#atz reader insert

[coupsie-daisies]

Kinktober '24: Phone Sex | Song Mingi

Pairing: Song Mingi x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT) interact

Summary: Mingi has never wanted to make things weird between him and his best friend, but it's hard to deny her when she calls him, drunk and horny and begging him to talk her through it

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: drunk sex (kinda), they're both down so bad, nipple play for two seconds, open ending kinda

A/N: Guys, listen...I will have this shit done by the end of the year if it kills me. But I've had a lot going on so please accept this as my apology

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1-blog

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

Kinktober '24 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any platform is prohibited

Desperation was something you were very familiar with in many many ways. There was the desperation you felt when trying out for the dance team back in middle school, the way it had driven you to push yourself so hard you sprained your ankle. The desperation you'd felt during that entire recovery just to get back to normal so you could chase your dream again. The desperation you'd felt while applying for your dream university, and the desperation you'd felt when trying to find a decent job after you graduated.

Throughout every single one of those moments, Mingi had been at your side. You'd been best friends since you were kids, and you'd learned early on that you could count on him for anything. Truthfully, you sometimes felt like Mingi was too good to spend time with you. He was so kind and so creative and so goddamn talented that it almost hurt. But no amount of thinking changed the fact that he wanted to stick by your side.

Unfortunately, that also meant that he was the one to carry you home when you got a little too drunk at the bar you and your friends went out to. You were celebrating a birthday in the group, and you weren't the only one to get carried away, but all night Mingi had been keeping a careful eye on you, knowing that you were a lightweight no matter how much you denied it.

He'd dropped you off at your apartment after all was said and done, bringing you water and a snack and only leaving an hour later once he was certain you would be okay. Even so, he made you pinky swear to call him if you needed him for anything.

And really, you hadn't planned on calling him. You weren't so drunk that you couldn't see straight or that you were puking your guts out. You were just dizzy, and way less uptight than you usually were. Okay, maybe you weren't thinking right, because all you'd been able to think about since Mingi had practically carried you home was how good it felt to be wrapped up in his arms, and how pretty he looked when he was so focused on taking care of you.

It was far from the first time you'd had such thoughts about your best friend, but you figured that was probably normal for anyone with a super hot, incredibly kind, really very hot best friend. It was okay, you reminded yourself, because those thoughts were between you and your bed. Nobody else needed to know, and if nobody knew it couldn't make things weird.

But the lingering alcohol in your mind had you forgetting that mantra, because it wasn't even fifteen minutes later before arousal was flooding your senses and your hand found your phone.

It rang a couple of times, and a moment of doubt tried to seep in, but it was quickly shut out by the sound of Mingi's voice.

"Are you okay?" He asked immediately.

"I'm okay. Need your help," You said, pout evident in your voice. Your free hand pushed your shirt up your stomach, fingertips dragging along your tummy, down to trace the waistband of your sleep shorts.

"Should I come back? What's wrong?"

You slid your hand lower, pushing your pants down your hips and tucking your phone against your ear to use the other to get them out of the way.

"I keep thinking about you. Is that wrong?" You asked, closing your eyes as your fingers found their way to your covered core. "You looked so good tonight. You always look good."

You heard his breath hitch, and you sighed in response.

"What are you talking about?" He asked. You couldn't see him, but he was parked outside his apartment, one hand gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, the other trying not to drop his phone.

He listened to the catch in your voice, the tiny hum you let out, and god he tried not to imagine you in some filthy position underneath him. Certainly not a new thought for him, but one he knew he shouldn't be entertaining in the moment.

"I want you so bad, Min, need you." You were basically whining now, rubbing your clit and slowly soaking through your panties at the thought of him. "Been thinking about you touching me for so long. You would, right? I see how you look at me. Never wanted to make it weird but fuck,"

Mingi grunted out a curse under his breath.

"You're drunk," He reminded you. "You probably won't even remember this in the morning. You should go to sleep."

"Don't leave me like this. Please? Just need to hear your voice, wanna hear you talk me through it." You begged, fingers getting more frantic as you sought out your own pleasure.

Mingi tipped his head back into the headrest, his cock twitching with interest. He was already half hard and getting uncomfortable in his tight pants.

"Promise me you won't regret this," He ordered, voice lower now. The sound of it send a wave of arousal all the way to the tips of your toes and you squirmed in your bed.

"I promise. I swear, I won't regret it. I promise."

The desperation in your voice should have embarrassed you, but you were never embarrassed with Mingi.

He reached down, palming himself through his pants and willing himself to last when you sounded so fucked out and he hadn't even said anything yet.

"Are you still wearing your pajamas?" He asked, squeezing his bulge and biting back a groan. You hummed affirmatively. "Take them off, want you naked for me baby."

You didn't hesitate to do as he said, putting your phone on speaker and shuffling around on your bed until you could kick all of your clothes away.

"Good job, baby," He hummed, and you couldn't hold back a surprised whimper at his praise. "That's what you like? My baby likes when I'm nice to her?"

You gasped, fingers slipping between your wet folds as he spoke.

"Yeah, like that." You agreed, nodded even though you knew he couldn't see you.

"Can you play with your nipples for me? Wanted to forever."

Mingi worked his pants down until he could pull his aching dick out of his boxers, stroking himself slowly. He was already leaking precum, but who could blame him when the girl he'd been pining after for years decided to call him up and beg him to fuck her?

You listened eagerly, both hands coming up to knead your breasts before circling your thumbs around your hardening nipples. You gasped softly, flicking over them back and forth a couple times before twisting them a little harder. You could hear Mingi's breathing as it picked up, his ears trained on each tiny gasp and whine that you let out.

"Move your hands down. Want you to touch your sides. They're sensitive, right?" He didn't have to ask to know. He'd found that out completely on accident back in college and it lived in the back of his mind, sparking far too much interest in what other reactions he could pull out of you.

You slid your hands down lower, along the curve of your chest, down your sternum, then up along your sides with feather-light touches that made you squirm. You dragged your nails dully along your side, then down your stomach, wishing beyond anything you could fully comprehend that it was Mingi touching you like this, that his hands were exploring you. You moaned pathetically, a broken keen of his name.

"I'm here, pretty girl, don't worry. You're doing so good for me." Mingi grunted out. He'd been trying to resist touching himself, too afraid that he'd blow the second you opened your mouth, but his cock was throbbing and leaking and simply begging for his attention, and he couldn't deny it anymore. He wrapped his hand around his length, jerking himself off with slow, languid strokes.

"Want you to open your legs nice and wide for me," He told you, listening to the rustle of the sheets as you moved. "Go ahead and touch your thighs. How's that feel?"

Your back arched, chasing some sort of friction now that your thighs were separated, and your hands stroked along the insides of them, kneading the flesh the way you liked.

"Not good enough. Need you, don't wanna do it myself." You huffed.

"I know, but I can't come back yet. Just gotta take care of your pussy for me, okay? I'll make it up to you, I promise." He purred, and you relaxed, his voice running through you like molten lava.

"Can I touch myself, Min? Please?" You asked, and he shivered at the desperation in your voice. He'd never heard you like this before, and whatever string of self control that was keeping him from taking you every time he saw you was beginning to snap.

"Go ahead, baby, play with your clit for me." He ordered firmly now, stroking himself faster. Your hand flew to your core, fingers circling your clit and spreading your wetness against it. You let out the most debauched whimper of relief at the feeling, hips jolting as you moved fast and hard, still too intoxicated to be skilled with your fingers and not entirely caring when you could hear the sound of Mingi's hand around his cock, and his breath picking up.

"God, you're so wet." He groaned, tipping his head back against the headrest again. He could hear you, and what he wouldn't give to have you on his tongue, or have your walls wrapped like a vice around his dick. His head was fogging up with thoughts of you, your scent and your pretty lips and the way you said his name.

"Mingi, can I put them inside?" You asked, fingers dipping closer to your entrance before pulling back to strum against your clit again. "Wanna be full of you. Wish you were here, need your dick so bad."

Any shame you'd felt upon calling him in the first place was gone, and he was going absolutely batshit about it.

"Go ahead baby, let's see how many you can take." He urged. You didn't hesitate to slide two fingers into yourself, wincing a little at the immediate stretch, but the burn felt so good you didn't care. You rocked your hips up to meet each thrust of your fingers, starting slow before becoming a little more frantic, pushing them all the way to the third knuckles. You were soaking yourself, fingers curling up against the spot that had your head spinning.

You were hardly aware of the way you were babbling his name, begging him for more as you managed to squeeze a third finger into yourself.

"Good girl, keep going. Sound so pretty, can't wait to have you on my dick." He stroked himself faster, harder, knowing he was nearing his end. He wanted to drag this out, but he was struggling to deny himself the satisfaction of finally getting off to the sound of you begging for him. This had to be a dream, he hadn't done anything to deserve this kind of blessing, but there you were, fingering yourself dumb for him anyway.

"Close," You warned him, grinding your palm into your clit. Your fingers weren't usually enough, but the sound of him on the line, the image of his large frame engulfing you as he split you open. God, and his hands, they were so much bigger than yours, would fill you up so much better. You didn't even register your orgasm building as high as it did until you were dangling from the edge, thighs shaking with the exertion of bucking your hips up into your hand. "Mingi, I need to cum, please can I?"

The sound of you, breathless and begging and audibly wrecked was too much for him.

"Please cum for me," He groaned, voice tight as he bit back his own orgasm, pushing his limits just to hear the way you nearly sobbed his name. Your orgasm shook through you, fingers messily working yourself through it and pushing it as long as you could, and Mingi couldn't take it.

He spilled into his hand, strings of his own cum spilling over his fingers and onto his pants. He sighed, jerking himself through it despite the mess and imagining that it was you he was making a mess on. When the bliss cleared in his mind, he realized that you were still there on the other end, still breathing hard and presumably coming down from your own high.

There was silence for a few moments, and guilt weighed in his mind as he wiped his hand off on one of the spare tissues he kept in his car. You didn't speak either, too buzzed from the alcohol and the orgasm, and your mind weighing heavy with sleep.

"Mingi?" You said finally, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. "Will you come back? Don't wanna sleep alone."

He listened to your voice, so heavy with sleep, and so free of any concern about what had just happened. He wanted to argue that it was a bad idea, but despite everything, the two of you still felt so normal. He hummed.

"Give me a little bit, I'll be there soon." He promised, not mentioning that he needed to clean himself up and change his clothes before he could drive back. You didn't argue, just mumbled an okay, and a quiet 'I love you'. That was so normal for both of you, but this time it felt different, and Mingi had to wonder if that was all in his head.

copyright 2024 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved

[starmatzz]

𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓪𝓷 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮🎀

San x gf!reader | smut, mdni

| nsfw tags

| cock riding, pet names, mentions of male and female parts

“Straddle my lap now, sweetheart,” San said with a soft voice, sitting on a bed as he leaned back against the bedpost. 

You had wanted to try riding for so long but could never find the right words or the right moment to tell San.

One day, though, you finally mustered the courage to share your desires with him.

Your cheeks were flushed as you obediently straddled his lap. Both of you got already worked up in a foreplay, dry humping each other lovingly. 

San was always patient and understanding, especially when you were trying something new, fully aware of how shy and self-conscious you could be.

He pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants just below his hips, his cock springing free. 

“You look nervous, bun,” he mumbled while being too focused on pulling down your panties. His tone wasn’t teasing like usual; it was genuine, a soft reassurance to make sure you were comfortable.

He paused, his thumbs gently rubbing over your hipbones, offering a moment of comfort before carefully positioning you above his tip. 

You hesitated, watching him grip his cock and align it with your already wet hole. 

“If anything feels uncomfortable, just tell me right away baby,” he looked into your eyes deeply, “now, sink down slowly.”

You held his gaze, your eyes locked with his as you slowly lowered yourself. The stretch burned, but you didn’t care—it only made the moment more intense.

It was worth it for the sight in front of you. 

San closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, releasing a deep, steady exhale.

“You feel amazing, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hips as he watched you.

You continued sinking down, focusing on the feeling of being filled inch by inch. Squeezing your eyes shut in agony, the sharp lines of discomfort etched across your features. But soon, the tension slowly eased, and your expression softened, the pain fading into something more bearable. 

Suddenly, he was all the way in, and you exhaled deeply, resting your forehead against his shoulder as you tried to steady your breath.

“What a good girl, I'm so proud of you baby,” San opened his eyes, his hands gently guiding your hips upward once more, his movements slow and deliberate.

You complied, flexing your thigh muscles to push yourself upward. Once you could feel only his thick tip inside you, you both looked down. 

The sight was breathtaking as you lowered yourself again, being able to see how San's cock was filling you up. It got you so overwhelmed, you got all shy and collapsed onto his chest.

“Aw baby, is it too much already?” He asked with a chuckle, his hand gently rubbing your back.

You nodded with a soft smile, and neither of you moved, silently agreeing to stay like this—his hands on your back, as you simply enjoyed the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

[owlbeforesunset]

Here next year...

Pairing: San x Reader Summary:  You broke up eons ago when you were both young. You went off to uni and San went to an art school. You come back home for the first time for Christmas. You knew the only person you truly cared about the most had probably moved on but maybe… Genre: Fluff Au/Trope: Exes to lovers Rating: PG Word Count:  1.3k A/N: For my wonderful babycakes, @jaehunnyy. I hope it was to your liking. I was actually so happy when I got you for my secret santa and I chose San because you know... - For the @cromernet secret santa

It felt weird being so close to home, the familiar scenery passing by as I patiently sat on the bus waiting for the familiar stop. It feels like yesterday when I had just arrived at university and it was completely unfathomable to me that I would ever get to this day. The day I finally got to go home and say that I finished my degree. My heart felt whole knowing that I was so much closer to my dream career. Years of work and I was so much closer to becoming a sound engineer. All the sacrifices I made almost felt worth it, the sleepless nights and the lack of a social life. Now when I look back these sacrifices feel like a small price to pay to be able to get into the career I dreamed of. There was only one sacrifice that always pained me to think about…one that brought a familiar sting to my eyes when I think about the day I left.

The day I left him…

I quickly wiped the tears that escaped, running down my cheeks. That familiar ache settled in my chest as the day I last saw him. I could vividly remember it, how he was the one who dropped me off at the very stop that I was closely approaching. I could vividly remember him wearing the dark grey coat he wore that smelt so painfully like him when I gave him that last goodbye hug. His pained expression with his glossy eyes haunted me everyday as I started to walk towards the bus. As I sat on the bus, waiting for the bus to move, I couldn’t even look out the window at him. I remember the feeling of my tears falling onto my lap as I closed my eyes, trying to ease the pain of the loss. The loss of the man who never left my heart, no matter how hard I tried.

As I got off the bus, I was met with the joy of my family greeting me. I was really happy to see them again, excitedly hugging them after not seeing them for so long. It felt good to be back home, but at the back of my head, all I could think about was him.

“You miss him …don’t you…” My childhood bestfriend asked tentatively.

“...Is it that obvious?” I looked down at my hands, nervously playing with my fingers. “How’s he been… since I’ve been gone?’

“It’s been…tough. He’s just kinda focusing on school and dance.” You cracked a smile at that, happy that he still danced. The both of you bonded on your love for the arts, he loved to dance and you loved to sing. You were glad that he never stopped dancing.

“That’s good, that’s good… Is he, he- seeing anyone… right now..?” An unintentional sigh left your lips when your friend shook their head.

“He hasn’t seen anyone…just kind of focused on himself.” Your friend gave you a strange look, “would it bother if he was seeing someone?” You shifted in your seat uncomfortably, not wanting to answer the question. “Do you still love him?” 

The question hit you hard, because although years had passed since you left and communication slowly died out as time continued the love you felt never faded. Even though the long distance absolutely dismantled your relationship, you never stopped thinking about San. Although you still loved him, you know there was nothing stopping San from moving on no matter how much it hurt to think about.

“I do…” you hugged your knees against your body as your vision started to appear misty. Your friend approached you, gently caressing your back to comfort you.

“You should talk to him…you never know what could come from it.”

“I know I should but it’s been so long…and what if-” 

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

A week had passed and the shame had grown. You couldn’t bring yourself to face San again. You blame yourself for the end of your relationship since your shitty time management skills obviously pushed San away. How could you face him when you made him feel like he was secondary to your life. Now you were too much of a coward to even face him again… for him to tell you that he was no longer in love with you and he wanted nothing to do with you. No matter how hard you tried, you could not face that reality. 

It was Christmas eve and your family was a little bit too chaotic for you today. You decided it would be good for you to talk a walk around town to try and clear your mind. You were walking down the street, looking through the windows of the different stores. You loved the decor and lights, they looked so much prettier in the evening. Most of the stores were closed now but it was still nice to see the lights filling the snow covered streets. As you continued down the street you saw the most beautifully lit large Christmas tree adorning the street. A few people were gathered around it taking pictures and taking in its beauty. You made your way towards the tree, hoping to capture an image of the tree. 

As you start taking pictures of the tree, making your way around the tree for the best angle, you bump into someone. You completely lose your balance, falling forwards. Fully expecting to fall face first into the snow, you were confused that you were still up right. When you open your eyes, you are met with the familiar brown eyes from your past. What are the odds…? San quickly helped you steady yourself on your feet. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him, your lips slightly parted. 

“Hi.” His voice broke you out of the slight trans you were in.

“Hi!”  Your hand shot up quickly, your voice coming out a little bit more shrill than you intended. He gave you a puzzled look before hesitantly grasping and softly shaking your hand. The feeling of his skin against yours was electric even though his hand was slightly cold from the snow. You missed him. 

“So…are you going to let go or…” You quickly dropped his hand, your cheeks warming up in the cold winter air.

“Oh…I’m so sorry. I, I just- I’m sorry.” He smiled, the dimples in his cheeks becoming more prominent warming your soul like they did in the past.

“No worries.” You stood there in front of the tree in a comfortable silence, staring at the twinkling lights. Stealing glances at San, his figure gently lit by the lights of the tree, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself when you noted the lingering smile on his lips. The shame and worry you felt before felt silly now as you stood there together.

“Do you wanna go out sometime…with me?” A silence lingered as you looked into each other's eyes.

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

A year had passed and it was Christmas eve again but this time it felt a lot different. You had left your hometown again but this time you weren’t living in your crappy uni accommodation, you had your own apartment. This time you aren’t  stressing about how uni is going to be in the coming year, you were finally a sound engineer and it was no longer just a fantasy. This time you weren’t feeling the grief of your past love, you were…well now you were sitting in front of the fire, in those familiar arms that got you through so much. Now you looked down at your hand at the glimmering jewerly that solidified your future. 

The years you spent dreading the day you would have to accept the fact that you would spend every holiday, every Christmas alone came to this. Going into every Christmas knowing that the love of my life will be next year.

Please like and reblog if you enjoyed <3

[glimmerfics]

Wooyoung is your next door neighbor always coming over for help with little things in his apartment like a leaky sink. Choose-Your-Own-Adventure! cw: nsfw elements

🎮 interactive fanfic "Boy Next Door" by @depressedhouseplant 🔗 link to play: https://glimmerfics.com/stories/c456bd08-boy-next-door

[niishii]

coachella vibes—seongwha x idol!reader

summary; in which you catch up with your favorite member of ateez at coachella.

author's note: first time writing a kpop fic. please be kind!

Divider by: @plutism

You had been fiddling with the strap of your dress all night.

"Alright everyone, squeeze in tight!"

The pulsating hum from the music bass in the background jostled your heart against your chest. It didn't help that you were shoved between your group mate and Seongwha - who you hadn't seen since the promotion of Ateez and [insert your kpop group name] song collaboration last year.

Although you obviously knew way in advance that [insert your kpop group name] and Ateez were performing on separate nights at Coachella, running into Park Seongwha still threw you for a loop. During the promotion of each groups' shared song, you two had gotten closer than intended - a well kept hushed secret that was made of prolonged eye contact, inconspicuous flirtatious smiles, and subtle, gentle nudges of each other's arms and shoulders in passing.

"A little closer!" The camera man said while holding the phone horizontally to ensure everyone fit in the picture.

You felt Seongwha shuffle closer to you, the fabric of his shirt rubbing against your bare arm. You two had been positioned at the very end of the line, thanks to your closest bandmate.

Oh, if only you weren't surrounded by wandering eyes, you would give your friend a good—

"This okay?"

His arm fell across your shoulders as he leaned in, subtly tucking you to his side. Your eyes widened, though naturally, you molded into him as he drew a peace sign with his other hand that happened to be stuck in his pocket.

"Yeah." It was the only word your mouth could produce as you drew your own signature peace sign.

The camera flashed multiple times before the cameraman told everyone to 'look cool' this time.

You and Seongwha dropped your cute peace signs simultaneously. He shifted and stuck his hand into his pocket. Meanwhile, your hands stuck out from the front pocket of your jeans, one knee bent so you looked more relaxed.

Click. Click. Click.

"Long time no see, right?"

"Tell me about it," You replied under your breath as the group either switched poses or facial expressions. You could hear your groupmates laughing and talking with the rest of the group. "We should definitely do this more often," you joked.

He chuckled lightly. "What? Take pictures or catch up?"

"Both," you said between the next set of clicks.

"Agreed."

Seongwha dropped his arm from your shoulder, shifting the loose shoulder strap of your blouse to the upper part of your bicep. You had forgotten about the darn thing until now. It had been a nuisance all night - seeming to fall off your shoulder every time a wave of nervous energy coursed through you. But your stylist insisted this was the perfect night to show it off to the world of Coachella. You internally groaned.

But before you could reach for the fabric, Seongwha had already draped it back onto your shoulder securely before loosely resting his forearm on your shoulder, posing another time. You were quick to flash a smile just before the last picture was taken.

"Thanks," you mumbled as the group began to disperse. You hiked the strap higher, ensuring this slip up wouldn't happen again...at least not while you were both interacting.

"Don't mention it," he said before the performer onstage began his set. Seongwha stepped towards you so his voice could be over the cheers from the crowd. His breath fanning your cheek. "Don't forget to kill it tomorrow, okay?"

And just like that, you were left with your group as the next artist's set began. You both were pulled into separate directions with your groupmates, sparing one last longing glance before the incoming rave music drowned out the sound of the crowd's screams.

[yongility]

ATZ TV # the bloom beneath the frost ꗃ╭╯ park seonghwa.

𒄬 genre: slowburn / angst / suggestive / detective!seonghwa / figure skating au / f!reader insert.

𒄬 summary: a professional ice skater’s life is shattered when an anonymous admirer’s innocent gestures turn into an all-consuming obsession. With the help of detective Seonghwa, she must fight to reclaim her life—before the darkness consumes her for good. 𒄬 word count: 25k.

𒄬 warnings: stalking and obssesive behavior / invasion of privacy / psychological manipulation / anxiety / implied violence / emotional distress / mentions of crying, panic and fear of safety / harassament / police involvement / mentions of knife/blade and guns — not a warning but it's mentioned that it's winter season, also a lot of rainy scenes. — english it's not my first language, poor proofread tbh.

The ice rink was empty, and the sound of your blades was the only thing accompanying the silence.

The light was dim, bluish, as if the dawn still hesitated to peek through the tall windows of the arena. It was cold—not the kind of cold that cuts to the bone, but the kind that feels familiar, almost cozy, when the ice is the closest thing to home.

Because, in truth, it is home.

You adjusted your gloves, exhaled slowly. The steam from your breath dissolved in front of you. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the sound of the ice beneath your skates surround you.

An imaginary beat began in your mind. One, two, three... And then you glided.

Each turn, each jump, each invisible line you drew in the ice told a story only you knew.

Being a professional figure skater was something you'd dreamed of since you could remember.

Or at least, that's what you thought.

But in that moment, when your blades glided over the ice and your body moved almost automatically, you could almost swear that it all had started that cold afternoon when your grandfather, with his big hands rough from years of hard work, took you by the hand to an ice rink for the first time. You were five. You had been walking through town after buying freshly baked bread, and just before crossing the street, he stopped in front of a billboard with bright letters: "Free ice skating class, this Saturday only."

You didn't say anything. You didn't need to. You just saw his eyes light up with that mischievous spark that used to appear when you were about to do something your grandfather disapproved of.

But the following Saturday, there you were. With used skates that were a bit too big, a hat that covered your eyebrows, and your knees already full of band-aids before even stepping onto the ice. The first step was a disaster. The second, worse. And the third ended with you face down, palms burned by the ice and your breath cut off by the fall. But you remember everything clearly: the cold smell, the crunching of the ice under the skates of other kids, your grandfather's soft voice saying: "Falling is not failing."

And then it happened. Between one fall and another, there was a moment—brief, magical—when you glided without losing balance. The wind brushed your cheeks, and you felt as if the whole world had stopped just to watch you float.

That's when you knew. This was your place.

The ice learned your name, and you learned its.

And since then, you never stopped.

Your grandfather didn't either. He, being the tireless doting he was, became your first fan, your chauffeur, your cheerleader in the stands. When, weeks later, he saw a poster about open registrations for formal classes at the local rink, he didn't hesitate for a second to sign you up. He bought your first second-hand leotard, fixed your skates with duct tape more times than you could count, and learned how to use his cellphone's camera just to film your pirouettes.

It all started months ago, with a bouquet of peonies.

After a morning practice that had been as exhausting as always, the fatigue accumulated in your legs, but the satisfaction of having reached the goal for that particular morning kept you on your feet.

You entered the locker room, ready to shower and prepare for the rest of the day. It was there, on your bench, where you found it: a bouquet of peonies, fresh and perfectly arranged in a small vase.

It didn't surprise you. Nor did you think too much of it. You knew it wasn't the first gift you'd received. Being a recognized skater, gifts from admirers were common. Flowers, letters, a stuffed animal... small gestures of affection, ways to express the admiration that surrounded you. None of it bothered you. You accepted them with a smile and left them in your locker, amidst the competition and practice, without thinking too much about them.

This bouquet of peonies, in particular, was pretty, but nothing out of the ordinary. You thought, like all the others, that it was just another show of admiration from some fan. You didn't even bother to look at the envelope or search for a signature to indicate who had sent it.

You left the bouquet there, on the table, and took off your skates. With a tired smile, you continued with your routine, unaware that this simple bouquet of flowers would be the beginning of something much bigger, darker. Something that, as time went on, would make you question how many other "admirers" you truly knew... and how many others hid behind the appearance of a simple flower.

Time passes in the blink of an eye, the practices are no longer just routine, now you're preparing for the nationals that will take place in a couple of months.

This year was supposed to be different from the others, because despite finishing with a good ranking in previous years, this year the main goal was to go to the internationals.

You had prepared your whole life for this. The internationals were the dream you still needed to fulfill, and you wouldn't rest until you brought that trophy to your grandfather. No matter the tears, sweat, or blood you had to shed to achieve it. That accomplishment wouldn't be just yours, but also your grandfather's.

Your first and number one fan.

Time passes in the blink of an eye, but to you, it feels like everything is out of place.

You didn't exactly know what it was, nor how to name it, but there was something in your daily routine that had started to unsettle you. At first, you thought it was just fatigue or stress—after all, you were giving your all to succeed in the nationals, and that was taking a toll on your body. But it felt like more than just discomfort from the pressure of the competitions. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was building up in the air, like an invisible pressure weighing on your chest. There was no exact description for it.

The flowers kept coming.

Peonies, daisies, orchids. Almost always from the same mysterious hand. You placed them in your dressing room and left them there, giving them no more thought, as if they were part of the decoration. But something changed each time. The first time you found them, you simply thought it was a fan who left a bouquet just because. It wasn't the first nor the last time someone had recognized your talent this way, and although you appreciated the gifts from your fans, there was something about this particular admirer that made something stir inside you.

At first, it was just flowers, with no signs or markings to indicate who was sending them, but then the letters started arriving.

