#heeseung×reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enhaflixer · 3 months ago

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CUMMING OF AGE

bsfs brother!Heeseung x f!reader - when you ask him to teach you how to masturbate. (pure porn with plot. MDNI 18+, explicit, masturbation, cunnilingus, phone sex, ANGST, fluff too so its fine.) “If she’s not cumming, she’s not listening to her pussy.” “And if she won’t listen…” “I’ll make her.”

You’ve always had a hate-hate relationship with masturbation.

Not the “haha I don’t know what I’m doing” kind. Not the shy, innocent kind. The kind where you tried, over and over again, and every time it ended in that same aching, pathetic way—panties soaked, fingers numb, pussy throbbing, and absolutely nothing to show for it.

No finish. No orgasm. Not even a fucking twitch of satisfaction.

You rubbed and rubbed, like everyone said to. You found your clit. You circled it. Pressed it. Flicked it. Tried soft and slow, then fast and desperate. Tried with spit, with lotion, with fucking coconut oil once. But nothing ever felt right. Just this frustrating hum of almost. Like your body was teetering on the edge of something big and just… refused to jump.

You’d end up sore. Agitated. Your legs would shake, but not the good kind. Your pussy would swell, throbbing like she was mocking you for trying.

It made you feel broken. Or worse—boring. Like your body was wired wrong. Like you’d missed the most basic feminine skill everyone else seemed to be born with.

Girls talked about cumming like it was breathing. Like they could do it in five minutes flat with one hand and a good imagination. You’d hear them talk about shaking through the sheets, arching off the bed, seeing stars—and you’d smile and nod and laugh along, pretending like you got it, like you knew what it was like to get wrecked by your own hand.

You’d never even come close.

You tried toys. You bought a vibrator and nearly cried when it did nothing but make your arms go numb. You tried grinding on pillows until the friction made you raw. You tried porn. You even tried watching yourself once in the mirror like some kind of twisted self-help therapy. Nothing worked.

You’d touch and touch and chase and beg for it in your head—please, just this once, just let me finish, please—and still end up breathless, sticky, empty.

You’d cry sometimes. Just a little. From the frustration of it. From the absolute humiliation of being so fucking horny and not being able to do anything about it.

You hated that about yourself. Hated the way your body seemed to enjoy the build and not the release. Hated the way your clit would throb for attention and then get overwhelmed the second you gave her any. Hated the need. The noise. The mess with no reward.

But the worst part—the actual worst part—was how much you still wanted it. How much you still tried. Like a dog chasing its own tail. Like some needy little loser who couldn’t leave it alone.

You were eighteen, for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to know your body by now. You were supposed to be able to make yourself cum. You were supposed to own your pleasure.

Instead, you were stuck with a pussy that got wet at the idea of being touched and then shut down the second you did.

It made you feel fucking insane.

So you gave up. Mostly. You still touched yourself when you needed to—when it built up too much and made your thighs ache. But it wasn’t about cumming anymore. It was maintenance. A reset button. A pressure valve. You did it in the dark, quietly, quickly, just to shut your body up.

You didn’t even think about pleasure anymore.

You didn’t dare.

Evie—Heejoo, but you only ever called her that when you wanted to piss her off—was your best friend in the world. Ride-or-die since ninth grade, bonded over a shared hatred of your chem teacher and the fact that neither of you fit into your school’s carefully manicured social circles.

Where you were sharp and quick with your mouth, she was soft-spoken and wide-eyed, just sweet enough to disarm anyone who got too close. You balanced each other out. She calmed your storm. You stirred hers.

You were over at her house so often it barely felt like visiting anymore. You knew the code to their garage door. You had your own toothbrush in her bathroom. Her mom kept your favorite cereal in the pantry like clockwork. You even had a drawer in her room, mostly old hoodies and stolen pajama shorts that smelled like her perfume.

It wasn’t unusual for you to spend the weekend there, or three nights in a row, or an entire spring break. Her parents didn’t mind. They liked knowing where you both were—liked having an extra body in the house, even if they never said it out loud.

And then there was Heeseung.

Her older brother. Four years up. Barely a presence.

When you were younger, he was just the older guy who sulked in his room and stole her chargers. Sometimes he’d give you a ride when Evie asked, sometimes he’d walk past you in the kitchen and grunt a greeting, but that was about it. He was there, and then he wasn’t—off to college, off to god knows where, vanishing from your life as quickly as he’d drifted through it.

You had a tiny crush on him once, freshman year. The kind that sparked quick and stupid, fed by his lazy smirk and the way he wore his backwards cap while fixing his car in the driveway. It died fast—suffocated by time and distance and his complete disinterest in acknowledging your existence beyond a nod or a side-eye.

By the time he moved back home post-grad, you barely noticed. He was older now, busier, always in his room with the door closed, voice low behind it, like he was on constant phone calls or late-night games or… something.

You didn’t think about him much. He was just Evie’s brother. Part of the background. White noise.

Your focus was always Evie.

She was the one who held your hair when you puked. The one who lent you a dress before every shitty date. The one who knocked on the bathroom door when you were taking too long and said, “You better not be edge-cumming again, bitch,” like it was the most normal sentence in the world.

She talked about sex like it was just part of the air. Blunt. Effortless. She could make herself cum in three minutes flat. She said it with confidence, like breathing.

You hated how easily it came to her. You loved her anyway.

You always felt safe in her house. Safe in her bed, tangled up under a shared blanket, legs overlapping like twins born too far apart. Her room smelled like vanilla and lip gloss and safety. It felt like yours.

The house settled around you like it always did—quiet, gentle, familiar in a way that made your muscles loosen and your brain drift. Even the silence felt padded here. The hum of the fridge downstairs, the occasional pop of cooling pipes, the subtle click of the thermostat shifting—background noise you’d grown so used to, it almost felt like home.

Evie was out cold beside you, one arm thrown carelessly across your stomach, her breath hot against your ribs. She always slept fast after wine. She always slept on you, too—like her body never quite understood boundaries even after all these years. You didn’t mind. It was comforting, the weight of her. Like a grounding wire for the anxious, electric static building low in your belly.

Sleep wasn’t coming for you, though.

You’d been lying there in the dark for the better part of an hour, phone dimmed to nearly unreadable brightness, eyes burning from the glow. Nothing on your feed caught your attention. You’d scrolled past the same content three times already, thumb swiping out of pure muscle memory.

Something restless twisted beneath your skin, persistent and irritating. Not quite horniness, not quite insomnia—just that same pulsing tension that had been sitting heavy between your legs all night. Like your body was trying to tell you something without using words. You shifted under the blanket, trying not to disturb Evie, thighs pressing tighter together to relieve the dull ache. It only made it worse.

The urge to do something about it had been growing for hours.

You’d thought about sneaking off to the bathroom. You’d done it before—quiet, quick, businesslike. Just enough friction to take the edge off before falling asleep, still unsatisfied but too tired to care. The idea barely tempted you anymore. You already knew how it would end: the usual mess of spit-slick fingers, your clit swollen and sore, pussy wet and pulsing and still refusing to give you anything real.

Just the thought of trying again made you clench your jaw.

It was pathetic, the way your body teased you. Wet for no reason. Needy without payout. Over and over again, like clockwork. Like punishment.

You turned your phone off with a quiet sigh and let the screen go black.

For a moment, all you could hear was the creak of the floorboards expanding under the weight of a settling house. A branch tapping against the window. The subtle drag of Evie’s breathing. You stared at the ceiling, tired but tense, willing yourself to shut down the frustration building behind your ribs.

A man’s voice, deep and casual, barely audible through the cracked bedroom doors. Not enough to make out words. Not yet. Just the soft cadence of speech, rising and falling like a secret being shared too close to the edge of the world.

Heeseung’s door was open. Or cracked. Just enough to let a sliver of sound spill out. You hadn’t even realized he was home tonight.

Your body stilled, like it always did when you felt watched—except this time, you were the one doing the watching. Listening, technically. Just barely.

There was a pause, then a laugh. Not his. Another voice. Someone else. Male. Maybe one of his friends from school, the ones who came and went without warning. You couldn’t place the sound, and you didn’t care.

Your focus sharpened the second Heeseung spoke again.

“It’s not that hard. Girls make it harder than it is."

“If she’s not cumming, she’s not listening to her pussy.”

The sentence dropped like a stone in the middle of your chest.

Not whispered. Not dirty. Just… stated. Like a law. Like fact.

Your fingers flexed unconsciously against the blanket. Heat flushed your neck and settled low in your belly, familiar and unwelcome. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

There was something about the way he said it. Not performative. Not like he was trying to sound cool. Just calm. Confident. Like the kind of guy who got women off without effort and never thought twice about why.

Every hair on your arm lifted. He didn’t stop there.

“And if she won’t listen…I’ll make her.”

No laughter followed that. No teasing. Just a quiet moment where it hung in the air, unchallenged.

You lay frozen in the dark, heart thudding, mouth slightly open. Your legs ached under the blanket, thighs tense and pressed together. You weren’t just turned on—you were caught. Cornered by something you weren’t supposed to hear and couldn’t let go of.

Something clicked. Not like a revelation, not some dramatic internal monologue, just… a shift. A tilt in the floor beneath your feet. A door opening in a room you didn’t realize you were trapped in.

You didn’t even know what you wanted in that moment.

But for the first time in your life, you wondered—really wondered—what your body would feel like under instructions that weren’t your own.

You tried not to think about it for the rest of the day. Swore you wouldn’t spiral.

You kept the overheard words tucked somewhere tight in your chest, smothered under fake laughter and half-listened stories while Evie walked you through her latest dating app disasters. You made it through brunch, through an entire Target run, through two face masks and one trashy Netflix documentary—and you almost convinced yourself you were over it.

But when the house quieted again that night—when Evie fell asleep curled up on the far side of the bed with her arm draped over a pillow instead of you—you gave in.

You waited a while. Just in case she wasn’t fully out. The kind of sleep that could crack open with the creak of floorboards.

And when her breathing evened out, soft and deep and oblivious, you slid out from under the blanket, grabbed your phone, and slipped into the hallway.

The bathroom door closed with a soft click behind you.

You didn’t turn the light on right away. Just stood there for a second in the dark, breathing.

The air was cooler here. The tiles cold against your feet. The smell of Evie’s shampoo still clung to the room—vanilla and something floral, sticky-sweet. You stared at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, barely visible in the silver sliver of hallway light. Your face looked flushed. Too open. Like something had already been peeled back.

You sat on the closed toilet lid, tugged your hoodie over your thighs, and pulled your phone into your lap.

No buildup. No browsing. You knew what you were looking for.

The video you always came back to. The closest thing you’d ever found to what worked. A deep voice. Slow instructions. Just audio—nothing to watch, nothing to focus on but sound.

It wasn’t him, but it didn’t have to be. Not yet.

Your underwear stuck to the heat between your thighs as you slid it down. Still wet from the tension that had been building since that morning. From the second you saw Heeseung in the kitchen and felt your legs press together automatically.

The wetness should’ve been a good sign.

But you already knew how this would go.

You played the video. Turned the volume down low. Closed your eyes.

Your fingers found your clit easily. Rubbed gentle circles, the way the voice said. You tried to breathe through it, tried to slow down, to listen.

There was too much pressure too soon. Your skin twitched with every touch. The angle was wrong. The rhythm never quite synced. Your body jerked between feeling almost there and feeling absolutely nothing.

You tried harder.

Tried picturing something—someone. His voice. His mouth. The way he looked at you this morning like you weren’t just Evie’s friend, like he saw something else.

That made your fingers move faster. Your hips twitch up from the seat, trying to find something—anything—that would tip you over.

But it never came.

Just heat. Just sweat. Just the same stinging tension in your thighs and the wave that built up, crested, and refused to break.

Your hand dropped. Your chest heaved with a breath that sounded too much like a sob.

You sat there for a full minute in silence, pussy swollen, twitching, soaking your hand—and still nothing. You hadn’t cum. Not even close.

Not even fucking close.

Your palm dragged across your inner thigh as you reached for toilet paper, the wet slick of your own arousal catching against your skin, obscene and bitter and useless. You wiped your hand clean, flushed, washed it under the tap in a daze.

Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, flushed cheeks, wild eyes, bottom lip bitten raw.

This wasn’t working.

You couldn’t do this by yourself. Not anymore.

The shame didn’t even hit you until you opened the door, stepped back into the hall, and looked toward Heeseung’s room.

You didn’t remember walking from the bathroom to his door. Not really. Your body moved on instinct, fingers still damp with failure, breath shallow and uneven like you’d been running—not down a hallway, but in circles inside your own skin. Everything felt hot and wrong, like you were standing too close to something dangerous and still leaning closer.

The light from under his door was soft, pale blue. The kind of glow that came from a computer screen and sleepless hours. It made the hallway feel colder. Your skin felt clammy beneath your hoodie, thighs still tacky with your own arousal, pulse thudding hard behind your ears. You didn’t even try to calm yourself before raising your hand. There wasn’t enough time. There wasn’t enough anything left.

You knocked.

Soft, quick. Regretted it immediately.

Nothing.

The silence on the other side stretched just long enough to make you feel stupid. You should’ve gone back to Evie’s room. Should’ve locked the bathroom door and buried your face in your hands like you always did. Should��ve swallowed the shame and left it to rot where it always did: at the bottom of your throat.

Your hand was already dropping when the doorknob turned.

Heeseung opened the door halfway, leaning into the frame, and for a second you couldn’t speak. You weren’t expecting him to look like that—hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, collar askew, hair a damp mess like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His sweatshorts hung low on his hips, legs bare, skin flushed warm like he’d just come out of the shower… or just come. You had no way of knowing which. And it made your brain short-circuit either way.

He didn’t look surprised to see you. Just confused.

His eyes dragged down your body with a slow kind of calculation, and you swore you saw the moment they caught on the way your thighs were pressed together, your bare legs twitching under the hem of your hoodie. The way your breath hitched in your throat. The way your fingers—still wet, still trembling—curled tighter at your side.

He blinked once, brows pulling in slightly.

“You good?”

The question was simple, quiet. But it hit like an echo in a room with no furniture. You were not good. Not even close.

Your voice came out before you could soften it. Flat, direct. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He blinked again. Caught off guard this time.

“…What?”

“I just need to know,” you said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “Before I say anything. It matters.”

He stared at you for a beat, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should be amused or suspicious.

“No. I don’t.”

You exhaled like someone had untied a knot inside your chest.

“Fuck.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

“If you said yes,” you muttered, eyes darting to the floor, “I would’ve had an excuse not to ask you.”

That made him pause.

He shifted his weight, crossed his arms over his chest, leaned into the doorframe like he was settling in. His voice was a little lower when he asked, “Ask me what?”

Your whole body burned. There was no easy way to say it. No casual phrasing. No safe distance between you and the truth anymore. You didn’t have the energy to dance around it.

“You said something last night,” you started, forcing yourself to look at him. “About girls who can’t finish. About how they’re not listening to their bodies.”

He watched you carefully. No expression, just the slow, measured study of a man waiting for the rest.

“I heard it,” you added. “By accident. But it’s been stuck in my head. And I thought—I don’t know, I thought maybe you were right.”

Still nothing. Just his gaze crawling over your face, down to your knees, like he was trying to see where this was going before letting himself speak.

You swallowed, the taste of failure still thick in your throat. “I tried again tonight. Bathroom. Just now. I’ve been trying for years, and it’s always the same. Nothing works. I can’t finish. I touch myself, and it just—goes nowhere.”

Your cheeks burned. You didn’t even know why you were telling him all this. You barely knew the guy. The last time you’d had a real conversation was probably three birthdays ago when he offered you a ride and you said no because he smelled like weed and fuckboy cologne.

But here you were. Standing in front of him like some half-dressed, sweat-slick confession, spilling everything.

And he still hadn’t said a word.

Your next breath shook as it left you.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” you said, quieter now. “I just want to ask… if you’d tell me what to do.”

That got something out of him. A small breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief. His eyes dropped—lower this time—to your legs again, to the edge of your hoodie, to the bare skin flushed and prickling under the hallway air.

He nodded once toward you, chin tilting. “Your hand’s still wet.”

You froze.

His voice was low, unreadable. “You tried that hard, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He stepped back.

Just a few inches. Just enough to open the door wider. The light from inside poured out around him, cool and soft and full of static.

He held your gaze.

“Come in. Close the door behind you.”

The door shuts with a soft click behind you, and just like that, the house disappears. Evie’s room, the hallway, your entire carefully contained world—it all drops away. There’s only the low glow of his monitor casting pale blue light across the carpet and the quiet hum of something electric in the corner, like the room itself is holding its breath.

You hover near the door for a second, not sure what to do with your hands, your legs, your shame.

Heeseung’s already sitting, legs wide in his desk chair, turned toward you like he was waiting the whole night for this. He shifts, pushes himself up slightly, and drags the chair forward—lazily, unbothered—until it sits right in front of the bed. Close enough that if you spread your legs, he’d have a front-row seat.

Then he flips the chair around, straddling it backwards like some cocky delinquent in detention, arms crossed over the backrest, chin resting casually on top. His expression doesn’t change. He just watches you.

“Go ahead,” he says, voice calm and low, like this is just another Tuesday night. “Sit.”

You make your way to the bed, legs tense, breath shallow, and perch at the edge like it might bite. Your thighs clench on instinct, hoodie pulled low, trying to shield what you already know he’s seen. You’re still warm from the bathroom. Still soaked. Still aching.

His eyes drift down. Slow. Lazy. No shame.

You fidget.

Heeseung doesn’t move. “Don’t get shy on me now. You came in here asking for a masturbation lesson, not a bedtime story.”

Your lips twitch. You almost laugh. Almost.

He lifts his chin. “Tell me what you usually do.”

The question lands harder than it should. Not because it’s dirty, but because it’s so simple.

You blink. “Like… where I touch?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitate. “I usually just go straight to my clit.”

“Figures.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “And then what? Rub the fuck out of it ‘til it gets sore and wonder why it doesn’t work?”

Your mouth falls open in a small gasp. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs one shoulder, unbothered. “Don’t take it personal. That’s what most girls do. It’s not your fault you think the goal is speed over sense.”

You don’t respond, but your silence is answer enough.

He leans in a little, forearms resting on the chair back, gaze glued to your bare thighs. There’s no hunger in it—not yet. Just observation. Like he’s assessing you.

“If your pussy had a voice,” he says smoothly, “she’d be screaming at you to chill the fuck out.”

You’re quiet for a long second. Because the worst part is… he’s not wrong.

He watches you squirm, and something like amusement passes over his features. Not cruel, but smug.

“Take your time,” he says, gentler now. “You rush her, she locks up. Doesn’t matter how wet you are.”

“…She?” you murmur, lifting a brow.

Heeseung shrugs again, like it’s obvious. “Yeah. She.” His eyes flick to yours. “You don’t gotta name her or write poetry about her, but you should probably stop treating her like a vending machine.”

Your laugh breaks before you can stop it. Quick and sharp, nerves bleeding out of your throat. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he says with a smirk, eyes dark. “Go on. Show me how you start.”

Everything tightens. You feel the weight of his voice low in your belly.

You don’t move right away.

He raises a brow. “You said you didn’t want me to touch you. That’s cool. But I need to see what you’re doing wrong.”

Your breath hitches.

Your hand moves on instinct—slow, shaky—and dips beneath the hem of your hoodie, then under the band of your panties. You’re already wet. Embarrassingly wet. And when your fingers graze over your clit, you flinch. It’s too sensitive. Too much. Your hips jerk a little, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes follow the motion.

You rub. Once. Twice. It’s not bad. It’s what you always do.

But still—nothing clicks.

Heeseung tilts his head. “You’re too stiff.”

“I’m nervous,” you admit quietly.

“Don’t be.” His voice drops half an octave. “You look hot.”

The way he says it—it doesn’t sound like a compliment. Just a fact. Like he’s telling you what time it is. Like your soaked fingers and clenched thighs are something he’s been picturing all night.

“You’re thinking too much,” he adds. “Trying to force it instead of feel it.”

Your hand stills.

He leans forward slightly, his voice quieter now, more intimate. “Try this. Press your hand flat. Just hold her. No rubbing. No tapping. Just… feel her.”

You hesitate, then obey.

The flat of your hand settles between your legs, heat blooming up your arm from the contact. Your whole body clenches around it.

“Feel that?”

You nod. Barely.

“That’s what she likes,” he murmurs. “You’ve been poking at her like she’s a fucking keyboard. No wonder she’s not putting out.”

You let out a breathy laugh—half scandalized, half aroused. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re soaking through your panties,” he says, deadpan.

Your breath catches. Heeseung doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t look away.

He sits there like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he’s doing you a favor. Like he’s enjoying this. You’re not even sure he’s hard yet—but he will be. You can feel it building. Between you. In you.

He lets the moment hang.

Then: “Now—slow circles. Don’t speed up unless she tells you to.”

“She doesn’t talk,” you whisper, teasing without confidence.

His gaze is heavy. Steady.

“She does,” he says, voice like heat sliding under your skin. “You just haven’t been listening.”

The room feels hotter now.

Not just the air—your skin, your mouth, your thighs. Sweat clings to the backs of your knees, damp beneath the bunched-up hoodie, and your panties are so wet they’re practically glued to one thigh. Your hips keep twitching without your permission, rolling up slightly with every pass of your fingers. It’s not graceful. It’s not some porn fantasy. It’s messy and uneven and real, and Heeseung is watching every second of it like it’s the only thing worth watching.

You keep thinking you should feel embarrassed. Ashamed. You’re spread open on his bed, hand stuffed between your legs, whining softly every time you stroke a little too hard and have to ease back again—but you’re too far gone now to stop. Your cheeks are flushed, lashes wet, lips parted, and you can’t look away from him.

He hasn’t blinked once.

Heeseung is still straddling the backward chair, elbows resting on the top, chin on one hand like this is casual. Normal. Like you’re just some half-naked girl jerking off in front of him for practice and he’s your substitute teacher for the night.

The only thing that’s changed is his posture.

His knees are spread wider than before. His forearms are tense. One hand grips the edge of the chair a little tighter every time your body jerks, and you don’t miss the way his jaw flexes every time your breath stutters or your voice cracks.

You’re doing this to him.

But not enough.

Not enough to make it stop hurting. Not enough to make the ache go away. Not enough to finish.

You’re trying. God, you’re trying.

Your fingers rub in slow circles, not too fast now. You’re listening. You are. But your body keeps tensing at the edge, like it’s scared to fall off the cliff it’s been building for years. Your hand’s cramping. Your clit throbs. Your stomach clenches like you’re close—and then it dips, again and again.

It’s good. So good.

But it’s not enough.

You choke on a frustrated sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and your free hand fists the blanket beneath you like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Heeseung speaks, finally, voice low and steady. “Still rushing her.”

“I’m not,” you whisper.

“You are. I can see it.”

You shake your head, breath stuttering. “I’m not trying to—I swear, I’m—” You gasp. “It’s just—it’s not—”

You stop. Words catch in your throat. Your hips are rocking now, involuntarily, chasing a sensation that keeps pulling away the second you get close. Your fingers are wet, your pussy’s pulsing, and it still feels like you’re just rubbing up against a wall.

“It’s not enough,” you breathe out, broken. “I—I can’t—fuck—she’s not listening.”

Heeseung leans forward slightly, something sharp flashing in his eyes.

“Oh, she’s listening,” he says. “You’re just not talking to her the right way.”

You whimper. “Then tell me what to say.”

That makes his mouth twitch—just barely. Like he’s been waiting for that.

“Tell me what she’s feeling first.”

“I—” Your voice cracks. “She’s tight. Warm. I feel her—pulsing. Like she wants something but—she’s not opening.”

He tilts his head slightly, gaze dark. “She wants to be filled.”

You nod.

“No,” he says. “Say it.”

Your chest heaves. Your hand hasn’t stopped moving, rubbing slow, desperate circles around your clit. “She wants to be filled.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“She wants to be fucking filled,” you whine. “She’s throbbing—she’s soaking—fuck, I can feel her squeezing nothing.”

Heeseung exhales slowly, eyes flicking down between your legs again.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Now she’s talking.”

Your fingers glide lower, catching more slick and sliding back up. Everything’s soaked. You’re dripping down onto the sheets, and your thighs are trembling from the strain of keeping your hips lifted just right.

“She needs more,” you pant. “She’s clenching—she’s starving—”

Heeseung’s hand flexes around the edge of the chair again. His voice drops, almost to a growl. “So feed her.”

You moan—high and breathy—and press harder, circling your clit faster now, the way your body wants. Your lips are wet, your fingers slipping, but it doesn’t matter. Everything is slick and hot and alive.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, eyes burning into you. “Look at your fucking fingers.”

You do. It’s obscene. Your hand shines in the light, your fingers coated in slick. You barely recognize your own body like this. Ruined. Responsive.

“She’s begging,” he says softly. “And you’re finally listening.”

You whine, eyes squeezing shut. Your free hand presses against your lower belly, trying to hold the heat in. Your pussy twitches at the pressure.

“She’s so fucking greedy,” you gasp. “She won’t stop pulling—I can’t—I can’t keep up—”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “She knows what she’s doing. Let her take it.”

You don’t even realize how loud you’ve gotten until you hear yourself moan again—shameless, cracked open, shaking from the inside out.

Your legs spread wider. You’re not trying to hide anymore. Not from him. Not from yourself.

You’re right there.

You’re going to break.

He’s just watching. Like it’s his favorite thing he’s ever seen.

You’re right on the edge, and this time it’s not teasing.

It’s sharp. Fast. Inevitable.

Your legs are trembling now, hips jerking with every motion, and your fingers are soaked—slipping against your clit, coating your inner thighs, dripping down the crease of your ass like your body’s trying to fuck itself open. Every stroke sends another wave of tension through you, and there’s no holding it anymore. Your body is begging. Your pussy’s leaking, twitching, clenching around nothing—and Heeseung watches like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t even realize you’re moaning until you hear it echo back at you in the small room. High-pitched. Desperate. Wet.

The sound of your pussy is louder now too. Sticky and obscene, each rub slicker than the last. You can hear it every time you roll your hips into your palm.

Heeseung doesn’t say a word for a second too long.

You lift your head, eyes glazed over, panting.

His eyes are darker now. Half-lidded. Focused on your pussy like he’s reading it better than your face.

He shifts in his chair. Spreads his knees wider. His hand dips into the front of his sweatshorts, slow and casual, like he can’t ignore it anymore. You catch a glimpse of his fingers wrapping around himself—and your breath catches so hard your vision blurs.

He’s so hard.

His voice comes out deeper. Filthy. Measured like it’s the only thing anchoring him in the room.

“Look at that messy little cunt.”

Your body jerks at the word. You’ve never heard it said like that. Never felt it hit like that.

Heeseung strokes himself once, slow and firm under the fabric.

“She’s drooling all over your fingers. So fucking hungry. Bet she’s never been this loud for you before.”

“She hasn’t,” you breathe. “She never—she never—”

“You’ve been starving her,” he says, still jerking himself lazily. “Touching her like she’s a problem instead of a fucking meal.”

Your hand speeds up, and he sees it. Hears the slap of slick. You’re humping into your fingers now, sloppy and desperate and so close you could scream.

Heeseung leans forward, one elbow braced against the back of the chair.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

You nod frantically, but it’s not enough.

“Use your words.”

Your voice comes out cracked. “Yes. Please—I wanna cum—I need it—”

“Need what?” he pushes.

“I need her to fucking break,” you sob. “She’s clenching—she’s begging—she needs to cum, she needs it—”

“Then let her,” he growls. “Don’t fucking hold it. Let her make a mess.”

You whimper, fingers frantic, back arching off the bed.

And that’s when he says it—low and hot and foul.

“Let her fuck your fingers, slut.”

You snap.

Your body locks up, then shatters. You cum so hard your legs shake, hips jerking forward, thighs squeezing around your own hand as your pussy gushes over your fingers in sticky, messy waves. The moan that rips from your throat is broken, cracked, half-wet from tears.

It doesn’t hit you right away.

At first, there’s just white. Blinding. A full-body seizure of pleasure as your cunt clenches around nothing, soaking your own fingers, mouth open in a moan that doesn’t even sound like you.

It crashes over you fast. Wet. Messy.

You cum harder than you ever have in your life—harder than you thought was even possible—and your body just keeps going, hips jerking, slick dripping past your knuckles, your voice cracking on every gasp.

Heeseung is still there.

You know he is. You can feel his eyes on you, feel his breath in the space between your bodies, but you can’t look at him. Not right now. Not like this.

And then it fades.

That warm, bright static in your brain flickers out. Your thighs twitch. Your hand finally drops, fingers soaked, wrist aching, clit too sensitive to touch again.

What’s left is the sound of your breathing. The slick, wet mess beneath your hips. The embarrassment flooding in all at once like a second wave.

Reality slams back into you hard.

You’re laid out across his bed—sweaty, flushed, thighs spread wide and soaked all the way down to the crease of your ass. Your pussy’s still twitching, swollen and glistening, your panties bunched at one knee, hoodie halfway pushed up your stomach.

Your fingers shine in the low light. Still wet. Still shaking.

You sit up fast, panic sweeping over your skin like ice water. “Shit—fuck.”

Your hand fumbles to pull your hoodie down, yanking it over your thighs, shoving your panties back into place even though they’re absolutely soaked through. The fabric clings wetly to your pussy and only makes the mess feel worse.

Heeseung hasn’t moved.

Still in the chair. Still one hand inside his shorts. He looks completely unbothered. Calm. Like you didn’t just cum your entire soul out in front of him.

You can’t meet his eyes.

He watches you fuss with the hem of your hoodie, your hands still trembling slightly as you try to make yourself look decent.

“Didn’t say stop,” he says mildly.

You glare at him, cheeks burning. “I came. Pretty sure that’s the goal, right?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Just surprised you’re acting all shy now. That pussy was practically talking thirty seconds ago.”

“Jesus—” you squeeze your eyes shut, bury your face in your hands.

Heeseung grins. Not mean. Not mocking. Just amused.

“You do realize how loud you were, right?” he adds. “I thought the bed was gonna snap in half.”

“Please stop talking,” you groan, voice muffled.

“You were crying,” he says like it’s a compliment, hand still lazily palming himself under his shorts. “That shit was beautiful.”

You peek at him through your fingers. He’s still hard. Still watching you with that same steady calm, like this is fine. Like this is normal.

He doesn’t even seem fazed.

That somehow makes the ache between your legs flare again. Weak, overstimulated, but greedy.

You clear your throat. “I didn’t realize I—um. That I could… do that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Cum?”

You shoot him a look.

Heeseung laughs, finally letting go of himself. “You’ve been fighting her for years. All I did was give you directions.”

You tuck your knees up into your chest, arms wrapped around them. You feel like you just stripped naked in front of someone who stayed fully clothed—and now he’s just lounging there like you didn’t just show him the most private part of yourself.

You sit in that awkward silence for a few seconds longer.

Heeseung stretches, chair creaking slightly. “So,” he says, tone casual. “Lesson two tomorrow?”

You blink.

“…There’s a second lesson?”

He smiles slow, eyes dropping to your thighs again. “You think she’s done learning?”

Your pussy twitches beneath your soaked panties.

Your legs are still weak from the first night when you leave.

Just a few days back home. Just a quick visit. You didn’t think it would matter—but the second you cross the county line, your pussy starts aching like she knows she’s been abandoned. Like she misses his voice already.

You think about texting him before you even unpack your overnight bag.

It starts that fast—barely through the front door, barely through dinner with your parents, barely through pretending to care about someone’s new side hustle or whatever cousin just had a baby, and already your mind is slipping.

Already you’re restless. Already your body feels too awake. You can still feel the slick sticking to the inside of your thighs from last night, from the way he sat in that chair like he was doing you a favor while you touched yourself for the first time like it meant something. It hasn’t gone away. The ache stayed with you.

That trembling throb between your legs that didn’t fade after one orgasm—or two—or three. And now, here you are. Sitting in your childhood bedroom like you didn’t just learn how to listen to your pussy in someone else’s bed with someone else’s voice in your ear.

You last all of twelve hours. Maybe thirteen if you count sleep, but that’s cheating. You keep checking your phone like a freak. Not even for a message—just to see his name.

