Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : you have done a lot of embarrassing things as a fan, but accidentally posting your own face on myung jaehyun's account might just top the list...
۶ৎ pairing : jaehyun x illit's 6th member!reader ۶ৎ genre(s) : smau, fluff ۶ৎ warning(s) : profanities, random timestamps ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა reader is jungkook's little sister, both lowk down bad for each other
۶ৎ A/N : hihi guys! this is my first ever smau oneshot! I honestly think it's pretty bad so I might delete this in a few days 😭 but I'll see how well it does first... 🥹I hope you still enjoy this nonetheless! (especially since I haven't posted in almost two whole months....)
𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your best friend, lee sanghyeok, rewrites school history by winning the final game for your university. but that’s not what matters to him, because impressing you is way more important than glory and victory.
⠀ genre college au, best friends to potential lovers, fluff
⠀ contains attempted basketball lingo, sweaty athletes. disclaimer i am not a basketball player, nor have i watched a game before, and i only researched lightly so forgive me if things do not make sense!
⠀ notes HOOO HIATUS WHO??? I AM POSSESSED BY SOME KIND OF THING AFTER READING A FEW FICS so go thank the authornims who fueled something in me to FINALLY finish the request that has been brewing since july...2025. yea sue me but i hope you love this fic hehe! my first 2026 fic, and comeback to blr i suppose? anyways please leave feedback and reblog, as always, mwah! (stream boynextdoor live album)
ᅠ ＞︿ please leave feedbacks & reblog
◁ II ▷ from the start (laufey), soft spot (keshi), get in the ring (max), clueless (regina song), her (JVKE ft. annika wells), cherry blossom (dept, ashley alisha, sonny zero), love, maybe (secret number), say (keshi)
YOU were incredibly nervous, but this wasn’t even your game to play.
You got here quite early, managing to beat the long line of people outside of the indoor stadium. But you found yourself lingering between the first and second row closest to the court, unsure where to place yourself. You kept on adjusting the way the strap of your bag sits on your shoulder, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt.
Finally, you settled and chose to sit in the first row, at the very edge. As you sat, and watched as the indoor stadium began to fill up with students from both KOZ University and Belift University, you muttered a little prayer that you had chosen a good seat and would get a nice view of the game.
You glanced at the wristwatch you were wearing.
Ten minutes until the game starts.
You took your phone out, wanting to do some doomscrolling to pass time. But you couldn’t stop staring at the notification you’d been stalling to open.
It was from your best friend himself.
You’d never not open his messages unless you were sleeping or just having an anti-social kind of day. But this was different. Nothing like he’d ever sent before.
this game is for you.
Those were Sanghyeok’s last words to you before he left to join his team earlier.
You kept your smartphone back into your purse, zipping it securely.
THE game started loud and it never—not even once—slowed down.
From the start, it was never like any other basketball matches you had ever watched. You knew it wasn’t like the other games, as this was the KOZ-Belift final that everyone had been anticipating for the entire season. But you didn’t expect it to be… like this.
Bodies collided, sneakers screaming across the polished floor, elbows fighting for space below the rim.
Belift scored first.
Then again.
You gripped the edge of your seat, knuckles white.
Then from the corner—a three-point that pulled a roar from Belift’s side so loud it made your ears ring.
“Belift striking early!” the commentator announced. “These boys aren’t here to play nice tonight.”
They definitely weren’t.
You saw him—Sanghyeok, the man who flashed you a smile when he spotted you before the game began—hitting the floor three minutes into the game, sliding on his shoulder after a charge (an offensive foul). You felt yourself getting up from your seat, eyes widened, but he had already pushed himself back up, waving off help. Jaw tight. He didn’t even look at the referee, demanding a fair decision like his teammates—he looked at the scoreboard.
Your eyes followed suit.
KOZ missed twice in a row. Then turned it over. Then missed again.
The band of Belift students got louder with every mistake.
Midway through the 20-minute half, the game turned mean. A rebound scramble—a 50/50 fight for the ball—ended with four players on the floor, tangled, and one of them shouting. The whistle blew late. The crowd booed earlier.
“Temper is rising,” the commentator said. “Expected from a rivalry like this!”
You stopped sitting entirely.
By halftime, KOZ was trailing behind by eleven points. The loud never softened—Belift fans smelled blood, KOZ fans shouted opposition like prayers.
As the players headed to the tunnel for the break, Sanghyeok looked up into the stands.
Not around.
Up.
At you.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t mouth anything.
Simply looked.
Then, the second half came. It didn’t feel the same as the one before. This time, the game was tighter, faster, sharper. KOZ’s defence pressed full court—intensely putting all their energy into their defence strategy. Ball passes snapped through instead of floating in the air. A steal then turned into a dunk that shook the backboard, bringing back life into the KOZ side of the stadium.
“There it is!” the commentator shouted. “KOZ has awakened!”
Belift—players and fans alike–started arguing with the referee. KOZ began to feel the spirit in their bones.
Your heart thumped louder than the roars echoing through the stadium.
THE scoreboard glowed, harsh. A warning.
KOZ 68 — BELIFT 69.
Two minutes left.
The entire arena was on its feet—no one was sitting anymore, and everywhere you looked, people were just walls of bodies and colour and sound pressed together. You could feel the vibration of stomping shoes through the metal bleachers, your fingers locked around the railing in front of you, knuckles the palest they’ve ever been.
The roars, chants, and cheers didn’t sound like noise anymore. It was pressure.
Sanghyeok wiped his forearm across his face at the freethrow line, sweat dripping off his chin. Even from here, you could recognise the way he breathed when he was focused—chest rising sharply, breath out slow.
The same kind of breath he did before exams. Before those times he smiled at you weirdly and never finished what he meant to say.
The commentator’s voice boomed through the speakers ahead.
“KOZ has fought their way back up from their twelve-point deficit—but Belift is still holding on strong! And now, all our eyes are on KOZ player Lee Sanghyeok!”
The Belift student section booed loud, but KOZ’s side answered with a thunderous chant.
LEE! SANG! HYEOK!
You mouthed the cheer with them, your voice somehow not finding its way out.
Then he looked up.
Not at the basket first, aiming for his score.
He was finding someone in the stands.
You.
Your breath caught when his eyes met yours. His mouth curved slightly—not a smile, really—but it was that same look he once gave you when he shouted that it was your birthday in the cafeteria and invited everyone to sing for you. Reckless, brave, but then pretended it was nothing.
The whistle blew.
He turned back to the game.
Shot the free throw.
Swish.
It tied the game.
The arena detonated into one of the loudest roars of the day.
“Devoured!” the commentator shouted into the speakers. “That’s twenty-seven for Lee!”
Belift played the ball, inbounding fast. Too fast. Their guard rushed hard down the lane. Bodies collided again. Shoes shrieked against the polished wooden floor.
A crash under the basket.
Players hit the floor.
The whistle screamed loud above the chaos of the stands.
“Offensive foul! He took the charge!” the commentator barked. “KOZ ball!”
The KOZ section exploded. Sanghyeok slapped the floor as he jumped up, shouting something that you couldn’t hear but felt in your ribs.
1:21 minutes left.
“KOZ has flipped the table here!” the commentator said. “Belift is rattled.”
KOZ pushed the ball upcourt. Pass. Wing. Corner. Back to Sanghyeok at the top. A defender, taller Nishimura, glued to his chest. Another Belift player right behind.
You never really fully understood basketball, but you knew they were trapping Sanghyeok.
Then, he pivoted. Did a pump fake, and the defender jumped.
Sanghyeok’s eyes sharpened to the basket.
A drive.
He came into contact with another defender, Sim Jake. Hard—shoulder to ribs—but he forced through it, lifting his shot high up.
It dropped. Clean.
“And the bucket counts! AND ONE!”
The whistle followed the deafening cheers like thunder after lightning.
You didn’t realise you were yelling too, until your throat hurt.
Sanghyeok hit the floor, slid, and popped right back up. He lifted his head, looking at the stands, but this time, there was no mistaking it. No doubt at all.
He tapped his chest once, then pointed. Once. Quick and subtle, but clear enough for you to notice.
Straight to your section, right at you.
A message.
Your heart stuttered so hard you felt it in your throat.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 69.
58 seconds left, and Belift gave three net snaps. Three perfect scores. Silence took over KOZ’s side.
The commentator said something along the lines of the rivalry bringing out cold blood between the teams, but you didn’t hear it properly. Not anymore.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 72.
The coach called KOZ for a timeout.
The arena was quickly engulfed by a storm of voices. Both bands played too loud. People talked over each other, strangers grabbing each other’s shoulders. You sat in the middle, frozen, unsure what to feel. Pulse racing in your ears.
On the court, Sanghyeok bent with the rest of his teammates, hands on knees, listening to their coach. You watched without a word, without a thought running through your head. You simply couldn’t take your eyes off him.
At the last second before the game resumed, he looked up. Right at you.
He said something you couldn’t hear.
But you read it off his lips.
I’ll do it. Watch me.
0:32
KOZ’s ball.
“They’re clearing the floor,” announced the commentator. “This is it. They’re giving it up for Lee.”
The clock was against all of them.
Sanghyeok began by dribbling at the top. The defender crouched low to match his level.
Ten seconds.
Cross.
Spin.
He stepped back.
The defender’s hand was in his face. But he did it anyway—the shot flying high, arching impossibly…
Time didn’t feel real.
Net.
Swish.
The roar that followed didn’t even process in your brain.
“HE HITS IT! LEE SANGHYEOK DOES IT AGAIN!”
0:11
Belift was rushing now. They shot up. Missed.
Rebound tipped. Loose. Bodies diving. Sneakers skidding. Sanghyeok slid across the floor and trapped the ball against his chest like it mattered more than air.
Foul.
Whistle.
Free throws.
“Belift had one last chance,” the commentator said, breathless. “And Lee just ripped it away.”
He stood at the line again.
The Belift side of the arena tried to break his focus: screaming, stomping, shaking thundersticks.
But Sanghyeok wasn’t looking.
Not even at the basket.
He was looking at you. Again.
Though, he actually looked this time.
It felt different. It was just you and him, no distance, no crowd.
His lips moved in words so clear you almost heard him.
For you.
He shot it.
Perfect in.
Then, came the second shoot.
Good.
KOZ 76 — BELIFT 72
3 seconds left and Belift was desperate, gasping for one last chance.
Miss.
Then the buzzer came off.
Everyone exploded. Bodies flooded the court, KOZ students vaulting the barriers. Teammates tackled Sanghyeok in waves of blue and yellow.
The commentator’s voice drowned into the laughter and shouting.
“KOZ TAKES THE RIVALRY GAME IN VICTORY! REMEMBER THIS DAY, FOLKS, REMEMBER THEIR NAME!”
You just realised you were crying and laughing at the same time, relief and pride washing over you.
Down on the court, Sanghyeok twisted enough to look toward the stands one last time.
He found you. Even through the chaos, like he always did.
