♱

you barely even remembered the date. there was a bar, some smoke, his dimpled smile under dim light when he caught your eye and came over with something stupidly sweet about you being “the most gorgeous girl in the room.” you remember laughing. he made you laugh back when he was still normal. normal enough for a drink to lead to more drinks, your inhibitions shredded before you ended up in his apartment, pulled under him in the bed where his grip was firm but not unkind, his mouth hot and insistent as he whispered things like, “you feel so fucking perfect,” in a way that felt almost too sincere coming from someone who’d only known you for five hours.

you should’ve realized it then.

he stared too much that night, his gaze far too steady for someone still inside you, his fingers tight as if he didn’t want to stop touching you even between thrusts. he asked questions when you weren’t saying much, lacing your names together whenever you squirmed to kiss his jaw.

but you didn’t think twice about leaving the next morning. hungover, mildly annoyed at yourself for another one-night stand with someone you knew you’d never contact again, you mumbled something like, “last night was fun,” before slipping out, your phone already ringing with a text from your friend asking how the night went.

a text never came from him.

you should’ve felt relieved.

+

when the calls started, you thought they were spam at first.

an unfamiliar number ringing your phone in the middle of the workday wasn’t exactly unusual, and you’d never been shy about rejecting calls without a second thought. but you should’ve been more wary. maybe if you hadn’t ignored them for weeks, too busy to care about some weird frequency change in your inbox, he wouldn’t have slipped through the cracks.

but then the first voicemail came.

“hello, gorgeous. you haven’t been picking up. kind of hurts my feelings, you know… after the night we had. i was thinking about the way you looked that morning. your hair was so messy, it was fucking adorable. i didn’t say it then, but i should have. maybe you’ll answer tomorrow?”

there was part of you, even then, that rationalized it away as just a delay. maybe he was normal and you were overthinking it. plenty of guys reached out to hook up again, right? you wanted it to be innocent, something you’d listen to once before rolling your eyes and blocking him.

but there were so many of them.

he called again. and again.

“answer, baby.”

he’d leave voicemails at first, never explicitly threatening ones but his tone was enough. too smooth, too slow. friendly on the surface, but holding something darker underneath it.

it stopped being quaint after the first week.

then you noticed things around your apartment.

new scents lingered when you got home from groceries— faint ones, cologne-like. at first, you wrote it off as maybe belonging to the old man upstairs who always left his door propped open when he smoked his cigars in the stairwell.

but once, your bed felt... off.

you couldn’t explain it, but you swore the comforter had been shifted from the way you left it. a corner tucked when you knew you’d thrown it angrily off the bed before work after ignoring your third unknown number of the day.

then there was the hoodie.

you found it draped over the couch one sunday afternoon, mid-laundry load. a black hoodie with no logo, vaguely familiar but unmistakably not yours. you hadn’t brought anyone back to the apartment. you had no clue who else could’ve left it— yet there it was, simple and cold and sitting on your couch as if it’s always been there.

you threw it away immediately, hurriedly calling both your landlord and the police that night. but no one could find anything. no security footage was left from the days you suspected someone had been there. no signs of forced entry. nothing tangible to prove anything had happened at all except your own gut instinct telling you whoever put that item there knew you weren’t stupid— they just didn’t care.

+

you startle when your phone rings.

you always do. it’s a visceral reaction— your body’s way of warning you, sounding the alarm before you can fully process it. the sound instantly raises the hair along the back of your neck, but you hate yourself for the way your eyes dart to your screen so quickly, how you still bother to look even when you already know what you’ll find.

unknown number.

again.

your stomach twists into familiar knots as your heart slams painfully against your ribcage. it’s an equal mixture of dread and anger bubbling somewhere deep within, the exhaustion of constantly being on edge making you feel ill before your brain’s even caught up.

you should ignore it. letting it ring would be the easier option, blocking him like you’ve tried so many times already— but you know it won’t help. he always finds a way back. always gets a new number, finds a new method to slip his voice into your life whether you want it or not.

you hate the little voice in your head that whispers how this might be worse— that at least when you pick up, you can hear him, control the situation, know where he is. pretending he doesn’t exist? that terrifies you almost as much as the thought of seeing him.

sweat slicks your palm as you swipe, answering before you have the chance to stop yourself.

“leave me the fuck alone.” there’s no hesitation this time— no fake politeness or meek attempt to hang up and brush him off. your voice cracks, sharp and angry, but you can feel the tremor behind every word as it stumbles out of your shaking lips. “seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? just- just go harass someone else and leave me the hell alone!”

the silence on the other end of the line stretches too long.

then you hear it.

soft breathing at first, and then the sound you’ve come to dread most. a low chuckle, smooth and familiar, his faint breath skating over the phone line almost as if he were standing just behind you.

