I don’t know you, one of your posts popped up on my suggested feed. I love your vibes/blog, and overall aesthetic. Kay, bye! Have a good day or night :)
girl tysm ur blog is literally so frickin cute like i love the yellow. i haven't been on this account in a while so this is also kind of old😭. Thank you for liking me enough to say it twice lmao.
synopsis: on your 18th birthday, your older friends drag you to a club with a fake id and a dream to get blackout drunk. You run into a man named Seonghwa at the bar and he buys you a drink. You find him attractive, so of course you flirt with him, but in your tipsy ramble you accidentally mention your real age. He doesn't mind though at all though, and your bratty attitude makes him wish nothing more than to wash it away on his cock. I mean, how could how he resist when you just push all the right buttons?
cw: large age gap (10 years), underage drinking (don't freaking do this om gosh), sub/dom dynamics, Sir kink, Sugar daddy dynamics, brat! reader, brat tamer! Seonghwa, idk what else.
i hate this yet I love it so much
Turning eighteen in Seoul was supposed to feel glamorous. At least, that was the lie your friends had told you months ago when they convinced you to spend your birthday overseas instead of doing something ‘boring’ back home.
There had been promises of luxury shopping centers glowing beneath city lights, rooftop dinners overlooking the citizens, pretty strangers, expensive drinks, and the kind of chaotic memories people romanticized when they posted blurry photo dumps online.
But standing outside a nightclub with aching feet and a tight dress that suddenly felt significantly shorter than it had in your hotel mirror, you were beginning to suspect all of them had exaggerated.
The line wrapped around the building, music pulsed so hard through the walls that you could feel the bass vibrating beneath your heels.
Your best friend clung to your arm with the kind of unstable grip that only meant she was already tipsy on just excitement alone. Her glossy lips were stretched into a grin far too wide to trust. "This," she declared dramatically, motioning toward the club entrance, "is where your life changes forever."
You stared at the building.
"It looks like where I lose my wallet."
Your other friend snorts loudly, and yet they dragged you along anyway.
———
The process of standing outside the club was way scarier than actually getting inside. You had memorised your entire fake identity on the flight, and it was still foggy in your brain. Your picture and information were correct, only the name and birth year changed. And after what felt like a marathon of questions that had nothing to do with your actual age or id’s, you were finally allowed entrance.
The club swallowed you whole.
Heat clung to your skin almost instantly. Flashing lights painted everyone in shifting shades of green, red, and electric blue. Bodies moved shoulder-to-shoulder across the dance floor in an endless blur of expensive smells, laughter, and intoxication.
For the first hour, you really tried. You danced even though you thought your feet were going to fall off, and you drank even though your throat still hasn't gotten used to the burn.
You let your friends pull you into blurry selfies, you laughed until your stomach hurt when one of them nearly fell off a platform trying to impress a man who was very clearly not interested.
But eventually, the alcohol settled warmly into your bloodstream while exhaustion crept into your limbs.
Your friends had gradually disappeared into the crowd, speaking to locals like they knew them and flirting with men who politely declined, leaving you alone near the edge of the dance floor.
You debated texting them. Instead, you slipped toward the bar.
The farther you moved from the crowd, the easier it became to breathe, and you exhaled deeply as you slid onto an empty stool. The music was quieter over here, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes for a moment and recollect yourself from the thought of being left alone on your birthday.
"You know, for someone at a club, you look surprisingly calm."
The voice beside you was intoxicating enough to make you turn immediately—and then forget how to function.
He was beautiful. Not in a soft way, no. He looked sharp, expensive.
Dark hair pushed neatly away from his forehead. Silver jewelry gleamed beneath low lighting whenever he moved his hands. His black button-up clung just enough to his broad shoulders to make your thoughts derail.
He looked like someone entirely out of your tax bracket, yet he was staring at you like he found you fascinating.
You subcontinently straightened in your seat.
"And for someone eavesdropping," you replied carefully, "you seem very confident."
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "You were sighing dramatically."
"I was processing betrayal."
"From?"
"My friends. They left me by myself."
He hummed softly, glancing toward the crowded dance floor.
"A reasonable reaction," he said before a hearty chuckle left him
You hated how attractive his laugh was.
Apparently alcohol made you significantly bolder than usual, because instead of speaking back like a normal person would, you tilted your head and openly admired his face.
He noticed—of course he did, and his expression shifted into cocky amusement. (GIMMIE DAT DIHH.)
"You’re staring."
You tilted your head side to side in a mesmerized yet focused way, your pupils getting noticeably larger. "You’re very symmetrical."
That made him laugh harder.
The bartender arrived at your side of the bar, asking how you were doing and taking your orders.
Before you could grab your clutch, he calmly paid for your drink.
You blinked once—twice, then dropped your hands into your lap.
"Oh."
He leaned against the counter charmingly. "Is that approval?"
"It depends."
"On?"
"If you become weird after buying me alcohol."
His eyebrow lifted in a curious state.
"Weird how?"
"I don't know, suddenly talking about cryptocurrency?"
He stared at you for a moment before laughing under his breath.
And that sound—
That deep, quiet laugh—
did dangerous things to your stomach.
Hours blurred strangely after that. One drink became two, and two became more than you could count.
You learned his name was Seonghwa, and he learned you were visiting South Korea with your friends for your 18th birthday.
He seemed endlessly entertained by everything you said, and you were just drunk enough to say things that should have remained internal thoughts.
Like commenting on how unfairly attractive his hands were, or how his voice sounded too sexy and intimidating to be true.
Or—
Your entire body froze.
The realization hit like a glass of cold water.
You stared at your drink on the counter, then at him, then back at your drink.
"Shit."
His brows lifted.
You covered your face with both hands.
"Did I really do that?"
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"What happened?"
Your voice came out muffled behind your palms.
"I told you my real age. I didn’t mean to say that."
That finally broke his composure.
His laughter was warm and low and entirely too attractive.
"It’s alright, darling."
You slowly lowered your hands. Your brain wanted so badly to process the pet name, but you only focused on his approval despite your predicament.
"It is?"
"It is."
You stared at him suspiciously before taking another sip.
Your lips pressed together.
Then—
"We’re still flirting, right?"
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before meeting your eyes again.
That slow smile returned.
"Of course, love."
Your heart nearly stopped.
———
You talked for what felt way too short as the hours still passed. Your friends eventually came around, but left just as fast upon viewing the ‘hot guy’ you ‘scored’.
He was a man of many surprises, yet it still shocked you when Seonghwa asked all kinds of questions; some about your trip, how you even got into the club, and weirdly, your music taste.
By the time you followed him out of the club, Seoul had quieted. The city still glowed, but softer now. Streetlights reflected against damp pavement, the cool night air helped clear your head just enough for common sense to briefly return.
Your friends had left an hour ago to another club while you stayed behind. They told you the location just in case, but they were all sure you wouldn’t be meeting them there.
Now, standing beside a complete stranger, you realized you didn't even know him at all.
"You’re not secretly a murderer, right?"
Seonghwa glanced at you while unlocking his phone.
"That accusation feels sudden."
"Well, you could be dangerous."
"You came willingly."
"That feels like victim blaming."
His laughter echoed softly down the empty sidewalk, which somehow made following him feel far less reckless. He shoved his phone back into his pants and let out a heavy sigh.
"You’re kind of a brat, aren't you?" he moved his head to look down at you beside him.
You crossed your arms and made a face, "Trust me, I can be way worse."
That only earned you another low chuckle and a quiet, "Yeah, I bet."
Not too long into the thickening silence, a long, official looking limo pulled up just off to the side of the street, and you almost lost your breath as he walked towards it.
"You coming?" he glanced back, eyebrows raised.
Your feet moved forward on their own.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
You thought the limo was just for show, something fancy to impress you.
Until you reached his apartment.
Even the outside was captivating, far too luxurious for just anyone living in Seoul. As he led you to his room, your suspicion returned.
"What exactly do you do?"
He looked almost amused.
"I sing."
You blinked slowly—confused at the tone of his voice.
"Like weddings?"
"Something like that." He unlocked the door, taking his shoes off and leading you down a short narrow entrance hallway.
You kicked your shoes off beside his at the door, "What does that even mean?"
Before he could answer, the space opened up, and time stopped for the both of you.
Two men stared at you from the large couch in the front room. You stared back.
One of them nearly dropped his phone, the other looked personally offended.
Both of them slowly turned toward each other with expressions that ranged from confusion to amusement.
Your gaze moved between both of them, then Seonghwa—an awkward interaction that was just warming up the chaos.
The room remained silent for a second.
Seonghwa carefully led you past the group by the small of your back, ignoring the anxious glares while you awkwardly smiled and waved at them.
He led you into his room, a common looking space with a fairly sized bed and desk.
"Sit, I’ll be right back." He motioned around the room before stepping out.
You sat at the edge of his bed, looking around at the plain look of his room. You could faintly hear low voices down the hall in the quiet of the apartment.
"She’s an adult," Seonghwa said.
"Barely!" a voice replied.
"Are you sure?" said the other
"Yes I'm sure!"
You found yourself not really paying attention to their words, thinking about everything and nothing at once.
Suddenly the door clicked shut behind Seonghwa, and the muffled voices from down the hall faded into a dull hum and a door closing. You sat, fingers pressing into the mattress, the alcohol still swimming warm in your veins. The room smelled like him—clean, slightly woody, with something faintly sweet underneath.
He had a glass of water in one hand and something unreadable in his eyes. He set the water on the desk, then turned to look at you, leaning against the edge of the surface with his arms crossed.
"You look nervous," he said, voice low, teasing.
You tilted your chin up, forcing your lips into a smile even as your heart hammered. "I'm not nervous. I'm just… assessing the accommodation."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Is it up to your standards?"
"Depends. What amenities are included?"
The smile he gave you was slow. He pushed off the desk and walked toward you, each step deliberate. When he stopped right between your legs, his thighs brushing against your knees, he looked down at you with that same dangerous warmth from the club.
"Me." he said simply.
You swallowed hard but refused to break eye contact. "Pretty confident for someone whose friends were just questioning whether I'm legal."
His jaw tightened, but the amusement didn't leave his eyes. "You are legal. That's the only thing that matters."
"Barely," you echoed, mimicking the voice you'd heard from down the hall.
He leaned down, one hand bracing on the mattress beside your thigh, bringing his face inches from yours. “Barely still counts, love.”
The word hit you straight in the chest. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as your breath stuttered.
"So what now?" you asked, keeping your voice annoyingly light. "You gonna give me a tour?"
His eyes darkened. "Depends on how well you behave."
"I don't behave."
"I know." His hand came up, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face up further. "That's part of the fun."
Your skin burned where he touched you. "And if I want to be a problem?"
“Then I'll handle you like one.”
Your breath caught. There it was—the shift in the air, the weight of something unspoken settling between you.
"Stand up," he said, voice firm and condescending.
You hesitated, just to be difficult. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, grip firm but not painful, guiding you to your feet. You wobbled slightly in your heels, and he steadied you with a hand on your hip.
"Good," he murmured.
"I didn't do anything."
"Exactly. You listened. That's a start."
You rolled your eyes, and his grip on your hip tightened.
"Careful," he warned, voice dropping lower. "I don't mind putting you in your place, but I'd rather not have to do it this early."
Heat pooled low in your stomach. "And where exactly is my place?"
His hand slid from your hip down to your ass, squeezing firmly through your skirt. "On your back, on your knees, bent over this bed—wherever I decide to put you."
Your mouth went dry.
"That is—" you started, but your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it.
"That is what?" He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Too much for a brat like you?"
"No." The word came out steadier than you felt. "I was going to say that's a lot of confidence for someone who hasn't proven anything yet."
He pulled back, eyebrows raised, something like admiration flickering in his gaze. "You really don't know when to stop, do you?"
"Never have."
He studied you for a long moment. Then his hand was in your hair instead of your neck, not roughly, but firm enough to tilt your head back and expose your throat.
"Then let me make something clear." His voice was velvet over steel. "You're in my space, on my bed, in my city. I've wanted you since the moment you called me out in that club. So here's how this is going to work. You're going to be my good girl tonight—"
"I'm not a—"
"Tonight," he repeated, grip tightening just slightly in your hair, "you're going to be my good girl. And if you're good enough, I'll make you mine properly. Take you shopping. Fuck you in hotels that cost more than your rent. Spoil you until you forget your own name. But only if you earn it."
Your breath came shallow, heat flooding through you. "You're talking like you're already planning to keep me."
"I am." He said it simply. Certain. "I don't bring random girls home from clubs. I don't argue about legalities. I" don't waste my time. But you—" His thumb traced your lower lip. "You're worth the hassle. So stop being a brat for five seconds, yeah?”
You looked up at him, pulse pounding in your throat, every bratty retort dying on your tongue under the weight of his gaze. Because you did want it. All of it. All of Him.
"Yes, Sir," you said, testing the word. It came out softer than intended.
His eyes flared. "Say that again."
"Show me it, Sir." Your voice steadied. “Prove to me that you're worth my time.”
A dark, satisfied smile spread across his face. "There she is."
He didn't give you time to brace yourself. His mouth crashed into yours, hungry and demanding, tongue sliding against yours as his hands found your waist and pushed you back onto the bed. You fell with a gasp, and he followed, body covering yours, weight pressing you into the mattress.
Instead of continuing the kiss, he pulled back. His eyes traveled down your body—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of skin your dress exposed.
"You know," he said, voice dropping to that low, velvet register that made your thighs clench, "I've been thinking about how you'd taste."
Before you could fire back a retort, he was already moving—kissing down your jaw, your throat, teeth grazing your collarbone before he continued lower. His hands found the hem of your dress, pushing it up past your hips, exposing your clothed cunt to the cool air of the room.
"You're that wet?," he observed, voice rough with approval.
“Do you ever stop talking?”
"Right." He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders pushing your legs apart. He slipped your underwear down and off your ankles, and the position made your breath catch. Him there, face level with your dripping slit, still fully clothed while you lay spread open beneath him.
"Seonghwa—"
"Shh." He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, working his way inward with excruciating slowness. "Let me worship you, love. You've earned it."
"Earned it by being a brat?"
"Earned it by being mine." He looked up at you through his lashes, lips hovering inches from your cunt. "Even if you don't know it yet."
You opened your mouth to argue, but the moment his tongue touched you—flat and warm against your clit—every thought dissolved into a strangled moan.
He hummed against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your nerves.
"Taste even better than I imagined," his tongue traced along your folds, slow and exploratory, like he was memorizing every curve and crevice. He licked up your slit, gathering your wetness on his tongue, then circled your clit with deliberate precision.
"Fuck—"
"Yeah?" He pulled back just enough to speak, his chin already glistening. "You like that?"
You could only nod, fingers fisting in the sheets.
"Good. Because I'm not stopping until you cum on my tongue."
He dove back in with renewed hunger, his mouth latching onto your clit while one hand slid to press two fingers inside you. The stretch made you gasp, back arching off the mattress as he curled them, finding that spot inside you with practiced ease.
"That's it," he murmured against your cunt, the words muffled but clear. "Take it. Take everything I give you."
You were already close, the dual stimulation pushing you higher, faster. But he wasn't done. He pulled his mouth away—fingers still pumping inside you—and sat up slightly, looking at you with hooded eyes.
"Look at you," he said, voice thick with desire. "So fucking wet. All for me." He brought his wet fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. "And I'm gonna have this every day. You understand? I'm gonna wake you up with my tongue between your legs, spoil you with breakfast in bed, take you shopping, fuck you in every designer dress I buy you—but first, you're gonna give me an orgasm."
"Sir—" you whined, hips bucking toward him.
"I know, baby. I know." He lowered his head again, but this time he focused entirely on your clit—sucking, licking, prodding with the tip of his tongue until you were trembling, gasping, crying out his name.
"Seonghwa—"
He groaned against you at the sound of his real name. His tongue flicked faster, and his fingers resumed their rhythm inside you, crooked just right.
"Cum for me," he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak. "Cum in my mouth so I can taste how fucking good I make you feel."
That was all it took. Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, hips grinding against his face as he drank every drop, tongue working you through the aftershocks until you were shaking, oversensitive, crying out for him to stop.
He placed one last gentle kiss to your clit before pulling back, lips swollen and glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.
"Beautiful," he said, crawling up to hover over you. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
You were still panting, trying to catch your breath, but you managed a weak smirk. "Not bad for a first attempt."
His eyebrows shot up. "First attempt?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, I've had better—"
He cut you off with a kiss, deep and possessive, and you tasted yourself on his tongue. When he pulled back, there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Brat." He said it like a term of endearment. "I'm going to enjoy breaking that attitude out of you."
"Good luck."
He went for your neck again, his mouth trailed down your jaw and your throat, teeth scraping against your collarbone before he pulled back just enough to look at you. Hair falling into his eyes, lips swollen, gaze wrecked.
"Last chance to back out," he said, voice rough.
You reached up, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him back down.
"Shut up and fuck me."
He groaned against your body, one hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your dress up past your hips.
He sat back just long enough to strip off his shirt, and fuck—nothing prepared you for the reality of him above you, golden skin stretched over lean muscle, the sharp lines of his torso leading down to the waistband of his pants.
You reached for his belt, but he caught your wrists.
"Brat's don't get to rush things."
"Sir—"
"No." He pressed your wrists into the mattress above your head, holding them there with one hand. "I'm in charge tonight. You wanted to be a problem? Fine. But problems get handled on my schedule."
You squirmed under him, heat and frustration twisting together. "That's not fair."
"Life's not fair." He leaned down, lips brushing yours as he spoke. "But I promise you'll like my punishment more than you like being a brat."
His free hand slid down your body, palm flat against your stomach, then lower, fingers parting your folds and sinking into your wet heat. You gasped, back arching, but he held you down.
"So tight," he murmured, pumping his fingers slowly, watching your face. "And so responsive. You're going to take my cock so well."
"Sir—please—"
"Please what?"
You bit your lip, shame and desire warring in your chest. "Please fuck me. I need it."
He pulled his fingers out slowly, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. The sight made your thighs clench.
"Good girl," he said, and the praise hit you harder than you expected.
He undid his pants with deliberate slowness, letting them fall, and when his cock sprang free—thick, hard, perfect—your mouth went dry.
"You still with me?" he asked, stroking himself lazily with a groan.
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
"Use your words."
