Https://www.tumblr.com/writhyv/776156400372072448/jay-jake-ni-ki-sunghoon-i-mean-200

writhyv

3 weeks ago

⋆｡°✩ [ch.5] for when you need me

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

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

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 4.8k

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

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

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

“You sure you’re okay?” Mira’s voice echoed as you got inside your townhouse, the sudden sounds of clicking locks and shifting gears of your front door echoing against the city ambience.

“Yeah.” You sighed.

Mira took a short time to breathe too before she prompted to leave you to rest. As soon as she said her goodbyes, you tucked your phone on your left pocket and walked straight towards your most beloved house possession—the fridge.

The weight of Mr. M's ultimatum pressed against your ribs like a second heartbeat as your hands traversed the cans of carbonated drinks inside the fridge.

“Should I even get cola today?” You pondered.

Outside, the city was bleeding from gold hour into twilight—windows glittering amber across brownstone rooftops, the Chrysler Building's spire catching the last fiery streaks of sunset.

God was it such a treat of a view.

You stopped at the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing your forehead to the cool glass, watching your ghostly reflection blink back at you in the darkening pane.

“Hey, you.” You spoke, alone in the dim living room.

You twisted and curled your toes as you tried to think of anything amusing to say to your own reflection, yet there was nothing that came to your mind.

“You’re pathetic.” You muttered under your heavy breath.

Buzzing into existence, your phone rang from your side pocket.

Flipping through your messages, you see one notification from the only person in your mind right now.

Jay: Remember that bench back in Battery Park?

That message drew a smile on your face, memories resurfacing and thoughts flooding your senses.

You: Yea?

Jay: One hour?

The message burned in your palm. You counted the passing seconds by the throbbing pulse in your wrist—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—until the screen dimmed to black. Then lit up again.

Jay: There’s a new taco joint my students recommended me to. Got coupons for 50% off tacos. You down?

A punched-out laugh escaped you, fogging the glass. The condensation mirrored how your thoughts had been all day—clouded, unclear, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.

Without missing a beat, you quickly grabbed your spring jacket.

–––

“I guess it that time of the year already…” You spoke to yourself as you see petals pass above, below, and to your sides.

The park smelled like freshly cut grass and distant rain. Cherry blossom petals swirled through the air like pink snow, catching in your hair as you followed the familiar path—past the old elm with the gnarled trunk, around the fountain that never worked quite right, down to that one bench facing the harbor where the paint was chipped away from years of weather and restless fingers.

And then—like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—there he was.

Jay sat waiting, backlit by the harbor lights beginning to flicker on across the water. Two glass-bottled colas sweated between his knees, their labels peeling from condensation. A grease-spotted paper bag sat balanced precariously on the bench beside him, the scent of cumin and charred corn tortillas cutting through the salt air. And it’s not even a Tuesday.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

He turned at the crunch of gravel under your shoes.

"You came," he said, voice scraped raw like he'd been shouting. Or maybe not speaking at all.

You sat carefully, leaving exactly eleven inches of painted metal between you. The space felt both cavernous and infinitesimal. The thin tree beside the bench still bore the faint carving you'd made one drunken summer night — ME + JAY inside a lopsided heart. The memory of his laughter as you struggled with your metal fork warmed your cheeks even now.

"You asked." You said, accepting the cola he handed you.

His fingers brushed yours—just for a millisecond—but it was enough to send electricity shooting up your arm.

Jay took a long pull from his bottle, the muscles in his throat working. The fading light caught the shape of his bare face—still as soft, plump, and charming as you’ve last seen them. Behold them. Had them between the warmth of your palms.

"Naomi and I talked," he started, then stopped, jaw tightening.

It was weird. For a new dish from a new store in New York, the tacos smelled like lime and nostalgia. You focused on picking at the label of your cola instead of the way his shoulder pressed against yours, warm even through two layers of fabric.

"And?"

A harbor breeze ruffled his hair, longer now than in your days together as a bunch of cram heads. He watched a seagull swoop low over the water before speaking.

"She knew.”

Your face dropped the moment you heard him say those words.

“Before the article. Before Leah's wedding." His laugh was hollow, bouncing off the pavement. "Apparently I'm shit at hiding it when I..." He trailed off, fingers tightening around his bottle.

"When you what?"

Jay turned to face you fully, the bench creaking beneath him. The dying light caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes.