At first, they were brief—sweet even. Written with neat, almost perfect handwriting. The person writing them put a lot of care into it, as if it was the most important thing in their life. "You have great talent," they said. "I've seen you skate in several competitions. Your gift is admirable. Keep working hard," "You're so beautiful when you're on the ice."

You could read them without much concern. After all, it was just another fan. Nothing you hadn't experienced before. However, as time passed, there was something about them that didn't sit right, a feeling that made you doubt, something that began to take shape.

You decided to ignore it. You wanted to think that you were just imagining things and there was nothing to worry about. After all, fans are part of the deal. That's what you thought at first. But then, the letters grew longer, and the flowers became more frequent.

The first of those letters came one morning, right after a long practice. You found it in your dressing room, next to a bouquet of lilies. The envelope was sealed with a wax you hadn't seen before. You opened it indifferently until you read the first paragraph.

"Please, never stop skating. The beauty with which you do it and the way you look on the ice makes me feel like you belong to me. It's strange, because the time I spend watching you skate is the only thing that makes me feel complete. I can't wait for our paths to cross."

A chill ran down your spine. It wasn't exactly fear. It was a discomfort that grew slowly. The letter continued, describing in detail your way of skating, mentioning your subtle movements, as if it were a meticulous observer. But what disturbed you the most was how they seemed to know every one of your moves, your gestures, your pauses. There was something in their words that made you feel watched, as if they were right there in front of you, staring.

"I know you're looking for me, even though you can't see me. I'll be waiting until you realize that we're meant for each other."

Far from comforting you, those words planted doubt in your mind. You looked at the letter in your hands again, then at the bouquet of lilies. The admirer seemed to know more about you than anyone else.

And you didn't know what to think about that.

That thought stayed with you all afternoon. Even when you sat down to dinner that night, you couldn't stop wondering if all of this was real. If you weren't exaggerating. Maybe it was just a fan too passionate. But the feeling of being watched didn't go away.

Not even for a moment.

In the following weeks, the letters arrived more frequently. Each one is more personal, more direct. The same elegant, well-marked handwriting—almost perfect—showed up in every one of them. One mentioned the way you spent your mornings, detailing your morning routine in a way you wouldn't have even thought of. Describing moments and aspects that only those closest to you could know. Suddenly, you felt like there was something in your life that was no longer yours, something someone else knew better than you did.

The next bouquet of flowers appeared at your house on a rainy night. A large bouquet of tulips. You hadn't gone to the rink that afternoon. So, it was unsettling to think that someone had been there, near your house, leaving that gift on your doorstep, especially when you asked the receptionist if they had seen anyone leaving the bouquet for you and their answer was no.

That only heightened the feeling of invasion in your mind.

A brief letter accompanied the tulips:

"You don't have to worry. Everything will be fine. I need you. Do you feel it too? When you finally get that, there will be no turning back."

You read those words over and over with your heart racing. You felt trapped, but you didn't know in what. The feeling of being stuck between who you were and who you were forcing yourself to be intensified with each letter, with each bouquet of flowers.

And even though the growing discomfort was forming, something inside you told you that you couldn't do anything. It was paralyzing. You didn't know who would believe you that an admirer could become a potential threat. You didn't want people to think you were turning into a paranoid person. But deep down, you knew something wasn't right.

So the practice the next afternoon wasn't the same as the others. For the first time in weeks, the ice rink didn't seem big enough, nor the air cold enough.

You felt distant.

Your movements became more mechanical and less fluid. When you attempted a double Axel jump, something went wrong. You landed badly on one foot, losing your balance and falling awkwardly. The sound of the ice cracking under your weight was louder than it should have been.

You couldn't remember the last time that had happened to you.

"Are you okay?" Your coach's voice snapped you back to reality. He looked at you sideways, frowning as he noticed your absent expression.

"Yeah..." you replied, but even you noticed you sounded empty. You didn't feel the same connection with the ice, as if you were separating from it, from yourself. You hurriedly took off your skates, letting the silence take over the rink. But as you took your first step off the rink, you felt the weight of the others' stares. One of the guys on the team, Wooyoung, was watching you with a frown, exchanging glances with his training partner.

Your mind wasn't there. It was occupied with the letters, the flowers, and that damned feeling of being watched. But the discomfort, the one you had tried to ignore for so long, was starting to show in the little gestures. In the practice, where you couldn't stop looking over your shoulder, as if you expected to see something or someone. The noises in the locker room were different now, pulling you out of your thoughts, making you feel like there was someone behind you.

When you were getting dressed to go home, a knock at the door made you jump in place. It wasn't a normal knock; it was insistent. You slowly approached, a knot of worry in your throat, opening the door cautiously and with fear, but on the other side, there was no one. Just a small package.

Another bouquet. A bouquet of small lilies and a letter. But the words it contained froze your blood.

"Every time you fall, I'll be there for you. I'm always there for you."

Your hands trembled, the paper creased between your fingers as you read it, and that cold sensation intensified.

"There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, and even if you don't understand it yet, everything I do for you has a reason. I want to see you, feel you, be part of you. We will meet soon."

Panic began to form in your chest, the letter slipped from your fingers and fell to the floor. You scanned the room, expecting to find something, something that would give a clue. You couldn't put a name, much less a face, to the person sending those letters, but it was someone intelligent. Someone who could have access to the practices and locker rooms without raising suspicion, because you no longer believed it was a joke, and if it was, it was going too far.

But before you could process it, the locker room door opened and after jumping, you tried to relax when you saw your grandfather enter with a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" His gaze didn't go unnoticed. You could distinguish the reflection of unconditional support and a slight concern that flickered in his eyes. "I've seen you distracted lately. Have you been getting enough rest? You haven't told me how things are going on the rink."

You tried to smile, but for your grandfather, who knew you better than anyone, he could notice something was different in your face. "Nothing important, Grandpa. Just tired."

He looked at you closely, not buying the excuse. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on the package on the floor, but he didn't say anything. A silence between you two became awkward.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and for a second, you felt like you couldn't hide anything from him. But before you could respond, he turned around, giving you the space you needed to calm down.

"I want to see you, feel you, be part of you."

With nationals just a few months away and performance down in the latest practices, the pressure seemed about to crush you. There was so much at stake, and it had been a while since you'd felt that suffocating frustration, that feeling that none of your moves were being executed the way they should, that you weren't achieving what you set out to do. It made you feel distant from your goal, but even further from yourself.

The ice rink, which had always been your safe place, no longer felt like that. Today, the soft music echoed through the speakers, but it didn't calm you, let alone help you focus. Even though you were alone on the rink, a thick emptiness surrounded you, but it wasn't loneliness you felt. It was something much more unsettling. Each glide of your skates on the ice seemed to echo louder in your ears, as if the sound was amplified by the growing anxiety invading your mind. The cold air wrapped around you, but it wasn't the cold of the ice, it was the cold of being watched, as if someone were there, and you couldn't see who.

The reflection of your face in the glass of the window looked strange, as if a shadow was lurking from the other side. The tension in your muscles grew with every spin you made, but you couldn't stop. Training had always been an escape, but this time, it wasn't. Each breath felt heavier, more tense.

Suddenly, a faint crack made you stop abruptly. The sound was so subtle you could have ignored it, but you didn't. A chill ran down your spine. Your heart beat faster, and the feeling of being watched intensified. You looked quickly around, but the rink was empty. Nothing unusual. The crack could have been the ice, it could have been the wind. Or maybe, something else.

You tried to keep skating, but another crack sounded closer. Something, or someone, seemed to be following you. Your mind began to spin, questioning every little detail. Was there someone there after all? It wasn't paranoia if it was really happening.

Each spin you took on the ice seemed to amplify the growing pressure in your chest. Your breath quickened, and you felt the urge to look over your shoulder, but you restrained yourself. The shadows seemed to move with each step you took, as if you were trapped in a spiral of thoughts and fears.

This wasn't normal.

The next practice came, and although the company of your teammates should have been a relief, you felt more uneasy than ever. Taking a brief break and sliding to the edge of the rink, you let out a sigh of exasperation, trying to relax your tense shoulders, but the heaviness in your chest wouldn't disappear. That's when Wooyoung, one of your closest teammates, approached with his usual smile, but there was something different in his expression. His gaze was more curious, almost worried.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, leaning toward you. His tone, slightly concerned, didn't match the usual lightness of his words. "I saw you were a little distracted on the rink."

You forced a smile, though it wasn't a genuine one.

"Just tired. Nothing to worry about."

Wooyoung seemed to hesitate, but then shrugged and changed the subject.

"Well... it looks like you've got a secret admirer, huh?" His tone was lighter, almost joking, but his gaze didn't stop watching you closely. "I saw you leave the café this morning, and a note was right on your backpack."

The air left your lungs. You couldn't remember where you had left your backpack that morning, much less seeing a note on it. Your heart raced, and a lump formed in your throat.

"What kind of note?" you asked, trying to stay calm, though your voice trembled.

Wooyoung smiled again, but he didn't seem as amused as usual.

"I don't know, I couldn't see it clearly, but it looked like a letter. I thought maybe another admirer..."

His playful tone didn't ease you. A flash of alertness ignited in your mind, making your whole body tense. What if Wooyoung was right? What if the admirer was closer than you thought, following you every step of the way without you realizing it? The feeling of being watched grew stronger, more persistent, like a shadow over your shoulders.

That night, you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was stalking you. The letters and messages you had received didn't seem so innocent now. The idea that someone was in your personal space, watching you, touching your things... filled you with growing anxiety.

"I don't like being possessive. But I also don't like someone else seeing you the way I see you. Your teammates seem very close. I don't know how to feel about it. The way they smile at you... it does something to me. No one deserves to breathe the same air as you. You're unique. You're incredible. I know you're made for me. And you'll know it soon."

The pain from the fall took you by surprise, but the anguish in your mind was even worse. As you fell, the blade on your right skate slid with more force than usual, and before you could stop yourself, the ice struck your wrist with a sharp pain. Breathing became difficult as the pain spread quickly through your arm, but the worst part came when you looked at the damage on your skate.

The blade was visibly damaged, as if someone had deliberately tampered with it. An accident? No, it couldn't be. You knew your skates, took care of them, kept them perfect. Someone had sabotaged your equipment. Fear and shock overwhelmed you. There was no way this was random. Someone had been following you—close enough to damage your skates without you noticing.

Terror settled in your chest, and you grabbed your aching wrist with your other hand, as blood rushed to your face. The sensation of being watched was so intense, you could almost feel eyes fixed on you.

"Every time you fall, I'll be there for you. I'm always here for you."

The feeling in your wrist didn't go away. Every time you tried to move it, the sharp pain reminded you of what had just happened—the fall that not only left a mark on your body but had also left much deeper scars. 

The ice, once your refuge, now felt foreign, dangerous. You had come to the conclusion that something wasn't right, but you couldn't keep ignoring the growing need for answers.

You had found your life on the ice, but now you feared it might end there.

You had bandaged your wrist quickly, without paying much attention to how clumsy the job was. The bandage covered the pain, but not the doubts piling up in your head. The admirer's letter kept spinning in your mind, and Wooyoung's words—though they had seemed innocent at the time—now echoed loudly.

There was something else. A real danger, something you couldn't just ignore.

Your teammates looked at you with curiosity—some concerned about your wrist, others unsure how to handle your growing distance. Somehow, that made you feel even more vulnerable, like everyone could see what was really happening, even if they didn't fully understand it. You felt fragile, exposed. The paranoia had gotten to you, but the warning signs were as clear as the damage to your wrist.

The dull noise of your own thoughts intensified as you walked through the ice rink's lobby, your breathing slightly more agitated than usual. You couldn't stop looking toward the shadows stretching in the corners—the feeling of being watched had never been stronger. The echoes of those messages seemed to follow you everywhere, like they could pierce every thought you tried to keep steady.

As you left the rink, you realized the sun was beginning to set, darkening the world around you. A familiar place, but with an atmosphere that no longer felt safe. A couple of times while walking, you turned quickly, feeling like something moved behind you. But there was nothing. Or at least, that's what you thought.

You came to a sudden stop. You felt the urge to talk to someone, to share your fears, but with who? You didn't want to overwhelm your grandfather, let alone worry him. He had already done so much for you over the years, and you didn't want to add another burden—and even if you tried, your words would get stuck in your throat. You needed more than comfort. You needed answers. You needed to know if you were just being paranoid, or if what you felt was actually happening.

You wanted to put a face to the author of your nightmares.

With a sigh and all the strength you could muster, you pulled out your phone and searched for the police number. Your fingers hovered over the screen.. You had to do it, but the mere idea of facing reality paralyzed you.

You decided to go through with it.

The phone rang several times before a deep, calm voice answered on the other end. "Seoul Police, how may I help you?"

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'd... I'd like to report something. Someone is stalking me, but I don't know what to do."

There was a brief silence on the line, as if the officer was assessing the seriousness of your words. "I understand. I'll need you to give me more details."

The police station smelled like stale coffee, dusty paperwork, and anxiety. The perfect blend to make you feel even more out of place. The air was thick with that uncomfortable silence that only blooms between white walls and eyes that don't linger long enough. You felt like you didn't belong the moment you walked through the door, arms crossed over your chest as if you could protect yourself just by pressing your elbows tighter against your ribs.

You were sitting on one of the hallway chairs, too straight, your back stiff like holding onto perfect posture might keep you from falling apart inside. You clutched a cloth bag against your chest, tight like a shield. Inside, neatly folded, were the letters. The small gifts. Each one was proof that what haunted you was real. Each one a piece of the invisible presence that had crept into your life.

If someone had asked you at the start of the year what your expectations were, you never would've imagined it would come to this.

Your leg wouldn't stop shaking. You breathed through your mouth in shallow attempts to keep a composure that no longer felt like your own. Around you, the low voices of officers, the occasional slamming of doors, the sound of phones and keyboards being tapped in a hurry—everything felt too present. As if the world outside had kept spinning without you. No one seemed to notice you. And paradoxically, that made you feel even more exposed. Like a whisper in the middle of a storm—ignored but precariously there.

"Kong (Y/N)." The voice came from your right, and as you looked up, your breath caught for a moment.

Two men approached. The first had a serious face, neutral but resolute expression, and a black folder in his hands. The second... had the most intense eyes you'd seen in a long time. He was tall, firmly built, with a straight posture and a quiet presence—like he moved cautiously even within chaos.  His face held a cold, precise beauty, but not a distant one. He looked at you directly—not with pity, not with judgment—but with attention. As if he was already trying to understand you.

"I'm Detective Kim Hongjoong, the one who took your call yesterday, and this is Detective Park Seonghwa," said the shorter one gently, while they both showed their badges out of habit. "We're in charge of your case."

You nodded with a barely perceptible motion, clutching the bag even tighter. You wanted to say something, but your voice stayed trapped in your throat.

"Can we speak in private?" Seonghwa asked, respectfully, without moving too fast—as if he knew you needed space to process each word. He didn't pressure you, didn't try to touch you or rush you. He just waited.

You stood up clumsily, feeling like your legs still hadn't decided to follow you. You noticed how Seonghwa's eyes dropped for a second toward your bag before meeting yours again.

"I brought... everything I've received," you finally said, voice low, as if admitting it made you more vulnerable.

Seonghwa nodded slowly. He didn't interrupt.

"Perfect. We'll go over it together," he replied, guiding you with an open hand toward one of the more discreet rooms in the station. He didn't touch you but walked by your side, keeping a respectful distance—balanced between professionalism and protective presence.

Kim Hongjoong walked behind you both, flipping through the folder while muttering something about the timeline of the incidents. More practical. More direct. But all you could feel was Seonghwa's glance from the side—subtle but constant, as if he wanted to make sure you didn't fall apart on the way.

Park Seonghwa was tall, with a lean but defined build, like someone whose body had been sculpted with the precision of someone who always had to be ready. His posture was impeccable—straight back, slightly tense shoulders, neck stretched as if his whole body was on quiet alert. Each of his movements held a deliberate restraint, like he avoided taking up more space than necessary... and yet, he filled the room the moment he entered.

He wore the standard civilian uniform with a near-dangerous sobriety: dark pants, fitted shirt, the first button always fastened, and a black coat made of thick fabric that fell to his thighs like a shadow clinging to his frame. His boots echoed in steady rhythm against the concrete floors—unhurried, unshaken.

But the most striking part was his face.

Seonghwa had a severe beauty. His features were sharp, almost sculpted—high cheekbones, firm jaw, thin lips, and eyes as sharp as a scalpel. The kind of face you wouldn't forget, even if you'd only seen it once in the rain. His skin was pale, contrasting with the darkness of his clothes and the jet-black hair falling over his forehead in slightly messy strands, dampened by the evening mist.

His eyes were the most unsettling: dark, calm, but full of observation. He always seemed to be looking beyond the obvious, dissecting intentions, analyzing gestures, collecting information. The kind of gaze that made you feel bare even without a single touch.

Despite all that, there was nothing aggressive about him. His voice was low, soft, like a stream of water in winter. He spoke little, with well-measured phrases, and never raised his tone unnecessarily. When he addressed someone, he did so with a mix of respect and distance that was confusing. He listened attentively, but did not offer undeserved sympathy. His neutrality was his shield. And behind that shield, something else seemed to be hiding.

At the police department, some considered him an enigma. Others respected him without fully knowing him. Little was known about his personal life, and he never bothered to refute rumors. The only clear thing was that he had an impeccable record solving complex cases, especially those where the line between victim and perpetrator wasn't so clear.

Park Seonghwa was a man made of silence, of intuitions, of unspoken truths.

And now, he was in charge of your case.

"We'd like to hear your story, Miss Kong," the black-haired detective's voice pulled you out of your trance.

You slowly lifted your gaze from the floor, as if your eyes were heavy, and adjusted your body in the cold office chair. The icy metal seeped through the fabric of your coat, a sharp reminder that you were far from comfort and control. Detectives Park and Kim's eyes were fixed on you, attentive, patient... dangerously penetrating. They were waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to say something, to untie the invisible knot clinging to your chest.

You were supposed to be safe here.

That's what you kept repeating. What you wanted to believe. Because you didn't want to be just another case. You didn't want your life to be reduced to a few pages in a file, a series of black ink notes among hundreds of others.

Seonghwa settled into the chair in front of you with a calm that seemed rehearsed, but not fake. There was something almost soothing in his posture, in the way he interlaced his fingers on the table without hurry, without pressuring you. Kim Hongjoong, on the other hand, remained standing by the door, flipping through the file with such well-executed indifference that it made you suspect how much he was really absorbing. Because you knew nothing escaped him. Every word, every gesture, every silence was being recorded in his mind.

"Start whenever you're ready," Seonghwa said. His hands rested folded on the table, no notebook, no recorder on yet. Just him. Just his voice. "Take your time."

You took a deep breath. The air tasted like metal and old paper. You closed your eyes for a second, as if that could help you organize your thoughts, jumbled together with sleepless days and that constant feeling of being watched.

"Umh— I'm a professional skater," you began with a trembling voice, barely a whisper breaking through your dry lips.

Seonghwa knew that. He had seen your face on TV once on one of his days off. He knew who you were and the fame you carried. But now, sitting in the office chair, you looked nothing like the girl who moved with confidence and poise on the ice rink. Now you looked like a life without a soul, with lost eyes and pale skin.

"When you're part of entertainment, it's normal to have a fanbase— some people find a kind of inspiration in you and we like that. We like knowing that our talent is appreciated, that our effort makes some kind of difference," you clutched your bag to your body and your voice cracked, drawing even more attention from the detectives. "Never, in all the years I've been in this sport, did I think something like this would happen to me. At first, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, at first I didn't see anything abnormal, but now I'm scared," you declared.

"Detective Kim mentioned you've received a series of items that have made you feel unsafe," Seonghwa gently interrupted, waiting for you to continue.

"Yes," you said. Shifting your gaze from the floor to the two detectives. "It started with flowers, something innocent. That's why I didn't think much of it... then the letters started," you said, your fingers finally releasing the bag, as if a piece of your soul slipped away with that gesture, and you placed it on the desk. Both detectives put on gloves, the latex making a subtle sound as it adjusted over their hands. With meticulous care, they removed the contents of the bag.

"When they started, they were also innocent. They just praised my work and what I do on the ice. I wasn't alarmed by that. The letters were short— direct. They had no signature, no seal, not even an address that might tell me who they could be from, but like I said, it didn't seem like a threat. It wasn't the first time I'd received gifts from a fan, or letters of admiration."

"What was it that made you feel alarmed?" Seonghwa asked while Hongjoong began taking notes without lifting his eyes.

You swallowed with difficulty. The knot in your throat burned, and with it came all the memories. All the moments you turned around and no one was there, but you felt someone had been. All the days you questioned if you were paranoid. All the mornings you had wished you didn't have to leave home—

It was a nightmare.

"The first time I noticed something different was with a letter. It was longer than the others. It said something about not being able to wait for our paths to cross. That's when I started to feel uneasy, but even then, I chose to ignore it. Then the letters kept coming. The next one arrived at my apartment. That time... I hadn't even gone to practice. It made me feel vulnerable. They were already entering my private life and managed to do it without anyone at the front desk noticing. The following letters kept the same purpose; they said we were meant for each other, that even if I didn't know it, we were destined to be together."

Now the detectives weren't looking at you, but reading the letters laid out on their desk.

You decided to continue. "Since that moment, I haven't been able to live normally. The fear is always present. I feel watched. Like someone is always there, just behind me, but when I turn around, there's no one. In the last letters, they say they'll always be there for me. My training has been affected. My performance isn't the same. I make more mistakes now than I did when I was a rookie. At first, I didn't care, but now it's interfering with my life, with my work, and it's overwhelming."

The detectives remained silent, analyzing what you said and what was written in the letters. Although there was still nothing concrete, having taken that weight off your chest made you feel a little lighter. You moved your hands on your lap and let out a groan when the gesture tugged on your bandaged wrist.

It didn't go unnoticed by Seonghwa. He looked up quickly, his eyes fixed on your expression, on the reflexive gesture as you grabbed your aching wrist with the other hand, making a small pout without realizing it.

"How did you hurt your hand?" Seonghwa asked without preamble.

You stayed silent.

You had forgotten about that part.

"Yesterday... yesterday I had practice. I was alone. And I fell on the ice," you said.

"Well, I guess with everything on your mind, lack of concentration is enough to cause an accident," Hongjoong murmured without stopping his writing.

Seonghwa, however, didn't take his eyes off you.

You swallowed, feeling the vertigo of what you were about to say.

"I think— I think whoever's sending the letters caused me to fall," you blurted out, and both looked at you, waiting for you to continue. "My skates... the blade of my left skate was damaged, like someone had tampered with it. It couldn't be wear and tear— my skates are always taken care of, there's not a day I don't check them."

"Is this person capable of accessing your belongings?" Seonghwa asked.

"Unless they know the password to my locker... but they had sent a letter before, it's the one with red ink," you pointed out.

"I don't like being possessive. But I also don't like someone else looking at you the way I do. Your teammates seem very close. I don't know how to feel about that. The way they smile at you... it does something to me. No one deserves to breathe the same air as you. You are unique. You are incredible. I know you're made for me. And you'll know it soon." Seonghwa read aloud.

The air that followed that reading felt like a slab on your shoulders. You felt the air grow heavier, harder to swallow. Even the distant hum of the fan in the corner of the office seemed to stop for a second.

Seonghwa lowered the letter slowly. His eyes, which had shown professional calm before, had now hardened. There was something in his gaze you couldn't name... contained fury? Concern?

"The tone changed completely here," he said, without looking up. "This is no longer admiration. It's a declaration of control. Of possession."

Hongjoong nodded. "These kinds of phrases aren't just expressions of affection. They are signs of obsessive disorder. The language is controlling, invasive... and potentially dangerous."

You felt your skin crawl. As if the words had clung to your clothes, your skin, as if that 'admirer' could hear them from some hidden corner of the building.

"Have the letters continued arriving regularly?" Hongjoong asked, pen ready over his notebook.

"Yes," you replied in a low voice. "About one per week. But... the last one came three days ago. It wasn't in my locker or in my apartment's mailbox. It was inside my dressing room, at the private practice rink. No one else had access. That rink was closed for maintenance. Only I had the key."

That made both detectives look at each other. It wasn't just any look. It was one of those silent looks, filled with professional understanding. With alertness.

"Have you ever noticed someone out of place? Someone who seems to watch you too much? A constant figure in the audience or near your personal spaces?" Seonghwa inquired, lowering his voice slightly, as if afraid to push your memory too hard.

You thought for a moment. Part of you didn't want to relive those small moments you had chosen to ignore for the sake of your mental health. But now, each of them returned like a sharp knife:

"Recently... After one of my late-night practices, I felt like someone was following me to the parking lot. I didn't see anyone when I turned around, but I felt the gaze. Then, one night... I found my water bottle uncapped. I hadn't left it like that. I threw it away just in case."

"Did you report it?" asked Hongjoong.

You shook your head. "I didn't want to seem paranoid. In this world, when a woman raises her voice about something that might be a threat, she's sometimes labeled as dramatic. I was taught to endure, to keep going. But this..." you lowered your gaze, hands gripping the edge of the chair, "this is breaking me."

Seonghwa slowly stood up, walking toward a filing cabinet at the back of the room. He opened a drawer, pulled out a form, and returned to his seat. He slid the paper toward you.

"We're going to open a formal investigation," he said firmly, "and we're assigning you protection."

You looked up, confused. "Protection?"

"From now on, someone will be with you during your training, at least until we have more information. And we're going to review the facility's security cameras. All of them. I also want you to give us that key. We're going to check if it was duplicated without your consent. And we're keeping these letters. We'll have them analyzed. We'll try to see if we're lucky enough to find some DNA on them."

For the first time since you entered that office, something close to relief seeped into your chest. But it was a strange relief, twisted, mixed with an even greater fear: the fear that, despite everything, that man might already be closer than you imagined.

"And one last thing," Seonghwa said, stopping you before you could pick up the pen. "I want you to call us if anything out of the ordinary happens. Any shadow. Any note. Any unfamiliar face."

You nodded slowly.

His eyes found yours again, this time more human, warmer. "You're not alone, Ms Kong. I promise you that."

The white lights of the training center flickered as if they too felt the winter cold seeping through the cracks in the building. The rink was empty at that hour; only the distant murmur of an industrial dryer and the buzz of the fluorescents accompanied your steps.

The metallic echo of your blades on the ice rang through the vast space. It was a familiar sound, almost comforting... but today, it didn't sound the same. Something felt off. As if someone was breathing in the shadows, just beyond your line of sight. You took a deep breath. The vapor escaped your lips in a small cloud. You closed your eyes for a second, forcing yourself to remember the music, the choreography, the reason you were there.

"Focus. You're not alone. Detective Park is nearby."

You had asked for it. Not directly, of course. But in your statement at the station, your trembling voice said more than words. And he understood.

Seonghwa watched from the upper stands. He wasn't in plain clothes this time, but wearing a black jacket with no insignias, seated with legs crossed, his eyes following your every move as if he could read your mind through your body.

You spun. A simple one. Then a more complex figure. The ice responded to your commands as always... but you were no longer the same. Your movements were precise but lacked soul. Grace had been replaced by stiffness, fluidity by vigilance.

On the final jump, you landed poorly. The blade scraped an uneven groove on the rink and you lost balance for a few seconds. Your arms lifted to regain posture, but the imbalance felt deeper than a mere technical error.

You stopped in the center of the rink, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes scanned the stands.

Seonghwa didn't move.

But he didn't look away either.

You slowly skated to the edge of the rink, right where you had left your water bottle and towel. But that's when you saw it. Your backpack, open. The zipper is halfway undone. You were sure you had closed it. You always did.

Your pulse quickened.

You looked around. No other skaters. No one else in the hallways. Only Seonghwa in the stands, who had now stood up, his brow just slightly furrowed.

