The moment Ruby’s new Running Man episode aired, the internet went feral — and Taemin didn’t even know yet that his entire emotional stability was about to collapse.
The episode started harmlessly: Ruby running for missions, screaming dramatically whenever Haha chased her, roasting Yoo Jae Suk, and accidentally hitting Ji Sukjin with a foam bat so hard that even the editors replayed it three times with dramatic sound effects.
Ruby was adorable, hilarious, and competitive — basically, the entire nation fell in love with her again.
But then… the incident happened.
During a chaotic chase scene, Ruby twisted her ankle while turning a corner. She yelped and fell onto the ground, clutching her ankle. The cast panicked, but ATEEZ’s Hongjoong sprinted to her without hesitation. He crouched next to her, gently checked her ankle, and without even asking, scooped her up — bridal-style — as if he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Ruby squeaked, slapped his shoulder lightly, and hid her face in embarrassment, which only made Hongjoong smile even softer.
“It’s okay, Ruby-ssi,” he said in a low, oddly tender voice that shook the entire fandom. “I’ve got you.”
The cast screamed like it was a K-drama finale.
Ruby looked mortified.
Hongjoong looked like he was carrying a princess.
And the editors added sparkles.
Sparkles.
Twitter melted within minutes.
#HongjoongRuby
#CaptainAndPrincess
#HongjoongSavedRuby
#VisualCoupleOf2026
—
The next morning, Taemin finally woke up, completely unaware that the universe was about to personally attack him. He leaned back on his couch as he opened his phone, clicked a random trending clip, and froze when he heard Ruby’s laugh.
“Oh?” he murmured happily, clicking the video.
Three seconds in, his smile disappeared.
Ten seconds in, Taemin sat up like someone dumped cold water on him.
At the moment Hongjoong lifted Ruby bridal-style, Taemin’s jaw actually dropped.
It was offensively romantic.
Hongjoong looked like some sort of noble prince rescuing his beloved. And Ruby… R U B Y… was hiding her face in his shoulder.
Her hair brushing his collar. Her hands gripping his shirt.
Taemin replayed the clip.
And replayed it again.
And again.
“What the— what the— NO. No, no, no, no.” He paused the video. “WHY IS HE CARRYING HER LIKE THAT?!”
He restarted it, eyes narrowing even more.
“He’s SMILING— why is he smiling like that?! WHY IS SHE HIDING HER FACE? OH MY GOD SHE’S BLUSHING. No… no, absolutely not. Delete this. Ban YouTube. Shut down television. Burn Running Man.”
He threw his phone onto the couch dramatically.
He immediately snatched it back up because he needed more evidence to be mad about.
Scrolling the comments was a mistake.
Hongjoong really said romantic male lead…
THE CHEMISTRY?? HELLO???
They looked so good together omg!!
Protect Ruby at all costs Hongjoong!!
This pairing is actually fire???
Taemin stared at the screen like the comments personally stabbed him.
“CHEMISTRY?? WHAT CHEMISTRY?? I’M GOING TO SUE THE NATION.”
He paced back and forth in his apartment for a solid ninety seconds before calling Ruby with the speed of a man fed up with life.
She answered on the second ring, cheerful and unaware of the emotional damage she caused.
“Oppa?” she said sweetly.
Taemin immediately inhaled sharply.
That made it worse.
“Ruby,” he began with the seriousness of someone announcing a presidential scandal. “We need to talk.”
Ruby blinked.
“…Oppa? Why do you sound like that?”
“Did you twist your ankle?”
“Huh? Oh— yeah, in Running Man—”
“And HONGJOONG carried you.”
“…ah.”
“Yes. AH.”
Ruby pulled the phone away to laugh but Taemin heard it.
“Oh my God,” she wheezed. “Oppa… are you jealous?”
“He picked you up like you two were in a wedding photoshoot! WHY DIDN’T YOU LIMP? WHY DIDN’T YOU CRAWL? Why did you go straight into a man’s arms?!”
“OPPA WHAT?!”
“I SAW YOU HID YOUR FACE IN HIS SHOULDER—”
“I WAS EMBARRASSED!”
“YOU WERE EMBARRASSED INTO HIS SHOULDER?!”
Ruby started laughing so hard she nearly dropped her phone.
Taemin finally sighed, deflated.
“…you didn’t like it, right?”
Ruby stopped laughing softly.
His voice sounded small. Worried. Cute.
“Oppa,” she said gently, “the only idol I blush around is you.”
Taemin perked up so fast, Ruby heard the hope return to his soul.
“…really?”
“Really.”
There was a pause.
Then Taemin suddenly said:
“What are you doing right now?”
“…at the SM dance studio?”
“I’m coming.”
“WHAT?! Oppa, no—”
“I’m already on my way.”
“OPPA YOU LIVE 50 MINUTES AWAY—”
He hung up.
Ruby stared at her phone.
“…he’s insane.”
—
Twenty minutes later — faster than physics allowed — Taemin kicked open the dance studio door like an action hero.
Ruby almost dropped her ice pack.
He marched toward her, kneeled like a K-drama male lead, inspected her ankle dramatically, whispered “…Good. Still attached.” then stood up with the energy of a man about to fight someone.
Ruby giggled. “Oppa…”
He stood.
“Show me the clip.”
“Oppa—”
“For my healing.”
She played it.
Hongjoong lifting her gently.
Taemin clicked his tongue. “Tch.”