"When I'm still in love with you."

It was as if the world has tilted on its axis. The cola bottle nearly slipped from your fingers.

"She said she'd always known," Jay continued, voice softer now. "Saw how I'd go quiet when your songs came on. Even down to how I kept that stupid festival wristband in my wallet from years ago."

His thumb traced the lip of his bottle, around and around. “Then she saw how I lingered on your music. How I’d go quiet when someone mentioned your name.”

The thought of it almost ruined you. Wrecked you.

From your recent conversations, you figured it was just nostalgia of a relationship past. The ‘miss you’s you’ve exchanged fleeting thoughts that echoed regret and nothing more.

But right now, it finally hit you. He still thought of you all this time.

Just like you did.

"She told me she also found the CD you made me years ago—the one with all our road trip songs—in my glove compartment."

A cherry blossom petal landed on his knee. He didn't brush it away.

"She said she wanted me happy," he murmured. "Even if it wasn't with her."

Your throat tightened.

You looked back as you remembered Naomi's hand on Jay's arm at the wedding—not possessive, but protective. The way she'd looked at you with something that wasn't quite jealousy, but instead resignation.

"And you?" you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Jay set his cola down carefully on the bench. When he spoke again, it was like he'd ripped the words from somewhere deep inside.

"I dropped out of law school because of you."

The non sequitur startled a wet laugh from you. "What?"

"That day you left," he said, eyes fixed on the Statue of Liberty's distant torch, "I realized I'd spent all my years of living following a path my parents have built and paved for me.”

Jay grew quiet at that. “Just like you were about to do with Atlas."

You looked at him as he tried to say all this words without breaking.

His fingers flexed against his knees. "So I quit. Switched to music theory because I thought..." His voice cracked. "I thought if I couldn't save you, maybe I could at least be someone else's guide."

The confession hung between you, fragile as the spiderweb glistening on the bench's armrest.

You swallowed hard. Mira's voice echoed in your memory—"He teaches at NYU now. Music theory. I knew he was an ace but he’s actually good at it."

"You knew," Jay realized, watching your face. “… haven’t you?”

You nodded, the motion jerky. "M-Mira told me last week."

The harbor sounds filled the silence—waves lapping against the seawall, a distant ferry horn, the screech of gulls fighting over scraps.

“If there’s anything that made me realize after all this time, it was that …”

Jay shifted, turning fully toward you until his knee brushed yours.

"I never stopped loving you," he said, simple as sunrise.

Time stopped.

Four years.

Four years of platinum records and sold-out arenas and hotel rooms so silent you could hear your own pulse. Four years of telling yourself you didn't miss the way he snored softly through his nose when exhausted, or how he'd absentmindedly hum old radio songs in the shower, or the particular way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at his own jokes.

It all came rushing out in a single breath. "I thought about you every goddamn day."

Jay's breath hitched. His hand hovered between you, trembling slightly in the golden glow of the park lamps. Waiting. Always waiting for you.

And now, you bridged the gap.

His fingers laced through yours—calloused from guitar strings and piano keys, warm and familiar and right. The tacos tumbled forgotten to the side as you turned toward each other, knees knocking, free hands reaching.

Around you, the city pulsed with its usual relentless energy—car horns blaring, a street performer's violin carrying on the breeze, the million lights of Manhattan flickering to life. None of it mattered.

Not when, for the first time in four long years, the hollow space beneath your ribs finally felt full again.

Not when Jay's thumb was brushing your knuckles like he was relearning your topography. Your texture. Your temperature.

You.

"What now?" He put his forehead against yours as you leaned into him, breathing in the cedar-and-salt scent that had haunted your dreams.

“Now I take my time with you.” You said softly. “I’ve missed your warmth, Jay.”

Jay smiled, creasing his cheek with that one-sided smirk that complimented his features.

“Me too.”

And all that you ever needed was that, his presence, blanketing you in sweet embrace.

—

The studio was bathed in soft golden light, diffused through silk screens to eliminate harsh shadows.

You sat on a peach colored sofa that was firmer than it looked, the microphone clipped to your collar weighing heavier than it should.

Across from you, Claire Mercer—legendary music journalist with a reputation for extracting truths artists didn’t know they were ready to share—crossed her legs and balanced a leather-bound notebook on her knee. A steaming cup of black tea sat untouched on the glass coffee table between you, its scent mingling with the studio’s faint ozone smell from all the equipment.