"Yes, Sir."
"Good."
He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your slick folds, and he paused, meeting your eyes.
"Tell me you're mine. Even if it's just for tonight. Tell me."
"I'm yours."
He pushed in, and you both groaned. The stretch was perfect—filling, burning, the kind of deep that made your toes curl and your hands fist in the sheets. He gave you a moment to adjust, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You feel—Perfect." He pulled out slowly, then thrust back in, deeper this time. "Absolutely fucking perfect."
His pace started steady, each stroke deliberate and deep, hitting a spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. But it wasn't enough. You wanted more.
"Harder," you gasped. "Please, Sir, I can take it—"
He obliged, grip tightening on your hips as he drove into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Your moans turned into cries, each thrust pushing you higher, closer.
"Yeah? Taking it like a good girl now?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
"Then cum for me. Let me feel you."
Your orgasm crashed over you, triggered by his voice and the relentless rhythm of his cock stretching you open. You came with a cry of his name, walls clenching around him as he fucked you through it.
He didn't stop. If anything, he drove deeper, faster, his own breathing turning into low, shuddering groans.
"Gonna fill you up," he gritted out, voice wrecked. "Gonna put a baby in this perfect little cunt. Make you mine for real."
The words sent another jolt through you. "Do it. Please. Fill me up, Sir—I want it—"
He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came with a pathetic whimper, hot and thick, flooding you with pulse after pulse. You felt every drop, every shudder of his body against yours, and it was everything.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slicked and trembling. After a long moment, he lifted his head, brushing hair from your face.
"Still with me?"
You laughed weakly. "Barely."
He smiled, soft and genuine. "Good." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Because I meant what I said. I'm keeping you."
"You don't even know my last name."
"I don't care." He pulled out slowly, settling beside you and pulling you against his chest. "I'll learn it tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to hold you."
You nestled into him, feeling his cum slowly trickle down your thigh, a perfect, filthy reminder of what just happened.
"Hey.” you murmured.
"Yeah?"
"Did you bring water for decoration or are you going to give it to me?"
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Demanding even after getting fucked into the mattress."
"Would you expect anything less?"
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
"Never."
this feels poorly written yet so so good I honestly have lots of mixed feelings for this.
synopsis: you had a two and a half year relationship with your boyfriend that was full of infidelity and toxicity before you finally dump him once and for all outside of an award show. As the weeks pass after your breakup, you find herself and your confidence again. The only problem? you're both idols, constantly in each other's presence and dreading every second. Forced together again for music shows, idol awards, and private after parties, you both try to make each other jealous while also just making yourselves jealous.
cw: mentions of cheating, mentions of bang chan from skz, angst, happy ending depending on the angle your device is at.
MASTERLIST
📍reblog banners by @/cafekitsune
(most of the first bit is lots of yappage)
Winning should have felt better than this.
That was the first thought that repeated in your mind as you stood backstage at one of the biggest award shows of the year, your fingers wrapped tightly around a trophy that still felt too cold even in your burning hands
‘Best Solo Performance.’
A career-defining award. The kind younger you used to dream about while singing into hairbrushes and curling irons in your bedroom mirror, the kind of award people cried over, the kind of award your company had already posted across every social media platform with captions about history being made.
You had smiled for pictures, thanked all your fans and everyone who helped you, bowed politely to senior artists.
You had done everything right.
So why did your chest feel so unbearably heavy?
Because twenty minutes earlier, while accepting congratulations backstage, you looked over and saw Yunho laughing.
Not just laughing—leaning close.
Too close.
One of the female idols from a rising girl group had her hand resting against his arm while she giggled at something he whispered into her ear, and he looked comfortable, natural, like a man who had done this before, and not like a man who had promised you he would stop making you feel insane.
You had stared long enough for him to notice, and his smile disappeared instantly.
But the damage had already been done.
Now, your heels struck violently against the concrete floor of the underground parking garage as you stormed toward your waiting car.
Your manager called your name once, security guards awkwardly looked away, staff pretended not to notice your tears.
You ignored them all.
Then—
“Stop.”
His voice echoed through the empty garage.
You kept walking anyway.
“Hey!”
Faster.
“Will you stop walking away from me?”
That made you stop, and slowly, you turned.
Yunho looked equally furious.
Tie loose, hair messy.
He looked beautiful, yet you hated that your heart still noticed.
“You really want to do this right now?” you asked.
He laughed once, a cold cocky tone etched in his throat.
“You’re asking me that after disappearing?”
Your grip tightened around your trophy.
“You were flirting with her.”
“She was talking to me.”
“She was touching you.”
“She initiated it.”
“And you let her.”
His eyes narrowed. “You were practically hanging off every idol during the afterparty.”
Your expression hardened.
“That was work.”
“You were laughing pretty hard for work.”
“At least everyone I ‘entertain’ knows it’s public.” you throw air quotes harshly in his face.
The moment the words left your mouth, everything changed. His face completely changed, shoulders dropped like he was tired of the subject.
“That’s what this is about?”
You laughed in disbelief.
“What this is about?”
He stepped closer.
“Every time we fight, you throw old mistakes in my face.”
“Because they keep repeating themselves.”
“That was months ago.”
“That was every single month.”
He went quiet. Silence that made your anger grow.
“There’s always someone new.”
Your voice cracked despite your efforts.
“A fan, an idol, a model, a random woman leaving your apartment.”
“That photo was misleading.”
“Oh my god,” you let out a laugh so broken it didn’t sound real. “You always say that.”
Because he did.
Every single time.
It didn’t matter if there were photos, videos, rumors, witnesses. He always had an explanation.
And the worst part?
Sometimes you believed him—because loving him made you desperate enough to be stupid.
Then his expression changed, defensive anger replacing guilt.
“And what about you?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“You think I don’t see what you do?”
Your brows furrowed.
“What are you talking about?”
“The male idols, the backup dancers, every single time you let another man touch you?”
You stared at him in disbelief.
“That is my job.”
He laughed bitterly.
“No,” He stepped even closer, “That’s you trying to hurt me.”
Your breathing hitched because you knew he wasn’t completely wrong, and you hated that.
Sometimes you had done it intentionally.
When headlines about him surfaced, when fans sent clips of him acting too comfortable around other women, when you wanted him to feel even half of your humiliation.
You wanted him jealous, wanted proof he cared enough to break.
But his sins were real, yours were reactions.
And maybe that didn’t make you innocent.
But it made you tired.
“So what now?” you whispered.
He looked stunned by your sudden quietness.
“What?”
Your eyes burned.
“What happens after this fight?” You looked at him with devastating exhaustion, “We scream, you apologize, I forgive you, then we wait a few days—weeks if we’re lucky, until something else destroys us.”
He opened his mouth—then closed it. Because there was no lie available this time.
You slipped the ring off your finger.
The matching one he bought after your first major argument, one he promised represented commitment, growth, a fresh start.
You placed it in his defensive hand.
And for the first time all night, Yunho looked afraid.
“What are you doing?”
Your lips trembled.
“Ending this.”
“No,” his voice came fast—panicked, “No.”
You nodded through tears.
“Yes.”
“We can fix this.”
“You say that every time.”
“I mean it.”
“You always mean it just before I want to leave.”
That hurt him, and you could see it, but not enough to stop you, not enough to make you stay.
“You love me.”
You smiled sadly, “That’s the problem.”
And then the final blow, soft enough to haunt him forever.
“If you loved me right…”
Your voice broke.
“…you would’ve never made me leave.”
You turned.
Opened your car door.
And this time—
he didn’t stop you.
Didn’t chase you.
Didn’t beg.
You drove away while he stood alone in the parking garage holding both his trophy and your ring.
And neither of them felt like winning.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
The breakup became public three weeks later.
For two people who had spent nearly two and a half years accidentally exposing how deeply entangled your lives were, the sudden absence became louder than confirmation ever could’ve been.
Then your manager released a statement.
"After careful consideration, my artist and Yunho have mutually decided to part ways and remain supportive colleagues."
Supportive colleagues.
You laughed so hard you nearly cried when they read it to you.
Because there was nothing supportive about the way your chest still tightened every time his name trended.
And there was certainly nothing collegial about the fact that you still checked fan forums at three in the morning looking for new rumors involving him and other women.
Healing, apparently, was humiliating, and it started ugly.
You spent the first month sleeping in makeup because removing it felt like too much effort, and your apartment looked like heartbreak had physically moved in.
Takeout containers stacked on kitchen counters, unopened gifts from brands sat untouched by your front door, flowers sent by fans wilted in expensive vases because you couldn’t bring yourself to care for anything living.
Your upcoming album was supposed to be celebratory. You had envisioned bright concepts, summer visuals, festival stages, an undeniable comfort pop theme
Instead, every song you wrote sounded like emotional arson.
Your producers stopped questioning it after the fourth consecutive song about betrayal. By the sixth song, one of them quietly slid tissues across the recording booth when you couldn’t finish recording because your voice kept breaking.
You hated that he still lived in your music, hated that even while trying to destroy him on paper, you kept accidentally writing about how much you missed him.
How good he could be when he wasn’t ruining everything.
You see, the problem with toxic love is that it is still love, and that makes leaving feel like grief instead of freedom.
Until eventually, freedom starts winning.
Slowly, quietly—then all at once.
You began going out with friends again.
Started attending company dinners without pretending to be sick, started laughing in ways that didn’t feel forced.
You cut your hair to just below your collarbone, changed your styling team to wear more of what you liked, stopped asking your manager whether Yunho would be attending events before agreeing to schedules.
Then your album released—and everything exploded.
Your title track was devastating.
Elegant, brutal, and heartbreaking enough that fans began calling it your best work.
Critics praised its vulnerability, it topped charts for weeks, and every single performance felt like reclaiming pieces of yourself.
You looked better, sounded better.
And for the first time in years—you felt better.
But unfortunately for you—he noticed it all.
———
Your first shared event after the breakup happened at a luxury brand afterparty in Seoul.
It was a private guest list: industry executives, actors, models, idols, and enough expensive alcohol to erase common sense.
You nearly turned around when your manager casually mentioned he’d be there, but refusing appearances over a man you had dumped felt pathetic.
So you went, and you looked incredible too.
Well, that part was intentional.
Your dress clung to your body like it had been designed specifically to ruin people, and your makeup was soft but sharp enough to command attention.
Confidence had become your best revenge.
And the moment you entered, you felt him notice. You didn’t look immediately. You didn’t need to. After two and a half years, you knew exactly what his stare felt like.
Heavy, focused, impossible to ignore.
Still, you refused to give him immediate satisfaction.
Instead, you smiled politely at executives.
Accepted congratulations, spoke to actors, posed for photos, dragged a group discussion about pizza longer than normal, and eventually—you looked.
Yunho was across the room, and he looked furious.
Not loud, not dramatic, just visibly unraveling beneath forced composure that only you would be able to point out.
A gorgeous actress stood beside him speaking animatedly.
He wasn’t listening though, he was staring directly at you.
And there it was—that feeling
Because you were looking back at him.
Bored, detached, like he meant nothing. You looked at him exactly the same way you looked at the marble floor beneath your heels.
You turned away first.
And that hurt him far worse than anger ever had.
———
Then you made it worse—deliberately, of course.
Bang chan had approached you.
Talented, attractive, dangerously charming, and very aware of your recent breakup.
He made you laugh, that was all it took.
You leaned closer to hear him over the music, touched his arm while laughing, allowed him to refill your drink.
But you still felt it, that familiar burn.
You looked over Chan’s shoulder, and found Yunho already staring. It annoyed you, the way he cared so much only after you had gotten tired of trying.
But his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break his teeth.
A new woman beside him was talking, yet he still wasn’t hearing a single word.
Because all he saw was your hand resting on another man, all he saw was you smiling the way you used to smile at him.
The woman laughed while touching his chest, his attention shifting to her and the sudden contact.
Your stomach dropped. Mainly because of the way his attention broke from you so easily, but also because your first emotion wasn’t indifference.
It was rage, then jealousy, then heartbreak—and the ugly realization came crashing down at the exact same time for both of you.
Neither of you had moved on.
You were still performing jealousy like it was a language, still trying to make each other hurt, still watching each other suffer..
He left the party first, and you told yourself you didn’t care, that it didn't matter what he did because he wasn’t yours anymore.
Then you spent the drive home crying so hard your manager pulled over because they were scared you’d throw up.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Three weeks later, dating rumors involving you and chan exploded online.
Photos surfaced.
Dinner dates, late night drives, and private studio visits that your manager neither confirmed nor denied because technically you weren’t even officially dating him.
You liked him.
He was kind, safe, gentle in all the ways your previous relationship wasn’t.
But you also knew part of you liked how loudly the news would reach one specific person, and apparently it did.
Because Yunho stopped entertaining rumors entirely.
No more flirt clips, no more scandals, no more women leaving his apartment, no more suspicious sightings, nothing.
He became quieter publicly.
More reserved.
And according to mutual friends and his group members—miserable.
One night, after another schedule ran late, you returned home exhausted and opened your phone only to freeze.
A clip from one of his livestreams was trending. Fans had asked why he looked sad recently. He laughed it off at first, then grew quiet.
“I think sometimes people become who they should’ve been after they lose the person who needed that version of them the most.”
Your breathing stopped.
The livestream ended shortly after.
And despite everything, you cried.
Because even now he still somehow knew exactly how to break your heart.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
By the time award season returned, you had become experts at pretending.
It had been nearly a year since the parking garage, nearly a year since you left Yunho standing beneath fluorescent lights with your ring in his hand and no way to fix what he had broken.
And somehow time had made everything both better and worse.
Your career had never been stronger, your album had earned critical acclaim, your “casual” relationship with Chan had quietly ended months ago after both of you realized he deserved someone who wasn’t still emotionally trapped inside another relationship.
He had been kind about it, too kind, which only made you feel guiltier.
“You still love him,” Chan had said to you.
Not accusatory, certainly not angry, just honest in a way that confirmed other people saw it too.
Still, you had denied it.
He gave you a sad smile, then left anyway.
And you hated that he was right.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Yunho had appeared in public with a quiet control. He strayed away from females, stuck to his group and his silence.
Apparently heartbreak had rebuilt your ex-boyfriend into the version of himself you spent years begging for, and that truth made you angrier than his cheating ever did.
Because it made you wonder—why now? why after you were already gone? why after your trust had been destroyed beyond repair? why did he become everything you needed only when you no longer needed him?
That question sat heavily in your chest the night of the afterparty.
It happened after one of the biggest award ceremonies of the year, a private rooftop penthouse in Seoul. No media, no managers, just idols, actors, and too much alcohol.
You almost didn’t attend, but your manager dragged you there.
“You deserve one fun night.”
That sentence aged terribly.
———
The party was loud enough to blur thought. Music pulsed through the penthouse walls, luxury liquor flowed like water. Famous people acted embarrassingly normal once cameras disappeared.
For the first hour everything was manageable.
You avoided Yunho, he avoided you—or at least pretended to.
Then someone suggested seven minutes in heaven..
The idea was stupid, childish—exactly the kind of thing drunk celebrities somehow found entertaining .
You stayed, because leaving would draw attention.
The first spin landed on an actor, the second landed on a girl group member.
Everyone screamed.
They left the room while others filmed fake reaction videos for private group chats.
Then the bottle spun again, and landed directly at your feet.
The room erupted.
You groaned immediately.
“No.”
Your friends laughed harder.
Then someone yelled for a second spin.
Your stomach dropped before it even happened.
Because suddenly—
Yunho looked just as tense as you felt.
The bottle spun.
Slowed.
And stopped.
Pointing directly between him and the person beside him.
The room exploded.
Screaming, cheering, debates of who should go, a majority vote for Yunho of course. People doubled over laughing because apparently your suffering was excellent entertainment.
You stood instantly.
“I’m leaving.”
Several people physically blocked the door.
“It’s only seven minutes!”
“Lock them in!”
“This is awesome!”
You looked at Yunho for help, but the traitor was already being shoved toward the hallway too.
The bedroom door slammed behind both of you, then locked.
You crossed your arms immediately, “This is ridiculous.”
Yunho leaned against the wall.
“You look good.”
You stared at him.
“Don’t.”
He nodded once.
Silence came, then he ruined it.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
You let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Seriously?”
“I just asked a question.”
“You lost the right to ask those.”
Except he didn't look upset, he looked calm. Calm in a way that brought back the feelings of insanity you felt when you were with him just because he was so controlled while you were dying on the inside.
“So there’s someone?”
“There were plenty of someones for you.”
He flinched, and there it was. Still your greatest weapon, still the most tender place to stab.
“That stopped.”
You rolled your eyes.
“How noble.”
“I mean it.”
You looked at him, and then you realized he wasn’t trying to win an argument that didn't exist.
He looked…ashamed, calmly devastated.
“I know apologies don’t matter anymore.”
You froze, because Yunho never used to surrender this easily.
“I know becoming better now is useless to you, and I know I made you feel insane.”
Your eyes started burning.
“I know I confused possession with love.”
That one shattered you, because that had been the exact thing you never managed to articulate.
He looked down, then laughed quietly at himself.
“But you had my heart in your two hands, and you let it go. That hurt me more than anything else.”
Your tears came instantly. “You cheated.”
“I know.”
“You lied.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel replaceable.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
And he looked destroyed.
“I replaced everything for attention because I thought being wanted made me worth something.”
You went silent.
Because that sounded painfully real.
Relatable.
He looked at you carefully.
“Why did you flirt with people in front of me?”
Your laugh broke halfway through, because what was the point of lying now?
“I wanted you jealous,” You wiped your face angrily. “I wanted you to hurt the way I did. I wanted proof you cared enough to lose your mind.”
He blinked slowly.
Then let out the saddest laugh you’d ever heard.
The room softened, not fixed, honest for the first time in years.
Then he stepped closer.
Not enough to touch, just enough to destroy your ability to breathe normally.
“I loved you.”
You shut your eyes. “Don’t do this.”
“I still love you.”
Your eyes snapped open.
And there it was.
The truth both of you had been outrunning for nearly a year.
Your voice trembled.
“Why do you want to do this again?”
The door clicked.
Your seven minutes were over.
Laughter exploded from outside.
People waited for entertainment, for scandal, for a dramatic reveal.
Instead, Yunho moved toward the door.
Paused.
Then looked back at you one final time.
