious steps back but the thing, whatever it was, didn’t look like it had noticed him. 

At least not yet.

Ryul looked around quickly, looking for a source of safety anywhere. He looked at the doors of the houses, thinking of heading into one but fearful that more creature things would be in them. 

As he bit his lip in frustration, remaining as silent as possible, seeing more creatures in the area, he spotted a house far down the street. 

It was the only one with lights on.

With a deep sigh, he snuck his way over.

Hiding behind houses, trees, abnormally shaped mail boxes, in order to avoid the creepy looking things.

As he neared the building, about to open the door, he heard the sound of childish laughter around him. He glanced around, still seeing the pure darkness, then looked up only to see a kite, flying away from the house.

With a gasp, he quickly pushed the door open, and shut it behind him. 

He knew where he was now. 

The house was almost empty, the source of light he’d been seeing having been a lamp that was on beside the window. He immediately turned it off, pushing the couch in the center of the room in front of the front door. 

He’d finished moving it, about to search the house when he heard footsteps above him. He froze and prayed there was nothing in the building that could kill him. 

He’d watched so many horror movies and always wondered why the stupid characters walked towards the source of noise, but it was almost like he couldn’t help but fill his curiosity. 

He used his flashlight to guide him around, taking careful steps upstairs. As he got closer to the top of the staircase, he heard soft mumbling. 

Not very creature-like behaviour.

He finally made it to the door of the room that seemed to be the source of the noise, he couldn’t fully understand what was inside but he would die trying. 

He placed his hand on the door, about to turn it when it opened on its own.

“What thE FUCKK” someone screamed. 

“LOUIS SHUT UP–”

Ryul had fallen face first into the floor, leaving him stunned for a few seconds.

The two people in the room had moved to the opposite side, not fully able to see what he was.

“Y/n i think it’s a person….”

“Louis the chances of meeting other humans here is like, i dunno, 20%”

“That’s a pretty big number–”

“There’s like a gazillion levels you idiot.”

“Oh…”

Ryul let out a deep sigh into the carpet. He knew who they were.

With a groan, he sat up on the floor, glaring at the two across the room. Louis' eyes widened as he finally realized who it was.

“Omg Y/n it’s hyung–”

Y/n immediately pulled the giant boy back, “Louis wait. It might be a skin stealer or something…”

Ryul paused, about to make an annoyed remark but nodded, impressed at the girl's caution. Only to almost jump once a knife was thrown in his direction. 

“Y/n the fuck!!” he whispered, not wanting to attract any creatures to their location.

“Yea, that’s Ryul” Y/n nodded as she watched a small trail of dark red blood seep out of his cheek.

Louis, with the confirmation, flung himself to the older boy. Tears were already forming in his eyes. “Thank God you’re here hyung. We’ve been stuck here for weeks,” he cried.

Y/n moved closer, hands crossed as she watched the two. Ryul looked up at her, stretching out his arm, giving her full permission to crash against him too. 

“I thought we were gonna die here…” she sniffled into his chest.

Y/n and Louis had been stuck in the backrooms for what felt like 2 weeks. After being dropped into level 0, they somehow were able to make their way all the way up to level 8, crawling through tight tunnels when they fell through the floor. 

They’d landed in an house, with little to no furniture. Only an old TV that didn’t work, a big couch, a few kitchen appliances and bedrooms that were practically empty.

Louis had been the first to peek out the house through one of the windows, seeing an almost identical house opposite them. 

After much deliberation, they agreed to stay in the house, keeping the lights off and only one lamp on just in case they were somehow found. And were they ever grateful that they were found.

Ryul held the two in a hug, gently rubbing their backs to calm them down. “How did you two even end up here?” he asked.

Louis looked pointedly over to his female friend who looked away sheepishly. 

“Y/n tried to grab my phone when we were playing among us and we somehow no clipped here.”

After two weeks with y/n, he’d gotten a tad bit better at using the proper terminology for their situation. 

Ryul nodded slowly as the two sat up next to him, “I didn’t know this stuff was actually real,” he chuckled.

“Neither did I,” Y/n grumbled before looking at Ryul, “do you know how to get us out of here?”

Ryul leaned his head on the door as he thought hard. All those theory videos were now flashing through his mind as he fought hard to remember their location.