You approached cautiously, breathing through your nose, trying not to give in to panic too quickly. You opened the main pocket.

It was there.

A white envelope. No sender. No markings.

A new one.

You couldn't move.

"(Y/N)?"

Seonghwa's voice broke the silence.

You felt the warmth of his presence at your side just seconds later. He had come down without you noticing. His eyes lowered to the envelope. He didn't take it from you. He waited.

You took it with trembling hands. You opened it.

"Don't be afraid. I'll always be here to protect you. The rink is only for us."

The paper trembled in your hand.

You let go of it before your knees completely gave out.

Seonghwa didn't say anything as you shook. He just watched you.

The way your shoulders barely rose with each shaky breath. How your fingers didn't seem to know whether to cling to the envelope or let it fall. In the end, it fell.

Seonghwa picked it up without looking at you. He immediately pulled a plastic bag from the inner pocket of his jacket and stored the letter as if it were a fragile relic. The paper was still warm from your hands.

And that infuriated him.

So close.

The guy had been so close. Not just as a shadow in your mind, but physically, in your space, touching your things. He sealed the bag with surgical precision.

He looked up again.

You were still there, rigid, your eyes fixed on the ground. For a second, Seonghwa didn't see a professional skater or just another victim. He saw a woman exhausted from within, standing only out of sheer inertia.

"Let's go," he said softly. "There's nothing else to do here."

He didn't touch you. He offered the exit with a barely visible gesture, giving you time to gather yourself. He walked beside you to the locker room, silent. Only after you closed the door behind you did he take out his phone.

"Unit 03, this is Detective Park. I need a review of the training center's perimeter cameras from the last three hours. I want eyes on all entrances. And someone to check the list of employees with building access after closing time." He paused briefly, glancing at the closed door. His voice dropped, almost to a whisper. "This is no longer a game."

He hung up. Leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring into nothing as if he could solve the case through sheer willpower.

Everything was too clean. The guy was careful, methodical. No prints, no mistakes.

And yet... Why leave a letter where he knew Seonghwa would be? Was it a provocation? A warning? The rink is only for us...

A shadow moved at the end of the hallway. It was you.

He met your eyes for a moment. Nothing was said, but you nodded, as if his presence alone was enough.

__________________________________________

The hallway lights flickered above your heads as they walked side by side. You had already changed clothes, the hood of your coat covering part of your face, arms crossed as if trying to protect yourself from the entire world. Your skates hung from one hand, hitting your leg with every step.

Seonghwa kept a respectful distance, but his eyes never stopped scanning the surroundings. Every shadow was a threat. Every corner, a possible hiding place.

Outside, the cold was dry and biting. The Seoul sky was overcast, with that urban glow that never allowed complete darkness. Seonghwa walked a few steps ahead to open the car door for you without saying anything.

You hesitated. Just for a second. The guy—the admirer, the stalker, whatever he was—had been there, in the same building, watching you, maybe closer than you could imagine. The night air suddenly tasted like confinement. Like invisible eyes.

You got into the car.

Seonghwa closed the door softly and then walked around the vehicle to take the driver's seat. When he started the engine, the silence became denser. Not uncomfortable. But heavy with everything that wasn't being said. During the first few minutes of the drive, neither of you spoke. The car moved smoothly down the nearly empty avenues, the low sound of the tires on the asphalt filling the space. You clutched at the sleeves of your coat, turning your face toward the window, but he could still see your reflection in the glass.

Seonghwa wasn't one to talk just to fill silence, but his eyes were thorough. He saw how your chest rose and fell faster than normal. How your jaw was clenched. How your hand trembled slightly when you adjusted the scarf under your chin.

He knew you were afraid. And that you were fighting not to show it.

"Do you want me to stay close tonight?" he asked suddenly, without looking at you.

You took a while to answer. The red traffic light cast flashes across your faces.

"I don't want to be alone," you finally whispered, also without looking at him.

That simple phrase—so vulnerable, so direct—hit him like a silent shot. He didn't say anything. Just nodded with a brief movement of his head.

"I'll secure the perimeter of your building," he added, as if he needed to justify his presence. As if protecting you was the only way to stay without crossing the line.

The rest of the drive was a silent truce. A truce between fear and vigilance. Between duty and something softer that didn't yet dare to be desire.

When you arrived, you didn't move right away. Your fingers played with the zipper of your coat, your gaze fixed on the building's entrance.

"Do you want to come up?" you said, without turning around.

It was a simple offer. Almost practical. But Seonghwa understood it was more than that. It was a crack in the wall. A door opened to something neither of you knew how to name.

"Yes."

The sound of the door closing seemed louder than usual. As if it sealed off the outside world and, with it, everything that had happened that night. The apartment was dim, barely lit by the city lights slipping through the living room window. Seonghwa stood by the door for a few seconds, quickly scanning the surroundings. A mechanical sweep, the usual. He did it every time he entered an unknown place: number of exits, blind spots, visibility angles. You dropped the skates by the entrance in silence. You took off your coat slowly, as if it were heavy. The space carried a faint smell of vanilla, mixed with lotion and something sweet. Something of yours. The space was small, tidy. But there were signs of presence: an open book on the table, a folded blanket on the couch, a used candle on the windowsill.

Seonghwa said nothing. He didn't ask if you lived alone, although he already knew the answer. He didn't comment on the place, didn't try to ease the tension. He walked toward the window and glanced out at the street, hands behind his back.

"The hallway lights were on, but there are no cameras in that area," he finally said, his tone low and firm. "He probably knows that."

You nodded from the kitchen, pouring a glass of water with careful movements. You wanted to keep your composure. But the phrase "he probably knows" echoed bitterly. That nameless "he" was already part of your everyday life. Already lived here, among your things, in your routines.

"Do you want anything?" you asked, just to break the silence. The glass of water trembled in your hand.

"No. Thank you."

He turned toward you. Watched you for a second longer than necessary. The shadow of the curtain danced across your face. The exhaustion was beginning to show in your eyes, even if you tried to stay strong. It wasn't fear that hurt the most in your expression... it was exhaustion.

"Do you always train this late?" he asked, not out of curiosity, but as part of his assessment.

"Sometimes. When I need to think," you drank. "Or to stop thinking, really."

Seonghwa nodded slightly, without responding. There was something about the way he listened that disarmed without demanding anything. He didn't intervene. He didn't fill the void. He just was there.

"I'm going to check the locks," he then said, direct, as if trying to divert attention from any vulnerability.

You let him do it. Followed him with your eyes as he moved through the place with that meticulous calm, checking each window, each latch, making sure everything was in place. When he finished, he stood again in front of the door.

"Everything is in order for now," a pause. "I'll leave you my personal number. If anything happens tonight, any unusual noise, call me. No matter the hour."

"Are you leaving?"

Seonghwa hesitated.

Just for a moment, but long enough for you to notice. It wasn't fear that held him back. It was... something else. Something he didn't even want to name.

"I can stay in the car," he finally replied, neutral. "I won't be far."

You lowered your gaze, fingers tightening around the empty glass. You didn't stop him. You didn't ask him to stay either. It wasn't that kind of bond. But the silence that followed weighed more than any plea.

"Thank you for being here tonight," you said, barely audible.

Seonghwa nodded, and when he opened the door to leave, he looked once more inside the apartment. Not out of suspicion. But because there was something about that space that seemed important.

And then he left.

The day hadn't quite begun.

The clock read 5:37 a.m., and the city still yawned under the orange glow of streetlights and the distant murmur of traffic just beginning to stir. The curtains barely moved with the cold dawn breeze, and in the room, the only sounds were the hum of the old radiator and the persistent throb in your temples.

You'd been awake for more than an hour. Body at rest, but mind in constant motion.

You slowly lowered your feet to the cold floor. The wood creaked under your weight, a minimal sound that startled you nonetheless. You walked barefoot to the window, wrapping yourself in a blanket as if that could protect you from something more than the cold.

And there it was. The black car.

Parked right out front, like a silent presence. Unmoving. Watchful.

You were grateful to see it. Seonghwa was meticulous, even more than he appeared. Cold, maybe. But never careless.

Your phone vibrated once on the table.

Park Seonghwa: All quiet for now. Let me know if you go out.

You said nothing, though your chest fluttered a little. You didn't know if it was from relief... or from the fact that someone was watching so closely. For the first time, it wasn't the admirer. It was someone who could give you back a sense of control. Even if it was with the same stillness he used to watch a case.

The station coffee was bitter and lukewarm, and Seonghwa didn't bother to hide his distaste at the first sip. He set it on the table without further interest, returning to the open folders in front of him.

Photographs. Letters. Schedules. Maps.

All perfectly organized, like a choreography only he seemed to understand. He had already read every word at least ten times, had reviewed the recordings one by one, and still... something was slipping through.

Too clean. Too controlled.

The envelope found in your backpack had no fingerprints. No DNA. No mistakes. Only words. And that was the most unsettling part. The admirer knew what he was doing. Played with confidence. And did it close. Very close.

He paused a recording on his laptop. A shadow crossing faintly in the background of the rink, just as the lights flickered. A blur. Not even a clear silhouette. But enough to confirm something: it wasn't imagination.

Seonghwa remained still a few seconds longer. Then he closed the folder with surgical precision, stood up, and grabbed his coat.

It was no longer the time to stay behind a desk.

The building rose in silence beneath the dull gray of an overcast morning, its tall, cold walls like mute witnesses to something yet to be discovered. The wind barely brushed against the windows, but the stillness had weight, as if the air were holding its breath.

Park Seonghwa crossed the glass doors without announcing himself. His badge rested in the inner pocket of his jacket, out of sight. For now, he wasn't a detective. He shouldn't look like one. His presence needed to blend in with that of any other visitor—someone ordinary, harmless, perhaps waiting for an elevator or visiting the rink.

The echo of his footsteps rang against the polished marble of the lobby, as though each movement fractured the silence. The place smelled of trapped moisture and cheap cleaning products. In the back, the reception desk was just starting its day. A young woman flipped through a logbook with her head down, distracted, not noticing his arrival.

"Excuse me," he said, in a calm voice, as if he didn't carry the weight of a looming threat on his back. "Is Mr. Lim from maintenance still here?"

She looked up, surprised more by the sound than by the question. She hesitated for just a second, then nodded slightly.

"He's in the boiler area, down the emergency door. Would you like me to call him?"

"No, thank you. I know him."

He lied naturally. He didn't know him, but he had read his name among the employees who signed the technical inspection reports.

The emergency door creaked like a rusted hinge. The sound dragged down the stairwell as Seonghwa descended, his footsteps muffled by bare concrete. The walls showed signs of neglect: peeling paint, dampness creeping like dirty veins. Old security cameras watched him from corners—some with blinking red lights, others dead, blind.

On the lower level, an electric hum and the metallic scent of hot copper led him to a narrow room. There, Lim was kneeling in front of a fuse panel, adjusting cables with trembling hands.

"Mr. Lim? I'm Park Seonghwa, from the police department."

The man jumped, accidentally hitting the panel with his knee.

"Did something happen? Is it the hot water again?"

"No," Seonghwa replied. "I came to ask you some questions about the building's access points. Specifically, the south changing room."

Lim blinked, clearly confused.

"What about that changing room?"

"Have you noticed anything out of place lately? Doors left open, someone entering after hours?"

The man frowned, trying to remember.

"Now that you mention it... about three nights ago, when I finished my shift, I could've sworn that door wasn't closed properly. I thought it was a slip-up from the cleaning girls, but..."

"Did you report it to anyone?"

"No. I locked it and left. Didn't think it was serious."

Seonghwa nodded. He made a mental note.

"Are there cameras covering that area?"

"Yes, two. But..." Lim scratched his head. "One hasn't been working properly for weeks. And the other is... well, kind of tilted."

He led him into a dark room that smelled of burnt plastic and stale coffee. A dozen dusty screens showed fragmented mosaics, blurry images, with no clear sync. Lim searched the system for the file from the previous week. The footage played for minutes without showing anything relevant, until—on Wednesday night—a figure appeared.

Hooded. Slim. Barely a shadow in the lower corner of the frame. It didn't look at the camera. In fact, it avoided it with almost choreographed precision. It stood still for a few seconds, watching something off-camera. Then it disappeared, as if it knew the exact moment to leave.

"Can you zoom in?"

Lim tried, but the quality was awful. Grainy. The outlines faded into static. Only a trace of movement could be made out, a shade of dark colors.

"I can't give you much more," he said, apologetically.

But Seonghwa didn't look away. There was something in that figure's posture, in the exact way it waited before moving, that wasn't random.

It was calculated.

He captured a screenshot of the frame.

"This will help. Thank you, Mr. Lim. If you remember anything else, no matter how small, call me."

He left him his card. Walked out into the hallway without another word, his pulse tight.

The subject had been there. And not far from where you used to change every night.

He cursed under his breath, jaw tightening as he headed upstairs. In the distance, he could barely hear the sound of blades gliding over the ice. Scattered voices and music trickling through the speakers created an almost unreal atmosphere. The contrast between the latent threat and the apparent normalcy of practice made him more alert.

He knew you hadn't come today. After what happened last night, you decided to stay home. A sensible decision. Just in time.

Park Seonghwa was a meticulous, methodical detective. There wasn't a case he couldn't close. For him, the victim was always the priority. But this case... this one felt different.

Too clean. Too calculated.

The sender wasn't seeking immediate attention. He didn't want to be seen—not yet. And that made him far more dangerous. The letters you received contained no fingerprints other than your own. The paper, the ink, the envelope: all handled with gloves. The cameras: evaded with surgical precision. Your routine: memorized in detail.

It was a silent game. A hunter studying every step before the strike.

And Seonghwa still didn't have a single solid lead on his identity.

Judging by the silhouette in the recording, the stalker was a young, slim man, between twenty-five and thirty-five years old. But that didn't help much. In your daily life, surrounded by fellow skaters, coaches, admirers... there were at least a dozen who fit that description.

"Sorry, today's practice isn't open to visitors," a voice pulled him from his thoughts as he neared the ice rink.

Seonghwa looked up. A young man approached him wearing skates, long tousled hair and a polite but curious expression.

About twenty-five or twenty-six years old. Approximately five feet eight inches. Slim.

"Jung Wooyoung, right?" the detective said, tilting his head to the side.

The boy frowned slightly and nodded, hesitant.

"Could we talk?" Seonghwa reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his badge. Wooyoung raised his eyebrows and motioned toward the rink.

"Coach!" he called. "I'm taking a break!"

He glided over to the bleachers and sat next to Seonghwa. The ice in front of them stretched like a vast shining surface, barely marked by the lines of skates. The laughter and background music contrasted with the growing tension between the two men.

"Is this about (Y/N)?" the question came bluntly.

The detective didn't respond immediately. He watched the rink, recalling the last time he saw you practice. Your movements were precise, but that night they were filled with anxiety, as if your thoughts were skating faster than your feet.

"Why do you think this is about Ms Kong?"

Wooyoung sighed. "(Y/N) is one of our top skaters. She's always in competitions and no one's more dedicated to this sport than her... She doesn't skip practice, she's always here. In morning sessions and night ones if necessary. The world could be ending, and she wouldn't stop skating."

Seonghwa made a face that almost resembled a crooked smile.

"You know her well, it seems."

The boy shrugged. "I've known her for five years."

"Mr. Jung, have you noticed any strange behavior during your practices? Anything or anyone that seems out of place?" the detective asked.

Wooyoung shook his head. "I train four days a week, sometimes double sessions. The rest of the week I'm at the gym or home," he replied firmly. "The only thing I've noticed is how distant (Y/N) has become. For months now, she always seems distracted or looking over her shoulder. That's why I figured this was about her."

"Anyone in particular who seems out of place?"

"The training schedules are posted on the board at reception. Of the five service days, two are open to the public. People can come in and watch us practice—some have been coming for a long time, others come and go. It's hard for me to be sure about that. I don't usually pay much attention to the stands."

Seonghwa nodded, but his gaze didn't leave the ice.

Every word, every detail, was building an invisible web.

And at the center of that web... was you.

That night, the rain beat insistently against the windows of your apartment. The glass vibrated softly with every gust of wind, as if the building were breathing with difficulty. Outside, the streets were almost empty, covered by the wet veil of the storm. The sound was constant, a muffled symphony that slipped between the walls, mixing with the faint hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock in the kitchen.

You had forced yourself to stay busy. You had cleaned the counter three times, reorganized the cutlery drawers, and folded all your towels with almost military precision. But nothing worked. Every shadow on the wall looked like movement. Every creak in the floor, a footstep.

You were sitting on the couch, a blanket over your shoulders and a cup of tea cooling between your hands, when the doorbell rang. A single dry, abrupt chime. Your heart shrank instantly.

You stood up cautiously, without making a sound, as if the bell could hear you in return. You looked through the peephole and, on the other side, you recognized the figure. The relaxed posture. The unshaken expression, even under the rain. Park Seonghwa.

You breathed a sigh of relief, though you didn't know why.

You opened the door.

He wore a soaked jacket and his hair was slightly wet. Drops fell from his jaw down to the collar of his coat. But his gaze was the same: focused, serene.

"Sorry for coming without warning," he said, without even shaking off the water. "There's something I need to show you."

You let him in.

You were surprised by how easy it was to let him in.

Seonghwa walked slowly through the narrow hallway of your apartment, observing without judging, yet alert to every space. He pulled out his phone and showed you the image. The still frame. The hooded figure near your dressing room.

Your body tensed. It was small, barely a silhouette, but you knew—you knew—they had been there for you.

"This was three nights ago," he explained. "They came in through a back door. No locks were forced. They knew how to move."

You said nothing. You felt the air in the room grow denser, as if the pressure increased with each word. Your throat closed, but you forced yourself to speak.

"What now?"

"We don't let our guard down."

He sat across from you, without invading your space. He looked at you in that way of his that seemed to scan everything without saying much. But his eyes, this time, weren't cold. There was something else. Compassion? Maybe.

"You're not alone in this."

You stayed silent. It was the first time someone said those words out loud.

You're not alone anymore. The knot in your chest, the one you'd been dragging for weeks like a stone under your sternum, loosened just a little.

You stood up and offered him a towel. He accepted it with a slight nod, as if he weren't used to small gestures, to warmth without conditions.

After that, without saying anything, he stayed a while longer. He looked around, scanned the locks, the windows, even the kitchen.

"I'll change the locks in the morning. And I'm going to request a camera for the entrance."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Then we'll install more. I'm not going to let this escalate."

That "I'm" was an unspoken pact. You didn't ask him to stay. You didn't invite him. But he had made a decision: he was now part of this.

There was a long silence, but not an uncomfortable one. A silence in which two people understand that safety can also come in the form of presence.

The rain kept hitting the window.

"Do you always work like this, Detective Park?" you asked, with a slightly ironic tone. "Do you usually soak your clients' carpets?"

He let out a soft laugh, almost mute, but genuine. It was the first time you truly saw him smile.

"No. Normally I'm much less charming."

"Lucky me, then."

Your fingers toyed with the blanket you had placed on your lap.

"Are you going to stay all night?"

He didn't answer immediately.

"Just until you stop looking out the window like something's about to break the glass."

That made you smile, even though it hurt.

That night, you didn't sleep together. He stayed in a chair near the door, keeping watch in silence. But his presence was enough for you to close your eyes for the first time in weeks... without fearing what would be on the other side.

"Today you were beautiful even when you didn't realize it. I like when you pretend not to be afraid. I like it more when I know you can't sleep. I'm no longer satisfied with only watching. Soon, you'll know how it feels when I finally have you close. Very close. You look gorgeous when you check the locks twice."

One month later.

It was as if everything had slowed down, as if the echo of those intense days had gradually faded—like a song that didn't quite end, but no longer played as loud. The world moved around you in a strange rhythm, the harsh reality of the past giving way to a fragile peace.

Weeks had passed since the last time the admirer had sent a letter. No flowers. No signs. The cameras installed by Seonghwa caught only the comings and goings of pigeons and bored neighbors. Almost every day, Seonghwa checked them with a mix of skepticism and contained anger, his eyes scanning the footage with an intensity that seemed to question the quiet. As if his instincts refused to accept what his eyes confirmed: nothing.

But something wasn’t right.

For Seonghwa, silence was worse than the letters you used to receive. It wasn’t a sign of surrender. No, it was the calm before the storm. A storm that he couldn't predict, couldn't explain, but feared all the same.

His investigation continued, quiet and relentless. His report folder grew like an open wound, a testament to sleepless nights, endless contacts, and hours spent reviewing the footage again and again. His determination burned fiercely, but he never burdened you with it. Instead, he watched. As if, by simply watching, he could ensure everything would be okay.

And, for the most part, it was. Life went on. You went on.

Training resumed. Your schedule became organized once again, as if the chaos had never existed. The first time you put on your skates after everything, your legs felt tense, as if the ice might shatter beneath you, as if it could betray you. But it didn’t. The ice held you, steady and familiar, as it always had.

Slowly, the fluidity returned. Mistakes still happened, but they became less frequent. You were regaining yourself, inch by inch. Your teammates would occasionally ask if everything was okay. And you—well, you could only offer them a half-smile, a sigh, and a nod.

Seonghwa often accompanied you to practice. Not on the rink, of course, but you’d find him in the stands, watching you with that focused expression of his, a contrast to the white, clean expanse of the ice. At first, his constant presence felt wrong, out of place. But eventually, you began looking for him.

One day, while you were on the ice, you caught him watching you. It wasn’t invasive. Not the way someone would look at you with desire or longing. It was different—quiet, careful. He seemed to be studying something he didn’t fully understand: the way you moved, how you breathed, the way you glided across the ice.

You said nothing. You simply smiled at him.

He blinked, as if surprised by the exchange, and quickly looked away. But then, he smiled too. Small. Honest.

And that was how it began—small gestures. Small conversations. A coffee at dawn after training. A silent walk home. Sometimes, you'd talk about trivial things. Other times, about nothing at all. It wasn’t quite closeness—not yet. But it was something. Something real. Like the warmth in your hands when you rub them together on a cold winter day.

Seonghwa didn’t cross the line. Neither did you.

But there were moments when the line became blurry, and neither of you knew how to keep it clear.

All the while, the admirer wasn’t asleep.

He was watching. And when he watched, he saw everything.

He saw how Seonghwa accompanied you. He saw how you laughed. How you awkwardly offered him your gloves, joking. How Seonghwa dared to hold your wrist a second longer than necessary.

That was unforgivable.

The notes he had once left you were now torn to pieces, crumpled and thrown away in rage. The flowers he had carefully chosen now lay trampled beneath his feet, discarded in the trash. He had become a ghost of what he once was—obsessed, wounded, and consumed by a jealousy that boiled over with every passing moment.

He had seen you first. He had chosen you.

And seeing someone else take his place? That was a betrayal he could not—would not—tolerate.

The day had been cold, but not biting. But on the ice rink, your world had been something else. Getting back to training felt almost normal. The icy breeze as you spun, the crackling of the ice beneath your blades, your breathing in rhythm with a body used to effort... all of it gave you an illusion of control, as if you could slowly take the reins of your life again.

And he was there, as always.

Leaning against the rink's window, Seonghwa watched you in silence. Not watchful. Not inquisitive. Just present. His presence had become a constant—like a coat that doesn't weigh you down, but still keeps you warm. The coffee in his hands steamed faintly as his eyes followed your every movement with a focus that didn't seem purely professional.

That afternoon, when you finished your routine and came out with cheeks flushed from exertion, he smiled in a way so gentle it seemed to melt a little of his usual seriousness.

"How did you feel today?" he asked, handing you a water bottle.

"Like I could finally breathe," you answered, with a smile that came more easily now.

"I saw you fly a little."

You let out a laugh. It was strange to hear someone describe it like that. Fly. Not skate. Not perform. Not deliver.

Fly.

You looked at each other a second too long. Then, as if both of you sensed something invisible beginning to grow between you, you looked away at the same time.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" he asked suddenly, breaking the tension with a calm tone.

"Yes. But nothing fancy," you said with a shrug. "Just... something simple."

The place you went to wasn't in any tourist guide. A small shop hidden among the alleys, with hanging lanterns and worn wooden tables. You ate tteokbokki, mandu, and some hot soup. The heating was minimal, but the atmosphere was warm. Outside, the wind dragged dry leaves across the sidewalk. Inside, steam rose in swirls from the bowls.

"I never thought this would be my life," you said, staring at your soup without touching it. "Training, looking over my shoulder, sleeping a little... and having to be strong all the time. But with you... I don't know. Sometimes I forget to be afraid. Even if it's just for a while."

Seonghwa looked at you with that quiet intensity that defined him.

"You're not alone in this," he said. "Not while I'm around."

You looked up. There was something in the way he said it that didn't feel like duty. Something more human, more intimate.

"Sometimes I wonder..." your voice dropped, "if he's still out there. Watching."

Seonghwa took a few seconds to answer. Then he nodded, his eyes shadowed. "Profiles like his don't disappear. They just hide."

The answer was blunt, but you were grateful. You didn't want sweet words—you wanted the truth. But the weight of that truth was easier to bear with him at your side.

After paying, you walked for a while. The city had that deceptive calm of a Friday afternoon. The sky deepened into a rich blue while the orange lights of the streetlamps began to glow like urban fireflies.

You walked beside him, hands in your coat pockets, beanie covering your ears. Seonghwa said nothing, but his presence was steady, protective.

Passing a closed flower shop, you stopped.

"Do you like peonies?" you asked suddenly.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow.

"The flowers?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. I've never thought about it," he said, looking at you curiously. "Why?"

You smiled, but there was a hint of melancholy in it.

"I just think it's strange how something so beautiful can end up having such a... terrible meaning."

He didn't say anything. But he looked at you a little longer than usual.

When you reached the building, something about the night felt heavier. It wasn't the cold, or the silence. It was a subtle vibration in the air, like a whisper hidden between the bricks. But you didn't notice. Or didn't want to.

Because you were thinking about how nice the walk home had been. How well you had eaten. How Seonghwa looked at you without pressure. About that safety that came from knowing you weren't alone.

As you climbed the stairs, you dared to joke:

"Are you staying for another cup of coffee in my kitchen again? Because you're wrecking my caffeine budget."

Seonghwa let out a short, low laugh—but it was genuine.

"If you let me, I'll bring my own coffee tomorrow."

You smiled. A simple moment. A warm moment.

And just before opening the door, you thought: maybe, just maybe... everything's going to be okay.

But you turned the key.

And then the air changed.

The door opened with a faint creak. The sound of the lock giving way didn't seem unusual, but something—a dull vibration, a tremor beneath the skin—made both of you freeze on the threshold.

The first sign was the silence.

Too absolute. Too heavy.

You stepped inside, and the creak of your boots on the wood was so loud it seemed to shatter something invisible in the air. Seonghwa, right behind you, tensed instantly. His hand brushed the belt where he usually kept his weapon, though he wasn't carrying it now.

The living room didn't look messy. At first glance, everything was in place. But it took you less than a second to notice. "Something's wrong," you whispered.

The couch cushions weren't how you'd left them. The vase of dried flowers on the coffee table was shifted slightly to the left. Just a few centimeters. The coat you'd hung that morning was on a different hook. And one of your mugs—your favorite one, the one you always left upside down in the sink—was face-up.

It was as if someone had been there. Walking through your home. Breathing your air. And then, carefully, had put everything back.

But not quite the same.

"Don't move," Seonghwa said, voice deep, his arm stretching out in front of you to stop you. His dark eyes scanned everything quickly and precisely.

He moved first. Every step, silent. He opened a door. Checked behind furniture. Looked at the window. Nothing.

You followed, heart starting to race. When you reached the shelf where you kept your trophies, you froze.

And there—emptiness.

Where your first regional trophy used to rest—that slightly tarnished silver figure with your name engraved—there was now only dust. A perfect outline where it had once stood. "He took it," you said, barely a whisper. "My first regional trophy. It's gone."

