misanahrs

[misanahrs]

holdin’ on to me — park jihyo.

now playing: holdin’ on to me - jimmy brown.

synopsis - jihyo is your girlfriend. your jihyo’s girlfriend. a small collection of some of your moments with jihyo. part two of ‘say please’.

pairing - park jihyo x fem reader.

you’re helping jihyo try on outfits for the shoot, delicate fabrics draped over your arm as she changes behind the curtain. she steps out slowly, smoothing down a sheer, tight-fitting number that clings to her like it was made just for her. in the mirror, her gaze finds yours—steady, searching—and you feel the air still.

your mouth opens, maybe to compliment her, maybe to breathe, but nothing comes out. the way the material hugs her waist, the dip of her collarbone, the soft sheen of her skin—it all renders you useless. her eyes flicker, catching the flush that creeps up your neck, and she smirks, lazy and knowing.

“do you like it?” she asks, voice honeyed, teasing, like she already knows the answer.

you try to speak, try to be normal, but all you manage is a quiet nod. she watches you the whole time—how your eyes trace every inch of her, how your fingers tighten just slightly on the hangers you’re holding. she steps closer. the room narrows. you can smell her perfume, warm and clean, something floral that clings to her skin.

“you always get like this when i dress up for you,” she says, a murmur at your ear now. not mocking. just amused. affectionate.

before you can think, she takes your wrist and guides you gently—deliberately—into the tiny dressing room. the door closes with a soft click behind you, shutting out the world. it’s warm in there, too warm. cramped. your bodies almost touch without meaning to, breaths mingling in the thickening air.

she turns, facing you fully, and it’s like you forget where you are. like nothing matters but her.

then her lips are on yours.

it starts slow—her kiss gentle, reverent almost—but quickly, it deepens. her hand slides up to the back of your neck, anchoring you in place, and you melt into her. there’s a kind of desperation in it now, quiet but impossible to miss. the mirror behind her starts to fog with the heat of your closeness, your shared breath.

“you don’t need to speak,” she whispers against your mouth, lips brushing yours as she talks. “i can see it in your eyes.”

you can barely breathe as your fingers find the zipper at her back. you pull it down slowly, trembling, each inch revealing more warmth, more skin. your hand trails down the newly exposed line of her spine, feeling the way her muscles shift beneath your touch. she shivers, soft and involuntary.

you look at her like you’re memorising every detail—because you are. her skin, her scent, the way she’s looking at you like you’ve already come undone.

“jihyo,” you manage, voice breaking with it.

she just nods, resting her forehead to yours.

“i’ve got you,” she says—quiet, sure, like a promise. and when she kisses you again, you believe her.

⸻

you barely realise that she’s manoeuvring you until your back is against the cool wall of the dressing room. it makes you gasp, just slightly, and her lips find your throat like she’s drawn to the sound. soft, reverent kisses bloom along your jaw, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. every part of you feels exposed—even the parts still clothed.

her hands are slow, patient. she touches you like she’s trying to say something without words—like every inch of you is something sacred. fingers trail beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing your stomach, and you suck in a breath. you feel her smile against your skin whilst her hands move to the waistband of your skirt.

“you’re shaking,” she whispers, barely audible.

“i know,” you breathe, voice catching. “it’s you.”

and god, she glows at that. not in a smug way—but like it moves her. like your reaction is something she’ll tuck into her chest and keep safe.

she undresses you with a care that makes your heart ache. there’s nothing rushed, nothing careless—just her, unwrapping you piece by piece, like she’s been waiting to show you how wanted you are. and once she has you bare, her hands return—sliding up your thighs, parting them gently as she sinks to her knees in front of you.

her eyes never leave yours.

“tell me what you need,” she says, her voice low, grounding.

“you,” you whisper. “like this. just you.”

and that’s all she needs.

her mouth is warm, devastating, her tongue slow and certain as it drags through you slit. your head tips back against the wall and a soft, breathy moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. jihyo’s hands grip your hips gently, holding you steady as she devours you with this perfect, aching tenderness. it’s not just about lust—it’s about how deeply she wants to make you feel known. wanted. ruined in the most beautiful way.

you try to hold on—god, you do—but she’s relentless, her rhythm steady and precise, every flick of her tongue pulling you closer to the edge. her name falls from your lips again and again, and when you finally come undone, thighs trembling, hands buried in her hair—she doesn’t stop. not until the aftershocks ripple through you and you’re gasping her name like a prayer.

she stands slowly, wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and leans in to kiss you again. you taste yourself on her lips. you taste everything.

“you’re incredible,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead to yours, thumb brushing your cheek where it’s damp. “you always are.”

you’re still trying to catch your breath, your whole body humming with the weight of what just passed between you. and she’s still looking at you like you’re something more than a person—like you’re a moment she wants to stay inside of forever.

your legs still tremble slightly as you rise, but your hands are steady—steadier than they should be, considering the way jihyo just unravelled you like a secret only she was meant to know. but now it’s your turn. your chest swells with something quiet but powerful—gratitude, reverence, the ache to return every breathless moan she gave you tenfold.

you look at her—really look at her.

her cheeks are flushed, hair slightly mussed, lips pink and parted as she leans back against the wall of the dressing room, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. even like this—undone, soft around the edges—she radiates control. but you see the sliver of vulnerability in her gaze, the quiet trust she places in your hands. and it moves through you like devotion.

“sit, pretty girl,” you murmur, voice rough with emotion as your fingers trace along her sides. “let me take care of you.”

she watches you carefully, something soft and fond flickering in her eyes, before she nods and does as you ask—easing back onto the little bench behind her. the moment she’s seated, your hands are on her again—guiding her thighs apart with slow, reverent movements, like you’re handling something sacred. her breath hitches when you drop to your knees before her, settling between her legs like it’s where you belong.

you don’t rush.

you smooth your hands up the length of her thighs, fingertips grazing along her skin with the kind of gentle touch that makes her shiver. your mouth follows—leaving a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses as you whisper against her skin.

“you’re perfect, hyo,” you murmur. “always have been, always will be.”

she exhales shakily, her fingers sliding into your hair, not pulling—just resting there. anchoring.

when your lips finally find the soft heat of her, you hear it—the quiet gasp she tries to hold in, the breath she catches in the back of her throat. and you melt into her completely, tongue moving with slow, steady strokes, just enough to make her hips shift and her thighs tremble.

she tastes like everything you’ve ever wanted.

your hands grip her thighs, thumbs pressing in gentle circles as you learn what makes her sigh, what makes her voice catch, what makes her press closer like she can’t bear any space between you. and when she moans your name—low and breathless—you swear your heart nearly stops.

“please,” she whispers, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut. “don’t stop.”

you don’t. not for anything.

you wrap your arms around her thighs, pulling her in tighter, giving her everything—your mouth, your focus, your love. you lap at her with care and purpose, never too fast, never too much, just enough to build her steadily toward the edge. and when you feel her begin to unravel—hips twitching, thighs shaking—you hum against her, encouraging her through it, grounding her.

she comes with a soft, trembling cry, her fingers tightening in your hair, her body quaking beneath your hands.

but you don’t stop until she’s trembling in the afterglow—eyes glassy, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. only then do you press one last kiss between her legs and lift your head, wiping your mouth as you rise.

jihyo’s eyes meet yours, full of awe. “you…” she begins, but trails off, pulling you closer instead. “you worship me,” she murmurs against your neck, voice fragile and warm.

you wrap your arms around her. “i do. and i always will.”

⸻

the kitchen’s quiet now. the soft clink of dishes has faded, and the last of the soap bubbles are rinsed clean down the drain. the lights above cast a warm glow across your skin, catching on the sheen of water still on your forearms as you dry them with a towel.

behind you, she leans in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. but there’s no hiding the way her gaze travels down your back—lingering. hungry.

“you really have no idea what you look like when you’re like this,” she murmurs.

you turn, heartbeat skipping. she’s changed into one of your shirts—soft and worn and draped too loosely over her frame, slipping off one shoulder. you can see the swell of her chest underneath it, bare and inviting. your mouth goes dry.

“like what?” you ask, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

she steps forward, slow and sure, like a current pulling you in. “calm, focused, glowing,” her hand reaches out, fingers tracing along the edge of your jaw before dipping down to your throat. “mine.”

your lips part to speak, but the look in her eyes steals the words from you. she closes the distance, presses a kiss just under your ear, her hands finding your waist and slipping under the hem of your shirt.

“sit,” she says softly, leading you by the hand into the bedroom.

you follow without hesitation.

she doesn’t push you down. she doesn’t need to. you sit on the edge of the bed as she steps between your legs, the hem of her shirt riding up slightly as she leans down to kiss you—slow and deep, her hands cupping your face like she wants to memorise every angle.

when she breaks the kiss, she’s already pulling the shirt off over her head.

and god.

you stare.

her chest is bare—very bare—with her skin flushed and soft under the low bedroom light. your breath catches—completely stolen by the way she stands there for you, unashamed, her eyes locked to yours like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

you reach out instinctively, hands resting gently at her waist before sliding up, thumbs brushing just under her breasts. “you’re…” the words don’t form. they don’t need to.

she sees it in your eyes.

your lips find her collarbone first, then lower, mouth dragging reverent kisses across the slope of one breast, then the other. your hands cradle her, thumbs brushing over her pretty nipples until they stiffen beneath your touch. when you take one into your mouth, she gasps, her hand tangling in your hair.

“just like that,” she whispers, already breathless. “don’t stop…”

you take your time, worshipping her—tongue swirling, mouth sucking, teeth grazing just enough to make her hips jerk forward, needy. her moans fill the room, soft and high, like she’s starting to unravel just from the way you hold her, touch her, love her.

her fingers tug at your shirt. you pull it off, and soon, she’s pressing you back onto the bed, straddling your lap, kissing you until your lips begin to become sore. your hands roam her body like you’re trying to memorise it—every curve, every dip, every tremble she gives you in return.

“lie back,” you murmur. she obeys without question, watching you as you move to the dresser, as you open that drawer and take out the harness. her eyes darken—desire and trust and something deeper, something that makes your chest ache with how much she’s giving you in this moment.

you strap in slowly, her gaze following every motion. when you return to her, she parts her legs, already slick and ready, her breath catching as you kneel between her thighs.

“tell me what you need, pretty girl,” you say, voice low.

“you,” she breathes. “all of you.”

you line yourself up, teasing her first—grinding against her folds, watching the way her eyes flutter, the way her hips lift, desperate. you bend over her, pressing a kiss to her lips, her neck, her chest, before finally—slowly—sliding inside.

she arches up into you, mouth falling open in a gasp as you fill her inch by inch.

you whisper against her skin—her name, how beautiful she is, how good she feels, how much you love her. every thrust is deep, steady, full of purpose. you want her to feel it—not just in her body, but in her heart.

“you’re everything, jihyo,” you whisper, your voice shaking with it. “everything to me.”

she wraps her arms around you, burying her face in your shoulder as you move together—grinding deeper, holding nothing back, giving her everything you have.

and when she comes—trembling, moaning your name like it’s sacred—you kiss her through it, still inside her, holding her close as the aftershocks roll through her body.

she doesn’t let go.

neither do you.

⸻

the night breathes slow around you, thick with a heavy silence and the scent of rain.

outside, the city murmurs beneath a wet sky, yet the world moves on, but inside—in the small glow of your apartment—something unspoken has begun to fray as it begins to feel like the shadows stretch long over the carpet, and the soft lamplight turns her skin to gold.

jihyo lies against you, her head on your chest, your fingers resting lightly against the dip of her spine, rubbing up and down.

for a while, it’s peaceful. still.

but then her breath shifts—sharp and uneven like a note held too long. you feel her fingers stop tracing idle circles across your wrist. she’s somewhere else now. and when you look down, her eyes are wide open, cloudy and distant, caught in some quiet storm.

“jihyo?” you murmur, not to disturb, only to offer.

she doesn’t answer at first. just forcefully swallows. once. twice.

and then, in the softest of voices—fragile, like lace unravelled—she says, “i’m so tired.”

your heart drops at the weight packed into those three small words. she isn’t talking about sleep—not really.

“not just in my body,” she continues, voice a little steadier now, but still trembling. “in my heart. in my bones. there’s always someone to take care of, something to fix, something to carry. and i do it, because i love them—but sometimes… i forget what it feels like to be looked after.”

you shift, just enough to cup her cheek, guiding her gently to look at you. her lashes are wet, her mouth pressed tight, as though holding in more than just tears.

“you don’t have to hold the whole world together, hyo,” you whisper. “not when i’m here. let me hold you for a while.”

she exhales shakily, a sound that slips through her like surrender. “i never let myself fall apart,” she says. “not really. there’s never room for it. but lately it feels like i’m breaking in places no one can see.”

and then, the way her voice comes out no louder than a whisper, you can tell she, herself, was trying not to fall apart—so used to being the one in control. “sometimes i wonder how long i can keep pretending it doesn’t hurt,” your eyes flick to her face, but she isn’t looking at you—she’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight, soft, pretty lips trembling. “everyone sees me as this… anchor. strong, steady, unshakable. the one who always knows what to say. what to do. but lately—” her voice cracks, “—i feel like i’m holding myself together with string. and no one even notices.”

your chest aches. not just for her pain, but for how long she’s been carrying it alone.

“then let me see,” you say, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “let me see every crack. i’ll love you in them too.”

jihyo sniffles, her grasp around you loosening slightly. “i wake up already tired. i smile when i want to cry. and i tell everyone i’m fine because if i stop… i’m scared everything will collapse.”

you reach for her hand, gently. your fingers slot through hers like you’re trying to remind her she isn’t alone.

“they need me,” she says, blinking back tears. “so i keep being strong. even when it’s tearing me apart.”

her lips tremble vigorously. one tear falls. then another. and she doesn’t try to hide them now—not when they soak through your shirt, burning your skin, bleaching your heart. she lets herself weep softly, not loudly, just enough to feel the ache move through her like a tide. and you hold her through it all, arms tight, firm around her like a harbour. an anchor.

you turn to her fully now, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like something sacred. “but who takes care of you?” you ask softly, your voice barely a breath. “when you’re breaking… who holds you then?”

her eyes meet yours then—red-rimmed, glassy, full of a pain so raw it steals the air from your lungs.

“i don’t know,” she whispers. “i think i forgot how to let someone because they all think i’m so strong.”

she murmurs against your chest, voice caught between shame and exhaustion. “they only ever see the parts of me that shine.”

“but i see you,” you whisper into her hair. “even in the dark. especially in the dark. and you don’t have to shine for me.”

she lets out a breath—deep and shaking—and it feels like the first one she’s truly taken in weeks. like she’s been underwater too long and has finally surfaced.

you shift closer, wrapping your arms around her like a vow made in silence. “let me teach you again,” you murmur into her hair. “let me be the arms you fall into when the weight gets too much or when you just crave being held. you don’t have to be the strong one here, jihyo, not with me.”

she doesn’t speak, just buries her face in your shoulder. and for the first time in so long, she lets the tears come freely. quiet sobs that shake her body like a storm passing through her bones. and you, somehow, hold her even tighter with every breath, as if you could stitch her back together with nothing but love.

“nothing’s wrong with you, jihyo, you’re not broken,” you whisper. “you’re human. and so beautifully, impossibly full of feeling. that’s why i love you—not because you’re strong, but because you don’t pretend, hyo, you’re real.”

her fingers clutch at your shirt like she’s afraid to let go. like in this moment, you’re the only thing tethering her to herself.

you press a kiss to her temple. to her shoulder. to every piece of her that feels forgotten.

and when the tears begin to slow, and her breath evens out against your chest, you whisper, “you don’t need to shine for me, jihyo. just stay. stay soft. stay exactly as you are. i’ll be the one who lights the way for you.”

“you always say the right thing,” she whispers.

“no,” you say, brushing a kiss against her forehead, “i just love you in all the ways you don’t let yourself be loved.”

her arms tighten around you then, as though she’s afraid to let go of this moment. and you stay like that, tangled in warmth and truth, the silence between you now soft and golden.

her heart begins to settle and her breath evens. and there, in the hush between rainbeats and lamplight, she lets herself be fragile.

and you? you love her for it. not despite it. because of it.

because in this softness, in this breaking—there is the most beautiful kind of becoming.

and in that hush—where no one is watching, where she’s allowed to simply be—she lets go.

and you catch her. every last piece.

⸻

you’d written it the night before with hands that trembled more than you expected. not from nerves, not really, but from the weight of it—everything you’d wanted to say, everything you’d kept in glances and half-said words and touches that lingered just a second too long. you didn’t overthink it. didn’t try to dress the words up. you just wrote what you felt, casual, plain and clear and aching with honesty.

you woke at six. the light outside was the palest blue, barely colouring the sky. the flat was silent, save for the quiet hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional shifting of bedsheets as jihyo moved in her sleep.

the letter sat folded in the drawer of your nightstand while you lay beside her, your heart thudding soft and steady beneath your ribs. her breathing had already deepened by then, her face turned towards yours, lips slightly parted in sleep. she always looked so peaceful in those early hours—unguarded, soft around the edges, like the world hadn’t touched her yet. you watched her for a while, until the weight of your feelings pressed too heavy against your chest to ignore.

you turned slowly, careful not to wake her. her back was to you now, shoulders bare, the duvet pulled low against her spine. a hand of hers was curled beneath her pillow, the other resting against the space where your body had been just moments prior.

you reached for the drawer and took out the letter.

it felt warmer than you remembered, maybe from how long you’d kept it in your hands the night before, or maybe just from the way your chest ached now, standing here with it in the fragile hush of the morning. you leaned over, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, and slipped the letter under her pillow.

then, without a word, you slid back into bed. your body curved instinctively around hers, your arm resting over her pretty waist, your face nuzzled into the space just below her neck. her skin was warm against your lips. familiar. home.

and you drifted back to sleep like that.

when you woke again, it was almost half past nine. the light had changed—warmer now, golden and diffused through the thin curtains. the apartment, though, still felt quiet, like it hadn’t quite woken up yet.

you blinked slowly, stretching just a little, and then stilled as you felt jihyo stir beside you.

she moved gently, with the kind of lazy grace that always made your heart catch. her arm slipped under the pillow—then stopped.

you could feel it, the precise second her fingers brushed the paper. the shift in her breathing. the stillness that followed.

she slid the letter out slowly. you kept your eyes shut.

the paper rustled as she unfolded it. then, silence. long, deep silence, the kind that fills a room not with emptiness but with meaning.

you waited.

then came the softest breath. the catch of it in her throat. a tiny, trembling exhale. a sound so small you might’ve missed it, if you didn’t already know every version of her.

your heart squeezed in your chest.

a few seconds passed. then a minute.

you felt her shift, turning onto her side to face you. your eyes were still closed, pretending to be asleep, but you could feel her gaze on you—heavy, reverent, full of something you didn’t have a name for and you didn’t even know how to begin to describe.

“you’re not asleep,” she said softly, her voice thick, cracked at the edges.

you opened your eyes.

she was looking at you like she was seeing you for the first time—her lashes were damp, the corners of her mouth trembling, not from sadness, but from something far deeper. love. something fragile and overwhelming and real.

“you wrote this for me?” she asked, holding the letter in both hands like it was something sacred.

you nodded, a little breathless, your throat tight.

her bottom lip wobbled just slightly. “it’s perfect,” she whispered, eyes scanning the lines again. “you’re… god, i don’t even know how to explain it. you make me feel so loved.”

you reached out and cupped her cheek. “you are. more than i can ever say out loud.”

she leaned in and kissed you. slow and deep and impossibly tender. not rushed. not hurried. like she was trying to memorise the shape of your mouth, the way you sighed against her lips. her fingers curled into your hair as she kissed you again and again, breathing you in like you were the only thing in the world keeping her grounded.

when she pulled back, there were more tears in her eyes. but she was smiling, eyes soft and full of light.

“how do you do it?” she asked quietly. “how do you love me like this?”

you ran your thumb across her cheek. “it’s easy. being with you makes everything else make sense.”

she let out a laugh then—watery, small, but beautiful. “you’re ridiculous,” she said, resting her forehead against yours. “and i love you so much it hurts.”

you held her close, her body pressed tight to yours beneath the covers, her breath mingling with yours. for a long time, neither of you spoke. there was no need. the letter said enough. her touch said more.

and when the sun crept higher and the flat slowly filled with golden light, the world outside didn’t matter. not when her fingers were laced with yours. not when her letter was tucked safely to her chest like something she’d never let go.

not when the love between you was so full, it felt like the room itself was holding its breath.

⸻

you’ve seen jihyo under a hundred lights.

the soft glow of morning when she’s wrapped in blankets, her hair a mess and her smile half-asleep. the harsh flicker of stage lights when she’s on fire, unstoppable, eyes shining like they know they’re being watched. the golden hour light that drips over her soft, silk-like skin like honey, catching in her lashes, her collarbones, the curve of her lips.

but this light, this hush of warm, amber bedroom glow, makes her look like something otherworldly—and maybe it’s because only you get to see her like this.

you’ve always known jihyo was beautiful.

but like this—naked beneath you, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling with every breath—she looks unreal. like a dream spun out of moonlight and soft gasps, stretched across your sheets, waiting for your touch.

like if you blinked, she’d vanish into smoke and silk and a memory that would haunt you forever.

she lies back slowly, naked beneath you, body bathed in shadows and the soft burn of your gaze. flushed skin, rising chest, those eyes—wide and wanting, watching you like you’re the only thing in the world that exists right now.

your fingertips ghost over her stomach, trace the dip of her waist, rest at her hips. her skin jumps under your touch, already so sensitive, already trembling.

you touch her like a prayer.

like she’s something holy you’re afraid to ruin.

your fingers trail slowly over her stomach, up to the curve of her breasts, and you watch the way her breath stutters, the way her thighs shift restlessly. you lean down, lips brushing over her collarbone, and whisper, “you’re perfect, you know that?”

she exhales hard, almost like it caught her off-guard.

your mouth travels lower, kissing across her chest, your tongue flicking softly over a nipple until it stiffens beneath your touch. her hand finds your hair, fingers tightening slightly.

“so beautiful,” you murmur against her skin. “i could spend hours just looking at you.”

her hips roll up instinctively at your words, and something clicks.

you lift your head, just enough to see her face—eyes hazy, lips parted, a slight quiver in her bottom lip.

“you’re stunning, so stunning,” you whisper between kisses. “every inch of you. every sound you make. every time you gasp for me.”

“please,” she breathes, her voice almost broken with need. her thighs fall further apart, an unspoken invitation.

you settle between them, hands cradling her hips like she’s fragile, precious.

“i’m gonna take my time,” you promise, voice low and reverent. “you, jihyo, deserve to be worshipped.”

when your tongue finally finds her, she cries out—high and breathy—and you don’t stop. you hold her like she’s something to be cherished, kissed like she’s the only thing that matters. you tell her how good she tastes, how perfect she is, how lucky you are to have her.

and every word makes her crack, makes her fall apart just a little more.

her hands don’t let go of you, not even when she’s shaking from the first orgasm, not even when you keep going, coaxing another out of her with nothing but your mouth and the steady stream of praise spilling from your lips.

by the time she comes again, she’s saying your name like a prayer, tears in the corners of her eyes, her voice wrecked and beautiful.

but you don’t stop.

because when it comes to jihyo, everything is not enough.

because when you have jihyo, you are insatiable.

“god, hyo. do you even know how beautiful you are?”

your voice cracks on her name and you kiss the skin just beneath her nipple, not touching it yet—just letting your breath ghost over it.

“you’re unreal,” you murmur. “i could spend hours just looking at you.”

a quiet gasp slips from her lips, and her hand finds your hair, fingers winding through. her back arches just a little. a silent request. maybe even a plea.

you smile against her skin.

your hands roam upward, reverent, until they cup the weight of her breasts, and you marvel at how warm she is, how soft she is. your thumbs brush her nipples gently—just enough to make her inhale sharply—and you smile against her skin.

“you’re art,” you whisper. “you’re a masterpiece, jihyo. do you even know what you do to me?”

she bites her lip, eyes fluttering shut as her back arches ever so slightly into your palms.

“no,” she breathes. “tell me.”

and so you do.

again and again.

you kiss her chest, open-mouthed, slow. you drag your tongue over the swell of one breast, then the other, until her hands twist in the sheets, until she’s gasping like she’s falling apart from your mouth alone.

“you’re perfect. so, so perfect. everything about you—the way you sound, the way you move, the way you look at me like i’m yours—”

your voice is low, reverent, almost broken with the weight of it.

“i want to spend the rest of my life telling you how beautiful you are.”

“your skin tastes like everything i’ve ever craved. you make me ache in ways i didn’t know i could. when you look at me like that, it makes me want to get on my knees and worship every part of you until you forget your own name.”

your mouth trails lower, across her stomach, slow and reverent like you’re tracing constellations into her skin. she moans quietly, thighs falling open for you without a word.

“you’re divine,” you whisper. “no goddess ever looked like this. none of them ever sounded the way you do when they begged.”

her breath hitches—sharp, desperate—and you glance up. her lips are parted, her eyes glassy, her whole body trembling with anticipation. like your words have her strung up already, high and helpless and aching for more.

you settle between her plush thighs, kissing the soft skin there like you mean it.

“i’d write poems about this. about you. the way you fall apart. the way you look when you’re close. the way you let me see you like this—so raw, so real.”

you kiss her folds softly, tongue just teasing, and she cries out, hips jerking.

“that’s it,” you murmur. “give it to me. let me have all of it, all of you, over and over again.”

you worship her slowly—tongue, and lips, and hands moving in time with every sound she makes, every gasp, every whisper of your name. you never stop praising her, not even when she starts to come undone, thighs trembling around your shoulders.

“you’re everything. everything, jihyo. the centre of my whole world, the centre of my whole life.”

and once more, does she unravel.

but her legs don’t loosen from around you despite the hand she has tangled in your hair pulls you up her.

and you know,

you know she wants more.

so you start from the start,

and you give her more.

you kiss the skin just beneath her nipple, again, not touching it yet—just letting your breath ghost over it.

“oh, hyo,” you murmur softly against her breast. “i could spend hours and hours just on your pretty tits.”

jihyo whines.

“mm,” you hum, smiling, dragging your tongue slowly over one nipple, “you like that, don’t you? being told how perfect you are?”

her hips twitch. her grip tightens. her breath stutters.

you look up at her, and what you see almost steals the breath from your lungs. jihyo’s staring down at you wide-eyed, bottom lip trembling slightly, undone expression—like your words are unravelling something deep inside her she never let anyone touch.

and you realise,

she craves this.

not just wants it.

she needs it.

and that’s when it clicks.

“oh my god,” you whisper, grinning now, lips brushing her chest. “you do. you really like it, huh?”

she looks away, lashes fluttering, but doesn’t answer.

you press a kiss right over her heart. “what, no snappy comeback? nothing clever to say?”

still, nothing—just her chest rising and falling, faster now.

you chuckle, low and teasing, and crawl up her body just enough to be nose to nose, lips barely brushing hers. “you get off on this,” you whisper. “being worshipped. hearing how breathtaking you are. you love being my favourite thing, my priority.”

she whines—quiet, desperate—and tries to pull you back down, tries to hide her face in your shoulder.

you don’t let her.

you grab her chin, gently, and make her look at you.

“don’t hide from me now, baby,” you say, voice softer than the words themselves. “you were so brave a second ago. letting me touch you like this. let me see you.”

she swallows hard, and her thighs shift restlessly.

you kiss her slowly, deeply, then shift lower again, trailing kisses down her stomach. she whines quietly when your tongue dips into her navel, her body already trembling under your praises and teasing remarks.

your mouth moves further down—making sure you have claimed every inch of her skin—brushing over her stomach, her hips, the soft insides of her thighs.

“every part of you,” you murmur, between kisses, “deserves to be loved out loud.”

you settle between her legs, mouth hovering over her, and glance up.

and jihyo is sure—from that cheeky grin appearing on your stupidly pretty face—that whatever nonsense came out of your mouth, when you should be putting it to better use, she was going to hate.

“so… if i told you you’re the most divine thing i’ve ever tasted,” you tease, breath hot against her slick skin, “would that make you lose your mind?”

“shut up,” she breathes, already squirming.

you grin widens.

“make me.”

then your mouth is on her—soft, sure, worshipful—and she does lose her mind. gasping, moaning, her legs trembling around you as you eat her out like her pussy is the only place you ever want to be.

and all the while, the praise keeps coming, slipping from your lips in between licks and kisses and groaned-out confessions.

“so sweet.”

“look at you, melting just from the sound of my voice. you really do love being told how perfect you are.”

“you make the prettiest sounds, hyo.”

“one more for me, baby.”

“so fucking easy for me, hyo.”

“no one could ever compare to this, to you.”

“my good girl.”

every word seems to push her closer, her body wound tight and glowing. she’s soaked from it all—from your tongue constantly pleasuring her, yes, but more than that, from the way you keep telling her exactly how wanted, how adored, how good she is.

when she comes, it’s with a sobbed-out moan of your name, her body arching into yours like it was sculpted, clinging to yours like she never wants you to stop.

after a few moments, you kiss your way back up, curl into her, lips brushing her ear.

“told you,” you whisper. “you love it.”

jihyo hides her face in your neck, mumbling, “i hate you.”

you laugh, smug and breathless, wrapping her up in your arms.

“no, baby. you love me. especially when i never shut up about how perfect you are.”

and from the way she melts into you, still trembling, still catching her breath—

you know you’re right.

and you’ll never let her forget it.

“you like that,” you say, softly, like a secret. “when i tell you how gorgeous you are.”

jihyo swallows, her cheeks darkening further. “i—” she tries to say something, but the words falter. her hand cups the back of your neck instead, pulling you closer.

“yeah,” you whisper, lips brushing the corner of her mouth, “you love it.”

“please, don’t ever stop telling me.”

⸻

hope you enjoyed!

[misanahrs]

say please — park jihyo.

now playing: please - jimmy brown.

synopsis - you’re a photographer, and jihyo can’t seem to keep her eyes off you during your shoots. what starts as professional tension quickly turns into something more as teasing, stolen glances, and undeniable chemistry lead to a fiery, passionate relationship. part 2 ‘holdin’ on to me’.

pairing: park jihyo x fem reader.

the studio is quiet—too quiet for a place so full of people. the low hum of air conditioning and the soft shuffle of assistants fills the space.

jihyo is half-distracted, her gaze constantly flicking to the door as she waits for you to arrive. she doesn’t know when it started, when your presence became something her heart actively seeks out, but now it’s impossible to ignore.

she tells herself it’s nothing—that it’s just the nature of being in this industry. but the truth is, she cannot stop watching you. and it’s killing her in the most subtle, quiet way possible.

the door opens, and there you are. always late, always a whirlwind of energy. you stumble in with your usual, effortless grace, juggling your camera bag and a coffee, your hair already starting to fall out of its messily put up hairdo in your second favourite claw clip—you accidentally broke your favourite one, jihyo recalls—and it’s only natural that jihyo can’t help the slight smile that tugs at her lips, even as she tries to focus on the task at hand.

“hey, hyo!” you call out, your voice light, easy.

jihyo straightens, forcing her attention back to the assistant who’s adjusting her makeup. she doesn’t want to look at you. but she does anyway.

“hey,” she replies, forcing the usual calm into her voice.

you slip into the seat next to her, unbothered by the small crowd of people around you. there’s something about the way you do that, like you’re just as comfortable here as you are anywhere. it’s so you—the way you slip into every room like it belongs to you.

she hates how easy it is for you to do that. hates how effortless you make it look. and she’s never sure if it’s because of you, or because she wishes it was her who could do the same.

you glance over, catching her eye, then give a small, warm smile. “you look tired,” you note, taking a sip of your coffee.

jihyo doesn’t know how to answer that. she’s exhausted, sure, but the truth is, she’s been lying awake at night, staring at her ceiling, wondering if you’ve ever thought about her the way she thinks about you.

“yeah,” she mutters. “late night.” she looks away, focusing on the mirror as the makeup artist finishes her work. but she can feel your eyes on her, and she knows that you’re waiting for her to say more.

but she can’t.

⸻

the shoot has been dragging on for hours, and everyone is feeling the weight of exhaustion. you’ve been behind the camera all day, focused, capturing every angle of the members. your eyes flicker over jihyo every so often, her movements sharp and professional, her beauty so natural it’s almost unsettling.

she’s standing in front of the backdrop now, her usual confidence radiating through her as she shifts positions, following the photographer’s instructions. she doesn’t see you looking at her, doesn’t notice the way you can’t take your eyes off her when she adjusts her posture.

your heart is racing as you shift your weight, taking another photo of her in the new outfit. there’s a moment when she turns slightly, catching the light in just the right way, and you find yourself holding your breath. the colours of the set seem to fade around her, leaving only her presence, so striking it almost feels like an illusion.

“jihyo, you look amazing,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

jihyo freezes, mid-pose. her eyes snap to you, startled, but then she sees your shy, apologetic smile. the words are out, and she’s not sure how to react though her heart seems to have a mind of its own.

“thanks,” she says, her voice soft and almost inaudible, but there’s something in her eyes—a spark, a flicker of recognition. she can’t place it, but there’s a warmth spreading through her chest. you noticed. you saw her.

and maybe that’s all she’s wanted.

you’re still holding the camera, but now you feel awkward, unsure of how to recover. but before you can say anything else, she steps closer, her lips curling into a small, grateful smile.

“thank you,” she repeats, somehow even quieter this time. “that means a lot.”

⸻

the heat of the lights has started to seep into her skin.

jihyo’s used to it—the sweat under tight fabric, the endless poses, the voice in her ear reminding her to shift just slightly left, to hold her chin up, to soften her mouth but sharpen her gaze—but today, something feels off.

or maybe it’s not the lights. maybe it’s you.

you’re standing just out of frame, half crouched behind your camera, watching her with that quiet intensity again. it’s not unusual—you’re a photographer, after all—but jihyo feels your gaze like a weight. not heavy. not uncomfortable. but there. always there.

the stylist adjusts her shirt quickly before disappearing behind a backdrop. it’s a silky number, pale blue with delicate looped buttons that run down her spine. elegant, clean, yet still a little scandalous with the exposed skin at the back.

jihyo’s mid-pose—hand in her hair, eyes on the camera—when she hears it.

a soft pop.

and then another.

“wait,” someone mutters. “her back—the shirt—”

she stiffens.

eyes wide, hands frozen in place, jihyo turns her head slightly, just enough to feel the cool air against her back where fabric used to be. the top few buttons have come undone, probably caught on a prop or tugged loose when she shifted. it isn’t revealing much, but she knows what the camera picks up—knows how quickly a photo can be taken out of context.

she doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe. the stylists are scrambling, two of them whispering and half-running across the set to get pins and thread, but you’re faster.

you’re always faster.

you’re already moving before anyone else has registered the tension in her shoulders. you’re across the floor in three steps, one hand reaching gently for her arm, voice soft in her ear.

“come here,” you say, not loud, but firm.

jihyo doesn’t resist. she lets herself be guided off to the side of the set, behind one of the fabric backdrops. it’s quieter here. less crowded. still not private—but better.

you’re standing behind her now, and she can feel your breath, warm and steady, as you lean in.

“sorry,” you murmur, hands already moving, fingers brushing her skin. “it’s just the top three. i’ve got you.”

and just like that, her brain short-circuits.

she should be embarrassed. she is embarrassed. but more than anything, all she can think about is the way your touch lingers—not invasive, not deliberate, but careful. soft. reverent, even.

it’s not the first time you’ve touched her—not really. a casual brush of shoulders during lunch, your hand on her wrist when you’re showing her a photo, once—stupidly—the two of you had laughed at the same thing and she’d leaned into you, forehead to your temple.

but this is different.

this is bare skin. this is quiet intimacy in a room full of people who haven’t noticed how her pulse is hammering in her throat.

you’re so close she can smell the faint sweetness of your perfume. so close she knows if she turned, you’d be right there—and it wouldn’t take much. just a breath. just a second.

“done,” you say softly, voice brushing against the shell of her ear.

but you don’t step away immediately.

your hands linger. her back burns beneath your fingertips, even though you’re no longer touching her. she stays still, eyes closed, trying to catch her breath.

when you finally move, it’s like someone’s pulled a thread from her chest. she turns slightly to look at you, your face half-shadowed by the light behind the curtain. you’re chewing your lip, awkward and unsure, clearly thinking you’ve crossed a line.

“thank you,” she says quietly, hoping you can’t hear how shaky her voice is. “seriously, you… you saved me.”

you give a half-smile, brushing hair behind your ear, eyes still not quite meeting hers. “just doing my job.”

“you didn’t have to.” jihyo’s voice is steadier now. too steady, maybe. controlled. “you could’ve left it to the stylists.”

you shrug. “didn’t want you to feel exposed. or embarrassed.”

the words settle into her chest like warm honey, thick and slow.

she wants to say more. she wants to tell you that it wasn’t just about the buttons. that there’s something in the way you look at her—not like a celebrity, not like someone distant and untouchable, but like her. like she matters.

but she can’t.

instead, she nods once, eyes locked with yours, and then slips back onto the set, the shirt fixed, her posture straight, her expression blank.

from the outside, nothing’s changed.

but inside, jihyo knows—something’s shifted.

and later, when the lights are down and the studio is empty, she’ll lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the feel of your fingers on her skin,the brush of your breath near her neck, the quiet look in your eyes when you said, didn’t want you to feel exposed.

and she’ll wonder how the hell she’s supposed to go back to pretending this doesn’t mean anything when all she wants is you as her girlfriend.

⸻

you didn’t know what you did to jihyo.

how your presence clung to her skin hours after you’d gone.

how every little moment you gave her became something she rewound in the dark, pressing it to her chest like it might keep her warm.

like the time you leaned over her shoulder to show her a photo on your camera—your breath ghosting her collarbone, the way your laugh caught when she blinked too fast.

or the time you texted her way past midnight just to say the ramen shop near your house had restocked the spicy kind she liked. no context. no emojis. just: want me to grab you one?

she’d stared at the screen for five minutes before replying.

yes please

duhhhh i got u, you’re my girl hyo

she read it a hundred times.

⸻

the camera clicks. jihyo holds her pose and so do the other 8 girls with her.

you’re behind the lens, looking through the viewfinder, tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

jihyo wants to kiss you.

jihyo doesn’t.

“perfect, girls,” you lower the camera. “gorgeous, hyo, as always.”

jihyo’s heart stutters. she smiles—small, quiet.

but before she can say anything, you’re called over.

you turn to answer—and that’s when cho miyeon walks in.

long coat. red lips. slow, honey-drip smile.

perfect skin. dark eyes. slow, syrupy smile that made people lean closer without realising. she looked like someone who had never been told no in her life—and probably hadn’t; especially not from you, jihyo notes with the way you interact.

miyeon lights up when she sees you.

you light up when you see her.

jihyo feels something sink.

and as you announce a quick break and show miyeon some photos you had taken previously of other celebrities and models, her hand brushes yours whilst she looks at your laptop.

“i still cannot get over how talented you are, y/n,” she says softly, leaning close.

you laugh, cheeks pink. “you’re just saying that.”

“no,” miyeon says, voice silk. “i mean it. you make people look like art.”

“well, it’s not difficult when you actually are art.” jihyo hears this from the makeup chair and her throat tightens.

jihyo watched miyeon’s mouth curve into a delighted yet shy grin.

you laughed, softly, and brushed hair from your face, failing miserably as it came loose from behind your ear within seconds.

miyeon brushed it back for you.

jihyo looked away.

she felt the tips of her acrylics digging into her palms.

miyeon wasn’t even meant to be here yet. she was scheduled for the second half of the shoot—a solo feature, same magazine. different layout.

but she’d arrived early from her previous schedule.

and now she was next to you, bent over your laptop, commenting on photos with a hand on your back like it belonged there. and you didn’t even seem to mind.

jihyo watched the two of you in the mirror infront of her from across the room, pretending to sip water on her break.

miyeon leaned in, murmuring something, and you laughed again—breathy, soft, but genuine. the kind of laugh that wasn’t for everyone.

jihyo’s chest ached.

and she began to zone out until jeongyeon’s voice cut through the haze. “you alright?”

jihyo blinked. “what?”

“you’re watching them like you’re about to combust.” nayeon raised an eyebrow. “just go talk to her.”

“i don’t know what you mean,” jihyo said flatly.

tzuyu gave her an unimpressed look.

“you’ve been in love with her for, like, a year. it’s getting sad.”

jihyo looked down at her water bottle.

“she’s not… she doesn’t see me like that.”

“because you never let her.” mina added softly, voice tinged with a little empathy.

jihyo said nothing.

⸻

finally done with the group shots, you crouched beside jihyo as she posed in front of a soft white backdrop independently, checking the frame.

“beautiful, as always,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

jihyo’s stomach flipped and her heart skipped a beat.

she wanted to hold that moment in her hands, keep it, breathe it, live inside it.

but the moment shattered as miyeon stepped behind you.

“she is, isn’t she?” miyeon said, and jihyo swore her voice had its own echo. “it’s almost unfair.”

you laughed—god, again—and looked back at her.

“it is,” you agreed. “for me only though, because you’re both gorgeous. though, i have to give it to you both, it makes my job easy.”

miyeon was smiling like she already knew how this would go.

like she’d seen you from across the room and decided mine.

and you—

you were smiling back.

soft. open. like the world didn’t matter when miyeon was looking at you.

jihyo sat very still.

and when the time came, she smiled for the next shot, but her heart wasn’t in it.

and that night, when jihyo tried to sleep, she couldn’t—and it didn’t come as a surprise to her, the thought of you ran so vividly in her blood, her bones, her breath, that she couldn’t even question why all she could see was your smile—the one you gave to miyeon. all she could feel was the ghost of your fingers brushing hers over a lukewarm coffee that you had given to her when you noticed how exhausted she was, as if that was all she’d ever be allowed.

and for the rest of the night, jihyo lay awake in the dark, her chest tight with words she’d never say. and somewhere else, you were probably still wearing miyeon’s smile like a coat—warm and easy. not realising someone else was breaking beneath it.

⸻

the wrap party is louder than expected.

a rooftop bar in the middle of seoul, too many fairy lights strung across metal rails, the heaters glowing orange in the corners like soft-breathing animals.

music hums from somewhere below the conversation. someone’s brought champagne — the expensive kind, all bubbles and sharpness. jihyo swirls a glass she doesn’t want.

she doesn’t feel like celebrating.

you’re here. of course you’re here.

as per usual, you showed up a little late, makeup on point, the lengths of your hair curled as they say down your left shoulder and back, clad in a pair of black slacks, a—ridiculously, jihyo notes—tight corset and matching kitten heels.

jihyo noticed before you even stepped out of the elevator.

she was watching the door like it owed her something. like it would open and you’d walk in and say her name, and maybe—just maybe—this time she’d say something back.

but you didn’t say her name.

you said miyeon’s.

like you’d been waiting for her, not jihyo.

you looked so happy.

jihyo could see it from across the rooftop.

the way you waved when miyeon turned, her mouth already smiling.

the way you walked right up to her, close enough that your knees touched when you sat down together.

you handed miyeon her coat—that oversized, cashmere cream-coloured trench coat thing you’d borrowed at the studio hours ago. the one miyeon had given you when she noticed you were cold.

jihyo had noticed too.

but she was too slow.

too careful.

too scared.

so now you were wrapped up in miyeon’s warmth, and jihyo was stuck in the corner of the rooftop, clutching a drink she didn’t even like and pretending like she wasn’t on the verge of falling apart, getting lost in her self-wallowing and self-loathing until nayeon sidled up beside her with a pointed look.

“you’re gonna burn a hole through the back of her head,” she joked. “maybe just… say hi?”

jihyo didn’t move.

“you’re making it worse,” nayeon added, quieter now, seriousness coating her voice. “for yourself, i mean.”

jihyo’s voice was low. “she likes her.”

nayeon blinked. “you don’t know that.”

“look at them.” jihyo’s jaw clenched before she forced herself to gulp down the rest of her—wretched—drink. “she’s smiling like she’s already fallen.”

“you smile like that too. just never when she’s looking.”

jihyo flinched, her gaze moving to nayeon’s as a weak attempt to figure it out. figure what out, she doesn’t exactly know.

but what she does know, is that if she doesn’t try, she’ll lose automatically.

nayeon squeezed her arm once and walked away.

but jihyo stayed in her corner for another ten minutes.

watched you tuck your hair behind your ear.

watched miyeon reach out and do it for you.

watched you lean into the touch.

something cracked in her chest.

she stood and she moved, purpose in every step.

“can i steal her for a sec?”

her voice came out rougher than she meant.

you looked up at her, surprised. “me?”

miyeon raised an eyebrow, amusement curling at her lips. “all yours.”

jihyo didn’t wait.

she took your hand.

held it too tight.

led you toward the stairwell without saying a word.

you didn’t resist. you didn’t ask.

but she could feel the tension in your fingers—slight, questioning.

her breath was ragged. her heart was loud. yet, somehow, her grip on your hand was even louder—a declaration of something almost.

⸻

the stairwell was dim and empty, the sound of the party muffled by thick concrete walls.

a soft red glow from the exit sign lit your profile as you turned toward her.

“jihyo… what is this?”

jihyo didn’t answer at first.

she stared at you — your flushed cheeks, your messy hair, your mouth still pink from the wine you barely finished.

her chest hurt.

“what are you doing with her?”

you blinked. “miyeon?”

“yes.”

sharp. louder than she meant.

“you’ve been with her all night. laughing. touching.”

“so?”

jihyo’s hands curled into fists.

“her coat was literally wrapped around your shoulders as you entered.”

you looked down, then back up, frowning. “i was cold. she offered.”

“i would’ve offered.” jihyo’s voice cracked. “i always would.”

you went quiet.

“you smiled at her like she — like you meant it,” jihyo whispered. “and i can’t—” she cut herself off, stepping back. “i can’t watch you fall for her.”

“jihyo—”

“i’ve been in love with you for months.”

the words spilled out like blood.

quiet, but thick. painful.

you froze.

jihyo’s chest was heaving now. “and i never said anything because i thought maybe… maybe you were happier not knowing. but now you’re here and she’s here and you’re—”

“wait.” your voice stopped her. “you’re in love with me?”

jihyo looked down. “yeah.”

your face softened. then, a soft “why didn’t you tell me?” slipped from your lips.

“because i didn’t want to lose this. lose you.” she swallowed. “because i thought if i could just keep being near you, it would be enough. but it’s not.”

you were quiet for a long moment.

then you took a step closer.

“you know miyeon was flirting with me all day, right?”

“yeah.” jihyo’s voice was barely a breath.

“and you think i flirt back with just anyone?”

jihyo met your eyes. “you laughed. you touched her arm. you—”

“i do that with you, jihyo.”

“not like that.”

“exactly, not like that.” you took her hand, gently this time. “i just… you never said anything. you never looked at me like you wanted me to know.”

“i was scared.”

“so was i.”

you were still holding her hand.

soft, warm, steady now.

“you could’ve said something,” you whispered.

jihyo finally looked at you. “i’m saying it now.”

you smiled. small. real.

then leaned forward and pressed your lipsto hers.

and for the first time in months, jihyo breathed.

⸻

jihyo’s apartment is quiet.

the kind of quiet that isn’t lonely, just still—like the air is waiting for something.

you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her coffee table, editing photos on your laptop, your hair pulled up into a loose bun that’s already falling apart. jihyo’s watching you from the couch, curled up with a blanket and a cup of green tea she hasn’t touched in twenty minutes.

she should be doing something. texting the girls back. reviewing the next schedule. getting up and helping you choose the final images for the magazine.

but instead, she watches the slope of your neck as you tilt forward, the little crease between your eyebrows as you adjust the brightness on a shot. the way your foot bounces slightly when you’re deep in thought.

you’re in her space like you’ve always belonged there.

like this isn’t new.

but it is.

it’s so new.

“you’re staring,” you murmur, not looking up.

jihyo’s cheeks flush. “no, i’m not.”

you glance back, grinning. “you are. don’t worry, though, i like it.”

jihyo presses her face into the blanket to hide the smile she can’t stop.

“i’m serious,” you add, this time softer. “i’ve been waiting a long time to be looked at like that by you.”

jihyo’s smile fades slightly, not out of sadness—just quiet disbelief.

“me too,” she says, barely a whisper.

you close your laptop. shift onto your knees. crawl to the edge of the couch until your chin rests on her thigh.

jihyo looks down at you. you’re close enough to kiss. close enough to feel her heartbeat pick up beneath the blanket.

“may i?” you ask, eyes flickering to her lips.

jihyo nods.

and it’s not your first kiss, technically—there was one in the stairwell, messy and rushed and desperate—but this one is different.

this one is slow.

certain.

this one tastes like green tea and new beginnings.

⸻

jihyo’s half-asleep in your bed.

your apartment’s colder than hers, and she should be annoyed about it, but you’ve tucked her in under two blankets and keep pressing kisses to her shoulder like it’s the only thing keeping you warm.

she’s lying on her side, facing the wall, while you’re curled up behind her, arm slung over her waist. she can feel your fingers pressing gently into the edge of her hip.

“you asleep?” you mumble, voice muffled against her hair.

“no.”