Claire smile strategically, hoping to lure you into honesty.

"Let’s start with something light. Your fourth album just went triple platinum—an almost impossible feat in today’s streaming landscape. When you were eighteen, busking in Washington Square Park with a secondhand guitar, could you have imagined this?"

You chuckled, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against your knee. "Of course not! Let’s be real. Back then, a good day meant making enough for a slice of dollar pizza and a MetroCard swipe.”

Memories flood your head as you remember making time to hang out on the Square, preparing hurriedly as Jay made sure to tune your acoustic friend finely before he left you for his morning classes.

“You didn’t touch the donuts I got you?” Jay asked as he held your guitar in his lap, all in the middle of tuning it to perfection.

“Donuts?” You popped a brow. “You mean the one’s from Monettan’s?”

Jay chuckled. “What else did look like donuts to you, genius?” He then pinched your ears right after.

“But that’s half my rent??” You crunched up your face.

The memory quickly passed by, all with a light unnoticeable chuckle. It was one of those days that Jay always looked out for you.

But even then, other memories flooded your mind, too. Everything was different back then.

“I remember this one afternoon—it was pouring rain, and I was playing under this sad little awning. Some guy tossed a five-dollar bill into my case and said, ‘Kid, you’re gonna be huge.’ I thought he was just being nice."

A quiet laugh rippled through the small crew behind the cameras.

Claire scribbled something in her notebook, the pen scratching audibly.

"You’ve spoken before about the loneliness of fame—how the higher you climb, the fewer people you can trust. Do you ever miss those early days? The rawness of playing for strangers who didn’t know your name?"

You hesitated, your thumb brushing the faint scar on your wrist—the one from the pancake incident with Jay. The studio lights suddenly felt too hot.

"Yeah," you admitted, quieter now. "There was something... honest about it. No expectations. No algorithms telling you what to play. Just me, my guitar, and people who either stopped to listen or walked right past. Sometimes, I’ll be onstage in front of thousands of people and... I’ll still miss that."

Claire nodded slowly, her sharp blue eyes catching yours. "That’s interesting. Because last week, photos surfaced of you at a diner with a man the internet’s been obsessing over. And in those photos..." She paused deliberately. "You looked happier than you have in years."

The air in the room shifted. Off-camera, Mira tensed, her manicured nails tightening around her tablet.

“Oh for fucking— that woman!” She muttered under her hot breath.

Claire leaned forward, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Who is he?"

For a second, you considered lying. You should lie.

“What if she slips in a naughty question?” You asked as you tried another outfits from the closet.

“How naughty?” Mira smirked.

“Ugh, I meant like … sneaky ones.” You sighed as you sat on one of the ottomans present beside you. “Like about me and Jay.”

Mira looked at you, exhaling deeply before getting her say.

“Just trust your gut. Talk, maybe.” You looked at her with a concerned glance.

“Just… like that?”

“Yeah.” Mira smiled. “You’d do it anyway. I can’t stop you.”

You chuckled as she guessed you right to that. You are one heck of a defiant guy.

“Also wear this, we’ve got a deal to keep it all Dior ‘til April right?”

“Ugh, fine~”

The more you thought about it, the more you’ll keep hurting yourself.

Then you exhaled, looking directly into the camera.

"His name is Jay."

Claire’s pen froze mid-scribble.

"We met in college," you continued, your voice steadier than you felt. "He was—is—the reason I believed I could do this in the first place.”

Silence. The room was nothing but a sea of silence.

“And I left him to chase this dream." A wet laugh escaped you. "Funny how that works, huh?"

Claire’s eyes flickered—surprise, then something like respect. "So this isn’t just a reunion?"

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

—

Mr. M’s office was a monument to power—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, a desk polished to a mirror shine, a vintage whiskey decanter that cost more than most people’s rent.

Right now, it was also a crime scene.

The flat-screen on his wall replayed your Rolling Stone interview on mute—your face, your words, your defiance—looping endlessly. Mr. M stood motionless in front of it, his reflection superimposed over your image like a ghost.

His assistant, Ethan, hovered in the doorway, clutching an iPad like a shield. "Sir, the board—they’ve called an emergency meeting. They want you in the conference room. Now."

Mr. M didn’t turn. "Tell them I’m busy."

Ethan swallowed. "They said... they said it’s not optional."