THE court dissolved into waves of people. Students broke through the barriers—banners, flags, painted faces, strangers screaming into strangers’ shoulders. The band was still playing, but it sounded wonky and weak now, swallowed by human noise. Someone nearly knocked you down rushing past, and someone else grabbed you by the arm and celebrated the score with you like you hadn’t just witnessed it live.
KOZ had won.
KOZ had actually won.
Your eyes burned before you even realised why.
This was your university’s first win after three consecutive years. And now, you all won bragging rights for the rest of the year.
You watched everything with blurry vision. How the security gave up pretending to control anything. How the floor was now a blur of team colours and camera flashes and jumping bodies.
But you didn’t see Sanghyeok anywhere.
A slight panic shot through you, cutting through the euphoria.
Then you saw the jersey number through the crowd.
He was half-lifted, half-dragged by his teammates, silver hair plastered to his forehead, grin wide and disbelieving. Someone dumped water over his head. He spluttered, laughed, shoved them off, then turned in a circle like he was finding something.
Someone.
He stepped away from the celebration, ruffling his damp hair.
For you.
It took him three and a half tries to break free from the chaos—ducked under an arm, slid between photographers, and barely dodged another jumping-in-circles situation.
Then he saw you at the edge of the court.
Everything about his face changed.
Relief broke through in a smile. Softer at first, then lighter.
He ran towards you, jogging the last few steps. He was breathless, eyes electric. His skin shone with sweat, hair dripping with water at the edges, jersey clinging to his body.
Your breath got stuck in your lungs.
Up close, he was… unreal. Like he was moving at game-speed, and the rest of the world lagged and blurred behind him.
“Hey,” he said casually, like you two were meeting up at the crosswalk. Like he hadn’t just written new school history. Like he hadn’t just… did whatever he did earlier in the game.
“How’d I do?”
Your mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
You didn’t have an answer.
Your throat closed up, betraying you in the moment when you needed it most. Your ears still rang from the leftover pride and thrill of watching the last shoot leave his hands. You laughed instead of answering him, wiping under your eyes with the heel of your palm, embarrassed that it was wet.
“You–” you tried. “You were–”
Of course, even your words failed you.
But he waited. Didn’t joke. Didn’t grin it off or helped move on to a new topic.
“Amazing. You were amazing,” you managed, finally.
His head tilted slightly. His grin was smaller now. Hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The noise faded around the two of you. The chants, the celebration, the band still playing—it all felt far away, like rain outside of a window.
Sanghyeok rocked once on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets that weren’t there on his basketball shorts. His hands fell to his side, awkward.
He was nervous. You could see it, now that his in-game persona was turned off.
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around for a moment.
“Cool,” he said. “Yeah. Very. Thanks. I mean, good. Yeah. Good that you think that. Oh, and um, thanks, again.”
You didn’t know what to say to that.
A beat.
It came fast, like he was afraid his courage would run out before he could finish his sentence.
“Amazing enough to take you out tonight?”
Everything in you simply stopped. Every organ in your body forgot how to function. For a second.
“You… just won our school the biggest game in three years,” you breathed. A slightly broken laugh that went under your breath, overwhelmed, teary, victorious—everything colliding into one.
Sanghyeok had this tiny hopeful streak in his eyes. “Yeah. And? I should celebrate properly.”
“With rest. Sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“With you,” he corrected instantly. Softer.
That was it.
You finally gave up ignoring it.
You stepped forward and hugged him—hard—not caring that he was all gross and sweaty, soaked with Gatorade and victory. He froze for the slightest second, surprised.
Then his arms wrapped around you just as tight, like he’d been holding back for longer than you thought he did.
You could feel his heart racing against yours.
“So, um,” he said into your hair, “is that a yes, or should I try again next season?”
You pulled back, smiling through the last of your tears. This idiot.
“Yes it is,” you shook your head fondly. “But don’t ask again and make it weird. I might take it back.”
“Hey!” Sanghyeok laughed, “No take backsies!”
You raised a brow at him.
His shoulders slumped slightly. “Fine. It was already weird.”
“It was.”
“Worth it?”
You looked at him—really looked—at the pride, the exhaustion, the disbelief, the hope, and the pure happiness on his face.
𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your best friend, lee sanghyeok, rewrites school history by winning the final game for your university. but that’s not what matters to him, because impressing you is way more important than glory and victory.
⠀ genre college au, best friends to potential lovers, fluff
⠀ contains attempted basketball lingo, sweaty athletes. disclaimer i am not a basketball player, nor have i watched a game before, and i only researched lightly so forgive me if things do not make sense!
⠀ notes HOOO HIATUS WHO??? I AM POSSESSED BY SOME KIND OF THING AFTER READING A FEW FICS so go thank the authornims who fueled something in me to FINALLY finish the request that has been brewing since july...2025. yea sue me but i hope you love this fic hehe! my first 2026 fic, and comeback to blr i suppose? anyways please leave feedback and reblog, as always, mwah! (stream boynextdoor live album)
ᅠ ＞︿ please leave feedbacks & reblog
◁ II ▷ from the start (laufey), soft spot (keshi), get in the ring (max), clueless (regina song), her (JVKE ft. annika wells), cherry blossom (dept, ashley alisha, sonny zero), love, maybe (secret number), say (keshi)
YOU were incredibly nervous, but this wasn’t even your game to play.
You got here quite early, managing to beat the long line of people outside of the indoor stadium. But you found yourself lingering between the first and second row closest to the court, unsure where to place yourself. You kept on adjusting the way the strap of your bag sits on your shoulder, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt.
Finally, you settled and chose to sit in the first row, at the very edge. As you sat, and watched as the indoor stadium began to fill up with students from both KOZ University and Belift University, you muttered a little prayer that you had chosen a good seat and would get a nice view of the game.
You glanced at the wristwatch you were wearing.
Ten minutes until the game starts.
You took your phone out, wanting to do some doomscrolling to pass time. But you couldn’t stop staring at the notification you’d been stalling to open.
It was from your best friend himself.
You’d never not open his messages unless you were sleeping or just having an anti-social kind of day. But this was different. Nothing like he’d ever sent before.
this game is for you.
Those were Sanghyeok’s last words to you before he left to join his team earlier.
You kept your smartphone back into your purse, zipping it securely.
THE game started loud and it never—not even once—slowed down.
From the start, it was never like any other basketball matches you had ever watched. You knew it wasn’t like the other games, as this was the KOZ-Belift final that everyone had been anticipating for the entire season. But you didn’t expect it to be… like this.
Bodies collided, sneakers screaming across the polished floor, elbows fighting for space below the rim.
Belift scored first.
Then again.
You gripped the edge of your seat, knuckles white.
Then from the corner—a three-point that pulled a roar from Belift’s side so loud it made your ears ring.
“Belift striking early!” the commentator announced. “These boys aren’t here to play nice tonight.”
They definitely weren’t.
You saw him—Sanghyeok, the man who flashed you a smile when he spotted you before the game began—hitting the floor three minutes into the game, sliding on his shoulder after a charge (an offensive foul). You felt yourself getting up from your seat, eyes widened, but he had already pushed himself back up, waving off help. Jaw tight. He didn’t even look at the referee, demanding a fair decision like his teammates—he looked at the scoreboard.
Your eyes followed suit.
KOZ missed twice in a row. Then turned it over. Then missed again.
The band of Belift students got louder with every mistake.
Midway through the 20-minute half, the game turned mean. A rebound scramble—a 50/50 fight for the ball—ended with four players on the floor, tangled, and one of them shouting. The whistle blew late. The crowd booed earlier.
“Temper is rising,” the commentator said. “Expected from a rivalry like this!”
You stopped sitting entirely.
By halftime, KOZ was trailing behind by eleven points. The loud never softened—Belift fans smelled blood, KOZ fans shouted opposition like prayers.
As the players headed to the tunnel for the break, Sanghyeok looked up into the stands.
Not around.
Up.
At you.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t mouth anything.
Simply looked.
Then, the second half came. It didn’t feel the same as the one before. This time, the game was tighter, faster, sharper. KOZ’s defence pressed full court—intensely putting all their energy into their defence strategy. Ball passes snapped through instead of floating in the air. A steal then turned into a dunk that shook the backboard, bringing back life into the KOZ side of the stadium.
“There it is!” the commentator shouted. “KOZ has awakened!”
Belift—players and fans alike–started arguing with the referee. KOZ began to feel the spirit in their bones.
Your heart thumped louder than the roars echoing through the stadium.
THE scoreboard glowed, harsh. A warning.
KOZ 68 — BELIFT 69.
Two minutes left.
The entire arena was on its feet—no one was sitting anymore, and everywhere you looked, people were just walls of bodies and colour and sound pressed together. You could feel the vibration of stomping shoes through the metal bleachers, your fingers locked around the railing in front of you, knuckles the palest they’ve ever been.
The roars, chants, and cheers didn’t sound like noise anymore. It was pressure.
Sanghyeok wiped his forearm across his face at the freethrow line, sweat dripping off his chin. Even from here, you could recognise the way he breathed when he was focused—chest rising sharply, breath out slow.
The same kind of breath he did before exams. Before those times he smiled at you weirdly and never finished what he meant to say.
The commentator’s voice boomed through the speakers ahead.
“KOZ has fought their way back up from their twelve-point deficit—but Belift is still holding on strong! And now, all our eyes are on KOZ player Lee Sanghyeok!”
The Belift student section booed loud, but KOZ’s side answered with a thunderous chant.
LEE! SANG! HYEOK!
You mouthed the cheer with them, your voice somehow not finding its way out.
Then he looked up.
Not at the basket first, aiming for his score.
He was finding someone in the stands.
You.
Your breath caught when his eyes met yours. His mouth curved slightly—not a smile, really—but it was that same look he once gave you when he shouted that it was your birthday in the cafeteria and invited everyone to sing for you. Reckless, brave, but then pretended it was nothing.
The whistle blew.
He turned back to the game.
Shot the free throw.
Swish.
It tied the game.
The arena detonated into one of the loudest roars of the day.
“Devoured!” the commentator shouted into the speakers. “That’s twenty-seven for Lee!”
Belift played the ball, inbounding fast. Too fast. Their guard rushed hard down the lane. Bodies collided again. Shoes shrieked against the polished wooden floor.
A crash under the basket.
Players hit the floor.
The whistle screamed loud above the chaos of the stands.
“Offensive foul! He took the charge!” the commentator barked. “KOZ ball!”
The KOZ section exploded. Sanghyeok slapped the floor as he jumped up, shouting something that you couldn’t hear but felt in your ribs.
1:21 minutes left.
“KOZ has flipped the table here!” the commentator said. “Belift is rattled.”
KOZ pushed the ball upcourt. Pass. Wing. Corner. Back to Sanghyeok at the top. A defender, taller Nishimura, glued to his chest. Another Belift player right behind.
You never really fully understood basketball, but you knew they were trapping Sanghyeok.
Then, he pivoted. Did a pump fake, and the defender jumped.
Sanghyeok’s eyes sharpened to the basket.
A drive.
He came into contact with another defender, Sim Jake. Hard—shoulder to ribs—but he forced through it, lifting his shot high up.
It dropped. Clean.
“And the bucket counts! AND ONE!”