“thinking about miyeon again?”

jihyo stills.

“no. not really.”

“liar,” you tease, but it’s gentle. “you know you don’t have to compete with her, right?”

jihyo could see the lightness in your voice leave and be replaced by something more serious.

“i know,” jihyo sighs. “but, it’s not about her anymore.”

you shift slightly. “then what is it?”

jihyo doesn’t answer right away. your hand finds hers beneath the blanket, and you squeeze once, grounding her.

“i think i’m still scared,” she admits. “that one day this will stop feeling real. like i’m going to wake up and you’ll be someone else again.”

you press your lips to her shoulder. “i won’t be.”

“how do you know?”

“because i’ve loved you for a long time, jihyo. and i’m not going anywhere.

jihyo finally turns to face you, burying herself in your chest, and you wrap around her like a coat, like a home.

⸻

jihyo’s in the chair, again, but for a different shoot for a different magazine in a different city, surrounded by the low hum of stylists, the scent of hairspray thick in the air. the set is slick, glossy — black flooring, bright lights, chrome accents that catch the flash like diamonds. today’s concept is bold, striking, unapologetically seductive. black leather, smoky liner, crimson lips that look like they’d stain your mouth for hours.

her hair’s slicked back, still damp from the gel, a single strand curling rebelliously near her temple.

she’s calm. poised.

but you’re still you, behind the camera, and she’s still pretending not to watch that look on your face like you’re deciding about whether to tear someone apart or dissect them in order to capture every delicate piece of them. she’s still pretending not to watch the way you squint through the lens like you’re trying to see the soul of the person on the other side.

today’s concept is bold, edgy, high fashion—black leather, red lips, wet-look hair slicked back.

you don’t say anything at first. just tilt your head, squinting slightly as you scan her from head to toe and back up again, meeting her eyes.

jihyo holds your gaze, steady and unreadable, but her fingers clench very subtly around the edge of the makeup chair.

jihyo looks dangerous.

but you look at her like she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“you ready?” you ask, voice soft but lined with something that makes her stomach twist.

she nods, wordless before internally telling herself it’s the heat from the lights making her skin warm.

on set, you’re all business—or you try to be. you call out directions, adjust her pose with a light touch to her shoulder or a quick brush of her wrist. each contact is brief, casual, professional on the surface. but jihyo feels every one like a spark down her spine.

you lower the camera after a particularly intense shot—her gaze angled down, lips parted, fingers curled into the waistband of her leather pants. your eyes linger longer than they probably should.

“jesus, jihyo,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.

she hears it anyway.

“what?” she asks, feigning innocence, tilting her head like a challenge—but her voice has a hitch in it now, just enough to give her away.

you step closer, holding out a small fan and a cold bottle of water. “you’re glowing,pretty girl,” you say. “thought i’d help cool you down.”

she takes the bottle, but your fingers graze hers ever so slightly and her grip falters, just slightly.

you brush a damp strand of hair from her forehead, deliberately slow. her breath catches.

“you good?” you ask, quieter this time, like it’s just the two of you on set.

jihyo tries to recover with a smirk. “are you?”

you nod, eyes still on her mouth. “trying to keep it professional.”

“you’re doing a bad job,” she says, meaning for it to be teasing—but it comes out softer than she expects.

you lean in, pretending to adjust her earring, your lips dangerously close to her cheek.

“want me to do a worse one?”

this time, she can’t quite hide the shiver.

“stop,” she whispers, eyes flicking toward the stylists across the room, then back to you.

“say please.”

your voice is velvet now, and jihyo’s breath catches again — not because she’s shocked, but because she wants to say it. wants to let the word slip out of her mouth like smoke.

and she does.

barely audible, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “please.”

you freeze, just for a second. then pull back, trying—failing—to hide the flush rising to your cheeks.

“we’re definitely finishing this shoot fast,” you mutter.

jihyo’s hands are shaking slightly as she smooths down her jacket.

her cheeks hurt from smiling the rest of the day. not because she’s amused—but because every time she looks at you, she remembers what she said, and how easily you made her say it.

⸻

the door shuts behind you with a soft click, and the silence that follows feels loaded. thick with everything you didn’t say on set.

jihyo walks ahead, barefoot, makeup still half-intact—smudged liner, lips tinted but fading. the leather jacket is still on her, unzipped now, framing the curve of her chest, the lines of her body. she’s tugging at the sleeves absentmindedly, as if trying to distract herself.

you trail behind, watching the way her hips sway with each step. it’s quieter here, but your presence is louder somehow.

“you’ve been staring all day,” she says, voice light but strained.

you don’t answer at first. just set your camera down gently on the kitchen counter, like it’s sacred. then you walk toward her—slow, measured—until she’s backed up against the edge of the couch.

“you wore that outfit like you knew exactly what you were doing,” you say.

jihyo swallows, eyes flicking to your mouth and back up. “it was the concept.”

“mm,” you hum, closing the last inch between you. “was it the concept when you whispered please into my ear?”

she tenses—not pulling away, just stilling entirely, like she’s not sure whether to hold her breath or exhale it.

“i—” she starts, then laughs under it. “i was playing along.”

“were you, pretty girl?” your voice is barely above a whisper now, but it curls around her like smoke. “you sure didn’t sound like you were pretending.”

her cheeks are red now, bright and blooming—and she tells herself it’s because of the compliment—and when your fingers lift to brush a strand of hair from her face, she doesn’t move. doesn’t blink, but her breath hitches.

“tell me to stop,” you murmur, hand sliding along her jaw. “and i will.”

jihyo’s lips part. but no words come.

not stop. not even please this time.

she just leans in—not quite touching, just close enough to let you feel the heat radiating off her skin and a small gasp leaves her pretty lips when your hands grip her waist with just enough pressure for her skin to squeeze under your fingers.

you close the distance.

and she melts.

one of her hands go to the back of your nape, pulling you closer like gravity’s been waiting all day to win whilst the other tangles in your hair. her breath is shallow, her head tilting as your mouth brushes hers—once, twice, before finally giving in.

you kiss her like you’ve been holding back for weeks—because you have.

and jihyo—for all her confidence, for all her teasing earlier—trembles in your palms.

not from fear.

but from pleasure.

from finally letting go.

you kiss her slow at first—like you’re still giving her time to change her mind. but jihyo’s not thinking about stopping. not when your hands are on her waist, not when you pull her flush against you, not when your mouth opens just enough to drag a quiet, breathless sound from the back of her throat.

she’s already breathless, already warm all over, and you haven’t even done anything yet.

“bed?” you murmur against her lips.

“yeah,” she breathes, but she doesn’t move. just looks up at you like she’s dazed. like she’s forgotten where the bedroom even is.

you smile—soft, crooked, smug—and take her hand, guiding her gently but firmly. every step is slow, her heartbeat echoing in her ears louder than your footsteps, louder than her thoughts.

you stop her just inside the doorway. your fingers find the zipper on her jacket, slow and deliberate, the sound loud in the quiet room. you tug it down inch by inch, eyes never leaving hers.

“take it off,” you say, voice low, calm—like it’s nothing, like it’s everything.

she shrugs it off her shoulders, the leather sliding down her arms like a second skin. you take it from her, toss it somewhere behind you without looking. her tank top underneath clings to her, thin and stretched, a little sheer from the heat of the lights earlier.

your fingers trace the edge of the neckline—just barely. her breath catches.

“still playing along?” you ask.

jihyo tries to roll her eyes, but she can’t keep the expression. not when you’re looking at her like that. not when your hand is brushing her collarbone like it’s a promise.

“i don’t know,” she says softly. “am i?”

you lean in, kissing just beneath her jaw, and feel her whole body lean into you.

“you tell me.”

your hands are under her shirt before she can answer—palms sliding over warm skin, slow enough to make her shiver. she gasps quietly when your thumbs brush just under her ribs, her stomach jumping under your touch.

her fingers are back in your hair now, tugging, anchoring. not guiding you away—pulling you closer.

you lift the shirt slowly, watching her as you do. she raises her arms without a word, biting her lip as you drag the fabric over her head, exposing inch after inch of her. you drop it next to the jacket and step back just enough to look.

and you look. you stare. you admire.

like she’s art. like she’s untouchable. like you still can’t believe she’s standing in front of you like this, flushed and breathing hard, already a little wrecked.

“you’re not helping,” she whispers, arms crossing over her chest—but not to cover herself. to hold still. to stop the way her body keeps reacting to you.

you smile again—lazy, teasing. “helping what?”

“me. staying in control.”

you laugh, soft and warm, brushing a kiss over her shoulder. “oh, sweetheart,” you whisper, lips trailing lower. “you lost that the second you said please.”

jihyo moans—quiet, barely there—but her hips roll forward just slightly, like her body’s answering before her mind catches up.

you back her toward the bed slowly, kissing her down onto it, your hands always touching—waist, hip, thigh, the soft curve of her side. she’s pliant now, responsive, letting out these sweet, involuntary sounds every time you press your mouth somewhere new.

you reach behind her, unfastening her bra with ease. she gasps when you slide the straps down her arms, kissing the tops of her shoulders while you do.

then she’s bare to you. and she looks up at you like she wants to say something clever—something flirty, teasing, sharp—but all that comes out is a soft, trembling breath.

your hands find her thighs, spreading them apart as you settle between them. her pants are still on, leather stretched tight, and the sight of her like this—half-undressed, chest rising and falling, eyes glassy and desperate—makes your pulse stutter.

“you’ve been acting all cool all day,” you murmur as you lean down, pressing kisses to her stomach, lower. “but look at you now.”

jihyo squirms under you, her voice a whisper. “you’re not fair.”

you smile against her skin. “no,” you agree. “i’m not.”

your hands move to her waistband, thumbs slipping beneath it. she lifts her hips wordlessly, letting you strip her slow. her underwear goes with it, leaving her completely bare beneath you.

you take your time. you make her wait. you kiss the inside of her thighs until she’s trembling, your name falling from her lips like prayer.

and still—she’s flustered. falling. undone.

you look up at her, eyes dark, breath steady.

“say please again.”

she does.

but this time, it’s a whisper that sounds like surrender.

you hover there, lips just grazing the inside of her thigh, and jihyo’s already trembling—hips twitching ever so slightly, seeking friction you keep just out of reach. it makes you smile against her skin, slow and indulgent.

“so eager,” you murmur, voice thick with something wicked and warm. your fingers trail up the outside of her leg, featherlight, and jihyo lets out a soft whimper.

“not fair,” she breathes again, barely able to meet your eyes.

“no, baby,” you reply, kissing the spot just above her knee. “what’s unfair is how good you look like this. all spread out and desperate. like you were made to be touched—slowly. properly. adored.”

she shivers at that—actually shivers. because there’s something in the way you say it, like it’s not just lust, but something deeper, something ancient, something sacred. like she’s holy and you’re the only one allowed to worship at her altar.

you let your hands explore—every inch, every curve. you touch her like you’ve been dying to, like you’ve imagined this in your sleep, mapped her body in your dreams. one hand cradles her thigh, the other brushes soft and reverent up her side, fingers skimming the underside of her breast just to feel her gasp.

“do you know,” you say softly, lips ghosting over her hipbone, “how long i’ve wanted to see you like this?”

jihyo’s voice catches. “then why are you—”

“teasing you?” you interrupt, grinning against her stomach. “because you’re so damn pretty when you beg. and, hyo, you deserve to be unraveled slowly, to be worshipped.”

her breath is shaky, her fingers curling into the sheets as your lips drag lower again, this time stopping just above where she needs you most. you exhale there—warm and close—and her whole body jumps.

“please,” she whispers, voice wrecked and trembling.

“there it is again,” you whisper, kissing just beside her folds. “say it one more time, sweetheart.”

“please,” she says, eyes squeezed shut. “please, i need—”

you don’t let her finish. not with words.

you lick a slow, deliberate stripe up her, the sound of it almost obscene in the quiet room. jihyo arches, a choked cry escaping her lips, and your hands hold her down gently—firm enough to ground her, soft enough to feel like devotion.

you move slowly at first—languid strokes of your tongue, mouth open and worshipping. like every inch of her is worth savoring. like you’re learning her, piece by piece, and committing it to memory.

“so sweet,” you murmur between licks, the vibration of your voice making her hips buck. “can’t believe i get to have this. get to taste you. make you come undone.”

jihyo’s already close—her body trembling, fingers twisting in the sheets, lips parted in these quiet, desperate little moans she can’t control. you circle her clit with your tongue, slow and rhythmic, and when you slide two fingers into her—god, the way she gasps. it’s like music.

you curl them just right, dragging against that spot inside her, and her back arches off the bed.

“you’re doing so good,” you whisper against her, voice low and reverent. “so beautiful like this. let go for me, baby.”

she does—falls apart with a cry that’s half your name, half something holy. her body shakes through it, thighs trembling around your head, and you don’t stop. not until she’s gasping, twitching, too sensitive to take more.

you pull back slowly, kiss her thigh again, and then her stomach, and then crawl up over her, resting your weight gently on your forearms.

“you okay?” you ask softly, brushing damp hair from her forehead, kissing the corner of her mouth.

she nods, cheeks flushed, eyes dazed.

“more than okay.”

you smile, kiss her again, deeper this time.

“good,” you whisper. “because i’m not done with you yet.”

she tries to reply—some kind of teasing remark, some breathy quip about stamina or professionalism—but it dies in her throat the second your mouth finds her neck.

you’re not rushing. not anymore.

now you’re savouring.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” you murmur, lips brushing her pulse point like a secret. “you walk onto set, wearing that look like fire, like sin, and expect me to stay composed?”

jihyo lets out a soft, broken laugh, breath hitching when you drag your tongue lightly along her collarbone, kissing just below it. her fingers find your shoulders, nails digging in lightly like she’s trying to ground herself—like the sensation of your mouth is pulling her somewhere too high, too far.

you dip lower, licking a slow trail over the swell of her breast, not touching her where she wants it most—not yet. she arches, just slightly, silently asking. you look up at her with a soft smirk.

“you’re so needy tonight,” you tease gently, kissing just beside her pretty nipple, your voice hushed and reverent. “so beautiful like this—do you even realise what you look like right now?”

jihyo shakes her head, biting her lip. “no,” she breathes, pupils fully dilated.

“you look like a dream.”

you finally take her into your mouth then—slow, wet, worshipful. the way she moans under you, soft and unfiltered, makes your whole body ache. her hands tangle in your hair, not pulling—just holding. anchoring.

you kiss and suck and mouth at her until she’s breathless again, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. you give the same attention to her other breast, lavishing her like every part of her deserves time, patience, devotion.

“you’re glowing, jihyo,” you whisper against her skin. “like you’re made of something rare. something no one else gets to touch.”

she hides her face in your neck, overwhelmed and flushed and trembling with it all. “you’re gonna ruin me,” she whispers.

you smile against her skin, soft and almost sad. “good,” you say. “you’ve ruined me from the start.”

and then you’re sliding back down her body, mouth finding the inside of her thigh again, and she gasps—because she’s still sensitive, still shivering from the last orgasm, and your tongue is already making its way back between her legs.

“can you take it, sweetheart?” you ask, voice low and thick, thumb brushing lightly over her clit. “give me another?”

jihyo nods helplessly, lips parted, lashes fluttering. “yes—please, yes.”

and god, the way you go down on her again, slower this time, deliberate—it’s like you’re drinking from her, like it feeds something inside you. you moan softly into her, and the sound makes her legs shake.

her thighs close in around your head and you let them, burying yourself deeper, fingers curling inside her again, and she’s already close—body taut, eyes glazed, lips falling open with every soft, ruined moan.

“that’s it,” you whisper. “come for me again, baby. fall apart for me.”

she does. violently. beautifully. her whole body locking up, crying out your name with this raw, ragged edge that feels like it splits the air. her climax crashes over her like a wave and you don’t stop, licking her through it, worshipping her like you never want it to end.

when she finally collapses against the bed, breathless and wrecked, you kiss your way back up her body—soft and slow, lips against her skin like you’re thanking her for everything she gave you.

you settle beside her, pulling her into your arms. she buries her face into your neck, still trembling slightly, and you hold her there—safe, steady, yours.

“you okay?” you murmur, voice low.

she nods, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone. “yeah,” she whispers. “you… you’re insane.”

you smile, brushing her hair back gently.

“no. just in love.”

⸻

the room is quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city outside the window and the slow, steady rhythm of jihyo’s breathing against your skin. she’s still curled into you, legs tangled with yours, fingers tracing aimless shapes on your chest like she can’t bear not to touch you, even in the calm.

you kiss her hair. she smells like your shampoo and something warm—something sweet and uniquely her. her cheek presses into your shoulder, and you feel her smile before she speaks.

“you meant that?” she murmurs, voice sleep-rough and barely above a whisper. “what you said. about being in love.”

you tilt her chin up gently, enough to meet her eyes in the low light.

“i’ve never said anything more honestly,” you say whilst your thumb brushes her cheek. “you’re it for me, jihyo. i look at you and see the rest of my life.”

her eyes go wide—soft and glassy and full of that quiet vulnerability she never lets anyone else see. not on stage. not in front of a camera. only here, only with you.

“you can’t say things like that right after you…” she trails off, cheeks flushing pink. “you’re not playing fair.”

you grin and kiss the corner of her mouth. “i’m not playing at all.”

she tries to look away, flustered again, but you catch her face and kiss her slow—nothing rushed this time, no teasing. just mouths pressed close, warm and lingering, like you’re pouring everything you feel into her lips.

she melts into it. sighs into it.

and then your hands are moving again, tracing down the line of her spine, resting at the curve of her waist. you don’t push. you just touch her like she’s art—like her body deserves reverence even when it’s not arching beneath you.

but jihyo’s hips shift slightly, and you feel it—that spark catching again. it’s not just exhaustion now. it’s hunger in a new form. a deeper kind.

she presses her lips to your jaw, slow kisses trailing down your neck.

“still trying to keep it professional?” she whispers, words teasing, but her voice is softer now, almost shy.

you chuckle low, breath catching as her thigh slides between yours.

“pretty girl,” you murmur, flipping her onto her back again with the gentlest ease, hovering above her, “there’s nothing professional about the way i’m about to touch you.”

she shivers.

you take your time. no teasing now—just worship.

your fingers trail down her body, gliding over skin still damp with sweat, down the soft slope of her stomach, until you reach her again. she gasps—sensitive, but eager.

“just one more,” you whisper against her mouth, lips brushing hers. “i need to feel you fall apart again. for me.”

jihyo bites her lip and nods, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers begin to move—slow, deep, curling just right. your thumb strokes her clit with maddening care, and her whole body arches like you’ve lit a fuse under her skin.

you watch her—not her pretty pussy, you watch her pretty face— like she’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. every reaction, every tremble, every soft, high moan and every breathy gasp—you drink it in like prayer.

you kiss her as she comes, swallowing the cry that breaks from her throat, holding her like she’s something sacred unraveling in your arms.

and when she collapses again, wrecked and glowing, you don’t let her go.

you just kiss her forehead, gather her close, and let the world fade.

“mine,” you whisper into her hair, voice thick with devotion.

she hums, barely conscious, but the smile on her lips says everything.

“yours,” she breathes.

⸻

the light is soft when it spills into the room—pale and gold, like it’s tiptoeing through the curtains, not wanting to wake you too abruptly. it stretches across the floor, climbs the sheets, and finally lands on her face. jihyo stirs, lashes fluttering before her eyes open slowly.

your arm is still around her. your hand, big and warm, rests low on her bare back, fingers splayed like you’re still afraid she might slip away if you don’t hold her just right. her body fits against yours so perfectly, like you were carved to fit together.

she blinks up at you, and there it is again—that quiet awe in her gaze, like she’s still not used to waking up next to you. like she’s not entirely sure she’s allowed to have this.

“hi,” she whispers, voice rasped and husky from sleep.

you brush her hair back gently, fingers trailing behind her ear.

“hi,” you murmur back, your voice deeper in the morning, lazy with warmth. “sleep okay?”

jihyo nods, cheeks already tinged with pink as she remembers the night before.

you lean in and kiss her forehead. “you looked like you were dreaming.”

she swallows. “i was.”

“good or bad?”

her fingers curl lightly into your chest, and she mumbles, “embarrassing.”

you grin. “was i in it?”

a groan. she hides her face in your neck. “you always ask that.”

“because it’s always yes.”

she whines softly, and you feel her smile against your skin. “you were being mean again.”

youtilt her face up with a single finger beneath her chin. “mean how?”

“teasing.”

“mm.” you hum, letting your thumb trail along her jaw, your eyes fixed on her swollen lips. “i do love when you get all flustered, baby.”

jihyo buries her face in your pillow, groaning again. “stop.”

you roll her gently onto her back, moving slow, deliberate. not to trap—just to linger. to look. the sheet slides low on her chest, and your eyes follow it, lingering on the curve of her collarbone, the soft rise and fall of her breath.

“why would i stop,” you whisper, “when you look like this in the morning?”

she makes a sound—half protest, half helpless sigh.

you kiss her neck, lips dragging down slowly, tasting her skin like it’s the first time again. your hand slides over her stomach, then lower, fingertips grazing her thigh.

“you gonna be good for me this morning?” you murmur, voice rough and low against her skin.

her breath catches. her body already starts to shift beneath you, like it’s remembering the rhythm you set last night. her legs part just slightly.

“i’m always good for you,” she whispers.

you smile, wicked and reverent all at once.

“that’s my girl.”

then you sink between her thighs and make her prove it.

and she does.

⸻

she’s still catching her breath when she climbs over you—hair tousled, flushed all the way down her chest, that quiet storm in her eyes smoldering like it never left. the sheet slips down her back as she moves, baring the soft line of her spine, the curve of her waist as she straddles your hips and settles against you like she belongs there.

and god, she does.

your hands instinctively rise to her thighs, thumbs brushing the insides like you’re praying with your fingers. she leans forward, hands cupping your breasts, weight sinking into you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“you’re staring,” she says softly, lips already curling into a shy smile.

“of course i am,” you state, voice thick, low. “look at you.”

her blush deepens, but she doesn’t look away—doesn’t shy from it. she holds your gaze now, that quiet confidence starting to burn slow beneath her skin. she leans down and kisses you, soft at first, just the plush press of lips, then deeper, darker, her tongue brushing yours in a way that makes your fingers tighten around her hips.

“want you again,” she breathes, barely audible.

“take what you want, baby.”

her breath stutters a little—just a little—as she shifts her hips, slow and searching. your hands slide up her waist, worshipful, reverent, like you’re touching something holy. when she sinks down onto your strap, it’s with a sigh that curls in your chest and spreads like wildfire.

jihyo moves slow at first—like she’s still savouring it, still tasting the high from last night. her hands trace over your shoulders, down your chest, nails dragging softly as she rolls her hips with that natural, unhurried rhythm that makes your head fall back into the pillow.

you can’t take your eyes off her. the way she bites her bottom lip. the way her brows draw together when she makes you hit that perfect spot inside her. the way her body pulses around you like she’s built for this—for you.

“you feel so good,” she murmurs, voice breathy, eyes half-lidded as she watches you come undone beneath her. “so full…”

you groan, hands slipping to her waist to guide her pace, even though she doesn’t need it—she knows what she’s doing. knows exactly how to drive you insane. and it’s not just the way she moves—it’s how she looks at you. like she’s never wanted anything more. like every part of you is something to be studied and adored and ruined all at once.

“jihyo,” you whisper, voice wrecked. “fuck. you’re unreal.”

her hips falter slightly at the way you say her name—like a prayer, like a promise. her breath hitches, and you feel her clench around you, her body responding to every word, every moan, every praise you press into her skin.

“you’re so good for me,” you murmur, sitting up so your chest is flush against hers, lips brushing her ear. “so fucking perfect like this.”

she whimpers, arms wrapping around your neck, and she starts to lose rhythm—grinding now instead of rolling, chasing the heat pooling deep in her belly, the tension winding tight inside her.

you kiss her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone—every part of her you can reach while she trembles in your arms.

“you gonna come for me, baby?” you ask, your voice nothing but honey and gravel. “wanna feel you—need to feel you.”

her answer is a breathless moan, her body giving in. and when she does fall apart, it’s with a gasp into your mouth, her walls fluttering around you as she clings to you like it’s the only way to stay grounded.

you hold her through it, lips on her temple, hands stroking down her back, whispering her name like it’s sacred.

and when her breathing slows, when she melts against you—bare skin warm and soft—you just hold her close, pressing your forehead to hers.

“still want more,” she whispers, voice cracked and sweet.

you smile.

“then we don’t stop.”

⸻

her thighs are still trembling when she collapses against you—soft, warm, spent. her forehead finds the crook of your neck, skin damp, breath shaky. you’re both slick with sweat and heat and something sweeter, but you don’t move to pull away, not yet.

your strap is still inside her, just barely, your hands smoothing up and down her back like you’re grounding her—like she might float off if you stop touching her for even a second.

“you okay?” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple.

jihyo hums a quiet yes, but there’s a breathlessness to it, her body still humming with the aftershocks. her arms tighten around your shoulders like she needs to feel you beneath her—solid, steady, hers.

you shift slightly, just enough to guide her gently off of you, helping her settle into the mattress beside you. she winces a little, and you’re instantly softer, hands brushing her hair back, fingers gentle at her waist.

“too much?” you ask, thumb stroking the edge of her jaw.

she shakes her head quickly, cheeks flushed. “just… sore.”

you smile, and it’s nothing teasing—just full of warmth, of pride, of worship, of love.

“you were incredible,” you whisper, voice filled with admiration. “so beautiful.”

her eyes flick up to meet yours, something shy blooming in them despite everything you’ve just done. you reach for the blanket and pull it over both of you, then slide your arm around her shoulders, tugging her in close.

for a moment, there’s nothing but silence. the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing. the way she traces circles on your chest, her fingers absentminded, like they can’t stop touching you. your hand finds her hip, anchoring her, thumb sweeping over skin still warm from the fire of before.

you press a kiss to her hair. “do you want some water? food?”

she shakes her head, then nods. “maybe water. but not yet. just… stay like this?”

you pull her closer.

“always, jihyo.”

and in the quiet that follows—bodies tangled, hearts beating in sync—you hold her like she’s the most precious thing you’ve ever been allowed to touch. because she is.

⸻

you wake before her.

it’s the light that gets you first—soft and golden through the sheer curtains, casting long, slow shadows across the bedsheets. the city hums faintly in the distance, muffled by the rain, but here in your shared little cocoon, it’s nothing but warm skin and quiet breaths.

jihyo’s draped over you like gravity itself decided she belonged nowhere else. her cheek is pressed to your chest, lips parted slightly, lashes casting tiny fans across her cheeks. your arm is around her, hand splayed between her shoulder blades, fingers tracing idle, featherlight circles against her bare back.

she looks so peaceful like this—so young, almost. not the same woman who commands every camera lens and room she walks into. not the same girl who throws teasing smirks your way on set. this version of her is softer. slower. yours.

you don’t dare move much, just tilt your head enough to press your lips to her hair, breathing her in. it’s the scent of her shampoo—floral and faintly sweet—but also something underneath that you’ve come to know instinctively as her.

after a moment, she stirs, body shifting slightly against you. one leg hooks around yours beneath the covers, anchoring herself even closer. her fingers flex against your ribs, and then you feel her sigh, a soft little sound, like the world’s too bright but she doesn’t want to leave the warmth of you just yet.

“morning,” she murmurs, voice still rough with sleep.

you smile, and it moves through your whole body. “morning.”

she doesn’t lift her head, just shifts enough to nestle in tighter. “what time is it?”

“too early to care.”

you feel the curve of her smile against your skin.

you keep playing with her hair, brushing it back from her face, letting your fingertips trail along her scalp, down to the nape of her neck. she hums—soft and pleased, the kind of sound that makes your chest ache a little in the best way.

“you’re warm,” she says, almost accusingly.

“you’re clingy,” you reply, grinning.

she lifts her head finally, just to glare at you, hair messy and falling into her face. her cheeks are slightly flushed, one side of her face crinkled with sleep lines. you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“you make it impossible to get out of bed,” she mutters.

you reach up, brush a thumb along her jaw. “so don’t.”

she gives you a look, but it doesn’t land. her lips are already softening again. “we have things to do.”

“like what?”

“laundry. groceries. being functional adults.”

you pretend to think. “we could also just kiss until noon and order pancakes to the door.”

she raises an eyebrow. “are you trying to bribe me?”

“is it working?”

jihyo leans down, slow and warm, her lips brushing yours. she kisses you once. twice. lingers on the third.

“yeah,” she whispers against your mouth. “it’s working.”

you don’t leave the bed until nearly one.

⸻

the rain follows you both from the apartment to the little market a few blocks down, your shared umbrella barely big enough to keep you dry. jihyo holds onto your arm the whole way there, tucked in close under the navy canopy, her hood up, hair still damp around the edges from where the wind caught her.

inside, the store is warm, quiet, and softly lit—miles away from the sterile brightness of big chains. there’s a bell above the door that jingles as you step inside, and the scent of fresh bread and ripe fruit fills the air.

you grab a basket; jihyo snatches it from your hand.

“i’ll be in charge,” she says, smug.

“of the basket?” you ask. “wow. such power.”

“you mock me now,” she warns, “but let’s see how you feel when i pick the wrong oat milk on purpose.”

you gasp, clutching your imaginary pearls. “you wouldn’t dare.”

“i would,” she sings, already making her way toward the produce aisle.

you follow her like you always do, watching the way her ponytail sways as she walks, her oversized hoodie almost swallowing her frame. she’s dressed so casually it’s criminal—no makeup, leggings, sneakers—but she still draws a few lingering looks from passersby. you can’t blame them. she glows, even under flickering grocery store lights.

jihyo reached for a bunch of bananas and inspects them like she’s about to sign a million-dollar contract. “too green.”

you lean close. “too green for now. we could wait. let them ripen together. it’s a metaphor for us.”

she snorts, shoving your shoulder gently. “you’re insufferable.”

“you love me.”

she doesn’t answer right away, just picks the bananas anyway and drops them in the basket with a little roll of her eyes. but you catch the way her lips twitch, barely holding back a smile.

next is snacks. she’s meticulous—comparing labels, turning bags over, standing on her tiptoes to grab something from the top shelf. you don’t even try to help at first, just stand behind her and enjoy the view.

“stop looking at my ass,” she says, without turning.

“i’m literally behind you. it’s in my line of sight.”

“pervert.”

“your pervert.”

she shoots you a glance over her shoulder, cheeks a little pink, biting the inside of her cheek like she’s trying not to grin. “you’re impossible.”

“but cute,” you offer.

she shakes her head but doesn’t deny it before going back to struggling to reach whatever god forsaken thing she wants from the top shelf.

but standing tall (small) at 5’2, jihyo couldn’t quite reach it but she kept trying.

she sighs, frustration painting her features as she tries to adjust her stance, her small frame barely making a dent in this dilemma. it’s a sight you’ve seen before—jihyo determined but helpless at the same time.

you watch her for a second, biting back a grin, knowing she’s probably too stubborn to admit she needs help. you could tease her, but instead, you take a step forward, the air between you charged with something you can’t quite name. standing behind her, you gently press your body against hers, just enough to make her aware of the closeness but not enough to overwhelm her. she doesn’t pull away, though—you can feel the shift in the space between you.

“need a hand, babe?” you murmur softly, voice low enough to make her shiver slightly.

“no, i got it,” she replies with a playful huff, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—something soft, but intense, as if she’s just waiting for you to get closer. the tension between you both grows, thick and unspoken, as you watch her struggle a little more.

with a soft chuckle, you reach over her shoulder, your arm brushing hers as you grab the jar with ease, pulling it down effortlessly. you hand it to her, your fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary, before letting go.

“there,” you say, your voice teasing. “told you i had it.”

jihyo takes the jar from you, but instead of pulling away, she stays close—too close, her back still pressed to your chest. you can feel her breath hitch slightly as she shifts, a tiny, barely noticeable tremor running through her. her hair brushes against your chin, and the scent of her shampoo fills your senses, making your pulse quicken.

she doesn’t move for a beat, just standing there, her body so close to yours that the heat between you two is unmistakable. she looks up at you, eyes dark and just a little bit mischievous. “you didn’t have to do that,” she murmurs, but there’s no real reprimand in her voice—only an invitation, a challenge.

you smile, leaning in just a fraction, your lips almost touching the side of her ear. “but i wanted to,” you whisper back, the words lingering in the air between you.

jihyo lets out a soft, almost inaudible laugh, the sound low and warm, before she turns around in your arms, her body brushing against you as she faces you fully. she’s looking up at you now, a little shy, but with that fire in her gaze that’s unmistakable. “well, if you’re going to be this close…”

you don’t let her finish. instead, you pull her in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s slow at first—teasing, just barely grazing the softness of her mouth. but it doesn’t stay that way for long. the moment her hands slide up to your chest, fingers tracing the fabric of your shirt, it deepens, the kiss turning urgent, as if you both need more than just a simple touch.

you guide her back against the shelves, her back pressing lightly against them as you kiss her deeper, her breath hitching when your hands slide to her waist, pulling her flush against you. she moans softly, the sound sending a wave of heat rushing through you.

the world outside the supermarket feels distant now, like nothing else matters except the two of you in this moment. her hands slide up to your shoulders, tugging you closer, the space between you nonexistent. you can feel her pulse beneath your fingertips, her heart racing as she kisses you harder, her body pressing into yours as if she’s desperate for more.

you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against hers as you both try to steady yourselves. “we’re in public,” you whisper, though your voice is rough, breathless.

jihyo smiles against your lips, her hands still on your chest as she pulls you back in for a quick kiss. “so what?” she murmurs, her voice a mixture of sweetness and daring. “who’s watching?”

you laugh softly, the sound more of a growl than anything else. “you’re insatiable.”

“you love it,” she teases, biting her bottom lip before trying to kiss you again but failing miserably as you start to walk to the next aisle—conscious of the fact you’re in public and anyone can recognise your girlfriend.

jihyo huffs and rolls her eyes before, walking rapidly so she can pass you and storm off playfully.

in the pasta aisle, you wrap your arms around her from behind while she compares jars of sauce, chin on her shoulder, swaying her gently side to side.

“you’re distracting,” she murmurs.

“am i?”

“you’re warm. and annoying. and distracting.”

you kiss just under her ear, soft. “you’re perfect.”

she goes still in your arms for a second, then sighs—long and dramatic. “you always do that.”

“what?”

“say sweet things when i’m trying to be annoyed.”

you smile into her neck. “you weren’t really annoyed.”

she sets the jar in the basket and turns in your arms. “maybe not. but i still need to focus. we forgot eggs last time.”

“you also forgot to kiss me in aisle five,” you tease.

jihyo blinks, then glances around—nobody nearby.

she rises on her toes and kisses you, quick but warm, fingers curling into your hoodie like she’s trying to remind herself you’re real.

“there. now stop being cute before i drag you into the cereal aisle and embarrass us both.”

you raise a brow. “wouldn’t be the first time.”

she flushes, cheeks pink as she storms off—again—toward the dairy section without another word. but you catch the little smile tugging at her lips.

you let her think she’s won this round.

but as she reaches for the oat milk—yes, the right one—you sneak up behind her again, hands slipping to her waist.

“aisle five’s still empty,” you whisper, and she squeaks, elbowing you lightly.

“you’re getting no snacks if you keep this up.”

“but i love snacks. and i love you.”

“and yet, you keep tempting fate.”

you grin, grabbing the oat milk from her and kissing her cheek before dropping it into the basket. “worth it.”

⸻

the air is buzzing with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. the room is alive with top celebrities, friends and familiar faces—twice members included—all gathered at the chic, dimly lit venue for a close-knit party thrown by nayeon. the vibe is laid-back yet upscale, like an intimate celebration but with enough sparkle to make it feel special.

you walk through the room, feeling the weight of eyes following your every movement. whether it’s the way your dress catches the light or just the natural magnetism you bring to a room, you can’t help but notice the attention. stares that linger for a moment too long as if trying to figure out who you are, or maybe just admiring the effortless way you carry yourself. some even seem to exchange words behind your back, whispering about how stunning you look tonight.

but you’re not interested in them.

your gaze is on one person, and one person only: jihyo.

from the moment you spot her, standing off to the side with a drink in hand, a small group of people around her but none daring to get too close, you feel a sudden shift. jihyo’s eyes flicker toward you, then quickly dart away, but not before you catch the way her fingers tighten around her glass, her posture stiffening just slightly.

you know her too well. she’s always been confident, sure of herself, but something about the way you’re being noticed tonight seems to have stirred up something else in her.

you approach her slowly, not rushing, just enjoying the way she tries to subtly glance in your direction without looking too obvious. you can feel the subtle tension between you both, like a thread stretched thin, ready to snap at any moment.

“hey,” you say casually, leaning in just a little closer than necessary as you stand beside her. the soft scent of her perfume immediately surrounds you, and you can’t help but inhale deeply.

jihyo shifts, almost uncomfortably, as she tries to hide the way her gaze flickers across the room, landing on a few people still eyeing you. her voice is low when she speaks, a hint of something that’s not quite irritation but definitely not amusement either. “you seem to be the center of attention tonight.”

you raise an eyebrow, teasing. “oh? don’t tell me you’re jealous, jihyo.”

she lets out a soft chuckle, though it sounds a little strained. “i’m not jealous,” she says too quickly, taking a sip of her drink, but you notice the way her eyes flicker to the people around you, just for a moment, before settling back on you. “i just think it’s funny how people can’t take their eyes off of you.”

you smirk, leaning a little closer. “funny, huh? i didn’t realise you cared so much.”

jihyo’s expression softens, her lips curling up slightly, but there’s an edge to it that’s almost teasing. “i don’t,” she mutters, though there’s a trace of uncertainty in her voice. she shifts, placing her drink down on a nearby table, clearly not comfortable with the way things are unfolding. but she’s too proud to admit she’s affected, and you can see it.

you can’t help but push a little further, your voice playful but laced with something a little more intimate. “i think you do,” you whisper, eyes glancing at her lips before meeting her gaze again.

jihyo’s breath catches, her lips parting ever so slightly as she looks at you. you can see her struggle to maintain her composure, but there’s no hiding the way her eyes darken, the subtle flare of emotion just beneath the surface. she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. instead, she steps a little closer, closing the gap between you, her body language speaking volumes about how badly she’s trying to fight the feeling of being possessive.

“you’re just… distracting,” she mutters, the words slipping out like an admission. “i can’t concentrate when you’re around.”

you smile at her, leaning in so close now that your lips are nearly brushing. “maybe that’s the point,” you murmur, before pulling back just enough to see her face flush, her chest rising and falling a little faster.

the tension in the air is thick now, almost unbearable. she glances around again, trying to avoid your gaze, but you can feel the energy shift. her jealousy is written all over her, but so is her desire—something you’ve never seen so clearly before.

“maybe we should find somewhere quieter,” you suggest, your voice smooth, like you’re offering a temptation you know she won’t be able to resist.

jihyo looks at you, hesitation flickering across her features for just a moment. then, as if she can’t help herself, she nods, her hand brushing against yours. “yeah,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “let’s go.”

you lead her toward a quieter part of the venue, feeling her fingers grip yours more firmly than before. the heat between you both is undeniable now, and as you walk, you can’t help but feel the pull of her—a force you can’t escape and, honestly, don’t want to. you both know what’s about to happen, but neither of you is willing to admit it just yet.

and before you make it out the venue, jihyo harshly tugs you back, pulling you in a way you spin to face her.

“hyo-“

her lips were pressed against yours, her hands coming to wrap around the back of your neck.

and as everything but jihyo begins to fade for you, it’s clear that the night is only just beginning.

⸻

the morning light filtered through the kitchen, casting a soft glow across the countertop. you stood at the stove, flipping pancakes while the smell of coffee wafted in from the other room. everything felt easy in this moment, and you couldn’t help but smile.

jihyo, wearing an oversized sweater, was standing beside you, leaning over the counter with a focus on the pancakes you were flipping. she was trying to help, but the way she kept peeking at your cooking technique made you laugh quietly to yourself.

“you know, you’re supposed to let them cook for a bit longer before flipping,” you said, teasing her as you flipped another pancake.

“i know, i know,” she said, glancing up at you with an exaggerated pout. “i’m just… practicing.”

you grinned, grabbing the spatula and flipping a pancake effortlessly. “well, looks like i’m the pancake master here.”

jihyo rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back her smile. “okay, fine. but only because you’re clearly so talented.”

“obviously,” you said with a dramatic nod, catching her eye. “the world just doesn’t appreciate my culinary skills enough.”

she laughed, the sound light and warm. “uh-huh, sure.”

you shifted closer to her, casually brushing your arm against hers. “so, you wanna help or just watch the master at work?”

“i’m just watching,” she replied, leaning back against the counter. “but, you know, i might be tempted to take over if you start burning anything.”

you shot her a playful look. “if i burn anything, i’ll blame it on you distracting me.”

“me?” she raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “i’m just standing here, minding my own business.”

you couldn’t help but smile at the playful banter. “well, your mere presence is enough to throw me off.”

she nudged you with her shoulder. “stop being cheesy.”

you held up your hands in mock defense. “i’m just trying to give you a compliment, but fine, i’ll keep it professional.”

“good idea,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips.

after a few more pancakes were flipped and plated, you started arranging the fruit and whipped cream on the counter. “alright, i’ll let you do the fruit,” you said, pushing the bowl of strawberries toward her. “you have the finesse for it.”

“finesse?” she repeated, laughing. “i think that’s a bit much for cutting strawberries.”

“hey, presentation matters,” you said, grinning. “gotta make sure everything looks as good as it tastes.”

jihyo shrugged, picking up the knife to slice the strawberries. “well, at least i know i can’t mess this up.”

you leaned against the counter, watching her with a smile. “there’s no way you could mess it up. you’re perfect.”

jihyo paused for a moment, glancing at you with a small blush on her cheeks. “you’re seriously impossible,” she muttered under her breath.

you laughed quietly, enjoying how easily you could fluster her. “i’m just speaking the truth,” you said with a playful wink.

she shook her head, focusing on the fruit. “if you keep distracting me, i might end up with a lot of extra whipped cream.”

“now that sounds like a plan,” you said, the teasing tone back in your voice. “extra whipped cream never hurt anyone.”

“right,” she said dryly, handing you the whipped cream can. “here, you take over the whipped cream. i’m not getting caught in your whipped cream conspiracy.”

“oh, come on,” you said, squirting a generous amount of whipped cream onto your pancakes. “you’re really going to turn down my signature move?”

jihyo laughed and leaned over to grab the syrup. “i’ll let you have this one. but just this one.”

youreached across the table and stole a quick kiss on her cheek. “deal.”

jihyo rolled her eyes, but her smile was wide. “i’ll never win, will i?”

“nope,” you said with a smirk, taking a bite of your pancake. “but you don’t seem to mind.”

she shrugged, finally sitting down across from you, still shaking her head. “guess not. i guess i’ve got you wrapped around my finger.”

“absolutely,” you agreed, grinning. “and you know what? i’m not complaining.”

jihyo smiled at you, her eyes softening. “me neither.”

you both sat there, finishing up your breakfast, laughing, teasing, and just enjoying each other’s company. it wasn’t fancy or grand, but in that moment, it felt like everything was exactly where it was meant to be.

⸻

jihyo steps inside your apartment after a long day, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders. she kicks off her shoes, sighing softly as she heads into the kitchen to grab a drink. the usual quiet hum of the apartment surrounds her, but something is different tonight.

as she passes the fridge, she stops, eyes narrowing in confusion.

the door is covered in photographs—photos of her, scattered across the surface like an impromptu collage. her heart skips a beat as she steps closer, hands instinctively reaching to touch the edge of the first photo.

the first one makes her smile; a candid shot of her mid-laugh, eyes crinkled just right from the joy she’s feeling, cheeks lifted in that bright, carefree joy, her lips curved into the kind of smile that could light up an entire room. she doesn’t even remember when it was taken, but the photo captures something so true, so real. it feels like a secret, a little treasure tucked away for no one else to see but her. she doesn’t even remember the moment, but she knows she was happy, so damn happy in that fleeting second, and she knows it was because of you.

she traces the next picture—her, eating ice cream on a summer day, her face is scrunched in a mix of concentration, anger and contentment, looking completely unaware of the camera. there’s something so sweet about the way she holds the cone, looking more like a child than the confident woman she usually presents to the world, as if the world could stop for just a moment, and nothing would matter except the simplicity of the moment. it’s intimate. it’s real. and somehow, seeing it framed like this makes her heart beat a little faster.

then, another one, where she’s frowning, brows furrowed in—what you find an adorable—pout, but it’s playful, a bit sassy even, and she knows exactly why it was taken. it’s her being herself, unbothered and real—beautiful in its imperfection, the rawness of the moment so perfectly her.

completely forgetting her need to quench her thirst, she steps forward, captivated by the sequence of photos, her fingers lightly brushing the prints as she moves. one of them catches her breath with how raw it is—a shot of her asleep on the couch. her hair is messy, mouth slightly open, body softly curved under a blanket, looking completely at peace, unguarded, vulnerable in a way only a few people get to see. it’s a side of her she rarely lets anyone witness, yet there it is—frozen in time, captured and preserved with such tenderness.

and another of her sitting on the kitchen counter in sweatpants, hoodie half falling off one shoulder, looking down at her phone, completely unaware of the camera. one sock half-hanging off her foot, she looks effortlessly perfect, in a way only she could. it’s a picture of her at her most vulnerable, yet also her most stunning in your eyes. it’s messy, unpolished, and so incredibly her. her gaze is focused on her phone, the soft curve of her lips relaxed, unaware of the camera.

the series of images is like a timeline of their shared moments—every side of her, every part of her she’s never thought to show anyone else. yet here they are, strung together, a beautiful mosaic of the woman she is when she’s with you.

jihyo steps closer, her heart suddenly full, warmth pooling in her chest as she studies each one, lingering on the small imperfections that make her whole. they’re like a snapshot of her life, every moment she’s ever shared with you, and each one feels like a private secret only the two of you know. but it’s the last photo that stops her cold. it’s one she hasn’t seen before—one of her sitting in the sun, eyes closed, a soft, slight smile on her lips as if she’s lost in a private moment. serene, peaceful, content, completely herself. it was intimate in a way the other photos weren’t—it felt like an invitation to something deeper, a glimpse into the side of her that only you know. she doesn’t remember this moment, but seeing it now, it feels like a secret only you two share.

beneath the last photo, there’s a note, written in your familiar handwriting, taped to the fridge with the same care you’ve put into hanging each photo.

you always say you don’t know what i see in you.

this is it.

every version.

every second.

i love all of them.

~ your girlfriend x

jihyo stares at the note, her throat tightening—in a good way— as the words settle into her chest, warm and overwhelming. she feels something stir inside her—a mix of tenderness and awe. she didn’t know how much she needed to hear those words until now, how much she needed to feel loved in the way only you can make her feel. raw. unfiltered. perfect in her imperfection.

her hands tremble slightly as she picks up her phone, her heart beating a little faster. with urgency, she types a quick message, her fingers moving almost too quickly.

hyo:

come home

now

i need to kiss you

she hits send, then stands there for a moment, her eyes lingering on the photos. they’re not just pictures anymore—they’re proof of something deeper. proof of love. of her. and of you.

and a few minutes later, the sound of the door opening from the hallway makes her heart race, and she doesn’t need to look up to know you’re home. but she does anyway, and when your eyes meet hers, there’s a quiet understanding between you. she’s never felt more wanted, more cherished.

you step toward her, and before either of you can say a word, she’s in your arms, kissing you with a kind of desperation she can’t hide, her fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer as though she needs you to breathe.

the world outside fades away as she holds you tighter, her body pressed against yours like it’s the only place she’s ever belonged.

every version of her. you see it now, in the way her lips fit against yours, in the way she looks at you like you’re everything, in the way she makes you feel.

and when she pulls back, her breath shaky but her eyes soft, she whispers against your lips.

“i love you.”

you smile, your forehead resting gently against hers.

“i love you too.”

⸻

very sorry for such little activity from me for the past week! my exams are soon so i have been busy revising. i was thinking about what the best way to apologise is and i quickly realised it was jihyo smut—hope you enjoyed!! thank you for reading x

[misanahrs]

everything i need — park jihyo.

now playing: she bad - jimmy brown.

synopsis - she was never on the schedule but jihyo watched, wanted, claimed. what started in whispers and hotel sheets turned into love too bold to hide. and you were sure—off-limits had never felt so good.

pairing: park jihyo x fem reader.

jihyo had noticed you from the first day of rehearsals.

you were new to the team—tasked with coordinating schedules and liaising with staff. clean clipboard, sharp eyes, a calm voice that barely lifted above a murmur. you moved through chaos like it didn’t touch you, all quiet efficiency and soft confidence.

she watched you from across the room as the others practised—watched the way you pressed your thumb to your lips when reading emails, the way you bit the inside of your cheek when deep in thought. subtle things—things that were easy to miss unless you were looking. and she was.

at first, she brushed it off as curiosity. harmless.

but curiosity grew teeth.

a week into tour, she found herself searching for your reflection in mirrors. catching glimpses of you at the side of the stage. she started noticing how you leaned in when someone spoke to you, how your perfume lingered in dressing rooms long after you left. warm. floral. skin and summer.

and the way you looked at her—brief, controlled, but not indifferent.

it made her wonder.