Hongjoong smiling.
Taemin scoffed. “Fake.”
Ruby hiding her face.
Taemin gasped. “RUBY— YOU—”
“OPPA PLEASE.”
He turned the iPad face-down on the bench — gently — and finally focused on her.
“Ruby.”
“Yes?”
He stepped closer.
“Next time you get hurt… I’m the one who carries you.”
Her cheeks heated.
“…Oppa.”
He crouched again, carefully taking the ice pack to check her ankle, his thumb brushing her skin for half a second before placing it back.
“And if Hongjoong tries again?” she teased softly.
Taemin straightened slowly.
“Ruby,” he said calmly, “if Hongjoong touches you again, I will fight ATEEZ. All eight of them. I know Wooyoung kicks hard. I don’t care.”
Ruby burst out laughing.
Taemin rolled his eyes, lips twitching.
“Come on,” he said, holding his hand out. “You’re not walking alone.”
She slipped her hand into his.
He helped her stand, keeping her close when she wobbled, his arm instantly wrapping around her waist.
“See?” he muttered. “Professional carrier.”
Ruby laughed. “You didn’t lift me.”
“Yet.”
Taemin grabbed her bag, slung it over his shoulder, and guided her toward the door, still mumbling.
“Captain and Princess… ridiculous… I’m clearly the male lead.”
Ruby leaned into him as they walked out of the studio together, smiling the whole way.
My works are not allowed for translation or reposting as your own without my permission.
the fandom agrees we’ll never rally to put taemin in a series because his achilles heel is acting (with all his talents, he has to be bad at something) but hear me out. moulin rouge cabaret slash burlesque dancer!taemin
summary: minho has to leave for work, but he’s stopped when he feels the sudden urge to mark you, his husband.
♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
"hey, baby. I gotta run," minho murmured, taking his briefcase and bending in to give you a quick but heartfelt kiss on the cheek.
“meeting with a new client at 9am. can’t be late.”
you, still sipping your morning tea, glanced up at minho, your eyes still groggy.
“mm-hmm, okay. have a good day, love.”
minho turned to leave, but something about the way, your hair looked messy and your eyes were still puffy from sleep caught his attention. an intense yearning and possessiveness suddenly overcame him.
he put down his briefcase and turned to fix his gaze on your neck.
“hold on, baby,” minho said, his voice low and husky.
“i need a minute.”
you raised an eyebrow, but minho was already closing in.
minho gently grasped your chin, tilting your head to the side and burying his face into the crook of your neck.
your eyes fluttered closed as minho took a deep breath, his alpha senses were on high alert.
“fuck… you smell so good, baby,” minho whispered, his breath sending shivers down your spine.
your hands instinctively went to minho’s hips, pulling him closer.
“you’re gonna be late,” you whispered back, your voice laced with arousment.
“i don’t care,” minho growled, nuzzling deeper into your neck.
he inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent of sleep, tea, and honey.
his alpha instincts went into overdrive, and he could feel his cock stirring in his slacks.
you let out a soft moan as minho’s tongue traced the curve of your neck.
“minho… you’re being so extra…”
“i’m just showing my baby some love,” minho replied, his voice muffled against your skin.
he sucked gently on the sensitive skin, making your eyes roll back.
“minho… stop… you’re going to make me-”
your words trailed off as minho’s fingers slipped under the waistband of your pajama bottoms.
“stop?” he repeated, his voice nothing but a soft purr.
“i’m not stopping, baby,” minho whispered.
minho’s desire for you was all-consuming, and he knew exactly what he wanted to do with his beloved mate.
“just one bite, baby, come on.”
“i need to mark you again. make sure you’re carrying my scent all day. make sure everyone knows you’re taken.”
minho’s hands dove deeper, his fingers brushing against your hardened cock.
“see, you’re so responsive. baby. i’ll be quick. i promise.”
the air in the kitchen was quickly filling with the combined aroma of your bond.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
with a growl of possessiveness, minho backed you against the kitchen’s island, his gaze never leaving yours.
your submissive nature had caused you to melt under minho’s touch, your body relaxing in surrender. you tilted your head to the side, completely baring you neck for minho.
it was an invitation, a silent plea for minho to carry on.
minho growled in approval, leaning back in and letting his fangs graze the sensitive skin of your neck.
“mine.”
minho smiled, his fangs elongating as his eyes glowed with a primal need.
he bit down on your neck, his fangs breaking the skin as he injected his venom into your bloodstream.
you cried out, your body arching off the kitchen island, as you felt minho’s burning mark into your skin.
minho inhaled deeply. your scent was changing, increasing, and becoming even sweeter. he was reveling in the knowledge that he was the cause.
with another growl of satisfaction, he pulled back, knowing that his marking was complete.
you whimpered at the loss of contact, your neck throbbing where minho had bitten you.
minho’s eyes softened as he leaned in for a gentle kiss.
you melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around minho’s neck as you deepened the kiss.
minho slipped his tongue inside your mouth, letting your tongues dance together.
he had taken his hands out of your pajamas, and they were now roaming around your body.
the kiss went on until minho pulled back.
you didn't have it in you to break the kiss; in fact, if it went on for hours, you wouldn't have complained.
“fuck, i gotta go,” minho said, adjusting his suit jacket that had become slightly disheveled during your little marking session.
“but tonight, we’re finishing this, baby. i promise.”
you smiled, still a bit dazed as you tried to gain your composure, finally coming off the kitchen’s island.
