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helionepho · 18 days ago

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The Latte Line Between Us

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ A Kevin Moon Oneshot Fanfiction ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

request from: @princesslolita61 promt details here ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა (hi love! sorry for the long wait, hope this makes your day a little better‪‪❤︎‬)

pairing: idol!kevin x idol!fem reader

genre: fluff, idol au, a little suggestive (?), romcom

warning: mention of kiss

wc: 4.8k

summary: a playful idol romcom filled with quick wit, backstage mishaps, and the kind of moments that make your heart skip.

In your defense, the backstage area at music shows is like a maze.

Too many signs.

Too many identical doors.

Too many people rushing past like their lives depend on it.

So when you pushed open a door and saw a familiar sofa, snack table, and a coffee tray, you assumed you’d made it to your own group’s waiting room.

Finally. Sanctuary.

You spotted an untouched iced vanilla latte on the table. “Oh, bless Gina-unnie,” you thought, plopping onto the couch and taking a big sip.

Sweet, creamy perfection. Exactly what you needed.

You paused, licking your lips.

“Hmm… why does this vanilla latte taste kind of nutty? Does it have oat-milk in it?” You smiled to yourself, a little surprised. Gina almost never ordered your vanilla latte with oat-milk.

Halfway through your sips, the door opened.

Kevin Moon walked in.

Your soul left your body.

You knew The Boyz well.

Jacob, one of the members, is your cousin. And Gina, your groupmate, just so happened to be Eric’s older sister, which meant you’d been in and out of their company building more times than you could count.

That familiarity was the only thing keeping you from full-on screaming… but Kevin Moon was still Kevin Moon, your long-time crush and the single most dangerous variable to your dignity.

He stopped mid-step, eyes going to the cup in your hand.

“…Is that my coffee?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“My coffee,” he repeated, smiling a little. “Vanilla latte with oat-milk. Name’s written on the side.”

You turned the cup slowly. Sure enough: KEVIN.

Right underneath, in smaller letters: do not touch.

And then it hit you. Oat-milk. Of course. Kevin Moon is lactose intolerant.

“Oh my god...” you nearly dropped it. “I thought this was my group’s waiting room! Gina said she was bringing coffee, so I thought—oh no—ohhhh no—” You looked around in horror. “This… isn’t our room, is it?”

Kevin’s smile grew, and he shook his head. “Not unless you’re a secret 12th member of The Boyz.”

Jacob’s voice floated from the corner, deadpan: “She’s not. She’s just a silly little girl.”

You groaned. “This is so bad. I just drank your coffee and broke into The Boyz’ waiting room.”

Kevin laughed then, warm and genuine, the kind that made your chest feel weirdly light. “It’s fine. You can keep it. I’ll get another one.”

“You’re… not mad?” you asked, still clutching the cup like a crime weapon.

“Mad? No,” he said, eyes crinkling. “Honestly… it’s kind of cute.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Somewhere in the background, Jacob sighed like he was already tired of this impending disaster.

You were tired too, tired of your heart trying to escape your chest every time Kevin Moon so much as looked at you.

Too late to stop now.

***

FLASHBACK

You weren’t supposed to meet anyone that day.

You were just… luggage. Extra body. Background character in Gina Sohn’s quest to drop off something her little brother Eric had forgotten at The Boyz’ building.

You even kept your mask up and cap pulled low, more out of habit than caution. It wasn’t like anyone would care that much about a maknae of a new debuted girl group trailing behind her unnie on her day off.

IST’s building was bright and modern, humming with energy and quiet chatter.

You stayed close behind Gina, politely nodding at the staff who recognized her and whispered “That’s Eric’s sister.” Most of the attention bypassed you, which was fine. Preferred, even.

This wasn’t even your company. You were just tagging along.

So here you were. Disguised under a cap, hoodie, and mask like some undercover agent.

But the moment Gina disappeared around the corner to ask someone where Eric’s practice room was, you were left standing awkwardly in the hallway... staring at a vending machine.

And that was your first mistake.

Because after debating for a moment, you leaned in to check if the machine accepted card. You squatted slightly, peering close—

—and your cap smacked right into the glass with a soft but tragically loud bonk.

You recoiled instantly, tripped on your own foot, and—of course—stumbled backward into someone.

A hand shot out to steady you before you could fall completely.

“Whoa, careful,” came a voice behind you, warm and amused.

You froze. Your brain rebooted.

Then you slowly turned, still crouched halfway between a squat and a panic attack.

The guy standing there was taller than you, soft-looking, with fox-like eyes that seemed to smile on their own, and thin lips. His hair was a perfectly imperfect mess, like it had fallen that way naturally.

His hand hovered awkwardly near your elbow, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to help you stand.

And worst of all, he was smiling. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. But clearly, clearly, holding back a laugh.

“I—sorry,” you stammered, heat rushing up your neck as you stood properly. “I didn’t… I mean, the machine’s just—”

“You tried to fight it,” he said lightly, finally letting out a small laugh. “And you lost.”

You gaped at him for half a second, before a mortified laugh escaped your throat, too.

“Yup. That’s me. Idol career ruined by a vending machine.”

“That’d be a great headline,” he said, still grinning. “I’d click on it.”

And just like that, the embarrassment faded.

Somehow washed away by the easy way he was looking at you. Not annoyed. Not weirded out. Just… entertained.

And warm.

Your heart skipped in that stupid, fluttery way it hadn’t in a long time.

You glanced down, tried to pretend like you weren’t spiraling internally, and then said softly, “...Thanks for catching me.”

“Anytime,” he said, eyes crinkling. “Though I’m not sure I can protect you from heavy machinery.”

Before you could even respond, Gina’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“Y/N, come on! Eric’s on his way down!”

You froze.

The guy’s head tilted. “Y/N?”

You blinked up at him.

“…As in Y/N, Y/N? Aren’t you Jacob’s cousin? I saw your debut stage too.”

You covered your face. “Please pretend the vending machine never happened.”

He shook his head, grin widening. “Not a chance. That was the highlight of my week.”

Then he held out his hand. “I’m Kevin, by the way.”

Like you didn’t already know.

You slid your hand into his, and something stupid and fluttery happened in your chest.

“Nice to meet you,” you said softly.

***

PRESENT DAY

“Y/N!”

You jumped at the sudden voice, nearly spilling Kevin’s coffee onto your lap.

Eric Sohn stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath from running, eyes flicking between you and the cup in your hands.

“…Is that Kevin-hyung’s coffee?”

Before you could defend yourself, Jacob spoke from the couch in the corner, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She thought this was her group’s room,” he explained. “Classic Y/N.”

You groaned. “I did think it was ours!”

Eric grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “Guess we should be flattered you feel so at home here.”

Kevin, still relaxed by the snack table, took a slow sip from his water bottle, gaze lingering on you. “Relax, she’s fine. I told her she could keep it.”

“You let her?” Eric asked, mock-surprised. “But Kevin-hyung never shares his coffee.”

Kevin shrugged, his tone easy. “She’d already started drinking it. Too late to save it. Besides…” His eyes caught yours, a playful glint in them. “…I like seeing her flustered.”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “I’m not flustered.”

Jacob chuckled, his voice soft but teasing. “You kind of are. It’s cute, though.”

You covered your face with your free hand. “This is so embarrassing.”

Kevin leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough for you to hear. “Could be worse,” he murmured. “I could’ve told them about the vending machine.”

Your eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

Eric, who’d been watching the two of you with mild curiosity, chimed in, “Wait… what vending machine?”

You immediately waved your hands. “Nope. Nothing. We’re not talking about that.”

Kevin’s smirk deepened, clearly enjoying the way you were scrambling.

“Guess you’ll have to be nice to me, then.”

Before you could think of a comeback, Gina appeared in the doorway, giving you an amused look. “Y/N, what are you doing in here? We’re about to perform in 10 minutes.”

You scrambled to your feet, muttering a quick goodbye. But as you passed Kevin, he spoke again, low and certain: “Don’t think this is the last time I’m seeing you today.”

It didn’t sound like a threat.

It sounded like trouble, the good kind.

***

By the time you got back to your own waiting room, your face was still suspiciously warm. You blamed it on the stage lights.

Definitely not Kevin Moon.

Gina didn’t even give you a chance to sit down. She closed the door behind you, folded her arms, and smirked like she’d been waiting for this.

“So…” she began, drawing the word out. “Tell me why you were in The Boyz’s waiting room, drinking Kevin Moon’s coffee like you own the place.”

Your head shot up. “It was an accident! I thought it was ours!”

“That’s what makes it funnier,” she said, dropping into her seat and dramatically fanning herself. “God, his face when he looked at you—”

Before she could finish, one of your members popped up from behind the makeup station. “Wait, Kevin Moon? As in your Kevin Moon?”

You groaned. “He’s not my Kevin Moon—”

Another member gasped like she’d uncovered state secrets. “You finally talked to him again?!”

You slapped your hands over your ears. “Nope. Not listening. Not real. None of this happened.”

The room collectively ignored you.

Gina leaned forward, eyes glinting like a cat spotting prey. “So, he told you to keep the coffee? That’s basically a love confession.”

“Unnie!” you hissed, throwing a cushion at her.

She caught it effortlessly. “What? It’s true. He never shares his coffee. I’ve seen him guard a latte like it was his firstborn child.”

“You should’ve seen her when he said he likes seeing her flustered. I thought she was gonna drop the cup.”

“I did not!” you started, but stopped mid-sentence when you realized the entire room was watching you with identical mischievous smiles.

It was over. They knew.

They’d always known.

You flopped into your seat, pulling your jacket over your face. “Wake me up when the earth swallows me whole.”

But even under the jacket, you could still hear Kevin’s voice from earlier, low and playful: Don’t think this is the last time I’m seeing you today.

Your stomach did that annoying swoopy thing again.

Trouble. Definitely trouble.

***

Your group had just wrapped up your music show's stage and you were still buzzing, partly from the adrenaline, partly from trying not to think about the coffee disaster.

You slipped away from your waiting room for a quick trip to the vending machines down the hall. The corridor was quiet, just the hum of backstage equipment in the distance.

“Hey.”

You jumped so hard you almost dropped your phone.

Kevin was leaning casually against the wall like he’d been there forever, hands in his pockets, stage outfit still perfectly in place.

“I told you this wouldn’t be the last time I saw you today,” he said, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You squinted at him. “You were waiting for me?”

“Maybe.” His eyes swept over your still-styled hair and glittery makeup. “You looked great on stage, by the way.”

Your brain stuttered. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that the faint scent of his cologne and hairspray wrapped around you.

His voice dropped, lazy but deliberate. “So… do you always steal coffee from people you have a crush on, or am I just special?”

Your mouth fell open. “Wha— I— Who said I have a crush on you?!”

His grin widened, like a cat toying with its prey. “No one... You’re just easier to read than you think.”

You tried to retreat a step, but he matched it without missing a beat, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. The heat of him was distracting, dangerously so.

“I am not crushing on you,” you blurted, which would’ve sounded more convincing if your voice hadn’t cracked halfway through.

He tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to memorize the way your ears turned pink when you were embarrassed.

“Relax, I’m just teasing you,” Kevin chuckled. “But I’m not teasing to be mean. It’s just… cute.” His gaze lingered for a beat longer than necessary. “Your reaction is cute.”

You blinked at him, completely caught off guard. “You’re… really bad for my health, you know that?”

He laughed, low and warm. “Let me get you a drink later. That way next time, you won’t have to steal mine.”

***

It was the next day at Inkigayo, and backstage was the usual mix of chaos and caffeine. Staff darted around, idols in stage outfits brushed past each other, and camera crews lurked in every corner.

You’d just finished filming your group’s behind-the-scenes segment when you spotted Kevin leaning against the hallway wall, scrolling on his phone like he’d been waiting for you.

“Hey,” he said, looking up with a smile that felt suspiciously planned. “Perfect timing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Perfect timing for what?”

“For this.” He held up his phone, the TikTok camera app open and ready. “Roar challenge. You and me.”

You blinked. “You want to do a dance challenge… with me?”

“Why not?” His grin was casual, but there was a glint in his eyes. “Every groups been doing it, and I think you’d look good dancing to Roar. I can teach you the choreo.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You just think I’d look good, or you’re hoping for a laugh?”

Kevin smirked. “Maybe both. But mostly the first one.”

Your face warmed despite yourself. “Do you always butter people up before roping them into your videos?”

“Only the people I want in them,” he said simply.

Before you could answer, another voice cut in. “Yo, what are we filming?”

You turned to see Sunwoo strolling over, curious. “Ooh, Roar challenge? I’m in.”

Kevin shot him a look. “No, you’re not.”

Sunwoo raised his brows. “What, scared my part’s gonna look better than yours?”

Kevin crossed his arms.

“Scared you’ll make her trip over her own feet,” Kevin said flatly. “Last thing I need is you flirting mid-dance and sending her to the ER.”

A slow, knowing grin spread across Sunwoo’s face. “Ahhh… right. Wouldn’t want your girl falling for my charm instead, huh?”

You choked on air. “I’m— I’m not his—”

Kevin glared at Sunwoo, who was already walking away with a smug wave. “Better film it fast, hyung. Before she realizes she could do it with someone cooler.”

You were still processing when Kevin sighed. “Ignore him. He’s an idiot.”

You nodded quickly, trying not to think about the your girl part and failing miserably.

***

In the empty rehearsal room, Kevin showed you the first move of Roar choreo. “Okay, it starts like this—”

He moved effortlessly.

You tried to follow but ended up a beat late.

“I know you’re not the main dancer, but you’re quick to learn the choreo.” His hands came up to adjust your shoulders, warm and steady. “Just… Loosen up. It’s supposed to be fun.”

“Yeah yeah…” you muttered.

“You’ll get it. I promised I’d get you a drink, remember? Consider this your warm-up before I make good on that.”

Your brows lifted. “You mean the drink you said you’d buy me after the coffee incident?”

“Exactly,” he said, eyes flicking to yours.

From the hallway, Sunwoo’s voice rang out: “So you are taking her on a date!”

You froze. Kevin’s lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Don’t let him get in your head,” he murmured, leaning a little closer. “I’m the only partner you need to worry about. Now, focus. From the top.”

***

You eventually nailed the dance, and during filming, you noticed Kevin looking at you more than the camera. When the music ended, he didn’t even check the video first.

“Let’s do one more take,” he said.

“Why? The first one was fine.”

He smiled, softer this time. “Because this one’s just for us.”

Your stomach flipped. Again.

***

By the time your group wrapped up filming for Inkigayo, you were ready to collapse into the sofa… until you got a text.

|| [Unknown Number]: meet me by the side exit in 10. bring your mask.

|| [Unknown Number]: it’s kevin btw. not a sasaeng.

You stared at it for a second before glancing around. How did he even get your number? You didn’t remember giving it to him.