The whistle followed the deafening cheers like thunder after lightning.
You didn’t realise you were yelling too, until your throat hurt.
Sanghyeok hit the floor, slid, and popped right back up. He lifted his head, looking at the stands, but this time, there was no mistaking it. No doubt at all.
He tapped his chest once, then pointed. Once. Quick and subtle, but clear enough for you to notice.
Straight to your section, right at you.
A message.
Your heart stuttered so hard you felt it in your throat.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 69.
58 seconds left, and Belift gave three net snaps. Three perfect scores. Silence took over KOZ’s side.
The commentator said something along the lines of the rivalry bringing out cold blood between the teams, but you didn’t hear it properly. Not anymore.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 72.
The coach called KOZ for a timeout.
The arena was quickly engulfed by a storm of voices. Both bands played too loud. People talked over each other, strangers grabbing each other’s shoulders. You sat in the middle, frozen, unsure what to feel. Pulse racing in your ears.
On the court, Sanghyeok bent with the rest of his teammates, hands on knees, listening to their coach. You watched without a word, without a thought running through your head. You simply couldn’t take your eyes off him.
At the last second before the game resumed, he looked up. Right at you.
He said something you couldn’t hear.
But you read it off his lips.
I’ll do it. Watch me.
0:32
KOZ’s ball.
“They’re clearing the floor,” announced the commentator. “This is it. They’re giving it up for Lee.”
The clock was against all of them.
Sanghyeok began by dribbling at the top. The defender crouched low to match his level.
Ten seconds.
Cross.
Spin.
He stepped back.
The defender’s hand was in his face. But he did it anyway—the shot flying high, arching impossibly…
Time didn’t feel real.
Net.
Swish.
The roar that followed didn’t even process in your brain.
“HE HITS IT! LEE SANGHYEOK DOES IT AGAIN!”
0:11
Belift was rushing now. They shot up. Missed.
Rebound tipped. Loose. Bodies diving. Sneakers skidding. Sanghyeok slid across the floor and trapped the ball against his chest like it mattered more than air.
Foul.
Whistle.
Free throws.
“Belift had one last chance,” the commentator said, breathless. “And Lee just ripped it away.”
He stood at the line again.
The Belift side of the arena tried to break his focus: screaming, stomping, shaking thundersticks.
But Sanghyeok wasn’t looking.
Not even at the basket.
He was looking at you. Again.
Though, he actually looked this time.
It felt different. It was just you and him, no distance, no crowd.
His lips moved in words so clear you almost heard him.
For you.
He shot it.
Perfect in.
Then, came the second shoot.
Good.
KOZ 76 — BELIFT 72
3 seconds left and Belift was desperate, gasping for one last chance.
Miss.
Then the buzzer came off.
Everyone exploded. Bodies flooded the court, KOZ students vaulting the barriers. Teammates tackled Sanghyeok in waves of blue and yellow.
The commentator’s voice drowned into the laughter and shouting.
“KOZ TAKES THE RIVALRY GAME IN VICTORY! REMEMBER THIS DAY, FOLKS, REMEMBER THEIR NAME!”
You just realised you were crying and laughing at the same time, relief and pride washing over you.
Down on the court, Sanghyeok twisted enough to look toward the stands one last time.
He found you. Even through the chaos, like he always did.
THE court dissolved into waves of people. Students broke through the barriers—banners, flags, painted faces, strangers screaming into strangers’ shoulders. The band was still playing, but it sounded wonky and weak now, swallowed by human noise. Someone nearly knocked you down rushing past, and someone else grabbed you by the arm and celebrated the score with you like you hadn’t just witnessed it live.
KOZ had won.
KOZ had actually won.
Your eyes burned before you even realised why.
This was your university’s first win after three consecutive years. And now, you all won bragging rights for the rest of the year.
You watched everything with blurry vision. How the security gave up pretending to control anything. How the floor was now a blur of team colours and camera flashes and jumping bodies.
But you didn’t see Sanghyeok anywhere.
A slight panic shot through you, cutting through the euphoria.
Then you saw the jersey number through the crowd.
He was half-lifted, half-dragged by his teammates, silver hair plastered to his forehead, grin wide and disbelieving. Someone dumped water over his head. He spluttered, laughed, shoved them off, then turned in a circle like he was finding something.
Someone.
He stepped away from the celebration, ruffling his damp hair.
For you.
It took him three and a half tries to break free from the chaos—ducked under an arm, slid between photographers, and barely dodged another jumping-in-circles situation.
Then he saw you at the edge of the court.
Everything about his face changed.
Relief broke through in a smile. Softer at first, then lighter.
He ran towards you, jogging the last few steps. He was breathless, eyes electric. His skin shone with sweat, hair dripping with water at the edges, jersey clinging to his body.
Your breath got stuck in your lungs.
Up close, he was… unreal. Like he was moving at game-speed, and the rest of the world lagged and blurred behind him.
“Hey,” he said casually, like you two were meeting up at the crosswalk. Like he hadn’t just written new school history. Like he hadn’t just… did whatever he did earlier in the game.
“How’d I do?”
Your mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
You didn’t have an answer.
Your throat closed up, betraying you in the moment when you needed it most. Your ears still rang from the leftover pride and thrill of watching the last shoot leave his hands. You laughed instead of answering him, wiping under your eyes with the heel of your palm, embarrassed that it was wet.
“You–” you tried. “You were–”
Of course, even your words failed you.
But he waited. Didn’t joke. Didn’t grin it off or helped move on to a new topic.
“Amazing. You were amazing,” you managed, finally.
His head tilted slightly. His grin was smaller now. Hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The noise faded around the two of you. The chants, the celebration, the band still playing—it all felt far away, like rain outside of a window.
Sanghyeok rocked once on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets that weren’t there on his basketball shorts. His hands fell to his side, awkward.
He was nervous. You could see it, now that his in-game persona was turned off.
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around for a moment.
“Cool,” he said. “Yeah. Very. Thanks. I mean, good. Yeah. Good that you think that. Oh, and um, thanks, again.”
You didn’t know what to say to that.
A beat.
It came fast, like he was afraid his courage would run out before he could finish his sentence.
“Amazing enough to take you out tonight?”
Everything in you simply stopped. Every organ in your body forgot how to function. For a second.
“You… just won our school the biggest game in three years,” you breathed. A slightly broken laugh that went under your breath, overwhelmed, teary, victorious—everything colliding into one.
Sanghyeok had this tiny hopeful streak in his eyes. “Yeah. And? I should celebrate properly.”
“With rest. Sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“With you,” he corrected instantly. Softer.
That was it.
You finally gave up ignoring it.
You stepped forward and hugged him—hard—not caring that he was all gross and sweaty, soaked with Gatorade and victory. He froze for the slightest second, surprised.
Then his arms wrapped around you just as tight, like he’d been holding back for longer than you thought he did.
You could feel his heart racing against yours.
“So, um,” he said into your hair, “is that a yes, or should I try again next season?”
You pulled back, smiling through the last of your tears. This idiot.
“Yes it is,” you shook your head fondly. “But don’t ask again and make it weird. I might take it back.”
“Hey!” Sanghyeok laughed, “No take backsies!”
You raised a brow at him.
His shoulders slumped slightly. “Fine. It was already weird.”
“It was.”
“Worth it?”
You looked at him—really looked—at the pride, the exhaustion, the disbelief, the hope, and the pure happiness on his face.
please do not donate any money to send trucks to hybe, to put up signs/billboards (i'm like 90% sure everyone is over raising money right now but who knows), and please do not go out in public to protest.
protest ICE instead, donate to families in palestine/sudan/congo/etc who actually need the money. i want heeseung back as the next person but it's actually insane to watch people push aside actual real world issues for kpop.
make posts about heeseung, spread around the petition, and financially boycott the company all you want— those are things everyone can do, but not everyone is able to donate or go out to protests. if you're able to do those things please put it towards something that's effecting everyone and not just the kpop sphere lol
our favorite kpop boy is leaving the group yes that's sad, yes. and we are speaking agaisnt an evil company who works their artists like slaves, yeah we should!
but you know what, seeing all these people collect 2 million plus petition votes and literally donating so much money for trucks and going on in person protests, not only in korea but also abroad is genuinely kind of confusing...
because you see the real world problems are way bigger than this i promise you. while we are fighting for a fully established grown man with privileges, i think we should keep those without any privileges in our minds first. there are thousands of people dying in this world everyday, thousands of children are being neglected and women being taken advantage of. those are real problems to actually think about.
so please, when you are raising your voice for a kpop issue please raise it louder for the actual world problems at hand, which actually harms people to this day 🙏
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
seeing ot6 gcs already made on x and people genuinely thinking that they’re better by being ot6 and being hee antis even going as far as to make disgusting comments towards heeseung is so jarring because it hasn’t even been a week since he left and you’d think these people have hated him for years atp. mind you this is the same guy that did everything in his might to be a good hyung to all his members and always stepped up for them but the second the company paints him in a bad light everyone believes that he’s selfish like yeah let’s forget all about his six years of hard work as enha’s eldest and believe what the same company that has been mistreating them and treating them like robots has to say this makes total sense
𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your best friend, lee sanghyeok, rewrites school history by winning the final game for your university. but that’s not what matters to him, because impressing you is way more important than glory and victory.
⠀ genre college au, best friends to potential lovers, fluff
⠀ contains attempted basketball lingo, sweaty athletes. disclaimer i am not a basketball player, nor have i watched a game before, and i only researched lightly so forgive me if things do not make sense!
⠀ notes HOOO HIATUS WHO??? I AM POSSESSED BY SOME KIND OF THING AFTER READING A FEW FICS so go thank the authornims who fueled something in me to FINALLY finish the request that has been brewing since july...2025. yea sue me but i hope you love this fic hehe! my first 2026 fic, and comeback to blr i suppose? anyways please leave feedback and reblog, as always, mwah! (stream boynextdoor live album)
ᅠ ＞︿ please leave feedbacks & reblog
◁ II ▷ from the start (laufey), soft spot (keshi), get in the ring (max), clueless (regina song), her (JVKE ft. annika wells), cherry blossom (dept, ashley alisha, sonny zero), love, maybe (secret number), say (keshi)
YOU were incredibly nervous, but this wasn’t even your game to play.
You got here quite early, managing to beat the long line of people outside of the indoor stadium. But you found yourself lingering between the first and second row closest to the court, unsure where to place yourself. You kept on adjusting the way the strap of your bag sits on your shoulder, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt.
Finally, you settled and chose to sit in the first row, at the very edge. As you sat, and watched as the indoor stadium began to fill up with students from both KOZ University and Belift University, you muttered a little prayer that you had chosen a good seat and would get a nice view of the game.
You glanced at the wristwatch you were wearing.
Ten minutes until the game starts.
You took your phone out, wanting to do some doomscrolling to pass time. But you couldn’t stop staring at the notification you’d been stalling to open.
It was from your best friend himself.
You’d never not open his messages unless you were sleeping or just having an anti-social kind of day. But this was different. Nothing like he’d ever sent before.
this game is for you.