You scroll through the notifications like maybe he’ll magically show up. You open his contact. Stare at the little circle icon. You type a text. Delete it.

Type again. Delete. Pace the room. Pull your hair up. Let it fall. Lie on the bed. Toss the blanket off. Roll onto your stomach, then your back, then sit up again because your body’s too hot and your thoughts won’t stop dragging back to the sound of his voice saying “Good girl. She’s listening now.”

You try to distract yourself. Put music on. Stare at the ceiling. Scroll through reels. But the tension is building and it’s not casual. It’s deep. It’s mean.

Like your pussy’s crawling up your spine and whispering call him over and over again. And finally, like a fucking addict, you give in.

You don’t try to be subtle. Your fingers tremble as you type the message—“Can I call you?”—and hit send before you can regret it. Your breath catches in your throat. Heart pounding. Shame twisting in your gut like you’ve already crossed a line and he hasn’t even replied. But then your phone buzzes. Two texts in a row. You click without thinking.

No. I’ll call you.

Speaker on. Hands ready. Nothing else.

You don’t even get a second to prepare. The call comes in instantly, and you fumble to answer it, press speaker, toss the phone onto your pillow and sit back, legs shaking under your blanket. You’re wearing nothing but a big t-shirt—no bra, no panties. Like your body already knew what was coming.

His voice is in your ear the second the line connects.

Low. Thick. Wrecked.

“You waited all day just to fuck yourself to my voice, didn’t you?”

The sound alone makes your thighs clamp together. You can’t answer. You don’t know what to say. You feel called out, ruined, exposed, and he hasn’t even seen you.

“You’re pathetic,” he breathes, and it’s not cruel—it’s reverent. Like he’s turned on by the depth of your desperation. “You left for less than twenty-four hours and she’s already starving.”

Your breath comes out shaky. “She hasn’t shut up.”

“I bet. That little pussy’s been crying for attention, hasn’t she? Soaking your panties, throbbing for no reason. Did you even try to touch her?”

Your hand slides down your stomach. Shame floods your chest. “I tried last night.”

“And?”

Your fingers drift over your mound, soft and slow.

“…Didn’t work.”

“Of course it didn’t.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because she’s not trained to your fingers. She’s trained to my voice.”

You nearly choke.

“Take the blanket off.”

You do.

“T-shirt stays. I want you messy under it. Like a filthy little secret.”

You obey, chest rising. The air hits your bare skin and your nipples pebble instantly under the thin cotton. You slide your hand under the hem and find yourself dripping already—your folds slippery and warm, your clit throbbing at the first brush.

“Fuck. You’re already wet.”

You don’t answer.

“Don’t ignore me. Say it.”

You whimper. “I’m wet.”

“Where?”

Your hand slides lower. “Everywhere.”

“Let me hear it.”

You drag your fingers through your folds, then lift them to the mic.

Squish. Slick. Wet.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “She’s fucking leaking for me.”

“She won’t stop,” you pant. “She’s been clenching—she’s needy. I can’t—I can’t even think straight.”

“She doesn’t need you to think. She needs you to listen.”

You nod like he can see you.

“You touching your clit yet?”

“No,” you whisper. “Just teasing.”

“Don’t tease her. Feed her.”

You obey. Your fingers find your clit and press slow, warm circles into the swollen skin. Your hips twitch immediately. Your body jolts with relief. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“Fuck. That’s it. Let her roll her hips. Let her grind on your fingers.”

You do.

And you moan. Loud. Wet. Pathetic.

“You sound like you’re crying.”

“I might be,” you choke out. “I’m—I’ve been on edge all day. She’s screaming—”

“Then shut her up.”

Your fingers move faster. Your breath turns ragged. The slick is everywhere now—coating your palm, sliding down your ass, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can hear it—slap, slap, slap—and you know he can too.

“God, listen to her,” he says. “She’s fucking talking again. Slapping wet, loud as hell, crying to be filled.”

Your thighs start to shake.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

“Heeseung—fuck, I’m close—”

“She wants to cum. So let her.”

You cum hard, back arching, legs tensed, voice cracking open around a sob as your pussy convulses around nothing—just your fingers, just your shame, just his voice dragging it out of you with nothing but command.

“Again,” he growls. “Don’t you dare take your hand off her. You begged for this. You waited all fucking day for it.”

You keep going. Because you can’t stop. Because this is his now.

You don’t get a break.

Heeseung doesn’t let you.

After that first call—the one where you came so hard you swore you saw stars—you thought maybe the tension would ease up. Maybe you’d get to breathe. But you don’t. Because the second you wake up the next morning, there’s already a text waiting for you.

Morning. She hungry?

Your pussy clenches on reflex.

You bite your lip, cheeks flushing under the covers.

Yes.

His reply is instant.

Good. edge yourself until you’re shaking. No cumming. No cheating. You’ll send me a pic of your fingers when you’re done.

That’s it. No teasing. No sweet talk. Just commands. Direct. Cruel. And of course—you obey.

You finger yourself that morning with shaking hands, grinding into your palm in the silence of your old bedroom with one hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. You stop just short of release three times. Your panties are soaked. The sheets beneath you are ruined.

You send the photo.

Two slick fingers, gleaming. One droplet hanging from your wrist like a taunt.

He doesn’t reply until hours later.

Beautiful. Don’t clean her up. Let her stick to your skin. I want her to haunt you all day.

That’s how it starts.

Sometimes it’s a call. Sometimes it’s just a photo prompt. Sometimes it’s voice notes—low, slow, whispered filth that you replay in the bathroom on full volume with your thighs clenched so tight you can barely breathe.

Another day: make a mess on your favorite pair of panties. Send proof. Don’t wash them. Fold them and put them in your drawer like a secret. Like she remembers.

When you can’t call—family dinners, company in the house, a wedding event—he doesn’t complain. He just adapts.

He sends you three voice notes in a row, each one filthier than the last.

“Are you wearing panties right now?”

“She’s wet just from this, isn’t she?”

“Put your phone between your legs. Let my voice buzz against her while you grind.”

You do. In the middle of the day. On the edge of your childhood bed. With the door locked and your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sound of you cumming on command.

Every time you text him, he knows what you need before you say it.

On your knees. Two fingers. Say my name when you finish. That’s all.

You cum like a trained animal.

By the end of the fourth day, you’re overstimulated and aching. Your cunt stays warm. Your clit stays swollen. You can’t think straight without hearing his voice. You can’t fall asleep without a pillow between your legs and your phone under your ear, replaying the way he said your name like it tasted good.

He doesn’t let you get comfortable.

I want her ruined by the time you get back. Wet stains on your thighs. Bruised from your own fingers. No excuses. You belong to me now, yeah?

You’re at the dinner table when the text comes in.

There’s a bowl of pasta in front of you. Your uncle’s talking about traffic. Your mom’s pouring more wine. And your phone buzzes in your lap—one tiny, harmless vibration you almost ignore until you see the name on your lockscreen.

Heeseung.

Your chest tightens immediately. A hot ripple runs down your spine. You unlock it under the table, heart already picking up speed, thighs pressed tight together like that’s gonna help anything.

You expect a voice note. Maybe an instruction. Instead, it’s just a single message.

Don’t open this here. I’m serious.

You excuse yourself. Bathroom. You try to walk casually, but your legs feel unstable, like your body knows what’s coming and is bracing for it. You shut the door. Lock it. Sit down on the closed toilet seat. And then you open the message.

It’s not a photo. Not a voice note. Just a block of text.

And it destroys you.

I want you dripping. Right now. I want your thighs sticky. I want your pussy hot and twitching and swollen like she’s just been edged for an hour and she’s still not allowed to cum. I want her pulsing around nothing. Squeezing air. Leaking like she misses my cock even though she’s never had it. That’s how good I want her trained. That she misses me even though I’ve never fucked her. I want you to slide your hand into your panties and feel her spit for me. Feel how filthy she’s gotten just from reading my words. Not even hearing my voice. Just letters on a screen and she’s frothing like a brainless little thing. I want her throbbing. Sore. Pink. Aching. I want you to pull your panties to the side and look at what I’ve done to you. How she opens for nothing. How she clenches for nothing. How she cries, fucking cries, when she doesn’t get touched. I want her messy. Slutty. Wet enough to embarrass you. Wet enough you can’t clean it up with one tissue. Wet enough that if someone walked into that bathroom right now, they’d smell her. No fingers. Not yet. Just pressure. Palm down. Let her hump. Let her grind. Let her get yourself dirty. She knows what to do. She doesn’t need permission anymore. You’re gonna leak down your leg just reading this, aren’t you? She’s already twitching. Already soaking. She knows what she is now. A thing that exists to be used. To be made wet. To be trained.

You stare at your screen. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

And you feel it—that slow, steady drip.

You slide your hand down between your legs and whimper when your fingers meet your panties—soaked through. Hot and sticky, your folds puffy and swollen, everything throbbing with need.

You spread your legs wider. There’s no stopping it. You have to.

You push your panties aside, just like he said, and when you look down, your cunt is shining. Slick lips parted, clit swollen and begging, a string of wet clinging between your folds when you breathe too hard.

You cup her with your whole palm and rock once.

You grind again. Harder. The heel of your hand pressing directly on your clit. Your hips move faster, panting now, forehead pressed against your bent knee as your pussy humps your own hand like she’s starved.

You’re fucking yourself with no fingers. Just pressure. Just filth. Just his words rotting your brain and your pussy loving it.

You don’t stop until your legs lock, jaw clenched tight to muffle the moan that rips through your throat. Your pussy convulses, grinding down hard, cumming in waves against your own palm until you’re crying silently, thighs soaked, panties a mess, body twitching from the force of it.

When it’s over, you’re wrecked. You sit there in silence. Breathing heavy. Panties still pulled to the side, hand drenched, cunt gaping and twitching like she’s still looking for him.

You snap a photo.

Not of your face. Just your hand. Soaked. Ruined. Slick covering your wrist, dripping down your knuckles.

You send it. No caption. A minute later, his reply lights up your screen.

That’s how she’s supposed to look. Every day until you get home.

You don’t even knock.

You could, but what’s the point? He told you to come over as soon as you got back. No texts. No warning. Just a short message yesterday night:

You better show up dripping.

And you are.

The shorts you wore are damp at the crotch, your hoodie clinging to the sweat on your lower back. Every shift of your thighs against the car seat on the drive over made you squirm. By the time you’re standing in front of his door, your cunt is throbbing. Empty. Trained. Starving.

He opens it like he already knew you were there.

Barefoot. Hoodie. Nothing underneath.

He stares at you for a second, quiet. His eyes drop to your legs, to the way you’re fidgeting, clenching, trying not to press your thighs together. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t speak.

Just opens the door wider and lets you in.

You step past him. Silent. Heat prickling under your skin. His presence is loud, even without words. You can feel the pressure building already—your pussy knows. She’s aware. Aware of the air, of the scent of him, of how close he is now after five days of only hearing him through a speaker.

He closes the door behind you. And waits.

You turn to him, hands still curled into your sleeves. “I did everything.”

He lifts a brow. “Yeah?”

You nod. Swallow hard. “Every day.”

Heeseung steps forward slowly. Stops in front of you. His eyes flick down, over your body, like he’s looking for confirmation.

“You leaking?”

Your breath catches. “Yes.”

“Prove it.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. But you don’t hesitate.

Your fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and tug them down in one smooth motion. They hit the floor and you step out of them, bare underneath, thighs sticky and glistening. Your hoodie barely covers your hips now. One inch higher and he’d see everything.

He doesn’t touch you.

“Show me,” he says, voice low.

Your breath hitches again—but you drop to your knees. Not because he asked. Because your body knows what to do now.

You kneel between his feet on the hardwood floor, hands moving to part your thighs so he can see. You pull the hoodie up to your waist and slide two fingers between your folds—dripping. It spreads so easily. Glossy. Viscous. Your pussy folds open for your own touch like it’s nothing new. Like she’s been practicing all week.

You keep your eyes on him the whole time.

And when your fingers come back up, soaked and glistening, you hold them out. Heeseung watches you in silence.

Then leans forward, slow and deliberate. He takes your fingers into his mouth and sucks—deep, slow, tongue curling around them like it’s a reward.

Your hips jerk slightly. Your cunt clenches hard. He pulls off with a wet pop and stares down at you.

“She tastes trained.”

You nod.

“She beg yet?”

You exhale. “She never shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah?”

Then he grabs your jaw. Fingers firm but not rough, tilting your face up to his.

“You want her filled?”

You nod again. “Please.”

“Not yet,” he says. “She’s not ready.”

“I’m ready—she’s so ready, I’ve been—”

“I don’t care what you think. You’re not here to make decisions. You’re here to do what I say.” He lets go of your face. “You wanna get fed? Earn it. Lay down. Show me how she begs.”

You scramble onto the bed.

Flat on your back. Legs spread. Cunt on display. Dripping.

You’re already on your back, knees drawn up, thighs spread and trembling, cunt pulsing with heat that’s been building all week. You don’t try to hide it. You can’t. Your pussy’s wet. Loud. Lips glossy and parted, folds flushed and twitching like she knows the moment has finally come. She’s been teased. Trained. Denied. You’ve been filling her with fingers and pressure and your own voice, but never this. Never him. And now he’s standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like he’s finally ready to eat.

But he doesn’t touch you first.

He picks your shorts up off the floor, turns them inside out—and finds your soaked panties tangled in the legs. He peels them out slowly, sticky with your slick, the thin fabric darkened and clinging to itself. You watch, breath caught, legs still open, burning with shame as he brings them up to his face.

And sniffs.

Deep.

He inhales like it’s a fucking ritual. Eyes half-lidded. Thumb pressing into the crotch to smear the wetness around before dragging it across his lip. His tongue flicks out—tastes it.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “She’s been marinating in this.”

Your body jolts. Your hands fist the sheets.

“She’s loud, too.” His voice drops lower. “I haven’t even touched her and she’s already talking. Look at her. Fucking twitching. Dripping. Spreading herself open like she knows who she belongs to.”

“Heeseung—” You whimper.

“Shut up.”

He tosses your panties to the side and climbs onto the bed, slow and smooth, eyes never leaving your cunt. He settles between your legs and just kneels there for a moment. Breathing her in. Hands on your thighs. Pushing them wider. Spreading you so open you can feel the air hit your slick.

You’re soaked. You know it. You can feel it, the slick sliding down into the dip of your ass, the way your folds part with every breath, your clit poking out, hot and swollen.

He just stares.

“You fucking trained her like this,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You really did it. Came like a good little slut every night just to keep her hungry.”

“She’s starving,” you whisper, voice shaking.

“I can see that.”

His thumbs press into the crease of your thighs, holding you open. His face lowers. Inches away. His breath hits your folds and your hips twitch violently.

He doesn’t lick you.

Not yet.

He just hovers. His nose skims your inner thigh. Then up. Right up the slick slit, dragging his breath across your folds until your body shudders. He breathes her in again—this time slower. Longer. Right at the source.

“God,” he mutters. “She fucking smells like obedience.”

You sob.

And then he spits.

Right on your pussy.

Hot. Heavy. Messy.

It splashes over your clit, drips between your folds, mixes with your slick and makes everything worse.

Your hips roll. You can’t stop it.

“Don’t you fucking move,” he growls. “She’s getting attention. She better stay still.”

And finally—finally—his tongue drags up your slit. A long, slow lick from hole to clit that ends with his mouth wrapped around it, sucking hard.

Your hands fly to his hair. Your spine arches off the bed.

But he pins you with one forearm across your stomach and doesn’t stop.

He eats you like a man starved. Like you’ve been feeding her for him. Keeping her ready. Keeping her needy. His mouth is everywhere—tongue licking up everything you’ve been saving, spit and slick and mess pooling under your ass while he moans into you.

“That’s it,” he groans against your clit. “Let me taste five fucking days of begging.”

You cry out, thighs clenching.

But he slaps your pussy with his hand—sharp, wet, punishing.

“Open.”

You go limp. You can’t fight it. You don’t want to.

He eats you like it’s personal. Tongue flat. Licking. Circling. Spitting again. Your clit’s too swollen, too sensitive, but he doesn’t care. He mumbles into you—filth you can barely understand because he’s too focused on devouring.

“She’s so fucking loud. She won’t shut up. You hear that?”

You do.

Your pussy makes noise with every lick—squelching, wet, obscene.

“I didn’t even fuck her yet,” he growls. “And she’s already creaming.”

You try to cum. You try.

But he pulls back just as your thighs start to shake, just as your stomach seizes.

“Nope. She’s not getting fed all the way until I’ve felt her on my cock.”

You nod frantically, fingers gripping the sheets, desperate.

Heeseung leans back, licking his lips, chin soaked, eyes wild.

“She’s ready,” he says. “She’s starving.”

He’s already got two fingers hooked inside you when he tells you to open your mouth.

Not to kiss him. Not to speak. Just to take it.

He shoves his fingers past your lips—soaked in your own slick, the same fingers he’s been curling deep inside your cunt, dragging against that spot that makes your eyes roll back. You gag around them, moaning as the taste floods your tongue—salty, sour, yours. He pushes them down onto your tongue, presses hard until your spit leaks out around them and drips down your chin.

“Swallow it,” he mutters, eyes locked on your face. “That’s what obedience tastes like.”

You do. Of course you do.

Because you’d do anything he says.

And he knows it.

He wipes the slick from your lips with his thumb, drags it down your throat, then shifts forward—kneeling between your trembling thighs, lining himself up with your soaked entrance like he’s been waiting years for this moment.

You stare down at his cock, thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, and your whole body tenses. You’re already open, already dripping, already fucked dumb—but none of it’s going to prepare you for this.

“Look at her,” he mutters under his breath, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, smearing pre-cum across your clit. “She’s fucking begging.”

“She wants it,” you pant, voice shaking. “Please—”

He doesn’t give you time to finish.

He presses in—slow, deep, cruel.

The stretch hits you all at once. Your back arches. Your breath leaves you in a choked gasp, and your pussy clenches hardaround him, sucking him in inch by inch like she never wants to let him go.

“Ohhh, fuck,” he groans. “She’s trained alright.”

You moan. Loud. Desperate. Writhing beneath him as he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass, his cock buried all the way to the base.

She’s full.

Finally fucking full.

Your cunt grips him tight, fluttering around his cock like she’s been starving for it—and she has. Every inch of him hits something you didn’t know existed. Your body shakes under the pressure. You’re soaked. Stuffed. Used. And you want more.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say what she is.”

“She’s yours,” you gasp. “She’s a hole—your hole—she’s been waiting for this—”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in.

You scream.

“You’re goddamn right she’s mine,” he snarls. “You trained her just to take my cock.”

You nod frantically, crying now, pleasure too thick in your throat to hold back.

He starts to fuck you in earnest—hard, relentless, loud. Skin slapping skin. His cock slick from your wetness, dragging through every twitch and squeeze, pressing deep, deeper, forcing your body to stay open for him. You feel it in your stomach. Your spine. Your fucking brain.

Every thrust knocks your thoughts loose. And you want to thank him. You want to feel him. You want to taste him.

So you lift your head—try to kiss him.

You lean up, lips parting, mouth open and begging.

He pulls back.

His hand grabs your throat, presses you flat into the mattress. You gasp, eyes wide, blinking up at him in confusion. He smiles. Cruel. Mocking.

“No,” he says coldly. “You don’t deserve to be kissed.”

Your breath shatters.

“Kisses are for good girls,” he spits. “You’re just a trained little hole.”

Your pussy clenches around him so violently he groans.

“That’s all you are now, isn’t it?” he sneers. “A stupid little cunt that opens on command. You get used, not kissed.”

Tears spill over your cheeks.

And you cum. Just like that.

From the words. From the shame. From the humiliation.

Your pussy spasms around his cock, soaking both of you as you scream into his hand still wrapped around your throat. Your hips jerk. Your vision goes white. But he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, hips pounding, cock punching into your oversensitive cunt like he’s trying to reprogram you from the inside out.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let her milk me. Let her show me how much she needed this.”

You’re sobbing. Gasping. Too wrecked to speak.

“Fucking knew it,” he groans. “You were never gonna be satisfied until you got split open.”

He leans down, mouth right by your ear.

“But don’t ever reach for a kiss again. Sluts like you don’t get kissed.”

You’re already limp when he flips you.

Your body gives out so easily—shoulders pressed into the mattress, arms numb, legs trembling, hips cocked up on instinct the second he yanks you onto your stomach. His hands drag you by the waist like a ragdoll. Like something boneless, brainless, ruined. Your face is buried in the pillow. Your cheek sticks to the fabric. You’re crying, still, but there’s no shame left. Just the raw ache of your cunt pulsing around nothing—because he pulled out.

You whine, pathetic and wordless, hips rolling back into the air, leaking down your thighs.

“Still hungry?” he mutters behind you.

You nod into the pillow.

“Say it.”

“She’s empty,” you whimper. “She’s twitching—she wants you back in—she’s not done—she’s never done—”

You gasp when the head of his cock slides back in. Just the tip.

He doesn’t give you the rest.

You wiggle. Cry. Press your ass back against him and moan when your folds stretch again, split open all over his length.

“You trained her to take it,” he says. “Now you’re gonna train her to keep it.”

He presses forward.

His cock buries to the hilt in one brutal thrust, and your whole body spasms. Your hands claw at the sheets. Your cunt clenches so violently it forces a sob out of your chest, high-pitched and broken. You’re still sensitive. Still throbbing from the last orgasm. But he doesn’t care.

He starts fucking you again like he owns you.

The slap of skin echoes in the room, wet and obscene, his cock pounding into your raw pussy like she’s just a hole to conquer. You don’t even try to move anymore. Your body takes it. Open, obedient, used.

“You like that?” he pants. “You like being my little fucktoy?”

“Yeah, you do. You’re trained now. A good little cocksleeve who comes when she’s told. Cries when she’s full. Cums from being humiliated.”

“I do,” you choke out. “I’m yours—I’m your toy—just your fucktoy—use me—use her—”

“That’s it,” he growls. “That’s what she wanted, isn’t it? Not kindness. Not kisses. Just cock. Just someone to shove it in and remind her she’s nothing but a messy, wet little pussy.”

He thrusts harder. You scream into the sheets.

“She’s so loud,” he snarls. “So fucking wet. She’s gushing. Every time I pull out she cries.”

You don’t even recognize your own voice when you cum again.

It’s raw. Ugly. Loud.

You scream—clawing at the sheets, nails ripping fabric, your body wracked with spasms as you squirt all over his cock, wet exploding out of you in waves, soaking the bed, your stomach, your thighs. You can’t stop it. You don’t want to.

He fucks you through it—harder.

“Let her break,” he growls. “Let her fucking split.”

And when your body finally collapses, hips falling, spine trembling, Heeseung doesn’t even slow down.

He grabs your hips, hauls you up, and drives in deep one more time—and stays there. His cock pulses inside you. Thick. Hot. Flooding you.

You feel it. You feel his cum shoot deep, thick ropes filling your already ruined pussy until your belly aches with it.

He stays inside. Keeps you cockwarmed, plugged full, hands rubbing down your spine like this is the aftercare.

Not words. Not love. Just being kept full. Like you should be.

You barely breathe. Your eyes are glassy. Your mouth’s open. You feel him lean over you. Feel the slow drag of his lips against your ear.

“You’re not starved anymore,” he whispers. “She’s fed now. Finally.”

You nod. Barely. Weak. Fucked out. His cock twitches.

“She’s still twitching,” he murmurs. “She wants to sleep like this.”

You wake up to the burn in your thighs.

The stretch. The ache. That slick-dried, too-sensitive sting between your legs from being filled for hours without a break. Your skin’s flushed. Clammy. You shift slightly under the covers, still half-asleep, and you feel it—him.

Still there. Still inside you.

You blink. Breathe. Try to make sense of your body—but the pressure between your legs is still warm. Your cunt clenches instinctively, and his cock twitches in response.

A slow, deep ache spreads in your gut.

His arm is draped over your waist. His chest is pressed against your back. He’s asleep—soft breaths on your shoulder, jaw resting against the side of your head. And his cock is still buried to the base in your pussy. Warm. Heavy. Plugging you full like it belongs there.

But something else creeps in too.

You lie there for a moment. Silent. Still. Pussy fluttering, heartbeat slowing, and that awful little ache growing in your chest. The one that started the second he pulled away last night. The one that settled into your ribs when you reached for him and he said “You don’t deserve to be kissed.”

You swallow. You whisper it before you even think about it.

“Are you really not gonna kiss me?”

It’s soft. Not needy. Just… there.

His breath shifts against your skin. His arm tightens slightly around your waist.

You almost regret asking.

Until he exhales through his nose and mutters, voice rough and low and real, “I’m still fucking inside you, you brat. You think I’m gonna spend the whole night cockwarming my favorite pussy and not kiss her in the morning?”

You twist under him, face flushed, and turn your head over your shoulder—and his mouth is already there.

No hesitation. He kisses you hard.

Mouth slanting over yours, tongue sliding in with no patience, lips full and hot and filthy with morning breath and spit. You moan into it, deep and broken, cunt clenching around his cock again like she’s reacting to the kiss like it’s touch.

His hand grips your jaw, thumb dragging over your cheek as he devours your mouth. He licks into you like he means it—like you’ve earned it—like he’s been wanting to do it since before he ever called you a slut.

You’re whimpering into his mouth when it happens.

Your lips slide against his, sticky with spit, your breath still uneven from how long you spent crying into the pillow, your cunt still fluttering weakly around his cock. He hasn’t pulled out. He’s still inside you. Still twitching, half-hard again already, thick and warm, stretching your still-leaking pussy while your body curls back into him, needy and clingy and soft in a way you didn’t get to be last night.

His hand cups your jaw now. Gentle. Finally. His thumb drags along your lower lip, slow and possessive, like he’s re-learning your mouth after denying it. His tongue pushes into you with unhurried filth, and your hips shift just barely, like your cunt’s trying to pull more of him in. Like she doesn’t even know how to be empty anymore.

And then you hear it.

“Heeseung?”

It’s distant. Not loud. Sleepy. But your blood freezes.

“Hey—have you seen Y/N?”

Evie. She’s awake. The breath dies in your throat.

Your eyes fly open. Heeseung’s hand freezes on your jaw. Your whole body locks. His cock is still deep inside you, softening now, but still heavy. Still leaking. You can feel him dripping down your inner thighs as your brain flips inside out with panic.

“Shit,” you mouth, barely audible.

Heeseung exhales through his nose, calm, but his arm is already tightening around your waist like he’s trying to figure out his next move in real time.

“Y/N?” she calls again. “Where’d you go?”

You scramble out of the bed like you’ve been shot. Legs wobbly. Pussy sore. You trip over the blanket as you reach for your discarded clothes, yanking your hoodie on over your head, trying not to scream as your shorts catch on your ankle. You’re still soaked, your panties still twisted around your thigh from where he shoved them earlier, and you can feel his cum still inside you, wet and hot and fucking obvious.

Heeseung’s already sitting up, dragging his hoodie on, running a hand through his hair to make it look like he just woke up.

You’re panicking. “Do I go back to her room? What do I do—what if she’s in the hallway—?”

Heeseung stands up, grabs your shoulders, kisses your forehead once—quick, mocking, cocky—like this is funny to him.

“Bathroom. Now.”

You sprint for it. Just as he opens his door.

His voice is casual. Sleep-rough.

“Yo.”

“You seen Y/N? I woke up and she wasn’t in bed. Her stuff’s still there though.”

Heeseung stretches in the doorway, voice smooth as fucking silk.

“Nah, haven’t seen her. She probably went to the bathroom.”

“She didn’t text me.”

“She probably didn’t want to wake you.”

You’re crouched in the bathroom, hands over your mouth, hoodie soaked at the hem, thighs still trembling. You glance down and see a smear of his cum on your leg, glistening in the morning light like a neon sign of guilt.

“Whatever. Tell her I’m making pancakes.”

“Will do.”

Door shuts. Heeseung turns, leans into the bathroom, finds you crouched by the sink.

“You owe me.”

You punch his chest.

He grabs your wrist. Kisses it.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, voice low. “You’ll pay me back tonight."

It’s early.

Evie’s downstairs making coffee. You can hear the clinking of mugs, the stupid hum of whatever playlist she plays when she’s in a good mood.

You’re in Heeseung’s lap. Hoodie on. No underwear. His back’s against the headboard, his cock deep inside you, and you’re grinding slowly—hips circling, cunt fluttering, hands pressed to his chest to keep yourself upright.

You’re not allowed to bounce. Not allowed to moan.

Just slow, controlled rolls—like you’re milking him without giving yourself away.

“You sound like you want her to know,” he whispers against your throat.

You shake your head. Breathe through your nose. Keep moving.

“Then be quiet, baby. Or I’ll hold your mouth and your hips still, and you won’t cum at all.”

You almost cry. He grabs your ass. Tilts your hips just right.

“If she walks in, you better keep her name off your lips while I fill you up.”

You do. Barely.

You cum with your hand clamped over your mouth, twitching around his cock like you were made for it—and Heeseung cums seconds later, low and quiet, mouth on your collarbone.

Downstairs?

Evie sings along to the chorus.

It’s disgusting.

There’s no other word for it.

You’re on all fours, face buried in Heeseung’s mattress, drooling, moaning, thighs trembling with every wet squelch of his fingers plunging into you from behind. His mouth is glued to your cunt, spit running down his chin, tongue working your clit in slow, sloppy laps while one hand spreads you open—and the other, lower, slick with your cum, is rubbing tight circles around your asshole.

You’re whining his name. Filthy. Wordless. Brain-melted.

“Fuck, she’s drooling for it,” he mutters into your pussy. “She wants both. She’s ready. One in her ass, two in her cunt—you wanna be stretched like a proper little hole, huh?”

Your face is soaked. Your body’s trembling. Your pussy flutters around his fingers, slick squelching with every slow drag in and out. Your rim clenches, raw and wet from the friction. You try to answer, but all that comes out is a pathetic sob.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say what she wants.”

“I want it,” you gasp, voice cracking. “I want you to open my ass—wanna be full, wanna cum like a fucktoy—please—please—”

And then—

“Y/N?”

You hear your name like it’s being spoken through a tunnel.

You freeze.

Every muscle in your body locks.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

You can feel his tongue hovering right at your clit. His finger is still circling your asshole.

And then you both look up.

In the doorway. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

Evie.

Her face doesn’t go red. It goes white. Like her blood just dropped to her feet.

She stares at your body—at your back arched, knees wide, your ass open, Heeseung’s hand buried between your cheeks, your best friend’s brother with his mouth on you and your spit in his beard.

And then she gags. Audibly. Violently.

Her whole body jolts forward like she’s about to puke right there in the hallway.

“Oh my—fucking—god—” she chokes. “What the—what the FUCK—”

She turns. Presses her palm to the wall. Leans into it. Her other hand clamps over her mouth and you see her shoulders jerk. Once. Twice. A horrible, broken sound crawls out of her throat.

“No—no—no—no, no, no—”

She’s panicking.

Can’t breathe. Her body is shaking so hard you think she might collapse.

“Evie—” you start, voice already wet. “Evie, please—please just listen—”

“DON’T.”

The scream hits like a slap.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t—don’t even say my fucking name—”

You’re sobbing now. Reaching for the blanket. Falling off the bed. Barely able to pull your hoodie down over your sticky, twitching body.

Heeseung moves. Not fast enough. Still shirtless. Still hard. His fingers still glistening.

“Heejoo—”

“DON’T. CALL ME THAT.” Her voice is shrill, raw, wrecked. “You’re my fucking brother.”

She looks at you. Like she doesn’t even know you.

And then her expression cracks completely.

Her face contorts—pain, betrayal, disgust, hatred—all in one devastating collapse.

“You were inside her,” she whispers, and her voice breaks. “You had your—your—you were licking her while you were fingering her ass—”

“You’re both fucking insane.”

You crawl toward her. Not thinking. Just begging. Your knees burn. Your hands shake.

“Evie—please—please just let me explain—”

She flinches.

Flinches.

Like your voice touched her skin. Then she goes still. Her breathing slows. Her hands drop to her sides.

She looks empty.

“Don’t come near me.”

