shortonwon

[shortonwon]

6 and 23 with riki ?

WARNINGS: MDNI! smut, oral sex (male receiving), brat taming, light hair-pulling, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, safe word mention, power play. . . WORD COUNT: 600+

THE PROMPT LIST ! ⪩⪨ THE MASTERLIST !

You’d been pushing Riki’s buttons all night, deliberately bratty, throwing smug little glances his way, knowing damn well he’d notice. Every sway of your hips on the bed, every teasing quip, was a calculated move to rile him up. He sat there, scrolling through his phone, calm as ever, but you could see it—the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tightened around the phone. A storm was brewing, and you were begging for it to break.

It didn’t take long. His eyes flicked up, dark and sharp, catching you mid-tease. His pants were already straining, his erection obvious, and the sight made your mouth water. “Maybe I should put my dick in your mouth so you’ll shut up,” he said, voice low and cutting, each word deliberate as he tossed his phone aside and reached for his belt.

You froze, eyes widening for a split second—not from fear, but from the thrill. You’d been craving this, and he fucking knew it. Your lips curled into a sly grin. “Maybe you should.”

He paused, eyebrow raised, clearly thrown by your boldness. “Yeah?” he asked, voice dripping with challenge as he unbuckled his belt, the clink of metal sending a shiver through you.

You nodded, sliding off the bed and dropping to your knees in one fluid motion, fingers already reaching for his waistband. “I’ve been asking for it,” you murmured, tugging his pants down, voice needy but playful. “You didn’t notice, though.” His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the mushroom tip flushed red, glistening with precum. You licked your lips, practically salivating at the sight.

Riki towered over you, one hand threading into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back. His eyes locked on yours—hungry, amused, with a dangerous edge that made your core clench. “If you want me to stop,” he said, voice dropping into a serious, grounding tone, “use your safe word.”

Your lips parted, a smile curling them as you leaned forward, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to his tip, making him inhale sharply, hips twitching. “I remember,” you whispered, tongue darting out to taste the salt of him.

“Good.” He tapped your cheek, a gentle but firm warning. “Then open up wide.”

You obeyed, mouth falling open, eager for the weight of him. He didn’t waste time, guiding his cock between your lips, slow at first, letting you feel every inch as he filled your mouth. Your tongue curled around him instinctively, practiced, and he groaned, low and rough, savoring the wet heat. But the teasing didn’t last—his hips snapped forward, pushing deeper until you felt him hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck—just like that,” he hissed, hand tightening in your hair as he started to move, steady but relentless. “Quiet now, baby. Let me use that mouth.”

You moaned around him, the vibration pulling a grunt from his chest. Your eyes watered, but you didn’t pull back, taking him deeper, letting him control the pace. His thrusts were precise, never crossing your limits, but pushing you right to the edge of them. Your thighs pressed together, arousal pooling between them, the power he held over you intoxicating, suffocating in the best way.

“Such a good fucking toy for me,” he groaned, voice rough as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth again and again, lips stretched around him. “Bet you’ll be dripping for me after this.”

You already were, thighs slick with need, every word and thrust making you ache for more. He knew it, too—the way his eyes flicked down, catching the way you squirmed, told you he was already planning how he’d ruin you next.

© shortonwon | all rights reserved !

[shortonwon]

ENHYPEN AS HUSBANDS ! (나를 사랑해) ♡

❝ cause I don't wanna lose you now ❞

೯⠀⁺ 𖥻 pure fluff ⁺ ᰋ .ᐟ w/c : n/a 𓏵‎ ‎ ‎date published : 04—august—2025 ! MASTERLIST ! . . (새로운 감정)

LEE HEESEUNG ! (이희승)

Heeseung is the kind of husband who never leaves for work without pressing a soft kiss to your forehead even if you’re deep in sleep, bundled up in your dreams. It's become muscle memory, instinct. On the rare days he forgets, his whole morning feels a little off, like he left something precious behind. He secretly keeps track of your period in his phone, never mentioning it out loud—not to be nosy, but so he knows exactly when to stock up on the snacks you crave, switch out the pain meds in the cabinet, or simply hold you closer on days you’re quieter than usual.

He’s the type to fix the squeaky drawer, change the dead lightbulb, refill the water filter—all without a word. And if you try to help, he’ll gently shoo you away with a soft frown and a mutter under his breath about how you should be resting instead. He does it not to prove anything, but because caring for you brings him peace. Sometimes, without warning, he comes home with little gifts tucked behind his back—a book you mentioned in passing, your favorite strawberry milk, a plushie from a claw machine he secretly spent way too much time on. No occasion, no reason. Just because he saw it and thought, “She’d love this.”

PARK JONGSEONG ! (박종성)

Jay is the kind of husband who’ll pull your chair out before every meal—whether you’re at a fancy restaurant or just having takeout at the kitchen counter in your pajamas. He opens the car door like it's second nature, always muttering something half-cheesy, half-serious like, “My wife isn’t touching the struggle today.” And he means it. He lives for couple cooking nights—not just because he enjoys the food, but because it’s one of his favorite kinds of quality time. He plays it cool, of course, tossing compliments and challenges in the same breath.

He’s the type who scolds you when you skip a meal—not harshly, but with that low, serious tone that means he’s worried. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to prove anything by going hungry.” It’s not just about nutrition — it’s because he knows the quiet battles you fight with your reflection, and he wishes you could see yourself through his eyes. The last thing he wants is for you to feel unworthy, when to him, you're everything.

You don’t even realize until much later that the ring he slipped onto your finger—the one you haven’t stopped staring at—wasn’t something he just picked out. He designed it himself. Chose every detail. Every curve, every stone, every engraving hidden on the inner band. But when you find out, he shrugs like it’s nothing. “You deserved something that felt like you. I didn’t think it was a big deal.” As if you aren’t standing there with your heart falling all over again.

SIM JAEYUN ! (심재윤)

With Jake as your husband, every day would feel like a sleepover with your favorite person in the world. He lets you choose the movies for every movie marathon night, even though your taste is the complete opposite of his—not because he enjoys them (he secretly finds them confusing), but because he enjoys you. Your commentary. Your reactions. The way you look at the screen and lean into him when something dramatic happens. He lives for physical affection—he’s that guy. The one who slides behind you when you’re doing the dishes and wraps his arms around your waist like it’s second nature. The one who presses warm kisses to your temple just because you walked by.

Jake would hand you his hoodies without a second thought, always smiling when he sees how comically big they look on you. He’d give you his passwords not out of necessity—but because he genuinely can’t remember them and he trusts you more than he trusts his own brain. And he overshares about you. Constantly. His friends don’t even flinch anymore when Jake starts another sentence with, “You know what my wife did yesterday? She’s literally the best—” They’ve all just accepted that Jake Sim is hopelessly, incurably in love with you.

PARK SUNGHOON ! (박성훈)

To be fair, being married to Sunghoon wasn’t always easy. Because sometimes, it felt like he hated your guts. You’d glance at him across the room, and he’d look away like eye contact with you might end his bloodline. He’d scoff when you asked if he missed you, roll his eyes when you called him cute, and mumble sarcastic things like, “Yeah, I just live to be around you.” But then he’d do things—quiet, deliberate things—that made your heart trip over itself. Like warming up your socks in front of the heater before handing them to you wordlessly. Like always handing you the first bite of his food, no matter how hungry he was. Like getting your coffee order exactly right, every single time, even if he had to stand in line for half an hour.

He'd be the type of husband who wouldn’t say “I love you” often. In fact, most days he wouldn’t say it at all. But somehow, he still made you feel it in the way he noticed everything about you—even the parts you never mentioned out loud. And oh, he got jealous. Easily. Hated it too. He’d try to play it cool, rolling his eyes, arms crossed, acting like he couldn’t care less. “I’m not jealous,” he’d grumble as he watched you talk to someone else for a little too long. But his jaw would clench, and his hand would find yours a little tighter than usual on the walk home.

KIM SUNOO ! (김선우)

Sunoo is the kind of husband who treats pampering like a love language—both giving and receiving. He buys face masks in bulk, not because he needs them all, but because “Wednesday night is skincare night” is a sacred tradition in your home. There’s a playlist, a scented candle, and a whole skincare lineup he curated just for you. He’ll wear matching headbands—ears and all—and take it very seriously. He’s also brutally honest. Almost painfully so. If your outfit isn’t working, he won’t sugarcoat it. “Babe. That shirt? Burn it. Immediately.” And he expects the same from you—it’s all part of the deal. Fashion advice isn’t love unless it comes with a little gasp and a dramatic hand wave.

The two of you fight like you’re on stage. Voices raised, hands flailing, one of you walking dramatically into the other room—but neither of you ever goes too far. Because the makeups are just as dramatic. Tearful apologies, long hugs in the kitchen, and kisses so passionate they turn the air electric. He’s the type who can’t stand hearing you say bad things about yourself. The moment you call yourself ugly—even as a joke—his entire energy shifts. “Do not disrespect my wife like that,” he’ll snap, crossing his arms. “Because she’s literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and you’re being rude to her right now.” His tone is so indignant, it makes you giggle through your sniffles.

YANG JUNGWON ! (양정원)

Jungwon is the kind of husband who quietly takes over the parts of life you’ve always struggled to manage—finances, scheduling, bills—not because he doesn’t think you can, but because he never wants you to have to. He’ll check the fine print on every contract, ask the questions you’re too polite to, and step in without hesitation if someone’s trying to take advantage of you. “Talk to me instead,” he’ll say, hand gently on your back, voice firm, eyes steady.

He’s always responsible. Always two steps ahead. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel deeply—in fact, he’s the type who notices even the tiniest shift in your mood. Even if he’s swamped, drowning in deadlines, his eyes still flick to you the moment you go quiet. He’ll close his laptop mid-report, pour you a warm cup of tea, and guide you to the couch with gentle hands and softer words. “Talk to me. I can finish work later. You come first.”

He’s a domestic dreamer—the kind who wants a modest backyard, not for himself, but because he pictures tiny shoes in the grass. He wants a golden retriever sprawled on the patio, kids running around with juice-sticky fingers, and you sitting beside him while he peels oranges for everyone to share. He doesn’t say it often, but he thinks about it more than he should. About growing old with you. About quiet Sundays and sleepy mornings and the slow, beautiful life he wants to build—with you at the center of it all.

NISHIMURA RIKI ! (西村力)

Niki isn’t the kind of husband who jumps out of bed to grab you water at 3 AM just because you’re married now. In fact, he’ll probably groan, pull the blanket over his head, and mumble, “You have legs, babe.” But two hours later, he’s waking you up with your favorite boba in his hand and a sheepish expression—because he feels bad, he just doesn’t know how to say it out loud yet. He messes up the laundry more times than he’ll admit, turns your white shirt pink, shrinks his own hoodie—but always follows it up with a guilty grin and a small bouquet of flowers, plucked from the vendor he passes on the way home. It’s not perfect love. But it’s his love. And it’s real.

Ni-ki’s stubborn. He’ll argue, roll his eyes, and pretend like he’s standing his ground… only to cave an hour later and do exactly what you wanted in the first place. Because watching you smile? That’s a hill he’s more than willing to die on. Your bonding time is sacred. It’s quiet nights, two controllers, legs tangled under a blanket, the glow of the screen reflecting off your faces. And snacks—the ultimate symbol of love. He shares his chips with you freely, even though his friends still talk about the time he bit someone’s hand for trying to take one.

© shortonwon | reblogs are appreciated !

[shortonwon]

literally salivating i LOVE these events

could you please do 46 and 47 with heeseung?

(mwah you're amazing, thank you for putting this on!)

WARNINGS: MDNI! smut, soft dom dynamics, fingering, praise kink, light restraint (holding reader in place) touching, teasing, orgasm control. . . WORD COUNT: 400+ . . riri’s note, thank you for sending the ask nonie!! hope you like it <3

THE PROMPT LIST ! ⪩⪨ THE MASTERLIST !

Your legs are trembling, thighs quivering under the slow, torturous drag of Heeseung’s fingers inside you. He hasn’t let up, keeping you spread wide across his lap, your back pressed against his bare chest, skin burning against skin. Every breath you take is shaky, hitching as his fingers move, deliberate and unhurried, drawing out every sensation. Your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed, but his presence anchors you, solid and warm.

“Shh, I know. It’s a lot,” he murmurs, voice soft but laced with that quiet control that makes your pulse race. His lips brush your jaw, a gentle contrast to the way his fingers stroke deep, curling just enough to make you squirm. “Just hold onto me.”

Your hands scramble for his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as you cling to him, trying to ground yourself against the waves of pleasure rolling through you. Heeseung’s free hand slides to your inner thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles, keeping your legs open despite your instinct to clamp them shut. He’s got you pinned, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy—and he loves it.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispers, voice dripping with praise as his fingers keep their steady rhythm. “You always take me so well.” His words sink into you, warm and heavy, making your body respond even more, walls fluttering around his touch.

Then he curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your whole body jolt, a sharp moan spilling from your lips as your eyes fly open. “Does it feel good when I touch you there?” he asks, soft but teasing, lips grazing the shell of your ear. He presses again, deliberate, and you can’t stop the desperate sound that escapes you.

“Mm,” he hums, a low, satisfied sound, his lips curving into a smile against your neck. “I can tell it does.”

You’re unraveling, whimpering as the pleasure builds, your body arching into him without your permission. Heeseung’s kisses trail lower, soft and deliberate along your neck, each one a quiet promise. “That’s it,” he coaxes, voice gentle but firm, like he’s guiding you through it. “Let go for me, love. I’ve got you.”

Your nails dig harder into his shoulders, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as his fingers work you closer to the edge. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t let you hurry him, just keeps you there, teetering, completely under his control. And when you finally shatter, crying out his name, he holds you tight, murmuring soft praises against your skin, his fingers never stopping until you’re trembling in his arms, completely undone.

© shortonwon | all rights reserved !

[shortonwon]

061 and jake?

WARNINGS: MDNI! smut, quickie, unprotected sex, dirty talk, light hair-pulling, mirror sex. . . WORD COUNT: 700+

THE PROMPT LIST ! ⪩⪨ THE MASTERLIST !

You’re pinning your hair up, the last touch to your look for tonight’s family gathering, when you feel him behind you. Jake, your husband, radiating heat through his crisp shirt, the top button still undone, looking like he just stepped out of a fantasy you didn’t ask for but desperately want. The air shifts, heavy with that familiar mischief, and you know exactly what this bastard’s after.

“Jake,” you warn, catching his eye in the mirror, “we don’t have time for this—”

His hands are already on your waist, sliding over the fabric of your dress, possessive, like he’s mapping out every curve he’s claimed a hundred times before. His smirk in the reflection is infuriatingly smug, that glint in his eyes making your stomach flip. “Mm. You look so pretty when you’re all dressed up for other people.”

You raise a brow, trying to keep your cool. “Other people? It’s the family get-together, Jake. I can’t just roll up looking like I just woke up.” You swat at his hands, but he doesn’t budge, just presses closer. “Baby, please. We’re gonna be late, I swear.”

He leans down, lips brushing your neck, then your shoulder, trailing down your spine, each kiss a spark that makes your resolve waver. “Exactly, so bend over.” he murmurs, voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that always gets you. “I said bend over the sink, sweetheart. We’re going to be late.”

You huff, half-laughing at his audacity. “So your solution is to fuck me first?”

Jake’s smile widens, like you’ve just handed him the winning lottery ticket. “What, you’d rather I do it after I’ve shaken hands with our entire extended family?” You open your mouth to argue, but his hand slips lower, hiking up your dress, fingers grazing the sensitive skin at the top of your thigh. “Jake—fuck, not now—”

“Oh, baby,” he chuckles, low and filthy. “Especially now.”

You feel him, hard and insistent against your ass, his hips pressing forward just enough to make you bite your lip. “C’mon, be good for me. Just bend a little. I’ll make it quick.”

And, god help you, you cave. How could you not? Those puppy eyes in the mirror, all soft and pleading, are a fucking lie compared to the way his cock’s pressing against you, urgent and demanding. You grip the sink, meeting his gaze in the reflection—his pupils blown, lip caught between his teeth, like he’s already imagining how you’ll look when he’s done.

He doesn’t bother with your dress, just slides your underwear aside and undoes his pants with a quick zip. When he pushes in, it’s sudden, no prep needed because—fuck—you’re already so wet for him, despite every protest. You gasp, arching back, the stretch of him filling you so perfectly it’s dizzying.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he mutters, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back to fist your hair, tugging just enough to make you moan. “You were gonna let me walk out the house without doing this first?”

“Y-You’re the one who took forever to iron your shirt,” you snap back, voice breathy, already losing it as his cock pulses inside you, making your thighs quiver.

Jake laughs, deep and possessive, the sound vibrating through you. “You think I ironed it for them?” His thrusts pick up, hard and deep, each one pinning your hips to the sink’s edge, the porcelain cold against your skin. “It’s all for you, babe. Always for you.”

You bite your lip to stifle a moan, half-laughing through the haze of pleasure. “You’re so annoying when you know I like it.”