Still, ten minutes later, you found yourself slipping out the side door in an oversized hoodie and mask.

Kevin was already there in similar 'idol disguise mode,' hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, a mask on his face.

“Took you long enough,” he said, like you hadn’t just risked sneaking past staff.

You crossed your arms. “How did you even get my number?”

“Jacob owes me a favor,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

“So what’s this about?” you asked.

He tilted his head. “I told you I’ll get you a drink. I’m making good on my promise.”

You blinked. “You dragged me out here for coffee?”

“Not just coffee,” he said, starting to walk. “Coffee and company. Two for one deal.”

You fell into step beside him. “You make it sound really like a date.”

He glanced sideways at you, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If I called it that, would you have still come?”

Every coherent thought you had just… evaporated. “…Maybe.”

He chuckled.

***

The place was small and tucked away, the kind of cafe idols probably used as a safe haven. Once you were seated in the corner with your drinks, Kevin leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning you over the rim of his cup.

“What?” you asked, sipping yours.

“Nothing,” he said, smirking. “Just… you’re way quieter when it’s just us. No Sunwoo, no Eric, no Jacob—kind of nice.”

“So you like me better when I’m quiet?” you asked.

“No,” he said immediately, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “I like hearing you talk. But this…” His eyes locked on yours, unwavering. “…this feels different. Like I don’t have to share you with anyone else.”

You swallowed, the air between you suddenly heavier. “You’re dangerous.”

Kevin’s grin curved slow and knowing. “Nah, I just want to keep you to myself for a little while longer.”

He took a sip of his drink, gaze still fixed on you over the rim.

Your fingers tightened around your cup. He wasn’t even touching you, but it felt like he was.

***

You didn’t expect the night to end with you running through the streets of Seoul, but here you were, mask pulled up, hoodie tight, Kevin’s hand gripping yours as you both bolted down a side street.

It had all started when you left the cafe.

A small group of fans had passed by, and while they hadn’t exactly recognized you, the way their eyes lingered was enough to set Kevin moving.

“Come on,” he hissed, tugging you into a jog. “Shortcut.”

You followed without question, half-laughing, half-panicking.

When you finally stopped, you were in a quiet alley tucked behind a row of closed shops. Just the two of you. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic.

Kevin leaned against the wall, took off his mask as he was catching his breath. “Well… that’s one way to get your cardio in.”

You laughed as you pulled down your mask, bending over slightly. “You almost dragged my arm out of its socket.”

“Hey, I saved us,” he said, grinning. “You’re welcome.”

You were still laughing when you realized, you were still holding hands. Neither of you had let go.

Your eyes met, and the laughter faded into something warmer.

Kevin didn’t move away. “You know… I wasn’t planning to say this tonight.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “But I think I like you way too much to keep pretending it’s just… friendly.”

Your heart flipped. “Kevin—”

He sighed, glancing away for a moment like he was trying to collect his thoughts. “Part of me thought it’d be stupid to start something. We’re both idols, we barely get time to ourselves, and I know what people can be like if they find out.” He chuckled under his breath. “But the other part of me—the louder part—doesn’t care. Because every time I see you, I like you more. And it’s driving me crazy.”

You swallowed hard. “I… was scared to tell you.”

His brows lifted. “Hm? About what?”

You nodded, looking down at your shoes. “I’ve been falling for you since the start. But I kept thinking… you only see my silly side. I’m always messing things up around you. And… I’m three years younger. I thought maybe that’d matter.”

Kevin stared at you for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

You scowled. “Hey—!”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said quickly, still chuckling. “I just think it’s cute you’ve been worrying about stuff that doesn’t matter. Being silly? That’s literally one of the reasons I like you more. You’re real with me. And as for the age thing…” He grinned. “Three years is nothing. Age is just a number. You worrying about that is adorable.”

You felt your face heat. “…You think everything I do is adorable.”

“That’s because it is,” he said simply, stepping closer.

The air between you shifted, heavier now.

Kevin’s hand slid from yours to your waist, his other hand lifting to tug your hood back just enough to see your face clearly.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost a growl against your ear, “there’s one more thing I’ve been wanting to do since the moment you stole my coffee.”

Your breath caught. “And what’s that?”

His lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile. “This.”

Kevin leaned in, his hand already sliding to the small of your back, pulling you into him as his mouth claimed yours.

It started slow.

Soft, searching.

Until your lips parted for him and the kiss deepened, turning hungry. The soft press became a deliberate pull, the slow drag of his lips sending heat curling low in your stomach.

His arm tightened, holding you flush against the hard line of his body. You felt the subtle flex of muscle beneath his shirt, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.

Kevin's thumb traced along your jaw before tilting your chin higher, and his mouth pressed harder, angling to taste you more fully. His tongue slid against yours in a teasing sweep, making your knees weaken until you had no choice but to clutch at his shirt.

"Mmph..." A faint sound escaped you, and you swore he smiled against your lips before his tongue brushed teasingly against yours.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, the kiss stretched on, slow but unrelenting, until you were breathless, your pulse drumming in your ears.

A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest, vibrating through you.

When he finally pulled back—just barely—you could still feel the ghost of his breath against your kiss-swollen lips.

Kevin's forehead brushed yours, his voice rough and low.

“Yeah…” his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, “…definitely crazy about you.”

You laughed softly, your own voice unsteady. “Good. Because I’m definitely crazy about you too.”

Kevin grinned, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip like he was already thinking about kissing you again.

“Guess we’re both in trouble, huh?”

“Big trouble,” you said.

And somehow, you couldn’t wait for it.

***

You and Kevin eventually made your way out of the alley, hoods up, masks back in place, and hands not holding this time, though it was more for self-control than secrecy.

He insisted on walking you most of the way back toward your dorm, staying a step behind when other people passed, but still close enough that your shoulder brushed his more than once.

When you reached the corner near your building, you stopped. “We should split here.”

Kevin nodded, though the little frown he gave made it obvious he didn’t like the idea. “Yeah. Don’t want to make your members suspicious.”

You hesitated, then smiled. “Thanks for tonight.”

His grin returned instantly. “Anytime. Though next time, we’re doing something that doesn’t involve running for our lives.”

You rolled your eyes. “You make it sound like that happens all the time.”

“With you?” His smirk was pure trouble. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

He stepped back, giving you a small wave before disappearing into the side street.

***

Back in your dorm room, you collapsed onto your bed, heart still annoyingly light from the night’s events. You barely had time to process before your phone buzzed.

|| [Kevin]: made it back?

|| [You]: yeah, you?

|| [Kevin]: yup. also, you still owe me another date.

|| [You]: another? we didn’t even call tonight a date.

|| [Kevin]: i did. you just didn’t catch it. ;)

|| [You]: you’re impossible.

|| [Kevin]: good thing you like me that way.

You stared at the screen, biting back a smile, and then another message came through.

|| [Kevin]: seriously though… tonight was just the start.

You hugged your pillow, grinning like an idiot, before finally setting your phone down.

Tonight might’ve ended… but you had a feeling this story was only getting started.

***

A week later…

You had never been to The Boyz’ dorm before. Jacob had always claimed it was “too chaotic for outsiders” (which, coming from your own cousin, wasn’t exactly reassuring).

But tonight, he’d texted you out of the blue:

|| [Jacob]: come over. we need a neutral judge for something important.

You’d assumed it was about music, maybe a demo he wanted feedback on.

It was not.

When you arrived, Jacob was already waiting in the hallway outside their unit, looking… weirdly serious.

“Okay,” he began, “before we go in, you need to know something.”

You blinked. “What, is there a wild animal in there?”

“Worse,” Jacob said flatly. “Bunch of nosy boys who have no concept of privacy and will 100% roast you for sport, and whatever you do—”

The door suddenly flew open, revealing Eric. “She’s here!”

The second you stepped inside, you realized you’d walked straight into a wolf’s den.

Kevin appeared from the kitchen holding two mugs. He glanced at you and smiled, the exact kind of smile that gave you away instantly.

“Ohhh…” Sunwoo dragged the sound out like a villain in a drama. “So this is why Kevin-hyung’s been acting like he lives in a rom-com lately.”

Kevin blinked. “What are you talking ab—”

Haknyeon pointed at the mugs. “Two coffees. One for you, one for her. Domestic.”

“It’s called being polite,” Kevin deadpanned, giving you one of the mug.

“Oh please,” Chanhee said, leaning back on the couch. “You’ve never poured me coffee in my life.”

“That’s because I love her,” Kevin shot back before realizing what he’d said.

The room exploded.

Younghoon gasped so loudly you thought he might choke. “DID HE JUST—?!”

“Yes he did,” Eric confirmed, grinning like a hyena. “I’m texting Gina.”

“Don’t you dare,” you warned him, but Eric was already typing.

Juyeon, ever the quiet instigator, sipped his drink and said, “Someone call dispatch, Kevin’s gone soft.”

Hyunjae clutched his heart dramatically. “Our Kevin’s all grown up. From coffee orders to commitment.”

Kevin rubbed his temple.

Jacob finally stepped in, but not to save you. “As her cousin, I just want to say—” he paused for effect, “—if you hurt her, you’re dead. But also, Y/N… please keep making him this flustered. It’s hilarious.”

Kevin shot Jacob a betrayed look. “Wow. Family loyalty means nothing here.”

You couldn’t stop laughing, especially when Changmin muttered, “Honestly, we should’ve seen this coming after the ‘Coffee Incident.’”

Kevin set his mug down with exaggerated care. “Okay, first of all—”

“—you’re whipped,” Sangyeon interrupted, smiling.

Kevin turned to glare at him, but it only made the room burst into louder laughter.

Sunwoo leaned forward, smirking. “So, Kevin-hyung, when’s the wedding?”

“You know what,” Kevin said, pointing at Sunwoo without looking at you, “you’re banned from our wedding and the group chat.”

You were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt, and when you finally met Kevin’s eyes, there was a faint pink creeping up his ears.

Kevin sighed, slid onto the couch beside you, and muttered under his breath, “They’ll get tired eventually.”

“They won’t,” you said, still giggling.

And judging by the way the boyz kept whispering, pointing, and taking turns making fake wedding speeches for the rest of the night…

You were right.

The teasing didn’t stop once. But neither did Kevin’s quiet little glances at you, the kind that said he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

***

The End.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ dividers by @leilakittya ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

more of my writings here 𖹭

11 notes · View notes

helionepho · 18 days ago

Note

Now im ready for whatever you have in store for us inna future🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

-🦔

glad to hear bc i’ve got plenty lined up for you 😌

dropping one in a few hours 🤭

#heli's reply #🦔 anon #wip mountain over here

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helionepho · 18 days ago

Note

NOOOO IT CAN'T BE OVER 😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔

😭😭 i knowww im gonna miss writing it so much too… wish i could keep it going foreverrr

but hey, thank you for staying till the very end 🫶🏻🥹 love yaaa

#heli's reply #i am unwell too your honor

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helionepho · 20 days ago

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Omg chapter 6😭cant believe it was the last chapter

-🦔

hehe i had to end it before changmin completely ruined your sanity 😈

also 😭 im so glad you enjoyed it until the last chapter… thank you for reading and loving this little au with me ❤️

#heli's reply #🦔 anon

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helionepho · 20 days ago

Text

Love Is a Diagnosis (Last Chapter)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Ji Changmin Yandere AU Chapter 6 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing: psycho!changmin x psychiatrist!fem reader

genre: smut, suggestive, yandere, dark psychology, slow burn, hurt/comfort, psycho x psychiatrist au

warnings: smut 18+ (MDNI), gore, suggestive content, explicit words, yandere!changmin, obsessive!changmin, possessive!changmin, psycho!changmin, needy!changmin, creepy behavior, manipulation, mental illness, Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), toxic family dynamic, mention of kiss, swearing/cursing, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), penetration, overstimulation

wc: 12.3k (basically a novella at this point lol sorry)

status: completed

tag list: @nyu-topia

chapter list: ➤ chapter 1 ➤ chapter 2 ➤ chapter 3 ➤ chapter 4 ➤ chapter 5 [smut] ➤ chapter 6 [smut/END]

author note: this work is a fictional story featuring dark psychological themes, including obsession, manipulation, and mental illness. please read only if you’re comfortable with these subjects. the characters and behaviors depicted are not meant to romanticize or accurately represent real-life mental health conditions. Fiction ≠ Reality.

p.s: thank you so so much for sticking with me all the way to the last chapter! im sorry i have to end this story here but i really poured my whole heart into it and i had so much fun writing every single part. this au has been living rent free in my head for so long and getting to share it with you has been the best thing ever. hope you felt all the emotions i tried to put into it… love you all sm ❤︎

“Get him to the table tonight, Dr. (Y/N). I don’t care how you do it. Keep him under control.”

Mr. Ji’s voice was clipped. Cold. Like this was business, not blood.

You stood in his study. The afternoon sun casting sharp lines across the floor. You’d tried to reason with him, tried to explain that forcing Changmin into a room full of strangers, expectations, and false smiles might do more harm than good.

But Mr. Ji didn’t flinch.

“You’ve been keeping him stable, haven’t you?” he said, gaze unreadable. “Then do your job. And don’t forget, tonight, you’re not his psychiatrist. You’re his personal manager.”

“Mr. Ji, with all due respect… I’m asking you to reconsider. You’ve seen what happens when he’s cornered. If he feels trapped, he could hurt someone. Or himself.”

He didn’t look up. But he spoke.

“Then don’t let him spiral. That’s your job.”

“But, sir—"

And then, his eyes narrowed. The chill in the room dropped several degrees.

“If you don’t bring him to this important dinner yourself, Dr. (Y/N),” he said slowly, “then I will.”

A rush of heat flooded your face.

“And if I have to be the one to drag him there, it will be worse than anything you can imagine.”

The air seemed to stop moving.

Because you could imagine it.

You had seen it.

The way Changmin had blood blooming on his arm as Mr. Ji raised a wooden bat like he was trying to beat obedience into his own son. The sharp edge of Mr. Ji’s voice claiming it was discipline.

And the way Changmin trembled against you, lips pressed tight, not making a sound.

You hadn’t forgotten.

And in that moment, standing across from the man who had caused it, you knew:

He would do it again.

Maybe worse.

“…Understood, Mr. Ji,” you said, barely above a whisper.

He looked back down at his paperwork like the conversation was over.

***

By mid-afternoon, chaos erupted.

There were no sharp objects in Changmin’s room. The maids had removed everything—scissors, razors, even the penknife he used to use to open letters.

But he kept searching for it anyway.

“Where is it?!” you heard him screaming when you opened the door to his bedroom.

His desk drawers were already pulled out, their contents flung onto the floor. His mattress half-dragged off the bedframe. Books scattered. The curtains torn where he’d yanked them too hard in frustration.

In the next moment, a crash.

The sound of porcelain shattering.