Those were Sanghyeok’s last words to you before he left to join his team earlier.
You kept your smartphone back into your purse, zipping it securely.
THE game started loud and it never—not even once—slowed down.
From the start, it was never like any other basketball matches you had ever watched. You knew it wasn’t like the other games, as this was the KOZ-Belift final that everyone had been anticipating for the entire season. But you didn’t expect it to be… like this.
Bodies collided, sneakers screaming across the polished floor, elbows fighting for space below the rim.
Belift scored first.
Then again.
You gripped the edge of your seat, knuckles white.
Then from the corner—a three-point that pulled a roar from Belift’s side so loud it made your ears ring.
“Belift striking early!” the commentator announced. “These boys aren’t here to play nice tonight.”
They definitely weren’t.
You saw him—Sanghyeok, the man who flashed you a smile when he spotted you before the game began—hitting the floor three minutes into the game, sliding on his shoulder after a charge (an offensive foul). You felt yourself getting up from your seat, eyes widened, but he had already pushed himself back up, waving off help. Jaw tight. He didn’t even look at the referee, demanding a fair decision like his teammates—he looked at the scoreboard.
Your eyes followed suit.
KOZ missed twice in a row. Then turned it over. Then missed again.
The band of Belift students got louder with every mistake.
Midway through the 20-minute half, the game turned mean. A rebound scramble—a 50/50 fight for the ball—ended with four players on the floor, tangled, and one of them shouting. The whistle blew late. The crowd booed earlier.
“Temper is rising,” the commentator said. “Expected from a rivalry like this!”
You stopped sitting entirely.
By halftime, KOZ was trailing behind by eleven points. The loud never softened—Belift fans smelled blood, KOZ fans shouted opposition like prayers.
As the players headed to the tunnel for the break, Sanghyeok looked up into the stands.
Not around.
Up.
At you.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t mouth anything.
Simply looked.
Then, the second half came. It didn’t feel the same as the one before. This time, the game was tighter, faster, sharper. KOZ’s defence pressed full court—intensely putting all their energy into their defence strategy. Ball passes snapped through instead of floating in the air. A steal then turned into a dunk that shook the backboard, bringing back life into the KOZ side of the stadium.
“There it is!” the commentator shouted. “KOZ has awakened!”
Belift—players and fans alike–started arguing with the referee. KOZ began to feel the spirit in their bones.
Your heart thumped louder than the roars echoing through the stadium.
THE scoreboard glowed, harsh. A warning.
KOZ 68 — BELIFT 69.
Two minutes left.
The entire arena was on its feet—no one was sitting anymore, and everywhere you looked, people were just walls of bodies and colour and sound pressed together. You could feel the vibration of stomping shoes through the metal bleachers, your fingers locked around the railing in front of you, knuckles the palest they’ve ever been.
The roars, chants, and cheers didn’t sound like noise anymore. It was pressure.
Sanghyeok wiped his forearm across his face at the freethrow line, sweat dripping off his chin. Even from here, you could recognise the way he breathed when he was focused—chest rising sharply, breath out slow.
The same kind of breath he did before exams. Before those times he smiled at you weirdly and never finished what he meant to say.
The commentator’s voice boomed through the speakers ahead.
“KOZ has fought their way back up from their twelve-point deficit—but Belift is still holding on strong! And now, all our eyes are on KOZ player Lee Sanghyeok!”
The Belift student section booed loud, but KOZ’s side answered with a thunderous chant.
LEE! SANG! HYEOK!
You mouthed the cheer with them, your voice somehow not finding its way out.
Then he looked up.
Not at the basket first, aiming for his score.
He was finding someone in the stands.
You.
Your breath caught when his eyes met yours. His mouth curved slightly—not a smile, really—but it was that same look he once gave you when he shouted that it was your birthday in the cafeteria and invited everyone to sing for you. Reckless, brave, but then pretended it was nothing.
The whistle blew.
He turned back to the game.
Shot the free throw.
Swish.
It tied the game.
The arena detonated into one of the loudest roars of the day.
“Devoured!” the commentator shouted into the speakers. “That’s twenty-seven for Lee!”
Belift played the ball, inbounding fast. Too fast. Their guard rushed hard down the lane. Bodies collided again. Shoes shrieked against the polished wooden floor.
A crash under the basket.
Players hit the floor.
The whistle screamed loud above the chaos of the stands.
“Offensive foul! He took the charge!” the commentator barked. “KOZ ball!”
The KOZ section exploded. Sanghyeok slapped the floor as he jumped up, shouting something that you couldn’t hear but felt in your ribs.
1:21 minutes left.
“KOZ has flipped the table here!” the commentator said. “Belift is rattled.”
KOZ pushed the ball upcourt. Pass. Wing. Corner. Back to Sanghyeok at the top. A defender, taller Nishimura, glued to his chest. Another Belift player right behind.
You never really fully understood basketball, but you knew they were trapping Sanghyeok.
Then, he pivoted. Did a pump fake, and the defender jumped.
Sanghyeok’s eyes sharpened to the basket.
A drive.
He came into contact with another defender, Sim Jake. Hard—shoulder to ribs—but he forced through it, lifting his shot high up.
It dropped. Clean.
“And the bucket counts! AND ONE!”
The whistle followed the deafening cheers like thunder after lightning.
You didn’t realise you were yelling too, until your throat hurt.
Sanghyeok hit the floor, slid, and popped right back up. He lifted his head, looking at the stands, but this time, there was no mistaking it. No doubt at all.
He tapped his chest once, then pointed. Once. Quick and subtle, but clear enough for you to notice.
Straight to your section, right at you.
A message.
Your heart stuttered so hard you felt it in your throat.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 69.
58 seconds left, and Belift gave three net snaps. Three perfect scores. Silence took over KOZ’s side.
The commentator said something along the lines of the rivalry bringing out cold blood between the teams, but you didn’t hear it properly. Not anymore.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 72.
The coach called KOZ for a timeout.
The arena was quickly engulfed by a storm of voices. Both bands played too loud. People talked over each other, strangers grabbing each other’s shoulders. You sat in the middle, frozen, unsure what to feel. Pulse racing in your ears.
On the court, Sanghyeok bent with the rest of his teammates, hands on knees, listening to their coach. You watched without a word, without a thought running through your head. You simply couldn’t take your eyes off him.
At the last second before the game resumed, he looked up. Right at you.
He said something you couldn’t hear.
But you read it off his lips.
I’ll do it. Watch me.
0:32
KOZ’s ball.
“They’re clearing the floor,” announced the commentator. “This is it. They’re giving it up for Lee.”
The clock was against all of them.
Sanghyeok began by dribbling at the top. The defender crouched low to match his level.
Ten seconds.
Cross.
Spin.
He stepped back.
The defender’s hand was in his face. But he did it anyway—the shot flying high, arching impossibly…
Time didn’t feel real.
Net.
Swish.
The roar that followed didn’t even process in your brain.
“HE HITS IT! LEE SANGHYEOK DOES IT AGAIN!”
0:11
Belift was rushing now. They shot up. Missed.
Rebound tipped. Loose. Bodies diving. Sneakers skidding. Sanghyeok slid across the floor and trapped the ball against his chest like it mattered more than air.
Foul.
Whistle.
Free throws.
“Belift had one last chance,” the commentator said, breathless. “And Lee just ripped it away.”
He stood at the line again.
The Belift side of the arena tried to break his focus: screaming, stomping, shaking thundersticks.
But Sanghyeok wasn’t looking.
Not even at the basket.
He was looking at you. Again.
Though, he actually looked this time.
It felt different. It was just you and him, no distance, no crowd.
His lips moved in words so clear you almost heard him.
For you.
He shot it.
Perfect in.
Then, came the second shoot.
Good.
KOZ 76 — BELIFT 72
3 seconds left and Belift was desperate, gasping for one last chance.
Miss.
Then the buzzer came off.
Everyone exploded. Bodies flooded the court, KOZ students vaulting the barriers. Teammates tackled Sanghyeok in waves of blue and yellow.
The commentator’s voice drowned into the laughter and shouting.
“KOZ TAKES THE RIVALRY GAME IN VICTORY! REMEMBER THIS DAY, FOLKS, REMEMBER THEIR NAME!”
You just realised you were crying and laughing at the same time, relief and pride washing over you.
Down on the court, Sanghyeok twisted enough to look toward the stands one last time.
He found you. Even through the chaos, like he always did.
THE court dissolved into waves of people. Students broke through the barriers—banners, flags, painted faces, strangers screaming into strangers’ shoulders. The band was still playing, but it sounded wonky and weak now, swallowed by human noise. Someone nearly knocked you down rushing past, and someone else grabbed you by the arm and celebrated the score with you like you hadn’t just witnessed it live.
KOZ had won.
KOZ had actually won.
Your eyes burned before you even realised why.
This was your university’s first win after three consecutive years. And now, you all won bragging rights for the rest of the year.
You watched everything with blurry vision. How the security gave up pretending to control anything. How the floor was now a blur of team colours and camera flashes and jumping bodies.
But you didn’t see Sanghyeok anywhere.
A slight panic shot through you, cutting through the euphoria.
Then you saw the jersey number through the crowd.
He was half-lifted, half-dragged by his teammates, silver hair plastered to his forehead, grin wide and disbelieving. Someone dumped water over his head. He spluttered, laughed, shoved them off, then turned in a circle like he was finding something.
Someone.
He stepped away from the celebration, ruffling his damp hair.
For you.
It took him three and a half tries to break free from the chaos—ducked under an arm, slid between photographers, and barely dodged another jumping-in-circles situation.
Then he saw you at the edge of the court.
Everything about his face changed.
Relief broke through in a smile. Softer at first, then lighter.
He ran towards you, jogging the last few steps. He was breathless, eyes electric. His skin shone with sweat, hair dripping with water at the edges, jersey clinging to his body.
Your breath got stuck in your lungs.
Up close, he was… unreal. Like he was moving at game-speed, and the rest of the world lagged and blurred behind him.
“Hey,” he said casually, like you two were meeting up at the crosswalk. Like he hadn’t just written new school history. Like he hadn’t just… did whatever he did earlier in the game.
“How’d I do?”
Your mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
You didn’t have an answer.
Your throat closed up, betraying you in the moment when you needed it most. Your ears still rang from the leftover pride and thrill of watching the last shoot leave his hands. You laughed instead of answering him, wiping under your eyes with the heel of your palm, embarrassed that it was wet.
“You–” you tried. “You were–”
Of course, even your words failed you.
But he waited. Didn’t joke. Didn’t grin it off or helped move on to a new topic.
“Amazing. You were amazing,” you managed, finally.
His head tilted slightly. His grin was smaller now. Hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The noise faded around the two of you. The chants, the celebration, the band still playing—it all felt far away, like rain outside of a window.
Sanghyeok rocked once on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets that weren’t there on his basketball shorts. His hands fell to his side, awkward.
He was nervous. You could see it, now that his in-game persona was turned off.
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around for a moment.
“Cool,” he said. “Yeah. Very. Thanks. I mean, good. Yeah. Good that you think that. Oh, and um, thanks, again.”