Her voice is flat now. Robotic.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even fucking breathe in my direction.”

You can’t speak. Can’t move. She steps back.

Looks at Heeseung. Then at you.

“You’re both dead to me.”

You don’t remember the walk home.

You don’t remember grabbing your phone, or leaving the house, or what the weather was like. You don’t remember how long you cried, or how many people stared, or how fucking long it took for the heat between your legs to fade into something cold and ugly. You just remember sitting on your bedroom floor—hoodie still wet between your thighs, your underwear balled up in your pocket—and trying to breathe without choking on it.

Because it doesn’t stop. The image. Her face.

Evie, hand over her mouth. Evie, gagging. Evie, stepping back like you were something dirty.

She meant it. Every word.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t fucking breathe in my direction.”

She meant it.

You try to text her that night. You don’t even know what to say. There are three different messages in your drafts: one with just her name. One that says “I’m sorry.” One that says nothing at all.

They don’t send. You’ve been blocked.

He doesn’t text either. You don’t even know if he can.

The silence is so big it feels like a second death. You lie in bed every night with your phone face-up on your pillow, waiting for it to light up with anything. A call. A voice note. Just a name.

It never comes.

But you still feel him. In your body. In your bones.

Every time you try to sleep, your body curls like it’s expecting to be filled.

Some nights you wake up sweating—panting, pussy twitching—because you dreamed of his voice again.

You still miss him. Even after all of it. Even after how it ended.

Even after Evie’s face broke in half at the sight of you—wet, spread open, her brother’s finger sliding into your ass while you begged for more.

You still miss him. And that’s the part that makes you sick.

It’s been nearly two weeks since you watched Evie recoil in that doorway, hand clamped over her mouth like she was actually going to vomit.

You can’t erase the memory of her face—how disgust bled into betrayal, how her gaze slid right past you like you didn’t exist, then landed on Heeseung as if he were some twisted stranger in her own home. You tried to bury the image, tried to make it small and unimportant, but it lives in your chest now, swelling every time you breathe.

You haven’t talked to either of them since. Not one word to her, not a single text to him.

It’s as if the world paused on that moment: her voice ripping through the room, your body half-naked, his spit drying on your thighs, your stomach churning with guilt.

Now the doorbell rings, and somehow you already know who’s on the other side.

You open it slowly, hesitation weighing on every movement of your hand.

Heeseung stands there in a wrinkled hoodie, dark circles stamped beneath his eyes. He looks thinner—like the shape of him has caved in from the inside out. His hair is unstyled, his shoulders hunched, and the way he stares at you feels desperate.

Neither of you speak for a few seconds, the silence pressing into your lungs.

Then you break it, because you can’t handle him looking at you like that. “Why are you here?” Your voice comes out flat, echoing the numbness you’ve been living in.

Heeseung swallows, gaze skittering between your face and the ground.

“I had to see you.”

The words feel like they’re meant to fix something, but all they do is twist the knife. You give a hollow laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“You already saw enough.”

He exhales shakily, bringing a hand up to scrub at the back of his neck.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I know that’s not—there’s nothing I can—” He trails off, struggling, guilt carved into every line of his face. When he finally speaks again, his voice strains.

“You think we haven’t replayed it a hundred fucking times?” he asks. “The door. The blanket. You moaning. Me—God—we were still fucking with each other right there, even when she—”

“Stop.” Your voice cracks. “Don’t say it.”

“We saw her face,” his voice keeps going, low and fast and pained. “We saw it, and we still didn’t stop, like fucking animals. I see it every time I close my eyes. I hear her say my name like I was never hers, like you were never her friend.”

You speak,

“I can’t look at you without hearing her gag.”

The confession slashes the air, and his lips part like you’ve slapped him.

“I can’t hear your name without remembering what it felt like to be in her house, in her family, doing… that, while she thought I was asleep down the hall.”

For a moment, neither of you breathe. Then he forces himself to speak, voice cracking.

“I know. I fucking know, and I hate that we didn’t let go even when we heard her. I hate that she looked at us like we were monsters. I hate that part of me still wanted to stay inside you, and part of you still wanted me there, when we should’ve both stopped.”

You close your eyes, replaying Evie’s strangled gasp in your head, recalling the numb disbelief that followed when she told you not to speak, not to look, not to fucking breathe in her direction.

“I can’t talk to you,” you whisper, voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I can’t even hear your name without feeling sick.”

He swallows and nods, like he’s been waiting for those exact words. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he’s about to shatter. “I won’t—if you never want to see me again, I understand.” He drags in a breath that rattles in his chest. “I just needed to know you were… alive.”

For a moment, you want to ask him if he’s okay too, if he’s been eating or sleeping, if he wakes up sweating like you do. But you lock it down, because you can’t afford to care right now.

“Well,” you say, and your voice is colder than you intend, “now you’ve seen me. Congratulations.”

A faint tremor passes through him, and he nods once. There’s nothing else. No lecture, no pleading. He just steps back, shoulders slumped, and turns away.

It happens in the grocery store, of all places. You’re pushing a half-empty cart down the cereal aisle, trying not to think about how much quieter life has been since you lost your best friend and the boy you broke her heart with. You’re scanning the shelves for something to distract you when you catch sight of a familiar figure at the other end of the row.

Your heart lurches, your fingers tightening on the cart handle as your stomach flips.

Because there, frowning at the boxes of cereal, is Evie—or Heejoo, or however she wants to be called now. You don’t have time to decide whether you should turn and run or force a hollow smile. She glances up, and your eyes meet. Neither of you moves.

The aisle feels too narrow. Her cart sits between you, an invisible barrier.

She looks different—her hair is shorter or maybe just pulled back in a careless ponytail, dark smudges under her eyes, shoulders tense. She seems hollowed out in the same way you feel.

Some part of you wants to say hey or I miss you or please talk to me, but the words dissolve in your throat. She’s the one who steps forward first, letting her cart roll behind her. Her heels click on the tile, echoing your every heartbeat.

“Having fun?” she asks, and it doesn’t sound like a question so much as a thinly-veiled jab.

You grip the handle of your cart, mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

“Evie—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, eyes flicking away like the name itself stings. “You don’t get to pretend we’re okay. You don’t get to act like we’re still friends.”

Her arms fold across her chest, nostrils flaring with each breath, and you feel your own pulse jump in your neck. “I—I’m sorry,” you manage, voice trembling. It’s not enough, you know that.

She scoffs, a breathy, humorless sound. “That’s it? You’re sorry? You think that magically fixes everything?” She gestures sharply, and you notice how tightly she’s clenching her fists. “You screwed around with my brother like it was nothing, and I walked in on—” Her voice breaks, face twisting as she fights off the memory. “I was just the idiot friend who never saw it coming, right?”

Shame flares in your cheeks. You hold your ground, though it hurts to meet her eyes. “I know I betrayed you,” you say. “We—God, I don’t even have the words for how messed up it was. We both knew better. We both let it happen.”

Her hand lifts to cut you off, shaking with the effort. “You think it’s just that you hurt me?” Her voice wobbles between anger and heartbreak. “You hurt him too, you realize that? He was my brother, you were my best friend, and you both blew yourselves up in front of me. Like you had no idea what it would cost.”

Your stomach knots in a way you haven’t felt before. She’s right. It wasn’t just her—it wasn’t just you. It was all three of you, tangling and twisting until it snapped. “I know,” you say more quietly. “And we’re all paying for it. He’s… he’s not okay. I’m not okay. And you’re definitely not okay. There’s no part of this that isn’t broken.”

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Do you think that helps? Hearing you say it’s broken doesn’t change the fact that I can’t even look at either of you without wanting to scream.”

You bow your head, voice almost inaudible. “I wish I could take it back.”

She swallows, and for a fraction of a second, the hostility in her eyes flickers with pain. “Well, you can’t.” Her grip tightens on the cart handle until her knuckles whiten, and she exhales shakily.

“I want my brother back, you know. I want my friend back. But I don’t get either of those things, because you two decided to… to destroy what we had.”

Your throat closes up, tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She stares for another few seconds, jaw clenched as she holds herself together. Then she moves around you, snatching her cart by the handle, the wheels squeaking in protest.

“Enjoy the produce,” she mutters under her breath, voice dripping with bitterness as she passes.

It doesn’t happen overnight.

There’s no single conversation that wipes the slate clean, no perfect gesture that makes Evie’s betrayal vanish, no magic wand that repairs the gaping wound in your chest.

But over time—slow, grudging, step by hesitant step—you all begin to realize that staying in this darkness is killing you. Staying strangers, orbiting the same guilt without looking one another in the eye, is worse than facing the truth. And that truth is messy, fragile, and riddled with scars.

It begins with Evie texting you, late at night, a week after the grocery store encounter.

Just three words: We need to talk.

You stare at the screen for a solid minute, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out of your chest.

Your hands shake as you reply, Yeah, okay.

That’s all. No apology, no second-guessing, just acceptance. You wait for her to say when or where, but she doesn’t text back until the next afternoon, telling you to meet her at the park near her house.

And then she clarifies: Just you.

You show up after sunset, nerves jangling in every limb, expecting hostility, or silence, or both.

Instead, you find Evie sitting on a faded wooden bench under a flickering streetlight. She looks smaller than you remember, knees drawn up under her chin, arms hugging herself for warmth. As you approach, you open your mouth to say something—anything—but she holds up a hand, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” she says, voice tight. “Not yet.”

You stand there, awkward and guilty, waiting for her permission to speak.

She lowers her hand and sighs, staring at a patch of dead grass near her feet. “I asked you here because… this is killing me,” she mutters. “Being this angry all the time. Hating you. Hating him. I can’t keep up with it. It’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize.”

Her words break something inside your chest, and your throat goes thick. You sit down on the far edge of the bench, leaving a wide space between you, unsure if you’re allowed to be any closer. “I… I know,” you manage, voice unsteady. “I feel it too. It’s like I’m rotting on the inside.”

She nods once, gaze flicking to you before sliding away again. “I’m not saying I forgive you,” she warns, and you nod, heart pounding. “I’m just saying I don’t want this to be my life anymore. This—rage. It’s not me.”

She exhales, shoulders curling inward. “And I loved you. You were my best friend. And he… he’s my brother, and I loved him too. So how did we all end up here?”

Silence lingers. You fight back tears that threaten to spill.

“We messed up,” you whisper, voice cracking. “We both did. Me and him. We used your house, your trust, your everything for our own messed-up… needs, and it was stupid and selfish and we ended up shattering everything.” You swallow a lump in your throat. “I know none of that fixes it. But I swear to you, we never wanted to hurt you.”

Evie laughs bitterly, a hollow sound. “Well, you did. And I can’t pretend you didn’t.”

Her gaze shifts to the distance, to the halo of light under the streetlamp. “But I don’t know if I can keep hating you. Or him.”

She hesitates, words coming out slow. “I saw him last week. He looked—God, I hardly recognized him. Like a ghost of himself.”

You nod, biting back the urge to defend him or to ask a dozen questions. “He’s… not doing great,” you say simply, remembering his hollow cheeks, the way his voice cracked when he said he couldn’t sleep.

She wraps her arms tighter around herself, rocking slightly. “Neither are we,” she points out. “None of us are okay. And I guess that’s what I’m realizing. That we’re all stuck in the same crater, staring at the same wreckage. Maybe we shouldn’t be trying to fix it on our own.”

Your eyes burn with unshed tears. “What do you want to do?” you ask, feeling the weight of her words press into your chest.

She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she looks directly at you, tears shimmering at the edges of her eyes. “I want us to talk,” she says. “All three of us. In one place. I want us to put it all on the table, no hiding, no running out. Because if there’s any chance of moving forward—together or apart—we have to face it."

“I’ll text him,” she says, voice ragged. “Don’t expect miracles. But I can’t do this alone.”

A teardrop escapes your lashes and slips down your cheek. “Neither can I,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t respond, just stands up and motions for you to follow.

Evie’s living room is dimly lit, and the air feels thicker than it should—as if everything you’ve said to each other in the last hour is still hovering in the space between. Outside, it’s already dark, the muffled hum of passing cars bleeding in through the windows. You’re all drained—physically, emotionally—yet no one moves to leave. Not yet. It’s not finished.

Evie is perched on the armchair, knees drawn close to her chest. You’re on one end of the couch, Heeseung on the other, and there’s still a gulf of guilt and confusion separating you. But you can feel the conversation building toward something bigger than apologies or confessions of regret.

Evie tugs at the sleeves of her sweater. She glances between you and her brother, mouth pinched tight, but her voice is gentler than before.

“I’m not pretending this is easy,” she begins, clearing her throat. “We’ve all hurt each other. I just want to know what you… what you both actually feel.” Her gaze settles on you, question clear in her eyes. “Do you two even care about each other beyond… beyond whatever it was you were doing?”

You swallow, your mouth dry. This is the moment you’ve been pushing down for weeks, refusing to think about. The reason you woke up gasping sometimes, alone in your bed, missing a warmth you never should have craved in the first place. You take a shaky breath, feeling your pulse hammer in your temples.

“I—” you begin, then stop. Your voice wavers, but you force yourself to speak. “I’m in love with him.”

It comes out bare, unpolished, stripped of excuses. You feel the words echo in your chest, leaving you vulnerable. Across the room, Evie’s eyes widen for half a second, and you can see her guard tighten, just a bit.

Heeseung exhales sharply, his head snapping up. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you focus on the floor, heart pounding.

“I know,” you continue, voice trembling, “that he might not feel the same way. I know we started this all wrong, that I messed up your trust, that I hurt you”—you glance at Evie—“and maybe I don’t deserve a happy ending. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t love him just because I’m ashamed of how we got here.”

Evie inhales like she’s bracing for another blow, her arms tightening around her knees.

“You’re saying you love him, even if he doesn’t love you back?” she asks, carefully, like she’s afraid of the answer.

You let out a breath that feels like it’s been caged in your ribs for months.

“Yes. It’s not… it’s not his responsibility. If it’s one-sided, that’s on me.” You glance fleetingly at Heeseung, face flushing. “I don’t expect anything from him, or from you. I just—” Your voice cracks. “I needed to say it out loud.”

Silence envelops the room, charged with tension. Heeseung is staring at you, eyes wide and glossy, like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs. Evie shifts, chewing on the inside of her lip.

Heeseung finally speaks, voice rough.

“You… love me?”

You manage a small, trembling nod. “I do,” you say, meeting his gaze at last. “And if you don’t love me back, that’s okay. I know how messed up this is. I’m ready to… to accept that.”

He looks startled, as if no part of him expected you to be okay with that possibility. His hands flex on his knees, knuckles blanching. Then he breathes out, shoulders sagging.

“God,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievably stupid.”

You flinch, heart jolting—though there’s no real malice in his tone, only a shaky awe and raw disbelief that seems to be tying him in knots. He forces himself to meet Evie’s eyes for a flicker of a second, as if silently asking for permission to go on.

“Don’t call her that,” Evie snaps, voice quivering at the edges. She fixes him with a sharp glare, arms folded tight across her chest. “I don’t care how you meant it—she’s not stupid, and you don’t get to insult her in front of me.”

“Shut the fuck up Evie, one second,” He turns to you, “Because you think I’m not in love with you? That I’d leave you hanging with all this guilt?”

Your heart stutters, the floor tilting under you. “Heeseung…”

“I’m in love with you too,” he says, and the words hang in the air with tangible weight. “I can’t believe you’d be ready to walk away, believing it was one-sided. That you’d… accept it. God, do you have any idea how much it hurts to see you in so much pain, thinking I don’t feel the same?”

A soft sound escapes your throat—some blend of relief and shock—and tears gather at the edges of your vision. Across the room, Evie exhales shakily, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. You can see the swirl of emotions crossing her features: anger, hurt, jealousy, and underneath it all, a lingering care for you both.

Heeseung scrubs a hand over his face, then looks to Evie, voice trembling.

“I love her. I know I messed up. We messed up. We never should’ve lied. But I can’t take back how I feel.”

Evie drags in a deep breath. She pushes herself up from the armchair, pacing a short line across the living room. Her head is down, hands in her hair. When she finally looks at you both, there’s pain in her eyes, but not the same raw fury as before.

“Jesus,” she mutters. “You two…” She chews the inside of her cheek. “I hate what you did. I hate how you did it. But if you love each other—really love each other—I can’t tell you not to.”

Her shoulders slump. “I want to be angry forever, but… seeing you like this, I—” She presses her lips together, tears brimming, then sets her jaw. “I guess I just want us to find a way to exist without destroying each other.”

A thick silence fills the space. Your chest feels ready to burst from conflicting emotions—gratitude, guilt, longing, terror. You look at Evie and see the ghost of the best friend you once knew, who might be willing to stand beside you again one day, even if it won’t ever be the same.

You open your mouth.

“I know it won’t be easy,” you say softly. “I don’t expect you to forgive everything in one night. But maybe… maybe we can start moving forward?”

Evie dashes a tear off her cheek and gives a tiny nod.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Maybe.”

Heeseung watches her, watches you, then rises from the couch. He hesitates, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you. You stand up, heart pounding, and drift closer. Neither of you quite meets in the middle, leaving a careful gap where all your remorse hangs. But it’s less than before.

Evie clears her throat, hugging herself.

“I can’t stay down here with you two being… whatever you are. I need time, okay?”

You nod quickly.

“Of course.”

Heeseung nods as well, voice soft.

“Anything you need.”

She steps back, wiping her eyes, and there’s a hint of a weary smile ghosting across her face, like she’s relieved but not sure how to show it.

“You two can talk, or… or go, or do whatever. I just…” Her breath catches. “I’m gonna go upstairs. That’s all I can handle right now.”

You don’t stop her.

Then you turn to him, tears slipping down your cheeks, a tremulous hope fluttering in your chest. He lifts a hand—tentative, like he’s scared to break you—and cups your cheek, thumb brushing your damp skin.

He exhales shakily.

“I love you,” he murmurs, the words raw with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything.”

You nod, voice catching in your throat as you rest your hand over his.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “But I love you, and maybe… that’s something we can start with.”

His eyes close in something like relief, and he presses a soft, uncertain kiss to your temple. It isn’t a triumphant moment, not the kind of romantic victory you might’ve once imagined. It’s tender, laced with guilt and fear. But it’s also real—genuine and fragile, the only piece of warmth you’ve had in a long time.

Things shift slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. You and Heeseung start keeping your distance whenever Evie’s around—no subtle hand-holding, no lingering touches, certainly no sneaking off to lock yourselves behind the nearest door.

It’s not that you’re ashamed of each other; it’s that you can’t stand the thought of rubbing your relationship in her face. You both know you’re lucky she’s even letting you in the same room without storming out.

So you dial it back. You let your bodies stop running the show.

It’s harder than you expect—he still sets your nerves on fire by simply looking at you—but you remind yourself that Evie’s feelings matter, that you owe her more than just half-hearted consideration. You give her space, which means giving yourselves space too.

No sex. No heavy make-out sessions. No pressed-up-against-a-wall confessions. Just… time and gentle contact.

Heeseung seems as restless as you.

Sometimes, when it’s late and you’re on a phone call—whispering so Evie won’t hear through the walls—he sounds downright desperate.

You can hear his breath catch when you say you miss him, can practically feel the tension radiating through the receiver.

Yet both of you agree: this is how it has to be for now. If you want Evie to believe that what you have is more than just an addiction to each other’s bodies, you need to show her you can exist outside a bed.

So you go on dates. Real dates. Movie theaters, yes, but also bookstore trips, late-night drives to nowhere, strolling through a local fair when it rolls into town.

You hold hands only if you’re well away from Evie’s neighborhood—fearful that any small sign of affection might break the thin thread of tolerance she’s extended.

The first time you walk along the riverside in the evening, sipping cheap coffee from a convenience store, it hits you that you’ve never really done this part before: the tentative, day-to-day romance of building a real relationship. It’s both comforting and nerve-wracking.

You can feel the charge sparking under your skin every time he smiles at you, like you’re seconds away from losing your careful resolve.

But you don’t. Neither of you wants to risk undoing the fragile progress with Evie.

And that progress is slow, but present.

She doesn’t cringe as much when you and Heeseung enter a room together.

She no longer flinches if you happen to stand on the same side of the kitchen.

Maybe sometimes she rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t snap. You see the tension in her shoulders when you’re all in the same space, though—like she’s bracing for some new betrayal.

You can’t blame her. You still offer to leave the moment you sense her discomfort rising. Surprisingly, she’s started telling you to stay.

But the real sign that things might be healing comes one weekend night when Evie texts you, out of the blue:

Girls’ night?

She doesn’t dress it up with a cute emoji or an explanation; it’s bare bones, almost clinical. And you stare at your phone with your heart hammering, wondering if this is a test, or maybe a begrudging olive branch.

You answer with a shaky yes, and spend the next few hours trying not to read too much into it. You tell Heeseung you’ll be hanging out with Evie, and he just smiles—wide and genuine, telling you to have fun, to text him if you need anything.

Evie’s room hasn’t changed much since the night you snuck out of it to see Heeseung. The layout is the same, the posters the same, the bedspread the same. It all feels loaded with history.

She sits cross-legged on her bed, handing you a soda—no alcohol tonight, no false bravado. You sense she wants you both stone-cold sober for whatever might be said.

There’s an awkward pause, and then she gestures for you to sit, too.

For a while, conversation comes in bursts: updates about random classmates, stories from her day at work, small talk about the show you both used to binge-watch together. It’s stiff, but not hostile.

She picks at her blanket, and you notice how she won’t hold your gaze for too long. Yet each minute that passes without snapping or bitterness feels like a victory.

Eventually, she slides a bag of nail polish across the bed toward you. “You, um… you still like doing this, right? It’s been a while,” she mumbles, glancing at your nails.

It’s such a small gesture, but it makes your throat tighten. You nod, and she exhales something that might be relief.

For a solid hour, the two of you paint and chatter, as if practicing how to be friends again. Her shoulders are less rigid. You’re careful not to misstep. Neither of you mentions Heeseung.

At least not directly. But you feel his presence in the air, the unspoken pivot point around which your every interaction revolves. It’s only when Evie finally fixes you with a long, assessing look, half-concern and half-uncertainty, that the moment arrives.

“Are you two, like… okay?” she asks. Her voice is laced with discomfort, but there’s no hatred in it. “You said no more sneaking around. But are you—happy?”

You swallow hard, carefully blowing on your newly painted nails. “We’re… doing our best,” you say. “Trying to be good for each other. Not just physically.”

She nods, lips twisting like she’s turning over your words in her mind. “I guess… that’s what I wanted to know,” she admits softly. “It still weirds me out sometimes, but I’d rather it matter to you than be some… fling.”

A wave of gratitude surges in your chest, making it hard to speak. You nod. “It matters,” you whisper. “I swear.”

She blinks a few times, then sets her nail polish aside. The tension in her shoulders relaxes just enough that her spine curves against the headboard, more comfortable than you’ve seen her in weeks. “Good,” she murmurs, tone stilted but earnest. “Don’t… don’t make me regret trying to rebuild this, okay?”

Your own shoulders slump in relief. “I won’t,” you promise. Your voice shakes with the weight of it. “And if I ever do, you can—and should—kick my ass.”

That draws a small, genuine laugh from her—a sound you haven’t heard in what feels like ages. She nods, letting the humor fill the space that was once suffocating with tension. “Deal,” she says.

You stay up later than expected—talking about nonsense, painting your nails in mismatched colors, occasionally lapsing into awkward silences.

But each time, one of you breaks it before the air can go stale. By the time midnight rolls around, you’ve settled into a strange new normal: not quite what you were before the betrayal, but not strangers anymore. Something between you is mending, fragile but real.

When you leave, she walks you to the front door. It’s still weird, stepping out into the hallway where so much damage happened.

But Evie’s behind you, not in front, and you can’t help feeling that the dynamic has changed in a way that actually might last. You glance back at her, and though she still looks tired, she doesn’t look hostile or betrayed. Maybe just… cautious. It’s enough.

“Night,” she says, one hand resting on the doorknob.

“Night,” you reply, voice quiet. “Thanks, again.”

She nods and closes the door gently behind you—no slamming, no huffing. Just a simple, private goodbye.

As you slip into the night, you realize you’re smiling, mind already whirring with what you’ll tell Heeseung when you see him next. You catch yourself wondering if you’ll meet up for another date soon. Or if you’ll just call him on the way home, excitedly spilling the details of your slow but tangible progress with Evie.

The new place is barely furnished. A couch that’s still covered in plastic. A mattress on the floor. Takeout containers littering the kitchen counter. The floorboards creak with every step. The windows are wide open, and there are no curtains yet. It’s not home—not really—but it’s his.

And most importantly, it’s finally, blessedly, fucking private.

When he opens the door and lets you in, he doesn’t kiss you right away. He just watches you step inside like you’re something he’s trying to memorize. His hands stay in the pocket of his hoodie. His jaw’s tight. His eyes flicker to the bag in your hand, then to your shoes, then up your legs so slowly it makes you feel exposed even though you’re still fully dressed.

You don’t say anything at first. You set the wine down on the counter. You take in the space—empty and echoing—but your skin’s already buzzing. You hear the door close behind you with a soft click, and something shifts.

He clears his throat.

“I haven’t kissed you yet,” he says, voice low. “Not really.”

You turn to look at him. “No.”

There’s a beat.

“Can I?”

You nod.

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

His hands are on your face before you can blink, warm and rough and needing. The kiss starts soft, but only for a breath. Then it turns—hungry, desperate, filthy. Your back hits the counter with a thud, his tongue already in your mouth, his body pressing into yours like he’s trying to crawl inside you through your lips.

You moan into him, and he groans, deep in his throat, like the sound broke whatever shred of self-control he was hanging onto.

“You have no idea,” he pants, mouth hot against your jaw, “how long I’ve wanted to ruin you in peace.”

Your shirt’s pulled up before you can answer, his mouth already sucking marks down your neck. His hands are everywhere—gripping your tits through your bra, unbuttoning your jeans, fingers slipping into your waistband like he owns the place. Like he owns you.

You gasp as his hand slides between your legs, cupping you through your underwear, his breath catching when he feels the heat there.

“Already wet?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Fucking knew it.”

He yanks your jeans down to your ankles, then sinks to his knees on the kitchen tile without another word. His hands push your legs apart, pulling one up to rest over his shoulder. And when his mouth presses to the soaked fabric of your panties, you cry out—sharp, helpless, needy.

“You wore these knowing I’d take them off with my teeth, didn’t you?” he growls, dragging the fabric aside with his nose, his tongue already lapping through your folds like he’s been waiting for this for months.

You can barely breathe. One hand flies to the counter for balance, the other fists in his hair. He licks you with obscene, wet sounds, groaning into your pussy like the taste is sending him over the edge. You grind against his face shamelessly, whining when he flattens his tongue and drags it up through your slit, over and over again.

“Fuck, Heeseung—please—”

He pulls back just enough to spit directly on your clit. “What do you need, baby?” he pants, thumb spreading it around with tight, deliberate pressure. “You want me to make you cum with my mouth like a good little whore? Is that it?”

You nod frantically, hips rocking against his hand.

“I missed this pussy,” he mutters, diving back in. “Missed how fucking loud she is.”

And she is. Your pussy’s wet, sloppy, noisy, every flick of his tongue echoing off the bare walls. You cum hard, legs shaking around his shoulders, crying out his name as your vision blurs.

But he’s not done.

He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then grabs you by the waist and turns you around, bending you over the counter.

“No more pretending,” he growls in your ear. “No more quiet. You’re gonna scream for me this time.”

He pulls your panties down and spreads you open, groaning like a man unhinged.

“God, you’re dripping. You fucking missed this too, didn’t you?”

You try to answer, but he’s already stroking his cock against your folds, rubbing the head through the mess between your legs, smearing it everywhere.

“Say it,” he demands.

“Yes—yes, I missed it—fuck, Heeseung, I missed your cock—”

He sinks into you in one sharp, brutal thrust, and you wail.

No condom. No pause. Just the stretch of him filling you up in one smooth, devastating stroke.

“Oh my God,” he groans. “You’re fucking swallowing me.”

You’re moaning, writhing, drooling onto the counter. He doesn’t start slow. He doesn’t give you time. He fucks you—relentless, pounding, like he’s been waiting to do this since the moment you first touched him.

Your ass slaps against his thighs with every thrust. Your pussy is loud, the kind of wet, messy squelch that would embarrass you if you could think.

He slaps your ass hard, making you jolt forward. “Listen to her,” he growls. “She’s been crying for me.”

You don’t stop him. You beg for more.

He grabs your arms and pulls you back onto him, using your own body to fuck you harder.

“Keep taking it,” he snarls. “Be my good little cumrag, just like you used to be.”

You scream. You scream for him.

You cum again, sobbing into the crook of your arm, your entire body trembling.

He pulls out and flips you around, lifts you up onto the counter again, and kisses you like he’s devouring you from the inside out. Your legs are trembling so hard you can barely hold them up, but he spreads them open and spits straight onto your cunt, rubbing it in with two fingers, moaning when you jolt at the sensitivity.

“Wanna fuck you on the floor next,” he mutters against your lips. “Wanna fuck you on the mattress, on the couch, against every wall. Wanna ruin this apartment with the sound of your pussy screaming for me.”

You grab his face, breath ragged. “Then do it.”

He throws you over his shoulder and carries you to the mattress on the floor, where he fucks you in every position he’s ever imagined. He keeps you cockdrunk and leaking. When your voice gives out, he fucks you in silence. When your legs stop working, he props them up and keeps going. And when he finally cums—inside you, deep, claiming—he doesn’t pull out.

He just collapses on top of you, both of you drenched in sweat and slick and the aftermath of something feral.

You can’t move.

You don’t want to.

You just lie there, shaking, full, used, satisfied in a way that makes you dizzy.

Heeseung kisses your shoulder and whispers against your skin.

“I’m never being patient again.”

TL: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @beariegyu @zzhengyu @annybah @seonhoon @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3

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heeluvv · 3 months ago

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ᝰ.ᐟ premium content───엔하이픈

pairing ˎˊ˗ ot7 x fem reader

synopsis ˎˊ˗ you joined onlyfans to keep things anonymous—just quick content, easy money, and no strings attached. but when seven of the platform’s biggest creators suddenly subscribe, everything changes. they’re not just here to watch. they want in. the collab everyone’s been waiting for is finally happening… but this time, it’s not just for the fans.

status ˎˊ˗ 7/9 completed ♡

warnings ˎˊ˗ onlyfans au, poly! enha, exhibitionism/voyeurism, rough sex, slight possessive/jealous behavior, rough sex, praise & degradation kink, fingering, oral (m n f), unprotected sex, overstimulation, edging, orgasm denial, group sex, light choking/spanking, toy usage, etc.

natty's notes ˎˊ˗ this honestly started off as just a silly idea—a random “what if enhypen were onlyfans creators lol” thought that i fully intended to ignore. but then it spiraled. and spiraled. and suddenly i had nine chapters outlined, character arcs, and a reader caught between seven very unhinged men with cameras and control issues 😭 i also wanted to do something special to celebrate hitting 2k because holy shit—thank you. truly. for the love, for every reblog, message, and moment of support. you guys are the reason i keep going. anyways i hope you guys stay tuned for this, ilysm!

˗ˏˋ 01. new content dropped ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ 02. moan for the camera ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ 03. paid session ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ 04. boyfriend package unlocked ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ 05. my eyes only ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ 06. viewer submission challenge ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ 07. first timer ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ 08. watch me ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ 09. the final drop ˎˊ˗

⊹ ࣪ ˖ all content is original work by @heeluvv

↳ reuploads, translations, or plagiarism are not allowed.

support by liking, commenting, & reblogging!