Dark street, identical and similar houses, a bunch of entities, Y/n had mentioned a skin stealer, the creature he saw outside was probably a hound, all the lights were off so there may have been smilers on the level, and the amount of the kites in the sky could only mean the level was infested with even more entities.

“We’re on level 9,” he decided. “To get out of here, we’re gonna have to leave the house.”

Louis immediately shook his head, “Hell no. I am not going out there–”

“There’s danger coming this way Louis,” Ryul informed, “I’m pretty sure there was a warning kite right above the house when I came in… which was a while ago…”

The house shook.

“What was that?” Louis whispered.

“The danger the kite was warning us about,” Ryul whispered back.

“And that is?” Y/n asked.

“The neighbourhood watch.”

Approximately 20 houses down the street was a disturbing creature. It was about half the size of a house, an 8 legged creature, with all its legs extending from a singular eyeball that seemed to be scanning for something. 

A strider.

Ryul quickly got up, dragging the other two up with him. He quietly opened the door, heading to the kitchen that opened up to a backyard with an empty field. 

Before they left the house, he turned back to face the two who were obviously shaking with fear.

Though they had been dropping through levels upon levels the entire week, they had yet to truly come in contact with an actual hostile entity. Even Y/n who’d mentioned a skin stealer earlier hadn’t actually seen one yet and was only putting up a brave front. 

“I know you two are scared,” he whispered quietly to them. The strider was 15 houses away now. “But you’ve survived this long, and trust me, it would be way better to die by drowning or literally anything else than what’s coming for us okay?”

Y/n nodded shakily, Louis still in an anxious panic. 

“We can’t use our flash lights or else something else might come after us, but–”

He was cut off by the sound of childish laughter around him once more. The three of them looked up and outside was a kite, flying into the direction of the dark forest the backyard led to. 

“That’s our sign?” Y/n asked.

Ryul nodded.

“Follow it.”

With that, the boy took off into the yard as quiet as he could. Ensuring to stay on the same path the kite was floating into. 

The kite’s lazy speed hinted that the danger was still a safe distance away, but it was in the sky and they had to run. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Y/n and Louis followed after the kite, not knowing where they were going but sticking to the direction it led them in. 

‘I am never EVER going to a sleep over again’ Louis screamed out in his head, tears pricking at his eyes as he headed deep into the forest.

The only sound that could be heard amongst the three was heavy breathing and the occasional breaking of sticks and their feet against the wet ground. 

Y/n briefly looked behind her, eyes widening in fear at the smiley face a few paces behind her. A fucking smiler.

It dissolved as soon as she saw it and she faced forward, running into the distance.

None of them knew how long they’d been running for, adrenaline could do amazing things. But soon enough, they were out of breath and speed. 

The kite was far behind them but still moving in the same direction, meaning they were as safe as one could be in a dangerous level. 

Ryul, who typically didn’t get scared, felt his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t want to die. His eyes squeezed shut as he pushed through the pain, running as fast as he could.

Only to trip on a rock.

He gasped, bracing for the harsh pain of the ground only to fall into a large barrel of hay.

“Fuck–” he gasped. Face scrunched from the little sticks poking at his face. 

Hay?

He immediately got up and out of the pile, looking for the other two he came with. He saw y/n hunched over the floor, dry heaving and shaking in exhaustion. 

His eyes scanned the area for the tall boy. 

“Louis!” he called out, looking around worriedly but not being able to find him. 

He looked to y/n who’d moved closer to him, an equal amount of worry in her eyes.

Louis was missing.

Their sleepover had been approved.

After weeks of coordinated dances, stupid debates and handwritten speeches, both teens had finally worn their parents down enough to let them use the L/n's furnished basement for one night, which, given they were already next door neighbours, was a whole lot of effort for not that much ground covered.

It was already 2 in the morning, and they had been lounging on the wide king mattress deep into a round of among us. One of their friends, Ryul, had somehow enabled a mod to let them play with 100 other people so best believe they were locked in.

“Louis it’s been 20 minutes, just tell me if you’re the imposter or not,” Y/n grumbled, completing another task as she side eyed the boy on the other side of the bed. 

Louis shook his head in immediate denial, “Hell nah, you always win in this game, I’m not giving you no clues.”

Y/n paused, her lips pursed in suspicion. She knew he was an imposter but couldn’t baselessly accuse him without making herself the center of attention.

So she made a decision. 