“you better… you know, this counts as edging.”
minho grabbed his briefcase, but not before giving you another quick peck on the lips.
“have i ever let you down before, baby?”
he smirked, finally heading towards the door, leaving you with his scent and his mark.
Warning(s) - Taemin breaks into your apartment multiple times, slight violence, making out with Taemin, small injury (reader bites him lol), blood, hickeys, swearing
Summary - As a designer for a luxury brand, you’ve dealt with theft before, but never a thief who leaves kisses like fingerprints. Taemin slips through shadows and silk, stealing more than couture and designs as he draws you further into a dangerous game of desire.
Word Count - 4.0k
Author’s Note - It seems only fitting that a Taemin fic titled Criminal would be about him stealing luxury items like how he did to Kibum LMAO
Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet (fill out this google form if you'd like to be added!)
Written for The Mirror of Erised Collab hosted by @taem-min-archived.
Now playing: Criminal - Taemin, Heaven - Taemin, Sherlock - SHINee
As you arrive home after a long day of work, you let out a sigh of relief as you plop your heavy folder and bag onto the kitchen table. The contents of the folder splay out the slightest bit, your sketches for Gucci’s newest Spring and Summer collections, but you’re too tired to care, already heading to your bedroom and slipping into the shower, all too eager to wash away the day's stress. With deadlines for the new collection coming up, you had superiors hounding you for designs, but creativity cannot be rushed.
Once you finished showering, you began the familiar, soothing tasks of your night routine. Having dinner while watching a show, doing the dishes, brushing your teeth, and most importantly, choosing your outfit for tomorrow. As a rising designer for Gucci, there was nothing more important than dressing for the part. Everyone in your department showed up to work dressed to the nines, but it only made sense.
After setting aside your meticulously planned outfit, you finally slide under the covers of your bed as sleep calls your name. Checking your phone one last time, you set it down on the nightstand next to your bed and settle in for yet another night, hoping for a restful sleep before yet another day at work.
As you begin to drift off, feeling your consciousness slip from reality, a noise jolts you back to your senses. It sounded like it came from nearby, maybe within your apartment. But that’s impossible. You remember locking the doors and closing the windows before you went to sleep. It was probably not a big deal. Perhaps it was just a pillow that fell off the couch. Telling yourself that it’s not a big deal, you manage to persuade your body to calm down enough to attempt falling asleep again.
It almost worked until you heard a small thump. Definitely from somewhere in your apartment and definitely not a pillow falling off the couch. You thought up scenarios of different things that could have made the sound. A jacket falling off a hanger? A trinket rolling off a shelf? A shoe sliding off the rack? Plausible.
You were nearly convinced that it was just your apartment playing tricks on you, but then you heard the rustling. Rustling of papers…coming from the kitchen…your designs. You remembered the folder of your designs that you haphazardly threw onto the kitchen table when you first returned home, not bothering to clean them up because you were so tired.
Sitting up carefully, trying your hardest to remain silent as a feeling of dread took hold in your chest, praying to whatever high power was above, you hoped that it was just your papers being blown around by some stray air current caused by the lazy construction of the building. But in the case that someone was in your apartment, going through your designs and threatening the upcoming collection…you looked around for something to protect yourself and your designs.
As a designer for a luxury brand, you had heard stories about thieves breaking into the warehouses and offices. Your coworkers told you those accounts as if they were ghost stories, meant only to scare new hires into protecting their work and their valuables. You had seen the emails the company sent out whenever there was a report of a break-in, but none of that prepared you for your own encounter with a luxury thief.
You picked up your water cup from the nightstand, not sure what you were going to do with it, but decided it was the closest you were going to get to a weapon or at least a diversion. Creeping closer and closer to your bedroom door, you tried to listen for any more sounds coming from the other side of the door. The faint sound of papers being rifled through continued, and you were sure that it was coming from the kitchen, exactly where you left your designs.
Your hand softly gripped the doorknob as you pondered what your next move would be if there was indeed someone in your apartment. Would you splash the intruder with the water in your cup? Would you pour it on your designs to stop them from being stolen? What if the designs were already photographed and being sent to another brand? What if-
You heard footsteps. And they were growing closer. You watched the shadows shift from the crack at the bottom of your door. The footsteps stopped right in front of your bedroom door. It was now or never. You swung the door open, hitting whoever was standing on the other side, and you doused them with the water in your cup, hoping to earn at least a few seconds to get a hold of the situation.
The intruder fell against the wall, staggering from the impact of the doo,r and you took in their appearance. Male, wearing all black from head to toe (mayhaps a fashion faux pas), their face covered by a black ski mask, broad shoulders with a slender waist tapering into long, slim legs. On another day, if you had seen this person in any place aside from your apartment under the current circumstances, you might have considered going up to them to recruit them as a model.
His eyes flutter underneath the mask as he struggles to pull himself together. You were stuck between dealing with the intruder and going to check on your designs. The man in front of you had seemingly nothing on his person, no bag, no case to carry your hard work away. That must mean he had already taken pictures of them. Against your better judgment, you dashed to your kitchen, needing to know whether or not the papers were still on the table.
When you slid around the corner to the kitchen, you saw your folder with papers spilling out of it. Your sketches were laid haphazardly on the surface of the table, most of their contents fully exposed to any person who was lucky enough to lay eyes on them. With the way they were positioned, you knew the intruder had stolen pictures of them, rendering these papers of no use anymore.