“Oh, I more than know,” he rasps, fingers slipping down to your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make your knees buckle. “You’re gonna be dripping all night, sweetheart. Maybe they’ll think you’re blushing from the heat.”

You clench around him, and his breath stutters, a low groan escaping as he feels you tighten. His cock throbs, and you’re both teetering on the edge when he finishes inside you, thick and warm, holding you there for a moment, hips pressed flush to yours. He grins at you in the mirror, smug as ever, like he didn’t just ruin you in record time. Your faces are flushed, breaths uneven, the quickie leaving you both a little wrecked.

“…We’re late,” you mutter, still panting, trying to glare but failing miserably.

He zips up, presses a quick kiss to your cheek, and smirks, hands still holding you tight. “You’re glowing, sweetheart. Let ‘em wait.”

© shortonwon | all rights reserved !

[shortonwon]

hii wonton!! idk if you noticed or if it was supposed to be like that, but the prompts 28 and 29 are the same thing? maybe i missed smt i have no clue 😭.

Oh my gosh!!!! THANKS A LOT!! I TOTALLY MISSED IT 😭 I'm also adding a few new ones, lemme just go correct them. Once again thank you for pointing it out 💗

[shortonwon]

To the non who forgot to send ask without putting it on anon mode! I gotcha 👋🏻

[shortonwon]

004 and 072 for heeseung pls!

WARNINGS: MDNI! raw sex, deep penetration, filthy dirty talk, forced eye contact, overwhelming pleasure, rough handling, breeding fetish. . . WORD COUNT: 600+

THE PROMPT LIST ! ⪩⪨ THE MASTERLIST !

Your thighs are shaking, barely holding you up as you straddle Heeseung, his cock buried so deep inside you it’s like he’s carved a permanent place there. His hands grip your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, possessive, like he’s staking a claim with every bruise he leaves. His eyes are dark, glinting under the dim light, that lazy, wicked smirk pulling at his lips—the one that says he knows exactly how much you’re unraveling for him.

“Go on,” he rasps, voice low and thick, dripping with barely restrained hunger. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

You whimper, the words alone enough to make your core clench around him. You try to move, but his hands tighten, holding you still, a silent command. “Not like that,” he growls, tilting your chin up so your eyes lock with his. “Look at me when you do it.”

Your breath hitches, and you obey, lifting your hips slowly, feeling the torturous slide of him slipping out, leaving you empty and aching. Then you sink back down, taking him in one smooth motion, and a shaky moan spills from your lips—too raw, too desperate. The stretch is overwhelming, his cock filling you so completely it’s like he’s splitting you open.

Heeseung’s chuckle is dark, vibrating through his chest. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Ride me nice and deep—yeah? Let me hear how much you missed this cock.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself as you roll your hips again, but the rhythm’s already slipping, your body too needy, too overwhelmed. “Hee… it’s—fuck, it’s so deep,” you whine, voice breaking. “I can’t—”

“You can,” he cuts in, voice rough and unyielding, one hand sliding down to grip the underside of your thigh, pulling you down harder. “You’re doing so fucking good for me. Taking me so well.” His hips snap up to meet yours, and you cry out, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin filling the room.

You’re a mess, thighs slick with your own arousal, walls fluttering around him as you grind down, chasing that high. “I want it, Heeseung,” you gasp, words tumbling out in a haze. “Wanna feel you fill me up, I don’t care, I—fuck, I want all of it.”

His grip shifts, both hands now grabbing your ass, dragging you down with every thrust, forcing you to take him deeper. “I know you do, sweetheart,” he groans, hissing when you clench around him, tight and hot. “Fuck, you’re so tight when you’re close. You know what that does to me?”

You shake your head, whimpering into his neck, too far gone to think straight. The pleasure’s blinding, building too fast, and he doesn’t let up, hips slamming up to meet yours, each thrust hitting that spot that makes your vision white out.

“It makes me wanna ruin you,” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “Wanna fuck you so good you’ll never take anyone else.”

The tension snaps, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, body shaking, walls pulsing around him as you cry out his name, high and broken. But Heeseung doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, fucking you through it with relentless, punishing thrusts. “That’s it,” he pants, voice strained. “Cum all over me, baby, let me feel it.”

You’re barely coherent, still trembling, when he finally spills inside you, hot and deep, a low groan tearing from his throat. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest, hips still pressed tight to yours. “I love watching it drip out of you…” he murmurs, breathless, lips brushing your ear. “But tonight? I need it to stay in.”

You shudder, still pulsing around him, his cum warm and heavy inside you. His lips graze your earlobe, voice dropping to a filthy whisper. “Keep it in for me, baby. All of it. Don’t let a single drop go to waste.”

You’re wrecked, dizzy, clinging to him as you whisper back, voice barely audible, “’mmm yours… it’s all yours…”

© shortonwon | all rights reserved !

[shortonwon]

ᕱ ᕱ NSFW DRABBLE MASTERLIST ! ✧

ⓘ original work of @/shortonwon plagiarism is strictly prohibited. if you’re inspired by or using any part of my ideas, please provide proper credit! do not repost, edit, or distribute on any platform without my explicit permission.

LEE HEESEUNG ! (💌) 이희승

004 & 072 !

046 & 047 !

PARK JONGSEONG ! (💌) 박종성

nothing here yet...

SIM JAEYUN ! (💌) 심재윤

061 !

PARK SUNGHOON ! (💌) 박성훈

047 & 080 !

KIM SUNOO ! (💌) 김선우

nothing here yet...

YANG JUNGWON ! (💌) 양정원

068 & 071 !

NISHIMURA RIKI ! (💌) 西村力

074 !

006 & 023 !

[shortonwon]

Do you have a Masterlist of all your work?

I'm in the process of making one, nonie! For the drabble event especially, I'll post my main masterlist when I feel like there's enough works added <3

[shortonwon]

ENHYPEN AS HUSBANDS ! (나를 사랑해) ♡

❝ cause I don't wanna lose you now ❞

೯⠀⁺ 𖥻 pure fluff ⁺ ᰋ .ᐟ w/c : n/a 𓏵‎ ‎ ‎date published : 04—august—2025 ! MASTERLIST ! . . (새로운 감정)

LEE HEESEUNG ! (이희승)

Heeseung is the kind of husband who never leaves for work without pressing a soft kiss to your forehead even if you’re deep in sleep, bundled up in your dreams. It's become muscle memory, instinct. On the rare days he forgets, his whole morning feels a little off, like he left something precious behind. He secretly keeps track of your period in his phone, never mentioning it out loud—not to be nosy, but so he knows exactly when to stock up on the snacks you crave, switch out the pain meds in the cabinet, or simply hold you closer on days you’re quieter than usual.

He’s the type to fix the squeaky drawer, change the dead lightbulb, refill the water filter—all without a word. And if you try to help, he’ll gently shoo you away with a soft frown and a mutter under his breath about how you should be resting instead. He does it not to prove anything, but because caring for you brings him peace. Sometimes, without warning, he comes home with little gifts tucked behind his back—a book you mentioned in passing, your favorite strawberry milk, a plushie from a claw machine he secretly spent way too much time on. No occasion, no reason. Just because he saw it and thought, “She’d love this.”

PARK JONGSEONG ! (박종성)

Jay is the kind of husband who’ll pull your chair out before every meal—whether you’re at a fancy restaurant or just having takeout at the kitchen counter in your pajamas. He opens the car door like it's second nature, always muttering something half-cheesy, half-serious like, “My wife isn’t touching the struggle today.” And he means it. He lives for couple cooking nights—not just because he enjoys the food, but because it’s one of his favorite kinds of quality time. He plays it cool, of course, tossing compliments and challenges in the same breath.

He’s the type who scolds you when you skip a meal—not harshly, but with that low, serious tone that means he’s worried. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to prove anything by going hungry.” It’s not just about nutrition — it’s because he knows the quiet battles you fight with your reflection, and he wishes you could see yourself through his eyes. The last thing he wants is for you to feel unworthy, when to him, you're everything.

You don’t even realize until much later that the ring he slipped onto your finger—the one you haven’t stopped staring at—wasn’t something he just picked out. He designed it himself. Chose every detail. Every curve, every stone, every engraving hidden on the inner band. But when you find out, he shrugs like it’s nothing. “You deserved something that felt like you. I didn’t think it was a big deal.” As if you aren’t standing there with your heart falling all over again.

SIM JAEYUN ! (심재윤)

With Jake as your husband, every day would feel like a sleepover with your favorite person in the world. He lets you choose the movies for every movie marathon night, even though your taste is the complete opposite of his—not because he enjoys them (he secretly finds them confusing), but because he enjoys you. Your commentary. Your reactions. The way you look at the screen and lean into him when something dramatic happens. He lives for physical affection—he’s that guy. The one who slides behind you when you’re doing the dishes and wraps his arms around your waist like it’s second nature. The one who presses warm kisses to your temple just because you walked by.

Jake would hand you his hoodies without a second thought, always smiling when he sees how comically big they look on you. He’d give you his passwords not out of necessity—but because he genuinely can’t remember them and he trusts you more than he trusts his own brain. And he overshares about you. Constantly. His friends don’t even flinch anymore when Jake starts another sentence with, “You know what my wife did yesterday? She’s literally the best—” They’ve all just accepted that Jake Sim is hopelessly, incurably in love with you.

PARK SUNGHOON ! (박성훈)

To be fair, being married to Sunghoon wasn’t always easy. Because sometimes, it felt like he hated your guts. You’d glance at him across the room, and he’d look away like eye contact with you might end his bloodline. He’d scoff when you asked if he missed you, roll his eyes when you called him cute, and mumble sarcastic things like, “Yeah, I just live to be around you.” But then he’d do things—quiet, deliberate things—that made your heart trip over itself. Like warming up your socks in front of the heater before handing them to you wordlessly. Like always handing you the first bite of his food, no matter how hungry he was. Like getting your coffee order exactly right, every single time, even if he had to stand in line for half an hour.

He'd be the type of husband who wouldn’t say “I love you” often. In fact, most days he wouldn’t say it at all. But somehow, he still made you feel it in the way he noticed everything about you—even the parts you never mentioned out loud. And oh, he got jealous. Easily. Hated it too. He’d try to play it cool, rolling his eyes, arms crossed, acting like he couldn’t care less. “I’m not jealous,” he’d grumble as he watched you talk to someone else for a little too long. But his jaw would clench, and his hand would find yours a little tighter than usual on the walk home.

KIM SUNOO ! (김���우)

Sunoo is the kind of husband who treats pampering like a love language—both giving and receiving. He buys face masks in bulk, not because he needs them all, but because “Wednesday night is skincare night” is a sacred tradition in your home. There’s a playlist, a scented candle, and a whole skincare lineup he curated just for you. He’ll wear matching headbands—ears and all—and take it very seriously. He’s also brutally honest. Almost painfully so. If your outfit isn’t working, he won’t sugarcoat it. “Babe. That shirt? Burn it. Immediately.” And he expects the same from you—it’s all part of the deal. Fashion advice isn’t love unless it comes with a little gasp and a dramatic hand wave.

The two of you fight like you’re on stage. Voices raised, hands flailing, one of you walking dramatically into the other room—but neither of you ever goes too far. Because the makeups are just as dramatic. Tearful apologies, long hugs in the kitchen, and kisses so passionate they turn the air electric. He’s the type who can’t stand hearing you say bad things about yourself. The moment you call yourself ugly—even as a joke—his entire energy shifts. “Do not disrespect my wife like that,” he’ll snap, crossing his arms. “Because she’s literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and you’re being rude to her right now.” His tone is so indignant, it makes you giggle through your sniffles.

YANG JUNGWON ! (양정원)

Jungwon is the kind of husband who quietly takes over the parts of life you’ve always struggled to manage—finances, scheduling, bills—not because he doesn’t think you can, but because he never wants you to have to. He’ll check the fine print on every contract, ask the questions you’re too polite to, and step in without hesitation if someone’s trying to take advantage of you. “Talk to me instead,” he’ll say, hand gently on your back, voice firm, eyes steady.

He’s always responsible. Always two steps ahead. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel deeply—in fact, he’s the type who notices even the tiniest shift in your mood. Even if he’s swamped, drowning in deadlines, his eyes still flick to you the moment you go quiet. He’ll close his laptop mid-report, pour you a warm cup of tea, and guide you to the couch with gentle hands and softer words. “Talk to me. I can finish work later. You come first.”

He’s a domestic dreamer—the kind who wants a modest backyard, not for himself, but because he pictures tiny shoes in the grass. He wants a golden retriever sprawled on the patio, kids running around with juice-sticky fingers, and you sitting beside him while he peels oranges for everyone to share. He doesn’t say it often, but he thinks about it more than he should. About growing old with you. About quiet Sundays and sleepy mornings and the slow, beautiful life he wants to build—with you at the center of it all.

NISHIMURA RIKI ! (西村力)

Niki isn’t the kind of husband who jumps out of bed to grab you water at 3 AM just because you’re married now. In fact, he’ll probably groan, pull the blanket over his head, and mumble, “You have legs, babe.” But two hours later, he’s waking you up with your favorite boba in his hand and a sheepish expression—because he feels bad, he just doesn’t know how to say it out loud yet. He messes up the laundry more times than he’ll admit, turns your white shirt pink, shrinks his own hoodie—but always follows it up with a guilty grin and a small bouquet of flowers, plucked from the vendor he passes on the way home. It’s not perfect love. But it’s his love. And it’s real.

Ni-ki’s stubborn. He’ll argue, roll his eyes, and pretend like he’s standing his ground… only to cave an hour later and do exactly what you wanted in the first place. Because watching you smile? That’s a hill he’s more than willing to die on. Your bonding time is sacred. It’s quiet nights, two controllers, legs tangled under a blanket, the glow of the screen reflecting off your faces. And snacks—the ultimate symbol of love. He shares his chips with you freely, even though his friends still talk about the time he bit someone’s hand for trying to take one.

© shortonwon | reblogs are appreciated !

[shortonwon]

prompt 68 and 71 with jungwon?

WARNINGS: MDNI! breeding fetish, light bondage, relentless teasing, raw sex (fictional, be safe!), bruising/marking, overwhelming pleasure, possessive dirty talk, forced eye contact, orgasm overload, intimate yet rough dynamics. . . WORD COUNT: 600+

THE PROMPT LIST ! reblogs are highly appreciated <3

You’re trembling, pinned beneath Jungwon’s weight, legs hoisted over his shoulders, wrists bound above your head with the soft leather of his belt. It’s tight enough to bite into your skin, making your pulse thrum wildly. Every nerve in your body is screaming, oversensitive from the relentless pace he’s set tonight. You’re a mess—thighs slick, chest heaving, marked up with bruises and bites that spell out his name across your skin.

“wonie,” you whimper, voice cracking, the overstimulation clawing at you. He just pulls out, slow and deliberate, leaving you clenching around nothing, and hums like he’s savoring the sight of you falling apart.

His fingers trail between your legs, lazy, teasing, brushing over the bruised, sensitive spots, and you jolt, a pathetic little sound slipping out. He chuckles, low and amused. “Sensitive?” he asks, voice smooth as velvet, but his eyes glint with that cruel edge. He already knows the answer. Leaning closer, lips grazing the shell of your ear, he murmurs, “Good. You should be.”

Jungwon strokes himself, your eyes catching the motion as he lines up and sinks back into you without warning. The stretch is overwhelming, his cock dragging against your soaked, swollen walls, and you arch, dizzy, a gasp tearing from your throat. “Please,” you whine, half-begging, half-lost, not even sure what you’re asking for anymore.

“Still so tight,” he mutters, hand sliding down your belly, pausing just above your pelvis, pressing like he can feel himself inside you. “Fucking made for me.”

Your mind’s a haze, words slipping through your fingers like water. All you can do is feel—him, the pressure, the heat. His fingers dip lower, rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your clit while he’s buried deep, and you jerk beneath him, a sob catching in your throat. His grin widens, wicked and proud. “You know what I’m gonna do to you, right?” he breathes. “We’re not stopping until you’re pregnant.”

You shake your head—maybe no, maybe yes, you can’t fucking tell—and his grip tightens on your waist, holding you still. He means it, and the thought sends a pulse of heat through you, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. “Look at you. Can’t even form a sentence,” he says, mock pity dripping from his tone as he thrusts slow and deep, savoring the way your body trembles. “All fucked out and I haven’t even cum yet.”

His lips find your collarbone, kissing, nipping, sucking until the skin blooms red. Then, voice low and steady, he says, “Relax, love. You’re going to be a mother by the time I’m done with you.” It’s not comforting—it’s a promise, and it makes your breath hitch, a mix of moan and sob that only spurs him on. His hips snap harder, more purposeful, his hand cradling your cheek as he forces you to meet his gaze.

“You want it, don’t you?” he whispers, eyes dark and unrelenting. “Want me to fill you up, make sure you feel me dripping out every time you try to walk?” Your hips buck up, greedy despite yourself, legs folding tighter against your chest in a mating press that feels too intimate, too raw.

“Greedy thing,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth, his voice softening just enough to make your heart stutter. “You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you? All of it. Again and again until I’m sure it took.”