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vampjaeyun · 5 months ago

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LEE HEESEUNG FIC REC LIST

s, smut | f, fluff | a, angst | suggestive is noted

since my fic recs are super popular on my nct blog, I decided to start on this blog! fics with less words and less plot/more smut are near the bottom of the list.

i don't want to be your roommate, i want to kiss your neck [ bestfriend's brother!heeseung x fem!reader ] s,f,a

let's collab [ camboy!heeseung x camgirl!reader] s

lee heeseung - the brother's best friend trope, part two [ brother's bestfriend!heeseung x fem!reader ] s,f,a

only if you say yes [ enemies to fwb au ] s,f,a

traces of you. [ loser!heeseung x tutor!reader ] s,f,a

cherry [ pervert!heeseung x virgin!reader ] s,f,a

you plus me [ ex-friend!heeseung x fem!reader ] s,f,a

tides of regret [ ex bestfriend!heeseung x fem!reader ] s,f,a

coffee & cream [ virgin!heeseung x virgin fem!reader ] s,f,a

falling alone [ lieutenant!heeseung x therapist housewife!reader, strained marriage au ] s,f,a

player rank: platinum [ simp gamer!heeseung x fem!reader, sister's bf au ] s,a

only if you say yes (please say yes) [ enemies to lovers au ] s,f,a

two's a company [ incompatible friend!heeseung x fem!reader, forced proximity au] s

i offer you my everything [ basketball captain!heeseung x virgin!reader ] s,f

m.o.r.e. - my only ruined escape [husband's friend!heeseung x fem!reader, toxic marriage au ] s,f,a

not if it's you, part two [ nerd!heeseung x fem!reader, strangers to lovers ] s,f,a

racing, beating [ illegal-racer!heeseung x model!reader, arranged marriaged au ] s

one hundred and one [ little brother's bestfriend!heeseung x fem!reader ] s,a

how to get back at your ex [ ex!heeseung x fem!reader, coworkers au ] s,f,a

what you need [ boyfriend's friend!heeseung x fem!reader, roommates au ] s,a

you make me [ stranger!heeseung x insomniac!reader ] suggestive

wrong doings [ stepdad!heeseung x stepdaughter!reader ] s,a

cross the line [ childhood best friends to lovers ] s,f

prince charming's mismatch [ prince!heeseung x princess!reader ] suggestive

pool party [ brother's bestfriend!heeseung x fem!reader, pool party au ] s,f,a

saint matthew's academy [toxic rich!heeseung x innocent!reader, private school au ] s,f,a

playground crush [ neighbor!heeseung x fem!reader, strangers to lovers ] s

as long as you'll let me [ virgin!heeseung x badgirl!reader ] s

i hate you [ bestfriend's brother!heeseung x fem!reader ] s,f

the space between [ rich basketball player!reader x flowershop owner!reader ] s,f,a

give it time [ inexperienced!heeseung x jake's sister!reader ] s

conflict of interest [ pool cleaner!heeseung x rich fem!reader ] s

heavenly [ established relationship, stuck inside due to storm au ] s

“just sit on my lap, it’ll be fine” [ gamer!heeseung x fem!reader, no nut november au ] s

two moons [ plug!heeseung x fem!reader ] s

want [ boyfriend!heeseung x fem!reader, first time au ] s

tethered [ emo!heeseung x fem!reader, childhood friends to lovers au ] s,a

mine or yours? [ stepbrother!heeseung x fem!reader ] s

helping hand [ bestfriend!heeseung x fem!reader ] s

let me show you [ experienced friend!heeseung x inexperienced fem!reader ] s,f

the girl from the bar [ bartender!heeseung x fem!reader ] s,f

easy access [ ex!heeseung x fem!reader ] s,a

a sucker for the taste [ experienced husband!heeseung x virgin!reader ] s,f

apple cider [ roommate!heeseung x fem!reader ] s

something new [ established relationship au ] s

taste [ munch!heeseung x fem!reader ] s

90 days of pleasure [ enemies to lovers ] s,f,a

teddy bear pajamas [ heeseung x jay's sister!reader ] s

surprise [ established relationship au ] s

plushies and headsets [ bestfriend!heeseung x petite!reader ] s

addicted [roommate!heeseung x tutor!reader ] s

wet [ water gun fight au ] s

road trip [ friend!heeseung x fem!reader, smut in car w friends ] s

diet pepsi [ bestfriend's brother!heeseung x virgin!reader ] s

the love game [ gamer!heeseung x fem!reader, established relationship ] s,f

wet dreams [ roommate!heeseung x fem!reader ] s

attention [ gamer boyfriend!heeseung x fem!reader ] s

tasty [ bestfriend!heeseung x fem!reader ] s

breaking free [ stoner!heeseung x fem!reader ] suggestive,f,a

forced roommates or forced to be lovers? [ popular pervy!gamer heeseung x popular cheerleader!reader ] s,f

homecoming [ idol!heeseung x fem!reader, established relationship ] s

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intromortal · 1 month ago

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ꕥ NICE N' FULL ⸝⸝⸝ six different scenarios in which the enhypen members breed the fuck out of you !

⚠︎ smut. mdni. breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, p in v, dirty talking, pet names, more warnings listed for each member. total wc 4k. ⸻ rules ⋆ m.list

✷ NIA — not exactly what bae @vampsol asked for bc i went a little au-ish here :p but it's me so what did we expect. shoutout to my goat @karinasbaby for sharing a braincell with me and helping me w the ideas <3

ꕥ LEE HEESEUNG

arranged marriage, it's okay they're starting to be obsessed with each other, slight somno, oral (f. rec), cum eating

If you were to tell anyone Heeseung didn't as much as look you in the eyes about two months ago, they'd never believe you. Not if the way he's clinging to your lower half before he even opens his eyes fully is anything to go by. Still naked in bed, the wet sheets clinging to your bodies the only thing shielding you from the cool dawn air.

Marriages of convenience are rarely easy, especially for spirits as free as Heeseung, and he's made it clear to you how much he'd rather have married anyone else instead. They also come with burdensome expectations of heirs way too soon for his liking. Yet, something about your devotion to him in your most intimate moments despite your general indifference and coldness towards each other, brought the cold and hard as steel man down to his knees, a puddle of mush at your feet ready to fulfill any request.

"Hee," you mutter softly against your pillow as he parts your legs to make space for himself, and Heeseung's heart soars. A month ago it would've been 'Heeseung' or 'husband' with that venomous tone you seemed to only reserve for him, like his spot in your life was only a joke. It's different now, you're tender with him.

"Shh, pretty. Just lay here for me like this." It's still early, and Heeseung can barely see, but he wants the first thing he looks at in the morning to be your pretty hole, raw and sore from all the previous fucking, still gush his seed out. He parts your folds slowly, careful not to hurt you, and watches as his milky cum greets him, pouring out of you. It's a sight for sore eyes, and one he knows he will never get enough of. Even when he'll manage to put a child in you, he knows this is something he won't be able to let go of.

You shift, now more aware of your surroundings, but Hee is quick to keep you still. Your hand underneath your stomach faintly tingles because of its weird position, but it all fades in the background when Heeseung grabs your ass and spreads it, moving lap at where his cum is gushing out of you.

You're still sensitive from the night you spent together, but his touch is feather light and you don't really know if you want him to stop or you want more. He moans at the mixture of your tastes, pushing his tongue deeper inside your cunt like he's trying to clean you, switching so soft kisses on your lips once he's satisfied.

He makes his way up to your face, littering your bottom and spine in kisses and playful nibbles, relishing in the little sounds you make in response. Your front is still pressed to the mattress, and not seeing him almost makes you believe this is not the Heeseung that was shooting you sharp glares throughout the entire wedding ceremony. His touch is warmer, so much more delicate than the way he held your end that first night. His kisses are slow and deliberate, not empty and forced anymore. It's like soul has find its way back into Heeseung's being, after months of being a cold slate. The change started out slowly, but now you're here, and you genuinely feel like you could really love this man. Maybe a part of you does already.

His voice is the same, but the tone makes him sound like a whole different person, the forever present irritation is gone, only a playful tilt to it left as he finally reaches your ear to whisper in it. "Slipped out while sleeping, all of our hard work gone… such a pity." Heeseung aligns his cock to your weeping cunt, rubbing his head a few times along your folds, then carefully pushes in. "We have to do it all over again."

He's gentle, showering you in soft praises, and his thrusts are even slower. You've never known anything other than fucking, but you think this is what lovemaking feels like.

"So good, baby. You'll be such a good mom, you've been so patient with me even when i didn't deserve it. You'll be wonderful," he whispers in your ear, raising goosebumps all over your skin at just how sweet he sounds. "You are wonderful. You're perfect."

ꕥ PARK JONGSEONG

husband!jay, semi-public, bulge kink, he's insatiable

What better way to spend your honeymoon trip if not by getting filled over and over again by your dear, newlywed husband?

You can't think of any, but maybe that's also because you can't really think about anything that's not the delicious drag of Jay's cock against your walls. So deep inside you, pushing more even when his balls are already flush to your skin. Like he can't get enough, like he could break any barrier and mold into you as one if he really put his mind to it. He needs more, you both do.

But one thing's for sure, he's giving you his all.

"So fucking good, my wife has the best pussy. So perfect for me," he pants hotly in your ear, his large warm hand cupping your breast and separating it from the frigid glass your front is pushed against. The view from your suite is breathtaking, emphasized by the huge transparent wall, right beside the queen sized bed. At the moment though, you're not really focused on it. Nor is Jay, too busy gawking at your beautiful figure caged between his chest and the glass. He could stare at you forever. "I'm gonna stuff you full, baby. Gonna fuck you so good all trip, there's no way you won't be pregnant by the end."

You believe it, because all he's done ever since you undid your luggage in the middle of the room once you arrived to your destination is pump you full of his cum, all day, all night. And then all over again. Only stopping to get you food. You aren't safe from him when showering, even worse when taking a bath, definitely not when you're lounging around the natural pool close to your suite. It's not his fault you look so good in the bathing suits you packed and the ones he picked out for you. Jay has always had good stamina, but ever since the wedding he's been downright feral.

His thrusts are slow, but intense, like he's trying to drag the pleasure out as long as he can, savoring the way his tip nudges just the right stop that has you mewling in his hold every single time. His breath is warm against your neck and so are his grunts of pleasure, your favorite sound in the whole world.

Jay twists your sensitive and sore nipples between his fingers, only smiling into your neck when you reward him with the cutest mewls he's ever heard in his life. "Fuck, baby. I'm the luckiest man alive. I can't believe you're mine forever."

"You too," you whine in response.

"Yes baby, I'm all yours, forever. I love you much."

"Love you too," you sob, throwing your head back into his shoulder, completely overtaken by the pleasure he's giving you, allowing him more access to lick and suck on your sensitive neck.

"I know, baby. I know. You're doing so good, just a little more. My sweet girl, you'll be such a good mom. Can't wait to make you one. We'll have so many, so many cute kids running around. Doesn't that sound like a dream? Fuck, I can't wait."

The hand still playing with your tits slides down to your stomach, pushing down on it until Jay can feel his own cock thrusting into you. "Right here, you're gonna carry our baby here." He keeps fucking into you slowly, deliberately, so different from the speed of the circles he draws on your clit with the fingers that were soothing your hip just moments before. He drags out his own pleasure, but needs to give you so much more. "Come on my cock baby, milk it dry. We have so much more work to do."

ꕥ SIM JAEYUN

fwb!jake but he has feelings, he's down bad and a little subby in this one, dub-con (for jake), slight blood play (just his lip)

This is a series of mistakes. It's all Jake seems to be doing as of lately.

First of all, he's not even supposed to be in your bed again, the fourth time this week. Not when he finally came to terms with the fact that he has developed a raging crush on you and cannot keep his feelings at bay any longer, even when you two agreed this whole arrangement will only be sex and nothing else.

But he can't help it when you're so fucking addicting. You not liking him back is gonna break his heart, but at least he gets to fuck you, at least he gets a little piece of you, even if it's not exactly the one he wants.

Secondly, he should've refused to fuck you raw for the first time the moment you asked, even if the thought alone had his eyes crossing and rolling all the way to the back of his skull. But he's a weak man, for you especially, and he simply couldn't resist the temptation, not when you looked up at him with your big glossy eyes and with such a cute pout on your lip.

So here he is now, fucking you raw like his life is on the line, trying his hardest not to spill inside you too soon because if he does he might just die from embarrassment.

All he does, all he's ever done, is with the purpose of impressing you. It's like you have him chained up to this invisible leash he didn't even notice you put on him, and now it's too late to take it off. Jake means it when he says he would do anything for you.

His thrusts are shallow and quick, he's fucking you mostly with his tip, and you don't think you've ever seen him so worked up. It makes you feel things you didn't even know you needed. You like the feeling.

"You're so cute like this, Jakey," you giggle into the messy open mouthed kiss he's drowning you in, your fingers ghosting on the muscles of his back while his tremble on your waist. "Fuck me deeper, I want to feel all of you."

Jake's hips still for a second as he bites down on his bottom lip so hard he draws blood, but you don't mind at all. You even lick it clean, sighing dreamily at the iron taste overtaking your senses. Jake's eyes screw shut, and he's so close to cumming his eyes start to water. This is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him, and thinking that this might very well be the last time only makes his eyes wetter.

"I—fuck. I can't. I'll cum too soon."

"That's okay, we can go again," you say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and a little piece of Jake's heart breaks. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

You sense his hesitation and wrap your legs around his hips, pushing them closer to your pelvis so his length fully sheaths inside you. It's so warm and big and throbbing to release his cum in you and there's not a single thing you want more. "Fill me up, Jakey. Claim me," you whisper in his ear. "Why don't you show everyone I belong to you?"

Jake resumes his movements, tentatively at first but steadily building a pace that feels good, his thrusts are deeper now, needier, and even if he were to try to pull out, you'd keep him right there. "I want to. I want you fully, fuck— please be mine," he sobs into the valley of your breasts, voice muffled as he licks and nips at your skin.

"Go on. Make me yours then. Show me how bad you want me."

And he does because fuck, he's weak. He's so fucking weak for you and he wouldn't have it any other way.

ꕥ PARK SUNGHOON

coworker!hoon, secret relationship, semi-public, degradation, jealousy, mentions of marriage

Something about the way Sunghoon's thick eyebrows were furrowed from the second he walked into the job that morning, or how his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth whenever any of your colleagues as much as opened their mouths to say something, should've been your cue to behave for the day.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, he happens to look so damn hot when he's pissed.

And he's so filthy when he's jealous, pushing his buttons becomes your favorite challenge in times like these.

"Eyeing Jake all day like you want to bring him to the back and fuck him, are you not ashamed?" he spits, voice an octave lower than usual and barely slipping through his gritted teeth. "Bending over in front of him, touching him when you know I can see you. Do I have to mark you up for you to fucking behave for once?"

The roughness in his voice makes your eyes wet but your panties wetter, he doesn't bother to undress you, you don't have time for it anyway. You're just a few steps away from the lounge bar where some of your coworkers are surely taking a break right now. Anyone could walk in at any time, and maybe Sunghoon wishes for that to happen.

Instead Sunghoon just flips your skirt up and pushes your panties to the side, immediately rubbing his angry red tip on your folds to coat them in your own juices. He feels so incredibly hard against you, and that's how you know he must've been hiding a boner this entire time. As much as he loves to pretend he doesn't, it's little cues like this that let you know just how much he enjoys putting you back in your place. "Of course you're soaked." He barks a laugh devoid of humor but full of disdain.

"If it's my attention you want," he whispers more softly, and the switch in his attitude sends shivers down your spine, something that doesn't go unnoticed by Sunghoon, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'll give it to you. I'll give you so much of it you won't ever think about disrespecting me again."

He pushes his girth into you fully in one thrust, his rough fingers finding your clit within seconds, not even giving you enough time to savor the pleasurable sting that comes from his cock stretching you out so nicely. He grabs your jaw in his other hand, his smirk not turned into a snarl. "You'll cum, and you'll cum hard enough to milk all of me. You'll keep cumming around my cock no matter how much it hurts, until I fill you up. Is that clear?"

You would nod if you could, but his grip is too strong, so you do what you can: just stand there as he subjects you to anything his heart desires. He doesn't move his hips, doesn't give you that satisfaction, only rubs his fingers on your tiny bundle of nerves so hard it almost hurts, but you'd never ask him to stop it.

"You'll take all of my cum, until your belly is swollen by how much of it I fuck into you. I'll put a baby in you so no one else will ever mistake you for anything other than mine."

You clench around him, time and time again, just like he wants you to. Sunghoon has you under a spell, and the more he talks, the more he flicks your clit, the less you think about what's rational and what's not. You only know what he tells you, and to you that's the only truth you need to hear.

"I'll put a ring on your finger, make you my pretty little wife. Maybe even make you stop coming in, I'll take care of everything. Yeah, keep milking me like that, baby. Let me make you a mommy."

ꕥ KIM SUNOO

ewb, hate sex, degradation, marking, one singular 'slut', condom comes off!

"You're—mhh, such a bad fuck," you say over your shoulder, wanting to see Sunoo's reaction despite the uncomfortable position. You're lying through your teeth, of course. You know how much saying things like this riles Sunoo up, and the only times you feel anything akin to like towards him is when he's rough with you. It's why despite the mutual hatred that makes up the entirety of your relationship, you two keep finding yourselves skin to skin, tangled in bed sheets. You always thought you needed someone to fuck you like they hate you, turns out, what you really craved was someone to fuck you because they hate you. And the right man for the job is right behind you, thrusting into you like he wants to hurt you, his hands leaving bruises on your hips like it's their right to do so.

"Then why are you here, wetting my cock like no one's fucked you in years?" His moves are relentless, and you have to try your best to not collapse on the bed because of the sheer force behind every stroke. Your legs are shaking, but you hang on a thread just to not give him that satisfaction. Instead, you push him further.

"That guy from—mph, yesterday. He'd—" you gasp as he gives you a harsher thrust, so deep you're sure you can feel it in your guts. The angle he starts fucking you in knocks the air out of your lungs in the best way possible, and even if you're trembling under Sunoo's weight and clawing at the cotton fabric next to you, you refuse to back down. "He'd do a better job."

You don't need to see his face, you hear the smirk in his voice, and it's the kind that sends a shiver down your spine each time. "But you're here." Another sharp thrust. "You don't even remember his name."

"At least he las– lasted while fucking me raw." You feel him halt all movement, and you know this is enough to get what you want from him, but you just can't help it. "You could never."

"You're such a little fox, aren't you?" He speaks calmly, but you can feel the storm brewing under the facade. He drags his fingertips across your spine, barely touching you at all. It's embarrassing how that's enough to have you bend under his touch. He reaches the plush of your ass, grabbing a fistful of it so forcefully you can feel his nails break the skin. He doesn't stop when you complain, doesn't care for your pained moans. "You think you're so smart, but you're just a little slut. You want me to fuck you raw?"

You try to shake your head to deny it, but he knows better.

"Yes you do. Say it." His grip on your ass only gets stronger, and tears line your bottom lashes.

"I do," you whine, finally. "Please."

"Good." Sunoo releases the death grip on your skin, soothing over the red spot with his thumb lightly, like it's not him performing the action. The Sunoo you know has no time for care. "Then take the condom off of me."

Your head snaps back at his words, but he makes no sign of moving. So you do what he says, this once. You reach for this length, then carefully slide the rubber off of it. And right when he thinks you're finally behaving, you squeeze his cock so hard his hips stutter forward and you actually manage to steal a surprised yelp out of him.

Sunoo's reaction is immediate. He grabs both of your hands, uncaring for the way your elbows are uncomfortably bent, and brings your wrists together behind your back. He slides into you again in one swift motion, not giving you even a second to savor the feeling of his bare cock pushing into your heat for the first time. All of your nerves feel on fire, and as he sets a breakneck pace while keeping you down and unable to move.

"Do I have to fuck a baby into you for you to finally behave?" He gasps when you squeeze him in response to his words. "You'd like that yeah? You'd love for the man you hate to get you pregnant? Is that gonna make you shut the fuck up for once? Oh, I bet it will."

ꕥ YANG JUNGWON

fiancé!won, they're obsessed your honor, love on the floor

"You can't wait to get me pregnant, but what will you do when you won't be able to suck on my tits for months, mhh?" You giggle on Jungwon's lap, right in the middle of the empty room.

The new house still smells like new houses usually do, dry and woody, like the windows are never open. There's no furniture yet, but it doesn't stop your heart from pounding in your chest as you look around. Your home.

Jungwon's eyes never leave you though, and when you look back at him and find him smiling at you like you hold the world in your palm, you know you would be happy with every house, no matter the size or appearance, as long as he's the one you share it with.

"What makes you think that's gonna stop me?" Your fiance replies, shaking his head to move the bangs out of his eyes. "I'll even get something more out if it."

"Won!" you exclaim, hiding your face in your hands. Your heart melts a bit when you hear that familiar boyish giggle leave him, light as air, and for once in your life you feel like you've found the right spot in the world.

The warmth you feel spreads further as Jungwon starts caressing your bare thighs, until he's gripping your ass, using it as leverage to push you on his crotch.

You gasp at the feeling, and your hands find their rightful place on his broad shoulders so you can keep yourself steady as he starts to roll your hips against his.

"Won… we shouldn't—"

He shuts you up with a soft peck, resting his forehead against yours. "Why not? It's our place. We worked so hard for it, we should celebrate."

You bite your bottom lip as you think about it, but Won doesn't waste a minute and flips both of you over so you're caged between the floor and his chest. He nibbles on your ear, knowing better than anyone else how weak it makes you when he does that. "I'll make you feel so good, doll." It's like he's put a spell on you because you nod before he even manages to finish his sentence. "Just lay back and let me do all the work."

Your clothes are soon discarded everywhere around you, and your legs are wrapped around his hips as he fucks into you like he never has before. You're both a sweaty mess, panting in each other's mouths, exchanging spit any chance you get.

"Your pussy was made for me, doll. You're sucking me in so well." Jungwon moans against your lips, and you watch enamored as his eyes shut close and his eyebrows furrow, a droplet of sweat running down from his hairline. "Can't wait to take you on every surface of this house. Fuck— just leave it to me, baby. I have so many surprises for you."

"I'm so close, please," you whine, sliding a hand down his back to push his hips into you further. It makes Jungwon's pace faster, more desperate to give you exactly what you need.

"Let go, baby. Come all over my dick— yeah, just like that. You're taking me so fucking well. Such a perfect doll for me." His praise goes straight to your cunt, and you squeeze him impossibly hard as wakes of pleasure rack through your body.

"My perfect angel, you're gonna look so good swollen with our baby. Am gonna give you all of my cum, just a little more. We'll have so many kids running around the house we built. Our home forever," Jungwon babbles in your ear, and you're so fucked out you can even barely make out what he's telling you. You just know you need him to fuck you full, over and over.

His hips never stutter, despite how drenched and slippery everything is by now, a puddle of wetness pooling underneath you on the hard floor, getting bigger and bigger the more Jungwon fucks you, and you suspect the floor won't be the only surface you'll wet that day.

#✷ mortal works #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #jay smut #jay x reader #jake smut #jake x reader #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunoo smut #sunoo x reader #jungwon smut #jungwon x reader #jongseong smut #jongseong x reader #jaeyun x reader #jaeyun smut

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calumcxke · 29 days ago

Text

NOTHING SAFE IS WORTH THE DRIVE - L.HS

pairing: playboy!heeseung x inexperienced!reader

summary: lee heeseung was an asshole. you had decided that. having to work with him on a group project made things a hundred times worse. but when a heart longing to experience love for the first time meets someone more than willing to give it, the line between irritation and something deeper starts to blur.

wc: 37.9k (i’m sorry)

warnings: reader is completely inexperienced, angst, miscommunication, reader falls too quickly and gets flustered very easily, kinda slow burn but not really, heeseung plays basketball but it’s barely mentioned, heeseung calls reader “princess” a lot, kissing, making out, features wonyoung (ive), yunjin (le sserafim), beomgyu (txt), sieun (stayc), reader cries a lot

smut warnings: dry humping, oral (f rec.), unprotected sex, virginity loss

🎵: playlist

notes: it’s here!! i'm SO sorry this took so long, i was having issues with tumblr :( this was originally only supposed to be 20k words… idk what happened. but it’s a rollercoaster and i love it!!! have fun reading! <3

you had heard of him before you ever saw him. everyone knew his name- whispered in dorm hallways, watched at games, the life of the party. a reputation built on charm, late-night hookups, and the kind of confidence that made girls fall to his feet with every word he said. you never cared to pay him any mind. but today, you walked into class and found him sitting in your seat. lee heeseung. just your luck. you hesitated for half a second before walking up to him. he was hunched over his phone, tapping out a message, looking about as invested in being here as a teenager at their grandma’s bingo game. "that’s my seat." his eyes flicked up at you, slow and lazy, like you’d interrupted something important. he gave you a once-over- casual, unreadable- and then, just as plainly, looked back at his phone. "doesn’t have your name on it." you exhaled sharply. of course. "i’ve been sitting here all semester." "congrats." he didn’t even look at you this time. "find another spot." and just like that, every rumor, every complaint you’d heard about him settled into place. arrogant. entitled. exactly the kind of guy you had no patience for. fine. whatever. you weren’t about to argue with someone who clearly wasn’t worth the energy. wordlessy, you drop into the seat beside him, pull out your notebook, and act like he doesn’t exist. he didn’t pay you any mind after that, instead shifting so he was leaned back against the seat, his feet kicked out in front of him. you wondered what made heeseung so popular with the ladies. sure, he was attractive. that much was undeniable. sadly. but you had barely had a ten second interaction with him, and he had already managed to piss you off. you bit the inside of your cheek, holding back a sigh as you waited for the professor to show up. the universe had to have been out for you today. you woke up late, you’re out of your go-to breakfast bars, and you’re sitting next to lee heeseung in class. you were silently praying nothing worse could happen. you hadn’t signed up for this. you were just trying to get through this class and move on with your day. but here you were, next to the campus playboy himself, the guy who never seemed to take anything seriously, the guy who had a different girl on his arm every weekend. you tried not to look over at him. you really did. but he practically radiated attention. his messy hair fell perfectly in place, and his broad shoulders took up way too much space for someone who was so annoying. heeseung wasn’t talking to you, but you could feel his presence next to you, and it was somehow more distracting than if he had been talking to you. the way his fingers tapped on the desk, the faint cologne smell that wafted over to you, even the way his shoes shifted against the floor- it was like he was intentionally making everything around him more noticeable. you hated how easily he commanded the room. you hated that even now, you were aware of him more than anyone else. and of course, the universe had to pick today to make you sit right next to him. of course, it had to be this class, the one you hated the most. the one you dreaded attending every single day. you were so deep in thought that you barely noticed when your professor- dr. kim- walked in, snapping you out of your spiral. he glanced up from his notes, then scanned the room with a smile. “alright, everyone,” dr. kim began, “i’ve got the group project assignments here. please try to work well with your partners, and don't hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.” your eyes widened slightly at his words, gulping as your eyes flickered down to your notebook. group project? there had been no mention of this before. or maybe there was, and you just forgot.

there was one thing about you. you hated group projects. they were the bane of your existence. you preferred to work alone, at your own pace, and not having to be stressed out by a freeloader or have awkward study sessions that consisted of deafening silence. "and for the final pair…" dr. kim’s voice broke through your haze, "y/n and heeseung." fuck. of course, the universe was never on your side. your eyes shot to him automatically, your stomach doing a flip that had nothing to do with excitement. his eyes flickered to meet yours, his expression unreadable. and then, a quirk of his lips and a tilt of his head. like he was observing you. you groaned internally, wishing for nothing more than for the floor to swallow you whole, turning your gaze back to your notebook. the professor was still talking, but all you could focus on was how you'd somehow ended up in this mess. you barely met this guy, he was an ass, and now you had to work on a project with him. “guess we better get used to each other, huh?” heeseung’s voice was low and casual, breaking the silence between you two. you forced a smile, nodding at him, “i guess.” you were already dreading the next few weeks. you sat in silence for the rest of the class. he didn’t speak to you, and you didn’t speak to him. you wondered if things would’ve gone differently if your morning had gone better, or if heeseung hadn’t been such an asshole. you couldn’t wait to tell wonyoung and yunjin about how shitty your day was already. as dr. kim wrapped up, you sat there, wondering just how you were going to survive this. there was no way to escape the fact that you were going to have to work with heeseung. you only hoped you’d survive it with your sanity intact. he had already proved just how arrogant he could be. the moment dr. kim dismisses class, you’re up out of your seat, dying to get out of this hell-sent class and to the comfort of your go-to café with your friends. you’re so close to the door when you hear his voice- smooth and casual, like he owns the place. “hey, y/n,” heeseung calls, and you freeze, your hand still on the strap of your bag. you turn to face him, trying to hide the frustration written all over your face. “yeah?” you reply, fighting to keep your tone neutral, but he can hear the hint of annoyance in it anyway. he flashes that signature smirk of his, leaning casually against the desk like he owns the whole room. “we’re gonna need to exchange numbers for the project,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “so we can work around my basketball stuff, y’know? i can’t really be falling behind.” you feel your eye twitch. of course anything other than class would be more important to him. the star player of the basketball team is unable to commit to a school project. you push the annoyance aside, instead reaching into your back pocket and pulling out your phone. “sure,” you mutter, handing it to him after opening the phone app. you can’t help but notice how his fingers brush against yours, the touch sending a small chill through you. he taps a few things into your phone before handing it back. “i’ll text you later,” he says, his smile a little too knowing. you can already feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of letting him see it. you nod curtly and turn on your heels, heading straight out the door.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“and then i woke up late! nothing is working out today!” you whisper-shout, dramatically letting your head fall into your hands as wonyoung watches you with a smile, yunjin scrolling on her phone and only halfway listening to your angry rant. “so, how’s that class going?” wonyoung asks, her tone casual as she stirs her drink. “you still surviving?” you had told them how much you hated your history class, practically having a complaint about something every time you attended it. “barely,” you mumble, finally lifting your head from your hands. “we got assigned group projects today.” wonyoung puffs out a breath of air, squinting her eyes. “brutal. who’d you get paired with?” you glance at her, your face blank, silently hoping she can see the despair in your eyes as you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance before mumbling, “lee heeseung.” you hear yunjin gasp slightly, looking back to see her finally staring at you with wide eyes before slamming her phone down on the table. “wait… heeseung?” she asks, a disbelieving scoff slipping past her lips. “as in the heeseung who’s like… the playboy basketball player?” you nod slowly, suddenly feeling way more nervous than you’d like to admit, “yep. that heeseung.” wonyoung laughs softly, pushing your shoulder with her arm. “no way. the universe really hates you, doesn’t it?” you glare at her, flipping her off with an eye roll, “it’s not funny. i’m gonna slam my head into the nearest wall.” “let’s not do that,” yunjin shakes her head, placing her chin on her palm as she tilts her head at you, “what’s the big deal, anyway? he’s just a player.” you sigh, playing with the rim of your cup while shaking your head, “he was an absolute ass this morning. it was like… the worst first impression of anyone i’ve ever had. i actually can’t deal with that for a whole project on top of the class already being a shithole.” wonyoung leans back in her chair slightly, looking at you with an amused smile. “he can’t be that bad. maybe you’re just having a bad day and he happened to rub you the wrong way.” you roll your eyes, but her words don’t make you feel any better. “yeah, sure.” “plus,” yunjin adds, leaning forward with a smirk, “maybe you can have some fun. i mean, make the most of it. you’re working with lee heeseung. most girls would kill to be in your spot.” you stare at them both, you lips parted in slight disbelief. “yeah, well they can have him.” the two girls smile at you, clearly more entertained by your suffering and how overdramatic you were. you bring up another topic, eager to get the attention off of you and your project from hell, instead shifting the focus to yunjin’s project in music theory.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

wonyoung was wrong. horribly wrong. heeseung was that bad. you check your phone for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, the glowing screen mocking you with the time. heeseung was supposed to be here half an hour ago. thirty whole minutes. you sigh, your fingers tightening around your phone. you had already texted him- a simple, are you still coming?- but it was staring back at you with “delivered” right under it. your fingers tap against the table impatiently as you stare down at the open laptop in front of you. the library is quieter than usual, the hum of low voices and the occasional rustle of pages filling the space. you consider packing up and leaving, your hands beginning to collect the pencils and highlighters you had set out around you. “you’re pretty dedicated to this, aren’t you?” you don’t even need to look up to know who it is. finally. slowly, you lift your gaze, leveling heeseung with an unimpressed stare. he’s standing there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, looking completely unbothered. like he hasn’t just left you waiting for half an hour. “you’re half an hour late,” you deadpan. heeseung grins, like he finds your irritation amusing. “technicalities.” you scoff, shaking your head. “you said we’d meet at six.” “yeah, and i meant it,” he says, smirking at the way you roll your eyes. “it’s just that… time is a social construct.” is he fucking serious. you gape at him, your eyebrows furrowed. “are you seriously trying to use philosophy as an excuse?” “would you rather me lie?” he asks, finally sitting, slinging his backpack onto the table. “i’d prefer you actually care about this project. it’s a huge part of our grade, heeseung.” he waves a dismissive hand, pulling his laptop out of his backpack. “relax, princess. i’m here now, aren’t i?” you gulp at the nickname, turning your head back to your laptop to open up the assignment. “barely,” you mumble. heeseung chuckles, enjoying your annoyance. “fine. i had practice, it ran later than expected.” “that’s all you had to say,” you reply, your eyes flickering up to meet his, “and a text would’ve been nice.”