And with tears in his eyes he said quietly—
“It might make me a better man…”
He opened the door.
The noise rushed in.
Your world tilted.
And before disappearing into the crowd for what might be forever—he finished softly,
“But you’ll never know.”
Is this straight gas or straight ass let me know guys.
Song Mingi x Fem! Reader, OT8 ateez x Fem! Reader (reader is mingi's girlfriend)
This is my very cute, very beautiful fic. It's super dirty. minors DNI but I can't really control it. when I say dirty I mean don't lock into this if u ain't a freaky freak.
I wrote this while listening to in your fantasy on repeat I think I got possessed.
super not proofread
Content warning: HEAVY smut, praise/degradation, multiple partners, oral (f), fingering, Train, dom/sub, biting, hair-pulling, choking, cream pie, overstimulation, gangbang, double penetration, oral (m) titfucking, anal, rough use, spit, cum play, fully consensual non-stop sex, color checks as in physical state. This gets freaky way too fast.
when I demonstrated the positions on my bed it made sense to me okay.
MASTERLIST
📍banners by @/cafekitsune
You always knew watching Mingi onstage would be the end of you.
You’d been to his rehearsals, stood in the wings while he perfected his lines, watched him bounce from joke to joke in recording rooms and hotel suites with his members, easy and boyish and glowing with passion. But it wasn’t the same. It never compared to the way he transformed in front of a crowd.
Tonight, you watched from side-stage, heart jackhammering as the lights turned red and warm, casting the whole arena in electric heat. The moment the beat dropped, Mingi hit his first verse with a sharp roll of his hips and a growl in his throat that sent heat straight between your legs.
He was on fire. Full throttle. Every movement carved from the kind of confidence only someone adored could wear naturally. He looked like he was born for it—sweat catching at his brow, jaw sharp and glinting under the lights, body draped in that outfit like sin.
And you knew that look in his eye.
Not just the “I own this stage”, The one that locked onto you, even in a crowd of thousands. The one that said "Just wait until we're alone."
By the time the concert ended, your thighs were pressed tight together, breath shallow. You’d nearly combusted watching his tongue peek out before each verse, his low growl during the dance break, the way his shirt rode up over his abs as he hyped the crowd.
When the lights finally dropped, the roar of the fans lingering like thunder, the boys filed offstage high on adrenaline.
Seonghwa gave you a gentle shoulder bump and a smirk as he passed. “He’s been talking about you all night.”
You scoffed. “He’s been growling into a mic and body rolling. Doesn’t seem like he missed me much.”
Jongho snorted. “Oh, he missed you. He’s barely held it together. Told us not to say anything crazy after the show.”
“Why?”
Seonghwa smirked, slinging a towel over his shoulders. “Because he’s planning to fuck the soul out of you. Right here in the dressing room.”
Your eyes widened. “You’re joking.”
But then, he arrived.
Mingi—towering, drenched in sweat, shirt riding up, chains swaying. His gaze locked on you the second he stepped offstage.
“Baby.”
The rest of the group faded from your mind. You barely registered the way Wooyoung shouted a congratulations or how San collapsed onto the nearest couch. All you could see was him.
You opened your mouth to speak, but Mingi was already tugging you into his chest with a hand firm on your waist.
He kissed you like it had been weeks. Tongue deep, lips bruising, teeth catching on your lower lip.
And right there, in the chaotic post-show dressing room—filled with managers leaving, towels, and backup dancers filtering out—he leaned down to whisper in your ear:
“You wore that dress just to torture me, didn’t you?”
You blinked up at him. “You’re the one moaning into a mic, Mingi. You started it.”
His smirk was sharp. “And I’m going to finish it.”
“Here?” you whispered, breath hitching.
Mingi turned, glancing toward the other members, who had sprawled out on the plush couches, half-stripped, chatting and laughing about a stage mishap. Hongjoong caught Mingi’s eye — and gave a little nod.
Your heart skipped.
Mingi pulled you closer until your thighs brushed his. “You sure?”
“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes.”
“Color?”
“Green.”
“Good girl.”
You didn’t miss the way Yunho raised an eyebrow from across the room, grinning as Mingi sat back on the couch and pulled you into his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Like you weren’t already throbbing from the heat of his voice and the press of his bulge under you.
Like the rest of the members weren’t right there.
He nuzzled into your neck, lips brushing your ear. “You’ll let me keep you warm for a bit?”
You swallowed. “Mingi—”
“I’ll ask one more time, baby.” His voice dipped low. “You wanna sit on my cock while they all talk about the concert?”
You whined, the noise barely audible. He reached between you, thumb stroking the inside of your thigh, and you felt him press against your panties through the thin fabric of your dress.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” you whispered, trembling. “Please.”
He didn’t rush. That was the worst part — the way he took his time lifting your dress, pushing your panties to the side, unzipping his pants just enough to free his cock.
Thick. Hot. Already leaking.
He guided you down onto him with practiced ease, one hand under your ass and the other around your waist as you sank down, inch by inch.
You gasped at the stretch—so full, so sudden—and he bit your shoulder to muffle his own groan.
The room didn’t stop moving. San was still talking about missing a cue during one of the dances. Jongho had a drink in hand. Wooyoung and Yeosang were bickering over who nailed their choreography harder. Hongjoong typed on his phone like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
Only Yunho seemed to notice how you shifted in Mingi’s lap, breathing a little quicker, cheeks flushed.
Mingi stayed still inside you.
“Just sit,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Let me warm you up, baby. That’s all. You can do that for me, right?”
You nodded, barely holding in a whimper.
His hands rested on your hips like they belonged there. Occasionally he’d stroke your back or toy with your hemline, and every so often he’d roll his hips just the slightest bit. Just enough to remind you he was there, buried deep, owning every inch of you.
Your legs shook.
“Mingi—”
He tightened his grip, voice warm but commanding. “You move without permission, and I’ll make you beg in front of all of them. You hear me?”
You clenched around him.
He chuckled darkly, biting your shoulder again. “Knew you’d like that.”
You tried to stay composed—tried to focus on anything but the way he throbbed inside you, twitching slightly every time someone laughed too loud or got too close.
You tried not to moan when Yunho walked past and ruffled Mingi’s hair with a knowing look.
Mingi just grinned. “She’s the best recovery I’ve ever had.”
You whined, barely audible, and Mingi took it as permission to start moving.
Slow. Deep. Barely rocking his hips—but enough to send sparks licking up your spine.
He didn’t stop talking, didn’t stop acting like nothing was happening.
Just slid in and out, inch by inch, while keeping you sitting pretty on his lap. His arms cradled you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your thigh tightly enough to bruise.
“You’re doing so well, baby. Letting me stretch you out like this, just soaking me in while they all sit here like nothing’s happening.”
His praise sent a shiver through your entire body.
And then he added, voice low and smug, “So fucking desperate. Can’t even keep quiet, huh? Gonna cry just from sitting on my cock?”
You whimpered—and this time, Jongho turned.
“You alright over there?”
You opened your mouth to answer, but Mingi beat you to it, smiling sweetly. “She’s just shy. Gets overwhelmed easily after shows.”
Jongho chuckled. “Don’t tease her.”
Mingi kissed your shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But you knew he was lying—and you loved it.
You tried to keep still.
Tried to stay composed in his lap while the other members chatted like nothing was happening. But Mingi didn’t make it easy. His cock sat deep, the stretch delicious, maddening. Every time he shifted slightly beneath you—under the disguise of adjusting, of leaning back, of laughing at something Wooyoung said—your insides clenched, needing more.
It was unbearable and he knew it.
“You’re dripping,” he whispered, mouth brushing your ear, lips ghosting your neck. “Just sitting on me like this. Fucking filthy, baby.”
You whimpered.
He brushed a hand across your lower back, the pressure grounding and cruel all at once.
“She’s squirming,” Yunho muttered from the other couch, half-smiling. “You planning to stay like that all night?”
Mingi chuckled low, slow. “She begged for it.”
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, amused but unbothered. “Is she okay?”
You nodded quickly—flushed, trembling, thighs soaked.
“She’s perfect,” Mingi answered for you. Then his voice dropped, all control and command. “Aren’t you, baby?”
Your voice cracked when you whispered, “Yes.”
“Louder.”
“Yes, I’m perfect—”
“Say it like you believe it.” You gasped as he rolled his hips just once—a long, slow push deeper that stole your breath.
“I’m perfect,” you moaned out, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m perfect for you.”
“Fuck yes, you are.”
And just like that, the teasing stopped.
Mingi’s grip tightened at your waist as he lifted your hips—not all the way off, just enough to slide back in with agonizing precision. You let out a choked sob at the sensation.
“Oh my god—”
The couch creaked slightly as he began a rhythm—slow, brutal, possessive. His cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you, every thrust making you feel more and more like you belonged to him, like nothing else existed but the drag of his cock and the way he filled you up so perfectly.
Across the room, the conversation shifted—slowly, deliberately—into silence.
One by one, the members turned to watch.
No one said a word for a long moment. The air was thick. Hot. Heavy with permission and understanding.
You whimpered again when Mingi tugged your hair back, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“Look at them,” he growled. “Look at the fucking mess you are in front of them. Moaning on my cock like a brainless little doll.”
You could hardly see straight, eyes glazed over, lips parted and wet.
“Do you wanna stop?” he asked suddenly—voice softer. Checking.
You shook your head immediately. “No. Please. Please don’t stop.”
He exhaled sharply, eyes dark with something primal. “That’s my good girl.”
His thrusts sped up—deep, heavy, measured. Not pounding yet, but full of heat and promise.
“She likes this?” Yeosang asked, voice breathless but respectful.
Mingi glanced up, one brow raised. “She loves this.”
You could barely breathe, let alone answer—not when your pussy was gripping Mingi’s cock so tight, not when the heat was curling in your belly, threatening to snap with every slow grind.
“She looks fucking wrecked,” Wooyoung said, his voice low and aroused.
“She is,” Mingi said proudly, dragging his cock out halfway just to slam back in, making your whole body jolt in his lap. “But she can take it. Can’t you, baby?”
You nodded frantically. “Yes—yes, I can.”
A tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Not from pain—from the overwhelming need. And Mingi saw it instantly.
He softened again, brushing his thumb gently across your cheek. “Color?”
“Green,” you whispered.
His praise hit like lightning. “That’s it, sweet girl. Take it all.”
He adjusted your position, spreading your legs wider across his thighs, one hand gripping your ass, the other at your throat — firm, steady, never cutting off breath, but controlling.
“I could keep you cock-drunk forever,” he whispered. “Keep you stuffed and filled and fucked in front of everyone. Let them see how much you love being mine.”
A chorus of quiet groans surrounded you.
You dared to look up—saw the way all of them stared.
San was palming himself through his pants. Jongho sat still, flushed and hard. Wooyoung had one hand in his hair, biting his knuckle. Yunho’s jaw was tight, chest rising. Seonghwa had that unreadable calm, but his hand was curled into a fist. Even Hongjoong looked darkly entertained, as though he’d known this would happen all along.
But they didn’t move closer.
Not yet.
“Want them to watch you cum?” Mingi murmured into your ear. “Want to show them how good I fuck you?”
You whimpered, back arching. “Yes—yes, please—”
“That’s my girl.”
He lifted you, slammed you back down.
Once. Twice. Again.
You choked on your moans, the slap of skin loud now, filthy in the quiet of the room.
“You feel that?” Mingi groaned. “You hear how wet you are for me?”
He was close. You could tell in the way his breathing hitched, the sharpness of his thrusts, the tight grip he had on your hips.
“I’m gonna cum in you,” he growled. “Gonna fill this pussy up in front of all of them. Gonna make you fucking drip.”
Your head dropped back onto his shoulder, mouth open, eyes shut tight.
“Beg for it,” he demanded.
“Please, Mingi, please cum in me—fill me up—I need it so bad!”
He snapped.
With a broken groan, he slammed deep and stayed there, twitching inside you as hot pulses of cum filled your cunt.
You came with him—hard, shaking, clenching tight around his cock as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, nearly screaming his name, nails clawing at his arm as you unraveled.
It took you a full minute to stop shaking.
You collapsed against him, panting hard, your thighs still twitching around him.
And he held you like glass—kissed your hair, whispered praises, stroked your sides until your pulse slowed.
“You still with me?” he murmured.
You nodded. “Green.”
“Fuck, you’re amazing.”
Then you heard it—the soft rustle of someone shifting closer.
Your head turned.
It was Yunho.
Kneeling beside the couch, gaze hot but gentle.
“She really okay?” he asked, voice husky but calm.
Mingi looked at you.
“She is,” he said. You and mingi eyed each other, gazes saying everything words couldn't. He nodded briefly, arms tight around you. You turned to everyone else, voice soft. “If you all want to... if you’re okay with it... I’m open.”
One by one, they approached. Every single member paused before touching you. Every one of them asked.
“Can I kiss you?” Seonghwa whispered.
“Can I taste you?” Wooyoung asked.
“Can I touch her with you watching?” San growled at Mingi, not you.
And Mingi—flushed, possessive, proud—nodded slowly.
“Make her feel good,” he said. “But she’s still mine."
You were still trembling when Seonghwa knelt in front of you.
He was so gentle with it—reaching for your hand, kissing your wrist. His touch soothed the burn Mingi had stoked to a roaring fire.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” you breathed, blinking through tears. “Please.”
Mingi sat back, still deep inside you, arms wrapped around your waist. He didn't move to pull out, didn't try to hide the proud smile on his lips.
“She’s still full of me,” he said darkly. “So don’t waste time, Hwa.”
Seonghwa leaned in—pressed the softest kiss to your inner thigh.
“Can I taste you?” he murmured. “All of you?”
“Yes,” you whispered, legs falling open more.
Mingi slowly shifted you off his cock, groaning as you slid free with a wet sound. His cum dripped from your spent cunt, but you barely had time to process before Seonghwa dove in.
His tongue was angelic.
He licked you clean—slow, deep, reverent—moaning softly into you like your pleasure was his favorite melody. He tongued Mingi’s cum out of you like it was holy, spreading your folds with long fingers to suck gently on your clit.
“Oh my—Seonghwa—”
He hummed, dragging two fingers inside, curling them perfectly.
“Such a pretty mess,” he murmured between strokes. “You take everything so well, sweetheart.”
Your moans came louder now, legs twitching as he devoured you—his tongue flicking, his fingers curling, and Mingi holding your hips still as you writhed.
You came quickly again—bucking into Seonghwa’s mouth, sobbing his name as he coaxed you through it, never once letting up.
By the time he pulled away, your whole body shook.
And the San stepped in.
“Still green?” he asked, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face.
You nodded. “Yes.”
He smirked, slow and wolfish. “Good.”
San wasn’t soft.
He was fire—all grabbing hands and teeth and growled praise.
“Want me to fuck you with my fingers first, or do you want my cock now, baby?” he asked, cock already out and heavy in his fist.
“Now,” you moaned, eyes wide. “Now, please—”
He didn’t hesitate.
He hooked your leg over his arm and slid in deep in one thrust, groaning loud at the tightness. You screamed, overwhelmed by the stretch and the leftover sensitivity.
“God, you’re ruined already,” he moaned. “Mingi fucked you open just for me, huh?”
He pounded into you—hard, fast, relentless—but never once stopped looking at your face, checking for signs of discomfort. His hand snaked around your throat, squeezing lightly as you moaned louder and louder.
“She’s so loud now,” San teased, glancing at Mingi. “You always fuck her this dumb?”
Mingi smirked. “Only when I want her brain off.”
“She’s close again,” San groaned, feeling you clench. “Cum on me, please,I want to feel it.”
You came like a shockwave—head tossed back, walls fluttering around him. San fucked you through it, pulling out last-second and cumming across your belly with a low, possessive grunt.
Then came Wooyoung.
“Oh baby,” he purred, wiping San’s mess from your skin with his shirt. “You are a sight.”
He didn’t go in right away. He teased. Kissed his way up your thighs. Bit your hip. Smacked your pussy gently to watch you twitch.
“You like being everyone’s little toy?” Mingi whispered as wooyoung licked a stripe up your folds. “You want him to wreck you?”
“Please—”
He didn’t fuck you with his cock—not yet.
Wooyoung ate you out like it was a competition.
He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking hard, while two fingers worked you open again. The filthiest sounds came from you—sobs, gasps, choked apologies as you tried to hold back an orgasm and failed every time.
When he slid inside finally after your third orgasm—he grunted and leaned down to bite your shoulder.
“So tight still. So fucking greedy.”
He didn’t last long—not with how wrecked you looked.
He came inside you, whispering filthy praise in your ear as you sobbed for more.
And Jongho…
Jongho surprised you.
He was firm. Silent. Rough in the most disciplined way.
He bent you over, held your hips like iron, and fucked you from behind while Mingi kissed your face and whispered how perfect you were.
Jongho didn’t moan much—but the low growl in his chest when he came deep in you made your walls clench hard again.
You nearly blacked out from the overstimulation.
Yeosang and Yunho were last.
Yeosang was curious. Almost reverent, asking if he could watch you fall apart from just his fingers.
He slipped two in, then three, hitting your spot again and again until you screamed his name, coating his hand in slick and shaking like you’d been hit by lightning.
“You’re unreal,” he whispered, kissing your knees, your ankles, your trembling stomach.
Yunho fucked you sweet.
He held you in his lap, murmured soft praises, told you how beautiful you were even while his cock dragged in and out of your slick walls.
“You’ve done so well,” he whispered. “Let me give you one more.”
He tilted your hips just right—and you came again, body limp in his arms as you squirted, a wet gush that made every member groan.
And through it all, Mingi watched.
Eyes dark. Arms crossed. Hard again.
When Yunho gently set you down, shaking and boneless, Mingi came back to you.
You didn’t know how long it had been. How many orgasms they’d pulled from you. How much cum was already dripping out of you, soaking your thighs, your chest, your throat.
The concert was already over—long over. The space was empty and quiet. staff didn't dare to enter, and everyone had left.
When Mingi looked at you—ruined, limp across Yunho’s lap, trembling and slick—he grinned like the devil.
“Still green?”
Your voice cracked. “Yes.”
“Then don’t think we’re done.”
He grabbed you by the hips, dragged you to the center of the suite’s large bed, and flipped you on your stomach like you weighed nothing.
San was already behind you—hard again, spit-slick fingers rubbing over your folds.