Silence.

Then—

CRASH.

Mr. M’s crystal tumbler exploded against the wall, ice skittering across the floor. "Get out."

Ethan fled.

Alone, Mr. M stalked to the window, where your face—twenty feet tall—smoldered on a Dior advertisement at Times Square. Your eyes stared back at him, mocking.

"After everything I gave you," he whispered, his breath fogging the glass.

His phone buzzed—a text from the board chairman:

"Conference room. NOW."

Mr. M straightened his tie, smoothed his suit, and walked out like a man heading to the gallows.

—

Breathing in the conditioned air and holding yourself inside the elevator, Mira was already moving, her clipboard clutched like a battering ram against the inevitable circus outside.

It was already past 3PM when your interview ended, and as soon as it concluded— the headlines, the fuzz, the frenzy, and the notifications started to flood your phone.

“I’m seeing a lot of articles already.” You mumbled. “They work fast.”

“Well,” Mira sighed, “they are the devil.”

You both snickered a good laugh together.

Suddenly, the elevator slowed down gracefully and notified you with a calm voice.

“Ground Floor.” A silent hum then followed after.

"Don’t engage," she hissed, stepping in front of you with the precision of a bodyguard. "Head down, sunglasses on, and for fuck’s sake—just keep moving—"

The elevator doors slid open and Mira was already moving, her sharp elbow clearing a path. "No comments, no photos—"

Too late.

The second your shoe hit the lobby floor, the flashbulbs and shutters erupted. A wall of shouting bodies surged forward, iPhones thrust like weapons.

"OVER HERE! LOOK HERE!"

"IS IT TRUE THAT YOU’RE CURRENTLY IN A RELATIONSHIP?"

"WHO’S JAY! WHO’S JAY!"

Mira blocked a camera with her clipboard. "Move," she snapped at security, yanking your wrist so hard your shoulder jerked. You ducked low, sunglasses slipping as some asshole lunged closer—

"SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE BREAKUP, C’MON MAN!"

—and then your ribs connected with a stray elbow. The air punched out of you.

“Ow!” You couldn’t help but wince.

Mira saw it and boiled her blood to a hundred degrees, shoving the rookie paparazzi out of the way.

"Christ," Mira snarled, shoving a reporter back. "Call fucking backup—"

A hand clamped onto your bicep. Not Mira’s.

You whipped your head up, ready to swing—

Security. A rookie you didn’t recognize, wide-eyed and sweating. "This way sir—" he panted, hauling you toward a side exit.

Mira’s voice sliced through the noise. "NOT THAT WAY—"

But the crowd was already pivoting, a pack of hyenas scenting blood. You stumbled as someone grabbed the back of your jacket—

Then you saw him.

Jay.

Leaning against a concrete pillar near the exit like he’d been carved there, arms crossed, one ankle hooked lazily over the other.

The late afternoon sun cut through the glass lobby doors, gilding the edges of him—bleached hair mussed from running his hands through it, that stupidly perfect leather jacket clinging to his shoulders. He wasn’t even looking at the chaos brewing outside. Just waiting. For you.

Your breath locked in your throat.

The paparazzi spotted him half a second later.

"OH MY GOD, IT’S HIM!" A shutter exploded like gunfire. "JAY—IS THAT THE MYSTERY MAN?"

Mira’s grip on your elbow turned vice-tight. "Company van," she barked into her headset. "NOW."

Jay didn’t hesitate. He pushed off the pillar and closed the distance in three strides, falling into step beside you like no time had passed at all. His shoulder bumped yours—warm, solid, an anchor in the screaming storm of flashes and questions. "Eyes forward," he murmured, so low only you could hear.

Mira wrenched the SUV door open, shoving you both inside. The second the door slammed, the noise cut off like someone had hit mute.

Silence.

You turned to Jay, pulse hammering. "W-What are you doing here?"

No answer. Just his hand sliding over yours, calloused fingers lacing tight between your knuckles. A single squeeze.

I’m here. Whatever happens.

Mira exhaled sharply from the front seat, her phone already lighting up with a dozen notifications. "This," she said, voice clipped, "is a PR nightmare."

Jay’s thumb traced the ridge of your wrist.

At that point, all you ever needed was him—nothing else.

—

The Atlas Records boardroom was a tomb of glass and steel, the kind of cold that gnawed through suit jackets and settled in the marrow. Twelve executives sat around the onyx table, their faces carved from the same indifferent stone.