⸻

you’d been running on empty for days. the tour was a whirlwind of call times and missed meals, endless back-and-forths with venue staff. your brain was glued to logistics, not attraction—not the way jihyo’s gaze burned when it found you, not the way her voice dipped an octave when she said your name.

until tonight.

she’d caught you in the hallway after soundcheck, her voice low, asking if you could help her double-check the run list. you were already behind schedule, but you said yes.

of course you did.

⸻

the room she led you to wasn’t the stage office. it was smaller—storage, maybe. the lights flickered slightly overhead. boxes lined the walls. she stepped in first, turned, and waited.

you followed.

the moment the door clicked shut behind you, the air shifted.

“you always look so serious,” she said, her voice soft, almost amused. she stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “always moving. always thinking. do you ever just… stop?”

you blinked. “we’re on a tight schedule.”

she smiled at that—tilted her head. “funny. i don’t see this on the schedule.”

before you could answer, her hand was already reaching past you—clicking the door lock shut with a soft snick.

your breath hitched.

jihyo didn’t move away.

“do you know how distracting you are?” she asked, her voice low and thick, more breath than sound. “walking around with that mouth all pouty, always chewing your lip. acting like you don’t know.”

you swallowed, throat dry. “i wasn’t—”

her hand brushed your hip as she stepped closer, closing the space between you.

“you were,” she said, a smile curling her lips. “and now i can’t stop thinking about what else you do when no one’s watching.”

your back pressed gently into the shelf behind you. not hard. not rough. just inevitable.

her thigh slipped between yours, slow and sure. her palm rested flat against your waist. not demanding—just there. like she’d already decided you belonged under her touch.

“you don’t say much,” she murmured, eyes searching yours. “but i can tell. you feel it too, don’t you?”

you didn’t answer, but your breathing gave you away. shallow. shaky. her hand slid up, fingers tracing the line beneath your shirt, just above your waistband. heat bloomed low in your stomach.

“i think about you,” she whispered, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. “in hotel rooms. in dressing rooms. in bathrooms. every time you look at me like you’re trying not to.”

your hands found her waist without thinking. her skin was warm under the thin fabric of her tank top. her body fit perfectly between yours.

she tilted her head, lips barely brushing yours. “tell me to stop,” she said. “i will.”

you didn’t.

instead, you closed the distance.

the kiss started slow—searching. soft lips, curious mouths. but it deepened fast. her hands in your hair, your fingers sliding beneath the hem of her shirt. her thigh pressed higher, your body arching into her like it couldn’t help itself.

you gasped into her mouth when her hands gripped your hips and held you firm.

“you’ve been killing me,” she said against your skin, dragging her lips down your jaw, your neck. “every time you walk past like you don’t know how good you smell.”

her fingers brushed lower, skimming the edge of your trousers, teasing but not committing. she looked at you like she was waiting—for permission, for surrender, for that tiny moment where restraint would snap.

you gave it to her.

your hips tilted forward, just enough. silent consent. a quiet, desperate kind of yes.

her mouth returned to yours with more heat this time—hungry, focused. her teeth grazed your bottom lip and you gasped, your fingers tightening on her waist.

“that’s it,” she breathed, her hand slipping beneath the waistband now, warm fingers against bare skin. “so obedient. so good for me.”

your head tipped back as her touch deepened, gentle at first, just enough to make your knees tremble. her other hand held you steady, pressed you to the shelf like you belonged there—open, breathless, needy.

her name slipped past your lips in a whisper.

she smiled against your neck. “you sound better like this,” she said, voice low and sinful. “i knew you would.”

the cupboard was silent save for your breathing, the rustle of clothing, the soft, wet sounds of her fingers moving against you, in you. your hands clutched at her shoulders, your pulse thundering in your ears as she built you up with maddening

patience—circling, stroking, coaxing.

“you’re so warm, pretty girl,” she whispered, her lips at your collarbone, her breath hot and unsteady. “i could do this all night.”

your hips bucked against her hand, desperate and trembling, your moans growing louder until her lips returned to yours—swallowing the sounds like they were hers to keep.

she worked you with practised ease—faster now, firmer—until your entire body arched into her, a wave of pleasure crashing through you hard enough to make your eyes flutter shut.

your forehead dropped to her shoulder, your breath hot against her neck. she held you through it, didn’t rush, didn’t pull away. just traced soothing patterns on your back while her lips brushed your temple.

minutes passed. neither of you spoke.

then, softly, she said, “still not on the schedule.”

you let out a breathless laugh, your voice rough and spent. “might need to update it.”

she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. her smile was soft now, eyes still dark with want. “good. i’ve got a few things to add.”

⸻

the show ended in a blur of lights, sweat and adrenaline.

jihyo had been electric on stage—commanding the crowd like they were hers to toy with. but even under the glitter and chaos, she kept glancing at you. every now and then. never obvious. never too long. just enough to remind you where her mind was.

and you…you couldn’t think straight.

not with the memory of her mouth, her hands, her voice still on your skin. not when your body still thrummed with the echo of her touch.

⸻

later, in the quiet of her hotel suite, the air felt heavy with everything unspoken.

the door clicked shut behind you, and you stood there for a moment, unsure if you were supposed to act normal. but nothing about tonight had been normal.

jihyo was already peeling off her jacket, walking barefoot over the plush carpet. her hair was still damp from the post-show rinse, clinging to her collarbones.

“you’re not going to pretend that didn’t happen, are you?” she asked over her shoulder, soft but pointed.

“no,” you said, voice hoarse. “i couldn’t if i tried.”

she turned, looked at you. slowly. eyes dragging over your frame like she was remembering where she left you undone.

“good,” she said, stepping closer. “because i’ve been thinking about you all day.”

you swallowed hard. “same.”

“then come here.”

⸻

the kiss was slower this time.

less rushed, more reverent. her lips moved against yours with the kind of care that said i’m not done with you yet.

she led you gently towards the bed, fingers tangled with yours. no push, no urgency—just a quiet pull, a gravity you didn’t want to fight.

when you reached the mattress, she guided you down first. climbed in after, straddling your lap with practised ease, hands on either side of your face.

“you were so good earlier,” she murmured, nose brushing yours. “but i want more.”

her fingers slid beneath your shirt, palms gliding over bare skin. you arched into her touch like instinct.

“i want to take my time this time,” she said. “learn every part of you.”

and she did.

her hands were slow and intentional—undoing buttons one by one, dragging fabric over your body like it was a ritual. her mouth followed, lips brushing new places, tongue tracing heat across your stomach, your chest, the inside of your thigh.

she never rushed. never faltered. she touched you like a song—building, teasing, pulling you apart with a rhythm only she could hear.

when her mouth finally reached you, you were already trembling.

and when she moaned against your skin, soft and low, like you were the one unravelling her—you nearly came undone all over again.

after, she curled into your side, skin flushed and limbs tangled beneath the hotel sheets.

you lay there in the quiet, her fingers tracing lazy shapes along your ribs.

“definitely not on the schedule,” you whispered.

she laughed—soft and spent. “then we’ll write our own.”

⸻

the next day was chaos again.

the crew were prepping for a fan event, stylists were everywhere, and your phone hadn’t stopped buzzing since breakfast.

you barely had time to breathe, let alone think about last night—about the way jihyo touched you like she already knew your body better than you did. like she owned it.

but she hadn’t forgotten.

and she didn’t like what she saw.

he was just one of the stage techs. tall. friendly. harmless, really. you barely noticed how close he leaned in when he spoke, or the way his hand brushed your lower back as he pointed out something on your tablet.

but she noticed.

across the room, jihyo was mid-conversation when she clocked it. her jaw tightened. smile faltered.

she didn’t interrupt—she just watched. observed. and when your eyes finally met hers, the look she gave you made your stomach clench.

there was no mistaking the possessiveness, the jealousy.

⸻

jihyo found you later.

cornered you in an empty corridor behind the venue, the buzz of the event muffled by thick walls and distance.

“so you’re letting him touch you now?” she asked, stepping in close.

your back met the wall.

“he wasn’t—”

“don’t lie to me.”

her voice was low. not angry. not quite. but sharp with something hotter—jealousy laced with hunger.

“i’ve barely slept since i had you,” she whispered, pressing closer, her hand flat against the wall beside your head. “and you’re out there acting like anyone else can get that close to you?”

you breathed out, trying to keep your composure. “it didn’t mean anything. he didn’t mean anything.”

“but i do.”

her hand slid to your throat, gentle but firm—fingertips resting just beneath your jaw. her thumb stroked over your pulse, like she was claiming it.

“do you know what it does to me?” she asked, voice darker now, lips brushing your cheek. “watching you act all sweet and polite when this,—” her other hand dipped low, grabbing your hip, pulling you flush against her “—belongs to me. you belong to me.”

your breath hitched.

“say it.”

you swallowed. “i’m yours.”

“again.”

“i’m yours, jihyo.”

that made her smile. dangerous. satisfied.

then she kissed you—hard. teeth clashing, tongue sweeping into your mouth like she was trying to devour every soft sound you made. your hands clutched at her jacket, grounding yourself as she pressed you tighter to the wall, one leg slipping between yours, grinding just enough to make your knees tremble.

when she pulled back, you were gasping.

her eyes flicked down to your lips, swollen and parted.

“next time,” she whispered, “you tell him to keep his hands to himself. or i’ll do it for you.”

you nodded, dazed.

“good girl.”

and then she walked away—leaving you breathless, flushed, and more desperate than ever.

⸻

the room door hadn’t even closed all the way before she had you pressed against it.

her hands were already in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat as her mouth found it—hot, hungry kisses that left marks, no hesitation.

“mine,” she growled against your skin. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you breathed, already breathless.

she grabbed your jaw, not rough enough to hurt, but enough to make your knees go weak.

“louder.”

“i’m yours, jihyo.”

“that’s better.”

her mouth crashed into yours again, all teeth and tongue and impatience. there was nothing soft about it—just pure need. her hands roamed your body like she’d been starved for days. maybe she had.

“strip,” she ordered, stepping back just far enough.

you obeyed, shaky fingers pulling at your clothes. she watched—arms crossed, lip caught between her teeth. eyes dark.

when you were bare, she approached slowly. her hand came up to trace your collarbone, then lower, brushing your breast, skimming your stomach.

“you let him touch this?” she murmured, voice low and dangerous. “you let someone else stand this close?”

you opened your mouth to speak, but she didn’t wait. she spun you around and bent you over the edge of the bed, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades.

“you don’t get to speak,” she said. “you get to take what i give you.”

what she gave you was a bruising pace—fingers working deep and fast, her free hand gripping your hip, holding you in place like you might try to run. you didn’t.

you moaned into the sheets, legs trembling as she pushed you closer and closer, her name falling from your lips like prayer and punishment.

she leaned over you, her chest against your back, lips at your ear.

“next time someone so much as looks at you wrong, i’ll fuck you in front of them,” she whispered. “make sure they know.”

and then she brought you over the edge—hard, fast, devastating. your body shuddered under her, your cry muffled by the duvet as she fucked you through it.

she didn’t stop until your legs gave out and your throat was raw from moaning her name.

⸻

you didn’t know how long you’d been laying there before you felt her again.

gentler now.

she pulled the covers over you both, tugged you into her chest, her fingers stroking your hair.

you turned your face into her skin, heart still racing. her breath was steady against your temple.

“you okay, pretty girl?” she asked quietly.

you nodded. “yeah.”

a beat passed.

“did i go too far?”

you looked up at her, surprised by the shift in tone—how soft her eyes had become. how small her voice sounded.

“no,” you whispered. “you were perfect.”

she kissed your forehead—slow, sweet, so different from before.

“i just… i just can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “not when i finally have you.”

you curled closer.

“you have me,” you said. “you’ve always had me.”

and for the first time all night, she sighed—relieved. safe.

⸻

jihyo didn’t expect you to push back.

not after the way she had you last night—bent over, wrecked, trembling. not after the way she fucked the jealousy out of her system and into your body. but you remembered the way her voice cracked, just a little, when she asked if she went too far. the way her hands softened the moment your breathing slowed.

you remembered how she kissed your forehead like you were the most fragile thing she’d ever touched.

and now…

now, it was your turn.

⸻

she was sitting on the edge of the bed, still bare from sleep, sheets tangled around her hips. her back was to you. skin soft and golden in the early light.

you approached slowly, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind, letting your lips ghost over the back of her neck.

she let out a quiet sigh. leaned into your touch.

“my turn,” you whispered against her skin.

you pushed her gently back onto the bed, climbing over her. her eyes widened, but she didn’t stop you. not even close.

“you think you’re the only one who gets to make claims?” you murmured, straddling her hips. “you think i don’t ache when people stare at you?”

her breath caught in her throat as you leaned down, pressing soft kisses along her jaw, down her throat, across her collarbone.

“i watch you on stage,” you continued, letting your nails drag gently down her sides. “knowing every person in the room wants you. but you come back to me.”

her hands found your hips, holding tight.

“i belong to you,” she said, voice quiet.

you smiled, kissed her again—slower this time, deeper.

“and now you’re going to let me show you what that means.”

⸻

you made jihyo wait.

every touch deliberate. your mouth moved with purpose—tracing the lines of her ribs, teasing the swell of her chest, lips dragging down her stomach like worship. when you finally touched her, it was slow, controlled, steady. she whimpered under you, hands fisting the sheets, eyes fluttering shut as you brought her to the edge and held her there.

over and over.

“please,” she breathed, desperate.

you leaned in, whispering against her lips, “you sound so pretty when you beg.”

when she finally came, it was with your name on her tongue, her body arching upwards, sculpting into yours, her hands clawing for more even as she fell apart beneath you. not once. not twice. not thrice.

and you didn’t stop until she was gasping, flushed, completely undone.

⸻

sunlight filtered through the curtains.

you woke up to the warmth of her body tangled in yours—limbs draped across you, her head tucked beneath your chin, hair messy and soft against your skin. she was still half-asleep, clinging like she couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.

you shifted slightly to reach for your phone, but her arms tightened around you instantly.

“no,” she mumbled, voice raspy and low. “stay.”

you smiled, kissing the top of her head. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“good,” she whispered. “you’re mine.”

you held her tighter. “and you’re mine too.”

she hummed softly, breath evening out again. but her grip didn’t loosen.

not even a little.

⸻

the tour had moved cities again.

another night, another hotel suite, another few hours of sleep before press. it should’ve felt the same by now—sterile walls, predictable layouts, the buzz of adrenaline giving way to exhaustion. but it didn’t.

not with her.

not with jihyo asleep on your chest, breathing slow and steady, one arm flung across your stomach like muscle memory.

your fingers traced her spine absently as you lay there, staring at the ceiling, too full of her to rest. every time she shifted, every tiny sigh she made—it was a reminder. this wasn’t just about sex. it hadn’t been for a while.

you loved her.

and maybe, just maybe, she knew it.

⸻

when she stirred, it was quiet. a soft hum. the slow blink of sleep-warm eyes.

you looked down at her, tucked her hair behind her ear.

“morning.”

she smiled, that lazy one she only gave you, the one that came with a stretch and a soft groan.

“hi,” she murmured. then, after a beat, “you didn’t sleep.”

“just watching you.”

she snorted lightly, eyes still half-closed. “creepy.”

you laughed. “romantic.”

“hmm. borderline.”

she rolled onto her side, resting her chin on your chest now, fingers absentmindedly brushing your ribs.

you let the silence sit between you—comfortable, familiar.

but then her hand stilled.

“can i tell you something?”

your heart skipped.

“of course.”

she looked at you, really looked. eyes wide, suddenly serious. soft in a way that made your throat tighten.

“i love you,” she said quietly.

three words. small. simple.

but they landed like a weight on your chest.

her gaze didn’t waver, but you could feel the tension behind it—like she was bracing for something. rejection, maybe. uncertainty. anything but the truth.

you cupped her cheek gently, thumb brushing just beneath her eye.

“say it again,” you whispered.

she leaned into your touch.

“i love you.”

you didn’t make her wait.

“i love you too.”

and god, the way her face melted at that. the way she smiled—relieved, disarmed, open. like she’d been holding her breath for days.

she buried her face in your neck with a soft laugh. “fuck. i’ve been dying to say that.”

you wrapped your arms around her, tight.

“then don’t stop.”

and the next morning, you stayed in bed, wrapped in limbs and blankets and quiet i love yous whispered like secrets, like promises. she held you like she meant it.

because she did.

⸻

the room was quiet, warm, dim.

no rush this time. no urgency. just slow hands, soft sighs, and the sound of your name on jihyo’s lips like a prayer.

you were already beneath her, tangled in fresh sheets, bodies bare and pressed close. her hair fell over her shoulder as she hovered above you, eyes searching yours with something gentler than lust—something older, deeper.

love.

she kissed you slow. not hungry. not desperate.

just sure.

and when her hips rolled down against yours, your breath caught—more from the feeling of her than the motion. skin to skin. heartbeat to heartbeat.

she pushed the strap inside you slowly, carefully, pausing to feel every inch of the way your body welcomed her. her fingers laced with yours, holding your hands above your head, anchoring you to her like she needed the closeness to survive.

your back arched as she moved—slow, deep thrusts, timed with every soft gasp she pulled from your throat. her lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your mouth.

and then, right when your eyes fluttered open, she whispered it—

“i love you.”

quiet. honest. like she’d been saying it for years.

you moaned softly, breathless, overwhelmed.

“say it again.”

“i love you,” she whispered, kissing your jaw. “i love you.” another kiss. your shoulder. “i love you.” your collarbone.

by the time you came, you were crying softly into her neck, clutching her like you’d never let her go.

she held you through it. kissed your tears. never stopped whispering it.

“i love you, i love you, i love you.”

and this time, it wasn’t just sex.

this time, it was everything.

⸻

you were walking back to the hotel, hand in hand, both of you wrapped in scarves and sunglasses. the city was busy, but not overwhelming. people were moving fast. no one seemed to notice her—until someone did.

a girl, maybe twenty, spotted her across the street. her gasp was audible even from where you stood.

“oh my god, jihyo?” she said, too excited to hide it.

jihyo smiled, warm but cautious, her grip on your hand tightening slightly.

you started to pull away, out of instinct. not wanting to risk anything. but she stopped you.

didn’t let go.

instead, she pulled you closer.

her arm wrapped around your waist like it was the most normal thing in the world. her hand rested on your hip, firm. grounding.

“hello,” she said kindly to the girl. “nice to meet you.”

the fan blinked between the two of you, clearly processing.

jihyo didn’t flinch.

didn’t hide you.

she smiled again—just a little—and pressed a kiss to your temple, casual, quiet, but unmistakable.

mine.

when the fan walked away, flustered and stunned, you turned to her.

“you didn’t have to—”

“yes,” she said, eyes soft. “i did.”

you swallowed, throat thick.

she leaned in, brushing her nose against yours.

“i don’t want to love you in secret.”

⸻

life didn’t slow down.

not for the cameras, or the fans, or the never-ending schedule. not even for the way jihyo looked at you in the morning—sleep-soft, one eye open, hair wild on the pillow, reaching for you without thinking.

but you’d stopped expecting peace to come in long stretches. you’d learned to catch it in the in-between.

like the way she reached for your hand under the table at interviews. how she stole bites off your plate and grinned when you fake-sulked. how she always waited until you were tucked in beside her before she let herself fall asleep.

love had become a rhythm between you. not loud. not flashy.

just present.

always.

⸻

one night, months after the first hotel room, you found yourselves back in another. different city. different skyline.

she stood by the window, hair tucked into a hoodie, looking out over the city like it meant something.

you came up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist, resting your cheek against her back.

“do you ever think about what’s next?” you murmured.

“all the time,” she said.

“and?”

she turned in your arms, looked at you with that same soft smile she’d only ever worn for you.

“i don’t know what city we’ll be in. i don’t know how many more shows i’ll do. but i know it’ll be with you.”

you stared at her, heart suddenly loud in your chest.

“you’re sure?”

she leaned in, kissed you slow.

“i’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

⸻

and from then on, it didn’t matter where you were.

hotels. cities. airports.

because every time you turned around, she was there—reaching for your hand, touching your waist, whispering your name like it was home.

because she wasn’t just off the schedule anymore.

she was the whole plan.

and just like that, it didn’t matter what was on the schedule anymore.

because you weren’t just a detour.

you were the destination.

the one thing jihyo never wanted to pencil in.

because loving you wasn’t a fleeting thrill or a stolen moment.

it was the plan.

[misanahrs]

chance — myoui mina.

now playing: to you - seventeen.

synopsis - myoui mina, a quiet woman with her calm dog, ray, clashes with you and your chaotic doberman, chance. despite the tension, repeated encounters lead to an unexpected romantic connection.

pairing - myoui mina x fem reader.

it was supposed to be peaceful.

myoui mina had chosen this apartment complex specifically for its quiet atmosphere, its well-maintained spaces, and—most importantly—its pet-friendly policy. her golden retriever, ray, deserved the best. he was calm, well-behaved, and never caused trouble. the perfect companion.

and she lived in nothing but tranquility and routine.

mina had always been a creature of habit. her mornings were predictable: a cup of black coffee, a quiet stroll with ray, a few moments of peace before the chaos of the world demanded her attention. she liked it that way. routine. order. silence.

and so, she lived in nothing but tranquility and routine.

that was, until apartment 117 was occupied and she heard them before she saw them—the sharp, repetitive barks that shattered the usual tranquility of the hallway.

ray, ever the gentle soul, flinched at the noise, pressing himself closer to mina’s leg as they stepped out of their apartment. the culprit stood across the hall, all lean muscle and pure untamed energy, a doberman with sleek black fur and a glare that could cut through steel, instantly making his presence known.

apartment 117 had been empty for months, and mina had enjoyed the serenity. now, however, it seemed peace was a thing of the past.

“chance, sit,” a voice called out, and mina’s gaze snapped to the person holding the leash.

her new neighbor.

you stood there, tugging at chance’s collar with one hand while the other clutched the key dangling from the door. you looked… disheveled, to say the least—sweat clinging to your skin, your hair a mess from the effort of managing your overenthusiastic dog. mina should have been irritated. she was irritated. but god, were you attractive.

it didn’t take long for mina to realise that ray and chance were natural enemies.

and if ray represented mina’s personality, beliefs, characteristics, then chance was a representation of you.

and so, mina concluded, you and her were enemies, too.

not that it excused the noise.

and with that, mina turned around on her heels and marched back into her apartment, ray more than happy to enter the comfort of his house.

⸻

it had been a few days since you had moved into 117.

and through the thin—paper thin, mina concluded—walls, she could hear you talk to the menace, voice dripping with nothing but pure adoration to mina’s horror (she was convinced you’re insane), she could hear the devil’s incarnation bark, and whine, and run, and tap his god-forsaken, wretched claws against the floorboards as he moved.

but nothing—zilch, nort, absolutely nothing— could’ve prepared her for the first time she came face to face with the devil’s spawn and the devil.

⸻

tuesday. 18:07. mina tried connecting the dots. she wasn’t expecting anybody. so who was knocking at the door?

gently moving ray’s head from her lap and grabbing her phone from the table before getting up from where she sat, mina made her way to the door with precaution and worry in all of her tip toes.

she slowly twisted the door handle and opened the door to be met with you, smiling at her, face angled down ever so slightly so you could see her, holding a small box.

“hi,” you started, way too cheery for a tuesday mina noted, “i’m y/n, the new resident in 117, i thought i would come introduce myself to apologise for disturbing the peace, which is why, i brought you some pastries,” you lifted up the pale pink box in your hand and pushed it slightly towards mina. “and you know, we’re neighbours.”

mina was sure she was going to go insane.

she held back a sigh and a roll of her eyes, before forcefully lifting up the corner of her lips. “thank you,” mina said, taking the box out of your hands before making the mistake of looking down to see—to her complete dismay—your hand holding the leash beling to an ominous, sinister hazard: chance.

the corners of her mouth dropped and mina could only hope you didn’t see the split second of grimace that covered her face.

you followed her gaze and looked at chance, sitting patiently next to your legs, grinning, tongue out.

“oh,” you almost gasped. “how could i forget?” you looked back up at mina for a second before looking back at chance. “this here, is chance, my doberman.”

mina’s fingers tightened around the pastry box as she stared down at the doberman in front of her.

chance, as if sensing her distaste, let out a sharp, singular bark that echoed down the hall.

ray, from behind her, lifted his head at the sound but didn’t move from his spot on the couch. ever the calm one. unlike chance, clearly, she thought.

“right,” mina said, voice tight. she lifted her gaze back to you, trying to ignore the way your smile seemed to widen at her clear discomfort.

“he’s really sweet once you get to know him,” you offered, giving the leash a small tug as chance’s tail wagged excitedly. “a little loud, but harmless, i promise.”

mina wasn’t convinced. she eyed chance warily, as if expecting him to lunge at any moment.

“if you say so.”

silence settled between the two of you. mina shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fingers drumming against the pastry box, silently debating how quickly she could end this interaction. she wasn’t in the mood for small talk, least of all with her new, obnoxiously loud neighbour.

but then, ray decided to involve himself.

a soft thud sounded behind mina, followed by the telltale sound of paws against hardwood. a second later, ray was at her side, nosing at her thigh before his gaze flickered up to chance.

and, like clockwork, chance barked again, tail wagging harder this time, body vibrating with energy.

ray barely reacted. he simply blinked, then let out a long, exasperated sigh through his nose, as if he had already decided he was far too old to be dealing with this nonsense.

mina could relate.

“oh, come on,” you huffed, looking down at chance. “that’s not very neighbourly of you.”

mina snorted, despite herself.

“he doesn’t seem very apologetic,” she said, nodding towards your dog, whose entire body language screamed excitement.

“he’s trying,” you defended. “this is just… how he is. but, he’ll calm down once gets used to it here. hopefully we’ll be here for a long time.”

great.

mina hummed noncommittally, glancing down at the box in her hands, the weight of the pastries suddenly heavier now that she had no choice but to acknowledge your thoughtfulness.

finally, she sighed.

“well,” she started, shifting slightly. “thanks for the pastries, i guess.”

you grinned, seemingly pleased by the reluctant acceptance. “anytime, neighbour.”

mina pursed her lips, unimpressed. “let’s not make this a habit.”

you only winked before stepping back, tugging chance along with you. “no promises.”

mina shut the door before you could say anything else.

and mina wasn’t sure on a lot of things,

but one thing she was sure of was the uphill battle she would would have to fight with ray against you and satan.

⸻

despite her best efforts, mina kept running into you.

you and the damn clown.

once, in the laundry room, when she had been pulling her clothes from the dryer only to turn and find you loading yours in, dressed in sweats and humming to yourself. you had greeted her like you hadn’t spent the past week making her life hell, and she had only given you a nod in return.

then, at the supermarket, where she had caught sight of you struggling to decide between two brands of dog food, mumbling under your breath about ingredients. she had pretended not to watch, but her eyes lingered a little too long.

and then—possibly the worst of all—she came home from work one evening to find you just outside your apartment, hair damp with sweat, stretching as chance sat patiently beside you, ready for his walk.

mina knew she should have looked away. should have just gone inside.

but her gaze caught on the way your shirt clung tightly to your tan skin, the way you pushed your hair from your face, breath still a little uneven from whatever workout you’d just finished, chest ever so slightly heav-

you noticed her then, flashing a tired but bright smile. “hey, neighbour.”

she swallowed. “hi.”

chance, as if sensing the moment, barked. loudly.

mina sighed.

it was going to be a long, long year.

⸻

despite every logical part of her brain telling her to ignore you, mina kept noticing things.

like how you always carried extra dog treats in your pocket, even though that damn fiend clearly didn’t need any more energy. or how you hummed when you folded your laundry, completely oblivious to the world around you. or how, despite being an absolute menace, chance always listened when you gave him a quiet command.

it was infuriating.

so when she found herself in the elevator with you one evening, she told herself she wasn’t going to talk to you. she would stand in the corner, eyes on the floor, and wait for the ride to be over.

except, of course, chance had other plans.

the moment the doors slid shut, he whined, his gaze flicking between mina and ray like he was desperate to cause trouble.

ray, as usual, remained unbothered, sitting at mina’s feet like the perfect angel he was.

“seriously,” mina muttered, arms crossed. “does he ever stop?”

you grinned, barely fazed. “he just likes attention. don’t you, bud?” you reached down, scratching behind his ears, and mina tried not to stare at the way your shirt rode up just slightly.

she cleared her throat. “maybe you should train him better.”

“maybe you should give him a chance.”

mina scowled. “i see what you did there.”

you laughed, nudging her lightly with your elbow. “c’mon, you don’t actually hate me, do you?”

she didn’t answer right away, but the truth sat heavy on her tongue. no, she didn’t hate you. she wanted to. really, she did. but it was getting harder every time she saw you smile like that.

before she could respond, the elevator doors opened, and you stepped out first, chance trotting happily beside you. you turned back, walking backwards as you waved. “see you around, mina.”

she exhaled.

the doors slid shut again—despite mina needing to get off too—leaving her alone with ray and the uncomfortable realisation that she was in trouble.

she didn’t hate you. she knew that much now, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

what she did hate was how aware she had become of you—how you existed in every inch of her periphery, how your voice was starting to weave itself into the fabric of her daily life.

and worst of all, how she wasn’t sure she minded anymore.

ray huffed beside her, as if sensing her inner turmoil.

“don’t look at me like that,” mina muttered, pressing the button for her floor. “this is your fault too.”

ray simply blinked, unimpressed.

she was in trouble. deep trouble.

⸻

the universe, as it turned out, was not on mina’s side.

because the very next day, as she walked out of the building lobby after a particularly draining shift, she found you again.

only this time, you were drenched in sweat, leaning against the railing outside with your hands on your knees, catching your breath. chance sat beside you, panting happily, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as if he hadn’t just dragged you through what looked like an exhausting workout.

mina should have kept walking.

she meant to keep walking.

but you looked a little too good, and it had her hesitating.

just for a second.

which, unfortunately, was enough time for you to notice her.

“mina!” you beamed, standing up straight, swiping at the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand. “perfect timing.”

mina narrowed her eyes, already wary. “for what?”

“i was about to take chance for another round,” you said, tugging at the leash as your dog perked up. “join us.”

mina blinked. “no.”

you grinned. “why not?”

“because,” she started, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, “i don’t do jogs. or runs. or whatever you’re doing.”

you chuckled, glancing down at chance, who was practically bouncing on his feet. “he could use a walk. you could use a bit of fresh air.”

she didn’t respond straight away. you were standing there, all sweaty, flushed with the effort of whatever madness you’d just put yourself through, and it was hard to ignore the way your energy seemed to draw everything around you in.

she cursed under her breath.

“i don’t have time for this,” she muttered, stepping to the side, hoping you would just drop it.

but of course, you didn’t.

“come on,” you pressed, stepping closer with that infectious grin. “it’ll be good for you. and ray could use the exercise, too. i’m sure he’d love it.”

mina glanced down at her dog, who was calmly sitting by her side, tail twitching only slightly. ray wasn’t exactly a fan of physical exertion unless it was a slow, quiet walk in the park.

“ray isn’t exactly built for that,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘and neither am i.’ she added inside her own head.

“neither is chance, but here we are,” you replied with a wink, looking down at your dog.

mina shifted uncomfortably. there was something disarming about the way you stood there, waiting for her response like it was the most natural thing in the world to be this friendly, this persistent.

but she couldn’t just let you get under her skin.

“fine,” she said after a moment, giving in despite herself. “but i’m not jogging. and if your dog tries anything, it’s on you.”

you grinned widely. “deal.”

with that, you started walking, the leash in your hand lightly tugging you along as chance explored. mina followed suit, ray trotting behind her, keeping pace with his usual measured steps.

for a while, neither of you said anything. the only sounds were the occasional huff from ray and the soft click of chance’s paws on the pavement.

but then, out of nowhere, you spoke up, voice light and teasing.

“you know, you’ve got that ‘don’t talk to me’ vibe down to an art.”

mina scoffed, glancing over at you. “so why are you talking to me?”

“i’m just persistent,” you replied with a shrug, the glint of mischief in your eyes.

“does that actually work on people?” mina asked, raising an eyebrow.

you smirked. “depends on the person.”

mina couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugged at her lips. damn it, she thought, she was supposed to resist this.

but as the two of you walked in silence again, side by side, her heart didn’t seem to mind the quiet proximity as much as she expected.

maybe it was time to stop pretending she didn’t enjoy these moments, however reluctantly.

⸻

over the next few weeks, interactions with you became routine.

you saw each other in the mornings when you took the dogs out, exchanging small talk despite mina’s best efforts to stay distant. you ran into each other in the lobby, in the mailroom, even at the tiny café down the street where mina sometimes stopped after work.

and then, one evening, there was a knock on her door.

when she opened it, you were standing there, looking sheepish, chance sitting at your feet.

“i need a favour,” you said.

mina raised an eyebrow. “absolutely not.”

“you didn’t even let me finish.”

she sighed, already regretting this. “what?”

“i have to go to this work thing, and my usual sitter bailed. can you please watch chance for, like, two hours?”

mina stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “you want me to watch that?” she pointed at chance, who wagged his tail, oblivious.

“he’ll be good,” you promised, clasping your hands together in mock desperation. “i swear.”

“what if he eats my couch?”

“he won’t. he’s already eaten.”

“what if he eats ray?”

“he definitely won’t.”

mina glanced at ray, who looked just as skeptical as she felt. but then the desperation showed in every nook and cranny of your face, and mina felt herself wavering.

she exhaled. “fine. two hours. if he destroys anything, you owe me.”

you grinned, handing over the leash like you’d already won. “deal.”

as mina watched you walk away, she sighed, glancing down at chance.

he wagged his tail.

ray sighed.

mina pinched the bridge of her nose.

she was definitely in trouble.

⸻

mina regretted saying yes almost immediately.

the moment you left, chance began sniffing around her apartment like he was on a mission to destroy something.

ray, ever the dignified gentleman, sat on his bed and watched the doberman with a look of pure disapproval.

mina crossed her arms and looked at chance through dark, narrowed eyes. “look, i don’t like you, and you don’t like me.”

chance ignored her, trotting over to ray’s food bowl.

“nope.” mina grabbed his leash before he could get any ideas, steering him away. “don’t even think about it.”

he huffed but, surprisingly, didn’t put up a fight. instead, he plopped down dramatically on her rug, stretching out like he owned the place.

ray let out a quiet sigh, turning his head away as if to say, i’m not dealing with this.

mina could only wish she could relate.

⸻

to mina’s complete and utter surprise, the two hours passed without a single disaster.

chance hadn’t chewed anything—not the couch cushions, not the shoes, which mina had half-expected to be strewn across the floor by now. he hadn’t started any fights, either, despite his initial excitement at meeting ray. instead, he had spent the better part of the time wandering around, sniffing curiously at the apartment, then curling up in a spot on the rug with an audible sigh of contentment.

and—most shockingly of all—he’d actually fallen asleep halfway through.

mina had been bracing herself for chaos the entire time. she had sat stiffly on her couch, watching him with a vigilance that bordered on paranoia, as if any moment he would spring to life and start tearing the place apart. but no. the only sound in the apartment had been the quiet tick of the clock and the occasional soft huff from ray, who was stretched out lazily at her feet, seemingly unimpressed by all the energy that had been bouncing around only hours before.

she kept glancing over at chance, half-expecting him to wake up and wreak havoc, but he just lay there, tail flicking occasionally as he slept soundly.

maybe she’d underestimated you.

so when the knock finally came at her door, mina’s heart skipped. she stood up too quickly, knocking the coffee mug from the table in her haste to get to the door. as she opened it, she was half-tempted to just shove the leash at you and be done with it.

but instead, she found you standing there, looking far too pleased with yourself.

“he survived?” you teased, glancing past her to where chance was stretched out, yawning and shaking off the remnants of his nap.

mina stood there for a moment, staring at you with a mixture of disbelief and begrudging respect. she couldn’t help the corner of her mouth that quirked upward at the sight of chance, utterly unbothered.

“barely,” mina muttered, her voice flat, but the weight of her words didn’t match the faint smile tugging at her lips.

you laughed, a full, genuine sound that seemed to bubble up effortlessly from you. you crouched down beside chance, gently scratching behind his ears as he leaned into your touch with a satisfied grunt.

“told you he’s not so bad,” you said, your voice warm with amusement.

mina rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. “yeah, well, don’t expect me to invite you over again any time soon.”

you looked up at her, eyebrows raised in mock disbelief. “you’re not enjoying my company, then?”

“oh, no,” mina said dryly, “i’m just thrilled.”

you laughed again, clearly unfazed by her sarcasm. it made mina want to sigh in exasperation and turn around, but instead, she stood there, unable to suppress the smallest of smiles, even as she tried to keep her face stern.

“thanks again, mina,” you said as you stood up, brushing the dirt off your knees. your voice softened, and for just a second, there was a sincerity that didn’t go unnoticed by her. “i owe you one.”

mina waved a hand dismissively, her usual aloofness returning in full force. “whatever.”

but even as you turned to leave, she could feel her gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary. something about your smile—the way it was effortless, natural—kept lingering in the back of her mind. it was the kind of smile that left an imprint, one that didn’t fade with the passing hours.

and, for the rest of the night, despite her best efforts to focus on anything else, mina couldn’t stop thinking about how that smile made her feel.

⸻

mina had a problem.

and that problem was you.

it had started small—just an annoying awareness of your presence, the way your voice stood out even in a crowded room, the way her eyes always seemed to find you first when she stepped into the lobby. but now, it was worse. much worse.

now, she found herself listening for your laugh through the thin apartment walls. now, she noticed when you changed your shampoo because you smelled just a little different when you walked past her in the hallway. now, she thought about how your lips curled when you smiled, how your fingers brushed against hers when you handed her mail that had accidentally ended up in your box.

and she hated it. hated that she couldn’t just ignore you like she had planned.

but she wasn’t the only one struggling.

because you were noticing her too.

⸻

the first real proof came on a lazy sunday afternoon.

mina had decided to take ray to the small park a few blocks away, hoping for a quiet stroll before the week began. it was peaceful—the sun warm but not overbearing, a gentle breeze in the air. ray trotted beside her happily, tail wagging as they walked along the path.

and then she saw you.

you were sitting on a bench, dressed in loose sweats and an oversized hoodie, chance sprawled out beside you. you looked half-asleep, lazily scrolling through your phone, one hand absentmindedly scratching behind chance’s ears.

mina told herself to keep walking.

but then you looked up, and your face immediately lit up.

“mina!” you called out, grinning as you patted the empty space beside you. “what are the odds?”

she hesitated, but ray—traitor that he was—led her forward until she had no choice but to sit down.

“do you always come here?” you asked, leaning back against the bench, looking completely at ease.

mina shook her head. “not really.”

you hummed, stretching your arms out before resting them behind your head. “it’s nice, huh? sometimes i come here just to sit. chance likes to watch the birds.”

mina glanced at the doberman, who was, indeed, staring at a nearby group of pigeons like he was plotting something.

“of course he does,” she muttered.

you laughed, nudging her knee with yours. “you know, i think he’s starting to like you.”

mina scoffed. “doubt it.”

“no, really,” you insisted, tilting your head. “he doesn’t bark at you anymore.”

she blinked, processing that. now that you mentioned it, chance had stopped barking every time she walked past.

before she could respond, you leaned in slightly, voice teasing. “so, does that mean you’re starting to like me?”

mina nearly choked.

you grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

she turned away, pretending to focus on ray. “shut up.”

but you just laughed, and mina’s stomach flipped in a way she wasn’t ready to deal with.

⸻

from then on, it only got worse.

she saw you everywhere.

in the elevator, where you’d stand just a little too close, the scent of your shampoo messing with her head.

at the grocery store, where you’d sneak things into her basket when she wasn’t looking (“trust me, you’ll love it”).

in the hallway, where you’d knock on her door at odd hours, claiming you needed to borrow sugar, or coffee, or—one time—just to say hi.

and the worst part? mina didn’t mind.

not even a little.

⸻

one night, there was another knock on mina’s door.

she hadn’t been expecting it—at least, not this late. and not after everything that had happened before. she opened it with the same cautious reluctance as always, preparing herself for some absurd excuse or another.

but when the door swung open, you weren’t the same confident, teasing person she was used to.

you seemed different.

your usual grin was missing, replaced with something a little more vulnerable—almost hesitant. your posture was less sure, and you scratched the back of your neck nervously, eyes not quite meeting hers.

“hey,” you said, the simple greeting almost uncertain, as if you were searching for the right words.

“hey,” mina echoed, raising an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable.

you took a deep breath, your fingers tightening slightly around the leash in your hand, and then—after a long pause—let it out in a slow exhale.

“do you wanna go out with me sometime?”

mina froze for a second. she hadn’t expected that. not from you, not in that way. her heart skipped—just for a moment—and she had to blink to process the words.

“like… out?” she asked, her voice coming out a little higher than usual, betraying the sudden flutter of nerves in her chest.

you gave her a crooked, almost sheepish grin that made her pulse quicken, your usual teasing nature still present but softened, like you were waiting for her to decide if you were being serious.

“yeah. like a date,” you confirmed, voice steadier now, though the slight blush on your cheeks betrayed your own nervousness.

mina stood there for a beat, her mind racing. the quiet between you stretched on, leaving her with only the sound of her own breathing. she hadn’t expected this—this—from you.

then, finally, the words came, though they weren’t exactly what she thought she would say.

“if i say yes, will you stop knocking on my door at midnight?” she asked, her lips curving into an amused, half-exasperated smile.

you let out a soft laugh, the tension in the air easing just a little. “no,” you said, your voice light, but there was an edge of hopefulness in it, like you weren’t sure if she was serious

mina rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the small smile that was creeping up. despite herself, she was already leaning toward yes.

“fine,” she said, trying to sound as exasperated as possible, though the playfulness in her tone couldn’t be hidden. “one date.”

the grin that spread across your face was instant, wide, and utterly genuine—like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

“you won’t regret it,” you said, your voice filled with an unshakable confidence, but there was still a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

mina watched you turn and walk away, her gaze lingering on your retreating figure for just a moment too long.

as she stood there, the door halfway closed, she felt a strange pull in her chest. something she hadn’t expected.

you were right. she probably wouldn’t regret it.

⸻

mina had made a mistake.

a terrible, terrible mistake.

because agreeing to one date with you? yeah, that was the start of her downfall.

⸻

the date was supposed to be casual. something simple, something low-stakes, something that wouldn’t keep her up at night, thinking about how very into you she actually was.

but of course, you had to ruin that.

you had picked a cozy little restaurant just a few streets away, tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. the kind of place that wasn’t fancy but had dim lighting and candles on the tables, which felt suspiciously romantic.

mina should have been suspicious from the start.

but then you showed up, dressed a little nicer than usual, a shy smile tugging at your lips, and all her suspicions melted into something much more dangerous.

because you looked good. really, really good.

and worse? you kept looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

the night went by too smoothly. conversation flowed easily, your laughter filled the air, and mina found herself smiling more than she had in weeks. you told stories about chance, about your job, about the time you accidentally got locked out of your apartment and had to bribe the building manager with cookies.

and mina—who had sworn up and down that she did not like you—found herself listening. really listening.

at one point, your hand brushed against hers on the table, and she didn’t move away.

she was doomed.

⸻

the walk home was quiet, comfortable. the streets were nearly empty, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warmth in her chest.

when you reached her door, you hesitated, shifting on your feet.

“so,” you said, grinning. “was that painful for you?”

mina rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “shockingly, no.”

your smile widened. “good. ‘cause i wanna do it again.”

mina hesitated. not because she didn’t want to—because god, she did—but because this was dangerous.

but then you tilted your head, waiting, and she realised she was already too far gone.

“…okay,” she muttered.

you beamed. “tomorrow?”

mina huffed a laugh. “you’re ridiculous.”

but she didn’t say no.

and when you leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to her cheek before stepping back with a wink, she knew she was officially screwed.

because for the first time since you moved in, she wasn’t annoyed that you were her neighbour.

she was relieved.

⸻

mina had never been like this before.

she prided herself on being composed, distant when necessary, never the type to fall so easily. but with you? it was impossible to keep her walls up. you had waltzed into her life—loud, chaotic, infuriating—and somehow, against all logic, mina had let you in.

and now?

now she was sitting on her couch, staring at her phone, heart pounding because you had just texted her.

y/n (the menace): i’m outside.

mina blinked. outside?

before she could even process, there was a knock at her door.

she groaned, but it wasn’t out of annoyance. not really.

when she opened it, you were standing there, dressed casually in a jeans, tank top, and leather jacket, chance sitting patiently beside you.

“what are you doing here?” mina asked, crossing her arms.

you grinned. “felt like seeing you.”

mina hated the way her stomach flipped.

“you saw me yesterday.”

“and?” you teased, rocking back on your heels. “is there a law that says i can’t see my favourite neighbour two days in a row?”

mina rolled her eyes, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. “you’re ridiculous.”

you just smiled, looking her over. “were you doing anything important?”

mina hesitated. she could lie. could say she was busy, could pretend she had a full schedule and couldn’t possibly entertain you.

but the truth was, she had been doing absolutely nothing. just sitting there, thinking about you.

“…no,” she admitted.

your grin widened. “perfect. let’s go.”

mina raised an eyebrow. “go where?”

“you’ll see.”

⸻

somehow, she ended up in your car, chance sitting happily in the back while ray (who had absolutely not been given a choice) sat beside him, looking like he regretted everything.

mina turned to you, suspicion in her eyes. “if this is some kind of elaborate kidnapping attempt, i will fight you.”

you laughed, hands steady on the wheel. “relax, mina. you’ll love it.”

she highly doubted that.

⸻

but, to her surprise, you were right.

you took her to a lookout point just outside the city—a quiet, open space where the lights stretched out below like stars. the air was crisp, the kind that made her want to breathe in deep and just exist for a while.

she stepped out of the car, looking around. “…okay. this is nice.”

you grinned, leaning against the hood. “told you.”

she rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

the dogs settled near your feet, ray curling up while chance, ever the troublemaker, sat alert, ears perked as if waiting for something exciting to happen.

mina glanced at you. “why’d you bring me here?”

you shrugged, looking out at the view. “just felt like it.”

she frowned. “that’s not an answer.”

you turned to her then, something softer in your gaze. “i like being around you, mina.”

her breath hitched.

you had always been teasing, always flirty, but this? this was different.

real.

mina swallowed, looking away. “…you’re annoying.”

you laughed, bumping her shoulder lightly. “you like it.”

she didn’t respond.

but she also didn’t deny it.

and when you reached for her hand, intertwining your fingers with hers, she let you.

“i like being around you, too, y/n.”

⸻

the night was quiet. too quiet.

mina had been enjoying the peaceful moment—your fingers tangled with hers, the cool air against her skin, the distant hum of the city below. but then, chance’s ears twitched. his body went still, muscles tensing.

ray, ever the calm one, lifted his head, sensing the shift in energy.

mina barely had time to process before chance let out a low, warning growl.

her stomach dropped.

you straightened immediately, your grip on her hand tightening. “what is it, bud?”

chance’s stance changed—no longer relaxed, no longer playful. his gaze locked on the tree line just beyond the railing of the lookout point, hackles raised. another growl rumbled from his chest, deeper this time.

mina’s pulse quickened.

“okay,” she murmured, trying to stay calm, “what the hell is going on?”

you didn’t answer. instead, you took a slow step forward, eyes scanning the darkness beyond the trees.

and then—snap.

a branch breaking.

somewhere, just out of sight.

ray let out a low whimper, moving closer to mina’s legs, but chance? chance stood his ground.

his growls turned into sharp, warning barks, his entire body tense with protective energy. his stance was different from his usual chaotic, overly excited self—this was serious.

mina swallowed hard, heart hammering in her chest. she didn’t believe in ghosts or anything supernatural, but something was out there. something was watching them.

“y/n,” she said quietly, “i think we should go.”

you didn’t argue.

“yeah,” you muttered, slowly backing up, keeping your eyes on the trees. “good idea.”

but chance wasn’t moving. he stayed in place, barking sharply, a clear warning to whatever was out there. his tail was rigid, his body like a coiled spring, ready to lunge.

the air felt heavy, charged with something mina couldn’t explain. her breath came short and quick.

and then—just as suddenly as it started—the feeling was gone.

the trees stilled. the air settled. the tension faded.

chance stopped barking, though he stayed alert, ears flicking. after a few more seconds, he huffed, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to you, nudging your leg like he had personally saved your life.

you let out a nervous laugh, exhaling. “holy shit.”

mina placed a hand over her chest, trying to steady her heartbeat. “what the hell was that?”

you shook your head, still looking into the darkness. “i don’t know. but whatever it was, chance wasn’t letting it get near us.”

mina stood there, her heart still racing, trying to shake the remnants of tension from her body. the cool night air felt less calming now, and she kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting something to emerge from the darkness. but, for the moment, everything was still.

as her breath began to steady, she felt a soft nudge at her leg.

chance.

he was standing beside her now, tail wagging gently, his eyes bright and intense, as if waiting for her to acknowledge him.

mina’s heart melted just a little, and she crouched down instinctively, her hand reaching out to scratch behind his ears, just like she had earlier.

but instead of just accepting the attention, chance—much to mina’s surprise—nudged her hand away gently, his gaze fixed on her face, almost like he was assessing her, making sure she was okay.