You ran back out from the kitchen and into the hallway, determined to catch the man and delete whatever images he had on his phone. But he was gone. The hallway was empty, devoid of any person aside from yourself. You carefully made your way through your apartment, searching through your bedroom, bathroom, living room, even your closets and cupboards. Everything was in its place except for the coat missing from the back of your armchair. The coat that was from the 2024 Fall and Winter collection that the head designer had gifted to you after you commented on how flawless the draping was.
Double-checking the locks of your windows and doors, you found that they were all locked, leaving no trace of how the thief entered or exited. You hadn’t gotten a face, a name, or any evidence to prove that your intellectual property had been stolen. There was no way you were going to sleep tonight.
When you arrived at work the following morning, you were met by words of concern from your coworkers upon seeing the dark circles that outlined your eyes. You did not sleep a wink that night, no matter how hard you tried.
Yet it was not sleep that you yearned for. It was answers. You were dying to know who that man was, how he entered your apartment, how he exited, and just what the hell he wanted with your designs? How did he find you? How did he know that you worked for Gucci?
Your coworkers laughed at you for all the overthinking you did, chalking it up to a lack of sleep. Perhaps you imagined the whole thing. Maybe there wasn’t a man in your apartment after all. Surely, you had just been so exhausted from work that it was all just a bad dream.
When you returned home that day, your mind had been put at ease by your coworkers, all of their hypothetical scenarios having flooded your mind enough to force it into believing that there was no thief. You went through the normal motions of your regular night routine, except this time, you made sure to tidy up your design folder and tuck it back into your work bag.
You closed the bag with a slight smile, feeling the slightest bit foolish at your antics, because if there was no thief, then surely there was no reason to be doing this. But you couldn’t help it. You all but jumped into bed, your eyes begging to be put to rest. The sheets tangled in your legs as you finally grew comfortable and felt the signs of sleep taking over. Then you heard it. You heard something thump in your apartment. Really? The second night in a row? Were you really that easy of a target for them?
This time, you were prepared. You grabbed a heavy, studded necklace with sharp points on the centerpiece off your vanity, along with a pair of fabric scissors. Moving swiftly, you exited your bedroom and ghosted down the hallway towards your kitchen. Empty. No sketches on the table, no papers in sight. This couldn’t be.
Then you heard your designs calling to you from the living room, the rustling sounds of your paper catching your ear. Cautiously, you left the kitchen, floating down the hallway to the living room, and there he was.
The intruder sat lounging on your couch, your sketches in hand, as he rifled through them. He paused briefly, looking up at you and meeting your gaze before his lips pulled into a grin. “I was wondering when you’d find me.” The sound of his voice made the hairs on your arm raise, not out of fear, but from how smooth it was. He was calm, collected, maybe even elegant.
“Quite the repertoire you’ve got here,” he chuckled, throwing your papers onto the couch next to him. “How about you explain them to me?”
This man has got to be insane. “Who the hell are you?” You gritted out.
“The name’s Taemin,” the man said, his coy smile never leaving his face. “Please, come sit.” He motioned towards the armchair next to your couch. It was all so surreal, being told to sit in your own living room as if you were the guest, yet you obeyed, putting down the necklace and water onto the small table next to the chair. “I’d like to know your creative process, the thought behind these designs.”
“I’m not telling you,” you spit at him, your fingers gripping into the plush fabric of the chair.
Taemin chuckles. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me right now. We have all night.” You were frozen in your spot when he stood up. Fear rooted you to your spot, and you eyed his figure, trying to see if he had any weapons. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or not to see that he had nothing in his hands, no bulky items hiding under his form-fitting clothing. When he swung a leg over the arm of your chair, his arm gripping the top of the back, effectively caging you in, your breath was caught in your chest.
It felt like everything in the world stood still as he hovered over you. When you finally looked up at Taemin, finding his eyes, you finally took a breath. You were overwhelmed by him. His deep, brown eyes, the light, clean, fresh scent of his fragrance, his dainty pink lips- No. “Why are you here?” You ask him, pulling yourself from falling down the gutter.
“I think you know the answer to that, darling.” Taemin stared down at you, his eyes boring into your soul. “I’m just here to pick apart your genius, get a glimpse into that brain of yours.”
“Who do you work for?” If you could get a company name or title, you would take it upon yourself to get justice.
Taemin pressed his forehead into yours with a laugh. “That doesn’t matter, dearest. It’s not about me right now. I want to know about you.”
“I’m not telling you jack SHIT!” You place your hands on his chest and attempt to push him off of you, but he is faster.
He drops his entire weight onto you, his knees falling to either side of your thighs, barely fitting in the seat of the armchair. His hands fell from the back of the chair to cup your cheeks. “You don’t have to tell me anything right now…I’ll be back.” Taemin’s lips brush against yours as he speaks, ending with the lightest kiss. You didn’t dare move, scared of what he would do if you kissed him back.
Taemin climbs off your lap, and you watch as he disappears into your bedroom, reemerging barely a second later with two of your handbags. “Hey! Put those down!” You shouted at him.
He brought a finger up to his lips, leaving you with a quiet “shhh” as he slipped out through your own front door. How rude of him. Taking your bags and using the door as if he lived here.