Your cries are softer now, helpless, each one fueling his hunger. His breath quickens, hips stuttering as the pressure builds. “So good for me,” he pants, hands gripping your thighs, parting them wider. “My perfect little breeding toy. Look at you…”

You lose track of your orgasms, each one blurring into the next, your body shaking, mind blank. He keeps going, whispering filthy promises, and even when you think you can’t take more, he’s not done. But after every round, he kisses you—soft, slow, tender—his lips the only part of him that’s gentle.

“You did so good for me,” he murmurs into your hair, even as his hands slide back to your thighs, spreading them again. “But we’re not done, baby. Not yet.”

© shortonwon | all rights reserved !

[shortonwon]

haiii >.< can u write prompt 74 w riki?? :33

WARNINGS: MDNI! slow burn, possessive (kinda), teasing thrusts, no condom (fictional, be safe!), deep penetration, wet sounds, light taunting. . . WORD COUNT: 400+

THE PROMPT LIST ! reblogs are highly appreciated <3

You’re a mess beneath him, and Riki’s reveling in it. Your back arches off the bed, a shaky moan escaping your lips as his fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you to him. Each slow, deliberate thrust feels like it’s unraveling you, his cock dragging inside you with a precision that makes your toes curl.

You’re gasping, clinging to him, legs hooked tight around his waist, but it’s his face that’s got you spinning. That damn smile—wide, boyish, almost too soft for the way he’s fucking you into the mattress, especially after he begged to go raw for the first time, eyes all wide and pleading like you could ever say no to him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you manage, half-laughing, half-drowning in the heat of it all, your voice wobbling as his thrusts pick up speed, stealing your breath.

His lips brush your cheekbone, warm and teasing, his breath hot against your skin. “I can’t,” he says, voice low and dripping with that infuriating charm. “I can’t stop smiling… even while I’m fucking you.” It’s not just a line—it’s the truth, laid bare, like he’s stating the sky is blue. And god, that smile, proud and a little smug, like he’s won something he’s been chasing forever.

“I thought about this for so long,” he murmurs, slowing his hips just enough to make you feel every inch of him, the drag of his cock pulling a whimper from your throat. “Back when we were just friends—when I’d hold you and pretend it was enough. It never was.” Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you whine his name, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure spikes.

“But now?” His voice turns rougher, a growl edging into it as his thrusts get deeper, needier, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur. “Now I get to be the one who ruins you like this. Who makes you feel this good.” His lips graze your ear, steady and possessive. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. Right?” You nod, frantic, and he rewards you with a thrust so deep it knocks the air from your lungs, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside you.

Even as you tremble, nails clawing down his back, your body begging for more, he’s still smiling—like a fucking idiot in love. Your idiot. “Riki,” you moan, voice breaking as he slows down just to tease, then snaps his hips forward, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding filling the room.

“I’m doing nothing,” he says, giggling like a menace, the sound so at odds with the filthy way he’s moving. But that’s Riki—your Riki—finally loving you the way he’s always wanted, with a grin that says he’s never been happier.

© shortonwon | all rights reserved !

[shortonwon]

hihihi just saw your prompt list post it's so good!! can you do 47 and 80 with sunghoon please? thank you!!!

WARNINGS: MDNI! sensual teasing, light domination, clit play, vaginal fingering, explicit dirty talk, control kink, blindfold kink, power imbalance play. . . WORD COUNT: 700+ . . riri’s note, tysm for requesting nonie, i truly believed no one would request, hope you like it tho! 🥹☁️

THE PROMPT LIST ! reblogs are highly appreciated <3

You’re blindfolded, the world reduced to the hum of your own breath and the electric prickle of anticipation crawling over your skin. Sunghoon’s been toying with you for what feels like forever, his fingers ghosting over your body, teasing, never quite giving you what you crave. The silk scarf over your eyes is soft but maddening, amplifying every sound, every brush of his skin against yours. You’re a live wire, buzzing with need, and the bastard knows it.

“Lie still, baby,” he purrs, voice low and dripping with smug amusement. His hand slides up your thigh, slow, deliberate, stopping just shy of where you’re aching for him. “I’ll touch you when I’m ready. Not when you need it.” The tease in his tone makes you want to throttle him, but your wrists are caught in his grip, pinned above your head with infuriating ease. You tug against him, desperate to grab something, anything, but he just chuckles, the sound dark and rich, vibrating through you.

He leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear, and you can feel the heat of his breath. “Can you guess where I’m going to touch you next?” His fingers toy with the hem of your panties, tugging lightly at the elastic, and your hips jerk up instinctively, chasing his touch. You lift your hips, silently begging for him to just do something, to rip the damn things off, but he only laughs again, low and wicked, like he’s feeding off your frustration.

“Mm-mm,” he chides, his free hand pressing your hips back down, pinning you to the bed. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to choose. You just take it.” His fingers abandon the waistband entirely, leaving you whining, defeated, your body screaming for more. “Please,” you beg, voice cracking, and you can practically feel his smug grin, the way he’s drinking in your desperation.

He gives in—just a little. His fingers slip under the damp fabric of your panties, and you gasp, loud and sharp, as he strokes your pussy with long, slow drags. The pressure is just right, too much and not enough all at once, and your body arches into him, chasing the sensation. “Aghh,” you moan, the sound spilling out unbidden as he dips a finger inside, teasing your throbbing core. Your breath hitches, and you’re trembling, already so embarrassingly close to unraveling.

“Right there?” he murmurs, voice soft but laced with that cruel edge that makes your toes curl. His finger curls slightly, brushing that spot that has you seeing stars behind the blindfold. “Does it feel good when I touch you there?”

You can barely nod, your head jerking as a moan rips out of you, raw and needy. “Mm, I can tell it does,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, the way he’s reveling in how wrecked you are. “You’re so fucking responsive tonight. What did you do while I was gone, huh? Just sat here thinking about me touching you like this?”

The words hit you like a spark, filthy and teasing, and you clench around nothing, your body betraying you. He notices—of course he does—and his thumb presses deeper, curling slow and deliberate while his other hand keeps your wrists locked tight. You squirm, but he’s got you pinned, completely at his mercy, and the thought alone makes you dizzy with want.

“You’re gonna let me keep going,” he says, voice calm but commanding, like he’s stating a fact. “You’re gonna take everything I give you tonight. And when I ask if it feels good…” He leans closer, lips brushing your jaw, his voice dropping to a whisper that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “…you’re gonna say yes hoon, please don’t stop. Got it?”

You nod, breathless, already a mess under him. “Y-yes,” you manage, voice shaky as his thumb rubs your walls, not quite fucking you but driving you insane all the same. It’s torture, the way he’s holding back, keeping you on the edge, and you’re torn between wanting to scream at him and begging for more.

He pulls his thumb out entirely, and you whimper at the loss, but the glint in his voice tells you he’s far from done. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you can hear the promise of a long, relentless night in his words. You’re in for it, and you’re not sure if you’re ready—or if you’ll survive it. But fuck, you’re ready to find out.

© shortonwon | all rights reserved !

[shortonwon]

RIRI’S NSFW DRABBLE EVENT ! (인하이펜) ♡

I was bored and wanted to try something new—so I’m opening up strictly NSFW drabble requests featuring ENHYPEN. (18+)

→ Please send me an ask with one or more members.

→ Choose one or two (max) numbers from the prompt list below.

→ Once a prompt is claimed, I’ll cross it out—no repeats!

MASTERLIST !

001. ❝ i’ve imagined this a hundred times. none of those fantasies were this slow. ❞

002. ❝ God, you feel so fucking good. ❞

003. ❝ oh? does that turn you on? ❞

004. ❝ go on. fuck yourself on my cock. ❞

005. ❝ what would they think if they could see you now? ❞

006. ❝ maybe i should put my dick in your mouth so you'll shut up. ❞

007. ❝ you want this, don't you? want me all over you? inside you? ❞

008. ❝ this isn’t just sex to you… is it? ❞

009. ❝ i know we used to hate each other, but—can we forget that? just for tonight? ❞

010. ❝ you wanted to be in control, didn’t you? ❞

011. ❝ say it. say who’s making you feel this good. ❞

012. ❝ fuck, you’re so tight—like you were made for me. ❞

013. ❝ i shouldn't want you like this... but i do. ❞

014. ❝ don’t look away. keep your eyes on me. ❞

015. ❝ on your knees. now. ❞

016. ❝ be quiet or they’ll hear how desperate you are. ❞

017. ❝ beg. i want to hear you say please. ❞

018. ❝ are you going to cum just from me talking like this? ❞

019. ❝ you’ve been teasing me all day—what did you think was going to happen? ❞

020. ❝ look at the mess you made—was that all for me? ❞

021. ❝ don’t bite your lip. i want to hear every sound. ❞

022. ❝ you’re shaking. too much? or not enough? ❞

023. ❝ if you want me to stop, use your safe word. ❞

024. ❝ such a pretty little toy—mine to use, mine to ruin. ❞

025. ❝ did you wear this just to tempt me? it’s working. ❞

026. ❝ keep pretending you don’t want this. your body says otherwise. ❞

027. ❝ i said hands behind your back. are you disobeying me now? ❞

028. ❝ this would be so much easier if you weren’t so fucking loud. ❞

029. ❝ this dress? it’s cute. take it off. ❞

030. ❝ you're doing so well for me, baby. taking it so deep. ❞

031. ❝ you’re so fucking wet. i haven’t even touched you yet. ❞

032. ❝ let them hear. let everyone know who you belong to. ❞

033. ❝ if you cum before i say so, we start over. ❞

034. ❝ you like the risk, don’t you? someone could walk in. ❞

035. ❝ don’t act innocent now. you begged for this. ❞

036. ❝ take it. you said you could handle it. ❞

037. ❝ be good and open your mouth for me. ❞

038. ❝ is that jealousy? or are you just desperate for my attention? ❞

039. ❝ you’re not allowed to touch me until i say so. ❞

040. ❝ strip. i want to watch. ❞

041. ❝ hands and knees. now. i won’t say it again. ❞

042. ❝ tell me exactly what you want me to do to you. ❞

043. ❝ i’ll be gentle—unless you beg me not to. ❞

044. ❝ is this really what you came over for? or were you hoping i’d fuck you? ❞

045. ❝ i’m not going anywhere until you’ve cum on my fingers. ❞

046. ❝ shh, i know. it’s a lot. just hold onto me. ❞

047. ❝ does it feel good when i touch you there? mm, i can tell it does. ❞

048. ❝ don’t be shy, baby. i want to know what you want. ❞

049. ❝ so sensitive already? and i’ve barely even started. ❞

050. ❝ you don’t have to beg, angel. i’m already yours. ❞

051. ❝ let me take care of you. you’ve been so good for me. ❞

052. ❝ you sound so pretty when you’re falling apart. ❞

053. ❝ you look so gorgeous underneath me. i don’t think i’ll ever get enough. ❞

054. ❝ we’re in public. you really want to start this here? ❞

055. ❝ do you even remember his name? or are you too busy moaning mine? ❞

056. ❝ if they catch us, it’s over for both of us… does that turn you on? ❞

057. ❝ we said we’d just talk. no touching. and now you’re on your knees for me? ❞

058. ❝ i couldn’t stop thinking about last time… so i came back. ❞

059. ❝ you’re still so shy, and we’re married. should i remind you whose last name you took? ❞

060. ❝ take off the ring if you’re going to act like you don’t belong to me. ❞

061. ❝ i said bend over the sink, sweetheart. we’re going to be late. ❞

062. ❝ i don’t care that the kids are asleep in the next room. be quiet, or don’t. ❞

063. ❝ you’re blushing like we didn’t do way worse on our wedding night. ❞

064. ❝ you think he could touch you like this? make you feel like this? ❞

065. ❝ you smiled at him like i’m not the one who makes you scream at night. ❞

066. ❝ don’t you dare say his name. especially not when i’m inside you. ❞

067. ❝ if you wanted me to fuck the attitude out of you, you could’ve just asked. ❞

068. ❝ we’re not stopping until you’re pregnant. ❞

069. ❝ slow down, love. the baby’s not even born yet and you’re already this greedy? ❞

070. ❝ i want to put a baby in you. right now. ❞

071. ❝ relax, love. you’re going to be a mother by the time i’m done with you. ❞

072. ❝ i love watching it drip out of you… but tonight, i need it to stay in. ❞

073. ❝ do you feel it? how deep i am? ❞

074. ❝ i can’t stop smiling… even while i’m fucking you. ❞

075. ❝ you’re so tight… fuck! is this really not your first? ❞

076. ❝ your hands are shaking. are you nervous or just that desperate? ❞

077. ❝ don’t whine. you asked for this. daddy’s just giving you what you wanted. ❞

078. ❝ you get off on making me mad, don’t you? ❞

079. ❝ open wider. you’re not done yet. ❞

080. ❝ can you guess where i’m going to touch you next? ❞

081. ❝ you’ve got five minutes to stop me. after that, you’re mine. ❞

082. ❝ why are you blushing? this isn’t even the best part. ❞

083. ❝ go ahead, touch yourself but only where i tell you to. ❞

084. ❝ you’re not leaving this room until you beg. ❞

085. ❝ do you feel that? that’s how badly i need you. ❞

086. ❝ i still know how to make you fall apart, don’t i? ❞

087. ❝ you said you hated me. then why are your legs shaking? ❞

088. ❝ tell me to stop—like you did the first time—and i will. ❞

089. ❝ you’re still mine. you can lie to yourself, not to me. ❞

090. ❝ funny how you came here to return my stuff, and now you’re naked in my bed. ❞

091. ❝ you don’t need to say sorry. just keep moaning my name like that. ❞

092. ❝ if this is goodbye, then let me make it hurt. ❞

093. ❝ quiet, baby. the mic's still on. ❞

094. ❝ is this what you wanted when you said ‘i need help with choreography’? ❞

095. ❝ one more round, and then we’ll go back to acting like strangers. ❞

096. ❝ the more you fight, the harder i get. ❞

097. ❝ the longer you hold it, the better the reward. or the punishment. your choice. ❞

098. ❝ tell me what you think i’m going to do. and then i’ll show you how wrong you are. ❞

099. ❝ you still flinch when i touch you… i like that. ❞

100. ❝ you look so sweet when you're confused about what you're feeling. ❞

101. ❝ look at you… you were so innocent this morning. ❞

102. ❝ you asked me to teach you. this is your lesson. ❞

103. ❝ i already told you this would hurt a little. i just didn’t say where. ❞

104. ❝ this body gave me a family. let me worship every inch of it. ❞

105. ❝ they finally went to sleep. now be a good girl and ride me like you promised. ❞

106. ❝ no panties? around the kids? you trying to get bred again or what? ❞

107. ❝ they just stopped crying. you really gonna make me make you cry now? ❞

108. ❝ you taste better when you’re embarrassed. ❞

109. ❝ look in the mirror. that’s what you look like when you’re owned. ❞

110. ❝ your brother would kill me for even thinking about you like this. too late. ❞

111. ❝ i want you to come on my face. don’t hold back. ❞

112. ❝ say thank you. i don’t eat just anyone out like this. ❞

113. ❝ i want it dripping down my chin. ❞

114. ❝ i’d die between your thighs and call it heaven. ❞

115. ❝ keep going. first one to come loses. ❞

116. ❝ be a good girl and keep sucking while i make a mess out of your pretty pussy. ❞

117. ❝ i can feel your moans on my cock. fuck, that’s so hot. ❞

118. ❝ you wanna be good for me? then keep your mouth full and your legs wide open. ❞

119. ❝ you're so desperate for it, humping my face like a bitch in heat. ❞

120. ❝ don’t pass out on me. we’re not even halfway done. ❞

121. ❝ your body says ‘stop’, but your cunt is still fucking dripping. explain that. ❞

122. ❝ i don’t care if you’re sore. sluts like you don’t get breaks. ❞

123. ❝ oh, are you embarrassed? good. you should be. ❞

124. ❝ i’d call you my good girl, but you’re nowhere near deserving that. ❞

125. ❝ mm, they heard that. they’re definitely going to come check. keep your hands where they are. ❞

126. ❝ do you even remember how many times i’ve come inside you? ❞

127. ❝ what’s wrong, baby? too much for your pretty little pussy? ❞

128. ❝ mmh, you’re purring… does my hand between your legs feel that good? ❞

129. ❝ what’s that? i can’t understand you when you’re moaning around my cock, kitten. ❞

130. ❝ such a spoiled thing that only wants to cum if it’s in my lap. ❞

[shortonwon]

hihi ^-^ i just read your enhypen as husbands au and omg it's so so cutee!!

one line in particular really got the cogs in my brain turning—the one about heeseung with the claw machine—and i was wondering if you'd be okay with me writing a short scenario about it? it's totally cool if not!!

i'll give you creds ofc and i'll link your original fic too! i just didn't want to take any chances considering all the plagiarism issues currently going around in the community yk

sorry this got pretty long lol

hiii!! omg thank you so much for your kind words 😭🩷 it seriously means a lot that something i wrote stuck with you like that!! And yes ofc you can write a short scenario based on that line!! i really appreciate you asking first—and giving credit + linking back is more than enough, tysm for being thoughtful about it. I’d love to read it when you’re done too hehe 🫶

[shortonwon]

ENHYPEN AS HUSBANDS ! (나를 사랑해) ♡

❝ cause I don't wanna lose you now ❞

೯⠀⁺ 𖥻 pure fluff ⁺ ᰋ .ᐟ w/c : n/a 𓏵‎ ‎ ‎date published : 04—august—2025 ! MASTERLIST ! . . (새로운 감정)

LEE HEESEUNG ! (이희승)

Heeseung is the kind of husband who never leaves for work without pressing a soft kiss to your forehead even if you’re deep in sleep, bundled up in your dreams. It's become muscle memory, instinct. On the rare days he forgets, his whole morning feels a little off, like he left something precious behind. He secretly keeps track of your period in his phone, never mentioning it out loud—not to be nosy, but so he knows exactly when to stock up on the snacks you crave, switch out the pain meds in the cabinet, or simply hold you closer on days you’re quieter than usual.