Something inside you twisted, a mix of nausea and adrenaline rushing through your body. Your lips trembled, your legs faltered—and you weren't ready for what came next, because when you turned slightly to the right and saw your bedroom door ajar, the knot in your stomach tightened.

You ran to your bedroom. The air inside smelled different. Of something disturbed. Of hands that weren't yours. And then you saw it.

The drawer with your underwear was slightly open. Not just open—items were in disarray, some unfolded as if they had been selected, touched, examined slowly. As if someone had taken their time. Your favorite set, the black one you always kept at the back, was on top. Missing a piece.

You stepped back, as if someone had punched you in the chest. The humiliation, the rage, the helplessness... all swirled into a storm.

"Seonghwa!" you cried out, your voice breaking. The first time calling him by his name shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t be this afraid.

He came immediately. And when he saw the scene, his expression changed completely.

It wasn't fear. It was fury.

The kind of fury born when someone you care about has been violated, touched, exposed.

"Son of a bitch..." he muttered.

And then something made him turn. A shadow. A fleeting movement past the bedroom window. Just a reflection. But enough.

"Stay here!" he ordered, pulling out his phone immediately to alert the unit. He didn't wait for a response. He ran to the door, taking the stairs two at a time.

And you stood frozen in the hallway, unsure whether to run after him or collapse onto the floor.

The night air slashed his face like icy blades, but he didn't feel it. All his focus was on the figure running into the darkness. Tall. Thin. Wearing a black hoodie that seemed to swallow the streetlights.

"Stop! Police!" Seonghwa shouted, his voice thundering through the streets.

But the figure only ran faster.

The chase began with violence. Asphalt underfoot, the flickering lights of the streetlamps, the echo of his own footsteps thudding like deafening heartbeats. The streets were nearly empty, but not silent—a dog barked in the distance, a car alarm blinked, the distant hum of the city never ceased.

Seonghwa turned a corner, his boots squealing against the damp pavement. He was gaining ground. He could feel it. The guy tripped on a stray garbage bag and nearly fell. Seonghwa didn't stop. He followed him into a narrow alley, flanked by tall walls covered in graffiti like scars.

The guy vaulted over a low gate, and Seonghwa followed without hesitation. He landed hard on the other side, muscles screaming from the effort. The guy was still running, never looking back—but something in his movement spoke volumes: he wasn't an amateur. He knew how to disappear. He knew how to become one with the night.

They ran past the backs of industrial buildings. Seonghwa was panting, but he didn't slow down. Rage kept him going. The memory of the violated room, the open drawer, the trembling in your hands—every image fed him.

They reached what looked like a dead end... or so he thought. But the guy seemed to know every hidden path. A broken fence let him slip between two warehouses.

"I've got you, bastard," Seonghwa muttered, leaping after him.

But then, the man veered into an underground pedestrian tunnel. Dark. Narrow. Seonghwa didn't hesitate. He entered the throat of shadows.

The world turned gray and black.

The sound of his footsteps warped along the damp walls. The other man was just a few meters ahead, but his hood moved quickly, ducking and weaving. Seonghwa tried to reach for his phone, but he couldn't take his eyes off the corridor.

The tunnel ended at a small exit to the street... and that's where he lost him.

The figure vanished among a cluster of containers. Seonghwa spun in circles, gasping, eyes scanning.

Nothing.

Only the night.

Only his own breathing—desperate and furious.

He struck the nearest wall with his clenched fist. Pain shot up his arm like an electric jolt. He didn't care. He closed his eyes for a second, frustrated, helpless. He'd escaped again. Again.

The guy was toying with them, like puppets dangling from an invisible string. Like he'd only been there to remind them that he'd never really left.

And now, he was closer than ever.

He came back empty-handed. And with a throat tight with rage. Not because he was tired—though his body felt like lead—but because everything inside him was burning.

Burning with anger, with helplessness, with the kind of fury that makes you want to break your knuckles against the nearest wall just to silence the scream inside.

He crossed the apartment threshold with controlled, almost mechanical steps. The sound of the door closing seemed louder than it was. And then he saw you.

Sitting there, on the floor of your room.

The lights were off, just a faint glow from the street filtering through the window. You looked like a shadow.

Your body was tense. Knees pulled to your chest and eyes fixed on some vague point in the void. Your cheeks were streaked with nearly dried tears, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, watching you.

The world felt so fragile. Your space, your body, your memories... everything had been violated. And you were there, as if you'd stopped breathing altogether.

He moved closer, slowly, as if his movements might shatter you even more. His eyes took in every inch of the chaos. He didn't know what hurt more— the empty space on the shelf where the trophy used to be, something that wasn't just an object. It was your story. Your effort. What you meant.

Or the thought that those filthy hands had touched something so intimate. Seonghwa swallowed hard. He tasted the metallic tang of fury on his tongue.

"You're not safe here anymore," he said quietly, more to himself than to you.

You blinked. You hadn't noticed him until that moment. Your voice came out in a hoarse, fragile whisper:

"I know."

And you did know. Because the only place where you'd felt safe had been violated. And that hurt more than any threat ever could.

Seonghwa clenched his fists. He forced himself not to touch you—not yet—even though the impulse was overwhelming. He wanted to take you by the shoulders and pull you out of that corner. He wanted to see you breathe without fear. But he knew the only thing you had left was control over your personal space. And even that wasn't intact anymore.

Then your body trembled. You didn't sob loudly. It was a small, almost invisible sob. But Seonghwa felt it like a punch to the chest.

That guy wasn't just stalking you. He was unraveling you. Piece by piece.

"I can't take this anymore..." you said softly, like a confession you didn't want to admit aloud.

Seonghwa held his breath. Closed his eyes for a second.

"What if... I go to my grandfather's? He lives outside the city... in Yangpyeong."

He shook his head with a bitter grimace.

"No," he finally said, voice firm. "If he found a way in here, he'll know how to find you there too. I don't want him following you there. I don't want him hurting your grandfather. I don't want..."

He didn't finish the sentence.

I don't want him to take anything else from you.

A thick silence fell between you. Seonghwa slowly walked toward you. He crouched to your level, watching your trembling hands, your shattered gaze, your body curled in on itself like you were trying to disappear. You stayed quiet. Looking at him. And he saw your eyes begin to fill with tears again. It was the look of someone surrendering to the inevitable.

Then he saw your hands. They were shaking, even though you pressed them tightly to your body.

He took them. Gently. As if he were afraid of hurting you. As if you were made of glass. You felt his thumb brushing over your knuckles, his palm covering yours, tremble against tremble.

He didn't say a word. But he held them tightly. Warmly. With a silent promise he didn't yet know how to fulfill, but he wanted to. Because you weren't just another victim anymore. You weren't just a case.

You were you. And that changed everything.

"You can stay at my place," he said plainly. "At least until we figure something out. Until I find that bastard."

His lips were pressed tight. His breathing held back. His whole body tense, and the way his eyes wouldn't stop scanning your face, searching for signs of what you felt. And what he felt.

You nodded. Because you didn't have the strength to argue. Because you had nowhere else to go. Because, in the middle of all this... it was him who was holding you up.

The ride was silent.

Your world was dimmed. You clung to your backpack as if doing so could anchor you to some faint sense of safety. You carried the essentials: a change of clothes, your documents, your phone, and not much else. You didn't want to think about what you were leaving behind. You couldn't. It all hurt too much.

The streets passed by in blurred smudges, the orange glow of streetlights reflecting on the car window. You didn't speak. Neither did Seonghwa. But his silence wasn't indifference—it was restraint. And that, in some way, gave you room to breathe.

When you finally arrived, the building wasn't what you had expected. It wasn't elegant or modern, but it was clean, quiet... safe.

You rode the elevator in shared silence. And when the doors opened, he broke the calm with a low voice. "This floor is directly connected to the station," he glanced sideways at you. "There are cameras throughout the building, constant surveillance. I'm not the only detective living here."

The hallway was softly lit, white.

"Hongjoong— Detective Kim lives down the hall," he added while searching for the keys. "He's on double shift this week, so you won't see him much. He's... quiet." The door opened with a soft click.

It was the opposite of you. A silent space. No decorations. No photos. No colors. Gray walls, functional furniture. Everything neat, orderly... impersonal.

Seonghwa lived as if he were always about to leave.

You stood there for a few seconds, as if unsure whether you belonged. You felt out of place. Like the world had spun too fast and you didn't know where to fit anymore.

"I can sleep here," he said, nodding toward the couch. "It's not the first time I've done it. You can use my room. It's clean. It has a lock."

"You don't have to do that..."

"I want to." His voice was firm in a different way—not commanding, but resolute. "I'll be here, in the living room," he added. "I have to write tonight's report. Your apartment is now officially under investigation. We're going to comb through every corner in case he left something behind. We'll catch him. I promise."

You felt a knot form in your throat. You clutched the backpack to your chest and nodded silently. You didn't say "thank you." The word felt too small for everything he was doing for you.

You walked to his room with dragging steps, and when you closed the door behind you, you finally allowed yourself to breathe. The bed smelled like Seonghwa's cologne. The blanket was neatly spread. There was nothing personal in sight. Everything in that space spoke of someone who never let their guard down.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your backpack still packed, hands resting in your lap and your eyes fixed on the carpet.

You didn't want to think. You lay on your side. You didn't close your eyes.

And in the other room, you knew he was still there. That he wasn't going to sleep. That he was wrestling with his own helplessness.

That certainty was enough for one single tear to escape you.

Sleep was impossible.

You tossed and turned in the sheets, legs restless, your mind flooded with images and sensations you didn't know how to sort.

The apartment's silence was absolute, interrupted only by the occasional hum of the refrigerator or the soft creak of wood reacting to the temperature shift.

Your body was exhausted, but your mind stayed alert. Too alert.

It was as if the walls of the room were slowly closing in, as if that promised safety was only an illusion you couldn't quite grasp. You knew you were safe there. You knew. But you didn't feel it.

You got up quietly, barefoot. The blanket dropped to your feet.

The door opened without a sound, and when you peeked out, you saw him.

Seonghwa, on the couch, a folded blanket beside him that he hadn't touched. Sitting, slightly hunched forward, his laptop opened in front of him. There were papers scattered across the low table, and a steaming mug that must have gone cold by now.

The desk lamp cast light on his profile. Furrowed brow. Tense jaw. Dark circles under his eyes. He was so focused he didn't notice you were there.

You didn't want to interrupt him. But the silence... weighed on you.

"I can't sleep," you whispered.

He looked up immediately, not surprised, as if he'd been expecting you.

"I figured."

He gently closed the laptop and moved aside on the couch, inviting you to sit. You approached slowly, like someone stepping into sacred ground, and sank into the opposite end, hugging your knees.

There were a few seconds of silence.

"Are you okay?" he asked. It wasn't a superficial question.

"No," you whispered. "I'm not."

Seonghwa didn't respond right away. He just looked at you. And for the first time, he didn't try to fill the void with explanations or solutions. He was simply there.

"It all started on the ice," you murmured after a while, your voice breaking. "That's where he saw me for the first time. Where he chose me. And now... I can't be there without feeling like he's watching from some corner."

His gaze softened.

"We'll take that away from him," he said gently. "That power he has over you. We're going to break it."

His words hurt—because part of you wanted to believe them. And another... was shattered.

"Today, when I saw the drawer open... When I realized he touched my things. That he took something of mine... something that means so much... I felt like I have nothing left that's truly mine. Nothing. No privacy, no peace, no control. Like I'm just... a story to him."

Seonghwa looked at you, and for a moment, the pain in his eyes mirrored your own.

"I swear I won't stop until I find him."

You didn't say anything. You just looked at him. And it was there, in the middle of insomnia, in the midst of chaos, where something else began to take root.

Seonghwa turned on a warmer light, lowered the brightness of his laptop, and began telling you details about the case—not the worst ones, not the most painful, but enough to give your mind something else to hold on to.

And before you knew it, your head was resting on the arm of the couch. Your eyes drifted shut. And you fell asleep to the sound of his voice.

Seonghwa fell silent when he noticed. He gently laid a blanket over your shoulders without a sound, and stayed there, with you, without reopening his laptop.

Because that night, for the first time, fear wasn't the only thing that united you.

The days that followed felt strange.

Not exactly calm—there was still tension in the air, like the low hum of a warning siren you couldn’t switch off—but quieter, somehow. Easier to breathe. As if the storm had paused mid-rage, its thunder still echoing somewhere in the distance, but for the moment, the rain had stopped falling. You moved like someone underwater—every gesture a little heavier, a little slower. Your routine stripped itself down to the bare essentials: sleep, eat, exist. Nothing more, nothing less. The bag with your few belongings remained by Seonghwa’s bedroom door, untouched, a quiet reminder that part of you hadn’t fully arrived. Part of you was still holding on to the idea that at any moment, you might leave again.

Seonghwa worked long hours. Sometimes you woke up and he was already gone, the lingering scent of coffee and cologne in the kitchen the only proof he had been there at all. Other times, he’d come back late, footsteps soft, jacket damp with night air. Often you’d find him planted in the living room, brow furrowed, shoulders tense, going through reports or listening to audio files with his headphones on. He lived like a man trying to outpace something—chasing shadows or running from them, you couldn’t always tell.

And yet, even within that quiet chaos, you shared moments.

Moments so heartbreakingly ordinary that they made your chest ache with how badly you needed them. A silent breakfast, where he poured your coffee just the way you liked it and you made him toast, passing the butter without asking. A long, quiet afternoon where he helped you stretch on the living room floor, guiding your limbs with patience, never once mentioning skating. It wasn’t about routines or recovery—it was about reminding your body how it felt to simply move, to be touched without fear.

There was the way he always left the blanket neatly folded on the couch before heading to bed, though he never used it himself. Maybe because part of him hoped you would. Maybe because he wanted you to know you had a choice, a space that was yours without asking.

There was the sound of his voice drifting from the kitchen when he called Hongjoong, and you, standing just around the hallway corner, listened without meaning to. There was nothing special in the words exchanged—but in the tone, in the warmth of domesticity, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time. A home. Not a place of defense or preparation or paranoia—but a home.

There were no conversations about emotions. No confessions. No trembling declarations in the middle of the night.

But there were long glances from across the hallway, quiet pauses that filled entire rooms. There were dishes washed together in companionable silence. And there was one night—so trivial and so monumental—when you both reached for a fallen spoon at the same time. Your fingers brushed. You froze. So did he. And then the moment passed, suspended in the air like a held breath. Neither of you mentioned it.

Until one night, over two simple plates of rice and kimchi, you finally said it.

"I'm not going to Nationals this year."

The words shattered in the room like glass hitting the floor. No warning. No lead-up. Just impact.

Seonghwa didn’t react right away. He simply set his chopsticks down, gently, deliberately, as if afraid anything more abrupt might break something. But when he looked at you, you knew it wasn’t gentleness he felt.

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

You nodded, your throat tightening around the truth.

"The ice..." you began, voice so low it barely belonged to you, "it's not the same anymore. That’s where he saw me. Where he became obsessed. And now, every time I imagine stepping onto it, I feel his eyes on the back of my neck. I can't... I don’t want that sacred place to hurt too."

Seonghwa didn’t interrupt. He didn’t try to fix it. He just listened.

"My grandfather..." your voice cracked, and you paused to breathe through it, "he always dreamed of seeing me win the internationals. That’s the one I want to bring to him. That’s the dream I still hold. But I can’t do it now. Not with him out there. Not with everything so fragile, like it might collapse with one wrong step."

You looked down at your half-eaten food.

"Maybe next year. If things get better. Maybe..."

It wasn’t a decision. Not really. It was more like a temporary surrender, one that still felt like a wound. An open one, raw and unresolved.

Seonghwa didn’t try to reassure you. He didn’t offer empty promises or hollow encouragement. He just looked at you, steady and silent, as if trying to shoulder the weight of your heart through sheer presence alone.

The next day, it was public.

"The rising star of figure skating temporarily steps away from the road to Nationals." Through close sources, it’s been confirmed that the athlete has decided not to compete this year. Although it’s not a definitive retirement, her absence leaves a mark on the competition.

You read it together on the screen of his laptop. The cursor blinked at the bottom like it was waiting for a response neither of you would give.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But somewhere else, in the darkened quiet of a cluttered room, the stalker read it too.

And something in him broke.

Because ever since Seonghwa had entered your life, ever since he started building something steady where there used to be chaos, the perfect fantasy—the delusion he had nurtured—was falling apart. And he couldn’t let that continue.

“I told you not to stop skating. You can’t do that. You’re a star. My star. How can you leave me like this? That bastard... he’s pulling us apart, don’t you see? He doesn’t want you near me.”

The days with you were slipping through his fingers like fine grains of time—unnoticed in the moment, but mourned once lost. And though he never spoke it aloud, never dared let the weight of the words hang in the air between you, Seonghwa looked at you the way someone looks at something they’re afraid of losing. His gaze lingered too long sometimes, tracing the lines of your face, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the soft rhythm of your breath—memorizing. Holding on. As if your presence might dissolve with the morning light.

The tension in the apartment had shifted. It wasn’t gone. But it had taken on a new shape—no longer sharp, no longer fear laced with adrenaline and shadows. It was quieter now, threaded with something warmer, something unspoken that bloomed in the silence between moments. In the way he sought your eyes across a room. In the way your steps softened when you walked past him. In the hush that filled the space after laughter, neither of you quite knowing what to say next.

You both felt it. That stillness that didn’t come from fear. That warmth that didn’t demand anything. The strange comfort of safety that you were slowly learning to trust.

“Do you want to come with me today?” he asked one morning. The words felt casual, but something in his voice—gentle, almost hesitant—made you look up from where you were picking up your keys.

You nodded before you could think about it. You didn’t want to stay behind. Not in that quiet apartment where the walls whispered memories, where your thoughts could turn on you in seconds. And more than that—you didn’t want to feel far from him.

You didn’t ask where you were going.

You just got into the car, and let the hum of the engine and the city’s soft static be your lullaby. The buildings faded behind you, replaced by stretches of gray and green and road. The further you went, the more your body surrendered to the stillness, and your eyes—though they tried to stay open—gave in.

You slept. Without planning to. Without permission. And that, in itself, felt like a kind of trust.

When the car finally stopped, it was the sudden absence of motion that woke you. The silence wrapped around you gently, and you blinked slowly, the light pouring in through the windshield painting your skin in pale gold. You sat up, sleep still clinging to your bones, and turned your head.

And then you saw it.

An ice rink. Small. Secluded. Tucked into the edge of a quiet landscape like a forgotten memory.

You knew this place. Not exactly—but deeply. The kind of place that looked like a hundred others you had trained in. But it was more than recognition. It was the ache in your chest. The breath that caught. The sting behind your eyes.

“What...?” Your voice cracked as it left your throat. “What are we doing here?”

Seonghwa unfastened his seatbelt and turned toward you, calm and steady, as if he had carefully built every part of himself for this moment. His eyes were soft—no longer the sharp eyes of a detective. Just a man, looking at you with all the care in the world.

“I want you to feel free,” he said. “To be yourself. Even if just for a little while.”

You stared at him, words tangled behind your lips, caught in that place between gratitude and grief.

“What if he…?” you started to ask, the fear flickering back like a shadow.

“He won’t know,” Seonghwa said, firm but gentle. “We’re far. No one followed us. We have time. Just... trust me.”

And somehow, you did. Maybe because his voice held that same certainty it always did when you were scared. Maybe because his gaze held no doubt. Just quiet faith. Faith in you.

You stepped out of the car, the cold air biting at your skin. Your shoes crunched against the frozen ground, and the sight in front of you took your breath. The rink—empty, glowing under string lights like stars fallen from the sky—waited. As if time itself had been holding its breath.

“I didn’t bring my gear,” you murmured.

Seonghwa didn’t miss a beat. “It’s in the trunk.”

You turned, eyes wide, as he opened it. And there it was. Your skates. Your coat. Even your backpack, the one you always used for training. The knot in your throat tightened. He had planned this. Every detail. For you. Just to see you happy.

Your heart stuttered.

The inside of the rink was colder, but it was a cold you welcomed. A cold that belonged. The lights above made the ice gleam like glass, and you sat on the bench, breath shaky, hands trembling as they laced your skates with a muscle memory you thought you’d buried. The blades shimmered beneath your fingers.

And then, you stood.

One breath.

Another.

And stepped onto the ice.

At first, your legs protested. Your muscles tensed. But then—something clicked. The rhythm returned, slow and steady. The ice welcomed you back like an old friend.

You glided.

One turn. Another.

The air kissed your face.

Your arms moved without thought. Your hair caught the wind. Your body remembered the poetry—the language only you spoke. The one that didn’t need words.

And then you saw him.

Seonghwa. Skates on. Both hands clinging to the rail. A look of sheer uncertainty on his face. It was ridiculous. And precious.

“What are you doing?” you called, laughing as you approached him.

“I’m risking my physical integrity for you,” he replied, so serious you couldn’t help but laugh again—this time with your whole chest.

“Who made you do this?”

“Your smile.”

The air caught in your lungs. The words hit somewhere deep. You looked at him. Really looked.

“I wanted to be with you,” he said softly.

You offered him your hands. He hesitated. Then placed his in yours.

His fingers were cold. Yours curled around them anyway.

“Put your weight here,” you murmured, guiding his palms to your waist. “Let go. Trust the momentum.”

And he did.

He stumbled.

You steadied him.

You glided.

He followed.

Step by uncertain step, you led him. You were elegance. He was effort. But together... you were something else. Something balanced. Something honest.

You fell into laughter again. Into each other.

That rink—tucked in the middle of nowhere—became sacred. Not because of the ice. Not because of the movement.

But because, beside him, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you belonged to yourself again.

You were alive.

And you were in love with Park Seonghwa.

The rain had deepened by nightfall. No longer the gentle tapping of earlier, but a steady, rhythmic pulse against the windows, like a second heartbeat echoing through the apartment. It blurred the outside world into watercolor—soft streaks of yellow and red lights bleeding into each other, distant car horns muffled by the glass. Inside, the stillness reigned. The lamps remained off. Only the dim spill of the city crept in, laying delicate shadows across the floor. The apartment smelled faintly of rain-dampened concrete and the trace of something warm from earlier—tea, maybe, or the scent of his cologne clinging to the cushions.

You sat together on the couch—too close to be casual, too far to be lovers. Your knee brushed his once, then again, as if by accident. But neither of you moved away. His hands were clasped, knuckles pale, gaze cast forward like he was trying to stop himself from looking at you. You had your legs tucked under, fingers gently fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. Every breath you took felt tethered to his, like the air itself had narrowed to fit only the space between you.

“Thank you for today,” you said, voice barely louder than the rain. You didn’t look at him when you said it, afraid that if you did, your chest would give away just how much it had meant. “It was…”

“Nice,” he finished, voice rough and low, like the words had scraped their way out of him. He tilted his head just slightly toward you. “With you, everything feels nice.”

You exhaled, caught off guard by the way your heart reacted—immediate, uncontrollable. A quiet laugh slipped from you, uncertain and breathy. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll believe them.”

And then—he looked at you. Really looked. The turn of his head felt like a tide shifting, and when his eyes met yours, they pulled you under. They weren’t sharp like a detective’s, not then. They were dark, yes—but warm. Soft. As if they'd already memorized the shape of your face and still wanted to keep tracing it, just to be sure.

“Believe them,” he said.

That’s when the world held its breath. The sound of rain dulled. The air thickened, electric with something unspoken. You didn’t realize how close you’d leaned until you felt the brush of his breath across your cheek. His hand came up slowly, reverently, like he was reaching for something sacred. The backs of his fingers skimmed your skin—featherlight, trembling—and your eyes fluttered closed as your throat tightened with everything you couldn't say.

“Can I…?” His whisper was fragile. Not a question of desire, but permission.

You didn’t answer with words. You just tilted your face up to his, and closed the space.

The kiss was barely a kiss at first—just the whisper of his lips against yours. It tasted of patience, of hesitation, of the unbearable weight of longing. He kissed you like you might disappear if he moved too fast. Like your mouth was a secret he’d waited years to learn.

You pressed closer, your fingers finding the fabric of his shirt, clutching it like an anchor. And he made a sound—soft and raw—as his other hand rose to cradle the back of your neck, threading into your hair. He deepened the kiss, slow and steady, with a hunger he tried to rein in and couldn’t. His lips moved against yours with the kind of intention that makes the world drop away. You forgot the rain. The room. Your own name.

When your lips parted, he didn’t pull back. His forehead leaned into yours, breath catching. “What are you doing to me…?” he whispered, eyes still closed like he didn’t trust them not to betray too much.

You smiled, real and a little shy, your heart hammering like a secret you’d just confessed. “The same thing you’re doing to me.”

And when you kissed again, it was no longer tentative. It was certain. A little desperate. The air around you buzzed with something electric. His mouth moved with more need, more trust. His tongue brushed yours, and the sound you made—soft, surprised—was met with a quiet groan from him. His hand gripped your waist. Your hands were in his hair now, feeling the damp strands between your fingers. He melted into you, as if this was the only place he’d ever wanted to be.

You were both breathless when you parted, your noses brushing. Neither of you spoke. Not yet. But your eyes said it all.

Then, quietly, you said it: “Sleep in the room tonight.”

His lips curved into a smile. No teasing, no hesitation—just softness. He nodded, and gently took your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The walk to your bedroom was wordless, quiet save for the rain. Something sacred passed between you in that stillness. When he opened the door, you slipped beneath the covers, heart racing in your chest. He walked around the bed, pausing before slipping in on the other side. He faced you, eyes searching your face in the dark.

“Can I…?” he asked again, voice like a hush.

You moved toward him. That was your answer.

His arms came around you, one strong arm wrapping your waist, the other threading gently beneath your neck. He pulled you in, your back against his chest, your bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces meant to fit. You exhaled, and so did he. His breath tickled your neck.

“This is good,” he murmured. “This puts me at ease.”

His hand rested against your stomach, warm and grounding. And when he kissed your temple, it wasn’t just affection—it was gratitude. Worship. A promise, whispered without words.

“Good night, love.”

“Good night, Hwa.”

Outside, the rain kept falling. But inside that room, time slowed. The air wrapped around you like his arms had. There was no fear. No distance. Just breath syncing breath, heartbeat syncing heartbeat. You didn’t flinch when sleep came.

Because he was there. Because you weren’t afraid. Because for the first time in a long, long time— You were home.

Everything had changed since that night. Since the moment you and Seonghwa kissed under the dim light of the living room, with emotions running high and words trembling on your lips. After so many weeks of uncertainty, of loaded silences and glances overflowing with things left unsaid, you had finally surrendered to each other. And since then, life had been different.

Waking up with his arms wrapped around your waist, his warm breath on your neck, his fingers reaching for yours even in sleep... Every moment with him felt stolen from a parallel world where everything was softer, safer, more real. In the mornings, you shared coffee and lazy kisses. At night, you shared love in whispers and laughter, as if the rest of the world didn't exist. It was like living inside a protective bubble, built with caresses and unspoken promises.

Your side of the bed had a different blanket, a small scented candle on the nightstand, which Seonghwa said smelled like you. There were moments of passion, kisses that stole touches and touches that made you forget even your own name... but there was also love in the little things: in how he looked at you when you were focused on cooking, in how his fingers stroked your hair without saying a word, in how he seemed to read every one of your emotions without you having to speak.

But peace, as always, was fleeting.

That night, you had decided to stay home. The rain pounded against the windows persistently, as if the sky was trying to slip through some crack in the city to warn you that it was about to break. You wrapped yourself in Seonghwa's hoodie, the one you shamelessly stole and he didn't even bother to reclaim anymore. The scent of him—wood, bitter coffee, and something warm you couldn't name—kept you company as you leafed through a book you barely read, more attentive to the clock than to the words.

Before leaving, Seonghwa had leaned over you, one hand on your cheek.