She leaped over to his side of the bed, trying to grab his phone out of his hands. Louis, who did not expect this in the slightest, immediately jumped back, almost falling off the bed. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to protect and shield his screen.

“JUST LET ME SEE IT”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU Y/N–”

For a moment, their voices seemed to cut out. The they suddenly fell to the ground, which was odd cause they had just been on the bed a few moments prior. Y/n, feeling a cold and damp texture squish under her hands immediately got up, looking around in confusion.

Louis, sensing he had been freed, immediately looked to his phone only to find he had been disconnected. “Y/n you do this every time,” he whined loudly. Huffing in slight annoyance as he tried to reconnect to the game. It took him a few minutes, but he soon realized his friend had yet to speak. “Y/n?” he called out, finally looking away from his device (iPad kid lmao) and taking in his surroundings.

They seemed to be in a hallway. A very long one.

The walls were some desaturated yellow, the floor was a tan, damp and gross carpet. Upon the realization that his pants were getting all wet, Louis immediately scrambled to get up, drawing his phone close to his chest like it was some sort of weapon.

As a light flickered above his head, he immediately stepped back and right into–

“AHHHH” he screamed as he turned around quickly, only to be met with Y/n’s unimpressed glare. He immediately calmed down, clutching a hand over his chest, “Why’d you scare me like that”

“He bumped into me, mind you,” Y/n rolled her eyes, speaking to herself before turning back to continue inspecting the room.

She had a feeling of where they had landed. Hands pulling at her hair to ground herself as realization set in. “Louis… I need you to not freak out okay?”

She hadn’t heard a response so she looked around only to realize he was gone. “Louis?” she called out, panicked. 

They could not get separated. 

She saw faint steps in the carpet that lead to the next hall, she immediately ran in said direction. “LOUIS?!” 

As she turned the corner, she saw the tall boy staring at what seemed to be writing on the wall. He turned to her in surprise, as though he hadn’t heard her calling.

“Yea?”

“Don’t fucking do that! Oh my gosh, what if we got separated???” Y/n scolded him, grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers.

Louis briefly looked down before he glared at her playfully, “I’m not five you know?”

“You got lost in like two minutes idiot.”

“Touché” he murmured, nodding slightly. “Sooooo where are we?”

“The backrooms.”

Louis paused, turning to face her before laughing. “The backrooms,” he mocked. “Yea right. And i’m a kpop idol,” 

Y/n looked at him unamused. “Dude really? We’re obviously not home, this is obviously like the first level of the backrooms or something, what other explanation is there???”

Louis paused, taking in her words and slowly understood. “We’re in the fucking backrooms….”

“There it is–”

“Y/N!” He yelled, gripping onto her shoulders and shaking her back and forth, “WE’RE IN THE–”

“Are you trying to get us killed?!” she shushed, silencing him with her palm. Y/n didn’t know much about the backrooms, most of her information had come from watching theoretical videos when hanging out with her friends, Ryul (again) and Woojin. 

The most she’d known about the place was that there were supposedly an infinite amount of levels, with different entities, and a few rumored exits. She knew this room? Place? Whatever it was, she knew this level was safe. Well, for the most part at least.

All she could do now was either figure out a way to end up on a different level, try to get home, not that she knew of any possible methods, or just wander around.

She dropped her hands, seeing Louis shake in fear. “Okay, relax. This level is safe okay?”

He didn’t speak, too anxious to form words.

Y/n noted he still had his phone, she took it, smiling when she noted it was still at full battery, connected to the powerbank in his sweater pocket. “Bless you and your giant powerbank,” she smiled. 

The connection was horrible but she didn’t need wifi, so she opened up his notes app and began writing. She wrote down everything she’d known about the disturbing place they were trapped in.

Louis sat next to her, gently rocking himself back and forth, refusing to leave her side even though she had assured him it would be alright.

“We have to get to level 1,” she mumbled, as she continued typing into his notes.

“What’s that?”

“Not sure, but I think that level actually has food…” As she’d mentioned it, she realized she hadn’t once felt even a bit hungry or thirsty. “Not that I think we need it but it’s better than possibly starving to death,”

Louis had been whispering to himself repeatedly, lightly hitting his head. y/n grabbed his hand to stop him from the disturbing act. 