He’s the type to fix the squeaky drawer, change the dead lightbulb, refill the water filter—all without a word. And if you try to help, he’ll gently shoo you away with a soft frown and a mutter under his breath about how you should be resting instead. He does it not to prove anything, but because caring for you brings him peace. Sometimes, without warning, he comes home with little gifts tucked behind his back—a book you mentioned in passing, your favorite strawberry milk, a plushie from a claw machine he secretly spent way too much time on. No occasion, no reason. Just because he saw it and thought, “She’d love this.”

PARK JONGSEONG ! (박종성)

Jay is the kind of husband who’ll pull your chair out before every meal—whether you’re at a fancy restaurant or just having takeout at the kitchen counter in your pajamas. He opens the car door like it's second nature, always muttering something half-cheesy, half-serious like, “My wife isn’t touching the struggle today.” And he means it. He lives for couple cooking nights—not just because he enjoys the food, but because it’s one of his favorite kinds of quality time. He plays it cool, of course, tossing compliments and challenges in the same breath.

He’s the type who scolds you when you skip a meal—not harshly, but with that low, serious tone that means he’s worried. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to prove anything by going hungry.” It’s not just about nutrition — it’s because he knows the quiet battles you fight with your reflection, and he wishes you could see yourself through his eyes. The last thing he wants is for you to feel unworthy, when to him, you're everything.

You don’t even realize until much later that the ring he slipped onto your finger—the one you haven’t stopped staring at—wasn’t something he just picked out. He designed it himself. Chose every detail. Every curve, every stone, every engraving hidden on the inner band. But when you find out, he shrugs like it’s nothing. “You deserved something that felt like you. I didn’t think it was a big deal.” As if you aren’t standing there with your heart falling all over again.

SIM JAEYUN ! (심재윤)

With Jake as your husband, every day would feel like a sleepover with your favorite person in the world. He lets you choose the movies for every movie marathon night, even though your taste is the complete opposite of his—not because he enjoys them (he secretly finds them confusing), but because he enjoys you. Your commentary. Your reactions. The way you look at the screen and lean into him when something dramatic happens. He lives for physical affection—he’s that guy. The one who slides behind you when you’re doing the dishes and wraps his arms around your waist like it’s second nature. The one who presses warm kisses to your temple just because you walked by.

Jake would hand you his hoodies without a second thought, always smiling when he sees how comically big they look on you. He’d give you his passwords not out of necessity—but because he genuinely can’t remember them and he trusts you more than he trusts his own brain. And he overshares about you. Constantly. His friends don’t even flinch anymore when Jake starts another sentence with, “You know what my wife did yesterday? She’s literally the best—” They’ve all just accepted that Jake Sim is hopelessly, incurably in love with you.

PARK SUNGHOON ! (박성훈)

To be fair, being married to Sunghoon wasn’t always easy. Because sometimes, it felt like he hated your guts. You’d glance at him across the room, and he’d look away like eye contact with you might end his bloodline. He’d scoff when you asked if he missed you, roll his eyes when you called him cute, and mumble sarcastic things like, “Yeah, I just live to be around you.” But then he’d do things—quiet, deliberate things—that made your heart trip over itself. Like warming up your socks in front of the heater before handing them to you wordlessly. Like always handing you the first bite of his food, no matter how hungry he was. Like getting your coffee order exactly right, every single time, even if he had to stand in line for half an hour.

He'd be the type of husband who wouldn’t say “I love you” often. In fact, most days he wouldn’t say it at all. But somehow, he still made you feel it in the way he noticed everything about you—even the parts you never mentioned out loud. And oh, he got jealous. Easily. Hated it too. He’d try to play it cool, rolling his eyes, arms crossed, acting like he couldn’t care less. “I’m not jealous,” he’d grumble as he watched you talk to someone else for a little too long. But his jaw would clench, and his hand would find yours a little tighter than usual on the walk home.

KIM SUNOO ! (김선우)

Sunoo is the kind of husband who treats pampering like a love language—both giving and receiving. He buys face masks in bulk, not because he needs them all, but because “Wednesday night is skincare night” is a sacred tradition in your home. There’s a playlist, a scented candle, and a whole skincare lineup he curated just for you. He’ll wear matching headbands—ears and all—and take it very seriously. He’s also brutally honest. Almost painfully so. If your outfit isn’t working, he won’t sugarcoat it. “Babe. That shirt? Burn it. Immediately.” And he expects the same from you—it’s all part of the deal. Fashion advice isn’t love unless it comes with a little gasp and a dramatic hand wave.

The two of you fight like you’re on stage. Voices raised, hands flailing, one of you walking dramatically into the other room—but neither of you ever goes too far. Because the makeups are just as dramatic. Tearful apologies, long hugs in the kitchen, and kisses so passionate they turn the air electric. He’s the type who can’t stand hearing you say bad things about yourself. The moment you call yourself ugly—even as a joke—his entire energy shifts. “Do not disrespect my wife like that,” he’ll snap, crossing his arms. “Because she’s literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and you’re being rude to her right now.” His tone is so indignant, it makes you giggle through your sniffles.

YANG JUNGWON ! (양정원)

Jungwon is the kind of husband who quietly takes over the parts of life you’ve always struggled to manage—finances, scheduling, bills—not because he doesn’t think you can, but because he never wants you to have to. He’ll check the fine print on every contract, ask the questions you’re too polite to, and step in without hesitation if someone’s trying to take advantage of you. “Talk to me instead,” he’ll say, hand gently on your back, voice firm, eyes steady.

He’s always responsible. Always two steps ahead. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel deeply—in fact, he’s the type who notices even the tiniest shift in your mood. Even if he’s swamped, drowning in deadlines, his eyes still flick to you the moment you go quiet. He’ll close his laptop mid-report, pour you a warm cup of tea, and guide you to the couch with gentle hands and softer words. “Talk to me. I can finish work later. You come first.”

He’s a domestic dreamer—the kind who wants a modest backyard, not for himself, but because he pictures tiny shoes in the grass. He wants a golden retriever sprawled on the patio, kids running around with juice-sticky fingers, and you sitting beside him while he peels oranges for everyone to share. He doesn’t say it often, but he thinks about it more than he should. About growing old with you. About quiet Sundays and sleepy mornings and the slow, beautiful life he wants to build—with you at the center of it all.

NISHIMURA RIKI ! (西村力)

Niki isn’t the kind of husband who jumps out of bed to grab you water at 3 AM just because you’re married now. In fact, he’ll probably groan, pull the blanket over his head, and mumble, “You have legs, babe.” But two hours later, he’s waking you up with your favorite boba in his hand and a sheepish expression—because he feels bad, he just doesn’t know how to say it out loud yet. He messes up the laundry more times than he’ll admit, turns your white shirt pink, shrinks his own hoodie—but always follows it up with a guilty grin and a small bouquet of flowers, plucked from the vendor he passes on the way home. It’s not perfect love. But it’s his love. And it’s real.

Ni-ki’s stubborn. He’ll argue, roll his eyes, and pretend like he’s standing his ground… only to cave an hour later and do exactly what you wanted in the first place. Because watching you smile? That’s a hill he’s more than willing to die on. Your bonding time is sacred. It’s quiet nights, two controllers, legs tangled under a blanket, the glow of the screen reflecting off your faces. And snacks—the ultimate symbol of love. He shares his chips with you freely, even though his friends still talk about the time he bit someone’s hand for trying to take one.

© shortonwon | reblogs are appreciated !

[shortonwon]

STARLIGHT , l.hs !

╰┈➤ STARRING : music student ! heeseung x afab reader

೯⠀⁺ 𖥻 SYNOPSIS : In the magical bookshop, where books rearrange themselves and stars grant story recommendations, you, the keeper, meet heeseung, a shy music student seeking song inspiration. When he catches a mischievous muse star, it transforms the shop into whimsical worlds and together, you chase the star through chaotic adventures. ⁺ ᰋ

꒰ GENRE ꒱ : fluff + fantasy

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WORD COUNT : 14.8K

𓏵‎ ‎ ‎DATE PUBLISHED : 03—AUGUST—2025 !

MASTERLIST !

⪩⪨ A/N ┊ this is my first fanfic on this blog, and I’m honestly just happy it exists. i’m not expecting much, but if you enjoy it, i’d love to hear your thoughts 🥹 it’s 14.8k words of chaos and cringe, so read at your own risk 💫

THE BOOKSTORE SITS SNUG AGAINST THE BUSTLING FOOD JOINT NEXT DOOR, its fame for mouthwatering dishes drawing crowds. But the real reason folks flock to your shop? A wild rumor that every Sunday, a star falls from the ceiling, granting any wish, no matter how grand. It’s a silly tale, but it packs your store with dreamers who barely glance at the incredible books lining the shelves.

You’re the owner, perched on a creaky chair behind the counter, watching flies—or maybe mosquitoes—buzz lazily from one corner to another. Most days, you’re not exactly bubbling with kindness. Why should you be? The Sunday crowd only shows up to chase that mythical star, not to lose themselves in the stories you’ve carefully curated. It baffles you, honestly—just a small monthly fee to dive into these books or study in the shop’s cozy quiet, but no, they’re here for a fairy tale.

Heeseung, though, he’s different. He comes every day, his foot tapping a soft rhythm against the wooden floor as he hunches over his notebook, scribbling furiously. He’s a music student, a songwriter crafting melodies for big-name groups, his pen dancing with ideas. But it’s not just his talent that sets him apart. Last year, he stole your heart when he noticed the quiet ache in your eyes over the shop’s emptiness. He saw you, really saw you, when no one else did. He’s thoughtful like that, showing up with a homemade tiffin on nights you stay late, his shy smile warming you more than the food.

And then there’s the kiss. That kiss under the rain, drops clinging to your lashes as his lips found yours. It was electric, like something out of a dream, too vivid to be real. You never talked about it after, letting it fade into a cherished, unspoken memory. But it lingers, a soft glow in your chest, and somehow, it hasn’t changed things between you. He still comes, still scribbles, still makes your heart flutter when he looks up from his notebook and catches your eye. You’re just happy he’s here, filling the quiet with his presence, like a melody you didn’t know you needed.

The bookshop hums with a quiet magic, its shelves whispering as books nudge each other like gossiping friends. Fairy lights drape the walls, casting a warm glow over the wooden counter where you stand, wiping crumbs from the spring roll plate. The air smells of paper, ink, and a hint of soy sauce. Heeseung slumps across from you, his notebook a mess of scratched-out words, his soft brown hair falling into his eyes. The shop’s emptiness feels like a secret just for you two, a bubble of coziness in the late afternoon light.

“Whatcha scribbling down, boy?” you tease, flashing a playful grin as you slide the plate of spring rolls toward him. You’d made them for yourself, but sharing with Heeseung feels as natural as breathing. His hoodie sleeves are rolled up, and the way he grips his pen makes your chest flutter—he’s so focused, yet so adorably frustrated.

He sighs, long and dramatic, burying his face in his palms. “I can’t write anything, and this song’s due soon,” he groans, voice muffled but thick with exasperation. “It’s like my brain’s on strike.”

You’ve seen him like this before, all tangled up in his own head, so you scoot onto the stool beside him, close enough that your knees almost brush. Your hand finds his back, patting gently, like you’re soothing a grumpy cat. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t stress,” you say softly, your voice warm with encouragement. “You’ll figure it out before the deadline. This isn’t your first writer’s block rodeo, remember?”

He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours, and for a second, the shop feels smaller, the air charged with something unspoken. “This time’s different,” he mumbles, grabbing a spring roll and nibbling it like it’s his lifeline. “I’ve got nothing good. Been stuck for a month, and I’m starting to hate writing.” His gaze flicks to you, softer now, tinged with guilt. “Sorry for dumping this on you. Can we… not talk about it?”

You raise an eyebrow, lips twitching. You’ve known Heeseung for a year, and he’s stubborn as hell—always brushing off his worries like crumbs, never wanting you to fuss over him. But that just makes you worry more, your heart doing a little somersault at how he tries to protect you from his chaos. “Oh, come on, you think I mind?” you say, nudging his shoulder. “I’m basically your personal cheerleader now. Deal with it.”

He huffs a small laugh, but it’s half-hearted, his fingers fidgeting with the spring roll wrapper. You can’t stand seeing him so defeated, so you lean in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, like you’re sharing the world’s best secret. “Wanna make a wish?”

He blinks, confused, his brows knitting together. “But… it’s Thursday. Stars only fall on Sundays, right?” His curiosity is cute, like a kid hearing about a new game, and you bite back a grin, scooting closer. The faint scent of spring rolls clings to you, but you’re all determination now, ready to pull him out of his slump.

“Well,” you say, popping the last bite of your spring roll into your mouth, “here’s the thing. Stars can fall on Thursdays and Sundays, but I keep the Thursday ones for myself. Selfish, I know.” You wink, chewing dramatically. “Those other customers? Total wish-hogs. They’d hog all the stars if I let ‘em.”

Heeseung’s lips quirk into a tiny smile, but his eyes narrow, playful suspicion sparkling in them. “Wait a sec. You’ve known me for a year, and you’re only telling me about Thursday wishes now? What’s the deal?” His pout is so ridiculously cute—lips pursed, cheeks puffed out—that your heart skips, torn between wanting to pinch his cheeks and running from how much you want to kiss that pout away.

You shrug, trying to play it cool, though your cheeks feel warm. “That’s a story for another day, mister. Focus. Do you wanna wish on a star to help with your song, or not?” You point at the ceiling, where the stars always appear, twinkling faintly even now. Heeseung follows your gaze, his expression softening, like he’s remembering all the times he’s wished here before—for little things, like passing exams or finding his lost earbuds. He knows the shop’s magic is real, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“I… wanna try,” he says quietly, almost shy, glancing at you like he’s checking if you’re serious. “But I’ve never wished on a Thursday. What if I mess it up?”

You laugh, hopping off the stool to grab the star-catching net from behind the counter. “Oh, please. There’s a first time for everything, Heeseung. Today’s your day.” You hand him the net, its handle warm from your grip. “Just don’t overthink it. Catch the star, make your wish, and let the magic do its thing. Unless you want your song to stay unfinished?”

He takes the net, his fingers brushing yours, and the contact sends a tiny spark up your arm, like a star’s already fallen. “Okay, okay, you win,” he says, a nervous chuckle escaping. “But if this goes wrong and we end up in, like, a dragon’s lair or something, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” you say, grinning. “But if we do end up in a dragon’s lair, I’m riding the dragon first.” You nudge him toward the center of the shop, where the ceiling glows brighter, a star beginning to pulse. “Ready?”

Heeseung nods, gripping the net like it’s a lifeline, his eyes flicking to you with a mix of nerves and trust. “You’re gonna catch it with me, right?” he asks, voice soft, and your heart does that fluttery thing again, like it’s dancing to his unwritten song.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you whisper, stepping closer. The star twinkles above, ready to fall, and as you both raise the net, the shop holds its breath, magic swirling around you like a promise of something sweet.

“Look, the star!” you whisper again, voice buzzing with excitement as a glowing orb—brighter than any Sunday star—bursts from the ceiling. It sparkles like it’s showing off, and your stomach flips, a mix of awe and unease. Something’s off. You glance at Heeseung, his hands raised, eyes wide with wonder as he grips the net, ready to catch it. “Go for it! Make your wish!” you urge, but a chill races through you. That’s no ordinary star. It’s the muse star, the one you’ve fed brownies to coax out its shine, the one with a bratty streak wider than the inky ocean you’re about to tumble into. You lunge forward. “Hey, don’t—”

Too late. Heeseung cups the star in his hands, whispering his wish with a shy smile that makes your heart stutter. The star winks at you, its glow smug, and murmurs in a cartoonish voice, “Too late!” You want to swat it for sassing you , the shop’s keeper, but its cheeky glow reminds you of a kid throwing a tantrum. Once, when it dimmed and sulked, you’d slipped it a brownie, and it lit up like a firework. Today, though, it’s got a wild edge, and you narrow your eyes, stepping closer. “What’s your deal, huh?”

Heeseung glances at you, brow furrowed, totally lost. “Uh, what’s going on?” he asks, looking from you to the star, which now perches on a bookshelf like it owns the place. “Is it… talking?”