“what is it, bud?” she asked softly, her voice still shaky from the adrenaline.

chance’s eyes never left hers, and before mina could process it fully, he nuzzled into her, pressing his head against her chest as if seeking reassurance. he wasn’t his usual chaotic self now—there was something different in the way he was behaving. it was almost like he was checking to make sure she was okay.

she froze, her heart swelling.

“hey…” mina whispered, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through her. “you’re okay, right?”

chance let out a small whine, his body pressed against hers as he leaned in closer. mina could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, and for the first time, the bond between her and the dog she’d barely tolerated felt real.

she chuckled softly, reaching down to give him a good scratch behind the ears. “you’re so weird, but i guess you’ve got a soft side after all.”

chance huffed contentedly, his tail giving a lazy wag as he finally pulled away, just enough to look up at her with his deep, dark eyes. his posture softened as if he was satisfied, and mina couldn’t help but smile.

it was a small moment—just a few seconds where everything else in the world seemed to fade away—but for mina, it felt like a little piece of warmth amidst the unease of the night.

she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find you standing there, watching the interaction between her and chance with a soft smile. you had a slight, teasing glint in your eye, but there was also something warm in your expression—almost proud, in a way.

“he’s really taken a liking to you, hasn’t he?” you said, your voice quieter now, as if you didn’t want to interrupt the moment.

mina chuckled, still kneeling down beside chance, who had now flopped comfortably at her feet, his head resting in her lap. “yeah, well, maybe i’ve been too hard on him. he’s… not so bad when he’s not trying to tear the place apart.” she scratched behind his ears again, feeling the soft thrum of his contentment under her touch.

chance let out a soft sigh, his eyes closing in utter relaxation, and mina felt a flutter in her chest.

“guess i owe him an apology,” she muttered, mostly to herself, but she was sure you could hear her.

you stepped closer, holding ray’s leash, nudging her playfully with your elbow. “so, are we best friends now or what?”

mina gave you a sidelong glance, a small smile tugging at her lips. “we?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “i think he’s the one you should be thanking.”

you laughed, the sound light and easy, before kneeling beside her, looking at chance with a mock serious expression. “alright, bud. i get it. you’re the favourite now.”

chance lifted his head slightly, ears perking up at the sound of your voice, before he yawned and nuzzled deeper into mina’s lap, clearly uninterested in entertaining anyone else.

“he’s definitely got a soft spot for you,” you said, smiling at the scene.

mina couldn’t help the small, affectionate laugh that escaped her. she hadn’t expected to feel this… connected, with either you or your dog—especially your dog.

“yeah,” she replied, gently running her fingers through chance’s fur, “he’s alright.”

there was a brief, quiet moment between the two of you, watching as chance lay peacefully at her feet, content. and as she glanced up at you, she saw the way you were looking at her—not just with the playful teasing you were known for, but with something softer, something genuine.

mina swallowed, feeling the sudden weight of the moment.

“you know,” she said softly, her voice almost hesitant, “if you hadn’t shown up tonight…” she trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought.

you looked at her, your smile fading just a little as you processed her words. then you reached over, brushing a strand of hair from her face, your touch gentle, like you were trying to comfort her without saying anything more.

“if i hadn’t shown up tonight,” you repeated, your tone quiet and sincere, “i think i’d be the one regretting it.”

mina’s heart gave a small jolt at the sincerity in your voice. for a moment, everything around them felt suspended, the weight of the night’s events giving way to something a little more delicate, a little more real.

she found herself leaning into the moment, the feeling of your warmth beside her, the trust in the air. she wasn’t sure where this was going—or if she was ready for whatever it was—but she knew one thing for certain: it felt good.

chance let out another contented sigh, nudging his head further into her lap, and mina’s heart softened even more.

you finally relaxed, looking at her with a sheepish smile. “so, uh. i guess next time we go on a late-night adventure, we bring a flashlight?”

mina rolled her eyes, still shaken but managing a small smirk. “or maybe we just don’t.”

you grinned. “where’s the fun in that?”

mina sighed, squeezing your hand. she wasn’t sure what had just happened. wasn’t sure if it was an animal, a person, or something she really didn’t want to think about.

but she was sure of one thing.

if chance hadn’t been there, things could’ve ended very differently.

⸻

mina sat on the couch, the silence of the apartment stretching around her like a heavy blanket. ray’s absence was still a wound she hadn’t fully healed from, and she wasn’t sure she ever would. the soft hum of the apartment was different now—quieter, emptier without his calm presence.

chance, however, was there, his head resting in her lap as he snoozed contentedly. his once chaotic energy had mellowed with time, and she found herself running her fingers through his coat, absentmindedly scratching behind his ears. but even in his relaxed state, he felt different too—more attentive, more protective. as though he could sense how much she missed ray, and in his own way, he was trying to fill that empty space.

mina sighed, looking down at him, her fingers still moving slowly through his fur. she couldn’t help but remember the early days—the time when she had both of them, ray and chance.

ray had always been the quiet one, the steady presence. she smiled softly as she remembered how he would sit so patiently, barely reacting when chance would bark at shadows or tumble into things. ray’s calmness had balanced out the chaos that chance brought with him. back then, it had been chaos and peace coexisting in the same space, and it had worked.

there had been so many moments she had taken for granted—the way ray would curl up beside her, his quiet breathing a constant companion, and how, when he was still alive, chance had followed him like a shadow, mirroring his calmness in moments when they’d both lay side by side on the couch.

she remembered one morning, a few months before ray had passed. the sunlight was soft, filtering through the curtains, and both dogs were nestled by her feet, asleep, tangled up in each other’s limbs. there had been no barking, no running around, just peace. she had smiled to herself then, thinking how lucky she was to have both of them, even if things weren’t always perfect.

“you know,” mina whispered to chance, her voice soft, “i didn’t realize how much i’d miss him. i didn’t even think about it.”

chance stirred slightly but stayed asleep, his tail thumping once on the couch in acknowledgment.

she smiled through the tightness in her chest. “he was always there… like a shadow in the background. quiet. steady. always making sure i was okay.”

the apartment felt quieter now, without ray’s presence—without that grounding calmness that had once made everything feel stable.

“i don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” she murmured. her voice trembled slightly, but she quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand, swallowing the lump in her throat. “but i guess… you’re here now. and that counts for something.”

chance, as if on cue, opened his eyes and stared up at her with those deep, knowing eyes. it was like he understood—understood the pain, the loss, the space that was left behind—and he shifted closer to her.

“we’ll be okay,” mina whispered to him, her fingers gently scratching his head. “just you and me now.”

chance’s tail thumped again, a quiet affirmation.

mina smiled softly, her gaze shifting towards the bedroom door. she could hear the faint sounds of you stirring inside, the rustle of sheets and the slow, sleepy murmur of your voice as you slowly started to wake up and wonder why she wasn’t next to you.

mina wasn’t in a hurry—there was no rush. she just liked knowing you were there, that the day was about to start, and that she wasn’t alone.

for the first time in what felt like ages, mina allowed herself to relax, the quiet weight of chance’s presence beside her filling the room. he couldn’t replace ray, not ever, but maybe—just maybe—he could help fill the emptiness, one quiet moment at a time.

⸻

the sun had risen higher, casting a soft glow through the windows of mina’s apartment. she was still curled up on the couch, a warm mug of tea in her hands, with ray’s old spot on the floor feeling unusually empty beside her. but she wasn’t alone—chance, your doberman, was curled up beside her, his head resting gently against her lap.

mina absentmindedly scratched behind his ears, running her fingers through his fur. it was still odd, having your dog with her in the mornings like this, but she had to admit, she was starting to get used to it. in his own way, chance had become her quiet companion, filling the silence in a way that felt comforting.

she glanced at the bedroom door as it creaked open, and you stepped into the living room, looking a little disheveled but still smiling, your hair messy from sleep.

“good morning,” you greeted, voice still thick with sleep as you stretched, your body clearly not ready to leave the warmth of the bed.

“morning,” mina replied, her lips curving into a soft smile. she took a slow sip of her tea, glancing at you fondly. “sleep well?”

you yawned and shuffled over to the couch, your eyes half-closed as you stretched. “yeah, but it’s way too early for me to be awake.”

chance lifted his head as you approached, tail thumping gently against the couch. mina smiled as she watched him eagerly turn his attention to you. the bond between the two of you had only deepened since you’d moved in, and now it seemed like he could never get enough of your attention.

you leaned down, scratching behind his ears. “hey, buddy,” you said softly, your voice carrying warmth. chance’s whole body relaxed under your touch, and he let out a low, contented growl, completely at ease.

mina chuckled softly, glancing down at her dog. “he’s been keeping me company this morning.”

you gave her a playful smile, taking a seat beside her on the couch. “oh, i see how it is. abandoning me for my dog, huh?”

“he’s been better company than you,” mina teased back, the corner of her lips lifting.

you laughed, leaning back against the couch. “well, i was tired. but now I’m awake, so what’s the plan?”

“i think we’re both still figuring that out,” mina replied, her eyes softening as she looked at chance. “he’s been a good distraction, though.”

you ran your fingers gently through chance’s fur, who sighed contentedly, his eyes half-closing as he basked in the attention.

mina’s voice was quieter now, softer, as she watched the two of you. there was something oddly comforting about it, seeing your dog so content, so trusting. she’d never really expected to bond with chance like this, but now that she had, she didn’t want to lose it.

“he’s not usually this calm with new people,” you said quietly, almost to yourself. “but he’s been… better with you.”

mina smiled, leaning back slightly. “guess he’s really warming up to me. i can’t blame him—who doesn’t love a morning like this?”

chance let out a soft whine, and mina smiled, running her fingers through his fur again.

for a brief moment, the quiet was all that filled the room—the sound of soft breathing, the warmth of shared space, and the comforting presence of you and chance, both here with her. it was a different kind of peace, one she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

[misanahrs]

you’re mine — minatozaki sana.

now playing: body on me - gemini.

synopsis - sana has never liked sharing, especially when it comes to you. one night out, one too many lingering touches, and her patience snaps. she doesn’t just want to remind you who you belong to—she needs to.

pairing - minatozaki sana x fem reader

sana has been watching you all night.

you can feel the weight of her gaze, burning into your skin from across the crowded club. she hasn’t said much since you arrived, but you know her well enough to read between the lines. the way she sips her drink slower than usual, the way her fingers tap against the glass, the way her jaw tenses every time you laugh at someone else’s joke.

you haven’t done anything wrong—you’re just being polite, talking, smiling. but sana is looking at you like she wants to drag you away, like she wants to remind you who you belong to.

you test her patience a little more, letting your fingers graze against the arm of the girl you’re talking to, throwing your head back at something she says. it’s harmless fun, but you know it’ll get a reaction.

and it does.

within seconds, sana is behind you, pressing up close, her hands firm at your waist. her breath is warm against your ear as she leans in, voice low, dangerous.

“having fun?”

you shiver at the way she says it—slow, deliberate, her fingers tightening ever so slightly.

“yeah,” you say, playing innocent. “just talking.”

“just talking,” she echoes, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “then why do you keep looking at me like you want me to do something about it?”

your breath catches, and she smirks against your skin, knowing she’s right.

“sana—”

“shh,” she murmurs, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your dress, just barely skimming your skin. “i think you’ve had enough fun, don’t you?”

the girl you were talking to has disappeared, not that you even noticed—your world has narrowed down to the feeling of sana, her touch, her presence, the way she’s completely consumed by you.

“come with me,” she whispers, and it’s not a request.

she takes your hand, leading you through the crowd, out of the club and into the cool night air. the moment you’re alone, she presses you against the wall, hands on either side of you, caging you in.

“you drive me crazy,” she murmurs, eyes dark, full of heat. “watching you flirt, watching people look at you like they could have you—” she exhales sharply, shaking her head. “they don’t get to look at you like that. you’re mine.”

her lips crash against yours before you can respond, all fire and frustration, all of her jealousy melting into something hot and desperate. her hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against her as she deepens the kiss, as if she needs to make sure you know—as if she needs to make sure you feel it.

you moan softly against her lips, and she takes it as permission to press closer, to kiss you deeper, her fingers digging into your hips.

when she finally pulls away, her breathing is heavy, her lips swollen, her eyes filled with something raw and possessive.

“mine,” she repeats, softer this time, pressing one last kiss to the corner of your lips.

and when you look at her, dazed and breathless, you know—there’s no one else. it’s only ever been her.

sana doesn’t give you a chance to recover.

her hands slip lower, gripping your thighs, and before you can process it, she’s lifting you up effortlessly, pinning you against the wall like you weigh nothing.

you gasp, your fingers automatically tangling in her hair, your legs wrapping around her waist. she grins against your lips, smug and breathless all at once.

“thought you could play with me, huh?” she murmurs, dragging her lips down your jaw, down your neck, sucking just enough to make you whimper.

you shudder, tugging at her dress, needing more, needing her.

“sana—”

“shh, baby,” she whispers, pressing her forehead against yours, her hands tightening around your thighs. “i need you to understand.”

you do. you’ve always understood. but you still let her prove it.

her lips trail lower, her hands gripping, guiding, claiming. she kisses you again, deeper this time, like she’s trying to brand herself into you.

as if she hasn’t already.

she doesn’t rush—she takes her time, savoring the way you react to her, the way your breath hitches, the way your body melts into hers.

you don’t even realize you’ve murmured her name until she groans, her grip tightening.

“mine,” she breathes against your skin, her voice full of heat, full of something dangerous.

and tonight, you’ll let her remind you exactly what that means.

sana doesn’t take you home.

she doesn’t have the patience for that.

instead, she pulls you into the backseat of her car, slamming the door shut behind her before pressing you against the leather, her hands already pushing up the hem of your dress.

“you drive me insane,” she breathes, her forehead resting against yours, her fingers gripping your thighs, warm and possessive.

you exhale shakily, hands fisting in the fabric of her own dress, tugging her closer. “then do something about it.”

her eyes darken.

“you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

but you do. you always have.

so you arch against her, lips brushing against her jaw as you whisper, “make me remember who i belong to, then.”

sana’s control snaps.

her lips crash against yours, hungry, desperate, all of her jealousy, frustration, and want pouring into the kiss. her hands roam freely now, gripping your waist, your thighs, your hips—like she needs to feel you, to own you.

you moan against her lips, and that’s all she needs to hear before she presses you down, body molding against yours, fingers digging into your skin like she wants to leave marks, like she wants you to remember this tomorrow.

“mine,” she murmurs between kisses, trailing her lips down your neck, sucking, biting, soothing.

you gasp, tugging her closer. “yours.”

that’s all she needs.

and she shows you exactly what that means. and sana doesn’t stop. she doesn’t slow down.

she moves against you like she’s been waiting all night for this—like the jealousy burning in her veins has finally boiled over into something dangerous, something reckless.

her hands roam your body like she’s memorizing every inch of you, like she needs you to feel just how badly she wants you.

“say it again,” she breathes against your skin, lips trailing fire down your neck, her fingers digging into your thighs.

your head tilts back, a soft moan slipping past your lips as she presses closer, her body molding against yours perfectly. “yours,” you whisper, breathless. “always yours.”

sana groans, her grip tightening. “damn right you are.”

she kisses you again, but this time, it’s slower—deeper. not just possessive, but devotional.

you shiver beneath her, completely at her mercy, completely hers.

outside, the city hums with life, neon lights flickering through the fogged-up windows. but in here, it’s just you and her—the heat between you, the way her name falls so easily from your lips, the way she needs you like she’s afraid of losing you.

“mine,” she whispers one last time, her forehead pressing against yours.

you smile, your fingers threading through her hair, tugging her closer. “yours,” you promise, soft but certain.

and you mean it.

[misanahrs]

teasing you slowly — minatozaki sana.

now playing: want - taemin.

synopsis - sana has always been a tease, always pushing, always testing your limits. but tonight, with her hands on your waist and her lips against your skin, the game turns into something more.

pairing - minatozaki sana x fem reader.

the air in the practice room is thick—humid from hours of movement, from the heat of bodies pressing too close. the speakers hum with the remnants of the last song, the bass still thrumming under your skin. but none of it is what has you breathless.

it’s her.

sana stands behind you, hands firm on your waist, fingers spread wide. her breath is hot against your ear as she leans in, her body molding against yours like she belongs there.

“relax,” she murmurs, voice low and teasing.

as if that’s possible.

you swallow hard, staring at your reflection in the mirror. her arms are around you, guiding your movements, her touch featherlight yet deliberate. every shift of her body against yours sends sparks shooting through your veins.

“you’re stiff,” she continues, adjusting your posture. her lips brush the shell of your ear—accidental, maybe, but you know her too well to believe that.

you exhale sharply. “sana.”

“hmm?” her voice drips with amusement and fake innocence.

“stop teasing.”

she grins against your skin, hands trailing down to rest just above your hips. “i’m just helping.”

helping. right.

she’s been like this all night. her touches lingering just a second too long. her voice softer, sultrier. her gaze burning through you every time you lock eyes in the mirror.

and now, with her pressed against your back, her hands guiding your movements, you’re not sure how much longer you can take it.

you try to focus, try to follow the rhythm, but your body is hyperaware of her—of the way her fingers tighten ever so slightly when you move just right, of the way her breath hitches when your hips roll back against hers.

and that’s when you decide,

two can play this game.

so you push back—just a little, just enough for her to feel it.

and she does.

her hands tighten, grip turning bruising for just a second before she exhales sharply, a low curse slipping from her lips.

“careful,” she warns, voice rougher now.

you meet her gaze in the mirror, eyes dark, challenging. “why?”

her fingers slide up your sides, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. “because if you keep doing that,” she whispers, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “i might forget we’re supposed to be dancing.”

your breath catches.

the song ends. silence fills the room, but the tension lingers, thick and suffocating.

sana’s hands don’t leave your body.

“practice is over,” she murmurs, pressing the softest, most devastating kiss to your shoulder. “wanna come home with me?”

you don’t hesitate.

⸻

the moment you step outside the practice room, the air feels even heavier—charged with something thick, something unspoken.

sana walks beside you, her fingers brushing yours, teasing, but never fully intertwining. you can feel her watching you, feel the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. she knows what she’s doing. she’s been doing it all night.

you should say something, call her out, but instead, you let her lead you to her car, let her drive through the quiet city streets with one hand on the wheel and the other resting just a little too high on your thigh.

your breath hitches when her fingers squeeze, gentle but deliberate.

“you’re quiet,” she muses, voice dripping with amusement.

you glance at her, at the way the dim streetlights cast golden shadows across her face, at the way she looks so pleased with herself.

“i wonder why,” you mutter, shifting slightly under her touch.

she chuckles, low and knowing. “am i distracting you?”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. the tension sitting between you is thick enough to drown in.

when she finally parks outside your apartment, she doesn’t move to unlock the car doors right away. instead, she turns to you, eyes dark, half-lidded, her fingers still tracing absentminded circles against your leg.

“say the word,” she murmurs, voice softer now, less teasing—something deeper lurking underneath. “and i’ll leave you alone.”

you swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears.

you could. you should. but instead, you reach for her, fingers curling around the collar of her hoodie, pulling her close until her breath mingles with yours.

“stay.”

it’s all she needs to hear.

in an instant, her lips crash against yours, warm and desperate, stealing the air from your lungs. her hands are on your waist, pulling you across the center console, closer, closer, like she can’t get enough.

and maybe, neither can you.

⸻

sana kisses you like she’s starved for it—like she’s been waiting all night for you to give in. her fingers tighten at your waist, nails digging just enough to make you gasp, and she takes advantage of it, deepening the kiss, swallowing the sound like she owns it.

like she owns you.

you’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly, you’re in her lap, straddling her in the driver’s seat, your hands tangling in her hair as she pulls you impossibly closer. the car is too small, too hot, filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the slick slide of lips against lips.

“you drive me crazy, pretty girl,” she murmurs against your mouth, voice rough, fingers slipping under your hoodie, tracing slow, torturous lines up your spine.

“good,” you whisper, rolling your hips just to see her react.

and she does.

a sharp inhale, a quiet curse, her hands tightening at your sides—just like she did in the practise room

for someone who’s been teasing you all night, she’s unraveling fast.

“you think you’re funny?” she breathes, dragging her lips down the column of your throat, teeth grazing, biting just enough to make you shiver.

you don’t answer—can’t, really—because her hands are everywhere, touching, gripping, groping, pulling, making it impossible to think.

and then, too soon, she stops.

you blink, dazed, breathless, watching as she leans back against the seat, eyes dark, lips swollen, smirking.

“inside,” she murmurs, voice low and full of promise.

it’s not a request.

you scramble out of the car, legs unsteady, heart pounding, barely able to breathe before she’s on you again—pressing you against the door the second you unlock it, kissing you like she needs you, like there’s no turning back.

and maybe, just maybe—there isn’t.

⸻

her hands on either side of your head, caging you in. her breath is warm against your lips, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded, flickering between your gaze and your mouth like she can’t decide what she wants more.

you swallow hard, fingers gripping the front of her hoodie, steadying yourself against the sheer intensity of her presence.

“you really like teasing me, huh?” you murmur, tilting your chin up slightly, challenging.

sana’s lips curve into a smirk, but there’s something deeper behind it now—something raw, starved.

“only because you look so pretty when you break,” she whispers, her voice like silk and smoke.

before you can respond, she kisses you again—slower this time, deeper, like she wants you to feel it, like she’s savoring every second. her hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing into your waist, guiding you back until your legs hit the couch.

you fall first, and she follows, hovering over you, settling between your thighs with ease, like she belongs there.

you’re completely breathless.

“sana—”

“shh,” she murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just below your ear. “you started this, remember?”

you shiver as her lips trail lower, as her hands slide under the hem of your hoodie, pushing it up, exposing warm skin to cool air.

“tell me to stop,” she whispers, voice husky, reverent.

you don’t.

instead, you tug her closer, fingers curling in the fabric of her hoodie as you whisper, “don’t stop.”

sana exhales sharply, something breaking in her restraint, and then she’s kissing you again—deep, hungry, like she’s been waiting forever.

like she’s done waiting.

⸻

sana moves like she already knows every inch of you, like she’s memorized exactly how to unravel you. her lips are hot against your skin, trailing down your neck, leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses that make you shiver.

“you don’t know what you do to me,” she murmurs against your collarbone, her voice thick, breathless.

you do know—because you feel it too. the way the air between you crackles, the way your body arches into hers without thinking, the way her touch sets your skin on fire.

her hands slide under your hoodie, pushing it higher, her fingers splaying across your stomach, warm and possessive. she watches you as she does it, eyes flickering up to yours, searching—making sure you’re still with her, still wanting this as much as she does.

you are.

so you lift your arms, letting her pull the hoodie over your head, letting her take in the sight of you beneath her, flushed and breathless and completely at her mercy.

sana exhales, her gaze darkening, her hands settling on your waist, squeezing like she’s trying to ground herself.

“you’re so—” she doesn’t finish, just shakes her head slightly, like words aren’t enough, like she’d rather show you instead.

so she does.

her lips are on you again in an instant—pressing, tasting, lingering. she kisses down your torso, slow and deliberate, mapping out a path with her mouth, like she’s claiming you.

you gasp when she reaches your hips, when her teeth graze over sensitive skin, when she looks up at you through her lashes with that teasing, wicked glint in her eyes.

“still want me to stop?” she asks, her voice a dangerous whisper.

your fingers tighten in her hair, your pulse a frantic rhythm beneath your skin.

“sana,” you breathe, shaking your head. “don’t you dare.”

she grins.

“good.”

and then she ruins you.

[misanahrs]

if you let me in — minatozaki sana.

now playing: if you let me in - jimmy brown.

synopsis - what started as a no strings attached arrangement turns into something deeper when sana confesses she craves more. now, you have to face the truth; you were never just hers for the night. you were always hers.

pairing: minatozaki sana x fem reader.

it starts as a mistake.

or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

one night, one too many drinks, and suddenly, sana’s lips are on yours—warm, soft, tasting like the sweet cocktails she had earlier. her hands are in your hair, her body pressing against yours, and it feels so right that you don’t stop it. you let her kiss you, let her pull you into her bedroom, let her make you feel things you weren’t ready to admit.

but then it happens again. and again. and again.

soon, it’s no longer a drunken mistake. it’s whispered “stay the night”s. it’s waking up tangled in sheets that smell like her. it’s stolen kisses in the kitchen when no one’s watching. it’s her hand on your thigh when you’re watching a movie, absentminded but possessive. it’s her lips brushing your shoulder as she murmurs, “you feel so good.”

but it’s never talked about. and maybe that’s the problem.

tonight, she’s different.

tonight, she’s touching you like she’s memorising you. like she’s scared you’ll slip away.

her hands roam your bare skin, slow and reverent, her lips tracing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone. her breathing is uneven, heavy, like she’s trying to hold something back.

“sana,” you whisper, fingers threading through her hair, and she groans softly, pressing closer, as if the sound of her name on your lips is too much.

“don’t,” she murmurs, voice husky, desperate—but there was something unfamiliar, unrecognisable laced underneath “don’t say my name like that unless you want me to lose my mind.”

her lips are back on yours, and you don’t hold back—you kiss her like you mean it, like you want her just as much as she wants you.

but when it’s over, when you’re lying in her bed, her arm draped lazily over your waist, there’s something different in the way she holds you. tighter. closer. like she’s scared to let go.

you turn to face her, and she’s already watching you, eyes dark and unreadable.

“this isn’t just a thing for me,” she says quietly, almost afraid of her own words.

your heart stutters.

“what?”

she swallows, fingers brushing lightly over your cheek. “i’m not good at pretending. not with you.” her voice drops, barely a whisper. “i want more than this.”

you stare at her, at the way she’s looking at you like she’s always looked at you, like she’s never once thought of you as just a roommate.

and suddenly, you know;

letting her in,

it was never just a mistake.

sana watches you, waiting.

you can tell she’s trying to act calm, but her fingers are still resting against your cheek, barely trembling, and her breathing isn’t as steady as she wants it to be. she’s scared—scared she’s ruined this, scared she’s made a mistake in saying anything at all.

but the truth is, you’ve known.

you’ve known in the way she touches you like you’re something sacred and she’s worshipping it—worshipping you—, the way she kisses you like she means it, the way she holds you after, even when she thinks you’re asleep.

you swallow hard, reaching up to cover her hand with yours.

“sana…”

her name feels too small for how much you feel. you’re not sure what to say—what can you say? you should have seen this coming, should have known this would never stay as something casual.

but admitting that means admitting that you want her too.

and that terrifies you.

because this isn’t just some random hookup. this is sana. your best friend. your roommate. the person who knows how you take your coffee, who steals the blanket at night but tucks it back around you when she thinks you don’t notice, who looks at you like you put the stars in the sky.

if you let this become real, there’s no turning back.

sana shifts, pulling her hand away, her eyes flickering with something resigned, like she already knows what you’re going to say.

“forget it,” she says, forcing a small, empty smile. “i shouldn’t have said anything. we can just—”

but you don’t let her finish.

before she can pull away any further, you grab her wrist, stopping her. her eyes widen slightly, surprised.

“don’t do that,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “don’t take it back.”

her lips part, breath hitching whilst something dangerously close to hope appeared in her eyes.

“then say something,” she pleads softly. “because i can’t keep pretending this is just—” she gestures between you, frustrated. “this.”

you hesitate for only a second before you’re leaning in, pressing your lips to hers.

it’s not like the other times. it’s slower, softer, but just as deep—like you’re pouring every unspoken word, every feeling, into the way your lips move against hers.

sana exhales shakily against your mouth, melting into the kiss like she’s been waiting forever for this moment. her hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your skin so tenderly it makes your heart ache.

when you finally pull away, she rests her forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“tell me this means something,” she whispers.

you reach for her hand, lacing your fingers together.

“it does,” you breathe. “it always has. it means everything.”

sana lets out a shaky laugh, relief flooding her expression as she kisses you again, smiling against your lips.

this time, when she holds you close, there’s no hesitation, no fear—only the quiet, undeniable truth.

you’re hers. and she’s yours.

and suddenly, you know;

letting her in,

it was never just a mistake.

[misanahrs]

my idea — park jihyo.

now playing: idea - taemin.

synopsis - you’re an athlete struggling with grades. jihyo is your tutor. stolen glances turn into something neither of you can ignore—something forbidden, but impossible to resist. some things do not need to be said to be felt. and some lines are meant to be crossed.

pairing - park jihyo x fem reader.

chapter one:

“you need to sort out your priorities.”

your teacher’s words loop in your head as you step out of the classroom, the fluorescent lights of the hallway blurring slightly. the weight of them lingers, pressing into your skin long after the conversation is over.

“you’re barely passing. if you don’t get a tutor, you’re not going to stay on the team. and if you’re not on the team, what do you have left?”

it was brutal. direct. but it wasn’t wrong.

you exhale sharply as you push through the school doors, stepping into the cool evening air. your muscles ache from training, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. but it’s not the usual kind, not the good kind that comes after a long match or an intense workout.

this is frustration. restlessness.

because deep down, you know she’s right.

so later that night, when you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you let the truth settle in.

you need to fix this.

⸻

chapter two:

morning comes too soon, the weight of yesterday still sitting heavy in your chest.

as you step into the school corridors, you spot your teacher near her office. she meets your gaze expectantly, waiting.

“just get it over with.”

“i’ll do it,” you say, voice flat.

her expression softens slightly. “good. meet me in the library after school. i’ll introduce you to your tutor then.”

you nod, already shifting your focus. you have training before class, a match this weekend—real priorities. but the nagging thought of who your tutor might be lingers at the back of your mind, no matter how hard you try to push it aside.

⸻

the library is quiet when you step inside later that day, the kind of stillness that doesn’t sit right with you. you thrive on noise—on the sound of sneakers against the ground, on the sharp calls of your teammates, on the steady rhythm of your own breathing as you push past your limits.

this silence makes you restless.

you spot your teacher near the back, speaking to someone whose back is turned to you. as you approach, your teacher looks up, smiling.

“there you are,” she says. then she steps aside. “this is your tutor.”

and that’s when you see her.

park jihyo.

your stomach tightens before you can stop it.

everyone knows jihyo. top student. perfectionist. untouchable. she carries herself with an ease that borders on arrogance, always so put-together, always so in control.

and fuck, she’s beautiful.

not in the way some people are—pretty in passing, attractive in the right light. no. jihyo is something else entirely. something undeniable. sharp eyes, full lips, an expression that is both knowing and unreadable at once.

her gaze sweeps over you, slow, assessing.

you lift your chin slightly, meeting her stare.

“i’ve heard a lot about you,” jihyo says smoothly, crossing her arms.

“hope it’s good,” you reply, matching her tone, forcing a smirk you don’t entirely feel.

jihyo’s lips quirk. “we’ll see.”

jihyo is strict.

you learn that within the first fifteen minutes of your first session.

“no, that’s wrong,” she says, reaching across the table to cross out your answer. “you’re skipping steps.”

“if the answer’s right, does it matter?” you mutter, leaning back in your chair.

jihyo levels you with a look.

“it matters if you actually want to learn,” she says.

you hold her gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

she doesn’t look away.

it goes on like that.

jihyo pushing. you resisting.

but there’s something else, too. something just beneath the surface.

it’s in the way her fingers sometimes brush yours when she hands you a pen, the way her gaze lingers a second too long when you’re concentrating.

it’s in the way your stomach tightens when she leans in, close enough that you can smell her perfume, close enough that you could—no. you push the thought aside.

this isn’t that.

it can’t be.

⸻

chapter three:

jihyo tells herself she’s just observing.

that’s all.

she watches your matches because she needs to understand what takes up so much of your time, why you throw yourself into this sport with a dedication she’s never quite understood.

but the truth?

the truth is, she can’t stop watching you.

you’re all raw power and precision, muscles tensing, movements sharp, every step completely controlled. there’s an intensity in your expression, a fire she’s never seen in the quiet focus you give to your studies.

and it drives her insane.

because when you push your hair back, sweat-damp and breathless, her stomach tightens in a way that has nothing to do with academics.

because when you grin after a particularly brutal play, something warm spreads through her chest, uninvited and unwelcome.

and because when she catches you after the match, towel slung over your shoulders, laughing with minatozaki sana—

she hates it.

hates the way sana leans in too close, whispering something in your ear that makes you smirk.

hates the way your hand lingers at sana’s waist, casual, easy, familiar.

hates the way something ugly and unfamiliar coils in her stomach.

jihyo has no claim over you.

but that doesn’t stop the jealousy from burning through her anyway.

⸻

chapter four:

the library is quiet except for the soft scratching of your pencil against paper. the steady rhythm of it should be comforting, should lull you into focus, but instead, it only sharpens your awareness of the girl sitting across from you.

jihyo.

she’s watching you, but not in an obvious way. her gaze flickers between your notes and her own, her fingers occasionally tapping against the side of her pen.

“you’re rushing again,” she murmurs, leaning in slightly.

you glance at her, then back at your work.

“i got the answer right.”

jihyo sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “but you didn’t show your working. if you don’t get used to writing everything out, you’ll mess up under pressure.”

“i don’t mess up under pressure,” you say, smirking.

jihyo raises an eyebrow. “this isn’t a game. you can’t just rely on instinct.”

“maybe i can.”

jihyo exhales sharply, and you can tell she’s trying not to get frustrated. but there’s something else there, something almost amused.

“just write it out properly,” she says, voice softer now.

you sigh dramatically but pick up your pencil again.

jihyo watches, her lips curving slightly.

you don’t miss the way her gaze lingers.

⸻

chapter five:

jihyo doesn’t notice it at first.

the way her eyes search for you in the halls. the way she catches herself lingering in the library long after your sessions have ended, as if expecting you to still be there.

but then one evening, as she sits across from you, watching the crease between your brows as you struggle through a problem, it hits her.

she wants to touch you.

not in a grand, overwhelming way. just—casually. effortlessly.

she wants to brush a stray eyelash from your cheek. wants to trace the ink smudged on your fingertips after hours of writing. wants to reach across the table and tuck your hair behind your ear when it falls into your eyes.

it’s a dangerous thought.

and it only gets worse when you glance up suddenly, stretching slightly, muscles tensing beneath your uniform.

done,” you announce, sliding your paper toward her.

jihyo swallows, forcing herself to focus.

“finally,” she murmurs, taking the paper.

but as her eyes scan your work, her mind is elsewhere.

because now, she can’t unsee it.

this pull. this thing between you.

and she doesn’t know what to do with it.

⸻

chapter six:

jihyo tells herself that whatever this is—this thing she refuses to name—it doesn’t mean anything.

but then she sees you with sana again.

it’s between classes, the hallway buzzing with life, and sana is standing too close, smiling in that way she does—easy, warm, inviting.

jihyo watches as sana tugs at your sleeve, as you lean in slightly, as your laughter rings out over the noise of the crowd.

she clenches her jaw and looks away.

it shouldn’t bother her.

she has no reason—no right—to feel this way.

but later that evening, during your tutoring session, she’s distant.

you notice.

“something wrong?” you ask, leaning back in your chair.

jihyo shakes her head. “just tired.”

it’s a lie.

and she thinks—maybe you know that.

but you don’t press.

instead, you tilt your head slightly, studying her.

“you should take a break sometimes,” you say.

jihyo exhales, offering the smallest smile. “you should take your studies seriously.”

you grin. “i do. when my tutor isn’t zoning out on me.”

jihyo rolls her eyes, but the tension lingers.

and later, when she watches you walk away, she wonders if you even realise what you’re doing to her.

⸻

chapter seven:

it happens late one evening, long after the library has emptied.

the air between you has been thick all session, something charged and unspoken pressing into the silence.

jihyo watches as you stretch, rolling your shoulders, exhaustion settling into your frame.

“long day?” she asks, quieter than before.

you nod, exhaling. “training was brutal.”

jihyo hesitates, then—without thinking—reaches out.

her fingers brush over your wrist, brief but deliberate.

you still.

your eyes meet hers, something unreadable flickering behind them.

jihyo doesn’t move her hand away immediately.

the warmth of your skin seeps into hers, and for a moment—just a moment—she wonders what it would be like if she let herself give in.

but then reality crashes back, sharp and unforgiving.

jihyo pulls away.

“you should get some rest,” she murmurs.

your gaze lingers on her for a beat too long.

but then you nod, standing slowly, gathering your things.

as you walk away, jihyo exhales, pressing her hands against the table.

this is getting dangerous.

and she’s not sure she can stop it.

⸻

chapter eight:

jihyo knows she’s being reckless.

she knows she should pull back, should create distance, should treat this—treat you—with the same strict professionalism she applies to everything else in her life.

but it’s getting harder.

especially when you look at her like that.

especially when she finds herself waiting for your tutoring sessions, anticipation curling in her stomach before she even realises what she’s doing.

tonight is no different.

the library is dimly lit, mostly empty, the hushed silence wrapping around the two of you like something fragile.

you’releaning back in your chair, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, your shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar, exposing the faintest hint of skin.

jihyo hates that she notices.

hates that she lingers.

“so,” you say, tilting your head. “what’s the lesson today, miss park?”

jihyo rolls her eyes, but her stomach tightens at the way you say her name, at the way it rolls off your tongue like something taunting.

“mechanics and materials,” she says, tapping her pen against the table.

“boring,” you murmur, smirking.

jihyo exhales sharply, shaking her head. “you need to focus.”

“i am focused.”

“you’re not.”

you lean forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, closing the space between you just enough to shift the air.

“maybe i’d focus more if my tutor wasn’t so distracted.”

jihyo stiffens.

your voice is low, teasing, but your eyes—your eyes—they’re sharp. knowing.

jihyo forces herself to hold your gaze, forces herself to breathe.

“i’m not distracted,” she says, tone measured.

you hum, unconvinced.

but then you sit back, stretching lazily, and jihyo exhales, gripping her pen tighter than necessary.

“right,” you say, smirking. “mechanics and materials.”

jihyo doesn’t respond.

she can’t.

because for the first time, she’s starting to realise—

she’s losing control.

⸻

chapter nine:

jihyo sees you with sana again.

it’s after school, just outside the gym, and you’re leaning against the lockers, laughing at something sana just said.

jihyo watches from a distance, something sharp curling in her chest.

she doesn’t want to care.

but then sana reaches out, fingers grazing your wrist, lingering for a second too long—

jihyo looks away.

the jealousy is ugly. pathetic. she has no reason to feel it.

but later, during your tutoring session, she’s distant. colder than usual.

you notice immediately.

“what’s with you today?” you ask, tapping your pencil against your notebook.

“nothing,” jihyo says, too quickly.

you frown. “lies.”

jihyo exhales sharply, rubbing her temples. “just focus, please.”

you watch her for a long moment.

then, casually—too casually—you lean back in your chair, tilting your head.

“you don’t like sana, do you?”

jihyo freezes.

her pulse stutters.

“what?”

you smirk slightly, resting your chin in your palm.

“you always get weird after you see me with her.”

jihyo swallows. “you’re imagining things.”

“am i?”

jihyo doesn’t answer.

because she is imagining things—things she shouldn’t be thinking about, things that press against the edges of her restraint, things she has no right to want.

but then you do something dangerous.

you reach across the table, fingers just barely brushing hers.

it’s nothing. it’s everything.

jihyo pulls back as if burned.

“we can’t,” she says, voice tight.

you don’t move.

you just watch her, gaze steady, something unreadable flickering behind your eyes.

then—softly, carefully—you murmur,

“who said i was asking?”

jihyo’s breath catches.

and for the first time, she realises—

this isn’t just in her head.

this is real.

this is happening.

and she doesn’t know how to stop it.

⸻

chapter ten:

jihyo avoids you for two days.

it’s a pathetic attempt, really. she knows it won’t last—knows that come the next tutoring session, she’ll have no choice but to face you again—but she needs the space, needs time to rebuild the walls that are already cracking.

but you don’t make it easy.

on the third day, you corner her.

the library is emptier than usual, the quiet stretching thick between you as you drop into the chair across from her. you don’t pull out your books. you don’t even pretend to.

jihyo exhales, already bracing herself.

“are we gonna talk about it?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“there’s nothing to talk about,” jihyo replies, forcing her voice to stay steady.

you scoff, leaning forward. “you really gonna act like i didn’t feel that?”

jihyo’s stomach tightens.

she hates how easily you unravel her.

“you’re imagining things,” she says.

“you said that last time,” you murmur, eyes sharp. “but you were lying then, too.”

jihyo clenches her jaw.

because she knows you’re right.

but she can’t do this. she won’t.

“this isn’t happening,” she says, voice quieter now, more uncertain.

you study her for a long moment.

then you lean back slightly, stretching out like you have all the time in the world.

“you want me.”

jihyo’s breath catches.

the words are soft, not arrogant or taunting—just factual.

her pulse thrums in her throat, betraying her.

and then you smile, just slightly, as if you can hear it.

jihyo grips the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“this isn’t a game,” she whispers.

you hold her gaze, eyes dark, unreadable.

“who said it was?”

jihyo doesn’t answer.

because she’s afraid of what might slip out if she does.

⸻

chapter eleven:

the next session is different.

jihyo tries to pretend otherwise, tries to fall back into routine, but she can feel the shift—feel the tension laced in every glance, in every movement.

and the worst part?

so can you.

you sit closer than usual, your knee just barely brushing hers under the table. you stretch in that lazy, deliberate way, your shirt riding up slightly, exposing just a sliver of skin.

jihyo catches herself looking.

catches herself lingering.

and when she looks back up, you’re smirking.

dangerous.

you know exactly what you’re doing.

jihyo forces herself to focus, tapping her pen against your book. “this is wrong,” she murmurs, pointing to an equation.

“fix it for me, then.”

jihyo sighs, reaching for your pen.

but as she does, your fingers brush hers.

a small, fleeting touch. nothing, really.

except it is.

jihyo inhales sharply, willing her body to not react, but it’s too late.

you feel it.

your gaze flickers to her lips.

jihyo sees it happen—sees the way your expression shifts, the way something unreadable passes through your eyes.

she swallows hard.

“this can’t happen,” she murmurs, barely audible.

but she doesn’t move away.

neither do you.

the silence stretches.

jihyo feels it crackling in the air between you, heavy and electric.

your fingers are still touching hers.

and neither of you let go.

⸻

chapter twelve:

jihyo doesn’t know how much longer she can do this.

every session is a test of control, every glance a tug toward something she’s not sure she can resist anymore.

and then, one evening, she breaks.

it’s after a long session—longer than usual, the hours bleeding into the night. the library is empty now, the overhead lights dimmed, casting long shadows against the shelves.

jihyo is tired.

but not in the way she should be.

“we should stop for tonight,” she murmurs, rubbing her temples.

you don’t move.

you’re watching her.

jihyo feels it, feels you, like a pressure against her skin.

and then, slowly, deliberately, you stand.

jihyo blinks as you step around the table, stopping just beside her chair.

her pulse skitters. “what are you doing?” she asks, voice quieter now.

you don’t answer. instead, you reach out, fingers brushing against her wrist.

jihyo swallows hard.

“this is a bad idea,” she whispers.

you hum softly, tilting your head. “maybe.”

jihyo exhales shakily.

your fingers trail up, barely there, ghosting over her skin.

jihyo doesn’t stop you.

she should.

she has to.

but then you step even closer, close enough that she can feel your breath against her cheek, close enough that if she just turned her head—

jihyo clenches her fists.

“you don’t get it,” she murmurs, eyes shut.

“then make me understand,” you whisper immediately.

jihyo’s restraint is slipping, unravelling thread by thread.

and for the first time—

she doesn’t know if she wants to hold it together.

⸻

chapter thirteen:

jihyo should stop this.

she knows she should.

but you’re standing so close now, your warmth pressing into her skin, your fingers still ghosting over her wrist, so light, so deliberate.

and she—she isn’t moving away.

you tilt your head slightly, eyes flickering over her face, lingering at her lips. jihyo’s breath hitches.

“this is dangerous.”

but she doesn’t pull back.

she can’t.

you lean in just slightly, so close now that all it would take is one movement, one slip, one second of weakness—

jihyo jerks back like she’s been burned.

her chair scrapes against the floor, the sound sharp and jarring in the silence.

her pulse is hammering. her chest is too tight.

your expression flickers—something unreadable, something unreadably hurt, but you mask it almost instantly, stepping back with a small, knowing smirk.

but jihyo sees it.

and somehow, that makes it worse.

“you’re scared,” you murmur, voice even.

jihyo clenches her jaw. “i’m being responsible.”

“same thing.”

jihyo exhales sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. “this isn’t a game, y/n.”

“i didn’t say it was, jihyo.”

jihyo falters.

you don’t sound teasing anymore.

you don’t sound anything.

just quiet. steady. waiting.

jihyo forces herself to breathe. forces herself to fix her expression, to smooth over the cracks in her resolve.

“we’re done for tonight,” she says, forcing her voice into something cold, something final.

you hold her gaze for a second too long.

then you nod, grabbing your things.

jihyo watches as you walk away, your footsteps slow, deliberate.

she doesn’t realise her hands are shaking until she curls them into fists.

this has to stop.

but she knows—deep down—

it’s already too late.

⸻

chapter fourteen:

jihyo avoids you again.

this time, you don’t let her.

it happens after training one evening. the halls are quiet, most students already gone, the air thick with the scent of sweat and polished floors.

jihyo is walking toward the exit when she hears footsteps behind her.

“avoiding me again?”

she closes her eyes briefly before turning.

you’re leaning against the lockers, still in your sports kit, hair damp, skin glowing with the remnants of exertion.

jihyo swallows. don’t look. don’t think. don’t—

“i’m not avoiding you,” she lies.

you smirk, tilting your head slightly. “you’re a shit liar.”

jihyo exhales sharply. “what do you want, y/n?”

you take a step forward.

jihyo stiffens.

“i want to know why you keep running away.”

jihyo clenches her fists. “this isn’t right.”

“doesn’t feel wrong to me.”

jihyo’s breath catches.

you’re relentless.

and she is breaking.

you take another step forward, eyes dark, unreadable.

jihyo should move. she should say something. anything.

but she doesn’t.

because all she can hear is the sound of her own heartbeat, all she can feel is the way the air thickens between you, electric, inevitable—

and then—

your fingers graze hers.

barely. barely.

but it’s enough.

enough for jihyo to realise—

she’s already lost.

and when you lean in, when your breath ghosts over her skin, when your fingers press more firmly against hers, grounding, daring—

jihyo lets you.

because for all her restraint, for all her careful walls—

she wants this, too.

and she doesn’t know how to stop.

⸻

chapter fifteen:

jihyo tells herself she won’t let it happen again.

but then you show up to tutoring late, still in your sports kit, hair damp from a shower, the scent of something warm and familiar clinging to your skin.

jihyo is already on edge when you drop into the chair across from her, legs spread slightly, stretching like you own the space between you.

she swallows hard, gripping her pen a little too tightly.

“you’re late,” she mutters.

you shrug, smirking. “coach kept me back.”

jihyo forces herself to focus, tapping the open textbook between you. “we need to go over—”

“you always look so serious,” you interrupt, chin resting in your palm. “it’s cute.”

jihyo exhales sharply, setting down her pen.

“do you ever just do the work?” she mutters.

you hum, feigning thought. “depends on the motivation.”

jihyo clenches her jaw. don’t engage. don’t react. don’t—

“if i get the next three questions right,” you say, voice lower now, more deliberate, “will you stop pretending you don’t want this?”

jihyo freezes—your words hit her like a strike to the ribs, sharp and direct and dangerous.

she forces herself to meet your gaze, forces herself to hold steady, but you—you—you’re watching her with something dark in your eyes, something confident, something knowing.

jihyo swallows.

“focus on your work, y/n,” she murmurs, but it’s weak. breathless.

and you hear it.

you smirk.

then, slowly—painfully, deliberately—you lean back, stretching slightly before picking up your pen.

jihyo watches as you start writing, as if nothing just happened, as if you didn’t just shift the ground beneath her.

and she—she grips the edge of the table, trying to remember how to breathe.

⸻

chapter sixteen:

jihyo tries to keep things professional.

but you make it impossible.

you’re reckless. teasing. relentless.

you lean in too close when she’s explaining equations, your arm brushing hers like it’s an accident. it’s never an accident.

you hold eye contact for too long, your gaze heavy, testing.

and worst of all—

you wait for her.

jihyo sees it in the way you linger after sessions, in the way you don’t rush to leave, in the way your fingers sometimes drum against the desk, slow and deliberate, as if waiting for her to do something.

but she can’t.

she won’t.

except—

one night, she almost does.

the library is empty, the world outside drowned in rain, the sound of it soft against the windows.

you’re staring at your notes, jaw tight, frustrated.

jihyo watches as you exhale sharply, rubbing your temples.

without thinking, she reaches out.

her fingers barely skim over yours before she realises what she’s done.

she freezes.

so do you.

the air shifts.

jihyo swallows hard, pulse thrumming. she should pull away.

but then—slowly, carefully—you turn your hand over, palm up, fingers barely curling against hers.

jihyo’s breath catches.