You rushed forward just in time to see him reach for the largest shard of broken vase. His hands bled almost instantly as his palms closed around the jagged pieces.

“Changmin, stop!”

He whipped around, eyes burning, chest heaving.

“He’s not marrying me off,” he spat. “I’m not going. I’m not sitting next to her. I don’t care what he says!”

He raised the shards—

Not at you.

At himself.

You lunged, grabbing both his wrist, forcing his hand back before the edge could reach anything soft.

“Don’t!” you said, breathless. “Please, Changmin! Don’t do this!”

The door slammed open behind you.

Three staff members burst in and immediately moved to restrain him. Changmin fought like a storm. Writhing, elbowing one in the chest, nearly kicking another in the thigh.

“Get off! Let me go—I won’t go—I’ll ruin it—I’ll fucking end it if he makes me go—!”

He clawed at their arms, teeth bared, fingers smeared with blood from the vase. It took all three to pin him to the mattress, and even then, his body trembled like a pulled wire seconds from snapping.

“I’m not going!” He seethed, voice raw. “He thinks he can dress me up and show me off like some trained dog—”

“Changmin!” you gasped, climbing the bed. “Look at me!”

His eyes flicked to yours, wild and unfocused.

“It’s me,” you whispered, voice cracking.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Stillness.

“Changmin… please,” you murmured softly. “You’re not alone.”

His chest heaved, sweat dampening his hair, blood trickling from his knuckle. You moved closer, close enough to feel his breath stutter when you touched him.

“I’m going with you. I’ll be there the entire time.”

He didn’t answer.

So you leaned in.

And wrapped your arms around him.

Slowly. Carefully.

You held his shivering body as if it were made of glass.

“You won’t be alone,” you repeated. “I’ll sit beside you. I’ll be your shield if I have to. Just… trust me. Let me help you.”

His limbs didn’t fight anymore.

His breathing slowed. Labored. But steadier now.

“He’s trying to marry me off…” he said softly, voice shaking. “He wants me to smile like I’m grateful. He wants me to pretend.”

Changmin was shaking in your arms, breath coming in stuttered bursts. You held him tighter, your hand slipping into his hair, grounding him with your warmth.

“He’s trying to replace you, Noona…” Changmin whispered. “Trying to erase you with someone I don’t even know.”

You cradled the back of his head, letting him rest against your shoulder. His blood smeared your blouse, but you didn’t care.

“I’d rather carve my name into the walls of that restaurant in blood before I sit at that table.”

“Changmin,” you whispered. “You won’t be alone there. You’ll have me.”

He was still trembling, less from anger now, more from exhaustion. Emotion. Helplessness he couldn’t mask anymore.

His arms curled around your waist slowly, pulling you tighter.

“Don’t leave me alone with them.”

“I won’t,” you said in a very calming tone.

And for the first time in hours, he didn’t fight the quiet.

He just closed his eyes.

And held onto you.

***

Crimson hues bled into the sky when he finally let go of you.

His body sagged against yours. Spent, heavy from rage and adrenaline crashing into bone-deep exhaustion. His blood had dried in places, the sharp edge of the broken vase leaving a jagged cut across his palms, another nick along his forearm.

He didn’t ask the staff to leave.

He just looked at them.

And they left.

Silence fell again when it was just the two of you now.

Changmin was still trembling faintly. You pulled the small medical kit from the drawer and sat beside him again, opening it with practiced ease.

He didn’t speak.

Only watched you as you disinfected a clean gauze, then reached carefully for his hand.

“This might sting,” you warned gently.

“It already hurts,” he murmured, eyes on you. “Everything does.”

You said nothing to that.

You simply held his hand in your lap, pressing the sterile gauze against the dried blood until the cuts were clean again. He winced once, more from the touch than the sting.

Still, he let you tend to him without resistance.

“You’re so careful,” he whispered, barely audible. “Like I’ll fall apart if you press too hard.”

Your fingers paused at his wrist.

“You feel like that sometimes,” you admitted softly.

He didn’t reply.

You moved on to his other hand, patching the small cuts with butterfly bandages, then wrapped the deeper gash loosely so it wouldn’t reopen. When you were done, you leaned back slightly and looked at him.

His skin was still streaked with sweat. His hair was damp at the roots. Half from heat, half from stress.

“You need a bath,” you said quietly.

“Can’t do it alone,” he replied, eyes flicking down to his bandaged hands. “Will you… help me, Noona?”

The pause in your breath was almost imperceptible.

“Please,” he added.

It wasn’t whiny or manipulative.

Just a soft, broken truth.

So you nodded.

“Okay. Let’s get you clean.”

***

Silence clung to the bathroom, marble gleaming under the soft light above the tub. Bubbly water, warm and lavender-scented, had already been drawn.

You helped him undress, layer by layer.

His movements were slow, awkward with the bandages, but he didn’t flinch under your gaze.

Changmin stood still, letting you slide the waistband of his pants down his hips. The fabric brushed his skin, and your fingers grazed the sharp lines of his pelvis.

You felt it, the hitch of his breath, the slight shift in weight as his muscles tensed under your touch.

But he didn’t shy away. Instead, his eyes stayed on you, unreadable, and heavy with something unspoken.

Something that remembered exactly how your hands had felt the last time they were on him.

He stepped out of his underwear slowly, deliberately, and let you guide him to the bathtub.

And though he said nothing, the way he settled into the water, gaze lingering on your fingers, told you everything.

Changmin sank in slowly, the water rippling around his thighs, up to his chest.

“Is it too hot?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“It’s perfect. If you’re here… it’s perfect.”

You settled behind him, on a small stool by the tub’s edge. He leaned back against the porcelain, arms relaxed, head tilted up slightly to see you.

You reached for the bottle of shampoo.

“Tilt your head a bit more,” you whispered.

He obeyed.

You poured the liquid into your palms, worked it between your fingers, and then lathered it gently into his hair.

Your fingertips moved across his scalp, slow and rhythmic, massaging the suds into his roots. He let out a low breath, almost a sigh, eyelids fluttering shut as he leaned into your touch.

“You always touch me like I’m something soft, Noona…” he murmured.

“You are,” you whispered.

“No,” he said. “But you make me feel like I could be.”

You swallowed hard, heart beating in your throat.

Your hands moved down, rinsing his hair with warm water, gently combing through the strands with your fingers. You poured again, shampooing once more, your knuckles grazing the nape of his neck.

He shivered.

Not from cold, but from the intimacy of it.

You reached for the soft washcloth, dipped it into the warm water, and began washing his shoulders. Down the line of his spine. Across his chest—carefully, reverently—like he was something you couldn’t bear to harm.

He didn’t say a word.

But when your hand lingered over his sternum, fingers brushing the soft rise and fall of his breath, you felt him shift, just slightly, just enough.

“Do I look human to you now?” he asked, voice raw.

You paused.

“You’ve always been human, Changmin,” you said softly. “You’re just… hurting.”

He tilted his head back to look at you. Water clung to his lashes. His gaze was open. Naked.

You leaned in.

Pressed your lips to his wet temple.

And stayed there.

Just long enough for him to believe you meant it.

***

Hours later, the sun had long since dipped behind the skyline, and the city lights stretched like constellations across the glass.

You sat quietly beside him in the backseat of a luxury black sedan, the soft hum of the engine and the occasional turn signal the only sounds between you.

Changmin was dressed to perfection. His frame draped in a designer black suit, tailored so sharply it looked carved onto him. Beneath the crisp collar, a hint of dark silk peeked through.

And on his hands, pristine white gloves.

It wasn’t just for elegance.

It was to hide the bandages.

He looked like a man in control.

Changmin reached for your hand.

It trembled slightly around your palm like he needed to hold something real, something alive, or else disappear. You turned your hand gently, threading your fingers with his.

He didn’t speak. Just glanced at you. His jaw tight, his throat moving in a hard swallow.

“We’re not in the same car as your father,” you said softly, brushing your thumb across his knuckles. “You have time to breathe.”

He still said nothing.

So you reached over with your other hand and touched his cheek, grounding him.

“You don’t have to smile tonight if you don’t want to,” you told him gently. “You don’t owe anyone that. Just being there is enough.”

His lashes lowered slightly, breathing quieting as your words sank in. His expression was blank, but not cold. Just… tired. Worn thin.

But under it all, something warmer stirred.

“You look beautiful tonight, Noona…” he said, quietly. “Almost too beautiful. It makes it hard to remember what I’m supposed to be afraid of.”

Your lips curved gently.

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

His hand tightened around yours again, a slow exhale falling from his chest.

You leaned a little closer, your voice just for him now.

“This is just one night. You’ll get through it. We’ll get through it. And after it’s done… you come back with me. No one gets to touch you. No one gets to take you.”

His eyes closed briefly, as if the promise soothed something that words alone couldn’t reach.

“Just don’t let go,” he said, his voice raw.

You leaned your head gently against his shoulder.

“Never.”

The city slipped by outside, unaware of the storm inside your car. Of the boy holding your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

And tonight, you would be that anchor.

***

The car came to a smooth stop at the entrance of a renowned Michelin-star restaurant nestled deep in the heart of Seoul’s most exclusive district.

As the driver stepped out to open the door, you felt Changmin tense beside you again.

Before either of you could move, a sleek black car pulled up beside yours.

Mr. Ji stepped out.

And just as Changmin exited the vehicle, his father was already there, blocking the doorway with the ease of someone used to giving orders that ruined lives.

“Remember what I said,” Mr. Ji murmured to his son, voice low and sharp like the edge of a knife. “Cause a scene tonight, and I’ll make sure she disappears from your life entirely.”

He glanced toward you, expression unreadable but filled with contempt.

“This little psychiatrist you cling to? I’ll have her license revoked, yes. I’ll make sure no hospital, no clinic, no practice touches her again. But that’s only the polite version.”

He stepped closer to his son, low voice curling like poison.

“She’ll be buried under lawsuits. Fake allegations. Debts she never owed. And if that doesn’t break her—I’ll find other ways. Ways that will make her wish she’d never stepped into your life at all.”

A breath. Too quiet. Too slow.

“You think I don’t know how to ruin one woman completely? She’ll lose her home, her safety. Her name. Her body won’t be hers to protect anymore. All because you couldn’t sit through one dinner.”

He gave a final glance, one more look to remind Changmin who held the power.

“So smile. Sit. And behave.”

Changmin’s jaw tensed. But he didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

But you saw it, the way his throat tensed. The flicker in his jaw as his molars ground together behind a clenched mouth. His gloves creaked faintly as his fists tightened at his sides.

He said nothing.

He couldn’t say anything.

Not without risking you.

So he lowered his gaze. Slowly. And nodded once.

But his silence wasn’t submission.

It was a leash tightening.

You opened your mouth—only for Mr. Ji to cut you off with a look as sharp as glass.

“And you,” he said quietly, turning to you. “Keep him under control. You’re here as his manager, not his… emotional crutch. The Kims are not just any family. This alliance has weight. Don’t forget that.”

He didn’t wait for your reply.

With the mask of politeness painted across his face again, he turned smoothly and walked toward the entrance.

You and Changmin followed.

His gloved hand found yours, briefly. A brush. A silent grounding.

Then he let it go as the glass doors opened to welcome you inside.

***

The restaurant glowed with soft golden lighting, all muted tones and expensive silence.

You spotted the Kim family immediately, seated at a long private table toward the back.

Mr. Kim, the head of the group, stood as your party approached. His wife followed suit, both dressed in quiet but unmistakable wealth. Beside them stood their daughter.

She was young. Probably just a year or two younger than Changmin.

And beautiful.

Her skin was porcelain-pale, her dress powder blue silk that shimmered in the light. She had the look of someone raised behind layers of etiquette and luxury, her smile demure, eyes downcast as she bowed politely.

But when she lifted her gaze—briefly meeting Changmin’s—there was unmistakable shyness there.

Interest.

She bit her lip softly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to draw Changmin’s attention.

“Ah, Chairman Ji, it’s good to see you,” Mr. Kim said warmly as the men shook hands. “And this must be your son. Ji Changmin. So tall now. A fine man.”

Changmin bowed with perfect form, his voice smooth.

“Thank you for having me tonight.”

Polite. Controlled. As if he wasn’t unraveling inside.

And when Mr. Kim’s wife added, “And this young woman? Is she your secretary?” her tone curious, almost a little sharp.

Mr. Ji was quick to respond.

“She’s here as my son’s personal manager for the evening,” he said coolly. “To assist, if needed.”

Your heart thudded once in your chest.

You smiled politely. Bowed.

“It’s an honor,” you said softly. “Thank you for welcoming me.”

The Kim daughter stole another glance at Changmin then, her lashes fluttering down as if embarrassed she’d been caught.

You felt it the moment it happened.

The shift in Changmin beside you.

Though his posture remained perfect and his expression calm… his eyes flicked briefly toward you. Almost like a warning. As if to say:

Don’t believe a second of this.

You all took your seats. The staffs served the first round. Glass bowls with shaved white asparagus, scallop crudo, and champagne foam.

Mr. Kim launched into talk of overseas expansion. Mr. Ji countered with figures. There was laughter. Sips of champagne. A conversation so smooth it felt choreographed.

But beneath the table?

Changmin’s gloved hand brushed yours again.

A slow, possessive curl of his pinky against yours.

And you knew.

No matter how calm he looked above the surface, something far darker was stirring beneath it.

***

The dinner had gone on longer than expected. Candlelight shimmered gently across glasses and polished silverware. Laughter rose in cultured tones. The foods might’ve pleased any other guest.

But not him.

And not you.

Changmin sat composed beside you, his spine straight, his expression a masterwork of restraint. But under the linen-draped table, his hand hadn’t left yours since you were seated.

And it was tightening.

Slowly. Bit by bit. As if he were holding onto the last thread of control.

“My, my,” Mrs. Kim chimed cheerfully, swirling her wine. “Chairman Ji, your son is truly handsome in person. You weren’t exaggerating.”

She leaned slightly toward her daughter, who flushed immediately.

“Don’t you think so, Eunha?”

The girl fidgeted slightly, eyes darting toward Changmin’s direction.

“Mom…” she murmured, cheeks pink. “Please…”

“What? I’m just saying. Wouldn’t it be nice to see some cute grandchildren in a few years?” Mrs. Kim laughed gently, clearly pleased with herself. “A handsome husband and a beautiful wife… it would be such a lovely match.”

You could feel the chill spread through Changmin’s body next to you. His fingers tightened painfully over yours beneath the tablecloth, glove digging into your skin.

“I-It’s not like that,” Eunha stammered quietly. “I just… I’d like to talk with him. That’s all.”

Her voice was soft, sincere. It wasn’t an act. She was trying.

Trying to connect.

Trying to make the marriage her parents clearly wanted seem less like a business deal and more like a choice.

“Changmin,” Mrs. Kim said sweetly. “Would you mind stepping out to the balcony with Eunha? Just a short conversation, get to know each other. We’d be so happy.”