“aw, angel…” his voice is rich, the lower edge of it hanging in that dangerous middle ground between playful and wrong. your blood curdles at the sound of it, muscles tensing as sweat pools between your shoulder blades, but it’s the laugh behind his delivery— the quiet amusement— that has you wanting to throw your phone against the wall.

“… you sound mad. did i catch you at a bad time?”

the casualness of his tone makes you want to scream, your fingers tightening so hard around the phone that your knuckles ache. but instead of engaging, you just clench your jaw, willing yourself to end the call decisively, without another word.

but you don’t, of course.

a soft hum leaks through the line, and that sick twist of nausea floods you when you hear the faint rustle of something on his end— fabric, maybe. a faint creak, like a bedframe or a chair groaning under weight.

“or… wait,” he murmurs softly, his voice dips lower but no less sharp. “i think i know what’s wrong. you miss me, don’t you, sweetheart? sound so flustered hearing my voice again… it’s cute, y’know? reminds me of how you looked back in my bed. all pretty and out of it. acting like i wasn’t the best fuck you’ve ever had.”

a shiver rips through you as the heat in his voice settles somewhere too heavy in your chest, somewhere it has no business festering. you clench your jaw tighter, fighting the memories threatening to spill behind your eyes.

whole pieces of that night are already a blur, but the flashes you can remember make your skin crawl. his body on yours, pressing you into the bed like you were made for it, his mouth so hot and demanding against your neck. the rough drag of his fingers along your thighs, the way they curled into your skin hard enough that you’d felt the marks for days after.

you swallow thickly, the unwanted warmth unfurling low in your body as you force your voice out again.

“you’re disgusting,” you spit bitterly, ignoring the way your words tremble on the edges as they break free.

but you know what he’ll say already. he always says it.

“oh, but you love it, baby,” chris hums.

“you love how fucking nasty i am. don’t you?”

his voice spreads through you like wildfire, and though your grip locks tighter on the phone, your free hand presses flat against your thigh almost instinctively— both for steadiness and to offset the traitorous heat already pooling between your legs.

you try to say something to snap back again, rip into him, rage, anything— but there’s only quiet as the line crackles faintly between your heavy breaths.

“mm, y’know…” his voice lowers, the playful mirth from before softening into something heavy and slow, every word dragging against your skin like a predator baring his teeth to the bone.

“… you really shouldn’t have let me fuck you that night. poor little thing- i think you let a wolf in when you didn’t quite understand how soft you are. like a fucking lamb.”

your heart stutters. you hate him.

you hate the thrum settling low in your core each time his voice drops an octave, that stupid, dangerous, sickly sweet way he twists insults into something laced with intimacy.

“s-stop,” you stammer finally, hating how weak it sounds.

“stop what?” he murmurs, and the cool edge of smugness in his tone makes your skin flush. “telling you the truth? c’mon, angel, you think you look so strong, but i’ve seen the real you…”

he pauses faintly, and the silence makes your ears ring long before he continues softly, breath barely shaking through the speaker:

“on all fours. crying on my cock. begging me to fucking ruin you.”

“you’re so fucking sick,” you choke out, a wetness pooling heavily in your eyes now as your lip wobbles, but your anger burns so bright it almost eclipses the sadness.

and he just laughs.

“aw, i made you cry. sorry, angel.” he snickers faintly, but there’s no regret, only mockery.

“maybe that’s my fault,” he muses. “should’ve left a better impression on you that first night, huh?” another pause. you swear you hear him shifting again, the faintest sound of skin on fabric, and your stomach lurches.

you squeeze your legs harder, hand trembling on your thigh now as you feel your chest tighten.

when his breath leaks faintly against the receiver again, your ears nearly buzz before it’s followed by a soft but distinct groan— low, drawn-out, truly lecherous.

“’course, it’s not like your pussy wasn’t already dripping the second my hand touched you,” he purrs lazily, his smugness nearly rotting your brain.

“fuck, baby,” he goes on, “i bet you’re wet right now. your thighs probably clenched the minute i started talking.”

you clench your jaw tight, every nerve in your body burning feels as though it’s about to snap, your grip locked stiffly around the phone as your chest heaves against the weight of his words. your other hand trembles where it presses against your thigh— tensing over the soft fabric of your pajama bottoms, trying hard to ground yourself amidst the swirling chaos in your brain.

you have to shut him up. have to.