At the head, Eleanor Whitmore—61, razor-straight posture, a single pearl necklace against a charcoal blazer—rested her palms on the table. Her manicure was flawless, pale pink. It made the silence worse.

"Michael."

Her voice sliced the air.

Mr. M — Michael Aker — stood frozen halfway to his seat, his custom Tom Ford suit suddenly too tight across the shoulders. His smile was a brittle thing, cracking at the edges.

"Eleanor," he laughed, nervous, too loud, "whatever this is about, I assure you—"

"Sit. Down."

It was a command, not a request. The kind of tone that stops hearts.

He sat.

Eleanor tapped her iPad. The floor-to-ceiling screen behind her woke up in a blaze of light—emails, bank transfers, contracts, all stamped with his initials. A digital autopsy of his crimes.

Mr. M's throat tightened in an instant. His cufflinks caught the light as his hands trembled—just once.

"W-what is th—"

"For the past four years," Eleanor said, calm as a guillotine's descent, "you have been laundering money through our artists' royalties." A click. Offshore accounts, layered like Russian dolls.

Another click. "You manipulated streaming numbers to defraud investors and undermine the competition." A spreadsheet bloomed, numbers artificially inflated in red.

Then—the kill shot.

A contract. Your name. Page 37, Section 9b: a clause so predatory it made the room inhale.

"And worst of all," Eleanor murmured, "you enslaved our biggest star in a deal so fraudulent, it’s a miracle they haven’t sued us into oblivion."

Mr. M's laugh was a dry cough. "Eleanor, these accusations are—"

"Not accusations."

Daniel Cho, the CFO, slid a black folder across the table. It screeched against the glass. Inside of it was printed server logs, his personal encryption keys, a paper trail even his lawyers couldn’t burn.

"From your own servers," Daniel said. "We copied everything before you could ever think of wiping it."

Mr. M's pulse throbbed in his temple. His Rolex rattled against the table. "You don’t understand—I built this label!" His voice splintered. "And that … I made that ungrateful brat a star! I gave him everything!"

Eleanor sighed, the way one might at a child’s tantrum. "You're fired. Effective immediately."

In a heartbeat, the air turned viscous.

Mr. M stood so fast his chair slammed backward, crashing into the glass panels of the room. Outside, your face loomed on a billboard—standing tall, smirking down at him like fate itself.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" Spittle flecked his lips.

Eleanor pressed a button under the table. The doors hissed open.

Two armed guards stepped in, hands already reaching.

"Watch me," she said.

They grabbed him by the elbows, dragging him toward the elevator. His Ferragamos scraped grooves into the hardwood.

"ELEANOR! ELEANOR, YOU BITCH—"

The doors closed. His voice muffled, then vanished.

Silence.

—

The townhouse was eerily quiet when you stepped inside, the click of the door too loud in the hush. Jay flicked on the lights, but the silence pressed in anyway—heavy, like the air before a storm.

Mira lingered in the foyer, her fingers worrying her car keys. "You sure you’re okay? I can stay—"

You waved her off. "We’re good. Thanks, Mira."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Call me if anything happens."

The door shut behind her, leaving you and Jay alone.

Quiet. Only the peaceful sounds of the city streets rushed through your ears and outside the window.

There, you stood by the entrance. And with you? Jay, smiling at you like there was no tomorrow.

“You’re gonna tear off your face if you keep smiling like that.” You spoke.

Jay then hugged you from behind, breathing onto your next with a sigh of relief.

You kicked off your shoes, laughing weakly. "Remember when we thought my dorm was haunted?"

Jay smirked, toeing the edge of the rug. "You screamed because a moth flew into your hair."

"It was huge!" You shoved him, and for a second, it was like nothing had changed.

Then—

BANG.

The sound was deafening.

The vase beside your head exploded, glass shards raining onto the hardwood. Your body moved to shove Jay out of the way before your brain could process—gunshot—and then Jay was moving, lunging toward the shadow in the doorway.

Mr. M.

Pistol raised, his face twisted in fury.

"You ruined me!" he snarled.

“H-how did you-”

“I know everything about you!” He raised his voice. “I built you! MADE YOU!”

Suddenly, Jay crashed into him, knocking him back.

“JAY!!”

A whittling commotion can be heard as Mira pried your door open.