"Don't stay up too late. I'm just a phone call away," he said, kissing your forehead like a promise.

At the station, the clock read 10:46 p.m. when the door to his office creaked open. Seonghwa looked up from his desk. In front of him, Hongjoong stood pale-faced, with an envelope in his hands.

"Hwa... this came. It has your name on it."

It was a white envelope. No sender. Sealed. Seonghwa felt a sharp sting shoot through the base of his neck. He took it without saying a word and opened it carefully. Inside: a USB drive and a handwritten note.

"I thought you might like to see this, detective. Since you're as interested in her as I am."

Seonghwa's heart skipped a beat, barely perceptible. He connected the device to the monitor without a word, his fingers suddenly cold on the keyboard. The file took a few seconds to open. A video, untitled. No sound. The image trembled slightly at first. It was a recording made from a distance, with a hidden camera. And there you were. Sitting on a bench in front of a café. Cloudy day. White scarf around your neck, the one he had given you on a winter afternoon when you were shivering and pretending not to.

The lens zoomed in. Then another cut. You walking. You buying something at a convenience store. Entering the subway. Entering your home. Recordings made in different places, on different days. Some recognizable. Others older. The video showed them one after another, unhurried, as if documenting a carefully observed routine.

And then, in the reflection of a store window, for just a second, Seonghwa saw a face. Not entirely clear, but enough to stir something icy in his chest.

The video changed. Another file. This time, there was audio. The voice that came through was male. Young. Unnervingly soft.

"She was so beautiful that day..." said a male voice, almost tender. Seonghwa felt his stomach tighten. "She skated like she was flying. You know what I thought when I saw her for the first time? That the gods were sending her to me. For me. So I could protect her. So I could love her. But you... you came to ruin it all, detective Park."

That voice...

He rewound the video. Paused. Enhanced. The face again. Brown hair. Glasses...

The assistant coach from your first nationals. The one who always seemed in the background. The one who congratulated you with a hug too long for his position. The one you said you had forgotten over the years.

"He was there... all this time..."

Seonghwa stood up abruptly. His chair fell back. He grabbed his coat. He didn't even ask for backup. "If he's nearby... if he's sent this... then she's probably in danger. Now."

A movie played in the background, but your eyes followed none of it. Sometimes love feels like peace, and other times, like a sweet knot in your chest that won't let you think of anything else. You were thinking of him—of Seonghwa—of the way he touched your face like you were made of glass, of how he kissed you with the care of someone who finally understood what it meant to belong to another heart.

You had felt broken for so long. But with him... the pieces were starting to take shape again.

You stood to turn off the television and the lights, leaving only the corner lamp on. Its warm light painted dancing shadows across the walls, moving with every gust of wind that slipped through the cracks.

Something changed.

It was a tiny sound. A creak. The kind of noise a house makes as it settles... except this one didn't come from the roof or the walls. It came from the hallway. From inside.

"Hwa?" you called, hesitantly, just in case. Because sometimes he came home unannounced. "Babe, did you forget your snacks again? I left them next to..." but you looked at the kitchen counter, and the snacks you had picked out for Seonghwa weren't there.

You turned slowly, as if your body knew something your mind still refused to accept. And when you saw him—when his figure emerged from the shadows—the world stopped spinning for a whole second.

He was standing by the doorway, as if he'd been there for hours. As if he'd been watching you since Seonghwa left the house. His face was almost exactly as you remembered. Minjae... the ex-assistant of your coach. The one who was always behind your trainer, harmless... almost invisible. The one who could disappear into any crowd... until he didn't. Years had passed since you last saw him, since your first nationals—the same ones from the trophy the stalker—Minjae had stolen. Your heart raced. Breathing became difficult. Your mind slipped in and out of denial. Because it couldn't be. Not him.

"It's been a long time," he said with a calm voice, too calm, laced with malice that made you immediately step back.

"What are you doing here?" you managed to say, your throat dry, hands shaking.

He took a step forward, unfazed by your tone. "You're asking the wrong question, love," he answered with a twisted smile. "You shouldn't ask what I'm doing here... but why it took me so long to come."

His voice was soft, almost affectionate, and that made it all the more horrifying. Like a lover returning from a long journey, instead of the man who had been hiding behind every one of your fears these past months. You tried to move, but your body wouldn't respond as quickly as you needed. Your skin bristled. Your stomach turned. Your instincts screamed at you to run, but fear had roots, and they had grown deep into your feet.

"No... I don't understand. How did you get in?" you asked, more to buy time than to get an answer.

"Did you really think this security system would stop me?" he laughed softly, humorless. "I've entered your world long before this. I entered when no one else saw you. When you cried in secret after failing to rank. When you trained until you bled. When your fingers cracked from the cold and you kept going anyway. I saw you. I was there. Always."

His devotion made you sick. His words were blades, growing sharper, more intimate. He didn't speak like a stranger, but like someone who had been secretly living with you for years.

"You're sick," you murmured, taking another step back. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for your phone. You had to call Seonghwa, had to ask for help.

"Don't say that, my love," he whispered. "True love isn't learned. It's revealed. And you revealed it to me, without even realizing. Every movement you made on the ice was a poem to me. Did you know that? Did you know the gods sent you to me? You are a miracle. An answer. My destiny."

"You have no right..." you started, but he interrupted you, his voice now tinged with restrained rage.

"And that damn detective does? He has the right to touch you, to kiss you, to sleep with you like he knows you?" his face twisted, fists clenched. "You don't get it, do you? He doesn't know you like I do. He hasn't seen everything I've seen in you. I love you like one loves the sacred. With faith. With sacrifice. I've waited. I've endured. I've watched you drift away... forget me– but I never stopped loving you!"

The air in the room was dense, as if every word filled your lungs with poison. Sweat ran down your back. The trembling wasn't just in your hands anymore, but in your legs, your lips, your voice. You wanted to run, but he lunged. He grabbed you by the wrist with a strength you didn't expect, his fingers digging into your skin with terrifying determination.

"Let me go!" you screamed, desperate.

"NO!" he shouted, eyes wild. "Not until you hear me. Not until you feel me. I love you!"

"You're crazy!" you struggled.

"I'm in love! And it hurts! You don't know what it's like to truly love! Because if you did, you wouldn't look at me with such disgust!"

"Because you scare me!" you managed to break free with a yank, stumbling backward. Your legs hit the dining table, knocking over a candle. The thud was sharp, and for a moment you thought that would be enough to make him back off. But no. He was still there, looking at you with sick, pleading eyes.

"You don't have to be afraid of me... I would never hurt you. Just..." his voice dropped, broken, "just let me stay. Just one night. Just look at me. Like you did when you were alone, when you had no one. I was that 'no one' for years. And still I loved you. I still did everything for you."

"Leave me alone."

"Don't throw me out!" he shouted, stepping toward you violently. "Don't throw me out again! I can't go back out there knowing you're here, in this house, with him!"

Your chest rose and fell rapidly. You felt like you were going to faint at any moment. Your hands groped blindly, and finally your fingers brushed your phone, lying between the couch cushions. You didn't make any sudden moves. You just kept looking at him, weighing each word.

He took a step. Then another. As if your fear didn't exist. As if it were part of the game. As if it excited him.

"Don't come any closer," you repeated, your voice now firmer, but also more frightened. "This isn't love!"

And his face... changed. It tensed. The smile disappeared, as if someone had switched off the light inside him. The muscles in his jaw clenched. The light in his eyes turned into something dark, threatening.

"It's not love?" he repeated in a low, hoarse voice. "It's not love to spend sleepless nights watching every one of your performances? To keep every ticket from where you competed? Isn't it love to carve your name into my skin because you're already etched into my soul?"

He rolled up his right sleeve, and there, with jagged lines and old scars... was your name.

Tattooed. With a knife or blade.

Your stomach churned. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to cry. You wanted to disappear.

"I love you so much it... hurts," he said, taking another step toward you. "And you're hurting me now. I don't understand why. You were mine... before him."

His eyes burned at the mention of Seonghwa.

"He stole you," he spat. "He contaminated you. But I can still clean you. You can still be mine again."

"I never was. Never." Your words came out between sobs, through the trembling of your jaw and the grip you had on your phone. "I never loved you! I never wanted this!"

That made him snap. He punched the wall with a closed fist, so hard the frame shook. You screamed, curling into the corner. Adrenaline boiled in your veins, but your body trembled like a leaf swept by the wind.

"Don't say that!" he roared, eyes filling with tears. "You don't know what you're saying. You don't know how much I've done for you!"

And suddenly, in a swift movement, he got too close. His hand clamped around your wrist with overwhelming force and the phone slipped from your grip. You screamed, struggling, and his hot breath hit your face.

You didn't know how, but the tears began to fall. It wasn't an outburst. It was that kind of crying that drips silently, like your body trying to warn you that everything inside you is breaking. The air was still poisoned. His closeness suffocating.

"Don't cry..." he murmured, wiping your cheek with terrifying tenderness. "I don't like seeing you like this. Not when I've given you so much. Everything. All you have to do is say you'll stay with me. Just that, (Y/N):"

Your voice came out torn.

"Never."

The silence that followed was thick, like a pause before collapse. His hand, which had been trembling before, hardened. The smile vanished. And in its place settled a blank expression. Dry. Lethal.

"Then you leave me no choice," he whispered, as if talking to himself.

He took a step back. Slowly. As if weighing a punishment. And then, with a calm that chilled more than any scream, he pulled something from his pocket that gleamed under the dim hallway light.

A small blade.

Light. Precise. Cold.

"You don't understand..." he said as he spun it between his fingers with sickening skill. "But if you can't be mine... you'll be no one's. And certainly not his."

Your legs wanted to move. Run. Scream. Something. But fear had already placed invisible chains around your ankles. It was like being trapped in a lucid nightmare: you could see every detail, but you couldn't wake up.

"Do you know what I thought, that time I saw you skating with him in the stands?" he continued, his voice dropping even lower, brushing a whisper. "I thought about how your hands would look covered in blood. Not from hate. No..." he shook his head gently. "From art. Because everything you touch is art. Even pain could be... if it's mine."

Then he raised the weapon and pressed it gently to his own cheek, barely cutting the skin. A thin red line appeared and began to slide down his face.

You wanted to vomit. You felt bile rise to your throat and your eyes kept spilling tears. You couldn't believe what you were seeing; you couldn't fully accept that the Minjae you had known years ago was the same sick man who seemed to have lost his mind.

"Look what I'm capable of doing for you. Look how far I'm willing to go. And if that's not love... then love is dead."

You backed up until you hit the doorframe. The wood creaked. Your fingers searched for something —anything— to defend yourself with. He noticed. His gaze changed.

"Don't run. Don't make me hurt you. I don't want to. But I can. You know that, right?" he took another step toward you. "Because if you don't come with me now, (Y/N)... he'll be the first. I'll kill him. I'll make him suffer. And then I'll take you far away. No one will know anything. You'll be mine. Like it was meant to be from the start."

Your heart pounded like a drum on the verge of breaking. Everything was too fast, too slow at the same time. And then...

A bang.

Not on your body. On the door.

A dry crack. The sound of a lock being forced.

And then a voice. Deep. Sharp. Full of fury.

The door burst open with a violence that shook the walls. The sound was like a gunshot, tearing through the dense air, shattering the sickening bubble you were trapped in.

"(Y/N)!"

Seonghwa's voice. Firm, furious. Alive. Your head turned toward the sound and, for a moment, it was as if time had stopped. He was there, soaked by the rain, eyes ablaze, chest heaving. In his eyes, the promise that it was all over. That you had been found. But it wasn't that simple. Minjae took a step back, startled, but not defeated. His knife gleamed between his fingers. His breathing quickened. And then, something changed in his face. Like a mask falling. Fear melted into rage. Into jealousy. Into madness. "You..." he spat. "You're the problem. You always have been." "Drop the weapon!" Seonghwa ordered, aiming straight at his chest. "You're not going to touch her. Not now, not ever again." "You don't understand anything, do you? She's mine! MINE!" he shouted, his voice cracking, almost childish, like a kid losing his favorite toy. "She doesn't belong to anyone. Least of all someone sick like you." "She chose me first!" he yelled, throwing the knife forcefully to the side. It hit the wall with a metallic clang, but he was already charging at Seonghwa, fists clenched, with animal fury. You screamed. It was like watching two opposing forces collide at the center of a ruined world. Seonghwa didn't hesitate and landed a direct punch to the stomach that made Minjae double over for a second. But he writhed like a cornered beast and hit Seonghwa's jaw with a dry punch. The force pushed him back. Blood. From Seonghwa's lip. From Minjae's brow. "YOU CORRUPTED HER!" Minjae shouted as he threw another punch. "You put ideas in her head! She loved me before you!" "You don't know what love is!" Seonghwa roared, grabbing him by the collar, slamming him against the wall. The plaster cracked. "You suffocated her! You stole her peace, her safety, her dreams!" "I saved her! I protected her! No one else saw her like I did..." "You followed her! You stalked her! YOU TORTURED HER!" You could only watch. Legs trembling, body pressed against the wall, wanting to scream but voiceless. It was too much. Watching them fight. Watching Seonghwa bleed for you. The silence lasted only a second. But it was a long second, dense, like a bottomless pit where your senses sank. Seonghwa and Minjae wrestled in the center of the apartment—the same one where you'd slept last night, where you'd cooked, where you'd tried to reclaim some normalcy—and now it looked like a battlefield. Papers, picture frames, shards of glass. A lamp on the floor. Blood beginning to stain the wood. Your ears rang. Your heart pounded against your ribs in a frantic rhythm. "LET ME GO!" Minjae screamed, desperate, scratching Seonghwa's face with his nails, as if that could give him an advantage. Seonghwa growled, but didn't loosen his grip. He had him pinned against the wall, fingers digging into his wet jacket. "I won't let you touch her ever again!" "You don't get to decide that!" Minjae spat. "YOU don't know what we shared! She was happy before you! HAPPY!" "You don't know what happiness is! What you did wasn't love, it was obsession, it was control!" Minjae laughed. A broken, coarse, sinister laugh. "If you hadn't shown up in our lives... we'd still be together." Your legs gave out. "No..." you murmured, barely audible. "That's not true..."

"SAY IT!" Minjae shouted, turning his face toward you, panting, soaked, pupils dilated.

"Say it! Tell me you didn't think of me when you skated. Of your admirer... Tell me you didn't read my words over and over. TELL ME YOU DIDN'T KEEP THEM!"

Your lips parted, but no sound came.

Only tears.

And that vacant look that gave you away: you were broken.

"LOOK AT HER!" Seonghwa roared. "LOOK AT HER AND SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"

But Minjae wasn't listening. He wasn't reasoning. He was a swarm of twisted emotions: nostalgia, rage, jealousy, delusion. And in that moment, you felt it. He wasn't a person.

He was a loose threat.

Then, the unexpected.

Minjae let out a very low laugh. Something changed. Not his face—that was still contorted—but his energy. As if a terrible idea had just crossed his mind.

"You know..." he murmured, looking around, "if she can't be mine, she won't be yours either."

Seonghwa pushed him, but Minjae staggered toward the kitchen, limping. Something flickered in his eyes. Something... dangerous.

You could barely process it.

But when you saw him open a drawer quickly, you knew it wasn't just an attempt to escape.

"No!" you shouted. "No, please!"

Seonghwa ran after him, but it was already too late. Minjae had grabbed something. Not a knife… A lighter.

And a shattered bottle with alcohol spilled on the floor.

"You're not thinking..." Seonghwa froze. "Don't you dare."

"You think I'm going alone?" Minjae hissed, with terrifying calm. "This place... this damn place you built together... I'm going to watch it burn. And you with it."

The smell of alcohol was already in the air.

Your vision blurred. Fear became something absolute, almost unreal. Everything seemed distant, as if you were watching your own end from outside your body.

"Minjae," you stammered. "Stop. You don't have to do this. We can... we can talk."

"Talk?! Too late for that! You ignored me. You replaced me. And you..." he pointed at Seonghwa, with a deranged smile. "You ruined everything."

Then, he raised the lighter. The dry click of the mechanism echoed like a gunshot.

Once, twice, three times.

And the flame appeared.

It was a second. Just one second.

But Seonghwa couldn't allow it.

With lightning speed, he ducked, rolled across the floor, grabbed his gun—the one he'd dropped earlier for safety—and aimed.

"NO!" you screamed, but it was already too late.

Bang.

The shot echoed endlessly in your ears. The flame died before it touched the floor. The lighter fell, bouncing against the tiles.

And Minjae…

Dropped to his knees.

Then backward.

A dark flower bloomed on his chest.

Silence.

A murderous silence.

A silence like a grave.

Your knees buckled. You collapsed to the floor, not feeling the impact. Eyes locked on his lifeless body. You didn't cry. Didn't scream. You couldn't.

You just wanted it all to end. For someone to turn the world off.

Seonghwa lowered the weapon slowly. His hands trembled. His face was drenched in sweat and blood.

He didn't move for long seconds. And then, he took a step toward you. Then another.

The gun still hung from his hand, but his gaze was no longer on Minjae, only on you. Just you.

"(Y/N)... baby" his voice was barely a whisper, broken by the effort, by the rage still burning in his chest, by the fear that hadn't left his skin. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

You didn't know how to respond. The words had hidden somewhere deep in your body. Everything hurt. Everything shook. The air was heavy, like you had to swallow the past just to breathe.

Seonghwa approached slowly, as if afraid of scaring you more, as if aware that any sudden movement could break you.

He knelt in front of you.

"I'm here," he said softly, locking eyes with yours. "It's over. I swear, it's over."

His hands hesitated for a second before touching you. But you—before even thinking—threw yourself at him.

You held him with a strength you didn't know you had left. Clung to his chest, to the warmth of his body, to the restless drum of his heart. Your face buried in his neck, in his shoulder, in any part of him that proved you were alive.

And he held you. Held you like you were home.

"I'm here, love," he murmured. "I'm here. You don't have to run anymore. You're not alone anymore."

The crying came without warning. Not a soft sob, but a total breakdown. A tremor that started in your abdomen and shook every part of you. You screamed. You cried. You fell apart.

"I couldn't breathe..." you managed to say through tears. "Seonghwa... I... couldn't take it anymore..."

"I know," he answered, his lips against your temple. "I know, sweetheart. But it's over. No one's going to hurt you again."

The stomping of boots on the stairs was the only thing that broke that moment. Voices. Orders.

And then, Hongjoong's silhouette appeared in the doorway, with two armed agents behind him.

"Seonghwa!" he shouted, gun at the ready, but when he saw the body on the floor, the blood, and the way you trembled in his partner's arms, he lowered the weapon immediately. "God... Are you okay?"

Seonghwa did not respond immediately. He just tightened his embrace, as if afraid you would fade away if he let go.

"We need an ambulance," he said at last, without looking at them. "Not for us. For him. Make sure he's really... done."

One of the officers approached Minjae's body. He checked it. Nodded.

"He's dead."

That word floated in the air. Dead.

It should have relieved you. But it only brought more tears.

Not for him. For you. For what he had stolen from you. For what would never come back.

For the lost innocence. For the months of paranoia, of insomnia, of constant fear.

For the silences that screamed inside you.

Hongjoong approached cautiously, looking at Seonghwa and then at you.

"We have everything under control," he said firmly. "I'll talk to headquarters. You two... stay here for a moment."

Seonghwa barely nodded. He couldn't, he didn't want to let you go.

And you weren't going to let him.

"I've got you," he whispered, slowly caressing your back. "I'm with you. I'm staying. Can you hear me?"

You nodded, your forehead against his neck.

"I'm so scared..."

"You don't have to be strong now. You just have to be here. With me."

His words were like threads sewing your torn soul. They didn't promise a perfect future, but they offered the closest thing: presence. Real love. A refuge.

And for the first time in a long time, amid the pain, the broken glass, the blood and the screams, you felt something like peace.

Not because everything was fine. But because you weren't alone.

And in that embrace—desperate, dirty, hurting—there was a silent promise: life would go on.

And you were going to fight for it.

A knot tightened in your throat.

"But no more." His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, as if he needed to feel your existence to calm his pulse. "You don't have to hide anymore. Not with me."

Your lower lip trembled. You wanted to speak. Tell him you were broken. That maybe you would never be whole again. But he had read you before. As always.

"Listen to me." His hands gently took your face, guiding you to look at him. "You're not weak. You're not fragile. You survived. You're still here. You're still fighting. And there's nothing braver than that."

The sincerity in his eyes pierced you like a sweet stake. It hurt, but not like before. Not like the fear. It was a different pain. One that came with relief. With the possibility of healing.

"I swear that as long as I'm with you, no one is going to hurt you again. No one is going to touch you, silence you, make you doubt yourself."

Your breath hitched. The tremor in your body turned into a muffled sob. And he didn't pull away. He held you tighter. As if with just his arms, he could keep you whole.

"You're everything he could never understand," he whispered against your hair. "Everything he wanted to control, because he couldn't stand you shining without him."

One more silence. Loaded. Emotional.

"And I..." His voice dropped. More intimate. More vulnerable. "I just want to see you free. I want to see you laugh. I want to see how your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. I want to see you live without fear."

Tears fell on their own. Not for Minjae. Not for the wound. But for what you had just heard. For everything they had never told you.

"What he did to you doesn't define who you are," he said with strength. "What defines you is that, after everything, you're still here. And I—I'm so fucking proud of you."

Your fingers sought his. You intertwined them. Like a silent promise. Like an anchor.

He stayed there with you. Without hurry. Without demands. Accepting your silences. Accepting your crying. Accepting you whole, even in your fragments.

And in the middle of the chaos, the crime, the storm, the dark story that had just closed, there was a corner of peace.

Just you and him.

Just the warmth of his chest, his voice in your ear, his fingers tangled in yours.

A promise: that winter, finally was starting to melt.

It all started two years ago, with a call to the police station.

No one could have imagined that night — with the phone trembling between your fingers, your breath stuck somewhere between your ribs and your throat, fear sinking into your bones like ice water — would be the beginning of something bigger than justice. Because that night, although you were looking for help, what you found was him. Park Seonghwa. The detective who didn’t just answer the call — he heard you. Who followed every lead with an almost reverent devotion, who believed you without needing proof, who never looked at you with pity or fragility, but with the steadiness of someone who saw past your fear and into your strength. As if he already knew that your story wasn’t ending there. That, in fact, it was just beginning.

And it was.

Because if the ice had once been your first love — sharp, demanding, all-consuming — then Seonghwa became the second. A quieter, warmer love. One that didn’t ask you to be perfect, but simply to breathe. A love that taught you how to fall asleep again without needing every light on. That helped you reclaim the silence. That whispered safety into the spaces where panic used to live. That held you, night after night, until your own body stopped flinching at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. That waited for you — patient and whole — as you learned to trust the world again. Learned to trust yourself.

Coming back to skating wasn’t instant. It was slow, like thawing after a long winter. A daily ritual of placing one foot in front of the other, while fear still clung to your shadow like static. The ice didn’t feel like home at first — it felt foreign, fragile, like it might crack beneath your weight at any moment. But you had changed too. You were no longer the girl who danced between crystals for applause and gold. You were the woman who had survived. Who had crawled through darkness and decided to return. Not because it was easy, but because it mattered. One fall at a time, one trembling glide at a time, you took the ice back. And slowly, like healing, it accepted you.

And now you’re here.

Not in practice. Not in secrecy. But in the grand final of the International Championships — the summit of the dream you once buried beneath trauma, now resurrected in full bloom. The stadium around you is thunder and light. The rink beneath you glows like a frozen lake kissed by the stars. The crowd is roaring, but your gaze seeks only two faces: your grandfather, the root that never let go, the soul who once sold candy just to buy you skates. And beside him, Seonghwa — your fiancé. Your future. The man who taught you that love can be a shelter and a promise.

They’re both standing. Applauding. Crying without shame.

The music begins — a haunting, rising melody — and you move.

But not for medals. Not for revenge. Not for anyone else’s redemption. You skate for the girl who once locked herself in a bathroom, unsure if she'd ever feel whole again. You skate for the hands that shook opening threatening letters. For the nights when your breath would vanish for no reason. You skate for every moment Seonghwa held you close, saying nothing, simply being there — constant, calm, present. You skate for your freedom.

And you skate like you’ve never skated before.

Not just graceful — transcendent. Each spin carves out pieces of your past and sets them free. Each jump is a defiance, a declaration: I am still here. You become something more than a performer. You are poetry in motion. A flame on ice. A survivor wrapped in sequins, dancing in her own rebirth.

When the final note fades into silence, the applause shatters the sky.

The score flashes. It’s impossible — record-breaking. The kind of score that silences even the loudest doubts. You’ve won. The championship, yes. But more than that. You’ve won your right to exist in the light again. You’ve reclaimed your life.

You drop your hands over your mouth as the tears come — heavy, endless, necessary. You cry for everything it took to get here. For everything you lost and everything you reclaimed. You cry because you’re still standing, still skating, still alive.

In the crowd, you hear it — your grandfather’s raspy voice echoing above the rest: "THAT’S MY GRANDDAUGHTER!"

He’s waving a crumpled handkerchief, cheeks damp, eyes bright. He looks like the man who once lifted you up after every fall — and he is. He always has been.

And then — him.

Seonghwa.

No longer the stoic detective, no badge or suit to hide behind. Just him, in a long black coat, his hands in his pockets, his eyes locked onto you as if you are his entire world. When your eyes meet, his lips curve into the softest, surest smile. The kind of smile that says: we made it. He places a hand over his heart, and then points at you.

Always with you. Always for you.

And you smile — broken, breathless, whole — because you know. Because now, you can believe it.

The medal glints against your collarbone. The trophy weighs golden in your hands. But nothing is heavier — or more sacred — than the love inside your chest. The love that survived the darkness. The love that healed beside you.

Later, backstage, he finds you.

No barriers. No cameras. Just you, and him, and the moment you both fought for.

He walks straight past the restricted zone as if nothing could stop him. And when he reaches you, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in, burying his face in your shoulder. “You did it,” he breathes, his voice cracking. “God, you really did it.”

You hold onto him, trembling. “I came back,” you whisper, “And you were there. Always.”

He leans back, just enough to look at you. His fingers trail down your cheek, brushing away a tear. The engagement ring glints on your finger — delicate, silver, chosen without fanfare but worn with quiet pride. A promise already made. A future already unfolding. His thumb brushes just beneath it, lingering there like he’s reminding himself that this is real — you are real — and not just a dream he kept chasing through case files and sleepless nights. And then he kisses you.

It isn’t rushed. It isn’t frantic.

It’s everything.

A kiss that says thank you and I’m here and we survived. A kiss that tastes like tears and hope and home. A kiss that rewrites the story of what you thought love could be.

You kiss him back. Fully. Fiercely. Without fear. With everything you have left in you — all your fight, all your grace, all your light. Your hands clutch at his coat like a lifeline, because he is. And you know it now: you will never run again. You don’t need to.

This is the end of a dark chapter. And the beginning of something entirely new.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, your breaths tangled. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, voice thick. “So fucking proud. And not because you won. Not because of the score. But because you learned to love the ice again... without forgetting to love yourself too.”

You smile through your tears. “I love you,” you whisper back, because there’s nothing else truer than that.

And when he says it in return — low, fierce, full — your grandfather arrives, eyes swollen, heart wide open. He wraps you both in his arms like he’s holding onto a dream that finally came true.

And it’s in that exact moment that you understand it — all of it.

The fear. The fight. The pain. The recovery. The love.

It was all to get here. To this.

Your life didn’t end in fear. It began when you faced it.

And the ice? It’s no longer just a stage. It’s your voice. Your sanctuary. Your freedom. Your home.

Because the ice may still be cold — But it will never, ever freeze you again.

taglist: @hwasflower @queenofdumbfuckery

a/n: well, here we go with the first fic of the new atz section on the blog. i hope you liked, if you did — repost, comments and likes are always welcome.

you can leave asks here. go back to navigation.