When the door clicked shut, you finally allowed yourself to breathe and collect yourself. Your mind worked at a million miles an hour, trying to piece together everything you knew. The man, called Taemin, slips in like a shadow at night, leaving behind nothing except the lingering scent of his expensive cologne while also stealing your designs and couture pieces. You had heard your fair share about luxury thieves. But none were as audacious or as infuriatingly charming as Taemin.
You show up to work the next morning equally as tired as the day prior, but you don’t tell your coworkers about Taemin. You didn’t want to tell them about him just yet. He was your little secret, your creative project. When you sat down at your desk, full of half-done sketches and notebooks of ideas, you got to work with more fire and fury than ever before.
Your designs sang of Taemin. Sleek, minimal, fully clad in black. The only accents on your pieces are gold or silver embellishments on the buckle of a belt, the button of a coat, or the clip of a bag. None of your designs matched with the Spring and Summer collection being developed, causing your fellow designers to cast a sideways glance at you, wondering just what was going on in your head.
Chaos reigned on your desk. The once light, floral pieces you were working on had been thrown aside for the hard, dark lines of your newest passion project. When 5 o’clock rolled around that day, you stashed your sketches into your bag and headed home with a twinge of excitement blooming in your chest.
After your arrival home, you followed your routine just as usual, eating dinner, washing up, and picking your ensemble for the following day. The only deviation from your routine was the way you left your folder of sketches on the couch, exactly where you had found Taemin the previous night.
You couldn’t deny that you were awaiting Taemin’s arrival. But what you were going to do once he was within the walls of your apartment…you had yet to figure that out. Use your designs as a ploy to catch him and report him? Offer your designs as ransom to leave you alone? Neither seemed enticing. Regardless, tonight was the night that you were determined to have him in your grasp.
When you heard the resounding creaks and groans of your furniture in the living room, your heart pounded. Sneaking out from your bedroom, you find your way to the living room in the dark, the thumping of your heart ringing in your ears. A wave of heat washes over you when you finally lay eyes on Taemin, clothed entirely in black, except this time, his attire had you freezing on the spot. He was without a mask.
Your eyes were glued onto his face, his arched eyebrows framing his sharp eyes, the strong slope of his nose, the curve of his lips– all of it made your heart race. Not from fear, but from the way his head tilted and lips pulled into a smirk before he closed the space between the two of you.
Taemin moved as silently as a ghost, approaching you briskly until his lips were close enough to steal your breath. His hands floated over your waist, barely touching you, and yet you swore you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He stayed there, just millimeters away from you. Within your reach, all for your taking. “You should really strengthen your security,” Taemin rasped, his voice low while his lips brushed against yours.
You should strengthen your security. You should report him. But you didn’t, and instead, you kissed him.
You closed the almost nonexistent space between your bodies, bringing your lips fully against him and allowing your hands to find their way up to his broad shoulders. Without missing a beat, Taemin reciprocated your actions, leaning into your touches and his own hands finally landing on your hips. His lips moved in tandem with yours, biting and licking the soft flesh whenever you gave him the opportunity. You let out a soft moan when he dug into a particularly sensitive spot, and Taemin took the opening of your mouth as a chance to allow his tongue to slip in. You fought back with your own, delivering a particularly hard nip to his bottom lip to establish your dominance. He gasped, pulling away with heavy breaths, his eyes wide and pupils blown out.
The glint of fluid on his lips caught your eye, the mix of saliva and blood glistening under the moonlight shining in from the window. Your hand trailed up from his shoulder, up the side of his neck, across the ridge of his jaw, and onto the swollen skin of his lips. Running your fingers across the inflamed skin, you pressed gently against where the blood was pooling. “Sorry,” you whisper, just loud enough for the two of you to hear it.
“Don’t be,” Taemin responded before leaving a kiss on your fingers. “I’ll treasure it. Proof that I was here.”
He dives in for another kiss, aiming for your lips, but you turn away at the last second, causing his lips to fall upon your cheek instead. “Why are you here?” You ask him, determined to get your answers this time around.
Taemin chuckled as his thumb wiped the smidge of spit and blood from your cheek. “For you.”
Your eyes bore into his, and you raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Not the designs?”
He shook his head. “Not this time.” You couldn’t deny the way your heart fell at his words, thinking about how you toiled at work earlier in the day, drawing countless sketches just from his very image. Taemin watched the way your expression changed. “Something on your mind, beautiful?”
“It’s nothing.”
His gaze left yours as he turned away to look upon the couch where your folder of papers sat. “Did you want me to take a look at your designs again? See what new treasures you came up with?” He turned back to face you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Did you leave them for me?”
You nodded, your hands sliding down to his chest, giving him a gentle push to sit down on the plush cushions. He followed your gestures and fell backwards next to the folder, his hands never leaving your hips as he dragged you down on top of him. You straddled his lap, leaning back just enough room for him to pick up the thick folder, opening it up to reveal the bold, dark lines of your work. He flipped through them, his fingers tracing along where your pencil had driven deep and hard into the paper. “These are splendid.” You bit your lip at the praise, your heart soaring. “But I must admit, it’s unlike anything you’ve made recently.”
He looked up at you from the papers, finding you already staring down at him. “They’re for you.”
“For me, darling? You shouldn’t have.” Taemin’s lips curled into a smile as he set the folder aside, freeing his hands so they could grip your waist. His attention turned to your neck, his lips latching on and sucking harshly. You threw your head back, giving him even more surface area to leave his marks. His lips trailed down the column of your neck, down to your collarbones, ending at the hem of your shirt sitting right at your sternum. He finally pulled away when he was satisfied with his creations, the dark splotches blooming on your skin. “Everything about you is so divine, you don’t even know.”