“Want her like this,” San growled, “With you inside her too.”
Mingi’s mouth curved. “D.P?”
“She can take it. Look at her already—cockdrunk and drooling.”
You moaned at their words, knees shaking as they spread your legs apart. Mingi leaned down, grabbed a handful of your hair, and tilted your head back.
“You want both of us inside you?”
“Y-Yes,” you gasped. “Please, please—”
San shoved two fingers into you while Mingi rubbed the head of his cock against your rim, pressing slow and firm.
“Then beg for it.”
“Please fuck me,” you sobbed. “Fill me up, stretch me—need you both.”
They didn’t make you wait.
San lined up and thrust in deep, groaning as your cunt clamped down on him.
“Fuck, how are you still so tight?”
Then came Mingi—careful at first, easing into you backside with slick-coated fingers first, then the thick head of his cock. He kissed your spine as you trembled beneath him.
“Breathe, baby.”
“I’m okay,” you panted, teeth digging into the pillow. “Please—”
He pushed in slow. The stretch was unreal—the two of them moving together, both panting curses as they bottomed out.
You screamed into the sheets.
“Fuck—she’s so full,” San groaned.
“Taking it like a perfect little slut,” Mingi snarled, biting your shoulder. “You love being ruined like this, don’t you?”
You nodded wildly, tears falling freely as the pressure overwhelmed you.
Mingi set the pace—brutal, coordinated thrusts with San, pistoning into you like they were on the same rhythm. Every drag of their cocks inside you stretched your walls, lit every nerve on fire.
You came faster than before—sobbing, choking, shaking—and they didn’t stop.
“Hold her still,” Mingi barked.
Yunho moved first—kneeling at the head of the bed, hand gripping your chin.
“Open for me, princess.”
You parted your lips just as he slid his cock between them, filling your throat until you gagged around the length.
“God, she’s so good at this,” he groaned, gently guiding your head with one hand.
Right beside him, Yeosang stepped in, cock already hard and leaking.
“Can I…?” he asked softly.
Mingi grunted behind you. “Yes. Stuff her full.”
You moaned around Yunho’s cock as Yeosang slipped in too—not deep, just enough to stretch your lips around both of them.
“You’re doing so well,” Yeosang whispered, fucking into your cheek. “Look at you.”
San and Mingi never stopped—one brutal thrust after another, cocks dragging through both holes until you felt split wide open, cock in every hole, hands on every inch of skin.
Then came Hongjoong and Jongho—kneeling beside your tits, stroking themselves slowly.
“She’s ready for more,” Jongho muttered.
“She’s a masterpiece,” Hongjoong said simply. “Let’s ruin her chest.”
They leaned in together—hands gripping your tits tight as they slid their cocks between the plush curves, dragging slick heads over sensitive nipples.
“Fuck, fuck—” you moaned around the cocks in your mouth.
“You want more?” Mingi growled behind you. “You want to be used like this?”
Yes, your brain screamed, even as your throat was too full to speak.
Your body was on fire.
And then… the last two stepped in.
Seonghwa and Wooyoung, already hard, already grinning.
“You okay?” Seonghwa asked one last time.
You pulled off Yunho and Yeosang for a moment just to whisper: “Yes. Don’t stop. I want all of you.”
Wooyoung kissed your temple. “Good girl.”
They knelt behind Mingi and San, hands on your cheeks, slicking your already-spread ass.
“She’s taken Mingi’s cock before, and he's huge,” Wooyoung muttered. “She can take us.”
And you did.
First Seonghwa—easing in steady beside Mingi, slow and steady. Then Wooyoung—slipping into your pussy beside San.
You screamed so loud Mingi slapped your ass hard.
“Quiet,” he growled. “You can cum as many times as you want, but you keep your fucking voice down.”
You nodded desperately, tears streaming down your cheeks.
Now there were four cocks inside you—stretching both holes beyond reason. Each thrust felt impossible, raw and powerful, and you came so hard you nearly blacked out.
And they still. Didn’t. Stop.
They fucked you harder—hips slamming in sync, cocks pulsing, hands dragging over your body like they couldn’t get enough.
Jongho came first—all over your tits with a grunt.
Then Yeosang, painting your face in thick cum.
San came inside your pussy, groaning your name as he twitched deep.
Wooyoung followed, filling you so full it leaked onto the sheets.
Seonghwa was next—soft curses and gentle kisses as he emptied into your ass.
Yunho pulled out, finished across your chest, moaning into your hair.
Hongjoong didn’t even grunt—just tightened his grip and came all over your neck, cock twitching between your breasts.
And finally… Mingi.
He bit your neck hard as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself fully before spilling inside, cum dripping down your thighs, your holes leaking.
You collapsed.
Sobbing. Twitching. Barely breathing.
And then it shifted—everything softened.
Hands touched you like feathers.
A towel on your cheek. Gentle strokes through your hair. Warm water on a cloth dabbing between your legs.
“Green?” Mingi asked softly.
You blinked slowly. “Green. Just… no more.”
“No more,” he promised, voice breaking. “You were perfect.”
They carried you—arms wrapping around you like a nest—to the wider couch. Someone pulled a blanket over you. Someone else lifted your hair, to cool your neck.
Mingi curled beside you, brushing your temple with his lips.
“You’re safe.”
“I feel amazing,” you whispered, weak but glowing.
Each of them took turns—kissing your forehead, stroking your back, massaging your thighs with warm oil. They didn’t rush it. Didn’t joke or laugh. Just took care of you.
Hongjoong wiped your mouth and gave you water.
San kissed your knees.
Seonghwa held your hand the whole time.
Wooyoung whispered compliments in your ear.
Yunho cradled your head in his lap.
Yeosang helped clean between your legs, murmuring, “You’re so good. So strong.”
Jongho brushed his fingers along your arm and hummed a lullaby.
And Mingi?
He held you until you stopped shaking. Ran a warm bath with rose oil and bubbles. Sat behind you and cradled your body, massaging your back while you relaxed.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And I’ll never stop showing you how much I adore you.”
❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀
The bathwater was still warm when the others began gathering their things. One by one, they slipped out with gentle touches and soft kisses, leaving you tucked between Mingi’s thighs, your back pressed to his chest beneath the bubbles.
San knelt beside the tub, still shirtless, and ran the pad of his thumb over your cheek.
“You were amazing,” he whispered.
You gave a tired smile, voice hoarse. “You guys were…”
“We know,” Wooyoung cut in with a wink, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “Total gentlemen.”
Mingi didn’t say anything—just kissed your shoulder and watched them with his arms tight around your middle.
Jongho gave you a fresh water bottle and a quiet “Rest well.”
Yeosang rubbed your back with long, soft strokes. “You’re glowing.”
By the time Hongjoong shut the door behind him, leaving the bathroom quiet again, the tension that had buzzed in your bones for hours finally began to fade.
Just you and Mingi now.
His chin rested on your shoulder, arms around your middle, both of you submerged in warmth.
You reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his.
He squeezed, then kissed your temple.
“Color check,” he murmured.
You laughed softly. “So green.”
“Good,” he said. “You scared me for a second. You were shaking so bad.”
“I was wrecked, Mingi.”
“I know.” His voice dipped, pride curling at the edges. “You took everything. Let me share you like that. Let them touch what’s mine.”
You tilted your head to look at him. “You liked watching?”
His eyes darkened instantly. “More than I should’ve.”
You grinned, even as exhaustion tugged at your limbs. “You didn’t look jealous.”
“Oh, I was,” he said, brushing your wet hair away from your face. “But not in the way you think. I wanted them to see what I get. I wanted them to know no one could make you fall apart like me.”
You leaned back against his chest, melting into his embrace.
His next words were quiet. Almost reverent.
“You’re unreal.”
“You’re gonna make me cry again,” you whispered.
He kissed your cheek. “Good. I’ll clean up the tears too.”
You stayed there in the bath until your fingers pruned, Mingi adjusting the temperature once, then twice, until you were fully relaxed. He washed your hair with delicate fingers, massaging your scalp like it was sacred. Then he lifted you from the tub like you weighed nothing and wrapped you in the fluffiest towel he could find.
Your legs trembled when he carried you to the bed.
“You want something to eat?” he asked, tucking pillows behind your back and draping a blanket over your lap.
“Not yet.”
“Water?”
You nodded. He held the bottle to your lips, letting you sip until your throat stopped burning. Then he dried your arms and legs gently, kissing each new bruise he found.
“You okay with the marks?” he asked.
“Love them,” you murmured. “You know that.”
His gaze burned. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re ruined.”
He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, then climbed in beside you, shirtless and warm, his arms open wide.
“Come here.”
You curled into his side immediately. He kissed your forehead. Your temple. Your eyelids. Then just held you, rocking slightly.
“I still feel full,” you whispered.
He smirked. “You are full.”
You groaned, face in his chest. “Don’t say things like that or I’m gonna want another round.”
His hand slid under the blanket. “Another time. Tonight was too much already.”
You nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t regret any of it.”
His fingers gently traced your lower belly. “Me either.”
He shifted, nudging your chin up so you could meet his eyes.
“Thank you for trusting me with that,” he said seriously. “Letting them join. Letting me push you way too far.”
“I’d let you take me apart a hundred times over,” you whispered. “You always put me back together.”
His arms locked tight around you at that.
“Sleep, baby,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ve got you.”
And as you slipped under, sore and floating, you knew that was true.
Mingi always had you.
Let me Know how it is and PLEASEE like comment and reblog if you enjoyed this, it really helps.🫶🏾
ughhhh thank you to literally everyone who supports this blog, i officially hit 200 followers!!!! although i haven't gotten much traction on this account, i continue to strive to be able to put out content that people love. genuinely thankful for everyone who has gotten me here!! look out for my upcoming fic may 16th🩷🩷
I js read your ‘stranded with yungi’ it’s so good i really love it
And I was wondering if I could request a Yeosang x male reader, where the reader is a soloist and they meet at like music bank to which they start becoming friends and later become boyfriends?
I hope this isn’t to vague 😣😣 but thank you and take your time! Have a good morning/ night/day!!
-🥭
In Between Stages
Idol! Yeosang x Male Idol! Reader
WC: 1.2k
MASTERLIST
📍reblog banners by @/cafekitsune
The first time you noticed Yeosang, it didn’t feel important.
Backstage at Music Bank was always loud—staff calling cues, idols rushing past, the constant hum of nerves and anticipation. You were trying to stay focused, adjusting your in-ears and running through your choreography in your head, reminding yourself that this was just another stage, just you, like always.
No members to lean on, and no one to distract you from the nerves.
You exhaled slowly, rolling your shoulders back—and that’s when your eyes caught on him.
He stood with his group, a little quieter than the rest, listening more than he spoke. While the others joked and moved around him, he stayed still, calm in a way that felt intentional.
For a second, you watched him.
And then, like he felt it, he looked up.
Your eyes met.
It wasn’t dramatic—no sudden realization, no rush of anything overwhelming—just a brief pause, like the world stuttered for half a second, and then you both looked away, almost at the same time.
You frowned slightly to yourself, rubbing the back of your neck. “Great,” you muttered. “Now I look weird.”
You didn’t think about it much after that.
At least, not until the next week.
You saw him again in the same place, except this time you noticed him sooner—noticed the way he stood, the way his gaze drifted before settling, the way he seemed just a little separate from everything around him.
You tried not to stare, tried to act normal, and it almost worked until a voice beside you said, “Hey, man.”
You turned too quickly, caught off guard, and there he was. Closer this time. Close enough that you could see the small details you missed before—the softness in his expression, the way his eyes held yours without being overwhelming.
“Oh—hi,” you managed.
He gave a small smile, like he’d expected the awkwardness. “You performed last week, right?”
“I did, yeah.”
“Your performance was good,” he said simply. “I liked the choreography.”
For a second, you just looked at him. Processing.
“You watched it?”
“Of course.”
Something about that felt bigger than it should’ve. You weren’t new to compliments, but this one landed differently—it made you feel something you didn't think was right.
“Thanks,” you said, your voice softer now. “Your stage was really good too.”
There was a pause—not uncomfortable, still. Then someone called his name, and he glanced over his shoulder before looking back at you.
“See you around,” he said.
“Yeah,” you replied. “See you.”
And that should’ve been it.
But it wasn’t, because after that, it became a pattern.
Not all at once, not in some obvious, cinematic way. Just small things, building slowly until you couldn’t really remember when they started.
A nod across the hallway.
A quiet “good job” after a stage.
Standing a little closer than necessary when you ended up in the same space.
And then, eventually, conversations. You learned that Yeosang wasn’t distant—just careful. He didn’t say something unless he meant what he said, and somehow, without realizing it, you started to match that pace.
“You always look nervous before you go on stage,” he said one day, handing you a bottle of water like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You let out a short laugh. “That obvious?”
“Only if you’re paying attention.”
You raised a brow, taking the bottle. “So you’ve been paying attention?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Just watched you with that same steady expression.
“Maybe,” he said, and that was enough to make your chest feel weird—warm in a way you didn’t question too closely.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
It changed without asking for permission.
You started looking for him without meaning to.
Checking the room when you walked in, noticing when he wasn’t there. Letting your attention drift toward him like it had somewhere to settle.
He started doing the same.
Texting you after schedules, asking if you’d eaten, telling you you did well—even on days you thought you didn’t.
One night, after a long recording, you found him sitting alone in a quiet hallway, his back against the wall, phone resting loosely in his hand.
“Are you hiding?” you asked, sliding down beside him.
“Taking a break,” he corrected.
You leaned your head back, closing your eyes for a second. “Same difference.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward anymore. It never was. With him it felt easy, like you didn’t have to perform, didn’t have to fill every gap.
“You’re different off stage,” he said after a while.
You cracked one eye open, glancing at him. “Different how?”
“Quiter,” he said. “but also more open.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Is that a good thing?”
He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze.
“…Yeah.”
And your chest tightened in a way that didn’t feel casual anymore.
———
By the time you realized what was happening, it was already too late to pretend it wasn’t.
It wasn’t one big moment, it was everything at once.
The way your conversations lingered, the way your hands brushed and neither of you pulled away immediately, the way you felt in your chest every time he looked at you just a little too long.
Still, you didn’t say anything.
Neither did he.
Until the rain.
Schedules had been thrown off, staff rushing around more than usual, the sound of rain hitting the building faint but constant. You were stuck in a narrow hallway, waiting, when Yeosang appeared at the end of it—hair slightly damp, jacket clinging just enough to show he’d been outside.
“You’re soaked,” you said without thinking.
“So are you.”
“Not the point,” You stepped closer before you could overthink it, lifting your hand to brush a drop of water from his cheek.
The second your fingers touched his skin everything stopped.
Your breath caught.
His did too.
You didn’t move right away—neither did he, and suddenly, the space between you felt too small.
Too full.
You dropped your hand quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” he said, just as quiet.
But neither of you stepped back.
You could feel it now—whatever this was. Not subtle anymore, not something you could ignore.
“Can I ask you something?” you said, your voice lower than before.
He nodded.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second.
“...What are we?”
For once, Yeosang didn’t answer immediately.
Not because he didn’t know—but because he was choosing how to say it.
“I think…” he started slowly, “…we’re more than friends, maybe boyfriends.”
Your heart skipped, hard enough that it almost hurt. Because this is the first time since you met that he didn't know if he meant something.
“…Do you want to be?” you asked.
There it was.
No going back now.
He didn’t hesitate this time.
“Yeah.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, something in your chest finally settling.
“…Me too.”
And that was it.
No dramatic confessions, no big moments, just the quiet understanding that everything had shifted into something real.
———
After that, nothing looked different but everything felt different.
Backstage was still loud, still chaotic—but now, there were moments carved out just for you.
A glance that lingered longer than it used to, a hand brushing yours, fingers intertwining briefly, hidden from everyone else, a secret you both agreed to keep.
“See you later,” he murmured one day as he passed you, his hand briefly catching yours.
You smiled, trying—and failing—to hide it.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “See you.”
And this time, you knew you would.
I honestly think this is super cute but a little messy lol thank you for reading <3
When Jeongin dives, he dives without purpose. But what happens when he runs into you, gracefully and beautifully singing. The significant difference in lives is enough to keep you two away, but you can't help but to let curiosity overwhelm you, and to invite him into your world.
MASTERLIST
📍reblog banners by @/cafekitsune
the song is in Finnish btw and I used a translator so pardon any mistakes <3
The water is calm tonight.
The ocean lies stretched out before you, shimmering under a soft veil of moonlight. The air above is still, the sky dotted with stars, and the tide is gentle as it brushes against jagged stones and smooth sands. Down here, beneath the rolling waves, the world feels like it belongs only to you. A secret. A sanctuary.
You hover in your favorite cove, hidden by rock arches and thick curtains of kelp that sway like curtains around a stage. The currents carry your voice as you sing, the melody spilling from your lips like liquid silver. It isn’t a song for anyone—it never has been. It’s for the sea itself. For the way your heart aches when you imagine what lies beyond the shoreline, and for the dreams you whisper into the deep.
Your song winds through the caves, echoing back at you, haunting and beautiful.
But this time something else is listening.
He’s there before you even notice him. A shape moving through the water, slower than any fish, more deliberate than the sweep of the tide. You sense him before you see him—warmth among the chill, something alive that isn’t supposed to be here. You turn your head, voice faltering for only a beat, and that’s when you see him.
A boy.
A human boy, suspended in the blue, silver bubbles escaping from his mask as he floats just within the entrance of your cove. His eyes are wide behind the glass, reflecting the glimmer of your world like polished obsidian. You know you should run the moment you recognize what he is. Papa always said humans were dangerous. Cruel. Greedy.
And yet, he isn’t moving. He isn’t reaching for you. He isn’t even frightened. He’s just watching. Staring at you as though he’s stumbled into a dream he never expected to be real.
For one impossible second, you don’t move either. Your hair floats around your face like ribbons, your voice dies in your throat, and you both exist in the stillness of the sea, separated by everything you’ve ever been told and yet tied together by the simple fact that he found you.
Your heart pounds so loudly you swear he can hear it.
And then instinct takes over.
You dart back, fins snapping, tail whipping up a cloud of sand as you disappear deeper into the kelp forest. You don’t look back. You don’t dare.
But long after you’ve left the cove, long after the melody has faded from your lips, you can still see the boy’s eyes behind the glass. Wide, shining, unafraid.