“we’re done,” you blurt out finally, voice sharp but cracking on the edges, every ounce of anger you can muster spread thin under the weight of your fear. “you hear me? this is fucking DONE. you’re insane, you need help- what the fuck even is this, huh?”

the words spill from your lips too fast, tumbling out in a messy concoction of frustration and panic as you pace the room, chewing aimlessly at the edge of your nail. you know you shouldn’t take the bait— yelling at him only makes it worse, encourages him, gratifies him further, but you feel like you’ll explode if you don’t.

“you’re fucking obsessed, for what?” you hiss, seething as you rub your free hand over your face, the heat of your rising anger paired with the roiling nausea in your gut leaving you lightheaded. “you don’t even know me, i’m not anything to you, so just- fucking stop. get your sick little games out of my life and go bother someone else.”

the silence on the other end of the line sends a cold slap down your back.

then, softly:

“you’re not anything, huh?” chris repeats, his tone entirely devoid of the playful teasing it carried from before.

it’s even more unsettling now, this quiet calm that sets your heartbeat hammering in your chest— a tone so cool and controlled, it digs deep under your skin like small, sharp needles.

you don’t answer. what could you say?

and then there’s that chuckle again. low, subdued, rumbling faintly in his throat— but this time, it’s colder. thinner, more calculated, crawling its way through the line to kneel right at the base of your spine.

“you really don’t get it, do you?” chris murmurs slowly, like he’s talking to a particularly stubborn child. “you do this everytime, you run your mouth, act so tough, yeah? like you’re in control? but you’re not.”

he clicks his tongue once, scolding you softly through the receiver.

“the thing is, baby… you don’t get a say in this. not anymore.”

your stomach flips violently as the panic spreads ice-hot across your body, the slickness of your sweat making it harder to breathe.

“w-why me?” you choke out shakily, the tears you’ve been holding back pooling against your lashes now, the wobble in your voice bleeding through despite how hard you fight to sound firm.

he indulges you far too easily.

“why you?”

his laugh this time is softer. warmer, almost— but not in a way that offers comfort. no, there’s something insidious beneath it, a sense of eeriness, like he’s telling you a private joke you’ll never find funny.

“you don’t really want me to answer that,” he whispers, the amusement in his voice chilling. “you want me to tell you that you’re special? that you’re one-of-a-kind? that i just couldn’t help myself after you left me that first night?”

he scoffs faintly, a sharp inhale following as if he’s catching his thoughts.

“doesn’t matter. we both know you’d just call me a liar anyway.”

you feel yourself shaking your head even though you know he can’t see you, the weight of his words pressing down on you too fast, too strong, too much.

“you need to let me g—“

“let you go?” he snaps suddenly, cutting you off. his voice sharpens— still slow, still soft, but venom snakes beneath his tone now.

“you think i could let you go, angel? think i could forget the way you cried under me? the way your lips sounded when you—”

he groans faintly, the sound so low and shameless you swear you’ll die from the heat flooding inside you.

“you quivered when i touched you, baby. fucking shook under my hands, you were so fucking needy. i felt it- i know.”

the tears overflow now as the scene crashes down in your mind again, over and over, his deep voice dragging you inch by inch into the haze between rage and arousal until it suffocates you.

“fuck you,” you whisper through your teeth, trembling, voice barely audible.

he hums again, sinfully low, the sound vibrating through the earpiece and making your vision grow hazy in the corners.

“you want to,” he purrs calmly, casually even.

but his tone darkens slightly, twisting like a knife into your gut.

“you want to let me fuck you again. that’s why you keep picking up, isn’t it?”

your lips part— your voice rises somewhere instinctively to argue, to spit something scathing back, to tell him he’s wrong— but the line crackles faintly before any sound can leave your mouth.

“oh, don’t bother denying it, sweet girl. i can hear it in your voice.”

every syllable he speaks seeps into you, clinging like poison in your veins despite the nauseating cold sweat still blooming along the back of your neck.

“all this huffing, yelling, crying…” he stretches out the last part, coating it in something sticky and cruel. “for someone who hates me so much, you sure do make a lot of slutty little sounds.”

your hand flies up to cover your mouth on reflex, as if that’ll somehow shut him out, stop him from seeing you, but it’s no use. you know it’ll only make him worse.

sure enough, he laughs again, his usually smooth, low tone picking up just slightly with satisfaction the more silent you get.