“What’s the-”

“IT’S MR. M!” You shrieked. “He’s fighting Jay!”

“F-FIGHTING?!?” Mira shouted like her lungs depended on it.

“Should I-”

“YES!” You didn’t let fear scramble you as you took Mira to the side. “NOW!”

Mira didn’t hesitate and brought her dial to her ear, waiting for the other side to pick up.

The second gunshot tore through the air like a crack of thunder, and suddenly—BANG.

White-hot, searing through your side.

You gasped, the sound more of a wet choke than breath, your back slamming against the wall as your legs gave out. Your hand flew to the wound, fingers coming away slick and red.

“What the fuck—” You coughed, and agony lanced through your ribs—each spasm cost you air, cost you thought, cost you everything.

Mira was on you before you hit the ground, her hands clawing at your shirt, her voice a frenzied mantra.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—”

She dragged you backward, your heels scuffing bloody trails across the floor, her grip bone-crushing as she hauled you behind a toppled conference table.

“Stay with me—stay with me—!”

“Fuck it hurts…” You winced as you felt the hot bullet still searing your muscle.

Your vision spotted black at the edges, but you forced your head up—because Jay was still out there.

“HAH!!” Jay had Mr. M pinned against the shattered window, the quaint city street a fractured backdrop behind them. The gun lay kicked aside, but Mr. M was far from done.

“You ruined me!” Mr. M spat, his face a rictus of sweat and fury, shooting a glance towards you.

“I made you! Everything you are—everything you have—it’s because of ME!”

Jay’s grip on his collar tightened, his voice low, lethal.

“You stole from him. You lied to him. You used him”

Mr. M laughed, the sound hysterical, unhinged. “And you let me!”

The words stung silently, your eyes never taking off Jay’s fazed look. ****

“Where were you, Jay? Huh? Off playing hero while HE bled for my profit?”

“Jay, don’t listen to him!” You shouted, the wound still throbbing hot in your flesh.

Yet Jay flinched—just once—but it was enough.

Mr. M twisted, driving a knee into Jay’s ribs, and broke free. He lunged for the gun—

“JAY!” Your voice ripped raw from your throat.

Jay tackled him, their bodies crashing into a desk, sending your books, papers, glass flying—

BANG.

A third gunshot.

Jay staggered back, his hand pressing to his side, blood welling between his fingers.

“N-No!” Mira caught your hand as you sobbed, clutching you tighter.

Mr. M scrambled to his feet, panting, wild-eyed—

But Jay was faster.

He slammed Mr. M’s head into the floor, once, twice, until the man went limp.

Then—silence.

Jay’s breath was ragged, his shirt stained crimson, but his gaze found yours across the wreckage.

“Still… here?” he managed, voice threadbare.

You choked out a laugh, even as Mira shook you, screaming for help.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Still here.”

Mr. M wrenched free, panting—then bolted, the front door slamming behind him.

Jay dropped to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You crawled toward him, vision swimming.

"Please … stay with me," you begged, pressing your hands to his wound.

Jay smiled, his eyelids fluttering. "Worth it."

Mira was already on the phone, her voice frantic. "Ambulance! NOW!"

Your tears fell onto Jay’s face, mixing with his sweat.

"Don’t you dare leave me again." You cried. ‘’Don’t you DARE!!”

His fingers found yours.

And there was only a smile on his face, before he let out one gust of precious air from the pain.

“Jay? Jay …. JAAAYYY!!!”

Outside, sirens wailed.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — okay i gotta admit this is too fast for an update and i was supposed to publish a ni-ki fic but THIS IS MY MAN'S DAY SO WE GOTTA CELEBRATE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY BELOVED POOKIE ROCKSTAR RAAAAAAAAA LYLYLYLYLYL MAWMAWMAMWA

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

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

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

legacy masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

⋆｡°✩ your domestic boyfriend ignored you

fairy of shampoo | park jongseong x male!reader

pairing: jay x male!reader genre: fluff (itz not zat zeep) word count: 1.8k notes: soft jay hours

Lately, something has been bothering you.

"Ugh..." You scrunched your forehead as you sat in your corner of the office, lost in your thoughts. Your mind was full of worries, and you couldn’t shake off the confusing feelings that weighed on your heart.

"What's wrong with him?" One of your co-workers passed by your desk, curious about your mood.