You were seen tonight, and the deep, aching, curious part of you wonders if you’ll ever be able to stop him from finding you again.
You don’t return to the cove for days.
You tell yourself you’re being smart, cautious. Humans are dangerous—your father’s voice reminds you of that every time you close your eyes. But another voice, quieter, deeper, keeps whispering that look in his eyes. Not fear. Not greed. Just awe.
And yet, curiosity has always been your weakness, so you find yourself drifting near the edge of the reef again, hidden in the shadows of the kelp. You scan the water with nervous eyes, half-hoping he’ll be there, half-praying he won’t. The sea feels empty without your song, but you don’t dare hum even a note.
Then something brushes past your tail.
You spin, startled, only to see a familiar shape darting toward the reef—a flash of sleek gray fur and whiskers. Your companion, the mischievous young sea lion you’d practically raised since she was a pup. She chirps happily, ignoring your tension as she swirls upward in a playful roll.
But then—she veers sharply away. Straight toward the open water.
Your chest tightens. You know that direction.
You chase after her, slicing through the current, fear and dread building with every beat of your tail. And then you see him.
The human boy. He’s back.
He floats just outside the rocks, hair drifting weightlessly, mask glinting faintly in the filtered sunlight. He doesn’t see you at first—because your sea lion is twirling circles around him, bumping against his chest like an overexcited child. He laughs. You can see it in the way his shoulders shake, in the bubbles that spill from his regulator.
And he plays with her.
Your mouth falls open as you watch him reach out, tentative at first, then more sure, letting her tug his hand with her teeth, nudging her nose against his palm. She flips backward, and he claps his hands together in the water as though they’re old friends sharing a game.
Your heart twists. You’ve never seen your sea lion trust a stranger so easily. Never seen her behave this way with anyone but you.
And the boy, he isn’t panicking. He isn’t struggling to swim away. He’s calm, smiling even through the barrier of the mask, moving with a gentle rhythm that belongs to the sea itself.
When his gaze finally lifts and finds you, your stomach lurches.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t chase. He just freezes in place, hand lowering slowly as though not to startle you. His eyes soften, and the world falls quiet.
It’s different this time.
The fear is still there, tucked deep in your chest, but something warmer presses against it. His calmness. His quiet. The silent way he just… looks at you, as if waiting for you to decide what happens next.
You hover there, caught between instinct and wonder.
For a moment, it feels like the whole sea holds its breath with you. Your sea lion circles between the two of you, chirping and spinning, as though impatient for you both to understand.
And then—his air runs low.
He presses a hand against his chest, bubbles leaking faster from his mask, and you realize he has to surface. He gives you a small, almost apologetic smile, as though to say goodbye for now. Then he pushes upward, body rising through the blue.
You watch until he disappears into the shimmer of light above.
This time you don’t flee.
You just stay there, staring up at the rippling surface, your sea lion nudging your hand with a curious chirp.
And you wonder if maybe—just maybe—your father was wrong.
❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀
You tell yourself you’re not looking for him.
That you’re only here because it’s safe, because the cove has always been yours, because you want to make sure nothing—no one—threatens your world. But the truth is sharp in your chest: you are waiting. Waiting for him.
And when he comes, you feel it before you see him. The way the current shifts, the way the silence bends to make room for another presence.
He slips into the water above, his movements stronger, steadier now, as though he’s learned the rhythm of the sea. You hide behind a curtain of kelp, heart in your throat, watching as he descends. He glances around carefully, scanning the rocks, the caves, the shadows—as though searching for something. For you.
You can’t help but follow.
He moves deeper this time, exploring the reef with careful strokes, lingering near the places you usually sit. And before you know it, you’ve been trailing him like a shadow, slipping behind coral towers whenever he glances over his shoulder.
Part of you thinks it’s foolish. Dangerous. But another part—the part that aches with curiosity—just wants to see him move, to understand how a human survives in a world he doesn’t belong to.
And then he sees you.
Your heart jolts when his gaze locks on yours, catching you mid-glance between two rocks. You freeze. His expression shifts—first startled, then softened by recognition.
You don’t flee.
Instead, you linger, half-hidden, eyes locked with his across the shifting blue. For a long moment, that’s all you do. Just look. The water hums around you, alive with currents and bubbles, but the silence between you feels louder than anything.
Then he drifts closer.
Not too close—just enough that you can see the small crease of his brow through his mask, the way his lips part slightly around the mouthpiece, the way he seems torn between reaching for you and holding still.
Your pulse races. Instinct screams at you to vanish into the shadows. But when he finally moves to rise for air, instinct seizes you. You dart forward, your fingers curling around his wrist, halting him. His eyes widen in alarm, bubbles rising in a frantic rush.
You shake your head, lips parting. You can’t believe what you’re about to do, but the words slip from you in the language of your people—a song, soft and steady, spilling into the water like light.
“Kun hiekka kohtaa meren”
Your voice is steady, wrapping around him like silk, shimmering through the waves. His body jerks, confusion flickering in his wide eyes, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Lopulta he näkevät”
The water itself vibrates with your words, each note threading into his chest, sliding into his lungs as though the sea itself has claimed him. His panic stills, breath slowing.
“Että merenneidot ovat tulleet jäädäkseen”
You see the moment his chest expands—not with bubbles, not with borrowed breath, but with air. Real air. Underwater.
“Juuri siellä missä meidän ansaitseekin olla”
His hand rises to press against his heart, shock plain across his face. But you keep singing.
“Oi, ihminen kuten sinä”
His eyes glisten, caught between disbelief and wonder.
“Tule koskaan ymmärtämään kuten minä”
The current curls around both of you, carrying the lullaby deeper, as though the whole ocean is listening.
“Siksi me rukoilemme ja pysymme poissa”
Your voice trembles, but you hold on.
“Sieltä mistä hiekka kohtaa meren”
The last note spills into silence, the magic sinking into his bones. He gasps. Not from drowning—but from breathing. His eyes widen, chest rising and falling, no bubbles escaping. He can breathe.
But before you can smile to prepare him, his body sags. His gaze rolls unfocused, limbs going slack. He tilts backward, slipping from your grasp.
You grab him, surging forward to hold him upright. For thirty seconds, he’s unresponsive. And then—his eyes snap open.
He freezes, staring at you in awe. But when his gaze drops, his throat tightens.
His legs are gone.
The boy is staring at his body in disbelief, tail shimmering beneath him in the fractured light. The silver-blue scales flicker like liquid starlight, his fins twitching in clumsy, uncontrolled movements. He looks fragile, as if one wrong word might shatter him completely.
And you, for the first time in your life, don’t know what to say.
You’ve just given him the sea.
He twists in the water, head snapping up to you, eyes wide and full of panic. “What—what’s happening to me?!” His voice sounds different here, carried strangely by the current, but the words are clear enough to make your chest tighten.
You swallow, fingers curling against your palms. “Don’t freak out,” you whisper, steadying your voice even as your heart stumbles. “It’s…part of the process.”
He stares. “What process?!”
You hover closer, enough for him to see the sincerity in your eyes. “Connecting with us,” you say softly, your words heavy with a truth no human was ever meant to hear. “The sea listens when we sing. It gave you a piece of itself. I knew humans weren’t all bad—not even when my father told me they were.”
His mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. He just blinks at you, chest rising and falling too quickly, his hands dragging down his torso as if searching for what’s left of his legs. "I can’t believe this.”
“You’re not dreaming,” you murmur, and the words surprise even you. You don’t usually comfort strangers—especially not humans—but he looks so utterly lost that the instinct comes naturally.
He shakes his head, letting out a sharp laugh, half-hysterical, half in awe. “This is insane.”
You tilt your head. “Insane?”
“Crazy,” he explains quickly. “Loco, Impossible. But—” His eyes flick back to you, and his voice softens. “You’re here. So maybe it’s not.”
The water between you stills.
You’ve never heard a human sound so unafraid. And as you look at him—his tousled hair drifting like ink through the water, his bare skin glowing faintly under the filtered sun, his eyes fixed entirely on you—you realize something terrifying.
You don’t want him to leave. So you stay as well.
The silence slowly melts, replaced by questions that tumble from him in halting, uncertain bursts. He asks about the song, what it means, about your tail, about whether others like you exist. His curiosity glows in every syllable, and you find yourself answering, even when you shouldn’t. You tell him about the reefs, the currents, the way sea creatures speak without words. You tell him about the kingdom far beneath, where coral towers pierce the sand and lantern fish line the streets at night.
And when he tells you about his world—about the sun-warmed sand, about the smell of fresh fruit, about laughter that echoes on beaches—you cling to every word as though they’re treasures.
For nearly an hour, you drift together, floating in a fragile bubble of peace. You teach him how to flick his new tail without tangling himself in the kelp. He makes you laugh when he tries and spins clumsily sideways, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He grins when you imitate him, and soon you’re both laughing, the sound mingling in the water like music.
For the first time, you forget to be afraid.
But then—he winces. His hand presses against his ribs, eyes narrowing. “I feel weird.”
Your chest tightens. The magic. It’s fading.
“It’s wearing off,” you explain quickly, swimming a little closer. “That means it’s time to go. You have to reach the surface before your lungs remember they’re human again.”
His face pales. “And if I don’t?”
You hesitate. “You drown.”
For a moment, fear flashes in his eyes. Then he nods, determination replacing it, though his movements are clumsy as he pushes upward. His tail flicks awkwardly, body twisting unsteadily through the water. You follow beside him for a moment, ready to catch him if he falters, but eventually you stop, watching as he swims toward the glow above.
At last, he breaks the surface gasping for air. His tail is already gone, legs kicking wildly as he floats back toward the shallows.
You remain below, heart hammering in your chest.
You’d spoken to a human. You’d touched him, transformed him, laughed with him. And now, as the currents curl around you, the sound of your lullaby still lingering in the sea, you know something has changed forever.
Above the waves, he may leave you behind. But below the waves, you’ll never forget him.
❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀
The days blur together after that first transformation.
At first, you tell yourself not to return to the cove. You’d already broken too many rules—singing to a human, letting him see you, sharing the sea’s magic with him. Every instinct tells you to swim far, far away before you’re discovered.
And yet you find yourself drifting back every morning, hiding in the kelp, waiting.
And every time, he comes.
Sometimes in his wetsuit, sometimes with only his mask and fins, but always searching. At first, he startles easily, as though afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks. But when he sees you, his whole face softens, and your chest tightens in ways you don’t understand.
“Hey,” he says one morning, his voice muffled slightly through the regulator. The word carries through the water like a greeting between old friends. “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”
You tilt your head, your tail flicking lazily. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because,” he says, his lips quirking into a crooked smile, “you’re smarter than me. And hanging out with a human is… probably a terrible idea.”
You don’t admit he’s right. Instead, you swim closer, until your hair drifts around his face like seaweed. “Maybe I don’t always do the smart thing.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Not fear. Not doubt. Something warmer.
Over the next few meetings, he teaches you little things about his world, about the surface. He mimics the way the gulls squawk and you nearly choke from laughing.
You don't always transform him, but you teach him how to whistle through the water by blowing bubbles through his teeth, and he grins like he’s discovered treasure.
And then, one afternoon, he floats beside you in a quiet stretch of reef, staring at you with that look again—the one that makes your chest feel heavy and light all at once.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
You nod, though your pulse skips.
He hesitates, fingers curling nervously before he blurts it out. “Why me? You could’ve sung for anyone. Why did you choose me?”
Your lips part, but the words stick in your throat. Why did you? Because he didn’t look at you like prey? Because he laughed with your sea lion? Because his eyes, wide and searching, felt like home in a way you’ve never known?
“I don’t know,” you admit softly. “I just knew.”
The silence stretches, broken only by the slow churn of the current. His gaze dips to your lips, then back to your eyes, his breath quickening.
The water swirls gently between you, carrying your laughter, your shared silence, your unspoken questions. You can feel it in your bones now—this connection is more than curiosity. More than magic. It’s something your father would never forgive. Something you shouldn’t want.
But as his hand hovers near yours, trembling but steady, you realize you don’t care. The sea gave you a secret. A human who feels like destiny.
And even though you aren’t ready to let him go, Jeongin goes home.
The waves retreat, leaving the shore quiet, and you are not there. But your voice… your song… refuses to leave him.
Jeongin walks barefoot along the sand outside his home, chest tight, lungs still adjusting to air after the transformation. He can still feel the curl of your tail, the brush of your hair in the water, the soft echo of your lullaby in every corner of his mind.
Kun hiekka kohtaa meren…
The melody threads through him like a ribbon of light, impossible to ignore. Every time he closes his eyes, it returns, soft and shimmering, curling around his chest like a heartbeat he can’t escape.
He showers, and even as water runs down his shoulders, the memory of the sea refuses to wash away. Your song hums beneath the hiss of the faucet, a secret reminder that the world isn’t just air and sand anymore.
He eats dinner, staring at the food without taste, unable to stop replaying the scene of your eyes meeting his, the way you held him underwater when panic threatened to overtake him. He imagines your tail flicking gracefully in the currents, the bubbles rising around your laughter, and the tiny smile you gave him before he surfaced.
He goes to bed, tossing and turning, chasing sleep, but it doesn’t come. The lullaby is there in the darkness, echoing softly in his ears
Lopulta he näkevät…
He rolls over, staring at the ceiling. He tries to think of something else. Work, friends, homework, the simplest things of human life—but it’s impossible. The song carries him back to you, back to the water, back to the shimmer of your eyes as you told him not to freak out, back to the tail that isn’t his own.
By morning, he is exhausted, yet the pull is unrelenting. Every thought begins and ends with the memory of your voice. Every plan he makes, every movement, every breath, is haunted by the way the sea welcomed him, the way you reached out, the way you trusted him.
And in the quiet moments, when the sun hits the window just right and the world is still, he whispers your name.
It tastes like saltwater on his lips.
And he knows, before he even leaves the house, that he will return. That he will dive back into your world, no matter the risk, because he cannot unhear your song. Cannot unsee your eyes. Cannot unfeel the connection that already threads him to you, like a tether he will never escape.
The day waits for him with a pull he cannot resist. And in his chest, your song lingers, soft but insistent, calling him back.
Hope you enjoyed!! let me know what you guys think.
When Jeongin dives, he dives without purpose. But what happens when he runs into you, gracefully and beautifully singing. The significant difference in lives is enough to keep you two away, but you can't help but to let curiosity overwhelm you, and to invite him into your world.
MASTERLIST
📍reblog banners by @/cafekitsune
The ocean feels endless today.
Not in the way it usually does—calm, comforting, familiar—but in a way that stretches too far, too wide, too empty.
Jeongin dives again.
The water closes over his head with a quiet rush, bubbles trailing past his face as he descends. The sunlight fractures above him, turning into long, wavering beams that barely reach the deeper parts of the reef. He pushes forward, scanning every corner, every shadow, every place he remembers you being.
Nothing.
He swims past the arch where he first heard your voice. Past the kelp forest where your hair once tangled with the currents. Past the flat rocks where your sea lion darted and played.
Still nothing.
His chest tightens—not from lack of air, not yet—but from something heavier. Something sharper.
“Come on…” he mutters into his regulator, the words dissolving into bubbles that drift uselessly upward.
He checks behind another cluster of rocks. Then another. He circles back, retracing his path like maybe you’ll suddenly appear if he looks hard enough.
But you don’t.
His lungs begin to burn, a familiar warning this time, and he kicks upward, breaking through the surface with a sharp inhale. Air rushes into him, but it doesn’t settle the ache in his chest.
He wipes water from his face, blinking against the sunlight. The shore stretches out in front of him, quiet and unchanged, as if nothing magical has ever existed beneath it.
But he knows better now.
You’re real.
He’s felt it before—your voice wrapping around him, your hand grabbing his wrist, the impossible moment when the ocean let him breathe. That wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been.
So where are you?
He dives again.
———
Hours pass like this.
Down. Search. Up. Breathe. Repeat.
Each dive feels longer than the last, each stretch of empty water more suffocating than the one before. His movements grow less precise, more desperate, his eyes scanning faster, missing details he would’ve noticed otherwise.
He checks places he’s already checked. Twice. Three times. More.
Still nothing.
The ocean, once alive with your presence, now feels hollow.
By the time he surfaces again, his arms ache, his legs feel heavy, and his thoughts are beginning to spiral.
Maybe she’s not coming back.
The thought hits harder than expected.
Maybe you realized what a mistake this was. Maybe you remembered all the things you were taught about humans—dangerous, selfish, destructive—and decided he wasn’t worth the risk.
Maybe.
Then his breath catches.
Something glints in the distance.
He squints, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, focusing past the glare of the sun reflecting off the water. At first, it looks like nothing—just another rock breaking the surface, smooth and still.
But then it moves, and jeongin’s heart stutters
He doesn’t think. He just swims.
Water splashes around him as he cuts through the surface, faster than he has all day, arms burning but ignored, chest tightening but forgotten. The closer he gets, the clearer it becomes.
It’s not just a rock.
You’re stretched out across the sunlit stone, your upper body resting against its warmth while your tail curves lazily beside you, scales catching the light like scattered jewels. Your hair spills over your shoulders, damp and shining, strands clinging to your skin where the sun has begun to dry them.
For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.
You look…unreal, like something pulled straight from a dream he wasn’t meant to have more than once.
“Hey!”
The word bursts out of him before he can stop it, loud and breathless and filled with more relief than he meant to show.
Your head turns.
Your eyes meet his.
And then—you laugh.
It’s soft at first, just a small sound that escapes you, but it quickly grows into something brighter, something lighter, something that spills into the air around you like music.
“You look like you’ve been fighting the ocean,” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows as you watch him struggle closer.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he shoots back, breath uneven as he pulls himself up onto the edge of the rock. Water drips from his arms, his hair, pooling beneath him as he finally steadies himself. “Everywhere.”
Your smile lingers, but there’s something softer beneath it now. Something that flickers in your eyes as you take him in—soaked, exhausted, but undeniably there.
“Everywhere?” you echo.
“Yes, everywhere,” he insists, pushing himself fully onto the rock now, sitting a careful distance from you but not nearly as far as he probably should. “I checked the cove, the reef, the kelp forest—lots of times, actually—and I thought maybe…”
He trails off, suddenly aware of how much he’s saying. How much he’s revealing.
“Maybe what?” you ask quietly.