“aw, what’s wrong? cat got your tongue? or are you just too busy thinking about my hands around your throat again?”

his unmistakable pride, his devilish smile practically bleeding through the line— it’s too much.

you slam your thumb against the red button on the screen, rushing to end the call, your chest quaking as uneven breaths fall from your lips while every nerve in your system screams for relief.

but you barely have three seconds of silence before your phone buzzes again with another call.

you don’t answer.

the notification disappears.

then there’s a single text:

i’ll see you soon, angel.

twisting in your seat, your wide eyes dart toward the curtains— unsure if whether those words were a threat or a promise.

for years, you managed to stay one step ahead— perfect, in every sense of the word.

you were the face of your group, the one people couldn’t stop watching. magazines called you untouchable yet grounded; fans filled their comment sections with every synonym for ethereal they could think of. every tilt of your smile became an aspiration. every song you touched turned into a trend.

you had become a mirror, reflecting back an idealized version of yourself that wasn’t entirely real, but just tangible enough for others to believe in. and for a while, you’d believed in her too.

“you’re losing it,” your manager told you one evening, her voice painfully blunt, though the wear of your recent schedule softened her tone just barely. “your attitude’s slipping. your performance too. and don’t even get me started on your weight this month.”

and just like that, her eyes dragged over you critically, scanning you the same way one might skim over a product for defects rather than a person in need of a break.

you didn’t say anything. just nodded, even as her words landed heavily.

but the critique wasn’t new. not by a long shot. it was the same pressure stitched into every headline you’d ever appeared in, every strained day where you pushed yourself further than you should have, simply to appear “effortlessly” perfect for the cameras.

even now, a pang of hunger hit your stomach due to the diet your team set you on— so strict it bordered on cruel. rice cakes, unlimited black coffee, and steamed chicken breast were your staples, and even those came with endless calorie calculations. but you smiled through it because you had to. you owed it to the dream you chose for yourself.

“you’re the top girl, y/n. don’t make me regret pushing you there,” came her final remark before her phone rang, and you were dismissed with a sharp wave of her hand.

you left the studio with a lump in your throat and a pounding migraine that wouldn’t let up.

you had learned long ago that being beloved wasn’t always kind.

you’d been training for this since you were barely old enough to entertain the thought of not being normal. things like friends, slower days, or even softer meals like pasta you didn’t have to split into thirds were all part of a quieter world, one you traded for lights brighter than the sun.

isn’t this what you wanted? you’d ask yourself on nights like these, tucking the ache in your chest and the pounding in your temples beneath a blanket of faux contentment. because yes, this was what you wanted. you chose it.

you’d never voiced it, but something deep inside you believed ignoring the pain was the price of your success. that you didn’t have the privilege of walking away. even when the weight of it all made keeping your mask intact feel impossible.

but even on the worst days, hyunjin softened the edges of your world.

you never intended to fall for him— your paths only crossed occasionally at events your companies dragged you to. at first, he was simply polite, lingering in the background yet undeniably magnetic.

“you looked… incredible out there,” he told you after your group performed at a gala run by the industry’s elites, his tone quiet and sincere enough to draw you in immediately.

“you know how to make an entrance too,” you quipped softly, eyes glancing over his perfectly tailored suit, not missing the faint blush that crept across his cheekbones.

he didn’t let you walk back to your table alone after that.

+

it had been easy to fall into him, with his warmth like a cushion that always caught you, even when the pressures of your life felt suffocating.

and you found yourself giving in entirely the day he kissed you— softly, hesitantly, as if asking for permission with every shift of his lips against your own.

“i think,” you’d told him one night, your voice trembling with the confession, “i think i’m falling for you.”

hyunjin didn’t hesitate. his lips brushed against your temple as his hands gently cupped your face, cradling you delicately as if you were made of glass.

“i’ll make it work,” he murmured, his arms wrapped around you instinctively. “we’ll always have each other, y/n. no matter what.”

and you, like the fool you were, smiled into him. because as much as you knew love came with its own set of risks, something about the way hyunjin promised you forever had made you believe in him completely.

you had been careful to keep your relationship hidden.

it wasn’t just your privacy at stake, but your career. your fans worshipped the fantasy of you being untouchable, attainable only in their dreams or through their devotion. and if they knew there was someone who existed beyond the world they’d meticulously crafted for you in their minds, you’d lose them.

all the years of building that image would shatter because loving hyunjin was as dangerous for your reputation as it was for your soul.

every stolen moment between you had to be carefully calculated—hidden completely from the eyes of the media, your fans, even your teams. dinners turned into missions of secrecy. touching each other in public was impossible. sometimes even smiling at one another across the room felt too risky.

but you bent under every restriction because he was worth it.

and now? now, it all felt like it was falling apart.