“Louis, I know this seems crazy, but you have to try your best not to go insane here.” She warned, her voice pleading. “There has to be some way to escape,”

“Why didn’t we force Ryul hyung to sleep over with us,” Louis mumbled sadly. 

It was true, Ryul was the most knowledgeable of their friend group when it came to games and creepy theories such as this one. 

“No time to worry about that,” Y/n sighed heavily, putting the phone into the pocket of her pyjama pants. “We have to find a yellow wall,” she said, pulling the boy up from where he had been.

Louis immediately stood behind her, using his shorter friend as a shield. “Aren’t all the walls yellow?” He noted.

Y/n smiled a bit, “One that looks weird. Like a brighter yellow or the pattern looks odd.” She then perked up slightly, moving to the wall with writing and using her earring to make a noticeable indent in the wall. 

She turned to see the french boy looking at her in confusion, “So we don’t get lost. We should try walking in one direction till we hit a wall or something.”

So the two started walking in a random direction.

"How did we even get here?" Louis grumbled as Y/n dragged him along.

"We no-clipped through your bed," Y/n responded, keeping her gaze straight.

"And that means...."

"Like, you know how the flash like, phases through walls?"

"Yea?"

"Something like that"

"..."

"..."

“You’re sure nothing here can kill us?”

“Well, there are pits, red rooms and dark rooms, but as long as we don’t go near those we should be fine.”

“What if we fall into a pit?”

“Let’s not talk about that.”

“...Sorry for making fun of you for watching this stuff,”

“You’re good Louis,”

“Y/n what if i start to hallucinate?”

“You won’t”

“What if you randomly disappear?”

“I’m not gonna– Well there is a theory that people can time travel–”

“Y/N?!”

“Jeez, relax! That’s why we’re holding hands dude. So we don’t get separated."

“Oh”

“...”

“Y/n–”

“Oh my gosh,”

“What if we don’t find the weird wall thing?”

“...Let’s not think about that ok?”

“Kay.”

❛ 𝓦𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒+𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. ❜ angst ⠀·⠀⠀swimmer!keonho x volleyball player!reader ⠀·⠀⠀non-idol!au ⠀·⠀⠀ right person, never the right time

❛ 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. ❜ a short old wip to commemorate blue lips mv release today 🥹 ⠀·⠀⠀sorry in advance guys i cried while proofreading this (it probably still has mistakes, idgaf i just want yall to cry with me) 😓 ⠀·⠀⠀also this is slightly different from my writing style but i’m tryna figure out what kind i like better :<⠀·⠀⠀and special mention to this bitch too @ramenoil fuck u

❛ 𝓦𝐂. ❜ 2.8k

the cruel thing wasn’t that you and keonho never dated. the cruel thing was that everyone around you assumed you would.

you were sixteen when it started—not officially, and definitely not dramatically. it just happened in the gymnasium after school—the heavy, echoing sound of a volleyball bouncing rhythmically against polished wood while a swimmer sat on the bleachers pretending to do his homework. his textbooks were always open to some random page he never actually turned, a mechanical pencil balanced between his fingers. he was just watching practice, and you were a girl who kept pretending not to notice how his eyes followed you across the court lines.

at first, he came because his practice ended earlier and his house was empty. then, he came because he liked the noise, or so he claimed when a teammate teased him. really, though? he came because you were there, but neither of you ever acknowledged the fact.

you’d look up after a particularly brutal drill, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and there he’d be—dark hoodie that was too big for him, a huge swimming bag dropped carelessly by his feet, hair still damp and curling slightly from the pool, with one earbud in. he was watching—always watching—not creepily or obviously, but just enough, like he wanted to memorize the exact way you played before the world got too loud.

one day, your coach went completely ballistic, screaming at everyone to run suicides and laps and dives and whatnot until the gym floor felt like it was spinning. you collapsed beside the bleachers afterwards, your face completely red, legs burning, and entirely convinced you were actually dying right there on the hardwood.

suddenly, a freezing cold bottle of sports drink appeared in front of your face, condensation dripping onto your kneepads.

you looked up, blinking through the sweat. keonho, the boy whose presence you’d grown accustomed to, stood in front of you.

“you looked like you were about to pass out,” he said, his mouth twitching slightly into that stupid, affectionate smile.

“i wasn’t,” you defended, your voice sounding breathless and pathetic.

“you were.”

“i wasn’t.”

“you literally couldn’t stand two seconds ago.”