He hesitates. Then, softer, “Maybe you weren’t coming back.”
The words hang between you, carried only by the gentle crash of waves against the rock.
For a moment, you don’t respond. You just watch him, your expression unreadable, your tail flicking lightly against the surface of the water below.
Then you hum, tilting your head slightly. “And that bothered you?”
He lets out a small, almost disbelieving laugh. “Yeah. It did.”
Your gaze softens. Just a little.
“I wasn’t hiding from you,” you say after a moment. “I just wanted to see if you’d come back.”
He blinks. “That’s it?”
You shrug, the movement sending a shimmer through your scales as sunlight dances across them. “Humans don’t usually come back. Not for things they don’t understand.”
He studies you for a second, something steady settling into his expression now.
“Well,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips, “guess I’m not like most humans.”
Your laugh returns—quieter this time, but warmer.
“No,” you agree softly. “I guess you’re not.”
The ocean stretches around you, endless and glittering, but now it doesn’t feel empty.
Because you’re here.
And he found you.
———
The tide moves lazily around the rock, brushing against its base like it’s trying to listen in. The sun is lower now, softer, spilling gold across the water in long trembling streaks. Everything feels quieter here, as if the ocean itself knows this moment matters.
Jeongin moves close enough that you can feel the warmth of him even through the damp air. He’s still dripping from his search, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising and falling slowly as he finally lets himself stop running, stop searching, stop worrying you’ll disappear again if he blinks too long.
You watch him for a moment before speaking.
“I wasn’t always allowed to come this close to the surface,” you say quietly.
He turns toward you immediately, like the words pulled him in. He doesn’t interrupt.
Your fingers trace patterns against the wet stone beneath you, as though the words are easier to say when you’re not looking directly at him.
“I used to swim up here when I was younger,” you continue. “Before I understood what I wasn’t supposed to do. Before I understood why.”
A pause. The waves shift below you, gently lifting and lowering your tail.
“My father stopped me after that.”
Jeongin’s expression tightens slightly, but he stays silent, giving you space to continue.
You breathe in slowly.
“He’s the king,” you admit. “Everything down there follows him. The rules, the borders, the warnings.” A small, humorless smile touches your lips. “Especially the warnings.”
Your gaze finally lifts to the horizon. The surface of the ocean looks endless from here—so close and yet so far from everything you’ve ever known.
“He doesn’t like humans,” you say softly. “He says they take without thinking. That they ruin things they don’t understand. That they don’t belong with us mer-people.”
Jeongin shifts slightly beside you. You don’t look at him yet, but you feel the change in his stillness.
“I was never supposed to meet one,” you continue. “Let alone talk to one. Let alone…”
Your voice falters for a second. You swallow.
“…let alone trust one.”
The words settle between you both. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.
When you finally look at him, he’s already watching you. Not with fear. Not with guilt. Just quiet attention, like he’s trying to understand every piece of what you’re giving him.
“I’ve always wanted to see the shore properly,” you admit, softer now. “Not just from beneath the waves. Not just from a distance.”
Jeongin’s brows lift slightly.
“But I wasn’t allowed,” you add. “So I stopped asking.”
A beat.
Then, even quieter, “On my last birthday, I asked again anyway.”
The memory presses into your chest as you speak it.
“I told him I didn’t want anything else. Just to sit on the shore. Just once.” A faint, sad laugh escapes you. “He was furious.”
Jeongin’s hands curl slightly on the rock.
“He said I didn’t understand what I was asking for,” you continue. “That I didn’t understand what humans are like. That I would regret it.”
Your eyes lower.
“And after that…” You pause. “He forbid me from ever going near the surface alone again.”
Silence stretches. Not empty—but full. Full of everything you’ve never said out loud before.
You finally glance at Jeongin again. “So I started sneaking out.”
His expression softens immediately, something like disbelief and sadness mixing in his eyes.
“That’s how I met you,” you finish quietly. “Because I wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn't supposed to get caught.”
The ocean shifts again beneath you, the tide pulling gently at the base of the rock. The world feels suspended in this moment—like even time is listening.
Jeongin exhales slowly.
“I think…” he starts carefully, then stops. He looks down at the water, then back at you. “I think your father might be wrong.”
Your heart stutters.
“He doesn’t know me,” Jeongin continues, voice steadier now. “He doesn’t know humans either. So he just… decided.”
You look away, fingers curling slightly. “He’s not wrong about everything.”
Jeongin shakes his head. “Maybe not. But he’s wrong about this.”
A small silence follows.
Then he smiles slightly, softer now. “I’m glad you snuck out.”
That makes something twist gently in your chest. Warm. Sharp. Unfamiliar.
“You shouldn’t be,” you mutter.
“Yeah,” he agrees lightly. “Probably not.”
But he says it like it doesn’t matter. Like he’d still choose this anyway.
You lean back on your hands, looking up at the sky as it shifts toward orange and pink.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
The silence isn’t awkward, it’s full—like the ocean itself has wrapped around you both and decided to hold you there.
And for the first time since you met him, the weight of your secret doesn’t feel like it’s crushing you alone.
It feels like something you’re carrying together.
———
The ocean feels different when you laugh in it.
Not calmer, just brighter, like even the water itself is listening for joy.
You sing for him again, voice bringing the tension and the intimacy of the previous conversation down.
Jeongin listens with reverence, all calmness and appreciation for the moment he slips into the tiny sliver he knows of your world. Your lips move like sweetness to him, and by the time you finished singing he felt like his head was in the clouds.
Jeongin splashes forward first, awkward at the start, his new tail still something he hasn’t fully learned to trust. He flaps too hard, tilts too far, nearly spins himself sideways before catching the rhythm again.
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
“You’re going to scare every fish in the reef,” you tease, circling him easily, your movements smooth and effortless compared to his clumsy adjustments.
“I’m trying!” he protests, breathless, sending a small wave of bubbles your way.
It makes you laugh harder.
And then—without warning—he darts forward. Not fast enough to escape you, but fast enough to surprise you. He taps your shoulder lightly as he passes.
“You’re it.”
You blink. “What?”
“Tag,” he says, slowing just enough to grin at you. “You chase me now.”
You stare at him like he’s spoken a foreign language again. “Why would I chase you?”
“Because that’s how it works,” he says, already turning away. “Come on!”
And before you can argue, he’s off.
Something inside you shifts. You laugh. Real, unguarded laughter. And suddenly you’re moving too.
The water bursts into motion around you both.
Jeongin is slower at first, still learning how to move with his tail instead of against it, but he makes up for it with sheer determination. He zigzags through coral arches, ducks behind rocks, even tries to hide in a cluster of drifting kelp.
You catch him in seconds.
“You cheated,” you accuse, grabbing his wrist lightly as he spins around.
“I did not!” he insists, laughing. “I improvised.”
You don’t let go immediately. You’re too busy smiling.
Something about this—this ridiculous game in the middle of the ocean—feels unreal. Like you’ve fallen into a dream where rules don’t exist and consequences don’t matter.
And then he taps your hand again.
“You’re it.”
This time, you don’t hesitate. You chase him.
———
Time becomes strange after that.
It stretches and bends with every game you play.
Tag turns into hide-and-seek, and hide-and-seek turns into a game of pretending not to laugh at the other’s terrible hiding spots. Jeongin once hides behind a rock that is barely bigger than his head, and you pretend not to see him for almost a full minute just to let him feel victorious when he jumps out.
“You’re so bad at this,” you tell him when you find him again, grinning.
“I’ve never played in the ocean!” he argues, pushing hair from his face. “Give me time.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it.
Then he teaches you something else.
“Okay,” he says, floating upside down for a moment before correcting himself. “Another human game: Rock, paper, scissors.”
You tilt your head. “That sounds… impractical.”
“It’s fun,” he insists. “Watch.”
He demonstrates slowly, explaining each gesture, each outcome. You try to mimic him, your fingers clumsy at first, but you quickly get the hang of it.
You lose. A lot.
And every time you lose, Jeongin laughs like he’s just won something far more important than a game.
Eventually, you retaliate by flicking water at him with your tail, sending him spinning slightly.
“Hey!” he laughs, sputtering. “That’s cheating!”
“I’m adapting,” you correct smugly.
The reef fills with sound—your laughter, his laughter, the soft hum of the sea around you. Even the fish seem less cautious now, drifting closer as if curious about the strange joy unfolding in their waters.
At one point, you both float side by side, looking up through the rippling surface where sunlight fractures into gold.
“I didn’t know it could be like this,” Jeongin says suddenly, quieter now.
You glance at him. “Like what?”
He gestures vaguely around you. “This. Everything. It’s… peaceful. Even when we’re chasing each other around like idiots.”
You snort softly. “Especially when we’re chasing each other like idiots.”
He smiles at that, but it fades slowly into something softer.
“I don’t think I want to go back up,” he admits.
Your chest tightens slightly. “You have to.”
“I know,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
The sun begins to shift lower in the sky without either of you noticing. The water turns warmer in color, gold bleeding into orange, orange bleeding into deepening pink.
Time catches up with you suddenly.
You feel it first—the subtle pull in the water, the way the magic around him begins to loosen. The spell doesn’t last forever. It never does.
Jeongin feels it too. His movements slow slightly, less playful now, more grounded.
“Hey,” you say softly.
He looks at you immediately.
“It’s wearing off,” you explain. “You need to go up soon.”
He exhales, looking toward the surface. The light above feels farther away now than it did before. His chest tightens more, that familiar sense that his time is ending—that he’ll go back to being human while you stay a mermaid—so close yet so far..
“Already?”
You nod.
A pause stretches between you both—not awkward, but heavy in a way neither of you wants to name.
Then he swims closer. Not fast. Not desperate. Just close enough that you can see the small smile still lingering on his face.
“I had fun,” he says simply.
You blink. “That’s it?”
“What else am I supposed to say?” he asks, amused.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “Something more dramatic. Humans usually are.”
He laughs softly at that. Then, quieter, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
You don’t answer right away.
Because you already know he will.
But knowing it doesn’t make it easier to watch him leave.
He tilts upward, pushing toward the surface slowly this time, no panic, just trust in the water that has already changed him once.
You follow a little way behind until he breaks through the surface in a rush of air and sunlight.
And then you stop.
Floating beneath the fading glow, you watch him disappear above the waves as he gasps at the surface.
The ocean feels quieter again.
But not empty.
Because now you know what fills it when he returns.
And as the last light of day fades, you linger just a little longer in the place where laughter still echoes through the water.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
The ocean feels colder on the way back.
Not because the water has changed—but because you have.
Every flick of your tail carries the echo of laughter that still hasn’t faded from your chest. Jeongin’s voice, clumsy and bright underwater, keeps resurfacing in your mind like a tide that refuses to settle. Even now, as you descend through the familiar blue corridors leading back to the kingdom, part of you is still back there on the reef. Still playing. Still free.
The palace appears slowly through the haze of drifting light. Towers of coral and stone rise like frozen waves, decorated with swaying strands of seaweed and glowing lantern fish that line the entrances like guards of light. It should feel like home.
Tonight, it feels like a cage you forgot you were locked inside.
The moment you cross the threshold, you know something is wrong.
The guards are already there.
They don’t move toward you immediately, but they don’t need to. Their posture says enough—straightened backs, tightened grips on their spears made of polished shell and bone. The water around them feels still in a way it never does when you’re welcomed.
Your stomach tightens.
You haven’t even reached your chambers when he appears.
Your father.
He rises from the shadows of the throne hall like a storm given shape—tall, imposing, every movement slow and deliberate. The water around him seems to obey differently, bending slightly in his presence.
“Where have you been?”
His voice is calm yet authoritative—that’s what makes it worse.
You stop a few meters away, forcing yourself to stand still despite the instinct to retreat. “I was…exploring.”
A pause.
Not loud. Not explosive. Just heavy.
“Exploring,” he repeats.
Your fingers curl slightly. You can feel the weight of his gaze pressing into you, searching for cracks.
“I told you,” he continues, voice still measured, “to stay within the eastern currents.”
“I did,” you say quickly. Then quieter, “mostly.”
That earns you a sharper look.
The water around you seems to grow denser. Not physically—but emotionally, like even the sea is holding its breath.
Your father swims closer. Not fast. Not threatening. Controlled. Always controlled.
“You’ve been leaving the kingdom,” he says. It isn’t a question.
Your throat tightens.
You could lie. You could deny it.
But something in you—something tired of hiding—keeps you still.
“Yes,” you admit.
Silence follows.
Not anger yet. Not shouting. Something far more dangerous—understanding.
“And why,” he asks slowly, “would you do that?”
You hesitate. The image of Jeongin flashes in your mind—his wide eyes behind the mask, his laughter echoing through the reef, the way he looked at you like you weren’t something to fear but something to know.
Your chest tightens.
“There’s… someone,” you say carefully.
His gaze sharpens instantly.
“A someone,” he repeats.
You swallow. “A boy.”
The word changes the water between you. It doesn’t ripple—but it shifts.
For the first time, something like interest replaces the sternness in his expression.
“A mer-boy?” he asks, almost immediately. “From another kingdom?”
Your mind stutters.
You see the truth sitting right there in front of you—how easily this misunderstanding has formed. How easily it could continue.
You nod. Slowly.
“Yes,” the words taste strange—heavy—but safer than the truth.
His posture relaxes slightly.
“That is…unexpected,” he says, and for the first time, there is something like approval in his tone. “Which kingdom?”
You hesitate just long enough to feel the lie settle.
“Farther currents,” you answer vaguely. “Near the open sea.”
He studies you for a long moment. You brace yourself for more questions, more digging, more pressure—but instead, something surprising happens.
He smiles.
Not warm. Not soft. But pleased.
“I see,” he says. “So you have been behaving foolishly for a reason.” He leaves before you can respond, vanishing into the currents of the palace like he was never there at all.
But you remain frozen.
Your chest tightens so sharply it almost hurts. The truth presses against your ribs, begging to be spoken—but you swallow it down. Because saying it out loud would change everything.
Instead, you sink slowly to the floor of the corridor, fingers curling into the sand-like stone beneath you.
“A boy,” you whisper to yourself.
It is true—just not in the way your father thinks.
———
The palace feels different after your confession.
Not lighter, and not safer, just louder. Like every corridor, every current, every drifting strand of seaweed is suddenly aware of what you said. A boy.
You replay it over and over in your mind as you swim through the halls—how easily the lie slipped out, how quickly it was accepted, how dangerously close it came to being something real in your father’s eyes.
You barely make it to your chambers before you hear him again.
This time, he isn’t alone.
The guards outside your door part as you approach, and the moment you enter, you feel it—his presence is brighter than before. Less heavy.
That alone makes your stomach twist.
Your father is waiting inside the throne chamber beside your private quarters, seated but leaning forward slightly, as though he can barely stay still.
“Ah,” he says when he sees you.
You stop just inside the threshold. “Father—”
He rises slightly, hands clasped behind his back. “We will host him properly. A royal dinner. He will be welcomed into the kingdom as a potential match.”
Your breath catches.
Match.
That is not what this is.
Not even close.
Your heart drops further with every word.
“Father,” you say quickly, stepping forward. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he says simply.
That stops you.
There is something in his tone now—something final. Decided. Proud.
“You’ve spent so long worrying about what's beyond the sea,” he adds, softer now. “If you’ve finally found someone beneath the waves… I will not stand in the way of that.”
Your chest aches.
Because he thinks he is doing something kind, because he thinks he is helping you.
Because he thinks Jeongin is like you.
You swallow hard. “He… might be nervous.”
“I expect nothing less,” your father replies calmly. “But he will adjust. If he is worthy of you, he will understand.”
Worthy.
The word makes your fingers curl tightly at your sides.
He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know anything.
The moment your father leaves, you feel the world tilt slightly off balance.
The silence that follows is worse than any shouting would have been.
You sink onto the edge of your stone bed, staring at your hands. The water around you feels too still, too quiet, like even the sea is waiting for what you will do next.
Two days.
That is all you have.
Two days before Jeongin walks into a place he was never meant to exist in. Two days before a lie becomes a performance in front of the most powerful being in your world. Two days before everything falls apart.
Your breath quickens.
And now the ocean feels less like a home again.
And more like a countdown.
He needs to know.
Now.
You push yourself up so fast your tail flicks hard against the floor, sending a burst of sand-like sediment into the water. You don’t care. You don’t slow down. You don’t think.
You swim.
Out of the chamber. Down the corridor. Past startled guards. Through currents that blur into streaks of blue and green as panic takes over every movement.
Your chest tightens with every stroke.
He needs to know what you’ve done. What you’ve said. What your father believes. What he is walking into without realizing it.
And underneath all the panic—something worse.
Fear.
Not just of your father.
But of what happens when Jeongin finds out you lied.
The ocean opens ahead of you, wide and endless, and for the first time since you met him, you are not sure if the current is pulling you toward him…
or pulling everything apart.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
The ocean isn’t the only place that feels different now.
Jeongin notices it even on land—the way sunlight feels sharper, the way the wind sounds less like freedom and more like something calling him back.
But today, he isn’t allowed to think about the sea, at least not properly.
Because his friends have arrived.
They come like a storm of noise and laughter, kicking up sand as they run across the beach toward him, bags slung over shoulders, voices overlapping before they even reach him. It’s familiar in a way that should feel comforting.
It doesn’t, not fully.
Because part of him is still underwater.
“Yo, Jeongin!” one of them calls, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble slightly. “Ever since you moved to this lonely beach house, you’ve been missing in action.”
“I have not,” he says automatically.
A snort. “You totally have.”
They spread out across the sand, laying down towels, unpacking food, drinks, and snacks like they own the shoreline. The beach fills with sound—laughter, teasing, the crunch of sand under shifting feet. It should ground him.
Instead, he keeps glancing at the water.
Like it might call his name back at any moment.
One of his friends nudges him, dropping onto the sand beside him with a grin. “So,” he starts casually, too casually, “any new girls lately?”
Jeongin freezes.
It isn’t obvious, just a slight pause—a flicker in his expression. But inside, something tightens sharply.
New girls.
The words feel wrong. Out of place.
Because there is someone.
But she isn’t a girl in the way they mean. She isn’t on land—she isn’t part of this world they’re laughing in right now, tossing snacks and joking about nothing.
“She’s not like that,” he almost says.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he exhales slowly and looks out at the horizon. The ocean glitters under the sun like it’s pretending nothing extraordinary lives beneath it.