You didn’t know what to say to that.
A beat.
It came fast, like he was afraid his courage would run out before he could finish his sentence.
“Amazing enough to take you out tonight?”
Everything in you simply stopped. Every organ in your body forgot how to function. For a second.
“You… just won our school the biggest game in three years,” you breathed. A slightly broken laugh that went under your breath, overwhelmed, teary, victorious—everything colliding into one.
Sanghyeok had this tiny hopeful streak in his eyes. “Yeah. And? I should celebrate properly.”
“With rest. Sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“With you,” he corrected instantly. Softer.
That was it.
You finally gave up ignoring it.
You stepped forward and hugged him—hard—not caring that he was all gross and sweaty, soaked with Gatorade and victory. He froze for the slightest second, surprised.
Then his arms wrapped around you just as tight, like he’d been holding back for longer than you thought he did.
You could feel his heart racing against yours.
“So, um,” he said into your hair, “is that a yes, or should I try again next season?”
You pulled back, smiling through the last of your tears. This idiot.
“Yes it is,” you shook your head fondly. “But don’t ask again and make it weird. I might take it back.”
“Hey!” Sanghyeok laughed, “No take backsies!”
You raised a brow at him.
His shoulders slumped slightly. “Fine. It was already weird.”
“It was.”
“Worth it?”
You looked at him—really looked—at the pride, the exhaustion, the disbelief, the hope, and the pure happiness on his face.
ᅠ ✿ ᅠ WHERE NO ONE KNOWS ME ──── ᅠ ( lee heeseung )
𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀after a long day of relentless fame, you find yourself in the comfort of a small cosy coffee shop, only to be met with a barista who treats you like any other person. in his quiet kindness, you find something worth living for again𑁋a place to be unknown, and maybe the start of something more.
ᅠ 이희승 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 1.4k ⠀ genre fluff meet cute barista au non idol au ⠀ contains mentions of food ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net
ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ i.. have no idea how i managed to pull this off amidst having like 10 reports to write but i pulled through !! happy birthday @flwrstqr, this is for you !
ᅠ ＞︿ please leave feedbacks & reblog
THE city lights blur around you as you step out of the car, pulling your mask over your face. You sigh, taking in the view around you—everyone is busy with their own lives. Some are walking, hand in hand with their partner; some are on the phone, talking to someone on the other side with no care in the world; and some are enjoying a stroll through the city’s nightlife. Ordinary, simple, tranquil.
And that is all you want.
Your schedule has been busy these past few months—brand deals rushing in like a massive flood, photo shoots every other day, interviews here and there, paparazzi and flashing cameras everywhere you go, people recognising you and taking videos of you anywhere. You didn’t expect it to turn out like this. You didn’t expect that your debut album, filled with songs which lyrics you heartfully wrote and melodies you intricately built, would blow up almost instantly over the course of three weeks. And the hype hasn’t died down, even after six months. It just got bigger and bigger.
It’s not like you don’t like it—your fame is what you rightfully deserve after all the sleepless nights working to make sure your debut is as perfect as possible. But now, you’re tired, and it’s like your life isn’t yours anymore.
You take a deep breath, eyes glued to the café in front of you. It looks cosy, tucked into one of the only quiet streets of the city. The warm glow radiating from its windows pulled your interest. You walk towards its entrance, realising that this place is near your apartment, but you’ve never had the time to visit. Not until now.
You push the café door open, the warm air bursting against your face. You scan the small space—there’s a few customers, but so far, none of them are paying attention to you.
You gulp. You can’t let your guard down just yet.
You approach the register, lowering your cap down as you instinctively prepare to lower your voice—an attempt to mask your well-known identity, even though the entire country already knows who you are just from one look at your eyes.
From the other side of the counter, the barista is cleaning a mug. He looks a little too stylish—perhaps a little too good looking to be working in such a tranquil place. He perks up at your presence, and you immediately look at the name tag pinned against his apron.
Heeseung.
“Welcome,” he says, his smile polite and his voice calm. You narrow your eyes at the black-haired man in front of you.
He didn’t let out any gasp of recognition, and there wasn’t any frantic energy radiating out of him.
You pause.
This is new. This is weird.
“What would you like to order?” he asks, fingers ready to key in your order into the iPad in his hand.
You clear your throat, ordering a drink and a dessert for yourself, your voice steady but alarmingly cautious.
“A caramel latte and a pavlova, please.”
“Alright. Name?”
The world goes silent for a minute. You look around rather anxiously. For a moment, you think everyone’s listening.
“Elle,” you lie.
You watch as Heeseung raises a brow at the way you’re eyeing him, but he doesn’t do anything about it. He keys in whatever you’ve told him, then he nods at you before turning to make your order.
You linger at the counter for quite a while before retreating to a table at the corner of the café, away from everyone else.
It’s weird. Why is he treating you like any other person here? Doesn’t he know who you are?
You sink into your chair, letting the cushions embrace you. You lean against it, letting the exhaustion settle in. The day’s events rush to your head, and it makes you feel like you’re spinning.
And it makes you question Heeseung too.
Every second you’re outside, you have to keep your guard up, in case of anything. You can’t really do what you like, afraid that it’d make you face ridicule. You have to make sure you’re always donned up, and you have to make sure you’re following all of the other ridiculous rules society sets upon you—you never know when people are watching.
But why isn’t Heeseung treating you like everyone else does? Why doesn’t he treat you like you’re the most perfect person on earth? Why isn’t he analysing your every move, waiting for some kind of mistake that he could bring you down with?
“Excuse me,” Heeseung’s voice rings through your ears, and as you eyes flutter open, you don’t realise you’ve been dozing off. He gives you a polite smile, a tray with your drink and your dessert in hand.
“Here’s your order, Elle,” he says, setting down the mug and plate on the table. “Enjoy.”
You sit there, frozen as you don’t know what to do.
Then, as he’s about to turn to leave, the question that’s been lingering around in your head leaves your mouth without you realising. “Do you know who I am?”
Heeseung pauses. “Yeah.”
“Who am I, then?” you ask, and albeit the awkwardness, you meet his eyes.
“You’re Y/N,” he replies, his voice quieter this time.
Your chest tightens.
“Then… why aren’t you acting like everyone else?”
Heeseung gives you a small smile, and you feel goosebumps jolting through your body. “Because you’re you. You’re a celebrity, you’re a talented singer, and you’re beautiful—I admit that. But I don’t see why I have to make you uncomfortable over those facts.”
Your eyes widen, and something begins to stir in your chest.
When you don’t reply, Heeseung’s smile shifts from something more genuine back to his polite, customer-service smile. He turns and walks away, leaving you watching him in a complete daze.
Your heart is hammering against your chest, more violently than you expected it to.
When was the last time someone ever saw you as just a person, not as a celebrity?
You take a glance at Heeseung, who’s back to his work behind the counter. Suddenly, you notice everything—the way his sleeves are rolled up at just the perfect angle, the way his brows furrow when he’s focused on making another drink, and the way his black hair falls on his forehead, and the way he looks just… perfect. Cute, even.
You remember his small smile, and the way it tingles you in a way you’ve never felt before.
Your fingers tighten around the warm mug.
For some reason, this fuzzy feeling that’s filling up your heart feels rare.
You don’t even realise you’ve finished your latte, and that your pavlova is completely devoured. You’re too lost in thought to even realise how much time you’ve spent in the cosy little café.
Quickly, you take your things and pull your mask up to your nose. For some reason, you hesitate as you approach the counter.
But then, some kind of nervous energy rushes through you, and you quickly scribble a note on the napkin you’re holding.
Thanks for your kindness. It made my day.
You hand Heeseung the money, slipping the note with it.
Heeseung immediately notices the napkin. He looks down, his eyes scanning the words.
When he looks back up, your eyes meet, and you give him a small eye smile. “See you next time,” you say softly.
And for the first time in a long while, you actually mean it.
Heeseung watches you walk out the door of his café, the small bell hanging on top of it chiming as the door closes. He leans against the counter, fingers tracing the edge of the folded napkin. Once you’re out of his sight, and the café settles back into its usual rhythm, his focus turns to the note. He unfolds the napkin, his eyes scan the neat handwriting. He chuckles—there’s something just adorable about it.
Thank you for your kindness.
He smiles.
It made my day.
The quiet smile on Heeseung’s lips grows larger. His mind replays the memory of you: how you looked so at peace, sipping the hour away at the corner of the café that he worked hard to establish. He remembers looking at you, and in the midst of admiring how pretty you actually are, he realises that you’re different from what the media made you out to be. Quieter, maybe. Softer. More beautiful, definitely. Less of the dazzling, perfect, and untouchable figure he sees on the billboard everywhere he goes. Instead, you’re more… human.
His gaze flickers to the door, where you stood a few moments ago.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hv u seen the new bnd video where they all went to country side & cosplay as fruits?? TAESAN IN THE CHERRY HEAD WEAR OMGGGG HE SO CUTEEE MY HEART 🥹😭 NEED IT AS PFP ASAP HAHAHA
WAITTT YES! i believe i have seen clips of that what? door! episode (it’s that, isn’t it) and YES SO CUTEEE ! girl istg why didn’t i see this earlier (yes i’m sorry ignore that this ask is from sept ’25)... will make that as a theme soon as i can hehe
hi lili! i love your bnd fics, especially “not that i care or anything” i was wondering if you could write something about basketball player riwoo? (this is based off of that one time he wore that red shohoku jersey he was so fine in that) there isnt a lot of riwoo fics out there and as a riwoo bias im pretty sure i read everything already… thank you for your time i know you might be busy with your other works :)
hi sweet person >< i’m VERY sorry for the late, late reply but here it is! i hope you enjoy the fic, and that you won’t hesitate to come around and request more from me~
𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your best friend, lee sanghyeok, rewrites school history by winning the final game for your university. but that’s not what matters to him, because impressing you is way more important than glory and victory.
⠀ genre college au, best friends to potential lovers, fluff
⠀ contains attempted basketball lingo, sweaty athletes. disclaimer i am not a basketball player, nor have i watched a game before, and i only researched lightly so forgive me if things do not make sense!
⠀ notes HOOO HIATUS WHO??? I AM POSSESSED BY SOME KIND OF THING AFTER READING A FEW FICS so go thank the authornims who fueled something in me to FINALLY finish the request that has been brewing since july...2025. yea sue me but i hope you love this fic hehe! my first 2026 fic, and comeback to blr i suppose? anyways please leave feedback and reblog, as always, mwah! (stream boynextdoor live album)
ᅠ ＞︿ please leave feedbacks & reblog
◁ II ▷ from the start (laufey), soft spot (keshi), get in the ring (max), clueless (regina song), her (JVKE ft. annika wells), cherry blossom (dept, ashley alisha, sonny zero), love, maybe (secret number), say (keshi)
YOU were incredibly nervous, but this wasn’t even your game to play.
You got here quite early, managing to beat the long line of people outside of the indoor stadium. But you found yourself lingering between the first and second row closest to the court, unsure where to place yourself. You kept on adjusting the way the strap of your bag sits on your shoulder, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt.
