hiiistray

[hiiistray]

risky reader — stray kids

— you send a risky text to your boyfriend and the wrong stray kid has his phone to read it.

warning: nsfw themes!

☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

[hiiistray]

obsessed. this is crack to me.

My Muse

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI

Genre: Best friends to lovers, fluff, smut

Summary: Hyunjin is in love with you. His best friend. His muse. But you're totally unaware of his feelings for you, and until you've actually pushed him to the edge and all his self control shatters.

a/n: So sick with fever, and totally craving Jinnie 😅 So here we go 🤭 Forgive any mistakes, I'll edit it again soon.

It had been a long day. It usually was when you and Hyunjin took to painting in his studio - two easels facing away from each other, soft music humming from the Bluetooth speaker - it was your thing.

After having worked for more hours than healthy,  you and Hyunjin were tidying up the mess of paint tubes and brushes scattered across the table.

You grabbed a damp cloth to wipe down the table, bending over slightly to reach a stubborn paint splatter, and Hyunjin, who had casually turned around to put the little box of paints away, froze. His eyes lingered on the soft curve of your lower back, exposed as your top rode up. 

Hyunjin gripped at the paintbrush in his hand, knuckles white, taking a step back. He knew he shouldn't. You were his best friend. But you were also his… everything. 

Hyunjin was in love with you. He has been for the longest time. But you? Sweet, wide eyed and totally clueless. Sometimes he did things that screamed romantic love, like how he'd grab your arm, pulling you into a slow dance in the living room - lights dim and slow music playing. But you'd giggle and make jokes and yeah. He would deflate like a sad balloon, wishing that for once you'd understand.

It had started rather innocently. His heart fluttering softly, his insides feeling warm and fuzzy. But that had grown into a far worse condition - like him picturing pinning you against the table, kissing every inch of you, and more…so much more.

“Hyune, you’re slacking,” you teased, turning to face him with a playful grin, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him. You flicked the cloth at him, a light, flirty gesture that sent a few drops of water his way, and he dodged, laughing. 

“Slacking? I’m just… admiring your cleaning skills,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes dark, lingering on the way you’re standing, hips cocked, one hand twirling a strand of your hair. You don’t notice, because to you, this is just Hyunjin - your dramatic, artsy best friend who’s always been a little extra. But to him, every move you make is a test of his sanity.

“Oh, please,” you laughed, stepping closer to flick the cloth at him again, this time hitting his arm. “You’re just lazy!”

You were so close now, close enough that he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of paint on your fingers, and his control was actively slipping. He grabbed your wrist to stop the next flick, his grip gentle but firm, and the contact sent a jolt through you, though you don't overthink.

“Lazy? Me?” he said, his voice dropping, a husky edge to it that you didn’t quite register.

He pulled you closer, just a fraction, and you stumbled, laughing, your free hand landing on his chest to steady yourself. His t-shirt was a little damp, because obviously he was sweating, his warmth seeping through, and you were so unaware that you didn’t realize how your touch was setting him on fire.

“Hyune, let go,” you giggled, trying to tug your wrist free, but he held on, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. You playfully shoved at his chest with your other hand, your fingers brushing his collarbone, he let out a low, barely audible groan.

You laughed as you twisted out of his grip and spun around, grabbing a paint roller to “threaten” him with. You waved it dramatically, pretending to chase him, and he played along, backing up with a grin, but his eyes were wild - pupils blown - and his jeans were getting uncomfortably tight.

“Come on, Hyune, fight back!” you said, laughing as you lunged forward, the roller grazing his arm, leaving a streak of blue paint. He caught the roller, pulling it - and you - closer, and suddenly you were chest-to-chest, your breath hitching at the sudden proximity, though you still thought it was all fun and games.

“Careful, muse,” he said, his voice low and rough, and you blinked up at him, still smiling. “You’re playing with fire.”

He was trying to warn you, but you just laughed, thinking he’s being dramatic, and you booped his nose with a paint-stained finger, leaving a blue dot.

“Fire? You’re more like a sparkler,” you teased, and that did it.

The combination of your touch, your smile, the way your body was pressed against his - it was too much. Hyunjin’s control snapped like a frayed thread, and he stepped back abruptly, his face flushed, his breathing uneven.

“Fuck, I…I need a sec,” he stammered, and before you could ask what was wrong, he was bolting toward the bathroom, his long legs carrying him out of the studio in record time. You stood there, confused, the roller still in your hand, paint dripping onto the floor.

“Hyune?” you called after him, frowning. “You okay?”

You dropped the roller on the table and ran after him, standing out is the bathroom door, worry flaring. 

Inside the bathroom, Hyunjin leaned against the door, his chest heaving.

“Get it together, Hwang,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair, but his body had betrayed him, the bulge in his jeans painfully evident.

He has been imagining you - your laugh, your skin, the way you’d feel under him - for years now, and that playful moment had literally pushed him over the edge. He was so in love with you it hurt, but his desire was in overdrive, picturing you on that table, paint smeared across your body, his hands everywhere.

He splashed cold water on his face, trying to calm down, but it was of no use. He was too far gone, his thoughts filthy, his need for you overwhelming. He glanced at the mirror, his reflection showing a man on the verge - flushed cheeks, wild eyes, hair a mess.

“She doesn’t even know, you fool,” he groaned, gripping the sink.

He considered taking care of the problem right there, his hand hovering over his waistband, because if he went back out like this, he wasn't sure he could keep pretending to be just your friend.

Outside the bathroom door, you stood still, a little worried, a little confused. You tried calling out to him, but all you heard was the water running, and so you walked back to the studio, giving him some space. 

You started cleaning up again, humming to the music, completely unaware that your best friend was in the bathroom, fighting a losing battle. 

When he finally emerged, his hair was damp, his face still flushed, but he had pulled himself together - just barely.

“Sorry, uh… got paint in my eye,” he lied, his voice a little too high, but you buy it (because you’re you, sweet and trusting). 

“Poor baby,” you said, genuinely concerned as you reached up to check his face, your fingers brushing his cheek.

He tensed, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, and you frowned. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough, stepping back to put some distance between you. “Just… stings a little.”

His poor heart raced, and he knew he was one playful touch away from confessing everything - or doing something he couldn't take back.

The next weekend you were back for your regular painting session. The week had been crazy. Hyunjin had dodged all your calls for coffee runs. Or your midnight cake cravings - he usually took you out any time of the day or night for satisfy your craving (even though his own craving remained sadly unfulfilled). 

He looked normal enough as you both set up your easels and dug through the paint box, choosing your colours. Normal enough. And you definitely sensed something in the way he was standing way too far away from you.

“You ok, Hyune?” You asked, setting down your things and facing him. 

“Uh huh. Good.” He said, not meeting your eyes.

“You do understand that I know you enough to know when you're not ok, right?”

“It's nothing,”

“Hyunjin. I swear I'll leave if you're gonna act like an ass -” You walked up to him, looking way too fierce for a tiny human being. “Tell me what's going on.” 

Hyunjin didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight, his breathing uneven and he wouldn't look at you. When you reached up to turn his face towards you, your fingers brushing his skin, something in him snapped.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, so low you barely caught it. “I'm in love with you. Ok? Have been for the past ten years and I'm sick of having to pretend like it's all ok when it's not!”

You stared at him, completely shocked, but also totally confused. 

“Why didn't you say anything?” Was your only question. 

He literally had nothing to say to your wide eyed surprised, cute face. He took in a deep breath and said something along the lines of, “I swear to God-”

And he just stood there taking in deep breaths and you stood watching him. And then he said, “I'm going to kiss you.”

And before you could even blink, he was on you, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips crashed into yours, desperate and hungry, nothing like the gentle, playful Hyunjin you were used to.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands instinctively gripping his shirt, caught off guard by the intensity.

“Hyun-” you managed, your voice a squeak, but he cut you off, kissing you deeper, his tongue sweeping against yours. Your poor brain struggled to catch up - you’d never seen him like this, never thought of him as anything but your sweet best friend - but the way his hands roamed your body, sliding under your crop top - it made your heart race.

“Been holding back too fucking long,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough, laced with a desperation that sent a shiver through you. “Tell me to stop. I'll stop and I'll not hold it against you, I promise. But, but be honest-”

You were definitely not gonna ask him to stop. Not after that, not after years of him making your heart flutter madly. So you cupped his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss again. 

He whined, one hand cupping your face, the other slipping under your top, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your waist, then higher, teasing the edge of your bra. His lips trailed down your neck, hot and urgent, his teeth grazing your skin. 

You were trembling, a mix of nerves and something new, something electric, as his hands pushed your crop top up, exposing your chest.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice almost a whine as he pulled your bra down, his lips finding your nipple, wrapping around it with a slow, deliberate suck that makes you gasp. You’d never felt anything like this before - your experience was practically nonexistent (because you were so hung up on your best friend) and the sensation was overwhelming - your body arching into him as your hands clutched his hair.

“Hyunjin!” you squeaked, your voice high and panicked, but there was no stopping him now. His tongue flicked against you, his lips sucking harder, and the heat pooling in your core was so intense it was dizzying. You were falling apart and you finally understood - he wasn't just your best friend. He has been wanting you, craving you, and you’ve been too naive to see it.

He groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he switched to your other breast, his lips and tongue relentless.

“Been dreaming about this,” he mumbled, his voice muffled, “about you, every fucking night.”

His hands slid lower, cupping your ass through your jeans, and you whimpered, your head tipping back against the wall as your body betrayed you, responding to every filthy move he made.

“Hyun, I…I didn’t know,” you managed, your voice trembling, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips glossy, his eyes blown with lust but still soft, still your Hyunjin.

“How could you not know?” he said, his voice laced with a desperate kind of affection. “I’m fucking obsessed with you. Always have been.”

He kissed you again, hard and you just melted into him, your hands tugging at his shirt.

He pushed you back against the table, the paint tubes scattering as he lifted you onto it, his hands quick and sure as they worked your jeans open. You were panting, your mind racing - part of you was still freaking out, still processing that this was your Hyunjin, but the way his fingers slid against your folds, teasing through your underwear, makes your thoughts scatter.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, and you blushed, embarrassed, because you didn’t even realize how much you wanted this.

“Hyun, I’ve never -” you started, but he shushed you with another kiss, his fingers slipping past the fabric, finding you with a precision that made you moan, loud and unfiltered.

Every touch felt new and intense, and he was watching you like you were a masterpiece, his eyes drinking in every reaction.

“I’ve got you, my muse,” he murmured, his voice thick with need as he kneeled, pulling your jeans and underwear down in one swift motion. You were exposed, vulnerable, and he was kissing down your stomach, his lips hot and gentle, until he was between your thighs. 

Your eyes met and he whispered a soft, “Relax,” before his tongue flicked against your clit in a way that made your vision blur. You cried out, hands gripping the table's edge, your body trembling as he worked you with a hunger that was both shocking and intoxicating.

“Hyunjin, oh my god,” you whimpered as he slipped a finger in, and he hummed in response, the sound vibrating against you, pushing you closer to the edge. Your body shook as he devoured you with so much love and need, like you were the most precious thing in the world. You felt him nibbling on your clit gently as his another slipped in and it didn't take you long to come crashing down with a cry. Your hand tugged at his hair as he kept going, drawing it all out until you were a shaking mess.

He wasn't done, though. He stood, his jeans barely holding him together, and you could see the evidence of how much he wanted you, his bulge straining against the fabric. He was panting, his face flushed, his hair a mess.

“I need you,” he said, his voice raw, no trace of negotiation left. “I need you so bad.”

You nodded, still dazed - you were pliant, trusting, even as your heart raced. He pulled you closer, kissing you so hard as he fumbled with his jeans, freeing himself, and you gasped at the sight, your nerves flaring again.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his lips on yours, his hands guiding you. “I’ll go slow, tell me anytime you want me to stop, ok?”

You nodded again, watching him pull open a drawer on the table and fishing in it for a condom. You narrowed your eyes as he put it on (making a mental note to ask him why he had condoms in his studio). 

He just gave you a sheepish grin before lining himself at your entrance and pushing in. He was slow at first, careful - making sure that you were ok. You obviously winced at the sudden breach - and gripped his arms tight, a little shaky gasp leaving your lips.

He stilled, studying your face for any signs of discomfort. And you just shook your head and said, “I'm ready,”

“Ok,” He breathed, and started to move, his thrusts deep and steady.

But then, a moan from you had him moving faster, his face buried in your neck. You were clinging to him, as he whispered how much he wanted this, his lips finding your nipple again as he moved, sucking hard enough to make you moan.

It was too much, too fast, and you were falling apart again, your body tightening around him, drawing a choked groan from his throat as he followed. His release had him collapse against you, both of you panting, paint cans clattering to the floor as the table shook. 

For a moment, it was just you two, the studio silent except for your ragged breaths. He pulled back, his eyes soft now, searching yours.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice gentle again, though his hands were still possessive on your hips.

You nodded, still processing, your cheeks burning as it finally hit you - your best friend just fucked you senseless, and he has been wanting you this whole time.

“I… I didn’t know,” you said, your voice small, and he laughed softly, kissing your forehead.

“Now you do,” he said, his smile tender but still a little wicked.

“Mhm…” You hummed, but your eyes met again. “So… are we gonna talk about why you have condoms in your studio?”

“About that -”

“You perv!”

“It was for you! Only you! I swear!”

You smiled seeing his flustered face and how he was getting worked up, while still inside you. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

Divider: @strangergraphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

[hiiistray]

*ೃ༄ 한지성 - "EXHIBIT A" (MDNI)

: ̗̀➛ synopsis: somehow, you two end up partnered on a case. you’re a sharp detective who takes work way too seriously. jisung’s an unserious, dorky cop with a habit of looking at you like you hung the moon. as you finally start making progress, jisung’s just hoping your relationship makes progress too.

pairing: cop!jisung x detective fem!reader genre: friends2lovers, slowburn, mutual pining, fluff, SMUT (minors, do not interact), detective romance, ~8k warnings: jisung is pininggg and reader thinks he's HOT stuff, lots of coffee, murder investigation, hostage situation, blood (very mild but present), tense scenes, profanity, flirting, banter, tension!! smut warnings: oral (m receiving), face-fucking, dry humping, lots of uniform talk, bdsm, light roleplay, usage of handcuffs, rough sex, begging, kinda switch!jisung but dom leaning, praise + degradation mix, p in v, unprotected sex and pull-out method (wrap it up!!), again: no minors. pls consume responsibly 💌

i've been thinking about policeofficer!jisung for the longest time so i hope you enjoy this as much as i loved writing it!

the second you enter the room, files are slammed onto jisung’s desk.

a half-empty coffee cup rattles. across the room, another officer, chan, mutters a quiet “jesus” before going back to his newspaper

jisung’s mid-sentence with hyunjin—something about bad traffic or his broken ac—but the conversation cuts off immediately.

“three bodies. same m.o. we cannot carry on empty-handed like this,” you groan, drop into the chair beside jisung, and lean over like your bones gave up halfway down. your shoulder presses into his. he doesn’t move.

jisung's still got that dumb plastic spoon in his mouth from stirring his instant coffee. “good morning to you too.”

you drop your head back with a dramatic sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “i haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, jisung.”

“you don’t say.” he leans back slightly, shifts just enough to angle his coffee toward you. “you want?”

he lets you take it without protest, watching as you take a sip—grimace—then take another one anyway.

“the victims—one of them was a social worker, one worked at a used car place, one was a bartender. no overlap in job, no overlap in routine. but…” you pause, then reach for the coffee again without asking. he lets you. you take a gulp like it might trigger divine revelation.

“but?” he prompts.

“they all attended the same grief support group. same tuesdays. same community center.”

you glance at him, breath catching just slightly from how fast the words tumbled out. “i only realized after the third body. i’d seen the name before—‘sunridge wellness collective’—but i didn’t think much of it until i cross-referenced next of kin statements and time off requests.”

jisung goes still. then leans back, brows slowly rising.

“no way,” he breathes.

you nod. “i triple-checked it.”

jisung exhales a quiet laugh, still half in disbelief. “you genius,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “actual genius.”

you shrug, trying not to look too pleased, even as heat creeps up your neck. he doesn’t even pretend to look away. just stares at you, open admiration written all over his face—lips parted like he’s trying to find something witty to say and can’t.

you pause. then, very deliberately, look him in the eye. “today,” you say.

he nods along like he always does. “yes?”

you lean in a little, your voice dipping with focus. “you and me. sunridge wellness collective. together. talk to whoever runs those meetings, get a list of attendees, find out who stood out. who stopped showing up after the first murder.”

his eyes flick to your mouth for a split second before he nods, quick, a little too eager. “yeah. yeah, of course.”

he’s blushing. just barely, but it’s there. that pink dusting his ears, the way he fidgets with his pen, suddenly finding it very interesting. you’re already scribbling in your notepad, too keyed up to notice the flush in his ears or the way he’s still looking at you instead of his own notes.

“they meet weekly, tuesdays at 6pm,” you mutter, half to yourself. “if they’re sensitive about confidentiality—”

“we could say it’s part of a wider investigation,” jisung offers, watching you intently.

you nod, pen tapping against the paper. “we’ll split up once we’re there. i wrote down what we need from them. can you check if i’m missing anything?” you slide it over to him.

there’s a pause. you’re already mentally combing through the rest of your notes when you realize jisung hasn’t responded.

you glance up, pen still poised.

he’s just… staring at you. focused in that way he gets when he’s thinking really hard but doesn’t want to say the first version of his thought out loud.

“what?” you ask, eyebrows raised.

he blurts out, “did you change your earrings?”

your brows lift.

he clears his throat, eyes flicking to your ear. “they’re different. not the little hoops. these are, uh… longer?”

you blink, slowly. “yeah. i changed them this morning.”

“huh.” he mutters, like that explains something deeply complicated. “they suit you.”

there’s a beat of silence—long enough to feel charged, short enough to pretend it’s not.

you furrow your brows, dragging your attention back to the file in front of you. “anyway. we should head out soon. they open at noon, and i want to catch whoever runs the sessions before they get busy.”

“but first,” he says, standing so abruptly his chair rolls back a little. “you—” he points at you like he’s issuing a warrant, “—are gonna sit your exhausted ass down and take a twenty.”

“i don’t need a nap, jisung,” you protest immediately, grabbing the file again. “i just need more coffee and—”

he’s already circling the desk, tugging the file gently from your hand. “uh-uh. don’t make me cuff you to the couch.”

you raise a brow.

he grins. “come on.”

before you can argue again, he takes your hand and pulls you toward the small, beat-up couch in the corner of the office lounge. the thing barely qualifies as furniture, covered in a faded gray throw and the ghosts of past takeout spills, but he guides you down like it’s the nicest place on earth.

you try to stay tense, alert, but your body betrays you. you sink into it harder than expected, your knees weak with exhaustion, head already feeling floaty.

“jisung, i said i’m fine,” you grumble half-heartedly as he drops his laptop and boots it up, settling beside you.

“you’re not,” he says softly. “you haven’t blinked since you walked in. you’re talking fast enough to short-circuit my brain.” he slides in closer, laptop perched on his thigh. “now lean. i’ll keep working.”

you open your mouth to argue—but there's a calm steadiness of his voice which makes you give in. your cheek rests against the curve of his shoulder. his blue uniform smells like old coffee and something faintly woodsy. you don’t even remember closing your eyes.

but you do hear him, a few seconds before sleep swallows you whole:

“that’s it. i’ve got you.”

and then—

darkness.

a few minutes later, the office door creaks open.

felix steps in, mid-bite of a granola bar, scanning for jisung—and pauses when he sees you curled up beside him, completely knocked out. jisung’s typing with one hand, the other draped casually across your back. he shoots a glance at jisung, who looks up, sheepish. felix chews, then smiles—soft, knowing.

what was supposed to be a quick visit to sunridge turned into a 4-hour deep dive. the grief group coordinator pulled records, talked through attendees, let you sit in on their latest session. you interviewed three regulars, two volunteers, and tracked down a guy who had dropped out of the group right after the second murder—who, to your surprise, had a history of assault and a sealed psych hold. it was the best suspect you’d had in weeks.

now it’s past nine.

the police station’s dead quiet—just the hum of vending machines and the occasional creak of an old light. you and jisung found yourselves holed up in one of the conference rooms after coming back from the community center, papers spread out on the table between you. a single lamp glows overhead, casting long shadows across the room.

you lean forward, both elbows on the table, voice low and tired. “he also lied about his job. the center told us he works maintenance at the school, but there’s no record of employment there. none. and the timeline fits—he dropped off the radar two days before the second victim was found.”

jisung’s across from you, legs spread, hands rubbing his face like he’s trying to force himself to stay sharp.

you lean in further, voice sharp now, urgent beneath the exhaustion. “jisung.”

his head lifts, eyes locked on you now. “i’m listening, i’m listening.”

without a word, you reach into the folder and slide the photo across the table—grainy, scanned, but clear enough. a man in his mid-forties, average build, receding hairline, narrow eyes that somehow still feel cold even through the poor image quality.

“this is him, hannie,” you say, flat and direct.

his head turns back toward you instantly. the nickname. the tone. he leans forward without hesitation.

you tap the corner of the photo. “kang hyunseok."

jisung’s eyes fix on the photo the moment it lands in front of him.

his fingers brush the corner, but he doesn’t pick it up. just stares. memorizing. narrow eyes, pronounced nasolabial lines, a dull expression that somehow feels too blank. the kind of face that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd—unless you knew what you were looking for.

“this is the one,” you say. “we focus everything on kang hyunseok now.”

but even as the words leave your mouth, you’re already flipping through the folder again—papers rustling, fingers darting like your brain’s moving faster than your hands can follow.

“we need to keep looking. there’s more. but we’re so close. you feel that, right?”

“oh, i feel it,” he mutters, an indescribable tone to his voice.

your brows pull together, confused for half a second—until his eyes flick down to your lips just this morning, just briefly, and then back up.

you blink.

he clears his throat, shifts in his seat. “no—yeah—i mean. the case. i feel it. the proximity. i mean—like, in a work sense.”

you blink again, slower this time. “what other sense is there?”

jisung lets out a sharp breath through his nose—half a laugh, half a surrender—and drops his head back against the chair with a quiet thud. “god, for a detective, you’re so fuckin’ stupid sometimes.”

your eyebrows knit instantly. “excuse me?”

you’re quiet for a beat too long, and his jaw tightens.

then, with a snort, he looks away. “forget it.”

you exhale through your nose, sharp. you had no time for whatever this... thing is spiraling into. not tonight.

jisung nods, jaw tense. “we’ll tail him.”

“and the moment he trips,” you add, “we move. no hesitation. i want an airtight case before he even sees us coming.”

he exhales slow, controlled. “good.”

but your shoulders are already sagging. the last forty hours are catching up all at once, like gravity just remembered you exist. you let out a sigh that sounds more like a deflation, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you slump forward and rest your forehead flat against the cool surface of the table.

“god, i’m gonna die in this station,” you mutter into the wood.

there’s a short beat of silence.

then—jisung’s laugh. low and warm and unguarded. it bubbles up so easily it almost startles you. his palm smooths down the curve of your back, steady, affectionate. “don’t die yet,” he says. “we haven’t caught the bastard.”

you let out a low groan, cheek smushed against the table. “i need a drink. not that swill seungmin calls coffee.”

jisung perks up, his hand still lazily tracing your back. “say less.”

you lift your head, barely. “i’m serious.”

“so am i.” he’s already sitting up straighter, that glint in his eye resurfacing. “i saw this bar earlier today, on the way to sunridge. looked new—quiet. kind of divey, your vibe.”

you raise an eyebrow. “charming.”

he stands, stretches, and looks down at you like it’s already decided. “come on. we earned it. it’s my treat.”

you pretend to groan again, but your smile is already cracking through. you shake your head, pushing yourself to your feet.

“god help me.”

clink.

the soft sound of your third round of soju tapping together cuts through the low buzz of conversation around you. the bar is quiet—just the way jisung promised. dim yellow lights hang over worn wood, and the speakers hum some indie ballad you don’t recognize. it’s cozy.

jisung leans back in the booth, sipping first, then raising a brow at you. “so?”

you take your sip, let it linger on your tongue. “i like it.”

he grins. “told you.”

you’re mid-laugh when you glance over at him again—and then it really hits you.

gone is the stiff collar, the badge, the holster. he’s traded it all in for a soft black hoodie, sleeves pushed to his elbows, layered over a white tee that slips right out the bottom hem. thin grey sweats, hair slightly tousled.

and he’s so handsome. in a way that punches the breath right out of you.

you’ve only ever seen him in uniform. and boy was he hot in his uniform. but now—now he looks like someone else. still jisung, but softer. more real.

you roll the glass between your palms, watching the last bit of soju swirl at the bottom. “you know, when i first got assigned to this case,” you start, tone thoughtful, “i wasn’t expecting… you.”

jisung’s head tilts, one brow lifting. “what does that mean?”

you glance at him over the rim of your glass, the smallest smirk playing at your lips. "they told me i was partnered up with someone young, smart, and ‘reactive.’ that’s the word they used. reactive. so i was imagining someone all intense and broody and... i don’t know. keeps to himself. has maybe… a few cats.”

jisung squints. “so… minho.”

you laugh, “yeah. sure. minho.”

he raises his brows, setting his glass down with exaggerated care. “are you disappointed?”

you scoff immediately, shaking your head. “no.”

jisung blinks, a little thrown by how quickly you said it. “no?”

a beat.

“not disappointed at all.” you pause, searching for the right words. then you glance down at your glass, tracing the rim with your finger. “you pick up on things most people miss. but you're also really fun to work with.”

his cheeks tint pink immediately. like clockwork. he shifts in his seat, clears his throat, but doesn’t say anything.

you smirk a little at his reaction. “and you blush so easily. is that also part of the reactive label?”

jisung groans, tipping his head back dramatically against the booth cushion. “oh, come on, y/n.”

you laugh under your breath, then soften. “the thing is, i’ve just never seen you in action. not when it’s serious.”

he chuckles with that lazy kind of ease that only shows up after alcohol.

you shrug, grinning. “you’re just such a dork. it’s hard to imagine you chasing someone down in full gear yelling ‘get on the ground!’ with that stupid voice you use when you’re out of breath.”

jisung laughs—loud and warm. “stupid voice?”

“you know the one.” you pitch your voice up, overly dramatic. “‘this is officer han, stop resisting!’ like that.”

he nearly chokes on his drink. “okay, first of all, rude. second of all, that’s not how i sound.”

you lean in a little, elbow propped on the table, eyes glinting. “i’m just saying. you’re not exactly the stereotypical cop.”

he chuckles, low and easy, like your words rolled right off him and made themselves at home. “yeah, well,” he says, stretching his arm across the back of the booth, “the uniform does a lot of the heavy lifting.”

you hum, tilting your head thoughtfully. “i'm glad it does.”

jisung raises a brow. “oh?”

you sip your drink, slow. “don’t act like you don’t know. the cuffs, the belt, the radio mic clipped to your shoulder—yeah. it works.”

he blinks once. then twice. “wait, you think the radio mic’s hot?”

you grin. “i think the whole thing’s hot.”

and just like that—there it is again. that pink dusting his cheeks. his hand twitches slightly against the back of the booth like he’s debating whether to fidget or flex.

jisung lets out a breathy laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck like he’s trying to physically shake off the blush. “you’re drunk, y/n.”

you grin, propping your chin on your hand. “maybe a little.”

he chuckles again, softer this time, eyes crinkling. “you’re terrifyingly honest.”

you tilt your head toward him. “what, can’t handle a few compliments?”

“i can handle them just fine,” he says, a crooked grin forming. “it’s the part where you liked my walkie talkie that’s gonna haunt me in my dreams.”

you laugh. “it’s the authority. it’s very ‘do what i say’, you know?”

“you like that?”

“i plead the fifth.”

jisung bites his lip with a small smile. just a subtle press of teeth like he’s grounding himself—like he doesn’t trust what might come out if he says something now. 

your eyes meet his across the short distance, soft in a way that shouldn’t be allowed. not here. not after everything. not when his brain is already scrambled from the case and the soju and you.

jisung swallows, slow. he would buy you drinks every night if it means you’ll look at him like that. if it means you’ll smile like that, lips glossy from the rim of your glass, voice just a little slurred from being too comfortable around him.

it’s insane. he knows that.

but he wants your attention so bad it aches.

you shift in your seat, glancing down at your watch, then back at him.

“we did great today, but i think we should go,” you murmur. “i need to go to bed.”

jisung laughs, low and warm. “i’ll walk you home.”

you look at him for a beat, and then nod, that same sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “thanks, officer.”

he heads to the counter to pay, tugging out his wallet without hesitation. while he’s busy talking to the waiter, you keep going—because your brain doesn’t know how to shut off, even with alcohol in your veins.

“so tomorrow,” you mumble to yourself, half-thinking out loud, “we check the transit footage again. he left the center on foot, so maybe there’s something on the street cams two blocks down—remember that alley behind the florist’s?”

jisung hums in response, glancing over his shoulder to let you know he’s still listening, even while he signs the receipt.

“and if we can figure out which direction he turned, that narrows the search zone. i’ll run the cctv timestamps. you can pull location logs from his old address—see if anything flags.”

jisung slips the receipt into his pocket and thanks the waiter with a nod. as he steps beside you, you hook your arm through his without thinking.