“Oh, it’s got a whole personality,” you mutter, grabbing a chair and climbing up to snatch the little troublemaker. “C’mere, you glowing brat.” Your hands stretch out, fingers brushing the star’s warm light, but it zips to the next shelf with a taunting giggle. You groan, hopping down. “It’s messing with us, Heeseung. This thing’s got a grudge or something.”

Heeseung tilts his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “A grudge? What’d you do, steal its favorite book?” His teasing makes your cheeks warm, and you shoot him a playful glare.

“Ha, very funny. Maybe it’s mad I didn’t share my spring rolls.” You cross your arms, watching the star dance between books. “It’s a muse star. They’re… extra. And extra annoying.”

“Should I help?” Heeseung steps closer, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a spark through you. He reaches for the star, his long fingers nearly grabbing it before it squirms free, squealing, “Let me goooo! I’m gonna make your wish come true, just let me go!” It slips from his grasp and dives into a pile of unsorted books, sending a puff of glitter into the air.

“Don’t mess with those!” you shout, lunging forward, but your foot catches on the chair. You wobble, heart lurching, until Heeseung’s arms wrap around you, steady and warm, catching you before you crash. Your breath hitches, his face inches from yours, eyes wide with worry. “Whoa, you okay?” he asks, voice soft, helping you stand. His hands linger a second too long, and your heart does a little cartwheel.

“Yeah, thanks to you,” you say, brushing off your apron, trying to ignore how your skin tingles where he touched you. “Guess the star’s not going anywhere. Maybe we just… let it do its thing?”

Heeseung frowns, glancing at the book pile. “But you said it’s a muse star. What’s it gonna do?” Before you can answer, a glittery breeze sweeps through the shop, rustling pages and making the fairy lights flicker. The muse star, buried in a book, pulses, and a page flips open. You shut your eyes against the dazzling sparkles, heart pounding.

When you blink them open, Heeseung stands before you, a lopsided pirate hat perched on his head, his hoodie swapped for a ruffled shirt. You glance down, gasping at your own frilly coat and dramatic eyeliner—straight out of a pirate novel.

“Whoa,” Heeseung breathes, steadying himself against a pole as the shop transforms into a creaking pirate ship, rocking on an inky black sea. The muse star, now a glowing red parrot, perches on the mast, glaring at you like you kicked its puppy in another life. “You’ll see,” it squawks, smug as ever, while giving Heeseung a weirdly polite nod.

You clutch a rope, the ship tilting wildly, and mutter, “Okay, what did I ever do to you, you feathered jerk?” Heeseung snorts, but his eyes are wide, scanning the deck. “This is… insane. How’s this supposed to help my songwriting?” he asks, gripping the pole tighter as the ship sways.

“Dunno,” you admit, heart racing—not just from the ship but from how he looks, all flustered and cute in that ridiculous hat. “Muse stars drag you into stories to spark ideas. Guess we’re pirates now.” You glance at the rope tied to a hook, then back at Heeseung, lowering your voice. “If we don’t catch that star soon, we might be stuck here.”

His face pales, lips parting in a silent “Why?” that you barely catch over the creaking ship. You meet his gaze, and despite the chaos, a thrill bubbles in your chest, like you’re both on the edge of something bigger than the ocean around you.

He takes a deep breath, glancing at you before eyeing the parrot. “Okay… what if I distract the star while you sneak up behind it?” he suggests, his voice a mix of nerves and determination. You blink, confused, tilting your head. “Distract that little monster? Good luck. It’s got the attention span of a goldfish and the attitude of a cat.”

Heeseung grins, a spark of his usual playfulness breaking through. “Oh, I’ve got this. Or… I hope I do.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a shiny gold coin, holding it up so it catches the light. “This might do the trick.” The coin gleams like a tiny sun, and you can’t help but smile at his hopeful expression, your chest fluttering like a page caught in a breeze.

“Fancy,” you tease, tying a quick knot in the rope you’re holding, your fingers steady despite the ship’s sway. You position yourself a safe distance behind the mast, ready to toss the rope and snag the parrot. “Alright, captain, let’s see your big plan.” You nod at Heeseung, and he nods back, his eyes bright with focus. It’s go-time.

He flicks the coin toward the parrot, and for a split second, the parrot’s head snaps to it, its beady eyes gleaming. You seize the moment, hurling the rope, but your aim’s off—too eager, too early. The parrot squawks, dodging with a smug flap of its wings, landing on another mast. Your shoulders slump as you sink to the deck, groaning. “Whyyyyy?”

Heeseung chuckles, leaning against the ship’s wall for a breather, but the ship lurches, and he stumbles, eyes wide with panic. “Okay, no breaks, got it,” he mutters, steadying himself. “This ocean’s trying to eat me.” You laugh despite the flop, but then you feel it—a drop on your shoulder, then another in Heeseung’s hair. You exchange a look, hearts sinking as the sky darkens. Rain. Not just a drizzle, but a full-on downpour, hammering the deck and soaking your frilly coat. The parrot, that infuriating star, just perches there, untouched, its glow mocking you both.

“Seriously?” you grumble, sprinting for the only shelter—a rickety roof over the captain’s quarters. You collapse onto a bench, panting, and glance at Heeseung, who’s shaking rain from his hat. “I think we’re stuck forever,” you say, half-joking, half-defeated. “That muse star’s impossible.”

Heeseung doesn’t answer, and you turn to find him scribbling in his notebook, rain beading on his lashes. The sight—his focus, his damp hair curling at the edges—makes your heart skip. You lean over, booping his nose with a playful finger. “Hey, quit it for a sec,” you murmur, snatching the notebook and setting it aside. You cup his face, gently turning him to face the glowing parrot. “Look at that jerk. We need to catch it, not write a novel. Okay?”

His eyes soften, but he hesitates, voice quiet. “I was… getting ideas, though.” He’s so earnest it makes your chest ache, and you hold his gaze a little too long, your hands still on his cheeks. The air feels charged, like the shop’s magic is weaving something between you.

“I know,” you say softly, dropping your hands but not your gaze. “But not now. We’ve got a parrot to wrangle.” A thunderclap shatters the moment, and you both flinch, eyes darting to the storm swallowing the sea. The ship tilts, and your stomach lurches at the thought of being trapped here, in this wild storybook world.

“C’mon,” you say, grabbing his hand, your fingers slipping against his rain-slicked skin. You both sprint into the downpour, the parrot cackling from the mast. “Scared, scared, haha!” it taunts, its voice cutting through the rain. You glare, soaked to the bone. “Stop it, you little menace!” you plead.

“I’m only helping!” the parrot chirps, its mocking glint aimed squarely at you. Heeseung steps forward, his voice firm despite the storm. “I don’t need help. Just let us go back to the bookshop.”

The parrot tilts its head, smirking. “Don’t worry. I’m not leaving till you finish that song. Write it, and everything’s normal. Can’t? Then catch me, dumbos.” It flaps higher, out of reach, and you groan, exchanging a look with Heeseung.

He avoids your eyes, his jaw tight. “I can’t write a song that fast,” he says, voice low. “Don’t… expect me to fix this like that.” His warning stings, and you sigh, rubbing your temples, hope slipping like the rain through your fingers.

“Hey,” you say, nudging his arm, trying to lighten the mood. “No pressure, okay? We’ll catch that feathered punk together.” But Heeseung’s gaze lingers on your disappointed expression, and you can tell he’s kicking himself for that wish. The storm roars louder, and he straightens, determination flickering in his eyes. If he can’t write the song yet, he’s damn well going to help you catch that star.

You cling to a rope, heart pounding, as Heeseung, his pirate hat long gone and hair plastered to his forehead, grabs another rope from the deck. With a swift toss, he flings it toward the glowing red parrot—the muse star—snagging it mid-squawk. It wriggles like a fish, and your jaw drops. “Damn, dude, how’d you do that so easily?” you shout, voice bright with awe despite the chaos.

Heeseung grins, rain dripping from his nose, but his eyes are all focus as he pulls the rope. “Beginner’s luck!” he yells back, a laugh bubbling through his words. You scramble to help, grabbing the rope with both hands, your fingers brushing his. The brief touch sends a spark through you, warm and fluttery, even as the cold ocean wind howls, warning of the storm barreling closer.

“C’mon, you little brat,” you mutter to the parrot, tugging harder. But the star’s too slippery—it squirms free, shooting back to the mast with a taunting cackle. Your heart sinks, and you exchange a look with Heeseung, his expression mirroring your frustration. “This thing’s gonna be the death of us,” you groan, wiping rain from your eyes.

“Hey, we almost had it!” he says, nudging your shoulder, his voice warm despite the chill. “Teamwork, right?” His smile, all boyish and hopeful, makes your chest do a little flip.

But the ship lurches violently, cutting off your reply. The parrot’s laugh echoes, sharp and mocking, as a massive wave looms, its shadow swallowing the horizon. You stumble, hands grasping for a pole, but the rain blinds you, slicking your fingers. “Shit!” you curse, feet slipping as you brace for the icy plunge into the inky sea.

“Hold on!” Heeseung’s voice cuts through the storm, desperate and fierce. His hand finds yours, strong and steady, pulling you back as you teeter on the edge. His wet hair sticks to his forehead, rain streaming down his face, but he doesn’t let go, one hand gripping a pole, the other locked around yours. “I’ve got you,” he says, voice low but unwavering, and your heart stutters, caught between fear and the warmth of his touch.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he adds, half-laughing, half-scolding, as you mutter, “Might as well drown at this point.” The exhaustion in your voice tugs at him, but he tightens his grip, rain soaking his ruffled shirt. “Not happening,” he says firmly. “No drowning on my watch.”

You want to tease him, but another wave rears up, towering and dark. You gasp, squeezing his hand, eyes shutting tight as you brace for the crash. “Heeseung, I—” you start, but the words stick, your heart pounding with the fear of being swept away.

“I—” he begins, voice soft, eyes closing like he’s making a wish of his own. But the water doesn’t come. The ship stills, the air shimmering with glittery light. You crack your eyes open, heart racing, and see the parrot darting along a sparkling trail, diving into an open book on the deck. The world blurs, and the storm fades, replaced by a new kind of magic.

You blink, disoriented, the ship gone. Heeseung’s hand slips from yours, and you spin around, searching. He’s not there. Neither is the star. The air hums with a familiar warmth, like the bookshop’s glow, but you’re somewhere else—somewhere you’ve never read about. A world from a book you bought, its pages vivid in your memory, now real and alive around you. Your stomach flips, not just from the shift but from the sudden ache of Heeseung’s absence, and the muse star’s next trick, whatever it is, waiting to pounce.

The bookshop’s cozy glow is gone, replaced by a shimmering fairy forest straight out of a fantasy novel you’d reluctantly added to the shelves after endless customer requests. You sigh, wishing you’d read the thing first. The air hums with magic, sweet like honey and sharp like pine. Giant blades of grass tower over you like the Eiffel Tower, making you feel small but oddly alive. You spin around, heart thumping, searching for Heeseung. “HEESEUNG!” you shout, voice echoing through the glowing grove.

Kicking a pebble, you watch it plop into a nearby puddle. Curious, you inch closer and catch your reflection—your face glows with delicate, iridescent makeup, like you’ve been dusted with starlight. A sparkly cloak shimmers around you, catching the light as you move. You touch your cheek, smiling softly. For once, you feel pretty, and the thought warms you, like the shop’s fairy lights used to. Your reflection mimics you, and for a moment, you’re lost in the magic of it.

“Looking for your lover?” a familiar, mocking voice chirps, snapping you out of it. You whip around, glaring at the muse star, now a smug little firefly, its glow pulsing like it’s laughing at you.

“He’s not my lover,” you snap, cheeks heating despite the cool forest air. If it wasn’t for this stupid star, you’d be back in the shop, snacking on spring rolls, not starving and chasing it through storybook chaos. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

The firefly giggles, zipping up a towering stem that you realize isn’t a wall but a massive flower, its petals soft and pink. “He’s up there,” it teases, darting higher. You squint, heart skipping as you spot Heeseung, tangled in the flower’s center, his camera dangling from his neck. He’s gripping the petals, looking both ridiculous and adorable, his face a mix of panic and determination.

“HEESEUNG!” you yell, waving wildly, hoping he sees you. His head jerks up, and his eyes meet yours, a flicker of relief softening his features. You grab the flower’s stem, trying to climb, but a pesky bird swoops in, flapping at your face and mussing your hair. “Oh, come on,” you groan, snatching a broken stick from the ground and waving it at the bird. “Shoo, you feathered bully!”

The bird squawks and soars upward—straight toward Heeseung. Your stomach drops as it pecks at his camera, making him wobble dangerously. “HEY! YOU’LL FALL!” you shout, voice sharp with worry. Heeseung steadies himself, shooting you a quick, nervous grin that makes your heart do a little flip.

“I’m good!” he calls back, sliding down the stem with a surprising amount of grace, though green pollen smears his clothes. He lands beside you, brushing off his shirt with a sheepish laugh. “What book is this, anyway?” he asks, half-laughing, half-disbelieving, his eyes wide as he takes in the oversized forest. “This is nuts.”

“No idea,” you admit, glancing at the firefly, which hovers nearby, clearly enjoying your struggle. “Some fantasy thing, probably. This star’s having way too much fun screwing with us.”

Heeseung chuckles, nudging your arm, his touch light but warm. “Yeah, it’s practically throwing a party up there.” He squints at the firefly, then back at you, his smile softening. “You look… kinda cool in that cloak, by the way.”

Your cheeks burn, and you duck your head, tugging at the sparkly fabric. “Oh, shut up,” you mumble, but your heart’s fluttering like a moth to a flame. “You’re not exactly rocking the pollen look, Romeo.”

He laughs, rubbing at the green streaks on his shirt. “Fair enough. So, what’s the plan? Chase that glowy jerk again?” He nods toward the firefly, which darts between giant leaves, its light taunting you both.

You sigh, hands on your hips. “Unless you’ve got a song ready to magic us out of here, yeah, we’re stuck chasing it.” You meet his eyes, and for a second, the forest feels smaller, like it’s just you two and the hum of something unspoken. “Ready for round two?”

Heeseung grins, a little shy but all in. “With you? Always.” You smile at his words.

The air smells sweet, like sugar and pine, but suddenly your heart races for all the wrong reasons as a sticky vine snakes around your leg, yanking you down with a playful, vicious tug. “Hey… what if we split up to catch that naughty sta—” Your words cut off with a yelp as the vine tightens, pain shooting through your leg. “HEESEUNG!” you whine, voice sharp with panic as the vine drags you toward the muddy ground.

Heeseung spins around, eyes wide with alarm. “I-” he stammers, frozen for a split second, his damp hair falling into his face as he scans the forest floor. “I’m trying!” he shouts, scrambling for something—anything—to help. The vine pulls harder, and silent tears slip down your cheeks, the sting mixing with the gross, sticky feeling of mud creeping up your leg. You bite your lip, hope fading as the ground threatens to swallow you.

Then Heeseung grabs the stick you’d used to shoo the bird earlier, his hands shaking but determined. “Quick! Quick! Quick!” you cry, voice breaking as the vine loosens just a fraction. He swings the stick, snapping the vine with a satisfying crack. You gasp, relief flooding you as he kneels, gently pulling your half-buried leg from the mud. His fingers are careful, brushing dirt from your ankle, and you wipe away tears you didn’t realize were there, your heart thudding from more than just the pain.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft as he cups your face without touching, his hands hovering like he’s afraid to break you. His eyes search yours, and the worry in them makes your chest flutter, warm and unsteady.

“My leg’s numb,” you mumble, wincing as you try to stand, limping to one side. Heeseung kneels again, inspecting your foot, his touch light but enough to make you flinch. “That stupid vine,” he mutters, a rare curse slipping out. “Why’d it have to grab you so hard?” His frustration is cute, like he’s personally offended by the forest, and before you can protest, he scoops you onto his back, piggyback-style, his arms hooking under your knees.

“Heeseung, put me down!” you say, half-laughing, half-embarrassed, though your leg throbs too much to argue. “I’m not that hurt. I can walk.”

“Nope,” he says, adjusting you with a little bounce that makes you giggle despite yourself. “Just let me carry you till we catch that darn star.” His voice is firm but warm, and you can’t help but smile, your chin resting on his shoulder as his steady steps carry you through the glowing forest. The closeness sends butterflies dancing in your stomach, his warmth seeping through the chill of your cloak.

“Okay, fine, but don’t complain when your back gives out,” you tease, poking his cheek. “So, this song of yours… how long is it? Is that why it’s taking forever?”

Heeseung chuckles, the sound vibrating against your chest. “It’s not that long. Maybe four verses, plus the chorus.” He shifts you slightly, making sure you don’t slip. “But it’s… tricky. Like, it’s gotta feel right, you know?”

You nod, your cheek brushing his shoulder, and you catch a whiff of his shampoo, faint under the forest’s sweetness. “And the star knows this?” you ask, pouting as you glare at the firefly darting ahead, leaving a glittery trail. “What’s its deal, keeping us trapped like this?”