+

you could feel your whole world unraveling. not your love for hyunjin, never that. your trust in him was steady, unshakable. of all the unpredictable things in your life, he was the one constant. the only person whose arms you could always collapse into when the rest of it felt too heavy.

but the rest of it? the world that surrounded you? the image you’d built for yourself was slowly crumbling right in front of you. every article, every murmur, every cruel tweet chipped away at the woman you’d spent so long becoming.

it started with tiny fractures.

a headline dissecting your absence from an endorsement deal. a fandom rumor whispering that you weren’t “as committed” to your group anymore. even minor moments, things as small as you not smiling enough during an interview, got magnified into so called “proof” of an idol who had “lost her spark” or “didn’t care enough.”

but lately, the cracks weren’t just showing— they were widening.

photos of you outside your dorm ignited accusations of carelessness. fans claimed your casual hoodie and sweats were an insult to the glamorous persona you represented. one random moment caught on camera— that simple act of rolling your eyes at an invasive paparazzi question— was picked apart like a national scandal.

you saw the comments.

“she’s so rude now.”

“what happened to the y/n we used to know?”

“fame got to her head. she doesn’t care anymore.”

you told yourself they didn’t matter. that they couldn’t reach you. but they did.

your group members, once your core and comfort, had started to drift too, whispering amongst themselves in ways you tried not to decipher. they grew colder, not outright cruel but withholding in minor ways— a lack of shared laughs backstage, fewer texts in the group chat, and forced half smiles that didn’t fully reach their eyes.

you didn’t blame them. no one wanted to be trapped in proximity to someone whose narrative was currently in shambles.

the stress hollowed you out. your mind was restless even when your body ached for sleep. you couldn’t remember the last time you ate something without counting every calorie or the last time you’d gone more than two days without wanting to cry— but none of that mattered.

you chose this for yourself, didn’t you?

then the final nail in the coffin was when the hotel photos leaked.

you could still hear the soft click of the lighter as it flared against your cigarette, the faint buzz of city sounds below your balcony. you weren’t even doing anything wrong, just stealing five minutes to yourself in a life where privacy was pretty much nonexistent.

but somehow, they got you.

dispatch, who had hounded idols for years, snapped the moment you inhaled deeply, your silhouette painted in shadows and smoke. the photo was everywhere within hours, your name trending alongside ugly hashtags and angry comments that rattled inside your skull like static.

“so disappointing.”

“she’s a bad influence.”

“y/n caught SMOKING??? no wonder her group’s flopping.”

you froze when the article first hit your phone, the screen glowing like it was mocking you. the tight knot in your chest expanded, crushing your ribs until it was hard to breathe. betrayal stung deeper than anger.

who even knew where you were staying?

you didn’t know who to call, didn’t know who you could trust until one name tumbled through your fractured mind.

“hyunjin,” you managed to stammer into the static of your phone, your voice cracking under the weight pressing into your throat. “can i come over?”

you could hear him shift on the other end, and the warmth in his tone when he replied felt like a salve over an open wound. “you don’t even have to ask.”

and as you sat on hyunjin’s couch that night, his arms tight around you like a shield against the inescapable chaos, your tears spilled freely as if he were the only one who’d let you break.

“it’s too much,” you whispered. “i can’t keep doing this- i can’t.”

“yes, you can.” he spoke gently but firm— soothing against the crackling mess of your thoughts. when you pulled back to meet his gaze, his hand immediately came up to brush the damp strands of hair clinging to your cheeks, his face soft but impossibly unreadable.

“i feel like i’m going crazy, hyunjin,” your voice broke. “it’s like- i don’t know who i am anymore. my fans hate me. my group doesn’t trust me. even when i’m alone, i feel like i’m not really... alone.”

“what do you mean?”

you blinked back tears, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “it’s- it’s probably nothing.. but i think- i feel- like someone’s following me again.”

hyunjin’s brow furrowed, a perfect mimic of concern as his jaw tightened. “have you seen anything specific?”

“no, but...” your fingers twisted in your lap, your voice trembling faintly now. “you remember what happened with that stalker last year? this feels like that- it’s this- i don’t know, maybe i’m just paranoid or tired, but it feels like someone’s watching me again.”

hyunjin’s thumb made slow, comforting circles against your wrist. “hey, look at me,” he murmured, low and steady like an anchor. “i’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? i’ll protect you, always.”

and you believed him. because hyunjin had always been there— always your safety net. and right now, with the weight of the world pressing into your chest, you needed him more than anything.