Changmin didn’t move.

His jaw was tight, unreadable. His hand crushed yours beneath the table now, hard enough to hurt.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at the girl.

“He would be honored,” Mr. Ji answered smoothly, before Changmin could speak. “Go ahead, son.”

Your heart twisted.

And carefully—you pulled your hand free from his grip.

His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing the moment your fingers left his glove. But you just offered him a quiet, unreadable expression. One you hoped was calming.

Just go. Just get through it.

He stood wordlessly.

Eunha rose as well, brushing her skirt lightly as she walked to his side. Her hand slid around his arm. Gently, but clinging. Like she was trying not to seem too bold, but too nervous not to hold on.

The two of them moved toward the open-air balcony, the soft sound of her heels and his steps fading beneath the low hum of restaurant music.

The door clicked shut behind them.

And you stayed seated, smile still in place, even though you couldn’t breathe.

***

Crisp air swept the balcony. Muted violins echoed from behind the restaurant walls.

Eunha stood beside Changmin, both hands gently resting on the arm of his tailored suit. Her posture was graceful, but her cheeks held a soft blush, a hue of nervous delight. Her long lashes fluttered as she glanced at him, lips parting in a soft, unsure smile.

“You’re… really handsome,” she said quietly, eyes flicking away. “I tried looking you up, but… you don’t have any social media, do you? I could hardly find any pictures.”

Her voice trailed off before she added, almost like a thought slipping out, “A mysterious guy who’s also handsome… isn’t that kind of the perfect combination?”

Changmin didn’t respond at first. His gaze remained fixed on the skyline.

Still, Eunha tried again, shifting a little closer.

“Do you… have any hobbies?” she asked gently. “Things you enjoy? I heard you studied abroad. Maybe we have something in common…”

She looked up at him with a hopeful tilt of her head.

Only then did Changmin turn to her.

He smiled.

With little dimple on his cheek. Gentle. Polished. Soft enough to fool anyone watching from inside.

“You like books?” he asked warmly.

She nodded, eager. “Yes. Poetry, mostly. And classical piano. I thought maybe—”

“Sounds boring,” he cut in.

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t shake. But something about the tone made her smile waver.

“Oh…” She blinked. “I-I see…”

“I can’t say I’ve ever liked those kinds of things. I also don’t like this place. I don’t like this restaurant. I don’t like the foods,” he continued, eyes slowly turning toward her. “And I don’t like you.”

Eunha froze.

Her grip on his arm loosened slightly.

But Changmin’s smile stayed in place.

“I know girls like you,” he said softly. “Taught to be good. To look pretty. Groomed into a future someone else planned for you.”

She parted her lips again, flustered. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to marry you.”

His tone didn’t shift.

But it cracked through her like ice.

“I’d rather slice open my own throat with a butter knife than sit across a dinner table with you again.”

Her breath caught. She took a small step back, barely perceptible.

“Oh, don’t look so scared. I only bite when I’m forced to kiss things I’d rather feed to the dogs.”

He drew nearer. Close enough that the warmth of his breath grazed her ear.

“You’re going to go home tonight,” he whispered. “And you’re going to beg your parents to cancel the engagement.”

Her body stiffened.

“You’ll make up your own reason. A good one. Cry if you have to. Say you're not ready. Say you want someone else.”

His smile widened. Not kind, but mocking.

“But not a word about me. Not about this.”

He pulled back slowly, meeting her eyes with something unblinking.

“Because if this continues,” he said smoothly, “I’ll make sure your family becomes a cautionary tale in the business world. You’ll go from ‘the daughter of a successful conglomerate’ to a quiet obituary no one bothers to read. Your parents won’t even know what hit them.”

She stared at him, horrified.

In an instant, the horror vanished from his features, replaced by a too-bright smile and a sing-song voice:

“Let’s go back now.”

Changmin offered his arm again.

“You’ll smile. You’ll sit. You’ll eat a little dessert. And you won’t say a thing. You’re good at pretending, right, Eunha-ssi?”

Her hand trembled as she wrapped it around his arm again.

And together, they returned to the dining room.

As if nothing had happened.

***

Inside the dining room…

You saw them through the glass door.

You didn’t know what had been said. But you saw her expression. How something had drained from it.

And you saw his.

That smile on Changmin’s lips. Too clean. Too calm.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

Because you knew that smile, and you knew what it meant.

***

Later, the dinner finally ended.

Both families exchanged warm parting words. Mr. Ji had done his part. So had Mr. and Mrs. Kim. Even Eunha, with her glassy eyes and faint smile, played along as though nothing had happened on that balcony—nothing at all.

From the outside, it was a perfect evening.

A success.

An alliance in the making.

You walked beside Changmin in silence as the valet pulled up with the car. His presence hovered close, never quite touching but impossible to ignore.

When the door was opened for you, you slid into the backseat first. Changmin entered after you.

And when the luxury car door clicked shut, he didn’t even glance back at the restaurant.

Instead, he took off his gloves and moved toward you with quiet urgency.

Hands reaching, finding your waist, your wrist, feeling your warmth against his skins now that the gloves were taken off, until you were drawn into him fully, body to body, no space left between.

His face found its way into the curve of your neck, breath shaky against your skin.

You felt it immediately, the tension in him. Taut. Barely held in check. Like if you spoke too loud, he’d shatter in your arms.

He held you with both arms wrapped tight around your middle. You threaded your fingers through his styled hair, still immaculate from the evening, brushing it back gently.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just held on.

And you let him.

You let him because you understood.

Because you were the only one who did.

“You did well,” you whispered, your voice just for him. “At the table… you did really well.”

Still no response.

But the way he pressed his forehead deeper against your neck said enough. Said everything.

You stroked his back with slow, steady motions, letting him breathe you in. Letting him come down from whatever hell he’d kept locked inside all night.

“I know you didn’t want to be there,” you continued, softer now. “But you were calm. Composed. You handled it better than anyone could’ve expected.”

He shook his head against your skin.

Not in refusal. Just… in silence.

Like even the idea of talking about it made his chest tighten.

So you said nothing else.

***

The drive home was silent.

When the driver opened the door, Changmin stepped out first, then turned and reached for you.

You took his hand.

And without a word, he guided you inside, past the grand staircase, past the staff who respectfully averted their eyes.

Just before turning the corner toward the west wing, he stopped.

Changmin’s voice was quiet. Firm. Dangerous.

“No one’s allowed upstairs. No one’s allowed near my bedroom.”

The staff froze.

The maids bowed slightly. No one dared question him.

Changmin didn’t wait for a response. Just tightened his grip on your hand and kept walking. His pace never wavered, but the air shifted, thick with silent warning. You could feel it in the way the others stepped back, eyes lowered, as if they knew what he was planning to do to you tonight.

Until finally, the door to his bedroom closed gently behind you.

Click.

The lock turned.

Then silence.

Just arms. Tight. Pulling you into him.

His face buried into your shoulder, the scent of expensive cologne clinging to him, but underneath it—panic. He trembled silently, fingers digging into your back, breathing shallow and uneven.

“…Can I stay with you tonight?”

You nodded softly. “Of course.”

The slight shake in his shoulders. The way his fingers fisted into your short dress like he was holding on for dear life.

“I don’t want to think about her voice anymore,” he murmured. “Or her perfume. Or the way they looked at me like I was some—thing to inherit.”

You shook your head, your arms wrapped around his waist.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered. “You’re home now.”

His lips parted. He took a shaky breath.

“Noona…” His voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I let her touch me.”

You blinked. His voice was ragged, his jaw clenched.

“I didn’t want to. But she touched my arm. I didn’t push her away. I smiled when I didn’t mean it. I let her look at me like I was something she could have.”

He pulled back slightly to finally looked at you. Eyes red, lips trembling.

“I need you to erase it.”

Your breath caught.

“Please, Noona,” he added, voice softer now. “I need you to touch me until I forget. I want your hands. I want your mouth. Your skin...”

He framed your face with both hands.

“Let me feel you, Noona…”

His forehead touched yours. His breath shook between you.

It was silent in the room.

But inside your head?

Chaos.

Your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the moment he reached for you. Not from fear anymore, but from the weight of something you didn’t have a name for. Something wrong. Something irreversible.

You knew this wasn’t supposed to happen. But since that line between you and him had blurred days ago, you didn’t stop it.

Didn’t fight it.

“I was good tonight,” he whispered. “I did everything right. I smiled. I bowed. I played the perfect son…”

His lips brushed yours, barely.

“But I’m not perfect…” he whispered, voice barely holding together. “Noona… do I even deserve to be loved if I’m not?”

You froze.

The words hit deeper than you expected.

Of all the things he’d done, all the chaos he carried, it was this—this quiet, raw confession—that made your chest ache.

That he could still doubt it.

Still question whether he was worthy of something as simple… as love.

You didn’t answer right away. Maybe because you were scared to say the wrong thing.

Or maybe because your heart was already speaking for you.

So instead, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him in, and kissed him like the line between right and wrong had never existed at all.

And that was all it took.

Changmin broke.

He kissed you back like he was starving for it, like the memory of your mouth had kept him alive in the dark. Gentle at first, aching and reverent… but it deepened quickly, messy and hot, the kind of kiss that made your lungs burn and your thighs clench.

His hands fumbled at your waist, desperate to touch. Yours tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

And then his mouth broke from yours, only to trail lower.

Along your jaw, down your throat. He kissed your neck like he meant to bruise it, slow and possessive, like he was branding you with his mouth. You felt his breath stutter against your skin.

His hands found the buttons of his suit jacket first, tugging it off with clumsy urgency, the fabric rustling as it hit the floor.

You caught his mouth in another kiss, deeper this time, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. Each one came undone beneath your touch, and you could feel him trembling slightly beneath your palms.

You pushed his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall, exposing warm skin and the rapid rise and fall of his bare chest.

Then, you guided him to the bed, letting him sit at the edge as you stood between his knees. His hands curled around your hips, and when he looked up at you—eyes dazed, lips parted, breath shallow—

He already looked ruined.

"Can I take this off?" Changmin asked, voice shaky, fingers brushing the hem of your dress.

You nodded, but then lifted his chin gently. "Only if you promise to look at me when you do it."

Changmin swallowed hard, then nodded.

He unzipped your dress slowly, reverently. Like unwrapping something sacred. Then, your dress fell down the floor.

You reached behind you, unhooked your bra, and let it fall down your arms. The soft fabric slipped to the floor with a whisper, but the effect was thunderous.

Changmin froze.

His breath hitched, like you’d just punched the air from his lungs. His wide, dark eyes locked onto your bare chest, your nipples. His lips parted, the faintest tremble in his jaw.

For a full second, he didn’t move, just stared.

And then, his cock twitched visibly in his pants.

A soft, choked gasp escaped him.

“N-noona…” he breathed, voice cracking.

His face turned crimson, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, but he didn’t look away. Couldn’t. His gaze was locked to the soft curves of your breasts like they were something holy.

“You’re…” he whispered hoarsely, “you’re so beautiful… I-I don’t—how are you real?”

His hands twitched at his sides, clenched into fists like he was holding himself back from lunging.

“I don’t deserve to see this,” he muttered. “But if you let me… I’ll worship you like I’ve never touched anything pure before.”

Changmin stared like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Let me taste you, Noona,” he whispered, voice low and shaking with hunger.

Your breath hitched. “Do it, Changmin.”

Still seated at the edge of the bed, he reached for you as he pulled you down onto the mattress.

Your back hit the sheets, warm from the room, your body bare except for the thin fabric of your underwear.

He leaned over you slowly, one hand braced beside your head, the other trailing down your soft thigh. His breath was hot, trembling just above your skin.

And then he hovered there. Eyes dark, lips parted, completely wrecked just from the sight of you beneath him.

He leaned in, lips trailing fire down your skin.

First, a kiss to your breast. His breath shaky as he nuzzled the curve.

Then his mouth parted, and he took your nipple between his lips, warm and tentative at first.

He kissed it gently, then dragged his tongue over the peak in a slow, deliberate stroke that made your breath catch. A soft suck followed, just enough to make your back arch, the sensation sending heat pooling between your thighs.

“Mmh…”

His hand splayed across your ribs, holding you steady as he worshipped you there. Mouth wet, lips hungry, like he’d dreamed of this a thousand nights alone.

Then he moved his mouth lower, to your stomach, where his lips brushed over your navel with reverence, like he was worshipping at the altar of something he thought he’d never deserve.

Then your hip.

Then lower.

Each kiss slower, wetter, hungrier. His mouth opened slightly as if each spot of skin tasted better than the last. It was like watching him pray with his mouth, every kiss a whispered vow he couldn't say aloud.

When he reached your underwear, he paused.

Breathed in.

And then, he moaned.

A full, breathless, wrecked moan against the thin fabric between you. His hands clenched against your thighs, and his head dipped forward again, nose brushing your heat through the damp cotton.

“Noona,” he gasped, voice breaking. “You smell so good—I can’t…”

His tongue darted out to taste you through the fabric, and he shuddered, moaning again like your scent alone was enough to undo him.

“Let me take this off,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Please. I need to taste you properly. I’ll be good, I swear—just let me.”

You nodded slowly, breath shallow. “Yes, baby… take it off.”

His hands moved with care, almost too careful, like he was scared of hurting you or waking up from a dream. He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and began to pull them down. Inch by inch. His knuckles brushed along your thighs as he dragged the thin fabric over your hips, past your knees, and finally down to your ankles.

He stared.

And he stopped breathing.

His lips parted, eyes wide as his gaze zeroed in on your soaked folds, glistening for him under the soft light.

“Noona…” he whimpered, like it physically hurt to hold himself back. “You’re so wet… for me…?”

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Yes, Changmin. All for you.”

His hands gripped your thighs now, tight, trembling. He bowed his head, shoulders shaking like he was holding in tears or worship.

Then—slowly—he lowered his face.

And kissed your thighs.

Once.

Twice.

Then again. Higher this time. Softer. Hotter.

You whimpered as his breath ghosted closer to your core, the heat of his mouth so close it made your toes curl.

He looked up at you once more, desperate and pleading.

“Please let me,” he whispered. “Let me taste you, let me make you feel good. I won’t stop, Noona. I’ll stay here all night if you want me to.”

Your hand found the back of his head, fingers threading through his soft, dark hair.

“Do it,” you whispered. “I need your mouth on me.”

That was all it took.

He let out a soft, broken sound—half a gasp, half a moan—and finally, his lips closed over your soaked folds.

You cried out.

His tongue moved slowly at first. He moaned into your pussy, loud and needy, like the taste alone made him dizzy. His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, keeping you open for him.

He licked again. This time firmer. His tongue flattening and dragging up your slit before swirling softly around your clit.

Your back arched instantly. “Ah—There—baby, right there, oh my god��"

He whimpered against you, tongue working faster now, needier. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe without your taste on his tongue.