“Guess it’s a know-it-all,” Heeseung says, smirking. “If it didn’t think I needed help, it’d let us go.” He pauses, glancing at a glowing mushroom that pulses like a tiny lantern. “Whoa, look at that. It’s like a disco for fairies.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up despite the ache in your leg. “You’re such a dork,” you say, but your heart skips as he points out a deer with glowing antlers sprinting past a waterfall, its light reflecting in the water like a scene from a dream. “Okay, that’s pretty cool,” you admit, your voice softening. “This place… it’s kinda magical, huh?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his smile audible. “Thanks for… not pushing me to write the song just to get us out.” His voice is quiet, almost shy, and you feel his shoulders relax under you. “I know it’s a mess, being stuck here.”

You rest your chin closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Hey, don’t sweat it. I’m not in a rush.” You glance around, the forest’s glow wrapping you both in a soft, otherworldly light. You’ve dealt with muse stars before, but this—being pulled into books, chasing inspiration with Heeseung—it’s new. And honestly, with his warmth against you and the way he points out every glowing flower like it’s for you, you don’t mind. “Besides,” you add, grinning, “this is the most fun I’ve had in forever.”

Heeseung laughs softly, turning his head just enough to catch your eye, his gaze warm and bright. “Same,” he says, and the way he says it, like a secret just for you. He follows the firefly’s glittery trail, carrying you toward the next adventure.

But your leg still throbs faintly from the vine’s grip. You squirm on Heeseung’s back, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Hey… put me down,” you mumble, voice soft but insistent. “I’m okay, really.”

Heeseung glances back, his brows furrowed with worry. “You sure?” he asks, his face so close that you catch the warmth in his eyes, your cheeks tingling pink. You nod, coughing lightly to snap him out of his daze, and your heart skips at how his gaze lingers.

“Uh… okay,” he mutters, swallowing hard as he kneels, easing you off his back. His hand hovers behind you, ready to catch you if you wobble, and the gesture—sweet, protective—makes your stomach flutter. “Just… don’t push it, alright?” he says, his voice low, and you nod, biting back a smile.

You both start walking, stepping carefully over the smooth stones lining a waterfall that sparkles like liquid starlight. The forest feels too quiet, too serene, like it’s holding its breath. You slip your hand into his, your fingers intertwining naturally, and sigh, glancing back. “You sure we’ll find the star here?” you ask, your voice tinged with doubt as you scan the glowing path ahead.

Heeseung shrugs, his thumb brushing yours absentmindedly, sending a spark up your arm. “We don’t have any other clues,” he says, logical as ever, and you roll your eyes, grinning.

“Ugh, why do you have to be so smart?” you tease, nudging his shoulder. He laughs softly, the sound warming you more than the forest’s glow. Your stomach growls, loud enough to make you freeze, and you pray he didn’t hear it. But Heeseung glances at you, his expression softening with a mix of guilt and concern.

“I’m starving too.” His honesty makes you laugh, easing the hunger pang, and you lean closer, your shoulder brushing his as you follow the glittery trail.

“Welp,” Heeseung mumbles suddenly, stopping short. “What the—”

“Is the path blocked?” you ask, confused, but then you see it—a field bursting with glowing fireflies, their lights twinkling like a sea of tiny stars. The golden trail left by the muse star ends here, blending into the swarm. Your jaw drops, and your heart sinks. “How the heck are we supposed to find it now?” you groan, lips pulling into a pout as you slump against a giant leaf.

Heeseung doesn’t give up, his eyes scanning the field with quiet determination. “Not sure…” he says, letting go of your hand, and you both blush at the sudden absence, your fingers tingling where his were. He clears his throat, trying to focus. “You said it’s a muse star, right? Maybe something creative could draw it out. Why don’t you… sing?”

You gasp, eyes wide with mock horror. “ME? SING?” You shake your head, laughing. “Heeseung, if I sing, that star’ll bolt faster than a cat in a thunderstorm. Total disaster.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, his smile shy but warm. “Yeah, okay, fair point.” He pauses, glancing at the fireflies, then back at you. “Guess I’ll have to try, then. Music student and all.” His voice is teasing, but there’s a flicker of nerves in his eyes—he’s actually going to do this.

“Oh, obviously,” you say, grinning as you nudge him. “You’re the songwriter here, not me. I’d scare the whole forest away.” You settle against the leaf, watching the fireflies dance. “Go on, show that star who’s boss.”

Heeseung takes a deep breath, his cheeks pink as he starts to sing, his voice soft but clear, like a melody woven into the forest’s glow. “ ‘Cause beautiful, you could make everything and anything look…’ ” The words drift out, sweet and steady, and you freeze, your breath catching. He sounds good—like, melt-your-heart good—and you can’t tear your eyes away. His voice wraps around you, warm and gentle, like the shop’s fairy lights on a quiet night, and your chest fills with butterflies, fluttering wildly.

You force yourself to focus, scanning the fireflies. One glows brighter, drifting closer, its disguise slipping as it sways to Heeseung’s voice. “I—” you whisper, not wanting to break the spell, as Heeseung extends his palm, the star-firefly hovering closer, entranced. It’s working—until a familiar chirp cuts through the air. That stupid bird from earlier swoops in, squawking loudly, and the star snaps out of its haze, flaring back into a firefly and zipping away.

“No!” you cry, glaring at the bird as it perches smugly on a branch. Heeseung’s song falters, his shoulders slumping, and the defeated look on his face tugs at your heart. You sigh, half-expecting the forest to shift into another book, but you can’t help smiling a little. You step closer, nudging his arm. “Hey, that was… amazing,” you say softly, your voice warm with awe. “I didn’t know you could sing like that.”

Heeseung blushes, ducking his head. “Thanks,” he mumbles, but his small smile makes your heart flutter again. Only if that was the end tho.

The fairy forest’s glow fades as the muse star, that infuriating firefly, zips upward, trailing glitter like a taunting laugh before diving into another book. For a heartbeat, the bookshop flickers back—shelves humming, fairy lights winking—and your heart leaps, a spark of hope warming your chest.

But the moment shatters, the shop twisting into a dazzling futuristic cityscape, all neon lights and sleek metal. The air hums with a sterile buzz, like the magic’s been replaced by electricity, and your stomach growls louder than ever, a hollow ache that makes you want to curl up and nap.

“NOT AGAIN!” you wail, plopping onto the glowing street like a kid mid-meltdown, kicking your legs in a full-on tantrum. Your silver jumpsuit—sleek and absurdly shiny—catches the neon glow, and you feel ridiculous, starving, and done with this star’s games.

Heeseung stands beside you, his own jumpsuit hugging his frame in a way that makes your heart stutter despite your hunger. He’s unfazed, or at least pretending to be, his eyes scanning the empty city—skyscrapers pulsing with holographic signs, streets eerily silent. He glances down at you, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “You done throwing a fit down there?” he teases, crouching to your level. “You look like a grumpy space toddler.”

You glare, but his soft laugh warms you, chasing away the chill of the city. “I’m starving,” you grumble, clutching your stomach. “This stupid star’s gonna kill us with all this book-hopping. Can’t we just… find a cosmic burger or something?”

Heeseung chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, his own stomach growling faintly. “I’d kill for a burger right now,” he admits, his voice low and wistful. “This place looks dead, though. No food, no people—just us and that glowing jerk.” He nods toward the muse star, now a pulsing orb of light hovering above a neon-lit plaza, its glow mocking you both.

You sigh, dragging yourself to your feet, your legs shaky from hunger and the vine incident. Your eyes catch on a row of sleek hoverboards propped against a glass wall, their surfaces glinting like they’re begging to be used. You glance at Heeseung, and it’s like you’re sharing a silent plan, your hearts in sync. “Ready to chase that brat again?” you ask, grabbing a hoverboard.

Heeseung nods, snatching one for himself. “Let’s end this,” he says, determination in his eyes, but the second he steps on, the board wobbles, sending him stumbling side to side like a newborn deer. You bite back a laugh, steadying your own board with surprising ease, the hum of it under your feet feeling like a tiny thrill.

“Whoa, look at you, space queen,” Heeseung says, grinning despite his wobbly balance. “Help a guy out?”

You glide over, grabbing his hand, your fingers lacing with his as you steady him. The touch sends a spark through you, warm and electric, like the city’s neon lights live in your chest. “Hold on tight, clumsy,” you tease, your voice soft as you pull him along, the two of you gliding through the air, chasing the orb. His grip tightens, and the way he looks at you—half-nervous, half-awed—makes your heart flutter like always.

“Okay, but if we crash, I’m blaming you,” he says, his voice playful despite the limp in his hoverboard skills. The orb darts ahead, weaving between holographic signs, and you both lean forward, the wind whipping your hair as you fly together, hands clasped, hearts racing.

“Don’t jinx it!” you laugh, squeezing his hand. “Just focus on not falling, and maybe we’ll catch this stupid star before I pass out from hunger.”

Heeseung clings to your hand, his grip tight not just for balance but because he’s clearly terrified of toppling off his wobbly hoverboard. “How many more books is this star gonna drag us through?” he groans, frustration lacing his voice as he sways, his silver jumpsuit catching the neon glow.

“No clue,” you mutter, just as fed up, your stomach growling loud enough to compete with the city’s buzz. The orb doesn’t miss a beat, its teasing voice cutting through the air. “Write the song, and I’ll send you back.”

“Oh, shut up!” you snap, glaring at the orb as you lean forward on your hoverboard, chasing it with a burst of speed. “Keep talking, and I’ll starve you next time—no brownies, no nothing!” Heeseung speeds up beside you, his hand still in yours, and you catch his quick, amused glance, making your heart skip despite your annoyance.

The orb laughs, its glow flickering like it’s winking. “Here I was, planning something special for the next book,” it taunts. “But now? Maybe I’ll rethink helping you two.” It zooms ahead, too fast for your hoverboards to keep up, and just as you push harder, the boards sputter, slowing to a pathetic drift. The battery’s dead.

“This stupid battery had to die now?!” Heeseung growls, running a hand through his messy hair, his frustration so cute it almost softens your own. He kicks the hoverboard lightly, like it personally betrayed him.

“I know, right?” you huff, stepping off your board and throwing your hands up. “And what’s this ‘special’ nonsense? Another book? I’m done!” Your stomach twists again, hunger making you dizzy, and you slump against a glowing fountain in the middle of what looks like a futuristic park, all sleek lines and eerie quiet. “I swear, my stomach’s about to eat itself.”

Heeseung glances at you, his eyes softening despite his own hunger. “This place is weird,” he mutters, scanning the empty park, where musical notes start to hum softly, like a lullaby from nowhere. “Is it just me, or does this feel like… a library? Somewhere to write or think?”

You nod, dragging yourself toward a sleek bench, too tired to stand. “Yeah, like a study zone or something,” you say, collapsing onto the bench—only to yelp as it burns like a heated iron rod. “AGH!” You leap up, rubbing your butt, pain and embarrassment stinging as you hop in place, tears pricking your eyes. It hurts like hell, and worse, Heeseung’s right there, witnessing your mortifying moment.

Heeseung’s eyes widen, caught between worry and trying not to laugh. “A-are you okay?” he stammers, looking anywhere but at you, his cheeks pink as he fidgets. “What just happened?”

You groan, blinking back tears, your face flaming. “That bench tried to cook me!” you mutter, soothing yourself while shooting the bench a glare. Heeseung hesitates, then steps toward it, curiosity winning out. “Don’t!” you mumble, barely audible, but he’s already brushing his fingertip against the bench, testing it. Nothing. He presses his whole palm down, frowning, then—bold as ever—sits right on it. Nothing happens.

Heeseung sits comfortably on the bench, his silver jumpsuit catching the glow of the plaza, looking unfairly relaxed despite the chaos. His brow furrows, confusion in his eyes as he glances at you. “You sure it was that hot?” he asks, tilting his head, his voice soft but curious.

“YES!” you snap, cheeks burning—not just from the pain but from the sheer frustration bubbling inside. “It was hot! Like, really hot, Heeseung!” You sigh, exhausted, and inch closer to the bench, hesitating. You tap it with the tip of your index finger, bracing for the worst. The heat sears instantly, like touching a stovetop, and you yank your hand back with a yelp. “AGH!” You pop your finger in your mouth, trying to soothe the sting, tears pricking your eyes as you glare at him through the haze of pain. “How are you not feeling this?”

Heeseung’s eyes widen, a mix of worry and amusement flickering across his face. “I swear, it’s fine for me,” he says, patting the bench like it’s a friendly pet. “This thing loves me.” His teasing grin makes your heart flutter, even if you want to strangle him for being so smug right now.

You slump onto the rocky ground, careful not to aggravate your sore backside, muttering, “This is all that stupid star’s fault.” Your hunger gnaws at you, making everything worse, and you shoot a glare at the muse star—now a pulsing orb of light—hovering high above, its glow taunting you like a smug little bully.

“Why?” the orb chirps, its voice dripping with mockery as it circles above your head. “Why not sit on the bench, huh?”

“You brat!” you shout, grabbing a tiny pebble from the ground and hurling it at the star. It dodges with a giggle, the sound grating on your nerves. “Keep quiet and just wait, dumbo,” it taunts, spinning faster like it’s performing some annoying ritual. “You wanna go back to the real world, right?”

You roll your eyes, turning to Heeseung, who’s watching the exchange with a half-smile, his gaze flickering between you and the orb. “Can you believe this thing?” you huff, crossing your arms. “It’s got it out for me, I swear.”

“It’s just a jerk.” But before you can say more, a notebook and pen materialize from thin air, landing gently on Heeseung’s lap. Your eyes widen, and you glance at the star, its glow pulsing brighter, almost expectant. Something’s up. It’s like the star’s daring Heeseung to write, to finally crack the code of his song.

Heeseung catches on, his fingers brushing the notebook’s cover, his expression shifting to something quieter, more focused. “Guess this is my cue,” he murmurs, flipping it open. He glances at you, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.

But you just leap up, determination overriding your hunger, and swipe at the muse star, its glowing orb form dancing just out of reach. “Keep quiet! Let him write!” it whispers, flaring brighter, a clear sign this chase is far from over. You grit your teeth, playing a relentless game of cat and mouse, climbing the glowing fountain’s edge, nearly slipping into the water, and tossing tiny pebbles at the star, careful not to make too much noise. Your heart pounds, half from effort, half from frustration, but the star just giggles, dodging every move.

Ten minutes pass, and you trudge back to Heeseung, hope flickering as you sit beside him on the bench—careful to avoid its burning surface. “So… finished the song?” you ask, voice tinged with expectation, imagining him saying, “Done! We’re free, let’s eat!” But he lifts his head, shaking it with a guilty frown. You snatch the notebook, eyes scanning—four measly lines. Just four. Your stomach twists, hunger fueling your disappointment, but you take a deep breath, fighting the urge to snap. “I’m sorry,” Heeseung mumbles, voice heavy with guilt as he swallows hard. “I don’t… work well under pressure.” His eyes flick to the star, glaring like it’s the source of all his problems.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, voice flat, dizziness from hunger making you sway. “Let’s just catch that stupid star.” You grab your hoverboard, not waiting for Heeseung, not grabbing his hand like before to steady him. You’re pissed—hunger’s turned you into a storm cloud—and you lean forward, speeding through the neon-lit air toward the orb, not checking if Heeseung’s behind you. The city blurs, your focus locked on the star.

“Girl! Stop being so aggressive!” the star yelps, no longer teasing but genuinely spooked by the fire in your eyes and the way your hand nearly snags it. “Just take us back to the shop!” you demand, voice cracking with frustration as you chase it closer, so close you can almost feel its glow.

The star darts into a dark tunnel, and you speed after it, too angry to notice the blackness swallowing you. A horn blares, and glowing train lights barrel toward you, matching your speed. Your eyes widen in horror, hunger forgotten as you freeze, bracing for impact. But an arm wraps around your waist, yanking you to the side. You crash to the ground, Heeseung’s body cushioning your fall, his breath warm against your face as he hovers above you, eyes locked on yours. Your heart races, not from fear but from the way his hand lingers, steady and close, your empty stomach suddenly alive with butterflies.

The train roars past, shattering your hoverboard into bits, and as its lights fade, the tunnel brightens. Heeseung’s so close, his gaze soft and intense, and you feel the world tilt as he leans in. Your eyes flutter shut, and his lips brush yours—soft, warm, a reckless moment born of hunger and adrenaline. It’s like a dream, your heart throwing a full-on party.

The star’s voice cuts through, its orb glowing smugly. “You two lost it. Hunger does that to humans?” it coughs, breaking the spell. You snap out of it, panic flooding in. Before Heeseung can move, you push him off, scrambling to your feet, dizzy but steadying yourself as you glare at the star. “I knew you hated me,” you snap, voice sharp. “But trying to kill me? Luring me into a tunnel?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung chimes in, adjusting his jumpsuit, his cheeks flushed as he tries to shift the topic, though his voice carries real shock. “That’s too far, don’t you think?”

The muse star, that infuriating orb of light, giggles with a high-pitched “Well, well, weeee!” before zipping out of the tunnel, soaring into the neon sky with a taunting hum. Your heart’s still racing, rattled from the train’s near miss and the fleeting warmth of Heeseung’s lips on yours. What was that? Your cheeks burn, not from the city’s glow but from the reckless moment you let happen. How could you get so lost in him, in the haze of it all?