“—and if there’s nothing from the alley, we can try the karaoke bar on 5th,” you mumble, head tipping slightly as your feet carry you forward, slow and steady. “they’ve got an old security cam facing the back entrance. might catch something if we get lucky.”

jisung hums again, soft. a smile playing at the edge of his lips. he knows you’ll be talking the whole way back home.

you didn’t expect him to move this fast.

kang hyunseok was supposed to be a slow burn—one you’d watch, tail, collect dirt on until he slipped up. you thought you’d spend the next few days building a case tight enough to bury him. you weren’t expecting a fourth victim. not now. not today.

but that’s what changed everything.

you slid into jisung’s patrol car with your tablet clutched to your chest, breath caught halfway in your throat.

“get in,” he said the second he saw your face. “what happened?”

you didn’t even wait for the seatbelt to click. just pulled up the image.

“transit footage flagged a repeat pattern. different woman. same alley. this was this morning. not last week. this morning.”

jisung’s eyes snapped to the screen.

“she’s not reported missing yet,” you continued, voice fast and clipped, “because no one knows she’s gone. she was headed to work—florist on 5th—last seen twenty minutes before this.”

“and hyunseok?” he asked.

“five minutes behind her. same path. same shirt from the footage we saw yesterday. and look at this.” you swiped to the next frame—rear camera from a delivery truck parked across the street. “he turns off into the alley again. she doesn’t come out. he doesn’t come out.”

jisung was already shifting the gear.

you barely had time to process it before the sirens screamed to life.

“jesus,” you muttered, rubbing your face with your palms.

“we were supposed to watch him. ease in. build it clean.” jisung groaned in annoyance.

“plans change.”

jisung nodded, exhaling hard. he flicked the radio on, voice sharp. “this is officer han jisung. we have a possible hostage situation in progress—suspect kang hyunseok—near the maintenance shed behind daehan elementary. request backup and medic at scene. proceeding now with primary approach.”

you swallowed, hard.

“y/n,” he said, quieter now.

you turned.

“if he’s got her in there, he’s not thinking clearly. i need you sharp. no hesitation.”

“i’m with you.”

the cruiser pulled off into the service lane behind the school. from here, the property looked empty—like any other weekday lull. just wind through the leaves, the faint hum of hvac, and the shed.

you both stepped out.

gravel crunched underfoot as you followed close behind, adrenaline settling in your throat like a second heartbeat. the air felt too still. even the birds had gone quiet.

jisung moved first—body low, steps controlled, eyes locked on the shed like he could see through its thin wooden walls. you stayed just behind him, trying to steady your breathing.

he raised his mic, voice low. “visual on target structure. proceeding with primary approach.”

the crackle echoed, sharp enough to make you flinch.

and then—his hand.

without turning, he reached back and touched you—just a light press against your thigh, above your knee, grounding. protective. his fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary, warm even through the fabric of your pants. you froze, heat blooming up your spine. he was shielding you—literally putting himself between you and whatever waited inside.

you swallowed hard. didn’t move.

you were both less than ten feet from the shed now. the door sat crooked on its hinges, slats of peeling paint catching in the breeze. faint sounds drifted from inside. a scuffle. a choked sob.

jisung held up his hand—wait—and you stopped instantly.

you could hear everything now. the rasp of someone breathing too hard. shuffling feet. fear. then he spoke through the door, tone level, low.

“mr. kang hyunseok. this is officer han. we know you’re in there.”

silence. your pulse thundered in your ears.

jisung’s voice didn’t waver. “we’re not here to hurt you. but you need to open this door. now.”

still nothing.

then—

shuffling. a soft thud. a another stifled sob.

jisung didn’t flinch. “we’re coming in.”

he gestured, and you moved in sync, pushing the door open carefully. what hit you first was the smell—sweat, mildew, copper. then the sight:

a woman—mid-thirties, bruised lip, hands zip-tied—was crouched in the corner, barely holding herself up.

and behind her, hyunseok.

average build. greasy hair. hollow eyes. he held a rusted boxcutter to her throat, shaking like he’d already made peace with doing something irreversible.

“don’t move!” he barked.

but jisung was already stepping in—one arm up, the other steadying his gun.

“mr. kang. you don’t want to do this.”

“you don’t know what i want,” he hissed. “you don’t know anything.”

“i know you’re scared,” jisung said. “but the second you hurt her, there’s no going back.”

the woman whimpered.

“shut up!” kang shouted, pressing the blade closer. her eyes rolled in fear.

jisung didn’t blink. “look at me. right here. not her—me.”

kang’s stare jerked toward him.

jisung said quietly. “you put that down, she walks out of here alive, and i promise we’ll talk. i’ll listen.”

a flicker of something in hyunseok’s eyes. doubt. maybe shame.

then—

he bolted.

everything happened fast.

hyunseok shoved the woman aside and crashed through the half-open door like a wild animal, the blade glinting once before disappearing with him into the daylight.

jisung moved instantly.

“stay with her,” he barked, already out the door.

you dropped to your knees beside the woman, hands up in calm, open gestures as she whimpered and shrank into herself.

“hey, it’s okay,” you murmured, voice soft but firm. “you’re safe now. i’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

she was shaking so hard her teeth clicked. her wrists were still zip-tied, red and swollen, and a thin line of blood trailed from a nick under her chin. you kept one hand lightly on her shoulder, the other reaching gently for your pocket knife.

“i’m gonna cut these off, alright? then we’re getting you out of here.”

once her hands were free, she collapsed into your side, sobbing.

from outside—you heard it. a shout. a thud. your eyes flicked up. and there he was.

just outside the shed, in the crushed patch of dirt beneath the trees—jisung had kang hyunseok pinned.

one knee pressed firm between his shoulder blades, keeping him flat against the ground, arm wrenched behind his back with smooth precision. no wasted movement. no adrenaline sloppiness. every motion controlled.

his breathing was steady, jaw clenched, eyes locked down. focused. he had his cuffs out before you even noticed, voice low but clear.

“you are under arrest for attempted abduction and aggravated assault. stay down. do not move.”

kang writhed beneath him, panting.

“stay. down.”

with one hand still firm on hyunseok’s shoulder, he reached back and clipped the cuffs into place—quick, efficient, muscle memory. the sound of metal on metal was sharp in the open air.

hyunseok muttered something under his breath, but jisung didn’t react. he hauled him up just enough to get a better grip, keeping him hunched forward, hands secured behind his back.

and then—sirens.

low at first, then rising—cutting through the stillness of the trees like a warning bell. blue and red flickered through the schoolyard gates, bouncing off the shed’s peeling wood.

an ambulance rounded the corner first, tires crunching over gravel, followed by two black-and-white cruisers that rolled to a stop just a few yards away. doors opened. boots hit the ground.

you looked up just as minho and changbin jogged toward the scene, both in uniform, both already scanning for targets.

“visual on suspect,” minho muttered into his radio, eyes darting to jisung. “he’s got him.”

changbin veered toward jisung without missing a beat. “need a hand?”

jisung gave a sharp nod, handing hyunseok over without a word. you watched as changbin gripped the suspect by the arm, walking him firmly toward the waiting cruiser while reading off something low and clipped under his breath. minho followed a step behind, already on the phone, likely relaying the wrap-up to dispatch.

jisung didn’t move. he just stood there, hand still hovering near his belt, jaw tight as he watched the entire handoff.

only when the car door slammed shut—hyunseok tucked away behind tinted glass—did his shoulders finally drop.

behind you, the ambulance doors swung open.

a medic in navy blue approached, calling gently as she crouched near the woman in your arms. “ma’am, we’re going to take care of you, okay? you’re safe now. you’re going to be alright.”

the woman clung to your sleeve for a moment, fingers weak but desperate. you squeezed her hand.

“you’re okay,” you said softly. “they’re going to help you now.”

she nodded—barely—eyes glassy, mouth trembling. and just like that, she was lifted gently to her feet, guided toward the ambulance with quiet words and steady hands.

you stayed on the ground for a beat, watching her go. something in your chest deflated—not quite relief, not quite closure. just weight.

then—familiar footsteps. a shadow beside you.

jisung didn’t speak. he just stood there, breathing a little too hard, uniform rumpled, sweat drying on his neck.

you looked up at him.

and he looked at you.

for a second, neither of you moved. the weight of it all sat between you—what could’ve happened, what almost did. but then jisung jerked his head toward the ambulance.

“let’s check in,” he said, voice rough.

you walked together—quiet, shoulder to shoulder. the victim was seated now, eyes unfocused, but she turned slightly when you approached.

“she’s stable,” the medic explained, clipboard tucked under her arm. “small laceration to the neck, some bruising, no signs of internal injury. we’ll take her in for observation, run trauma protocols, but she’s lucid. might even be able to give you a statement later today.”

you straightened. “make sure they run toxicology too. if he drugged her, we’ll need that confirmation for the report.”

“got it,” the medic replied, scribbling it down. “any next of kin we can contact?” the medic asked.

you shook your head. “not yet. we’ll pull it from the employee file at the florist’s.”

“alright. you’ll be updated as soon as she’s cleared for statement.”

you stepped back, and without another word, jisung turned on his heel and headed toward his cruiser. you followed, heart still beating a little too loud in your chest.

by the time you slid into the passenger seat again, you felt the comedown start to hit—slow and sharp. your hands were cold.

“did you see him? just—god. fucking mental.” he muttered, jaw clenched.

you reached forward, gently curling your fingers around the front of his vest.

he froze.

his eyes snapped to you, confused, breath caught. “what—”

you leaned in.

and kissed him.

his mouth froze against yours for half a second—like his brain short-circuited—but then his hands found your waist, almost instinctively. the kiss deepened—fast. like all the adrenaline they hadn’t burned off during the takedown had nowhere else to go but here. his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer across the console as his tongue slid into your mouth.

you didn’t pull away either. didn’t even think about it. because the windows were tinted. because jisung—officer han, still half in uniform—was making out with you like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

your fingers slid up his chest, skimming the front of his vest, tracing along the straps and seams like you could memorize it all by feel. his breath hitched. his mouth opened more under yours, hungry, desperate, soft in ways you hadn’t expected.

you tugged at the edge of his collar, slipping your hand beneath it, fingertips brushing over the line where his neck met his shirt.

he whimpered. it was soft. barely audible. but you felt it in his throat, in the way his body trembled beneath your touch. he’d just pinned a man to the ground ten minutes ago and now he was falling apart under your hands, lips chasing yours between uneven breaths.

you finally pulled back, just barely—your noses still brushed, breath mingling in the warm space between you.

jisung’s eyes were half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. his hands hadn’t left your waist. his thumb was still rubbing slow, unconscious circles against your hip like he didn’t realize he was doing it.

you stared at him for a beat, breathless. then you smiled—small, dazed.

he blinked. “come to my place.”

your smile widened, teasing now. “after paperwork.”

he groaned, head thudding lightly back against the seat. “god. after paperwork.”

you laughed softly, pressing your hand to his chest one last time before settling back into your seat, eyes still on him.

later that night, you found yourself making out with jisung on his couch—somehow still in partial uniform.

the vest was off, discarded somewhere by the door, but his utility belt was half undone, and the top buttons of his shirt were popped open. he hadn’t even bothered changing. neither had you.

it was fast. messy. all the restraint you’d both faked back at the station had dissolved the second the door closed behind you.

now, you were straddling him, knees pressed into the worn cushion on either side of his thighs, your hands tangled in his hair while his fingers dug into your hips like he didn’t know how to not touch you.

he kissed like he worked—focused, deliberate, all-in. but every now and then, he’d let out this quiet, breathy noise against your mouth, like he was overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do with it. like the fact that you were here, in his lap, kissing him like you meant it, was short-circuiting every brain cell he had left.

your hands slid down his chest again, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. you brushed over the strap of his shoulder holster, still half-hanging down one arm, and he shivered.

he pulled back just barely, lips red and eyes glazed, breath catching.

“i’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmured, voice low, still a little breathless. “but you’re so oblivious.”

you blinked, then arched a brow, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “sorry,” you said, sweet.

“the entire office knew how i felt about you. my god, y/n, i made handcuff jokes in front of them.” he groaned, tilting his head back like he couldn’t believe this was real. you used the angle to your advantage—your fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, slow and deliberate. his breath hitched again when your knuckles brushed his skin.

“i wasn’t trying to ignore it,” you murmured. “i was just… so caught up in the case. and everything else. but i liked you,” you said softly. “i like you. the way you say my name when you’re trying not to smile. and how hot you looked today when you arrested that bastard.”

by the time the third fourth popped open, his shirt fell apart beneath your hands—and that’s when you saw it.

the ink.

you blinked. then blinked again.

across the smooth planes of his torso, tattoos, ones you’d never seen at the precinct. fine black lines. delicate design. bold fonts. a kind of rebellion hidden under all that authority.

you dragged your fingers lightly over the ink, tracing the design like it would tell you something about him no report ever could.

“do you…” your voice came soft, teasing, as your fingers trailed down just above his waistband, “still have your handcuffs on you?”

jisung blinked hard, like that pulled him right out of his own body.

you tilted your head, pretending to be thoughtful. “or did you use your last pair on kang today?”

his breath caught. his eyes darkened.

“you’re not serious,” he said, voice low. dangerous.

you leaned in until your lips brushed the corner of his jaw. “i could be.”

then you kissed him again—deeper, rougher this time. your hands slid over his chest, bare now, warm under your touch. he gasped into your mouth, his hips bucking up involuntarily as you shifted in his lap, grinding down just enough to feel everything through the fabric of his pants.

his head fell back against the couch, lips parted, eyes blown wide.

“jesus,” he breathed. “you’re—fuck.”

you didn’t stop. you rolled your hips again, slow and deliberate, and he shuddered beneath you. his hands gripped your thighs now, tight and grounding, like he didn’t trust himself not to fall apart.

“i have a cabinet,” he mumbled, words tumbling out as you kissed down his throat. “for my gear. belt. baton. cuffs. i didn’t think i’d ever have a reason to—shit—take them out for this. didn’t expect you to be such a freak.”

jisung groaned with a breathy laugh, head tipping back as you rocked down again. he was hard beneath you—aching through his slacks—and you were soaked, grinding over him like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

your fingers moved like they had a mission, gliding over the lines of ink carved across his chest—lines that had no right to be that fucking sexy. his black slacks tented obscenely, cock straining against the fabric like it was begging for your attention. you traced one tattoo down over his ribs, nails grazing, and watched him twitch.

“you’re hard,” you whispered as you leaned down, nose brushing the skin leading beneath his beltline. “all for me?”

he made a strangled sound, breath shuddering out of him. “yes, y/n,” he groaned, voice cracking, eyes half-lidded and burning. “i’ve thought about this—every night.”

the belt came free with a satisfying clatter, and you popped the button of his slacks open, dragging the zipper down achingly slow while you nuzzled lower, your breath hot through the thin cotton of his briefs. his cock strained against the fabric, twitching when you pressed your lips to it through the cloth, wetting the spot with your tongue, slow and sinful.

he whined. actually whined. “please—fuck—”

you glanced up, grinning against the swell of him. “so eager, officer.””

he was unraveling. you could feel it. you kissed down the length of him through his briefs, lips dragging slowly, wetly, before finally tugging the waistband down. his cock sprang free, flushed and heavy, leaking at the tip, and your breath caught at the sight.

his thighs tensed under your palms the moment you leaned in and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock.

“ah—fuck, yes,” he gasped, voice breaking, hips jerking before he caught himself. his hand flew out to brace against the back of the couch, muscles straining under the tension of holding still, letting you take control. “fuck, that’s—shit, your mouth—”

you sucked slow at first, tongue swirling, hollowing your cheeks as you took him deeper inch by inch, your hand stroking the base. he was hot and heavy on your tongue, the taste of him already addicting, and every time you sank a little further, his breath hitched higher.

you moaned around him, sending a shiver through his body, and then you started to move in earnest. he was panting now, chest heaving, fingers scrabbling against the cushion like he didn’t know what to hold onto.

“i wanna fuck your throat,” he growled, voice like gravel now. “let me, baby. let me take over. let me use that perfect mouth.”

you pulled off, tongue already out, eyes locked on his. drool clung to your lips, chest rising fast as you let go of his cock and rested your hand on his thigh. he stared down, dazed, hand wrapping around himself. he slapped the tip against your tongue twice before gripping your hair and shoving back in. his cock filled your mouth, pushing deep. you gagged, drooled, took it all—moaning as he started fucking your face.

“i won’t last—” he choked, hips slamming. 

you moaned again, desperate and messy, clinging to his thighs as he drove in deep one last time and spilled with a shuddering cry.

hot. thick. you swallowed every drop.

when he pulled out, cock twitching, you looked up at him, lips swollen, spit-slicked, breathless.

he just stared. “you’re perfect.”

jisung looked ruined. flushed. utterly lost in you.

but so were you.

“officer,” you breathed, voice low, still rough from how deep you’d taken him.

his gaze sharpened instantly, like his body had been waiting for your voice. “what do you need, detective?”

you dragged your nails slowly up his thighs. “i need you,” you repeated, softer now, almost a whisper. you leaned in close, lips brushing the sweat-damp hollow of his throat, your tongue tracing a line up to his jaw. “to fuck me.”

jisung’s eyes darken. “i want you in my bed.”

you bit your lip. nodded. “take me.”

and he did.

it was clumsy. he tucked himself back into his briefs with a shaking hand, didn’t even zip his slacks up all the way. his cock was still half-hard,, and he couldn’t stop glancing down at the mess you’d made on him. you reached up and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

he didn’t let go of you. one arm stayed firm around your waist as he half-led, half-dragged you down the hall to his bedroom, your steps uneven, tangled together, like you couldn’t stand to be apart for a second. the door slammed open behind him with his foot, and you stood in front of him, starting to undress.

your fingers found the hem of your shirt, and you peeled it up slow, teasing, inch by inch. you knew he was watching every little movement, every flash of skin, and you reveled in it. the heat of his gaze felt like a physical thing, dragging over your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your bra as it came into view.

the shirt hit the floor.

jisung exhaled hard through his nose. 

you turned slightly as you pushed your slacks down over your hips, letting them slide to the floor with a soft rustle. the fabric pooled around your ankles and you stepped out of it, bare now except for a lacy pair of panties, clinging to your flushed skin.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice raw, reverent as he stared at your chest.

you crawled onto the bed slowly, as you moved toward him. his breath caught when your knees bracketed his thighs again and you settled in his lap, your fingers curling into his open shirt, dragging it down off his shoulders completely this time.

“you gonna fuck me like you mean it, officer?” you whispered against his ear.

he shuddered. then his hands gripped your ass and pulled you down against his lap, grinding your soaked panties over the outline of his cock through his slacks. but then—he swallowed thickly, voice hoarse against your ear.

“top drawer,” he said, barely more than a growl. “left side. my cuffs are in there.”

you climbed off his lap before you stepped toward the drawer. you crouched in front of it, slowly easing it open. there they were, glinting under the dim bedside lamp. but that wasn’t all. there was a contracted baton, a pair of gloves, a clip-on badge, and two sets of zip ties in a clear plastic bag. you sucked in a breath, pulse racing.

you reached for the handcuffs, metal cold in your hand and you turned around slow. jisung was still on the bed, shirtless now, pants unzipped and bulging. you stepped back toward him, one deliberate step at a time, until you were between his knees again. 

he looked up at you, sweat beading at his temples, jaw tight.

“so this is what you want?” he asked low, like he already knew, but he needed you to say it. his hand came up, brushing the inside of your thigh, making you shiver. “you wanna be cuffed, detective?”

you swallowed, your throat dry. nodded once.

he leaned in. his breath was hot against your stomach as his lips skimmed the skin just above your waistband. “you want me to lock you up? pin your wrists behind your back and make you take it?”

“yes,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the heat crawling up your body.

his hands slid up, over your hips, around to your ass again, and he pulled you closer, tongue flicking out to taste your skin as he dragged his lips up your body.

“you like that?” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “being restrained? helpless?” he took the cuffs from your hands, the metal clinking between his fingers. “soaked just from the idea of it?”

your breath hitched. your panties clung to you now, slick and tight between your legs.

he leaned back just enough to pat the mattress beside him. “on your knees. hands behind your back.”

you hesitated just a second. your knees pressed into the mattress, but you didn’t move to obey right away. before you could even brace yourself, his hand grabbed your arm—firm, fast—and twisted it behind your back, not rough enough to hurt but with zero room to argue. his other hand caught your second wrist in the same movement, and he shoved them together.

you gasped, the surprise of it slamming into your chest. you barely had time to breathe before he pushed you forward, your torso pressed into the mattress, cheek to the sheets, ass up.

“resisting, are we?” he muttered, voice dark with something thrillingly amused as he pinned your wrists into your back. his thigh pressed between your knees, shoving them wider apart. 

“don’t move,” he hissed.

you heard the soft metallic click as one cuff clamped closed around your wrist.

“you have the right to remain silent,” he growled into your ear, breath scorching, one knee forcing your thighs apart as he leaned his weight into your back. “anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“do you understand these rights as they’ve been read to you, detective?”

you whimpered in response.

click.

the second cuff locked into place, the steel tight and final around both wrists.

he exhaled, a slow, satisfied sound, his body draped behind you, bare chest grazing your back as his lips pressed to your shoulder.

“you have the right to an attorney,” he continued, every word laced with dark heat as his hands dragged down your sides, cupping your hips, thumbs pressing into the creases of your thighs. “if you cannot afford one…”

he leaned down, his lips grazing the back of your neck, his voice a whisper of smoke.

“…well,” he breathed, kissing your neck, “you can plead for mercy instead.”

“jisung,” you breathed, squirming under him now, your breath catching on the sheets.

he chuckled softly—low in his throat, amused. there was a spark of disbelief in it, too, like even he couldn’t quite believe how far this had gone, how fast. that you'd let him cuff you. that he’d said all that roleplay shit like it was foreplay. that it worked.

and god, did it work.

you writhed, but the cuffs didn’t give. not even a centimeter. cold metal bit into your wrists, shoulders pinned, your body entirely his, and he knew it. you let out a sharp breath as his hands slid back down your side. the fabric tore a little as he pulled your panties past your knees. you tried to twist, to shift your hips, but the cuffs kept your arms locked behind your back and his weight kept you caged.

your breath came in ragged, frantic little pulls.

“jisung—”

“mmm?”

his cock pressed against the crease of your ass, hot and hard again, already leaking. he hadn’t even needed to touch himself much. he was just that gone over you, his body recharged like your mouth hadn’t just drained him ten minutes ago. you felt it drag over your skin, thick and slick and pulsing as he lined himself up behind you, the head sliding down your folds, teasing.

“what do you want, detective?” he murmured, voice husky with wonder. 

“please,” you breathed. “jisung, please.”

he groaned. “please what?”

you squirmed again, but his hands held your hips still, his cock rubbing against your soaked entrance, never pressing in. 

“fuck me,” you gasped, desperate now, every nerve lit up and begging. “please—fuck me, jisung, don’t make me beg again—”

without warning, he pushed in. you were cut off, jaw dropping open as his cock filled you in one long, unrelenting thrust. the stretch made your vision blur. he was thick, hot, soaked in your slick. he sank into you until his hips were flush against your ass, his cock buried to the hilt, the pressure absolutely devastating.

“you’re so tight like this—shit, you’re perfect.” he hissed through clenched teeth, gripping your hips so tight his fingers might bruise. 

you choked on a sob of pleasure as he pulled back and thrust again. all you could hear and feel was the sound of skin slapping skin and the wet drag of his cock thrusting deep, again and again, as he built up a rhythm that had your thighs trembling.

“i always thought—” he grunted, hips snapping forward harder now, punctuating every word, “—you were too smart. too fucking focused. all business.”

you moaned, muffled and breathless, your cheek pressed to the sheets.

“never thought—” he growled, fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you, slick and steady, “—you’d be such a goddamn slut.”

your whole body jolted. heat seared down your spine. your cunt clenched around him so tight he groaned, almost lost his rhythm for a second. you couldn’t form words anymore—just ragged, desperate sounds, your lips parting on every moan. another brutal thrust slammed into your soaked cunt and you gasped, trembling, drool smearing the sheets under your cheek.

“not so sharp now, huh, detective?” he breathed, voice feral. “now look at you—cuffed up, dripping on your officer’s cock.”

your cry punched out of you, high and ragged, as his cock struck something inside you. that gummy spot that made your thighs twitch and your eyes roll back.

“i’m so—” you gasped, words slurring, tears stinging your lashes. “i’m so close, jisung—, i’m gonna—”

he moaned behind you, the sound guttural, overwhelmed. “give it to me, y/n,” he panted, hips rocking into you harder, faster, chasing that high right alongside you. “come on, baby, give it to me. let me feel you fall apart.”

that pet name—the softness of it buried under all the roughness—made you feel things. and then his hand slid around your hip.

two fingers pressed to your clit—slippery, fast—and that was it. your whole body seized. your vision went white. you screamed his name, thighs locking around him as your orgasm ripped through you. your cunt spasmed around his cock, squeezing him so tight he choked on a groan and nearly collapsed over you.

“fuck—” he gasped, pulling out in a rush, cock slick and throbbing, already jerking in his hand as he stroked himself just twice more. he came across your lower back, ropes of hot, sticky release painting your ass, your skin twitching from the heat of it. 

jisung sagged behind you, one hand braced on the bed, the other still resting on your thigh like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

you whimpered and your legs trembled under you, body slack with aftershock, hands still bound tightly behind your back, the cuffs biting into your skin just enough to remind you how utterly he'd claimed you.

jisung stirred behind you at once. “shhh,” he murmured, softly. “i got you.”

you felt him shift, heard the metallic jingle of a small key in his fingers. he reached for you, one hand curling gently around your forearm to steady you, then, with a sharp click, the first cuff popped open.

he slid the small cuff key between his lips as he took your wrist out, then let the key drop into his hand to unlock the second one. you felt the tension in your shoulders melt instantly, the pressure gone—but your body didn’t know how to hold itself up anymore.

you collapsed forward with a sigh, arms falling limp to the sheets, your entire weight crumpling under you. jisung caught you, one arm around your waist, the other bracing you as he pulled you gently into him.

jisung eased you down onto your side, careful and slow like you were something delicate. his lips found your shoulder, kissed it—soft, reverent. you let out a shaky breath, still trying to find yourself inside your body.

“i really like you, hannie,” you murmured before you could second guess it. “i don’t just—this wasn’t just—”

“i know, y/n,” he whispered as he pressed another kiss into your back, this one lingering. “i know.”

he curled tighter around you, nosing into the back of your neck, his voice muffled by your skin.

“i’ve wanted you since the first week,” he murmured. “tried not to let it show. i didn’t think i had a shot—thought you were too… good. out of my league.”

you turned your head slightly, enough to glance back at him with a dazed, warm grin. “you’re such a dumbass.”

he laughed, soft and breathless, pressing his forehead into your shoulder.

“maybe,” he said, kissing the back of your neck. “but i’m your dumbass, right?”

you swallowed, pulse tripping.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, fingers brushing a strand of hair out of your face. his eyes were soft now.

“i wanna be yours,” he said. “please.”

you reached for his face with a trembling hand and your thumb traced the edge of his jaw, his skin still flushed and warm from everything he’d just given you.

“i already thought you were,” you whispered.

and then you kissed him tenderly. his smile broke against your mouth like he'd finally gotten something he'd been chasing forever. 

and he had. you both had.

the precinct buzzed with the same energy it had every morning—phones ringing, printers humming, officers shuffling case files with half-empty coffee cups in hand. a few feet from the briefing room, jisung leaned against a desk, hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke to changbin.

“no, seriously. the guy was just resisting like no tomorrow. like he wasn’t scared of me, of anything.”

changbin raised a brow. “you’re sure it wasn’t just your face?”

“yeah, okay. remind me to let you talk next time a guy pulls a blade on a hostage.” jisung was in the middle of rolling his eyes when a familiar voice broke through the low chatter of the bullpen.

“morning,” you said, walking up with a folder tucked under your arm. your tone was casual, but there was a glint in your eye—just for him.

jisung’s whole posture changed.

his shoulders relaxed. the edge in his jaw softened. and a slow smile tugged at his mouth as he turned toward you.

“hey,” he said, voice dipping lower than it needed to.

changbin glanced between the two of you, brow quirking. he didn’t say anything right away. just sipped his coffee, eyes narrowing slightly.

you held out the folder toward jisung. “victim statement’s being transcribed. thought you might want to review the notes before you start interrogation.”

he reached for it—your fingers brushing as he did—and his smile widened.

“thanks,” he murmured. then added, more pointedly, “you always take such good care of me.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. you reached up and rested your hand on his shoulder before sliding it down as you walked off down the hallway. the second your back was turned, jisung—still holding the folder—curled his fist and gave it a single, victorious pump at his side.

the entire office lounge knew. how he once rewrote an entire report because you said you liked his handwriting. or how he almost cried out of joy when you borrowed his pen last month.

changbin didn’t know how jisung did it. but somehow, he’d pulled it off.