“can’t really text when i’m on the court, princess.” he shoots back, tilting his head with a smile. you exhale sharply, already regretting ever agreeing to meet with him. “can we just start? we’re already behind schedule.” luckily, he agrees, his eyes drifting to his own laptop. you sigh, your own attention drifting back to your laptop. all you can do is hope that things begin to go smoother than this at some point. because right now, you’re considering slamming your head into your laptop or the table. you try to focus, you really do. but it’s hard when every few minutes, heeseung is moving. drumming his fingers against the table, shifting in his seat, clicking his pen as he reads articles on his computer. finally, you snap, your eyes looking up at him from your screen. “are you always this restless, or do you just have an allergy to being productive?” heeseung blinks at you, lips quirking up like he finds your irritation entertaining. “nah, i’m just bored. this class is stupid.” “why are you like this?” you roll your eyes, glaring at him. “even if this class is stupid, it’s still an important project.” “like what?” he tilts his head, all faux innocence, completely ignoring your second statement. “charming? fun to be around?” you scoff. “you were late. plus you were a dick this morning.” heeseung chuckles, shaking his head lightly. “c’mon, princess. loosen up a bit. you’re making a big deal over nothing.” “look, i had a shitty day. you’re not making it any better,” you mutter, scoffing again. a voice in the back of your head wonders if you’ve broken the world record for scoffing this much in five minutes. heeseung leans forward, resting his chin on one hand. “i’m sorry. you know… i’m pretty good at relieving stress.” your jaw drops. “excuse me?” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the way his words have a blush creeping up your cheeks, instead turning your attention back to your laptop. “just focus on your work, heeseung. we need to plan out who’s gonna do what part.” you don’t miss how he tilts his head, a knowing smile on his lips as he clicks his tongue, nodding. “alright. just remember we have to work around my schedule.” you let out a groan, your head rolling back as you look back towards him. “heeseung!” he only laughs in response, shaking his head at how you get embarrassed when other students give you dirty glares. “sorry,” you mumble softly, your eyes glaring at him. “focus.” an hour later, you guys had made relatively good progress. you had divided tasks, and heeseung had done his work, for the most part. he still found every opportunity to get on your nerves, but at least he did so while being productive. you both pack up in silence, swinging your bag over your shoulder. you spare him a glance, mumbling out a small, “bye, heeseung.”

just as you step outside, you hear the unmistakable sound of sneakers scuffing against the pavement behind you, “where you headed?” you turn your head slightly to see heeseung strolling up beside you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he looks down at you. “my dorm,” you reply, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder, “it’s late.” he nods, shrugging as he continues to walk next to you, “i’ll walk you.” you stop in your tracks, turning to face him with narrowed eyes. “why?” he tilts his head, raising his eyebrows slightly. “why not? i have nothing else to do.” “because…” you search for a logical reason, but there really seems to be none. you blurt out the only excuse that comes to mind. “it’s late.” he furrows his brows, falling in place beside you as you begin to walk again. “it’s 7:30.” you glance at him, shrugging. “that’s considered late for some people.” he smirks, tilting his head at you, an amused look on his face. “what if i just enjoy your company, princess?” your face heats at the nickname, and you roll your eyes, quickening your pace. “we barely know each other.” “well, i’d like to change that.” he keeps up effortlessly, long strides matching yours with ease. you scoff, trying to ignore the affect his words have on you. “i think you like to get on my nerves, heeseung.” he grins, nudging your shoulder lightly. “that too.” you sigh, glancing at him before looking straight ahead. but you don’t tell him to leave. maybe a part of you deep down enjoys the company. maybe you could allow for a part of yourself to feel wanted if the campus playboy was walking you back to your dorm. and if your heart stumbles a little when he walks just close enough for your arms to brush, you choose to ignore it.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

the door clicks shut behind you, sealing you off from the rest of the world. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pressing your back against the door as if that alone could ground you. it doesn’t. your mind is still running, replaying the moments heeseung’s arms brushed against yours, or the cocky smirks he sent your way, or the remarks he would make to get under your skin. with a frustrated groan, you push off the door and drop your bag onto your desk chair. you smush your cheeks with your hands, sighing, as if that will stop the warmth from creeping up your cheeks again. heeseung is nothing but trouble. you know that. everyone knows that. a playboy who knows how to charm his way into girls hearts with cocky words and athletic skills that has anyone swooning. and yet… your stomach twists. you shouldn’t like his attention. you shouldn’t feel special. heeseung flirts with everyone. that’s just how he was. so why was your stomach in knots? why was your mind replaying every interaction with him- no matter how insufferable he was? you collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you don’t know how to handle this. it’s not like you have experience. no boyfriend, no first kiss, hell, you haven’t even held hands with a guy romantically. the concept of flirting- especially with someone like heeseung, who’s it’s practically second nature to- is foreign to you. you don’t know whether you’re looking too deeply into things, or if there’s actually something there. you turn onto your side, hugging your pillow. reading too many romance novels had truly skewed your perception of love. this wasn’t a movie. the playboy wasn’t going to fall for the girl in class. this was reality, and things didn’t work like that. sadly. you’re overthinking it. reading too deeply into his words, his touches, his actions. but why does your heart speed up at the thought of him? you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and hoping to turn off your overactive brain. but instead, you feel that same flutter in your chest every time you think about him. the sound of the door opening catches your attention, glancing behind you to see yunjin entering the dorm. her presence relives you slightly, knowing you’ll have a distraction from the storm of confusion in your brain right now. she sends a smile your way, kicking off her shoes and walking towards you.

"what’s going on?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she surveys you curled up on your bed. "you look like you’re seconds away from ripping all your hair out.” you laugh breathlessly, flopping on your back so you can look at her without straining your neck. “i’m fine.” you watch as she smiles slightly, shaking her head and making her way to the edge of your bed, sitting down. “don’t lie. what is it?” you hesitate, knowing full well what’s bothering you. but you can’t exactly tell yunjin, can you? she knew you better than anyone, knew how insecure you were about having no experience. she would tell you to wake up, and not to fall for his playboy antics. so you shrug, pursing your lips before you speak. “it’s just school. stuff is piling up, and i’m behind on a few assignments. i’m just overwhelmed.” yunjin studies your face, not saying much. you can tell she doesn’t buy it, and for a second anxiety bubbles inside you at the thought that she knows, or that she’ll keep pushing. but she doesn’t. instead, she nods. “i get it. school’s been ass lately. you’re smart, though. you’ll figure it out.” you nod, appreciating the way she doesn’t pry. pushing yourself on your elbows so you’re sitting up, leaning against the headboard, you smile. “well, we’ll see if i actually make it through the semester this time.” she giggles, gesturing for you to move over as she cuddles up beside you. “if you don’t wanna talk about it, what about we watch tv? it could get your mind off of things. we could continue rewatching business proposal?” you smile, your eyes lighting up at the mention of the show. “please, i can’t live without my daily dose of hari and taemoo.” she laughs, turning on the tv and going to netflix. you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her, and her knowing that’s she’s lying. but yunjin is your closest friend, she won’t pressure you for answers, and knows when to stop digging. you shake your head slightly, pushing your anxieties to the back of your head. right now, you just need netflix and yunjin’s presence. everything else can come later.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

you tap your pen against the edge of your notebook, staring at the notes that made you want to rip your hair out. why you had to sit here and listen to your professor talk about smallpox for over an hour was unbeknownst to you. plus, you hadn’t slept well last night. you and yunjin were up until 2 a.m., and when you finally decided to sleep, you couldn’t. your mind kept racing, your bed felt too uncomfortable, the room felt too hot. you didn’t feel like yourself. and then he walked in. hands in his pockets, his backpack slung over one shoulder. he was late, of course he was. it should be annoying- it is annoying, he’s annoying- but for some reason, something in your chest tightens. your fingers curl around your pen, forcing your eyes back to your notebook. this was not happening. you’re just irritated. that’s all. he’s been an ass, he was late yesterday, he’s late today, and he walked in like he owns the place. while you’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes, writing down notes that are definitely going to be important for the project. but then he slides into the seat next to you, the smell of his cologne wafting your way as he clears his throat. “what’d i miss?” you turn, narrowing your eyes. “twenty minutes of lecture.” “no shit, sherlock.” he replies, pulling a notebook out of his bag. “mind sending me those notes later?” you shake your head with an eye roll, turning back to the front of the classroom. “this is why you need to show up on time.” “c‘mon, princess,” he mumbles, a hand reaching out to tug at the one of the legs of your chair, “help a guy out.” you gasp at the unexpected tug, turning to glare at him. “what the fuck? stop that.” he only tilts his head, shrugging with that same stupid smirk. your stomach flips again, but this time, you focus on the irritation bubbling inside you. this is exactly why you would never fall for heeseung. because he’s insufferable. he’s rude. he’s never on time. he uses flirting as an excuse to get out of everything, to get girls to bow at his feet. he chuckles, moving his hand away. “you’re annoyed.” “of course i am, heeseung. leave me alone.” you mutter, scoffing as he only shakes his head playfully. “y/n. heeseung.” dr kim. speaks, your body tensing as you turn towards the front of the classroom, meeting your professor’s expectant eyes. “is this something important you would like to share with the class? or would you like to keep bothering everyone with your banter?” your cheeks immediately flush, your body running cold as all the heads in the classroom towards you two. you’ve never wanted the floor to swallow more than you did right now. you shake your head, your voice coming out quiet. “no sir, sorry about that.” heeseung says nothing, simply nodding his head. you were going to kill him. “alright, then. anyway, as i was saying…” dr. kim speaks, continuing on with the lesson like nothing happened as you sit there in humiliation.

“so…” he begins. “shut up.” you mumble back, your voice quiet as your eyes stay trained on your notebook, picking up your pen to continue writing down whatever nonsense your professor spills. you were pissed off now, all thoughts of entertaining the annoying boy sat next to you gone. you didn’t know if he had realized how embarrassed you actually were, but he didn’t push. you watched him shift in his seat so he was facing the front of the classroom out of your peripheral vision, also beginning to jot down notes. the rest of class drags on unbearably slow. you try to keep your focus on the lecture, but your mind buzzes with embarrassment, replaying the way dr. kim had called you both out in front of everyone. when class finally ends, you don’t waste a second in shoving your notebook into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, and making a beeline for the door. of course, you’re never quite quick enough. heeseung appears next to you, falling in step beside you once again. “you’re really gonna ignore me after that?” you scoff, refusing to look at him as you keep your gaze trained ahead. “that’s exactly what i’m gonna do.” you hear him laugh, one that shows he clearly finds you entertaining. “it wasn’t that bad.” you finally glance at him, an annoyed expression on your face. “we got called out in front of the entire class for arguing like little kids, heeseung.” “and?” he grins, nudging your arm. “it was kinda cute. no big deal.” you inhale sharply, turning away before he can catch the way your face heats up. “you are insufferable. not everyone is as popular as you, alright? i don’t appreciate that many eyes on me.” he hums, tilting his head, as if he’s acknowledging your words. “where are you headed, anyway?” “lunch,” you say automatically, before realizing your mistake. a smirk creeps into his lips, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “perfect. i’m hungry, too.” “no.” you blurt out, your eyes snapping to his. he feigns innocence. “no?” “you are not coming with me, heeseung. i’ve dealt with you enough today.” you clarify, trying to make your expression as serious as you can, looking to your front again. “why not?” he grins, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you. “we’re partners, aren’t we? we need to work on our… chemistry.” you groan, rubbing your temples. maybe if you ignore him, he’ll take the hint. he does not take the hint. he continues to walk next to you, ignoring the stares of other girls wondering why heeseung is walking around with you.

so now, much to your dismay, you find yourself exiting the building with heeseung beside you, practically- no, literally- inviting himself to lunch. and as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, your stomach is in knots at the thought of spending more time with him. the walk is awfully quiet. heeseung doesn’t say a lot- much to your dismay. you wouldn’t say it’s peaceful, it was far from it. while heeseung may have been relaxed, just enjoying the walk, you on the other hand were losing it inside. caught between being annoyed at him or acknowledging whatever feeling was in your chest every time he was near. it wasn’t like you couldn’t pretend what the feeling was. you knew what a crush felt like. but you didn’t want to pay it any mind. how could you have a crush on lee heeseung? how could you fall for someone this quickly? you had to have set a new record for yourself. you decided it was just the fact that you were yearning for any kind of romantic attention, and heeseung was providing that… kinda. calling you ‘princess’ wasn’t exactly flirting. but you had never had this before, were you just expected to not be flustered? this feeling was treacherous, and you knew it. falling for the playboy was the last thing you wanted to do. you fidgeted with your hands, worries swirling around inside your head as you try to come up with an excuse that doesn’t make you seem like a touch-deprived college student. lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the incoming cyclist until it’s too late. before you can process what’s happening, a firm grip wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward just in time. your breath stutters, a small squeak leaving you as you crash into something- someone. the scent of his cologne is suddenly overwhelming, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his hoodie to ground yourself. his arm is still around you, his body warm against yours, his grip on your wrist loosening, but not completely letting go. your heart pounds in your chest, and you don’t know if it’s from almost getting run over or him. you can feel his breath fanning lightly against your temple, his chest moving as he breathes in. was he always this built? you knew heeseung was strong, but you had never touched him. “careful, princess,” he murmurs, voice lower than usual. “you trying to get yourself killed?” you blink up at him, your lips parting, but no words come out. not when he’s this close, not when his arm is splayed across your back, his hand still holding onto your wrist lightly. and that’s when it hits you. this is a crush. you like lee heeseung. you pull away quickly, trying to ignore the warmth lingering on your skin as you clear your throat. “i- i wasn’t paying attention.” you stutter out, refusing to meet his gaze. heeseung lets out a soft chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches you, nodding lightly. “yeah, i noticed.” you scowl, turning on your heel and stomping toward the café, hoping he doesn’t see the way your ears burn. he keeps up with you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even when you don’t look at him. “so i don’t get a thank you?” you roll your eyes, trying to fight the blush climbing up your cheeks as you turn your head to the side, never realizing how interesting the road was. “thank you,” you mutter, your voice too quiet he almost didn’t hear. but he hums, and that’s enough for you to know he won’t push further… hopefully.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

it’s been a week. a week of trying to push away the way your heart speeds up whenever heeseung so much as looks at you. a week of acting like the casual touches and the teasing remarks don’t make your stomach flip. a week of trying to convince yourself you don’t like heeseung. a week of failing. now at lunch, you’re sat with wonyoung and yunjin, the conversation flowing easily between them- an annoying professor, a party next weekend, overdue homework- but the words barely process. your eyes are trained on heeseung across the cafeteria. the same place he always sits, with his team and friends, but now you can’t stop looking. he’s leaned back in his chair, laughing at something one of his friends said. he looks beautiful. you can admire his sharp jawline, or the way his adam’s apple moves when he throws his head back, laughing at a joke. and for some stupid, down bad reason, you can’t tear your eyes away. you’re not even aware you’ve been staring until yunjin’s voice snaps you out of it. “you can’t be serious.” your head snaps towards her, blinking in confusion. “what happened?” she doesn’t say anything. instead she pursues her lips, tilting her chin slightly in heeseung direction with a quirk of her brow. “heeseung.” your stomach drops, your mouth opening and closing as she waits for an answer. “it’s not like that,” you blurt, suddenly finding your untouched lunch very interesting. yunjin doesn’t buy it. she crosses her arms, watching you closely. “then why are you staring at him like that? is this why you’ve been so out of it lately?” silence. the air feels too thick, your face burning hotter by the second. you have no good excuse. no answer to her question, because that means you would have to admit it out loud. and you weren’t ready to do that. you hated how obvious you were being, how you were acting like every other girl he’s wrapped around his finger before now. finally, wonyoung- who has been watching this exchange like it’s the most entertaining thing she’s seen all day- chimes in, "i wouldn’t blame you.” you turn to her, your eyebrows raising. “what?” she shrugs, stealing one of your fries before tossing it in her mouth. "i’m just saying, he’s hot. everyone knows that. you’ve been spending a lot of time with him because of your project. i mean… would it be the worst thing if something happened?” your eyes widen more- if that’s even possible. but before you can get any words out, yunjin is speaking. she looks at her like she’s lost her mind, shaking her head quickly. "are you insane? don’t encourage this.” "i’m just saying!" wonyoung laughs, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “you never know.” yunjin scoffs, rolling her eyes dramatically. “no, we do know. heeseung is heeseung. an asshole.” she turns back to you, her expression softening slightly. "you just need to be careful.” it’s the same thing she always says. it’s everything that you’ve been telling yourself. you just nod, too embarrassed that they found out to even speak.

silence lingers between the three of you. you look on the food in front of you, the other students walking by, the ground. but you can feel their eyes on you, like they’re waiting for you to acknowledge their words- to say anything. wonyoung breaks the silence, picking at her nails, “i mean, it’s not like you have much experience- let me rephrase- you have no experience with this stuff.” your head snaps towards her, your jaw dropped. “what the fuck?” she smiles at you, shrugging. “i’m just pointing out the facts’ y/n. you get flustered by everything. you’re gonna fall too fast, especially with someone like him. that’s the reality for a romance virgin.” as if this moment wasn’t already embarrassing enough. your face burns, glaring at her. “a romance virgin? what the fuck does that even mean?” you go quiet, realizing you don’t have a comeback to her words, because as much as you hate it, she’s telling the truth. so you resort to sighing, grabbing a fry and plopping it in your mouth. “you guys are so annoying.” yunjin laughs, also stealing a fry from your plate. “we’re being realistic. and looking out for you.” “i don’t even like him,” you mumble, your mouth filled with a bite of food, wonyoung wincing at the sight. you only flip her off in response. she laughs, raising her eyebrows, “right. that’s why you were making heart eyes at him across the cafeteria. i’m surprised you didn’t raise up and start floating towards him.” you gape at her, scoffing as you shove her shoulder. “fuck off! i was not!” she doesn’t respond, but her and yunjin share a knowing look, smiles on their faces as they look back at you. you groan, pressing your hands against your face, “you guys suck. why are you torturing me?” yunjin speaks, her smile already telling you she’s about to make things worse, “just saying, do you really want heeseung to be your first everything?” you reach your hand over the table to smack her arm, practically glaring daggers at her as all she does is laugh. “yunjin! shut up!” she just shrugs, fighting back more laughs as you sulk in your chair, arms crossed against your chest. "what? i’m looking out for you. i mean, at least he’ll be good, he knows what he’s doing.” you decide to ignore her words, your cheeks burning as you look off to the side, sighing at how wonyoung laughs at her words. “i hate you,” you mumble, shaking your head. they only laugh more, wonyoung leaning over to give you a hug. you reciprocate, begrudgingly. you just want the floor to swallow you right now.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

you were late. to be fair, you weren’t that worried. heeseung was never on time to your study sessions. and, if anything, you were only going to be 5 minutes late. pushing open the door of the library, you’re greeted with the smell of books, the quiet sounds of footsteps, and fingers tapping keys quietly. time seems to slow in here, somehow. you like it. it’s so peaceful, everyone minding their own business. you stroll quietly, making your way to the study rooms on the side of the library. you had reserved one of the rooms, sending heeseung a text earlier in the day of which one to meet you at. you walk up to the door, the frosted glass frame with a big blue “5” staring back at you, before pushing it open. you’ll be able to set everything up, maybe get ahead a bit before you have to deal with him, go over things- but he’s already there. your brain short circuits, like all the thoughts you had disappeared. sitting in one of the chairs, leaned back with one leg stretched out and the other one bent. his hair is damp, which you assume is from practice, hanging in his eyes. a white wifebeater clings to his skin, leaving little to the imagination. his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, his torso. you swear you’re going insane. your eyes flicker to the way his forearm flexes when he scrolls on his phone, your fingers tightening around the strap on your bag. it’s only then that you realize you’ve been staring. his eyes flicker up from his phone as his gaze locks on yours, the corner of his lip rising. “like what you see?” you swallow, shaking your head as you step further into the room, letting the door shut behind you. “i’m just surprised you’re actually here on time.” he only nods, completely seeing through your little act. he leans back more, raising his arms above his head. he groans, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his muscles flex, or the way his shirt lifts- just slightly, but enough for you to see a sliver of his skin, his abs highlighted by the fluorescent lights shining down on you two. you feel insane. your body heats up, taking a deep breath as you (reluctantly) tear your eyes away from him. you busy yourself with pulling everything you need out, trying to ignore heeseung’s gaze on you. the space suddenly feels too small, and you regret reserving a room. you can’t look at anyone else, can’t find a distraction outside of this room. you’re stuck. heeseung pulls out his own laptop, opening it and speaking, like it’s the most casual thing. “you were staring.” your breath hitches, but you play it off, glaring at him. “i told you, i was surprised you were here on time.” his brows lift in amusement. “that’s all?” you nod, eyes turning back to your screen as you pull up the project. “that’s all.” “alright,” he hums, but the smile doesn’t drop from his face. your face burns, trying to push all thoughts of how good he looked away as you try desperately to lock in, typing out anything that seems of significance. this was going to be a long study session.

that it was. you were nearing the hour and a half mark, your brain starting to jumble all the words you read, taking in too much information at once. if you had to read one more article about the impact of diseases and medicine on our society you were sure you were going to start slamming your head against the table. for once, heeseung wasn’t being a pain. no remarks or teasing. he was silent, actually doing his work. you were grateful for the change, considering how earlier had gone. luckily the tensions had died down, and you two hadn’t talked since you walked in. then, without warning, he leans in. your body tenses, his arm reaching past you to grab a pen that had rolled over to your side. the scent of his cologne filled your nose, along with his breath lightly fanning against your cheek. you swallowed, trying to keep your eyes trained on your laptop like nothing was wrong. but he notices. of course he does. his fingers hover over the pen, but he doesn’t grab it. his gaze flickers to you, the corner of his lip lifting up. “you good?” his voice is lower, the teasing lilt evident in his voice already. you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you continue typing, trying to ignore how fast your heart is beating, “yeah, i’m fine.” he tilts his head, just watching you. then he moves a bit closer, your breath hitching. “are you sure?” he asks again, smiling slightly. you nod again, too scared to even look his way as you feel your cheeks burning up. “you’re too close. that’s all.” he grins, unable to hide how amusing this is to him, “too close?” you nod, confirming his words with a quiet, “yeah.” he doesn’t back away, instead slowly dragging the pen towards himself as he continues. “what, never had a guy this close before?” you open your mouth to respond- but no words come out. it’s like you glitched, the words refusing to leave your lips as you try to come up with an excuse, an insult, anything to get the attention off of you right now. fuck. he picks up on it immediately. his grin falters slightly, his eyes flickering over your face to gauge your reaction. “you haven’t?” you feel stupid. your chest tightens, embarrassment flooding you. you turn your head quickly- too quickly. not realizing how close the two of you were, your nose brushes against his as you stutter out words. “that’s not- no- i mean-“ “oh my god.” he mumbles, leaning back in his chair. “heeseung.” you speak, your eyes pleading with him. he blinks, the smirk gone off his face and replaced with curiosity. “you’ve never been kissed before? actually?”

“heeseung-” you mumble, no other word leaving your lips as your ears heat up, your stomach twisting as he stares at you. his grin returns, just slightly, a small laugh leaving him as he shakes his head. “that’s.. wow.” he doesn’t sound judgmental, more so surprised, but the damage was already done. “just drop it,” you mutter, suddenly feeling the need to get out of the room, closing your laptop and beginning to pack up. “that’s interesting,” he continues, slowly shutting his laptop as he continues to watch you, “you’re leaving?” you nod, trying to ignore the mortification you feel as you shove things into your backpack carelessly. “it’s already been an hour and a half.” you go to shove a pencil inside, but with how shaky your hands are, it slips through your fingers, landing on the table. “fuck,” you whisper, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear. he reaches for the pen, his fingers moving faster than yours as he twirls it in between his fingers, watching you. “you good?” you nod, holding out your hand for the pen, refusing to meet his eyes, “i’m fine. just- can i have it?” he hesitates, before slowly placing it in your palm. he doesn’t say anything, instead simply watching as you move your hand quickly, shoving the pen into your backpack, before quickly zipping it up and slinging it over your shoulder. you can feel his gaze on you, turning on your heel and making a beeline for the door. “i’ll see you in class,” you mutter, the door shutting behind you as you walk out as quickly as your legs will take you, trying to hold back the flood of emotions and embarrassment swirling inside you.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

it felt like everything hit you the second you stepped through the door. the silence only heightened the sound of your pounding heartbeat in your ears. you kick off your shoes, your hands shaky as you let your backpack fall to the floor. your mind can’t stop replaying every interaction with heeseung earlier that day. but it felt like so much more than that. it was about the way you slipped up, your own body betraying you and the truth slipping out. it wasn’t like being inexperienced was a bad thing- you knew that. but you hated how everyone around you was able to talk about it so casually. while you fell behind and lived vicariously through romance novels and cheesy romcoms. for once, you wanted to know what it was like. and for all people that could’ve found out- heeseung had to know. the boy who had a new girl on his arm every week, who was no stranger to romance. it felt mocking. embarrassing. like the universe was making a joke of you, pointing at you and laughing. your breath catches in your throat, tears spilling down your cheeks before you can process it. you don’t stop them, you don’t react. you simply stand there, small sobs leaving you as the defeated feeling takes over. you’d tried to hard to not let this take over. to be okay with the fact that you hadn’t experienced love yet, it was no big deal. but it somehow hurt more knowing the one you liked was probably the most unattainable person on campus. you shuffle towards your bed, your feet barely leaving the ground until you reach the foot of your bed, letting yourself fall forward, straight into a pillow. your tears soak the fabric, your mind swirling with insecurities and thoughts of yearning. to know. to feel. to be loved. it feels so impossible at this point. like love- true love- will never find you. it felt like everything was boiling over, your body curling up as your tears grow more intense, louder sobs slipping from your lips as your hands grip the pillow. you didn’t even know how long you had been crying for. you cried until no more tears came out, the sobs transforming into quiet sniffles and labored breaths, until exhaustion took over your body and lulled your body into a peaceful sleep, safe from all the worries of the outside world.

but the peace didn’t last. the sound of the door opening stirs you awake, yunjin’s voice filling the apartment. your body feels too heavy, a dull pounding in your head and a lump in your throat still remain as you turn over slowly. you rub your eyes, trying your best to remove the evidence of your breakdown through your sleepy confusion. “-and he was so fucking hot, y/n. ugh, i wish i would’ve gone over to his place. and he told me he had a good time, and he wants to see me again!” she spills, kicking off her shoes and throwing her purse somewhere near the door, flailing her hands as she recounts all the details. she pauses as she turns to you, finally taking in the state you’re in. “were you asleep? sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you up,” she laughs quietly, lowering her voice. you simply shake your head, still coming back to reality as you push yourself up. you speak, your voice scratchy and slurred from lingering exhaustion, “it’s fine. i shouldn’t have fallen asleep that early, anyway.” she walks over, sitting at the edge of your bed and looking at you, a smile on her lips before she takes in your puffy eyes. “you doing alright?” you swallow, pushing down the emotions that threaten to resurface. you nod, forcing a smile. “i’m good. just tired… i’ve had a lot of work lately.” she watches you, her head tilting like she doesn’t believe you. finally, a smile breaks out on her face as she lets herself fall back against your bed, turning her head to face you. “he was so perfect. like, usually i don’t like pisces men, but beomgyu? he was just.. fuck, y/n, i’m losing my mind.” you smile slightly at her lovesick rant, her words filled with a giddy happiness that only love can bring to you. you nod along to her words, her eyes lighting up when she recounts the best details. “are you going out again?” you ask quietly, playing with the hem of your blanket when she stops talking, simply staring at your ceiling with a lovesick smile. that question breaks her out of the trance, turning to you with a grin. “fuck yeah! he asked me to go to his place next? you know what that means,” she trails off, wriggling her eyebrows before kicking her feet, covering her face with her hands as she squeals. you laugh, although deep down, you wish you could know what it feels like. the feeling of being desired, of being wanted. and as yunjin continues to ramble, expressive hands and wide eyes, you can’t push down the feeling that creeps up and surrounds you, making you feel like you’re locked inside a dark room that has no key, no door. like you’re falling behind while everyone races ahead.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“no.” the word leaves your lips before yunjin can finish her sentence, already knowing where it was going when she started with, “so, i was thinking…” you don’t look up from your laptop, hoping that if you don’t acknowledge them, they’ll drop it. they never do. wonyoung groans, flopping backwards onto your bed before she rolls over on her stomach, resting her chin on her hands as she stares at you. “y/n, please. you literally never go out.” you finally spare her a glance, before looking back at your computer. “i’m busy.” yunjin crosses her arms, a huff of air leaving her. “you fucking liar. all you do is rot in bed. then you wonder why you get no action.” you glare at her, choosing to ignore her jab at your love- or lack thereof- life. “i enjoy the tranquility.” “god, you’re hopeless.” she sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed beside wonyoung’s sprawled out figure. “you need to have some fun for once.” “i do have fun,” you reply, finally shutting your laptop, “a party is not my idea of fun. it’s sweaty bodies, and drunk people, and people making out against walls.” “you’re so dramatic,” wonyoung laughs, her hands tugging lightly at your calves. “it’s one night. maybe something will happen.” you shake your head, ignoring the puppy dog eyes she sends you. “no, nothing will. i’ll go and hate it, want to kill myself, and wish i could be back in bed watching reruns of gossip girl.” yunjin groans, tossing her head back at your resilience. “i’m gonna kill you. you’re coming to this party. you need some action. that’s probably why you’ve been so… whatever you’ve been, lately.” you freeze, shaking your head lightly. “i don’t need action.” wonyoung giggles, turning her head to smile at yunjin. “you know, y/n, she has a point. don’t you think it’s time to put yourself out there?” you roll your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek. “shut up.” but your stomach twists uncomfortably. they don’t mean it in a harmful way- to them it’s just teasing. they don’t know how much you hate having nothing, the fear of putting yourself out there. and after your breakdown a few nights ago, the topic felt heavier. more anxiety fills you as another thought creeps in. impossible to shake, growing larger the more you try to ignore it. if it’s a party, heeseung will be there. he always is. the thought of running into him after your last interaction makes your chest feel tight, your eyes flickering around the room. “i just don’t wanna go,” you mumble, trying your luck again. of course, they don’t listen. yunjin sends you a look, standing up and grabbing your arms, tugging you forward. you gasp, catching your balance before you tumble off your bed. “didn’t i already tell you you’re coming to this party? get up, loser.” you huff, reluctantly listening to her just this once. you toss your feet over the side of the bed, letting yunjin pull you to your feet. “you’re so lucky i love you guys,” you mutter, glaring at both of them. wonyoung squeals, practically flying off of your bed as she wraps you in a hug, jumping up and down. “finally! i’ve been waiting for this day forever!”

you only shake your head, trying to bite back a smile at her excitement. yunjin, on the other hand, has already made her way to your dresser, pulling random clothes out and tossing them over her shoulder. “okay,” she speaks, tossing a pair of shorts that are too short beside her, “we wanna make you look hot. but also not like you’re trying too hard, a good balance. heeseung’s gonna be there, right?” wonyoung laughs, making her way over to yunjin to look at the clothes she’s already picked out, holding them up to your body before nodding or shaking her head. your stomach, however, twists at the mention of his name. “i’m not trying to impress anyone,” you blurt, shaking your head as yunjin pulls out a tiny red dress, “i’m only going because you guys are forcing me.” she gives you a look, raising her eyebrows. “you realize we can see right through you, right? you act like we’re not your best friends. you want the guy, admit it.” you go silent, opting to roll your eyes at her words instead. she only laughs, tossing the red dress at you. “try that on.” “i’m not wearing this,” you mutter, holding it out in front of you.wonyoung whines, shaking your shoulders. “it’s a house party, girl. other people are going to be wearing so much worse. just try it.” you groan, reluctantly trying the dress on. it’s too tight, too short, showing off your body in ways you’re not used to. you look up, gauging the two girls’ reactions. yunjin tilts her head, analyzing you, before finally shaking her head. “no, i don’t think that’s very you,” she says, turning back to your closet. “you wanna look slutty, but like, fashion.” you furrow your eyebrows, almost wanting to laugh at how seriously they were taking this. “great explanation.”

wonyoung gasps, stopping both of you in your tracks. “yunjin, give me that shirt,” she exclaims, pointing to a black lace tube top yunjin is holding up. the lace wraps around itself, one edge falling to create an asymmetrical look. once yunjin hands it over, she grabs a black denim skirt off the floor, holding the items to your body as best she can. “yes. this is it,” she smiles, yunjin nodding beside her. “put this on. you’re gonna look so hot.” you can’t deny wonyoung’s words once you have the outfit on. it looks good, the pieces accentuating your body while not showing off too much. yunjin’s jaw drops slightly, nodding as you spin slowly. “i’m so in love with you.” you smile, shaking your head at her. wonyoung grabs a pair of black heeled-boots, the leather tight around your calves, with a platform that makes you at least 5 inches taller. yunjin nods, looking at wonyoung, “add a leather jacket.” once the whole outfit is assembled, you can’t deny it. you feel hot. you look hot. “you look amazing, y/n. heeseung’s one lucky guy.” wonyoung smiles, stepping up to you to adjust the top. you glare at her, an exasperated breath leaving you. “stop bringing him up. nothing has happened between us.” “yet,” yunjin says, a teasing smile on her lips. “oh, fuck off,” you laugh, flipping her off. you couldn’t help the feeling that settled in your stomach. was it anxiety? excitement? you couldn’t tell, but you knew this was going to be a long night. and maybe, deep down, a part of you wanted heeseung to see you in this outfit.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

you regretted coming the second you stepped through the door. music was blasting through the speakers, the volume combined with all the conversations happening almost unbearable. the smell of weed and alcohol invaded your senses almost immediately. people were everywhere you looked, crowded together. drinking, smoking, dancing, talking, making out. your feet slowed down, suddenly wanting to turn around and go back home. yunjin tugged your arm, forcing your feet to move again as she dragged you along, weaving through the mass of bodies, trying to avoid bumping into anyone. wonyoung was right. people were wearing much worse. you still felt out of place though. like people knew you didn’t normally dress like this. like people knew you were trying to look good just for this party. once the three of you stopped moving, wonyoung looked at you, immediately sensing your discomfort. “you’re fine. no one’s judging you, okay? everyone’s too caught up in their own thing here.” you only nodded in response, glancing around at everyone. “there’s… a lot of people here.” wonyoung laughs, finding your reactions cute. “yeah, that’s usually what it’s like at house parties.” the idea of willingly putting yourself in this environment weekly sent a chill down your spine. things like this weren’t your speed. though, sometimes, you wonder what it would be like to be an extrovert, to enjoy talking to others, spending your days socializing. wonyoung explains something to you, but you’re only halfway listening. your eyes are drifting around the party. looking for something, or someone. hoping to see his black hair in the crowd of people. a bit hard, when half the people here had black hair. “oh- there he is!” yunjin gasps, her words pulling you out of your trance as you look at her, raising your eyebrows. you follow her line of vision, nerves bubbling in you at the thought of actually seeing him- “beomgyu!” she smiles, turning to you and wonyoung with a cheesy grin. “i’m gonna go say hi. i’ll catch you guys in a bit?” “go get your man,” you smile, watching as she heads off, a pep in her step as gets closer to him. you turn back to wonyoung, unsure of what to do now that you were here.