[honeyhotteoks]

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♡ chai · she/her · nsfw · mdni ➺ my faq + fic masterlists for atz, svt, + lnds ➺ my fic recommendations ➺ my answered asks + answered anons ➺ my updates tag + my thoughts tag + my writing advice ➺ my current anon list ➺ my tip jar on ko-fi ➺ my twitter + my ao3

♡ more ~ ➺ writer of self insert fic, primarily for ateez ➺ yunho ult bias and it shows iykyk ➺ slow to respond and interact ➺ no posting schedules or taglists ➺ no fic requests ₊⊹⁀➴ currently ~ this night together (omegaverse yungi x reader) please don't message and ask when the next chapter of a work is coming or when i will post book 2 of aurora. as soon as things are ready, i post them otherwise they are being worked on. i do not abandon works, i'm just slow ♡

[hwallazia]

WE KNOW II – 박성화

synopsis . in which you should’ve known better before messing up with park seonghwa. | PART ONE

pairing . park seonghwa & fem! reader

genre . smut (mdni!), some fluff at the end (yes i’m guilty), mafia!au, strangers to acquaintances?

taglist . @bro-atz @hrts4nohee | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 3k

DISCLAIMER! mean dom!seonghwa, sub! reader, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl!), slight degradation (reader is referred as “slut” & “whore” only once), nicknames (baby, beautiful, princess, darling & more), daddy kink, bulge kink?, oral sex (m & f receiving), non-explicit aftercare, cowgirl position, lmk if I missed anything!

NIC’S NOTES and here she isss! sorry I took so long, I swear I literally dug that idea out of my head also, this may have a ridiculous amount of mistakes, but I’ll reread it soon and correct them. but well, the important thing is that she’s finally here! so I hope you enjoy it ♡

Your instincts and little motor ability guided you, as your legs were severely numb from the number of sensations that overwhelmed your body. A gentle grip on your waist kept you sane and stable, making your feet advance in confusion without knowing their destination. Your eardrum was becoming more and more sensitive to the warm air that Seonghwa released through his mouth and nostrils. Little by little, you were melting into his touch.

“Don’t faint just yet, beautiful,” His intoxicating tone of voice flushing your skin. “We have quite the night up ahead.”

Your dizzy head tried to send a warning signal to your vague and rather sleepy neurons. You were about to plunge into an even bigger problem than the one you already had on your back and you weren't realizing it.

Your nervousness and numb limbs were fogging your brain up, leaving a very submissive you as a result, vulnerable to Seonghwa’s touch.

You suddenly stopped walking, your head and trunk wobbling slightly from the abrupt stop. You watched as the man’s hand reached for the door handle to turn it and lead you to a dark, cool room. The cold air condensed your tremors and you blinked a few times to allow your eyes to get used to the darkness that surrounded you and thus try to decipher Seonghwa’s intentions.

You heard the lock and instinctively turned around, finding yourself with the closed door and the masculine and slender silhouette of Seonghwa, his face being blurred by the lack of lighting. “Hm, it’s been a while since I’ve done this,” You heard his hoarse, deep voice. “Looks like I’m in luck.”

You watched as he approached you dangerously, a devilish smirk adorning his plump lips. Your breathing hitched for a few seconds as you felt him rest his long hands on your hips, his penetrating gaze peering through your soul and stabbing daggers into it. Your eyes were caught in a funny loop between seeing his eyes and his lips.

“Where should I start?” His hands went up from your hips to your back, one of them rubbing your bare shoulder and the other playing with the zipper of your elegant dress. Both making a collective effort to strip you of the silk fabric. “Normally, I’d ask if you’re okay with all this,” He tilted his head slightly to let out a soft sigh. “But you didn’t come here with good intentions, didn’t you?”

“I can’t give you a nice night if you didn’t either, love.” Finally, your dress slid down your body smoothly, your divine figure at Seonghwa’s mercy. Chills ran down your spine when you felt him curse under his breath, but you went icy the moment he abruptly brought your lips together in a kiss. There was so much hate in it and so much lust and a lot of things that weren’t exactly said and wouldn’t be if it were up to the two of you.

The abruptness of the kiss made you release a gasp, perfect for Seonghwa to insert his tongue into your oral cavity, a whine coming out of you in response. That kiss left your head spinning and a dangerous pool of heat was starting to build up down there. Your lips parted for a second to catch some breath, “Do it again. Please.”

Your request caused a shit-eating grin to decorate Seonghwa’s face. Some sense of power filling his ego up. He wasted no time in picking you up, placing his hands on your buttocks for support, and guiding you to the large bed in the meantime. A faint whimper was heard, as with your legs partially spread Seonghwa was likely to notice the embarrassing wetness staining your underwear, which you knew he would soon remove with his own hands. However, you had already made a home in his arms, you felt comfortable and immune to any harm in his strong arms.

Once he left you spread out on the bed, you resumed the sizzling kiss and the desire that had been on hold for a few seconds soon dominated your behavior. Your arms had already caught the sides of Seonghwa’s neck, and his hands had already taken up the habit of groping your waist and breasts.

“Fuck, I can do this all night long. Touch you like this,” He whispered breathlessly, a cool breeze making your skin crawl even when the atmosphere was suffocating enough for a normal person to sweat. “Wanna taste you so badly though..”

A soft whine from you was heard, causing Seonghwa to smirk. You were so vulnerable to every word, sigh, command. That man was becoming your new addiction, one you never wanted to get out of.

His hands ran all over your leg, creating a new constellation as he dragged his phalanges over every single mole and mark he met at the moment; your breath hitching every time. Seonghwa absolutely loved how pliant you were under his fingers, how submissive you could become if he pushed the right buttons. And how your thighs shuddered in excitement when his mouth was finally positioned in front of your cunt? His sanity was gone by then.

And speaking about buttons. He pressed the one that made your lips release a satisfied sigh. 

“S-seonghwa,” You squirmed under him, his arms flexing at your breathless cry. “Please.”

“Hmm, you’re not very patient, are you?” A silent whimper was heard as just a vague breath as his lips pressed a kiss against your inner thigh; his hands stroking it fondly. “Behave. And then I’ll give you what you want.”

You nodded vigorously, your senseless state preventing you from formulating any coherent sentences. But Seonghwa was apparently not satisfied with your answer, his palm flattening against your outer thigh after mercilessly smacking it; a loud moan coming from you in response. “Answer me, you bitch.”

“Y-yes! Hmgh, yes daddy..” You stuttered under your breath, your mind being too fucked out to realize what had just left your lips.

“You into that?” A low chuckle coming out of him, not believing your words. “Fine, I can work with that.”

Finally, he dived in, his tongue starting to swim in your wetness; a nasty sound resonating all over the room. The only possible reaction for your body was to arch your back, stretch your legs, and open them even more; surrendering to the malicious pleasure that was being provided to you by Seonghwa. That’s when you decided to give in to desire and Seonghwa and his dirty fantasies.

His tongue swirling and lapping your clit made you see stars; you swore you could hear colors. Its tip was reaching spots you didn’t even know existed, his tongue pressing exquisitely against your pleasure button. Your hips studdered in attempts to move away from the mattress, but Seonghwa’s strong hands restricted any movement.

Your hands clung to the silk sheets as if your life depended on it; your knuckles turning a pinkish white. For some reason, you didn’t dare to tangle his silky hair between your fingers, something was stopping you. Seonghwa was doing an excellent job of making you see the stars and planets, you couldn’t ask for more. Right?

Your moans gradually grow louder and the wet squelching sounds of dripping center bounce on the walls, “More, Hwa. Please.” You released a broken sob; your breath quivering, nails now digging into your palm.

“So fucking greedy.” His husky voice and dark chuckle resonated inside your eardrums, “What do you want, love? My fingers?”

A bothered and childish mhm from you was heard. “Want your cock.”

You glanced down at him, meeting his dark gaze. You almost fainted when you saw him between your legs, his large pupils dilated by the ecstasy, the corner of his lips stained by your wetness. He looked so docile beneath you, but you knew that with just one command from him, you would get on all fours and a dog collar would magically appear around your neck. 

‘If I come out of this alive, it would be interesting to try it’, you thought.

“Well, aren’t you a needy little whore?” He separated from your cunt to move up to your lips and seal your protests. His tongue, once again, dominating your thoughts and mouth, “But you’re not in control tonight, sweetheart.” 

You felt how, in an agile movement, his hand grasped your hair, taking a fistful of it, forcing you to stand up and allowing Seonghwa to manipulate you like a doll. 

“On your knees, doll.” His hand grabbed your hair in such a way that you could observe every feature of his face; of course it hurt you, but you were so lost in studying those irises, deep like the ocean, that nose, perfectly sculpted, that frown that you even considered cute, and those lips, so hot that you could burn yourself to hell with just one caress.

The pain began to get more intense, so you knelt and sighed internally as you felt his grip loosen up a little. You were face to face with his prominent erection, struggling to come out of the uncomfortable fabric that had imprisoned it for so long.

Your eyebrows fluttered as you looked up at him. His frown and swollen lips constituted his twisted face; his hands working hard and desperately trying to remove the garment. His pants pooled down his ankles and his length shot out, hitting and bouncing against your nose.

“Come on, baby. Suck it like a good girl.” His fingers traced a funny line all along your scalp, holding your hair in a ponytail; his leaking tip right on your lips

And you were more than happy to oblige. You parted your lips widely enough so that at least half of his length entered your oral cavity; you were well aware that there was no physical law or mathematical rule that would allow you to put his whole cock in your mouth, but you would do everything you could to return the favor and make him feel as good as he made you feel.

You heard Seonghwa hiss and curse under his breath. The pressure he kept on your ponytail grew stronger, but you couldn’t care less. Your hands and mouth were too busy satisfying Seonghwa’s big, hard cock. Your doe-eyed gaze looked up at him and met his tensed jawline, your pupils suddenly turning into pink, shiny hearts.

“Come on, doll. You can do better than that.” His praise was followed by a deep groan, his hand guiding your head further, “You can take it all in. Right, princess?”

You closed your eyes tightly like a scared child, trying not to gag around it. You had to show him that you were a good girl, and you would do it by giving him the best blowjob of his life.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. Show me what that pretty mouth can do,” He praised through gritted teeth; his breath hitched, his muscles tensed, “Work for it, love. I’m almost there,”

You complied with his order, sucking harder with greater force. You wanted his mind to melt with all the pleasure you were giving him, for his body to surrender to yours. He hissed as soon as he noticed how you complied with his command.

“So fucking pliant. God,” He heaved a sigh. His free hand running through his silky, now sweaty hair, “You love sucking my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” You yearned, your lips forming a cute smile, without showing your teeth. Your glaze-over eyes caused Seonghwa to utter some profanity you couldn’t quite understand.

“Can’t wait anymore,” You heard him say breathlessly. 

His hand caught your shoulder and gently pulled it up, indirectly ordering you to stand up. Once on your feet, your knees felt partially sore. His hand guided you towards the bed again, but you stopped when you saw that he was the one who lay down first, his back flat against the headboard.

Seonghwa analyzed your state from the bed; messy hair, messy lipstick, mascara dripping from the sides of your eyes, exquisitely erect nipples, neck and thighs marked with bites and red hickeys. ‘A sight for sore eyes’, he thought.

He patted his lap a few times and locked gazes with you, “Get in here and ride me, doll.”

Your body quivered in excitement and you quickly climbed onto the bed to straddle his lap, his hardening cock making contact with your wet folds. You unconsciously began to move against his length seeking relief or some sort of friction. Seonghwa was quick to catch your hips in his hands, stopping your desperate movement.

“Desperate, are we?” He whispered, almost dismissively, “What did I say earlier, love?”

“That I have to behave,” You repeated as if you had studied his words.

“Good girl,” He grabbed almost tenderly your cheek and joined your lips once again in a feverish kiss. You were so immersed in the feelings that kiss caused you that you didn’t realize the moment in which Seonghwa slid his fat cock inside you, a broken moan pouring out of your lips.

“F...Fuck, Seonghwa. Be gentle- mgh!” You stumbled over your words as you felt him so deep inside you, a perfectly formed lump in your belly. Your breath hitched the moment you felt him shift in his place, his cock deliciously reaching unknown spots.

The way he threw his head back due to the tightness of your walls made you squeeze him even more. He had his eyes shut tightly as he breathed in heavily, large beads of sweat rolling on his temple and hanging on for dear life on his sharp jawline.

Yes, that mere vision had you moaning and your throwing your head back.

Exactly a minute passed and Seonghwa hadn’t performed a single move. Your desperation was beginning to overflow and you found no other way to show him your impatience other than by whining like a baby.

“Daddyy, please move,” You cried out; doe-eyed as you stared at him.

“Show me how badly you want my cock, doll.” He muttered faintly in a low voice. 

You had said unimaginable things that night. It couldn’t hurt to lose a little more dignity.

“Pleaseee, daddy. I need your cock so badly, need you to fill me up and fuck my brains out,” Your heart was intensely hammering your ribs; your heartbeat deafening your eardrums.

“If you don’t shove your cock inside me, then I’ll do it.” You protested.

“Do it then. Fuck yourself on my cock, silly girl.” 

And he didn’t have to tell you twice. You began to bounce on his cock as if your life depended on it, your hands using his broad shoulders as support. Shattered moans and husky grunts filled the room up, the clash between your skins being the main sound of the symphony. 

“S-seonghwa- Nghh, ahh! You’re so.. sooo- ugh!” You had lost the ability to formulate intelligible sentences the moment Seonghwa started hammering his hips into yours.

“So what? So deep that you can’t even think straight anymore?” A weird combination between a strained moan and a chuckle left his lips, “I really did fuck your brains out, huh?”

Seonghwa asked you and you didn’t even have the time to agree before another loud cry left your swollen, red lips. Accordingly, he abruptly shoved two of his fingers into your mouth, muffling your moans and keeping them at an ideal volume —low enough so that no one would think he was killing you.

Your mind was completely mush by then; his thrusts grew harder, faster and sloppier, his fingers eventually leaving your hot mouth. You were sure that with a couple of thrusts, Seonghwa would open the doors of an unknown heaven for you, pushing you into an eccentric abyss of pleasure.

“Right there! Ugh right the fuck there..” You sobbed brokenly, “I’m gonna- c-cum, ahh! Please daddy, can I? Pleasepleaseplease,”

“Cum, pretty girl. Make a mess all over my cock,”

And with no delay, you squirted like champagne, staining his cock and the expensive sheets with your fluids. You let Seonghwa manipulate your body as he pleased to reach his high as well. Overstimulation being very sensitive and toe-curling but with your priority being Seonghwa’s release, you couldn’t care less.

“Fucking hell, you’re squeezing down on me- ah! so hard..” His breath hitched for the last time that night; his muscles tensing with your recent release, “Gonna cum inside you and fill you up so fucking good. Gonna be walking with my cum dripping out of your pussy for a week,”

And he did. He filled you to the bone the moment he hammered his hips against yours for the last time. He remained still for a couple of seconds as he felt his cock twitch inside your warm, squishy walls.

You caught you breath after a few minutes in silence, finally settling into bed; both of you lying down while Seonghwa wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you close to him.

“Well, wasn’t that supposed to be a punishment?” You question.

“Are you complaining?”

“No,” A cute giggle came out of you, ”So, what do we do now?”

“We both go back to our lives, of course,”

You knew it would end like this. But why does it hurt you a little?

A moment of uncomfortable silence came in. Until Seonghwa decided to break it, “Let’s exchange numbers. Maybe we can keep on talking? You know, I could help you with your work and you could help me with mine.”

A fond smile decorated your lips, your iris suddenly turning into shiny bulbs, “Sounds good to me,”

You settled back into his arms, finding warmth in them. A warmth and security that you haven’t felt in a long time. His calm breathing numbed your eyelids, which were beginning to close little by little. Finally you were immersed in a soft, ideal world of dreams and stars, surrounded by Seonghwa’s arms.

Maybe, after all, your boyfriend was something you could get over with

| masterlist

[chimivx]

That one fucked you over last year, this one is fucking you over this year, you had no idea she was involved with him, someone over here has been lying to you, you didn't mean to end up in that ones bed, he told you he loved you... Does anyone even trust anyone anymore?

👫 -> college!teez x fem!reader/oc {frat/sorority} #️⃣ -> 7k (part FOUR of ten) ‼️ -> 18+, sexual content, drugs/alcohol, college life, all the drama, heavy angst, infidelity adjacent moments, mean boys, mean girls, mentions of anxiety/depression… IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

september 13th ~ friday ~ 6:30 p.m

A week had passed. Seven days had come and gone, and everything was running as smoothly as humanly possible. The first week of classes went well, every one of your sisters in the house upbeat and smiling about their endeavors. There wasn’t much to complain about, within your schedule you had plenty of time during the week to get assignments done, to work on projects and any essays that were due… The academic year would be as close to perfect as it could get.

After a few days of chaos, you were looking forward to moving on. Looking forward to putting your focus on your work, on the job you had in this house, your duty as a member of ITZ. Recruitment breathed down your necks, the jitters growing with every passing day, the uncertainty that ITZ would turn back into what it once was.

At her desk now, Yeji felt the most pressure. It was evident in her creased brow and her pinstraight posture, her shoulders rolled back toward the leather of her chair. For a half hour the nine of you had been sitting in this room, discussing classes, throwing out ideas for recruitment, giving one another updates of the first official week back at Nasara… A conversation you didn’t have much to add to.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket.

You had nothing to add.

“Then, it’s settled,” Yeji sighed, signaling Chaeryeong to write down what she was about to say. “Photos will be taken, Tori will get the announcements together, Mina and I will make sure the services are scheduled to stop by and set up,” she paused, reading down a list, her breath releasing heavily as she said, “After recruitment dinner will be held at ATZ.”

Yuna swallowed a smile, sitting in the velvet chair she typically claimed. Her eyes traveled toward the back of the room, where the other four of you sat wedged on the couch together. You and Tori were on either end of Ryujin who held Isla half on her lap. Your roommate sent the girl a sly wink, the dinner location of her and Mingi’s doing. Mina, attentive beside her president, let her gaze find Tori. The two share something of a small smile.

Since last week they’ve been buddy-buddy. Adorable, really, the way Mina has suddenly started sitting closer to her, closer to you and your friends when you’d hang about the house, inserting herself into the dynamic like she didn’t fit in perfectly with the other half of the house. Tori took her in like it was nothing. Mina fit right under her wing so perfectly that the two have snuck out of the house three more times since last Friday.

Choosing to stay cooped up in your room, spending your time on your classes, hanging around Ryujin, Isla and Yuna, you weren’t into the idea of sweating in the living room of ATZ anymore. Not after the last party. Watching Mina and Yunho swap spit on the couches didn’t appeal to you like it might to some.

The rest of your friends couldn’t get enough.

With Mina around, you didn’t have to watch the Yunho stuff happen, you just had to hear about it. And, good god the girl wouldn’t shut up.

Yunho let me sip his drink, it was disgusting, how do you guys do it!?

Yunho taught me how to play beer pong, I’m actually pretty good, I wish you guys would come so we could play!

Of course Yunho kissed me! He does every time I see him now, it’s like nothing was ever weird between us.

On, and on, and on.

At least the attention was off of you. Not a soul has brought up Wooyoung, and not a soul has mentioned anything about Seonghwa. Not that they would, no one knew.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket again. Reaching a hand back you slipped it out and peeked at the screen before Yeji could catch you. Both messages on your screen made your nerves spark.

[starhwa]: Party tonight. I know you’re fulfilling your sisterhood duties by following the rules now, but if you came I promise I’d make it worth your time.

His message came first. The one received twenty minutes ago.

The second, the newest, made you want to snap your phone in half.

[youknow everythin]: I miss you I hate everything about what’s happening right now Rory

He hasn’t spoken to you since the party, the one you stormed out of because he decided to swallow Mina’s tongue in front of you. 

The following morning you woke up before Tori. Shuffling to the bathroom to wash up before anyone figured out where you were the night before, you found a purple mark in the shape of a heart on the base of your neck. Reminded of everything that had happened, the blurry words you said to him, you didn’t expect to smile.

Make me forget.

You covered the hickey, and have had to all week because that shit was dark, and sent Seonghwa a mortifying text message because you remembered what Yunho had told you a few days prior to you ending up in his sheets. Seonghwa was apparently with somebody, dating somebody, and was unavailable. 

A lie.

A Yunho lie.

So you’ve been talking to him everyday, all week. Yunho was content with Mina, he had his hands full with all that shit. Seonghwa was funny, he was chill. Sure, he didn’t let you rant about life like Yunho used to, listening to everything you would say, keeping mental notes for the future, listening like he was trying to memorize every word… Seonghwa didn’t do that, but he was still an alright friend.

You did miss the daily debrief about your day, about your classes… About his day, about his classes… The end of the first week of classes is when you two would hang at the party, drink yourselves silly and break down your professors and syllabuses. Judging by his message he was thinking and feeling the same thing.

[you]: promised the girls i’d do dinner tonight and i like to keep my promises.. i’ll try to come by after.. hopefully you keep yours 🤞

It was a nice distraction. There were no strings with Seonghwa. For a week it’s been silly banter and jokes. He wasn’t a guy who dated, and if he did you knew you wouldn’t be his long term type. Part of you is shocked that you’re possibly his short term type, never once in the past did Seonghwa ever make any sort of advancement on you. San on the other hand, he’s one of the only boys who’s tried unprompted by you, but, then again San went after anything that sparked his fancy.

Yeji exchanged words with Mina, then expressed something to Yuna. The higher ups spoke cohortly, the rest of you on the outside of whatever it was they were discussing. Something about… uniform? Dress code?

Your phone vibrated.

[youknow everythin]: What???

Whoops.

[youknow everythin]: Oh, that wasn’t meant for me, was it.

You started to type something smart, trying to be witty somehow, but you deleted everything you came up with. The bubbles appeared on the other side and you sighed.

[youknow everythin]: You’re talking to someone else in the house now?? 

Eye roll.

[youknow everythin]: Don’t ignore me, Rory, I really hate this. I feel like you’re angry at me, we don’t do this. 

A notification popped up at the top of your screen.

[starhwa]: What did you dooo Ror

Withholding your smile you took a screenshot of you and Yunho’s conversation and made sure to send it in the right thread, to Seonghwa. It took him a few seconds to ‘love’ the message.

[starhwa]: What a whiny bitch

[starhwa]: ‘We don’t do this’ sounds like something a liar says hmmm

[starhwa]: Come tonight, let’s piss him off

The corners of your lips perked up. Now that sounded like a good time. It would certainly make up for the time spent this week listening to Mina describe every single detail of every single kiss she and Yunho shared.

[you]: i have dinner tonight with the girls, i’ll sneak away and see you after, hwa :)

[starhwa]: You bad girl… I’ll see you later.

“Who are you talking to?” Tori’s quiet voice startled you. “Smiling at your phone like that, who is it?” Slapping the screen flat to your thigh you wiped your face clean and looked at her. The smirk she wore paired with her curious brows made your heart stop for a second. “No, no,” she giggled. The meeting was over, you missed whatever was decided and Yeji’s send off. The girls were rushing out of the room. “Are you talking to somebody?”

“Seonghwa,” you whispered. Ryujin and Isla were gone, Tori had scooted all the way over to your side of the couch. In her sleeveless denim jumpsuit she crossed her legs, leaning into you. At the mention of ATZ’s Vice President her jaw fell open. “Don’t make it a big deal, we aren’t talking.”

“But, you’re texting,” she said, shifting her eyes over to Yeji and Mina, still at the wooden desk. “How did this happen? When did this happen?”

“You know we’ve been friends,” you said, following the shift of her eyes, finding Mina smiling at her. “He’s friends with Yunho too, so…”

“Right,” Tori said, narrowing her gaze. “I’ve just never seen you two talk, that’s all.”

With a breath, you smiled. “Are we doing dinner, or what? I’m starving.”

Tori eyed you for a moment, then nodded. “We are, but we have to wait for Mina.”

Of course you did.

“Are the others waiting?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder to see if Ryujin, Isla or Yuna were still hanging around. 

Tori inspected her acrylic nails and shook her head. “We told them they could go.”

Your brows plummeted. “You and Mina told them they could go?” Tori nodded, picking at her cuticles. “Was I going to be a part of that decision?” She held her hands in front of her, judging her choice of polish.

“I shouldn’t have done teal, Mingi hates teal.”

“Tori,” you said, catching her attention. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, me and Mina said they could leave,” she said. “She’ll be done soon anyways, then we’ll catch up with them. What’s the big deal?”

Did this happen while you were texting Seonghwa, or was this orchestrated before like some sort of secret?

“Okay,” was all you could push out of your mouth.

Twenty minutes later you were finally on the move.

Plenty of time to leave Tori on the couch and scurry off to your bedroom to change your clothes and fluff up your hair. Taking your Nasara hoodie off you slipped into a dress similar to the one you wore last week, except this one was black with thin straps over your shoulders. Tight around your chest, it hung loose around your hips, swinging over the curves with every step taken. Tori exclaimed when you met her and Mina at the bottom of the stairs.

The sophomore took you in and smiled, her eyes falling to your thighs every so often throughout the night. She wore a striped crop top and high rise jeans, her hair styled perfectly beneath her chin, her accessories complimenting her perfectly. Always put together.

It made you sick.

But, that was his type, right?

Put together, hard working, pays attention to details, good girl.

Fuck it. If you were the opposite, which it so seemed, otherwise you’d be the one with him, you’d prove him right.

Tori drove and Mina insisted you sit in the front seat though the two yapped the entire ride over to the restaurant. Situated in downtown Delo, a ten minute drive away from the ATZ house, you sent Seonghwa your location as Tori pulled into the parking lot.

[starhwa]: You’re not far, had me thinking you wouldn’t be here till midnight again

[starhwa]: You’re not walking all that, Ror. I’ll pick you up.

“You’re quiet,” Mina said to you, leaning over the leather of Tori’s seats. Slapping your phone to your thigh, a recurring habit now, Mina watched it, eyed your skin, then smiled at you. “Everything okay?” Tori had gotten out of the car moments prior, pressing her own cell phone to her ear to give Mingi her every ten minute update of where she was and what she was doing.

Dragging your eyes from your roommate to the sophomore, you sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Really hungry, I wanted to eat a half hour ago.”

Mina pursed her lips. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “Yeji’s so stressed, I didn’t think she’d keep me for so long after. I hope you know I’m really happy to be here with you guys.”

Sitting forward, pulling off your seatbelt, you let it hit the window as you reached for the handle. “Happy to have you, Mina,” you grumbled, slipping out of the car onto the asphalt.

This street was cute. One of the better ones in downtown Delo that’s been built up, heavy work going into it to make it a thriving city instead of one that people would shake their heads at if it were brought up in conversation. You were at one of many restaurants, a sushi place Isla was obsessed with. A sushi place Isla has drawn mad attention to, essentially helping with the flip of reputation, because of her and her brother.

Along the street lively people hung around, good crowds of smiling people and people playing music on the corners or inside some of the bars. There was a club a few minutes down the street, one that was closed for ages, but had recently reopened. This street was the first to flip people’s idea of Delo, that and the outstanding rep Nasara provided the city.

[you]: I’ll tell you when… are you sure you’re okay with that

[starhwa]: …

[starhwa]: Anything for you.

“There’s that smile again,” Tori teased, following you into the restaurant with Mina on her tail. Shooting her a look, you made her laugh.

“What smile?” Mina asked, her happy-go-lucky grin glowing as she stepped into the dimly lit lobby. Tori nudged her with an elbow and wiggled her brows.

“Her boy smile,” she said.

Mina’s smile faltered. Looking over at you, she seemed to force a laugh out of herself. “What boy?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’re talking to Wooyoung again?”