You steal a glance at Heeseung, his silver jumpsuit catching the light, his hair a mess from the wind. Guilt twists in your empty stomach as you remember speeding off on the hoverboard without waiting for him. “Sorry,” you stutter, voice small, “for… not checking on you back there.”

Heeseung shakes his head, a soft smile breaking through his tired expression. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing it off like it’s nothing. “Just hop on my back so we can catch that little troublemaker.” He kneels, steadying himself on his hoverboard, his hand reaching for yours.

“My leg’s fine,” you protest, glancing at the shattered remains of your hoverboard, crushed by the train. “But… your back? You’re hungry, tired, probably weak. What if we both crash?” Your voice is laced with worry, but Heeseung just shakes his head, stubborn as ever.

“Just hop on,” he insists, his tone firm but warm, and you can’t argue with that look in his eyes. Hesitantly, you climb onto his back, wrapping your legs tight around him, eyes squeezed shut against the fear of falling. The star’s proven it doesn’t care if you end up splattered in this book’s pages, and that thought makes your grip on Heeseung tighten. He leans forward, guiding the hoverboard out of the tunnel, his hands steady on your knees, keeping you secure. The wind whips past, but his warmth grounds you, chasing away the chill.

“Are we close to it?” you ask, voice muffled against his shoulder, eyes still shut tight.

“I guess,” Heeseung replies, his voice steady despite the speed. You peek one eye open as he slows, his brows lifting in suspicion. The orb darts into a glowing plaza, of all places, and Heeseung lands smoothly, easing you off his back. You stumble slightly, legs wobbly, but his hand hovers behind you, ready to catch you. The plaza’s lined with tables, each piled with a full-course meal—steaming plates of food that make your mouth water and your stomach growl louder than ever.

“Heeseung,” you whisper, eyes wide, a grin spreading as you bolt toward the nearest table. “Food! Actual food!” You reach for a plate, but your hand freezes mid-air, your whole body locking up like a statue. You try to move, panic rising, and through the corner of your eye, you see Heeseung frozen mid-step, his face mirroring your horror.

The orb hovers above, giggling. “Not so easy,” it taunts, its glow pulsing mockingly. You want to scream, the sight of all that food—so close yet so untouchable—twisting your hunger into pure rage. “Ready for the next adventure?” the star chirps, and glitter swirls through the air, the plaza shimmering like it’s about to dissolve.

“No, no, no!” you manage to grit out, your voice stuck in your frozen throat. Heeseung’s eyes, wide with the same dread, meet yours through the corner of your vision. “This is cruel,” he mutters, his voice strained but carrying that familiar warmth. “Star, you’re the worst!”

You can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes, even through your frustration. “Yeah,” you add, glaring at the orb. “What’s next, huh? A dragon? A volcano?” Your eyes squeeze shut, bracing for the star’s next book, the glitter thick around you, but Heeseung’s frozen presence beside you feels like an anchor, keeping your heart steady despite the chaos.

The futuristic city dissolves into a sugary wonderland, a vibrant world straight out of a kid’s book, where the ground squishes under your biscuit slippers like a giant brownie. Pastel aprons tie you and Heeseung to this candy-coated chaos, and the muse star—now a glowing lollipop—bobs ahead, taunting you with its sugary shine. Your eyes light up, hunger clawing at your stomach as you take in the edible forest: trees dripping with lollipops, bushes sprouting donuts, and vines curling with burgers. “Heeseung!” you gasp, a grin splitting your face. “We can eat?!”

He meets your gaze, his own eyes sparkling with the same hungry hope, and for a moment, you’re just two kids in a candy store, hearts racing with delight. You dart to a tree, snatching a lollipop, ripping off its wrapper, and popping it into your mouth. The sweet burst of flavor makes you hum, and you glance at Heeseung, who’s eyeing you skeptically, his stomach growling loud enough to betray him. “Not gonna eat?” you ask, words muffled around the lollipop, your grin teasing as you lick the sugar from your lips.

“Nah, I’m fine,” he mumbles, but his blush and the rumble in his stomach say otherwise. He looks around, awe creeping into his expression. “This is all edible… what, is this a kid’s book?” His voice is soft, almost disbelieving, as he steps forward, the brownie ground sinking slightly under his weight. You trail behind, the lollipop star giggling ahead, clearly loving that you’re both too distracted to chase it.

“It’s like a buffet from a fairy tale,” you say, grabbing his hand without thinking, your fingers lacing through his. The touch sends a warm flutter through your chest, like biting into something sweet and perfect. “My stomach’s screaming. Can we eat first, then catch that brat?”

Heeseung’s too hungry to argue, his nod quick and shy. “Deal,” he says, his voice warm as he squeezes your hand. You both wander deeper, the forest smelling like a bakery and a diner had a lovechild. You pluck a burger from a vine, its bun soft and warm, and take a huge bite, moaning at the juicy, fresh taste. “This is so good,” you mumble, mouth full, glancing at Heeseung, who’s stuffing his face with a donut, crumbs dusting his chin.

“Should we just… ditch the star plan?” he asks, half-serious, his eyes glinting with mischief as he licks icing from his fingers. “I mean, if we’re stuck here forever, this isn’t the worst place.” His grin makes your heart skip, and you laugh, the idea of staying in this edible paradise with him not sounding half bad.

“Nah, we’ll catch it,” you say, dusting crumbs off your hands, your biscuit slippers crunching on the brownie ground. “But I’m eating everything first.” You wink, and he laughs, the sound warm and soft, like the forest’s glow.

Your attention snags on three massive marshmallows, each the size of a teenager’s torso, glowing faintly. “What’s wrong?” you ask, noticing Heeseung’s wary stare. Before he can answer, the marshmallows move, their cartoony eyes blinking as they huddle together, staring back. You freeze, heart pounding, and Heeseung mutters under his breath, “Wish I’d read more kid’s books…”

“You guys… walk?” you ask, voice small as you step back, half-hiding behind Heeseung. Your curiosity battles your nerves, but this world—this candy-coated, talking-marshmallow world—might just be your favorite yet.

“NEW GUESTS! NEW GUESTS!” the marshmallows chant, bouncing in a joyful circle, their stick-figure hands linked. You and Heeseung exchange a horrified glance, your heart racing, but there’s something oddly charming about their enthusiasm.

“They talk too?” Heeseung says, echoing your shock, his arm sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing. The warmth of his touch steadies you, even as the marshmallows waddle closer, their smiles wide and goofy.

“You’re the new guests, right?” one asks, its voice high and bubbly. Heeseung nods slowly, his grip on you tightening, skeptical but curious.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, peeking out from behind him, your height difference making you feel like a kid hiding behind a big brother. “We’re here to catch the muse star. It’s a glowing lollipop now.”

The marshmallows hum in unison, like they’re plotting something, then one extends a stick-figure hand. Heeseung kneels to shake it, his expression torn between amusement and suspicion. “The star’s at the jellybean bridge, by the peppermint tower,” the marshmallow says, practically vibrating with excitement.

You and Heeseung share a look, confusion knitting your brows. “Jellybean bridge? Peppermint tower?” Heeseung asks, biting back frustration. “Where the heck is that?”

“We’ll show you!” another marshmallow chirps, bouncing ahead, the other two following like eager tour guides. They glance back, making sure you’re keeping up. You hesitate, the forest’s delicious scent tempting you to stay, but Heeseung’s hand in yours pulls you forward. “C’mon,” he says softly, his voice steady, “let’s trust the marshmallows. For now.”

You nod, your heart fluttering at his calm certainty, and follow the bouncing trio, the brownie ground soft under your slippers, the promise of food and adventure keeping you close to Heeseung’s side.

The marshmallows, your bouncy guides, roll their cartoony eyes every time you and Heeseung pause to nibble on something new. You can’t help it—the food’s too good, clean and fresh like it was just whipped up by a magical chef. Your eyes light up as you spot a cactus made entirely of golden French fries, and you nudge Heeseung, practically bouncing. “Look at that!” you squeal, darting over and kneeling to chomp on a fry. The salty crunch is heaven, and your stomach begs to stay in this world forever. For a second, you waver—why chase the star when you could live in this food paradise? But no, you shake your head. You have to get back to the real world.

With a burst of determination, you stand, brushing crumbs off your pastel apron, ready to march on. But then a tree catches your eye, its branches heavy with glazed donuts. You can’t resist, plucking one and dipping it into a nearby pond of silky chocolate, the sweet combo making you hum “Yummm” as you take a bite.

Heeseung, leaning against a candy cane post, rolls his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips. The marshmallows huff in unison, one muttering to Heeseung, “Is she always this hungry?” Its tone drips with pity, like you’re a stray puppy gobbling scraps.

Heeseung chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Not sure,” he says, his voice low and amused. “She’s usually… saner than this. At least from what I’ve seen.” His eyes linger on you, soft and curious, making your heart skip even though you’re too busy licking chocolate off your fingers to notice.

The marshmallow smirks, its stick-figure arms crossing. “Well, at least you’re seeing her inner hunger monster now, before you two get together.” Heeseung’s cheeks flush, and he rolls his eyes, muttering, “Whatever,” but the teasing glint in the marshmallow’s eyes makes him shake his head with a shy smile.

You bounce back to the group, wiping crumbs from your lips, a smudge of chocolate still clinging to the corner of your mouth. Heeseung reaches out, his thumb hovering to wipe it away, and your breath catches, a flutter sparking in your chest. But a marshmallow beats him to it, thrusting a tissue your way with a dramatic flourish. “Thank youuu!” you chirp, kneeling to take it, wiping your face with a wide, food-fueled grin. You’re in such a good mood, the sugar rush making everything feel like a dream.

“Do we walk now? To the jellybean bridge?” one marshmallow asks, its tone sharp with impatience, clearly fed up with your snack breaks.

“Yep, totally!” you say, missing the sarcasm completely, your voice bright as you skip ahead, already eyeing a cotton candy bush on the path. More food to try, more flavors to savor—this world’s your playground, and you’re loving every bite.

Heeseung trails behind, shaking his head, a soft laugh escaping as he watches you skip alongside the marshmallows. “You’re like a kid in a candy store,” he calls out, his voice warm with amusement. “Happier here than in that creepy sci-fi city, huh?”

“Way happier,” you toss back, grinning over your shoulder. “This place is food heaven. You’re not gonna snitch on me for eating half the forest, right?” Your teasing makes him laugh again, the sound wrapping around you like the sugary air, and as you follow the marshmallows toward the jellybean bridge.

Your stomach’s practically singing from all the snacks you’ve devoured—lollipops, fries, donuts dipped in chocolate ponds—but you can’t help sneaking one last bite of a gummy worm as you reach the jellybean bridge. Heeseung, somehow, stays focused, his eyes locked on the glowing lollipop star bobbing ahead, while you’ve been distracted by every edible treasure. How does he do it? You’re practically a kid in a candy store, and he’s playing the responsible adult.

“We’re here,” one marshmallow announces with a dramatic sigh, glancing at its two buddies. “Cross the bridge, and you’ll reach the peppermint tower.” The trio huddles, whispering among themselves, their cartoony eyes darting suspiciously. You squint, sensing something’s off, but let it slide, too full of sugar to care too much.

“Let’s go!” Heeseung says, grabbing your hand, his touch sending a warm spark through you. He’s ready to charge forward, but the marshmallows leap in front, forming a chain with their stick-figure arms to block the wobbly bridge. “What?” you ask, confusion knitting your brows.

“Candy toll!” they chirp in unison, grinning smugly. “Gotta give us something to cross!”

You glance at Heeseung, hope fading—you’ve got nothing but crumbs. But then a rustle catches your ear, and you turn to see Heeseung pulling out a shimmering star chain, dropped by the muse star earlier. Your jaw drops at his quick thinking. “Nice one,” you whisper, nudging him, your heart fluttering at how sharp he is.

He flashes a shy grin, handing the chain to the marshmallows, who snatch it eagerly. They step aside, waving their goofy hands as Heeseung steps onto the bridge—a rickety stretch of jellybeans with no railings, swaying over a steaming river of hot soup below. Your stomach lurches. “I’m scared,” Heeseung mutters, his voice barely above a whisper, and you gulp, realizing you were counting on him to be the brave one.

“It’s okay,” you say, trying to sound confident. “We won’t fall. Just… walk slow—agh!” The bridge wobbles, and you gasp, your biscuit slippers slipping on the slick jellybeans. Your heart leaps to your throat, but you catch your balance, Heeseung glancing back with wide eyes. “Please, God,” he mumbles, checking on you every few steps, his concern making your chest flutter.

Just as you near the end, your foot slips again. You yelp, but Heeseung’s arms are around you in a flash, pulling you close, his body shielding you from the bubbling soup below. “You good?” he asks, breathless, his hands brushing hair from your face, cupping your cheeks with such soft worry that your heart skips. You nod, dazed, his closeness making your head spin more than the near-fall.

The marshmallows giggle from the other side, and you cough, stepping back, cheeks burning as you put some distance between you and Heeseung. Your eyes catch a massive caramel slide spiraling up to the peppermint tower, its sticky surface glinting. “What is this now?” you mumble, half-exasperated, half-awed.

Heeseung eyes the slide, then the tower’s candy-striped gate. “Guess we’re sliding,” he says, stepping forward. “Follow me.” He hops on, sliding down with a whoop, and you follow, the caramel slick under your apron as you tumble out at the tower’s base—right in front of a marshmallow knight, its armor gleaming, eyes glaring. You’re both coated in sticky caramel, and you tug at Heeseung’s sleeve, heart pounding. “This marshmallow looks… scary.”

“Agreed,” Heeseung whispers, avoiding the knight’s piercing stare, his hand brushing yours like a quiet promise to stick together.

The marshmallow knight, barely reaching your knees, points its gleaming silver sword at Heeseung, who steps back, hands raised. “Who are you two?” it demands, its high-pitched voice sharp enough to make your heart skip, the sword’s shine a quiet threat.

“We’re… the guests,” you mumble, hesitating, your voice barely above a whisper. The word feels right, echoing how the other marshmallows called you, but doubt gnaws at you. This knight’s no joke, despite its size. It swings its sword toward you, aiming for your stomach—a marshmallow’s version of a throat jab, and you bite back a nervous laugh at the absurdity, the height difference almost comical if not for the blade’s glint.

“Don’t you know you need a candy craft to pass?” the knight says, its beady eyes narrowing as it holds the sword steady. You blink, thrown off, and glance at Heeseung, who looks just as clueless, his pastel apron dusted with brownie crumbs.

“Candy craft?” you stammer, stepping back. “I don’t even know what that is!” The knight’s tiny stature makes you want to giggle, but that sword looks sharp enough to keep your amusement locked tight. “Just make something for me to taste,” it declares, crossing its stick-figure arms. “If it’s good enough, I’ll let you go.”

You tug Heeseung a few steps away, your biscuit slippers crunching on the ground. “Okay, so… what do we make?” you whisper, your brow furrowing as you try to wrap your head around this. Your stomach’s still buzzing from the fries, donuts, and lollipops you’ve been munching, but crafting something? That’s a whole new challenge.

Heeseung leans close, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “What if we don’t make anything?” he murmurs, a sly glint in his eyes. “We could trap the knight instead—use those licorice ropes and gummy worms over there as a net.” He nods toward a pile of colorful candies, his voice low and sneaky. “What do you say?”

You raise an eyebrow, half-ready to dismiss his wild idea. “And how’s that gonna work, genius?” you whisper, crossing your arms but leaning in, curious despite yourself. “You think we can just lasso a marshmallow with a sword?”

Heeseung grins, his confidence infectious. “We blind it with brownie dust, then tie it up with the ropes. Quick and easy. Way better than slaving over some candy sculpture.” He pauses, adding with a teasing lilt, “Unless you suddenly love long projects now?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, right. I’d rather eat the candy than craft it.” His plan’s crazy, but the thought of outsmarting the knight with gummy worms sparks a thrill in your chest. Plus, that star’s been putting you through too many near-death scares—maybe it’s time to fight back. “Alright,” you whisper, nodding. “Let’s do it. But if that sword gets me, you’re saving me.”

Heeseung chuckles, his hand brushing yours as you sneak toward the candy pile. The brief touch sends a warm spark through you, like biting into a fresh donut. “Deal,” he says softly. “Just don’t scream when we nail this.”

“So, what are you two making?” the knight calls, tapping its sword impatiently, its tiny body rigid with authority. You exchange a quick glance with Heeseung, who gives a subtle nod—go time. You grab licorice ropes and gummy worms, passing them to him as he scoops up a handful of brownie dust from the ground. “Well, we…” Heeseung starts, all innocent, then flings the dust into the knight’s eyes.

The knight squeaks, its sword clattering to the ground as it rubs its face frantically. You toss Heeseung the ropes, heart racing, and he moves like lightning, wrapping the squirming marshmallow in licorice, layering gummy worms for extra hold. “Here’s your candy craft,” he says, smirking as he steps back, the knight now a wriggling candy burrito.