You leaned into him, your hands tangling in his hair as your head fell into the crook of his neck, copying his actions. You left your own marks on Taemin’s pale skin as he arched into you. He moaned when you sucked on the area right beneath his ear and you felt him tense up beneath you. You pulled away quickly, eyes scanning across his face.
“W-we can’t-” he stuttered. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” You ask, hands coming to cup his cheeks the same way he did to you the night before. “You’re my muse.”
Taemin heaved a broken sigh, pulling your hands away from his face. “Trust me.”
Your shoulders sagged in defeat, and you swung your leg off of him so that you could sit next to him. “You’re right. We shouldn’t.”
Neither of you looked at each other as he stood and made his way to the door. “We shouldn’t,” he echoed, his voice a shadow of yours. Just like that, he was gone like a whisper of silk, leaving you nothing to remember him by except the throbbing patches of his work. Likewise, he took your marks because the truth is, you weren’t the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night.
You sink into the couch, allowing the cushions to suck you in. What was one to do when their muse is a thief? You adjusted to fully lie down when you realized your folder was gone. Taemin had taken the designs…and one of your Gucci-branded throw pillows.
Night after night, Taemin returns, slipping into your apartment through whatever unknown means, pressing you against million-dollar velvet and lace, taking what he wants and leaving you breathless. Despite every warning in your mind, you allow him to do all of it.
“What will my favorite robber do once he’s stolen every designer item from here?” You tease through heavy breaths as Taemin pushes you down against the satin sheets of your bed.
His ever-charming smirk appears once more. “I’m not a robber.”
“But you are.” You gasp as he hovers above you, and his lips kiss their way up from your exposed collarbones to your jaw.
Taemin pauses after leaving a kiss on the corner of your lips, lingering there as if he were being tempted to steal yet another kiss from you. “Darling, I fear you’re mistaken,” he began, his soft lips moving against your skin and making you arch into his touch. “A robber uses force or the threat of force to steal.” His hands caress the curves of your body, treasuring every bit that you allow him to. “A thief steals without such force.” Your breath caught in your throat as he began to leave love bites over the expanse of your skin. “And with you? I don’t even have to ask.”
The real theft isn’t the luxury pieces he takes, or even your designs. It’s the way he’s stealing your heart.
Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Groove - K.Jongin
The second you say it—“이거 뭐야?”—and look up at me with that mix of bravado and fear, something settles in my chest like a lock clicking shut.
“Baby…” I slide my hand to your jaw, warm and steady. “You’re my girlfriend. 내 여자.” I don’t blink when I say it. I don’t hedge. “No guessing. No maybe. I’m here.”
You try to turn it into a joke, because that’s what you always do when you’re overwhelmed with a big feeling, but I don’t let you run from it. Not this time. My thumb drags across your lower lip, slow. “Say it back,” I murmur, eyes on yours. “Then I’ll kiss you.”
You swallow, tiny nod. “Your girlfriend.” That’s it. The gravity changes in the room.
I kiss you like a promise—and like a problem I don’t want to solve. Gentle first, then deeper when you sigh into my mouth. Your fingers curl in my shirt and I pull you into my lap like you belong there (you do). The world outside the curtains—neighbourhood noise, a distant bus —goes fuzzy. I can feel your heartbeat through your chest to mine, rabbit-fast, and it sends a shot of pride through me so hard I have to laugh against your sweet lips. “Look at you,” I whisper. “My girl. My y/n.“
You whisper, “탬,” and my control thins to silk. “Don’t,” I breathe, forehead pressed to yours, smile wrecked. “Say my name like that and I won’t stop.”
I don’t stop anyway. Why would I?
I kiss you the way I dance—tempo shifts, control, then the slip. Mouth to mouth, then I angle to your cheek, your jaw, the hollow just under your ear that makes your breath catch. “여기 좋아해?” (You like it here?) You nod, a little gasp, and I file it away: cartography of you, y/n. You like it when I grab your waist. You melt when I slide a hand up your spine. You go quiet when I kiss the soft place under your ear, and you claw at me (God, yes) when I mouth the side of your throat. “Hickeys?” I murmur, smile curving. “Say yes.”
“Yes,” you breathe, small and dangerous. “Good girl.” I keep it tasteful—slow, claiming, not too dark—and then I kiss where I’ve marked, soothing. “Mine,” I tell your soft skin, not because I need to hear it, but because maybe you do. “내 사람.”
You’re shy to dance with me, always, even though you love to dance—so I don’t ask. I just put on a slow song (yeah, “1 of 1” is queued next, because of course) and stand, keeping your small hands in mine, pulling you up into me. “No choreography,” I say, mouth against your temple. “Just this. Just us.“ We sway in my living room, your cheek under my chin, my palm sliding lazy circles at the small of your back. I feel you unclench minute by minute, your shoulders dropping, your breath syncing with mine. “You feel that?” I whisper. “That’s us. No shoe dropping. Just us.”
You tip your head back to look at me and I’m a goner. I kiss you again, slower now, like I’m sipping something expensive. When you smile into my mouth, I lose the plot and laugh. “누나… 진짜 미치겠다.” (Noona… I’m actually going crazy.) I mean it like worship.