“that’s unrelated,” you rolled your eyes, snatching the bottle from his hand.

he laughed properly this time, head tipping back slightly, a low, genuine sound that usually got lost in the rafters of the noisy gym. you hated that laugh—you hated it because every time you heard it, something inside your chest shifted, and it made you feel completely defenseless.

after that, it became routine. it was just an unwritten rule between you—he’d bring blue sports drinks, you’d dig through his bag to steal his chocolate snacks. he’d carry your knee caps when you forgot them under the bench, and you’d send frantic spam texts reminding him to actually eat a real meal after his morning swim meets.

small things. tiny things. things that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and yet meant absolutely everything to you.

nobody confessed, and nobody asked anyone out. you were young, you had practice tomorrow, and you had games next week. there was always time… or so you thought.

by seventeen, people knew. not officially, because there was nothing to put a label on, but everyone in your year knew.

“are you two dating?” your teammate asked during break, leaning so far over your desk she was practically sitting on your notebook.

“no,” you said, without looking up from your sketches.

“then why is he waiting outside class right now?”

“he isn’t.”

“he literally is. he’s leaning against the lockers. he looks ugly, by the way.”

your chest tightened. you glanced outside through the small glass pane of the classroom door, and keonho would immediately look away, rubbing the back of his neck, caught red-handed.

“no idea,” you muttered, turning a page to hide the flush creeping up your neck. your teammates never believed you, and honestly, neither did his.

at competitions, the gravity of it got worse because somehow, out of all the chaotic sports complexes in the city, you always found each other. different venues, completely different schedules, entirely different sports, yet somehow—always.

you’d lose a devastating match, and your phone would buzz against the bottom of your gym bag before you even finished crying in the locker room.

ahn 🩵: you played well

no greeting, no explanation. just that small message that made you feel just a little better.

after he finished a grueling freestyle race, you’d instantly send him a text.

you: you looked nervous before the start.

ahn 🩵: thanks?

you: it was cute.

you’d watch the screen. three dots. disappear. reappear. disappear again, as he probably choked on his water bottle on the other side of the city.

ahn 🩵: shut up.

you laughed into your palm for ten minutes straight in the back of the team bus.

it should’ve been simple—teenagers fall in love every day in cramped hallways and dusty gyms, the world keeps turning, and nobody notices. except by eighteen, the world had started noticing keonho.

it happened in a flash: national rankings, local television interviews, articles online, athletic sponsors, followers multiplying by the thousands overnight—people started calling him the future of the sport, the next big thing, a prodigy, a star. and the higher he rose into that suffocating atmosphere, the smaller his actual world became. every single hour of his day was scheduled by adults, every public appearance managed, every single word monitored by a PR team.

you noticed the cracks before anyone else did, because you noticed everything about him. you noticed the way he started looking entirely exhausted under the fluorescent school lights, the way his real smile appeared three seconds later and disappeared much faster, the way he checked his phone constantly like he was waiting for the leash to tighten, and the way he stopped laughing as loudly in the corridors.

one evening, you found him sitting completely alone on the concrete steps outside the swimming centre, still in his damp training clothes, staring blankly at nothing in particular.

“bad day?” you asked quietly, stepping into his line of sight and sitting beside him.

he jumped slightly, then smiled. the automatic kind. the fake kind. the polite, professional kind that never reached his eyes and was meant for reporters. “just tired.”

neither of you spoke after that. students passed in a blur of motion, streetlights flickered on one by one, and the city grew darker and colder around you. after a while, he leaned his head back against the cold brick wall and closed his eyes, his breathing heavy.

and for the first time in months, he looked his age. not a future olympic star, not an athlete, not a headline—just keonho, eighteen, exhausted, and human.

your chest hurt immediately—a sharp, ridiculous ache. it was unfair how much you loved him. you wanted to reach out, take his hand, and tell him he didn’t have to be extraordinary when he was with you, but you didn’t.

he wanted to ask you to stay right there beside him forever, to stop the clock from moving, but he didn’t.

that was the ultimate problem—you both kept choosing later, assuming the world would wait for you. it wasn’t going to.

you figured that out the hard way, because three months before graduation, the articles finally flooded the internet like a tidal wave: ahn keonho signs with major management company. olympic prospects. young swimming sensation rumored to be preparing overseas training.