Since when did she know so much about that?

You looked at Tori who went unaffected by her bestie’s words. 

“Why would you care if I am?” you questioned.

Tori decided to feel affected now.

“She’s just worried, Ror,” she said, wrapping a hand around your bicep. Guiding you toward the back of the restaurant, dodging tables and waiters, she said, “None of us want you to go back to him.”

Peering back to catch a glimpse of Mina, she gave you a smile. “Do you even know the full story?”

She nodded, her hair swinging below her chin. “Tori and I spoke about it a few days ago. She was giving me the group debrief so I’d be prepared for a night like tonight.” Stepping up to your side as you approached the table your friends were at, Mina took your other arm in her hand and tilted her head. “There are so many guys better than him, trust me.”

“Better than who?” Yuna asked, brows pulled tight in the center of her forehead. Her chocolate hair was pulled back into a bun, her bangs dusting her eyelashes. Glancing down at her and your friends, a laugh sparked at Ryujin with a salmon roll between her lips, frozen, staring up at you with widened eyes. Isla was focused on her plate, a wine glass on the table next to it.

“Wooyoung,” Mina said, and the two paying attention groaned.

“Nothing is going on,” you stated, taking note of how Tori sat beside Yuna, Mina taking the empty chair beside her. The last empty seat was next to Isla, her and her gorgeous hair not giving you the time of day when you slipped onto the wood beside her, across from Yuna. “We haven’t spoken at all.”

“You did at the party, right?” Mina asked innocently, studying the menu in front of her. Piercing her with your glare, Tori kicked your shin under the table, pleading with you with her own eyes to not freak out.

Ryujin, with her mouth full, asked, “You talked to Wooyoung and didn’t tell us?” She leaned forward to get a glimpse of you past Isla.

Yuna stared at you, eyes big and wider than they normally are. “What the hell did he say? What the hell did you say?”  Now, Mina picked up her head.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” you breathed, holding up your hands to feign your innocence. “We passed by each other, he told me I looked good, I didn’t say anything back, and that was it.” Tori had dropped her chin, she looked at you through her lashes. Mina, curious as ever, raised an eyebrow.

“Where did you find him, ‘cause…” she shared a look with Tori, “We didn’t see him all night.”

Probably because you were wedged so far up Yunho’s asshole to pay attention to anything or anyone else.

“I hung out with Seonghwa and Yeosang in the kitchen,” you said, keeping your gaze fixated on her to prove your lie was the truth. “I met some girls who are planning to come to recruitment, by the way,” you said to the table, Yuna’s eyes lighting up. “But, I ran into him on the second floor, leaving the bathroom. First floor was taken, so I had to go upstairs. You ever been upstairs, Mina?” The sophomores expression fell.

“Aurora,” Tori said, hushed, like she was disappointed.

“The fuck does that mean?” Ryujin asked genuinely, shoving another piece of sushi into her mouth. 

Isla, reaching for her wine glass, flipped her hair backward and sniffled. “I think she means sex,” she said without concern for how loud she was speaking. Licking her lips, she took a gulp of her glass and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “She’s implying that Mina’s never gone upstairs at ATZ.”

“Okay,” Ryujin muttered, helping Isla place the glass down safely. 

“Damn,” Yuna snickered, putting her focus on her plate.

Tori scoffed. “You guys are sick,” she started. “That’s not what we go there for.”

“It’s what you go there for,” Ryujin smirked, assisting Isla in picking up her sushi for her. Tori shot her eyes back and forth from the two, and clenched her jaw.

“That doesn’t matter,” Tori snapped. “Besides, we’ve been dating for a while, it’s totally different.”

Ryujin perked a brow. “Is it?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Tori nearly shouted. Mina put a hand on her arm, the two sharing a look. “Ror, that wasn’t nice,” she said to you, her big brown eyes now asking you to apologize. As you glanced to Mina, the girl who shared personal secrets with you about going upstairs, the look on her face made your heart twist.

Did she deserve an apology? Probably.

Did you want to give her one? No.

First she’s taken Yunho, now she’s taken Tori. She’s sitting here at dinner with you and your friends, winning them over with her good girl attitude, her good girl outlook on life. She was going to make a difference here, she was going to do some good, she was going to help Isla and be the best Vice President, and help Yeji get ITZ into good shape so more girls like herself would join. 

It’s no wonder he wouldn’t want you. What do you have to give?

Sex on the side because he wasn’t getting it from her?

A fuck when he wanted it because his good girl was being a good girl?

A wise man once told you, fuck him. He’s not worth it.

So, fuck him.

Pushing your chair out from under you with force, startling Isla and Yuna, you grip the back and shove it back under the table, muttering the quickest I’m sorry to either of the girls before hurrying off toward the lobby of the restaurant.

“Ror!” Tori called after you.

Mina’s voice boiled your blood. “Let her go, Tor, it’s okay.”

Tor. That was your Tor.

[you]: come get me now

[starhwa]: Babe, you just got there

[you]: yeah, well i’m pissed off. come get me.

september 13th ~ friday ~ 9:12 p.m

With his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, beneath your hair, Seonghwa kept you close to him while he spoke to potential members of his fraternity. All night since he came back with you he’s kept you by his side, replacing your drinks when needed, checking in on you when you got too quiet, and most importantly, keeping you away from Yunho.

Throughout the first hour of you being here you had your eyes glued to your phone, waiting for any one of your sisters to message you, or call you. You figured Tori would be the first, you’d have a text before you even walked out into the parking lot. But, it was radio silence. After your first two drinks with Seonghwa, who could easily outdrink you, he got fed up and snatched your phone from you, telling you you could have it back if it was an emergency, or if Tori was calling. It lived in the back pocket of his tightly tailored slacks now.

“Remind me your name again?” Seonghwa smiled at the boy in front of him, the freshman with bright eyes that occasionally lingered over to you while they spoke.

The blonde was familiar, you’d seen him before.

“Jongseob,” he said, a cocky smile growing on his face as he tipped his chin up. “Thank you for your time tonight.” He extended a hand to Seonghwa, one which he took and shook. “Your girlfriend is beautiful,” Jongseob turned his chin and extended a hand toward you. Swapping your red cup into the other, you placed it in his hold and he brought it to his lips, pressing the tiniest kiss to your knuckles. Lips parting in shock, he gave you a soft laugh. “I hear great things about ITZ, as well. If all goes well within the next few weeks, I’ll see you at dinner.” His charm was infatuating.

“See you at dinner,” you breathed, voice going shaky as he flashed Seonghwa another grin and turned away. Looking up at Seonghwa, he was already watching you.

“He just called you my girlfriend,” he said through a laugh.

Blinking, you smiled, shaking your head. “You are holding onto me like I’m yours.”

His eyes flashed with something dark, and he asked, “Is that a problem?”

Poking your tongue between your lips, making sure he watched, you smized up at him, knowing you were both thinking about the same thing. “I don’t think it is.”

“Perfect,” Seonghwa raised his eyebrows, shifting both hands to your shoulders, “Then, let’s go dance.”

Letting him guide you down the hall, you were tipsy enough to the point of not noticing anyone if they were watching you. You didn’t want to pay attention to anybody anyway, you were here to forget, you were here to have fun. The other people didn’t matter. Your friends didn’t matter right now. Yunho didn’t matter. All of the bullshit from before, from last semester, from last week… It didn’t matter.

“I wish we weren’t banned,” you said. “You get to have fun with all the interested freshmen. I think Yeji fucked us by banning us, we can’t be here to mingle.”

Seonghwa huffed a laugh. “Yeah, she royally screwed you guys.”

“Hey,” you tried to pause your walk, but he kept you going without missing a beat. “That’s not nice.”

He pressed his lips to your ear. “I’m not nice.”

Chills erupted down your spine.

“Oh my god, just take me upstairs,” you said, shaking your head, and he laughed.

“Not yet,” he mumbled, turning you into the living room full of people. An obnoxious club song from ages ago blasted through the speakers. “First we fuck shit up.”

“Gladly,” you sighed, letting him slip his arms around your waist, pulling you further into the mass of students of every age, the two of you getting lost in the pulse of the music.

Taking your hand to his shoulder you slide it around his neck, hooking it in your elbow, forcing him to lean over you. You danced into him, his hands guiding you against him again and again, his hold slipping lower with every twist of your hips. Sipping from your cup, you eyed him, then downed the rest of the contents. Seonghwa took the red plastic from your hand and threw it to the floor behind him, finally free to cage you against him, both of your hands finding sanctuary in his long hair. He pressed his forehead to yours, the sudden closeness knocking your breath from your lungs, Seonghwa pulling you under his spell within seconds.

“What do you want?” he asked, both hands gripping the round of your ass, pushing your hips into his.

Forced to your tiptoes, you pushed a breath from your lips. “What do you mean?”

Seonghwa’s eyes flickered to your lips. “Out of tonight. What do you want to get out of tonight?” He studied your face, every bit of it. “Last time you told me to make you forget. What do you want to do now?”

“I- I- I don’t…”

“Tell me,” he said, softening his gaze. “Let me help.”

“What’s in it for you?”

That devilish smirk found his lips. “I get you, Ror.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“All these assholes want you,” he said. “And none of them like each other.” The Greek life facade. “Help me piss them off, and I’ll help you piss them off.”

Now that sounded nice. Only, it wasn’t your goal. Pissing off Yunho sounded nice, maybe even pissing off Wooyoung a little bit, but in doing so that would mean your sisters would find out what you’re doing, and if they found out what you were doing you’d have to either tell them it’s fake and risk exposing your truth to the ATZ boys, or play it up that it was real and be forced to keep another thing from them…

“No,” you said, and he wasn’t the least bit shocked. “We shouldn’t even be doing this right now.”

“Why?” He tipped his head back to shake it. “Worried he’ll stop giving a fuck? Because you shouldn’t be.” Gazing up at him, his perfect honey skin dripping with utter lust, his words almost convinced you.

“Seonghwa!”

His voice punched a hole in your gut.

The vice president followed it, looking up, keeping you flush against him. Dusty brown hair and glasses pushed through the crowded living room, ending up at your side. Seonghwa took one look at you, begging for an answer before anything else happened. The smallest shake of your head made him let go of you, the loss of his warmth incredibly disappointing.

Yunho took you in, from what you were wearing down to how you reacted when Seonghwa took his hands off of you. “Hongjoong is looking for you,” he said to his advisor. His higher up. His boss. The two shared something between their eyes, something you couldn’t figure out.

“Is he?” Seonghwa asked, rolling his shoulders back. 

Yunho grit his teeth. “He is.”

You were out of there.

Getting lost in the heaps of people you made your way back into the kitchen, weaving through couples making out on the walls of the hallway. Wobbling to a fridge, you yanked it open, the heavy door swinging toward a group of guys standing against the other side of it.

“Whoa!” A hand caught the door before it hit him. “Hey, you’re Seonghwa’s girl.” That was a voice you knew. Taking a can of fruity bubbles from the shelf, you cracked it open and let the boy close the door for you. 

Jongseob, you think.

“Jongseob,” Jongseob said.

Right.

Sipping your drink, you smiled and stepped closer to him. He was dressed in black and grey, his blonde hair brushing his shoulders contrasting against the dark colors in a weirdly pretty way.

“Jongseob,” you repeated, and he smiled. “I’m not Seonghwa’s girl.”

Twisting his lips curiously, he nodded and glanced at his friends. “This is Intak,” he motioned to a boy with black cropped hair in a white button down and jeans, the top three buttons undone, “And this is Shota.” The third boy had blonde hair like Jongseob, only it was lighter, near white. His eyes were dark, almost void of all color, and the way he dressed reflected his age. An old band tee and ripped jeans with bracelets on his wrists.

“Call me Soul,” Shota said, splaying a hand over his chest. He was tall, all three of them were, but the other two had muscle to them. Soul was wide, but gangly, slimmer than his friends.

“Soul,” you whispered, and he smiled, his pink lips curving upward. “I’ve seen you before, Soul.”

He quirked a brow, his smile growing. “Have you, Aurora?”

You matched his smile. “Sannie’s fun, isn’t he?”

The boy who was attached to San’s hip last week laughed. “When you want a spot in the house he is.”

“Ooo,” you sang, stepping closer to the three of them. Intak, who couldn’t stop staring at your legs, took a step backward. Jongseob and Soul didn’t move. Both were eating you alive with their eyes, the intensity had potential to make your knees buckle. “Seems you already fit in just fine,” you said to Soul. Turning to look at Intak, the boy's brown eyes met yours, and he took a breath. “If I wasn’t in the middle of something I’d take you upstairs first.”

Spinning on your heels, missing the way Intak grabbed hold of Soul to steady himself, you sauntered out to the hall sipping your drink. You weren’t sure what number you were on, but you didn’t care. Everything that weighed you down before suddenly didn’t seem so heavy. These parties really were an outlet, Yeji’s a monster for taking it away.

Crossing the threshold into the living room, ready to find Seonghwa and get on with the night, the front door to the house opened. Tori, Mingi, Mina, Yuna, Ryujin and Isla filed inside.

“Oh, great,” you mumbled, and hurried deeper into the living room, hoping to go undetected. If Wooyoung could do it in this house, at his own party, you could do it too. How hard could it be?

You passed by Yeosang and the girl he was with the other night on the couch, the two sharing a drink, talking to one another in their own world, like there wasn’t a party happening around them. When people stumbled into them, they didn’t even react. He had his arm slung around her back, listening to her as she talked, nodding along, actually listening to her. Wanting to ruffle his waves, you decided to leave him alone. It’d been a week and he was still attached to this girl. That meant something.

Heading back toward the tables set up on the other side of the living room, a hand latched onto your wrist, tugging you backward. Whipping yourself around, wide eyed and ready to unload on the jerk who touched you without permission, when you met Yunho’s frustrated expression, you groaned. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, letting you go, taking note of the drink you were holding. “Why are you hanging around Seonghwa?”

“Why not?” you questioned, folding your arms after a gulp from your can. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” he answered without hesitation, his tone dripping in disbelief, like he couldn't believe you weren’t in agreement with him. “I know how he is, you shouldn’t get involved.” The song changed over the speakers and everyone shouted, another old song pumping through the air. Yunho cringed, sparing a glance at the crowd over his shoulder.

“Are you not drinking?” you asked, looking him up and down for signs of drunkenness. He was really good at hiding it.

“I am,” he said.

“What are you on?”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“Me either,” you said, shaking the can around.

It fell quiet between the two of you. Staring at one another, you couldn’t feel anything bad as you looked at him. For a second his eyes dropped down your body, so you let yours do the same. He wore ripped jeans and a white long sleeved shirt. Two necklaces hung around his neck over his shirt. The chain was gone.

He looked good.

“I need another,” he said, breaking the silence. Crinkling the can in your hand, you took the last sip and crushed it completely.

“So do I,” you mumbled.

Yunho rubbed his hands on his legs and took a breath. “Wanna go get one?”

Gazing up at him, you bobbed your head. “Sure,” you said, and he nodded with you. “I saw… I saw, uh, Tori come in… And Mina… And I think everyone else.”

He couldn’t look away from you. “Mingi told me they were coming.”

“Oh.” You pressed your lips together tight and sucked in a breath.

Yunho tore his eyes away for all of three seconds before they were on you again. “We can make it to drinks and back without seeing them.”

“You don’t wanna see them?”

He shook his head. “Do you?”

“No,” you whispered.

“Why?” he asked.

Your turn to shake your head. “Why don’t you?”

“Christ,” he muttered, grabbing onto your wrist. He pulled you out of the living room, his head darting back and forth searching for unsuspecting eyes. The only ones you passed on the way to the kitchen were the three freshmen. Intak, Soul and Jongseob, all taking account of who you were with and where you were going. You were goddamn lucky this house stretched on for miles.

He left you outside of the kitchen, planting you by the archway, in the small corner you found Yeosang in last week, just outside of the bathroom door. Disappearing into the kitchen, telling you that he would be right back and not to move, he left you.

The door to your right opened, and a very sloshed Isla tumbled out of it. She shoved it closed and looked up at you, both of you confused, both of you squinting at one another in the dim light.

“Hey,” she said, pushing her messy hair from her face. “When did you get here, Ror, I was worried about you.” She came close and put a hand around your shoulders.

Taking her hand in yours, you laid your head against her arm. “You were worried about me?”

She nodded, leaning into you. “I was, me. These other fake bitches weren’t.”

Your stomach rolled. “What?”

Coming closer to your ear, she said, “These other fake bitches weren’t.” Pulling away, she raised her brows and shot you a look. “They didn’t care where you went, they just kept… Blah, blah, blah, boys. Blah, blah, blah, we look hot. Blah, blah, blah, Mina’s so adorable. Blah, blah, blah… Yunho.” She looked up beside you, and started to smile. “Funny, they were talking about you almost the whole time.”

He had two drinks in his hand, in red cups. “Who was?” he asked, his eyes going slightly wild. Isla stepped toward him and slapped a hand onto his chest.

“Mi-na,” she sounded out the girl's name, then laughed at herself.

Suddenly, Vernon appeared around the corner and sighed, wrapping an arm around her back. “What did I say about wandering?”

Isla screwed her face up and immediately fell into him. “I had to pee, Nonie.” You giggled. “Unless you wanted to come with me…”

Vernon sighed, his eyes closing for a moment. “Definitely not, Isla, let’s go.” He sent his goodbyes to you and Yunho with a nod, then the two were gone.

Looking up at the giant beside you, you took the cup with a tiny thank you, then said, “I didn’t wander.”

Pressing the rim of his cup to his lips, he hid a smile. “Thank god.”

Drinking what he gave you, you could’ve gagged. Pulling the cup from your lips, you voiced your disapproval and he laughed.

He laughed.

He laughed and it sounded beautiful.

“Too strong?” he asked, and you scoffed.

“You think!?”

He took a step closer to you with his grin. “M’sorry, I didn’t think I did that, I can’t really… Couldn’t really tell.”

The dimples imprinted on his cheeks warmed your heart. “Yunho, you’re drunk.”

His eyes went crazy. Dropping his jaw, he said, “Rory, you’re drunk.”

Rory.

“I am,” you said, drinking his concoction, maintaining face, though you both laughed when the aftertaste smacked you across the face. “Fuck, Yo, what did you do?”

Yunho tilted his head, his smile softening. “I miss hearing you say that.”

Blinking, losing all joy in your face, you pulled your lips into a pout. “I miss saying that.”

Sipping from your cups, both of you, drinking a little faster, Yunho came closer to you and took your hand in his. “Come on,” he mumbled, taking you down the hall.

“Where are we going?” You glanced around you as you walked, not that you were vigilant in the slightest right now. Yunho took you around the stairs, pushing through a few girls crowded there.

“Somewhere where I can talk to you without feeling like I’ll get in trouble,” he said, his voice hushed, speaking only to you. 

“Have you been getting in trouble?” you asked, landing on the vacant second floor. The girls on the stairs had their eyes on your back before you disappeared into Yunho’s bedroom.

“Not necessarily,” he said, locking the door behind him. Looking around his room you were torn. You sipped from your cup, almost at the bottom, and contemplated walking out. You were just here almost two weeks ago, mere hours before the earth shook beneath your feet.

“Then what do you mean,” you whispered, turning to face him.

He walked over to his bed, his messy bed. Yunho was smart and intelligent, but he wasn’t organized in the slightest. He was a genius in the mad scientist way, his room was a mess. Clothes were strewn on the floor, his blankets were rumpled, books were scattered about the rug he’s always put down on the floor, and his walls were littered with polaroid photos and scraps of paper that meant something to him.

It was endearing.

“I mean…” he sighed, knocked back the rest of his cup, and threw it to the floor. Sitting on the edge of his bed he put his elbows on his knees and drug his hands through his hair. “It’s obvious, we both know it,” he said, looking up at you. “You said it to me, I pursued her, and here I am, losing my mind over you.” Coming to his side, you sat next to him and finished your drink. He took it from you and threw it to the ground, letting it roll over to his. 

“Yo,” you whispered, and he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Don’t say what you’re gonna say, because I know it. What I don’t know is how to fix it, Rory. I miss you. This week is supposed to be ours.”

Dropping your eyes to his bed, you exhaled and whispered, “Now it’s yours and hers.”

Yunho moved closer to you, taking your chin in his hands, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. “Stop, no it’s not.” He spoke in a whisper, you both did.

“Yes, it is, Yo. The week is over, and I haven’t spoken to you since last Friday.”

Last Friday when he kissed Mina in front of you.

Last Friday when you decided it’d be a good idea to roll around his friends sheets.

“Why’d you have to talk to her?” Your half broken whisper wrecked his composure.

Shaking his head, he parted his lips and released a breath before he kissed you. A kiss that felt like no other. A kiss that felt right. A kiss you wanted over any other kiss. It was warm, and heavy, and all the more insatiable. You could drown in it, and you wanted to. If you never took another breath again, so be it.

It happened fast, Yunho’s shirt hitting the floor. Between lips on skin and hands drawing everywhere, you were both barely undressed and he was inside of you.

And it was right.

It was how it should be.

On top of him, hands in his hair, straddling his jeans while he pressed kisses to your skin, tugging the straps of your dress down your shoulders so hard that one almost snapped… It felt right, and his strong hands pressing into your hips told you that you would be here all night.

NU home ✧ nice for what masterlist ✧ talk to me ✧ thank you for reading <3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[bandgie]

Bandgie's Masterlist!

All of these works are 18+, MDNI

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ warning! some of my works are dead dove/lemon

yellow is dubious/not too bad orange has mentions of gore/dubious consent red is noncon/full gore/graphic deaths

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Drabbles/One Shots

So Cruel - Miguel O'Hara

Pussy Eating - Miguel O'Hara

Beast of a Man - Tarzan

Pussy Eating - Gyutaro (Demon Slayer)

Quick Taste - xReader's Insert

An Uncertified Doctor - Alucard Castlevania

Pretty Boy (1) | Poor Baby (2) | My Pretty Baby (3) - Bangchan Stray Kids

Ateez MTL Pussy Eating - OT8 Ateez

Ghost in the Night - I.N Stray Kids

Cursed - I.N Stray Kids

Anon Req. Yandere - Bangchan Stray Kids

Before Class (1) | During the Party (2) - Huening Kai TXT

A+ Student - Felix Straykids

Car Drabble - Felix Straykids

Missionary With Them - Bangchan & Minho

Agora Hills - Changbin (skz)

Language Barrier - OT8 SKZ

Req: Gamer Boyfriend - Beomgyu (TXT)

Req: Dark Vampire - Yeonjun (TXT)

Req: Hate sex - Yeonjun (TXT)

The Spell of the Night - Huening Kai (TXT)

Req: Perv & Yandere - Seungmin (SKZ)

Req: Perv & Yandere (2) - Seungmin (SKZ)

Req: Jealousy - Seungmin (SKZ)

Desperate Drabble - Wooyoung (ATZ)

Req: Tarzan Continued - Tarzan

Req: Perv & Yandere (3) - Seungmin (SKZ)

Req: High with Perv - Seungmin (SKZ)

Req: Pervy Thoughts - Seungmin (SKZ)

Req: Choking - Bangchan (SKZ)

Req: Piss - Hyunjin (SKZ)

Req: First Time Domming - OT8 SKZ

Req: High With Them - Chanlix & Jisung (SKZ)

Req: Distracting - Beomgyu (TXT)

Munch Drabble - Jay (ENHA)

Bratty Head Drabble - Sunoo (ENHA)

Learning Kinks Drabble - I.N (SKZ)

Req: Hate Sex 2 - Yeonjun (TXT)

Req: Choking (2) - Bangchan (SKZ)

Req Drabble: Perv - Seungmin (SKZ)

Club Sex Drabble - Lee Know (SKZ)

Anal Drabble - Changbin (SKZ)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Series

Predator & Prey (Completed) - You were suddenly teleported to a snowy world while discovering a cave. After norrowingly escaping a terrible fate, you're practically forced to deal with a winged beast you saved. It's awkward and kinda mean, but it does more good than harm.

Lost & Found (Ongoing) - You hated the little town you lived in, you hated your job, hated how everyone knew everyone, you hated how your mother didn't care about how much you hated it. You needed to do something, to get out of this repetitive life. You've decided to apply to be a maid in the castle for the Viscount and his family. With this new life, you hope to change your pace. Yet, one of the sons can't help but give you an eerie sense of familiarity. (Second Part to Predator & Prey)

The Insides (Completed) - You have it all: a good job, a nice apartment, a doting boyfriend who loves you so much. It seems all swell, until he starts behaving strangely. Unfortunate for him, he's not the only person that fell head-over-heels for you. Well...not the only entity at least.

All in White (Ongoing) - Your father, that major of Neuva York, was hosting a party congratulating their safe environment by the hands of Spider-Man. You did not care for parties, only there for the alcohol and occasional good conversations. You managed to catch the eye of Spider-Man, and boy did he want a taste.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ I do have requests/hard hours open! Here are some rules...

I will not write about underage characters, real or fake (unless they're adults playing as younger people ex: Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove, etc.)

No shit! Like literal shit, no scat play (pee is fine, but no piss drinking)

Incest, including in laws (brothers bff/dad's co-worker is fine)

No age play (age gaps are fine)

No virgin reader (this might change, but not allowed as of now)

[adorawritesalot]

✦ navigation ✦

welcome, everyone, to my humble abode!

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

↳ about me ༉‧₊

adora || she/they || infp || (actively) writing for skz, atz || have works about hamilton and marble hornets || not as active as my username indicates

RULES AND MASTERLIST UNDER THE CUT

↳ rules ༉‧₊

i don't mind minors on my blog, as i am not planning on posting nsfw in the foreseeable future.

i won't write the following:

-pedophilia

-incest

-grooming

-watersports

everything you see on my blog is written by me, and i ask you to avoid reposting, translating, or copying my works.

i solely write reader-insert. member x member action will only appear in poly works. ( i am most comfortable with a fem!reader or gn!reader and won't write male!reader)

keep in mind that my works are not a portrayal of real people.

i take requests! please send some in; don't be a stranger! but, as i've stated above, i am not much of a fast writer. it may take me some time to complete your request.

↳ masterlists ༉‧₊

skz masterlist!

the cafe ➸ widowed father!bangchan x cafe owner!reader one-shot

⋘ ᴛʀʏ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ... ⋙

atz masterlist!

⋘ ᴛʀʏ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ... ⋙

cm masterlist!

⋘ ᴛʀʏ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ... ⋙

mh masterlist!

red lips ➸ tim wright x reader drabble

chaotic reader ➸ tim wright and brian thomas x reader (separately) headcannons

sugar gliders ➸ tim wright and brian thomas x reader (separately) headcannons

tall s/o ➸ tim wright and alex kralie x reader (separately) headcannons

romantic goth psychiatrist s/o ➸ tim wright and brian thomas x reader (separately) headcannons

streamer s/o ➸ mh boys x reader (separately) headcannons

rich s/o ➸ alex kralie x reader headcannons

hamilton masterlist!

rich s/o ➸ john laurens x reader headcannons

police officer s/o ➸ hamilsquad x reader oneshot

[coupsie-daisies]

Kinktober '23: Getting Caught | Choi San ft. Jeong Yunho

Pairing: Established Choi San x Fem!Reader, Jeong Yunho x Reader (implied to happen)

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), Kinktober 2023

Summary: San gets needy before dance practice with the boys, so you decide to help him out

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: Reader is called princess, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, praise, degradation, just so much blowjob description, Yunho is lowkey a voyeur

A/N: Unedited as always. Lemme know what you thikn

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

Dating a person like San meant going out of your way to make time for the two of you, even more so with him being an idol. It meant spending time with the other members too, not that you minded that part, but most of all it meant that finding time for just the two of you was difficult. So it wasn't unusual for you to end up sitting in a practice room while San danced his ass off, trying to get a head start on the choreography that he and the group were supposed to be working on in a little while when the others got there.