[hiiistray]

- nowhere i’d rather be

PAIRING: seungmin x reader

GENRE: fluff

WC: 1.7k

CW: nothing

SUMMARY: you and seungmin have been apart during their tour, but with the help of a certain leader, you might be able to surprise your boyfriend during the last leg of the tour

hi!! this story has been on my mind for some time but i had never felt brave enough to star writing until now. this is my first story and english is not my first language, so any comments or thoughts are deeply appreciated. hope you enjoy it <3

“Did you see when Lee Know hyung kicked me out of the social path circle”

”Yeah, but I’ve also seen you when you messed up with Changbin during his parts”

“Yeah but-“

“And bit him”

”Well I-“

”You are a menace yourself Kim Seungmin”

”I’m just having fun” he laughed when he replied

“And I’m glad you’re having so much fun babe, you seem really happy in every video I’ve seen, you all have worked so hard for this, you deserve it” You sincerely said. You had seen, first hand, how hard all of the boys had worked for this

”I wish you were here with me and not on the other side of the world” he sighed

”Me too babe, believe me”

Little did he know you had just landed in the next city the boys were playing on tour, and you two were just some hours away from seeing each other. The boys had been all over the world with their Dominate Tour and there were only some shows left until they could have a proper rest and go back home, and in Seungmin’s case, go back to you.

You two had been doing okay with the long distance relationship during the tour. Yes, you missed each other. Yes, you talked everyday. Yes, you watched every single livestream of every show that time difference allowed you to(which messed up with your sleeping schedule not gonna lie).Yes, you could endure it well, but time got to you as well.

The constant travelling from his side, the constant working from your side made one thing clear: you needed to see him. And you made that happen. It was all thanks to a certain leader, namely Bang Chan, that you were able to pull this all off.

Being able to work from home (well, hotels in different parts of the world) you were able to join the boys during the shows in the US and later in Europe. So as soon as you got permission from your boss, you called Bang Chan, booked your flight, packed your things and left your home, knowing the next time you were in that same space, it would be with the love of your life again.

“Love are you listening?”

“Yes sorry what were you saying?” You were lost in your thoughts and you completely missed what Seungmin was saying

“You seem a little distracted, are you sure everything’s fine?” he had caught on your nerves but you couldn’t let him know the real reason behind them

“Yes everything’s okay I promise”

“Right, I was saying that we need to go and get prepared for the soundcheck”

“Of course Min, go and get ready, have a great one I‘ll talk to you later”

“Love you sweetheart, talk to you later”

“Love you too, bye”

You both hung up and you went to get your luggage and the rest of your things to leave the airport. Once you had everything with you, you saw a couple of staff members waiting for you to take you to the stadium the boys were performing that day (once again, all arranged by Bang Chan, you owed him a big one).

During the car ride to the stadium, you talked with the staff members and they told you how they had been doing during the tour. How they were all extremely happy because of their job but also how it could get a bit tired and lonely sometimes. And they could see that in Seungmin too.

They told you that he was extremely grateful and excited every time they performed but also how happy he was whenever they were chatting backstage or during travels and he mentioned you. Because he did. He mentioned you in every opportunity that he had, so you being there to surprise him made them really excited to see Seungmin’s reaction. This reassured you but also made your nerves increase. In a good way. Being apart from each other, no matter how much time, was always difficult, but whenever you got back to each other was always something to remember and cherish forever.

Once you arrived to the stadium, one staff member took your things and other led you to the side of the stage to see the boys during the soundcheck. Nothing could have ever prepared you for the rush of emotions you felt once you saw Seungmin on stage. The same face you had seen on your phone screen for months whenever you facetimed each other, the same face you had seen during livestreams with thousands of fans screaming along with him and his boys. You were overwhelmed.

Just before soundcheck finished, the staff member took you to another area where Bang Chan would go and get you so you could surprise Seungmin once they finished. You couldn’t help but get more nervous as the minutes passed. How would he react? Would he be happy? Would he cry? What if he thought that you being there was a distraction and didn’t like-

“Y/N!”

You turned around and there he was Bang Chan with the biggest smile on his face and his arms open waiting for you

“Chan!” You ran and hugged him

“How are you? how was the flight?”

“Everything’s good Chan and it’s all thanks to you, I owe you a big one this time”

“Don’t even mention it, I’m glad I could do this for both of you. Come on, let’s go and surprise your dog now”

On your way to where the rest of the boys were talking and joking with each other, you couldn’t help but overthink for a bit. Bang Chan noticed this and tried to ease your nerves telling you how much Seungmin missed you and how he talked about you whenever he could and how happy he was going to be once he saw you there.

“Okay, this is it. You ready?”

“No” you laughed nervously, feeling your eyes start to get wet. Oh God you were going to cry so much, you could feel it.

Chan laughed at your response and opened the door. Inside the room, there were some staff members, people you didn’t know (workers from the stadium you assumed) and lastly your boys. You couldn’t deny you had missed the 8 of them (but Seungmin just a bit more). Some of the boys were facing the door and they couldn’t help but let gasps out when they saw you but Chan quickly signalled them to be quiet so you could go on with the surprise.

“Mario Kart has the best music I’ve ever heard in a video game” Felix said once you made it inside

“And I’m telling you you’re wrong because the best one is Animal Crossing” Seungmin had his back towards you, so he hadn’t seen you walk in. You couldn’t believe that the first words you heard from your boyfriend after weeks without seeing each other were about some video games, but it also made perfect sense. You smiled through your tears which were extremely close to escaping now.

“Hey Seungmin, look who I just found wondering around” Chan told him

“What-“

He turned around and time stopped. Like in the movies. In the songs. In the stories. Everything stilled. It was just you and him in the room. Your boyfriend and you. Your boyfriend, who had been touring for God knows how long, and you. Your boyfriend and you, who had travelled to the other side of the world to be with him. You couldn’t contain your tears anymore.

“Hi ba-“

You couldn’t finish your sentence because a force almost knocked you out. You didn’t see it coming (but you should have known). You didn’t know how your boyfriend had stood up and crossed the room in a couple of seconds but here he was. Here you were. In each others arms.

Again.

“Wait, how? when? did-“ He couldn’t form a single coherent thought. You were there in his arms. Was he dreaming? He didn’t think he was but it felt too good to be true

You laughed through your tears. If this was what happiness felt like, you would go through months apart again. Just not right now.

“Thank Chan for this, he was the one who helped me to pull this off” He let you got a bit, not much, just enough to see your face, the same face that he had said goodbye to at home all those months ago. The same face that was now staring back at him, some centimetres apart.

“Is this real? Are you really here?” You chuckled and saw that Seungmin also had tears in his eyes.

“I’m real and I’m here with you. And I will be here with you until the tour finishes”

“You’re joking” His smile got impossibly bigger and those eyes that you loved so much shone brighter that you had ever seen.

“I’m not. I talked with my boss and he let me work outside the office, so I can be with you the rest of the tour, if you want”

“Of course I want that love, that’s the best news I’ve ever heard. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you”

“Yes, Y/N, you have no idea how much he mentions you every single day “oh y/n loves this, I’m going to send her a picture”” Han joked after seeing you two together

““Y/N would love this fan sign, I will tell her about this after the show”” Hyunjin continued and the rest of the guys joined with their own experiences.

“All of you shut up before I use Lee Know’s air fryer with all of you” Seungmin tried to stop the boys from embarrassing him anymore

The room erupted with laughter as Seungmin turned to you, as if nothing else mattered, because that seemed to be the case. Just you and him. After all this months, you were back where you belonged.

“I love you so much” he whispered

“I love you too”

And just like that he kissed you. Like you where the only people in that room. In that stadium. In the world.

However, that wasn’t the case because you two could still hear Changbin saying:

“Does this mean he’s not going to bite my arm on stage anymore?”

[hiiistray]

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: merman!hyunjin x marinespecialist!afab!reader, fantasy au

Synopsis: meeting a merman at work wasn't on the schedule. neither was having feelings.

Warnings: gore a teeny bit, fantasy fluff, strange sounds and feelings, language barrier, confused feelings, innocent curiosity

A/n: inspired by @ssickmagnolia8's losing my breath for you. If you have extra eyes for errors no you don't . I tried so hard to get out of my writers block 😭 I barely have inspo but my drafts are crazy full 😭

You weren’t raised on fairy tales. You were raised on currents. Your father was a sailor, your mother a coastal ecologist, and the ocean was their god. Family vacations were tidepool cataloging. Bedtime stories were legends about deep-sea creatures that mimicked men but weren’t. But you didn’t believe in monsters—not really. You believed in data. Pressure changes. Temperature shifts. Migration patterns. At seventeen, you watched your mother drown. Not in a storm. Not in a dramatic, cinematic scene. No. Your mother simply walked into the tide, arms wide, eyes blank, whispering something only the water could hear. Her body was never found.

You never went near the shore for five years.

But obsession is the child of grief.

You became a specialist in acoustic telemetry, tracking marine life through sound and signal. You hunted the sea with sonar instead of boats. Your reports were clinical. Clean. Controlled

Still, you pushed forward. You had a name to clear, a memory to honor, and a gut feeling you couldn’t shake. Something was wrong with the ocean.

The SS Kismet was a research vessel outfitted for deep-sea tracking, manned by six specialists and one quietly fraying you. The day was standard. The sun overhead bleached the deck white, waves slapped rhythmically against the hull, and the equipment hummed with numbers and graphs. you stood near the stern, notebook in hand, listening to the low-frequency pings returning from their latest scan.

“Same patterns as last week,” murmured Aaron, the lead sonar tech. “Migration normal. No anomalies.”

You didn’t respond. Her eyes flicked to the live display:

Depth: 145 meters. Movement: Moderate. Bio-signature: 3.4

Everything made sense. That was the problem.

The sea was too quiet. After five hours, the crew packed up. Equipment retracted, samples secured, reports logged. The boat turned back toward shore under a rose-gold sky, and conversation rose around you—light, casual. But you stayed at the edge of the boat, watching the way the water seemed to stretch too long. Like it was holding its breath. They docked by sunset. Seagulls screamed over the marina. Lights from the harbor winked like tired eyes. The others disembarked, laughing, boots hitting wet wood. You trailed behind them… until she saw it.

Far off. Barely visible in the waning light. Something was moving. Not in the water, from the shore. It was tall. Human-shaped, but too fluid. Staggering like its bones didn’t fit right. Its skin—if it had skin—glinted wet like oil on pavement. It moved into the surf, slow and steady. Not fighting the pull. Letting the sea take it back.

You squinted. No one else noticed. You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat clenched. Because the thing paused.

And turned.

And though it had no eyes you could see, you felt it look at you. Right at you.

Your voice cracked in the thick evening air as you called out, “Guys? Hey—HEY!”

But your words dissolved into the wind, carried off with the laughter of the team now too far along the dock. Their boots were on asphalt. Yours were still on splintered planks. Alone.

You cursed under your breath. The figure had disappeared into the surf, but her gut twisted with the knowledge, it was still there. Half-lost in the tide, half-drenched in something darker. Not seaweed. Not shadow. Blood.

Your hand slipped into your gear pouch, fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt of a folding blade. Not large. Not elegant. Just sharp enough to buy you three seconds if things went wrong. And something told you they were about to. The dock faded behind you as you stepped off onto the wet sand, shoes sinking slightly. The air was cooler down here, closer to the sea’s breath. You moved carefully, knees bent, eyes squinting into the low mist as the tide rolled in slow and deliberate like it was trying to lull you.

Then you saw it. He was collapsed at the edge where sea met sand, half-submerged, slumped like a dying god. Not a man. Not entirely.

His body was long, too long. From the waist up, he looked almost human—shoulders broad, chest marked with faint violet ridges that pulsed softly, like gills. His skin was damp, luminous, stretched over lean muscle and speckled with gashes, torn open by jagged coral or perhaps claws of his own kind. But from the waist down…a tail. Not cartoonish or shiny. This was monstrous beauty. Deep, obsidian-blue scales etched with silver patterns like ancient runes. Fins like torn silk fluttered weakly at the edge, trembling with effort. Blood—dark, almost black—pooled beneath him in the sand and hissed quietly when it touched saltwater.

His hair was soaked and tangled, clinging to his sharp cheekbones, framing a face too sculpted to be human. Ethereal. High-boned. Lips split at the corner. Eyes—

Oh God, his eyes. They snapped open at your approach.

Sharp. Slit pupils. The color of storm-lit seawater green and grey and gold all at once.

And then he hissed. Low. Defensive. His lips peeled back just enough to show teeth—sharp, serrated like a predator’s.

You froze, raising your free hand. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

But he didn’t understand. Or didn’t care. His arms pushed against the wet sand, trying to lift himself. A growl reverberated deep in his chest as he whipped his tail, sending a spray of water across your face. The movement tore open a gash along his hip, he let out a strained cry, somewhere between rage and agony, before collapsing back with a choked gasp.

You stepped forward instinctively, breath shallow.

He was shaking. Drenched. Wild. And yet… vulnerable. This was no sea monster.

This was someone. And he was dying. Your heart hammered as you stepped closer, sand slipping under your boots. Your hands were up—one still holding the small knife, the other palm-out, slow, nonthreatening.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” you whispered, voice thick with breath. “You’re hurt. I—I can help.”

But he didn’t understand your words. He only saw movement. A human form. Something closer. With a feral grunt, the merman twisted, shoulder muscles flaring, tail slapping the sand in a weak arc. He tried to crawl back toward the surf instinct pulling him to the safety of the ocean, of away. But pain lanced through him again. His shoulder gave out. One of the wounds split wider, the dark ichor spilling fresh and hot.

He cried out, low and guttural, collapsing again with a strangled wince.

You flinched but didn’t move away. Her pulse skipped, but your feet stayed rooted.

You dropped to your knees a few feet from him and carefully pulled your field pack open. Out came a fabric square, military-grade wound wrap, waterproof and heat-reactive. Not exactly meant for mythological sea creatures, but she had to try.

You slid forward. Close enough now to hear the rough sound of his breath—shaky and uneven. “I’m going to touch you now,” she murmured, voice trembling. “Please don’t—don’t freak out.”

He snarled again, a rumble in his throat, but it wasn’t as sharp. More confused than aggressive now. He tracked every movement of your hand with those uncanny eyes. You leaned in, breath soft, and gently pressed the wrap to the gash along his ribs. His skin twitched beneath her touch warm, slick, and… not completely alien. The scales shimmered faintly beneath your fingertips, flexing and fluttering as if responding to her. He hissed again, low and tight. Not from anger this time from pain. But he didn’t strike. Didn’t move away.

The bandage clung instantly, sealed by body heat. You pulled another out and looked at him.

“I can help with the rest,” she said softly, holding the next strip up. “If you let me. If you can… I don’t know, trust me?”

He blinked. Slow. The growling had stopped. His eyes scanned your face, lingered on your lips, your eyes like he was trying to read something in you, some language you weren’t speaking. He shifted, inching forward on trembling arms. His head dipped slightly. One of his fins curled inward. And then—quietly, hesitantly—he leaned toward you.

You sucked in a breath as he drew closer, breath brushing your cheek, cool and wet like fog. His tail slid across the sand with a soft drag. He was allowing it now. Allowing you. His body gave the answer his voice couldn’t. You moved gently, methodically, patching another wound on his side, then his forearm. The gashes were bad—too deep for you to handle on a beach. He needed more. He needed help. But he was still looking at you.

And not like you were a threat anymore. You sat back on your heels, hands trembling just slightly from the cold, the adrenaline, the impossibility of what you was seeing. You’d patched him up best you could with what you had, but they couldn’t stay here. Someone would find them. Your team would come looking. And he… he couldn’t defend himself like this.

You looked down at him, where he was half-curled in the sand. Still bleeding. Breathing hard. “Can you walk?” she muttered aloud, half to herself, her voice barely above the hush of the waves behind them.

You realized how stupid it sounded the second it left your mouth—he had a tail, not legs.

But still, she made the motion with her fingers, as if puppeteering invisible legs. A silly little walking gesture, the way you’d signal to a child. To your absolute disbelief, his eyes followed the motion. His brows furrowed in that elegant, ocean-slick face. He looked at his own tail. Looked at your. Then—

He began to shift.

Slow at first. Painfully. The sound that came from his throat was low and rough, like gravel pulled by the tide. But his body began to change. The fin that had glimmered like black opal under moonlight began to split, crackling, warping, folding in on itself like liquid glass folding into clay. The deep iridescent scales retreated, melting away like dew drying off skin. His tail was gone. In its place: long, pale legs, scarred and sleek. Powerful thighs. Knees bent awkwardly as if unfamiliar. The bruises from earlier still colored his skin. Salt and blood clung to him in places no human anatomy textbook could prepare you for.

Your lips parted, jaw slack. “What the actual—”

He looked up at you, panting. Exhausted. On his hands and knees now, shivering in the wind and the wetness, completely bare and utterly other. But also… human. Or something achingly close. You stumbled to your feet, ditching the knife completely now, and bent to hook an arm under his. “Okay, alright. Come on. I’ve got you.”

He flinched as their skin touched, his reflexes still caught between fight or flight. But this time, he didn’t pull away. He let you help him.

You pulled his arm over your shoulder, feeling the sharp weight of him, every muscle trembling under the strain of transformation. His wet skin pressed against your clothes, soaking through instantly. He leaned heavily on you, and she tightened your grip, breath hitching as he groaned again. They stumbled together across the beach, two shadows limping toward the faint lights of the Marine Center in the distance. You  kept your head low, whispering reassurances under your breath, some for him, most for yourself.

“Just a little further, okay? We’re almost there. You’re doing good… god, you’re doing so good.”

You used the back entrance of the Center—you’d done it a hundred times for late data drops, but never with a naked injured merman draped over you like seaweed.

Somehow—by divine panic and dumb luck—they made it across the dark, tiled hallway, up a flight of stairs, and into your tiny staff dorm tucked behind the labs. You kicked the door shut behind them and locked it in one motion.

Inside: warm, quiet, safe.

You turned to him. He was half-collapsed against your twin bed, blinking slowly, skin clammy, lips slightly parted in pain and confusion. So much humanity in his expression. So much… fear. You swallowed hard and dropped beside him.

“I don’t know what the hell you are,” you whispered, brushing hair—still wet, still tangled with seaweed and blood—out of his eyes. “But I’ve got you now.”

You moved quickly now, your brain scrambling to shift from shock to survival mode. You rummaged through the spare shelf under your bed and yanked out a clean, fluffy gray blanket—one you usually used for late night writing sessions or curling up with ocean current charts. Not for covering up the naked sea man bleeding out in your room. You turned back to him, and he was watching you. Dazed. Alert, somehow, but like he was in a completely foreign world his body shivering, his mouth slightly parted, hair clinging to his cheek in stringy wet ribbons.

“Okay,” you breathed, kneeling down. “I’m not gonna look. Promise. Just—just let me…”

You draped the blanket over his hips carefully, gently, shielding his body from view. He flinched at the sudden warmth, but didn’t stop you. His eyes stayed locked to yours.

God. He was beautiful in the kind of way nightmares made you want to stay asleep. His features sharp, yet soft where it mattered, scars across his chest, jaw taut, lashes too dark for someone that alien. That injured. You turned away for a second and grabbed your first aid kit from your bottom drawer. The click of the latch opening echoed like a scream in the quiet room. You pulled out antiseptic, gauze, butterfly stitches, and waterproof medical tape.

“Okay, okay…” you whispered, settling beside him again. your hands hovered over his ribs, hesitant. “You’re not gonna hiss at me again, right?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. You smiled nervously. “Yeah, I didn’t think you understood that.”

Still, you took the silence as permission and began cleaning one of the slashes along his side. He tensed immediately, but didn’t strike or pull back. Just let out a low, shaky sound somewhere between a growl and a breath. His muscles tightened under your fingers.

“Sorry. I know. This probably stings.” He made a small noise in reply. It wasn’t a word, but it wasn’t nothing either. It sounded like… acknowledgment. Like he was trying to echo your tone, mirror her comfort.

“That’s right, okay…” she murmured. “You’ve got  a bit of sea glass in here. Jesus, what happened to you?”

No answer. But the way his fingers curled into the edge of the blanket made you think—something bad. Something he couldn’t explain. Or didn’t want to.

“You’re not from here, are you?” you whispered. “God, what am I even asking… Of course you’re not.”

Again, he didn’t respond. But he watched you. With that eerie intensity. You moved to his arm next, patching a shallow puncture wound near his bicep. His skin was oddly soft under your hands. Like velvet soaked in sea salt. And warm. Too warm. “I don’t even know if this stuff works on you,” you muttered as you applied ointment and sealed the wound with gauze. “I mean, for all I know, you could be allergic to—”

Knock knock knock.

You froze.

Three crisp knocks. Familiar. Then a voice.

“Y/N? You in there?” Her heart dropped into her stomach.

It was Maya—from the marine lab downstairs. Always checking in. Always conveniently around when you didn’t want to be disturbed. You turned sharply to the merman and whispered, “Stay quiet. Please, just—don’t move.”

He blinked slowly. Stayed perfectly still.

“Yeah!” you called, scrambling to her feet, trying to sound normal. You stepped toward the door, heart slamming in your chest. “I’m just—uh—getting ready to crash. What’s up?” Maya’s voice was muffled through the wood. “You alright? I didn’t see you with the others after landing. We were gonna go over sonar readings in the morning but—if something’s up—”

“No! No, I’m good,” you replied, too fast. Too bright. “Just tired. You know how the sea gets to me.”

A beat. Then, “Alright. You sure?” You looked over your shoulder. The merman’s eyes were on you. Unmoving. But… calm.

“I’m sure,” you said, softer this time. Another pause. Then footsteps retreating.

You exhaled all at once, sagging against the door. You turned back to him, letting your back slide down the wood until you were sitting again. His head tilted slightly at you, like he understood everything and nothing all at once.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You just became my biggest secret.”

The antiseptic sting was nearly done now—just a few more cleaned cuts and sealed bruises. You moved with careful hands, your breath soft and slow as you finished wrapping a particularly deep laceration just under his collarbone. The moment felt still. Thick. Like the air around them had pressed pause to let something ancient slip in between.

You gently pressed the last bit of gauze in place, smoothing it down with your palm.

“You’re not bleeding anymore,” you murmured. “That’s a start.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. He was staring. No—focused. Brow furrowed, mouth slightly parted. Not in confusion… in concentration.

“Are you—are you okay?” you asked, softly. “Does anything still hurt?” His lips moved. Just a little. Then again. She paused.

“Wait… did you—did you say something?”

He did it again. This time, slower. And then—barely audible—a whisper, rough like gravel washed up on shore:

“…Hyun…jin…”

You blinked. Your heart skipped.

“You—your name?” you whispered, eyes wide. “Is that your name?”

He gave a weak nod, eyes fluttering as if even that had drained him. “Hyunjin…” she repeated softly, like it was a sacred word. “That’s beautiful. Well, mine’s Y/N.”

His mouth twitched—something like a smirk, but more like relief. Then he tried again, speaking low, gravelly, the syllables pulling against his throat like he wasn’t used to forming them.

“I… learn…”

You leaned in instinctively, every hair on her arm standing on end. Your lips parted, disbelief creasing her brows.

“…your… speak. Lips. Words.”

You sat up a little straighter, realization blooming in your chest like heat. “You’re reading my lips,” you breathed. “You’re trying to talk like me…”

He nodded again. Slow. Exhausted. But committed.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, scrambling to the side table for your small, water-stained notebook and a pencil. You scribbled something down quickly, mouthing the word as you wrote it. “That’s… that’s incredible. You’ve been watching how I talk and trying to mimic it—do you know how hard that is?”

Hyunjin blinked. His shoulders rose and fell, barely able to shrug—but his gaze never left yours. You set the book down and looked back at him, your voice gentler now.

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

He blinked. Then glanced toward the floor like he was searching for a word buried in the shadows.

“…dark…” he rasped.

You leaned in, eyes flicking across his lips, helping him find the rest. “Dark?” she echoed. “You were… somewhere dark?”

He nodded. Struggled.

“Chains,” he whispered next, the word thick and ugly in his mouth. “Hurt. Hunt. Run…” Your stomach dropped. The pencil in her hand went still.

“They hunted you?”

His eyes darkened. He nodded once. The memory laced with something almost feral, something wild and buried.You placed a hand on your notebook, the other gently touching his arm.

“I won’t let them find you again,” she said. Firm. Soft, but sure. “You’re safe here, okay? I promise.”

He stared at her. And this time, something deep in his chest shifted. His head tilted forward slightly.

---

The rain had started again—soft, misty, tapping against the dorm window like fingers too shy to knock. You set your kit aside, tucking bandage scraps back into their place, then wiped your hands on the towel draped across her lap. Hyunjin sat propped against the bedframe, now cloaked in the oversized blanket you’d given him earlier, the dark fabric falling over his lap and down his hips, obscuring the freshly formed legs that still trembled when he moved them too quickly.

“You must be starving,” you said, more to yourself than to him as you stood and stretched your arms above your head.

“No.”

You paused. Turned slowly to him, brows slightly raised. He had spoken clearly. Not perfectly. The edges of the word still had a rawness to them, a beginner’s sharpness. But it was unmistakable.

“No?” you repeated, a smile tugging at your lips.

He shook his head, still watching you.

“Okay…” you murmured, moving toward your desk. “I’ll eat something myself, then. You sure you don’t want something? Just a snack? Fish—oh. That might be offensive.”

He didn’t laugh. But you caught the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth. You opened a granola bar instead, taking a quiet bite while flipping through your research journal. But even as you tried to distract yourself with the scribbled notes and observations from that morning’s dive, you felt him watching.

Your gaze slowly lifted. Hyunjin hadn’t moved. Not even a blink. He was staring. Unapologetically. Eyes fixed on you like you were the only real thing in the room. The only solid thread holding him above water. You cleared your throat and looked back down at the pages, pretending not to notice the burn of his gaze.

You turned a page. He was still staring. You tried adjusting the chair. Shifted your posture. Took another bite. Still. Eyes on you.

“I can feel you watching me, you know,” you muttered, not unkindly. You glanced up again. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Hyunjin tilted his head slightly. Like he didn’t understand the question. Like that wasn’t unusual.

You leaned forward on your elbows, eyes narrowing slightly, but your smile stayed.

“I’m not that interesting,” you teased. He nodded.

You blinked. “Wait. You’re saying I am that interesting?” Another slow nod.

And still—his gaze didn’t falter. You bit the inside of her cheek, cheeks heating. “You really are learning fast.”

Hyunjin’s eyes softened a little. As if your amusement pleased him. As if your presence, chaotic and human as it was, brought something to his chest that hurt a little less. You sighed, shutting your notebook and setting it aside. You stood and walked slowly over to him.

He straightened—just slightly. Still weak. Still wrapped in layers of pain. But attentive. You sat at the edge of the bed, cross-legged, and faced him.

“You don’t have to keep staring like I’m going to disappear,” you said quietly. “I’m not.”

He didn’t answer. But the way his eyes dropped—for a moment—to her hands resting in your lap… then slowly lifted back to meet yours…

It said everything.

The room had settled into a gentle quiet. The rain outside had softened to a drizzle, a constant hush against the glass. The kind of lull that made time feel slower, suspended in a fragile bubble of calm. You stood, brushing invisible lint off her shirt before turning to face Hyunjin. “I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you said, half-expecting no reply. “Don’t touch anything. I mean it. Don’t go poking around or—” you paused, narrowing her eyes, “—biting my electronics.”

Hyunjin blinked up at you from where he sat on the bed, cocooned in the blanket like it was part of him now. His lips moved, just a little—mimicking the shape of your words. But he didn’t speak. You smiled, gave him a little nod, then grabbed your towel, clean clothes, and a small caddy of products before disappearing into the bathroom. The door shut with a click. The soft shuffle of clothing followed, then the metallic hiss of the shower turning on.

At first, Hyunjin did nothing. Just sat there.

But… the sound of the water. The echo of your voice still lingering. The delicate scent of her body wash in the air. It was unfamiliar… intoxicating. And more than anything, his curiosity was gnawing at him. Was she… cleansing her scales?

Like he did in the moonpools beneath the reef?

He shifted his legs off the bed—still new, still foreign. They trembled under his weight, but he managed to stand. A soft grunt left him as he staggered toward the bathroom, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. The floor was cold against his soles. Each step felt uncertain.

He reached the door. Didn’t knock.

Didn’t even think to. The door wasn’t fully shut. Just barely ajar. Enough for him to press a hand against the wood and nudge it open silently. Steam rushed out instantly, curling like seafoam around his feet. The air was thick with warmth and lavender. His dark eyes flicked upward.

And there you were. Silhouetted through the fogged glass of the shower.

Water traced down the length of her body—rivulets running along her shoulders, down her back, catching the curves of her waist. Her hair clung to her skin, dripping. Her skin glowed under the bathroom light, radiant, almost otherworldly.

Hyunjin's breath caught. His heart thudded.

She… she didn’t have scales.

Not visibly.

But your skin—it shimmered slightly in the heat, smooth like moon-polished shells. Unmarked. Unnatural in the way it tugged at something deep in him. Your limbs, the way you moved, the grace—

He wondered, foolishly, if you were like him. A creature hiding among humans. Then you turned. You reached for a small bottle, arm extending, her gaze shifting—right into his. They locked eyes.

Everything froze. Your expression contorted in a split second from relaxed to horrified.

“JESUS—HYUNJIN!”

You fumbled for the shower door, practically slipping in place. “GET OUT!” you shouted, voice bouncing off the tile walls, echoing in his ears. Hyunjin’s eyes widened like he’d just been caught stealing a royal treasure. His cheeks flushed a violent red—deep, warm, crawling all the way to his ears.