“sometimes,” you whispered after the room grew quiet again. “sometimes i wonder if it’s even worth it anymore.”

his face softened. “y/n...”

“i don’t know how much more of this i can take,” you continued, tears building again as a soft sob escaped your chest. you shook your head, your gaze falling to your lap. “it’s like... what’s the point of trying so hard when it’s never enough? i feel like i’m losing everything. my career, my members- myself.”

hyunjin reached out, his warm palm curling beneath your chin to guide your face back to his. his eyes met yours directly, soft yet sharp, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but felt comforted by in the moment.

“don’t say that,” his thumb brushed faintly against your tear-damp cheek. “don’t even think it. you’re everything, y/n. you’re strong, and smart, and, fuck- you’re perfect. and if the world can’t see it? they don’t deserve you.”

he leaned in closer, his forehead pressing against yours as he closed his eyes briefly. “i see it. i see you for exactly who you are- and that’s all you need right now. me.”

the words wrapped around your heart, holding it together like his arms wrapped around your trembling body. you sank into him, your tears fresh but quieter now, muffled against his shoulder as he whispered against your hairline, “you’ll never have to do any of this alone, baby. not as long as you have me.”

what you didn’t know— what you couldn’t know— was that hyunjin loved you even more when you cried like this, when you melted against him, raw and exposed in a way no one else ever saw. as much as he hated seeing you in pain, he loved the hold it gave him over you. the way you clung to him, blind to the truth beneath. it was him. it had always been him.

the canceled deals, the whispers to tabloids, the delicate strings pulled so precisely to unravel your life. and the photos? he’d tipped them. his careful plan was falling into place perfectly, and the guilt he should’ve felt was nowhere to be found— not when you were shaking in his arms, vulnerable, cracked but reshaped exactly how he wanted you.

+

you lost count of how many times he kissed you between the living room and the bedroom, but now you were here.

your body was pinned beneath his, legs trembling and spread so wide they barely fit against the mattress. his touch was everywhere, lighting fire along your skin, his lips devouring yours between groans that sounded too wrecked for someone who hadn’t even fucked you yet.

he hovered over you completely, fully caging you in. the mattress dipped from his weight, pressing you deeper into the sheets as his hand cradled the back of your head at an angle that made escape impossible— not that you had any intention of leaving.

“look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, heat radiating off him in a way that felt scorching. his lips barely left yours as he spoke. “so perfect for me. so fucking perfect, baby.”

his tongue ghosted over your bottom lip before he kissed you harder, rougher, leaving nothing to imagination, his teeth nipping just hard enough to make you gasp and whimper into his mouth.

hyunjin’s hips rutted forward unconsciously, grinding his obvious length against your soaking cunt through the thin fabric of your underwear. he could feel how wet you were, feel the heat radiating from you and it was driving him insane.

“fuck,” he hissed, his lips moving down to suck at the pulse in your throat, leaving a trail of rough, wet kisses along your collarbone. “you’re- god, you’re so fucking wet already. dripping through your panties like this, baby.”

you whimpered at his words, arching into him, but it only made him smirk against your skin.

his hands pushed beneath your shirt, dragging it higher in one rough motion before tugging it off completely. his palms immediately sought your body— gripping the soft curve of your waist, squeezing your tits like he owned them, groaning when you moaned and arched your back to meet his touch perfectly.

“you feel so good,” he rasped, sitting back slightly as his hands found the waistband of your panties. he dragged them down your legs with purpose— slow enough to make you squirm but fast enough to show just how much he was holding himself back from tearing them off entirely.

and when he finally spread you open with his rough, calloused hands?

he groaned so low it almost made you shudder with the intensity.

“fucking soaked,” he whispered like he couldn’t believe it. his thumb swiped through your folds experimentally, pulling a slick, obscene noise from both your body and his movements. “you’re dripping everywhere, baby. this all for me?”

he lifted his thumb, shiny with your arousal, holding it just inches above your cunt as he waited for a response.

“yes,” you breathed, your voice cracking as you curled your hands into the sheets. “all for you, hyunjin- please.”

your desperation broke his focus entirely.

he dragged two fingers through your wetness before finally thrusting them shallowly inside you, groaning at the way you clenched down tight around him.

“oh fuck- look at that,” he murmured, the words half-groaned between labored breaths. his fingers curled deeper this time, toying with your g-spot in deliberate strokes as his thumb circled your swollen clit.