You looked down at him. His eyes were closed, face flushed, brows drawn together like he was about to cry. He sucked on your clit gently, then licked lower, deeper, his mouth messily, desperately devoted.

“Good?” he breathed, lips brushing your skin between kisses.

You gasped, legs trembling. “So good—mmph baby, don’t stop.”

He whimpered again and dove back in, mouth sloppier now, rhythm broken by how hard he was panting between strokes.

One of his hands slipped up, fingers curling to hold your waist while his tongue pressed deeper, working every part of you like he wanted to worship it, ruin it, remember it for the rest of his life.

You could feel the pressure building. Hot and fast, burning behind your ribs.

You tugged at his hair, your thighs starting to close in on his head, but he didn’t stop.

If anything, he moaned louder.

Like he wanted to drown in you.

He pulled back.

You blinked down at him. Flushed, breathless. Your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps.

He sat up slowly, breath ragged, pupils blown wide with lust. His lips were slick from your taste, and his gaze burned into you like he was seeing something sacred.

“Do you remember,” he whispered, voice raw, “when we first met, Noona?”

Your lips parted. “Y-Yeah… you were crying. And I… I gave you…”

He reached into his pocket with shaking fingers.

And pulled it out.

A lollipop.

“Strawberry,” he murmured. “Same brand. Same flavor. I’ve always kept one.”

The wrapper was still intact, the plastic slightly wrinkled from how long it must’ve been hidden away.

You felt the memory bloom in your chest. A moment of innocence. A time before all of this. But the way he looked at it now—at you—there was nothing innocent about it.

He leaned forward, the lollipop cradled between his fingers like a relic.

“You gave me something sweet,” he said, voice low, reverent. “When I felt like nothing.”

The wrapper crinkled as he peeled it open. Slow. Deliberate.

The candy was a glossy pink, glistening under the warm bedroom light.

He brought it to your lips first, his eyes locked on your mouth.

“Want a taste?” he asked, almost breathless.

You nodded faintly, and he pressed the candy gently to your tongue.

You closed your lips around it.

Sweet.

Your tongue curled around it, and he let out a quiet, broken sound, his breath catching at the sight of you sucking the lollipop like it meant something deeper—because to him, it did.

Then he pulled it from your mouth with a soft pop, and his gaze dropped. Down your breast. Down your stomach. Down between your trembling thighs.

“I want to put it inside you… watch it melt in the place I dream of every night.”

Your breath hitched.

He dragged the lollipop just beneath your navel, watching the way your muscles clenched.

You whimpered.

And finally—he reached your wet folds.

He paused.

The lollipop hovered over your soaked entrance, his fingers trembling.

“Noona,” he whispered. “You’re dripping…”

He pressed it against your slit—gently, reverently—dragging the glossy candy through your slick folds to your clit.

You gasped. A sharp, broken sound.

“Ch-Changmin—!”

He moaned.

Just from the way it looked.

Just from the way you trembled under him.

He swirled the candy at your entrance, coating it in your arousal.

“Look at it,” he said, voice low and trembling. “Ruined. Completely soaked. Sweet on sweet... Mmh. I wonder how sweet you taste mixed with this…”

Then—he pushed it in.

Slowly.

The tip of the lollipop slid inside your cunt with a sinful wet sound, your body clenching immediately around the foreign shape.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“A-ahh,” you gasped. “It’s cold—!”

“Shh,” he breathed. “Let me… I’ll be gentle…”

He eased it deeper, twisting it slightly, eyes wide and devouring the way your body took it in.

Your back arched as the sticky candy slid further inside, the hard texture contrasting with the heat of your soaked walls.

“This lollipop’s not just strawberry anymore,” he murmured, almost dazed.

He pulled it out an inch, then pushed it back in, watching you with a hunger that bordered on feral.

You couldn’t help but moan loudly.

Your thighs trembled. Your hips bucked up against him.

He moaned with you, head falling forward, forehead resting against your thigh.

“You’re so tight even around this,” he whispered. “What will you do when it’s me, Noona?”

He slid it in again—deeper this time—then pulled it out with a slick pop.

Sticky.

Wet.

He stared at the lollipop like it was something holy.

Then lifted it to his mouth.

And licked it. He sucked the lollipop coated with your juice.

His eyes fluttered shut as he moaned deep from his chest, his cock visibly twitching through his pants.

“Now it tastes like you,” he whispered, wrecked. “And I’ll never eat another candy again without getting hard.”

You whimpered, legs still shaking, cunt clenching around nothing.

“Ch-changmin…”

He looked down at you.

At your soaked, twitching folds, still parted and flushed from how easily you’d taken it.

And before you could speak—before you could even catch your breath—

He bent down.

And licked your wet folds.

Long.

Slow.

Tongue dragging through your slit, savoring the mess he’d made inside you.

“Mm-mmph…” he gasped against your core. “It’s even sweeter now…”

He licked again, groaning deep in his throat, like your flavor was drugging him.

“I can taste it… the strawberry, the heat, you… all mixed together…”

Another slow lap, his tongue curling against your entrance like he was trying to gather every drop you left behind. He sucked your pussy, slurping all the juice.

Only then—reluctantly—Changmin lifted his head.

His lips glistened.

“You tasted like heaven, Noona.”

Then he tossed the lollipop stick aside to the floor.

And unbuckled his pants.

***

His belt hit the floor with a quiet clink.

Then his pants.

Then his boxers.

And there it was, his cock, flushed and dripping, twitching against his stomach like it had been suffering in silence. Tip glistening with precum, curved just enough to make your thighs squeeze together at the sight.

He looked down at it like he was ashamed. Like it was too much. Like you’d see it and decide you didn’t want him after all.

But you didn’t look away.

You reached up, brushing your fingers across his flushed cheek, voice low and shaky. “Come closer, baby… I want you.”

His lips parted.

And his body moved like he couldn’t resist you even if he wanted to.

He climbed over you slowly, trembling arms on either side of your head, eyes locked on yours. His cock pressed hot and heavy between your folds, smearing precum over your slit.

“Noona…” he whispered, voice ragged. “I… I’ve never… but I want it to be you. Only you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I know,” you whispered. “I want you too. I need you, Changmin.”

He moaned, just from that.

The head of his cock nudged your entrance, already slick with the mess he made using the lollipop.

He looked down at where your bodies touched, breath shuddering.

“You’re so wet… you’re gonna let me inside…?” he whispered, half like a question, half like a prayer.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your lips brushing his ear.

“Yes, baby,” you breathed. “Fuck me.”

He gasped.

Then pushed.

Slow.

So slow.

You cried out. Your hands flying to his back, nails digging into his skin as he stretched you open, inch by trembling inch.

“Mmph—Ahh,” you moaned. “You’re big—so big—”

Changmin whimpered above you, forehead falling to your shoulder as he buried himself deeper.

“It’s so tight…” he whispered, almost sobbing. “You’re so warm, Noona—mmph I’m inside—I’m really—”

You gasped when he bottomed out, the fullness making your hips buck.

He stilled, panting hard, his entire body shaking above you.

“I can’t move yet—Noona—hhng I might cum just from this…”

You cupped his cheeks, pulling his face up to yours.

“You feel so good, baby… you’re filling me up so perfectly…”

His eyes fluttered, lashes wet, and his hips gave the slightest experimental roll.

You both moaned.

He looked like he was falling apart.

“Move,” you begged, voice trembling. “Please, don’t stop—fuck me, baby…”

He started to thrust. Shallow, desperate, trying so hard to be gentle. But each drag of his cock made your eyes roll back.

“Is this okay?” he asked between breaths. “Does it feel good? Please say it feels good—I don’t want to hurt you—”

“F-feels so good,” you moaned, clutching his back. “Keep going, don’t stop—just like that…”

His hips snapped a little faster now, still trembling, but needier. Like he was chasing something he didn’t even understand.

He cried out softly when your walls clenched around his shaft.

“I’m not gonna last—Noona—I’m gonna cum—mmmph, I’m sorry—I—”

You shushed him with a kiss.

“It’s okay, baby. Cum for me. Fill me up. I want all of it…”

That was it.

He gasped your name and thrust once, twice—then buried himself as deep as he could go.

And came.

Hard.

You felt the heat flood into you, pulse after pulse of release as he moaned into your neck, body collapsing against yours, twitching with every throb of his cock inside you.

“Noona—Noona—Ahh—I love you—I love you—”

His words broke against your skin, breathless and frantic.

You held him, kissed the side of his head, your body trembling from the intensity.

The moment lingered... until he began to pull out, slow and careful.

And stared at your cunt.

His cum leaking slowly from your swollen, ruined entrance.

He let out a strangled sound.

Then dropped to his knees between your thighs again.

“Wait—w-wait—Changmin—ah—!”

He spread your legs open and dove back in with his tongue, licking up every drop of his own release like he couldn’t bear to waste it.

He moaned against your core, louder than before.

“Mmph—Ahh—” he gasped between licks. “You taste even better like this… all mixed with me…”

You were shaking now, overwhelmed.

But he didn’t stop.

Tongue lapping up the mess he made, fingers digging into your thighs as if he was trying to pull more out of you. He sucked on your clit like he was still starving, moaning so loud it vibrated against your overstimulated skin.

“B-Baby—too much—ah—!”

“Let me,” he begged against you. “Let me clean it all up, Noona… Let me worship you…”

You broke.

Your legs trembled violently as another orgasm hit you hard, your hips jerking against his mouth, a cry ripping from your throat as he drank you in like salvation.

And only when you were too sensitive to take anymore did he finally lift his head. Lips slick, chin shiny with your release and his own.

He looked drunk.

Destroyed.

Devoted.

And as he climbed back up, pressing his forehead against yours.

He kissed you slowly.

“Now you taste like me too,” he whispered. “And I’ll never let you go, Noona.”

***

The sheets had long gone cold, save for the warmth of the body beside you.

Changmin lay curled against your side now. Face buried just under your collarbone, one arm wrapped around your waist, fingers resting lightly over your stomach like he needed to feel you breathe to stay calm.

His breath had finally slowed.

His body had finally relaxed.

He was asleep.

You lay still, your hand gently stroking through his hair, carding through the sweat-damp strands with slow, rhythmic care. The scent of him still lingered on your skin. The feel of his mouth. His hands. His voice whispering your name like a prayer he wasn’t worthy to say.

Your body still ached with the echo of it.

But your heart…

That was harder to name.

You’d crossed the line. Completely. Irrevocably. There was no professional distance anymore. No mask. No protocol. No lie to hide behind.

You had given him everything.

Not just your body.

Your trust. Your comfort. Your surrender.

And yet, when he had begged to be touched, to be loved—not with words, but with skin and closeness and warmth—you hadn’t hesitated.

Not because he needed you.

But because you wanted to stay.

Because somewhere along the way, between the quiet glances and desperate clinging, the rage and the softness—you had started needing him too.

Not the perfect version. Not the healed one.

Him.

The boy who looked at you like you were the only safe place in the world.

The boy who was dangerous, yes, but only because he loved so deeply it nearly ruined him.

You looked down at him now.

His lashes lay still against his cheek. His lips slightly parted. The curve of his mouth softened, like peace had finally touched him, even just for tonight.

Your heart clenched.

How could someone so feared… look so breakable like this?

Your hand stilled in his hair.

And slowly, you leaned forward.

You pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead.

Your lips stayed there longer than they should have, like they were writing something invisible into his skin.

And when you pulled back, the words slipped out without resistance.

“I love you.”

He didn’t stir.

Your voice came again, softer this time, like a promise only the night would carry.

“You’ll be safe with me.”

Even if it meant letting go of everything you once were.

Even if it meant holding onto a boy who clung like fire, and burned just as deep.

Because in this twisted, beautiful, terrifying bond…

You had finally stopped running.

And started choosing him instead.

***

After sharing your first night together, two days passed like a fever dream.

Changmin hadn’t left your side since.

He trailed behind you through the halls like your own shadow, head resting on your shoulder when you paused too long. He didn’t ask for anything. He didn’t need to. His silence said everything.

But peace never lasted long in the Ji household.

At noon on the second day, the house staff moved differently.

Tighter. Stiffer. Avoiding your eyes.

And then, the butler approached with a quiet bow. “Master Changmin. The Chairman is requesting you in the study.”

Your stomach dropped.

Not again.

You stood up almost immediately. “I’m going with him.”

“I’m afraid the Chairman asked to speak with him alone, miss.”

“No.” Your voice rose, sharper now. “I know what happened last time—”

The two senior maids stepped between you and the study hallway. Polite. Unshakable.

“Miss,” one of them said, avoiding your eyes. “It won’t take long.”

Your chest heaved. Butterflies stirred in your gut.

“No—please,” you tried to move around them, heart beating faster. “He’ll hurt him. Let me go inside too—”

“Apologies, Miss,” one said, “Chairman’s orders. No interruptions.”

Behind them, you saw Changmin pause mid-step. He turned his head toward you—just slightly—and smiled.

Soft. Crooked.

A look that said: It’s okay. I’ll be fine.

And then the doors to the study shut.

Click.

A jolt ran through you.

The staff didn’t move. You stood between them, breath quickening, the silence around you beginning to choke.

You waited.

Each minutes crawled past like it was teasing you.

You heard Mr. Ji raised his voice. Angry. Mad. You couldn’t really catch the words. Until—

CRASH.

Your heart seized.

“Changmin!” you shouted.

The maids tried to hold you back, but you shoved past them with a force you didn’t know you had. You slammed your shoulder into the doors and burst inside the study.

What you saw wasn’t what you expected.

Mr. Ji was collapsed on the hardwood floor, unmoving—his hand clutched near his neck.

There was a mechanical pencil buried just beneath his jaw, blood pulsing fast over his crisp collar.

Changmin stood above him.

Still. Breathing steady.

Expression unreadable.

Behind you, one of the maids let out a muffled scream. Another scrambled in after you, eyes wide in horror as she ran to the wall-mounted landline.

“Emergency!” she cried into the receiver. “The Chairman—he’s bleeding—call an ambulance!”

You stumbled forward, heart racing. “Changmin… what—?”

His head tilted slightly toward you.

“He said he’d drag you away from me,” he murmured.

You dropped to your knees beside Mr. Ji, years of medical training snapping to the surface. The pool of blood was spreading fast.

His pulse—shallow. Faint. But still there.

You pressed both hands to the wound, careful not to remove the pencil from his neck. “Get towels! Now!”

One of the staff rushed over and handed you a folded linen. You pressed hard, feeling the slick warmth seep through.

“He’s still breathing,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “I can keep him alive until they arrive—just hang on—”

But as the blood kept flowing and the sirens howled outside, you turned your head.

Changmin hadn’t moved.

He was just watching.

His expression didn’t shift, not even as the EMTs burst through the door.