you stared at your phone screen in the quiet of your bedroom, your heart sinking straight into your stomach, because he hadn’t told you a single word about it. not yet.

you convinced yourself he was just waiting for the right moment, that he would tell you after practice, but he didn’t—not because he wanted to hide it from you, but because the reality of it made every conversation feel impossible.

how do you tell the girl who knows your real laugh that you’re moving across an ocean?

suddenly, the calendar bled out. there were only two weeks left, then one, then three short days, and the silence between you was growing heavier than the pool water.

the night before graduation, you found him in the school gym. it was empty, dark, and completely silent—the same place everything had started. he was sitting in your usual spot on the bleachers.

you sat cross-legged beside him. for a long time, neither of you spoke.

“you’re leaving.” it wasn’t a question.

he nodded. “yeah.”

you stared ahead at the court. “okay.”

it was a pathetic, devastating word, because what you actually wanted to say was ’don’t go’, and what he wanted to say was ’come with me’, but neither happened.

“i watched your first practice here,” he said quietly into the dark.

you laughed softly. “that sounds creepy.”

“it probably was.”

“definitely was.”

he smiled, looking out at the court. “you were terrible.”

your jaw dropped. “i was not!”

“you missed, like, seven serves.”

“it was one serve.”

“it was seven.”

“it was one!”

the argument felt familiar, comfortable, and warm—the kind of conversation you only have with someone who matters, someone you’ve loved for years, and someone you’re about to lose.

the realization hit both of you at the same time. the laughter faded, and the heavy silence returned while rain began tapping against the windows outside.

keonho swallowed. you noticed, because you always noticed. his hand was resting on the bleacher between you, and your hand was only inches away—just inches. your skin practically buzzed from the proximity, the heat of him right there, but it was a distance neither of you crossed.

“you’ll do well,” his voice was incredibly quiet, almost swallowed by the sound of the storm outside.

“so will you.”

another pause.

“i’m going to miss watching your games,” he admitted.

you looked down at your knees, blinking rapidly because if you looked at him now, you might cry. “i’m going to miss your stupid texts.”

a laugh escaped him, small and broken. “those were good texts.”

“they were terrible.”

“they were excellent, because they made you laugh.”

the rain grew louder, but neither of you moved. neither of you left, and neither of you confessed, because somehow a confession felt too small for what existed between you.

love wasn’t the problem; you were already there. the problem was timing, distance, fame, and the entire world standing between two teenagers.

eventually, he stood up. his joints popped slightly in the quiet gym, a harsh, grounding sound that meant time was up. you stood too, and the gym suddenly felt enormous—too much space, too much air, too much ending.

he looked at you—really looked at you, his pretty eyes hidden slightly under his bangs, as though trying to memorize every detail. and you realized, helplessly, that was exactly what he was doing—memorising the shape of your smile, the curve of your eyes, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. everything.

he reached out, his hand hovering for a fraction of a second like he might actually touch your cheek, trace the line of your jaw, do something. your breath hitched. but his fingers just twitched, dropping back to his side as he clenched his fist into his pocket.

“good luck,” your voice cracked, small and pathetic.

he nodded once, his throat bobbing as he swallowed down whatever else he wanted to say. “you too.”

then he turned and left.

he didn’t look back. you watched his back—the broad slope of his shoulders under his dark hoodie, the heavy swing of his swimming bag—as he walked toward the double doors. the click of the latch echoed like a gunshot in the empty space. and then he was gone.

just like that. no confession, no kiss, no dramatic movie ending. just a boy walking out of a gym, and a girl left standing there, looking at the empty doorway like he was still something extraordinary.

you hated it—you hated him. you loved him so much.

years passed, and the world outside that gym caught fire. your volleyball career exploded, but his swimming career became an absolute monolith.

by nineteen, keonho wasn’t just a boy who smelled like chlorine anymore; he was a brand. he was a national asset.

the change was dizzying to watch from a distance. suddenly, you couldn’t walk into a convenience store without seeing his face plastered over billboard advertisements for luxury watches, sports drinks, and skincare lines. he had stylists who tamed his messy hair that you loved, managers who curated his public captions, and media trainers who taught him exactly how to smile for the flashing cameras without actually revealing anything at all. you realised you hadn’t seen him actually smile for years now.