“don’t run,” you murmur, so soft, barely above a whisper.

jihyo knows what this is.

a test. a choice.

but she can’t.

she pulls back, quickly, sharply, standing before she even registers the movement.

“we’re done for tonight,” she says, voice tight.

you don’t move.

you just watch her, something flickering behind your eyes, something almost sad.

jihyo hates it.

but she turns before she can break.

before she can do something reckless.

something irreversible.

something she already knows she wants.

⸻

chapter seventeen:

jihyo should have known it wouldn’t end there.

because when you want something—really want something—you don’t let it go.

and right now, the thing you want is her.

it’s late. past curfew. the school halls are dim, empty, the hum of distant streetlights filtering through the windows.

jihyo shouldn’t be here.

but neither should you.

“why are you doing this?” jihyo whispers, voice quieter than she means.

you lean against the lockers, hands in your pockets, eyes dark.

“because i know you want me,” you say simply.

jihyo inhales sharply, her pulse a violent drumbeat.

“you don’t know anything.”

you step closer.

jihyo’s breath catches.

“i know you watch me when you think i don’t notice,” you murmur, voice lower now. “i know you get jealous when you see me with sana.”

jihyo clenches her jaw, but you’re relentless.

“i know you look at me like you’re starving,” you continue, stepping even closer.

jihyo is backed against the lockers now, nowhere to go, your presence pressing into her, suffocating in the worst, most intoxicating way.

she should stop this.

she has to.

but then you reach up, fingers ghosting over her wrist again—soft, fleeting, a touch that lingers.

jihyo swears she stops breathing.

“just say it,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

jihyo swallows, her whole body wound tight.

“say you don’t want me, and i’ll walk away.”

silence.

jihyo’s hands curl into fists.

your breath is warm against her skin, your gaze searching, waiting.

jihyo wants to say it.

wants to lie. wants to run.

but she—she can’t.

because it’s too late.

because the fire is already catching.

and she doesn’t know how to put it out.

⸻

chapter eighteen:

jihyo is frozen.

your words hang between you, thick, suffocating.

“say you don’t want me, and i’ll walk away.”

but she can’t.

because it would be a lie.

because every second of restraint, every moment she spent trying to deny this—deny you—has led to this exact moment.

you know it too.

you see it in her silence, in the way her breathing is uneven, in the way her hands are curled into fists at her sides, as if trying to hold on to the last fragments of control.

your fingers are still resting against her wrist. not gripping. just there.

waiting.

jihyo swallows hard, her pulse hammering in her throat.

“walk away,” she wants to say. “leave before I do something I can’t take back.”

but you don’t move.

and neither does she.

until—

“fuck it.”

jihyo doesn’t know who moves first.

maybe it’s you, maybe it’s her, maybe it’s both at once, but suddenly, you’re too close, and her hands are on your waist, and your breath is catching as your back presses into the lockers, and—

your lips are barely apart, inches from crashing.

jihyo’s grip tightens, fingers curling against the fabric of your shirt, the tension between you crackling like something about to shatter.

she should stop.

she has to stop.

but you whisper her name—soft, pleading, knowing—and that’s it.

jihyo crashes into you.

the moment your lips meet, it’s not soft. it’s not hesitant.

it’s fire.

all the restraint, all the months of pushing you away, of trying to deny this—deny herself—it all erupts, spills over, consumes her.

jihyo kisses you like she’s starving. like she’s been holding back for so long that she doesn’t know how to stop now.

and you—you kiss her back just as fiercely, just as desperately, your fingers gripping her jaw, pulling her even closer, as if afraid she might disappear.

but she’s not going anywhere.

not anymore.

she finally breaks away, panting, her forehead presses against yours, and she doesn’t let go.

your breath is warm against her lips, your fingers still tangled in her hair.

“i knew it,” you whisper, a little breathless, a little smug.

jihyo exhales a sharp, shaky laugh, her grip on your waist tightening.

“shut up,” she murmurs.

but when you lean in again, when your lips ghost against hers in something softer, slower—jihyo lets you.

because the fight is over.

and she never stood a chance.

⸻

chapter nineteen:

jihyo is reckless after that night.

she knows she shouldn’t be.

but now that she’s had a taste of you—now that she’s finally let herself have you—she doesn’t know how to stop.

it starts small. subtle.

longer glances. stolen touches. your fingers brushing against hers when no one’s looking.

but then, one evening, you test her patience.

you show up to tutoring late again, still in your kit, flushed from training.

jihyo barely looks at you when you drop into the chair beside her.

“you’re late,” she mutters.

“had to shower,” you say easily. “unless you wanted me here all sweaty.”

jihyo exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“focus,” she says, more to herself than to you.

but you don’t.

you never do.

you lean forward slightly, resting your chin in your hand, watching her with that look.

“you’re distracted,” you murmur.

jihyo clenches her jaw.

“i wonder why,” you add, smirking.

jihyo slams your book shut.

“we’re done for tonight.”

you blink, smirk faltering.

“jihyo—”

“leave., y/n.”

it’s the first time she’s used your name like that. no formality. no distance. just jihyo.

she stands, already turning to leave, already regretting this—

but then you move.

suddenly, your fingers are gripping her wrist, tugging her back, and before she can stop herself, before she can think, she’s pressed against the bookshelf, your body crowding into hers, your hand splayed against her hip.

jihyo gasps, eyes going wide.

you lean in, your breath warm against her ear.

“don’t run from me,” you murmur, voice low, dangerous.

jihyo shudders.

your fingers tighten on her waist, grounding. daring.

jihyo’s self-control snaps.

in one swift movement, she grabs your collar, yanking you forward until your lips crash into hers, rough, desperate, needing.

you groan softly, fingers digging into her skin as you press even closer, your weight pushing her back against the shelf, trapping her between you and the shelf.

jihyo doesn’t care.

doesn’t care about right or wrong. doesn’t care about consequences. doesn’t care about anything except the way you’re kissing her like you own her.

because maybe—just maybe—you do.

and she likes it.

⸻

chapter twenty:

jihyo doesn’t get jealous.

at least, that’s what she tells herself.

but then she sees you with sana.

she hadn’t been looking for you. not consciously, at least. but her eyes always seem to find you anyway, drawn to you like a force she can’t control.

and right now, what she finds makes her stomach turn.

sana is laughing, soft and sweet, her hand resting lightly on your forearm. you’re smirking at her, your usual confident, easy charm on full display.

jihyo feels something hot coil in her chest.

she shouldn’t care.

but she does.

because you’re hers.

and yet, here you are—letting sana touch you, letting her pull you into her orbit like it’s nothing.

jihyo clenches her jaw, forcing herself to look away, forcing herself to breathe.

this is ridiculous. she trusts you. she does.

but that doesn’t stop the ugly feeling curling inside her, sinking deep into her bones, making her grip on her book tighten until her knuckles turn white.

she doesn’t realise how tense she is until you sit beside her in the library later that evening, sliding into the seat across from her like you always do.

but this time, you’re quiet.

watching.

jihyo doesn’t look up.

“you’re quiet,” you murmur.

“just tired,” she says, flipping a page she hasn’t actually read.

you hum, unconvinced. “this wouldn’t have anything to do with sana, would it?” jihyo freezes and her fingers curl slightly against the edge of the book, her grip tightening. your smirk is immediate. “oh my god, you’re jealous.”

“i’m not,” jihyo mutters, flipping another page too aggressively.

but you’re grinning now, like this is funny, like you enjoy this.

“you totally are,” you tease, leaning in slightly. “you should’ve seen your face—”

“why were you with her?” jihyo interrupts, finally looking at you.

the words slip out before she can stop them, sharper than she intended.

you blink, caught off guard by her tone—by the slight edge of hurt underneath it.

jihyo hates that it slipped out.

but you notice.

your expression softens, and you sigh, shaking your head slightly before reaching across the table, your fingers brushing lightly over hers.

jihyo should pull away.

but she doesn’t.

“baby,” you murmur, your thumb grazing over her knuckles, slow and gentle.

jihyo exhales sharply, her chest tight.

“i wasn’t flirting,” you say softly. “it’s not like that.”

jihyo searches your face, but you hold her gaze, steady, patient, reassuring.

“then what was it?” she asks, quieter this time.

you sigh again, rubbing small circles into the back of her hand.

“you know how dahyun has a thing for sana?”

jihyo nods slowly, hesitant.

“i was helping her out,” you explain. “making dahyun jealous, giving her a reason to confess and make a move.”

jihyo blinks. “that’s why—?”

“yes,” you say, squeezing her hand slightly. “and, by the way, it worked. dahyun finally asked her out.”

jihyo exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly.

but you’re still watching her, that teasing glint back in your eyes. “you were jealous,” you say, smirking.

jihyo groans, rolling her eyes whilst yanking her hand away. “shut up.”

but then you lean in, your breath warm against her cheek, your voice dropping lower.

“it’s kinda cute,” you murmur.

jihyo rolls her eyes, but she can feel her ears burning. “you’re insufferable.”

you grin, tilting your head. “but you love me.”

jihyo freezes.

you say it so casually, so easily—like it’s fact. like you know it.

jihyo feels her heart stutter, her breath catching for just a second too long.

you notice.

your smile softens, the teasing edge melting into something warmer.

jihyo swallows, then sighs, reaching out again, slowly, tentatively, lacing her fingers back through yours.

“…yeah,” she murmurs, barely audible.

but you hear it.

your smirk fades into something softer, something almost tender.

jihyo hates that she was jealous.

but if it means getting to see this look on your face—

she doesn’t mind so much.

“well it’s a good thing i love you too, pretty girl.”

[misanahrs]

lost looking for you. — park jihyo.

now playing: inception - ateez.

synopsis - seeing you again was never going to be easy for jihyo—but watching the world fall in love with you the way she once did? unbearable.

pairing - park jihyo x fem reader.

chapter one: finding traces you lost.

jihyo had spent weeks pretending she wasn’t dreading this night.

she had smiled through rehearsals, kept her voice steady during interviews, laughed at the playful teasing from her members about seeing you again. she had even convinced herself that it wouldn’t be a big deal.

after all, it had been a while now. long enough for her to believe she had moved on.

but nothing—not the mental preparation, not the false reassurances, not the time spent apart could have braced her for this.

when your group’s name was announced, the shift in the air was instantaneous.

jihyo had been in the industry long enough to recognise it—the kind of electric anticipation that only a handful of artists could generate. whispers spread through the crowd, heads turned, and even idols who had been politely chatting during other performances straightened up in their seats.

the lights dimmed.

the bass hit, deep enough that jihyo could feel it in her ribs. a single spotlight cut through the darkness.

and then, you.

a figure emerging from the shadows, moving with the kind of effortless grace that had always set you apart. your gaze was sharp, intense, locking onto the camera as if it was the only thing in the room that mattered.

but you knew better than that.

you knew exactly who was watching.

jihyo barely breathed as the performance unfolded before her.

your group was flawless, every move precise, every note hit with unwavering control. but it was you who stole the moment.

when your verse arrived, the entire room seemed to still.

your rap was fast, controlled, words spilling effortlessly from your lips with a confidence that made it clear: this was your stage. your delivery was sharp, perfectly timed with the pounding beat, your voice a perfect balance of power and smoothness.

and then came the dance break.

jihyo didn’t realise she was gripping the fabric of her dress until she felt nayeon nudge her lightly, almost as if to say, breathe.

but how could she, when she was watching you like this?

the way your body moved, every motion sharp and fluid all at once. the way your expression remained completely unreadable, focused, lost in the music. the way even idols around her were reacting—lips parted in awe, murmuring to each other, leaning forward as if unable to look away.

they’re all seeing it now, jihyo thought. they’re all falling for her the way i did.

and maybe that was what hurt the most.

because you had always been hers to admire like this. hers to watch from up close, hers to whisper soft praises to in the quiet of a dressing room, hers to tell, you’re going to be a legend one day.

but now, you were everyone’s.

⸻

chapter two: i can’t go back to the way it was.

jihyo wasn’t sure what she was doing here.

the event was over. the speeches were done, the photos taken, the congratulatory smiles exchanged. she should have been on her way back to the hotel with her members, exhausted but content.

but instead, she was standing near the refreshment table, her fingers curled around a water bottle she had no intention of drinking.

because you were still here.

you stood just a few feet away, surrounded by a growing circle of people. idols from different groups, industry seniors, even producers—every single one of them clamouring for a piece of your attention.

jihyo watched as you smiled politely, nodded at compliments, laughed at inside jokes she was no longer part of.

but it was her who caught jihyo’s attention.

the girl standing closest to you.

jihyo recognised her—an idol from another successful girl group, someone known for her confidence, her charm, her ability to flirt without ever seeming like she was trying.

and right now, she was using all of it on you.

jihyo could see it in the way she leaned in just a little too much, her hand casually resting on your arm. the way she looked up at you through her lashes, the way her smile lingered after every word.

and worse—the way you let her. the way you let joy do whatever she wanted, say whatever she wanted whilst the rest of your members were interacting with the rest of red velvet.

jihyo swallowed.

this was ridiculous. she had no right to feel like this.

but that didn’t stop her from stepping forward anyway.

you noticed her immediately.

for a split second, your eyes locked onto hers.

and for the briefest moment, jihyo saw something flicker in your expression. something soft. something uncertain.

but then—just as quickly as it came—it was gone.

your posture shifted, closing yourself off.

and then you turned back to the conversation.

jihyo felt something inside her crack.

you had seen her.

you had seen her, and still, you chose to turn away.

⸻

chapter three: after i bumped into you.

jihyo woke to the dim glow of her phone screen.

she blinked, disoriented, reaching blindly for the device beside her on the hotel bed.

and then she saw it.

notification after notification.

her heart sank before she even unlocked the screen.

”[your group] DOMINATES the stage at [award show]—a performance that will go down in history!”

“watch: [your name]’s viral rap and dance break leaves idols in awe!”

“who is [your name]? k-pop’s newest ‘it girl’ takes the industry by storm!”

jihyo scrolled numbly, watching clips of your performance flood her timeline.

she clicked on a video, the sound kicking in instantly.

“this girl is unreal,” the caption read.

her stomach twisted as she watched it again—watched you again—before the clip changed to show different reactions from idols.

watched the way your expression never faltered, the way your body moved like the music was part of you, the way the camera caught the fire in your eyes.

the way the rest of the world was seeing what she had seen in you all along.

the comment section was endless.

“she’s got the whole industry in a chokehold.”

“idols are obsessed with her and i get it.”

“she’s untouchable.”

jihyo locked her phone.

stared at the ceiling.

breathed.

or at least, tried to.

because for all the months she had spent convincing herself she had let you go, tonight had made one thing painfully clear.

watching you shine was never the problem.

watching everyone else see you the way she once did—

that was the part she wasn’t sure she would ever recover from.

⸻

chapter four: can’t go back to the way it was.

jihyo didn’t expect to run into you again that night.

the afterparty was held in an exclusive hotel lounge, reserved only for artists, executives, and close industry insiders. it was meant to be a celebration—a space where idols could finally relax after weeks of exhausting preparations.

jihyo had been sitting with her members, half-listening to nayeon recount something funny that had happened earlier in the night, when she caught sight of you across the room.

you were leaning against the bar, drink in hand, posture relaxed.

but you weren’t alone—joy was beside you, still shamelessly flirting, still standing too close.

jihyo clenched her jaw.

this time, she didn’t hesitate.

her feet carried her forward before she could think better of it, pushing through the crowd until she was standing just a few steps away.

your head turned slightly, as if you could sense her there.

and then your eyes met.

something flickered across your expression—recognition, maybe even something softer—but it was gone so quickly she wasn’t sure she had even seen it.

“jihyo.” your voice was even, unreadable.

it was the first time you had spoken to her in months.

and it hurt.

not because you sounded angry. not because you sounded hurt—but because you sounded indifferent.

“you were great tonight,” jihyo said, forcing her voice to stay steady.

you tilted your head slightly, as if studying her. “thank you.”

silence stretched between you.

and then, joy leaned in closer to you, clearly uninterested in letting jihyo’s presence interrupt whatever she was trying to build with you.

jihyo swallowed.

you didn’t move away.

you didn’t acknowledge it at all.

as if it didn’t mean anything to you.

and maybe it didn’t.

maybe that was what hurt the most.

jihyo inhaled sharply, willing herself to stay composed. “it’s good to see you again.”

you gave her a small, polite smile. “you too.”

but your voice didn’t have the same warmth and affection it used to hold when you would talk.

and before she could even think of another word to say, you turned away—back to your drink, back to your conversation, back to your new life.

jihyo stood there for a moment, feeling like a stranger.

and maybe that’s exactly what she was to you now.

⸻

chapter five: craving for you more, uncontrollably.

jihyo wasn’t sure why she was watching this.

she could have ignored the interview. could have kept scrolling past the endless clips and articles and trending hashtags about you.

but here she was, curled up in bed, staring at her phone screen like it held the answers to all the questions she had been too afraid to ask.

“your performance at the award show went viral! were you expecting such a massive reaction?”

on-screen, you smiled. not the small, soft one jihyo used to wake up to. not the shy, private one you used to save just for her.

this one was effortless, confident, polished.

“i was hoping people would enjoy it,” you answered smoothly. “but the response has been overwhelming. i’m really grateful.”

“we saw a lot of idols reacting to your performance, some even calling you their favourite performer of the night! has anyone reached out to you personally?” the young woman enquired.

jihyo held her breath from the way you hesitated—even if it was just for a second. then— “a few people.”

“ooh, anyone interesting?” the interviewer wiggled their eyebrows, and you laughed lightly.

jihyo’s stomach twisted.

“i’ve had some fun conversations.” your eyes glimmered with something unreadable. “but that’s all i’ll say.”

the interviewer leaned in. “come on, give us a hint! was it… romantic?”

jihyo’s grip on her phone tightened.

you only smiled.

but you didn’t deny it.

jihyo locked her phone and dropped it onto the bed.

she stared at the ceiling, heart hammering against her ribs.

this was it.

this was really it.

she wasn’t even sure what it was.

was it the moment she realised you had moved on?

or was it the moment she realised she had never truly let you go?

whatever it was, it left her feeling empty.

⸻

chapter six: you are the dream i live in.

jihyo had been doing everything to not think about you.

she had thrown herself into schedules, into rehearsals, into smiling at cameras and pretending that everything was fine.

but tonight, there were no distractions.

tonight, she was alone in her dorm, curled up under a blanket, nursing a glass of wine she hadn’t even realised she poured.

and somehow—somehow—her mind had led her back to you.

back to nights like these, when you would lie beside her, head resting on her shoulder, murmuring sleepy confessions against her skin.

“i think you’re the best leader in the industry.”

“you work too hard. let me take care of you for once.”

“i love you, jihyo.”

jihyo squeezed her eyes shut.

because she remembered.

she remembered everything.

the way your voice sounded in the dark.

the way your fingertips traced patterns on her skin.

the way you had loved her—fully, recklessly, without hesitation.

and the way she had let it slip through her fingers.

because the truth was, jihyo had always been the one to pull away first.

when things had gotten too complicated, too overwhelming, too real, she had chosen to focus on her career.

and you had understood.

or at least, you had tried to.

but understanding didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. understanding didn’t mean you had waited.

now, here she was, watching you shine from a distance, while someone else got to stand beside you.

jihyo exhaled shakily, pressing the heel of her palm against her eyes.

she had no right to feel like this.

not when she was the one who had walked away first.

but god—

why did it still hurt so much?

⸻

chapter seven: eyes meet in that short instant.

jihyo hadn’t expected to see you perform again so soon.

after the last award show, she had done everything she could to push you to the back of her mind—convincing herself that what happened on that balcony meant nothing, that your words weren’t an invitation but a goodbye.

but here you were.

and here she was, watching you again, just like before.

only this time, it was worse.

because now, she knew you had seen her that night. knew you had hesitated. knew you had entertained the idea of something unfinished between you.

but she also knew you hadn’t reached out.

so she sat there, hands clasped in her lap, watching as your group took the stage once more.

and god, were you electric.

if last time had solidified your place as an artist to watch, this performance felt like the moment you became untouchable.

your group moved in perfect synchronisation, but you—you made the performance feel effortless, like it was just a game you were winning with ease.

your presence swallowed the stage, your rap slicing through the music like a blade, sharp and precise.

jihyo felt a shiver run through her spine.

the idols around her were reacting the same way they had last time—whispers, wide eyes, barely concealed admiration.

but jihyo barely noticed them.

her eyes were only on you.

and then, for just a fraction of a second—

you looked right at the camera,

nothing can fill you.

jihyo had seen idols do it a thousand times before, had done it herself more times than she could count.

but this wasn’t just a well-timed glance.

this was something else.

this was a challenge.

a statement.

and jihyo felt it sink beneath her skin like fire.

i’m lost looking for you.

the performance ended in thunderous applause.

jihyo clapped, because that was what was expected of her, but her heart was pounding too hard to focus.

this time, she didn’t wait until backstage to see you again.

this time, she didn’t let herself hesitate.

she found you near your dressing room, still surrounded by staff, your group members, other idols who wanted a piece of your attention.

but the moment you noticed her approaching, your smile faltered.

just for a second.

then it was back, polite and guarded—your smile, your face unreadable.

“jihyo.” you greeted.

god, she hated the way her name sounded in your voice now—so formal, so distant.

“can we talk?” jihyo asked, ignoring the way some of the people around you exchanged glances.

you lifted a brow, taking a sip from your water bottle.

then, after a moment— “sure.”

you turned to your members, giving them a quick but genuine smile, nodding before stepping aside with her.

jihyo wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but she wasn’t expecting the way you looked at her once you were alone—calm, unreadable, almost as if you were the one waiting for her to say something first.

“your performance was…” jihyo hesitated, searching for the right word. “insane.”

a small smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “i know.”

jihyo huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “you really haven’t changed.”

but then, something in your expression shifted.

“haven’t i?”

jihyo swallowed.

because maybe you had.

or maybe she was only just seeing it now.

but before she could say anything, before she could even begin to find the words, someone called your name from down the hall.

jihyo turned her head, recognising the voice immediately.

joy.

the same idol who had been flirting with you.

jihyo felt something sink in her stomach. but you?

you didn’t even flinch.

you simply exhaled, straightened your posture, and turned back to her with a small, almost knowing look.

“it was good seeing you again, jihyo.”

jihyo opened her mouth—

but you were already walking away.

towards her.

towards whatever life you were building without her.

jihyo stood there for a long moment, hands clenched at her sides.

and this time, she didn’t follow you.

this time, she let you go.

but as she turned away, a thought lingered in her mind, haunting and relentless—

then why did you look at me like that on stage?

⸻

chapter eight: search for you.

jihyo hadn’t planned on speaking to you tonight.

the industry event was packed, the atmosphere buzzing with energy as idols, producers, and executives mingled in designer suits and glittering dresses.

but then, just as she was about to step outside for some air, she saw you.

standing by the balcony doors, drink in hand, looking out over the city skyline.

for a moment, she hesitated.

but then, before she could stop herself, she was walking towards you.

you didn’t turn around when she reached you.

but you knew she was there.

she could tell by the way your shoulders tensed, the way your fingers curled slightly against your glass.

still, you didn’t move away.

so she took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage she had left.

“you look good.”

you finally turned your head, meeting her gaze.

there was something unreadable in your expression. something she couldn’t quite place.

“so do you,” you said.

silence stretched between you.

but it wasn’t the easy, comfortable silence you used to share.

this one was heavy. weighted with words left unsaid.

jihyo swallowed. “your performance was incredible that night.”

your lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “i know.”

jihyo huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “you haven’t changed.”

you tilted your head slightly, studying her. “you have.”

jihyo stilled.

you weren’t wrong.

she had changed.

but maybe not in the ways that mattered.

because standing here, looking at you, she felt like the same girl she had been back then—too scared to hold on, too afraid to let go.

and for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

⸻

chapter nine: wandering for you.

jihyo wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there, staring at you, trying to find the right words.

there was so much she wanted to say.

i’m proud of you.

i’m sorry.

do you ever think about us?

but all of it felt wrong. too late. too selfish.

so instead, she just sighed, leaning against the balcony railing beside you.

you didn’t move away.

but you didn’t move closer either.

the city stretched out before you both, endless lights blinking against the dark sky, a quiet reminder that the world kept moving no matter what.

“it’s different now,” you said suddenly, voice soft but certain.

jihyo turned her head, watching the way your eyes traced the skyline. “what is?”

“us,” you said simply.

jihyo exhaled. “i know.”

you were quiet for a moment. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t care about you anymore.”

jihyo swallowed, something tight forming in her chest.

“do you ever—” she hesitated, forcing herself to meet your gaze. “do you ever think about it?”

your lips parted slightly, but no words came out at first.

then, finally—

“of course i do.”

jihyo’s breath caught.

but before she could say anything, you turned to face her fully.

“but we made our choices,” you continued, voice steady. “we’re here now. we’re different people than we were back then.”

jihyo’s fingers curled against the railing. “i know.”

you studied her, something unreadable in your expression.

“but maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

jihyo blinked. “what do you mean?”

a small, knowing smile tugged at your lips. “maybe we needed to grow apart first,” you said, voice quiet. “to see if we can ever find our way back to each other.”

jihyo’s heart skipped a beat.

because for the first time tonight, she realised—

you weren’t shutting her out.

you weren’t closing the door completely.

you were leaving it open, just enough.

just enough for her to hope.

⸻

chapter ten: finding traces you left.

jihyo didn’t expect for someone to be looking for her before the night ended.

jihyo certainly didn’t expect you to be the one to find her before the night ended.

but just as she was about to leave, slipping away before she could think too much about what had just happened, she felt a hand brush against hers.

she turned, startled, only to find you standing beside her.

closer this time.

so close that for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed at all.

“you’re leaving?” you asked.

jihyo hesitated. “yeah. it’s late.”

you nodded, lips pressing together.

and then, before she could second-guess it, you reached into your pocket, pulled out your phone, and held it out to her.

jihyo blinked, staring at it.

then, slowly, she took it.

her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she typed in her number, saving it under a name that was just familiar enough.

when she handed it back, you glanced down at the screen, a quiet chuckle slipping past your lips.

jihyo felt warmth creep up her neck. “what?”

“you put a heart next to your name,” you said, amused.

jihyo groaned, covering her face with one hand. “force of habit.”

you smiled, shaking your head. “i don’t mind.”

jihyo let her hand drop, studying you carefully.

you weren’t giving her an answer.

but you weren’t walking away either.

and maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

for now.

⸻

chapter eleven: going around in circles again.

jihyo woke up the next morning to a message.

one she wasn’t expecting.

[unknown number]: morning

[unknown number]: did you get back safe?

jihyo stared at the screen, her heart skipping a beat.

she didn’t need to check the contact name to know who it was.

smiling softly to herself, she typed out a response.

jihyo: yeah. did you sleep well?

the reply came relatively fast.

you: decent.

you: still put hearts in your contacts, huh?

jihyo huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

jihyo: for certain people only.

she had sent it before she had even processed what she was doing.

then—in the midst of her panicking—

you: like i said jihyo i don’t mind 🤷‍♀️

jihyo stared at the message, lips parting slightly.

and for the first time in a long time, she felt something other than regret when she thought about you.

something softer.

something lighter.

something like possibility.

and maybe, just maybe—

this wasn’t the end of your story after all.

⸻

chapter twelve: the dream i can never awake from.

the view from your penthouse was breathtaking.

jihyo stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city lights below, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. the air was cool and crisp, the kind of night where the world seemed to hum with quiet energy. from up here, the whole city felt small—like a story playing out far below her feet.

but here, in this moment, with you sitting behind her on the couch, it felt like everything had slowed down.

you had invited her over, but neither of you had discussed why. there were no grand gestures, no formal plans. it was just a quiet invitation—something that could have meant nothing, or something that could have meant everything.

“do you miss it?”

jihyo’s voice was soft, just above a whisper. she didn’t even realise she was asking the question until the words had left her lips.

you were sitting back on the plush sofa, a glass of wine in hand, watching her from the distance. your expression had softened as soon as you heard the question.

“miss what?” you asked quietly.

“being on stage,” she clarified, glancing back at you. “performing with all the noise, the fans, the lights.”

you tilted your head slightly, thinking for a moment. “sometimes.”

“but you never let it get to you,” jihyo said, her gaze shifting back to the city. “the spotlight never changed you.”

you were quiet for a beat before you spoke again. “maybe it didn’t change me, but it certainly made me realise a lot about myself.”

jihyo furrowed her brows slightly. she turned, facing you now. “what do you mean?”

you put the glass of wine down and leaned back, stretching your legs across the couch. “you know, when we were together, everything felt so immediate, you know?”

jihyo nodded, even though you couldn’t see it. “yeah.”

“but the spotlight… it’s different. It’s always there, even when you want to forget it. It’s like a reminder that everything you do is being watched, all the time.”

there was a softness in your voice now, something vulnerable she hadn’t heard before. something she hadn’t expected.

“i never thought about it like that,” she admitted, her voice quieter now too.

“it changes your perspective,” you said, your gaze never leaving her. “it’s not just about the performance anymore. it’s about the pressure. the expectations.”

jihyo took a breath, stepping away from the window and sitting on the couch beside you. the space between you was small, but it felt like miles.

“i get that,” she said, her voice barely a murmur. “but you handle it better than anyone. you always have.”

you didn’t respond right away. instead, you turned your head, meeting her gaze for the first time since you’d sat down. your eyes were steady, searching hers.

“and you?” you asked quietly. “how do you handle it?”

jihyo blinked. “handle what?”

“the pressure. the spotlight. the expectations.”

jihyo’s heart thudded against her chest. she hadn’t expected the question to come from you—of all people.

“i try to pretend it’s not there,” she admitted, her words coming out slower than she intended. “i lose myself in the work, in the dance, the music.”

you nodded, leaning forward slightly, elbows on your knees. “that’s how we survive, isn’t it? pretend everything’s fine, pretend we’re okay.”

jihyo was silent for a moment, her heart racing as the weight of the past settled between them. there was no denying it now—there was a history here, one they couldn’t just ignore.

“but are we okay?” she asked, her voice barely audible, as though testing the waters.

you didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, it felt like the room held its breath.

then, slowly, you reached out, placing your hand just an inch away from hers. it wasn’t bold. it wasn’t forward. it was careful.

jihyo hesitated, her eyes flickering between your hand and your face, before she closed the gap between you, letting her fingers brush lightly against yours.

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you both let the silence settle.

you didn’t need to speak.

you didn’t need to do anything more than sit beside each other, your hands lightly touching, the quiet hum of the city below filling the space around you.

this, right here, felt enough.

“do you ever wonder what would have happened if we had… tried again?” jihyo asked, her voice so soft she almost didn’t recognise it.

you tilted your head, considering her words carefully.

“i don’t know,” you said after a long pause. “maybe.”

jihyo smiled faintly, the weight in her chest easing a little. “maybe it’s for the best that we didn’t.”

you nodded slowly, your gaze steady. “maybe it is.”

but as your fingers brushed against hers again, just the slightest movement, it felt like a maybe that was still wide open. a door half-closed.

and just for that moment, in the quiet of your penthouse, with the city stretching out beneath you both, it felt like the story wasn’t over yet.

but as your bodies inched closer to each others, jihyo’s head coming to rest on your shoulder, it felt like the a possibility. a door that naturally gravitated open.

and just for that moment, with the sun setting infront of you, it felt as if the story was steadily approaching its pivot.

but as you both leant in, lips locking in a deep. passionate kiss, expressing words, thoughts, feelings the two of you couldn’t even begin to describe, if felt like a certainty. a door that could open, close but never lock.

and just for that moment, in each others breath, with the sun setting behind you, it felt like a certainty.

but as you both woke up next to each other, naked, in your shared bed, it felt like forever. a door frame with no door.

and for the rest of your life, every moment was spent with jihyo’s name etched into your breath, your own in her heart.

[misanahrs]

maybe i just wanna be yours. — minatozaki sana.

now playing: do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys.

synopsis - after an impulsive vegas trip, you and sana accidentally get married after a wild night of partying. confused and unsure, you try to navigate through whilst dealing with awkwardness and growing feelings for each other.

pairing - minatozaki sana x fem reader.

you wake up to the scent of something soft and warm—vanilla, jasmine, maybe something sweeter. your head throbs, the kind of ache that comes after too much alcohol and too little sense, and the sheets beneath you feel unfamiliar. too soft. too clean.

there’s a weight against your arm. a warmth that isn’t yours.

slowly, cautiously, you open your eyes.

sana is beside you.

her brunette hair is a tangled mess against the pillow, lips slightly parted as she breathes. peaceful. unbothered. as if the world hasn’t shifted on its axis overnight.

you blink, trying to piece together the haze of last night, and that’s when you see it.

the ring.

simple. gold. wrapped around your finger like it’s meant to be there.

your breath catches in your throat, pulse hammering against your ribs. no—no, this has to be a mistake. a joke. some stupid vegas souvenir. but then sana shifts, stretching with a sleepy hum, and you see the same ring on her left hand.

your stomach drops.

“no, no, no,” you whisper, heart pounding. flashes of last night come rushing back—bright lights, laughter, the warmth of sana’s hand in yours, the way she had looked at you, drunk but full of something raw, something too real.

what if we just did it? what if we got married?

you had laughed. played along. because you had been in love with her for years, and pretending for a night felt safer than facing the truth.

but this—this isn’t pretend.

a soft groan, a rustling of sheets. sana’s voice, thick with sleep—“why are you panicking?”

your head whips around. she’s sitting up now, rubbing at her eyes, and for one brief, impossible second, you think she’s calm.

until she sees your hand.

⸻

she stills. blinks. stares.

“oh.”

it’s barely a sound. just a whisper of breath, but in it, you hear everything—the realisation, the disbelief, the panic curling at the edges. her fingers twitch before she lifts her left hand, turning it over like the ring might disappear if she stares at it hard enough.

then she bolts upright.

“no, no, no, no—” her voice rises with every word, hands running through her hair in frantic movements. “this—this can’t be real. it’s—it’s a joke, right?” she lets out a nervous laugh, but it dies too quickly, swallowed by the weight of the moment.

your chest tightens.

because sana is panicking.

and if she’s panicking, then maybe this is even worse than you thought.

she stumbles out of bed, nearly tripping over herself, muttering under her breath as she searches for her bag. “where’s my phone? we—we need to check. maybe we just bought the rings for fun. maybe it’s just a dumb souvenir.”

her voice wavers. she’s spiraling. trying to claw her way out of a reality she doesn’t want to face.

but it hurts.

it hurts more than the pounding in your skull, more than the hangover sinking into your bones. because a small part of you—maybe the biggest part—had looked at the ring on your finger and thought what if?

but sana is searching for a way out.

and you can’t bear to watch her find one.

so you swallow it down. bury it deep. force your voice to come out steady when you say, “sana, stop.”

she freezes, hands gripping her phone like it holds the answer to everything. she doesn’t look at you.

you take a breath, then another, willing yourself to be calm when everything inside you is screaming. “we need to—” your voice catches. you try again. “we need to think.”

finally, finally, she meets your gaze.

her eyes are wide, glassy with too many emotions at once. she exhales sharply, pressing her lips together. “what if it’s real?”

and for the first time, she says it like she’s really asking.

you look down at the ring. it’s not just a cheap plastic thing from a gift shop. it’s solid. real. a reminder of whatever drunken, reckless thing you did last night.

you could end it. you could be the one to say it’s a mistake. you could make this easy for her.

but instead, quietly, you say, “then what do we do?”

her breath stutters. she opens her mouth, closes it again, fingers clenching around her phone.

then, softer than before—softer than she’s ever been—she says, “i don’t know.”

but there’s something in the way she says it, something hesitant and fragile, that makes your heart ache.

because maybe she’s not just panicking about what happened.

maybe she’s panicking because, deep down, she doesn’t want to undo it.

⸻

sana doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe. just stands there, fingers curled so tightly around her phone that her knuckles go white.

you can’t tell what she’s thinking.

you wish you could.

outside, vegas is still alive—the faint hum of traffic, the distant echoes of laughter and music drifting through the hotel window. it feels too bright, too loud, too full of people carrying on like nothing is different.

but for you, everything is.

sana is still looking at you.

you can’t read her expression, but you can see the conflict in the way she sways slightly, like she doesn’t know whether to run or reach for you.

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to speak.

do you… want to get it annulled?”

the words taste awful. sour and bitter on your tongue.

sana blinks.

her lips part slightly, like she has an answer ready—but nothing comes out.

she looks at her ring again. turns it over with delicate fingers. and for a second, just a second, you see something in her face that doesn’t look like panic at all.

but then she shakes her head quickly, like she’s trying to clear it.

“i mean—yeah, obviously,” she says, too fast, too sharp. “that’s—that’s what we should do. right?”

should.

not want.

you nod, throat tight. “yeah.”

it’s the logical thing. the right thing.

then why does it feel so wrong?

sana shifts her weight from foot to foot. she’s still not looking at you. “we can go as soon as we find out where to do it. it shouldn’t be hard.”

her voice is distant, detached. like she’s already trying to forget.

but her fingers haven’t let go of the ring.

your chest aches.

you should agree. make this easy for her. pretend it doesn’t hurt.

but instead, softly, you say, “do you regret it?”

that makes her stop.

her shoulders go tense, breath hitching just slightly.

slowly, she lifts her gaze to yours.

an for the first time since waking up, she really looks at you.

it’s only a second. only a moment.

but in it, you see everything—the hesitation. the doubt. the flicker of something she’s too afraid to name.

then, barely above a whisper—so quiet you almost don’t hear it—she says, “do you?”

your heart stutters.

she’s asking.

she’s really asking.

and suddenly, you know.

this isn’t just about last night.

this is about every time your hands have brushed and lingered. every almost-confession. every time you’ve caught her staring and pretended you didn’t notice.

this isn’t just about a drunken mistake.

this is about something real.

and you have a choice.

you could lie. could let her take the easy way out. could nod and smile and let this be nothing more than a stupid vegas story, or—you take a breath.

sana is still looking at you, wide-eyed, waiting.

you lick your lips. grip the sheets beneath you. try to steady the tremble in your hands.

then, finally—finally—you tell the truth.

⸻

you exhale slowly, fingers curling into the sheets like they might ground you, like they might hold you together when everything inside you feels like it’s unraveling.

sana is still waiting.

her lips are pressed together, her shoulders tense, and her hands—her hands won’t let go of the ring. she keeps twisting it around her finger, keeps glancing at you like she’s bracing for something she doesn’t want to hear.

but you won’t lie to her.

so, softly, you say, “no,” her breath catches.

her fingers still. you swallow, throat dry, heart pounding against your ribs. “i don’t regret it.”

her eyes widen just slightly.

you don’t know what you were expecting. maybe shock. maybe frustration. maybe an immediate insistence that this is a mistake, that you’re being ridiculous, that this can’t mean anything.

but sana just stares at you.

and then she sits down. slowly, carefully, like her legs don’t trust her to hold her weight anymore.

she’s quiet for a long time.

so long that you start to panic, start to wonder if you should take it back, start to think maybe you should have lied—

but then she exhales, pressing a hand to her temple, and says, “oh.”

it’s barely a sound. just a breath of a word.

but something about it makes your stomach twist.

you watch her carefully, trying to read her expression. trying to find anything that tells you how she feels.

but she just keeps staring at the ring.

then—softer than before, like she’s almost afraid to say it—she whispers, “me neither.”

your heart stops.

you can’t have heard that right.

you sit up straighter, leaning towards her before you can stop yourself. “what?”

sana bites her lip. hesitates.

then she finally looks up.

and the way she looks at you—wide-eyed, uncertain, but so, so sincere—makes your breath catch.

“i don’t regret it either.”

silence stretches between you. thick, heavy, filled with something that wasn’t there before.

you should say something. you need to say something. but your mind is blank, completely empty except for the fact that sana—the girl you’ve loved for years, the girl who was panicking just minutes ago—is now sitting in front of you, looking at you like she doesn’t know what to do with the weight of her own words.

“sana—”

but before you can finish, she lets out a quiet, breathless laugh, shaking her head.

“god,” she mutters, running a hand through her hair. “this is insane.”

you let out a weak, nervous chuckle. “yeah.”

she looks down at the ring again. turns it over.

then—barely above a whisper—“but maybe it’s not bad insane.”

your breath stutters.

she’s not looking at you, but her fingers are tapping against the ring, like she’s thinking. like she’s considering.

and that’s when you realise—

this is real.

not just the marriage. not just the drunken decision.

this.

the way she’s looking at the ring instead of taking it off. the way she’s speaking like maybe this isn’t a mistake at all.

the way she’s sitting here, in front of you, not regretting it.

slowly, carefully, you reach for her hand.

she inhales sharply, but she doesn’t pull away.

your fingers brush against hers, just barely, just enough to feel how warm her skin is.

when she finally looks up at you again, you take another breath—steadying yourself, preparing yourself—

and then, gently, you ask,

“what if we didn’t get it annulled?”

⸻

sana doesn’t breathe.

or maybe you don’t.

the second the words leave your mouth, the room shifts. the air thickens. sana’s fingers twitch beneath yours, but she doesn’t pull away. doesn’t laugh it off. doesn’t call you crazy.

she just stares.

you watch as emotions flicker across her face—panic, confusion, something softer, something careful. she swallows, lips parting slightly, but nothing comes out.

so you fill the silence.

“we don’t have to decide anything right now,” you say, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “but… what if we just thought about it?”

sana blinks.

you can tell she’s trying to process, trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense at all.

“you mean…” she trails off, biting her lip. “you mean actually staying married?”

your pulse is a hammer against your ribs, but you nod.

“just for a little while,” you say, hesitant. “just to see.”

sana exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “this is—” she laughs, breathless, shaking her head. “this is insane.”

“i know.”

“we got married drunk.”

“i know.”

“and now you want to—” she cuts herself off, pressing her lips together.

you nod again. “yeah.”

her eyes flick to your hand—where your fingers are still barely brushing hers—then down to the ring on her own.

she’s silent for so long that your heart starts to sink, your stomach twisting into knots.

maybe she does regret it. maybe she just got caught up in the moment. maybe you misread everything—

but then, quietly, she asks, “why?”

you inhale sharply.

a million answers flash through your mind at once—because you don’t want to let go of this. because the idea of undoing it makes your chest ache. because you love her, and you have loved her, and maybe this is your one impossible, ridiculous, perfect chance—but you can’t say any of that.

so instead, you squeeze her hand—just slightly, just enough for her to feel it—and whisper, “because i don’t want it to be a mistake.”

sana’s breath stutters.

her fingers curl around yours before she even realises what she’s doing.

the weight of the moment sinks between you.

and then, softer than anything, she whispers, “okay.”

⸻

it starts with sana insisting on pushing the cart.

“you always go too fast,” she says, nudging you out of the way with her hip, fingers wrapping around the handle like it’s something important. “i like to take my time.”

“i don’t go too fast,” you argue, but you let her take control anyway, watching as she starts down the aisle with an air of quiet determination.

she’s fully in grocery shopping mode now—brows furrowed, lips pursed, studying every item like it holds the secret to the universe.

it’s adorable.

you don’t tell her that, though.

instead, you follow beside her, grabbing things when she asks, reaching for the higher shelves when she struggles, pretending not to laugh when she spends a full five minutes debating between two different brands of peanut butter.

“this one is creamier,” she says, tilting the jar under the fluorescent light.

you cross your arms, raising a brow. “and that matters because…?”

she turns to you, dead serious. “because you have to spread it evenly. lumpy peanut butter ruins the whole experience.”

a smile tugs at your lips. “you’re ridiculous.”

“i’m right,” she corrects, before finally dropping the jar into the cart with a satisfied nod.

you shake your head, amused.

but then she looks up at you, eyes bright, smile small but real, and something warm curls in your chest—something soft, something good.

you’re married to her.

the thought still knocks the air from your lungs, still sends a quiet thrill through your bones.

she keeps shopping, moving onto the next aisle, oblivious to the way you’re watching her like she’s the only thing that matters.

and maybe she is.

⸻

sana holds her wine glass like she was born for this.

fingers delicate around the stem, lips curved in a knowing smile as she takes a slow, careful sip.

the dim light casts golden hues across her skin, catching in her earrings, in her hair, in the shimmer of her eyes.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.

“you’re staring,” she murmurs, setting her glass down.

you blink, heat creeping up your neck. “i am not.”

she tilts her head. “oh?”

“i’m just—” you clear your throat, scrambling for an excuse. “i’m appreciating the… ambiance.”

her lips twitch, like she’s fighting back a grin.

“the ambiance,” she repeats.

“yes.”

she leans forward, resting her chin on her palm, gaze locked onto yours.

her voice dips into something teasing, something dangerous. “so you weren’t just staring at me like you’ve never seen a woman before?”

your face burns.

she knows exactly what she’s doing.

youhuff, reaching for your drink. “shut up.”

she laughs—soft and melodic, like the sound of something precious breaking open.

your heart stumbles.

and when the waiter comes to take your order, you barely remember how to speak.

⸻

sana hates doing laundry.

hates the sorting, the waiting, the folding.

hates how long it takes, how boring it is.

but she loves sitting on the floor with you after, surrounded by warm, freshly washed clothes, giggling as she tries—and fails—to fold the fitted sheets.

“this is impossible,” she grumbles, shaking the fabric out for the third time.

you watch in amusement as she tries to fold the corners together, only for them to slip out of her grasp.

“there’s a method,” you say, reaching to show her. “you just have to—”

“no,” she interrupts, holding a hand up. “i refuse to be defeated by a sheet. i’m a grown woman. i will figure this out.”

you bite back a smile.

five minutes later, she’s sitting in the middle of a crumpled mess of fabric, scowling.

“okay,” she sighs, defeated. “i give up.”

you laugh, scooting closer.

she watches as you take the sheet from her, folding it neatly in a few swift movements.

she gasps. “witchcraft.”

you roll your eyes, nudging her playfully. “just pay attention next time.”

she leans into you, resting her head against your shoulder.

“or,” she says, grinning up at you, “i could just marry someone who’s really good at folding sheets.”

your heart stutters.

she’s teasing. you know she is.

but the words still sink into your skin like something real.

like something forever.

and when she lifts her head to kiss your cheek, soft and fleeting, you think—

maybe forever wouldn’t be so bad.

⸻

the city hums around you—bright lights, chatter, the scent of something warm and golden drifting through the cool evening air.

sana tugs you toward a food cart, eyes shining with excitement. “we have to try this,” she says, already fishing her purse out of her bag.

you glance at the menu. “we just ate.”

“so?” she grins, handing over the cash. “there’s always room for dessert.”

the vendor hands her a small paper tray filled with something steaming and crispy, and she turns to you, eyes sparkling. “open.”

you blink. “what?”

“your mouth,” she clarifies, lifting a piece of food toward you. “open up.”

heat creeps up your neck. “i can feed myself, you know.”

she pouts. “but it tastes better when i do it.”

you narrow your eyes. “scientifically proven?”

“yep,” she says, completely serious. “peer-reviewed studies and everything.”

you laugh, shaking your head. but when she wiggles the food closer, waiting so patiently, something in your chest softens.

so you sigh, roll your eyes for good measure, and part your lips. her smile is triumphant as she carefully feeds you, watching intently for your reaction.

the second the flavor hits your tongue, your eyes widen. “oh, that’s good.”

“right?” she says, grinning. “i know my food.”

you chew thoughtfully, already reaching for another bite. she pulls the tray away with a laugh. “ah-ah. let me.”

you shoot her a look, but you let her feed you again. and again. and again.

you don’t notice the elderly woman watching until she chuckles, voice warm with amusement.

“newlyweds?”

you both turn, startled.

she’s smiling, eyes kind, a grocery bag tucked into the crook of her arm.

sana glances at you, then back at the woman. “um. sort of?”

the woman’s smile deepens. “i could tell,” your stomach flutters. “so?” the woman continues, tilting her head. “what’s your story? how did you two get married?”

your mouth opens—then closes.

you should have an easy answer. but instead, you hesitate, glancing at sana, wondering how she’ll respond.

but she doesn’t hesitate at all. instead, she smiles, turning to the woman, voice light but genuine when she says, “it was a little unexpected. but the best things always are, aren’t they?”

the woman’s face softens. “oh, that’s lovely.”

and the warmth in your chest spreads, because yeah.

it really is.

⸻

the club is packed with flashing lights, pulsing music, and the chatter of excited voices. it’s loud, it’s chaotic, and it’s perfect for celebrating your mutual friend’s bachelorette party. you, sana, and a group of friends have spent the night dancing, drinking, and enjoying the freedom of the night. everyone is in high spirits, the energy infectious, and the excitement only seems to grow with every song that plays.

you’re standing near the bar, nursing your drink, chatting with a few friends when a man approaches you. he’s tall, with dark hair and a confident, easy smile. his eyes catch yours immediately, locking in a way that makes your stomach flutter a little—though you brush it off, chalking it up to the alcohol.

“hey,” he says, leaning in a little too close, his voice smooth and warm. “i couldn’t help but notice you across the room. you’ve got the kind of smile that makes everything feel brighter.”

you chuckle softly, a bit flattered. “thanks,” you reply, giving him a teasing grin, feeling a spark of intrigue.