“Sorry—sorry—!” he blurted in a mangled rush of syllables, then staggered back, nearly tripping on his own feet as he yanked the door shut behind him.

Thud. A beat of silence. Then the sound of water slapping tile resumed.

Hyunjin stumbled backward into the room, hands clutched over his face. He fell onto the bed like a sack of kelp, groaning softly, curling into himself beneath the blanket.

His heart wouldn’t slow down. You looked like a sea spirit. A siren. A goddess. He buried his face into the pillow and whispered to himself in broken syllables, “She’s not… mermaid? But… so… shining…”

He wasn’t sure what he’d just done. But he was absolutely sure he would never be able to look you in the eyes again without drowning in heat.

The door creaked open slowly, steam billowing out like a slow exhale from a sleeping giant.

You stepped out, wrapped in a thick towel, your damp hair clinging to your shoulders, droplets tracing the slope of your collarbone. You clutched your clothes to your chest with one hand and rubbed the towel dry against your temple with the other. Your skin was flushed from the heat of the water—and maybe a little from what just happened.

Hyunjin was sitting on the bed, perfectly still, legs crossed beneath the blanket like a chastised child. His gaze was fixed firmly on the floor, ears beet-red, and his fingers fidgeted with the fabric on his lap.

You raised a brow, then—softened. You tried to keep your expression firm, tried to muster the energy to be mad, but the sheer look of guilt on his face, the nervous way he sat there like a drenched cat in trouble, made your laugh.

“Well,” you said as you padded closer, “if you were trying to sneak up on a woman—you failed miserably.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened. He scrambled to shake his head, hands waving in front of him in frantic denial. “No! No sneak—I was… just… see? Curiosity!” His voice was breathy, each syllable clumsy but earnest, like he was still tasting every word for the first time. You tilted your head and crossed her arms. “Right. Curiosity. Sure.” You couldn’t help the smirk curling at your lips. “That what you say to all the girls you spy on in the shower?”

“I didn’t know you were…” Hyunjin gestured wildly at your towel, his cheeks darkening again. “No fins. No… shell armor. Just skin. I think—maybe you were like me.”

You blinked. “You thought I was a mermaid?”

He nodded shyly.

You let out a laugh then light, amused, the tension in your shoulders slipping away. “God. You’re a disaster,” you muttered fondly. “But I get it. You’re new to… all this. Just—next time maybe knock? Or don’t open the door to the sound of running water?”

“Okay,” Hyunjin whispered. Then, with a bit more strength, “Okay. No door. Knock. First.”

“Good,” she smiled, grabbing a long shirt from her dresser and slipping into it over the towel with your back turned. “Now get some rest. You’ve been through a lot, and your wounds are still fresh. You need sleep.”

You turned around again, drying your hair with the towel. That’s when he said it. Softly. Like it had been resting on the edge of his tongue the whole time, unsure whether it should be spoken.

“Beautiful.”

You paused mid-pat. Your arms dropped slightly.

You looked at him.

His head was tilted, his long hair falling across his cheek, still slightly damp. His lips were parted just enough to prove he’d said it on purpose. And those dark, wide eyes still locked on her like you were the most fascinating creature in the entire world.

“I’m… sorry?” you said, a little thrown off her rhythm.

He straightened up a bit, the blanket slipping down his chest. “You are,” he said again, slower this time. “Beautiful.”

There was no stutter. No nervousness. Just sincerity. Your heart did a little stumble in your chest. You blinked again, unsure if you should laugh, thank him, or hide.

“…That’s probably the first compliment I’ve ever gotten from someone who tried to break into my shower.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed. “Break?” You giggled and waved it off. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

A beat passed. “You’re not too bad yourself,” you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him. But he heard it. And the shy smile that tugged at his lips was brighter than anything you’d seen him wear so far.

“Sleep, merboy,” you said, grabbing a blanket to toss over him. “You’re gonna need all your strength tomorrow.”

He nodded, but his eyes stayed on you just a moment longer before they fluttered shut—content, safe, and still trying to memorize the shape of you.

The soft click of your pen was the only sound filling the room now. You sat at your desk beneath the glow of your small reading lamp, scribbling into your worn leather-bound logbook. Your handwriting flowed like gentle waves as you recounted everything: the field report from earlier that day, the strange movement you’d seen on the shore, and most of all—the merman.

You paused, eyes flicking toward the bed where Hyunjin lay now, blanket pulled loosely around his waist, his breathing deep and even. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers curled slightly near his face—it all looked so… human. But you’d seen his tail. You’d seen the shimmer of his scales and the way pain bent his body like a broken current.

He wasn’t human. But somehow, he didn’t feel entirely otherworldly either.

You sighed, placing your pen down and closing the log gently with a satisfying thud. You stared at the bed again, then made your quiet decision.

You grabbed a spare pillow and a folded fleece blanket from the closet, spread it out on the floor beside the bed, and slid down into the makeshift sleeping space. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but you didn’t care. He needed the bed more than you did. And somehow, you liked the idea of being close. Close enough to keep watch.

Sleep took you slowly, like the tide, and you drifted off with the faint sound of the ocean still playing in your head.

---

A loud, unfamiliar clink stirred you awake.

Then another—followed by a slosh. Your brows furrowed, lashes fluttering as you pushed the blanket off your face. The light pouring in from the window told you it was early. But something else reminded you you weren’t alone in the room.

Splash.

Y/N sat up immediately. And then blinked.

“…Hyunjin?”

Your voice was rough with sleep, but the sight before you yanked you into full alertness.

The door to your small bathroom was wide open. Inside, the floor was gleaming with droplets, like a trail of spilled moonlight. And in the middle of your bathtub—full, nearly overflowing with water—sat Hyunjin. He was half-submerged, his elbows propped on the edge of the tub, chin resting on his forearm like a lounging sea prince. His hair was wet again, slicked back to reveal his sharp cheekbones and curious gaze, which locked on yours the moment he heard your voice.

And trailing out of the bathtub—spilling onto the tile floor—was his tail.

It shimmered in the light, the scales shifting colors with every ripple of water: deep ocean blue, obsidian black, hints of silvery green. It flicked lazily now and then, the end curling like a question mark, his fin slightly translucent at the edges.

You stared, eyes wide.

“You… turned back?” you whispered, rising slowly to your feet. “How did you—?”

“I woke. Body… ache,” he said in his soft, careful voice. “Needed water.” He gestured to the bathtub with a small, proud smile. “Tub… good. Like sea. Not same. But… good.”

You looked around. He’d figured out the faucet. The floor was wet, sure—but not flooded. He’d used one of your measuring pitchers to balance the temperature—no idea how he got that down. And here he was. Tail out. Glowing like something carved by the sea gods.

Y/N ran a hand through your hair and groaned with a small laugh. “You… literal fish man. You really filled my tub with your sexy dolphin tail.”

He tilted his head. “Sexy… dolphin?”

“Never mind,” you chuckled, rubbing your temples. “Just—next time, ask. Or at least… splash quieter.”

Hyunjin’s laugh was soft but genuine, almost like bubbles rising to the surface.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, grabbing a towel to mop the floor. “Now we’re both going to smell like salt for the next two weeks.”

He watched you as you moved around, his smile warm. When you glanced back at him, his tail gave a little flick of contentment.

“Tub good,” he said again, like it was the highest compliment.

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “I’ll add that to my log. Merman approves of modern plumbing.”

The bathroom was thick with the scent of saltwater, warm mist curling lazily in the air as sunlight spilled through the cracked window. You stood at the threshold, arms folded loosely across your chest, watching the way Hyunjin’s tail stirred the bathwater like it was second nature.

He looked so at peace there. As if the bathtub, as absurdly small as it was, offered him a sliver of his world again—something familiar. Something that didn’t bleed pain.

You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe. “You look… better.”

Hyunjin opened one eye, gaze drifting up to your face. He blinked slowly, lips curling just slightly at the corners. “Water helps.”

You nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a second. “Yeah, I figured.”

A pause settled. Not awkward—just thick with thought. You stepped closer and sat on the closed toilet lid, knees brushing the side of the tub. Your voice came quieter this time.

“Hyunjin…”

He tilted his head again, curious. “We have to figure out a way to get you back to the ocean.”

At first, there was no reaction.

Then, slowly, his shoulders tensed. The warm contentment in his gaze flickered, lips parting just slightly in confusion—or hesitation.

“I mean,” you rushed gently, “you can’t stay in my dorm forever. As much as I’m enjoying the company of a bathtub-dwelling sea prince, I don’t think my RA will approve.”

He gave a breath of a laugh, but it was hollow. He dropped his gaze to the water, scales catching in the light. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The water lapped quietly against the porcelain. When he finally did respond, it was soft. Barely a whisper.

“Not… ready.”

Your heart ached at that.

“Is it because of what happened?” you asked gently, reaching out to rest your hand on the edge of the tub near his own. “Are you scared to go back?”

He looked at your then, really looked eyes dark like the deep, searching for something in your expression. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Struggled with the words.

Then, carefully, he said, “Scared… of alone.”

The silence that followed hit like a wave crashing the shoreline.

You blinked, your chest tightening. You hadn’t expected that. Not from a being who came from an entire world beneath the surface. But now… now he was stranded in yours. And he didn’t want to be alone in either.

“You’re not alone,” you whispered.

He nodded slowly, as if he wanted to believe you. His hand brushed yours, just barely like the kiss of tide on a docked boat. You squeezed it gently. “We’ll find a way to get you back home. Together.” Hyunjin exhaled through his nose, his tail flicking once like a nod of agreement. Then he looked at you again, lips twitching into something soft and shy. But when you glanced up, his expression wasn’t dreamy anymore.

It was far away. Cold. Haunted. You lowered her voice. “Hyunjin?” He blinked once, then slowly met your gaze.

“I remember,” he whispered.

Your heart stumbled in her chest. “You remember what?” He hesitated—like dragging words up from the deep cost him something.

“The cages,” he said softly, and your breath hitched.

He looked down at the water, hands gripping the edges of the tub, knuckles pale. “They came. On boats. Bigger than yours. With hooks that burned. With nets that… screamed.”

You felt your throat close. He wasn’t just recounting—he was reliving.

“They pulled us out. My family… my brothers… We didn’t understand. We tried to speak. They laughed.” His jaw trembled. “They cut us open. Not to eat. Not for anger. Just… to look.”

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, moving closer, your hand brushing his arm gently.

His tail shifted beneath the surface like a restless tide, voice shaking. “They said we were myths. That we shouldn’t exist. But we did. We lived. We danced. We sang under the moon.” He paused, a tremor rushing through his body. “And now… they are gone.”

You sat in silence, the ache in your chest thick and rising. Your fingertips curled into the towel on your lap.

“All of them?” you asked softly. His eyes slowly lifted to yours, endless, broken.

“I’m the last.”

The room went quiet. No ocean, no gulls, no passing footsteps. Just the sound of a tub barely large enough to hold grief this deep. You reached for him. Not out of pity—but reverence. Your hand slid over his, grounding.  held him like you weren’t afraid of the saltwater or the sorrow or the truth that he carried in his bones.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, and you meant it with your whole being. “You shouldn’t have to carry that.”

“I don’t want to forget them,” he said.

“Then we won’t let them be forgotten,” you replied, tears burning the edges of your voice. “Tell me everything. Their names. The songs. The dances. I’ll write them all. I’ll remember with you.”

His lips parted, chest rising unevenly. Then, slowly, he gave a tiny nod—his hand tightening over yours.

He didn’t thank her with words. He didn’t need to.

Because when you’re the last echo of an entire people, the quiet presence of someone who sees you… is the loudest mercy of all.

---

The morning had unraveled gently around them, filled with soft conversation and the occasional sound of water lapping against porcelain. Hyunjin had calmed, though shadows still lingered beneath his eyes. You were crouched in front of your closet now, pulling out a simple change of clothes—comfortable sweats and a hoodie that would look oversized even on you, let alone on him.

You placed them on the edge of the bed beside a small plate of fruits and crackers. “This should keep you a little full,” you said, giving him a soft look, “I know you said you weren’t hungry, but… in case your stomach changes its mind.”

Hyunjin was sitting on the bed, towel-dried hair falling messily over his collarbones, legs tucked up to his chest like he still wasn’t quite used to them. His tail had faded with the morning light, and in its place were long, lean limbs that still trembled slightly with every shift of movement. But he was healing. Slowly. Carefully.

“I have to go… just for a few hours,” you murmured, grabbing your ID badge and stuffing it into the front pocket of your hoodie.

He looked up fast, eyes wide and sharp. “Go?” His voice was raspy, like the word didn’t sit right in his throat. “Now?”

You smiled gently, walking over to sit beside him. “I don’t want to, trust me. But if I don’t show up, they’ll come looking. And I really don’t want them knocking on this door and finding you trying to nap in the tub.” He tilted his head, visibly uncomfortable. His fingers flexed at his sides like he didn’t quite know what to say—but his eyes said it all. Stay. Please.

“I’ll be back,” you reassured him, brushing a strand of damp hair behind his ear, “I promise. I just need to clock in, finish some reports, act like I didn’t rescue a literal myth from the shoreline last night, and then I’m yours again. Sound fair?”

He didn’t answer right away, but his shoulders slumped, the tension bleeding out with a quiet exhale. “I don’t… like it.”

Your heart pulled. “I know.”

“Danger,” he murmured, voice low. “Land is… danger.”

“I’ve survived it this long,” you smiled, though it was sad around the edges. “But thank you for caring.”

Then, you stood, walking to your desk to grab a notepad and scribbled something down. Walking back, you handed it to him.

“If anyone knocks—anyone at all—you go into the bathroom, lock the door, and don’t make a sound. There’s a towel in the cabinet and a curtain you can pull over the tub. Got it?”

Hyunjin studied the paper like it was sacred. Then, nodding slowly, he whispered, “Hide.”

“Good boy,” you grinned, ruffling his hair gently. He blushed hard—cheeks blooming red under his damp skin—but he looked pleased.

You leaned down, grabbed a soft knit blanket from the end of the bed, and draped it over his lap. “Just rest. Try on the clothes if you’re comfortable. Explore. Don’t break anything. And don’t open the door, even if someone says my name.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed like he wanted to say more—but instead, he reached out slowly and brushed your pinky with his, like he was trying to hold on to you in the smallest way he knew how.

You looked at him, then gently squeezed his hand. “I’ll be back before sunset.”

As you turned to go, bag slung over your shoulder and heart heavy in your chest, you heard him say softly behind you—

“Y/N?”

You turned. “You smell like the ocean.” A faint smile pulled at his lips. “I think that’s why I trust you.”

Your throat went tight. You didn’t know how to respond. So, you slipped out the door, locking it behind you.

---

The sun was sharp overhead, glinting off the glass walls of the Marine Research Center as Y/N swiped her badge through the scanner. The soft beep welcomed her back to the real world—where mythical creatures didn’t exist, and last night’s discovery would’ve landed her in a padded room if she ever breathed a word of it.

She plastered on a neutral smile as she passed the lobby, offering a quick wave to her supervisor, Dr. Malia, who was already deep in conversation with another researcher over a cup of instant coffee.

“Y/N, you’re just in time,” Malia called over, barely glancing up from her tablet. “Need you in Lab 3—readings from yesterday’s dive are showing some unusual activity along the southern ridge.”

Y/N nodded politely, her voice calm. “On it.”

She moved quickly, weaving past teams in wetsuits, interns in scrubs, and walls lined with aquatic maps. But her thoughts were miles away—in a warm dorm room with closed blinds, behind a locked door, where a water-dwelling boy was hopefully still curled up on the bed.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to focus. Inside Lab 3, the familiar hum of machines and the smell of sea salt clung to the air. The monitors flickered with sonar readings and temperature charts, but the moment she saw the movement spikes from the southern ridge, her heart skipped.

That’s where she found him.

The readings pulsed—faint tremors of large movement—but they were irregular, like something had been moving there for a while and suddenly stopped. No wonder the team wanted it flagged. If only they knew.

She sat down at her console, running diagnostics. Her fingers moved, but her mind kept drifting. To Hyunjin's voice, unsure but velvet-smooth. “You good?” a voice asked, breaking through her daze.

She blinked. It was Lani, one of her coworkers, tilting her head curiously as she leaned on the desk beside her. “You seem… somewhere else.”

Y/N forced a soft laugh. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Lani narrowed her eyes teasingly. “Didn’t sleep much or didn’t sleep?”

“Oh my God, not like that,” Y/N scoffed, cheeks warming way too quickly. “I just… got caught up with notes. You know me and my midnight logs.”

“Mm-hmm,” Lani smirked, clearly not buying it. “Well, just don’t die on me before lunch. You owe me ramen.” Y/N waved her off with a small chuckle as the screen lit up again with another pulse. Her heart jumped, but she masked it under a yawn.

She needed to finish up these reports, make an excuse to head back early, and double-check that Hyunjin hadn’t started opening windows or something.

---

The walk back from the Marine Center was a blur. You had shoved your reports into your bag, mumbled something about needing to rest, and practically sprinted the last two blocks to your dorm with a plastic bag swinging at your side—filled with warm rice bowls, fresh fruit, and the kind of seaweed snacks you figured a merman might vibe with. Your key fumbled in the lock for a second—your heart already racing ahead of your hands.

Click.

You swung the door open—

—and the world softened.

There he was. Hyunjin was sprawled lazily across your bed, legs tangled in the sheets, water clinging to the tips of his constantly-damp hair as it curled messily around his face. You’d have to figure out where the heck the water came from. He was hunched over the tiny wooden chess set you kept on your shelf for decoration, eyes narrowed in fascination as he moved a knight and immediately tried to counter it with a bishop—against himself. Like he was having a full-on strategic war solo.

He looked up the moment the door creaked open. His eyes lit up like sunrise on open water.

And then he chirped—a soft, echoing, melodic sound that rippled from his throat and filled the room like a song sung underwater. It was strange and beautiful, rising and falling like a tide, and loud enough to startle you into stillness.

You blinked.

“…What was that?” you asked through a surprised laugh, dropping the bag onto your desk. “Was that—was that a hello?”

Hyunjin’s lips curled into the most angelic, boyish smile as he sat up straighter, fingers still ghosting over a rook. “It means…” He touched his chest, then motioned towards yours, and looked you in the eye. “Warm return.”

Your breath caught. “You mean like... welcome back?” He nodded, then shyly added, “But more.”

You didn’t know what to do with that for a second, heart thudding stupidly hard. “Well… warm return to you too, I guess,” you teased, brushing your hair back and walking over to him. “I brought food.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, sniffing the air like a curious cat. “It smells… green.”

“It’s seaweed,” you grinned. “And rice, and a few other things that won’t kill your stomach. I promise.” He took the bag from your hands slowly, reverently, like it was a gift from a goddess. You handed him chopsticks, and he stared at them like they were mini swords.

You sat beside him, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “So… how was your day, Fish Prince?”

“Strange,” he said after chewing thoughtfully. “The mirror makes my face look upside down if I bend over it. And the blanket trap is warm.” You snorted. “It’s called tucking yourself in. And you’re supposed to sleep under it, not roll into a sushi burrito.”

Hyunjin mimicked “sushi burrito” to himself and giggled behind the rice bowl. Your chest bloomed at the sound.

Once he’d eaten his fill, you leaned back against the headboard, pulling one leg up and chewing your lip.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said softly, eyes flicking to him. “We… we can’t keep you here forever. You need to get back to the ocean. I know where. Quiet, but… it’ll be hard, but I think I can get you there soon. It’s just—people might be watching the coast. We’ll need to be careful.”

Hyunjin’s eyes darkened slightly with understanding. “Return?” he asked, voice gentler.

You nodded. He looked down at his hands, curling his fingers in thought. Then he whispered, “I trust you.”

You reached over and brushed a bit of rice off his cheek. “Then we better make a plan.”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, notepad in hand, your brows furrowed as you sketched out a rough timeline. A coastal tide map was open beside you, and your pencil tapped restlessly against the paper.

“We’ll need to leave before dawn,” you murmured, half to yourself, half to the echo of the plan forming in your head. “Maybe tonight. I can grab wetsuits, maybe—”

You felt it again. That unrelenting gaze. Without even looking up, you sighed through a soft laugh. “Hyunjin… I’ve warned you about staring.” His voice came slow, curious, like he was rolling the words on his tongue. “But you’re… beautiful when you think. Your eyes talk.”

That made you blink up at him. He was sitting at the foot of the bed now, curled in the blanket he refused to let go of, legs drawn up like a question mark, hair falling in soft curtains around his face. His eyes were impossibly focused—on your lips, your cheeks, your very being.

“Humans…” he started slowly, “How do they show… when they love?”

You tilted her head. “Love?”

He nodded, a gentle seriousness washing over his face. “Like… like how I feel when you smile. Or when you came back, and I thought the room had air again.”

You didn’t speak for a second. Your heart was stuttering, and your mouth had gone dry.

“Well…” you said, voice a bit shaky but trying to sound casual. “We hug. We hold hands. We kiss. We say things—sometimes silly, sometimes deep. It depends.”

Hyunjin listened like a student before a sacred text. “And what does a kiss mean?” You looked at him then. Really looked. “It means… I see you. I trust you. It’s… a kind of giving. A promise. Sometimes it’s just fun. Sometimes it’s everything.”

There was a pause. A silence soaked in something heavy and gentle.

Then—

“In my world,” Hyunjin said softly, “We sing in pairs. The song is just for the one we love. It never sounds the same with anyone else. And we dance, too. Not with our feet… but with the way we move through the water together. Like… like we’re breathing in the same rhythm.”

You smiled, heart tightening. “That’s beautiful,” you whispered.

He studied you for another long beat. “Can I… try it?” he asked. “Your way. The human way.”

You blinked, startled. “You… you want to kiss me?” He nodded, slow but sure. “I think I love you,” he said simply. “And I want you to know. I want to speak it in your language.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to tell him that you both were nothing close to a relationship, but your breath caught somewhere in your throat—and he moved forward, leaning in with a hesitancy that felt sacred. Like he was approaching a sunrise.

His fingers brushed your cheek, light as a question. His gaze dipped to your lips.

And then—

He kissed you. You were beginning to think he’d seen other people do this for him to know what to do. A couple by the sea, workers on deck sneaking around. It was soft at first—like he was learning her shape. Testing how their worlds aligned at the edges. His lips were warm, gentle, tasting of salt and curiosity. He lingered for a breath, then another, before pulling back just slightly… and resting his forehead against hers.

You hadn’t moved. Couldn’t move.

He whispered, “Did I do it right?”

You let out a breathless laugh, eyes closing. “You did…it? I guess…”

Your fingers hovered near your lips, the ghost of his kiss still blooming like an aftertaste. Hyunjin was watching you again—his eyes wide, waiting, like he wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a line or unlocked a door. “That was…” you cleared your throat, heart thudding as she tried to find her voice. “Really good for a first time. But um… kissing has a bit of a rhythm to it. Like your songs, remember?”

He tilted his head. “Like a… duet?”

You smiled despite herself. “Exactly.” He leaned forward again, a little too eager, and you giggled, pushing him back gently. “Okay, no pouncing. Let’s take this slow. Follow my lead.”

You shifted closer on the bed, cupping his face softly. His cheeks were so warm under your touch. “When we kiss,” you whispered, “don’t just press in. Feel it. Think of it like… listening with your lips.” He nodded once, completely enthralled.  Why were you doing this? You’re teaching a merman how to kiss? Not like he’s going to need it in the future or anything. Your noses brushed, breaths mingling—and then you kissed him again.

This time, it was slower. Softer. Your lips met in a careful rhythm, Hyunjin mimicking your movements like a dancer finally learning the steps. He let out the smallest sound—something between a hum and a purr, low and delicate, and so intimate it sent a shock down your spine.

Your body tensed involuntarily.

That sound. It curled around your spine like heat. It wasn't just affectionate—it was sensual, primal in a way he likely didn’t even understand. You gasped, pulling back suddenly, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

Hyunjin blinked, confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No, no—” you laughed nervously, waving your hands, desperate to cool your face and your hormones. “That was… you’re doing great. You’re… a very fast learner.”

He beamed. “So, we kiss more now?”

“Absolutely not!” you squeaked, scrambling for your notepad like it was a lifeline. “We’re gonna focus on the plan, okay? The plan. The whole get-you-back-to-the-ocean thing. Remember that?”

Hyunjin pouted, flopping back onto the mattress, watching you with lidded eyes and a pout that was frankly unfair. You kept your gaze firmly on your scribbles.

“Okay,” you muttered to herself, “tonight tops, avoid the main marine patrol routes, smuggle you through the south dock…”

“I like kissing,” Hyunjin said helpfully behind you.

“Hyunjin,” you warned, voice tight.

“Yes?”

“Please. Let me focus.”

“Okay,” he said sweetly. “But after?”

You buried your face in your hands.

God help you. You were going to need a stronger distraction than a map and a marker.

---

The cold air bit at Y/N’s skin as she tightened her hoodie around her body, footsteps soft against the gravel path leading away from her dorm. Midnight painted everything in shadows and silver light. The marine center’s lab lights were off for the night, save for the emergency glow that hummed faintly near the edges of the supply shed.

Clutching a small bag and her keycard, Y/N glanced over her shoulder once more. Every step away from Hyunjin made her chest tighten, like some part of her knew he was still watching her from that tub, curled in warmth, eyes glowing in moonlight.

She just needed supplies. Just gauze, saline, maybe a blanket or two. Nothing traceable. Nothing suspicious. She’d just swiped her card through the lock when—

“Y/N?”

She flinched like a thief, spinning fast. A flashlight flicked on, landing on her face. Oh crap.

“Layla?” she blurted, blinking against the light.

Layla—a fellow researcher and one of her dorm neighbors—lowered the flashlight, brows raised, dark hair tied up in a sleepy bun. She was in sweatpants and a coat, holding a mug of tea like she’d only just come out for air.

“What are you doing out here? It’s almost 1 AM.”

Y/N froze. Her mind raced. Say something normal. Say something smart.

“Oh! Uh… I forgot I left my sketchbook in the lab,” she lied quickly, offering a sheepish grin. “Needed it for some ideas I had about tide cycles.” Layla tilted her head. “You’re sketching tide cycles? At midnight?” Y/N laughed nervously, cringing internally. “You know me. I get randomly inspired. Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d be productive.”

There was a long beat. Layla sipped her tea slowly, watching her. “…You okay though? You look kind of… flushed.”

“Flushed?” Y/N swallowed. Was she still red from the kissing? Oh God. “Probably just the chill. I was in bed and didn’t think I’d be out long.”

“Hmm.” Layla nodded, then smiled, yawning. “Well, don’t stay out too long. If Dr. Malia catches you raiding the supply kit again, she’ll have a fit.”

“Noted,” Y/N said, exhaling as her friend turned to head back to the dorm. Y/N waited until she disappeared from sight before slipping into the shed. Her fingers were shaking—part nerves, part adrenaline.

She gathered what she needed in under five minutes: more gauze, protein bars, wet cloths, a heating pad. As she stuffed the supplies into her bag, her heart thrummed like a drumbeat in her ears.

Not from fear. From urgency. Hyunjin needed to go back. And soon.

Because the longer he stayed…the harder it was going to be to let him go.

Y/N’s hand hovered above Hyunjin’s shoulder, hesitant to wake him. He looked peaceful in her bed, for once. The soft light of dawn hadn’t broken yet—only a bluish tint stretched across the room, casting shadows on his long limbs tangled in the blanket. His hair was damp against the pillow, tail gone now, legs stretched awkwardly, human again—but still otherworldly.

She knelt beside him and gently touched his shoulder. “Hyunjin,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Wake up. It’s time.” He stirred immediately, blinking hazily. When he saw her face, something in his gaze shifted—alert now. He sat up, brows furrowing. No questions. He trusted her.

She offered a towel and a pair of her loose marine trousers. “Dry off. You’ll need these,” she murmured, glancing at the door.

Hyunjin obeyed, fumbling with the fabric but managing to wrap the towel around his waist and slide the pants on, even if a bit clumsily. His legs were stronger now, steadier. She helped him with the drawstring, their fingers brushing—brief, electric.

They moved like ghosts through the building—silent, invisible. Y/N led them down the emergency stairwell, the soles of their feet brushing the cold tile, their breaths caught in their throats. Every creak of a door sounded like a shout. She held her breath when they passed the night guard’s office, her hand clutching Hyunjin’s tight.

He looked at her like she was leading him to the stars. Once they hit the back doors, Y/N paused, peering through the narrow glass pane. The coast behind the center was calm, the water like ink under the faintest touch of moonlight.

“Now,” she whispered, and they slipped out.

The small boat was waiting—an old rowboat with a modest engine, one she’d repaired herself last year during maintenance season. Hyunjin stepped into the shallows with careful feet, his balance off but improving. She helped him in, her hands steadying his arms.

He sat on the edge of the bench seat, watching her like she was a miracle in motion. Y/N climbed in behind him, heart thundering, hands quickly working over the ignition. The soft whirr-click of the engine starting filled the air.

They were moving.

The boat glided over the glassy water, away from the shore, away from the dorm, the marine center, the human world—just the two of them under the sliver of a moon. Wind tugged at her hair. Salt kissed her lips. Hyunjin was quiet beside her, eyes wide as he watched the horizon.