Finally, you settled and chose to sit in the first row, at the very edge. As you sat, and watched as the indoor stadium began to fill up with students from both KOZ University and Belift University, you muttered a little prayer that you had chosen a good seat and would get a nice view of the game.
You glanced at the wristwatch you were wearing.
Ten minutes until the game starts.
You took your phone out, wanting to do some doomscrolling to pass time. But you couldn’t stop staring at the notification you’d been stalling to open.
It was from your best friend himself.
You’d never not open his messages unless you were sleeping or just having an anti-social kind of day. But this was different. Nothing like he’d ever sent before.
this game is for you.
Those were Sanghyeok’s last words to you before he left to join his team earlier.
You kept your smartphone back into your purse, zipping it securely.
THE game started loud and it never—not even once—slowed down.
From the start, it was never like any other basketball matches you had ever watched. You knew it wasn’t like the other games, as this was the KOZ-Belift final that everyone had been anticipating for the entire season. But you didn’t expect it to be… like this.
Bodies collided, sneakers screaming across the polished floor, elbows fighting for space below the rim.
Belift scored first.
Then again.
You gripped the edge of your seat, knuckles white.
Then from the corner—a three-point that pulled a roar from Belift’s side so loud it made your ears ring.
“Belift striking early!” the commentator announced. “These boys aren’t here to play nice tonight.”
They definitely weren’t.
You saw him—Sanghyeok, the man who flashed you a smile when he spotted you before the game began—hitting the floor three minutes into the game, sliding on his shoulder after a charge (an offensive foul). You felt yourself getting up from your seat, eyes widened, but he had already pushed himself back up, waving off help. Jaw tight. He didn’t even look at the referee, demanding a fair decision like his teammates—he looked at the scoreboard.
Your eyes followed suit.
KOZ missed twice in a row. Then turned it over. Then missed again.
The band of Belift students got louder with every mistake.
Midway through the 20-minute half, the game turned mean. A rebound scramble—a 50/50 fight for the ball—ended with four players on the floor, tangled, and one of them shouting. The whistle blew late. The crowd booed earlier.
“Temper is rising,” the commentator said. “Expected from a rivalry like this!”
You stopped sitting entirely.
By halftime, KOZ was trailing behind by eleven points. The loud never softened—Belift fans smelled blood, KOZ fans shouted opposition like prayers.
As the players headed to the tunnel for the break, Sanghyeok looked up into the stands.
Not around.
Up.
At you.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t mouth anything.
Simply looked.
Then, the second half came. It didn’t feel the same as the one before. This time, the game was tighter, faster, sharper. KOZ’s defence pressed full court—intensely putting all their energy into their defence strategy. Ball passes snapped through instead of floating in the air. A steal then turned into a dunk that shook the backboard, bringing back life into the KOZ side of the stadium.
“There it is!” the commentator shouted. “KOZ has awakened!”
Belift—players and fans alike–started arguing with the referee. KOZ began to feel the spirit in their bones.
Your heart thumped louder than the roars echoing through the stadium.
THE scoreboard glowed, harsh. A warning.
KOZ 68 — BELIFT 69.
Two minutes left.
The entire arena was on its feet—no one was sitting anymore, and everywhere you looked, people were just walls of bodies and colour and sound pressed together. You could feel the vibration of stomping shoes through the metal bleachers, your fingers locked around the railing in front of you, knuckles the palest they’ve ever been.
The roars, chants, and cheers didn’t sound like noise anymore. It was pressure.
Sanghyeok wiped his forearm across his face at the freethrow line, sweat dripping off his chin. Even from here, you could recognise the way he breathed when he was focused—chest rising sharply, breath out slow.
The same kind of breath he did before exams. Before those times he smiled at you weirdly and never finished what he meant to say.
The commentator’s voice boomed through the speakers ahead.
“KOZ has fought their way back up from their twelve-point deficit—but Belift is still holding on strong! And now, all our eyes are on KOZ player Lee Sanghyeok!”
The Belift student section booed loud, but KOZ’s side answered with a thunderous chant.
LEE! SANG! HYEOK!
You mouthed the cheer with them, your voice somehow not finding its way out.
Then he looked up.
Not at the basket first, aiming for his score.
He was finding someone in the stands.
You.
Your breath caught when his eyes met yours. His mouth curved slightly—not a smile, really—but it was that same look he once gave you when he shouted that it was your birthday in the cafeteria and invited everyone to sing for you. Reckless, brave, but then pretended it was nothing.
The whistle blew.
He turned back to the game.
Shot the free throw.
Swish.
It tied the game.
The arena detonated into one of the loudest roars of the day.
“Devoured!” the commentator shouted into the speakers. “That’s twenty-seven for Lee!”
Belift played the ball, inbounding fast. Too fast. Their guard rushed hard down the lane. Bodies collided again. Shoes shrieked against the polished wooden floor.
A crash under the basket.
Players hit the floor.
The whistle screamed loud above the chaos of the stands.
“Offensive foul! He took the charge!” the commentator barked. “KOZ ball!”
The KOZ section exploded. Sanghyeok slapped the floor as he jumped up, shouting something that you couldn’t hear but felt in your ribs.
1:21 minutes left.
“KOZ has flipped the table here!” the commentator said. “Belift is rattled.”
KOZ pushed the ball upcourt. Pass. Wing. Corner. Back to Sanghyeok at the top. A defender, taller Nishimura, glued to his chest. Another Belift player right behind.
You never really fully understood basketball, but you knew they were trapping Sanghyeok.
Then, he pivoted. Did a pump fake, and the defender jumped.
Sanghyeok’s eyes sharpened to the basket.
A drive.
He came into contact with another defender, Sim Jake. Hard—shoulder to ribs—but he forced through it, lifting his shot high up.
It dropped. Clean.
“And the bucket counts! AND ONE!”
The whistle followed the deafening cheers like thunder after lightning.
You didn’t realise you were yelling too, until your throat hurt.
Sanghyeok hit the floor, slid, and popped right back up. He lifted his head, looking at the stands, but this time, there was no mistaking it. No doubt at all.
He tapped his chest once, then pointed. Once. Quick and subtle, but clear enough for you to notice.
Straight to your section, right at you.
A message.
Your heart stuttered so hard you felt it in your throat.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 69.
58 seconds left, and Belift gave three net snaps. Three perfect scores. Silence took over KOZ’s side.
The commentator said something along the lines of the rivalry bringing out cold blood between the teams, but you didn’t hear it properly. Not anymore.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 72.
The coach called KOZ for a timeout.
The arena was quickly engulfed by a storm of voices. Both bands played too loud. People talked over each other, strangers grabbing each other’s shoulders. You sat in the middle, frozen, unsure what to feel. Pulse racing in your ears.
On the court, Sanghyeok bent with the rest of his teammates, hands on knees, listening to their coach. You watched without a word, without a thought running through your head. You simply couldn’t take your eyes off him.
At the last second before the game resumed, he looked up. Right at you.
He said something you couldn’t hear.
But you read it off his lips.
I’ll do it. Watch me.
0:32
KOZ’s ball.
“They’re clearing the floor,” announced the commentator. “This is it. They’re giving it up for Lee.”
The clock was against all of them.
Sanghyeok began by dribbling at the top. The defender crouched low to match his level.
Ten seconds.
Cross.
Spin.
He stepped back.
The defender’s hand was in his face. But he did it anyway—the shot flying high, arching impossibly…
Time didn’t feel real.
Net.
Swish.
The roar that followed didn’t even process in your brain.
“HE HITS IT! LEE SANGHYEOK DOES IT AGAIN!”
0:11
Belift was rushing now. They shot up. Missed.
Rebound tipped. Loose. Bodies diving. Sneakers skidding. Sanghyeok slid across the floor and trapped the ball against his chest like it mattered more than air.
Foul.
Whistle.
Free throws.
“Belift had one last chance,” the commentator said, breathless. “And Lee just ripped it away.”
He stood at the line again.
The Belift side of the arena tried to break his focus: screaming, stomping, shaking thundersticks.
But Sanghyeok wasn’t looking.
Not even at the basket.
He was looking at you. Again.
Though, he actually looked this time.
It felt different. It was just you and him, no distance, no crowd.
His lips moved in words so clear you almost heard him.
For you.
He shot it.
Perfect in.
Then, came the second shoot.
Good.
KOZ 76 — BELIFT 72
3 seconds left and Belift was desperate, gasping for one last chance.
Miss.
Then the buzzer came off.
Everyone exploded. Bodies flooded the court, KOZ students vaulting the barriers. Teammates tackled Sanghyeok in waves of blue and yellow.
The commentator’s voice drowned into the laughter and shouting.
“KOZ TAKES THE RIVALRY GAME IN VICTORY! REMEMBER THIS DAY, FOLKS, REMEMBER THEIR NAME!”
You just realised you were crying and laughing at the same time, relief and pride washing over you.
Down on the court, Sanghyeok twisted enough to look toward the stands one last time.
He found you. Even through the chaos, like he always did.
THE court dissolved into waves of people. Students broke through the barriers—banners, flags, painted faces, strangers screaming into strangers’ shoulders. The band was still playing, but it sounded wonky and weak now, swallowed by human noise. Someone nearly knocked you down rushing past, and someone else grabbed you by the arm and celebrated the score with you like you hadn’t just witnessed it live.
KOZ had won.
KOZ had actually won.
Your eyes burned before you even realised why.
This was your university’s first win after three consecutive years. And now, you all won bragging rights for the rest of the year.
You watched everything with blurry vision. How the security gave up pretending to control anything. How the floor was now a blur of team colours and camera flashes and jumping bodies.
But you didn’t see Sanghyeok anywhere.
A slight panic shot through you, cutting through the euphoria.
Then you saw the jersey number through the crowd.
He was half-lifted, half-dragged by his teammates, silver hair plastered to his forehead, grin wide and disbelieving. Someone dumped water over his head. He spluttered, laughed, shoved them off, then turned in a circle like he was finding something.
Someone.
He stepped away from the celebration, ruffling his damp hair.
For you.
It took him three and a half tries to break free from the chaos—ducked under an arm, slid between photographers, and barely dodged another jumping-in-circles situation.
Then he saw you at the edge of the court.
Everything about his face changed.
Relief broke through in a smile. Softer at first, then lighter.
He ran towards you, jogging the last few steps. He was breathless, eyes electric. His skin shone with sweat, hair dripping with water at the edges, jersey clinging to his body.
Your breath got stuck in your lungs.
Up close, he was… unreal. Like he was moving at game-speed, and the rest of the world lagged and blurred behind him.
“Hey,” he said casually, like you two were meeting up at the crosswalk. Like he hadn’t just written new school history. Like he hadn’t just… did whatever he did earlier in the game.
“How’d I do?”
Your mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
You didn’t have an answer.
Your throat closed up, betraying you in the moment when you needed it most. Your ears still rang from the leftover pride and thrill of watching the last shoot leave his hands. You laughed instead of answering him, wiping under your eyes with the heel of your palm, embarrassed that it was wet.
“You–” you tried. “You were–”
Of course, even your words failed you.