I make you ginger tea in the kitchen without letting go for long—my fingers never leave your hip, your wrist, the hem of your shirt, like I have to keep you tethered. You sit on the counter, legs open, and I step between them, bracing one hand on the cupboard, the other around your waist. You’re watching me, eyes soft, and the urge to take care of you hits hard. “Had dinner?” I ask. You shake your head. I’m already on it—garlic, eggs, rice, quick and warm. “Not your nationality‘s treasure, but chef’s kiss,” I tease, feeding you the first bite with the chopsticks. You roll your eyes, pretending not to be charmed, but you take the bite and hum, and now I’m grinning like an idiot because your happy sounds are my new drug. “Better than being cool,” I say when you catch me smiling. “I’d rather be yours.”
On the couch again, I tuck my hair behind my ear—your “Korean long” comment lives rent-free in my head—let you card your fingers through it. You always do when you’re half-shy, half-feral. “Touch me,” I murmur, guiding your hand to the nape of my neck. “Like that.” Your nails scrape lightly and I shiver, eyes closing. “Christ, y/n.” I open them again because I want to see your face when I say this next part. “I know your past. I heard you. I’m not leaving. Stop looking for the exit when I’m trying to walk in.”
You go quiet, but the kind of quiet that means you’re listening. So I keep going, softer. “You think you’re hard to love.” I kiss the slope of your cheek. “But all I know how to do is want you.” Another kiss at your jaw. “Want you when you’re loud, when you’re quiet, when your stubborn Virgo-brain is manifesting the moon.” A smile against your skin. “I’ve been eating grapes under tables for years and didn’t even know why.” (You laugh, that snort you do when you’re trying not to, and I beam like I won something important.) “Turns out it was you.”
You pull me closer and I don’t make you say thank you with words. I let you say it with your mouth. I kiss you until you stop bracing for goodbye.
We drift toward the bedroom because gravity says so. Not rushed. I keep checking your eyes, your breath, your yes. I’m a menace, yeah—but I’m careful with what I care about. At the edge of the bed, I pause and tip your chin up with one finger. “Color?” I ask softly. (You roll your eyes at me, but the way you relax says it lands.) “Blue,” you whisper, and then you’re pulling me down.
What happens next isn’t a movie montage. It’s two people learning each other. It’s my mouth finding the places that make your back arch, and your hands finding the places that make my breath stutter. It’s me worshiping your tummy—yes, the one you say you hate—kissing it slow, telling you, “이 부분… 내가 제일 좋아해.” (This part… I like it the most.) It’s you going quiet and a little wet-eyed for a second, and me kissing that expression away. It’s your pretty eyes blowing wide when I tell you, plain and honest, “You’re exactly my type,” and then prove it with patience and a little menace, the kind that makes you gasp my name and clutch at the sheets. It’s the kind of heat that feels like home, where I don’t have to posture and you don’t have to pretend.
After, I do the small things that say more than speeches. Warm cloth. Water. My hoodie—“territorial behavior,” you accuse, smiling, as you tug it on; I shrug, unashamed. “Facts.” I press a kiss to your temple. You burrow into me, thigh over mine, your hand on my chest like you’re testing if I’m still there. I am. I always am.
You’re not a morning person. So I set your alarm, then set another for me two minutes earlier so I can wake you with kisses instead of a siren. I put water on the nightstand and a note under the glass where you’ll find it: No more ‘what are we.’ We are. A stupid little heart because I’m younger and cocky enough to get away with it. When you roll, half-asleep, to hide your face in my neck, I whisper, “내 사람.” (My person.) You answer in your drowsy native tongue that melts my spine and I have to bite my lip like a teenager.
Sometime around 3 a.m., you stir, the old fear flickering across your face like a shadow of a bad dream. I feel it happen. I always do. My hand rubs slow circles on your back, my mouth finds your hairline. “Shh,” I murmur. “I’m not a ghost. I don’t disappear.” You breathe out, long and shaky, and I press your palm to my heartbeat. “See? Still here.”
Morning in our city is grey-blue and soft. I slip out just long enough to grind beans, make your coffee exactly the way you like it, leave it where your hand will find it before your eyes fully open. I crawl back under the covers, cold hands on your warm waist, and you squeal, smacking my shoulder. I take the hit, laughing, and then I’m kissing you good morning like I promised—sweet, unhurried, plenty. “좋은 아침, girlfriend,” I murmur into your smile.
You squint at me. “We’re really doing this?”
I tip my head, pretend to think. Then I nod like a judge. “Yes. Sentence: unlimited kisses, public hand-holding, me singing badly in your kitchen, jealousy rights when men stare too long, and…” I lean in, drop my voice. “The right to tell me when you need gentler, and the right to demand when you want rougher.” Your eyes spark; I kiss the corner. “All appeals denied.”
You tug me close by the hoodie strings and kiss me like you mean it. I groan, happy and gone. “Look what you did,” I complain softly, but I’m already rolling over you, bracing on my forearms, hair falling around us like a curtain. Your fingers push it back, and I swear I could live in this exact moment forever.
We spend the day the way new lovers do when the question mark is gone and the exhale finally arrives. We walk along the river with your hand in my pocket and mine around your waist because I like you tucked into me. You point out dogs; I point out sunlight in your hair. You make fun of my playlist until I put on the exact song you were going to request and pretend it was your idea. We read horoscopes at a café; I scoff at mine and take yours dead seriously. We plan trips we haven’t booked and dinners we haven’t cooked. At crosswalks, I press kisses into your hair; in shop windows, I watch you watching yourself and mutter, “우와… 진짜 예쁘다,” (wow… you’re really beautiful) like it’s new information every time.