Y/N gripped the steering handle, jaw set.

This was it. No turning back now.

The boat rocked gently under the hush of the very early morning sky, the sound of soft waves licking against the sides blending with the distant hum of the world still asleep.

Y/N had steered them just far enough—beyond the line where marine patrols might sweep through, but close enough that she could come up with a believable excuse if someone questioned her presence.

“We’re not far,” she muttered, cutting the engine so they drifted in silence now. “This should be okay, but I still have to think of what I’ll tell them—God, maybe I’ll say I came out to chart the tides or observe plankton migration. No, that sounds stupid—ugh, maybe I can say I dropped something, like a waterproof recorder—do I even own a waterproof recorder?”

She kept talking, eyes darting around, hands nervously adjusting the rope tied to the oar, the bag at her feet, anything to keep from looking at him.

“You have to go now,” she said, finally turning. “We don’t have time, and if they find me out here with you—”

Her voice faltered when her eyes met his.

Hyunjin wasn’t moving. He wasn’t scrambling to dive in, or panicking. He just sat there, elbows resting on his knees, watching her with those impossibly soft eyes—dark, vast, unreadable, like the very ocean they sat on. His gaze held her steady, like he was anchoring her to this moment.

She swallowed hard.

“You have to hurry,” she tried again, forcing the words through the tightness in her throat. She looked away, blinking fast. “Please. Before someone sees.”

But her voice betrayed her—too brittle. Her hand tightened around the edge of the boat, nails digging into the old wood. She couldn’t let herself feel this. They haven’t even spent a week together and she felt like it’d been a year already. It was probably the kiss.

Not now.

Not when he was looking at her like that. Like she was home. Hyunjin tilted his head slightly, the sea breeze playing with the strands of damp hair framing his face. He reached out gently, not touching her yet—just hovering his fingers near hers.

Still, he said nothing.

He didn’t have to. The boat drifted in a hush, the world wrapped in that soft pre-dawn blue that made everything feel suspended in time.

Hyunjin stood barefoot on the edge of the boat, trousers abandoned in a loose heap beside him. His tail shimmered into view under the moonlight—pearlescent blues and silvers catching the glow like he was carved from the ocean itself. Water dripped from his skin, running down the length of his scales in lazy trails, and yet… he hesitated.

He looked back at you.

You stood there, arms crossed like you were trying to hold yourself together, chin tilted up in some desperate attempt at bravery—but your eyes were glassy, your throat tight. What was wrong with you?

“You need to go,” you said softly, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “Now, Hyunjin.”

But you didn’t sound convincing. Not even to yourself. And maybe he sensed it.

Because he didn’t jump. He turned to you fully, sitting on the boat’s edge, and leaned in. His hand cupped your cheek so tenderly it undid the dam you were trying so hard to hold up and before you could even breathe, he kissed you.

It was soft, warm, filled with something far more permanent than either of them had planned for. He pulled back an inch, just enough to see your stunned face.

And then he kissed your again—deeper this time, like he wanted to remember what you tasted like. When you finally pulled apart, you gave a breathless laugh, blinking through the tears brimming in your lashes.

“You’re getting better,” you whispered, brushing your fingers down his jaw. “Every time.”

Your smile faded. “But you seriously have to go now. Before it’s too late.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to stay just one more second, to soak you in a little longer. Before you could counter your actions, you gently pushed his shoulder.

“Go,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Please.”

He let himself fall backwards into the sea with a graceful splash, tail flicking in one final arc.

You didn’t waste time. She threw a decoy box—full of ocean samples, broken equipment, anything you could gather last minute—into the water. It hit the surface right as a voice called out behind her.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing out here?” It was your manager.

You snapped your head toward the shore. “Oh—hey! Sorry! I dropped a specimen container during a test dive last night. I came back to look for it before the tide took it.”

The manager frowned, clearly annoyed but unconvinced enough to challenge you. “At this hour?”

You forced a tired laugh. “I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get it done now before the boats start moving.” He gave a grumble of approval and walked away without another word. You turned back to the sea, breath caught in her throat.

The surface rippled gently… and there he was. Just beneath the water, Hyunjin’s eyes gleamed in the dark. He looked at her with that same softness from before. One last goodbye.

Then, as if the ocean itself responded to his emotions, he let out a sound—not a word, not a call. Just a song. A pulse of something deep and ancient and mournful that rippled across the water like a shiver.

It hit her like a memory she never had, aching in her chest.

Her tears finally slipped free.

Just a few. But enough.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

I hope it's okay I'm getting better ideas I promise 🙏

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[hiiistray]

・❥・(ot8 headcannons) THE GIRLFRIEND EFFECT

summary: in which skz start to abandon their old habits after getting a girlfriend, and their fellow members can only watch in stunned horror as love turns these men soft. the girlfriend effect is real. nobody is safe. cw: profanity, just endless fluff and crack, use of she/her pronouns, pls take the humor with a grain of salt <3

chan - the insomniac king was dethroned

bang chan does not sleep. everyone knows that. 

he goes to bed into the next day—3am, 4am, sometimes not at all—and wakes up looking like he’s been in an emotionally toxic relationship with his pillow. it’s a thing. a legend, even. the morning game among the members is always:

“what time do you think chan slept last night?” “over or under 3am?”

so when he walks into morning dance practice looking… rested?

eyes clear. hoodie on straight. skin dewy. shoulders not hunched like a man carrying the weight of three unfinished tracks.

it’s suspicious.

no one’s said it yet, but the members are all thinking the same thing

seungmin narrows his eyes like he’s solving a mystery. then, slowly, he raises a finger and points directly at chan.

“what time,” he begins, voice slow and ominous, “did you sleep last night?”

it’s the sacred question. normally used to roast him. normally answered with some sleep-deprived groan and a “i don’t know, man.” but this time, it comes out… almost reverent. because the idea of bang chan getting a full night’s sleep is no longer a joke—it’s truth.

chan blinks. like he didn’t expect anyone to ask.

“uh…” he rubs the back of his neck, looking oddly sheepish. “y/n was tired. we kinda crashed around midnight.”

midnight.

midnight.

you could hear a pin drop on the dance floor.

jeongin just stares. mouth slightly open. brain buffering.

“you slept... at midnight?” he echoes.

chan shrugs, trying to play it off—but he can’t hide the way his lips twitch like he’s just a little too proud. “yeah, she knocked out so i didn’t want to wake her.”

“s-so you just… fell asleep? did she drug you or something?”

chan just laughs. “nah, i just like being next to her. it’s… easy to fall asleep.”

jeongin looks like he’s witnessing a crime scene. or maybe a miracle. it’s hard to tell.

“he’s broken,” he whispers, still staring. “she’s broken him.”

seungmin doesn’t even blink. he crosses his arms and says, deadpan, “no. she’s fixed him.”

and that day, for the first time in forever, chan doesn’t yawn once.

minho - “don’t touch my ass.”

minho is many things. dancer. cat dad. human embodiment of strange.

but above all?

he’s a butt hunter.

he will grope, slap, poke, and outright ambush the butts of any member foolish enough to turn their back on him. it's not even weird anymore—it's tradition. part of the culture. a stray kids rite of passage.

so when several days go by with no butt activity? suspicion brews.

jisung is the first to notice. obviously. he passes minho in the hallway and flinches out of habit, or trauma—but nothing. not even a threatening twitch.

it’s unsettling. so unsettling, in fact, that jisung decides to take matters into his own hands.

literally.

the next day, backstage at inkigayo, jisung makes his move.

minho’s facing the mirror, fixing his hair. perfect. jisung creeps up behind him like he’s in a nature documentary.

and then—pat. a clean, respectful grab. 

he waits. silence.

minho blinks at his reflection, then turns around slowly. calmly.

then: “don’t touch my ass.”

jisung chokes. “what?”

minho just stares at him. blank. serious. 

“don’t touch my ass,” he repeats, tone calm but final—like he’s scolding a cat for scratching the couch again.

“are you mad at me? jisung sputters. 

that finally gets minho’s full attention. he sighs, and looks up at jisung like he’s explaining something very simple to a very dumb squirrel.

“no. i’m not mad at you,” he says, voice calm. “it’s not about you.”

jisung blinks, confused and still braced for impact. “then what is it?”

minho shrugs, like it’s obvious. “it’s y/n.”

there’s a pause as jisung tries to keep up.

minho sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck. “like… i wouldn’t love it if other people were grabbing my partner’s ass all the time, even as a joke, you know? and yeah, it’s always been just us messing around, but still. she’s my girlfriend. i wanna be consistent.”

jisung stares. “so… you’re retiring from ass play.”

minho gives him a flat look. “don’t call it that.”

jisung holds up both hands, backing off. “okay, okay. sorry. just—wow. that’s actually kind of sweet. and disturbingly mature.”

“you had a good run. but i’m taken now. full package. including the rear.”

jisung almost falls to his knees.

“she’s corrupted you.”

changbin - “i hope you lose your pump.”

changbin is reliable.

rain or shine, comeback or chaos, he goes to the gym.

it’s not a suggestion. it’s not a routine. it’s a spiritual contract with his biceps. if he skips a day, he complains that he can “feel himself shrinking.” if his members skip leg day, he offers to carry them—and their guilt.

so when he’s not at the gym by 10am, it’s weird. when he’s not at the gym by noon? alarming. and when he’s not at the gym at all?

something is deeply wrong.

minho’s the first to text:

you alive or did you get hit by car 

no reply.

by 2pm, some have migrated to the dorms to check on him in person. they knock. no answer. chan tries the handle—unlocked.

and there he is.

changbin. on the couch. blanket over his legs. one arm around you, the other lazily flipping through netflix. a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on his lap.

he looks up. blinks.

“oh, hey,” he mumbles, clearly still half-asleep. “didn’t hear you come in.”

silence.

you offer a small wave from behind the couch. “hi.”

minho squints. 

“where were you?” chan asks, tone sharp like an accusation.

changbin blinks. “sorry?”

“the gym,” minho says, gesturing wildly. 

changbin furrows his brows. “i don’t remember telling you i was going.”

“you never have to tell us,” chan cuts in, clearly distressed. “you always go. we stopped asking you ages ago.”

“you’re the one who made a whole speech about how ‘discipline is showing up even when you don’t feel like it.’” minho scoffs.

you shift under the blanket slightly, sitting up a bit straighter, and speaking up for the first time since the interrogation began.

“i called him over,” you say simply, voice soft but teasing. “sorry none of you have girls asking to spend time with you.”

minho scoffs. 

changbin chuckles beside you, hand up for a high-five. you slap it, grab another handful of popcorn, and lean back with a smile.

chan shakes his head, but his lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile. “can’t even be mad. you look happy.”

“you’ve changed,” minho says solemnly, but really, he’s proud. “i hope you lose your pump.”

changbin grins. “you’re just jealous.”

they probably are.

hyunjin - “she likes me when i'm low-effort.”

hyunjin doesn’t just get ready. he curates.

every outfit is a look. every look has a theme. necklaces. earrings. scarves. a gentle waft of expensive perfume that smells like whispered poetry.

so when he walks out of his room wearing—

sweatpants. a plain white t-shirt. no versace. no rings. no 12-step skincare glow. just lip balm.

his roommate, changbin, nearly drops his protein shake.

“hold still.” he steps in front of the door, arms spread like he’s blocking a crime scene. “are you really going out like that?”

hyunjin blinks. looks down at himself like he forgot what he put on. then shrugs. “yeah. brunch.”

“with who, your bed?”

“y/n.”

silence.

“you’re going out with your girlfriend, hyunjin.” he says slowly, 

hyunjin tilts his head. “she likes me just fine this way.”

changbin gestures wildly. “you’re wearing sweatpants.”

hyunjin shrugs again, utterly unbothered. “they're clean.”

“and the plain white tee?”

“she said i look cute when i’m low-effort.”

changbin groans like he’s being personally attacked. “do you know how hard i tried to look good the last time i saw a girl? i changed outfits four times and still ended up sweating through my shirt.”

hyunjin just smirks, grabbing his phone off the counter before opening the door. “maybe you should’ve tried less.” he adds casually, before stepping out. “bye.”

and all changbin can do is stand there, shaking his head, whispering.

“she’s changed him.” 

han - his ego took a sick day

jisung milks compliments. he churns them into butter. whips them into frosting. lives off the validation like it’s a multivitamin.

in interviews, when asked who's the funniest? “obviously me.”

best-looking? “me, but hyunjin’s close.”

most talented? “it’s me. i wrote this question.”

you’re at the jyp cafeteria, trays clinking, the hum of trainees and staff in the background as you sit shoulder to shoulder with jisung at a corner table, while hyunjin and felix are across from you.

jisung’s rambling about something—probably a dream, possibly a conspiracy—chopsticks waving as he talks through a mouthful of rice. that’s when you notice it.

a tiny scrap of seaweed. clinging to the edge of his lip.

you lean in just a bit, tapping the side of your own mouth. “right there.”

he pauses, tongue darting out instinctively to swipe the spot along with a flick of his eyes up at you like, did i get it?

and somehow… it’s stupidly attractive.

and it hits you—hard and fast and stupid:

“you’re so handsome,” you murmur.

hyunjin and felix immediately stop eating.

the air stills.

felix sets down his spoon with a slow, almost reverent motion.

hyunjin glances at felix. then at you. then at jisung. they both brace for it.

this is the moment where his ego explodes.

he’s about to say something cocky. something ridiculous like "thank you for the unnecessary comment—everyone already knows that."

but none of that happens.

instead?

jisung freezes.

his chopsticks stop mid-air. his lips part slightly, like the words never formed.

felix and hyunjin exchange a slow, stunned glance across the table, like they’re witnessing something rare and possibly mythical.

jisung clears his throat. forces a tiny smile. not his usual smug grin—something smaller. bashful.

you tilt your head, soft and sincere as you repeat. “you’re really handsome.”

he ducks his head slightly, mumbling, “stop,” but there’s no bite in it.

you grin.

that’s when hyunjin leans forward dramatically, hand cupping his mouth. “i didn’t know you were capable of being humble.”

jisung groans, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth just to avoid talking. “shut up.”

hyunjin smirks. “you’re blushing.”

“i am not.”

felix points. “then why are your ears the color of gochujang?”

jisung throws him a look, cheeks puffed full of rice like a chipmunk. he chews dramatically, swallows, and finally mutters—

“god forbid i get a little flustered when my girlfriend compliments me.”

hyunjin groans dramatically, flopping back in his chair. “she softened him. he’s fully simmered.”

felix sighs into his hands. “remember when he used to call himself ‘sex on legs’ and say we were lucky to know him?”

jisung shovels another spoonful of rice into his mouth. “still true,” he mumbles.

he then looks at you—blushing, with a small smile.

felix - "i’m keeping her on her toes.”

felix is a certified cuddle bug.

he initiates first, always. doesn’t matter the time, the place, or the number of witnesses. if you're standing still for more than five seconds? he’s already wrapped around you like a weighted blanket if it had freckles.

he hugs everyone. back hugs. side hugs. full-body collapse hugs. the man radiates affection like it’s photosynthesis—he needs it to live, and he makes sure everyone else gets a dose too.

but ever since he started dating you…you started playing this little game. felix has decided to become your greatest enemy.

you step into the recording studio with a bright smile, holding iced americanos.

only felix, chan, and jisung today. chan looks up from the mixing board, immediately grinning. “oh, legend. thank you.”

jisung’s in the booth, mid-bar, rapping like his life depends on it.

you walk over to felix, who’s perched on the couch, headphones around his neck, scribbling notes in a lyric sheet. you set the tray of drinks down on the little table beside him, lean down, and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

then, naturally, you slide your arms around him in a casual hug.

he doesn’t move.

no returning squeeze. no snuggle into your shoulder. no dramatic gasp and full koala-mode cling. just him—smiling, smug.

smiling, but not hugging back.

you pull back just enough to pout. “felix. not this again.”

chan glances up from his monitor, brows raised. “what are you doing?”

felix turns to him. “she always expects the hugs. i’m trying to keep her on her toes.”

you groan. “we live for the hugs, felix. there are rules.”

“i know.” he winks. “that’s why i break them.”

chan leans back in his chair, eyes wide like he’s seeing felix for the first time. “you’ve… developed self-control.”

you sigh dramatically, still half in his lap. “unfortunately.”

felix scoffs, poking your side. “don’t act like you’re some poor victim. you dodge me all the time!”

you narrow your eyes. “okay, fine. if you wanna play that game… how about neither of us do anything?”

felix leans back like he’s genuinely considering it. “alright. okay. deal.”

a beat passes. one whole second.

then—

he immediately lunges forward, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. “too late.”

you squeal as he hugs you tight and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, smug and unrepentant.

“felix!” you gasp, laughing. “you lasted one second!”

he grins into your shoulder. “you looked too cute being all serious.”

chan shakes his head from across the room, muttering, “so much for self-control.”

felix shrugs, arms still locked around you. “self-control’s overrated.”

you could only change him so much.

seungmin - no one knows where the savage went

seungmin has the softest little voice. polite. gentle. that kind of light, effortless tone that sounds like it should be used to offer you tea or read bedtime stories. 

but then he opens his mouth and says something like,

“you look like someone who peaked in high school,” with the same tone you'd use to say, have a nice day.

and that’s the seungmin everyone knows—sharp-tongued, savage, and weirdly charming about it. naturally, everyone assumes he’d be the same with a partner. 

you’re sitting with felix and changbin in the practice room when seungmin walks in, sipping his iced tea. he plops down next to you and greets the group with his usual drawl.

as you start unwrapping a protein bar, he eyes it casually and goes, “is that your second one today?”

you nod with a muffled “mhm,” mid-bite.

across from you, changbin freezes—brows raised, lips already curling like he’s bracing for the roast. he’s heard this setup before. he knows seungmin’s usual follow-up. normally, it’s a deadpan jab about how someone eats like a vacuum, or a not-so-subtle fat joke about needing a second lunch just to function. he’s ready.

but instead?

seungmin leans his head slightly toward you, eyes soft. “you like those ones, right? i’ll grab you a couple more next time i’m at the store.”

you blink at him, surprised—but smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “really?”

he nods, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. then reaches over, gives your knee a light pat.

changbin looks offended. “okay, how come you never say stuff like that to me? i’m the one who put her on those protein bars.”

seungmin doesn’t even look up.

“because when you eat, it sounds like a construction site.”

felix loses it, nearly spilling his drink as he doubles over laughing.

changbin gapes, pointing at seungmin. “i chew normally!”

seungmin finally looks up, deadpan. “you breathe heavy before opening a snack.”

you’re gaping at seungmin, caught between shock and laughter. “seungmin.”

he finally cracks—a tiny, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turns toward you. he opens his mouth just slightly, so, huffing a laugh, you lift the protein bar and hold it up to his mouth.

seungmin bites down on the protein bar, eyes locked on yours—soft, a little smug, but mostly just… fond. like the insult he threw five seconds ago didn’t exist. like you’re the only thing in the room.

felix watches the entire thing unfold from the corner of the couch, straw halfway to his mouth, forgotten.

“somehow,” he mutters to changbin, stunned. “she’s tamed him.”

jeongin - "she's normal"

jeongin is the maknae 💜. and he loves being the maknae.

gets away with things. never has to go first. everyone looks out for him.

but the second one of his members tries to baby him? it’s war.

if hyunjin tries to feed him a spoonful—he glares like he’s been betrayed. if anyone calls him “innie baby”? he files for emotional damages.

he secretly loves the attention, obviously. but he’ll never admit it. not to their faces. not in this lifetime.

so when he walks off stage after the main performance, sweat-damp and glowing, and heads backstage for a breather before the encore, it’s a complete shock when jeongin lets you be touchy. lets you baby him. cause they’ve all tried and failed.

“you did so well, baby,” you say, all soft and proud, hands reaching up to fix the little flyaways at his temple.

even just the pet name “baby” hits the room like a mic drop.

hyunjin physically recoils. 

jeongin just looks at you—shy smile pulling at the corner of his lips—and quietly asks, “you think so?”

you nod immediately. “i know so. you looked amazing out there.”

he blushes, eyes dropping, but he doesn’t pull away. if anything, he leans in a little—like your presence is the calm after the storm.

you cup his cheeks briefly, thumbs brushing just under his eyes. “i’m so proud of you.”

another pet name. another shockwave.

this time, hyunjin can’t help himself. he dramatically stumbles backward like he’s been shot. so of course hyunjin takes it as a challenge.

on his way past, he reaches out and ruffles jeongin’s hair exactly the way he knows jeongin hates—fingers scratchy, deliberately messing it up.

“great job, baby,” hyunjin mocks in a high-pitched voice, grinning.

jeongin flinches immediately.

you laugh, covering your mouth as you watch the chaos unfold.

but hyunjin’s already on a mission.

he swoops in again���arms outstretched for a dramatic hug, lips puckered exaggeratedly as he leans in with a loud, “come here, my innie baby—”

jeongin panics, pushing at his chest with both hands. “get off me!”

hyunjin stumbles back, hand on his heart like he’s been betrayed. “come on! what is this? what does she have that i don’t?”

jeongin doesn’t even hesitate.

“she’s normal,” he deadpans, fixing his hair.

hyunjin staggers like the words physically struck him, hand still pressed to his chest in mock pain.

but jeongin’s already turned back to you—his expression softening, that tiny amused smile curling at his lips. you smile back just as sweetly, eyes crinkling, and he swears his heart does a little somersault.

hyunjin stares, genuinely stunned now, voice low and almost reverent.

“i’m… envious,” he mutters. “you’ve surely done something to him.”

author's note: what if skz did something totally out of character and their members lost their minds over it? i love a man completely changing his personality for a woman. sue me. anyways, thank you for reading this. i really hope you enjoyed it! engagement is appreciated, and feel free to leave some feedback 🫶

[hiiistray]

he’s insane for this

240630♡

[hiiistray]

LEE KNOW — voices @ 5th fanmeeting day 1 (©gyoja_stay)

[hiiistray]

His Spoiled Bunny

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Idol!Seo Changbin x fem!reader

Summary: No one spoils their girl like Changbin does. No one eats like he does either.

Warnings: Oral fixation. Gym sex. Tiffany. Dolce. Strength kink. Breeding Kink.

A/N: THERE YOU GO CHANGBIN GIRLIES PLEASE BE HAPPY. HAN WILL BE THE FINAL SPOILED PART !

୨ৎ Felix ୨ৎ Hyunjin ୨ৎ Bangchan ୨ৎ Jeongin

୨ৎ Seungmin ୨ৎ Leeknow ୨ৎ Han

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

He liked her pretty.

Not just in the way other men meant it. Not in the bare-minimum, tight-dress, perfect-lips sort of way. Seo Changbin liked her cute—bows in her hair, soft ruffles on her sleeves, frilly collars, little heart buttons she thought no one noticed. But he did. He noticed everything.

He’d buy the bows himself—silk, velvet, ribboned in his favorite colors. He’d frown if her hair wasn’t pinned back just right. He’d adjust it with careful fingers, always murmuring, “There. My pretty girl.”

And when he shopped, it was never random. Never thoughtless.

He didn’t just spoil her. He curated her.

A body-hugging Dolce & Gabbana dress for her wardrobe—he’d had it delivered with a handwritten note: Wear this for me next time we fight so I can forgive you faster.

A silk robe, pale pink with “Bin’s Bunny” embroidered in champagne thread across the back—she wore it when waiting for him to come home from practice, curling up on the couch with his cats.

Two floors of her apartment slowly filled with handpicked things—ruffled skirts, lace-trimmed blouses, designer slippers, glass teacups shaped like blossoms. Things he’d never seen on anyone but her, things he wanted only her to wear.

Even her favorite rose tea wasn’t safe from his affection.

She’d mentioned it once—once—and now, every Thursday, a box appeared. New blends from quiet Parisian brands. Seoul boutique exclusives. Ones with handwritten notes from the tea house owners addressed to Mr. Seo’s fiancée.

But her favorite gift?

The necklace.

He hadn’t said a word when he gave it to her.

Just placed the blue box in her hands one soft evening, while she was sitting cross-legged on his bed in one of his old shirts.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid.

Inside—simple, but so intimate—a fine Tiffany gold chain, so delicate it shimmered with every breath. At its center, two tiny initials, crusted in diamonds: S.C.

He took it from her before she could speak, hooked it gently around her neck, then tilted her chin up with one strong finger.

His eyes were soft. Melted. Full of something heavier than lust.

“Now they know who you belong to.”

She didn’t even get the chance to answer.

Because he kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Like he meant it. Like he’d always mean it.

And later, when he pulled away, her bow had come loose and his name sparkled at her throat—and he looked at her like he was never letting go.

  ────୨ৎ────

He loved the way she fit against him. Small, pliant, perfect. Like she was made to be lifted.

And in his private gym, no one could see them. No cameras, no mirrors except the full-length one bolted to the wall. Just him, her, and the sound of skin meeting skin.

“1… 2… 3—good girl.”

He had her hoisted up, legs locked around his waist, her back pressed to the mirror hard enough to fog the glass behind her. Her skirt was bunched around her hips, Dolce lace panties long discarded, and her heels still dangling prettily off her toes. She’d gasped when he lifted her—by now she knew the routine—but the way he moved inside her still left her breathless every time. Deep, controlled, possessive.

Sweat glistened on his temples, dripping down the curve of his neck, his chest flexing with every thrust. She whimpered when his biceps tensed, his grip tightening just a little more under her thighs as he slammed her down on his cock, hard enough to make her cry out. The weights on the floor clinked as he stepped back, bracing her against the wall like she was nothing.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice low and ragged. “You look so good like this—look, baby.”

She forced herself to look. In the mirror, it was obscene: her hair a mess, her lips smeared with Chanel gloss, her body trembling from the force of each roll of his hips. But there was also Changbin… thick arms around her, his other hand sneaking down between her thighs—greedy, relentless. The sight of him—sweaty, flushed, thick cock splitting her open while he held her up like she weighed less than a barbell—it pushed her right to the edge.

“You gonna come, bunny?” he panted, his breath hot against her neck. “Come with me, yeah? Show me how good I spoil you.”

And she did. Shaking. Eyes locked on his. A doll for him to play with, and he loved her just like that.

  ────୨ৎ────

But none of the gifts compared to this.

Not the limited edition handbags.

Not the Tiffany diamonds.

Not even the gym.

Because nothing could beat the way Seo Changbin ate.

He loved food. The whole world knew that.

But only she knew how much he loved her.

He had her laid out across sheets he had flown in from Italy—deep red silk that pooled under her like wine. Candles flickered in the corner. She was bare, thighs already trembling, chest rising and falling too fast as he pulled her knees over his broad shoulders and looked up at her like she was dessert.

“Stay still,” he whispered, voice rough, almost reverent. “Be good and let me taste.”

And then his mouth was on her.

His hands stayed firm on her hips, fingers digging into her like he was afraid she’d float away. He groaned into her pussy like he was fucking starving, tongue lapping at her in slow, deliberate strokes that made her eyes roll back. She was soaked—dripping for him—and he loved it. Loved how she squirmed. Loved how she tried to clench her thighs around his head and he pushed them wider.

“I want it all, bunny,” he murmured. “Every sound, every drop.”

Sometimes he moaned louder than she did.

Sometimes his cock was so hard it throbbed untouched.

But he wouldn’t stop. Not until she came all over his tongue—once, twice, again. He knew her body too well. He tasted every twitch. He knew how to ruin her.

“B-Bin—ah—don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he growled, lips dragging up her inner thigh. “I’m starving.”

And then he buried his face deeper, like he could live there.

  ────୨ৎ────

Later, she couldn’t move.

Not even enough to lift her head from the silk pillow. Her lips were puffy, her eyes dazed, thighs sticky and open beneath the crumpled sheets.

Changbin came back from the kitchen, shirtless, with a tray in hand.

Strawberries.

Warm cream-filled bread.

A bowl of soup, still steaming.

He placed the tray beside her, and knelt at her side like she was royalty and he the most devoted servant. She made a soft, sleepy noise—but her mouth didn’t open.

He smiled. Picked up a spoon.

“Eat for me, pretty girl.”

She obeyed. Bite by bite. Spoon by spoon.

And when he fed her the first strawberry—held between his fingers, gently pressed to her lips—he kissed the juice from her chin and whispered, “You know I’d give you the whole world, right?”

The necklace glittered against her collarbone. Her bow was still crooked in her hair.

And in his arms, she looked like the only thing he’d ever chase.

 ────୨ৎ───

She’d fallen asleep on the couch again.

Half on her side, one leg dangling off the edge, the throw blanket barely covering her thighs—and not the fluffy blanket he told her to use either. The TV was still on, some rom-com playing in the background, and her phone lay face-down on the floor like it had slipped from her hand mid-scroll.

He sighed softly. Then smiled.

“You’re gonna get a cramp like that, bunny…”

But he didn’t wake her.

He set down the bag—the bag, the one with the fluffy pink cardigan she mentioned once in passing while shopping. He’d had it sent from Japan because they sold out in Korea. The matching slippers were in his backpack. And tucked in the crook of his elbow: her favorite dinner in takeaway boxes, still warm.

Carefully, like he was lifting something sacred, he scooped her up. Thick arms around her back and knees, her head naturally tipping into his chest. She stirred but didn’t wake, just blinked blearily and hummed, nose nudging into the soft black fabric of his shirt.