“what are you drinking?” he asks, his voice low, almost like he’s trying to share a secret.

“just a gin and tonic,” you say, leaning on the bar and giving him a playful glance. “nothing too fancy.”

he smirks, clearly enjoying the banter. “you deserve something a little more special than that.” he gestures to the bartender, ordering something you don’t quite catch, but the look in his eyes doesn’t leave you. there’s a spark of interest, maybe even something a little daring, but it’s nothing you haven’t encountered before.

you give him a sly smile, wondering just how far he’ll go. “oh yeah?” you say, letting your gaze linger on him. “and what makes you think that?”

heleans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “because with a smile like yours, you deserve more than the average drink. you deserve something to match that energy.”

you laugh softly, enjoying the attention a bit more than you should. there’s a part of you that’s flattered, and a part of you that’s curious to see how far he’s willing to push this. you glance over to sana, who’s chatting with a few of your friends. she doesn’t seem to notice you yet, which is probably why you’re indulging in this stranger’s attention just a little more than you should.

the man moves closer, clearly not backing down. “you’re here with anyone tonight?”

“yeah,” you reply, your voice playful, but there’s a slight teasing edge to it. you’re not sure why you’re still entertaining this, but the excitement of the moment makes it feel harmless. “the brunette over there.” you nod casually toward sana, who’s laughing with a group, blissfully unaware.

the guy follows your gaze and smiles, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something that feels like a challenge. “she’s not here right now. so… why not let me show you a good time?”

you don’t answer immediately, unsure of what to say, but before you can formulate a response, you feel a familiar presence behind you. sana.

she stands close, but not too close—just close enough that you can feel her energy shift, the tension thick in the air as she takes in the situation.

“she’s not interested,” sana says, her voice smooth but sharp, like a blade wrapped in velvet. she doesn’t look at the guy, just at you.

the man blinks, caught off guard, and takes a small step back, his confident smile faltering just a bit. he glances at sana and then back at you. “sorry, didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

sana doesn’t acknowledge his apology, her gaze locked onto you now, cool and unyielding. “didn’t think you’d be so… forward,” she says, her tone far too calm for the situation.

he nods awkwardly, realising he’s not going to get anywhere with you tonight. “okay, yeah. i’ll… let you two be.” and with that, he walks away, shooting you one last curious look as he fades into the crowd.

you turn to sana, your heart pounding a little faster now that the moment is over. you can feel the weight of her gaze on you, and the atmosphere between you shifts—sharply.

“what was that?” you ask, unsure of what just happened. your voice is soft, a little confused, but there’s a hint of discomfort too.

sana doesn’t answer right away. instead, she looks at you, her expression unreadable, before she finally speaks. “he was flirting with you. flirting, y/n. and you… you didn’t even seem to notice.”

you blink, trying to wrap your mind around her words. “i didn’t notice? sana, he was just being friendly—nothing more.”

“nothing more?” sana repeats, her voice low, but filled with an edge you can’t ignore. “you were flirting back. don’t even try to deny it. i saw it, y/n. i saw the way you were looking at him.”

your stomach twists. you can’t deny that there was some playful back-and-forth between you and the man, but you never meant to lead him on. “i didn’t mean to—i wasn’t flirting! i didn’t even know i was doing it!” you protest, your voice rising slightly.

“i’m not saying you did it on purpose,” sana snaps, her eyes flashing with hurt. “but you didn’t seem to care. you didn’t seem to care that he was making moves on you right in front of me. and i—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head, her frustration pouring through. “i hate that feeling, y/n. i hate it.”

the silence between you both is thick, and you can feel the tension curling in the air like a storm ready to break.

“sana, i—” you start, but she’s already turning on her heel, walking toward the exit without another word.

you stare after her, your mind reeling, but you know better than to follow her just yet. you can feel it—something deeper than the anger, something raw and protective. and it’s all aimed at you.

⸻

the drive home is stiff with tension. neither of you speak, the only sound the hum of the car’s engine and the occasional swish of tyres on wet roads. you keep stealing glances at sana, but she’s staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched. the silence is unbearable, and you can’t help but feel the knot of unease tightening in your stomach.

when you pull into the driveway, sana doesn’t wait for you to open the door. she’s out of the car before you even manage to turn off the engine, slamming the door behind her. you follow her into the house, the weight of the tension between you like a physical presence.

inside, sana heads straight for the kitchen, her movements quick and sharp. you stand in the doorway, unsure of what to say, but you know something needs to be said.

“sana, talk to me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

she doesn’t look at you, her back to you as she stands by the counter. you hear her let out a shaky breath before she turns to face you, her expression tight with anger and hurt.

“you just don’t get it, do you?” she spits, her voice rising. “i stood there, y/n. right in front of you, watching you flirt with that guy, letting him get close to you, and you didn’t even care that i was there. that i, your wife, is standing right next to you.”

you feel a pang of guilt stab at your chest. “i didn’t mean to do that, sana. i wasn’t flirting with him. i didn’t even realise how it looked.”

“you didn’t realise? really?” sana’s eyes flash with hurt and frustration. “you were laughing with him. you let him touch your arm, let him get close to you, and you didn’t even see it. i’m standing there, feeling like i’m invisible. like i don’t even matter to you.”

“you do matter to me, sana,” you say, your voice breaking as you step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “you mean everything to me.”

“then why does it feel like you’re always looking for someone else?” sana’s voice cracks, and her eyes well up with tears, though she’s trying hard not to let them fall. “i hate feeling like i’m not good enough for you. like you’re always distracted by someone else.”

“that’s not true, sana. i don’t want anyone else. not him, not anyone,” you say desperately, your chest tight with the weight of the moment. “i love you. only you.”

“then why were you flirting with him?” sana snaps, her words harsh. “why did it look like you were enjoying it so much, like you didn’t care about me at all?”

“i wasn’t flirting with him,” you repeat, feeling more frustrated with each passing second. “i didn’t even know it was coming across like that. i swear. i was just talking to him. i didn’t mean for you to feel… the way you do.”

sana takes a shaky breath, rubbing her eyes, and for a moment, you think she’s going to walk away. instead, she stands there, her fists clenched at her sides. “you don’t get it. it’s not about what you were doing with him. it’s about how i felt watching you with him. i’m so fucking scared, y/n. i’m scared that one day, you’ll choose someone else. i don’t want to lose you.”

her confession hits you like a wave, and the air feels heavy with the rawness of her emotions. your own anger and frustration dissolve in an instant, replaced by a deep ache in your chest.

you step forward, closing the distance between you, and place your hands on her shoulders, your voice trembling. “sana, you’re not going to lose me. i swear to you. i love you. i’ll never choose anyone over you. never.”

“but you’ve already made me feel like i’m not enough for you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, her vulnerability laid bare.

you pull her into your arms without thinking, your heart hammering in your chest. “you are enough. you’re more than enough. i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry for making you feel like that. i don’t ever want to make you feel like you’re not important to me.”

sana’s breathing is shaky, and you feel the tension in her body slowly melt away as you hold her. there’s a long pause before she lifts her head, her face flushed with frustration, but also something softer now. she looks up at you, her eyes still clouded with emotion. “i just don’t know how to handle it, y/n. i don’t want to feel this way. i don’t want to be jealous, but i can’t help it.”

you gently cup her face in your hands, wiping away a stray tear that’s escaped down her cheek. “i understand, sana. i really do. i never want you to feel this way again. i’ll do better, i promise.”

there’s a long silence before sana finally speaks again, her voice much softer now. “i just… i love you so much, y/n. it scares me sometimes. i’m scared of losing you.”

your heart swells with affection, and you pull her close again, pressing your forehead against hers. “you won’t lose me, sana. i love you too. only you. and i’m not going anywhere.”

the tension between you finally breaks, and you lean in, kissing her gently, softly at first, but it deepens as she pulls you closer, her hands threading through your hair. the kiss is full of everything you’ve been holding back – apologies, promises, love.

when you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against hers, the two of you just breathing together in the quiet of your home. there’s still some tension left in the air, but it’s now replaced with something far more comforting – understanding.

“i love you,” sana whispers again, her voice thick with emotion.

“i love you too,” you reply, your heart full, as you both stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing that things will be okay.

[misanahrs]

urs. — park jihyo.

now playing: urs - niki.

synopsis - jihyo, drawn to the mysterious new bodyguard, fights growing tension and unspoken desire. after you’re injured protecting them, emotions boil over, forcing jihyo to admit—she doesn’t just want safety, she wants you.

pairing - park jihyo x fem reader.

jihyo didn’t know why you got under her skin the way you did.

maybe it was because you were impossible to read, a quiet enigma dressed in black. from the moment you joined their security team, you were different—tall, poised, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. nayeon had joked that you looked like a spy. momo had tried to make you laugh within the first ten minutes. sana had taken it as a personal mission to tease a reaction out of you.

but you remained unshaken. professional. untouchable.

you were so professional to the point of frustration. not unfriendly, just distant. always standing by the door, always watching. nayeon had even tried to sneak up on you once, and you’d turned to face her before she’d even reached your arm. your reflexes were sharp. impressive. terrifying.

“i’ll do my best to protect you,” you had said on your first day, voice low, unwavering.

and you did.

jihyo had watched as you became a shadow at their side, always a step away, always watching. never intrusive, but never at ease. like you were built to be on high alert. she wondered if you ever let your guard down. if you ever allowed yourself to relax.

but it wasn’t her place to wonder.

except she did. and it only got worse the day she saw you smile.

⸻

jihyo hadn’t been looking for you. not consciously, anyway.

she had just finished a meeting when she walked into the practice room, expecting to see the girls getting ready to leave. instead, her steps faltered.

because there you were—leaning against the wall beside sana, sunglasses pushed up onto your hair, arms crossed, body tilted just slightly toward her in a way that felt… natural. comfortable. intimate.

but the worst part, the part that made jihyo’s stomach twist in a way she refused to acknowledge, was your mouth.

you were smiling.

not a smirk. not a polite, barely-there curve of your lips. no, this was real. soft. quiet. something she had never seen on you before. sana whispered something in your ear, giggling, and your shoulders shook with barely contained laughter.

jihyo felt something sharp lodge itself in her chest.

she turned away before either of you could notice her standing there.

she wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the fact that you were smiling, or the fact that it wasn’t for her.

jihyo had never seen you smile before.

and she hated how it made her stomach twist.

she forced herself to shake it off, ignore the way her chest felt too tight. it was stupid. it was nothing.

⸻

when she heard you were the one accompanying sana to paris, she felt ridiculous for the way her pulse spiked.

it was fine. it didn’t mean anything. you were a bodyguard, not hers, not anyone’s in particular. you were simply doing your job—doing what you were told. it shouldn’t matter.

but when she saw the headlines a few days later, she knew she had been lying to herself.

“twice bodyguard physically removes stalker at paris fashion week”

the video was everywhere. grainy footage, but jihyo still watches it all—more than once.

the sasaeng had been lingering outside the event, eyes locked onto sana, moving closer every time she shifted. she had looked uncomfortable, her usual smile strained, her fingers tightening around the clutch in her hand.

you had noticed.

jihyo saw it—the slight shift in your stance, the way your body tensed as sana took a step back.

and then it happened too fast.

the man grabbed sana’s wrist, fingers pressing into her skin, leaning in to whisper something in her ear.

jihyo didn’t even have time to register her own anger before she saw you move.

one second you were standing at sana’s side, the next you had the man’s arm twisted behind his back, shoving him away with so much force that he stumbled. jihyo couldn’t hear what you said to him, but whatever it was made him blanch, made him scurry off like the coward he was.

but the next clip made something tighten in her chest.

you were walking into the hotel, shoulders squared, expression unreadable, but there was blood on your knuckles. a thin cut on your cheekbone.

jihyo’s fingers clenched around her phone.

it was concern, she told herself. concern for you, concern for the fact that you had gotten hurt on their behalf.

so why did it feel like something else?

⸻

she didn’t mean to overhear the conversation when you got back to korea.

she had been passing by one of the smaller meeting rooms in the building when she heard your voice inside, low and even—justifying yet somehow simultaneously belittling the situation. “it wasn’t a big deal.”

“you hit a wall,” the manager’s voice was sharp.

jihyo frowned.

“he wouldn’t back off,” you said, tone clipped. “even after i put distance between them, he kept pushing. he said some things that made her uncomfortable, and he tried to grab her again. i had to make it clear that he was not going to get away with it.”

silence.

“so you put him on the ground,” the manager said flatly, sighing.

jihyo could almost hear your shrug. “i did what i had to do.”

“and the injury?”

“he tried to swing at me. i dodged, but i hit the corner of a wall. it’s fine.”

jihyo felt something warm curl in her chest—something she didn’t want to name.

she walked away before she could hear anything else, yet she couldn’t shake off the thought of you protecting her from whatever dilemma presented itself.

⸻

she wasn’t expecting to find you in the dressing room that night.

the shoot had wrapped early, and she had gone back to grab something she had left behind.

but you were there, sitting on the couch, rolling up the sleeve of your black shirt.

jihyo froze.

you hadn’t noticed her yet. your focus was on your hands, fingers carefully unwinding a bloodied bandage from around your knuckles. your jaw was tight, a faint crease between your brows.

she should say something. she should leave.

but she couldn’t move.

the way you sat, posture slightly more relaxed than usual, forearms tense as you worked with precision—it was different from the way you carried yourself in front of them. your guard was still up, but there was something raw here, something real.

you exhaled softly, reaching for fresh gauze.

jihyo swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

her eyes traced the cut along your cheekbone, the faint bruising beneath your knuckles.

she wanted to know what those hands would feel like on her. in her.

she wanted to know what it would take to make you lose control.

you finally looked up, noticing her.

your expression didn’t change. but your eyes did, just slightly, just enough that she caught the flicker of surprise before you masked it. “you’re back early,” you murmured.

jihyo’s pulse was loud in her ears.

she nodded, stepping closer before she could stop herself.

“you should be at the hospital.”

your lips twitched, the closest thing to amusement she had ever seen from you. “it’s just a scratch.” and once again, jihyo thought, belittling the situation with a small smile.

jihyo clenched her jaw.

the tension between you was thick, suffocating.

her fingers itched to touch you, to trace the bruises, to feel the heat of your skin.

she swallowed hard.

“let me help,” she murmured, reaching for the bandage.

your fingers brushed against hers, and jihyo felt it like a shock down her spine.

you inhaled, barely, but she caught it.

for the first time since she met you, your guard was down.

and jihyo was going to take full advantage of it.

jihyo was going to make her desires come true.

jihyo’s fingers closed around the bandage, but she didn’t move to take it from you just yet.

you didn’t pull away either.

the room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the lights overhead, the soft rasp of your breath.

jihyo’s gaze flickered to your face, tracing the sharp line of your jaw, the way your lips parted just slightly as you studied her.

your eyes, normally so unreadable, had shifted.

she wasn’t sure if it was the dim lighting or the tension thrumming between you, but there was something different in them. something dark, something hungry.

jihyo’s pulse hammered in her throat.

she knew that look.

her fingers tightened around the bandage, her other hand hovering just above your wrist.

“you’re always so careful, y/n” she murmured, voice softer than she intended. “so controlled.”

you didn’t answer.

jihyo tilted her head, her lips curving slightly as she let her fingertips ghost over the bruised skin of your knuckles.

she felt the way your breath caught.

slowly, deliberately, she traced the edge of the fresh gauze, barely touching, just enough to feel the heat of your skin beneath her fingertips.

your jaw flexed.

jihyo exhaled, low and steady, watching the way your shoulders tensed, the way your fingers curled just slightly against your thigh.

“you’re tense,” she noted, pretending to be unaware of the very obvious effect she was having on you.

you gave a short, humorless huff, shifting your gaze away.

jihyo let her hand trail up your forearm, dragging the tips of her acrylics lightly against the fabric of your sleeve before stopping just shy of your elbow.

you inhaled sharply. “jihyo,” you said, voice low, edged with something she couldn’t quite place.

“yes?” she smiled, tilting her head.

your fingers twitched, like you were fighting the urge to grab her wrist, to stop her from teasing you any further.

she kind of wanted you to.

“do you always push people like this?” you asked, exhaling through your nose.

jihyo hummed, letting her fingers drift just a little higher.

“only when i want something.”

the words hung heavy between you, sinking into the charged silence like a stone dropped into deep water.

jihyo could feel the tension thrumming between you, could see the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard.

you were holding yourself back.

and she was curious—achingly curious—about what would happen if you didn’t.

“you’ve been watching me,” she murmured, pressing just a little closer, enough that she could see the flicker of hesitation in your eyes. “haven’t you?”

you didn’t answer immediately. but you didn’t deny it either.

jihyo’s smile widened, slow and knowing.

“i think,” she mused, tilting her head, “that you’re just as curious about me as i am about you.”

your fingers twitched again.

jihyo could see it now, the restraint in your posture, the way your entire body was wound tight, like a coil on the verge of snapping.

you exhaled slowly, deliberately, before your eyes finally met hers again—steady, unwavering.

“jihyo,” you said again, her name like gravel in your throat, rough and quiet.

and then, finally, you did what she had been waiting for.

your hand caught her wrist, stopping her teasing touches, holding her firmly but not harshly and jihyo’s breath hitched, lowkey wishing you would hold her tighter.

your grip was warm, solid, your fingers pressing just enough to send heat curling through her stomach.

for a long, charged moment, neither of you moved.

jihyo licked her lips, watching the way your eyes darkened as you tracked the movement—your grip tightening just slightly.

“be careful,” you murmured, voice lower than before.

jihyo let out a slow breath, deliberately shifting her wrist in your grasp, feeling the strength in your fingers, the quiet power coiled beneath your skin.

“or what?” she challenged, her voice barely above a whisper.

your jaw clenched.

and then, finally, your control snapped.

with a fluid motion, you pulled her closer, forcing her to stumble just slightly, until she was standing between your legs, until your faces were close—too close, close enough that she could feel your breath against her lips.

jihyo’s breath hitched.

your other hand came up, fingertips brushing against her waist—light, barely there, like you were still holding back, still unsure.

jihyo wasn’t.

she leaned in, closing the last bit of space between you, lips hovering just over yours.

“i don’t think you want me to be careful,” she whispered.

and then she kissed you.

⸻

your lips were warm, firm, and for the briefest second, you didn’t move—frozen, caught between restraint and desire.

but then you exhaled, a sharp sound against her mouth, and your grip on her wrist tightened.

jihyo barely had time to register the shift before you were kissing her back, deep and consuming, like you had been holding back for far too long.

her pulse roared in her ears.

your other hand, the one that had been hovering at her waist, finally settled, fingers spreading against the fabric of her shirt. you pulled her closer, just enough that she could feel the tension in your body, the quiet strength you carried so effortlessly.

jihyo’s head spun.

you kissed like you did everything else—calculated, controlled, precise. but there was something else there, something underneath the composure, something rough and raw and hungry.

jihyo wanted more of it.

her hands moved before she could think, one sliding up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, the other pressing against your shoulder. she could feel the tension in your muscles, the way you held yourself taut even as your lips parted against hers.

she wanted to unravel you.

so she tilted her head, deepening the kiss, pressing closer, until she could feel your breath hitch, until she felt the faintest tremor in your grip.

and then—

you pulled back.

jihyo let out a sharp breath, eyes fluttering open just in time to see you looking at her, gaze dark, unreadable.

her lips tingled, swollen from the force of the kiss, and she could still feel the warmth of your hands on her.

but you didn’t move.

“jihyo,” you murmured, voice low, steady despite the tension humming between you.

her heart pounded against her ribs.

you were looking at her like you were trying to decidewhether to pull her back in or push her away.

jihyo wasn’t sure which she wanted more.

her breath was uneven, her pulse a steady, insistent thrum beneath her skin. you had kissed her like you had been holding yourself back for months—controlled but hungry, precise but desperate. and now, with the way you were looking at her, like she was something dangerous, something you weren’t sure you should want—god, it made her burn.

your fingers twitched against her waist, like you wanted to let go but couldn’t bring yourself to.

jihyo swallowed, gaze locked onto yours, lips still tingling with the ghost of your kiss.

she licked them slowly, deliberately, watching the way your jaw clenched.

“what?” she asked, her voice softer than before, edged with something knowing.

your grip tightened—just barely, just enough that she felt the heat of your palm through her shirt.

jihyo let herself lean in again, not quite kissing you, just close enough to make you feel it.

you exhaled sharply, like you were struggling to keep yourself in check.

“this isn’t—” you started, but your voice was hoarse, unsteady in a way she had never heard before, all because of her—giving her a slight ego boost.

jihyo’s lips brushed against yours again, feather-light, teasing. “isn’t what?”

you were silent.

jihyo smiled, slow and dangerous.

she liked this—this tension, this push and pull, the way you were usually so unreadable but now? now you were struggling. now your restraint was breaking, unraveling thread by thread beneath her hands.

“you kissed me back,” she murmured, tracing her fingers along the collar of your shirt, feeling the way your breath shuddered beneath her touch. “you can’t take it back now.” your throat bobbed and jihyo tilted her head, waiting, giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it went any further.

but you didn’t.

and that was all she needed.

jihyo moved without hesitation, kissing you again, this time with intention—with purpose.

and this time, you didn’t hold back.

your hands gripped her tighter, pulling her flush against you, and when you kissed her, it was different—no hesitation, no restraint, just raw heat.

jihyo gasped into your mouth, hands sliding up your shoulders, pressing closer, closer, until there was nothing between you but the heat of your skin and the rapid beat of your hearts.

you kissed her like you were making up for lost time, like you had been waiting for this just as long as she had.

and god, jihyo was going to ruin you for it.

she shifted, pushing you back against the couch, straddling your lap in one fluid motion, barely giving you time to react before she was pressing her weight against you, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, nails dragging against the smooth, warm skin of your stomach.

you groaned softly, almost inaudibly, but jihyo heard it.

she smiled against your lips.

“not so composed now, are you?” she murmured, voice edged with amusement.

your fingers flexed against her hips.

“jihyo,” you warned, but there was no real threat in your tone, only heat, only need.

jihyo smirked, leaning down, lips brushing the line of your jaw, the shell of your ear.

“tell me you don’t want this,” she whispered, voice like silk, like sin.

you didn’t answer.

your silence was enough.

jihyo exhaled, slow and satisfied.

she had spent months wondering what it would take to make you break.

and now, she finally had her answer.

jihyo smirked, the heat of your silence wrapping around her like a vice, tightening, thrilling. she had you. she knew it.

your fingers twitched against her hips, your chest rising and falling in a slow, measured rhythm, like you were trying to steady yourself, like you were trying to regain even an ounce of the control she had so effortlessly stripped from you.

but jihyo wasn’t done playing with you yet.

she rolled her hips, just barely, a slow, deliberate shift of weight that sent heat rushing through both of you.

your breath hitched—so quiet, so barely there that most people wouldn’t have caught it. but jihyo did.

her smirk deepened.

“you’re holding back,” she mused, her voice a soft purr against your ear. “why?”

your fingers flexed, gripping her tighter, but you still didn’t move.

jihyo dragged her lips down the column of your throat, a slow, lazy trace of heat, lingering just long enough to feel the way your pulse thrummed against her mouth.

“i thought you were supposed to be the tough one,” she teased, nails tracing absent patterns against your shoulder. “but here you are, letting me do whatever i want.”

you inhaled sharply.

jihyo pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes again, her expression knowing, triumphant.

and then—

you moved.

before she could process it, your hands were gripping her thighs, strong and unwavering, and then suddenly, the world shifted.

jihyo let out a breathless gasp as you stood, lifting her effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around your waist, her fingers gripping your shoulders as you carried her across the room.

your pace was steady, unhurried, every step a quiet, deliberate statement.

jihyo’s heart pounded.

you didn’t stop until you reached the vanity, until you set her down against the cool surface of the makeup desk, standing between her legs, your hands firm against her thighs, holding her there.

jihyo blinked, breathless, her smirk faltering for the first time.

you looked at her then, eyes dark, gaze heavy, something unreadable burning beneath the surface.

you leaned in, just enough that your lips hovered inches from hers, close enough that she could feel your breath against her skin.

“you like teasing, don’t you?” your voice was low, steady, a quiet edge laced beneath the calm.

jihyo swallowed.

your fingers traced the hem of her shirt, slow, barely there, the same way she had tormented you moments ago.

“you think you’re in control,” you murmured, your lips brushing the corner of her jaw, featherlight, teasing.

jihyo shivered.

your hand slid up her thigh, stopping just short of where she wanted you most.

her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, her breathing uneven.

you smirked against her skin, lips ghosting over her ear.

“but you’re not.”

jihyo’s breath hitched.

and suddenly, she wasn’t so sure who had the upper hand anymore.

jihyo swallowed hard, her entire body thrumming with heat, tension coiling deep in her stomach as your words sank into her skin.

she was always in control. always the one leading, teasing, pushing.

but now—

your fingers pressed just a little tighter against her thighs, your lips tracing the shell of her ear with devastating precision, your voice smooth, composed, laced with quiet dominance.

now, she wasn’t sure of anything.

jihyo’s fingers clenched around the fabric of your shirt, searching for something solid, something to ground herself, but all she found was you—unwavering, steady, the same way you always were. except now, instead of standing stoically in the background, you were here, between her legs, teasing her like you had been waiting for this moment just as long as she had.

your thumb brushed a slow, torturous line along her inner thigh, barely there, just enough to send a fresh wave of heat crashing through her.

jihyo exhaled shakily.

you hummed, pleased, tilting your head as your lips hovered just over hers, not touching, just close enough to make her ache.

“you were saying?” you murmured, your voice impossibly low, impossibly steady.

jihyo’s breath caught.

you were toying with her now.

she could see it in the slight smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, in the way your hands stayed firm but teasing, in the infuriating patience in your gaze.

it wasn’t fair.

jihyo wet her lips, watching as your eyes flickered down, tracking the movement.

two could play this game.

with a slow, deliberate shift, she rolled her hips, just enough to meet your touch, just enough to break your composure.

your jaw tensed.

jihyo smirked.

“you’re holding back again,” she murmured, voice thick with challenge, with anticipation.

your fingers flexed against her thighs.

jihyo leaned in, her lips grazing your jaw, teasing the way you had teased her.

“what are you afraid of?” she whispered.

and that—

that was what did it.

before she could say anything else, your hands tightened, your body pressing fully against hers, pinning her to the vanity in one fluid motion.

jihyo gasped softly, her smirk slipping as your grip turned just a little more possessive, just a little more demanding.

“you talk too much,” you murmured, lips brushing the corner of her mouth, teasing, taunting.

jihyo barely had time to respond before you kissed her again, deep, consuming, stripping her of whatever control she had left.

and this time, she wasn’t sure she wanted it back.

jihyo barely had time to process before your hands moved—gripping her thighs tighter, pulling her closer, pressing her against the cool surface of the vanity until there was nowhere left for her to go.

this wasn’t like before.

before, you had been measured, composed, teasing her in the same way she had teased you. but now—

now, you were in control.

your lips moved against hers with purpose, deep and demanding, fingers pressing into her skin, your body flush against hers, leaving her no room to think, no space to do anything but feel.

jihyo was drowning in it, in you.

you dragged your hands up her sides, slow and deliberate, slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt, your fingers tracing fire against her skin.

jihyo shivered, her breath stuttering against your mouth.

you smirked against her lips.

“not so confident now, are you?” you murmured, voice edged with amusement.

jihyo’s nails dug into your shoulders, her frustration mixing with the heat curling low in her stomach.

you were enjoying this.

enjoying the way she was unraveling beneath you, the way she had pushed and pushed—only to find herself backed against the vanity, completely at your mercy, waiting for you to pleasure her.

you leaned in, lips ghosting along her jaw, down the column of her throat, slow, teasing.

jihyo let out a shaky breath, tilting her head slightly, giving you more access before she even realized what she was doing—your lips curved against her skin.

“you like this,” you murmured, your voice dark, satisfied.

jihyo clenched her jaw, refusing to give you the satisfaction of a verbal response.

but then—

your hands tightened, thumbs tracing slow, maddening circles against her hips, your lips dragging lower, pressing against the sensitive spot just below her ear.

jihyo inhaled sharply, her grip on your shirt tightening.

your smirk deepened.

“you can admit it. i won’t hold it against you,” you whispered, your breath warm against her skin. “maybe.”

jihyo exhaled, slow, unsteady.

you were insufferable. but you were so, so attractive.

and god, she wanted more.

your hands slid further beneath her shirt, nails scraping lightly against her ribs, the sensation sending a shiver straight through her.

jihyo’s breath hitched, her resolve slipping, cracking under the weight of your touch.

you knew exactly what you were doing.

and for the first time, she wasn’t the one in control.

you tilted your head, lips brushing her ear.

“tell me,” you murmured, your voice impossibly low, impossibly steady.

jihyo swallowed, her fingers tightening around your shirt, her entire body burning.

you were waiting, patient, knowing.

jihyo wet her lips, her breath uneven.

she could fight it—could push back, could try to reclaim control.

but instead, she exhaled, eyes fluttering shut as she finally—finally—gave in.

“…i like it.”

your smirk was the last thing she registered before your lips crashed against hers again, stealing whatever air she had left.

deep. passionate. sensual.

jihyo was sure she had never been kissed like this before.

your lips moved to her jawline, inching downwards with every kiss, lick, suck you did before pulling away to look at her narrowed eyes, hands on the hem of her shirt, silently requesting permission.

with a nod of her head, her shirt was being tugged over her head, revealing her chest clad in a black lace bra.

and jihyo noticed—noticed the way your eyes darkened at the sight of them, noticed the way you bit the inside of your cheek, noticed the way your fingers pressed into her plush thighs even more—so she brought her hand to her back and undid the clasp before shrugging off the fabric, her other hand moving to the back of your head and pushing you into her breasts.

⸻

the car ride was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between you and jihyo. she was lost in her thoughts, occasionally glancing at her phone. then, the sound of her ringtone broke the silence. “excuse me,” she said softly, glancing at the caller id before answering.

“hey, jihyo! how’s everything going?” the voice on the other end of the line asked brightly.

jihyo smiled, her posture relaxing slightly. “oh, hey! everything’s great, actually. had a really good night, so i’m feeling great today.”

you couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in her tone, the way she spoke. it was almost like she was glowing.

“ohh, sounds like someone had a bit of fun,” her friend teased, a laugh in their voice.

jihyo’s smile widened, though she kept her voice light. “yeah, i guess you could say that.”

you raised an eyebrow, curious but choosing to stay silent.

after a few more casual words, the phone call ended, and jihyo tucked her phone back into her bag, her fingers lingering for a moment as she sighed contentedly.

as the car started moving again, you glanced over at her, a sly smile curling on your lips. “so, good night, huh?” you said, the words casual but laced with something playful.

jihyo turned to you, a small but knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you leaned back in your seat, your tone light, almost teasing. “nothing. just seems like you’re in a… particularly good mood. a little too good, maybe.”

jihyo’s eyes narrowed slightly, but there was still that glimmer of amusement in them. “oh, please. don’t start.”

you smirked, glancing at her again. “what can i say? you’re always so… desperate for attention.”

jihyo’s smile faltered for just a second, her gaze flickering towards you, before she quickly recovered. “you’re one to talk,” she shot back, her tone still playful.

“me?” you said, raising an eyebrow, “i’m just observing.”

jihyo let out a soft laugh, but the tension between you both had shifted again, now lighter, more teasing. there was something almost unspoken hanging in the air. you both knew the unspoken dynamic between you—always dancing around each other, always testing boundaries.

and today, it seemed, the game was just beginning.

⸻

the night buzzed with energy as twice made their way through the crowded venue, the flashing lights and excited chatter creating a lively atmosphere. you hung back a little, keeping an eye on everything and everyone around you. the girls were in high spirits, but you remained focused, as always.

as they walked down the hallway toward the stage, you noticed joy from red velvet rushing past, her dress getting caught on a lighting fixture. she stumbled, trying to free herself but only getting more tangled in the fabric, gradually tugging her strapless dress down further and further each time. you stepped forward, instinctively reaching out to steady her before the situation could escalate. without thinking, you shrugged off your blazer and draped it over her shoulders to cover the wardrobe malfunction.

“oh my god, thank you so much,” joy said, looking relieved. her fingers brushed against your arm as she adjusted the blazer, flashing you a smile that was a bit too warm. “you really saved me there.”

you gave a small, polite smile, though you kept your distance. “it’s no problem,” you replied, voice even.

joy seemed to linger a little longer than necessary, a playful smile on her lips. “you look great in that outfit. maybe you should wear it more often, or… we could grab a coffee sometime?” she said, her voice teasing but with a flirtatious edge, her hand squeezing your bicep.

before you could respond, sana spoke up from behind you, her voice teasing as she looked at the two of you. “well, well, seems like someone’s caught your attention,” nayeon said, nudging the others who were walking behind her.

sana smirked. “they’d look good together, don’t you think?” she added, glancing at you both with a playful grin.

jihyo, who had been walking beside them, glanced over. her expression was neutral, but there was something unreadable in her eyes as she observed the interaction.

“they do,” momo agreed, her voice light and teasing. “maybe you two should go out for dinner after this?”

jihyo said nothing, her eyes flickering briefly between you and joy. she didn’t react outwardly, but the air seemed to thicken for a moment.

sana, enjoying the tease, added, “i can see it now. a cute couple in the making. what do you think, jihyo?”

jihyo quickly cleared her throat, flashing a tight, polite smile. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a casual tone, though her gaze moved away from you almost immediately.

joy, sensing the light teasing, smiled at you again before turning to head off with her group, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

you didn’t show any discomfort, shrugging off the interaction with ease. “well, that was interesting,” you muttered dryly, your tone almost bored.

jihyo, still quiet, nodded vaguely. “yeah,” she replied, her voice flat.

the teasing stopped, but the subtle shift in the air remained. you couldn’t help but notice how calm and collected you were in contrast to jihyo’s reserved response.

⸻

the bathroom was quiet, the only sound being the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above. you stood in front of the mirror, touching up your appearance and checking up on the scratch ok your cheekbone, while the faint sounds of the award show continued outside. you had only just entered when the door swung open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

jihyo.

she stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. her footsteps were calculated, deliberate, and the tension in the air was palpable. you glanced at her reflection in the mirror, noting the tight set of her jaw and the way her eyes didn’t quite meet yours.

“you know,” she said, her voice steady but cold, “you’re getting awfully comfortable with other idols.”

you didn’t respond immediately, finishing what you were doing before turning to face her. your expression was neutral, unreadable.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, your voice calm but edged with something darker beneath the surface.

jihyo’s gaze flickered to the floor before locking onto you again, her brow furrowing slightly. “don’t play dumb,” she muttered. “you know what i’m talking about.”

you crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “i don’t know what you’re referring to,” you replied coolly, your tone giving nothing away. “i was just helping someone out. nothing more, nothing less.”

“helping someone out?” jihyo scoffed, her voice a little louder now as she stepped closer to you. “is that what you call it? draping your blazer over her and looking at her like that? do you think we didn’t notice?”

you could see the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, her frustration simmering just beneath the surface. you didn’t answer right away, just watched her with a calm gaze. you were getting used to this—this subtle tension between you, this push and pull. but something about tonight felt different.

“you’re jealous,” you said quietly, your voice low but carrying an almost dangerous undertone.

jihyo stiffened, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stared at you. “i’m not jealous,” she said quickly, but the way her eyes flickered to the door and back to you betrayed her. “i just think it’s… inappropriate.”

you tilted your head slightly, not buying her words. “inappropriate?” you repeated. “so, it’s inappropriate for me to be friendly, to help someone when they’re in need? or is it just because she’s… a woman?”

jihyo took a small step forward, her eyes narrowing. “i’m not saying that,” she snapped, her voice rising. “but don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy it. the attention, the flirtation. you know exactly what she was doing, and you played along.

you shrugged, uncrossing your arms and leaning against the wall. “i didn’t play along with anything. i was just being polite. if you want to believe something else, that’s on you.”

jihyo’s breath hitched, and for a moment, you saw the frustration flash across her face, a crack in her usually composed exterior. “it’s not just tonight,” she said quietly, her voice a little softer now, but still filled with tension. “it’s… it’s always. you always seem so distant, so detached. but when someone else pays attention to you, it’s like you suddenly care. it bothers me.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, and you could feel the weight of them settle between you. the silence was thick, filled with something unspoken, something that neither of you had ever fully addressed. your eyes locked with hers in the mirror, and for a moment, there was no escaping the raw emotion that simmered beneath the surface.

“you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” you said finally, your voice almost too calm. “i’m not here to play games or cause drama. i’m doing my job. that’s it.”

jihyo swallowed, her hands clenched at her sides, her expression unreadable. but the way her eyes softened for a brief second, the way her shoulders relaxed, told you everything you needed to know. she didn’t know how to deal with this—whatever this was between you.

you pushed off from the counter, standing up straight as you took a step toward her. the tension in the room was thick, and you could feel the heat between you, a crackling energy that neither of you could quite ignore anymore.

“look,” you said, your voice quieter now, but still firm, “if you’re upset about me helping her out, fine. but i’m not going to apologise for doing the right thing. you’re reading too much into it.”

jihyo’s eyes flashed with something—anger, frustration, maybe even regret—but she didn’t back away. instead, she stepped forward as well, closing the distance between you both.

“it’s not just about that,” she replied, her voice almost a whisper now. “it’s about you.”

your eyebrows furrowed slightly, the words sinking in, though you didn’t immediately respond. “what do you mean by that?”

jihyo swallowed hard, her gaze drifting downward for a moment before returning to meet yours. “it’s like… no matter what i do, i can’t get close to you. you push everyone away. i try, and you act like nothing matters.” her voice cracked just slightly, but she regained control quickly, forcing her next words out. “i care about you. and i hate that you can’t see it.”

there it was, the raw emotion she’d been holding back. it was a shock, hearing it all laid bare like that, so vulnerable and exposed. for a moment, the anger, the tension—all of it seemed to dissipate, leaving behind something much deeper.

you stood in front of her, the silence between you stretching out. you hadn’t expected this, not like this.

“jihyo,” you started, your voice softer now, but still guarded, “you don’t get it, do you? it’s not about anyone else. it’s about me—i’m the one who’s hard to get close to. i’m the one who’s been holding everything back.”

jihyo’s lips parted, her eyes searching yours as if trying to make sense of it. “why?” she asked quietly.

you took another step closer, the distance now barely existent between you. “because i’m not sure what would happen if i let you in. and that scares me.”

her breath hitched, and for a split second, you could see her fighting to maintain control. but you could feel it, the pull between you both, undeniable.

“you’re scared?” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

“yeah,” you replied, almost too quietly, your gaze flicking to her lips before locking with her eyes again. “scared of what it might do to both of us.”

jihyo looked down, her hands still clenched tightly at her sides. you could see the way she was processing everything, the battle of emotions playing across her face. she opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the bathroom door creaked open slightly, a sound that brought both of you back to reality.

“we should probably get back,” you muttered, your voice breaking the heavy silence.

jihyo didn’t respond immediately, still standing there, her expression unreadable, but her eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer. there was so much left unspoken, so much still hanging in the air.

“yeah,” she said finally, her voice distant, though it was laced with something softer than before. “we should.”

as you both made your way back out of the bathroom, the weight of the conversation still clung to you, the tension unresolved. but something had shifted—something that neither of you could deny anymore.

⸻

the day had been long, draining in the way these schedules always were, but your focus never wavered. you were trained for this—watching, anticipating, stepping in before anything could happen.

the chaos of screaming fans and flashing cameras had become white noise to you, something you had learned to filter out, but something about today felt different.

a tension lingered in the air, an unease you couldn’t shake.

you stayed close behind sana as she moved through the crowd, her usual bright smile present, but you could tell she was a little uncomfortable. the people around her weren’t just fans—there were some who felt different, who stared too long in ways that didn’t seem completely innocent, who moved too deliberately. you were already on edge when you noticed him.

he was following too closely. his eyes never left sana, and unlike the others, he wasn’t reaching for autographs or pictures—just her. your grip on your earpiece tightened as you subtly shifted, stepping between them without making a scene.

then sana flinched.

it was small, barely noticeable, but you caught it immediately. his hand had grazed her back, fingers lingering too long, and something in you snapped.

“don’t touch her.” your voice was low, controlled, but firm enough that sana looked up at you in surprise.

the sasaeng just smirked. “what, i can’t say hi to her?” his tone was light, mocking, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. his eyes flickered to you, then back to sana, and something dark passed through his gaze as they narrowed.

you stepped fully in front of her now, body tense, ready. “i won’t say it again.”

he clicked his tongue, feigning innocence. “relax, bodyguard. she doesn’t mind, do you, sana?” his voice was too casual, too confident, like he thought he was untouchable.

sana didn’t answer—she just stepped back, her body language making it clear she was uncomfortable—nervousness etched into every corner of her face.

and that was enough for you.

you moved before he could react, grabbing his wrist with one hand and shoving him back with the other. the smirk dropped from his face as he stumbled, his shoulder colliding hard with the wall. for a moment, there was silence—shock rippling through the air—but then he lunged.

you barely had time to react before his fist came flying toward you.

you ducked, narrowly avoiding the hit, and countered with a sharp sucker punch to his ribs. he grunted, stumbling back, but he was fast—too fast. he recovered quickly, swinging again, this time catching you across the cheek once and then your ribs. pain flared, but you didn’t let it stop you.

your body moved on instinct, years of training kicking in. you drove your elbow into his stomach, using his momentary loss of breath to grab the front of his shirt and slam him back against the wall.

“you think you can touch her?” your voice was dangerously low now, barely above a whisper, but it carried enough weight to make him freeze.

his breathing was ragged, eyes wild, but before he could respond, security rushed in, pulling him from your grip.

you staggered back, your side aching, your cheek burning, but you ignored it. your attention snapped back to sana, who was staring at you with wide eyes. she looked shaken, but safe. and that was all that mattered.

“are you okay?” you asked, voice softer now.

she nodded slowly, glancing between you and the sasaeng, who was now being dragged away. “are you?” her eyes flickered to the cut on your cheek, the way you were holding your side.

“i’m fine.” it was a lie, but she didn’t call you out on it. instead, she exhaled shakily, stepping closer.

“thank you,” her voice was quiet, but full of sincerity. “really.”

you smiled softly and nodded, the adrenaline still coursing through you, making it hard to process anything else. but in the back of your mind, you knew this wasn’t over.

because jihyo was going to find out. and you had no idea how she was going to react.

⸻

jihyo had been waiting in the van for you, her phone in hand as she absentmindedly scrolled through messages from the managers. the schedule had been tiring, but she wasn’t thinking about that. she was thinking about you. wondering if she had pushed too hard the night before, if the confrontation had been too much. she had noticed the way you avoided her gaze after—had felt the tension shift into something unspoken.

but that thought vanished the moment the van door slid open, and instead of you stepping in, a different bodyguard took your place.

jihyo frowned instantly, sitting up. “where’s y/n?”

the bodyguard, a newer recruit, looked momentarily uncomfortable before clearing his throat. “she was injured during sana’s schedule,” he said, keeping his voice even, professional, as if that wouldn’t send a wave of cold panic through jihyo’s chest.

her stomach twisted. “what do you mean injured?”

“there was an altercation with a sasaeng,” he continued. “she stepped in to protect sana. security handled it, but y/n got hurt in the process.”

jihyo’s fingers clenched around her phone. “how bad?”

the bodyguard hesitated, and that hesitation made her pulse spike. “she insisted she was fine,” he finally said, “but she was taken back to jyp to be checked over.”

jihyo barely registered anything after that. she wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that you were hurt, or the fact that you hadn’t told her. you had gone through something serious, and yet, she had to find out from someone else.

the drive back to jyp felt unbearably long, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

she knew you. she knew how you hid your pain, how you brushed everything off, how you refused to let anyone see you weak. it frustrated her. it worried her.

and when she finally arrived, stepping out of the car with barely a goodbye to the staff, her heart was hammering. she found you near the practice rooms, leaning against the wall, your hand pressed to your side as if the pain was finally catching up to you.

her breath hitched.

you looked exhausted—physically, mentally. the cut on your cheek was sharp, angry-looking, and she noticed the way your stance wasn’t as solid as usual. you were struggling. and yet, you still straightened up the moment you saw her, your expression unreadable. guarded.

jihyo’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “why didn’t you tell me?”

your lips pressed into a thin line. “it wasn’t important.”

her eyes flashed. “not important?” she took a step closer, the worry she had been holding in all day finally bubbling to the surface. “you fought someone, y/n. you got hurt. and you didn’t think i deserved to know?”

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “jihyo, this is my job. it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

that made something in her snap.

“stop saying that like it doesn’t matter,” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “you always do this. you pretend you’re fine, you act like nothing can touch you, but look at yourself.” her gaze flickered to the way you were still pressing into your ribs, to the slight unsteadiness in your posture. “you’re hurt, and you didn’t even think to tell me.”

you exhaled through your nose, clearly frustrated, but something in your expression softened. “i didn’t want you to worry.”

jihyo let out a humourless laugh, shaking her head. “too late for that.”

silence stretched between you, thick with tension, with unspoken emotions.

jihyo’s voice was quieter when she spoke again. “you could have been seriously hurt. and i wouldn’t have even known until it was too late.” she swallowed, her throat tight. “do you know how that feels?”

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you studied her, something unreadable in your gaze. then, finally, you sighed. “i’m sorry.”

jihyo blinked.

it wasn’t the words themselves that shocked her—it was the way you said them. soft. sincere. no walls, no defences.

for the first time, you were letting her see past the front you always put up.

jihyo took another step closer, hesitating only for a second before reaching out, her fingers brushing lightly over the cut on your cheek. you tensed at first, but didn’t pull away.

“next time,” she murmured, “just tell me. okay?”

your eyes searched hers, and for once, you didn’t argue. you just nodded. “okay.”

⸻

jihyo didn’t know what she expected after that conversation, but she knew she couldn’t just walk away—not when the sight of you, bruised and bandaged, was still burning in her mind. she let her fingers linger against your cheek for a second longer before dropping her hand, exhaling slowly as if trying to release some of the tension in her chest.

but it didn’t work.

because despite your promise, despite the way you had finally let her in just a little, she could still see the walls in your eyes. still see the way you were holding yourself back, as if allowing her to worry was some kind of weakness.

and that pissed her off.

she crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. “so, are you actually going to rest now? or are you planning on getting into another fight the moment i turn my back?”

you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “depends. are you planning on getting yourself into trouble?”

jihyo narrowed her eyes. “don’t deflect.”

“i’m not.”

“yes, you are.”

you sighed, shifting your weight slightly—she caught the wince you tried to hide. “jihyo, i’ll be fine.”

she clicked her tongue in irritation, stepping even closer, enough that you had to actually look at her instead of dodging the conversation. “you’re bleeding through your bandages.”

your eyes flickered down to your side, where, sure enough, a faint red stain was starting to bloom through the white of your shirt. you muttered a curse under your breath before pressing your hand against it, as if that would do anything to fix it.

jihyo didn’t even hesitate. before you could stop her, she reached for your wrist and grabbed it, pulling your hand away so she could get a better look.

you stiffened. “jihyo—”

“sit down,” she ordered.

“i’m fine—”

“sit. down.”

it wasn’t a request this time, and judging by the way your jaw clenched, you knew that arguing was pointless. reluctantly, you lowered yourself onto the bench against the wall, watching as she crouched in front of you.

her fingers were gentle as she lifted the hem of your shirt slightly, her gaze darkening at the sight of the bandages beneath. the wound wasn’t deep, but it was still fresh, still raw, and she hated the thought of you walking around like this, pretending it didn’t hurt.

she swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her fingertips brushed against your skin. “when was the last time you changed this?”

“earlier.”

she raised an eyebrow.

“…a few hours ago.”

jihyo exhaled sharply, shaking her head before standing. “stay here.”

you frowned. “where are you going?”

“to get a first-aid kit, since you’re clearly too stubborn to take care of yourself.”

before you could argue, she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

you sat there, exhaling slowly, pressing your fingers against your temple. this wasn’t how you expected your day to go. you knew jihyo would be mad, but you didn’t expect this—not the lingering touches, not the quiet concern beneath all the frustration.

and you definitely didn’t expect the way your heart had skipped a beat when she looked at you like that.

when she returned, she had a first-aid kit in one hand and an expression that told you there was no point in trying to stop her. she set the kit down, pulled out a clean bandage, and then—without hesitation—moved to straddle the bench next to you, getting close enough that you could smell her perfume.

you swallowed. “jihyo, i can do it myself—”

“shut up.”

you blinked.

jihyo’s fingers brushed against your skin again as she undid the old bandage, her touch far too careful, far too deliberate.

your breath hitched.

she smirked slightly, as if noticing. “something wrong?”

you clenched your jaw. “no.”

“good.” she leaned in just a little, her breath fanning against your neck as she wrapped the new bandage around you. “because i wouldn’t want you to get… distracted.”

your eyes snapped to hers, but she looked completely unbothered, her hands steady as she finished securing the bandage in place.

then, finally, she pulled back, her smirk widening at the way your shoulders had tensed.