"He's just thinking too much," your quirky office friend jumped in, excited for some office gossip.

"About what?"

"He'll be fine. He’s just being dramatic," your other co-worker said, leaning back in his chair. "He’s been like this since he got here—"

"I'm not being dramatic!" You protested, your voice rising a bit.

"See?" Your co-worker pointed at you with a teasing look.

Frustration filled you, and you scratched your head quickly, feeling stuck with this problem. It wasn’t just any small issue; it felt really important.

"Totally," your quirky friend agreed, tapping her pen on your desk playfully. "Veins popping, eyes turning red... He’s really in his head."

"But it’s Jay!" You whined, spinning your office chair around.

Your colleagues groaned collectively at the mention of your boyfriend’s name. Of course, it had to do with your sweet love life.

"Let me guess, he wanted to see that new musical movie?" Your laid-back co-worker chimed in without missing a beat. You turned to him and nodded eagerly.

"Yes! Yes!" You stomped your feet like a child. "But now I feel like I messed up!"

"It’s not the end of the world if you don’t go to the movies. The film will still be there," he pointed out, trying to be practical.

"But still! He really wanted to take me out since this is all the time he has before going back to his gigs!" You squeezed your face in frustration. "And this morning, he just ignored me."

A chorus of mock gasps filled the air.

"Come on!"

"You do realize he’s still a person, right? He probably didn’t notice he was ignoring you," your co-worker patted your back, trying to comfort you.

"But..."

"But?"

"He didn’t give me cuddles... I miss his cuddles when he’s all tired and sleepy..."

Your quirky friend let out a dramatic sigh, moving closer to you.

"You know what you should do?" she suggested, her eyes sparkling with ideas. "Surprise him tonight."

You looked at her, confused. "With what?"

"You know."

"Huh?"

Your other co-worker facepalmed at her suggestion, while you raised an eyebrow in realization.

"It’s not that easy!"

"What? You said he gives in easily!" Your friend insisted, pushing the idea.

"You really need to stop sharing so much about your boyfriend at work," your laid-back co-worker sighed, shaking his head.

"But he can’t be that down right now! He hates being upset..."

"Okay, I’ve heard enough," your closest co-worker stood up and walked away from the conversation.

Your quirky friend leaned in closer, her expression softening. "Just try to stay calm and talk to him before the day ends," she said sincerely. "I’m sure he’s not mad."

You thought about her words. Even though Jay could get mad at his friends, he had never gotten mad at you, even during playful teasing.

"I hope so..." You rubbed your forehead, trying to ease your stress.

"It’s just not like him to ignore me..." You mumbled, feeling down.

"Oh come on, you sometimes forget to text him back when you’re here," your friend reminded you.

You looked at her, realization hitting you. "Oh my god... I'm a hypocrite, aren’t I?" You sighed, feeling embarrassed, but your quirky friend just laughed.

"Don’t worry," she said, trying to cheer you up. "He still loves you, I’m sure."

As the long workday finally ended, you packed your things and got ready to head down the elevator. With your phone in hand, you scrolled through your contacts, searching for that one sweet photo of your boyfriend.

I should call him like I usually do, you thought. Maybe he’ll be okay and reply like nothing happened.

With a light tap, you dialed Jay's number, his nickname decorated with two hearts on your screen. You gazed at the cute photo you took of him on one of your dates. His smile was unforgettable.

"Hello?" He answered, his voice warm and familiar.

"Hi, honey..." You said softly.

"Hi? What's up?"

".... I'm sorry." You mentally kicked yourself as you said those words. You were supposed to hold back, but it just slipped out.

"You're cutting in and out..." He tried to speak clearly, but the call was breaking up. All you could hear were garbled sounds like "ksher ksher" and "zzh zzhh."

"Hello? Honey? You’re breaking up—"

"Let me call you later." He hung up before you could check if the problem was on your end. You sighed, watching the call end, the wallpaper of him smiling back at you.

So you just have this saved pic as your wallpaper, huh? WHIPPED.

All you could think about was how much you loved this man.

As you let out another heavy sigh, you stepped out of the elevator, fixing your hair and scarf as you walked outside.

As you passed through the rotating doors, you noticed a crowd gathering outside your office building. People were piling up, excitement buzzing in the air. You felt the urge to see what was happening.

"They're definitely a band. I saw them on TV."

A band? Right outside your office building was a plaza, a usual spot for performances. But the crowd seemed too big for it to be just any local act.