Not even as they lifted his father onto the stretcher.

Not even as the bloodstained pencil finally clattered to the floor beside your knees.

***

The sirens had long faded.

The blood had been mopped from the floor. The study doors shut tight once more, sealed like the wound you knew wouldn’t stay closed.

You found him sitting on the edge of the bed.

Changmin hadn’t spoken since.

Not a word. Not even when you reached for his hand and led him out of the chaos. Not when the paramedics wheeled his father down the corridor. Not when the staff bowed as you passed like you were escorting something sacred… or cursed.

Now, in the quiet of his room, you knelt in front of him.

“Changmin.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours. Dazed. Bleak. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but his voice wouldn’t come.

You reached up, gently brushing your fingers along his cheek. “You need to tell me what happened.”

A pause.

Then hoarsely, he spoke.

“He hit me.”

You blinked. “With what?”

He swallowed. Then, with trembling fingers, lifted the hem of his shirt.

The bruise bloomed along his side in angry purple and red, stretching from his ribs down toward his hipbone. Deep. Fresh.

Your breath caught. “Oh my god…”

“He was holding that bat again,” he said, almost like a whisper. “Like last time.”

You moved instinctively, reaching for him, running your fingers over the swollen skin with practiced care. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“And then?” you asked quietly.

His eyes flicked to yours.

“He said he’d get rid of you. That I’d embarrassed the family enough already—that maybe he should ship you overseas. Or have someone take you off my hands.”

Your stomach turned.

“I begged him to stop talking,” Changmin whispered, voice cracking. “I begged him. But he kept going. Said you were just another pretty thing I clung to. That people like you… don’t stay.”

A shaky breath escaped him.

“And then he raised the bat again. And I—I reached for the desk. I didn’t think. I just grabbed the first thing I saw.”

His hands trembled now, gripping the edge of the bed like it was the only thing keeping him from falling.

“I didn’t mean to aim for his neck,” he added quickly, panicked. “I swear—I just didn’t want him to hit me again. Or say your name like that. I just… wanted him to shut up.”

You exhaled, slowly. Then climbed onto the bed beside him.

He looked startled when you reached for him, but didn’t resist when you pulled him into your arms. His head dropped against your shoulder. You could feel the tension in his muscles, how tight he was wound, like he might shatter if you let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You held him tighter. “I’ve already seen all of you.”

He let out a broken sound. Not quite a sob. Not quite a laugh.

You let your fingers brush the back of his neck, grounding him.

“But, Changmin…” you said softly, “what you did—it was still wrong.”

He stiffened slightly.

You continued anyway. “I’m not saying he didn’t deserve to be stopped. But violence… it changes things. It breaks things. Even if it feels like the only option.”

A long silence.

Then, finally, he nodded. Just once.

“I didn’t want to become him,” he whispered. “But I think I already am.”

You looked at him—really looked at him.

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re not him.”

He didn’t respond with words.

Only tightened his grip around your waist like he never meant to let go.

And for the first time since everything fell apart,

you held him together

***

The day after the incident was eerily quiet.

No sirens. No reporters outside the gates. No headline scandal flooding the morning news.

Just the low, sterile hum of the kitchen television playing in the background as you poured tea into a porcelain cup with steady hands, though your chest still ached.

“Chairman Ji Suffers Minor Injury at Home—Slipped While Alone in Study” “No Foul Play Suspected. Recovery Going Well.” “No Visitors Allowed at This Time.”

Not a single mention of Changmin.

Not a whisper of police involvement.

Not even a passing photo of the bloodied floor you’d knelt on.

It was exactly what you expected.

Mr. Ji’s reach had always been limitless. His influence like silk rope: soft, silent, but strangling.

He’d buried the truth beneath layers of wealth and reputation, wrapped it in velvet lies, and tied it off with a bow made of silence.

***

You arrived at the hospital that afternoon, your footsteps quiet and calm. You carried white orchids in one hand, more formality than sentiment.

When the nurse asked who you were, you simply said:

“Family.”

And they let you in.

Mr. Ji’s room was private, quiet, and guarded only by the scent of antiseptic and privilege. He sat propped up in bed, a bandage wrapped cleanly around his throat, an oxygen line gently in place. Bruised. Tired. But alive.

He looked older under hospital lighting.

His eyes met yours, sharp and unsurprised.

“I suppose you’ve come to threaten me,” he rasped.

“I don’t need to,” you replied, placing the bouquet on the table. “I came to give you a better option.”

A pause.

He studied you. Waited.

You took a quiet breath and stepped closer to his bed.

“I know the engagement with the Kim family was about business,” you began. “A clean merger. An easy alliance. But you and I both know that forcing Changmin to marry someone he doesn’t want to isn’t just foolish—it’s dangerous.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

You pressed on. “Do you really think their daughter wouldn’t notice? That their family wouldn’t see it?”

Your voice lowered. “Do you want them to discover what kind of man your son is—what you turned him into?”

He said nothing.

“If he breaks in front of them—if their daughter ever hurt or frightened—the Kims won’t protect you, Chairman. They’ll drag your name through the ground. Your legacy won’t survive that kind of scandal.”

Silence.

You stared him down.

“Expanding your business isn’t worth exposing him.”

Finally, he exhaled, slow and tired.

“The alliance was never about business alone,” he admitted. “Not entirely.”

You waited.

“I want a grandchild,” he said, voice calm. “My blood. The Ji name. Continued. And I don’t trust Changmin to do it alone.”

Your heart beat louder, but your voice stayed steady.

“Then let me.”

His gaze flicked up.

“If legacy is all you want,” you said, “I’ll give it to you. I’ll marry him.”

A pause. Heavy.

“I’m not from a powerful family. I’m not useful for business. But I’m the only one who knows how to hold him. The only one who hasn’t run away. The only one he listens to.”

He stared at you in still silence.

You didn’t flinch.

“Marrying him off for business will destroy everything you built,” you added. “But letting him stay with someone who’s seen all of him and still loves him and still chooses to stay… that’s the only way your legacy survives.”

A beat.

Mr. Ji leaned back into the pillows, silent for a long moment. His fingers drummed faintly against the edge of his blanket, expression unreadable.

“You speak like someone who’s already made their choice,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You said nothing.

His eyes flicked toward the window, as if trying to see beyond it. Beyond the hospital room. Beyond the future he thought he had so neatly arranged.

“This wasn’t the life I envisioned for him,” he said after a pause. “Or for this family.”

He looked at you again.

“But maybe… protecting a name isn’t just about who it’s tied to. Maybe it’s about who’s willing to carry it.”

The weight of those words settled like dust.

And finally, he exhaled.

“I’ll think about what you said,” he said quietly. “And what you’ve offered.”

Another pause.

“And I’ll think about it seriously.”

It wasn’t a yes.

But it wasn’t a no, either.

And maybe, for a man like him…

that was already more than enough.

***

Back at the mansion, Changmin was already waiting for you by the door, barefoot, hoodie too big on him, eyes wide and full of relief the moment he saw you.

“You came back.”

You smiled warmly, stepping into his embrace. “Of course I did.”

And as he wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck like a boy who just barely escaped a nightmare, you realized something chilling and profound:

Mr. Ji may hold the power in public…

But you held the real power now.

Because you were the only one Changmin wouldn’t destroy.

***

His eyes searched yours like he was afraid you were a ghost.

“Where did you go?”

“I went to the hospital,” you said softly. “To see your father.”

His expression darkened, instantly. But he didn’t speak. Just clenched his jaw and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Why?” he asked finally, voice barely audible. “Why would you go see him?”

You brought your hands up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing his flushed cheeks. “To talk,” you murmured. “About something important.”

He pulled back slightly. Eyes narrowing. Not angry, but afraid. “Did he say something to you? Did he try to scare you away from me?”

You shook your head.

“No. I just needed him to understand something.”

A beat passed.

“What?” he whispered.

You kissed his brow. “That you're not a monster.”

His lips parted, the words catching him off-guard.

“That you don’t need to be locked away,” you continued. “That no one else can take care of you the way I can.”

Changmin stared at you, breath shallow.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, voice trembling.

His hands curled into the fabric of your sleeves like he was grounding himself.

“Things will be better soon,” you said gently.

You stayed like that, wrapped in each other at the base of the grand staircase, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Until finally, his voice cracked again.

“Will you sleep next to me tonight?”

You smiled softly.

“Yeah, I’ll sleep with you.”

***

Several days passed in uneasy quiet.

The chaos of the incident had faded into a tense sort of normalcy, the mansion running on a muffled rhythm as though the walls themselves were wary of drawing attention.

On the third day, word spread among the staff that Mr. Ji had returned from the hospital.

He hadn’t emerged from his room since, still pale and moving with care, the bandage at his throat a stark reminder of how close things had come. Most of the time, the only sounds from the master bedroom were the soft murmur of the television and the occasional shuffle of a nurse’s footsteps.

By the afternoon, you’d assumed he would remain behind closed doors for days yet. But then, the butler appeared, his posture perfectly composed.

“Miss,” he said in that steady, measured tone, “the Chairman is requesting to see you and Master Changmin in his room.”

You glanced up from where you sat. “Now?”

“Yes, Miss,” the butler replied with a respectful bow. “The Chairman will be resting here for the time being, but he has requested your presence most firmly.”

When you entered the master bedroom, the smell of antiseptic and faint cologne hit you first.

Mr. Ji sat propped up in his bed, a wool blanket draped neatly across his lap, the pale bandage visible along his throat. His gaze was as sharp as ever, even with the faint shadows beneath his eyes.

“Come in,” he rasped, motioning for the butler to close the door behind you.

You and Changmin approached the foot of his bed. Changmin kept his posture straight, but you could feel the tension rolling off him, the way his fingers twitched slightly at his side, as though resisting the urge to reach for you.

Mr. Ji’s voice was calm when it came.

“I’ve given thought to our last conversation,” he said, eyes shifting briefly to you. “And I’ve decided… I agree to your offer.”

You felt Changmin go still beside you.

“I want you,” his father continued, “to be engaged to my son. As soon as possible.”

The words seemed to strike Changmin like a physical blow. His breath caught sharply, shoulders stiffening. For a moment, his eyes flickered between you and his father, as if trying to decide whether he’d heard correctly—or if this was some cruel trick.

“…What…?” he managed, voice low, almost hoarse.

Mr. Ji repeated it with the same steady tone, as though it were no more significant than the weather. “You’ll be engaged to her. Soon.”

Changmin’s lips parted, but no words came. You saw his Adam’s apple bob in a hard swallow, his eyes wide and unblinking. Even his hands, normally restless, hung motionless at his sides, like the shock had frozen him in place.

When the butler was dismissed and the door finally clicked shut behind you both, all that stillness broke at once.

His body folded. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Changmin—” you gasped, startled.

But before you could reach for him, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in with a desperation that stole your breath.

His head pressed hard against your stomach, face buried in your blouse, and you felt the tremors running through him, deep and unsteady, like something inside had cracked open.

“…Noona…” His voice was muffled against you, shaking so faintly you almost missed it. He’d gone completely still for a heartbeat, like even breathing might shatter the moment.

Then, slowly, his arms tightened around you, clutching harder. “He… he actually said it. Like it was real. Like you could really be mine… for the rest of my life.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair, smoothing it back, lowering yourself slowly until you were kneeling with him. You framed his face, but he didn’t look up. He only clung tighter, breath hitching against you.

“It’s real now,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You’re mine. They can’t take you away. They won’t take you away.”

You pulled him closer, your forehead resting against his. “I was always yours, Changmin.”

His lashes fluttered shut, and for a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stayed there on the floor together. Two people holding on as if letting go meant falling into something neither could escape.

When he finally spoke again, it was quieter, almost fragile.

“I’m scared… because it feels too good. Like if I breathe wrong, it’ll disappear.”

Your hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the faint dampness at the corner of his eye. “Then don’t let go. I’m right here.”

His lips quivered, but he nodded. A tiny, fragile movement.

And in that moment, with his arms around you and your heart pressed to his, the rest of the world could have burned away, and you wouldn’t have cared.

***

The engagement was announced quietly.

No lavish party. No photographs leaked to the press. Just a few signed papers, a sealed agreement between families, and a diamond ring that hadn’t yet left its velvet box.

Mr. Ji kept to his bed in the weeks after, still recovering, his voice never quite as sharp as before. But his eyes were the same—calculating, measuring, as if every glance at you was another tally mark on an invisible ledger.

Changmin didn’t care.

He barely looked at his father at all anymore.

Since that day in the bedroom, he’d been different.

Not louder. Not more openly aggressive.

Just… closer. Always closer.

At first it was in small ways, his hand brushing yours when you passed in the hall, the steady weight of his gaze when you spoke to anyone else. But then it grew.

He began sleeping in your bed every night, his arms were around your waist like iron chains. Even the staff had learned to keep their distance unless absolutely necessary.

The night before the official engagement dinner, you found him in your room before you even arrived. He was seated on the edge of your bed, barefoot, wearing a loose black sweater that hung off one shoulder.

The moment you stepped inside, he looked up.

There was something unreadable in his eyes.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, almost to himself. “They’ll all see it.”

You closed the door softly. “See what?”

“That you’re mine,” he said simply. His gaze drifted to your hand, then back to your face. “No one will be able to argue it anymore. No one will be able to touch you without remembering you belong to me.”

You moved closer, studying him. “That’s what you want?”

He smiled faintly. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

When you reached him, he caught your wrist and pulled you between his knees. His hands slid up your arms slowly, almost reverently, until they cupped your face.

“I used to lie awake wondering if someone would take you from me,” he confessed. “If I’d wake up one morning and you’d be gone.” His thumbs brushed your cheekbones. “But now… now they’ve given you to me. And I’m never letting you go.”

Your heart thudded, the weight of his words sinking deep. “Even if I tried to?”

His eyes softened, but the smile that followed was anything but gentle. “You won’t.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, and you felt the slight tremor in his hands, not from fear, but from the sheer force of holding himself back.

“This is the last time I’ll ever have to fight for you,” he whispered. “From here on… they’ll all know. You’re not going anywhere, Noona. Not in this life. Not in the next.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stayed there, breathing in his warmth, feeling the inevitability settle over you like a second skin.

Tomorrow, the world would see your engagement.

But tonight, you saw the truth.

It wasn’t a ring that bound you to him.

It was him.

And as his lips brushed yours in a slow, possessive kiss, you knew:

This was the ending they’d see.

But for you and Changmin… it was only the beginning.

***

The End.

⋆. ˚ check out more of my writings here ⋆. ˚

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helionepho · 28 days ago

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I've never been so excited over chapter updates omg i giggled when i saw that you posted the next chapter

AAAAH YOU GIGGLED?? BECAUSE I GIGGLED WHEN I READ THIS TOO 😭😆🥺

tysm for reading and getting excited over it, anon!! messages like this sparked my writing brain and revived my dying motivation!! 🥹💕 ily!!!!!