“you’re squeezing the fuck out of me,” he muttered, his tone shaking. “so tight, baby. so perfect. you know this pussy’s mine, don’t you?”

your body jerked under him, your thighs trembling as you cried out, moaning his name in the most broken tone.

“mmhm,” you barely managed, your voice cutting off as his fingers worked faster, deeper, stretching you more than his words already did. “yes, yes- hyunjin, i can’t- oh god—”

“you can,” he interrupted firmly, his fingers pistoning harder and keeping you pinned down as you bucked against him. “you’re gonna take it for me. every fucking inch, every time. just like this.”

when he finally pulled his fingers out, they were glistening, drenched to the knuckle. he held them up to show you before pressing them to your lips.

“open,” he demanded softly, gazing down at you with hooded eyes. the faint dominance in his tone made your stomach churn with heat. and the second he felt you suck his fingers slowly into your mouth, dragging your tongue along their length, his eyes practically rolled back.

“fuckk- you’re so good,” he groaned, his hand curling at the back of your neck, keeping your lips wrapped around his fingers while he ground his cock, not even inside you yet— just against your dripping folds. every rut of his hips left him gritting his teeth and groaning low in his chest.

but then he snapped completely.

“gonna stuff you full,” he muttered darkly, a flicker of something feral in his tone. “gonna fill this tight little pussy ‘til you’re clenching around me so hard i can’t move. you want that, baby?”

“yes- oh, fuck- yes,” you sobbed, your legs quivering as you wrapped them around his waist, pulling him closer, pushing him exactly where you needed him to be.

and finally— finally— he pushed into you.

he wasn’t gentle. the overwhelming stretch made you gasp sharply, your hands immediately flying to his toned back. every inch of him pressed deeper, deeper, dragging against your walls and making them flutter around him.

“jesus fucking christ,” he hissed, his body trembling from how tight you felt. “you’re squeezing me so good, so fucking good.”

you whimpered beneath him, breathless, “hyunjin- fuck- you’re so- so big—”

the praise broke something in him entirely.

he moved quicker, his thrusts deep and sharp, fucking you into the mattress like he was addicted to the wet, lewd sounds engulfing the room each time his hips slammed against yours.

“taking me so well,” he praises, his hand gripping your waist so tightly you could already tell it’d bruise. his other hand shot out to grab your thigh, spreading it high and wide to let him hit angles even deeper. “you’re perfect, baby- so wet, fuck- you’re dripping all over my cock. look at that mess.”

you couldn’t stop. you couldn’t think. couldn’t do anything but whimper his name over and over as his pace grew rougher, the sheer fullness of him leaving no space for anything else but him.

“you’re mine,” he groaned, voice ragged between pants. his hips snapped forward again, sharper this time, sending you gasping back into the pillow below you. “this pussy’s fucking mine. no one else gets to touch you, no one else gets you like this- ever.”

“hyunjin,” you moaned again, your voice trembling from the intensity.

“say it,” he demanded, his pace quickening, growing sloppier as he neared his end. “say you’re mine. say it, baby.”

“i’m yours,” you cried, your pussy clenching so hard around him a deep, guttural groan spilled from his throat immediately. “mmmphh, hyunnie- ‘m so full—”

and when he finally spilled inside you, hot and thick, the sound of your broken moans and the sight of you trembling beneath him sent him over completely.

“f-fuck—” he gasped, grinding into you to make sure none of his cum spilled out, grinding until you gasped even louder, overstimulated, your thighs shaking around his hips.

he didn’t stop until you were fully stuffed— just like he promised.

he leaned down then, brushing his lips over your ear. “nothing in this world,” he whispered hoarsely, “will ever feel as good as ruining you completely.”

the way your body clenched around him, trembling and soaked from him, told him you agreed.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, his arms wrapping securely around you as you rested your head against his chest. the faint rhythm of his heartbeat filled the quiet atmosphere, lulling you closer to sleep while his fingers traced idle patterns on your spine.

you still didn’t know how deep the lies went.

how your collapse had been entirely engineered by the man you loved the most.

but to you?

to you, he’s just felix. sweet, golden-hearted felix. the charming regular at your little corner café, always greeting you with that sunshine smile that seems to brighten your entire shift.

you don’t know the world that exists inside him— inside his mind, where he’s tethering himself to scraps of your attention, living off every tossed-away “morning!” or the way you occasionally glance at him through the bar as you pour a latte.

felix loves you the way an addict loves their drug; desperate and fully dependent. but where there’s desperation, there is also fear— a fear so consuming that the thought of losing you, even by unassuming chance, is enough to make his chest burn. and so, felix doesn’t just let fate dictate love. he shapes it himself.