“so, like, what do we do?” you ask, once again glancing around at the people around you. “talk to people. get a drink. find someone hot.” she nudges you at the last option, sending a teasing smile your way. “no.” your reply is immediate, shaking your head. “i’m not having any of my firsts at a random house party.” she sighs, throwing her head back before looking back at you. “you read too many romance novels.” you gape at her, your lips forming into a pout. “a girl can dream. let me wait for the one.” “well, looking like you do tonight,” she pauses, her eyes flickering up and down your figure, “i’m gonna be surprised if no one hits on you.” her sentence sends a hint of excitement through you, but you quickly shake your head, dismissing the feeling. “i’d rather someone not. that would just be awkward. i can’t talk to people.” she laughs, but she’s shaking her head. “this is exactly why you need to go out more. put yourself out there.” you don’t respond, your eyes flickering around the crowd of people once again, watching people's body language, and how they interact with one another. everyone looks so relaxed, simply enjoying the environment. “anyway,” wonyoung speaks, breaking the silence that settled between you two, “i’m gonna go get a drink. do you wanna come?” you shake your head, not feeling like navigating through the crowd of people once again, choosing to wait for wonyoung to get back. “no. it’s fine. i’ll wait.” “alright, do you want anything?” she continues, watching as you shake your head again, denying her offer. “i’ll be right back, then.” you watch as she walks off, weaving through the crowd and heading towards the kitchen. you lean back against the wall, fidgeting with your fingers as you wait calmly for wonyoung to return. she doesn’t. two minutes turn to five, which turns to ten, which turns to fifteen. people were starting to send you looks, wondering why you were standing around alone, with no drink. you felt out of place. no, you were out of place. you glance around, the nerves of everything becoming too overstimulating. you needed to get away from the crowds. slowly, you push through the crowd, making your way to the hallway. you slip past the people having conversations, and the couple making out against the wall. one door is cracked open, which you can only assume means it’s safe to enter. you wait outside for a bit, listening for if there’s any noises. it’s silent. you hesitate for a second, before finally pushing the door open. the room was empty, the quiet away from the loud voices instantly calming your nerves. you shut the door behind you, the noise of the party becoming even more muffled, feeling like a breath of fresh air.

you glanced around the room, your heart nearly stopping. heeseung was leaned against the wall, scrolling on his phone. could this night get any worse? he hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy scrolling on his phone. you gulped, feeling your face flush. you could turn around, you could leave the room. you should do that. but for some reason, your feet wouldn’t move. it was like they were planted into the ground. he lifted his gaze from his phone, locking eyes with you. you felt like a deer caught in headlights. his expression was unreadable, but he tilted his head slightly. a brief moment of silence passed between the two of you, your heart thudding loudly in your chest as he watched you. “y/n?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit surprised. “sorry,” you finally forced out, fidgeting with your fingers as your gaze drifts away from his, focusing on the wall instead. “i thought this room was empty.” he simply shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “too loud out there?” you nod, awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other. this somehow felt more suffocating than the party did. “i didn’t mean to… bother you.” you mumble, turning around to head for the door. “you don’t have to leave,” he said, his voice quiet, your stomach fluttering at the sound, “i’m not doing anything. stay if you need a break. if you want.” you stand still, both choices seeming wrong. staying in the room with him felt like a mistake, but walking back out to the chaos of the party felt slightly worse. slowly, you nodded, turning around and stepping further into the room. “okay. uh, thanks.” you both stood there, not saying anything for a moment. you shifted your gaze around the room, your nerves palpable. and heeseung, of course, picked up on it. “this isn’t exactly your scene, is it, princess?” he asked, voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. you tried to ignore how the nickname had your heart doing somersaults, or how your face heated up. everything felt so much more elevated in the room. you swallowed, trying to push your nerves aside as you looked back at him. “uh, no, it’s not,” you mumble, almost wanting to laugh at how awkward you sounded. he hums, pushing himself off the wall and walking towards the bed, sitting on the edge. he looks at you expectantly, only laughing slightly when you raise your brows in response. “are you just gonna stand there the whole time?” your face flushes, suddenly feeling too embarrassed. your body moves before you realize it, getting closer to him. you can feel your heartbeat speeding up, his eyes watching you as you sit down next to him. you’re not an awkward distance away, but you made sure to put some space between the two of you. the room was quiet, except for the noise of your nervous breaths, your fingers fidgeting with each other.

“so,” he began, breaking the silence, “what’re you doing here, anyway?” you look at him, shrugging. “my friends dragged me along.” he hummed, tilting his head, “so then why are you in here?” this was humiliating. “one is talking to her date and another went to get drinks and didn’t come back,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the smile that crept up on his face. “damn, princess,” he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head lightly, “they ditched you?” “i mean, they’re more used to this environment. i wouldn’t wanna, like, hold them back from having fun,” you shrug, glancing down at your hands. “if you say so,” he responds, going quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “i just still don’t see why you would even come, considering, y’know..” your stomach drops. your eyes flicker up to his, raising your eyebrows slightly. “considering… what?” he tilts his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “you’ve never kissed anyone. you weren’t lying about that, right?” heat rises on your cheeks, the embarrassment that hits you suddenly making you feel sick, once again stuck in a room with heeseung and talking about this. “heeseung. i don’t wanna talk about that.” “why? it’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he replies with a shrug, leaning back against the pillows and playing with the hem of his shirt. “you ever had a boyfriend?” “heeseung.” you say, but his expression tells you he’s not letting this go anytime soon. you sigh, your voice quiet, the word coming out as a hushed whisper, “no.” he was quiet, and the more the silence dragged on, the more you felt like you wanted the floor to swallow you. the same humiliating feeling from before was slowly making its way back, the room feeling like it was closing in on you. and then, heeseung spoke. “you ever wonder what it’s like? to kiss someone?” he asks, and you almost want to laugh. “that’s a stupid question,” you blurt before you can stop it, listening to the way he laughs quietly. “sorry. had to make sure,” he replies, and this, for some reason, doesn’t feel as bad as last time did. it doesn’t feel like he’s judging you. more so, just asking questions. “of course i do. it’s kinda hard not to when all everyone talks about is their love lives,” you reply, finally opening up a bit. you don’t know why you’re telling him this much. you could’ve diverted the conversation, made him talk about something else, but you were opening up. you were trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling in your chest. from being in a room alone with heeseung, to discussing your desolate love life with him. it felt unnatural- it was unnatural. you were never one to open up to people easily, but it felt like he did it without trying (well, besides when he wouldn’t like a topic go).

“i could teach you,” he speaks, and your head snaps up to his so fast you’re surprised your neck didn’t break in the process. it felt like time stopped. you couldn’t hear the music outside, or the muffled voices. all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears and the way your breathing picked up. heeseung continued to stare at you, his eyebrows raised slightly as he waited for an answer. “w-what?” you stutter out, trying to convince yourself you heard his words wrong, that you made it up, some kind of excuse. “i said i could teach you. you heard me,” he repeats his words, the corner of his lip lifting up again. your breath hitched. the silence was too loud, the two of you just staring at each other as you tried your hardest to process his words. “you’re joking, right?” you finally ask, your voice quiet, unsure. but he didn’t laugh. he only watched you, his voice dropping just a bit lower. “it’s not hard. if you want, i could teach you.” you sat, frozen. blinking out of whatever daze you were in since he spoke, your eyes flickering the the ground. heeseung- the playboy heeseung, the heeseung you liked- offering to be your first kiss. it didn’t feel right. it felt like the universe was trying to play a sick joke on you. like this would turn out to be too good to be true. you heard him laugh softly, and your eyes drifted back up to him. he seemed to be enjoying how flustered you were, how your brain was quite literally short circuiting. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to. it’s just an offer. but, if you want to, i’m right here.” you felt your heart speed up more at his words. your mind felt like it couldn’t process what was going on. what was the right choice here? one side of you felt like you should laugh it off, change the subject and act like the conversation never happened. continue to save your first kiss for something special. but on the other hand, this did feel special. you were curious. hell, you’ve been curious for the last 22 years. you were caught between forcing down your desires and enlightening them, finally understanding what you’ve been wondering about your whole life. finally being able to understand the conversations, the movie scenes, the books. your mouth opened, a protest about to leave your lips, but no words came out. your words got stuck, your true feelings not letting them leave. heeseung noticed your hesitation, pushing himself to sit up. he watched you, his voice getting softer, quieter. “come here,” he mumbled, his words making your stomach do flips. god, you wanted to slam your head against the wall. your heartbeat sped up, but you moved closer to him anyway, sitting so close your knees were pressed together. you didn’t know what you were doing, but you knew you didn’t wanna turn around and leave. not at this point. heeseung watched you, not reaching out until you had stopped moving. his hand reached up slowly, cautiously, gently cupping your jaw. his thumb brushed over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, the reality of what was happening sinking it. “you’re nervous,” he whispered, the words spoken like they were a secret just between the two of you. his breath fans across your face, further solidifying the reality of the distance between you two. you nodded, your breath shallow, unsure. you let your own eyes flicker to his lips before moving back to his eyes. you whispered, your voice shaky, “what if i’m bad?” he smiled, his thumb tracing your jaw as he shook his head. “don’t worry about that. just follow my lead.”

you nod, everything feeling like a haze. he leans in slowly, and before you can think too much about it, his lips are on yours. it felt like everything around you stopped. your eyes fluttered shut, your breath stuttering. his lips are soft, and you try to follow his movements as best you can. his touch is gentle, guiding you, taking a first experience from you. the outside world seems quiet, likes it’s just you and heeseung in this moment. he presses his lips a bit harder against yours, tilting your head just slightly. the feeling is all-consuming. overwhelming. you want more and want to get away all at the same time. but it feels nice. it feels like everything you’ve dreamed of. what the lead in a romance movie feels, what the books describe, how your friend’s eyes light up when they tell you about their first kiss with a new guy. he pulls away slowly, his hand still remaining on your jaw. your eyes flutter open, blinking a little, like you’re trying to ground yourself. his face was still so close to yours, your breaths mixing together. his expression was unreadable, and your heart sped up at the reality. “was that okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, barely above a whisper. heeseung stared at you for a moment, not saying anything. his eyes searched yours, his breath soft against your skin, his touch still so light. “yeah,” he mumbled, his eyes still flickering around your face, his thumb tracing your jaw again. “not bad, princess.” you nod, your mind in too much of a haze to mumble out exact words. you eyes flickered to his lips again, fighting the urge to lean in again, to feel the warmth of his lips against yours. but before you could think about it too much, your phone buzzed loudly against your lap, the ringing snapping you back to reality. you blink, still dazed, as you look down on at your phone, shaky hands turning it over, the name staring back at you. wonyoung. shit. you hesitated for a second, before answering the call, pressing the phone to your ear. “hello?” “where are you?” wonyoung’s voice came through, a bit hard to hear over the pounding music. “i came back to the spot you were at. i got caught up with some friends, i’m sorry.” you swallowed, your mind still in a haze. your gaze flickered to heeseung. he was already watching you, having had leaned back against the headboard. “it’s fine,” you mumble, words trailing off. your heartbeat still felt too loud, and your thoughts were jumbled and all over the place. “it’s- i’m just..” heeseung raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. he tilted his head, clearly amused by your inability to form a sentence right now. “hello?” wonyoung’s voice spoke again, pulling your attention back to her. “are you there?” “yeah! yeah, sorry,” you mumble, pursing your lips. “i’ll be right there.” “okay. i’ll see you soon.” she replied, the line going dead.

the room went silent, filled with nothing but the awkwardness swirling around the two of you. you were too afraid to meet his gaze, so you stare at your hands, before standing up slowly, placing your phone in your pocket. “um… i should go. i’ll see you around?” heeseung didn’t say anything, and you took that as your cue to just leave. you walked towards the door, trying to form a coherent thought as you reached for the doorknob. his voice finally cut through the quiet, making you stop in your tracks. “you know,” he began, his voice teasing, with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint, “you look nice tonight.” the words sent butterflies swirling in your stomach, closing your eyes as you tried to ground yourself. what was wrong with you? you didn’t turn around, too scared to meet his eyes. you couldn’t. so you only nodded, your voice shaky, “thank you.” you opened the door, stepping out and back into the party. it felt like you were snapped back to reality the second the loud music hit your ears, met with the sight of a swarm of people again as you pushed through the crowd. you tried to ignore the way your lips still tingled, or the way your cheeks heated up when you thought about his hand on your face, his breath so close to you, his lips against yours. you almost bumped into someone, muttering out a pathetic “sorry” as you corrected your path, finally catching a glimpse of yunjin and wonyoung standing together, talking about some random topic. wonyoung noticed you first, smiling and waving as she noticed you walking over. you wave back, forcing a smile as you join up with them. all you know is that you’re going crazy. you kissed heeseung. your first kiss. was it a mistake? did you make too irrational of a decision while being caught in the moment? your thoughts are interrupted by yunjin’s loud voice, pulling you back to the current moment, “you missed everything, y/n. i had so much to talk about. where were you, anyway?” you open your mouth, your eyes flickering between the two girls watching you with expectant stares. you should lie, make some kind of excuse to avert the attention from you, ask what yunjin had to talk about. but the thought of hiding your feelings from them more than you already are makes a sick feeling appear in your stomach. “i kissed heeseung.” the words are out before you even realize you said that. they stand there, unmoving before yunjin speaks, “you what?”

wonyoung only covers her mouth with her hand, a loud gasp leaving her lips as she looks between you and yunjin. you stare sheepishly at the two, no more words leaving your lips as you open and close your mouth, wonyoung finally forcing some words out. “bitch, are you serious?” the reality of everything feels like it’s hitting you all over again, a shaky breath leaving your lips as you look up, trying to form a sentence in your mind before you speak out loud. “i kissed heeseung. or, he kissed me. we kissed each other? i don’t know…” you cover your eyes with one of your hands, clenching your eyes shut. everything feels too surreal right now. yunjin blinks, shaking her head as she tries to make sense of the situation. “hold on, start from the beginning, please. what the fuck happened?” you laugh shakily, shrugging as words come spilling out, “i just- i needed a break from the party, so i went into what i thought was an empty room, but he was in there. he told me i could stay, and we started talking, and he brought up the fact that i’d never kissed anyone-“ wonyoung cuts you off, raising an eyebrow. “how did he know that?” you gulp, averting your eyes. “that’s a story for another time.” the two share a look, but don’t interrupt you again, letting you continue. “anyway, he said he could teach me… and, yeah,” you mumble, words getting quieter as you finish the story, finally looking back at the two. yunjin’s jaw is dropped, and she turns to wonyoung with a glare. “you left her alone for ten minutes and she kissed heeseung?” “i wanted a drink!” wonyoung defends herself, pointing at you, “i didn’t know she was gonna sneak off and make out with someone while i was gone.” your cheeks heat up, shaking your head quickly. “it wasn’t like that. it was just one kiss.” yunjin only laughs, giving you a hug. “well, congratulations. my baby is all grown up.” “oh, fuck off,” you mutter, but your arms wrap around her, fighting back a smile. “was it good?” wonyoung asks, your eyes widening. “like… is he really that good of a kisser like everyone says?”

your breath hitches at the question. your mind flickers back to how his lips felt on yours, how softly he held you, his breath soft against your lips, how his voice dropped, quiet and gentle. the way everything made you felt. your heart speeds up again at the thought, and you swallow, hesitating slightly before answering, trying to disguise the true thoughts you have. “i don’t know, wonyoung. it was my first kiss. how am i supposed to know what good means?” you reply, huffing out a laugh. she groans, unsatisfied with your answer, but she doesn’t push further. yunjin pulls back from the hug, but her hands remain on your shoulders. “you kissed lee heeseung. the lee heeseung. and he offered to teach you. girl, you’re in so deep.” you shake your head, feeling your cheeks heat up even more, if that’s possible. wonyoung chimes in, tugging your arm. “okay. back to your dorm, right now. tell us everything. leave absolutely nothing out.” you only laugh, but let wonyoung drag you along, yunjin following closely behind. the comfort the two provide for you makes things feel not as stressful, trying your best to push the anxieties and self-doubt about the turn the night took away.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

your stomach was a mess of nerves as you stepped through the classroom door. it wasn’t that you didn’t expect to see heeseung- you knew he was going to be here. but you didn’t know if you were ready. you had spent the past two days replaying every moment, every detail of that night, too caught up in your own thoughts. you tried to convince yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just a kiss, but your true feelings betrayed you. you spotted him in what had become his usual seat- which was previously yours- scrolling on his phone, leaned back in the chair. you swallowed, getting closer to the seat as you put on a front, acting as nonchalant and unaffected as you could. you slid into the chair next to him, pulling out your notebook and letting your bag hit the floor with a soft thud. you busied yourself with opening to an empty page, dragging your pencil along the page to make random, pointless drawings. anything to try and ease your nerves at the moment. “hey, princess,” heeseung spoke, his voice carrying that signature teasing lilt. his tone was so casual, like nothing had happened. you tried to ignore the way your heartbeat sped up at the sounds of his voice, or the nickname that used to make you grind your teeth. “i didn’t see you after you left the room. i thought you disappeared.” you finally glanced at him, your eyes meeting his. “i’m still here. sadly.” his lip twitched, that signature smirk forming on his lips. “good to know.”

his tone was so casual, so normal. but yet, things felt different. maybe it was the way he was watching you- his gaze lingering for just a second too long before looking away. or how he wasn’t teasing you as much, you two having a normal conversation for once. you were reading too much into it. this was the last thing you wanted to do. you kissed him because he offered to teach you. there was no meaning, no feelings behind it- on his end. you cleared your throat, turning back to your notebook. “did you look over the project? i added some notes to the shared document. there’s an article that seems like it could be helpful.” he shook his head, leaning forward so his elbows were on the desk. “nah. i’ve been busy with practice.” you roll your eyes, but the usual irritation didn’t come. you continued to doodle on your notebook, trying to focus on the small flower you were creating. but you couldn’t ignore the way you could feel his gaze on you, making heat rise to your cheeks. “you’re staring,” you mumble, eyes still trained on the flower, adding small blades of grass at the bottom, adding another small flower next to it. “am i?” he asked, and you could see the way he tilted his head in your peripheral vision. “i didn’t notice.” you huffed out a breath, forcing yourself not to react. if you gave him an inch, he’d take a mile, pointing out every little flustered reaction you have. it was the last thing you needed. dr. kim entered the room, greeting the class, indirectly saving you from having to reply. you tried to focus, jotting down whatever he mentioned, but your focus was somewhere else entirely. every time heeseung moved, shifting in his seat, tapping his pen against your notebook, your attention would be drawn to him. you couldn’t stop it. as much as you tried to focus, trying to ignore him, your mind wouldn’t let you. you felt like a middle schooler with a pathetic crush all over again. it was stupid. he was acting normal. you were (trying to) act normal. so why did nothing feel normal? slowly, your head turned just slightly, looking towards him. but he was already looking at you. he didn’t look away, your eyes meeting for a fleeting second. your breath caught in your throat, and you turned back to your notebook quickly, shifting in your seat. you were screwed. your heart lurched, your pulse quickening. a small part of your mind tells you that you’re not imagining things- that something has shifted. something is different. but you can’t place your finger on it. you feel like you’re making yourself go crazy, overanalyzing every little detail. every little glance, every sentence, hell, you payed attention to the tone of his voice. all you know is that you’re fucked. you’re officially down bad for lee heeseung.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

your day had been horrible. you wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep, forgetting that this shitshow of a day ever happened. you woke up late, the shrill sound of your alarm shocking you awake, the time on the clock practically mocking you as you realized you were going to be late to class. you rushed your morning, not even having enough time to get breakfast, leaving your stomach growling as you rushed to class. you looked like you had just rolled out of bed- which was the truth- as you walked into the classroom, sending an apologetic smile as your professor glared at you. the lecture was a blur, and to make matters worse, you absolutely failed your test. you knew you weren’t confident with the material, but to have a low c staring back at you made you feel too incompetent. your professor didn’t even hide her disappointment, shaking her head as she placed the paper on your desk, your ears turning red with embarrassment. now, your heavy feet were carrying you to your favorite café, your comfort away from the hectic world, the one place that brought you peace after a bad day. about halfway there, it had started sprinkling, small droplets landing on you as you walked. it truly felt like you had a rain cloud above only you, making fun of how bad your day had gone so far. you pushed open the door to the café, the comforting smell filling your senses, and you felt the tension in your body ease just slightly. you tried to ignore the looks of other patrons, wondering why you had no umbrella, your hair and clothes damp as you stepped inside. all that was on your mind was a hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream. you’d been dreaming about it since you walked into class earlier, making a promise to yourself you would pick one up after class to hopefully raise your dejected feelings. of course, the universe had other plans. the cup looked fine, the white paper concealing what was inside. but when you took a sip, the sharp taste hit your tastebuds, completely wrong. bitter coffee covered your tongue, making your face scrunch up. you blinked in confusion, slowly popping the lid off the cup. they had given you straight black coffee. you stared at the coffee, your pitiful stare reflecting off the dark liquid. you sighed, frustration bubbling up inside you. you weren’t going to make a scene, you were too exhausted for that. it wasn’t what you did. but you also knew if you didn’t have your hot chocolate you were going to go insane. was it pathetic that a drink could help make your day that much better? maybe.

you walked back up to the counter, politely pointing the mistake out to the barista, even pulling out your crumpled up receipt from your pocket to solidify your point. she didn’t seem to care, staring at you blankly before taking the cup with a sigh, muttering out a half-assed apology. you wanted to say something, your inner dialogue filled with very creative language as you watched her roll her eyes when she turned around. you felt like a burden, the comfort this place usually provided suddenly turning into a unpleasant experience. they finally handed you the right drink, about five minutes later. it should’ve made things better, but it didn’t. you thanked her with the biggest smile you could muster, apologizing for the inconvenience and turning around. you were starting to walk to your favorite seat, a table in the corner that gave you a perfect view of the scenery outside, a perfect place to put in your headphones and daydream. and that’s when it happened. too focused on the previous interaction, too distracted with everything that had gone wrong today. you ran into someone- hard. your shoulders slammed into each other, the force making you stumble backwards, your drink almost spilling. some splashed out the small opening, the hot liquid splashing against your hand, causing a small curse to leave your mouth as you winced. you steadied yourself, looking up at the stranger. an apology was on the tip of your tongue, ready to admit that you weren’t paying attention, but that’s when you saw his expression. cold. angry. he looked you up and down, like you were a piece of garbage. as if you were an inconvenience. like you had ruined his whole day, his eyes full of judgement. he didn’t bother to say anything, let alone hear whatever you had to say as he scoffed and continued on his way. it felt like a slap in the face. your mouth opened, almost ready to sputter out insults, but no words came out. suddenly, it felt like the weight of everything that had happened today was crashing down on you. your rushed morning, your failed test, your disappointed professor, the rain, the wrong order, the barista, this stranger- his glare, like you meant nothing. it all felt like too much. hot tears brimmed your eyes before you could get your emotions in check. you turned around, pushing open the café doors, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. the soft rain from earlier had begun to fall in fat, harsh drops, pouring down on everything. the weather felt like an accurate representation of your emotions in the moment, cold, sad, chaotic. you pressed a hand to your forehead, trying, and failing to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. a lump formed in your throat, and you leaned back against the wall of the café. you pulled your phone out from your pocket, trying to ignore how pathetic your reflection looked as you unlocked it, a tear slipping down your cheek as you opened your contacts, your fingers immediately finding yunjin’s name as you pressed the call button. it was like once one tear fell, the floodgates opened. you couldn’t control them anymore, tears spilling down your cheeks as you wiped at your eyes pathetically. the only noise being the quiet ringing of your phone, the rain falling, and your quiet sniffles.

it went to voicemail, yunjin’s happy voice breaking the sad silence. you tried again. still no answer. more tears fell, moving onto wonyoung next. it repeated the same process, ringing. and ringing. and ringing. and then- voicemail. you tried once again to be sure, clinging onto any ounce of hope. same result. you could feel your heart shattering more and more. you felt alone. your sniffles turned into quiet sobs, clutching your phone as you tried to catch your breath. everything felt too overwhelming, too out of your control, too messed up. you were stuck here. you couldn’t walk home, the rain was too strong. you couldn’t go back inside, not looking like this. everything was slowly unraveling. your closest friends weren’t even picking up, and you couldn’t get mad at them for it. they had lives too, not always able to drop everything for you. but the betrayal still stung, everything feeling like a personal attack at this point. you forced yourself to breathe, slowly unlocking your phone once again. you scrolled through your contacts, blurry, tear-filled vision making it harder. you just needed someone, anyone who you could call. anyone who could come get you. your eyes stopped on one person, your heart beating faster at the thought. you clicked on his contact, you finger hovering over the call button, before finally, you pressed it. it rang once. twice. three times. you were losing hope, more tears spilling down your cheeks as the reality of your situation set in. and then- “hello?” your breath catches. you hadn’t expected someone to actually pick up. everything felt so hopeless, the sound of someone’s voice sending a shock through you. you sniffle quietly, trying to get a word out, but it’s like they’re all caught in your throat. “hello?” heeseung repeats again, his voice more clear this time. “are you there?” you take a deep breath, forcing your tears and shaky breaths to calm down. you feel like if you speak a new wave of tears will just spill down your cheeks. “i-“ you start, before your voice breaks. you swallow, trying again. “i need a ride… it’s raining. no one else was picking up.” there’s a long pause, silence stretching between the two of you. you begin to feel stupid for calling, for being such an inconvenience to another person, more than you’ve already been today. you hear a small laugh on the other end, your eyebrows furrowing slightly at the sound. “can’t handle a little rain, princess?”

frustration builds inside of you, but you hold your feelings down. this, however, makes the dam in your eyes break again, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “heeseung, please,” you sniffle, sucking in a shaky breath as you try to get your emotions in check again. the teasing tone of his voice is gone almost immediately, replaced by confusion as he speaks again. “y/n? are you okay?” your breath catches at his change in tone. you didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, didn’t want to push your emotions onto someone else, all because you couldn’t handle a bad day. but everything was too much right now. “yeah,” your speak, you words quieter than you expected, a shaky tone to your voice. “just… tired.” he’s silent for a bit, before he speaks again, and you can hear shuffling on the other end, the jingling of car keys sending a small hope through you. “where are you?” “the café near campus. the one we went to that one time,” you force out, trying your hardest to sound normal. and not like there’s tears slipping down your cheeks. you think you must look insane. standing under the awning of a café in the pouring rain, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hold a hot chocolate and a phone. it must be a laughable sight. heeseung’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, calm and serious, a vast difference from the usual teasing, smug tone he has. “i’ll be there soon. when i get there just walk to my car, alright? i’ll pull up next to the curb.” you nod, forgetting he can’t see you. when you finally speak, your voice is barely above a whisper, defeated, shaky. “okay.” the call ends, leaving you in silence again. a shaky sigh leaves your lips as your hand wipes your tears, trying your best to collect yourself. you take a sip of your hot chocolate, the warm liquid providing a small sense of comfort in whatever whirlwind your day has turned into. nerves fill you again, the thought that you could be a burden creeping into your mind. your hands shake as you rub at your eyes, trying to push the thoughts away. god, you don’t wanna be a total mess when heeseung gets here, but you can’t stop crying. you force yourself to focus on something different. business proposal, hot chocolate, your favorite salad, cats. anything that makes you happy. and slowly but surely, your tears turn into small sniffles. you watch cars drive by, but there’s not a lot. most classes are out by now and students don’t wanna be parading in this rain. the rain doesn’t let up- if anything, it’s gotten heavier, wind whipping around you at this point. after a few minutes, you finally see a car pulling up. the sight is so reassuring, but you can’t stop the way your pulse speeds up, or the nerves that run through you. your feet don’t move at first, still too caught in your emotions to move. you take a small step, slow, cautious, before the rain showers you, pelting, hard. you speed up quickly, ignoring the chill of the water as you cling to your hot chocolate, as if that will do anything to warm you up in this weather. it’s lukewarm by now, anyway. when you reach the car, heeseung’s eyes are on you, the window rolling down as you get closer. “get in,” he says, voice low, but not unkind, “you’re shaking.” you can only nod, pulling open the door and slipping inside. the warmth of the car immediately envelops you, feeling like a warm hug. you try your best to ignore the way your clothes, now wet, feel against your body. neither of you says anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. you finally turn, meeting his eyes. he looks… concerned.

he raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to speak. you don’t. so he finally does, his voice softer than it was before. “you wanna talk about it?” you shake your head, a new wave of emotions hitting you at his question. you blink back the hot tears brimming your eyes again, snapping your head towards the window as a shaky breath leaves you. “thank you,” you sniffle, your voice quiet. defeated. he hums, his voice reassuring, whether he means it or not. it feels like it’s grounding you in the chaotic mess of your emotions. “don’t worry about it.” without another word, he pulls away from the curb. heading towards the dorms. he doesn’t tease you, doesn’t ask any more questions. the only noise is the soft radio, the car’s engine, and the rain pattering outside. you bite your lip, trying to hold back a new wave of tears as you rest your head against the window. it doesn’t work. tears spill down your cheeks, your breathing irregular, labored, as you try to stay quiet, wiping at your eyes as inconspicuously as you can. heeseung notices, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. he doesn’t push, simply turning up the volume of the radio, masking the sounds of your tears behind the music. it’s such a small action, but it makes your stomach flip, taking a small sip of your hot chocolate to ground yourself. as you get closer to the dorms, your thoughts swirl, uncontrollable, chaotic. you close your eyes, taking deep breaths. you need to forget about today. pretend it never happened, pretend it was all just a nightmare that you’re going to wake up from tomorrow morning. but as you sit there, dried tears on your face as you look over at heeseung, your heart speeds up a bit. maybe you needed a distraction. maybe you just needed… something to take your mind off of the day. he turns to you, meeting your eyes, and you glance down at your hands quickly. god, you must look like shit right now. would it be weird if you asked for another kiss? would that actually take your mind off of how bad today was? thoughts swirl in your mind, half of yourself telling you to just go for it, be bold, ask for what you want. the other side battles it, scenarios of him giving you a dirty look, like the stranger did, filling your mind. you sigh, shaking your head. there’s too much going on in your mind right now for you to also be dealing with this. the car slows as heeseung pulls up outside your dorm. the low hum of the radio filling the tense silence between the two of you. you should leave. unbuckle your seatbelt, thank him for the ride, open the door, and go back to your dorm. but you don’t. you sit there. your fingers tighten around the cup in your lap, feeling the paper mold to your grip. you can feel his gaze flickering to you. waiting. you keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching the rain droplets race each other down the glass. your heartbeat sped up in your chest, the pounding in your ears drowning out the noise of anything else. you should just go. but you can’t move. you inhale shakily, focusing on every ounce of courage you have. “heeseung,” you begin, but the moment you turn your head, his attention on you, the words get caught in your throat. refusing to leave. he hums, waiting for you to continue. you swallow, nerves building. this is stupid. this is so stupid. what if he says no? what if laughs in your face? the weight of today is already pressing down on you, heavy, suffocating. if he rejects you, if he looks at you with even a fraction of the disdain the stranger at the café did, you might just end it. you should forget it. push your thoughts aside and leave the car. just curl up in bed and go to sleep. your thoughts aren’t correct right now. your mind is jumbled, your emotions are out of whack- but then he shifts slightly. placing his elbow on the center console as he faces you. his full, undivided attention on you. he’s waiting.

your breath stutters, heat climbing up your neck. “at the party,” you begin, your voice quiet, barely above a whisper. “when we-“ you stop, shutting your eyes for a second. it’s too late to back out now, you’re already speaking. “when we kissed.” he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, simply waiting for you to continue. your breath is shaky, your next words unsure. “did that mean anything to you?” you regret the words the moment they leave your lips. you sound desperate. pathetic. needy. you shake your head quickly, shutting your eyes. “forget it,” you mumble, as if you can take back the words you just said. “i’m a mess right-“ “i wouldn’t have done it if it didn’t,” heeseung speaks, cutting you off. his voice is quieter than usual. softer, but still firm. “that was your first kiss.” your pulse stutters, a breath catching in your throat. you finally turn to look at him, your stomach twisting at the intensity of his gaze. you should stop talking. end this before you do something you’ll regret. but you keep talking, your voice so quiet, you’re unsure if he hears it over the sound of the radio. “can you… can you do it again?” his eyes widen a bit, but the moment is brief. a flicker. and then that unreadable look is back. you want to take your words back immediately, erase this moment from existence entirely. “you don’t have to,” you add, words tumbling out before you can stop them. “it’s just- fuck. today has been horrible, and i can’t stop thinking about that kiss, and i thought that maybe-“ “are you sure?” heeseung asks, cutting your rambling off again. his voice is softer now, almost as quiet as yours. like these words are only meant to heard by the two of you, hidden from the rest of the world. you swallow, setting your cup in his cup holder. you don’t trust your voice right now- can't trust it- so you nod instead. for a second, he only watches you, his expression unreadable. it sends a chill through you, anxiety seeping in. then he slowly reaches up, tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear. his touch is soft, barely there, but it’s everything you need right now. his gaze flickers over yours- searching for any signs of hesitation. like he’s waiting for you to pull away. but you don’t. you lean in slightly, a silent confirmation. and that’s all it takes. “okay,” he murmurs. and then his lips are on yours again. his lips brush against yours, soft, careful, like he’s still making sure this is what you want. he doesn’t press hard, his hand holding your jaw, his lips barely there. you shudder at his touch, at the feeling of him. and then you kiss him back. it's hesitant- unsure. you still don’t know how to do this, how to match someone’s rhythm, someone who knows what they’re doing. but heeseung doesn’t rush you. it’s not overwhelming. he just guides you, and you let him. he tilts his head slightly, molding his lips against yours, coaxing you to follow his lead. and you do. you follow the way his lips move, melting more into the kiss by the second. you can feel his other hand moving, his fingers ghosting over the side of your neck. you shiver at his touch, the warmth, the position of his touch sending a wave of heat rushing through you. his fingers rest on the back of your neck, just below your hairline. his touch is gentle, guiding you closer to him, and you let him, instinctively moving closer to him. the kiss deepens just slightly, his hand pulling you even closer. you should pull away. stop here. this should be enough. but you want more. a flicker of something unfamiliar and new buzzes in your chest, and you’re moving before you can think too much about it. your hands reach out, finding the front of his hoodie as your hands grip the fabric, pulling him even closer.

that changed everything. heeseung exhales sharply against your lips, and then he’s kissing you harder, deeper. your brain short circuits, the added intensity unfamiliar, but so welcomed. his grip on the back of your neck loosens, his fingers tangling in your hair. a small noise escapes you, desperate, wanting. it’s barely audible over the noise of the radio and the rain against the windshield. but he hears it. you know he does. you feel the way his fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head as he deepens the kiss, a quiet hum vibrating in his throat. your head is spinning. it’s only your second kiss ever, you’re still fumbling to keep up, still clumsy in your movements. but the way he’s holding you, guiding you through it like he knows exactly what he’s doing- he does- you don’t have to think too much. you just follow his movements. your body melts into his touch, the nerves leading your body as you focus on his kisses and nothing else. your fingers loosen their grip on his hoodie, threading into his hair, your fingers tightening slightly. his breath hitches for a second, a noise leaving his lips. it sends a shiver down your spine. his lips slow, his kisses growing softer again, like he’s trying to ground himself. the thought makes your stomach flip, so many different feelings swirling inside you. new feelings. foreign feelings. but you love them. neither of you speak when you finally pull away, your foreheads resting against each other. you’re both breathless, lips parted and swollen as you catch your breath. your hands stay tangled in each other’s hair, like neither of you want to let go just yet. the air is thick with something unspoken, like a line was crossed tonight. you don’t care right now. you don’t want to think about that. part of your mind knows you should pull away, create some distance before this goes further than it already has. but you don’t want to. so you don’t. your fingers that are tangled in his hair tighten slightly, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in again. pressing your lips against his, not soft, not gentle. you want more. heeseung exhales softly, and it’s like his resolve snaps. like everything he was holding back breaks at your movements. his hands drop to your waist, tugging slightly. you pull away from his lips, your breath heavy as your brows furrow. “what-“ you begin, blinking in confusion. he cuts you off with a quiet laugh, his voice almost teasing, but with a hint of warmness that’s not usually there. “trust me.” and you do. you let his hands lift you, the space between you becoming increasingly smaller. the awkwardness of the car’s cramped interior makes your movements more careful. you let him guide you over the center console, your body bending slightly as it digs into your legs. and then you’re in his lap. his hands remain on your waist, just holding you, watching you. your hands rest on his shoulders, steadying yourself. the new proximity makes your pulse stutter, so close to him it feels dizzying. his eyes search over your face, before his hands find your back, and he’s pulling you into him. his lips are on yours again, and every thought you had vanishes. this kiss is different than the other two.

it's hungrier, more desperate. like he was holding back, waiting for permission to let go. and you gave him that. his hands are everywhere- your back, trailing up your sides, your thighs, your hips, his touch desperate. like he’s trying to commit you to his memory. it's dizzying. intoxicating. your hands tangle in his hoodie again, trying to ground yourself as a small noise slips past your lips. everywhere he touches feels like it leaves fire in his wake. and then his lips leave yours. your breath catches as his lips move lower. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. the sensation is foreign. it’s overwhelming. you can feel his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as a sigh leaves your lips. his hand on your thigh tightens at the noise, a noise coming from deep in his throat as his kisses become messier. his kisses trail along your neck, sucking, kissing, his breath ghosting over your skin. you felt hot. your fingers tighten in his hoodie, a sharp exhale leaving your lips. your heart is racing, your breathing picking up. your body is reacting to sensations you’ve never experienced before. your head falls back slightly, his lips exploring more area. it’s intoxicating. dizzying. but it’s a lot. it’s too much all at once, as much as you want more. the moment you shift slightly, heeseung notices. his kisses stop, but he doesn’t pull away. his breath is warm against your neck before, slowly, he lifts his head, his gaze searching yours. his grip on your body loosens slightly, just resting there now. “you okay?” his voice is low, laced with something that makes your head spin. “too much?” you swallow, grounding yourself. you want this. you want his touch, his kisses, his attention on you. but it feels like it’s moving too fast, caught between the two emotions. you nod, before quickly shaking your head. “i-“ you stutter, your voice quiet, breathy and shaky. “i don’t know. it’s a lot. but i want it.” his brows draw together slightly. he doesn’t look angry, he looks concerned. his voice is quiet, comforting. his hands slide to rest on your waist, simply holding you. “we’ll stop for now. i don’t want to rush you.” his voice is steady, but his breathing is uneven. there’s an emotion in his eyes you can’t place. they’re darker, flickering over your face. your heart lurches at the mention of ‘for now.’ he wants more as well. you exhale, your breath shaky as you nod. “okay.” you want to feel something more. you don’t want to move, don’t want to leave the moment. so you lean in, your cheek resting against his shoulder as you breathe out, the warmth of his body grounding you. his hands hover slightly over your waist, before they trail up your back, hands splaying out as he tugs you closer to him. it’s intimate. too intimate. you’re crossing a line, and you know it. his chest rises and falls beneath you, his steady breathing calming your erratic heartbeat. the warmth of his body feels like a blanket, everything quiet. you let the silence wash over you. it’s not awkward. it’s comfortable. the only sound that surrounds you is the rain, and the soft radio, “delicate” by taylor swift playing quietly.

his thumbs rub against your back, the small action causing a quiet hum to leave you as you shift against him, getting more comfortable. you hear a quiet laugh leave him, so soft it almost just sounds like a breath. his voice is soft, but it has the familiar teasing tone you’re used to. “you good, princess?” the nickname feels different this time- not used to tease anymore. like an unspoken acknowledgement that something has shifted, the layers of tension being peeled back slowly, your desires coming to fruition more every time you see him. it’s something neither of you want to say out loud, but you both feel it. you smile softly, nodding your head against his shoulder. “yeah. i’m good,” you whisper, your voice soft. he hums, tilting his head slightly so his lips brush against your ear as he speaks again, his voice so soft. “you sure? i know that was… a lot.” and you know it was. you’re feeling so much. so many feelings swirling in your chest. but you only nod, not wanting to break the moment. “yeah.” you press closer into him, snuggling up against his warmth. his arms tighten just slightly around you, locking you in his embrace, like you would ever want to leave. “i’m not going anywhere,” he laughs softly, feeling your hands grip his hoodie just a bit tighter. his voice has a warmth you’ve never heard before, the tone making your stomach flip, and you only hum in response, snuggling your head further against his shoulder. you know you’re down bad, you know you’re falling. hell, you’ve already fallen. part of you knows it’s a bad idea. while the other part just wants to live. wants to experience this moment. the serenity, the soft sound of the radio, and the warmth of lee heeseung. and for the first time today, it doesn’t feel like everything is falling apart.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“i don’t know!” you cry out, throwing your hands up as you stare at the two girls sat in front of you with their jaws dropped. "i don’t even know what happened! it’s all a mess!” yunjin stands up, immediately pacing the room as she looks at you, shaking her head in disbelief. “wait, let me get this straight? you made out with him. in a car. in the rain? y/n, what the fuck?” wonyoung, still sitting, crosses her arms. “and you didn’t think to- what, call us? text us? i don’t know, anything.” you roll your eyes, staring back at her. “i did call you guys. yunjin was too busy getting her back blown out by beomgyu, and god knows what you were doing. he was the last person i could call, and i wasn’t about to walk home sobbing in that rain!” yunjin stops pacing, turning to you with her jaw dropped. “that’s a valid reason to not pick up the phone!” wonyoung’s face scrunches up in confusion, her head tilting. “you called me? i was watching youtube, i swear my phone didn’t ring.” you throw your hands up in frustration. “i don’t care! it’s in the past, i’m just- fuck, i’m losing my mind. i don’t know what i’m supposed to feel.” yunjin looks at wonyoung, the two sharing a look of disbelief. “okay. you asked him to kiss you, so obviously part of you knows what you’re feeling.” “i don’t-“ you groan, dropping your head in your hands. “i’ve never done this before, yunjin! it’s all new to me. it’s terrifying.” wonyoung smirks, clearly enjoying your misery. “you’re down bad, girl. just admit it.” you sigh, falling back onto the couch. “i know i’m down bad, wonyoung. i blush just thinking about the guy.” yunjin sucks in a breath, sitting down next to you. “brutal. so, like, what happened after? you made out, then what?” you pause, mind still spinning as you recount the memories of everything. you turn away from her, your voice quiet as you speak. “he like… pulled me into his lap. and he was kissing my neck…”

there’s a long silence. no one saying anything. you look back to see yunjin and wonyoung both staring at you with wide eyes. “what the fuck?” wonyoung yells, standing up. you press a finger over your mouth, begging her to shut up. she shakes her head, continuing to ramble. “y/n! oh my god, this is insane!” you place your hands over your face, heat crawling up your cheeks. “i know! i don’t know what i’m doing, guys! then we kinda hugged? and just sat there for like ten minutes. we only stopped because my legs were falling asleep and i made up some excuse to go inside.” yunjin only sighs, leaning her head back against the couch. “you’re so oblivious. he wants you.” you raise an eyebrow at her, slowly uncovering your face. “you don’t know that. why would he want me when he has a ton of other girls that know so much more than i do? i feel like a burden, like he has to teach me everything. i chickened out from a few seconds of him kissing my fucking neck!” wonyoung laughs, shaking her head. “i don’t know, y/n. why do guys do half of the stuff that they do?” she stretches, raising her arms above her head as she continues. “plus, not every guys mind is filed with sex. maybe he’s okay with taking it slow with you. i still can’t believe you bagged heeseung of all people, though. he’s known for his hook-ups.” “that’s exactly what i mean,” you mumble, your voice growing more defeated by the second. “maybe this isn’t a good idea. i feel like an idiot.” yunjin sits up, smacking your stomach before rising to her feet. “stop doubting yourself. you’re hot, okay? you’re looking into it too much, i promise.” you only glance at her, a pout on your lips. she sighs, grabbing your arms and pulling you to sit up. “i’m not saying to rush into anything, alright? don’t forget his reputation. but if he was willing to just hold you for ten minutes like that? there’s obviously something more there.” you give her a half-smile, considering her words. they hit deep, considering that his reputation had been the one thing lingering in the back of your mind when you got butterflies thinking about something that he did. what if you were just a game? just something to entertain him until the next girl came along?

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

the last few days had been brutal. you had forgetting what having a crush- an actual crush- felt like. on top of the… physical aspect of it, you were losing your mind. searching for heeseung around campus, daydreaming in class, your body heating up at the memory of his hands on you. you felt like a teenage boy with raging hormones. it didn’t help that you barely ever had the form to yourself, so being able to act on your desires was rare. now, it’s 10pm. you’re sitting in your room, finishing up some last minute assignments. yunjin is in her bed, scrolling on her phone, tiktoks playing quietly in the background. you submit your last assignment, your phone buzzing next to you. you glance at it, expecting a random notification, but it’s a text from heeseung. your heart speeds up just slightly. heeseung [10:20 pm]: u busy?you squint at the message. your stomach twists slightly, the two simple words sending a rush of adrenaline through you. you pick it up, anyway, typing out a quick response. you tell yourself to act normal. he can’t tell if you’re flustered over text. you [10:21 pm] why?it’s read immediately. and almost just as quickly, three dots appear. heeseung [10:21 pm]: wanna watch a movieoh, for fuck’s sake. this could only mean one thing. you felt your pulse speed up slightly, your fingers hovering over the keyboard before you send your response. you [10:22 pm]: watch it yourselfheeseung [10:22 pm]: don’t want toyou sigh, reading his message over and over. you couldn’t fall for a trap this easily, but yet, you wanted to. you [10:22 pm]: ask jake or somethingheeseung [10:23 pm]: he doesn’t look as good as uyour breath catches. oh. your whole body felt like it was heating up, betraying you quicker than your mind was. you should ignore him. put down the phone, pretend this conversation didn’t happen. save your sanity. heeseung [10:24 pm]: u gonna respond?fuck it. you [10:24 pm]: i hate u. be there in 10.you push yourself off the bed, yunjin sending you a look when you grab your jacket, pulling it over your arms. “are you going somewhere?” she asks, tilting her head. you jump slightly at her voice. you had forgotten she was here. fuck. “uh, yeah.” she raises an eyebrow, a tiktok playing on loop as she watches you. “at 10:30 pm?” fuck. think of an excuse. anything. “yeah, i need to-“ you glance around, your eyes landing on your backpack. “i need to print something!” she just stares at you, her expression full of amusement. “print something.” you want the floor to swallow you. “yeah.” "...at 10:30?”

"yep!” you reply, trying your hardest to seem believable. she blinks. “what do you need a printer for?” “class!” you reply quickly. too quickly. “what else would i need it for? that’s why, i’m going to the library.” her eyes narrow, her eyebrows furrowing. “the library closes at nine.” fuck. you’re horrible at this. “wonyoung has a printer! in her dorm! so i’m going. to print. my paper. because class is important.” no response. silence envelops the two of you. finally, she tilts her head. “you don’t have class tomorrow.” you’re going to slam your head into the wall. “fine!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. “i’m going to walmart for snacks! is that better?”yunjin holds back a laugh, her eyes flickering with amusement. “snack run. got it.” “yeah, i had to lie or else… or else you would ask me to buy you something. and i don’t have a lot of money.” you reply. she only smirks. she knows you’re full of shit. you know she knows. “okay,” she shrugs, looking back at her phone. you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding, walking towards the door. just as your hand touches the doorknob, she speaks again. “use protection.” you freeze, your stomach dropping. you turn to look at her, slowly. “what?” she keeps her eyes trained on her phone, but there’s a shit-eating grin on her face. “you heard me.” you gasp incredulously, glancing around the room. “i told you i’m going to walmart.” she snorts, finally glancing up at you, “yeah, and i’m going to paris next weekend.” you glare at her, flipping her off. “it was the best i could come up with! you put me on the spot!” “it was horrible,” she sighs, shaking her head in disappointment before continuing, “i don’t care what you’re do, but at least lie better. and i’m a bit offended you didn’t just tell me the truth.” you shake your head, embarrassment rushing through you. “nothing’s happening!” “no.” she replies, a smirk on her lips as she turns off her phone, placing it next to her. “you’re getting dicked down by lee heeseung. that’s what’s happening.” your jaw drops, and you yank the door open, your face burning red. “i am not! shut up!” “goodnight, y/n,” she muses, a teasing smile on her lips. you slam the door shut behind you, stomping down the hall. fuck. that was humiliating. you’re never living that down. she’s probably texting wonyoung at this exact moment, telling her everything that just happened. you groan out loud, your head falling back as you wait outside the elevator, sending heeseung a text. you [10:27 pm]: i’m going to kill u.you don’t wait for his response, stepping into the elevator as it opens. your stomach is twisting in anticipation, for… whatever is going to happen tonight. your body is betraying you. your mind is betraying you. thoughts flickering through your mind, making you feel dizzy as you walk to his dorm. it’s a short enough walk, simply enjoying the scenery of campus as you make your way to his dorm. it’s quiet at this hour, and it almost feels like you’re the only one here, besides the student you pass every few minutes. every step feels heavier, like you’re getting closer to what you know is a like you haven’t crossed before. as if you haven’t crossed more in the last week than you ever thought you would.

when you finally make it to his dorm, following the directions he gave you, your heart pounds in your chest as you stand outside his door. you hesitate, before raising your hand and knocking once. twice. you hear footplates approaching the door, before it swings open and- oh. your mouth almost waters at the sight. heeseung is standing there, a white wifebeater clinging to his skin, grey sweatpants low on his hips. his hair is messy and disheveled, making him look even more irresistible. his arms are crossed against his chest, muscles flexing every time he moves slightly. your brain stops working, your eyes raking over his figure before you realize what you’re doing. they snap back up to his face, but it’s too late. he already has the smug look on his face, and you’re praying he doesn’t say anything. luckily, by the grace of god, he doesn’t. he leans against the doorframe, raising his eyebrows slightly. “took you long enough.” you sigh, your lips pursing as you glare at him. “shut up. i’m here, aren’t i?” “yeah.” he says, voice dropping with teasing tone as he tilts his head. “i was starting to miss you, pretty girl.” your eyes widen a bit at the new nickname, and you swear your heart skips a few beats. you want to slam your head into the nearest wall repeatedly. you want him to- no. you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to get a grip. “move,” you finally say, pushing past him and entering his dorm. it looks like a typical college athlete dorm room. he was lucky enough to get a whole dorm to himself, basketball posters littering the walls, a pc set up where the other bed usually goes, and a small couch and tv off to the other side of the room. it was cozy, and not too cluttered. he lets you push him, and you try not to focus on how his muscles feel so much more defined through his tank top than they did through his hoodie. “damn, princess. you’re killing me.” you roll your eyes, walking over to his couch and plopping down on it. you watch as he shuts the door, stepping closer to you. his smirk stays on his lips, his eyes full of something you can’t read, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “so,” you begin, trying to keep your emotions in check. “what movie are we watching?” he doesn’t say anything, simply sitting next to you on the couch and turning the tv on. the movie of choice is waiting to be played, and your eyes squint slightly. “10 things i hate about you?” your voice comes out more surprised than you meant, and heeseung looks at you, tilting his head. you hadn’t expected this choice. you were expecting him to pick a marvel movie, or mad max, something that guys watch, you didn’t know. his smile is smug, glancing at the tv and back at you. “yeah,” he shrugs, not seeing the big deal. “do you not like it?” you blink, thrown off. a rom-com? it’s not something you had expected heeseung- or any college boy in general- to enjoy. you feel like you’re uncovering a new side of him, one that you haven’t seen before. you shake your head quickly, “no, it’s one of my favorites. just didn’t think you would watch something like this.” he raises an eyebrow in response, leaning back against the couch as he presses play. “i’m a man of depth, y/n.” his voice is teasing, his eyes flickering from yours to the tv. your stomach flips, but you don’t say anything else. you settle back into the couch, unsure of how much distance to put between the two of you. about halfway through the movie, patrick and kat finally kiss. lying down after the paintball game, against the hay. it’s like you can feel the tension snapping between them, your eyes staring longingly at the screen.

you can’t look away. it’s something you’ve always wanted. the kind of love you’ve always wanted to experience (well, besides the fact it all started as a bet). your mind flickers to you and heeseung and whatever… this is. without thinking, the words spill out, wistful, longing. “i’ve always wanted a love like theirs. this movie is perfect.” silence. the reality of who you just spoke those words in front of settles in. you blink, wanting the ground to swallow you. you glance over at heeseung, praying to every god that he somehow didn’t hear you. he definitely did. his eyes flicker towards yours, the corner of his mouth lifting into that signature smirk. he doesn’t say anything at first, just watching you, the way you shift in your seat, obviously regretting your choice of words. “yeah?” he finally asks, his voice low and teasing. it sends a chill through your body, and he leans just a bit closer. “i guess they are pretty nice together, aren’t they? reminds me of us.” his words make your eyes widen just slightly, your pulse speeding up at his comment. you swallow, hard. your mouth opens, but no words leave your lips. his gaze stays on yours, intense, waiting. but you can’t speak. the room feels like it’s shrinking, the air suddenly too think to breathe. he tilts his head, the stupid smirk still on his lips. “cat got your tongue?” his voice is still low, but there’s something else to it now. you bite your lip, nerves crackling between the both of you. the movie continues to play, but it’s just background noise now, only sound filling the heated silence between you. he shifts, his body facing yours completely now, making him feel so much closer. the smirk on his face drops slightly, an unreadable expression taking over his features. your breath stutters, and you force words to leave your lips. “well… i mean-“ he leans in closer, so close you can feel his warm breath against your skin. your heartbeat quickens, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the moment. you try to ignore your nerves, your erratic heartbeat, your shaky breath, the way your lips part slightly. but it’s impossible. he raises a hand to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “tell me,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with something you can’t quite place. he drags your bottom lip down with his thumb, before letting it fall back into place. “you ever think about that with someone like me?” you swear your heartbeat stops. because you have. god, of course you have. but the words are stuck in your throat, the moment too tense for you to force any words out. you can’t even think straight. you feel surrounded by him. the look in his eyes, the proximity, his touch. you inhale sharply, your eyes closing for just a second as you try to ground yourself. it’s useless. you’re too far gone, the moment is too tense. his gaze flickers to your lips, a soft breath leaving his lips, and something inside you snaps.

your lips crash against his, your hands threading into his hair to pull him closer. he reciprocates immediately, groaning against your lips, like he had been waiting all night for this. his hand on your jaw tilts your head, deepening the kiss. it’s frantic, messy, and desperate. charged with emotion and the tension that had been building all night. all the unsaid words pouring themselves into the way your lips move against each other. his free hand finds your waist, pulling you closer. slowly, he shifts his hand to your back, fingers splaying out as he secures you, slowly guiding you down until you’re lying back on the couch, your bodies pressed together, his legs between yours. his weight settles over you, caging you in, but it feels like more than that. something you can’t quite place. your fingers leave his hair, trailing down to his chest, your breath stuttering as you feel the way his muscles move beneath his tank top, desire shooting through you. his tongue prods at your bottom lip, asking for more, your mouth opening instinctively to let him in. your breath catches as his tongue brushes against yours. it’s a foreign feeling, and you don’t know what to do. your inexperience is painfully obvious, insecurity filling you. but heeseung doesn’t rush you. his hand on your jaw tilts your head slightly, coaxing you to follow his movements. his kisses are slower now, letting you adjust. it’s messy and uncertain, but he exhales against your lips, hot and heavy, and you realize that he doesn’t care. your inexperience doesn’t matter to him. he wants this. you want this. you let yourself relax, your lips moving more confidently against his. something inside you clicks, your resolve shattering as your mind is clouded with the desire. the want for more. more of his lips, his touch, everything. your body feels like it’s on fire, need spreading throughout you. you pull back, gasping for air, both of your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath. your mind is hazy from the intensity of the kiss, of the feelings swirling through you. heeseung’s gaze softens slightly, like he’s about to say something, but before he can speak, you interrupt him. your voice is shaky, but firm. “i want more.” he stares at you for a second, processing your words. then, his eyes darken, and it’s like you can feel the shift in the room. a deep, guttural groan leaves his lips, and before you can process it, his lips are back on yours. his kisses are deeper, more urgent, desperate, like you just shattered his last ounce of restraint he had. you feel dizzy, his kisses intoxicating. his touch grows more fervent, one tangling in your hair to tilt your head. you sigh against his lips, everything feeling like too much and not enough at the same time as your hands grip his biceps, grounding yourself to something. his tongue slides against yours in a way that makes your head spin, the intensity of his kisses sending your mind reeling.

and then he shifts. just slightly, but his hips press against yours. it’s subtle, unintentional, but it sends a shock through your body, a familiar spark burning in your core. you gasp against his lips, your fingers tightening around his biceps as the pleasure spreads. he notices. fuck, of course he notices. hears the small, shaky sound that leaves you. he pulls back just slightly, his breath warm against your lips. his voice is low, dripping with amusement. “that feel good, princess?” you tighten around nothing, your thighs attempting to close, squeeze together, ease some of the tension you’re feeling. but you can’t, not with heeseung in between your legs. his lips curve into a smirk, picking up on every detail about your body. he presses his lips against yours again. rolling his hips again, this time deliberately. your breath stutters. the feeling is overwhelming, too much with all the emotions you’re already feeling, but you want it. your fingers dig into his biceps, using your grip as an anchor for your sanity, but he doesn’t stop. his lips trail along your jaw, down your neck, his voice tickling your skin. “you like that, don’t you?” you can’t answer, can barely breathe. you try to speak, but he rolls his hips just right, pressing right against your clit, and a whimper slips past your lips. he hears it. loves it. but when you don’t answer, he slows his hips, the loss of friction making your fingers tighten. you go to protest, but he speaks before you. “c’mon princess”, he murmurs, hand sliding down to grip your waist. “i asked you a question.” he shifts slightly- just enough for you to feel it. but it’s not enough. your core clenches at the fleeting pressure. “don’t get all shy on me now,” he hums, angling your hips just right before rolling his agan. slower, more controlled. your nails dig into his arms, head tipping back slightly. it’s not enough. and he knows. he’s waiting. waiting for you to break. and finally, you do. you gasp, voice breathless and desperate as it leaves your lips. “yes.” he huffs out a laugh against your ear, a shiver running down your spine. “that’s my girl.” his lips crash against yours, grinding against you harder, pulling gasps and whimpers from you. “fuck,” he exhales, forehead resting against yours. his breath is ragged, fingers tightening on your waist, like he’s trying to hold back. but you need more. your hips push up, chasing the dizzying pleasure. his grip tightens, his hips rocking harder, faster. “shit- princess…” he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. then you feel it. the solid press of him through his sweats. fuck, he’s huge. your stomach clenches, an involuntary moan leaving you. he’s hard, because of you. he’s enjoying this. you shift again, your underwear sticking uncomfortably to yourself, voice shaky and broken. “heeseung-“ his hand slides beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your waist. his lips hover against yours, voice quiet, strained. “i’ve got you.”

it's too much. every roll of his hips, every kiss, every touch. your head rolls back, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure rushes through you. you can feel the knot in your stomach tightening, so close to tipping over the edge. heeseung watches, his breath hitching. his eyes are dark, lidded, filled with lust. his hands tighten on your waist, hips pressing harder. “you close, princess?” you nod, your hips trying to push up against him, but he holds you down, forcing you to take it. a groan leaves his lips, his voice strained as he grits his teeth. “fuck… you’re gonna make me blow a load in my pants.” his words make you shiver, barely processing words at this point. and then his hips move just right- and you break. your entire body tenses, your back arching off the couch as a broken cry leaves you, white-hot pleasure crashing over you. heeseung’s brows are furrowed, his jaw slack, watching as you tremble beneath him. and that’s all it takes for him. his fingers grip your waist tighter, his hips stuttering against yours as a choked gasp spills past his lips. “ah, fuck-“ he groans out, finally finishing in his pants. his body shakes against yours, the feeling only heightening your pleasure. it’s silent for a bit, the only sounds being the movie playing quietly in the background and your heaving breaths. you can still feel the aftershocks, your mind foggy, having felt as if it's flown somewhere far away. and then, a quiet, breathless laugh leaves heeseung’s lips. “damn, princess.” your lips part, but nothing but a soft exhale leaves your lips. your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, everything feeling too heavy. heeseung’s expression shifts, his amusement turning into something softer, his fingers brushing against your cheek. his touch sends a shiver down your spine, still hypersensitive. “you good?” your eyes finally flutter open, blinking softly. you manage a small nod, slowly coming back to reality. a small laugh leaves his lips, but his tone remains soft. “you sure? you look like you’re on another planet.” you nod again, and then reality sinks in. you just came in your pants because of lee heeseung. you basically had indirect sex with lee heeseung. your eyes widen slightly, a hand covering your eyes as you groan quietly. “i can’t believe we just did that.” he leans down just slightly, his lips brushing against yours ever so softly. “believe it, baby.” you let out an exasperated laugh, rolling your eyes as you shove at his chest. “literally shut up.” he only laughs, pushing himself so he’s hovering above you. he just watches you for a moment, silence enveloping you as you both process everything. and then. “not gonna lie, i’ve never came in my pants before.” your eyes widen, just looking at him. “oh.” you blink, averting your gaze. but then, something clicks. you did that. you were a first for him, too. it causes something proud to bloom in your chest, holding back a smile. “why do you-“ heeseung squints at you, an amused scoff leaving his lips. “are you proud of yourself right now?” you avert your gaze, poorly biting back a smile. “no.” “oh my god,” he groans, his head dropping to rest against your chest. “you so are.” you giggle, trying to ignore how his touch affects you. “i mean, i think that’s kinda an accomplishment. don’t you?” he lifts his head, an amused expression on his face. he laughs softly, shaking his head. “you’re unreal.” “i guess you’re rubbing off on me,” you shrug, pushing some hair out of his face. due to his positioning, though, it falls back right away.