You were watching, always in awe of San's stage presence and how vastly different it was to the man you knew in real life. Your phone with whatever idle game you'd been playing was discarded in your lap, your attention fully on the way San moved, the roll of his hips, the sharp movements of his arms that made his biceps flex, the way his shirt rode up just enough to give you a glimpse of his stomach. You swallowed.

"See something you like?" He asks, startling you out of your thoughts. You laughed, handing him his water bottle as he walked over to you.

"Of course I do. Why else do you think I come here?" You shot back. He took a drink from his bottle before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

"For my dazzling personality?" He asked, catching your lips again. You hummed, pulling him down so he was closer. Lord knows he needed a rest. He landed on his knees, surprisingly gracefully and drew you closer. You would have whined about his sweat slicked skin against yours but then his mouth was on you again, tongue drawing over your lip until you let him in. You whined into his mouth as his tongue worked against yours, exploring your mouth while his hands gripped at your sides.

"Sannie," You whined as his lips moved down over your jaw, along your pulsepoint to suck harshly. You could feel his lips curl proudly at the reaction he earned. "The boys are gonna be here soon and they're gonna catch you all worked up."

You were trying to keep your mind reasonable, really you were, but you weren't always good at that. Especially when your boyfriend's warm hands were pushing your shirt up, gliding along your sides, brushing against the cups of your bra and teasing your nipples through the thing material.

"Then you should help me out before they get here. Right, princess? Don't want your Sannie getting caught with a hard on, do you?" He asked, bringing your hand to rub against the outline of his cock through his sweats. You should have argued, or tried to reason with him in any way, but you couldn't when you could feel how badly he wanted you.

You got up on your knees, and the second you did he was springing to his feet, already pushing his pants and underwear down enough for his cock to spring out. It was so pretty, long and leaking precum that ran down the underside. You reached out, wrapping a hand around his length and stroking him slowly, dipping your thumb into his slit and revelling in the way he whined for you.

You let go of him, suckling your thumb into your mouth and tasting him before leaning forward and dragging your tongue from base to tip, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock and sucking gently. His hand slid into your hair, and you slowly bobbed your head lower, taking him inch by inch and swirling your tongue against the underside of his shaft the way he liked.

"Just like that. Such a perfect mouth, I'm so lucky." He hissed. His free hand pressed against the mirrored wall behind you, holding himself steady as you picked up your pace. The head of his cock was nudging into your throat, making you gag, but you never pulled away. He looked down at your watery eyes looking right back up to him as a mix of your spit and his precum leaked from the corners of your stretched lips.

He pushed deeper, hips starting to roll to meet your mouth, holding you on his dick while your throat constricted and spasmed around him. The sounds of your gags and his moans filled the practice room, and you could feel your own arousal leaking between your thighs at the feeling. When he pulled you off of his cock completely, your face was streaked with tears, lips swollen and glossy, and fuck if he didn't think you were the most breathtaking thing he'd ever seen.

You pouted at him, trying to get his cock back in your mouth, but he tugged at your hair, earning a surprised whimper from you.

"Sannie, please. Please, want it so bad. Wanna suck your dick, want you to use my mouth. Please." You begged, scalp stinging from the way he was still gripping your hair. He let go then, smoothing his hand over the back of your head.

"Such a cockdrunk little thing. Cute. Want me to cum down your throat? Fuck your face like the perfect toy you are?" He asked. You nodded eagerly, shifting on your knees and feeling the bruises threatening to bloom if you didn't move soon. But you didn't care, too focused on the thought of him fucking your throat raw.

Then he was guiding your head back to his dick, sliding in easily and holding the back of your head still so he could fuck into your mouth frantically. He knew time was running out, but he'd give anything to just keep feeling you. He'd never been with anyone so eager to suck him off for as long as you were. Fucking perfect. He groaned, sweat rolling down his tanned skin as he listened to the filthy sounds of his cock filling your mouth.

He was so close, and you were looking at him with those eyes that always did him in, and then the door was swinging open.

"Am I interrupting?" Yunho's voice carried through the room, a tone of disgust blending with the undeniable intrigue that laced his words. San pulled his cock out of your mouth, scrambling to pull his boxers back up and leaving you looking between the two in mild panic.

Yunho examined the situation, his own dick twitching with interest. He'd always thought you were sexy, San knew it and loved to tease him about it. And there you were, perched so pretty on your knees with your lips swollen and glossed with spit, your hair messy from having San's hands tugging at it so much, and the prettiest doe eyes he'd ever seen. He scoffed, tossing his bag down by the door.

"Don't stop on my account. Better finish before the others get here." He said. San looked like he was about to combust, but it was obvious that he wanted nothing more than to keep going.

"Do you need help too, Yunnie?" You asked, already tugging at San's boxers. He hesitated for a moment, but then he was pushing them down, stroking his dick and waiting for Yunho to answer so he could have your attention back. Yunho let out a giggle, one of delight and maybe a little bashfulness.

"Think you have time for both of us?" He asked. You lit up, nodding eagerly. And before you knew it San was sliding his length back into your mouth, stroking your cheek gently as you returned to sucking him off.

"Trust me, hyung. You'll blow the second you feel her mouth."

"Is that a challenge?" Yunho asked, palming his growing bulge through his pants. San shook his head, groaning when you deepthroated him.

"Not a challenge. It's a promise." He said. And you hummed at the praise. It was a promise you were determined to keep.

copyright 2023 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved

[wyngigi]

lust for life was started as a small simple project to get me back into writing for the first time after giving up on creative writing a longgg time ago. (we r talking about few years here) how atz ended up as the entire MAIN cast + a reader insert written aggressively out of chronological order is beyond me. long story short i now have a procreate timeline dedicated to making sure there r no plot holes as well as a list of all the written events to keep me on track💔

side note chapter 4 might js be my fav written so far… stay tuned !

[ao3feed-ateez]

An Honest Mistake

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OIy8hwL by Stayteezdreams (Make_Me_Imagine) During an ordinary Halloween party, your evening and life are changed when a stranger mistakes you for someone else. Words: 2105, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 13 of 13 Days of Halloween 2024 (SKZ/ATZ/TBZ/TXT/SVT) Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M Characters: Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ), Reader, You, Y/n - Character, GN!Reader - Character Relationships: Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ)/Reader, Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ) x Reader, Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ) x Gn!Reader Additional Tags: Fun, Cute, 13 Days of Halloween, Meet-Cute, flirty!wooyoung, gn!reader insert, Gender Neutral Reader Insert read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OIy8hwL

[yongility]

ATZ TV # the bloom beneath the frost ꗃ╭╯ park seonghwa. ──────── ⵌ TEASER. posted: 04/23. read here.

𒄬 genre: slowburn / angst / suggestive / detective!seonghwa / figure skating au / f!reader insert. 𒄬 prologue:

It began almost a year ago, with a bouquet of peonies—delicate, pale, left at your dressing room. No card. No name. Just a whisper in the form of petals, soft and subtle. At first, it felt harmless. Another admirer. Another fleeting gesture in a life lived under the cold glow of spotlights and sharpened blades. You had grown used to being adored from a distance. But this? This was different. The gifts kept coming. So did the notes—first sweet, then strange. Then personal. Then frightening. Details you never shared with anyone. Things only someone who was watching would know. The feeling grew—like someone was always just out of sight, just beyond your reach. Watching. Following. Waiting. You told yourself it was nothing. That you were imagining it. That the pressure of competition, the isolation, and the weight of fame were playing tricks on your mind. But the line between admiration and obsession thinned quickly. Now, nearly a year later, the rink no longer feels like a sanctuary. The applause that once warmed you now sounds hollow. Even the ice—your safest place—feels thinner with every step you take. Your performances are flawless, but your nights are restless. The shadow that lingers has a name—though you don’t know it yet. Someone else is watching now. And you’re not alone in the dark anymore. Detective Park Seonghwa is assigned to protect you, quiet, calm, always watching from any signs of danger. Bound by duty, but haunted by eyes he hasn’t seen. You stopped trusting easily. Seonghwa doesn’t like to get close. But some cases aren’t solved with distance. And some stories—like yours—don’t begin with love. They begin with obsession.

𒄬 warnings:

stalking and obssesive behavior / invasion of privacy / psychological manipulation / anxiety / implied violence / emotional distress. more tba. minors dni, if you don't feel comfortable reading any of the trigger warnings stated, please don't read. seonghwa isn't the stalker.

TAGLIST IT'S OPEN. MIGHT RELEASE VERY SOON. PLEASE COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED. ASK ARE OPEN HERE.

ateez section it's open now, more atz stories coming soon.

[mia-tiny]

The Perfect Solution | S. Mingi

��� pairing: s. mingi x fem!reader

⇒ smut, virgin reader, first time sex, best friends, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (do not do this irl) but reader is on (mentioned) birth control, caring sex

⇒ word count: 4.4k

⇒ summary: Sick of being a virgin, you have the idea of experiencing your first time with your trustworthy and experienced best friend, Mingi, who can help show you the ropes.

💕 view my masterlist here

⇒ author’s note: best friend Mingi is a vibe~

You stuff another large spoonful of ice cream in your mouth and continue pouting, Mingi only staring at you in concern and shock at your behavior.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks hesitantly as he watches you angrily devour the food on his living room couch. You whip your head towards him aggressively, feeling incredibly sensitive at this moment in time.

“Do I look okay, Mingi?” you snap, quickly speaking again as he goes to reply. “Don’t answer that.”

He obediently shuts his mouth and waits for you to continue your rampage. It has been over thirty minutes now since you showed up at his apartment, fuming from your breakup with your (now) ex-boyfriend. You have spent that entire time eating his ice cream with vigor while ranting about what a piece of scum your ex is.

In your defense, he broke up with you over text and for what you think is a ridiculous reason. A week ago, when he originally found out that you are a virgin and feel nervous about doing anything sexual with him, he said he is fine with that. He told you not to feel pressured or worried about doing anything with him. Then today, all of a sudden, you got a text from him ending the relationship with the reason being your lack of sexual experience and how it makes him uncomfortable. He said he doesn’t want to be with someone so immature.

As if lacking sexual experience makes you immature!

Mingi has heard this entire monologue a few times over at this point and is trying his best to comfort you, but you are too fired up to listen. You don’t even feel sad about the relationship ending because you are so annoyed about the reasoning behind it.

“What is so wrong with being a virgin?” you question furiously as if Mingi is the target of your rage.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he says as he tries to sympathize. “Virginity is a stupid social construction anyways.”

“Exactly!” you shout as you shove the final scoop of ice cream in your mouth. “I’m just so sick of it. I’m sick of being a virgin.”

Mingi can’t exactly relate to this sentiment, but he nods along anyways. You have been friends with him since middle school, so you know that he lost his virginity long ago at the ripe age of sixteen and has had multiple partners since then. You, on the other hand, are still a virgin and therefore “immature.” As if.

You are tired of getting remarks about how no one wants to date a virgin or how it is weird to not have had sex at your age. At this point, you honestly just want to get it out of the way so people stop commenting on it and trying to make you feel embarrassed.

You momentarily consider the possibility of joining Tinder, but quickly snub the idea because of the number of assholes and creeps you already know are on there just from the horror stories you’ve heard. Perhaps you could call one of the guys you flirted with in college? You contemplate it, but then remember how they were such fuckboys and reject the idea.

At that moment, Mingi coincidentally happens to clear his throat next to you and you redirect your attention to his face as he looks down at his phone.

Bingo.

As long as you two have been friends, there has never been anything romantic between you and you aren’t worried that it is something possible. You are sure that neither of you are interested in becoming a couple, knowing full well that you work so much better as just friends. If you two had to date, you’re pretty sure you’d end up killing each other.

At the same time, you trust Mingi entirely and there’s nothing you’d ever hide from him. You know each other better than anyone else and you share a sense of trust that can only be fostered through twelve years of friendship. You think to yourself that this is the perfect solution.

“Mingi,” you call to catch his attention, setting the ice cream tub and spoon on his coffee table. He looks up at you and fully expects you to scold him for looking at his phone while you’re trying to rant, but you have other plans. “Mingi, I have a proposal.”

He stares at you dubiously as he sees the gears working inside your head, both curious and afraid of what you might have to say.

“Okay…” he trails off in confusion.

“I don’t think you will, but don’t take this the wrong way,” you start, your heart beginning to beat a bit faster as you realize you have to say these words out loud. “I want to get my first time over with so people stop bothering me and putting me down about being a virgin. Theoretically, I could do it with some random dude on the internet, but that is sketchy and likely unsatisfying. I trust you more than anyone, though, and it’s not like anything is going to progress between us, so… basically… what I’m saying is… take my virginity.”

The last words are the hardest to spit out as he stares at you with the same expressionless face the entire time. You can usually always tell what he is thinking, but right now you are unsure what is happening in his head. He stays silent for a moment as he tries to comprehend exactly what you are saying.

“Hold on,” he finally murmurs. “You want me to take your virginity?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you reply casually with a shrug of your shoulders. “I don’t know, just like teach me how to do things somewhat okay, take my v-card, and then we’re good to go.”

“Y/N,” he starts off in a caring voice, sounding genuinely concerned. “I don’t want you to just fuck me, or anybody for that matter, because some guy didn’t like that you’re inexperienced.”

“That’s not the only thing though,” you huff in exasperation. “I’m just sick of being a virgin because it is stupid and meaningless, so I want to be done with that so I can just stop thinking about it once and for all. I don’t care that I haven’t had sex yet, but I hate having to deal with the stigma and judgement of it.”

He pauses as he contemplates your words. You butt in as you see him having a hard time computing.

“Look, I’m going to lose my virginity anyways because I’m sick of it. I’m either going to do it with you right now or I’m going to find some dude on the Internet. If you don’t want to, that is totally fine because I’m not going to force you to have sex with me, but don’t try to talk me out of losing my virginity because it isn’t going to work.”

If there is one thing Mingi knows about you, it is that you are true to your word and you will absolutely go find someone to take your v-card if he doesn’t. He hasn’t ever thought of you in a sexual manner before, but he can’t deny that your blunt attitude right now isn’t getting to him a bit. He isn’t even worried much about your relationship or if it would change, but just that you might regret having him as your first time instead of a romantic partner.

He has always had the conception that girls want their first time to be romantic and perfect in every possible way, but it has never been uncommon for you to challenge his generalized ideas of women.

He looks up at your expectant expression and gulps discreetly as he imagines what you two are about to do. Even if you are his best friend, you’re still an objectively attractive woman that is clearly stating a desire to fuck him. His heart can’t help but beat a little faster as his body tingles with excitement.

“Are you sure this is something you want to do for yourself and not because you are just mad about your ex?” he asks to verify your intentions, always making sure to take care of your happiness first.

“I am sure, Mingi. I want you to teach me what I should know.”

He becomes slightly timid as he moves closer to you on the couch.

“You can tell me to stop at any time if you change your mind,” he assures you, to which you nod. You can sense your nerves growing as he takes his hand and softly places it on your leg. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

He moves his face closer to yours slowly in case you decide to back out, but you instead move forward to hurry the process up. Your lips connect cautiously with his as you place a hand against the side of his face and deepen the kiss. His lips are softer than you imagined and taste like the coffee he was sipping on earlier. This is the first time you’ve been so intimate with him and it honestly feels quite nice.

Even with as nonchalant as you have acted about this proposal, your pulse quickens as you feel his hands start exploring your body gently. He still doesn’t dare touch anywhere too scandalous, so you show him that it is okay by guiding his hand to your chest. He fondles you through your shirt and bra as you move to straddle his lap.

You grip the bottom of his shirt and tug it upwards to indicate your desire to remove it. He reacts by pulling away from the kiss and raising his arms so you can slip it over his head and toss it to the floor. You’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times before, but his abs somehow seem more scandalous in this sort of circumstance. Your fingers instinctively reach out and brush down his torso to feel his defined muscles.

You glance up at him and feel slightly embarrassed about him watching you admire his body. He doesn’t mind, though, and reaches for the bottom of your shirt so he isn’t the only one undressed. He removes both your top and bra before taking his time to admire your chest as well, biting his lip at the sight. His eyes flick up to yours as if asking for permission, so you smile down at him and give a single nod to encourage him.

He pulls you back in for a deep kiss and begins moving his lips down your neck and towards your breasts. When his tongue begins playing with one of your nipples, you can’t help but moan quietly, not expecting it to feel quite as good as it does. Mingi smirks against you but doesn’t stop his teasing, his hands also proceeding to grip your ass and spur you to start grinding on his crotch. You obediently take the hint and feel his cock getting harder underneath his sweatpants.

“Mingi,” you murmur to interrupt him. He stops his actions immediately, thinking that you want to stop entirely. “I want to suck your dick.”

He looks utterly shocked at your straightforward statement, but quickly collects himself.

“Go ahead,” he replies simply.

“You have to guide me, though,” you pout, worried you won’t do it well. “I’ve never done it before.”

His hand gently caresses your cheek to assuage your anxiety. “It’s okay, I will let you know what feels good.”

Feeling more secure, you sink down to your knees in front of him and pull his sweatpants and boxers off of his long legs. For the first time, a cock sits right in front of your face and your cheeks burn from how hard you are blushing. Mingi must admit to himself that having you look at his dick so innocently like that gets him even more riled up, but he remembers he is supposed to be leading you.

“Just use your hand first,” he instructs. “You can try stroking it.”

You gaze at him nervously and bring your hand up to grab his hardened length. It feels strange to have someone’s cock in your hands, but you don’t hate the feeling. You tentatively begin stroking up and down as you watch in fascination at how pretty he looks in your grasp.

“Loosen your grip a little,” he requests gently, to which you mutter a soft apology. “You don’t have to say sorry. You’re just learning.”

His accepting attitude warms your heart and gives you the confidence you were searching for.

“You can try sucking it if you want,” he offers patiently, knowing you may decide you’re not ready to take that step after all. Now that you are staring at his hard dick in your hand, though, you can’t help but want to try sucking on it. You are curious about how it will feel and how he will taste.

You start off by licking up his length and you see him begin biting on his bottom lip. Feeling the desire to please him, you start sucking on the head before trying to take as much of him as you can like you’ve always seen the people in porn do. He stops you by bringing his hand to your face and guiding you back up until you’re left only holding the base of his shaft with your hand. You’re afraid you did something wrong already.

“You don’t have to take so much,” he coos reassuringly, sensing that you feel pressure to immediately be an expert at this. “It’ll still feel good if you go slowly and fit only as much as you’re comfortable with.”

You relax as you realize you haven’t messed up and he also doesn’t need you to meet a certain unrealistic standard. It is relieving to know that your first time is with someone so caring and aware of your limits, even knowing when you are trying to push past them on your own.

“You’re doing well, don’t worry.”

With his kind words, you smile and move in to try sucking on him again. This time, you take it slower as you take just enough of him to reach the back of your mouth. You try hollowing out your cheeks and moving in a bobbing motion on him, to which he lets out a small moan.

“Ah, that feels so good,” he sighs in satisfaction. “Try using your hand to stroke the bottom.”

You do as he asks and begin moving the hand on his dick in rhythm with your mouth on the parts of him you can’t reach. His head falls back on the couch cushion as he hums in content. You feel accomplished at his reaction and try your best as you pick up your pace. His hand naturally comes to rest on top of your head, but he doesn’t try to force your movements or grab onto you.

“Try playing with my balls,” he requests, to which you oblige. As soon as you bring your other hand to fondle him, he groans with pleasure. “There you go.”

His praise makes you feel proud and you continue bobbing up and down at a steady pace, being sure not to push too far past your limits. You feel like you are getting the hang of this and you actually begin enjoying yourself as you see how much your movements affect him. It feels strangely nice to be responsible for him looking so satisfied.

As your confidence grows, you let loose a bit more and manage to take him further down your throat by a few inches, eliciting a surprised moan from him as he curses breathily.

“Ah, Y/N,” he whimpers. You simply hum around his cock in reply, the vibrations driving him crazy. “You need to stop or I’m going to cum without even fucking you.”

You chuckle internally at his statement and remove yourself from his dick to sit back on your knees. He smiles down at you and leans in to press his lips against yours once again. While kissing you, he guides you to lay on the couch so he hovers above you, his hands once again playing with your breasts. He moves his head back a few inches to look you in the eye.

“Let me do it for you,” he states, implying that he wants to go down on you too. You suddenly get shy and your heartbeat races.

“Isn’t that a little… weird?” you ask timidly, but his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“What is weird?” He is genuinely puzzled by your question.

“I don’t know, just like… going down on a girl…” you trail off, hating to say the words out loud. From what you’d heard from your more experienced female friends, guys almost never went down on them and were really weird about it when they did. They apparently found it strange and didn’t like doing it. The thought of Mingi doing it but secretly hating it or finding you odd for agreeing frightens you.

“Y/N,” he suddenly replies in a very serious tone. “Any man who is worth even a second of your time would walk a hundred miles just for the honor of eating you out like he hasn’t had a meal in a hundred days. It isn’t weird, most men are just selfish cowards. Don’t ever waste your time on anyone that wouldn’t beg to go down on you.”

Your entire face flushes red at just how much conviction he expresses and the way he talks so easily about eating you out. Stunned, you simply stare at his serious face before nodding bashfully.

“If you really don’t want me to go down on you, I won’t,” he assures, not wanting you to feel coerced into it. “But there is nothing weird about it and, you should know, I absolutely love eating pussy.”

He whispers the last part in your ear seductively as he grins and your heart feels like it is going to beat out of your chest. His statement makes your core ache as you feel yourself getting needy for stimulation. He begins kissing your neck and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation. You imagine his lips on your clit instead and wonder just how amazing it would feel.

“Okay,” you murmur, still feeling somewhat timid.

“Okay, what?” he questions as he briefly detaches from you. You hate that he is making you say it out loud.

“Okay, you can go down on me.”

He brings his face up to smile warmly at you and presses a passionate kiss against your lips as his hands start to undo your jeans. He sits up on his knees to remove your pants and underwear completely, but you instantly move your knees together to hide yourself from him. You’ve never been so exposed before and it feels both terrifying and exciting at the same time. He notices your trepidation and his hands rest gently on your knees, softly guiding them apart so he can reach your sex.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to be shy,” he assures as you let him view your most vulnerable parts.

He looks down at your core and you hide your face in embarrassment. He presses gentle kisses down your thighs, getting closer and closer to your heat with every movement. Finally, he licks slowly up your slit before focusing on your clit, lightly flicking over it as you gasp at the feeling. It is unlike anything you’ve ever felt and you immediately begin to understand why people love it so much. His tongue is warm and wet against you as he plays with your sensitive bud and you bite your lip to suppress your moans.

“Does it feel good?” he asks to check in on you.

“Really good.”

He smirks at your answer and connects to your core once again. This time, he begins sucking your clit and tracing shapes with his tongue, which has you starting to breathe heavily and whimper as he continues. He notices the desperate sounds you make especially when he starts flicking his tongue and repeats this motion as you grab tightly onto the cushions underneath you.

“I’m going to put a finger in, don’t be surprised.”

You aren’t even paying attention to what he is saying as he collects some of the wetness from your pussy and carefully slides his middle finger into your tight hole. You have tried fingering yourself a few times, but it wasn’t that satisfying and you couldn’t reach the right places inside you to get off. Mingi’s fingers, though, are entirely different. With just one inside of you, you can feel how thick and long it is, curving at just the right angle to brush against your g-spot and have you cursing at the sensation. He gently slips his ring finger in as well as he continues to stimulate your clit with his mouth, determined to stretch you out a bit before trying to fuck you.

Your body feels like it is tingling from how much pleasure you are experiencing and all your attention is concentrated on your core as Mingi shows you a whole new world. Your toes curl and you can’t help but wriggle underneath him. As incredible as it is, you start thinking about how it would feel to have his cock inside of you instead of his fingers. Wanting to finally officially lose your virginity, you interrupt him.

“Mingi,” you call out, causing him to stop his movements and look up to you. He is ready to do whatever you ask. “I want you to fuck me now.”

He smiles lovingly and slowly removes his fingers from you. He leans over you again and strokes his dick.

“I’ll go at your pace,” he promises as he looks caringly into your eyes. “You tell me if you want to go faster or slower, or if you want to stop, okay?”

“Okay,” you hum, feeling entirely safe with him and trusting that he won’t hurt you or get annoyed if you want to take it slow.

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” you assure him.

He leans in to kiss you again as he presses the tip of his dick to your hole, ever-so-gently slipping it inside you gradually. It feels a bit uncomfortable at first and you groan slightly. He immediately stills and removes his lips from yours.

“Are you alright?”

You stroke his cheek with your hand affectionately and smile at just how attentive he is.

“I’m okay, you can keep going.”

He keeps pushing further unhurriedly as you start to adjust to his size. Once he is entirely inside you, he patiently awaits your command to start moving. In the meantime, he presses tender, loving kisses along your jawline to soothe you. As the discomfort subsides, you enjoy the feeling of being so full and so closely connected with someone you care about so much.

“You can move, Mingi.”

He starts pumping in and out of you softly as he checks your reaction carefully. Your lips part slightly as you relish the sensation and he moans quietly as he watches the pleasure unfold on your face. It takes everything within him not to speed up, but he fights to resist the urge. Thankfully, his salvation comes when you speak up.

“Please go faster.”

He takes no time to comply as he picks up the pace, now thrusting into you at a steady rhythm. He groans at how good you feel and you also can’t hide just how amazing the sensation is.

“You’re so fucking tight, oh my god,” Mingi hums as he struggles to keep himself composed. You would normally turn beet red at such a comment, but you are also too lost in the bliss of it all.

“More,” you demand needily, wanting to experience him fully.

He picks up his pace once again and begins properly pounding into you as your fingernails dig into his shoulders from pleasure. You honestly didn’t expect sex to feel this good and you wonder if it is always like this or if it is just because Mingi is that good. Your volume keeps increasing as he hits you repeatedly in your g-spot.

“Ah, Mingi,” you moan pathetically as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and reaches even further inside of you. “Right there!”

You admire his expression as he revels in the feeling of your tight pussy around him. His mouth hangs open and he keeps biting his lip to keep from being too loud. You don’t care enough to hold back, however, as you succumb to the pleasure. He finds your desperate sounds even more sexy and worries he won’t be able to last much longer with just how incredible you feel.

“I’m getting close,” he warns as you also notice a familiar tension building at your core.

“Me too.”

No longer embarrassed, you reach your hand down and rub at your clit to get yourself off faster. Your fingers work desperately to reach your orgasm and Mingi can feel just how tense your pussy gets in the process. It is almost enough to drive him wild and he prays you will cum soon so he can follow suit. He regards himself as somewhat of a gentleman in bed, so there is no way he will allow himself to cum before you do, but you are definitely testing his will power.

He tries to help you by using his hands to play with your nipples, and your toes curl as you approach your release. It is almost unstoppable as it finally hits you like a truck and you are suddenly arching your back and constricting strenuously around him. He can’t help but groan at the sensation as well, incredibly relieved that he can now finish also. The tightness around his cock as he continues thrusting sends him over the edge. The outline of his abs becomes even clearer as he tenses and releases inside of you, knowing you are on birth control already since it helps regulate your hormones.

You two both freeze as your bodies get lost in euphoria for what feels like forever, but likely only lasts up to a minute in reality. As you both start to come down, he lays his weight on you and checks your expression.

“Are you okay?” he asks, afraid he might have gone too hard on you.

“I am perfect, Mingi,” you chuckle as you feel like you are floating.

He smiles and feels proud for giving you a pleasurable first experience with sex.

“I feel a bit regretful, though,” you admit, causing Mingi to furrow his eyebrows as his heart drops. “I didn’t know sex would feel this good. I should’ve started forever ago.”

You both can’t help but laugh as he lays beside you to cuddle you. You think to yourself that this was definitely a good idea.