#heli's reply #your words made my day #feeling soft rn🫠

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helionepho · 30 days ago

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your honor, i did not stop him. in fact, i made it worse. more on that in chapter 6 🥲🥲

aaand the fact that you’re yelling at him means i did my job well haha sorry bestie 😭🫶🏻

Love Is a Diagnosis (Chap. 5)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Ji Changmin Yandere AU Chapter 5 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing: psycho!changmin x psychiatrist!fem reader

genre: smut, suggestive, yandere, dark psychology, slow burn, hurt/comfort, psycho x psychiatrist au

warnings: smut 18+ (MDNI), suggestive content, explicit words, yandere!changmin, obsessive!changmin, possessive!changmin, psycho!changmin, needy!changmin, sub!changmin, mention of kiss, ejaculation, creepy behavior, manipulation, mental illness, Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), delusional attachment, toxic family dynamic

summary: You’re his personal psychiatrist. On the surface, Changmin appears to be a well-mannered, ordinary young man with a spotless public image—but beneath that, lies something far more dangerous. Only you and his family know the truth.

wc: 5.8k

status: on going

tag list: @nyu-topia

chapter list: ➤ chapter 1 ➤ chapter 2 ➤ chapter 3 ➤ chapter 4 ➤ chapter 5 [smut]

You led Changmin upstairs in silence.

He hadn’t said a word since Mr. Ji left the study, and you didn’t push him to. One of his hands still curled in the fabric of your sleeve, like a boy trying not to get separated in a crowd. His head was down, footsteps light, as if he could make himself smaller by will alone.

When you reached his room, you opened the door for him and gently coaxed him inside. The lights were dimmed, the bedding slightly rumpled. It looked like a safe place.

“Sit down,” you said softly.

He obeyed without hesitation, lowering himself onto the edge of his bed.

You retrieved the first aid kit from the cabinet and sat on the bed near him, wordless. He flinched slightly when you rolled up his sleeve, revealing the angry red welt across his forearm where the bat had struck.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t say anything yet. You simply dabbed at it with antiseptic, careful, gentle.

Changmin watched your hands. He always did when you treated him.

You glanced up at him, your voice a murmur. “Changmin, can I ask something?”

He nodded, once. Eyes still on your hands.

“That day I found you in the park,” you said quietly. “Do you remember?”

His lashes fluttered. Then, a small nod.

Your voice dropped even softer. “You were crying. You had bruises on you then, too.”

His shoulders tensed.

“I never asked before,” you went on. “But I want to, now. Who gave you those bruises, Changmin?”

He was quiet for a long moment. You didn’t press.

Finally, he said, almost too softly to hear, “My father.”

Your hands stilled.

He looked down at them. “Sometimes my mother.”

The silence that followed was thick.

You blinked, trying to make sense of the ache blooming behind your ribs. All this time, you’d told yourself they were just the scrapes and bruises of a boy who played too rough, climbed too high, fell too hard. Just childhood. Just clumsiness. But now, knowing the truth, knowing it came from the very people who were supposed to protect him, your heart shattered into pieces.

He kept speaking, voice flat. “They said I had to be better. That I couldn’t afford to fall behind. I missed a question on a math exam. My piano competition score wasn’t perfect. I forgot to bow correctly at a dinner once. That kind of thing.”

Your chest ached.

“It wasn’t punishment,” he said. “It was discipline. That’s what they told me.”

You reached for his hand slowly. “You didn’t deserve that…”

His jaw clenched. “Maybe I did. I was supposed to be perfect. I was supposed to make them proud.”

You shook your head gently. “They didn’t want a son. They wanted a trophy. That’s not love, Changmin. That’s control.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

There was something raw in his eyes. Something broken, still bleeding. But behind it, that same flicker you always saw when he looked at you, the tiniest sliver of hope. Like he didn’t believe he was worthy of being cared for, but desperately wanted to be.

You stroked his hair back from his face, gently.

“You didn’t become this way on your own,” you said softly. “Someone made you feel like love had to be earned.”

Changmin stared at you. His eyes were red at the edges, not from crying, but from holding it back for too long.

Then slowly, he leaned forward, arms wrapping tightly around your waist, burying his face into your shoulder.

And there, in the quietest voice:

“...Don’t let him take you away from me,” he whispered, voice threadbare. “Please, Noona. I can’t lose you.”

You closed your arms around him in return.

“I’m here,” you whispered back. “I’m right here.”

And for a long time, you just held each other.

No doctor. No patient.

Just a boy who never learned softness, and the only person he let close enough to teach him.

***

Later that night, Changmin drifted off with his face buried in your chest, clinging to you like he was afraid you left him.

You hadn’t meant to stay. Not like this.

At first, you'd just meant to sit with him until he calmed down. To let the silence settle, to remind him he wasn’t alone. But somewhere between his trembling breaths and the way he clung to you, sleep had found him.

And you were still here. Lying beside him on the bed, your arm wrapped around his back.

He looked peaceful.

Like the years of pressure and scars and expectation had slipped away in his sleep.

Your hand traced a light line along the curve of his spine. He stirred slightly, his breath warm against your collarbone, but didn’t wake.

And you realized…

You weren’t afraid anymore.

Not of him.

Not of the darkness that lived behind his eyes. Not even of the part of him that clung too hard, or loved too deeply, or broke too easily.

Because you saw it now. All of it.

The boy who had never been taught gentleness. The man who tried so hard to give it to you anyway.

And maybe you should’ve kept your distance. Maybe it was wrong to let the line blur this far. But in this moment, with his heartbeat pressed faintly against yours, you didn’t care.

He deserved to know what love felt like.

The kind that didn’t hit.

The kind that didn’t demand perfection.

The kind that stayed.

You shifted a little closer, tightening your hold around him.

“You’re not broken,” you thought, your chin resting lightly against his hair. “You were just never given the chance to be whole.”

And with that thought heavy in your chest, you let yourself drift off too. Not as his psychiatrist. Not even as his protector.

Just as someone who couldn’t let him sleep alone.

***

It was past midnight when you felt it.

The shift.

Changmin's body tensed beside you, sudden and sharp. Like something had snapped inside him.

His breathing turned erratic, shallow gasps pulling through clenched teeth. The heat of his skin had spiked, damp with sweat.

And then came the sound.

“...Noona...”

A breathless murmur at first. Then louder.

“Noona—Noona!”

You stirred, heart already quickening as you sat up slightly, blinking in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

Changmin was trembling beside you, brow furrowed, lashes wet, sweat beading along his temples. His entire body had curled in on itself like he was running, trapped in something awful he couldn’t escape.

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching for him, brushing back his damp hair. “Hey, Changmin… wake up.”

He jerked slightly, breath catching.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you said again, firmer this time, cupping his cheek. “I’m right here. It’s just a bad dream, baby. Wake up. Come back to me.”

His eyes flew open.

Wide, wild, glassy.

And for a second, he didn’t speak. He just stared at you like you weren’t real.

Then the tears came. Just one at first, tracking down from the corner of his eye.

He pulled you, wrapped his arms around you, burying his face against your neck, holding on like you might vanish again.

“You left me…” he choked out. “You were gone, and I—I tried to follow, but you wouldn’t look at me. You didn’t even turn around.”

You held him tighter, one hand soothing up and down his back.

“It was just a dream,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He clung harder, his body shaking against yours.

“I called you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Over and over… but you didn’t come back. I couldn’t find you.”

You pressed your lips to his temple, breath soft and steady.

“You found me now,” you said. “You’re safe. I’m right here. I never left.”

His breath hitched again, but his grip finally started to loosen, not out of reluctance, but exhaustion. He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were red and glassy, cheeks damp, hair sticking slightly to his forehead.

“You’re real?” he asked in a broken voice. “You’re really here?”

You nodded, brushing your thumb gently under his eye.

“As real as I’ve ever been,” you whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere, Changmin. I promise.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just pressed his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed, and leaned back into your arms like they were the only place he’d ever felt safe.

You stayed like that, until his breathing finally began to settle again.

And even then, you didn’t let go.

***

You thought he had finally fallen back asleep.

His breathing had steadied, his arms still wrapped loosely around you, head resting in the crook of your neck. Until—

You felt it.

The gentle tug at your wrist.

You looked down to find his fingers curled around it, not forceful, but intentional. Slowly, he pulled your hand upward, guiding it to his face. He leaned into your palm like it was the only warmth he trusted, his cheek soft and flushed against your skin.

His eyes were half-lidded, still glossy from earlier, lips parted just slightly.

You brushed your thumb across his cheekbone, and he shivered.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

He just took your hand again and slowly lowered it—down the line of his neck, across his chest where the thin fabric of his shirt clung slightly from the heat of his skin. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat. Fast. Unsteady.

He sucked in a breath at your touch. Barely audible.

His lashes fluttered again, and then his eyes met yours. Wide, wet, and pleading.

“Can I…” he whispered, voice raw. “Can I kiss you, Noona? Please… Just let me… please.”

Tears threatened at the corners of his eyes. Not from sadness. From how much he needed it. From the ache that had nowhere else to go.

You should’ve said no.

You’re still his psychiatrist. Still the one who was supposed to stay clear-headed.

But that line had been fading for a while now.

And tonight… it disappeared entirely.

You leaned in before you even realized it, and pressed your lips to his.

His breath caught.

Then he melted.

It was soft at first, so tender it hurt. His hands trembled as they reached to hold your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt like it anchored him to reality.

But the moment your lips parted just slightly, his need flooded forward.

He kissed you deeper, fuller, a whimper slipping from his throat as his mouth opened beneath yours, desperate and reverent.

His hands pulled you closer like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance. His chest rose against yours in uneven bursts, warm and wanting.

Your hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers curling tightly in his hair as you pulled him closer. He gasped softly against your lips, and you swallowed the sound, tilting your head to kiss him again, deeper this time.

“Mmph..”

His lips parted in surrender, and you felt it—his tongue slipping past yours, warm and slow, tasting you like he’d been starving for it. The soft, wet slide of it made your stomach twist with heat.

His body trembled under your touch.

You didn’t even know when it happened—when the space disappeared, when your bodies were suddenly flush, every inch of him pressed against you like he needed the contact to breathe. “Thank you,” he whispered between kisses, his voice wrecked. “Thank you, thank you…”

You kissed him again to quiet the words, to soothe the ache you could feel pulsing from him in waves. His lips were wet and warm beneath yours, a mix of need and disbelief in every movement.

When you finally pulled back for air, his face was flushed pink, his eyes glassy, and his lips kiss-bitten and swollen.

“Noona…” he whispered again, forehead pressing to yours.

But this time, it wasn’t a plea.

It was a prayer.

And you were the only god he’d ever worship.

***

His forehead stayed pressed to yours, breath warm and shaky between your lips. His lashes were damp, cheeks flushed, lips parted from the dizzying kisses you’d already given him.

But then, his hand found yours again.

Fingers trembling, he slowly brought it downward.

Lower.

Across the planes of his chest… his stomach…

Down, down…

He guided your hand gently over his clothed length.

Your breath caught.

He was already hard beneath the soft, thin fabric of his sweatpants, the heat of him undeniable against your palm. You froze, eyes widening as your fingertips unintentionally brushed along the shape of him, of his hard clothed cock.

“Changmin—”

But he didn’t let go of your hand. His grip on your wrist tightened. Not rough, but desperate. Like he was holding on for life.

His face burned red. His voice shook.

“Touch me…” he whispered. “Please, Noona. Touch me more…”

You looked at him.

Really looked.

His chest heaved, lips bitten, eyes filled with naked need. He looked ruined already—just from kissing you. His thighs tensed under you as he arched slightly into your hand, shivering when your palm brushed his clothed shaft again.

“It’s itching down there,” he whimpered, breathless. “It won’t stop… Can Noona feel it? It’s so hard… I want you to do something for it, please…”

You should’ve stopped.

You didn’t.

You knew this was a line you couldn’t uncross. But then he looked at you like that, like you were the only thing holding him together.

Instead, your hand moved. Slow, uncertain at first, stroking along the thick line of his clothed cock through his pants. He let out a trembling moan, head falling forward against your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck.

“Ah—hnn…!” he gasped, hips jerking up just barely. “That—feels so good…”

You pressed your lips to his temple.

“You want more?” you murmured, voice low. “Is that it, baby?”

He nodded fast, too fast, whimpering again.

“Yes—yes, Noona, please… I want more—need more, I want Noona to touch me… I’ve never—” His voice broke. “I’ve never let anyone touch me there. Only you. I only want you…”

Your hand moved, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. His breath caught, a sharp, broken inhale that turned into a strangled moan the second your fingers brushed over him through the thin cotton of his underwear.

His clothed shaft was twitching beneath your palm.

The thin fabric of his underwear doing nothing to hide how much he needed you. You felt everything clearer. The shape of him, the heat, the way he pressed into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You stroked him a little faster, and he choked on your name, gasping, clinging to you like he didn’t know whether to cry or cum.

“Hngg… mmph—Noona…”

His lips found your collarbone, trembling kisses pressed there between panting breaths. His voice was high and wrecked, whispering between each gasp:

“I love you… I love you… I love you…”

Changmin's breath hitched as your hand slipped inside his underwear now.

Past the soft elastic. Past the warm skin. Until your fingers found his hard cock—bare.

Your hand wrapped around his warm length gently, and he moaned.

Not a whimper.

Not a gasp.

A full, aching moan ripped from his throat as he jolted under your touch, head falling back against the pillow.

“Ah—Noona…!”

The sound was loud—too loud. Your heart jumped, and instinctively, you started pulling your hand out of his pants.

“Changmin—quiet,” you hissed, glancing toward the door. “You have to be quiet.”

But when your gaze fell back to him—

His eyes were already looking up at you.

Wet. Glassy with desperation.

“Don’t stop…” he whispered, broken and pleading. “Please—please, I’ll be good. I promise. I won’t make a sound, Noona, I swear—I’ll be quiet, just please don’t stop touching me…”

His voice cracked near the end, lip trembling.

And your resolve snapped with it.

You exhaled softly, then reached again—this time firmer, more intentional—as you gently tugged down the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear in one slow motion.

The fabric slipped past his hips, just enough for his cock to spring free. Thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected it to be this… big.

Long, girthy, curved just slightly toward his belly. The head glossy with precum, twitching slightly with every shallow breath he took.

Changmin’s hands gripped the sheets so hard his knuckles had gone pale, his legs tensing as your palm closed around him fully.

He threw his head back, eyes rolling, back arching off the mattress as you stroked him. Slow and smooth from base to tip.

But he didn’t moan again.

No.

He bit down on his lip so hard it looked painful. His thighs trembled, breath breaking into hot little puffs as he held back the noise like he promised.

Too hard.

“Baby…” you whispered, concern flickering in your voice.