his world became hyper-curated, clinical, and completely suffocating. every interview was a rehearsed script. “i’m just focusing on the upcoming trials,” he’d say into a cluster of microphones, his eyes blank and polite. “i owe everything to my coaches and the fans.”

you hated those interviews. you hated them because his smile appeared too late and disappeared the moment the camera panned away. you knew the exact cadence of his real laugh—the raw, head-tipping-back kind that made you laugh too—and you never heard it on television. not once. never after high school ended.

sometimes journalists asked him about high school memories, trying to find a human angle for their articles. he’d mention volleyball—only volleyball, every single time. “there was a great energy in the school sports department,” he’d tell a reporter, keeping his voice perfectly level. “the volleyball team trained right next to us. it kept me motivated.” the internet went wild trying to decode it. rumors flew quickly across forums—was he dating a volleyball player? did he have a secret first love? but he never dropped a name, never gave them a single crumb to follow. people never understood why he was so fiercely protective of that one specific, mundane detail of his youth.

neither of you explained.

at twenty-three, you sat cross-legged on a hotel bed halfway across the world, your laptop screen illuminating the dark room. your own team had a major match the next day, but you were wide awake, watching him stand on an international podium.

the arena was deafening, and you could hear it thrugh the screen itself. thousands of people were screaming his name, waving banners with his face on them, camera flashes exploding like miniature stars in the arena.

he had a gold medal heavy around his neck, flowers in his arms, and the entire world looking at him with absolute adoration. and all you could think, your chest aching immediately with a ridiculous, familiar pain, was that he was still biting the inside of his cheek. right there on global television, surrounded by endless applause, his jaw was tight, his teeth catching the inner lining of his mouth.

he was terrified and exhausted. and some habits never changed.

that same night, oceans away, keonho sat in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. his phone buzzed in his palm; not with a text, but with a google alert—an article about your team winning a major championship.

there was a photo attached: your hair was messy from practice, your face flushed, a heavy trophy raised high above your head as you laughed with your teammates. you looked pretty when you were tired… which was completely unfair.

he stared at the screen for a long time as the driver silently navigated midnight traffic.

his thumb hovered over the keyboard, ’congratulations’: fifteen simple letters. he typed it out. his thumb shook slightly above the send button. but then his screen flashed with a notification from his head manager, reminding him of a 6:00 AM press conference and a commercial shoot. the corporate machine waiting to swallow him whole the second the sun came up.

he looked back at your photo. you looked so bright, so grounded, so entirely untouched by the artificial gold cage he lived in.

he deleted the text.

he never sent it, not because he didn’t want to, but because he wasn’t sure if reopening that door would save him—or completely destroy the one pure, quiet thing he had left.years later, people would say ahn keonho had everything—fame, success, medals, recognition. and maybe they were right. but sometimes, late at night, after the endless applause died down and the managers left him alone in an empty luxury apartment, he’d remember a nearly empty school gym. a girl laughing beside him, pen ink smudged against her hand, and a distance of just a few inches that he had been too afraid to cross.

he’d wonder, for the rest of his life, whether the greatest thing he ever lost was never actually his to lose. while somewhere else in the world, sitting in the quiet of your own room, you’d wonder the exact same thing.

⌣ ﹒ ୨ৎ ﹕an. hey so 😂😂😂😂😂 i cried. like a fucking baby. ⠀·⠀⠀also this reminded me 2521 sb i want to cry all over again 😁

⌣ ﹒ ୨ৎ ﹕tl. @jjuhyeons @miisoluvsdeer @its-vante @angelyseo @sailuvsu @sevvycoer @chbq2 @miseulsoup @bananabread785 @sstrawbxrry @pbananalover @griinspire @lcvehyeon @stxrrymarsz @ilovegojosatoru13 @lunaryoongie @aphantassia @teacuplps @marsgirltyshi @qngelical @thesvxntyb @mxddi3-the-mnm-lover @nic-andhisfics @yatta-exe @sw4gprinc3ss @casszzzii @mareliio @whitefang1919 @hollyoongs @haezki @enhaha94 @lurvno @mercilessasylumoracle @mershyjershy @eunjjx @one-chance-pls @r0ckst4rjk @letterstohyeon @yaksokhay @rixieisfreaky @simpqueen2025 @hiitzstar @sese-blurbs

( 🪽 ) —— thank you for reading till the end! <3 wanna be tagged in the next part? comment or send me an ask!