"Are they famous?"

"Are you kidding? They're Enhypen! They were on that band show..."

You turned sharply to one of the people trying to see what was going on. "Enhypen? They’re here?"

"I think so? It’s just a random plaza, though. Could be cover artists."

"No, it’s them! I saw Jake and Sunghoon there!"

They’re just outside?!

"Hey, you over there!" A familiar voice boomed through the speakers, full of energy. It was a voice you knew well, one that made your heart race.

Slowly, you turned your head as other people stared at you.

"This one's for you."

Park. Jongseong. In the flesh. Pointing his damn finger right through your heart.

He adjusted the microphone on the shaky stand, his charm lighting up the crowd. Even if the equipment wasn’t the best, he looked amazing, holding the mic like it was meant for him. He began to sing your favorite song—a sweet, romantic tune.

Cheers erupted as he finished, applause ringing out from everyone, including your co-workers, who cheered for him and his bandmates.

As snow started to fall gently around you, Jay rushed toward you, concern on his face as he adjusted your scarf.

"You’re shivering," he said, worry in his voice. But all you could do was look at this wonderful man you called yours.

"It’s... fine," you replied, holding his hand. He paused, looking down at your joined hands before meeting your gaze.

In that moment, everything felt perfect as snowflakes floated around you. His eyes sparkled, reflecting the light and warmth of the moment.

You couldn’t hold back any longer.

"I'm sorry!" you both blurted out at the same time, creating a funny mix of apologies.

"Wha-what?"

"I'm sorry, why are you sorry?"

"Wait, I'm sorry. What are you trying to—"

You both laughed, the tension fading away. Jay still looked a bit confused, which only made it more charming.

"I said I'm sorry. I felt like I hurt your feelings when you wanted to watch a movie with me during your free time..." You held his hands tightly, feeling sincere.

Jay tilted his head, a smile spreading across his face. "No way! I totally get it, honey." He pinched your cheek playfully. "It’s not like I’m going far away."

"But you wanted more time with me."

"I know." Jay’s smile was real, a sign of understanding. "I thought you were mad at me for being too needy."

"What?" You exclaimed, your voice rising in surprise.

"Slow down."

"I would never! NEVER!" You declared firmly. "If anything, I want to always be close to you! I like the clingy you!"

Jay couldn’t help but laugh, and you hugged him tightly, feeling the warmth between you. At that moment, he rested his head on your shoulder.

"I was worried for nothing," he whispered softly.

"Hey, that tickles!" You booped his nose playfully. "And same here. I thought you were ignoring me."

Jay looked at you with sincerity. "Sorry. I was just in my own head this morning. I didn’t mean to tune out."

You smiled back, brushing a stray hair from his face. "It’s okay. I understand now."

Taking one last look at him, you wrapped your arms around him again. "Don’t ever feel shy with me! We’ve been a couple for years! Come on!"

Jay chuckled at your words, a mix of affection and disbelief shining in his eyes. He often felt insecure whenever you seemed upset, worrying that he could do better. But in the end, you always calmed him down, reminding him that he was enough and that you accepted him just as he was.

You fixed your clothes, pulling away slightly from Jay’s embrace. "So, are we still going to see the movie?"

Jay’s smile grew wider, his eyes filled with joy. "It’s tonight. We won’t be late if we hurry."

"Yay!" You grabbed his face and kissed him quickly, catching him off guard. He blinked in surprise as you linked your arm through his, walking side by side toward the cinema.

Meanwhile, in the distance...

"Are you seeing that? He just left us!" Jake shouted, struggling to carry amplifiers toward the van as he watched you walk away with Jay.

"You're just jealous you don’t get to use anyone as an excuse to go out," Sunghoon replied dryly, packing up other gear. He wasn’t wrong, though.

"Shut it, man!" Jake scratched his head, feeling a bit embarrassed by that comment.

| masterlist! | previous | next |

⋆｡°✩ random texts with bf ni-ki pt. 1

u got texts // drabbles | nishimura riki x male!reader

pairing: niki x male!reader

genre: fluff? crack? its a smau who cares 😭

notes: you guys are an established muh luh muh couple (not public tho) ANNNDDD also my first venture to smau and text stuff AND really wanted to have some text ideas for riki because ... because i love him so 😭🙏 so pls pls pls go ez on me 🙏