+

“don’t you think it’s odd how much we keep bumping into each other?” you’d laughed once, wide eyed and smiling.

it was at the bookstore down the street— your haven, where you often spent hours flipping through novels of love, self-discovery, and the edges of human nature. you weren’t expecting to see him there (again), standing in the same aisle as if he, too, just so happened to enjoy your eclectic taste.

“what? me? stalking you?” felix had chuckled softly, a friendly blush blooming along his sharp cheekbones as he ruffled the back of his hair. “now, why would i need to stalk you when you’re always right here?”

charming. disarming. casual. felix had delivered the line in a tone so convincing, so warm, that you didn’t even notice the sharpened, hungry edge beneath his grin. to you, he was sweet, maybe even shy— a regular who happened to brighten your week (in the same way you unknowingly consumed his entire life).

felix studied your favorite authors to appeal to your curiosity. rehearsed entire conversations in his head so when the moment came, it felt natural— like serendipity. to you, every interaction was woven by coincidence. but to felix? every single bump-in was his masterpiece, a carefully curated step toward the future he was crafting for the two of you.

+

he learned you when you were unaware of being studied.

your coffee preference. the cadence of your laughter. the way you’d tuck a stray hair behind your ear when you were rushing through the morning rush.

and your voice— god, your voice. sweet and inviting, with a warmth that made felix feel like he might dissolve if he heard his name roll off your tongue just one more time.

so, when he discovered your instagram, he didn’t hesitate. your photos looked so soft, so beautiful, filtered with the warm tones of your favorite places, books, and little moments that made life feel ordinary but sentimental, just like you. he saved every single one. studied the tilt of your smile, the curve of your lips, the way your eyes lit up when you were among friends who didn’t deserve you the way he did.

felix would scroll through your life each night, hand wrapped around his cock while his mind filled the gaps between reality and the fantasies he cultivated.

you, pressed breathlessly against the counter at the café when everyone else had gone home, crying out his name as his fingers pushed you closer to oblivion. you, bare and flushed beneath him while his lips mapped every part of your body like it solely belonged to him. the illusion of you— moaning, gasping, shivering— was the only thing that could make him cum sometimes. yet no amount of his own touch could satisfy the ache completely.

because it wasn’t enough.

it would never be enough.

+

the next time felix saw you, he realized love wasn’t just consuming. it could be blinding, too.

it happened during one of your morning shifts— routine yet sacred to him, knowing you’d always be there, ready to greet him like you always did. he never expected to find some other man leaning onto the counter, invasive and loud, with an arrogance that burned its way straight into felix’s bloodstream. his sharp jaw tensed, his mind spinning with a million thoughts too dangerous to name.

the guy was grinning, making casual yet lewd jokes that went too far. his eyes lingered on you too long, soaking in the curve of your hips, unbothered by how you shifted uncomfortably each time he leaned in too close.

how dare he.

how fucking dare he touch what’s his.

felix’s body moved before his mind could catch up. he softened his expression just before stepping forward, smiling gently like he hadn’t just decided he’d kill a man if he had to.

“hey, babe,” his voice slipped in like a warm hand pulling you out of boiling water, casual and natural. his arm casually slipped around your waist, fingers brushing along your lower back with just enough claim to stall the stranger’s attention.

you froze for only a split second before sighing, visibly relieved. “oh, you’re here!” your voice was light and calm, tinged with gratitude.

good girl.

felix nearly grinned at how easily you fell into a rhythm with him, your body unconsciously moving closer to his as if it was made to fit against him. his fingers flexed slightly unnoticed, his palm drawing slow, protective circles against the small of your back while his presence severed whatever connection that asshole thought he had with you.

after the frustration of being ignored finally set in, the stranger huffed something quietly under his breath and left.

you laughed softly afterward, letting your hand rest idly against felix’s chest. “really, though, thank you,” you said, your tone soft but sincere. “he was so creepy, but i didn’t know how to get rid of him..”

felix’s palm settled heavier against you, his fingertips sliding lower but not enough to be wildly inappropriate. just enough to savor the heat of your body pressing against his.

“don’t worry about it,” he replied softly, smiling like melted honey, like he hadn’t already imagined fifty different ways to crack that man’s skull open on the pavement.

“what kind of boyfriend would i be,” felix murmured closer to your ear, his lips almost brushing your skin now, “if i didn’t protect you?”

and with that— the quiet catch in your breath, the subtle rise of heat to your cheeks— felix knew he’d won something today.

he didn’t just want to keep you safe.

he wanted to keep you forever.