“Nope,” he says instead.
The answer is simple. Safe.
And completely dishonest in ways he doesn’t fully understand yet.
His friends don’t notice the hesitation. They just laugh and move on, teasing him anyway. One of them shoves a drink into his hand, another starts talking about something completely unrelated, the conversation flowing past him like waves over stone.
But Jeongin doesn’t fully return to it.
He tries.
He really does.
He joins in the jokes. He eats the food. He listens when they talk about plans for next week, about places they want to go, about people they’re interested in.
But every so often, his eyes drift back to the water.
And every time they do, he sees you.
Not literally—but in memory.
Your voice echoing in the reef, your laugh when he failed at swimming with his tail, the way your tail shimmered under sunlight when you lay on that rock, like you belonged to something older than the world he knows.
He doesn’t tell them that.
He can’t.
Instead, he laughs when they laugh, smiles when expected, nods when appropriate.
As the afternoon stretches on, the heat softens into something golden and slow. The beach empties slightly as people come and go, shadows growing longer across the sand.
Jeongin sits a little apart now, knees drawn up, staring at the waves.
One of his friends notices.
“You good?”
He blinks. “Yeah.”
A pause.
Then softer, “Just tired.”
No one questions it further.
The sun starts to dip lower.
Orange spreads across the sky, bleeding into pink, then deep violet at the edges. The ocean reflects it all, turning into a shifting mirror of color that feels almost like home to him now—like another world he understands better than this one.
His friends eventually pack up, voices fading as they leave in groups, calling out goodbyes, making plans he half-hears and half-doesn’t. One by one, they disappear from the beach, leaving only footprints and scattered towels behind.
And then—it’s quiet.
Jeongin stays.
He doesn’t really decide to. It just happens. One moment he’s sitting in the sand, the next he realizes he hasn’t moved.
The tide creeps closer.
The sky deepens.
And the ocean keeps watching him.
He exhales slowly, standing up and brushing sand from his hands.
“I’ll go back tonight,” he murmurs, though there’s no one left to hear him.
But even as he says it, he knows it isn’t just a plan anymore.
It’s a need.
Because the silence without you feels heavier than the noise of the entire world.
Jeongin turns away from the water—but not before glancing back one last time, as if expecting it to answer him.
It doesn’t, but somewhere beneath the waves, he knows you’re there too.
And that thought alone is enough to pull him back again.
He runs towards the shore.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
The night is wrong.
Not dangerous, not loud, not even cold in the way you expect fear to feel, just wrong—wrong because the moon is too bright, the tide is too still, and you are arriving with too much urgency in your chest to pretend everything is normal.
You break the surface near the familiar stretch of shore where Jeongin usually comes. The water parts quietly around you, your tail slipping through the glow of moonlight that turns every ripple into silver glass.
And there he is.
Already waiting.
Jeongin stands at the edge of the sand, shoes discarded beside him, pant legs slightly rolled as if he couldn’t decide whether to step in or not. His hair is damp from earlier in the day, but he looks more awake now—like he’s been thinking about this moment all day without admitting it.
When he sees you, his shoulders loosen instantly.
“Hey,” he says softly.
You don’t answer right away. You rise higher in the water, close enough that your hands rest against the wet sand at the edge, breathing uneven from how fast you came.
He notices immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
That does it.
The words you’ve been holding break free all at once.
“My father knows,” you say quickly. “He thinks you’re a mer-boy. He believes I’ve met someone from another kingdom.”
Jeongin blinks. “Woah…”
You shake your head, sharper now. “He’s arranging a dinner. Two days from now. In the palace.”
Silence.
The waves behind you shift gently, completely unconcerned with the way your world is tilting.
Jeongin doesn’t speak at first. His expression changes slowly—confusion, realization, then something sharper underneath.
“…Dinner,” he repeats.
“With him,” you confirm.
That finally lands.
He exhales slowly, looking out at the water like it might offer instructions. “So… I’m supposed to meet your father—underwater—as a mermaid version of me that doesn't even really exist.”
You wince. “Yes.”
A beat.
Then, unexpectedly, he lets out a short laugh, not amused exactly—more like disbelief trying to make room for fear.
“That’s… actually insane,” he says.
“I know.”
Another pause stretches between you, thicker this time.
You lower your gaze slightly. “If he finds out what you really are…”
You don’t finish, you don’t have to.
Jeongin steps closer to the water without thinking, stopping just where the waves brush his ankles. He looks down at you properly now, eyes steady despite the situation.
“Okay,” he says.
You blink. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” He nods once, like he’s decided something important. “We’ll figure it out.”
Something in your chest tightens. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never will be,” he replies sharp, then softens. “But you didn’t exactly get a choice either, did you?”
That makes you quiet.
The water laps gently around your arms. For a moment, neither of you speak. The moon reflects between you, stretching a silver path across the surface like a bridge.
Then Jeongin crouches slightly, closer to your level.
“So what do we do?” he asks.
You hesitate. “We need to make you look like a mer—just enough to pass. Long enough for dinner.”
“Long enough,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “That sounds comforting.”
“It should work,” you say quickly. “The magic responds to intent. If I control the song carefully, I can extend the transformation longer this time.”
Jeongin studies you for a second. “And you’re sure you can do it long enough—”
He gestures vaguely.
“—so I don't drown?"
You pause. “No.”
He nods immediately. “Good. Honest answer.”
That makes you huff a small laugh despite everything.
He shifts slightly in the sand, thinking. “So I just… pretend I’m a mermaid prince or something?”
“Mer-boy,” you correct automatically.
“Right. Mer-boy.”
Another silence.
Then, curious, “Do I need a backstory?”
You blink at him. “A what?”
“A story,” he explains, like it’s obvious. “Like where I’m from, why I’m there. You know—royal small talk survival kit.”
You stare at him.
He shrugs. “What? I listened to my friends enough to know awkward dinners need strategy.”
Despite everything, your lips twitch. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told worse,” he says.
The tension between you loosens just slightly. Not gone. Never gone. But softer now, shaped into something you can both hold instead of drown in.
You lower your voice. “You just have to stay close to me. Let me speak most of the time. And don’t—”
You hesitate.
“Don’t what?” he prompts.
“Don’t act like a human,” you admit quietly.
He nods once. Serious now. “Got it.”
The wind shifts slightly over the shore, brushing between you like a reminder that time is still moving. That two days is still coming.
Jeongin looks out at the ocean again.
“I’m kind of offended that I’m nervous about a fish dinner,” he mutters.
“It’s not funny,” you say, but you’re smiling just a little.
He looks back at you, and the smile fades into something steadier. “Hey,” he says softly.
You meet his eyes.
“You’re not doing this alone,” he adds.
The words land deeper than you expect.
For a moment, the ocean doesn’t feel like something that separates you.
It feels like something you’re both standing in together.
Then the tide shifts again, and reality presses back in.
“I should go,” you whisper.
Jeongin nods reluctantly. “Tomorrow?”
You hesitate, then nod. “Tomorrow.”
You sink backward into the water slowly, not breaking eye contact until the waves rise between you.
And even as you disappear beneath the surface, you can still feel him watching.
When Jeongin dives, he dives without purpose. But what happens when he runs into you, gracefully and beautifully singing. The significant difference in lives is enough to keep you two away, but you can't help but to let curiosity overwhelm you, and to invite him into your world.
MASTERLIST
📍reblog banners by @/cafekitsune
The ocean feels endless today.
Not in the way it usually does—calm, comforting, familiar—but in a way that stretches too far, too wide, too empty.
Jeongin dives again.
The water closes over his head with a quiet rush, bubbles trailing past his face as he descends. The sunlight fractures above him, turning into long, wavering beams that barely reach the deeper parts of the reef. He pushes forward, scanning every corner, every shadow, every place he remembers you being.
Nothing.
He swims past the arch where he first heard your voice. Past the kelp forest where your hair once tangled with the currents. Past the flat rocks where your sea lion darted and played.
Still nothing.
His chest tightens—not from lack of air, not yet—but from something heavier. Something sharper.
“Come on…” he mutters into his regulator, the words dissolving into bubbles that drift uselessly upward.
He checks behind another cluster of rocks. Then another. He circles back, retracing his path like maybe you’ll suddenly appear if he looks hard enough.
But you don’t.
His lungs begin to burn, a familiar warning this time, and he kicks upward, breaking through the surface with a sharp inhale. Air rushes into him, but it doesn’t settle the ache in his chest.
He wipes water from his face, blinking against the sunlight. The shore stretches out in front of him, quiet and unchanged, as if nothing magical has ever existed beneath it.
But he knows better now.
You’re real.
He’s felt it before—your voice wrapping around him, your hand grabbing his wrist, the impossible moment when the ocean let him breathe. That wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been.
So where are you?
He dives again.
———
Hours pass like this.
Down. Search. Up. Breathe. Repeat.
Each dive feels longer than the last, each stretch of empty water more suffocating than the one before. His movements grow less precise, more desperate, his eyes scanning faster, missing details he would’ve noticed otherwise.
He checks places he’s already checked. Twice. Three times. More.
Still nothing.
The ocean, once alive with your presence, now feels hollow.
By the time he surfaces again, his arms ache, his legs feel heavy, and his thoughts are beginning to spiral.
Maybe she’s not coming back.
The thought hits harder than expected.
Maybe you realized what a mistake this was. Maybe you remembered all the things you were taught about humans—dangerous, selfish, destructive—and decided he wasn’t worth the risk.
Maybe.
Then his breath catches.
Something glints in the distance.
He squints, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, focusing past the glare of the sun reflecting off the water. At first, it looks like nothing—just another rock breaking the surface, smooth and still.
But then it moves, and jeongin’s heart stutters
He doesn’t think. He just swims.
Water splashes around him as he cuts through the surface, faster than he has all day, arms burning but ignored, chest tightening but forgotten. The closer he gets, the clearer it becomes.
It’s not just a rock.
You’re stretched out across the sunlit stone, your upper body resting against its warmth while your tail curves lazily beside you, scales catching the light like scattered jewels. Your hair spills over your shoulders, damp and shining, strands clinging to your skin where the sun has begun to dry them.
For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.
You look…unreal, like something pulled straight from a dream he wasn’t meant to have more than once.
“Hey!”
The word bursts out of him before he can stop it, loud and breathless and filled with more relief than he meant to show.
Your head turns.
Your eyes meet his.
And then—you laugh.
It’s soft at first, just a small sound that escapes you, but it quickly grows into something brighter, something lighter, something that spills into the air around you like music.
“You look like you’ve been fighting the ocean,” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows as you watch him struggle closer.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he shoots back, breath uneven as he pulls himself up onto the edge of the rock. Water drips from his arms, his hair, pooling beneath him as he finally steadies himself. “Everywhere.”
Your smile lingers, but there’s something softer beneath it now. Something that flickers in your eyes as you take him in—soaked, exhausted, but undeniably there.
“Everywhere?” you echo.
“Yes, everywhere,” he insists, pushing himself fully onto the rock now, sitting a careful distance from you but not nearly as far as he probably should. “I checked the cove, the reef, the kelp forest—lots of times, actually—and I thought maybe…”
He trails off, suddenly aware of how much he’s saying. How much he’s revealing.
“Maybe what?” you ask quietly.
He hesitates. Then, softer, “Maybe you weren’t coming back.”
The words hang between you, carried only by the gentle crash of waves against the rock.
For a moment, you don’t respond. You just watch him, your expression unreadable, your tail flicking lightly against the surface of the water below.
Then you hum, tilting your head slightly. “And that bothered you?”
He lets out a small, almost disbelieving laugh. “Yeah. It did.”
Your gaze softens. Just a little.
“I wasn’t hiding from you,” you say after a moment. “I just wanted to see if you’d come back.”
He blinks. “That’s it?”
You shrug, the movement sending a shimmer through your scales as sunlight dances across them. “Humans don’t usually come back. Not for things they don’t understand.”
He studies you for a second, something steady settling into his expression now.
“Well,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips, “guess I’m not like most humans.”
Your laugh returns—quieter this time, but warmer.
“No,” you agree softly. “I guess you’re not.”
The ocean stretches around you, endless and glittering, but now it doesn’t feel empty.
Because you’re here.
And he found you.
———
The tide moves lazily around the rock, brushing against its base like it’s trying to listen in. The sun is lower now, softer, spilling gold across the water in long trembling streaks. Everything feels quieter here, as if the ocean itself knows this moment matters.
Jeongin moves close enough that you can feel the warmth of him even through the damp air. He’s still dripping from his search, hair clinging to his forehead, chest rising and falling slowly as he finally lets himself stop running, stop searching, stop worrying you’ll disappear again if he blinks too long.
You watch him for a moment before speaking.
“I wasn’t always allowed to come this close to the surface,” you say quietly.
He turns toward you immediately, like the words pulled him in. He doesn’t interrupt.
Your fingers trace patterns against the wet stone beneath you, as though the words are easier to say when you’re not looking directly at him.
“I used to swim up here when I was younger,” you continue. “Before I understood what I wasn’t supposed to do. Before I understood why.”
A pause. The waves shift below you, gently lifting and lowering your tail.
“My father stopped me after that.”
Jeongin’s expression tightens slightly, but he stays silent, giving you space to continue.
You breathe in slowly.
“He’s the king,” you admit. “Everything down there follows him. The rules, the borders, the warnings.” A small, humorless smile touches your lips. “Especially the warnings.”
Your gaze finally lifts to the horizon. The surface of the ocean looks endless from here—so close and yet so far from everything you’ve ever known.
“He doesn’t like humans,” you say softly. “He says they take without thinking. That they ruin things they don’t understand. That they don’t belong with us mer-people.”
Jeongin shifts slightly beside you. You don’t look at him yet, but you feel the change in his stillness.
“I was never supposed to meet one,” you continue. “Let alone talk to one. Let alone…”
Your voice falters for a second. You swallow.
“…let alone trust one.”
The words settle between you both. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.
When you finally look at him, he’s already watching you. Not with fear. Not with guilt. Just quiet attention, like he’s trying to understand every piece of what you’re giving him.
“I’ve always wanted to see the shore properly,” you admit, softer now. “Not just from beneath the waves. Not just from a distance.”
Jeongin’s brows lift slightly.
“But I wasn’t allowed,” you add. “So I stopped asking.”
A beat.
Then, even quieter, “On my last birthday, I asked again anyway.”
The memory presses into your chest as you speak it.
“I told him I didn’t want anything else. Just to sit on the shore. Just once.” A faint, sad laugh escapes you. “He was furious.”
Jeongin’s hands curl slightly on the rock.
“He said I didn’t understand what I was asking for,” you continue. “That I didn’t understand what humans are like. That I would regret it.”
Your eyes lower.
“And after that…” You pause. “He forbid me from ever going near the surface alone again.”
Silence stretches. Not empty—but full. Full of everything you’ve never said out loud before.
You finally glance at Jeongin again. “So I started sneaking out.”
His expression softens immediately, something like disbelief and sadness mixing in his eyes.
“That’s how I met you,” you finish quietly. “Because I wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn't supposed to get caught.”
The ocean shifts again beneath you, the tide pulling gently at the base of the rock. The world feels suspended in this moment—like even time is listening.
Jeongin exhales slowly.
“I think…” he starts carefully, then stops. He looks down at the water, then back at you. “I think your father might be wrong.”
Your heart stutters.
“He doesn’t know me,” Jeongin continues, voice steadier now. “He doesn’t know humans either. So he just… decided.”
You look away, fingers curling slightly. “He’s not wrong about everything.”
Jeongin shakes his head. “Maybe not. But he’s wrong about this.”
A small silence follows.
Then he smiles slightly, softer now. “I’m glad you snuck out.”
That makes something twist gently in your chest. Warm. Sharp. Unfamiliar.
“You shouldn’t be,” you mutter.
“Yeah,” he agrees lightly. “Probably not.”
But he says it like it doesn’t matter. Like he’d still choose this anyway.
You lean back on your hands, looking up at the sky as it shifts toward orange and pink.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
The silence isn’t awkward, it’s full—like the ocean itself has wrapped around you both and decided to hold you there.
And for the first time since you met him, the weight of your secret doesn’t feel like it’s crushing you alone.
It feels like something you’re carrying together.
———
The ocean feels different when you laugh in it.
Not calmer, just brighter, like even the water itself is listening for joy.
You sing for him again, voice bringing the tension and the intimacy of the previous conversation down.
Jeongin listens with reverence, all calmness and appreciation for the moment he slips into the tiny sliver he knows of your world. Your lips move like sweetness to him, and by the time you finished singing he felt like his head was in the clouds.
Jeongin splashes forward first, awkward at the start, his new tail still something he hasn’t fully learned to trust. He flaps too hard, tilts too far, nearly spins himself sideways before catching the rhythm again.
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
“You’re going to scare every fish in the reef,” you tease, circling him easily, your movements smooth and effortless compared to his clumsy adjustments.
“I’m trying!” he protests, breathless, sending a small wave of bubbles your way.
It makes you laugh harder.
And then—without warning—he darts forward. Not fast enough to escape you, but fast enough to surprise you. He taps your shoulder lightly as he passes.
“You’re it.”
You blink. “What?”
“Tag,” he says, slowing just enough to grin at you. “You chase me now.”
You stare at him like he’s spoken a foreign language again. “Why would I chase you?”
“Because that’s how it works,” he says, already turning away. “Come on!”
And before you can argue, he’s off.
Something inside you shifts. You laugh. Real, unguarded laughter. And suddenly you’re moving too.
The water bursts into motion around you both.
Jeongin is slower at first, still learning how to move with his tail instead of against it, but he makes up for it with sheer determination. He zigzags through coral arches, ducks behind rocks, even tries to hide in a cluster of drifting kelp.
You catch him in seconds.
“You cheated,” you accuse, grabbing his wrist lightly as he spins around.
“I did not!” he insists, laughing. “I improvised.”
You don’t let go immediately. You’re too busy smiling.
Something about this—this ridiculous game in the middle of the ocean—feels unreal. Like you’ve fallen into a dream where rules don’t exist and consequences don’t matter.
And then he taps your hand again.
“You’re it.”
This time, you don’t hesitate. You chase him.
———
Time becomes strange after that.
It stretches and bends with every game you play.