But he waited. Didn’t joke. Didn’t grin it off or helped move on to a new topic.
“Amazing. You were amazing,” you managed, finally.
His head tilted slightly. His grin was smaller now. Hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The noise faded around the two of you. The chants, the celebration, the band still playing—it all felt far away, like rain outside of a window.
Sanghyeok rocked once on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets that weren’t there on his basketball shorts. His hands fell to his side, awkward.
He was nervous. You could see it, now that his in-game persona was turned off.
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around for a moment.
“Cool,” he said. “Yeah. Very. Thanks. I mean, good. Yeah. Good that you think that. Oh, and um, thanks, again.”
You didn’t know what to say to that.
A beat.
It came fast, like he was afraid his courage would run out before he could finish his sentence.
“Amazing enough to take you out tonight?”
Everything in you simply stopped. Every organ in your body forgot how to function. For a second.
“You… just won our school the biggest game in three years,” you breathed. A slightly broken laugh that went under your breath, overwhelmed, teary, victorious—everything colliding into one.
Sanghyeok had this tiny hopeful streak in his eyes. “Yeah. And? I should celebrate properly.”
“With rest. Sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“With you,” he corrected instantly. Softer.
That was it.
You finally gave up ignoring it.
You stepped forward and hugged him—hard—not caring that he was all gross and sweaty, soaked with Gatorade and victory. He froze for the slightest second, surprised.
Then his arms wrapped around you just as tight, like he’d been holding back for longer than you thought he did.
You could feel his heart racing against yours.
“So, um,” he said into your hair, “is that a yes, or should I try again next season?”
You pulled back, smiling through the last of your tears. This idiot.
“Yes it is,” you shook your head fondly. “But don’t ask again and make it weird. I might take it back.”
“Hey!” Sanghyeok laughed, “No take backsies!”
You raised a brow at him.
His shoulders slumped slightly. “Fine. It was already weird.”
“It was.”
“Worth it?”
You looked at him—really looked—at the pride, the exhaustion, the disbelief, the hope, and the pure happiness on his face.
guys what if we all just gather together and convince taesan to dye his hair back to oreo and grow his hair out so we get oreo haired manbun taesan and and and and
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀taesan had spent almost his entire life behind steel—swords, arrows, armour, and duty. he swore by his life to never remove the armour, but one winter night brought himself to stand before you without it. he faltered. hesitated, more loyal to you than to the nation your father commanded, at the edge of a line he never meant to cross. and maybe—just maybe—the lingering scent of roasted chestnuts drifting through the cold air was the final push he needed to accept his princess’s love.
ᅠ knight ! 한태산 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 princess ! reader ⠀wc 3.8k ⠀ genre fluff, angst if you squint, forbidden love, princess x knight/guard, joseon!era, slight age gap (1-2 years difference, but not clearly mentioned), mutual feelings but undefined relationship ⠀ contains mentions of food kissing ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net , @onedoornet
ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ hi hello everyone !!! i am very sleep deprived and SWAMPED with assignments but i made this for all of you, as a comeback before 2026 AND for gill’s event ! i hope you will enjoy this comeback fic of mine hehe
ᅠ ＞︿ please leave feedbacks & reblog
TAESAN had taken off his armour.
The metal piece of clothing that had protected him from many near deaths throughout his young but difficult life. He’d told himself he’d never take it off—not even if his best friend, Leehan the chemist, had told him it was safe to do so. Taesan had gone through enough to know his life and his job put him in the frontlines of death.
But you’d asked him to take it off.
So he did.
The snow crunched under the sole of his boots, each step wary and heavy. The breeze felt colder than usual—it made him feel naked even under layers of the light blue hanbok he’d put on this morning.
His feet stopped when he reached the back of the warehouse the lady-in-waiting had told him to wait at, his heart thumping loud in his ears. It wasn’t exactly the most welcoming or befitting place for a person of your standing, Taesan knew, but that was the goal. The building rose behind him as he rested his back slightly against its pine boards, the cold biting through the fabric of his hanbok. Faint wisps of warm air slipped past the small ventilation slats near the top of the wall. Taesan gave it a brief glance.
Someone must’ve kept a brazier burning to protect the stored goods inside.
The smell, from the nearby festival, a distant mix of dried grains, old wood, and warm sweet tteok all blended into a strangely tranquil pocket of space.
“Taesan, you’re here.”
He lifted his head, and a slow cloud of breath escaped his lungs in a soft hitch.
You didn’t look like the young princess he spent every single day guarding, following like a shadow, carrying the sword that was meant for you and you only. At least, not at first glance.
Instead of the usual silks and hair ornaments, you wore a simple hanbok in muted winter colours: soft cream jeogori, pale rose chima (skirt), and a dark wool shawl wrapped around your shoulders—obviously borrowed from a palace maid on your way out. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screamed your status and bloodline. Nothing expensive enough to buy Taesan and his entire future bloodline’s souls.
Tonight, your hair wasn’t pinned up the way etiquette deemed appropriate for a princess—no neat braid, no ceremonial ribbon. Instead, your hair fell loose around her shoulders, dark and soft, a waterfall flowing over the simple collar of your borrowed hanbok.
It made you look younger than you already were, freer… almost like the version of you that Taesan barely got to see behind palace walls.
Your voice wasn’t the one you used at court and in the palace, that cut through the stinging winter cold like the universe was personally at your command. It was gentle this time, maybe a bit shy, expectant.
Like an ordinary girl.
If that word was even worthy of you.
Taesan bowed his head automatically. A habit. That quiet, instinctive movement that he never quite unlearned despite the absurd amount of times you told him he didn’t have to.
Old routine from his old post. Or… not that old, honestly.
He used to stand at the palace gates, stoic with the rest of the faceless line of elite guards who were supposed to be part of the background. Nobody important. That was before the crown prince, your older brother, had pulled him aside. Before the hushed orders that he seamlessly fell into. Before he started showing up everywhere you were.
Pure coincidence, of course.
At least according to every palace record ever.
“Your Highness.”
You smiled. That alone was enough to knock the loyal guard off his feet.
“You should call me by my name, Taesan,” you said.
That soft winter glow that bestowed upon your face—lightly flushed cheeks from the cold, black eyes bright with a mix of nerves and determination that he couldn't help but find deathly adorable—made Taesan’s heart ache. There were no words suited to describe it, except that he could only soothe it if he took his heart out and physically ripped it apart.
The guard shook his head. “I could never, Your Highness, it’s…” he couldn’t finish. The word was stuck in his throat. Dangerous and too honest. Too close to the truth he wasn’t allowed to even imagine.
Inappropriate, perhaps.
No, he didn’t deserve to say your name. It hovered between his lips, tempting and impossible. A forbidden fruit. His tongue didn’t have the capability to savour the sweetness of your beautiful name—it was too lowly, too humble for someone like you.
Even without the usual jewelled binyeo, there was something unmistakably regal about you. Chin up just at the right angle, posture a little too perfect, movements careful like you could never really switch off years of court etiquette.
Taesan would never let himself utter your name. It was a kind of heaven no commoner like him could even dream of having.
But he let himself slip out a compliment for you.
“You look wonderful, Your Highness.”
The words came from his heart. It showed in his usually empty eyes—too warm, too soft—fonder than any guard should sound toward his princess.
“Really?” you asked, that small smile forming on your lips.
Taesan nodded earnestly. Maybe too keen. But he meant it.
“Always,” he replied.
Here, in the shadowy back corner of a warehouse, wrapped in a hanbok meant to make you invisible in the crowd, Taesan would’ve recognised you anywhere. Not because you looked royal, or because you were the most angelic young woman he’d laid his eyes on, but because you looked like you.
“Do you smell it?” you asked, the wind blowing softly at the strands of hair hanging free from the sides of your face.
Your question pulled Taesan out of his trance. He blinked himself back into reality, though the sight of you in simple hanbok felt like a hazy dream anyway.
“Um, smell what exactly, Your Highness?”
The nearby festival had given them the wonderful mix of sweetened red beans, pumpkin juk, roasted chestnuts, cinnamon, honey, meat on smoky grills—the smell drifting steadily through the dense winter air.
You shrugged. Not sure what the combination was made out of.
“You reckon they sell yakgwa?” you asked.
Taesan snorted. He didn’t mean to, but it was a dulcet sound that you had never heard come from him. His head dipped forward momentarily, the front of his black hair brushing his eyes.
“Your Highness,” he said, the remnants of his amusement evident in the faint smile pulling at his lips, “you told me to bring you out to the festival so you could see for yourself how us commoners eat.”
He was right. You had asked him to bring you around the winter festival, so you could experience it for yourself. Your father, the King, would never grant you the permission to stroll the streets as ordinarily as other people could. So, you resorted to this.
You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. “Right, right, you don’t have to remind me.”
A beat passed.
But it felt like a really long one.
The wind blew softly at your hair, the unrestrained locks loose against your face. There was a soft tint of pink across your cheeks, your breath forming puffs of cloud against your lips.
Taesan wanted to chuckle along with your jest, to make things less stiff and awkward between him and you.
Instead, he found himself extending his arm towards you, his smile fading.
“Should… we?”
The gesture itself was a leap that made his heart beat so fast, and his heart betrayed him because when you slipped your hand into the fold of his arm, he swore he almost died.
Your fingers were light against his sleeve, a little unsure just like him. You didn’t look at him right away, but when you did, the ground seemed to shift under his feet.
You smiled. Again.
“Lead the way.”
Taesan swallowed so quickly, nervous, hoping that you wouldn’t notice. He nodded before his feet began stepping forward, careful. He guided you around the corner of the warehouse and into the streets. The festival glow spilled over the both of you as you walked closer—the orange glow of the lanterns bobbing against the dark blue sky, music and laughter weaved in a warm ribbon between stalls of hearty tidbits.
The festival was comforting and warm against the cold winter night.
Yet Taesan felt colder with every step.
Not because of the breeze.
Not because the tip of his nose was about to freeze to death.
Because your hand was still resting on his arm, fingers dainty but heavy against his sleeve.
Too light yet too warm.
Dangerous.
His mind pulled an image together—how the palace would react when he was seen like this with you. A princess, carefree and all smiles, with a mere guard. A lad who was pretending for one implausible moment that he was allowed to walk beside his lady like an equal.
He tried not to think about it.
A moment later, he cleared his throat.
“Your Highn–”
He stopped when, from the corner of his eyes, you shot him a warning look.
Oh.
Your fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of his sleeve.
“What was that?” you said, eyes narrowing a bit. “Try again.”
A breath escaped Taesan, slowly curling into the night air. A secret of some sort.
“Yes,” he said, a tad stiff. “I’ll… try. Next time.”
You raised a brow at him, a little wary, but you shrugged it off.
The two of you then stepped into the warmth of the festival, the drifting glow of the lanterns bringing together the atmosphere you had always dreamed about.
The change was immediate. Laughter, occasional banters, clinking bowls, sizzling batter on iron pans, running children weaving past adults with sticky candy in their hands—every sound wrapped around you with a strange kind of nostalgia. You’d never experienced this sort of ambience before, but somehow, it felt like this was home instead of the cold stone walls of the palace.