He looked up at you, and your heart clenched.

His face was flushed, tears gathering again at the corners of his eyes, lip nearly trembling from how hard he was biting it.

So you leaned in.

And kissed him.

Your lips captured his as your hand kept stroking his cock, firmly, your thumb brushing the head just enough to make him shudder. He gasped into your mouth, finally letting the sound out. You swallowed his moan, kissed it from him, deep and slow and full of heat.

He whimpered softly as he bucked into your hand, your name muffled against your lips.

“Noona… I—It’s coming—I’m—!”

You kept pumping him, faster now, your fingers curling just right as your lips stayed locked with his, grounding.

He couldn’t hold it anymore. Changmin’s hips jerked once, and then he came.

With a trembling gasp, he spilled his hot and thick semen into your hand. His whole body shuddering as he held tight to the sheets like he’d fall apart if he let go.

His hips twitched through the aftershocks, his voice muffled still against your mouth, until the trembling slowly eased.

You finally pulled back, just enough to look at him.

His chest was heaving. Sweat clung to his hairline. His cock still throbbed faintly in your palm.

And there it was—his face. Flushed, tear-streaked, lips kiss-bitten and slack with the kind of relief that came from more than just release.

It was worship.

“Thank you…” he breathed. “Thank you, Noona…”

You leaned forward and kissed his forehead, brushing back his damp hair.

“You did so well,” you whispered, voice soft and low. “So good for me.”

You reached for the tissues beside the bed, careful and quiet, your other hand still resting lightly on his hip.

Changmin was still catching his breath. His lashes fluttering, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast. His arms had gone slack, no longer gripping the sheets, just resting against your sides like he’d given you everything and had nothing left but you.

As you gently cleaned the mess on his stomach and hand, he blinked up at you, face flushed and drowsy.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured.

You paused, then smiled.

“No need to be sorry,” you said, stroking your thumb along his hipbone, just under his shirt. “You were perfect.”

His eyes flickered, slightly unsure. “I… I didn’t mean to get so loud. I really tried…”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You did so well, baby. You were so good for me. I’m proud of you.”

The tension in his shoulders finally dropped, like those few words had pulled the last of the panic from his system.

You helped him gently pull his sweatpants and underwear back up, careful not to move too fast. He let you, hands pliant, eyes still watching your face like he couldn’t believe you were still here. Still close. Still kind.

Once he was tucked in again, you reached to adjust the blanket and slid into the bed beside him once more.

He turned toward you immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his face against your collarbone.

You held him. Just held him.

One hand rested on the back of his head, slowly running your fingers through his hair. The other stroked his back through the soft fabric of his shirt, your touch steady and soothing.

His breathing began to slow again.

“You’re not going anywhere, right…?” he mumbled into your skin.

You kissed the top of his head.

“No…” you whispered.

He nodded sleepily. That was enough.

Within minutes, you felt his weight shift slightly. His body growing heavier with sleep, breaths evening out against your chest. His arms remained around you, even in sleep, fingers curled against your side like they couldn’t bear to let go.

And as you held him there in the dark, you realized something quietly, without fear or shame:

You didn’t want to leave.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

So you closed your eyes. Let yourself drift off too. Still wrapped in the arms of a boy who clung to you like you were all he had left.

And maybe… you were.

***

You woke to warmth.

Not just the sun slipping through the sheer curtains… but the body next to yours.

Changmin.

He was still asleep.

One arm curled around your middle, loose now, no longer clinging like last night… but not far. His cheek rested on the pillow just beside yours, lips slightly parted, lashes resting delicately on pale skin.

And for a moment, you just… looked at him.

Without fear. Without tension.

Just quiet awe.

Because he looked different like this. Not like the sharp, dangerously controlled man others knew. Not like the possessive mess that unraveled in your hands.

But like something wounded.

And soft.

And when you remembered how he trembled under your touch… how he’d gasped your name and begged for comfort, breathless and broken. Your cheeks flushed hot.

You hadn’t expected to touch him that way.

You hadn’t expected to want to.

But you had. And he had melted.

And you… hadn’t pulled away.

You bit your bottom lip and exhaled slowly, feeling the heat rise again as you glanced at his pretty sleeping face.

“…You’re kind of unfair, you know,” you whispered to no one, brushing a finger through the strands of hair that had fallen over his brow.

Then, gently, you leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Just once.

Soft. Careful. A thank-you. Or maybe an apology.

You slipped out of bed after that.

Quietly.

Carefully.

You didn’t want to wake him yet, not when he looked like he was dreaming something peaceful for once.

***

The kitchen was still and dim, the morning light only beginning to reach the countertops. You moved on autopilot, pulling out ingredients and moving around the space with a kind of calm you weren’t used to.

A part of you was still buzzing, not from fear, not anymore, but from everything that had happened.

The night.

His voice.

Your name on his tongue like it meant salvation.

You stirred the eggs in silence, shaking off the warm flutter in your chest. A small smile tugged at your lips without your permission.

You didn’t hear him come in.

But you felt it. The shift in air. The quiet steps.

And then: arms around your waist from behind. Firm. Gentle. Warm.

“Noona…” His voice was still heavy with sleep. Quiet. Raw.

With his chest pressed to your back, he buried his face into your shoulder, nose nudging the spot where your shirt slipped a little from your collar.

“You’re here,” he murmured. “I thought I dreamed you again.”

You reached down instinctively, one hand resting over his.

His arms didn’t move.

He held you there, pressed so close from behind, like your body was the only warmth in the room. His nose nuzzled the curve of your shoulder, his breath brushed your skin, warm and unhurried.

“You’re… real,” he murmured again, almost like he still didn’t believe it.

And then…

He pressed a kiss to your neck.

Slow.

Barely even a kiss, more like a thank-you, trembling with things he couldn’t say out loud.

But then his lips didn’t stop.

They wandered, along the slope of your neck to the space just beneath your ear, trailing heat with every brush. He kissed lower, slower. And then his mouth opened just a little.

A soft drag of tongue. A faint scrape of teeth. Just enough to make your breath stutter.

You gripped the spatula tighter.

“Changmin,” you whispered, voice thinner than you meant.

He hummed into your skin.

“I liked how you touched me last night…” he said, voice husky. “You didn’t run away.”

Another kiss. This time firmer, more deliberate.

“Noona… can I do something like that for you too?”

Your knees almost gave out.

You turned around, spinning to face him before the heat could crawl any higher. Your hands pressed lightly to his chest as you tried to gather the flutter in your throat.

He was staring at you again, like you were the answer to a dream he wasn’t ready to wake from.

You smiled. Gentle, but flustered.

“Sit down first,” you said. “I’m still making breakfast.”

His lips parted in the beginnings of a whine. “But—”

“What if someone walks in?” you added quickly, glancing toward the doorway.

That did it.

His pout deepened.

But he let go of your waist, sighing like it was the greatest sacrifice in the world.

“Fine…” he muttered, dragging his feet slightly as he sat down at the small table. Still watching you. “But I’m not hungry for food.”

Your cheeks burned again.

But you didn’t reply.

You turned back to the stove with shaking hands and a thundering heart, pretending the room wasn’t already heavy with the scent of want.

And behind you, he just watched. Chin resting in his palm, eyes never leaving your back.

Like you were the only thing he could taste.

***

Later that day, he brought you back to his room.

He didn’t say anything at first, just reached for your hand, and led you there like it was the only place he felt safe.

The door clicked shut behind you, and before you could ask if something was wrong, he was already settling onto the mattress, his head gently placed on your lap.

You sat there in silence.

Your fingers moved slowly through his hair, soft, rhythmic strokes that helped settle the invisible hum beneath his skin. His eyes were half-lidded, lashes fluttering.

For a while, it was peaceful. Almost calm.

But the tension in his shoulders hadn’t left.

And when your hand drifted down to brush against his wrapped arms, the bandaged injury from the night before you felt it:

The tight clench of his jaw.

The way he swallowed.

The way his voice broke the silence.

“He told me yesterday,” Changmin murmured, referring to his father. “In his study.”

Your thumb moved carefully over the fabric covering his bruised skin.

“Told you what…?” you asked, softly.

He was quiet for a beat. Too quiet.

Then he exhaled.

“That he’s planning to marry me off.”

Your hand paused.

“To who?”

“Daughter from the Kim family,” he said flatly. “A corporate tie. Educated. Polished. Comes from money. Normal. His words.”

Changmin laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. Only bitterness.

Slowly, he turned his head to the side, cheek resting against your thigh now as he looked up at you.

And for a moment, there it was again, that raw, quiet fear.

Not of marriage.

But of losing you.

“He accepted a dinner invitation for Friday,” Changmin added. “An introduction between families. It’s already scheduled.”

Your fingers tightened unconsciously over his wrapped hand, but you didn’t speak.

He did.

“I told him…” His voice dropped. “I told him I’d rather set the entire restaurant on fire than sit at that table.”

There was no tremble in his voice now. Just cold steel and something darker, coiling beneath.

“I said I’d rather watch that woman choke on her welcome wine while her father begs me to stop. I said if he forces me to go, I won’t leave anyone at that table untouched.”

Your heart stilled.

The words weren’t loud. They weren’t angry.

But they were real.

And they were Changmin.

“That’s when he grabbed the bat,” he added, glancing at his bandaged hand with a small, humorless smile. “Guess I struck a nerve.”

You finally met his eyes. Wide, glassy, too vulnerable for someone who had just uttered a threat soaked in blood.

“He wants me to marry someone else,” Changmin whispered. “But he doesn’t understand.”

His uninjured hand moved then, reaching up to cup your face, eyes locking with yours.

“He doesn’t understand that there’s no one else except you, Noona.”

You didn’t speak at first.

You just looked at him. His face resting on your lap, his bandaged hand in yours, his eyes still shadowed with the echo of his father’s threats… and his own.

There was a deep, aching part of him that still expected you to pull away.

To be afraid.

To leave.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned down slowly, brushing your fingers gently through his hair again. Smoothing it back behind his ear. Soft. Thoughtful.

“Changmin…” you whispered.

His name felt like something sacred in your mouth.

He blinked up at you, like he was afraid it might shatter him.

You cupped his cheek with both hands, your thumb brushing lightly across his skin. His breathing hitched.

“You don’t have to marry anyone,” you said. “Not for him. Not for anyone else.”

He said nothing. But his hand tightened faintly over yours.

“You’re not alone in this,” you added, voice softer now. “I’m not leaving you. Not when you’ve let me see all this… not when you’ve shown me you.”

His lips parted slightly. You could see the flicker of disbelief in his eyes, like he wanted to believe you, but didn’t know how.

So you did the only thing that felt right.

You leaned in… and kissed him.

Not rushed. Not out of pity.

But slowly. Tenderly.

Your lips brushed his forehead first, right above the space between his brows.

Then his cheekbone.

Then, finally—when he tilted his face up to you, eyes fluttering closed—you kissed him properly. Just once. Gentle and grounding.

A promise pressed into his lips.

When you pulled back, he was still staring at you.

Still quiet.

But his expression had changed.

Something unspoken cracked behind his eyes, melting beneath your touch. He reached up, arms curling around your waist now, and buried his face into your stomach.

“You’re the only thing I want, Noona…” he whispered, muffled against your shirt. “I don’t care what he says. I don’t care what anyone says.”

You stroked his hair again.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know.”

And for a while, neither of you spoke.

Because in that moment, he didn’t need promises or plans.

He just needed to feel you were still there.

Still his.

***

Days passed in a kind of hush after that, as if the world itself had paused to see what would happen next.

You noticed the way your chest tightened when Changmin smiled at you, not with madness, but with something softer than obsession. Something dangerously close to devotion.

You no longer saw Ji Changmin as just your patient.

Not after the way he clung to you, whispering your name like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. His love wrapped itself around you slowly, until you couldn’t tell where fear ended and something else began.

You saw the danger in him.

And still, you stayed.

But when others were present—especially his father—you wore your mask again. Carefully. Neatly.

At the long dining table, you sat a little farther from Changmin than you wanted to. Your posture was straight. Your answers were precise.

“Dr. (Y/N), how is my son’s condition?” Mr. Ji would ask, voice clipped, his stare always two degrees too sharp.

You never flinched.

“He’s been stable,” you’d reply evenly. “Cooperative. I believe the current environment is helping.”

And beneath the table, just out of sight, Changmin’s pinky would brush yours. Barely there. A private gesture. Other times, his hand would rest lightly on your thigh, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your dress.

He was quiet about it in front of his father. But in the little moments when his father wasn’t around, his care revealed itself.

Changmin remembered every detail about you. He brought your tea the way you liked it, without asking. When the wind picked up, he’d drape your cardigan over your arms without a word. “You’ll catch a cold, Noona,” he murmured.

When you were working, he sat beside you. Sometimes with his head in your lap. Sometimes just watching your fingers move across the page, like even your stillness was worth memorizing.

And in return, you offered him the same kind of love. The kind that didn’t need to be announced to be felt.

To others, your response was professionalism. Performance.

To him?

It was everything.

He made sure the mansion felt it in every small, deliberate act.

The staff noticed first.

The maids—once used to Changmin’s mood swings—whispered when they passed. They noticed the way his temper had cooled, the warmth in his tone when he said your name.

“He smiles more now, no more tantrums…” one whispered, peeking past the parlor doorway. Changmin sat on the garden bench with you tucked beneath his arm, his chin resting in your hair.

“He’s in love,” another replied, quiet with awe.

“He treats her like she’s already his wife.”

And they weren’t wrong.

Once, a younger maid had asked shyly, “Young master, what’s the secret to being in love?”

Changmin didn’t miss a beat. It was the first time he offered the maid a smile.

With his arms looped around your waist and his chin pressed to your shoulder, he said, “Give her everything.”

Then softer, eyes never leaving yours—

“Even the things she hasn’t asked for yet. Especially those.”

You laughed it off, nudged him playfully away.

But he didn’t laugh back.

He meant it.

He always meant it.

And you were starting to understand the weight of that truth.

You were still his psychiatrist. Still the one tasked with keeping him stable, rational, safe.

And yet…

You had started waiting for his touch. You had started looking for him first in every room. You told yourself it was routine. That it was duty.

But then came the nights when he held you tightly like a vow. The kisses pressed hurriedly behind closed doors. The voice that trembled when he whispered, “Don’t leave me.”

And you never did.

Maybe you couldn’t.

Because love like this wasn’t clean. It was messy. Terrifying. Quietly consuming.

But it was real.

Still, the world outside your little bubble hadn’t paused.

The arranged dinner meant to introduce Changmin to the Kim family’s daughter still sat like a weight in the background.

You hadn’t brought it up. Neither had Changmin.

But both of you felt it.

Like a clock ticking down. Waiting.

***

To Be Continued...

#Love Is a Diagnosis spoiler alert #thank you for reading again!!#love ya <3

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