And every time that old doubt tries to creep in—when a car door slams too loud, or your phone lights up and you hesitate like you’re bracing—I’m there. A hand on your lower back. A look that says I see you. A kiss you feel in your knees. “No exits,” I remind you, grinning. “I’m already inside.”
That night, when we’re back at my place and you curl into me on the couch, I pull a folded page from the coffee table and slide it into your hand. It’s messy, written between dance drills and thoughts of you:
We are.
You asked me what this is. It’s me waking up and wanting your face before sunlight. It’s me dancing better because you exist. It’s me worshiping the tummy you think I shouldn’t love and loving it more out of spite. It’s me learning your native pet names and your favorite noodles and the exact pressure to put on your hips when you’ve had a day. It’s you, all of you. It’s home.
You read it, then look at me like I hung the moon, and I have to hide my face in your neck because I’m younger and pathetic for you. You laugh, that bright sound, and tug my hair. “Come here,” you say, and I do, because there’s nowhere else I’m ever going.
Later, in the dark, I trace the outline of your lips with my thumb and whisper the truest thing I know in both languages, so there’s no way you can miss it. “You’re my only one. 진짜 1 of 1.” You smile without opening your eyes, say, “I know,” and tuck your cold toes under my calf like you own me.
You do.
And when sleep finally takes you, I stay awake a little longer, kissing your forehead, memorizing the peace on your face, thinking how insane it is that a man can pray for something his whole life without a name for it—and then one night in a club, there you are, laughing like trouble, tasting like forever, asking me a question I get to answer every day:
Jinki had always been a ray of sunshine in your life, someone gentle, kind, and chivalrous who was always willing to fulfill your every wish. Even as a famous idol with a very busy schedule, he never failed to set aside a few minutes for you to talk, even if it was just over the phone. You had always been incredibly shy and reserved, so Jinki used to chatter much more—or crack "dad jokes" that might draw a smile from you.
He knew exactly when you were smiling, even without being able to see you. He always loved the sound of your laugh, and he didn't mind acting silly just to make you giggle.
That night, Jinki was very tired and didn't have his usual energy. You grew worried, knowing that the life of a Korean artist wasn't easy.
He seemed very quiet and didn't try to start much conversation. But even though you were very shy, you couldn't waste the little time you had to talk.
So, you took a deep breath and raised the volume of your voice, which was normally calm and serene. Jinki even let out an "oh" of surprise, as he hadn't expected it.
You said:
"I know you're tired, but please know that I love you and will always be by your side! I will always support you, defend you, and protect you! Even if we're not physically close, you know you're the greatest comfort in my life, don't you?"
Suddenly, silence. Jinki’s cheeks were flushed and he looked slightly embarrassed.
You continued:
"And... even if you don't want to talk today, I'll make an effort and talk more... okay?"
Jinki broke into a wide smile and let out a little chuckle. A small tear welled up in his left eye.
Just by the way he was breathing, you knew he was deeply touched.
You spent quite a while talking on the phone that night, but, unlike other times, you did most of the chatting and tried to be silly to help distract him.
And the next day, Jinki woke up radiant as usual, having received the sweet certainty of love.
Prompt: You just need to be patient. You can’t expect everything to happen perfectly the first time. That just isn’t fair.
You looked at Taemin, then the pile of clay shaped like a dick, then back at him. “I don’t want it to be perfect. Just less…dildo-y.”
He hid his mouth behind his arm and laughed. “Okay. I can show you how to shape it. Is it okay if I stand behind you?”
“Sure. I’ll do anything to end up with something I can actually show my mom.”
He came around the table and stood behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder lightly as his hands ghosted down your arms to your hands. His breath gently blew across your cheek as he guided you. “You were doing great. Kept it wet and centered.” He started the wheel and dipped your hands into the bowl of water. “But maybe you could use your left hand for force and use your right for support.” He pushed your hand and demonstrated the force needed. “And you go faster when centering than you do when shaping.” Once the clay turned into a dome, he pressed your thumbs into the center. “See? Just like that!” he said, his voice a mix of encouragement and mischief. You could feel the warmth radiating from him as he adjusted your grip, and it was hard to focus on the clay with all the sensations swirling around you.
“Okay, okay, I think I get it,” you replied, trying to suppress a giggle while concentrating on not ruining the dome shape. “But this still looks like something I wouldn’t want my mom to see.”
Taemin chuckled softly. “Maybe we should aim for ‘abstract art’ instead of realism then,” he teased. “The key is to embrace the imperfections.” He leaned in closer so you could hear him over the whirring wheel. “Just remember—if it doesn’t look good at first, we can always squish it back down and start again.”
You nodded, feeling more at ease with each wheel rotation under your hands. The rhythm was therapeutic. Even if your creation wasn't museum-worthy yet, you were having fun experimenting with shapes and forms alongside Taemin’s playful guidance. As minutes passed and laughter filled the air from playful jabs about your artistic choices, something clicked into place—not just in terms of clay, but also in how comfortable you were sharing this moment with him. Maybe crafting imperfect dildos wasn’t such a bad way to spend an afternoon after all.