A stringed haegeum played a melody from somewhere in the street, the notes gentle.
You stopped walking.
Naturally, Taesan did too. He turned towards you, unsure.
But you weren’t looking at him anymore.
The lanterns sparkled like bright stars in your eyes. Wider, gleaming more than any gemstone you wore in court. You were taking in everything with a kind of awe that painted itself across your face—unguarded and genuine. Nothing like Taesan had seen before.
It made something deep inside his ribs twist.
“I have no words,” you breathed, finally, “it’s… beautiful.”
Taesan took a moment to gather himself and his words together, his eyes unable to pry themselves away from you.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t know if you meant the lanterns, the streets, the people, the food…
…or the freedom that you’d been trying to find.
But he kept his question to himself.
The way your hand still gripped his sleeve was enough of an answer.
A stall keeper nearby called out, pulling your attention. He was loading a fresh batch of hotteok onto a metal tray, the steam white curls against the night.
The wonderstruck look on your face made Taesan almost laugh. Almost.
Instead, he asked quietly, “Do you want one?”
He didn’t have to wait for your nod to know the answer.
He carefully slipped away from you, his hand lingering on yours before he stepped towards the stall. He bought a few of the warm pancakes, steam still curling out of them. When he returned, he handed one to you, half-expecting you to take a small bite out of it. Proper, like how you took every ceremonial dish served back in the palace.
But you didn’t.
With the biggest, most excited grin he’s seen yet, you took a huge bite.
Taesan choked on nothing.
“Mmh—” You chewed slowly, the gooey syrup of cinnamon and nuts filling your senses. “My goodness…”
At the sight—you being the most adorable thing he’s ever seen—Taesan couldn’t stop laughing. It burst out of his chest, startled, soft and full of joy. He didn’t even know he was capable of sounding like that.
He wasn’t sure he was even able to feel this way.
You looked up at him, lips slightly glazed with the sweet syrup of the hotteok you were eating. The expression on your face—albeit endearing—was the most unprincess-like look he’d ever seen.
It was perfect.
“It’s good?” he guessed, voice as soft as his laugh earlier.
You nodded rather vigorously. “Taesan, why don’t the kitchens serve something like this?”
Taesan chuckled again. “I’m sure they’d make some if you asked, Your Highn–”
He stopped, smile fading, when you looked at him pointedly.
“Right. My… my point still stands.”
You snorted, grinning into your hotteok.
In that moment—amidst the golden lanterns, the chatter, and the illusion that you could be an ordinary girl with your very much ordinary lover, enjoying the market—Taesan let himself believe, just for a lingering breath, that it would last.
But then…
A metallic clang rang in the distance, sharp and delicate.
Precise.
Taesan froze.
The festivity around you was now too loud. Too bright. Too crowded, easy to lose you in.
His hand instinctively drifted to where his sword should’ve been.
Shit.
You noticed. Of course you did.
“Taesan– hey, what’s–?”
He didn’t look away from the direction of the sound. “Stay behind me.”
“Taesan!”
“Please.”
You stopped.
His voice wasn’t what you’d expected it to be. Not that of a guard. Not quite.
It was urgent, too human.
You stepped closer to him, your finger clutching the half-eaten hotteok tighter.
And there it was again. The same clang, echoing a little too loudly in both your ears.
A warning, perhaps.
Taesan’s breath steadied. The look in his eyes betrayed his rather calm expression.
“Taesan,” you called, voice barely above a whisper, “what’s happening?”
He didn’t answer, and just simply returned your gaze.
But you could see it. His body tensed akin to a bowstring pulled too tight. He’d shifted just enough to block you fully from whatever that produced that sound earlier. His shoulder squared, his breath held.
“Taesan,” you whispered once again.
“Don’t call my name like that.”
Your breath hitched halfway out of your throat.
Before any of you could react further, a burst of laughter erupted from a group of children hurrying down the street, pushing past people as they waved long wooden sticks tied with bells. One had whacked his stick a little too enthusiastically against a pole, sending another sharp metallic ring through the crisp air.
You winced slightly at the shrill sound, but your eyes were trained on Taesan’s expression.
He blinked.
Once. Twice.
His shoulders dropped a fraction, and you couldn’t hold back the grin that pulled on your face.
The children scuttled past, chasing one another with their improvised toys, oblivious to the near heart attack they gave him.
One of them—a girl with a missing tooth—grinned at Taesan before she ran off to join her friends.
“Well,” you turned to him, the corner of your lips evidently twitching. “What was that again?”
Taesan exhaled the breath he’d been holding in. His frown softened, expression turning begrudgingly sheepish.
“I was just being cautious,” he muttered, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.
But you giggled regardless. The sound was soft but bright, and Taesan felt his ears warming under the winter cold.
“Come on then,” you said, fingers reaching out to tug lightly on his sleeve. “Let’s explore before someone else terrorizes you with… sticks.”
Taesan sighed, internally rolling his eyes.
But he let you pull him along, silently praying the ground underneath his feet would swallow him whole. But your amusement wasn’t cruel. Not at all. If anything, it held a fondness he wasn’t sure he deserved.
The two of you wandered deeper into the festival.
Deeper into the laughter and the warmth he wished he could share with you more often.
YOU tried everything.
Everything.
Spicy rice cakes that made you choke in a way that made Taesan’s eyes widen with worry. Roasted sweet potatoes that you took a bite of regardless of his warning that it’d burn your tongue because it was fresh off the grill. He watched with a soft smile, helping you fan your mouth with his hand.
And the games—ugh, so annoying.
Taesan tried to convince you the ring toss game was rigged. You didn’t believe him, of course.
Now, after failing your first throw, you were starting to doubt your own insistence.
He stood behind you, as loyal as ever, hands clasped behind his back. He was polite, but he stood close enough that you could feel the warmth from his chest radiating against your shoulder blades every time you moved.
“You’re throwing it a bit too softly,” he murmured, leaning down just slightly.
“I don’t want to hit someone with it,” you gritted back, eyes narrowed.
Taesan simply laughed, his shoulders shaking. “Fine, fine. Throw it however you like.”
Hours passed without either of you realising.
The festival shifted seamlessly from bright and bustling to something gentler. Quieter, like the night was finally wrapping around the remaining visitors like a fluffy blanket of dark blue and the soft golden glow of dying embers. Musicians switched to slower melodies as the crowd began to thin, and your breaths puffed in the air like white, velvety clouds.
Taesan walked you to the top of the hill overlooking the town.
From up here, the festival looked like tiny fireflies, scattered across earth.
Your arms hugged the rabbit plush made out of leftover scraps of colourful hanbok material—the one that he won for you earlier—as the wind combed through your loose hair. The moonlight bathed your features in silver, highlighting the royal beauty that the night had hidden from the world.
Taesan stood beside you, his hands clasped behind his back like always. His gaze was fixed forward, but even a child could tell that his attention was fixed on you.
Not the view.
You.
“It’s beautiful,” you breathed.
“Of course. Of course it is.”
You glanced sideways. He was staring at you instead of the horizon.
A soft, rather knowing smile tugged at your lips.
“Taesan,” you said softly.
His breath hitched, because the sound of his name on your tongue—no formality, no title—felt forbidden. Yet it was the closest to heaven he’d get in this mortal world.
THE walk back was quieter.
Not awkward, of course, but it was full. Heavy in the way snow-laden branches bend, not from burden, but from abundance.
You walked close enough that your fingers brushed the fabric of Taesan’s sleeve every now and then. Each time it happened, his breath hitched the tiniest bit—so faint you might’ve mistaken it as the breeze.
The palace walls loomed ahead, tall and dark against the moonlit sky. A sight you dreaded, banging heavy in your heart.
The guards stationed at the outer courtyard had already begun their shift change. Lanterns glowed dimly, throwing elongated shadows across the tiles.
Taesan stopped first.
He always did.
A quiet signal that this was as far as he could follow you.
As far as he should follow you.
You turned to him, the silver moonlight making that soft smile on your lips look more majestic than ever.
“Thank you for tonight,” you told him.
He didn’t reply instantly.
Instead, he let the wind curl between the two of you, cold enough to sting, but Taesan was by far the warmest he’d ever been.
His mouth opened to speak, but closed before he uttered anything.
Your eyes softened, and he knew it meant you were expecting him to step back into the shadows.
Well, that was what broke him.
Not desire.
Not the longing.
Not even the lingering memory of your lips against his in hidden corners of the palace.
It was the way you looked at him like you knew he wouldn’t choose himself. Like always.
But tonight…
He did.
Taesan stepped forward, ignoring the violent hitch in your breath.
He held his hand out. Slow. Reverent. His finger brushed a stray snowflake from your cheek, lingering a beat too long. His eyes searched yours for permission.
You didn’t speak.
You only gave a tiny nod.
That was all it took.
Taesan leaned in.
Not forceful, frantic. But with such gentleness it almost made your heart jump out of your ribs.
His forehead touched yours first, as if giving you one last chance to stop him.
You didn’t.
Why would you?
So he closed the distance.
The kiss was soft.
Warm, but trembling with everything he never let himself say.
His other hand rose to cradle the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of your hairline. He held you like you were fragile porcelain—laughable, given who you were—but to him, you were something far more breakable.
Like if he was being too greedy, too human, it’d break you.
But you kissed him back, breath warm against his lips. But for once, you weren’t the first to move.
Taesan deepened the kiss—just barely—enough for you to feel the subtle shiver running through him. Enough for the world to disappear except for the warm and desperate press of his mouth against yours.
When he finally pulled away, his breath came out in a trembling puff that tickled your swollen lips.
He rested his forehead against yours again, eyes closed, clearly struggling to piece himself back together.
“That…” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “I should not have done that.”
“But you did,” you murmured softly.
“Yeah,” he opened his eyes, swallowing again. His gaze dropped to your mouth before riding back up to your eyes, forehead still resting against yours. “I did.”
You brushed your nose lightly against his. Playful, tender, teasing. “You know, I could get used to this.”
Taesan inhaled sharply, dread pulling at his eyebrows. Only you could turn a moment of painful desire and longing into a lighthearted jest. “Your Highness, please.”
You rolled your eyes as you stepped back. “Fine, fine.”
A beat.
“You should get going,” Taesan said softly.
Before I can’t stop having you.
You swallowed, nodding. The palace walls behind you felt too tall. Too restricting.
“Yeah.”
As you slipped toward the palace doors, you glanced over your shoulder.
Taesan was still watching you.
But not like a guard.
Like a man who had finally let himself want something forbidden.
You whispered his name—just once, just for him—and he straightened as if called to battle.
Then you vanished behind the sliding wooden door.
Taesan stayed there long after it closed, the hand that had held your face stiff in place, trying to make your warmth linger longer between his fingers.
He didn’t care if he died from the cold, standing there. He breathed in the ghost of your kiss, indulging in the memory of your lips against his, as if it were the last warmth in winter.
And maybe, just maybe…
He’d force himself to want. To come back for more.
dededos
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
yousharknotpass
areudirty