“there,” she said, standing up and dusting off her hands. “all done.”

you exhaled through your nose, flexing your fingers. “you enjoyed that way too much.”

jihyo shrugged, feigning innocence. “what can i say? i like taking care of people who clearly won’t take care of themselves.”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “right.”

but as you stood up, adjusting your shirt, you caught the way she was still looking at you—like she was waiting for something.

like she wanted you to say something.

but you didn’t. you weren’t sure you trusted your voice right now.

jihyo tilted her head slightly, as if deciding whether or not to push. then, after a moment, she sighed. “just… don’t make me worry like that again.”

her voice was softer this time, and when you turned to her, you saw something raw in her expression. something real.

you hesitated. then, slowly, you nodded. “i won’t.”

jihyo held your gaze for a moment longer before nodding. then, with a small, knowing smile, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, feeling something you weren’t ready to name.

⸻

jihyo had been restless all night. she had tossed and turned in bed, replaying everything in her head—the fight, the way she found you struggling to stand, the tension between you when she changed your bandages. it was eating at her, gnawing at something deep inside her chest, something she couldn’t keep ignoring.

she needed to talk to you.

so before the sun had even fully risen, she was already at jyp, making her way toward the private training rooms where she knew you liked to be when you weren’t on duty.

when she found you, you were in the middle of shadowboxing, movements sharp despite the clear stiffness in your body.

jihyo leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms, evidently unimpressed. “you should be resting.”

you barely paused, just cast a glance at her before throwing another punch into the air. “can’t afford to.”

jihyo let out a slow breath, stepping further into the room. “bullshit.”

you finally stopped, rolling your shoulders as you turned to face her fully. your expression was unreadable, guarded, but there was something in your eyes—something different.

jihyo took another step closer, feeling her pulse quicken. “why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?”

you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “jihyo, we already went over this.”

“no, we didn’t.” her voice was firm, unrelenting. “you just gave me an excuse and expected me to accept it.”

you exhaled through your nose, looking away. “because it’s easier that way.”

jihyo frowned. “for who?”

silence stretched between you.

then, finally, you let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no humour in it. “for both of us.”

jihyo’s stomach twisted.

she took another step, closing the distance between you. “is that what you really think?”

you clenched your jaw, avoiding her gaze. “jihyo—”

“look at me.”

you hesitated, but eventually, you did.

and jihyo felt like she couldn’t breathe.

because there it was. everything she had been trying to figure out, everything she had been trying to understand—laid bare in your eyes.

“i don’t want easy,” she said, her voice quieter now. “i want you.”

your breath hitched.

jihyo took another step, close enough now that she could feel the heat radiating from your skin. “i don’t care if it’s messy, or complicated, or if you think you need to keep me at a distance.” she reached up, fingers grazing your jaw, grounding herself. “i care about you, y/n. and i’m tired of pretending that i don’t.”

your eyes searched hers, as if trying to find some kind of hesitation. some kind of doubt. but there was none. jihyo had never been more certain of anything.

you swallowed, voice rough when you finally spoke. “you’re not supposed to care about me like that.”

jihyo tilted her head. “says who?”

you exhaled, shaking your head slightly, but you didn’t move away. “you could get hurt.”

“so could you,” she shot back. “and it doesn’t change how i feel.”

you let out a quiet laugh, but this time, it was real. softer. “you’re stubborn.”

jihyo smiled, fingers finally curling against your skin. “so are you.”

for a moment, neither of you moved. the tension was thick, the air charged, and jihyo could feel the way your pulse had quickened beneath her touch.

then, finally, you exhaled—letting go.

and you kissed her.

jihyo barely had time to process it before she was kissing you back, her hands sliding up to cup your face fully. it was slow at first, hesitant, as if you were still testing the boundaries of what this meant—but then you pulled her closer, deepening it, and jihyo melted into you, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, breathing uneven.

jihyo let out a breathless laugh. “so much for keeping your distance.”

you smirked slightly, thumb brushing against her cheek. “guess i lost that fight.”

jihyo grinned. “good.”

and then she kissed you again.

jihyo wasn’t sure how long you two stayed like that, pressed together in the quiet training room, the air thick with something neither of you could deny anymore. your fingers rested lightly on her waist, hesitant but firm, as if you were still trying to convince yourself that this was real.

but it was real. and jihyo wasn’t about to let you run from it.

when you finally pulled away, your breathing was uneven, your forehead still resting against hers. “we shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured, though your hands didn’t move from her body.

jihyo let out a breathless laugh, her fingers brushing over your jaw. “you kissed me first.”

your lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “you didn’t stop me.”

jihyo tilted her head slightly, fingers tracing absent patterns on the fabric of your shirt. “do you want me to?”

silence.

then, barely above a whisper—“no.”

jihyo smiled. “then stop making excuses.”

you exhaled, finally leaning back, though your hands lingered on her hips. your expression was unreadable, but your eyes told her everything.

“this is dangerous,” you said, voice quieter now.

jihyo’s smile softened. “i think we passed that point a long time ago.”

your jaw tightened slightly, but you didn’t argue. and jihyo knew why—you felt this just as much as she did. maybe you always had.

[misanahrs]

keep on loving you — park jihyo.

now playing: keep on loving you - cas & you’re the only good thing in my life - cas.

synopsis - after a long week, jihyo feels drained, and you take her on a spontaneous night drive to help her unwind—the silence between you two speaks volumes, offering her comfort and peace without the need for words.

pairing - park jihyo x fem reader.

jihyo’s text comes in like a soft sigh, the kind that only those who truly know her can hear even through a screen. “long week. i’m exhausted. can’t think straight.”

you read it twice, feeling every single word sink into your chest. her words have always held a weight, but today it’s heavier. you don’t think twice.

without a single hesitation, you grab your keys.

no words need to be said. you don’t need to ask her if she wants to go anywhere, because you already know the answer: she needs it. she just doesn’t know it yet.

you drive to her place with one of your playlists playing softly throughout your car, the city lights casting soft glows on your path, guiding you like the invisible hands of time, pushing you forward. you park outside, pulling to the curb. everything about the night feels delicate. still. the air is cool, but your heart races with an unspoken need.

reaching for your phone, you send one message:

“look outside your window.”

jihyo reads it almost instantly but she doesn’t reply at first. but you can feel her. you know she’s there, looking out from behind the curtain. the silence stretches for a moment, and then, finally, the light flickers in her room.

you stand there, leaning against your white benz. the glow of the streetlamps paints shadows across your face, but your eyes are locked on hers, even though she’s not yet out the door.

her gaze finds you, soft, hesitant, and yet… longing. she blinks, as if waking from a long, restless dream. you smile at her, your whole being aching to pull her into the warmth you’ve saved just for this moment.

without a word, the door creaks open. jihyo steps outside, her presence still carrying the weight of the week but softened by the quiet night that surrounds her. she doesn’t say anything, just walks towards you, her feet unsure, but her heart already settling in the right place.

as soon as she’s close enough, your fingers wrap around her left wrist and pull her softly into you—immediately feeling her body relax as her arms loosely wrap around your neck, her face slipping into your chest—breathing you in, indulging in you.

after a few minutes, you open the car door for her, and she slides in, smiling at you softly, eyes closing in relief as she sinks into the heated seat. for a moment, the only sound is her breath.

you don’t need to ask where she wants to go—she’s already home. the world outside, the city, the chaos of the week, it’s all fading into the background. there’s just this small, stolen piece of time where only the two of you exist.

the engine hums softly and you start to drive. slowly. gently. letting the night wrap around you both like a quiet embrace whilst ‘falling in love’ by cigarettes after sex begins to play.

jihyo doesn’t speak, but her fingers find yours on the gearstick, curling around it like she’s been waiting for this touch all along. you glance at her as you drive, her face softened in the dim glow of the dashboard, eyes closed in peace.

“you didn’t have to do this,” she whispers after a while, her voice a soft, worn-out thread.

you don’t answer right away. instead, you just move your hand so hers in on the gearstick and yours is on top and squeeze her hand, the warmth of her touch reminding you why you did this without thinking.

“but i wanted to,” you reply softly, your voice thick with meaning. “i want to be the place where you can rest.”

and the ride continues—slow, steady, and filled with unspoken promises. no destination in mind, just the sound of her breath beside you, the comfort of her hand in yours. letting the night be as long as it needs to be. letting her be free. letting the weight of her week melt away, little by little.

the road ahead stretches out, winding like a quiet promise. the night air is crisp, cool against your skin as you drive, but the warmth of the car—of her—keeps it at bay. every passing streetlight casts fleeting shadows over her face, but they can’t hide the quiet relief that settles in her features.

you glance over at her—her eyes closed, her head resting against the headrest, the soft rise and fall of her chest steady and slow. you want to keep her like this forever—this fragile, unguarded version of her that the world rarely gets to see.

“how’s your head?” you ask, your voice a soft murmur in the stillness.

she exhales slowly, her voice soft when it comes. “it’s lighter now… i think i needed this—needed you.”

your heart swells with something tender—something that runs deeper than love, something that feels like everything falling into place. you don’t need to speak to her often to understand her, not when moments like these say more than words ever could even. even to express. she’s here, with you. the space between your hands feels like the only thing that matters.

you take a quiet turn, heading into the heart of the city, where the lights blur into a tapestry of colours and shapes. the world outside feels distant, like a memory, and in this bubble with jihyo, everything is still.

the silence isn’t heavy. it’s soothing. so much is left unsaid—no need for explanations, no rush for anything. just the rhythm of your breathing, the hum of the car, the quiet voice of greg gonzalez as ‘you’re the only good thing in my life’ plays, and the soft sound of jihyo’s voice when she speaks again.

“i’ve always liked nights like this,” she says, her voice barely more than a breath. “soft. quiet. when everything slows down… when i can just… think.”

you hand shifts slightly, your thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. it’s almost like a confession—small, unspoken, but filled with everything that matters between the two of you.

“i’m glad you’re here.” her words come so softly, but they sink straight into your heart, echoing in the quiet. you want to say something back, something just as meaningful, but the words feel too simple, too small to match what you’re feeling—and a tiny part of you doesn’t want jihyo to think you’re just saying something because she said it first. so, instead, you squeeze her hand, turning the car onto a street that winds through quieter neighbourhoods, letting the city fade away until only the sound of your breathing fills the space.

for a while, you drive in peace, the car’s interior dim and warm, the road stretching ahead of you like an endless canvas. jihyo’s eyes are half-closed now, her lashes resting against her cheeks, her face relaxed in a way you rarely see. she’s letting herself go, piece by piece, and you can feel it, the slow unraveling of the weight she’s been carrying for so long.

you finally pull into a quiet spot by a park, the trees outlined against the sky, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. the city is still far away, but here, it feels like a world of your own.

jihyo doesn’t move when you stop the car, just leans her head back against the seat, staring up at the stars through the windshield. it’s a beautiful night, crisp and clear, and the world feels almost too still.

“thank you,” she says again, the words small but full of everything.

you look at her, the quiet ache in your chest growing with each passing second. “you don’t have to thank me, hyo. i’ll always be here—for you, i’ll always be waiting. for anything. for everything. whatever you want, whatever you need.”

and she smiles then, a small, sleepy curve of her lips that makes your heart skip a beat, before she finally lets herself relax against the seat, her head leaning toward your shoulder. you stay there for a while, in the quiet, letting the world pass by, not needing anything else but the feel of her next to you.

there’s no rush. no words needed. just the two of you, in this fleeting moment, letting the night hold you close.

[misanahrs]

can we get even closer, babe? — park jihyo.

now playing: closer - jihyo.

synopsis - jihyo, always composed, finds herself unraveling under the pull of an up-and-coming producer. tension builds, glances linger, and one night in the studio, desire finally takes over—leaving her craving more.

pairing - park jihyo x fem reader.

the first time park jihyo meets you, she forgets how to breathe.

it happens the moment she steps into the studio, the warm glow of dimmed overhead lights casting a golden hue over the room. the space smells of coffee and something a little musky—subtle, yet lingering. the air hums with the quiet buzz of an unfinished track looping in the background.

but none of that matters.

not when you’re standing there, leaning against the mixing console, eyes focused intently on the screen in front of you. your fingers tap rhythmically against your arm, following the beat playing through the speakers, lost in your own world.

jihyo has met countless producers before, worked with some of the most talented in the industry. yet, as soon as you turn, finally acknowledging her presence, something shifts inside her.

you smile—small, effortless, and devastatingly charming.

“hi, you must be jihyo.” your voice is smooth, warm like honey, and suddenly, jihyo is not okay.

her reputation precedes her. she’s park jihyo—leader, professional, always composed. but when she tries to respond, the words catch in her throat.

“i—uh, yes. i mean—yeah. that’s me.”

god.

she never stutters.

your lips twitch slightly, like you’re holding back a laugh, but you don’t tease her for it. instead, you nod, gesturing toward the studio setup. “i’ve been working on a few ideas for the track,” you explain, pressing a few buttons on the console. a soft melody filters through the speakers, delicate yet powerful. “wanted to make sure it complements your pretty voice.” the woman opposite you flushes slightly at your compliment.

jihyo should be listening, should be focusing on the track you’ve spent hours perfecting. but all she can focus on is you—the way your eyes light up when you talk about music, the way you push your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, the way your fingers glide effortlessly over the soundboard like it’s an extension of yourself.

she’s infatuated.

but she needs to get it together.

“it sounds—” she swallows, forces herself to find the right words. “it’s beautiful. i can’t wait to work on it.”

you glance at her then, meeting her gaze fully. for a moment, there’s something unreadable in your expression, something almost curious—like you’re studying her just as much as she’s been studying you.

jihyo feels her pulse quicken.

this is going to be a problem.

⸻

it gets worse.

she tries to shake it, the strange effect you have on her, but it’s impossible. every session, every conversation, every single time your fingers brush against each others when you hand her a pair of headphones—she feels it.

and the worst part? she’s not subtle about it.

the members notice immediately. nayeon catches the way jihyo sits up straighter whenever you walk in. momo smirks when she stumbles over her words while trying to thank you for a vocal note. even chaeyoung, who usually minds her own business, raises a brow when jihyo very obviously stares as you explain a melody progression.

she’s so obvious, and it’s infuriating.

but the breaking point comes during a late-night session.

you’re working on harmonies, tweaking layers to fit perfectly with the instrumental. jihyo is in the recording booth, headphones snug over her ears, mic in front of her.

she should be nailing this part—it’s well within her range, and she’s practiced it enough times to perfect it.

but she doesn’t.

on purpose.

the first time, she barely misses the note. the second time, her voice wavers just slightly. and the third time—well, she makes it obvious.

“hmm.” you tilt your head, finger tapping your chin. “that didn’t sound quite right. try again?”

jihyo bites her lip, pretending to think. “i don’t know… maybe i just need a bit of guidance?”

the silence that follows is deafening.

you blink at her through the glass, processing her words. jihyo doesn’t miss the way nayeon—who insisted on sitting in this session—buries her face in her hands to hide her laughter.

but then, you move.

you step inside the booth, closing the door behind you. suddenly, it’s just the two of you, standing close—too close.

“here.” your voice is softer now, more intimate in the enclosed space. “let me show you.”

jihyo doesn’t breathe as you take the headphones from her, slipping them over your own ears. then, ever so effortlessly, you sing the line—hitting every note with the kind of precision that makes her lightheaded.

her mind short-circuits.

you finish, lowering the headphones, waiting for her to repeat it. but jihyo? she just… stares.

your lips twitch. “jihyo?”

she blinks. “right. yes. singing. i—okay.”

mortifying. absolutely mortifying.

somehow, she gets through it, voice steadier this time (though not from concentration—more from sheer desperation to recover).

when the session ends, she lingers behind, waiting until the members leave. you’re packing up, humming the melody under your breath, when she finally decides to speak.

“…you’re incredible.” she whispers, so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

your hands still on the soundboard. then, slowly, you turn to face her.

jihyo swears she sees a flicker of something—fondness? amusement?—before you reply.

“so are you, pretty girl.”

jihyo swallows. “i—”

but before she can embarrass herself further, you smile, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“see you next session, jihyo.”

and with that, you’re gone, leaving jihyo standing there—completely, utterly wrecked.

oh, she’s so screwed.

⸻

the studio is quiet.

not the kind of quiet that soothes, but the kind that hums with unspoken things, thick in the air, pressing against the walls.

jihyo is alone, sitting in the dim glow of the control panel, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the armrest of her chair. the session ended an hour ago, the others long gone, but she stayed—pretending she had something to finish, something important.

but she’s just stalling.

because she knows.

she knows you’re still here.

and sure enough, the moment she hears the studio door click shut behind her, her whole body tenses.

she doesn’t turn around.

doesn’t have to.

she can already feel you there, standing just a few feet away.

the silence stretches, heavy.

then, your voice—low, deliberate.

“are you going to keep pretending you don’t feel it?”

jihyo’s breath catches.

slowly, so slowly, she turns in her chair, finally looking at you.

you’re standing near the console, arms crossed, eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away.

jihyo swallows. “i—”

but the words catch in her throat, because you look at her like you already know the truth.

like you’ve always known.

your gaze flickers over her, assessing, like you’re trying to decode her, to unravel every excuse, every hesitation.

when she doesn’t answer, you take a step closer.

and another.

until you’re standing right in front of her, so close that she can see the way your jaw tightens, the way your fingers twitch at your sides—like you’re holding yourself back.

“jihyo.” her name leaves your lips softer this time, but it doesn’t ease the tension. if anything, it only makes it worse.

she hates how she reacts to you—how her pulse quickens, how her stomach twists, how her body leans in without thinking.

“you keep looking at me like that,” you murmur, voice steady but filled with something dangerous, “and then acting like it doesn’t mean anything.”

jihyo grips the armrest, grounding herself. “i—i don’t—”

you exhale sharply, shaking your head.

“don’t lie to me,” you say, and it’s not an accusation—it’s a plea.

and god, jihyo wants to deny it. wants to tell you that you’re wrong, that she’s just tired, that she’s just focused on work.

but she can’t.

because the truth is standing right in front of her—breathing, waiting, burning.

jihyo feels her resolve cracking, feels the weight of every moment that led to this—every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every word left unsaid.

you see it happen.

you see the way her fingers tighten around the chair, the way her lips part like she wants to say something—anything—but can’t.

and then, you do something reckless.

you reach out, slow, measured, and brush your fingertips against her wrist.

it’s barely a touch.

but it shatters her.

jihyo sucks in a breath, eyes flickering between your hand and your face, completely frozen.

“just say it,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

jihyo’s chest aches.

she wants to.

but she’s terrified.

terrified of what happens if she admits it, if she lets this thing—this gravity between you—take over.

but then, your fingers curl around her wrist, grounding her in the present, in you.

and for the first time since meeting you, she doesn’t run from it.

her lips part, and this time, the words don’t get stuck.

“i feel it.”

your eyes search hers, looking for something—hesitation, regret, doubt.

but there’s none.

there’s only truth.

you exhale, a sound so soft, so relieved, that it makes jihyo’s chest feel impossibly tight.

you nod, just once, before murmuring, “good.”

then, without another word, you step back, letting go of her wrist.

jihyo immediately misses the warmth.

you reach for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. before leaving, you glance at her one last time, something unreadable flickering across your expression.

“see you tomorrow, jihyo.”

and then you’re gone.

jihyo stares at the empty doorway, heart pounding.

she is so, so screwed.

⸻

the studio feels different tonight.

the air is heavier, thick with something neither of you have named yet. the usual quiet hum of the equipment, the faint buzz of the city outside—it all fades into the background. because all jihyo can focus on is you.

you, standing just a few steps away, looking at her like you know exactly what she’s thinking.

because you do.

you’ve always known.

jihyo swallows, fingers tightening around the edge of the soundboard.

the session ended an hour ago. the other members left even before that. but neither of you moved. neither of you could.

not after what happened last night.

jihyo still feels the ghost of your touch on her wrist, still hears the way your voice had dropped to a whisper, asking her to just say it.

and she had.

she had said it, and now she doesn’t know what the hell comes next.

but then, you take a step forward.

slow, careful—like you’re giving her a chance to stop this, to walk away.

but jihyo doesn’t move.

she doesn’t want to.

you step closer again, and her breath catches because now you’re close enough for her to see everything—the way your pupils are slightly blown, the way your lips part just barely, like you’re waiting.

jihyo exhales, a shaky thing, her heartbeat erratic.

this is dangerous.

this is reckless.

but when you reach out, fingers brushing over the hem of her sleeve—she breaks.

jihyo moves before she can think, before she can hesitate. one second, she’s standing frozen, and the next—

she’s kissing you.

and god, it’s a mess.

it’s rushed and desperate, all teeth and lips and breathless sighs, like she’s trying to make up for every single second she spent pretending she didn’t want this.

you gasp against her lips, and jihyo takes the sound like a victory, like oxygen, pulling you closer, her hands threading into your hair, tugging.

you melt into, your hands gripping her waist with a sense of urgency, almost as if you don’t want to let her go—just enough to make her whimper into your mouth.

jihyo burns.

you tilt your head, deepening the kiss, and it’s too much—the way you taste, the way your hands slide down her back, the way your body presses against hers, like you’re trying to erase the space between you.

she lets you.

she wants you.

she craves you.

the edge of the soundboard digs into her hip, but she doesn’t care. all she cares about is the way you’re touching her—like you’ve been waiting just as long as she has.

when you pull back, just slightly, jihyo chases your lips, refusing to let the moment slip away.

you chuckle, breathless, before murmuring, “so much for keeping things professional.”

jihyo huffs out something between a laugh and a moan as your lips find the sharp line of her jaw, leaving slow, deliberate kisses.

her head tilts back instinctively, eyes fluttering shut. “you started it.”

your lips curl against her skin. “no, jihyo.” you press another kiss just below her ear, voice dropping lower. “you did.”

jihyo shivers.

because you’re right.

this was inevitable.

this was always going to happen.

and now that she has you—now that she’s tasted you—she’s never letting this go.

she’s never letting you go.

because she is oh so screwed.

⸻

the studio is bathed in a soft glow, the dim lighting casting flickering shadows along the walls. the world outside doesn’t exist anymore—not the endless schedules, not the rules, not the weight of shouldn’ts pressing down on jihyo’s shoulders.

because right now, there is only this—the space between you, shrinking with every breath.

your fingers trail down her arms, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. jihyo shudders, her pulse stuttering beneath your touch.

“jihyo,” you murmur, her name slipping from your lips like something sacred, like a mantra, like a song, like a prayer.

she melts.

your lips meet hers again, softer this time—lingering, savouring. there’s no rush, no urgency, just the quiet certainty that this moment belongs to both of you.

jihyo sighs against your mouth, tilting her head as your hands move to her waist, gripping just firmly enough to make her ache.

“you’re so beautiful,” you whisper against her skin, lips trailing down the column of her throat. jihyo gasps, her hands gripping the front of your shirt like you might disappear if she lets go.

you won’t.

you’re here.

and god, she wants all of you.

her back presses against the mixing console, buttons lighting up under her weight, but neither of you care. your hands slide beneath the hem of her shirt, fingertips tracing along the smooth skin of her waist, and jihyo exhales shakily, her head falling back in pure bliss.

she trusts you.

enough to let you see her like this—bare, undone, stripped of every carefully maintained composure.

you take your time, your touch reverent, worshipful, as if she is something fragile and precious. and maybe, in this moment, she is.

but then—you kiss her again, and it’s deeper, hungrier, laced with something she can’t quite name.

longing.

desperation.

love.

she lets herself fall into it, lets herself feel.

and when you whisper her name, your voice trembling with the same need that’s been building inside her for far too long—

jihyo surrenders.

and she’s glad she does—because she feels like she’s floating.

your touch, your lips, the warmth of your breath against her skin—it all blurs together, wrapping around her like a melody she never wants to end.

her back presses against the console, the faint glow of the buttons casting shadows across the dimly lit studio. the air between you hums with something electric, something neither of you have the strength to resist anymore.

“jihyo,” you murmur, voice thick with emotion, your fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns against her skin. “look at me.”

she does.

and the moment your eyes meet, something inside her shatters.

because you’re looking at her like she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—and she is. like this moment, this night, this version of her—breathless and undone—is something you’ll never forget.

jihyo exhales shakily, hands finding purchase against your shoulders, grounding herself in the warmth of your body.

“i’m here, baby,” you whisper, pressing the softest of kisses to her jaw, then lower, slow and deliberate, as if memorising every inch of her. “just let go.”

jihyo doesn’t know how to do that.

she’s spent years holding herself together, controlling every emotion, every reaction. being park jihyo—leader, performer, perfectionist—has never left much room for vulnerability.

but with you…

with you, she isn’t park jihyo.

she’s just a woman who wants to be loved.

and god, the way you touch her—like she’s something delicate, something sacred—feels like love.

she lets out a trembling breath as your hands slide lower, fingertips leaving trails of warmth in their wake. every touch, every kiss, every whispered word sends a spark through her veins, building, burning.

when your lips find hers again, she moans into your mouth, fingers curling into your shirt.

you deepen the kiss, slow and unhurried, like you have all the time in the world to explore her, to learn every way she falls apart beneath you.

jihyo’s world tilts, her mind hazy, lost in the press of your body against hers. the studio, the rules, the consequences—none of it matters anymore.

only this.

only you.

your hands trace the curve of her spine, your touch sending shivers down her skin. she gasps, eyes fluttering shut, her head falling back as you kiss along her collarbone, each touch more intoxicating than the last.

and when you whisper her name—soft, reverent, filled with something more than just desire—jihyo realises she’s never felt like this before.

she exhales a shaky breath, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer.

“please,” she whispers, barely recognising her own voice.

you pause, lifting your head to meet her gaze.

your eyes search hers, silent, steady, asking.

jihyo swallows hard, her heart pounding so loudly she swears you can hear it. but for once, she doesn’t hesitate.

she cups your face in her hands, thumbs tracing the curve of your cheek, her voice barely above a whisper.

“i want this. i want you.”

you hold her gaze for a long moment, something tender flickering across your expression before you finally lean in, pressing your forehead to hers.

your next kiss is different.

slower. deeper.

a silent promise.

jihyo surrenders to you completely, letting herself drown in your touch, your warmth, the quiet certainty that this—whatever it is—is real.

and for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t think about tomorrow.

she only thinks about you.

and she feels weightless.

your hands, your lips, the warmth of your body pressed against hers—it’s all consuming, leaving her breathless in a way no stage, no performance, ever has.

the studio hums around you, the faint glow of equipment casting soft shadows, but jihyo’s world has narrowed to just this—to you.

you kiss her again, slow and deep, like you have all the time in the world to memorise her. she melts into it, into you, her fingers gripping the front of your shirt as if anchoring herself to something real.

because this is real.

more real than the flashing lights and rehearsed smiles, more real than the endless expectations pressing down on her shoulders.

with you, she isn’t a leader. she isn’t an idol. she isn’t someone who has to always be in control.

she’s just jihyo.

and when your hands slide along the curve of her through her underwear, when your lips leave a trail of warmth against her skin, she lets out a trembling breath and lets herself fall.

you hold her like she’s something precious, something worth savouring. every touch is slow, deliberate, worshipful. there’s no rush, no urgency—just the quiet certainty that this moment is yours.

you press soft kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat, pausing when you feel her pulse stutter beneath your lips.

“jihyo,” you murmur, voice thick with something more than just desire.

something deeper.

something dangerous.

she swallows hard, her head tilting back, giving in, giving you everything.

your hands trace up her sides, fingers ghosting over the hem of her shirt, silently asking.

jihyo exhales shakily, her own hands reaching for you, tracing along your back, your shoulders, anywhere she can touch.

she wants this.

she wants you.

she wants to be seen, to be held, to be known—not as a performer, not as a leader, but as the woman she is beneath it all.

and god, the way you touch her—like you’re memorising every part of her, like she’s something sacred—makes her chest ache in ways she doesn’t understand.

she pulls you closer, lips parting against yours, a silent plea that you understand without words.

and when you whisper her name, soft and reverent, she realises she’s never felt safer in someone’s arms.

so she lets go.

“closer,” she whines breathlessly, trying to tug you closer to her roughly—despite there already being no space—“need you closer.”

lets herself be undone.

lets herself be loved.

ignoring just how screwed she is.

⸻

jihyo wakes slowly, her body feeling languid, her limbs still heavy with the remnants of last night. the sheets are cool against her bare skin, but the warmth of you still lingers—on her lips, on her throat, on her chest, between her thighs.

she stretches, a soft groan slipping from her lips as she blinks against the pale morning light filtering through the blinds. every shift, every movement, sends a dull, pleasant ache through her body—a reminder of how thoroughly you had taken her apart. her lips curl into a lazy smile.

and then—her phone buzzes.

she frowns, reaching for it blindly on the nightstand, her body too relaxed to move with urgency. the screen illuminates with a notification—you.

morning, pretty girl. play this somewhere private.

jihyo’s stomach tightens.

her fingers hover over the message for a moment, anticipation curling in her chest like a slow, seductive burn. she already knows whatever you’ve sent isn’t something she should be listening to first thing in the morning—but god, she wants to.

with a deep breath, she taps on the video.

the screen flickers to life, revealing a dimly lit recording of your laptop, the soft glow of your production software casting a familiar hue across the display.

her brows furrow slightly, watching as your fingers move the cursor, clicking play on a single audio file.

and then—

a breathless whimper fills the silence.

her whimper.

raw. needy. completely unfiltered.

jihyl freezes. her breath catches.

more sounds follow—a soft gasp, the quiet, teasing hum of your voice, the rustle of fabric, the low creak of the studio chair. then a muffled moan—hers—cut off by the unmistakable sound of your lips meeting hers.

jihyo’s body tenses, her skin flushing with warmth, heat pooling low in her stomach as she listens to the undeniable proof of last night’s destruction.

her fingers tighten around her phone.

the audio continues, layering gasps and whispered names into something intoxicating, something deliciously sinful. the shift of bodies, the breathless edge in your voice as you murmured her name like it was something holy—it’s all there.

and god, she can hear herself breaking.

can hear the exact moment she gave in—when her voice trembled, when she whispered your name like a plea, when her breath hitched as you touched her in ways no one else ever had, making her feel things she had only dreamt of before.

the recording captures everything—every shaky inhale, every desperate sigh, every moment where words failed and only sensation remained.

jihyo swallows hard, her thighs pressing together tightly, the heat in her stomach twisting into something almost unbearable and she wonders how you recorded it.

but then-

the realisation hit.

the console.

she remembers now—the way she had climbed onto it, her knees bracketing your hips, hands tangling in your hair, her body arching under your touch. she had leaned back, fingers gripping the edge—

and must have pressed record.

her stomach flips, mortification and arousal warring inside her as she stares at the screen.

she recorded it herself.

and you found it.

before she can even process the sheer devastation of this discovery, you pause the recording—before it had even approached a quarter of the way in, jihyo notes, adding to her horror—you flip the camera around and your voice slips through—low, teasing, filled with the same wicked amusement that had driven her insane all night. “guess we made more than just music last night.”

the audio cuts off.

jihyo stares at her phone, heart pounding, breath uneven. the room suddenly feels too warm, the sheets too suffocating.

she should be mortified.

she should tell you off for the recording of something so scandalous, so utterly devastating.

but instead—she bites her lip.

because the only thing she can think about now is you—the way you had touched her, tasted her, unravelled her with nothing but your hands, your mouth, your voice.

and she wants more.

before she can stop herself, she’s already typing—

delete that right now.

a pause.

her pulse thrums, her body still burning. her breath uneven, chest rising and falling too quickly, her mind still playing back every single sound, every whispered plea.

and then, almost immediately—

send me the full version.

[misanahrs]

for you, i would ruin myself. — minatozaki sana.

now playing: illicit affairs - taylor swift, two years - rosé & maiochiruhanabira - seventeen.

synopsis - an illicit affair between you and your professor park jihyo ended long ago. she was never yours to have, and you were never meant to stay. now, as you prepare to graduate and live life, jihyo is left watching from the shadows—grappling with everything she lost and everything she never had. part 2 of ‘and that’s the thing about illicit affairs…’

pairing - park jihyo x fem reader x minatozaki sana.

i: the life she isn’t a part of

jihyo wasn’t looking for you. she told herself that.

but she found you anyway. she still saw you—saw you with her.

it was early evening, the campus bathed in gold, when she saw you outside the library. you were sitting on the grass, leaning back on your hands, eyes crinkled in laughter. sana was beside you, legs stretched out, a book resting open on her lap—but she wasn’t reading.

she was watching you.

jihyo watched as sana reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. you smiled—soft, effortless. the kind of smile jihyo used to think was meant for her.

jihyo should have walked away. but then she heard it.

“you’re staring again,” you teased, voice light.

sana shrugged, grinning. “can’t help it.”

jihyo clenched her fists.

“you should be studying,” you said, poking sana’s cheek.

“so should you,” sana countered. “but here you are, distracting me.”

jihyo remembered what it felt like to be distracted by you. to sit too close, to listen too intently, to lose herself in the way you looked at her.

she turned away before she could watch sana kiss you.

⸻

ii: the café in the morning

jihyo had always been an early riser.

the café on campus was mostly empty when she arrived, a few students scattered across tables, sleepily nursing their coffee. she ordered her usual and turned towards her favourite corner—

and then she saw you—sitting by the window, clad in a black off-the-shoulder jumper, hair still slightly messy from sleep. wearing one of your cardigans, sana was seated across from you, one hand wrapped around a steaming cup, the other lazily tracing shapes over your wrist.

jihyo remembered mornings with you.

how you used to rush into her office, late for tutoring, a coffee in hand and an apologetic smile on your lips.

“sorry, professor. long night.”

jihyo used to pretend it didn’t affect her, the way you smiled at her like that.

but now, watching you lean into sana’s touch, watching you intertwine your fingers with sana’s before gently lifting them to press a lingering kiss to sana’s knuckles, jihyo had to look away.

———

iii. the library on a rainy afternoon

jihyo had gone to return a book. simple. quick. easy.

but then she heard your name. “y/n, focus.”

it came from a voice she didn’t want to hear.

jihyo slowed her steps.

“i am focusing,” you whined. “but you’re too pretty. it’s distracting.”

jihyo peeked through the gaps in the bookshelves.

sana was sitting on the floor, notes spread around her, highlighter in hand. you were behind her, legs on either side of her, chin resting on her shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around her waist.

jihyo had never seen you like this before. not with her. she had been careful. cautious. and you had kept your distance.

but with sana, there was no hesitation. no stolen glances, no second-guessing. just you, letting yourself be clingy, letting yourself be loved without restraint.

jihyo gripped the book in her hands, knuckles white.

———

iv. the courtyard in the evening

jihyo had been leaving campus late, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink.

she hadn’t expected to see you—but there you were, on a bench, nestled under sana’s arm, head resting against her shoulder.

jihyo’s steps faltered.

sana was reading something on her phone, occasionally showing you the screen. you’d laugh softly but genuinely, fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of sana’s cardigan.

jihyo had always known you to be dynamic. restless. always moving, always chasing something just out of reach.

but here, with sana, you looked settled. content.

and it forced jihyo to keep walking.

———

v: the faculty hallways

jihyo had been walking towards her office when she heard your laugh.

the kind of laugh that once made her stomach flip.

she turned the corner and there you were.

sana was standing behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, swaying you slightly as you tried to type something on your phone.

“sana,” you huffed, but you were smiling.

“mm?” sana hummed, pressing a kiss just behind your ear.

jihyo’s stomach twisted.

“if i fail my exam because of you—”

”—then i’ll take you on a cute getaway to make up for it,” sana interrupted, grinning.

you rolled your eyes, but you leaned back into her.

jihyo had never touched you like that. she had never been allowed to. not in public. not at all.

and yet here you were, freely giving sana everything jihyo had once ached to have. something she still ached to have no matter how much she told herself otherwise.

jihyo clenched her jaw and walked past without a word.

———

vi: watching from the sidelines

finals week. jihyo saw you everywhere.

at the campus café, where you sat across from sana, books spread out, sleeves pushed up, fingers tapping absently against your laptop as you read through notes.

“this literally makes no sense whatsoever,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes before running your hands through your hair.

“you’re overthinking it,” sana said. she reached over, smoothing a hand over your back. “breathe, baby. you’ll be fine. you’ve got this.”

jihyo closed her eyes, willing herself to stop listening.

but she saw you again in the library later that day.

you were sitting with sana in a secluded corner, surrounded by papers and empty coffee cups.

“you need a break,” sana said, pulling the pen from your hand, a sense of seriousness and concern evident in her tone.

“i don’t have time for a break,” you muttered, trying to snatch it back.

“you’ll burn out.”

“i’ll be fine.”

jihyo expected sana to drop it. she would’ve. instead, sana leaned closer, voice gentle.

“y/n,” she murmured. “you don’t have to do this alone. not when i’m right here with you, baby.”

jihyo felt something in her chest tighten. you had always been so independent. so stubbornly determined to handle everything yourself.

jihyo had never pushed.

but sana did.

and the way you softened at her words—the way you let her pull you into her arms, let her comfort you—jihyo turned and left before she could feel the full weight of what she had lost.

⸻

vii: the night before graduation: part i

jihyo shouldn’t have gone to the bar.

but the faculty had organised a small gathering to celebrate the graduating class, and she had no excuse not to attend.

she should have left early.

but then she saw you.

standing near the bar, drink in hand, laughing as sana whispered something into your ear. jihyo watched as you leaned in, pressing a kiss to sana’s temple, fingers lacing through hers.

jihyo tightened her grip around her glass. you used to be hers.

but then you turned.

and your eyes met hers.

her breath caught.

for a moment, everything else faded—the music, the laughter, the years between you.

but then sana tugged you closer, and just like that, the moment was gone.

jihyo forced herself to look away.

———

viii: the night before graduation: part ii

jihyo wasn’t drunk.

but she wished she was.

the bar was dimly lit, the air thick with conversation and music. graduation was tomorrow. everyone was celebrating.

but jihyo wasn’t.

not when she had spent the last hour watching sana with you.

you, sitting too close. sana, touching you like it was second nature. the way you smiled at her, the way she owned your affection in a way jihyo never could.

jihyo shut her eyes, downing the last of her drink.

“you should stop staring,” a voice interrupted. jihyo’s grip tightened around the glass before she even turned.

minatozaki sana. standing beside her, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

jihyo forced herself to stay composed. “excuse me?”

“you’ve been watching her all night.” sana’s tone was light, but there was something sharp beneath it. “it’s kind of hard not to notice.”

jihyo exhaled through her nose. “it’s none of your business.”

sana scoffed before smirking slightly. “it is my business when it involves my girlfriend,” she countered, the point causing jihyo’s jaw to clench, a beat of silence stretched between them. “you think i don’t know?” sana continued. “about you and her?”

jihyo stiffened.

“you left her,” sana said simply. “and i picked up the pieces.”

jihyo turned to her, slamming her glass down on the bar top, anger flaring. “you don’t know anything about what we had.”

“you’re right,” sana admitted. “i don’t. because whatever it was, it was never something real, was it? the only real relationship you have is the one with your husband.” jihyo’s breath caught in her throat.

“what you had with her—it was nothing but mere stolen moments, secrets, and hiding in the shadows,” sana pressed. “but what we have? she doesn’t have to hide. she doesn’t have to wonder if she’s just a mistake you regret.”

jihyo swallowed, the words cutting deeper than she expected.

“she’s mine now,” sana finished, voice still soft but firm, a little bit deeper than what jihyo was used to hearing. “so if you’re looking for some sort of second chance—you’re too late.”

jihyo didn’t respond. because what could she say? sana had already won.

and the worst part?

jihyo knew she deserved it.

⸻

ix: the last goodbye

it rained on graduation day. very ironic when you remembered it was summer.

jihyo stood at the back of the auditorium, watching as names were called, as students walked the stage, as the people she had guided throughout the year moved on to the next chapter of their lives.

and then—

“y/n l/n.”

you stepped forward, back straight, confidence in every movement—it was so you.

jihyo’s breath hitched.

this was it.

you were leaving.

jihyo knew she should be proud.

but all she felt was the ache of something unfinished. incomplete.

⸻

x: moving on

no matter how much she thought of you, jihyo hadn’t expected to see you again.

but fate was cruel.

it was a week after graduation, and jihyo was leaving campus late, caught up in paperwork, when she saw you walking towards the café. walking towards her. alone.

jihyo hesitated. “y/n.”

you turned, surprised. “professor park.” you greeted—jihyo’s heart clenched at the formality.

“you don’t have to call me that anymore,” she said quietly.

you only hummed in response, gaze drifting away from hers and back to the rain.

a beat of silence stretched between you.

“congratulations,” jihyo finally said.

you smiled—soft, distant. “thank you.”

jihyo swallowed. “are you—” she hesitated. “are you happy?”

your eyes met hers, steady. “yes.” it was the most sure you had ever sounded to jihyo.

jihyo swallowed nervously and nodded. “that’s all that matters.” she stated, composing herself.

the rain softened.

you glanced over your shoulder—where sana stood inside the café, waiting, watching the two of you with slightly narrowed eyes.

“i should go,” you said, pointing towards the woman waiting for you inside the café.

jihyo nodded, even though she wanted to ask you to stay.

“goodbye, jihyo.”

it was the first time you had said her name in months.

and the last time she would ever hear it from your lips.

jihyo watched as you walked away.

and then she turned, disappearing into the city, into the life she had chosen—one where you no longer existed.

⸻

xi: what could have been

jihyo could hear the sound of the fork scraping against porcelain. it was the only sound in the dining room.

she and her husband sat across from each other, the distance between them feeling more vast than the dinner table that separated them.

this was how it always was.

silent meals. empty glances. words left unsaid.

she used to wish he would just try.

but now, she didn’t even have the energy to care.

the news played quietly in the background, a monotonous voice filling the space where conversation should have been.

“…and in entertainment news, korea’s elite were left buzzing today after an official announcement from the minatozaki family.”

jihyo barely glanced at the screen—until she heard that name.

her hand froze mid-cut, fingers tightening around the knife.

“…minatozaki sana, heir to the multi-billion dollar minatozaki corporation, is officially engaged to y/n l/n, whose family owns one of the most successful, influential business and trade empires globally.”

jihyo’s chest went hollow.

you.

on the screen. standing beside sana, radiant as ever, and ever so slightly more mature from how it was at graduation—but only people who saw your face everywhere they went could see the difference.

sana’s hand was resting on your waist, fingers almost possessively curled around the fabric of your jumpsuit like she never wanted to let go.

but it was the way you were looking at her.

the soft, knowing smile. the ease in your posture. the undeniable love in your eyes. jihyo felt her throat close up.

you looked happy.

not just the kind of happy that was surface level.

the kind that was real. steady. permanent.

jihyo couldn’t breathe.

“with their combined wealth and influence, this is being hailed as the wedding of the decade—”

jihyo’s fork scraped against the plate as she set it down, too sharply, too suddenly.

her husband barely glanced at her. “something wrong?”

jihyo swallowed, attempting to compose herself and sound convincing. “no.”

but everything was wrong.

she shouldn’t have cared.

it had been two years.

two whole years since she let you go. since she chose her marriage, her reputation, her career—over you.

two years since she convinced herself that what you had was fleeting, that she could move on, that the ache in her chest would fade with time.

but as she sat there—watching you on the screen, watching the way sana held you, owned you, loved you, jihyo felt something in her shatter.

“…the wedding is expected to take place in september, with high-profile guests from all over the world expected to be in attendance to witness the love story of the century…”

love.

jihyo could barely hear the rest as her eyes shut tight.

her heart was pounding in her ears.

her husband turned back to his meal, indifferent as always.

but jihyo… jihyo could do nothing but sit there, drowning in the suffocating silence of a life she had chosen—and a love she had lost.

⸻

xii: watching from afar

jihyo had spent the entire two weeks before the wedding telling herself she wouldn’t turn on the tv.

she had buried herself in work, rearranged the bookshelf twice, even considered calling her husband—despite knowing he was just as indifferent as ever.

but as the morning settled in and the world woke up, she found herself sinking into the couch, remote in hand, fingers trembling.

jihyo exhaled sharply, pressing her thumb into the power button before she could change her mind.

the screen flickered to life and the cameras spared no opportunity to capture every moment, every expensive detail, every high profile guest—including the myoui family who had just recently celebrated the marriage of their daughter—before causally flicking to you.

at the altar.

waiting patiently for your bride.

jihyo’s breath caught.

you were exquisite—you were always breathtaking but—your hair and makeup done up to the nines, your dress was elegant, custom-made, worth more than ten times jihyo’s yearly salary—she was sure. but it wasn’t the wealth that made you shine—it was you. the way your eyes held something soft, something steady.

you had never looked more at peace.

the camera changed to the one recording the orchestra—beginning to play the classic wedding march—before the camera changed to the one facing the floor-to-ceiling doors as the orchestra merged into their rendition of seventeen’s maiochiruhanabira—a japanese love song for your love story with a japanese woman, jihyo figured.

every guest had stood, anticipating.

jihyo prepared herself, waiting to see sana’s radiant self dressed in a bridal gown nothing short of a masterpiece—a vision of luxury yet still elegant that commands attention the moment sana would be seen.

and then the doors opened, quite hastily, as to not give a glimpse of any part of sana, instead opting to reveal sana whole—the gravity of seeing all of her at once hitting hard.

jihyo’s breath hitched.

sana’s makeup was perfection—not too heavy, not too simple. just the right amount of polish to enhance her already breathtaking features.

her skin was luminous, flawless, with a soft, dewy glow that made her look almost ethereal. highlighter dusted the high points of her face—cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, her cupid’s bow—giving her that lit-from-within radiance.

her eyes were subtly defined, a warm, smoky brown blended to perfection, accentuated with a precise flick of black liner that lifted her gaze. long, fluttery lashes framed her eyes, giving her an almost doe-eyed softness.

her brows were shaped and filled naturally—never too harsh, always effortless.

on her lips, she wore a classic, timeless shade—a soft, rosy pink, just glossy enough to catch the light, just tempting enough to hold attention.

the overall effect?

powerful. breathtaking. untouchable.

sana’s jewellery was subtle yet undeniably expensive with each piece being carefully selected.

around her neck, she wore a diamond necklace—delicate but dazzling, made of flawless, hand-cut diamonds set in platinum. the piece sat comfortably past her collarbones, almost reaching her cleavage, catching the light with every movement, a quiet yet undeniable symbol of the wealth and power she carried effortlessly.

her ears were adorned with pear-cut diamond earrings, each stone crystal-clear, gleaming against her smooth skin.

on her left wrist, a thin diamond bracelet—nothing too bold, just enough to glimmer subtly whenever she moved her hand.

and, of course, on her ring finger sat the engagement ring you had given her—the centrepiece of it all. an exquisite, emerald-cut diamond set on a platinum band, impossibly large yet still tasteful, the kind of ring that spoke volumes about status, love, and unwavering commitment.

sana’s hair was styled in a way that appeared both effortless and flawless—a low, sleek bun, not a single strand out of place. the style emphasised the elegant curve of her neck and the sharp beauty of her jawline.

a few soft pieces framed her face, intentionally left loose to add a touch of casualness to the polished look.

woven into the bun were tiny, diamond-encrusted hairpins—barely noticeable at first glance, but when the light hit them just right, they shimmered like stars against the deep brunette of her hair.

the bouquet in sana’s right hand causing jihyo’s throat to go dry.

a methodological, cascading arrangement of orchids, roses, baby’s-breath and crown of destiny tulips—something elegant and sophisticated but still seemed effortless, just like the woman you were about to marry.

but,

sana’s wedding dress was nothing short of breathtaking—a couture masterpiece, custom-designed to perfection by a top designer. the gown was crafted from the finest silk satin, hugging her lithe figure with a precision that felt almost scandalous in its elegance. it was form-fitting from the bodice down to her hips, sculpting her silhouette in a way that left no doubt about the grace and confidence she carried herself with.

the neckline was a delicate off-the-shoulder design, the softest tulle draping over her arms like whispers of fabric, giving her an ethereal, almost untouchable quality. intricate lace embroidery bloomed across the bodice, hand-sewn for hours and hours, glistening not-so-subtly under the golden lighting, catching with every movement she made.

the gown flared out ever so slightly at her thighs, the skirt cascading into a dramatic train that pooled behind her, trailing effortlessly as she moved. the silk fabric gleamed, shifting fluidly with every step she took. a high slit ran up her left leg for practicality—allowing her ease of movement, but also sensually striking in the way it revealed glimpses of her smooth skin.

but perhaps the most breathtaking aspect was what was attached to the back of her bun—the veil.

long. impossibly long. it extended further than her train, made from the sheerest, most delicate lace-trimmed tulle.

the entire look was impossibly luxurious—wealth and power woven into fabric. a statement. a declaration.

after all, she was minatozaki sana—untouchable, desirable, and spoken for.

after what seemed like forever for jihyo, sana stepped forward.

graceful. stunning. walking towards you like nothing else in the world mattered.

her veil caught the air with every step she took, billowing slightly, giving her a presence that seemed almost otherworldly.

and as jihyo watched as sana walked through the aisle with her hand resting on her father’s arm.

the camera panned to you and jihyo’s nails dug into her palms. the way you looked at sana.

it was devastating.

your eyes held nothing but pure love, your lips parted slightly as if you couldn’t believe a woman like sana was really walking towards you, as if she was everything you ever wanted.

jihyo swallowed forcefully against the tightness in her throat. because she had never seen you look at her like that. she had never given you the chance to.

jihyo knew how this would end.

but watching it unfold in real time—watching the way your face lit up when sana reached you, watching the way her hands found yours so naturally, so easily—jihyo felt something inside her break.

the ceremony continued, reaching the vows and the tv screen split into two: your face appearing on the left, and sana’s on the right.

jihyo could only watch as you began to unfold a piece of paper you were handed by your best friend first and she felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

“sana,” you started, jihyo’s heart snapping at the raw emotion in your tone, and, somehow, sana’s smile grew even larger before she muttered a little ‘hi’ under her breath. “you are the softest moment in a life that once felt too sharp. before you, love was something distant, something i only half-believed in—like a foreign language i had never been taught to speak. but then you came, and suddenly, i didn’t just understand, i could speak it, read it, write it, hear it,” you paused, using a tissue to very cautiously dab at your eyes, mindful of your makeup. “i have seen the world in its chaos, its fleetingness, its impermanence. but with you, nothing ever feels temporary. with you, even silence, every second, every moment is sacred, even time bends itself into something softer, something kinder. you are the exception to every rule i thought was unbreakable. you are the answer to all my questions, the solution to all my dilemmas and worries.” you noticed sana sniffling and you stopped momentarily to laugh at, causing her to playfully scoff and roll her eyes at you. “i promise you this—not just my love, but my unwavering presence. in the quiet moments, in the loud moments, in the moments that just do not make sense. i will love you in the way the tide meets the shore—boundlessly, endlessly, returning to you even when the world pulls me away. i will love you in the way the stars burn—steadily, fiercely, in a way that refuses to fade.” you could hear your heart pulsating in your eyes and feel it in your chest—you had never felt anything remotely similar to this before. “you, minatozaki sana, are my beginning, my constant, my forever, for you, i would ruin myself a million little times,” you look up from the sheet in your hands, eyes lovingly gazing into sana’s before you continued. “and today, in front of the world, i choose you—as i have always chosen you, as i will always choose you, hoping you will forever choose me, too.”

sana’s lips tremble as her eyes begin to gloss over even more, your words going straight to her heart as she nods vigorously, choosing you.

and for some reason, jihyo’s eyes seem to begin to lose focus.

sana is handed her own piece of paper—from someone jihyo recognises as myoui mina, sana’s cousin, as one of the reporters had put it—takes a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds, shakily exhaling as a failing final attempt to compose herself before exposing her speaking her words, her thoughts, her vows.