“Smells like gym,” she mumbled.

He chuckled. “Rude.”

But his voice was so gentle. So stupidly soft for her.

He carried her into the bedroom like nothing. His arms didn’t even shake. Laid her down on the duvet and pulled the cardigan from the bag, helping her into it like she was made of glass. She blinked again, eyes sleepy-sparkly, lips pouty.

“Were you out?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Got your stuff. Dinner too.”

“…You’re always buying me things.”

“Because I love spoiling you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “And you always look so cute in the things I pick.”

She tried to argue, but her yawn cut her off.

So he sat at her bedside, opening the boxes and gently scooping up a bite of warm rice, lifting it to her lips.

“Eat for me, pretty girl.”

She blinked, took the bite. Then a second. And a third.

“You didn’t eat yet?”

“I’m eating now.” He smiled. “Watching you counts.”

And later, when she was full and warm and fuzzy in her new cardigan, she laid against him, one palm on his chest, fingers tracing his muscle like it soothed her.

“You’re so big,” she mumbled.

He grinned, cocky—but his voice betrayed how shy he got when she touched him like that. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Feels safe…”

And he tucked the blanket tighter around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good. ‘Cause I’m never letting you go.”

 ────୨ৎ────

She was already breathless, legs trembling around his thick waist, hands gripping the slope of his shoulders like she could hang onto sanity through him.

Fuck he made her a fan of Missionary. He Loved gift giving, even if it was just his cum.

One hand beneath her thigh, the other braced beside her head, all of him wrapped around her. His biceps caged her in, his chest pressed firm to hers, and his voice—deep, wrecked—growled right into her ear.

“You feel that, baby?” he whispered, thrusting up again. “How deep I am?”

She whimpered, back arching.

He was so strong like this. Like she weighed nothing. Like her body was made for this—for him. Every movement made her feel owned, spoiled, ruined by the boy who treated her like treasure in daylight and like his personal plaything at night.

“You take me so well, always do,” he murmured, kissing down her jaw, her neck. “Fuck—I might just give it to you for real.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Bin—”

“You want it, don’t you?” His hand slid between her thighs, rubbing gently where she needed him most. “You want me to fill you up, make you mine forever.”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Could only nod as he grinned, so smug, so in love.

“My pretty little wife,” he breathed, kissing her again, messier this time. “Gonna look so good with a bump. All soft. All mine.”

She moaned, clinging tighter, and he laughed—ruined and breathless himself.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised. “Like I always do. You won’t lift a finger. Just let me love you, spoil you, fuck you full.”

And when he finally came—deep, with a gasp of her name—he didn’t move. Just wrapped her tighter in those stupid, beautiful, strong arms of his and kissed her forehead like she was the most precious thing he’d ever held.

Because she was.

And even if she never did end up full of him, he’d still treat her like she was carrying his whole world in her belly.

 ────୨ৎ────

But it wasn’t just that he gave.

It was how much he loved.

He never let her walk on cold floors.

He kept a box of warm socks just for her in his car, in case she forgot hers.

He called her bunny all the time.

He picked her up from every schedule with her favorite snacks in the cupholder.

He massaged her legs when she was tired, made her protein smoothies, ran her bubble baths. He was softer than he looked.

And when he was tired—really tired—

She took care of him too.

She tucked him in when he fell asleep on the couch. She kissed his calloused hands and told him he was the best man she’d ever known. He never said much when she did that, only blushed, blinked, and held her tighter.

He came home once, late.

And there she was, curled up, waiting for him in one of his old shirts.

“Binnie,” she whispered sleepily.

His chest cracked open with warmth.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“You really are my best gift.”

[hiiistray]

collision

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!! fem!reader; mentions of drugs; weed; handcuffs; flirting; dubcon (?); explicit sex; kinda enemies to lovers but in a silly girly pop way;

✮⋆˙ pairing: dealer jisung × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 8,9k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: you were suffering from the pressure of needing to be perfect, so you reached for jisung's help, turns out he helped you in a different way.

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! so... I had this idea and decided to write it! this is my first post and English is not my first language so pls be gentle ;) if you enjoyed it pls reblog and lmk what you think!! ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

Han Jisung was a disaster — no doubt about it. That messy black hair, that lean but strong body, and that infuriating attitude... But despite everything, Jisung was weird. He always had his headphones on, wore band tees no one knew, and had that distant look in his eyes. Being seen with him could ruin my reputation. So I buried that dark desire — that twisted balance between playing the good girl and craving the loser.

That was six months ago.

Back then, I was considered perfect. Perfect daughter. Perfect student. Perfect girlfriend. But I wasn’t. Or at least, I didn’t feel that way. The pressure they put on me constantly made me question whether all that perfection was real or just a well-constructed mask. Perfection was suffocating. And while I was trying to escape this, I ended up getting close to him.

I was leaning against the wall outside the biology classroom, waiting for the bell to ring. I wanted to find a discreet way to approach Jisung without anyone noticing. When the bell rang, he walked out – eyes down, headphones on, as always. I deliberately bumped into his shoulder, slipping a folded note into his hand, and kept walking as if nothing had happened.

As I walked away, face blank like a well-rehearsed mask, he, on the other hand, took one second too long staring at the crumpled paper in his hand, frowning with that confused expression he always made when something didn’t go as planned. The note said something simple, direct, but impossible to ignore:

"Behind the school. Today. No questions."

And he showed up.

When the final bell rang, I was already behind the schocolate – that hidden corner everyone avoided. The wait felt like forever. It was only when you heard the familiar, off-key roar of his van that your body, against your will, reacted with a jolt of anxiety. I bit my lip, annoyed at myself. He stopped the vehicle and rolled down the window with lazy slowness. His eyes scanned me with an expression that mixed curiosity and disbelief.

“You wanted to talk to me?” he asked, like it was the most unlikely thing in the world, ‘cause it was.

I crossed my arms, keeping my posture firm, even though my heart was racing.

“I hope you can keep this between us.” I walked around, sliding into the passenger seat without waiting for an invitation.

Jisung turned in his seat to face me, one eyebrow raised.

“Okay… that was intense.” He smirked, a little surprised, a little amused. “Planning a kidnapping?”

I let out a short, dry laugh. “If I wanted to kidnap someone, it’d be someone more useful.”

He genuinely laughed this time. A light sound, like he didn’t care about the provocation. I hated that about him. The way he seemed immune to my acidity.

“Touché. So, Ice Queen, what do you want?”

“Drugs.” I said it bluntly, keeping my gaze on the window as if that way would make it all less ridiculous.

“What?” He coughed slightly. “You want… drugs?”

I sighed, turning my face to look at him.

“What did I write in the note? No questions, Jisung. Just drive.”

He let out a muffled laugh when he noticed me glancing around nervously.

“No one saw you, relax. If they had, I think they’d be at the gates with torches and pitchforks by now.”

The drive was quiet, except for some punk band playing softly on the van's radio. In the passenger seat, you tried to pretend I was in control. Jisung, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease — one of those qualities that irritated and intrigued me in equal measure.

The van rumbled on for a few more minutes until he said:

“Huh. Funny. I always thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you. I just avoid socializing. Especially with people who are better at it than I am.” My voice came out more honest than I meant it to.

He shot me a quick glance.

“Was that… almost a compliment?”

“More like a ‘don’t piss me off.’”

“Fair enough.” He smiled, eyes back on the road.

Arriving at his place, I walked in without hesitation, my eyes scanning the chaos. Nothing really surprised me: mess, the smell of old wood, cheap incense, weed, and forgotten microwave pizza created a weirdly cozy atmosphere.

“Make yourself at home… or stand there judging my lifestyle, if you prefer,” he said, walking to his room with his hands in his pockets. “Though I should warn you, standing’s way less comfortable.”

I scoffed but sat on the edge of the couch, fingers tapping your leg.

“What is it you actually want?”

“Something to make me stop thinking so much, to turn my brain off. A sedative, a downer… anything to shut my mind up.”

He hesitated. For the first time, he seemed to really see me. Not just with his eyes, but with actual attention.

“...You okay?” he asked.

“No. But I didn’t come here to talk about that,” I answered, cutting it short.

Jisung disappeared down the hallway, and I followed him into the room, watching as he pulled out a kid’s lunch box full of pills, baggies, and lighters. I walked closer, glancing around. His room was the perfect reflection of him: cozy chaos. Posters of indie bands, old video games, a guitar in the corner, and… handcuffs hanging from the closet door.

Seriously, Jisung?

I approached, twirling the cuffs on my forefinger.

“Do you like being tied up or tying others up?” I asked, laughing, but he turned serious.

“Wanna find out?” he replied with a crooked smile, making me freeze for a second.

I hadn’t expected him to fire back. I put the cuffs down, pretending to be indifferent.

He stood up, showing me two bags of pills.

“Let’s see… I have diazepam… lorazepam…” He slowly looked at me. “... Do you even know what these are?”

I didn’t answer right away, but the silence spoke for itself.

“You’ve never used anything, have you, sweetheart?” He said in a tone that was almost… gentle.

I crossed my arms. “What if I have?” I tried to sound confident.

“You’d be asking differently.” He smiled, not mockingly, almost kindly. Almost.

There was a pause where he just watched you. His dark eyes scanned you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Want to try something lighter?” he asked, picking a smaller bag. “Weed. Natural. No mixing. I promise you won’t be seeing unicorns… unless you want to.”

I rolled my eyes.

“How much?”

“On the house, princess. Just this once.”

“Can you roll one?”

“Of course.” He pointed to himself. “Full service. I accept silent gratitude.”

I sat beside him, watching as he ground the weed and rolled with practiced ease. It was ridiculous how even this he did so calmly, like he had all the time in the world. I noticed his fingers, his rings, the way he bit his bottom lip while licking the paper to seal the joint.

“Are you gonna just watch or want to learn?” He asked, handing me the joint. I tried, failed and coughed. He laughed.

“Breathe in slowly. Like this.” He was surprisingly patient.

After a few hits, I started to feel lighter, my thoughts quieter. We stayed silent, passing the joint between us, sitting side by side. As the high settled in, the silence between you two shifted — lighter. I looked at the ceiling, then at him.

“Are you always like this?” I asked without thinking, my voice low, a little slurred from the joint still burning between my fingers.

“Like what?” He didn’t look at me right away — just stared at the ceiling like the answer might be written there.

“I don’t know… comfortable with everything. Like nothing affects you.”

He gave a soft chuckle, lips curling around the smoke before exhaling it toward the fan in the corner that barely moved.

“Honestly? I just look like it. I adapted.” He paused, eyes drifting lazily toward mine. “It’s easier to laugh at the mess than get stuck in it.”

I turned my head to look at him, eyes half-lidded. “That's… deep. Wow.” I said, mockingly impressed, taking the joint from his fingers.

He smiled, already expecting the sarcasm.

“Trust me, I hate myself when I say shit like that too.”

We both laughed, and this time the sound didn’t feel so strange coming from me. It cracked something in the air — something that had been stiff and loaded a few minutes ago.

I looked back at the ceiling. The shadows danced there, soft and slow, as if the room had its own heartbeat.

“I think I’m the opposite,” I murmured. “Everyone thinks I’m holding it all together. But really, I’m just duct-taped perfection over a panic attack.”

He glanced at me again, a little longer this time. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” I paused. “But it keeps people off my back.”

“You ever think about letting it fall apart? Just once?”

I let the smoke sit in my lungs a second too long.

“Yeah. I just never thought I’d do it in your bed.”

That made him laugh — loud, genuine, surprised.

“Well,” he said, voice rough from both the weed and the honesty, “if you’re gonna fall apart, might as well do it somewhere messy.”

I looked at him. Not the stoner loser everyone avoided. Not the cocky idiot who flirted like a dare. Just… him. A little ruined. A little sharp around the edges. Real.

And weirdly, I liked that.

“Why do you sell this stuff?” I asked suddenly, not really expecting an answer — just trying to keep the silence from swallowing me whole.

He didn’t look at me. Just stared at the ceiling like it was a question too.

“Because it pays the bills. Because it’s easier than getting a real job. Because it gives me an excuse to meet people who’d never talk to me otherwise.”

I turned my head to look at him. “Like me?”

He smiled, soft and slow. “Exactly.”

I smiled back — barely — and passed the joint back to him.

“Why did you want to stop thinking?” he asked, voice gentler now. “Too much in your head?”

I hesitated. He wasn’t pushing. Just waiting. His eyes didn’t feel demanding. They felt… safe. Still stupidly high, but safe.

“I don’t know,” I said eventually. “I just thought it could help. Everything’s always too loud. Like I have to be perfect. For everyone. All the time.”

He was looking at me now. Really looking. His gaze steady, focused, like I was saying something worth hearing.

And maybe for the first time in a while… I felt heard. I felt seen.

I sighed, the words spilling before I could stop them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been a natural. At anything. I just try, try and try. And fake it. And force it. I don’t even remember what it feels like to be myself. Whoever that is. I change everything about me — the way I speak, the way I look, the way I breathe — just to fit into places I don’t even like. Just to make people think I’m what they want me to be. And in the end… I’m not anyone.”

The silence that followed stretched a little too long. Long enough for me to regret saying it. I opened my mouth, already preparing to brush it off, to laugh it away like everything else.

But he beat me to it.

“Damn. That was deep.” He blinked, his voice low. “How does your brain sound so poetic and miserable at the same time?”

I laughed — mostly out of relief. “It’s a Taylor Swift lyric, actually.”

“Oh fuck me,” he groaned. “You do look like the type.”

“Uhm? Thank you?” I narrowed my eyes.

“It wasn’t a compliment.

“Go fuck yourself, then.

“I could never fuck myself after talking about Taylor Swift. That’s irreversible damage.”

“You’re ridiculous. I hope you know that.”

He laughed, of course. Like he was proud of annoying me. “I know, I know. We all have our flaws, right?”

“Is yours being insufferable?” I muttered, annoyed but not moving away.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

His voice was softer now. His eyelids heavy. Those stupid round brown eyes blinking slowly like the universe had finally stopped spinning.

I didn’t answer. Just turned back to the ceiling and let the silence settle over us again.

But this time… it didn’t feel heavy. It felt like a pause between two people who finally dropped the act. Like the kind of silence you don’t want to fill — because for once, it’s enough.

The high still lingered. Everything felt slower, softer, louder. My body was still buzzing in places I hadn’t known could buzz. And then reality crept in.

“Fuck, I don’t think that was as pure as you said,” I muttered, half-laughing, half-panicking, my head sinking deeper into the pillow. My heart was still beating like it hadn’t gotten the memo we were done.

He laughed too, breathless, his chest rising slowly next to mine. “I did warn you. You were just too busy being terrifying to listen.”

I closed my eyes, let the afterglow mix with the haze still hanging in my bloodstream. Everything felt soft around the edges — too warm, too quiet, too... peaceful.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, not turning to look at me.

“Good,” I said before I could second-guess it. And then quieter: “For the first time in a long time.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “You should smile like that more. Without thinking.”

I turned my head toward him, surprised. There was no sarcasm in his voice. Just that calm, low softness he rarely used — like he was saying something real and didn’t want to scare it off.

“You’re not what I thought,” I said, honestly, before I could stop myself.

He finally looked at me. Eyes heavy, but sharp. “What did you think I was?”

“Just another weirdo with no sense,” I smirked.

“Fair.”

“And now?” He asked, still watching me like I might disappear.

I rolled onto my side, propped my head on my arm. “Still a weirdo. But… a cool one.”

He smiled — lopsided and slow — and looked back at the ceiling like it had something to say about us.

“You’re pretty different from what I imagined too,” he said. “Always thought you were boring. Uptight. The perfect girl with the perfect answers.” He paused, eyes still on the ceiling. “But now I think you were just acting the part. For everyone else.”

I didn’t respond right away. Because he wasn’t wrong. And because hearing someone see you like that — so simply — was more intimate than anything.

“Maybe,” I murmured, voice low. “Maybe I was just waiting for a reason to stop.”

He turned to face me again. Not smiling now. Just looking.

“And was I a good enough reason?”

I didn’t answer. Just reached out, pulled the blanket up around us both, and settled back into the silence. Not because I didn’t have anything to say. But because for once, I didn’t need to explain myself. And he didn’t ask again.

The room felt slower now. The smoke had faded, the high turning to a thick, sleepy calm. I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of everything still hovering between us.

Just before drifting off, I heard him whisper, like a secret he hadn’t decided to keep or not: “If you ever want to stop pretending again… come back.”

I didn’t move. Just let the words settle somewhere inside me, warm and dangerous. “I might,” I murmured, barely audible. “If you promise not to fall in love with me.”

He huffed a laugh, sleepy and soft. “Too late.”

I covered my eyes with my arm, still too high to function properly. Everything felt like it was floating — the walls, the sheets, even the weight in my chest.

“I don’t think I can go home tonight.” My voice came out hoarse, like I had borrowed someone else’s mouth. I didn’t mean it as a plea. It was just the truth.

He didn’t hesitate. “It’s okay. You can sleep here. I’ll take the couch.”

That made me lift my arm and look at him. His face was flushed from the heat, the high, the... everything. His hair was messy, the way it always looked better after being ruined.

“You can sleep here,” I said, more tired than bold. “I don’t take up much space.”

He laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. Then he looked at me — actually looked. Not with lust. With something warmer. Softer. “Don’t know if I’ll survive being next to you all night.”

I frowned, confused. “What?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “You get incredibly dumb when you’re high,” He said through a laugh, laying back on the bed.

I blinked at him, trying to process whether I was offended or amused.

Probably both.

I sat up slowly, the blanket I forgot it was around me slipping off my shoulder. The cold air hit my skin, and I shivered without meaning to. “You didn’t seem to mind earlier.”

He looked away for a second, almost shy, which was ridiculous coming from a guy who had just heard me yapping about my life problems.

“I didn’t mind. Still don’t.” Then, quieter: “That’s the problem.”

We fell into silence again. But it wasn’t awkward. It sat between us like a third body — warm, sleepy, honest.

The mattress dipped slightly as I leaned back beside him. My shoulder brushed his. Neither of us moved. He tilted his head toward me. “Do you always let people get this close?”

I shrugged. “I don’t let people do anything. They just don’t try.”

He nodded like that made perfect sense. Maybe, at that moment, it did. “Well… I’m here. Not going anywhere. At least not tonight.”

I looked at him — really looked — and for the first time, I didn’t feel the need to push back.

We lay down, not touching, but close enough to feel each other’s heat. The ceiling stared back at us. The fan clicked in the corner. The air was thick with silence — the kind that meant something had shifted.

And it had.

That’s when he leaned in, face close to mine. Close enough to piss me off, but not enough to do anything about it. Typical.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was low, slow — like asking was just part of the performance. Like he didn’t already know I’d let him. He didn’t move. Just stayed there, torturing me with his breath and that look, like he was waiting for me to cave.

“You planning on kissing me, or just starting a staring contest?” The taste of the joint still clung to my tongue — bitter and sweet. Just like him.

He gave me that infuriating little smirk — the kind only people annoyingly sure of themselves wear. “You’re surprisingly composed for someone who almost coughed up a lung ten minutes ago.”

“I can still faint.” I run my finger through his hair. “Just not for the reasons you’re thinking.”

He swallowed — and yeah, I saw that. Saw him trying to play it cool.

“What’s the hold-up? Need a signed permission slip from God or something?”

He laughed, short and smug. “Didn’t think golden girls kissed before marriage.”

“Guess I’m overdue for a little sin.”

The kiss came fast, no warning. It was messy, off-balance, hot — everything a kiss should be when you’re too high and too pissed off to care. His mouth tasted like weed and disaster, and I held onto that.

He bit my lip, deliberately, and when a moan slipped out of me, he pulled back just to gloat.

“Ms. Perfect moans? Didn't have that on my bingo card.”

“If you're done being proud of yourself, you could try using your hands.”

He didn’t hesitate. His hands went straight to my waist, gripping like he meant it — rough, grounded, like he wanted to leave proof I’d been there. No gentleness. No question marks. Just skin and pressure and ownership without the label.

Everything slowed. His breath on my neck. The scratch of fabric. The way the mattress dipped under us. I felt all of it. Every tiny fucking thing. He pulled back just a bit, eyes half-lidded, mouth flushed.

“You kiss like someone who skips church and lies about it.”

“I kiss like someone who’s been pretending to be okay her whole life.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Aww. Miss Perfection’s cracking?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just the nearest distraction.”

“Right. Because clearly I’m a huge threat to your emotional repression.”

I sighed, tired of performing even when I was pissed.

“Tired of your perfect life, huh?” He muttered, in that voice that drips sarcasm like venom.

“Perfect for who? My mom, who thinks good grades equal happiness? The teachers who treat me like a walking GPA? The ex who thought he had me figured out because he bought me coffee and pretended to like indie rock?” I stared at him, deadpan. “I fake it. That’s all I do. Because that’s what they expect. But inside, I’m always one second away from setting everything on fire. They just don’t see it — because I smile pretty.” I gave him a skeptical face.

He didn’t say anything. But the look in his eyes changed. Less mockery. More weight. Like he’d finally caught on.

But I didn’t let the silence turn into something dramatic.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered. “You’re not special. You were just nobody — in a good way — and that’s exactly why I picked you.”

He smiled. This time, not smug. Just… understanding. Like he saw the mess and didn’t mind sitting in it with me.

I rolled my eyes, exhaling like the weight in my chest didn’t just get louder.

“God, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” My tone was dry, flat, like armor. “Careful. You almost look like you give a shit.”

He raised an eyebrow, unbothered.

“You say that like you didn’t just pour your trauma out on my face five minutes after sucking it.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then added, quieter — but not soft: “Maybe I do give a shit. So what? You gonna run or insult me again?”

I leaned in slightly, eyes locked on his like I was about to expose another one of his carefully hidden flaws.

“Run? Please.” I smirked. “Why would I run from a guy who gets emotionally attached after one blowjob?”

His mouth opened like he had something to say — but nothing came out. I watched the hesitation flicker behind his eyes. It only made my grin sharper.

“Relax. I won’t ruin your reputation. Your secret's safe with me, Romeo.”

He blinked, half offended, half aroused. And for a second, he looked like he might kiss me just to shut me up. Which, honestly, would only make things worse for him — and for me.

I tilted my head.

“Unless you want me to be gentle now. Is that it?”

He let out a dry laugh, no real humor in it — just teeth. “You really don’t know how to shut up, do you?”

I raised an eyebrow, daring him to keep going. He leaned closer, too close, eyes dark and sharp. “You talk like you’re untouchable. Like none of this means anything.” He scoffed.

“But if I kissed you right now, you’d fall apart in my hands again, and we both know it.”

My breath caught, just for a second — and he saw it. Of course he did.

“Go ahead. Prove me wrong,” He added, voice low, taunting. “But you won’t. Because you liked it. You liked not pretending for once.

He was close enough now that I could feel the tension between us crackling — not soft, not romantic. Charged. Dangerous. “So go on, princess. Say something clever.”

I kissed him like I was trying to silence everything. My doubts. My anger. The noise in my head that never shut up.

His mouth was warm and reckless, matching mine. It wasn’t about sweetness — it was need.

"You really have no idea what you're asking for," I whispered against his lips, already breathless.

"Oh. I do." His hands slid to my back, and I hated how easily he made me forget myself.

For a second, I pulled away, just enough to look at him. “What exactly makes you think I'm worth your time?” I asked, my voice laced with sarcasm.

He smirked, clearly amused. “Because, unlike you, I don’t overthink everything.”

That answer shouldn’t have worked. But it did. Because deep down, I was tired of being the girl people expected — and he wasn’t expecting anything. He was just there, wild and flawed and irritatingly real.

I took a deep breath and let it all go. The fear, the rules, the performance.

And then I kissed him again — not for escape this time, but to finally feel something that was mine.

I grabbed the collar of his shirt and crashed my mouth against his, hard. No hesitation, no softness. I kissed him like I wanted to hurt him. Like I wanted to erase every version of myself that had played by the rules. My teeth caught his bottom lip, and I didn’t care when I tasted blood — or maybe it was mine.

He let out a surprised sound, something between a groan and a laugh, but I didn’t give him room to speak. My hands tangled in his hair, yanking just enough to make his breath hitch. His fingers had started to slide to my hips, but I pinned them down against the bed cushion.

“Not yet” I whispered, hovering over his lips, breathless.

His eyes widened slightly, dark and glazed, the kind of look that begged. But I wasn’t here to beg.

I kissed him again, slower this time, dragging it out. My tongue moved against his like I was learning him, claiming him. Every touch was deliberate. Every second, I felt more alive — like my skin was buzzing under the weight of control. The power shift was electric. He melted into it, into me, and I loved that. Loved the way he stopped trying to take over. Loved that he let me burn.

When I finally pulled back, his lips were red, slightly swollen, his breath uneven.

“Holy shit,” He muttered, dazed.

“What is it? You like being bossed around or something?” I said, voice low and steady.

He smiled, something lazy and reverent in it. “Ah yes, ma’am.”

He said “Yes, ma’am”, and that should’ve broken the tension — turned it into a joke. But it didn’t. It just made something snap inside me.

My fingers gripped his jaw. “You talk too much.”

His breath hitched, eyes flicking down to my mouth again. “And yet, you’re still here.”

I kissed him again, rougher this time. My hand slid under his shirt, nails scraping skin, earning a sharp gasp. I smiled against his lips — a wicked smile, one that tasted like control.

“You’re kind of terrifying when you’re like this.” He said panting.

“Don't act like you don't like it.”

I pulled his shirt over his head in one move, not caring when it caught on his elbow again. He laughed, stupid and breathless. I saw the skinny body, the chest marked by old acne scars and a poorly done tattoo that looked like an alien holding a guitar.

I shoved him backward until he fell onto the bed with a soft thud. I stood over him for a second, breathing heavily, eyes dragging down his chest, down to that ridiculous tattoo.

“Is that an alien tattoo?” I asked, staring at the deformed figure on his shoulder.

“It's a rocker alien. Done by a drunk friend.”

“That’s even worse up close” I said, smirking.

“I was drunk. And fifteen.”

“You’re still an idiot.”

“You're terrible at foreplay.”

“And you're terrible at tattoo choices.”

“And yet you're on top of me in my bed. Paradoxical. “And you’re still fully dressed. Which seems unfair, considering how bossy you are.” He emphasizes.

“You don’t get to make demands. Just lay there and shut up.”

And he did.

I was still on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, hands pressed flat against his chest. He looked like he was about to say something, then hesitated. I raised an eyebrow.

"Gonna speak, or just keep drooling?"

He laughed, breathless, that dazed look still in his eyes.

"It’s just... I didn’t expect this from you."

"Didn’t expect what?" I leaned in closer, my hair falling to one side, my lips almost brushing his. "That I’m more than a perfect little checklist?"

"I expected you to be perfect. Untouchable. Annoying." He smiled, but there was something honest behind it. "Now I just think you’re dangerous. In the best possible way."

I let out a low laugh and bit the corner of his mouth, just enough to make him flinch.

"So you’ve got taste after all." My hand slid down to the waistband of his jeans, slow and deliberate. "And what if I really am dangerous?"

"You are." He closed his eyes for a second, inhaling sharply. "But I’ve never wanted to get hurt this badly."

I paused, watching him — vulnerable, breathless, completely mine, and not because I forced it.

He laid back, watching me with that maddening mix of curiosity and anticipation. I could feel his breath catching even though he tried to look relaxed.

He wasn’t.

Not anymore.

I slid my sweater uniform off in one slow movement, not to tease — not exactly — but to make sure he saw me. Not just my body, but the choice. That I was there because I wanted to be.

His gaze darkened the second my shirt hit the floor. I watched him watching me. His chest rising a little too fast, lips slightly parted. I didn’t rush. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my skirt and let it slide down my legs.

“Holy shit,” He muttered, leaning back on his elbows and straing, like the words escaped without permission.

“Don’t talk,” I warned. “Just watch.”

I stepped out of the skirt and unclasped my bra, tossing it carelessly at his face. He caught it with one hand but didn’t dare break eye contact. Not once.

“You still hide all this under that ridiculous uniform?” He asked, voice low, rough.

“Guess I like zero expectations.”

He grinned, but it was shaky — off balance.

Good. I wanted him undone. I wanted him unprepared.

I straddled him slowly, letting my thighs press against his semi hard erection, my hands on his chest. I felt his heart beating wild under my palms.

“Still think you’re in control?” I whispered.

“I surrender,” He breathed, eyes locked on mine. “Completely.”

I leaned down, letting my lips brush his, but not giving him the kiss. Not yet. “You should.”

Then I kissed him again — deeper this time. Slower. And everything else fell away. The noise. The rules. The fear. There was only heat, skin, and the sound of him falling apart under me.

But then his grip on my hips tightened—no hesitation this time. In one swift motion, he rolled us over, his body pressing me down into the mattress. His thigh slid between mine, grinding up deliberately, and the friction pulled a soft gasp from my throat. I arched instinctively, and he caught my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand. The other traced down my side, painfully slow.

“You were saying something about control?” he murmured against my neck, lips brushing skin already too warm.

I let out a low breath, the air suddenly heavier.

“Too much for surrender,” I muttered.

He smiled, dark and slow. “Changed my mind.”