Tag turns into hide-and-seek, and hide-and-seek turns into a game of pretending not to laugh at the other’s terrible hiding spots. Jeongin once hides behind a rock that is barely bigger than his head, and you pretend not to see him for almost a full minute just to let him feel victorious when he jumps out.
“You’re so bad at this,” you tell him when you find him again, grinning.
“I’ve never played in the ocean!” he argues, pushing hair from his face. “Give me time.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it.
Then he teaches you something else.
“Okay,” he says, floating upside down for a moment before correcting himself. “Another human game: Rock, paper, scissors.”
You tilt your head. “That sounds… impractical.”
“It’s fun,” he insists. “Watch.”
He demonstrates slowly, explaining each gesture, each outcome. You try to mimic him, your fingers clumsy at first, but you quickly get the hang of it.
You lose. A lot.
And every time you lose, Jeongin laughs like he’s just won something far more important than a game.
Eventually, you retaliate by flicking water at him with your tail, sending him spinning slightly.
“Hey!” he laughs, sputtering. “That’s cheating!”
“I’m adapting,” you correct smugly.
The reef fills with sound—your laughter, his laughter, the soft hum of the sea around you. Even the fish seem less cautious now, drifting closer as if curious about the strange joy unfolding in their waters.
At one point, you both float side by side, looking up through the rippling surface where sunlight fractures into gold.
“I didn’t know it could be like this,” Jeongin says suddenly, quieter now.
You glance at him. “Like what?”
He gestures vaguely around you. “This. Everything. It’s… peaceful. Even when we’re chasing each other around like idiots.”
You snort softly. “Especially when we’re chasing each other like idiots.”
He smiles at that, but it fades slowly into something softer.
“I don’t think I want to go back up,” he admits.
Your chest tightens slightly. “You have to.”
“I know,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
The sun begins to shift lower in the sky without either of you noticing. The water turns warmer in color, gold bleeding into orange, orange bleeding into deepening pink.
Time catches up with you suddenly.
You feel it first—the subtle pull in the water, the way the magic around him begins to loosen. The spell doesn’t last forever. It never does.
Jeongin feels it too. His movements slow slightly, less playful now, more grounded.
“Hey,” you say softly.
He looks at you immediately.
“It’s wearing off,” you explain. “You need to go up soon.”
He exhales, looking toward the surface. The light above feels farther away now than it did before. His chest tightens more, that familiar sense that his time is ending—that he’ll go back to being human while you stay a mermaid—so close yet so far..
“Already?”
You nod.
A pause stretches between you both—not awkward, but heavy in a way neither of you wants to name.
Then he swims closer. Not fast. Not desperate. Just close enough that you can see the small smile still lingering on his face.
“I had fun,” he says simply.
You blink. “That’s it?”
“What else am I supposed to say?” he asks, amused.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “Something more dramatic. Humans usually are.”
He laughs softly at that. Then, quieter, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
You don’t answer right away.
Because you already know he will.
But knowing it doesn’t make it easier to watch him leave.
He tilts upward, pushing toward the surface slowly this time, no panic, just trust in the water that has already changed him once.
You follow a little way behind until he breaks through the surface in a rush of air and sunlight.
And then you stop.
Floating beneath the fading glow, you watch him disappear above the waves as he gasps at the surface.
The ocean feels quieter again.
But not empty.
Because now you know what fills it when he returns.
And as the last light of day fades, you linger just a little longer in the place where laughter still echoes through the water.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
The ocean feels colder on the way back.
Not because the water has changed—but because you have.
Every flick of your tail carries the echo of laughter that still hasn’t faded from your chest. Jeongin’s voice, clumsy and bright underwater, keeps resurfacing in your mind like a tide that refuses to settle. Even now, as you descend through the familiar blue corridors leading back to the kingdom, part of you is still back there on the reef. Still playing. Still free.
The palace appears slowly through the haze of drifting light. Towers of coral and stone rise like frozen waves, decorated with swaying strands of seaweed and glowing lantern fish that line the entrances like guards of light. It should feel like home.
Tonight, it feels like a cage you forgot you were locked inside.
The moment you cross the threshold, you know something is wrong.
The guards are already there.
They don’t move toward you immediately, but they don’t need to. Their posture says enough—straightened backs, tightened grips on their spears made of polished shell and bone. The water around them feels still in a way it never does when you’re welcomed.
Your stomach tightens.
You haven’t even reached your chambers when he appears.
Your father.
He rises from the shadows of the throne hall like a storm given shape—tall, imposing, every movement slow and deliberate. The water around him seems to obey differently, bending slightly in his presence.
“Where have you been?”
His voice is calm yet authoritative—that’s what makes it worse.
You stop a few meters away, forcing yourself to stand still despite the instinct to retreat. “I was…exploring.”
A pause.
Not loud. Not explosive. Just heavy.
“Exploring,” he repeats.
Your fingers curl slightly. You can feel the weight of his gaze pressing into you, searching for cracks.
“I told you,” he continues, voice still measured, “to stay within the eastern currents.”
“I did,” you say quickly. Then quieter, “mostly.”
That earns you a sharper look.
The water around you seems to grow denser. Not physically—but emotionally, like even the sea is holding its breath.
Your father swims closer. Not fast. Not threatening. Controlled. Always controlled.
“You’ve been leaving the kingdom,” he says. It isn’t a question.
Your throat tightens.
You could lie. You could deny it.
But something in you—something tired of hiding—keeps you still.
“Yes,” you admit.
Silence follows.
Not anger yet. Not shouting. Something far more dangerous—understanding.
“And why,” he asks slowly, “would you do that?”
You hesitate. The image of Jeongin flashes in your mind—his wide eyes behind the mask, his laughter echoing through the reef, the way he looked at you like you weren’t something to fear but something to know.
Your chest tightens.
“There’s… someone,” you say carefully.
His gaze sharpens instantly.
“A someone,” he repeats.
You swallow. “A boy.”
The word changes the water between you. It doesn’t ripple—but it shifts.
For the first time, something like interest replaces the sternness in his expression.
“A mer-boy?” he asks, almost immediately. “From another kingdom?”
Your mind stutters.
You see the truth sitting right there in front of you—how easily this misunderstanding has formed. How easily it could continue.
You nod. Slowly.
“Yes,” the words taste strange—heavy—but safer than the truth.
His posture relaxes slightly.
“That is…unexpected,” he says, and for the first time, there is something like approval in his tone. “Which kingdom?”
You hesitate just long enough to feel the lie settle.
“Farther currents,” you answer vaguely. “Near the open sea.”
He studies you for a long moment. You brace yourself for more questions, more digging, more pressure—but instead, something surprising happens.
He smiles.
Not warm. Not soft. But pleased.
“I see,” he says. “So you have been behaving foolishly for a reason.” He leaves before you can respond, vanishing into the currents of the palace like he was never there at all.
But you remain frozen.
Your chest tightens so sharply it almost hurts. The truth presses against your ribs, begging to be spoken—but you swallow it down. Because saying it out loud would change everything.
Instead, you sink slowly to the floor of the corridor, fingers curling into the sand-like stone beneath you.
“A boy,” you whisper to yourself.
It is true—just not in the way your father thinks.
———
The palace feels different after your confession.
Not lighter, and not safer, just louder. Like every corridor, every current, every drifting strand of seaweed is suddenly aware of what you said. A boy.
You replay it over and over in your mind as you swim through the halls—how easily the lie slipped out, how quickly it was accepted, how dangerously close it came to being something real in your father’s eyes.
You barely make it to your chambers before you hear him again.
This time, he isn’t alone.
The guards outside your door part as you approach, and the moment you enter, you feel it—his presence is brighter than before. Less heavy.
That alone makes your stomach twist.
Your father is waiting inside the throne chamber beside your private quarters, seated but leaning forward slightly, as though he can barely stay still.
“Ah,” he says when he sees you.
You stop just inside the threshold. “Father—”
He rises slightly, hands clasped behind his back. “We will host him properly. A royal dinner. He will be welcomed into the kingdom as a potential match.”
Your breath catches.
Match.
That is not what this is.
Not even close.
Your heart drops further with every word.
“Father,” you say quickly, stepping forward. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he says simply.
That stops you.
There is something in his tone now—something final. Decided. Proud.
“You’ve spent so long worrying about what's beyond the sea,” he adds, softer now. “If you’ve finally found someone beneath the waves… I will not stand in the way of that.”
Your chest aches.
Because he thinks he is doing something kind, because he thinks he is helping you.
Because he thinks Jeongin is like you.
You swallow hard. “He… might be nervous.”
“I expect nothing less,” your father replies calmly. “But he will adjust. If he is worthy of you, he will understand.”
Worthy.
The word makes your fingers curl tightly at your sides.
He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know anything.
The moment your father leaves, you feel the world tilt slightly off balance.
The silence that follows is worse than any shouting would have been.
You sink onto the edge of your stone bed, staring at your hands. The water around you feels too still, too quiet, like even the sea is waiting for what you will do next.
Two days.
That is all you have.
Two days before Jeongin walks into a place he was never meant to exist in. Two days before a lie becomes a performance in front of the most powerful being in your world. Two days before everything falls apart.
Your breath quickens.
And now the ocean feels less like a home again.
And more like a countdown.
He needs to know.
Now.
You push yourself up so fast your tail flicks hard against the floor, sending a burst of sand-like sediment into the water. You don’t care. You don’t slow down. You don’t think.
You swim.
Out of the chamber. Down the corridor. Past startled guards. Through currents that blur into streaks of blue and green as panic takes over every movement.
Your chest tightens with every stroke.
He needs to know what you’ve done. What you’ve said. What your father believes. What he is walking into without realizing it.
And underneath all the panic—something worse.
Fear.
Not just of your father.
But of what happens when Jeongin finds out you lied.
The ocean opens ahead of you, wide and endless, and for the first time since you met him, you are not sure if the current is pulling you toward him…
or pulling everything apart.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
The ocean isn’t the only place that feels different now.
Jeongin notices it even on land—the way sunlight feels sharper, the way the wind sounds less like freedom and more like something calling him back.
But today, he isn’t allowed to think about the sea, at least not properly.
Because his friends have arrived.
They come like a storm of noise and laughter, kicking up sand as they run across the beach toward him, bags slung over shoulders, voices overlapping before they even reach him. It’s familiar in a way that should feel comforting.
It doesn’t, not fully.
Because part of him is still underwater.
“Yo, Jeongin!” one of them calls, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble slightly. “Ever since you moved to this lonely beach house, you’ve been missing in action.”
“I have not,” he says automatically.
A snort. “You totally have.”
They spread out across the sand, laying down towels, unpacking food, drinks, and snacks like they own the shoreline. The beach fills with sound—laughter, teasing, the crunch of sand under shifting feet. It should ground him.
Instead, he keeps glancing at the water.
Like it might call his name back at any moment.
One of his friends nudges him, dropping onto the sand beside him with a grin. “So,” he starts casually, too casually, “any new girls lately?”
Jeongin freezes.
It isn’t obvious, just a slight pause—a flicker in his expression. But inside, something tightens sharply.
New girls.
The words feel wrong. Out of place.
Because there is someone.
But she isn’t a girl in the way they mean. She isn’t on land—she isn’t part of this world they’re laughing in right now, tossing snacks and joking about nothing.
“She’s not like that,” he almost says.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he exhales slowly and looks out at the horizon. The ocean glitters under the sun like it’s pretending nothing extraordinary lives beneath it.
“Nope,” he says instead.
The answer is simple. Safe.
And completely dishonest in ways he doesn’t fully understand yet.
His friends don’t notice the hesitation. They just laugh and move on, teasing him anyway. One of them shoves a drink into his hand, another starts talking about something completely unrelated, the conversation flowing past him like waves over stone.
But Jeongin doesn’t fully return to it.
He tries.
He really does.
He joins in the jokes. He eats the food. He listens when they talk about plans for next week, about places they want to go, about people they’re interested in.
But every so often, his eyes drift back to the water.
And every time they do, he sees you.
Not literally—but in memory.
Your voice echoing in the reef, your laugh when he failed at swimming with his tail, the way your tail shimmered under sunlight when you lay on that rock, like you belonged to something older than the world he knows.
He doesn’t tell them that.
He can’t.
Instead, he laughs when they laugh, smiles when expected, nods when appropriate.
As the afternoon stretches on, the heat softens into something golden and slow. The beach empties slightly as people come and go, shadows growing longer across the sand.
Jeongin sits a little apart now, knees drawn up, staring at the waves.
One of his friends notices.
“You good?”
He blinks. “Yeah.”
A pause.
Then softer, “Just tired.”
No one questions it further.
The sun starts to dip lower.
Orange spreads across the sky, bleeding into pink, then deep violet at the edges. The ocean reflects it all, turning into a shifting mirror of color that feels almost like home to him now—like another world he understands better than this one.
His friends eventually pack up, voices fading as they leave in groups, calling out goodbyes, making plans he half-hears and half-doesn’t. One by one, they disappear from the beach, leaving only footprints and scattered towels behind.
And then—it’s quiet.
Jeongin stays.
He doesn’t really decide to. It just happens. One moment he’s sitting in the sand, the next he realizes he hasn’t moved.
The tide creeps closer.
The sky deepens.
And the ocean keeps watching him.
He exhales slowly, standing up and brushing sand from his hands.
“I’ll go back tonight,” he murmurs, though there’s no one left to hear him.
But even as he says it, he knows it isn’t just a plan anymore.
It’s a need.
Because the silence without you feels heavier than the noise of the entire world.
Jeongin turns away from the water—but not before glancing back one last time, as if expecting it to answer him.
It doesn’t, but somewhere beneath the waves, he knows you’re there too.
And that thought alone is enough to pull him back again.
He runs towards the shore.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
The night is wrong.
Not dangerous, not loud, not even cold in the way you expect fear to feel, just wrong—wrong because the moon is too bright, the tide is too still, and you are arriving with too much urgency in your chest to pretend everything is normal.
You break the surface near the familiar stretch of shore where Jeongin usually comes. The water parts quietly around you, your tail slipping through the glow of moonlight that turns every ripple into silver glass.
And there he is.
Already waiting.
Jeongin stands at the edge of the sand, shoes discarded beside him, pant legs slightly rolled as if he couldn’t decide whether to step in or not. His hair is damp from earlier in the day, but he looks more awake now—like he’s been thinking about this moment all day without admitting it.
When he sees you, his shoulders loosen instantly.
“Hey,” he says softly.
You don’t answer right away. You rise higher in the water, close enough that your hands rest against the wet sand at the edge, breathing uneven from how fast you came.
He notices immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
That does it.
The words you’ve been holding break free all at once.
“My father knows,” you say quickly. “He thinks you’re a mer-boy. He believes I’ve met someone from another kingdom.”
Jeongin blinks. “Woah…”
You shake your head, sharper now. “He’s arranging a dinner. Two days from now. In the palace.”
Silence.
The waves behind you shift gently, completely unconcerned with the way your world is tilting.
Jeongin doesn’t speak at first. His expression changes slowly—confusion, realization, then something sharper underneath.
“…Dinner,” he repeats.
“With him,” you confirm.
That finally lands.
He exhales slowly, looking out at the water like it might offer instructions. “So… I’m supposed to meet your father—underwater—as a mermaid version of me that doesn't even really exist.”
You wince. “Yes.”
A beat.
Then, unexpectedly, he lets out a short laugh, not amused exactly—more like disbelief trying to make room for fear.
“That’s… actually insane,” he says.
“I know.”
Another pause stretches between you, thicker this time.
You lower your gaze slightly. “If he finds out what you really are…”
You don’t finish, you don’t have to.
Jeongin steps closer to the water without thinking, stopping just where the waves brush his ankles. He looks down at you properly now, eyes steady despite the situation.
“Okay,” he says.
You blink. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” He nods once, like he’s decided something important. “We’ll figure it out.”
Something in your chest tightens. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never will be,” he replies sharp, then softens. “But you didn’t exactly get a choice either, did you?”
That makes you quiet.
The water laps gently around your arms. For a moment, neither of you speak. The moon reflects between you, stretching a silver path across the surface like a bridge.
Then Jeongin crouches slightly, closer to your level.
“So what do we do?” he asks.
You hesitate. “We need to make you look like a mer—just enough to pass. Long enough for dinner.”
“Long enough,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “That sounds comforting.”
“It should work,” you say quickly. “The magic responds to intent. If I control the song carefully, I can extend the transformation longer this time.”
Jeongin studies you for a second. “And you’re sure you can do it long enough—”
He gestures vaguely.
“—so I don't drown?"
You pause. “No.”
He nods immediately. “Good. Honest answer.”
That makes you huff a small laugh despite everything.
He shifts slightly in the sand, thinking. “So I just… pretend I’m a mermaid prince or something?”
“Mer-boy,” you correct automatically.
“Right. Mer-boy.”
Another silence.
Then, curious, “Do I need a backstory?”
You blink at him. “A what?”
“A story,” he explains, like it’s obvious. “Like where I’m from, why I’m there. You know—royal small talk survival kit.”
You stare at him.
He shrugs. “What? I listened to my friends enough to know awkward dinners need strategy.”
Despite everything, your lips twitch. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told worse,” he says.
The tension between you loosens just slightly. Not gone. Never gone. But softer now, shaped into something you can both hold instead of drown in.
You lower your voice. “You just have to stay close to me. Let me speak most of the time. And don’t—”
You hesitate.
“Don’t what?” he prompts.
“Don’t act like a human,” you admit quietly.
He nods once. Serious now. “Got it.”
The wind shifts slightly over the shore, brushing between you like a reminder that time is still moving. That two days is still coming.
Jeongin looks out at the ocean again.
“I’m kind of offended that I’m nervous about a fish dinner,” he mutters.
“It’s not funny,” you say, but you’re smiling just a little.
He looks back at you, and the smile fades into something steadier. “Hey,” he says softly.
You meet his eyes.
“You’re not doing this alone,” he adds.
The words land deeper than you expect.
For a moment, the ocean doesn’t feel like something that separates you.
It feels like something you’re both standing in together.
Then the tide shifts again, and reality presses back in.
“I should go,” you whisper.
Jeongin nods reluctantly. “Tomorrow?”
You hesitate, then nod. “Tomorrow.”
You sink backward into the water slowly, not breaking eye contact until the waves rise between you.
And even as you disappear beneath the surface, you can still feel him watching.