“they say love is a risk,” she starts, eyes locked on the paper. “but with you, y/n, since the day i met you, since the day you and i become us, it has only ever felt like certainty. i do not love you in halves, in fleeting moments, or the dark. i do not love you in secrets, in shadows, or borrowed time,” and jihyo is sure—absolutely sure—that sana’s words were a sharp dig at whatever relationship (if she can call it that) she had with you, the words hitting her too hard. “i love you in the way the earth loves the rain—undeniable, necessary, inevitable. i love you in the way dawn breaks—gently at first, then all at once, spilling over everything, leaving nothing untouched.” sana giggles wholeheartedly when she looks up from the sheet in her shaky hands, watching the way you bite your lip—a habit of yours, one jihyo finds endearing; holding it a little too close to the centre of her heart—harshly to try stop the tears from forming, and jihyo remembers—remembers the time she saw you biting your lip whilst lost in thought, biting your lip as you digested the question in your exam, jihyo remembers the time when she bit your bottom lip, lost in the pleasure you were providing her with, jihyo remembers how you bit your lip before leaving her house for the last time. “i’ve spent my life searching for something i could truly call mine. something that made sense in a world that often felt out of place. and then, i found you.” jihyo saw how your breath caught—the simplicity and truth behind sana’s words cutting through you. “you, y/n, are the warmth in my coldest moments. you are the breath i didn’t know i needed. you’ve given me a love i never knew existed, a kind of peace i had only dreamed of.” jihyo watches, her chest tightening at the way sana speaks as if the world has stopped for you both. her heart aches as you looks at sana, your eyes filled with something that seems so permanent, so full of certainty. “i vow to love you, not just in the easy moments, but in the hard ones. when we’re tangled up in our fears and our doubts, i’ll hold you close. when the world feels like too much, i’ll be the safe place you come home to,” sana momentarily pauses to swallow, pushing the tears nearing the shore away. “i will love you in the moments no one else sees. i will love you in the quiet, in the spaces between words. you’ll never have to wonder if i’ll be there, because my love for you is certain, unwavering, and will never fade.” sana’s words hold a weight that lingers in the air, your hand trembling slightly from the adrenaline and the gravity of the situation.

sana folds the piece of paper before handing it back to mina, hands securely holding yours as she gazes into your eyes, continuing. “i vow to choose you, every day, even when it’s hard, even when we stumble. i’ll choose you in the mornings, when we’re just waking up, and in the late nights, when the world is asleep and it’s just us.” jihyo’s lips begin to tremble as she can see and hear the sincerity between the two of you. “you are my heart, my home, my forever. and i will love you, always, with all that i am.” every word is a knife twisting deeper in jihyo. “i promise to love you in every lifetime.” sana whispered, voice slightly trembling with emotion. the room feels heavy with the weight of her vow and you can barely hold back your tears.

jihyo clenched her jaw.

she had never been able to promise you anything.

but sana could.

sana could promise you everything.

and then…

“you may now kiss the bride.”

jihyo should have turned it off.

should have spared herself.

but she watched.

she watched as you cradled sana’s face in your hands, as your lips met in a kiss that sealed everything jihyo had lost.

she could hear the roar of applause, the camera flashes—she was sure neighbouring countries could hear it too—the sheer joy of the world celebrating your love—

and jihyo sat in the darkness of her home, suffocating under the weight of her own silence.

⸻

xiii: that’s the thing about illicit affairs… they lie.

jihyo wasn’t expecting to see you again.

but fate had never been kind to her, had it?

she’d agreed to attend the dinner—just another one of those formal events her husband insisted on, full of businessmen who never seemed to tire of discussing the same dull topics. scotch flowed freely, laughter that didn’t belong to her filled the air, and yet, she sat there, detached from it all. a silent observer, her mind wandering far from the polished silverware and the clinking of glasses.

her eyes drifted absentmindedly as the maître d’ led them past rows of candle-lit tables, her thoughts too distant to fully absorb what was happening around her.

and then she heard it.

your voice.

soft, melodic. familiar. it was the sound of everything she’d tried to forget. the sound of her past. filled with warmth and laughter, and a sweetness that cut through the noise of the restaurant.

it shouldn’t have made her stop. it shouldn’t have made her heart skip the way it did, but there she was, frozen in place as her mind caught up with what her body already knew.

she didn’t want to look, she really didn’t, but her body betrayed her. her gaze snapped to the side before she could stop herself.

and there you were.

sitting at a private table, bathed in the soft, amber glow of candlelight. your eyes alight with joy, a smile that she remembered so well playing across your lips. everything about you looked effortless, beautiful. and yet, it wasn’t just you. it was her too.

sana.

jihyo’s stomach churned.

you looked happy. truly happy.

sana, her smile wide and genuine, was leaning forward, her fingers lightly brushing over yours. it was the kind of intimate touch that only couples who had truly melded together shared—the kind that made the world fade away.

jihyo’s eyes lingered for a moment too long on the way you whispered something to sana, how she laughed softly, her eyes bright with affection. your laughter—a sound she had once held so dear, so close to her heart—now felt foreign in her ears.

and then, in the low flicker of candlelight, the gleam of the emerald-cut diamond on sana’s finger caught jihyo’s eye. it was enormous, the way it sparkled—it almost seemed to mock her, reminding her of everything she’d lost. platinum set against an emerald stone that seemed so perfect, so lavish.

it suited sana too well. too effortlessly. just like the life you had now. everything she had been able to build with sana, everything jihyo could never be part of.

jihyo wanted to look away, to tear her eyes from the image of you two, entwined in a happiness that was no longer hers. but she couldn’t.

her heart pounded in her chest, the ache in her throat unbearable.

once upon a time, she thought, that could have been me.

there was a time when she had been the one to make you laugh, the one to hold your hand in such a tender way, when you’d whispered things just for her. there had been a time when it was all so simple. when there was just the two of you, no walls, no boundaries, no rules.

but she had known from the very beginning that it wouldn’t last. that it couldn’t. the lines between professor and student were never meant to be blurred, no matter how much they’d wanted it. and so, when everything fell apart, when reality set in, she had let you go.

but now, watching you with sana, watching how effortlessly your worlds had merged, how complete you looked, the depth of that loss hit her like a tidal wave.

it never would be. it never was.

jihyo tore her eyes away, forcing herself to follow her husband to their table, the words he was speaking to her lost on her. she was so painfully aware of everything. the way her chest tightened. the way her breath seemed to falter. she fought to steady herself, to play the part of the dutiful wife, the one who had everything in control. but inside, it felt like everything was slipping away. like she was drowning in the weight of it all.

it wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.

but it did.

the soft murmur of conversation around her faded. the clinking of silverware against porcelain became distant, muffled. and all she could hear, no matter how hard she tried to block it out, was the sound of you. your laughter.

she tried to focus on the menu, but her gaze would drift back to you, back to sana’s soft fingers caressing yours, the way you leaned in closer to her, so intimate, so natural.

your joy radiated from you, and in that moment, jihyo understood the full extent of her own loss. it wasn’t just the love she once thought was possible with you. it wasn’t just the affection, the connection they had shared.

it was everything. the future. the life that could have been hers.

she didn’t know how long she sat there, how many times her eyes strayed back to you both. but eventually, the moment passed. sana stood up first, her arm looped around yours. you smiled at each other, and then you were both walking away—leaving jihyo alone with the quiet ache of everything she could never have.

jihyo didn’t move for a long moment, her eyes following your retreating figures as they slipped through the restaurant door. everything inside her felt heavy—like she was trapped in a memory she couldn’t escape. her fingers clenched around the edge of the table, as if holding onto it would somehow keep her grounded, keep her from shattering completely.

jihyo let out a shaky breath and turned away, her mind a whirl of emotions she could no longer hide from. she should be angry—she should be angry at fate for leading her down this road, angry at herself for never being brave enough to fight for what she wanted. but there was no anger. just an aching, unspoken sorrow.

her husband’s voice broke through her reverie, and she glanced at him briefly. he was speaking, but it was as if she could barely hear him. his words didn’t matter. not in this moment. not anymore.

“jihyo? everything alright?” his voice was light, but there was a curious look in his eyes. he had no idea, none at all, of the war raging inside her.

“yeah,” she whispered, her voice tight. “just tired.” her husband nodded, unaware of the storm inside her. he probably thought it was just another night, just another dinner. and maybe it was. for him.

but for jihyo, this night would be forever etched in her mind—the night she had seen you with sana. the night she had realised, beyond any doubt, that she had missed her chance. that her story with you had been written in a way she couldn’t change.

as the evening wore on, she tried to focus, to engage in the conversation, to smile and nod, to pretend that everything was fine. but all she could think about was you. you and sana—together. the love you both shared, so pure, so undeniable. a she could never be part of.

later that night, after her husband had fallen asleep, jihyo sat at the edge of the bed, staring out the window. her mind kept returning to you, to the life you had built with sana. she thought of your wedding—how beautiful you had looked, how full of joy. and now, seeing you so utterly content, so in love, it felt like salt in the wound.

she never wanted to be the one to lose. never wanted to be the one left behind. but here she was, alone with her regrets.

her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she reached for it, checking the notification. it was an image—something that made her heart clench painfully.

itwas a picture of you and sana, posted by one of your mutual friends. the caption read, “the most perfect couple. so proud to see you both thrive.”

the image showed the two of you laughing, your arms around each other, so effortlessly happy. there was no hint of sadness, no reminder of what had once been. just the two of you in your world.

jihyo stared at the screen, her finger hovering over the image. the ache inside her seemed to grow, a deep, gnawing emptiness that she couldn’t fill.

“i should have been braver,” she whispered to herself, the words barely audible in the stillness of the room.

a few years ago, she might have fought for you. she might have done everything differently. but she didn’t. sana was everything you needed, everything she couldn’t be.

the tears came then, silently, as jihyo finally let herself grieve the life she had lost. she wiped them away quickly, not wanting her husband to hear or notice, but deep inside, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

she wasn’t even sure if she could keep pretending. she wasn’t sure she could keep pretending that it didn’t hurt to see you so happy with someone else. she wasn’t sure she could keep pretending that it didn’t feel like her heart was slowly being ripped from her chest.

but for now, she lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the image of you and sana burned into her mind.

it was cruel, wasn’t it? fate, that is. to have given her something so beautiful, so precious, and then ripped it away. and now, all she had were the memories—the haunting, bitter memories of a time that was no longer hers.

because that’s the thing about illicit affairs.

⸻

thank you for reading!!

tried not to go into detail for your wedding outfit so you can imagine it yourself!!

also, results of the poll on part 1: i was lowkey hoping jihyo would win but you guys wanted sana so i delivered

[misanahrs]

just the two of us —minatozaki sana.

now playing: moonstruck - enhypen.

synopsis - from the moment minatozaki sana steps into your studio, she’s utterly smitten. shamelessly flirting at every opportunity, she’s determined to win you over, but she doesn’t expect to fall this hard. between teasing exchanges, stolen glances, and a first date filled with laughter and flustered moments, sana realises she’s completely, hopelessly in love.

pairing - minatozaki sana x fem reader.

i:

you’ve always been comfortable behind the camera. there’s a quiet kind of power in being the observer rather than the observed, in capturing the world through a lens without having to stand in its spotlight. you’ve worked with dozens of models before—beautiful people who know exactly how to command attention—but none have ever made you forget how to breathe.

and then, minatozaki sana steps into your studio.

she is a vision draped in golden afternoon light, her presence soft yet impossibly magnetic, as if she’s been sculpted from the very concept of warmth itself. her hair spills over her shoulders in silken waves, catching the glow of the setting sun filtering through the tall windows. her eyes, deep and rich with unspoken mischief, find yours immediately. she smiles, and it feels like the room itself tilts slightly off its axis.

“are you always this quiet,” she muses, tilting her head as she watches you adjust your camera settings, “or am i just too stunning for words?” her voice is lilting, teasing, as if she’s testing you—seeing how much power she holds in a game she’s only just begun.

you swallow, steadying yourself with a deep breath. “i just concentrate when i work,” you reply, trying to keep your tone even, though you can already feel the edges of your composure fraying.

but sana doesn’t miss a thing.

“ohh,” she hums, stepping closer, her gaze flickering over you like she’s mapping out something precious. “so if i weren’t your model, would you talk to me more?”

the air in the room shifts. her perfume—soft, floral, something like jasmine and vanilla—lingers between you, making your thoughts feel syrupy and slow.

“would you go on a date with me if i weren’t your model?” she asks, voice lighter now, almost playful, but there’s something else beneath it. something real.

your breath hitches. your fingers twitch over the shutter button.

click.

you don’t even realise you’ve pressed it until sana’s lips curve into a delighted grin.

“did you just take a picture of me flirting with you?” she giggles, and god, the sound is musical. light. intoxicating.

your face heats instantly. you clear your throat, lowering the camera, but sana’s eyes are still locked onto yours, shimmering with something unreadable. “you should focus, minatozaki,” you say, grasping at professionalism, at anything that might keep you from completely losing your cool.

but she only leans in a fraction closer, voice honey-sweet. “but i am focusing,” she whispers. “on you.”

and suddenly, it feels like you are the one being captured—pinned beneath the weight of her attention, forever frozen in a moment you’re not sure you ever want to escape from.

⸻

ii:

from that moment on, every photoshoot becomes a battle. sana finds new ways to fluster you—throwing winks over her shoulder, blowing kisses between shots, letting her hands travel over your body and rest in various places when she analyses the images you took of her, casually complimenting you in ways that seem far too genuine to be simple teasing.

one afternoon, as you’re reviewing the photos from your latest session, sana leans in over your shoulder, her presence warm and distracting. “these look amazing,” she says, her voice softer than usual. then, after a pause, she tilts her head. “but something’s missing.”

you frown slightly, studying the screen,not very used to your skills being criticised as a top photographer. “what is it?”

she grins, and you know you’ve walked straight into a trap. “me, taking you out to dinner after this.”

you blink. her confidence is unwavering, as always, but there’s something in her expression—something softer, more sincere.

“one date, y/n,” she presses gently, nudging your arm. “just one. if you don’t fall for me by the end of it, i’ll stop flirting.”

you hesitate. “you promise?”

sana smirks. “no,” she says easily. “because i already know you’ll fall for me.”

and, if you’re being honest, you might have already fallen.

⸻

iii:

you don’t know how she does it, but sana somehow manages to find the most intimate little restaurant in the city—the kind of place that feels like a well-kept secret, tucked away between winding alleyways and ivy-covered brick walls.

soft candlelight flickers against the wooden tabletops, casting golden reflections in the deep amber of sana’s eyes. the air hums with the quiet murmur of conversations, the occasional clink of silverware against ceramic, the distant notes of a love song drifting from an old record player in the corner.

and sana—god, sana is radiant.

she pulls your chair out for you, exaggeratedly chivalrous, and when you raise an unimpressed eyebrow, she only grins.

“see?” she says, settling into her seat. “i’m a perfect date already.”

you shake your head, but there’s no stopping the smile tugging at your lips. “you’re something, alright.”

dinner is a dance between effortless charm and absolute chaos. sana is a natural flirt, shameless and relentless in her teasing, she speaks about herself and her journey with twice—momentarily stating that this was a restaurant the girls used to come to as trainees—but she listens, too—really listens. she asks about your favourite places to photograph, about the moments that make your heart swell behind the lens. she hums in understanding when you describe the way golden-hour light makes everything feel softer, more alive.

and then, just when you think she’s nothing but smooth edges and practiced confidence, she knocks over her glass.

her eyes widen in pure, mortified horror as water spills across the table, ice cubes bouncing onto the floor with a soft clatter. “i— i meant to do that,” she blurts out, frantically grabbing at napkins in a desperate attempt to undo the damage.

you laugh, the sound spilling out of you before you can stop it, and suddenly the night feels even lighter, easier.

“sure you did,” you tease, watching as she hues of pink begin to lightly coat the apple of her cheeks.

she pouts, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering between yours and the now-damp tablecloth. “stop looking at me like that. i’m supposed to be dazzling you, not embarrassing myself.”

you hesitate, then, and before you can overthink it, you let yourself smile. “you’re still dazzling,” you admit softly.

sana freezes.

her lips part slightly, as if she hadn’t been expecting you to say it out loud. her fingers curl slightly against the table, her breath catching just enough for you to notice. the same light pink on her cheeks deepen.

and for once, it is her who is flustered.

“so…” she clears her throat, her voice just a little quieter now. “does that mean i get a second date?”

you lean back, pretending to consider it. “hmm,” you hum, tapping your chin. “maybe.”

sana gasps, placing a hand over her heart like you’ve just shattered her. “maybe?” she repeats dramatically. “i’ll just have to work harder, then.”

and work harder she does.

⸻

iv:

it happens after a photoshoot—one where sana had been softer than usual, where her touches lingered just a little too long, where her laughter felt like something only meant for you.

the studio is quiet now, save for the faint hum of the city outside. sana stands a few steps away, shifting on her feet, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

“y/n,” she starts, then stops. exhales. tries again. “i know i’ve been flirting with you since the moment we met,” she says, voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it, like she’s suddenly afraid of the words leaving her lips. “and i know i said i wanted to win you over but…”

she glances up at you then, and you realise—she’s nervous.

minatozaki sana, who has always been confident, always been bold, always been so sure of herself—she is nervous.

“i think you’ve actually won me over instead,” she murmurs. your breath catches. “i really like you,” she continues, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “and i don’t just want to flirt with you. i want to be yours. properly.”

silence stretches between you, heavy and fragile, until you finally take a step forward.

you take her hand.

“you already are.”

sana blinks. her lips part slightly. “huh?”

you squeeze her fingers, warmth spreading from your chest outward. “yours. i already am.”

her face floods with colour. “oh my god,” she whispers, pressing both hands over her burning face. “did i just get confessed to?”

you laugh, heart full.

“i was supposed to be the smooth one!” she wails.

you squeeze her hand again. “guess i beat you at your own game, minatozaki.”

and minatozaki sana—hopeless romantic, self-proclaimed flirt, and now, completely, utterly smitten—finally gets her happy ending.

⸻

epilogue: your moments with sana.

i:

mornings with sana are slow, filled with warm limbs tangled beneath soft sheets, the scent of fresh linen mixing with the faint hint of her vanilla shampoo. sunlight spills through the curtains, painting golden patches on the bed, and sana—your beautiful, sleepy girlfriend—buries her face against your neck with a soft hum of protest when you try to move.

“nooo,” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep, arms tightening around you. “don’t leave.”

you laugh softly, brushing your fingers through her tousled hair. “we have to, baby. you have a schedule.”

sana groans dramatically, pulling you even closer, as if she can physically stop time. “five more minutes,” she pleads, but you know from experience that five minutes always turns into fifteen, then thirty.

you press a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose, and finally, her lips—lingering just long enough to feel her melt into it. her lips curl into a sleepy smile. “mmm. okay. maybe i’ll get up for more of that.”

you shake your head, amused. “bribing you with kisses now?”

she peeks up at you with a cheeky grin. “it’s very effective, don’t you think?”

you roll your eyes, but you still kiss her again—because really, who could resist?

⸻

ii:

it happens on an ordinary evening. nothing extravagant, no grand gestures—just the two of you curled up on the sofa, a forgotten movie playing in the background while sana absentmindedly traces patterns on your arm with her fingertips.

you’re not even talking, just existing together in comfortable silence, when she suddenly sighs—soft and dreamy—like she’s realising something for the first time.

“i love you.”

the words come so naturally, so effortlessly, that it takes a moment for them to fully sink in. you turn to her, heart stuttering, and find her already looking at you, eyes warm and filled with something deeper than anything she’s ever said before.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen her look so genuine. so completely, helplessly in love.

“say it again,” you whisper.

she smiles, shy but certain. “i love you.”

and you don’t hesitate—not for a second—before cupping her face and pressing your forehead to hers. “i love you too, sana.”

she beams, then giggles, then kisses you so sweetly that you wonder how you ever lived before knowing what her love feels like.

⸻

iii:

being a photographer for vogue is always an honour, but being the photographer for twice’s first full-group cover? that’s a dream. a dream that becomes even sweeter when your girlfriend, minatozaki sana, is part of it.

the studio buzzes with energy—stylists making last-minute adjustments, makeup artists perfecting the girls’ looks, and the members themselves, effortlessly beautiful and glowing under the bright lights.

sana, of course, had been smug the moment she found out you were the assigned photographer.

“guess i’ll be your favourite model today,” she had teased that morning, standing in your doorway, dressed in her robe, eyes sparkling.

but now? now it’s a different story.

“yahhh, look at sana!” nayeon sing-songs as you adjust your lens, a playful smirk already forming on her lips. “she’s posing extra hard for y/n.”

“it’s true!” jeongyeon chimes in. “look at her! she’s gazing.”

“our sana is so in love,” momo teases, nudging her.

sana, to your delight, actually starts turning pink.

you decide to take it a step further.

you lower your camera slightly, tilting your head in mock curiosity. “hmm… sana-ssi, could you maybe… pose less seductively?” you say, as if genuinely concerned. “you’re making it very hard to focus on my work.”

the studio erupts with laughter.

sana’s jaw drops. her face turns an even deeper shade of red as she swats at you. “y/n!” she squeaks, her confident facade completely crumbling.

“ohhhh my god,” chaeyoung wheezes. “tables have turned.”

dahyun claps her hands. “this is a historic moment.”

sana buries her face in her hands. “i hate you,” she mumbles, but the way she’s smiling says otherwise.

you grin, stepping closer, lowering your voice just for her. “no, you don’t.”

she peeks at you through her fingers, playfully pouting. “okay, fine. i don’t.”

you press a quick kiss to her cheek before stepping back. “now, be a good model and let me take your picture, minatozaki.”

and, despite her embarrassment, sana absolutely melts.

⸻

iv:

it’s late. the kind of late where the world feels a little softer, where everything slows down, where love lingers in the quietest corners of your home.

you and sana stand in the kitchen, the glow of the refrigerator casting long shadows across the floor, soft music playing from your phone. she’s wearing one of your hoodies, sleeves hanging past her hands, hair a little messy from where she’s been leaning against your shoulder just moments before.

you reach for her, fingers curling around her waist. she sighs happily, letting you pull her close.

and then, without thinking, you start to sway.

it’s not a proper dance—just the two of you, barefoot and tangled in each other’s arms, moving to a song that neither of you know the words to. but it doesn’t matter.

sana hums softly, her cheek pressed against your shoulder. “this is nice,” she murmurs.

you press a kiss to her hair. “yeah?”

she nods, tightening her arms around you.

“you make everything nice,” she whispers.

your heart swells.

you don’t respond with words—you don’t need to. instead, you hold her closer, press your lips to her temple, and continue to sway in the quiet, in the warmth, in the love that neither of you ever want to end.

and minatozaki sana—your shameless flirt, your hopeless romantic, your home—smiles like she’s never been happier

[misanahrs]

and that’s the thing about illicit affairs… — park jihyo

now playing: illicit affairs - taylor swift.

synopsis - professor park jihyo, newly appointed at your university, is respected by colleagues, adored by students. but behind closed doors, she is trapped in a marriage devoid of passion, tethered to a husband who is never there. you, on the other hand, are everything she isn’t—effortlessly charming, endlessly desired. the two of you met in the lecture hall. and from the very first glance, neither of you stood a chance. part 2 ‘for you i would ruin myself’

pairing - park jihyo x fem reader.

i: the girl everyone wants

jihyo had heard your name many times before she had ever saw you.

whispers of admiration followed you through the university halls, lingering in the spaces you left behind.

“y/n’s different,” a student had murmured once, just outside jihyo’s office. “it’s not just that she’s beautiful—everyone’s drawn to her. like she’s got this… presence.”

“too bad she’s impossible to get,” another had sighed. “she’s always surrounded by people, but no one ever really touches her.”

jihyo hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

but then, on the second day of term, you stepped into her lecture hall.

and she understood.

you weren’t loud or obnoxious. you didn’t command attention in the way some did. but there was something about the way you carried yourself—effortless, elegant, self-assured—that caught everyone’s attention.

you walked with quiet grace, your hair catching the light, a faint smile playing at your lips as you exchanged pleasantries with classmates.

you were polished in a way most students weren’t. cashmere jumpers and cardigans, silk blouses, delicate jewellery that gleamed when you moved. poised, but never cold.

jihyo found herself watching as you slid into a seat near the front, crossing your legs with easy refinement.

and then your gaze lifted.

dark eyes met hers—steady, curious, lingering just a second too long.

jihyo’s breath caught.

she looked away before she could stare.

she was a professor. you were her student. and she was married.

it meant nothing.

at least, that was what she told herself.

⸻

ii: an unspoken pull

weeks passed.

jihyo never sought you out, yet somehow, you were always there.

chatting with friends in the campus canteen, laughter light and effortless. slipping into her lecture hall just as class began, brushing stray strands of hair from your face as you took notes.

she was careful not to let her gaze linger.

but then there were the moments she couldn’t quite ignore.

the way you stretched lazily in your seat at the end of a long lecture your top lifting and revealing your toned abdomen, a soft sigh leaving your lips. the way you bit your pen in thought, tilting your head as you listened to a discussion between your friends. the way your perfume—something warm, expensive, laced with sandalwood and saffron—lingered in the air when you passed by her desk.

she tried to dismiss it.

but you weren’t making it easy.

you had caught her looking staring more than once.

you never said anything. never teased or smirked.

but your gaze always held hers just a moment too long.

almost as if you were waiting.

⸻

iii: a story she shouldn’t have heard

it was early evening, the sky painted in deep hues of violet and gold, when jihyo found herself walking throughout the library—a shortcut she had been told about by other professors to get you through campus in half the time, meaning she could get home quicker.

she had stayed later than usual, caught up in essay grading, her head aching from hours of reading the same careless mistakes. the campus was quieter now, students either retreating to their dorms or slipping off to bars, ready to forget about coursework for the night.

she hadn’t planned to linger.

but then she heard your name.

“y/n?!”

“no, listen, i’m serious—y/n’s the best i’ve ever had.”

jihyo froze.

it was a girl’s voice—low, conspiratorial, tinged with something breathless. she was speaking to a small group, their laughter hushed, intimate.

“don’t be dramatic,” another teased.

“i’m not,” the girl insisted. “she’s… unreal.”

jihyo knew she should walk away.

should keep moving, pretend she hadn’t heard, forget the way your name curled through the night air like something forbidden.

but her feet stayed planted.

jihyo shouldn’t have listened.

she shouldn’t have cared.

but the words painted images she had no right to picture. images she couldn’t erase.

“you don’t understand,” the girl continued. “y/n’s not just good—she’s… patient. attentive. she knows exactly what to do, exactly how to touch you in a way that just makes you unravel.”

jihyo’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

“her mouth—” the girl let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “god, she takes her time. like she enjoys it as much as you do. and her hands—” she exhaled sharply. “she touches you like you’re delicate. like you’re worth something. she worships you. her only aim is to please you so much that you feel obliterated.”

heat curled low in jihyo’s tightening stomach, sharp and unexpected.

it had been so long since anyone had touched her like that. so long that it felt like no one had her like that, in that state.

her husband’s hands were always hurried, impersonal, driven by routine and his desire rather than hers.

but the way this girl spoke of you… it was almost reverent.

jihyo exhaled shakily, forcing herself to move, to put distance between herself and the conversation she never should have listened to.

but the words followed her.

echoed in her mind as she drove home, as she undressed, as she stood beneath the hot spray of the shower.

she let the water run over her skin, eyes fluttering shut.

she shouldn’t be thinking about it.

shouldn’t be imagining the way your fingers might feel against her skin—slow, deliberate, teasing, worshipping.

shouldn’t be picturing your mouth, the way that girl had whispered about it, as if it was something sacred.

she stepped out of the shower, drying herself off with a towel before dressing herself in her underwear and pajamas and settling on top of her duvet.

sighing, she opened instagram and searched your first name. your account was the first one to pop up—your face staring back at hers. hesitantly, she clicked on it and was met with a public account and a sense of relief overtook her body. she observed everything; a spam tagged in your bio with 19 followers whilst you only followed 9, 17 photos, 6,318 followers, 72 following, 3 different highlights—the first one for life, the second one for friends and family, and the third one for you—and she clicked through all of them before finding herself scrolling through your feed.

jihyo analysed photo after photo of you—dressed in satin at an evening gala, sipping cocktails at a rooftop bar, laughing in a candid shot, hair tousled by the wind, wearing a skimpy bikini that highlighted the ink across your skin in various please and you belly button piercing, photo-dumps of you on holiday.

in one, you wore a slip dress of pale champagne silk, the delicate straps threatening to slip from your tanned shoulders.

the caption was simple: indulge a little.

her breath hitched.

her hands drifted lower.

she shouldn’t.

but she did. she indulged. in herself. in you.

her fingers pressed between her thighs, slow at first, teasing. a quiet gasp left her lips, her head tipping back against the pillows.

it had been too long.

too long since she had felt wanted. since she had felt anything at all.

she thought of you.

of your veiny hands, your lips, your voice—low and honeyed, murmuring her name like something precious.

pleasure built, quick and insistent, her body betraying her restraint.

it didn’t take long before she was unravelling, thighs trembling, a soft moan slipping past her lips.

she gasped for breath, her head resting against the pillows, shame curling in her chest even as pleasure still thrummed through her veins.

this was dangerous.

wrong.

you were her student.

she shouldn’t want you.

but god, she did.

⸻

iv: private tutoring

jihyo tried to bury it. to push it down, lock it away, return to professionalism.

but then, one afternoon, you lingered after class.

“professor park.”

jihyo turned, composed. “yes?”

“i need help,” there was something rare in your voice—frustration, hesitation. “my grades are slipping,” you admitted, brows furrowing. “i know i should be doing better, but—” you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “between events, deadlines, everything else… i just need help, possibly one-on-one tutoring.”

jihyo hesitated.

this was dangerous. too close.

but then your eyes met hers—wide, begging, pleading, vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to seeing.

“please.”

she should have said no.

instead, she nodded, throat dry. “of course.”

⸻

v: unraveling a drug that only works the first few hundered times

the sessions started in her office. structured. disciplined. professional. but the tension was unbearable.

you sat too close. your perfume lingered too long even after you had long disappeared.

your gaze flickered to her lips when she spoke.

“professor,” you murmured one evening, voice teasing—she could hear the smirk in your voice without even looking. “you’re always so composed.”

jihyo swallowed. “and?”

“do you ever let go?”

she should have left it alone.

should have ignored the way your fingers traced the rim of your glass, the way your lips curved in something knowing.

but instead, she murmured

“do you want me to?”

silence.

and then,

you leaned in.

lips brushing against hers, gentle, hesitant before pressing firmer, deeper.

jihyo broke.

her hands wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer, months of restraint shattering in an instant.

it was dangerous. forbidden. inevitable.

and when you pulled away, breathless, you whispered, “take me to your bedroom.”

jihyo didn’t even try to resist.

she took your hand.

led you down the hall.

and gave in completely.

⸻

vi: make sure nobody sees you leave

jihyo was sure she had never before felt the way you had made her feel that night.

it’s why she kept coming back to you.

it’s why she let you worship her not just in hers and her husbands shared bedroom, but in her office in the janitors closet at uni, in her car, at the desk whilst she delivered a lecture.

it’s why she let you too close.

you may have not, but she noticed the curious looks. she heard the rumours about the golden girl of campus sneaking into her dorm room before dawn.

“hyo,” you started, playing with her hair as you lay on her lap. “its finals in a few months, so i took the liberty to think about my future, and i think we should cut down our meeting to, like, twice a week, how does that sou-“

“i think we should stop altogether,” jihyo, rather calmly, stated, causing you to sit up and attempt to look at her but she refused to make eye contact. you attempted to speak but she didn’t let you. “this isn’t right, y/n, we’re not right: you’re a student, i’m a professor. if people find out about us, i could lose my job, i’m risking going to jail. and you know, my husband’s coming back in a few days so you can’t come around anymore, and we certainly cannot go around campus together. and th-“

“it’s okay, jihyo-i mean, professor, i get it.” you said as you stood up from her bed, grabbing your leather jacket.

“no, y/n, i m-“

you smiled softly at her but jihyo could tell you were faking it—the smile didn’t reach you eyes, your dimple didn’t seem present, your eyes seemed distant whilst your voice sounded a lot more harsh. “i’ll see you around, professor.”

and you left.

you left just like that.

but did you really leave if you attend the university she’s a professor at? did you really leave if your name is still in her register for her lectures?

⸻

vii: stolen stares

it’s been two weeks since the fateful end of your relationship (if you can even call it that) with jihyo.

her husband had been home for just over a week, and the air was thick with tension between them. it was almost as if he was stepping on eggshells around jihyo—like he had committed a crime whilst he was away on his business trip that he wanted no one to find out about.

she hadn’t seen you in lectures.

she hadn’t ran into you around campus.

that was until she looked around the lecture hall whilst she was delivering a lecture and she saw a glimpse of your smile. she had almost missed you but your friend group was on the right of you and—that smile—she knew it was you. but, your attention was on the girl on the left side of you—a girl she rather quickly recognised as minatozaki sana—and her heart sank to her tightening stomach whilst her throat began to dry.

minatozaki was a surname that everyone in the country would recognise as a result of their generational success within their careers and their wealth.

if there was someone worthy of you, someone equivalent to you, on campus, it was minatozaki sana without a doubt. drop-dead gorgeous, relatively intelligent, ridiculously popular.

and jihyo noticed.

she noticed the way you would make sana smile and giggle at something you said, hitting your arm. she noticed how you would pretend it hurt and sana would rush to comfort you, so fast that the leather jacket hanging on her shoulders fell off. the same leather jacket you picked up right before you left jihyo’s house for the last time.

it was whilst she was returning to her office after delivering a lecture when jihyo also noticed you and sana skipping a lecture, creeping into the janitors closet. the same janitors closet where you took her to make her come undone. and now you were taking sana to unravel sana’s mysteries, to get sana’s answers for questions you used to ask her.

but jihyo couldn’t feel sad. for it was her that had caused this.

and jihyo shouldn’t feel sad. you’re a student. her student. she’s a decade older than you whilst sana wasn’t even born a whole month before you.

jihyo saw the way you began to only see sana. with the way you’d walk into her lecture a few minutes late, two coffees in your hand before walking to wherever sana was sitting and taking the seat next to her that she had saved for you before she playfully scolded you for being late and you flashed that small, guilty grin of yours at her whilst shyly pushing the drinks in your hand towards her, telling her to choose.

jihyo saw the way you’d walk sana to, what she would assume is, sana’s dorm, despite it being in the complete opposite direction to your own.

jihyo saw the way you would study together, without your friend groups, in the library whilst she would be on her way home. she saw the way sana would steal your glasses right off your face and put them on. jihyo saw the way you didn’t care when you were with sana. jihyo saw the way you could be free with sana. jihyo saw the way you could show whatever your relationship with sana off. jihyo saw how you could show sana off because sana was worth showing off. jihyo saw the way sana would feed you some of her lunch with her own hands when you had been running late that morning and forgot to bring your prepared lunch. jihyo saw you get out your car and hurry over to the passenger side, opening the door and holding out your hand for sana to hold while she got out of your car, giggling at the princess treatment she was receiving. jihyo saw the matching necklaces you both wore.

whatever it was, jihyo saw it, and each time. her heart cracked a little bit more.

jihyo saw you falling out of love with her because jihyo saw you falling in love with sana.

⸻

[misanahrs]

i could, but why would i want to? — myoui mina.

now playing: hands to myself - selena gomez.

synopsis - you land a job at a prestigious law firm, but its cold and distant owner, mina, seems to despise you—especially when you grow close to your kind colleague, jihyo. forced to accompany mina on an overseas business trip, tensions rise until a moment of fierce loyalty shifts everything, leading to jealousy, desire, and a passionate encounter that changes your relationship forever.

pairing: myoui mina x fem reader.

i.

you had always dreamed of working for a prestigious law firm, your ambition burning bright ever since your first day at law school. so when you finally secured a position at the small yet reputable firm, you couldn’t help but feel proud. the firm was known for its legacy—run by the highly respected mina, the daughter of the founders. but what you didn’t expect was the icy atmosphere that surrounded the place. you had imagined a bustling, dynamic environment full of energy and collaboration, yet what you found instead was a cold professionalism that permeated every corner of the office.

mina was everything you had been warned about. she was brilliant—no doubt about that—but her leadership was distant, her presence almost oppressive. people worked under her, but it was clear she held them at arm’s length. it wasn’t that she was unkind—she simply didn’t care. her eyes, always sharp, always calculating, seldom softened. she seemed to carry the weight of her inheritance with an air of reluctance, as if it was more of a burden than an opportunity. and yet, there was an undeniable aura of authority that came with being in charge. she commanded respect, even from the most hardened associates.

you had learned this within your first few days. no matter how hard you tried to impress her, mina never seemed to acknowledge your efforts. her focus was always elsewhere, her eyes on the bigger picture that you could never fully understand. at first, you had hoped she might warm up to you, but as the weeks went on, you realised that she remained as aloof as ever.

but then, there was jihyo.

⸻

ii.

jihyo was everything mina was not: warm, approachable, and generous with her time despite being the coo of the firm. you quickly found yourself gravitating towards her. she became your mentor in more ways than one, guiding you through difficult cases and offering advice that went beyond legal strategy. where mina remained emotionally distant, jihyo felt like a breath of fresh air.

“hey,” jihyo said with a soft smile laced with a little bit of concern, noticing you gazing at your computer screen with a furrowed brow. “don’t stress about it. you’ve got it. let’s go grab a coffee, yeah? you’ll see it’s not that complicated once we break it down together.”

you couldn’t help but smile at her warmth. jihyo had a way of making everything seem more manageable.

as you followed her to the kitchen/break-room area, you felt a sense of camaraderie that had been missing from the rest of the office. the two of you had come close, and whilst the two of you maintained a professional distance, there were moments when the touches between you felt almost intentional.

jihyo reached out to hand you a cup of coffee one morning, her fingers brushing lightly against your wrist. you paused for a moment, the brief contact sending a flutter through your chest, but she didn’t seem to notice. she was always like this—easy to talk to, always putting others at ease. but you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more behind those soft smiles, those gentle gestures. you caught her gaze more than once, and each time you felt your pulse quicken slightly.

“thank you,” you said, smiling softly as you accepted the coffee from her.

“of course,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “you’re looking a bit too serious today. try to relax a little, yeah?”

you nodded, knowing that jihyo could read you like a book. she was kind, intelligent, but she didn’t let you get away with burying yourself in work. it was her way of looking out for you.

one day, as you both sat at your desks late in the evening, jihyo playfully nudged your shoulder. “you know, you’ve got to stop looking so serious. you’re pretty when you smile.” she teased, her voice light but sincere. you felt a warmth spread across your chest at the compliment, your smile softening naturally.

“pretty?” you chuckled, nudging her back. “jihyo, you’re the pretty one.”

jihyo’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly, and she quickly averted her gaze, pretending to focus on the documents in front of her. the air between you grew just a little thicker, and for a split second, you wondered if perhaps there was more to the friendship than either of you were willing to admit.

you didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because just then, a sharp voice interrupted the moment.

⸻

iii:

mina never cared much for office gossip, but she had noticed something.

her office overlooked the main floor, giving her a perfect view of the employees below. yet, lately, her gaze had been drawn to you more often than she cared to admit.

she watched as you smiled at jihyo—watched as jihyo blushed under your attention, watched as jihyo blushed from your words.

a strange, unfamiliar tightness settled in her chest.

it was ridiculous. she didn’t care what you did in your free time. she didn’t.

and yet, later that day, she called you into her office.

⸻

iv:

you barely had time to gather your things before mina’s voice rang out.

“y/n, i need you in my office.”

your stomach dropped.

when you entered, she didn’t look up from her desk. her tone was clipped, business-like. “you’ve been slacking.”

your eyes widened. “i—”

“no excuses.” she finally met your gaze, her expression unreadable. “you’ll be working late tonight. we have an important overseas meeting in ten days. you’ll be accompanying me.”

you swallowed hard.

this wasn’t about work. not really. but you nodded anyway. “yes, of course.”

mina didn’t respond. she had already turned back to her papers, as if the conversation had never happened.

⸻

v:

the next ten days were gruelling. you barely slept, barely ate, completely consumed by the ridiculous workload mina had thrown at you.

jihyo noticed.

“you’re pushing yourself too hard,” she murmured one evening, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, rubbing it.

you shrugged her off. “i’m fine.”

but you weren’t. and mina, despite her best efforts, noticed too.

⸻

vi:

from the moment you stepped into the high-end restaurant, the knot in your stomach tightened from how thick the air was with tension. the same businessmen who, across from mina, barely hid their condescension.

“this firm isn’t what it used to be,” the slimy old man retorted. “you used to have the reputation of being the best, now, you don’t, and the only thing that has changed, miss myoui, is the fact that your parents retired and passed down their dream to their incompetent little daughter.”

mina’s expression remained calm, but you saw it—the faint flicker of annoyance. you saw it through the way her fingers flicked the edge of the table.

and maybe it was the overtime, or the lack of sleep, or the pure exhaustion from both that caused it.

“that’s bold,” you started, slamming the document onto the table infront of you all as you leaned forward and stood up. “considering mina’s firm outperforms yours in every department, every way, every measurable way all the time; you would’ve been more than lucky to secure a deal with us considering your firm is on the decline. your reputation has never been close to mina’s firm, largely due to the fact that mina is perfectly competent at everything she does, absolutely effortlessly, whilst you two slimy little idiots just go around patronising, which, allow me to remind you, is the reason you needed this deal, in order to save your firm from collapsing.”

silence.

“we’re done here.” mina firmly stated, her gaze landing on your back, something unreadable in her gaze as the two men stuttered out their apologies, cowardly avoiding eye contact as they slipped out of their chairs, beginning to exit the restaurant.

then, softly—so softly you almost missed it—mina murmured, “you didn’t have to do that.”

you turned to look at her. for the first time since you had met her, she seemed shy, letting her cold demeanour slip. “they insulted you. i wasn’t going to sit there and let them.”

unbeknownst to you, for the first time, mina looked at you differently.

mina stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing through her eyes. then, in a voice so different from her usual sharpness, she said, “thank you.”

and just like that, everything between you shifted.

⸻

vii:

somehow, you and mina ended up sightseeing together. mina had proposed the idea, reasoning that you two were here for another couple of days before you were due to return so you may as well explore, and a little scared of your boss, you agreed.

the next few days passed in a blur of tourist attractions and unexpected moments.

you took mina to a night market, and it was there when you realised mina wasn’t as cold outside the office. she hesitated over street food, rolled her eyes at your jokes, and, once, you even caught her staring. mina wasn’t warm, not like jihyo, but something had shifted. things between you were shifting.

she took you to a high-end rooftop restaurant, the city lights sparkling below. you teased her for her expensive taste, and she rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

you even caught her staring at you once, during an impromptu boat ride along the river. she looked away when you met her gaze, but her ears were tinged pink.

it was new. it was strange. and yet, it felt… right.

and then, the bar happened.

⸻

viii:

the bar was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and soft music. you were waiting for the bartender to give you the drinks you had ordered for mina and yourself, feeling tired but content when a woman approached you. she was gorgeous— and she knew it from her confidence—leaning in just a little too close as she spoke, hand travelling all over you but stopping at your bicep to give it a flirtatious squeeze before batting her eyelashes at you.

mina had been watching from across the room, her gaze dark. you didn’t notice at first—but when you glanced in her direction, you saw the way her fingers gripped her empty glass just a little too tightly.

then, without a word, she stood up and walked out.

you excused yourself quickly trying to follow her out into the cool night air but getting stopped by the bouncer, telling you to pay.

mina was already halfway to the hotel when you just about caught up.

“mina—”

she didn’t stop.

you barely made it to her door before it slammed shut in your face.

sighing softly, you knocked once.

nothing.

and just as you contemplated leaving mina to cool off and go back to your own room, the door swung open.

before you could react, mina grabbed your wrist, yanking you inside. the door shut with a click.

and then her lips were on yours.

you gasped against her mouth, hands instinctively coming up to push her away—but mina wouldn’t let you. her grip tightened, and the kiss grew desperate, almost needy.

your resolve crumbled.

the next thing you knew, you were pushing her back against the door, kissing her just as fiercely.

mina’s right hand found its way to your hair whilst her left pushed you into her from your back whilst your own slipped under the t-shirt.

mina let out of a soft moan as your lips attacked her neck before you decided it wasn’t enough, separating your bodies before tugging her top off and undoing her trousers, letting them fall to the floor.

stepping out of her bottoms, mina raised her hands and took off your own top before moving to undo the button and zip on your jeans.

it hit you. the realisation that mina was jealous when other women would talk to you—the woman in the bar, jihyo. she wanted to be selfish. she wanted to keep you to herself. it hit you.

you glanced at mina’s lithe body. her chest clad in a black lace bra and her matching thong that had a noticeably darker patch in its centre.

mina had always been feminine, graceful, elegant, but, god, was she the most needy woman to ever exist.

⸻

and when you straddled her, pinning her wrists above her head, mina let out a soft, breathless whimper that sent a shiver down your spine. mina may have the prettiest face you had ever seen but her moans, and groans, and whimpers were the dreamiest things you could ever perceive.

“you act so high and mighty,” you murmured against her skin, teasing her as your middle finger ran between her lips, pressing her clit a little harshly causing her hips to lift off the bed. “but look at you now. if only everyone knew how desperate you are for an orgasm.”

mina’s breath hitched. “shut up,” she muttered—but the way her body arched against yours betrayed her, pushing her chest into your face.

you smirked. “make me.”

she didn’t.

⸻

ix:

morning light crept through the curtains as you woke up after dawn, the events of the night before flashing through your mind like a fever dream.

mina was still asleep beside you, her usually sharp features relaxed. and for a moment, you hesitated. then, carefully, you began to slip out of bed.

before you could slip away, a voice stopped you.

“running away?”

you turned. mina was awake, her voice groggy. you slowly turned on your heals to find her propped up on one elbow, watching you.

“i wasn’t—”

“don’t lie.” she propped herself up, eyes unreadable. “do you regret it?”

you opened your mouth to speak, but what could you say? you should regret it, but you don’t.

something in mina’s gaze softened.

“good,” she murmured.

your breath hitched. “so what now?”

“now, you’re mine,” mina smirked, pulling you back onto the bed before straddling you, leaning in until her nose nudged your own. “oh, and you can tell jihyo to keep her hands to herself.”

“and you?” you countered.

“and me?”

“what about you?” you clarified. “should you not keep your hands to yourself?”

“i mean,” mina started. “i could, but why would i want to?”