I smirked, my chest rising and falling with quick breaths. His lips were just a breath away, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a kiss — not yet. His gaze was so intense, like he was lost in me, unsure whether to give in or keep fighting.

I let out a low chuckle, voice sharp with irony. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m indulging you.”

The air thickened between us, charged with frustration and desire. His eyes flickered, losing some of that confident control he’d tried to hold onto, his body betraying him as he hovered, waiting.

“Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to do something useful with your mouth?”

He didn’t answer. He just went down, using tongue and teeth. Not subtle at all. Every lick was a challenge, every bite a warning. And I felt alive. Burning. His hands and lips explored me with almost frantic curiosity, as if he couldn't believe the realness of the moment. Each touch felt like an electric current, sending shocks of pleasure through me.

He slid my panties off slowly, his finger brushing up my leg, tracing the length of my thigh before finally reaching the place he knew would make me tremble. He paused there, his face hovering between my legs, just looking. For far too long. His gaze was like fire, but he didn’t move, didn’t touch.

“Are you going to pray or...?” I teased, voice barely a whisper, the air thick with anticipation.

“I’m just admiring the miracle,” he replied, his voice husky, barely controlled. “Trying to understand how the straight-A student turned into this apocalyptic vision of desire in my bed.”

“The weed is hitting hard, isn’t it?” I smirked, my body humming with the need for more, but I wanted him to keep looking, to stay in this moment of uncertainty.

“It’s hitting everything,” he muttered, his eyes never leaving me. There was a hunger in them now, darker than before.

I let out a cynical sigh, rolling my hips slightly in impatience. And then, finally, he moved. His tongue touched me, tentative at first, exploring, but it didn’t take long for his curiosity to turn into something deeper. The strokes were slow but purposeful, the heat of his breath mingling with mine. His tongue found my spot, and though there was no finesse, no delicate dance — it was enough. The rawness of it, the hunger in his touch, was almost overwhelming.

I moaned loudly, a mix of pleasure and disbelief. And then, somehow, I couldn’t help but laugh. The absurdity of it all, the way he looked so lost, so desperate, trying to keep his composure while devouring me like a man starved for far too long.

“Don’t laugh, damn it.” He groaned, frustration making his grip on my hips tighten. His fingers dug into my skin as he held me still, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.

“It’s just that you look like a hungry dog discovering that food exists,” I teased, my voice barely a whisper between the breaths. I could see the shift in his eyes, a mix of irritation and amusement. But his mouth didn’t stop moving.

He raised his face from between my legs, lips glistening, and his eyes were darker now, a challenge in them, but there was something more — almost as if he didn’t know how far he could push before I broke.

He hesitated, his breath ragged, but I didn’t give him time to recover. I grabbed his hair, tugging hard, pulling him back to me, needing more, feeling the fire between us burn too hot to ignore.

“Ah… damn, Jisung…” My voice cracked with the intensity, my body arching up, unable to stay still any longer.

“Now we’re talking,” He grinned against my heat, his voice thick with satisfaction, but there was a warning in it too. “The saint knows how to curse.”

He didn't stop. His hands moved to my hips, holding me firmly as he kissed his way back down, his mouth now more determined, more insistent. Every movement was calculated, controlled, but the hunger behind it was undeniable. His grip tightened on my hips, pulling me harder against him, each stroke of his tongue sending shocks of pleasure through me, igniting every nerve.

His free hand slid down, fingers dragging over the curve of my ass like he was memorizing the shape, before gripping my hips harder — tight enough to bruise. He pulled me even closer, like the space between us was unacceptable. His mouth stayed locked on me, relentless, like he had no intention of letting me breathe, let alone think.

His pace quickened, tongue moving with a hunger that felt personal, almost angry. I could barely keep up. My legs trembled, my entire body shaking with a need that felt like it might rip me apart from the inside.

I fisted his hair tighter, yanking him closer with no shame, my voice coming out in a raw, broken whisper. “Don’t stop…”

It was more of a threat than a plea.

I arched off the bed, hips grinding into his face, needing more friction, more pressure — more. His tongue worked in rhythm with the movements I forced on him, each glide of his nose and teeth sending shocks straight through me. I whimpered, the sound helpless and filthy, echoing through the room like something sacred being ruined.

“Fuck, please, Ji…”

The moment his name slipped out like that — cracked and needy — he moaned into me. The vibration made me jerk, thighs snapping around his head like a vice, trapping him there. I didn’t care. He didn’t complain.

His tongue slid in and out, slower now, teasing, dragging me along the edge on purpose. He knew exactly what he was doing — and he liked that I was unraveling for it.

My hands were tangled in his hair, pulling, clutching — like if I let go, I’d fall apart completely.

Then suddenly, he stopped. Just pulled away.

“No—” I groaned, frustrated, chasing his mouth with my hips. But he was already rising, his face slick, flushed, lips swollen. His eyes caught mine.

They were wild. Dark. And annoyingly satisfied. Like he’d just won something.

His mouth glistened, and there was that damn look again — not just lust, but *pride*. Like he liked seeing me like this: desperate, wrecked, and still trying to act like I wasn’t.

And the worst part?

He was right.

“Want to continue?” he asked, like he didn’t already know the answer. Like he wasn’t reading it right off my face.

“If you stop now, I’ll kill you.”

He practically tripped over himself getting his pants off, stumbling like a drunk idiot, nearly face-planting off the bed. I couldn’t help it — I laughed.

“Sexy. Super sexy.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, crawling back up and pinning me down with his full weight, his hands braced on either side of my head. “You talk too much.”

“And you take too long.”

Our bodies moved like they’d had this conversation before — long before we ever did. Like this rhythm had always been waiting, just under the surface. We didn’t need to find it. We were already in it.

The condom appeared, wrinkled and half-lost in the mess of clothes and blankets. Even stoned, with our fingers barely cooperating, we managed. Barely.

“You took so long I thought you were impotent.”

“I just didn’t want to scare the princess with the size.”

“Hmm. More like the economy version.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

He bit down on my shoulder with a laugh — muffled, breathy — and then he pushed in all at once, not gentle, not slow. Just full contact. No hesitation.

I gasped — loud, sharp — and gripped the sheets like they might keep me grounded. But they didn’t. Nothing did.

The weed made everything stretch. Every sensation melted into the next — the drag of skin, the burn of stretch, the electric crackle in my stomach. Every second felt soaked in heat. My brain couldn’t keep up with my body. I didn’t care.

He started slow, almost hesitant, like he was still mapping out how we fit. But his eyes didn’t leave mine — wide, dark, blown-out with something between awe and disbelief.

Like he couldn’t figure out how we got here.

Each thrust landed heavier than the last, turning pain into pleasure fast — too fast — and I welcomed the burn. It made everything else shut up.

“You’re looking at me again.”

“It’s just that… you’re fucking beautiful.”

He panted.

“Even with that face like you’re gonna kill me after.”

“I probably will.”

His rhythm picked up — sloppy, intense, all heat and friction. Our skin stuck together with sweat, the sound of it obscene in the room. Every push sent a wave up my spine. Every time he bottomed out, I felt a piece of me melt into his.

It wasn’t tender. It was needy. Like we were using each other to survive something neither of us could name.

My nails raked down his back. I didn’t hold back. I wanted him to feel it tomorrow.

He laughed, shaky, breath hot against my cheek.

“Marking territory?”

“Trying to erase your questionable past.”

He thrust harder after that, like he took it personally. Good. I wanted him to.

We moved without coordination — a mess of hips and mouths and limbs. High. Sticky. Laughing between moans. No elegance, just raw want. The kind of sex that’s louder than it should be and too much and still never enough.

“This is so wrong,” I whispered, almost laughing.

“So right,” he replied, panting against my lips, his breath unsteady. “You should’ve come after me earlier.”

“I would’ve… if you weren’t so you.”

He laughed — then choked on it when I clawed down his back again.

He pushed deeper, harder, every thrust punching the air out of my lungs, driving me deeper into the mattress. My body locked around him, tight and slick and restless. I couldn’t find my voice anymore — just gasps, broken syllables, half-formed curses.

He groaned into my neck, his mouth sliding down, trailing heat, teeth scraping over my skin. Then he found my breast, and sucked hard, messy, desperate — like he was trying to brand me with his mouth. I arched, sharp and instinctive, grinding against him, my hips searching for more, even when there was nothing left to take.

Our rhythm had collapsed into chaos — not smooth, not perfect. But real.

It was a high all on its own.

We changed positions amidst laughter and stumbles, nearly falling off the bed in the process. Our limbs tangled, breathless and high, like we were trying to outrun gravity. He pulled me from behind, hands gripping my waist tight — too tight — like he was afraid I’d slip away if he didn’t hold on with everything he had.

Our hips collided with that same obscene rhythm — raw, wet, uncoordinated, but so good. The kind of rhythm that wasn’t about beauty. It was about need.

“You moan so beautifully I should record this,” he said, voice thick with ego and breath.

“You should shut up before I kick you out of your own bed.”

His breath hit the back of my neck, hot and sticky. Then one of his hands slid between my thighs — fingers bold, confident, slipping between folds slick with everything we were. He found my spot like he’d been there before in a dream, pressing just right, just enough to steal my balance.

“Fuck, just like that…” I gasped, breath hitching hard. My body lurched forward as he worked me with his fingers, the rhythm between us turning rougher, messier.

“The saint is becoming a heretic.”

“Shut up and make me come.”

I barely recognized my own voice. It was too raw, too exposed.

“This is good, right?”

He was panting now, voice hoarse, hands gripping my hips tighter, dragging me back into him harder, faster.

“Of course. I’m just waiting for you to put in a little more effort.”

That did it. His grip shifted, and suddenly he pulled me upright, his arm tight around my torso, forcing me to sit on top of him. It wasn’t gentle. It was possessive. Fast. Almost clumsy in his rush to feel me again in a different way.

I settled on him easily, like I belonged there. Our bodies aligned in seconds, and he slipped back inside — hot, hard, perfect. My hips rolled instinctively, slow at first, dragging over him with measured pressure.

He looked stunned — wide-eyed, flushed, lips parted — like he didn’t expect it to feel *this* good. That made me smile. I leaned in, letting my breath graze his ear.

“At this point, just admit you like me being in control.”

He didn’t flinch. Just stared — glassy-eyed, helpless under me.

“I like how you feel in charge,” he muttered.

“It’s like… you actually know what you're doing.”

I started to move faster, testing the rhythm, building it with each roll of my hips. I felt every twitch of him inside me, every sound he tried to swallow but couldn’t. His eyes never left my body — fixed, entranced, like watching me fall apart while holding the leash.

His thrusts were softer now, less certain, as if he was waiting — giving me room, letting me take. His hands hovered at my hips again, then clamped down, trying to slow me.

I didn’t let him.

I pressed down harder, grinding against him with more intent, chasing the friction, chasing that point where the line between pain and pleasure disappears. I was burning — thighs shaking, nerves screaming. The high made it feel like I was moving underwater, slow but unstoppable.

He tried to meet my rhythm, tried to guide it — but I wasn’t giving that up.

“What’s wrong?” I said, between breaths. “Not enjoying?”

“Of course I am,” he muttered, voice strained. “You just don’t know what you’re doing.”

I leaned forward, close enough to brush my mouth over his ear.

“You just hate that you like this,” I whispered, almost cruel. “I can feel you throbbing inside me.”

He groaned, broken and loud. His hands slid lower, gripping my ass, pulling me down harder. His hips began to buck up with more urgency — not enough to take over, but enough to fight back. Just barely.

The tension between us snapped taut — the balance of power shifting and pulling with every movement. Control. Surrender. Want. Pride. Everything colliding in our bodies like it had nowhere else to go.

He pushed me back onto the bed, fast and rough, like he couldn't take the lack of control anymore. My body arched with the impact, the movement pushing him deeper inside me — sharp, sudden, right. The stretch of him hit just the right spot, and I gasped, my breath catching on the way out.

He slid back in easily, as if my body had molded itself around him, the fit seamless, filthy, perfect. His hands clamped around my waist like he owned it — like he needed to hold me down just to stay grounded.

He picked up the pace. No more teasing. The thrusts were quick, relentless, each one sending shockwaves through me, making my breath come out in broken moans I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered, voice shredded, thick with need.

“Deeper.” I pull his hair again.

His gaze darkened, and the smile that curved his mouth was wicked — not playful anymore, but almost dangerous.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

And then he gave it to me.

His pace turned brutal — fast, deep, every thrust pushing the air out of me like a punch to the lungs. I could feel his muscles flex with every movement, his body grinding into mine like he couldn’t get close enough, like he wanted to disappear inside me.

I couldn’t hold myself together. Couldn’t even pretend. The pressure inside me was twisting tight, coiling with every snap of his hips, building into something that felt like it might burn me alive from the inside out.

He leaned down, his weight pressing me into the mattress, one hand gripping my hip to hold me still, the other sliding up to my chest — fingers spreading, squeezing, grounding me in the chaos.

Then, like he sensed I was right on the edge, he changed the rhythm — deeper, slower, crueler. The drag of him inside me made my eyes roll back, and I whimpered, head falling to the side, hands flying to his hair, yanking hard.

“That’s it…” I breathed, barely able to form the words. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

He laughed, but it cracked halfway through — a broken sound, desperate, strained. His rhythm faltered for a second, like he was trying to hang on, but failing beautifully.

He grabbed my thigh suddenly, pulling it up, pushing it higher until my leg was draped over his shoulder. The new angle made everything sharper, fuller, deeper. He fucked into me like the world had disappeared — like nothing existed beyond the heat of our bodies crashing, the friction, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room.

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Just moved with him, wild and instinctive, chasing that edge like I’d die if I didn’t reach it. My hands clawed at his back, his arms, whatever I could find. My mouth was open, breath shallow, moans spilling out uncontrollably.

The sound of it all — my voice breaking, his low groans, the obscene slap of our bodies — was overwhelming. And perfect. It felt like this was what my body was made for. To be here. With him. Like this.

And then he slowed.

I didn’t expect it. One moment he was pounding into me like a fucking storm, and the next — he was moving slower, deeper, every thrust long and punishing, dragging pleasure from the pit of my stomach until I couldn’t breathe. But there was nothing gentle about it.

It was control. Intensity. The kind of fucking that says I want to ruin you.

And he did.

When I came, it was with a choked, guttural moan that ripped straight from my chest — no filter, no control. My whole body convulsed, shaking underneath him as the pressure finally shattered. My nails dug into his skin, holding on for dear life.

He came right after — buried deep, panting against my neck, body twitching as he spilled inside the condom. His breath was hot against my skin, and he was smiling. That lazy, fucked-out smile that made him look half-gone, half-proud of himself.

The world was quiet after. Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels earned. Heavy with sweat, breath, and something neither of us could name.

When I turned to face him again, still dizzy, still buzzing, he was a wreck — sweat dripping down his temples, hair sticking to his forehead, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. He looked at me like I was a mistake he wanted to make again and again, until it didn’t feel like one anymore.

Then he collapsed onto me — heavy, warm, skin still damp, the full weight of him pressing our chests together. His breath ghosted over my collarbone, shaky and hot.

“That was…”

“…amazing.”

“Horrible.” I said at the same time as him.

“I want to do it again.”

“Me too.”

We shifted to the side, limbs tangled, our bodies still slick and stupidly close. The sheets stuck to our skin, the air smelled like weed and sex. And we laughed.

Not because anything was funny. But because we were high, and spent, and had no idea what the hell just happened.

The sex felt like a slow-motion crash — chaotic, messy, half-graceful in that stoned, instinctive way. Our bodies had found each other like magnets with no real aim, just urgency. Every movement had been clumsy and loud and *so* real. There were teeth, gasps, stupid moans, out-of-sync kisses, sweat dripping into places it didn’t belong — and none of it was perfect.

That’s what made it work. That’s what made it feel like we weren’t pretending anymore.

“I should regret this.”

“But you won’t.”

“Not today. Today I just want to forget that tomorrow I'll be succumbed to the same chaotic mediocrity.”

He rolled onto his back, one arm lazily reaching for me.

“With me, you can just be… chaotic. And naked.”

“Ideal combination.”

He pulled me closer until my cheek met his chest. His skin was still too warm, still pulsing from what we’d done. His heartbeat thumped against my ear — uneven and fast. I let myself rest there. Just for a second.

The silence between us was thick, but not awkward. More like… surrender.

“You're going to hate me tomorrow, right?” he mumbled into my hair, voice quieter now, stripped of its usual sarcasm.

“If you tell anyone, for sure.”

“Who would I tell? The tattooed alien?”

“He seems more reliable than you.”

“You’re not reliable either. You’re here. Naked. Screwing the weird kid from school.”

“Because the weird kid from school is the only one who seems real enough to really screw me.”

That shut him up for a second.

When he turned to look at me again, his eyes were red-rimmed, half-lidded from the high, and his mouth was still swollen — bitten and bruised from too much kissing. Or maybe not enough.

“If this is a dream, don’t wake me up.”

“This is a collective delusion caused by drugs and accumulated frustration.”

He smirked, but didn’t deny it. We lay there in the aftermath — sweaty, naked, exhausted — and yet completely still. No rush. No talking. Just breathing the same air like it wasn’t borrowed time.

His voice broke the quiet one last time.

“Let’s use the handcuffs next time?”

I didn’t answer right away. I just turned my face toward him slowly, one eyebrow raised, lips twitching with the threat of a smirk.

“You say that like I wasn’t already thinking about it.”

[hiiistray]

⭑.ᐟ MAKE HIM SNAP: LEE FELIX (NSFW / 18+ ONLY)

: ̗̀➛ pairing: lee felix x brat fem!reader (a bit of seungmin x reader) : ̗̀➛ word count: ~8k : ̗̀➛ content: fluff, smut, felix is the sweetest thing, reader actively tries to make felix mad, minor injury in the kitchen

you make a bet with seungmin: you've got one week to get your boyfriend, felix—who seems completely incapable of getting mad at you—to finally snap. after a series of failed attempts, you figure if anything’s going to work, it might as well be in bed.

author's note: i’ve been on a writing grind lately so here’s a second fic in one sitting because apparently i have no self-control. i’m shitting my balls. i need felix like yesterday. enjoy! ♡

smut warnings below the cut!

: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: hard dom!felix, explicit sexual content, oral (f. receiving), reader has the biggest degradation kink, brat taming, slight edging, light bondage, power play, unprotected piv (don't), missionary, doggy style, semi-voyeurism

you’d always thought of him as sunshine.

everyone did.

even when he wasn’t smiling, felix had that glow—warm and unbothered, with freckles that danced across his cheeks like constellations and a voice that made people turn around just to hear him speak again. he was soft. gentle. sweet in that quiet, domestic way. the kind of boy who folded your laundry before you even remembered you’d done it.

even in bed—he was gentle. worshipful. like every touch was a question and you were the only answer. he was all murmured praise, soft sighs, slow hands. he loved you softly. every time.

which is probably why no one—including you—had ever seen him mad.

not truly.

you were perched on the edge of the couch in the boys’ dorm, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. it was felix’s, naturally—oversized and warm and still faintly smelling like his laundry detergent.

you were here because you’d accidentally taken something you weren’t supposed to. a usb, to be exact. felix had handed it to you earlier in the day along with your own, and in your rush to leave, you’d pocketed the wrong one.

“i just feel so bad,” you groaned, glancing toward the hallway. “he said he needed it for something tonight. like, deadline-needed.”

seungmin was sprawled across the other end of the couch, legs kicked up, eyes on his phone. he barely glanced up as he responded.

“you’re being dramatic.”

“no, like—really bad. i shouldn’t have—”

“honestly?” he cut in, finally looking at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “i don’t think he’s even capable of getting mad at you.”

you blinked. “what?”

he chuckled, flipping his phone over. “i mean, come on. you could probably punch him in the face and he’d apologize for getting in the way of your fist.”

you laughed despite yourself. “that is so not true.”

“isn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to argue—but then the front door opened.

felix stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his eyes found you immediately.

“hey,” you said, standing. “i brought it—sorry again, i seriously didn’t mean—”

“shh.” he was already moving toward you, gentle hands coming up to cradle your arms, thumbs brushing soothingly against the fabric of his hoodie—the one you were wearing. “don’t stress, angel. it’s okay.”

“but you said you needed it for tonight,” you mumbled, guilt creeping up your spine. “i should’ve double-checked—”

“and i should’ve labeled mine.” he gave a small laugh, pulling you closer, tucking your head under his chin with that easy warmth that always made your chest flutter. “it’s not a big deal. really.”

you swore you saw seungmin choke on a laugh in your peripheral vision.

your eyes flicked sideways—just in time to catch him turning away, phone suddenly so interesting he might’ve been reading the terms and conditions. his shoulders were shaking, just barely.

felix either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

“i’m gonna head out again to drop this off,” he said, voice still soft, fingertips lingering at your elbow for a second longer before letting go. 

you nodded, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “right. of course.”

“thanks for coming all the way back,” he added, gaze warm and fond, like you’d just done something heroic instead of, you know, returning the thing you accidentally stole. he gave your arm one last squeeze. “text me when you get home, yeah?”

“i will.”

then he was gone—door shutting behind him with that soft click that always left the room feeling quieter somehow.

and the very second it closed, seungmin’s voice rang out from behind you.

“god, that was disgusting.”

you turned.

“excuse me?”

he didn’t even look up from his phone. “you took his drive and somehow walked away with a hug, and a thank you.”

you opened your mouth to argue.

then closed it.

“okay, but—”

“nope. don’t justify it.” seungmin pointed his phone at the door.

you rolled your eyes, hoisting your bag over your shoulder, but the words stuck with you. warmed you a little too much. annoyingly so.

still, you couldn’t help yourself.

“he’s still a person. he’s not, like… impervious to irritation.” you muttered, half to yourself, half to the room. “if i pissed him off enough, he’d crack,”

seungmin didn’t even flinch. “tell me when that ever happens.”

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “you know i’m gonna try to, just to prove you wrong.”

“mhm,” seungmin said flatly, not even looking up. “60 bucks. you have a week.”

“60 bucks,” you repeated. “i’m gonna find his limit,” you said, dead serious. “he has to have one.”

“good luck.”

you’d been thinking about it for days—how to do it, how to gently prod at the edge of felix’s emotional limits without actually hurting him. you weren’t trying to be cruel. you just wanted to see something other than that unwavering calm, that endless warmth. you wanted to prove he could feel sharp things, too. that he wasn’t made of clouds and soft blankets and chamomile tea.

jealousy. that was your angle.

was felix ever jealous? you genuinely didn’t know. he’d never so much as blinked when people flirted with you—though to be fair, you’d never exactly flirted back. you never had a reason to. you didn’t want to.

but now, you needed a reaction.

just enough to light a spark. not enough to burn the house down.

so when your company hosted a casual dinner event—open to significant others and friends—you didn’t hesitate to bring felix. he looked unfairly good that night, dressed in soft black slacks and a black button up that hugged his frame a little too well. his hand found yours under the table the second you sat down, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against your palm like always.

you were seated at a long table with a mix of coworkers and guests, plates being passed around, wine glasses clinking gently, soft laughter filling the room.

he was beside you, of course—close and warm and always tuned in to you.

but the guy on your other side?

friendly. talkative. a little too charming in that “business casual” way. you leaned into it. not too obvious. just enough to let felix notice.

you laughed at something the guy said—tilting your head just slightly, touching his arm in that way that could maybe be seen as flirty. maybe. you were careful. just close enough to the line to toe it, not cross it.

felix didn’t say a word.

he was smiling, even. still soft-spoken. still squeezing your hand every now and then. still brushing your thigh under the table with his when he shifted in his seat. he even leaned in at one point and murmured, “you okay?”

you nodded, playing it cool. “mhm. just chatting.”

felix grinned. that same soft, sunny smile that always made you feel like you were the only one in the room.

“alright,” he said, brushing your cheek with his knuckle before pulling back like nothing was even slightly off.

he went back to being quiet and polite. still engaged in the conversation going around the table, nodding at someone’s story, chiming in with a laugh when appropriate. he didn’t stiffen. didn’t narrow his eyes. didn’t even glance at the guy beside you like he might be competition.

you sat there smiling and nodding at whatever work guy was saying about his vacation to bali, but your stomach was knotting. tighter by the second.

because you knew what you were doing. you knew exactly how much you were leaning. exactly when you let your laugh ring just a little louder, your fingers trail just a little longer.

but felix wasn’t reacting.

or at least—he wasn’t reacting the way you expected.

he was just… him. gentle. warm. steady. and he could’ve been using this moment to get back at you.

there were plenty of chances. the woman across the table who complimented his accent. the one seated diagonally, sipping wine and laughing just a little too brightly at his jokes. one even asked him how his skin was so clear and if he worked out—which, in fairness, was a valid question.

felix didn’t take the bait. he was polite, as always. gracious, even. gave small answers. thanked them with a nod and a soft smile. but he didn’t engage.

didn’t lean in. didn’t flirt. didn’t offer even a flicker of attention that could be mistaken as anything more than manners.

and slowly—almost like he was aware of your internal panic creeping in—he started leaning in closer to you. gradually, without showiness. his knee pressed against yours beneath the table. then reached for his water glass and poured some into yours before you could even realize it was empty.

this wasn’t going to work.

you weren’t going to rattle him. you weren’t going to get that flash of possessiveness, that glint of sharp jealousy in his eyes.

because felix didn’t play games.

not with you.

he loved you out loud, completely, and without keeping score. he didn’t need to punish you or mirror your actions to prove a point. he didn’t flinch under pressure. he didn’t crack under quiet provocations.

he just was. wholeheartedly. constant. grounded.

this wasn’t going to work.

it had been a few days since the whole work dinner experiment—since felix had gently, unknowingly, demolished your plan by doing absolutely nothing except love you the way he always did. respectfully. consistently. infuriatingly.

but you weren’t done.

not yet.

jealousy didn’t work, sure. but irritation? that had potential. everyone had a limit, and you were determined to find felix’s.

you were at his place now—well, technically his and seungmin’s—kitchen lights warm, sleeves rolled up, and flour already dusting the countertop like early snow.

the goal today was mild sabotage. nothing irreversible. nothing that would actually ruin the cake. just… enough sugar to make it way too sweet. enough to maybe make him sigh. maybe scold you a little. maybe just something.

you waited until he stepped away to grab a new mixing bowl, and then—quickly, quietly—you dumped in an extra quarter cup. maybe a little more.

by the time he came back, you were standing innocently with the spatula, “gently folding” the batter like you hadn’t just committed a culinary crime.

he paused. looked at the bowl. then looked at you.

“…did you add too much sugar?”

you blinked up at him. “no?”

he hummed. scooped a bit of batter on his finger. tasted it.

and then—smiled. not annoyed. just… amused.

“if you wanted it sweeter, you could’ve just told me,” he said, voice playful, handing you a towel to wipe your fingers off. “i’m gonna balance it so it doesn’t taste like pure syrup.”

you sighed loudly, dramatic, flopping back against the counter. “this is so annoying.”

he laughed and leaned past you to grab a lemon from the fruit bowl.

“go chop up some of the fruit, okay? i’ll deal with this.”

you looked at seungmin, who hadn’t said a word. he gave you a look that screamed pathetic.

you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to the cutting board, muttering under your breath.

great. jealousy failed. chaos failed. sugar sabotage failed. what were you supposed to do now? bake the cake upside down? hide the eggs?

you didn’t know.

you really didn’t know anymore.

your plan—whatever it had been—was unraveling, slipping through your fingers like flour dust in the air. and the worst part? you kind of… didn’t want to push anymore. felix had been so patient, so kind through all of it, and suddenly, you just felt silly. immature. you had something good, and you were trying to poke holes in it just to see if it would leak.

lost in thought, you didn’t even realize how close your fingers were to the blade until it was too late.

the knife slipped.

there was a sharp sting.

you yelped, the sound cutting through the warm haze of the kitchen as the knife clattered onto the counter and fruit scattered everywhere.

“ah!” you gasped, clutching your hand. blood was already rising.

felix’s head snapped up instantly. “what happened?”

you stepped back, breath shallow. “i—i cut myself—”

he was already there. crossing the kitchen faster than you’d ever seen him move, his hands reaching out to check your fingers—but the moment he saw the blood, something in him shifted.

“what were you even doing?” he snapped, voice sharper than the knife that slipped. he grabbed a towel with jerky, frustrated movements, wrapping it around your wound with practiced precision but no softness. “were you even paying attention?”

your lips parted, stunned. “i—i don’t know, i was just—”

“you weren’t thinking,” he cut in, tone clipped.

his voice rose, not yelling, but full-bodied, biting. that low, velvety rasp he usually used to whisper sweet things into your ear was now slicing through the air like it had teeth.

“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shaking his head, “i asked you to do one simple thing. not play with the goddamn knife.”

you stared at him, completely disarmed. not just by the tone. but by how he looked.

chest rising and falling under his fitted sweater, sleeves pushed back just enough to show the flex of his forearms. his jaw clenched, eyes dark with something deeper than just irritation. he looked… furious. unshakable. and so hot it was almost insulting.

your mouth went dry.

you couldn’t stop staring—at the way felix was breathing, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to bite back whatever else he wanted to say. his hands, still stained with flour, flexed at his sides. every muscle in his jaw was tense.

seungmin stood up, crossing the kitchen to the cabinet.

he grabbed the first aid kit, crouching beside the chair you’d sunk into. he opened it like this wasn’t the most charged atmosphere he’d ever stood in. like felix hadn’t just snapped for the first time in recorded history.