“You’ll regret this!” the knight squeals, thrashing uselessly. “Really, really regret this!” You laugh, the absurdity hitting you as you step past it, brushing against Heeseung’s arm. His smug grin makes your chest warm, like you’re sharing a secret victory.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” you tease, nudging him as you enter the tower. The ground shifts to fluffy cotton candy, all pastel pinks, blues, and purples, soft under your biscuit slippers. “That sword was legit scary.”

Heeseung laughs, shaking his head, his apron speckled with crumbs. “Told you I’m full of surprises,” he says, his voice light but proud. “You held up pretty well for someone who almost got skewered.”

“Psh, I was fine,” you say, but your grin betrays you, his playful tone making your heart do a little flip. You scan the tower’s candy-coated walls, searching for the muse star—now a red glowing lollipop perched smugly on the top floor. “Oops! Wasn’t expecting you two so soon,” it mocks, giggling. “You full yet?”

You glare, muttering, “You brat!” as Heeseung tries a door, only to find it handle-less, the star’s latest trick. It giggles louder, clearly loving the chaos. “Ugh, this thing,” you groan, spotting a sticky toffee staircase on the side. You grab it, starting to climb, but the steps are slick, making you wobble. Heeseung’s hands are on the railings in a second, holding it steady, his eyes locked on you with quiet focus.

“Careful,” he says softly, his voice steady and warm, making your heart skip. “Don’t need you falling into a candy coma.”

“I’m good,” you say, smirking despite the sticky mess. You reach higher, the lollipop star cornered in a tight space. “Gotcha,” you mutter, snatching it with both hands and squeezing tight. Heeseung’s eyes light up below, a wide smile breaking across his face as he cheers, “Yes! We win!”

“No, no, let me go, let me go!” the lollipop whines, squirming in your grip. You boop its sticky nose, glaring. “Take us back,” you demand, your voice firm despite the sugar rush making you dizzy.

“I can’t,” it mumbles, softer now, almost sulky. “Not until I make his wish come true.” You frown, confused, but a clatter below snaps your attention. The marshmallow knight storms in, freed from its ropes, sword swinging wildly. Heeseung’s eyes widen, panic flashing as he shakes the staircase to get your attention. “HEY!” he yells, dodging a swing. “Be quick! I don’t wanna DIE!”

You glance down, heart pounding as the knight charges, its tiny sword glinting too close to Heeseung. “Please, take us back!” you plead, squeezing the star harder. “Okay, okay, stop crushing me!” it squeaks, and the world blurs with glitter.

You shut your eyes tight, the tower dissolving, and when you open them, you’re back in the bookshop, sprawled on the familiar couch, the fairy lights twinkling above. Heeseung collapses beside you, panting, his face flushed from the scare.

“We… made it,” you whisper, catching your breath, the star still in your hands, its glow dimmer now. Heeseung’s hand brushes yours on the couch, and the accidental touch sends a warm spark through you, like biting into something sweet and perfect. “You okay?” you ask, turning to him, his wide eyes meeting yours with relief.

“Barely,” he says, laughing softly, his voice shaky but warm. “That knight was no joke. You think the star’s done messing with us?”

You glance at the star, its smug glow still flickering. “Doubt it,” you mutter.

You glare at the glowing lollipop star, its red shine wiggling like it’s plotting its next trick. “Stop trying,” you mutter, booping its sticky nose, but the heat sears your finger, sharp and sudden, forcing you to let go with a hiss. “Ow!” You shake your hand, wincing, as you and Heeseung watch the star float smugly back to the bookshop’s ceiling, twinkling like it’s laughing.

“I won’t leave until I make the wish come true,” it declares, its voice tired but firm. “So, buddy, get back to work.” A notebook and pen materialize on Heeseung’s lap, practically daring him to finish his song.

“Oh god, not again,” you groan, slumping back on the couch, your stomach rumbling. This star’s relentless, and you’re so over its games. “If it’s gonna be like this, what’s the point of you being a star?” Heeseung mutters, his voice dripping with frustration as he tries to stand, only to freeze, stuck to the couch like he’s glued. “Great,” he huffs, realizing he’s trapped until he writes at least a verse.

You’re too hungry to care, your mind on food while Heeseung fumbles with the notebook, scribbling half-hearted lyrics. “I’m ordering takeout,” you announce, pulling out your phone. “Egg fried rice, ‘cause we’re broke.” You glance at him, his head buried in his hands, and add, “For both of us, so you better write fast and get that star outta here.”

Heeseung looks up, his frown deep, eyes tired. “I can’t write anything,” he mutters, voice heavy with defeat. “God, I can’t think straight.” He sighs, staring at the blank page like it’s mocking him, his frustration palpable.

You feel a pang of sympathy and start humming a soft tune, hoping to spark something for him. Maybe a melody will help. But Heeseung snaps his head up, staring at you with wide eyes. “That’s literally just ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,’” he says, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “I need something original, not nursery rhymes.”

You flush, embarrassed, and mutter, “Alright, I’ll do better.” You try a different tune, something random and light, staring at the fairy lights above to avoid his gaze. But when you glance back, Heeseung’s staring—like, really staring, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that makes your heart race. You gasp, scooting to the edge of the couch, clutching a pillow like a shield. “Boy, you scared me!” you squeak, waving a hand at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just keeps looking, his pen moving across the notebook. “I got an idea,” he mumbles, his voice soft but focused, like you’ve just unlocked something in him. You don’t push, too flustered by his gaze, and bury your face in the pillow, peeking out nervously. The way he looked at you—like you were the answer to his writer’s block—makes your cheeks burn.

“Stop it, Heeseung,” you mumble, your voice cracking, feeling exposed under his stare. He blinks, snapping out of it, and closes the notebook with a small smirk. He turns to the star, his voice steady and confident. “I’m done. Now let us go!”

The star, skeptical, floats down to him, hovering over the notebook to inspect his work. It says nothing, its glow flickering as if it’s judging every word. You lean closer, curious despite yourself, and catch Heeseung’s eye. He gives you a quick, shy grin, and your heart skips—not from the star’s antics, but from the quiet spark in his expression, like he’s written something real, something inspired by you.

“Hey, what’d you write?” you ask, nudging him, your voice softer now, the takeout forgotten for a moment. “Spill it. Did I actually help?”

Heeseung chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks pink. “Maybe,” he teases, holding the notebook just out of reach. “But you’re not reading it till we’re outta here. Don’t want you stealing my masterpiece.”

You roll your eyes, but his playful tone warms you, easing the hunger and frustration. “Fine, keep your secrets,” you say, leaning back with a mock pout. “But if that star doesn’t like it, I’m blaming you for dragging this out.”

The star hovers silently, its glow pulsing as it scans the page.

A sharp knock on the bookshop door snaps you out of your haze, your ears perking up at the sound. It’s the delivery guy with the egg fried rice you ordered, and your empty stomach practically cheers. You spring off the couch, heart racing with the promise of food, but the rug underfoot shifts, and you crash onto your butt—still sore from that scorching bench in the futuristic world. “Ow!” you yelp, wincing as you scramble up, undeterred. You lunge for the door, throwing your whole weight against it, but it won’t budge. Your brows furrow, frustration bubbling as you push harder.

The muse star, no longer in your grip, hovers near the ceiling, its red glow flaring brighter like it’s enjoying the chaos. Heeseung, still on the couch with his notebook, glances over, concern creasing his face. “You okay over there?” he calls, his voice soft but laced with worry.

“This door won’t open!” you groan, pounding on it as the delivery guy’s muffled voice calls from outside, urging you to grab the food. Your stomach growls, loud and desperate, and you shoot the star a glare. “You’re doing this, aren’t you?”

“Wait, let me help,” Heeseung says, setting the notebook aside. He stands, free from the couch’s magical grip now that he’s written his verse, but before he can take a step, his jaw drops. The bookshop comes alive in the worst way—books flap off shelves like frantic birds, their pages rustling wildly; the shelves twist into spiral staircases, creaking and groaning; and tiny stars zoom across the ceiling, leaving glittery trails. The fairy lights flicker erratically, like the shop itself is glitching.

Heeseung ignores the chaos, weaving through the floating books to reach you. “We need to get that door open,” he mutters, more to himself, his eyes darting to the food waiting outside. “I’m not getting sucked into another world again.” You nod, heart pounding—his focus steady despite the insanity.

He steps onto the rug, but it lurches upward, tilting like a prankster’s trap. You gasp as he stumbles, pinning you against the door, his legs bracketing yours. His arms shoot out, catching himself before he crashes into you, his muscles straining as he holds back. His face is inches from yours, his breath warm, and for a second, your heart forgets the food, racing for a whole different reason. His eyes flick to yours, wide and startled, and you both freeze, the air thick with something unspoken.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, easing back, his cheeks pink as he lets go. The shop’s chaos doesn’t stop—books swoop, shelves twist—but he turns to the door, gripping the handle and pulling with all his strength. His face flushes from the effort, veins popping on his forearms, but the door stays sealed. Outside, the delivery guy’s footsteps fade, and you groan, knowing the food’s just sitting there, getting cold.

“Guess the gym’s not doing much for you, huh?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood despite your growling stomach. You’re desperate to avoid another world, especially with that rice so close.

Heeseung shoots you a mock glare, panting. “What?” he huffs, tugging the handle again, only to yelp as it snaps clean off in his hand. Your jaw drops—he broke the freaking knob, but the door still won’t budge. “You’ve gotta be kidding,” he mutters, staring at the useless handle.

You cross your arms, suspicion creeping in. “Are you sure you wrote the whole song?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “’Cause this feels like the star’s still messing with us.”

Heeseung holds up his hands, defensive. “I wouldn’t be off that couch if I didn’t finish a verse,” he says, nodding toward the notebook. “It let me go, didn’t it? I wrote something.” His certainty makes you nod, but doubt lingers—the star’s glow is too smug, like it knows something you don’t.

Before you can argue, a book rockets from a shelf and smacks you square in the face. You stumble back, rubbing your nose, anger flaring as you glare at the star, now pulsing brighter. “Are you serious?” you snap, your face red—not just from the hit but from pure frustration. “What’s your problem, you little brat?”

Heeseung rushes over, his eyes wide with concern. “You okay?” he asks, hovering like he wants to help but isn’t sure how. His jaw drops as he takes in the shop’s escalating chaos—books flapping, shelves spiraling, and now the air itself glitching, flickering with scenes from the worlds you’ve been dragged through. The pirate ship’s mast fades into the candy forest’s brownie ground, then shifts to the futuristic city’s neon streets, only to dissolve into the fairy garden’s glowing mushrooms. It’s like the shop’s stuck in a loop, replaying every adventure.

“Are we… stuck?” you murmur, your voice small as you watch the glitching scenes. The star, hovering above, pulses erratically, its glow stuttering like a bad signal. You catch it winking at you, and your stomach twists. “That thing just winked,” you say, pointing, your voice sharp with disbelief.

Heeseung wipes sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, I saw it too,” he mutters, his tone heavy with frustration. “I’m really hoping it doesn’t yeet us into another world now.” He glances at the door, where the bag of fried rice sits just out of reach, mocking you both.

You groan, slumping against the door. “That rice is getting cold, and I’m starving,” you whine, your stomach growling loud enough for Heeseung to hear. “This star’s gotta chill. We did what it wanted, right?”

Heeseung leans beside you, his shoulder brushing yours, the contact sending a quiet warmth through you despite the chaos. “You’d think,” he says, his voice softer now, like he’s trying to keep you grounded. “But that star’s got a mind of its own. Maybe it’s waiting for… I don’t know, a chorus or something.”

You snort, nudging him. “A chorus? You barely got a verse out, Mr. Songwriter.” Your teasing pulls a small smile from him, and for a moment, the shop’s madness feels distant.

“Hey, I tried,” he says, mock-offended, his grin widening. “You weren’t exactly helping with that ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ remix.” His eyes sparkle, and you laugh, the sound easing the knot in your chest.

“Okay, fair,” you admit, still chuckling. “But you staring at me like I’m your muse didn’t help either. Creeped me out.” You poke his arm, and he flushes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I wasn’t—okay, maybe I was,” he admits, his voice low, almost shy. “You’re… distracting, alright? In a good way.” His words hit you like a warm sip of tea, and you duck your head, hiding a smile behind your hand.

“Stop it,” you mumble, your cheeks warm. “We’ve got a star to deal with, not… whatever this is.” But your heart’s doing a little dance, and you can’t ignore the way his gaze lingers, soft and steady, like he’s seeing you for the first time.

The star pulses again, its glow cutting through your moment. “You two done flirting?” it taunts, zipping closer. “Or I’ll pick another book. Maybe a haunted castle this time?” Its giggle grates on your nerves, and you clench your fists, ready to lunge at it.

“Don’t you dare,” you snap, standing straighter. “We’re done with your games. Let us out, or I’m eating you next.”

Heeseung laughs, stepping closer to you, his hand brushing yours again. “She’s not kidding,” he says to the star, his tone light but firm. “You saw her in that candy world. She’ll devour you.”

The star huffs, floating higher, but the shop keeps glitching—pirate waves crash against candy trees, neon signs flicker over fairy mushrooms. You glance at Heeseung, his face set with determination despite the sweat on his brow. “What now?” you ask, your voice quieter, the cold takeout bag outside the door feeling like a metaphor for your stuck situation.

The bookshop’s chaos screeches to a halt as the flying books crash to the floor, their pages fluttering like tired birds. The rug, which had been twisting and floating like a possessed magic carpet, flops down with a dull thud. The shelves stop their spiral dance, and the fairy lights steady their glow, casting a soft, familiar warmth over the shop. The muse star, that infuriating red glow, vanishes with a faint pop, leaving only a faint glittery trail that fades into nothing. You step cautiously into the main shop space, eyes darting for any lingering tricks. “Guess the adventure’s over now,” you mutter, collapsing onto the couch, your body heavy with relief and exhaustion.

“Thankfully,” Heeseung says, sinking beside you, his voice rough but laced with a laugh. His shirt’s rumpled, no pastel apron in sight, just the same worn tee he’d been wearing when this mess started. “I’m asking if it’s a muse star next time before I wish for anything,” he adds, shaking his head like he’s still processing the whirlwind of worlds you’ve been dragged through.

You snort, too tired to move but pointing at the chaos around you—books scattered like confetti, shelves askew, the shop looking like a tornado hit it. “And who says I’m letting you wish again after this mess?” you say, your voice sharp but playful, exhaustion softening the edges. “Look at this place. It’s a disaster.”

Heeseung’s hand lands on your shoulder, warm and steady, and your heart gives a small, traitorous jump. “We should eat first,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “Then… maybe I’ll help with the mess.”

“Don’t ‘maybe’ me,” you snap, sitting up to glare at him, though a smile tugs at your lips. “You’re helping, no matter what. You owe me for that pirate ship, the hot bench, and the book that smacked my face.” You point at the floor, where the offending book lies innocently among the others.

Heeseung laughs, a low, warm sound that makes your chest feel lighter despite the hunger gnawing at you. “Fine, fine, I’m on cleanup duty,” he concedes, raising his hands in surrender. “But food first. I’m starving.” He stands, stepping carefully over the scattered books toward the door—the one he broke the handle off earlier, thanks to the star’s tricks. To your surprise, it swings open easily now, revealing the takeout bags sitting outside, cold but still a lifeline. “At least we’ve got this,” he says, grabbing the bags of egg fried rice and holding them up like a trophy.

You drag yourself off the couch, your sore butt protesting as you join him. “Cold rice is better than nothing,” you mutter, grabbing a bag and plopping back down. You rip it open, the faint smell of soy sauce making your mouth water. “You know, for a muse star, that thing was more trouble than inspiration.”

Heeseung sits beside you, digging into his own food with a plastic fork. “No kidding,” he says between bites. “But… I gotta admit, the song came out better than I thought.” He glances at his notebook, now lying on the couch, its pages filled with lyrics you haven’t seen yet. There’s a quiet pride in his voice, and it makes you curious, even through your exhaustion.

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m a great muse?” you tease, nudging his arm with your elbow, rice nearly spilling. “Bet you wrote about my amazing lollipop-chasing skills.”

Heeseung chuckles, his cheeks pinking as he avoids your eyes, focusing on his food. “Maybe,” he says, his voice soft but teasing. “Or maybe it’s about how you almost got us boiled in soup.” He glances at you, his grin boyish, and your heart does a little flip.

“Rude,” you huff, but you’re smiling, the warmth of his presence making the cold rice taste better than it should. “You’re not reading it to me yet, are you?”

“Nope,” he says, popping a bite into his mouth, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Not till the shop’s cleaned up. Gotta earn it.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back against the couch. “You’re the worst,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it. The shop’s a wreck—books everywhere, shelves crooked—but sitting here with Heeseung, sharing cold takeout and trading jabs, feels like the best part of this whole adventure. “Fine, but you’re stacking those shelves first,” you say, pointing your fork at him.

“Deal,” he replies, his hand brushing yours as he reaches for another bite, the touch accidental but lingering just long enough. “But only if you stop blaming me for the star’s nonsense.”

You laugh, the sound easing the last of your tension. “No promises,” you say, but as you glance at him—his messy hair, his tired but warm smile—you can’t help feeling like you’d follow him through a hundred more worlds, muse star or not.

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