“here,” he said, pulling out some antiseptic and a few band-aids. “don’t bleed on the tile. it’s ugly enough already.”

you gave him a weak glare, but he just smirked.

felix hadn’t moved. he was still standing there, looking at the floor now, his expression twisted with something like regret.

seungmin didn’t let up.

“you got really worked up there, man,” he said, tone light but clearly pointed.

that finally made felix move. he blinked like he was coming out of something, then turned toward you—eyes wide now, softer, voice quiet.

“i’m sorry, baby” he said.

you didn’t say anything for a second. just stared at him, still a little stunned by the whiplash.

but even now, with his shoulders slumped and his tone apologetic, he still looked good. still had that raw energy simmering just under the surface. still had you simmering.

you swallowed hard.

“it’s okay,” you said slowly. 

seungmin raised a brow but said nothing, silently peeling the wrapper off a band-aid.

felix crouched in front of you, his hand ghosting over yours. his voice was soft again, almost too soft.

“i won’t yell like that again,” he murmured. 

you blinked at him, and for a second—just a second—you wanted to say don’t promise that.

because god, the way his voice had cracked when he was angry. the way he looked at you like your carelessness hurt him. the way he shook with something that wasn’t just rage, but deep, desperate concern—you hadn’t expected it to do something to you. 

but he was still doing everything out of love.

even when his voice rose and his hands tightened and his eyes darkened—he was still the same felix. still checking if you were okay. still apologizing even though you had started this whole mess.

and somehow, that made it worse.

you hadn’t even pissed him off correctly. not really. he didn’t yell because you were annoying. he yelled because you were bleeding and he didn’t know how else to handle the sudden fear curling in his gut.

and now he was kneeling in front of you, shame written in every line of his face, like he had done something unforgivable.

you wished he hadn't come down from it so fast.

you wished—maybe more than anything—that he knew he didn’t have to keep being perfect for you to love him.

you didn’t know what else to do.

jealousy had failed. sabotage had failed. even blood hadn’t done it right. every attempt chipped at something inside you—your confidence, your ego, your grasp on what you were even trying to prove. and yet…

seungmin had texted you the evening of the baking incident: [ that was a close one ] [ but it didn’t count. try harder. ]

you'd stared at it for a long time. not because he was wrong—but because you agreed.

so now? one last attempt.

if you couldn’t get felix to be mad at you, then maybe—just maybe—you could make him lose control somewhere else.

which is why he was between your thighs right now.

you were sprawled across his bed, hips twitching, sheets clutched in your fists.

felix was eating you out like it was a mission. like you were something sacred, and he had all the time in the world to worship every inch of you.

his mouth was obscene—lips slick, tongue working you open so slowly you wanted to scream. and he kept murmuring things between licks, low and reverent.

felix’s tongue traced a slow, reverent line up your slit, lips closing over your clit with a tenderness that made your hips twitch. he groaned softly into you, the sound vibrating through your core like a low hum of devotion, and his arms curled tighter around your thighs, anchoring you in place. every motion was soaked in patience, in worship. you were trembling, half mad with need already, and all he’d done was kiss you like he loved you—which, of course, he did.

“taste so good, angel… always so sweet for me, aren’t you?”

“f-felix…” your voice broke on his name, hands knotted in the sheets. he just hummed again, content like he could spend the rest of his life here, lips gliding over your clit, tongue flicking in slow, perfect circles that had your thighs quivering. he was gentle, god, so gentle. like you were the only thing in the world worth touching delicately.

and maybe that was the problem.

you were panting, already so close—too close—and he hadn’t even slipped a finger inside yet. you could feel your orgasm mounting fast, could feel the heat blooming in your belly, the ache curling in your spine, and you knew what would come next. he’d hold you through it. he’d kiss your thighs, murmur praise, make you feel like you were the center of the universe.

you were already trembling, one hand fisting in his sheets, the other tangled in his hair, breath coming in staggered whines. he didn’t speed up. didn’t deviate. tongue curling soft and hot over your clit again and again until your hips twitched and a ragged moan slipped out without your permission.

and then he paused. just for a second.

his eyes lifted to yours, warm and glassy, lips shiny with you.

“shhh, darling…” he whispered, and the way he said it made your stomach flip. “seungmin’s in the living room, remember?”

your chest heaved. right. right—he always told you. always so careful to remind you, not because he was annoyed, but because you’d confessed once—embarrassed and flushed, the sheet pulled up to your chin after a particularly loud session—that you hated the idea of his roommate hearing. and since then, felix had always made sure to keep things quiet. to warn you. to soothe you when your voice got too high, your cries too desperate. he’d press a kiss to your throat, a hand to your mouth, shushing you.

but tonight, something twisted in you.

you weren’t going to hold back.

so when his mouth dipped again, lips closing over your clit in a slow, gentle suck, you let it out—a high, shaky moan that cracked on the end, followed by a breathless, “fuck, felix—!”

he froze.

lifted his head.

his mouth was still glistening, chin slick with you, flushed and beautiful in that way that always made your stomach twist. but his brows were drawn, just slightly, and his voice—when it came—was low and firm, not scolding but edged with something new.

“hey.” his thumb stroked up your inner thigh, slow but deliberate. “quiet down.”

it wasn’t a question. wasn’t a soft reminder like before. it was a command.

and it did something to you.

your breath hitched, thighs twitching around his shoulders as the authority in his tone settled in your chest like a stone dropped into water—rippling outward, stirring everything.

still, something in you bristled.

not in defiance. not exactly.

but you couldn’t stop yourself.

you pouted. just a little. “why?”

his eyes narrowed. there was a flicker of disbelief there, a tension that rippled beneath the surface like he didn’t quite believe you were pushing this boundary.

“because seungmin’s out there,” he said, slower this time, more deliberate, as if you’d forgotten. “and you hate being overheard.”

you shrugged, arching your back slightly, enough to grind your hips closer to his face again. “maybe i changed my mind.”

his eyes flicked to your cunt, glistening and swollen and shamelessly on display, then back up to your face. his expression had shifted. no longer just disbelief. something darker had crept in now—possessive and sharp, curling like smoke at the edges of his voice.

“well i don’t want him to hear you.”

the words were quiet. flat. measured.

you blinked, breath catching.

“i don’t want anyone hearing what you sound like when i’ve got you like this,” he continued, leaning in until you could feel the heat of his breath against your inner thigh. 

you bit your lip, the heat rising in your face. in your chest.

“but…” you started, trying to keep your tone airy. “you always do what i want.”

that did it.

you watched his jaw clench tighter, watched the tension rise in his shoulders, watched the composure crack. just a little.

felix rose—slowly, smoothly, like a tide pulling back before it crashes—and settled over you, forearms bracketing your head, chest brushing yours as he leveled his face just above yours.

you felt it instantly.

that shift.

gone was the usual ease in his posture, the warm, pliant softness you always leaned into. what loomed above you now wasn’t your sweet, sunny felix—it was the part of him he always held back, the part that simmered under the surface like magma, always contained, until you poked at it.

and tonight?

you’d done nothing but poke.

he leaned in again, slow, like a tiger in tall grass, and planted his palm flat against the mattress beside your head. his voice was soft now, but laced with something that made your spine arch—authority, finality, control.

“you really think i don’t know?”

you swallowed hard.

“that you’ve been bratty for days,” he said, like it was fact. like it was math. “flirting with that guy at dinner. cutting your hand because you couldn’t stand that i didn’t break. ”

your cheeks flamed, breath catching, but you still held the edge in your smile.

“i was just distracted—”

his hand moved fast, gripping your jaw—not hard, just enough to make you stop talking.

“don’t,” he said. “don’t give me that look.”

your heart kicked up behind your ribs. he’d never grabbed your face like that before. never interrupted. never spoke like that.

it made your thighs press together. instinctive.

and he noticed.

he dipped closer, forehead brushing yours, and you could feel his heart beating in time with yours—hard, steady, controlled.

“you think i haven’t been watching you push?” he hissed. “every little act.”

you whimpered, lips parting—but he kept going.

“you’ve been begging for this,” he said, biting out the words. “not out loud. but with every goddamn thing you’ve done.”

you shivered.

“and you think i don’t see you?” he growled. “you think i don’t know exactly what that look means?”

his hand grabbed your jaw, fingers firm, tilting your face toward his—close enough to kiss, but he didn’t. he just held you there, breath brushing your lips, eyes burning through you.

“tell me the truth,” he said, voice a warning, a promise. “tell me what you want.”

you could barely breathe.

your voice came out thin, cracked around the edges. “you, like this…” your eyes were wide, lashes wet, trembling as you looked up at him. “this is what i want.”

felix didn’t flinch.

didn’t soften.

he just stared, his grip on your jaw unrelenting, eyes dark and unforgiving as they searched your face—saw the way you shook beneath him, the way your thighs pressed together, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked little gasps.

“of course it is,” he said flatly.

you blinked.

he tilted your face up a little more, enough that it hurt your neck to hold the position. his voice dropped, hard and disgusted. “look at you. shaking like a leaf, soaking the fucking sheets—just because i stopped being nice.”

you winced.

but your cunt clenched hard.

the words cut. not because they were cruel—but because they were true. and he knew it. you weren’t just turned on. you were unraveling. dripping and desperate, your body buzzing from the tension, your shame crawling over your skin like fire ants—but still, the burn felt good.

“you’re pathetic,” he said, letting go of your jaw like your skin burned his fingers. 

he pushed you back roughly, your bound wrists catching against the bed as your shoulders hit the mattress. his hands were already on your thighs, spreading them open without care. not reverent. not gentle.

like you were his and he was sick of pretending otherwise.

“you want to be hated, don’t you? love isn’t enough for you?” he muttered, gaze locked on your slick cunt as he stroked two fingers through the mess between your legs. 

your hips bucked.

“well,” felix said, voice like gravel dragged slow across glass, “if that’s what you want…”

his fingers sank into you—two at once, fast, merciless. your body jolted, a high cry tearing from your throat before you could stop it. he twisted his wrist, curled just right, and you felt the tremble start in your toes.

“i’ll give it to you.”

you gasped, back arching. “y-you don’t mean that,” you choked, words splintering on a sob. “you love me—”

he laughed.

dark. sharp.

“i’m gonna fuck you like i don’t.” he said, without softness. 

his fingers pulled free. you barely had a second to breathe before he shoved your thighs wide, leaned over, and pressed his cock to your dripping cunt—still wet from your own need, from the tears and the shame and the way his voice had stripped you bare.

he held there.

right at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing just enough to make you squirm, to make your hips buck in desperate little jerks that only dragged the moment out longer. he could’ve slammed in. could’ve torn the rest of you open in a single thrust, left you breathless and sobbing.

but he didn’t.

because under all that dark fire, under the roughness and anger and heat, he was still him. still sweet. still good. still felix.

his jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as he looked down at you—ruined and trembling, legs spread wide, wrists bound and face flushed with lust and tears and something more fragile. he blinked, and for a second, just a second, you saw the question flicker through his expression.

“is that what you want?” he asked.

his voice had dropped low. he was still offering you a way out. still giving you that choice.

you knew it for what it was.

you nodded, frantic. fast. moaning as you tried to roll your hips, tried to force him inside again, but his grip on your thigh only tightened.

“talk to me,” he rasped, a thread of control still clinging to him.

you blinked at him through the haze, a smile curling on your lips—half brat, half breathless.

“yes,” you said, voice thin and greedy. “yes, i want it. i want you to fuck me like you’re sick of me. like i finally got under your skin.”

he cursed.

low and vicious.

you saw it—the moment that final wall crumbled, the way the storm in his eyes finally spilled over. his cock pushed in deep, slow at first, like he wanted to draw it out, make it last.

but then your cunt clenched—tight and wet and fluttering around him—and he snapped.

“you did,” he growled, pulling back and slamming in hard enough to make the bed jolt, your cry piercing the room. “you fucking did.”

his hips snapped forward again—louder this time, harder, brutal enough to knock the air from your lungs, the rhythm punching out soft, choked sounds from your throat with every thrust. not words. not anymore. just ragged little whimpers, helpless and high, your whole body jostling beneath him as he used you—fucked you—with none of the gentleness you’d always known.

“you wanted this,” he spat, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his hairline onto your chest as he folded you tighter, pushing your thighs up toward your shoulders to drive in even deeper. “you fucking asked for it.”

you sobbed—quiet at first, then louder, messy and wet as the tears finally spilled. they streaked hot down your cheeks, dripping into your hair, your jaw slack with pleasure too sharp to feel good and too good to survive. your wrists twisted uselessly in their binds, fingers curling tight as your whole body tried to keep up with the pace of him.

it was too much.

it was everything.

he growled—an actual growl, raw and guttural—as he looked down at you, at the tears rolling over your cheeks, at the way your mouth opened and closed, begging silently for something neither of you could name.

his rhythm never faltered.

not once.

even as your body broke beneath him—hips arching, wrists straining, cheeks soaked with tears that burned like proof—he kept going. kept fucking you with that same relentless pace, hips slamming against the backs of your thighs, the sound obscene, wet and cruel in the dark.

he watched your face twist with every thrust—watched you come apart, watched the edge of pleasure curdle into panic and drag you right back down into need.

and even then—you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t stop.

your lips trembled open around another sob, your voice half-hoarse, but still you met his glare with a shaky smirk, eyes glazed and bratty to your last breath.

“i never knew you were capable of being mean,” you gasped, voice cracking as you arched under him.

he snarled, something between pain and disbelief, and slammed in so deep you screamed, your entire body jolting up the bed from the force of it.

“because i love you,” he growled, voice so low it scraped the inside of your chest. “i’ve only ever tried to treat you well. like you matter. like you’re everything to me.”

he leaned in closer, one hand pressing hard into your hip, the other curling around your throat.

“but that’s not what you wanted, was it?”

you sobbed. not an answer. just a broken, keening sound.

he dipped lower, lips barely brushing yours. “you wanted this. you wanted me mean. you wanted me to use you, and now you’ve got it.”

his cock dragged out slow, thick and aching—and then drove back in so hard your moan broke on your tongue.

“you never wanted soft.”

you blinked up at him, tears hot and sticky down your temples, your mouth quivering.

“i was—” you panted, a hiccupped cry catching in your chest, “i was trying to prove a point—”

he sneered, not stopping, not relenting, pounding into you like he wanted to fuck the brat right out of your soul.

“to who, y/n?” he hissed, words snapping like whips.

you moaned—high and messy and wrong, because you were still so turned on, because the way he said your name made your body sing even while you trembled.

“who?” he shouted again, voice rising with disbelief and something deeper—something unspoken that cracked open in his throat like it hurt to say.

and you said it.

whimpered it.

half-mindless, but not mindless enough.

“seungmin.”

felix went still.

then he laughed.

it was low. bitter. a hollow bark of disbelief as his hand slid up the length of your thigh, slow and mocking, his cock still throbbing just barely inside you.

“fucking knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than you, jaw tight as he gave a small, almost deranged shake of his head. “you and him. the way you bicker. the looks.”

his hand curled around your throat again, thumb dragging over the mess of tears smeared across your cheek. not to wipe them.

just to feel them.

“and of course you’d moan his name out while i’m balls deep in you.”

you gasped, breath stuttering under the press of his palm, legs twitching around his hips.

he laughed again—sharper now, teeth flashing in the low light. “fucking pathetic.”

you whimpered.

“here i am,” he snarled, voice dropping to a whisper, “treating you like you’re mine—spending months giving you everything. folding your laundry. holding you when you cry.”

he slammed into you again, cruel and sudden.

you screamed, head snapping back.

“and you’ve been pushing me,” he said, voice quiet, almost calm—but beneath it, something was cracking. something brittle. 

another thrust, hard and fast, punching a choked cry out of your lungs.

“all of that just to prove a point to kim seungmin?”

your mouth dropped open—useless, silent, your head lolling on the pillow as his cock hit that deep, devastating spot again and again, your body unable to hide how badly you were still enjoying it.

he sneered. “do you even understand what you’re doing?”

your eyes flicked to him—blurry, swimming, lashes soaked—and your lips moved, trying to form a denial. but you couldn’t lie.

not with your cunt sucking him in so greedily. not with the moans that still clawed up your throat even when you bit down on them. not with the guilt chewing holes through your stomach while your body begged for more.

“i—i wasn’t trying—” you whispered, but he cut you off.

“you weren’t trying?”

he laughed. dark and sharp and filled with something that sounded like it hurt his ribs to release.

“god, you’re worse than i thought,” he spat, pulling out just enough to let the next thrust slam in deeper. “you don’t even know what game you’re playing. you’re playing me, you’re playing him—”

you didn’t know anymore.

if he was really mad. if this was just another version of his anger wrapped in arousal, or if something had actually shattered under the weight of everything you’d done. you couldn’t tell if he meant the things he said—or if he was just saying them because it was what you’d asked for, begged for, pushed for until something inside him snapped.

all you knew was that your head was spinning, your lungs barely worked, and your body couldn’t stop trembling around him.

“i’m close,” you whimpered, your voice a rasp, broken and high and soaked in panic, “felix—please—”

he didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder.

you were sobbing now, face sticky with tears, wrists straining in the binds as your body shook from the pressure curling tighter and tighter in your belly.

“i don’t think you deserve to cum,” he hissed, biting the words like they tasted foul. “not after what you did. you little bitch.”

the word slapped.

“i’m sorry,” you cried, the words tumbling out, raw and hoarse and true. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—i didn’t—felix, please, i’m sorry—”

and for a second, just a second, something shifted in his face.

his brow twitched. his grip faltered. his eyes—not all the way, but just a little—softened.

he looked down at you, at your flushed face, your tear-soaked skin, your body trembling and still trying to push back against him, even through the guilt, even through the shame. begging for him.

he cursed under his breath. a low, ragged sound.

then he pulled out.

you whined—sharp and instinctive, your whole body lurching, chasing him.

“no—please—”

but he grabbed your hips and flipped you, fast and rough, until you were flat on your stomach, then dragging you up to your knees with no gentleness, no care. 

he leaned in, lips at your ear, voice back to that quiet, dangerous whisper.

“all fours.”

you scrambled to obey, tears still dripping from your chin onto the sheets, your ass high, back arched, your pussy swollen and dripping and empty.

he stared for a long second.

then, flatly:

“prove it. prove your sorry.”

he didn’t move.

not even a little.

just knelt behind you, one hand resting heavy on your lower back, the other wrapped around the curve of your ass—fingers digging in, spreading you open so wide the air hit your cunt like ice. his cock stood thick and flushed against your thigh, glistening with everything he’d already taken from you. close. so close.

but he didn’t move

“you want to cum so badly?” he said, voice low and flat, unreadable, like it didn’t matter either way. “then do it yourself.”

your breath caught.

you blinked, stunned.

he gripped your ass harder, a sharp squeeze that made you jolt forward, but he didn’t move to stop you. 

“come on,” he said, the cruelty now bitter instead of sharp. “you were so good at playing games earlier.”

your whole body shook.

you whimpered once—just one broken sound—and then moved. slowly. shamefully.

you rocked your hips back. tentative at first. your slick folds kissed the head of his cock and you moaned, soft and strangled, before pushing further, inching down onto him until the stretch began to burn again.

it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t like when he took care of you.

it was work.

every inch felt like a trial. your legs trembled under the weight of it, thighs threatening to give out as you lowered yourself onto him, your breath coming in ragged sobs, your cunt pulsing with how close you were, how desperately your body wanted him to take over.

but he didn’t.

“make yourself cum,” he snapped, voice tighter now. 

you nodded, rocking your hips again—sliding down fully this time, burying him inside, your body jerking as your sob turned to a long, high cry. your knees were slipping, your arms too bound to help you balance, and every time you moved your hips, your body twitched with the effort.

he just watched.

watched you ride his cock without rhythm, without grace—just need. just ruin. his hands stayed on your ass, holding it open, holding you wide for him to see.

but he didn’t help.

you were doing it alone.

“felix, i can’t—”

“you wanted this.”

and so you kept going.

kept fucking yourself back on him, over and over, your movements messy and broken, your body trembling with the weight of everything you’d done—everything you’d wanted.

and as you cried, he gripped your ass harder, dragging his thumbs over the skin, watching your hole stretch around him like it was all you were good for.

your thighs were giving out.

completely.

each roll of your hips got weaker, sloppier—your knees buckling inward, your movements more tremble than thrust, the sheer weight of him inside you unbearable. 

your arms were still bound, chest pressed into the sheets, your cries muffled now—raw and constant, more sob than sound—as you tried to keep going. but your body wouldn’t move. 

you shook your head, weakly, voice cracking as you rasped, “i—i can’t… i can’t do it…”

you felt his exhale first—long and deep. then the weight of his hands on your hips shifted. and his voice followed, low and so done.

“of course you can’t.”

you shivered.

“you couldn’t even fuck yourself properly,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips with new purpose. “you begged for this. cried for it. ruined both of us trying to prove something—and now you can’t even finish what you started?”

you sobbed but that was all he gave you time for. because he snapped his hips forward. you screamed, head slamming into the pillow, the thrust knocking your whole body up the bed.

and then he didn’t stop.

he fucked into you from behind, deep and punishing, dragging you back onto his cock with every stroke, the sound of skin on skin wet and violent, your cries rising in pitch until you couldn’t hold anything in anymore.

“isn’t this what you wanted?” he growled, voice right at your ear now, one hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist so tight it burned. “to get used like this? to cry on my dick and act like you’re sorry?”

your throat was raw, your eyes stinging, your body screaming with the oncoming wave, your orgasm building so hard it almost felt like pain.

“felix—fuck—i’m gonna—”

his pace didn’t stutter.

didn’t falter.

“yeah?” he breathed, his voice a rasp, full of hate and heat and something so possessive it twisted your stomach. “that’s right.”

his thrusts turned vicious, his cock pounding into you, his voice ragged and shaking.

“cum then.”

and you did.

you came with a scream—full-bodied, wrecked, your spine arching like it was trying to tear free from your skin. it hit so hard you thought for a second you might black out. your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and pulsing in rhythmic spasms, gushing slick down his cock in hot, wet waves that soaked your thighs and his lap and the sheets beneath you.

felix groaned—a sound ripped from the very pit of his chest, primal and deep, his pace faltering for the first time as he felt it. felt you soak him. felt you break.

“fuck—” he hissed, slamming into you again—chasing it now, rutting through the mess of your orgasm, the loud slap of his hips against your soaked skin. “you’re dripping, baby—fuck, you’re making such a mess—”

you sobbed into the sheets, body twitching, overstimulation crawling up your spine like static. but he didn’t stop. wouldn’t let up. not now. not after all of it.

and then—slowly, like the fire had finally started to burn itself out—his rhythm began to falter. just a little. his groans turned heavier, strained, his thrusts rougher but less precise. his body hunched forward, chest heaving, cock throbbing inside you as he buried himself one last time.

he shuddered against your back, hips twitching as he came inside of you, the warmth of it spilling deep and raw, filling you in heavy bursts. he stayed there for a moment, his hands slowly loosening their grip on your hips, breath ghosting against your shoulder.

then, gently, slowly, his body folded over yours.

his forehead pressed to the space between your shoulder blades. his chest to your back. one hand slid forward—shaky, tentative—and rested just beneath your ribs.

he stayed there, breathing with you.

then, without a word, he eased back.

his chest lifted off yours, his grip on your hip released fully, and for a moment, the loss of contact felt colder than the air in the room. he slid one palm down the arch of your spine, a soft, absent stroke. then came the slow shift of his hips—his cock slipping out, careful and deliberate, so tender in contrast to everything before.

you whimpered from the loss and the mess—his cum already spilling out of you in lazy drips, sliding down your thighs, thick and warm, clinging to the backs of your knees as gravity pulled it down. you twitched from the sensitivity, your body still trembling in little aftershocks, your hips useless, your arms limp where they lay tangled and bound under your chest.

you heard the faint shuffle of a drawer, the rustle of fabric, the hiss of warm water being poured. your eyes fluttered closed, head sinking into the pillow, your whole body too loose to lift.

you barely registered the soft wet cloth between your thighs until it was there—warm, soothing. he held you gently, one hand under your hip to tilt you, the other cleaning you with slow, careful strokes, wiping away the slick, the sweat, the release still dripping out of you.

he then settled you on clean sheets, wrapped a new blanket over your shoulders.

still nothing.

not a single word.

but he lay beside you, close but not pressed in, his fingers brushing soft through your hair, over your temple, down the curve of your jaw. you blinked slow and you opened your eyes.

and there he was.

your felix.

bathed in the low light of the room, hair a tousled halo of gold against the pillow, freckles blooming soft across his cheeks, lips pink and parted just barely. he looked tired. beautiful. like something that shouldn’t exist outside a dream.

you loved it. all of it. the softness now. the brutality before.

the way he made space for every version of you. the way he let himself be more than just the sun.

“i love you, felix.”

his hand stilled, resting against your cheek. his eyes softened then blinked, and they turned glassy.

“i love you too,” he whispered, his voice low, husky, still thick with the weight of everything.

you gave a little smile, lids already starting to droop again, your limbs heavy under the blanket he’d wrapped around you.

“i wouldn’t want you any other way,” you murmured.

that made him laugh—quiet, breathless, a sound like surrender.

and then you laughed too. barely a sound, more breath than voice, your smile curling into the pillow as your eyes slipped closed again.

he stayed beside you.

his fingers returned to your hair, softer than ever now, smoothing it back from your face as your breathing evened out, your body finally letting go.

and when you fell asleep, it was in silence.

the next morning, you woke slowly—warm, sore in all the right places, and still tangled in the soft scent of felix. the sheets around you were a little crooked, the pillow beside you empty.

you blinked blearily and reached for your phone, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your eye.

there was a note. folded and sitting neatly on the nightstand.

recording right now, but i’ll be back soon. pour yourself a cup of coffee. i love you! – lix ♡

you smiled—small, sleepy, still a little ruined from the night before. the words made your chest ache and flutter all at once. he hadn’t said anything heavy. no apologies. no over-explanations. just soft and simple. just felix.

you stretched out your limbs, wincing slightly at the ache before dragging yourself out of bed and into one of felix’s oversized sweaters and boxers. 

barefoot and quietly smug, you padded down the hallway into the kitchen.

and there he was.

seungmin.

leaning against the counter in sweats and a hoodie, eyes fixed on his phone, coffee half-drunk on the table beside him. he looked up when he heard you—expression unreadable—and you did what anyone would do after getting absolutely obliterated in the next room over by his bandmate.

you pretended nothing happened.

“morning,” you said, voice light, moving straight to the coffee pot. “didn’t think you’d be up.”

“i’ve been up,” he said simply.

you nodded and reached for a mug—felix’s, the pale blue one with the tiny chip in the rim—and poured yourself a cup. steam curled up around your face, and you focused on it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

and then you felt it.

his presence. he stepped closer. closer.

you didn’t dare turn around.

then, casually—like it was nothing—he reached over your shoulder and set something on the counter in front of you.

sixty bucks in cash.

you stared at the bills for a second.

then turned.

slowly.

seungmin was already taking a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking to yours over the rim of his mug.

“congrats.”

your mouth twitched, the corner pulling into the smallest smile.

you looked down at the cash again and without saying anything, you plucked the bills off the counter and shoved them straight into the front pocket of felix’s hoodie like you’d just been handed your trophy.

“you really thought i wouldn’t pull it off?” you asked, turning back to your coffee, tone breezy.

“i hoped you wouldn’t,” he deadpanned. “i was rooting for the soft boy.”

you huffed a laugh, lifting the mug to your lips. “he’s still soft.”

seungmin gave you a long, dry look.

you shrugged, eyes twinkling over the rim. “...just not all the time.”

he snorted.

then leaned back against the counter, sipping slow from his mug. “so,” he said casually, “how’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“make him snap.” 

you licked your lips, fighting another smile. “i might’ve… slipped your name in there a few times.”

his eyes narrowed, slow. “yeah?”

“just—it got him pretty worked up.” you said, laughing as you set the mug down. seungmin stared for a beat.

then—he rolled his eyes. “of course it did.”

there was a long pause. not uncomfortable. just tension.

he said, quiet but clear, “tell him he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

you nodded.

“i will.”

you stepped back slowly, letting the silence hold, and turned toward the hallway—when the front door clicked open.

both your heads turned.

felix stepped in, hair tied back, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, a little windblown from the walk. his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“hey, angel,” he said, smile so warm it melted straight into your ribs.

you crossed the room in a few slow steps, rising onto your toes to meet him halfway. your hand curled around his jaw, thumb brushing the skin just below his cheekbone, and you kissed him.

his other hand found your waist immediately, like muscle memory, pulling you in as he smiled against your lips. he pulled away just enough to wrap his arms around you, tucking you into his chest. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, breath warm as it fanned through your hair.

you melted into him, your hands slipping under the hem of his hoodie, fingertips grazing the bare skin at his waist. his heart beat steady against your cheek, and you let yourself breathe him in.

then, behind you, a shift in the air.

felix’s gaze lifted—over your shoulder.

met seungmin’s across the room.

you didn’t see what was unraveling between the two of them.

after a moment, you pulled back slightly, enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes.

felix looked down at you with a smile. and that was all you needed.