“and, uh…” you hand runs down his face, fingers grazing down his chest as your eyes remain on his. “i’ve never done that with anyone before.” he lets out a quiet curse, and you can feel his muscles tensing under your fingers. he finally snaps out of it, glancing down at where you’re still connected. “this is just uncomfortable now.” you shift your hips, trying to ease some of the uncomfortable stickiness. it backfires, heeseung’s hand gripping your hip as he sucks a breath in through his teeth. “don’t move.” it sends a jolt of electricity through you, your lips parting slightly. fuck, this was such new territory for you. before you can speak, heseung is pushing himself off of you, standing up with a groan. “i’m gonna go get us some pants.” you push yourself up on your elbows, your stomach doing a little flip. the word leaves your lips before you can think about it. “us?” he tilts his head, a soft smile on his lips. “yes, us. i’m not letting you sleep over in ruined pants.” sleep over. you’re sleeping over. you’re spending the night at a guys dorm- heeseung’s dorm. “don’t look so surprised, princess. i’m not letting you walk home this late,” he speaks again, watching your surprised expression. and when he reaches out his hand, pulling you up to your feet, you let him. you let him get you a change of pants. you let him pull you closer in bed. you let yourself fall asleep in lee heeseung’s arms, even though your heart is beating out of your chest the whole time.

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it’s been two weeks. two weeks of this… thing with heeseung. and you’re happy. you’ve never felt this way about anyone before. you’re not dating. neither of you would call it that. no one has. not yunjin, not wonyoung, not his friends- but they all have that look in their eyes when they see you together. they know. because you’re together. kind of. you go to his games occasionally, dragging either yunjin or wonyoung along. because he asked you to come. he wanted you to be there.he’s on time for study sessions, even picking you up from your dorm sometimes. half the time is spent actually getting work done, and the other half is spent talking about everything and nothing at the same time. you go out together now. you take heeseung with you to your favorite café after class. you remember the first time you walked in with him after everything. a few of the workers just stared at you. you always came in alone, but here you were with lee heeseung, standing so close to each other, whispering like your words were only meant for you two. he takes you to a lookout about a twenty-minute drive from campus. it’s always quiet, peaceful. nothing’s said, but everything is understood. he always takes you late at night, the lights far away creating one of the most beautiful nights. the city feels so close, but so far away. just like everything feels with him. and then there’s the other moments. the ones that make you question whatever this is. when he brings your favorite drink to class- because he knows it now. when he watches the shows you recommended, listens to the music you play. when he always makes sure you get home safe, walking you all the way to your door before sending you off. when you catch him looking at you, his eyes softer, something that you can’t quite place. when he can always tell when you’re cold, not even saying anything before he drapes his sweater over your shoulders, going back to whatever he was doing like it was no big deal.it's not obvious you’re together, but it’s obvious that there’s something there. and that’s enough. you’re happy. you’re happy. right? the walk to your dorm is quiet. it’s not awkward- it’s never awkward. it’s just quiet. filled with words that neither of you want to say, caught in your swirling minds. the night is cold, but you can’t feel it. not with heeseung’s hoodie enveloping you, sheltering you from the nipping night air. his shoulder continues to brush against yours, the proximity making you feel safe. but something feels different tonight. the whole day, something felt off. like all the unspoken words were going to come to fruition. he had acted different tonight. softer. closer.

tonight, he had pulled the hood of your (his) hoodie up when the wind picked up, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. his fingers brushed against yours while you walked together, and for a second, you thought he was going to intertwine your fingers. tonight, he had just watched you when you were speaking. really watched you. like he was memorizing every detail of your face. and now, you’re here at your dorm. and you don’t want to go inside. you don’t want the night to end. you shift your weight from one foot to the other, looking up at heeseung as he stands in front of you. “thanks for walking me back,” you mumble, shoving your hands in the pocket of his hoodie. heeseung nods, his lips parting. your eyes light up the slightest bit. it looks like he’s going to do something, say something. finally, finally cross that line. maybe a kiss. not a kiss filled with tension, or a makeout session. a kiss just because. a soft, fleeting goodnight kiss. but then, he just exhales through his nose, his lips curling into a soft smile. his hands lift, your heart speeding up. it’s happening. and then, he tugs your hood down. his touch is so soft, it’s comforting. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, your breath hitching at the action. his eyes flicker over your face, filled with unsaid words, and you can almost see the way he’s fighting his thoughts.his voice is so quiet when he speaks, filled with something you can’t place. “goodnight, princess.” you swallow, something akin to disappointment filling you. but you brush it off, simply nodding as you take a step back. “goodnight, heeseung.”his lips part again, but he closes them quickly, simply returning the nod. you try not to let your emotions show, just turning around and entering your dorm, the ghost of whatever moment should’ve just happened disappearing into the air. the door clicks shut behind you, and now it’s just you. alone. it’s quiet. too quiet. you’re half-expecting yunjin’s voice to fill the room, teasing you, asking you to spill all the details- but it doesn’t. she’s spending the night at beomgyu’s. it’s become routine for her. part of you wishes that was routine for you and heeseung as well. you sigh, running a hand through your hair before finally making your way to your bed, sliding under the covers. heeseung’s hoodie smells like him. that somehow makes everything worse. everything should be fine. this shouldn’t be a big deal. but you can’t stop thinking about it. the way he looked at you tonight- hell, the way he’s been looking at you every day lately. how close he got tonight, how his touch lingered. and the look in his eyes. like there was so much he wanted to say. but he didn’t. he never does. you stare at the ceiling, unsure of whether your feelings are valid or not. this isn’t how you expected your first romance to go. not that this is even a romance. or a relationship. or a situationship. whatever it is. you always thought love would be easier to understand, to navigate. that you would see someone, and everything would just click. you wouldn’t have to wonder, you wouldn’t be anxious. love at first sight, they call it. maybe you read too many books, watched too many movies. maybe you just had an unrealistic expectation of love. you push the doubt away, along with the lingering thoughts of confusion. they’re not fair. not to heeseung, and definitely not to you. you’re happy. or, you’re supposed to be happy. so why does it feel like you’re waiting for something that’s never going to come? something just out of reach, like a mirage? no matter how close you get, it continues to get further away.

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the sun is out, trees rustling slightly with the breeze. you and wonyoung walk side by side, her rambling about how some guy in her economics class- anton- keeps trying to flirt with her. it’s funny. sometimes you wonder if wonyoung truly understands how beautiful she is. you can’t blame the guy. “girl, i don’t know why you’re surprised,” you roll your eyes, a small laugh leaving your lips, “you’re stunning.” she smiles, her mouth opening as she goes to respond, but the words die on her lips as both your ears pick up on the conversation happening next to you. “heeseung? oh yeah, he said they were just messing around.” something said in passing by a guy talking to his friend. something not meant for your ears, but you heard it. and it hurt. made your stomach twist, a disgusting feeling settling in your gut. there was a party yesterday. heeseung went. he told you he was going. your mind swirled with endless possibilities. did something happen there? was something said? why are other people talking about you? you don’t react- at least, not outwardly. but the words feel like a punch to your gut. a bucket of ice water being poured over your head. wonyoung hears it, too. you know she did. you watch as she turns to you, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “heeseung?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. “did something happen?” it only makes the ugly feeling inside you worse. you shake your head, trying to keep your voice as normal as possible. “no. but rumors are just rumors. besides, he’s really popular. people are bound to talk.” you try to convince yourself you mean what you’re saying out loud. like everything’s fine. like it doesn’t hurt. she hesitates a bit, studying your face. she opens her mouth, but ultimately nods along to your words slowly, letting it go. she continues to talk, the conversation between you two easily flowing again. you reply, trying to seem invested. trying to stop the uneasiness forming inside you more and more by the second. but it’s hard. you know heeseung. you know his reputation.

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the café was busy this time of day. conversation and the sound of drinks being made filled the small building, the smell of coffee heavy in the air. you’re sat at your favorite seat in the corner, heeseung sitting across from you. the conversation was flowing easily, the two of you talking about anything that came to your minds. you didn’t mention what you heard earlier, even though the doubts burned in the back of your mind. as much as you tried to push the thoughts away, they stayed. taunting you. the bell jingles, alerting that a new customer is walking in. you turn your head, your stomach dropping the second your eyes land on her. sieun. she makes direct eye contact with you, a slow smirk forming on her face as she walks over. your guard goes up immediately, heeseung having yet to notice her. you knew about their history. everyone did. an on-and-off fling that lasted for months. they ended things for good just a couple months ago, right before you met heeseung. “well,” she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness, a fake smile on her lips as she places her hands on the table. “you move on quick, don’t you? i’ve heard a lot about you two.” your body feels like it goes cold. you glance at heeseung, waiting for him to do something. say anything. but he doesn’t. his smile falters, his eyes flickering towards her. you watch as he rubs the back of his neck, simply shaking his head before turning back to his cup. it sends a chill through you, that same ugly feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. sieun doesn’t even acknowledge you. her eyes stay trained on heeseung, her smile darkening, lips curling into something sadistic. “don’t have anything to say? i heard you were just messing around with this one,” she continues. she can’t even use your name. ‘this one’ stings like a burning rod being pressed to your skin. but her words stick out the most. messing around. the same words you hear earlier. the same words that had been swirling in your head this whole day, making anxiety pound through you. it felt like every fear you had was being confirmed. every rumor, coming to fruition. you watch heeseung, your eyes pleading with him to say something. to say she’s wrong, that there is something between you two. that she heard wrong, and things are different this time. anything to make this right. but instead, he just shakes his head again a small, breathless laugh leaves his lips like he can’t believe this is happening. it makes your stomach twist, frustration bubbling up inside you. the man who always had something to say was now sitting wordlessly in front of you, avoiding eye contact with the both of you.

sieun finally turns to look at you, her smile turning sympathetic, taunting. “you’re cute,” she muses, fake sadness dripping from her voice. “i hope you’re not expecting anything serious.” it hurts. it feels like a stab wound to the heart, pain rushing through your whole body. your mouth opens and closes, but no words leave you. your gaze flickers back too heeseung, waiting for something, anything. that something never comes. sieun simply laughs under her breath and shakes her head, leaving as quickly as she came. leaving you two surrounded by a crushing silence. your hands curl into fists underneath the table, frustration turning to anger and hurt as you stare at the tabletop. heeseung still hasn’t said anything. he sits there, silent, and you can feel his gaze on you. it hurts too much. your heart feels like it’s shattering more by the second, and you can’t take it anymore. you’re pushing yourself up from your seat before you can think twice about it, grabbing your bag, and walking. you don’t look back. you don’t listen to his voice, or the stares from others as you make a beeline for the door. it swings open, the cold outside air whipping around you immediately, only adding to the storm of emotions in your head. you can’t think straight, every thought in your mind jumbled. you don’t hear him behind you, not until you feel the faintest pull on your wrist do you stop, your breath catching in your throat. you hear his breath, ragged, quick. and finally, after everything, he speaks. “y/n,” he says softly, cautiously, almost hesitant. his grip tightens just slightly, tugging just slightly more. “you could’ve said something,” you mumble, the words barely escaping your lips. “anything. and you didn’t.” there’s a pause. silence. deafening silence. and suddenly, it’s like the rose-tinted glasses were ripped off, leaving you standing with the reality of your actions. tears brim your eyes as everything hits you all at once. you fell for the playboy. you were stupid enough to just be another one of his girls. your throat tightens, and the words spill out before you can stop them. “i gave you so much,” you choke out, your voice trembling as you turn around to face him. “i- i actually trusted you. i had hope.” his expression falters just slightly, his grip loosening, just barely, but you notice it. his mouth opens, but you cut him off before he can speak, all the frustrated feelings you’ve bottled up leaving you. “you knew how new this was for me,” you continue, your voice rising. you ignore the stares of other students, or the tears that begin to spill from your eyes. “how new all of this is. why would you- why would you take that from me? i don’t know what i’m doing half the time we’re together, but i still try. and you- you just… you don’t try! you give me nothing in return!”

a bitter laugh leaves your lips, full of disbelief. your free hand comes up to rest on your forehead, trying to ground yourself somehow. but it’s no use. your tears keep falling, anger and heartbreak mixing to form the worst rush of emotions you’ve ever had. “you don’t even kiss me goodnight, heeseung,” you mumble, your voice breaking as more tears spill from your eyes, blurring your vision. “you can’t even do that. the only time we kiss is when you want to fucking make out.” his eyes widen slightly, and you can see the way guilt floods his features. but you can’t stop. it’s like you’re running on autopilot at this point. you laugh again, the sound borderline hysterical. your body is shaking with a mix of your cries and the emotion running through you, the adrenaline, the heartbreak. “you can’t even call me by my actual name,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter as they leave your mouth. part of you can’t believe you’re saying these things out loud. “just ‘princess’. always just princess.” the laugh in your throat dies, simply replaced by silence aside from your sniffles. his face- the guilt on his face- burns into you the more you look at him, your heart shattering at the sight. but whatever this is hurts more. you can’t take it anymore. can’t keep sacrificing your happiness, and having doubts about if lingering touches are true or not. “you don’t know how much that hurts,” you whisper, the anger you felt finally fading into nothing but heartbreak and hurt. “to give you everything, and only feel like a game. you know, i used to dream about my first kiss. every first i could ever have. and you- you took so many of them from me.” you finally stop speaking, letting the words sink in for the both of you. it’s quiet, tears slipping down your cheeks, but your face is blank. and heeseung stands there, motionless. confusion and guilt filling his expression, but you can’t wait around for a baseless apology. so you don’t. you pull your wrist from his grip, and he doesn’t hold you back. he doesn’t say anything. he just watches. and that somehow hurts more than hearing him say anything. you shut your eyes, biting your bottom lip to contain a sob as you turn on your heel, walking away. through your blurry vision, you don’t look back, keeping your vision forward as you walk away so fast it’s borderline running, your heart shattering more with every shaky step.

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your footsteps were heavy, dragging. the walk back to your dorm had been torturous, dried tears on your face, little sniffles escaping you as you ignored the stares of other students. you could acknowledge that you probably looked like shit. the door clicked quietly as you shut it behind you, locking you in silence. the familiar space that always provided comfort, seemed to do absolutely nothing for you now. your bag slid off your shoulder, falling to the floor with a quiet thud, but you didn’t even hear it. you felt numb, everything far away. but here, in the silence, it felt like everything replayed. every word, every emotion, him. your chest tightened, tears brimming in your eyes once again. they started to fall, soft at first, but they soon became uncontrollable. you tried to hold them back, to calm yourself down, but it was no use. your back hit the door, your legs giving out as you slid down, hitting the floor. you tried desperately to catch your breath, your sobs wracking through you as your hands gripped at your chest, trying to grasp at any sense of control over the situation. nothing was working. everything hurt. you were left feeling stupid and gullible. just another one of lee heeseung’s girls. and then, you saw it. on your desk chair, his hoodie was draped over the back. the sight sending a new wave of emotions through you. it was like you could feel it from where you sat on the floor, smell the familiar scent of him the hoodie carried. and it was all too much. a sob broke from your chest, loud, audible, everything crashing down at once. your chest burned. your head hurt. everything felt wrong. you were trying to pull yourself together, but it only got worse. the reality of everything kept tumbling down on you, forcing you to replay the memories of the day over and over. finally, you heard a door open, your eyes flickering over to the bathroom door only to see wonyoung and yunjin rushing to your side. their expressions filled with concern and confusion. it only made everything hurt more. your sobs were bordering being painful, your body shaking with each and every heaving breath you sucked in. wonyoung was next to you first, wrapping her arms around you as you continued to cry. you couldn't do anything, your hands shaking in your lap as the tears flowed freely. “what’d he do?” she asked bluntly, remembering the conversation from earlier. her hands rubbed your head, trying to calm you down as best she could. “what happened?” your lip trembled as you tried to get words out, but all that left was a strangled sob, your eyes clenching shut. your hands came up to your face, as if you were attempting to block out the pain. but nothing worked. you felt the ache deep inside you, burning, stinging. “what do you mean ‘what’d he do’?” you heard yunjin ask, her hand rubbing your knee comfortingly. you couldn’t reply, couldn’t even get a single word out. but you heard wonyoung filling her in on the conversation you overheard earlier, only adding to the pain you felt. you tried to speak, tried to fill them in on what had just happened, but it felt like the words were stuck in your throat, like bile threatening to come up. all that left you was gasps for air. and then, you sucked in a breath, and it all spilled out.

“she… sieun came up to us. said.. he moved on quickly. that i was a game.” you choked out between sobs, shutting your eyes to ground yourself. “he didn’t- he didn’t say anything. nothing. he was just silent.” “so… fuck. i left.” your chest heaved, squeezing your eyes shut as you spoke the words that felt too real. “he tried to stop me- but i told him everything. everything i’ve been feeling… ands he still didn’t say a single fucking word.” it felt like saying them out loud meant that it actually happened. that it was real. that you didn’t imagine it, it wasn’t a bad dream. wonyoung’s arms tightened around you, pulling your head against her chest as you continued to sob, everything feeling too real. you had never felt this before. this all consuming pain that enveloped your whole body. a pain you couldn’t pinpoint, not a physical pain, but an emotional pain. resting somewhere deep inside you. yunjin’s eyes softened, her hands continuing to rub soft circles on your knee as you shook. “you deserve so much better than that asshole, y/n.” you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “i don’t know what i was expecting, but i-“ you choked on your words, closing your eyes before continuing. “i thought it was real.” wonyoung rubbed your arm with the hand she had wrapped around you, the touch grounding you, comforting you. “don’t say that,” she whispered, her lips brushing against the top of your head, “this isn’t your fault.” you shook your head, finally lifting it as you wiped your tears, a bitter, disbelieving laugh slipping past your lips. “but it is,” you mumble, your voice shaky, “i let him in. i knew what i was getting into. lee heeseung, campus playboy. and i’m so, so fucking stupid for falling.” the two girls stared at you, pity etched across their faces as they watched you break down on the floor, the happiness you had been feeling being ripped away from you all too soon, leaving you empty and heartbroken.

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the world kept moving. the days stretched on, long and unbearable. it felt like each one bled into the other. it was strange. how time could feel so, so agonizingly slow. it had only been a few days, but it felt like weeks. but a part of you felt like you were still there. standing, waiting, begging for anything, and getting nothing but silence in return. you went to class because you had to. because you couldn’t let your grades slip. you sat in your usual seat with your notebook open, but the words blurred together. you busied yourself by doodling on your paper, words entering one ear and leaving the other. you couldn’t focus on anything, when your mind would drift back to him. every time someone leaned back in their chair, or tapped their pen on their notebook, you felt like you could see him. it made something in your stomach twist violently. you couldn’t tell if it was nausea or longing. but you knew it hurt. “y/n?” you blinked, snapping back to reality at the sound of your name. you looked up, only to be met with the eyes of your professor, staring at you expectantly. fuck. you swallow, gripping your pen just a bit tighter. “uh…” your eyes scanned the board for something, anything, but nothing made sense. you had no idea what was being discussed, or what question had been asked. you felt embarrassment flood you, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you sighed. “i’m sorry, i wasn’t paying attention. it’s been a long day.”your professor shook her head, eyes full of disappointment. “you need to pay attention, you’re usually better than this.” it hurt. her look of disappointment, her words. if only she knew how you felt right now, the thoughts running through your head. but you only nodded, sinking in your seat as she moved on, another student raising their hand enthusiastically to answer the one you head clearly missed. you forced yourself to sit through the rest of the lecture, trying to pay attention as best as you could. it didn’t work. eventually, you went back to doodling, your mind running wild with thoughts of regret again.

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eventually, yunjin and wonyoung forced you to go out. they thought it might help, and you believed them. maybe you just needed a night out, surrounded by people. that was bound to get your mind off of everything. so, you did your hair, your makeup, put on an outfit you felt good in. forced yourself to smile, taking a deep breath as you told yourself over and over that this would help. it was a good idea. but the second you stepped inside the bustling restaurant, laughter and voices echoing around you, you realized just how wrong you were. he was everywhere. in the boy at the next table, who wore his hoodie half zipped, his elbows rested on the table as he talked to his friends. in the smell of the cup of coffee a waiter walked by you, your mind drifting back to the café that had become your go-to. you haven’t gone since. in the laugh from someone a few tables down- a different voice, a different person, but it still made your stomach twist. the worst part was the basketball game playing on the tv mounted above the bar. you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept drifting to it, scanning the screen over and over again like you would see him. it wasn’t even your schools team, but you couldn’t stop. it just reminded you of him. the way he moved, controlling the court, making everyone root for him. you remembered the way his eyes would look for yours in the crowd after he scored a point. it made your breath hitch. you weren’t sure how long you stared, hyper focused on the tv, until yunjin’s hand tapped your lightly, your eyes reluctantly pulling away from the tv and back to hers. “you alright? you haven’t said much,” she murmured, beat voice soft, cautious. you shook your head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “i’m fine,” you lied, forcing yourself to engage in the conversation that was happening. neither of them look convinced. and your eyes kept flickering back to the tv.

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you barely ate. you weren’t even doing it on purpose- didn’t realize how long you would go without eating. you just had no appetite, no desire to fuel your body. you would go the whole day, not even realizing you hadn’t eaten until it was 9pm and yunjin was shoving a cup of ramen in your face with a firm “eat.” it reminded you of how much he loved ramen. the thought only made you want to eat it less, your stomach churning at the thought. sleep wasn’t much better. nights were the absolute worst. at least during the day, you could fake it. pretend you were fine, put on a fake smile and laugh at unfunny jokes people made. busy yourself with small talk, classwork, and meaningless conversations to pull your mind away from the storm inside you, even if only for a bit. but at night, there was nothing to distract you. you had yunjin, of course, but you were tired of dragging her into your heartbreak fueled rants and crying sessions. so it was just you lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, yunjin’s soft breaths the only noise filling the room. you felt like you were drowning in your emotions. the loss. the regret. the ache in your chest that hadn’t gone away since that day. it was like you could feel it physically. like a weight pressing down on you, constantly following you around throughout the whole day, but it was the worst at night. you were tired. all you wanted to do was sleep. but you couldn’t. your mind was running at a million miles a minute, everything coming back to you. when you finally fell asleep, it wasn’t any better. in your dreams, you were back there- standing in front of him with a broken heart and crushed dreams. you always woke up before he could answer. and you felt stupid. because this is exactly what you had been afraid of. this is why you had been so hesitant. because you knew how it would end- you knew what he was like. and still, you let yourself fall. you didn’t even try to catch yourself, willingly stepping off the edge and enjoying the freefall until you hit the ground. hard. this was why you had stuck to romance novels for so long. why you had lived vicariously through kat stratford, rose bukater, lara jean covey… the list could go on and on. because, as much as you longed to experience romance, you were scared. scared that real life wouldn’t be like the book and movies. it wouldn’t be like the songs, or the cheesy love-at-first-sight stories old couples would tell you. and it wasn’t. it was painful, and things weren’t always destined to work out. even your playlists had shifted. whereas a week ago, your most played song was ‘bewitched’ by laufey, a lovesick smile on your face as you laid in bed, singing along to the lyrics, you found yourself repeating ‘right where you left me’ by taylor swift lately. you felt like the song described your situation too perfectly. you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse for coping. eventually you settled on the latter, because you would cry every time it came on, your breath hitching the second you heard the ‘friends break up, friends get married.” you just wanted everything to go back to normal. you wanted to go back to the day you met heeseung, walking to a different seat instead of sitting down next to him. you wanted to beg the professor to assign you with someone else. you wanted to never step foot in that fateful party that changed everything.

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it’s quiet aside from the video playing from your phone. you’re curled up in bed, a bowl of pretzels in your lap as you watch a video essay on youtube about fourth wall breaks. you had nothing else to do. yunjin was spending the night at beomgyu’s. again. wonyoung had to study for an exam coming up. you were left alone, your phone being your only entertainment. sure, you could’ve gone out. but it’s 11pm. you just needed something to keep your mind occupied. it usually doesn’t work. but tonight, things are different. you’re happier tonight. things are easier. your mind doesn’t keep drifting back to him. you stretch, rolling your neck as the voice talks about deadpool’s fourth wall breaks. it’s weirdly interesting. you forgot how entertaining youtube essays could be. the peace is shattered by a knock on your door. the sound is sharp and unexpected, making you jump slightly as you look towards the door. you freeze for a second, before checking the time on your phone. 11:15pm. who would be here this late? part of you thinks yunjin came back. but she has a key, so why wouldn’t she just unlock the door? you stand, slowly walking towards the door, yawning slightly as you near it. maybe it’s wonyoung. she could’ve finished studying and wanted to hang out. but when you finally pull open the door, your breath catches in your throat. there, standing on the other side, is heeseung. you feel your stomach churn. he looks different. there’s bags under his eyes, and his hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it. there’s a look in his eyes that you can quite place, something you’re grown accustomed to. you can never truly tell what he’s thinking. you stare at him, but you can’t get any words out. his eyes are staring back into yours, and it feels like time stops. you’re frozen, unable to move. he’s here. standing in front of you. you finally find your voice, forcing the words to leave your parted lips. “what are you doing here?” your tone is sharper than intended, and part of you wishes you could take them back. but it’s too late. they’re out there. heeseung stands still, his body tense. his eyes flicker around, like he’s lost deep in thought. it’s overwhelming. he hasn’t even said anything and you feel like he’s already said too much. you take a deep breath, your hand on the door as you get ready to close it. but heeseung’s fast. he reaches out, his fingers splaying across the door and halting your movements. “wait. wait,” he pleads, his voice quiet, breathy. “just let me explain, please. just- just let me in. i need to, fuck… i need to say something.” you hesitate, your eyes searching his. your mind is telling you to shut the door in his face, crawl back in bed, and pretend this conversation never happened. but you don’t. you can’t. something about his expression, the way he’s standing there, eyes pleading with you to listen for once- it stops you. so you open the door wider, letting him step inside. your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, averting your gaze from his as you step to the side. he steps inside, and it’s like you can feel the shift in the room. you shut the door behind him, turning around to face him, and it’s like something cracks within him. he doesn’t wait a second longer. he just starts talking, words spilling out of him like a dam, like he’s been holding them back for some time. “i don’t- i don’t do relationships. i don’t know how to do them. i don’t know how to feel this way. wasn’t supposed to feel this way,” he pauses for a moment, running a shaky hand through his hair. “i was fine before you. but now, everything has changed. i’m so fucking confused.” you stand there, frozen, your stomach twisting at his words. it feels like you’ve been hit by a truck. you don’t know what to do, what to say, how to react. his voice rises slightly, and for the first time, you see his true feelings. “you- fuck, you ruined me.”

his words are softer than you expect. they lack the usual teasing. they’re not sharp or mocking. they’re just a quiet emission of something he’s been dealing with, something he doesn’t know how to navigate. the pure emotion in his voice cuts through like a knife, hitting somewhere deep inside where all the sadness had piled up inside you. “you make me want things i don’t even know how to want,” he continues, his voice quiet now, barely above a whisper. “i tried to deny it. i tried to push every feeling i had away. i couldn’t admit it to myself- i was scared.” he stops talking, sucking in a breath as he stares at you. his eyes search yours, like he’s trying to gauge your emotions. you’re not sure. you don’t even know what you’re feeling right now. you’re finally able to force a word out, your voice shaky and quiet, like you’re not even sure you want him to hear. “heeseung…” but he doesn’t respond. he just stands there, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath he takes. his eyes stay locked on yours, and his mouth parts like he’s going to say something, start speaking again. but instead, he runs a hand through his hair, letting out an incredulous laugh. it’s not a happy laugh. it’s disbelieving, tinged with frustration and sadness, like he can’t even comprehend the fact that he’s in this position right now, pouring his heart out to someone he hurt. “fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head, his voice wavering. “i can’t even focus at practice. coach keeps yelling at me, reprimanding me, but-“ he pauses, his eyes landing on yours again. “i can’t stop thinking about you. it’s screwing me up.” you blink, the weight of his admission sinking in, making your eyes sting and a lump form in your throat. his voice is so raw, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut every time. his hand is shaky as he runs it over his face, shaking his head like he’s fighting something inside himself. “i don’t know what’s happening to me,” he continues, his voice breathy and laced with emotion. “i can’t stop wanting you. i don’t know what to do with that. i’ve never felt this for someone before.” he steps forward slightly, and you can feel yourself tense up. there’s an intensity in his eyes, raw and unfiltered. like he’s determined. it’s the most honest you’ve ever seen him be, the first time you’ve been able to tell what he’s feeling by looking at him. it almost knocks the breath out of you. “i want… i want you to be mine, y/n,” he confesses, his voice full of sincerity. “i want to hold your hand, not just have our fingers brush. i want to kiss you, for no reason at all, but because i can’t help it. i want you to be able to tell people i’m yours. i just, i want to be close to you all the time. i’ve never experienced this before, and it scares the hell out of me. but losing you is worse. i can’t keep pushing my feelings- and you- away when you’re all that i think about.” you freeze, your breath hitching as his words sink in more and more. he wants you. he wants this. your heart is racing, and your breathing picks up just a bit. heeseung takes another step closer, his voice barely above a whisper now as if he’s scared to say the words out loud. “i’m so fucking scared, y/n. this is all new to me. i don’t know how to do this. but i want to make this right. i want to be able to tell you what i’m feeling and what i want, just- please, don’t walk away again.”

the desperation in his voice tears at you, and before you can stop yourself, your vision blurs. the pressure in your chest builds, and a shaky breath leaves you as you feel the dam break. tears spill from your eyes, hot and fast, all the emotions you’ve been bottling up crashing down from the weight of his words. heeseung’s eyes widen the second he sees your face shift, and in an instant, he’s there. his hands gently cup your face, his thumb softly wiping away every tear that falls. your breath hitches at his touch, a quiet sob leaving your lips. “hey, hey, look at me,” he says softly, his hands guiding your face up carefully, like he’s afraid you might break. “i didn’t mean to- fuck. don’t cry, baby.” you can’t stop it. the tears are falling down faster that you can hold them back. heeseung’s thumbs continue to brush against your cheeks, trying to calm down the rush of emotions you’re experiencing. but it’s too much- the words, the emotions, the tenderness. it’s all so new, so different from what you’ve been experiencing these past few days. your chest tightens, a mix of pain and relief swirling inside you, and before you can stop yourself, you press your head against his chest, your fingers gripping tightly onto his hoodie in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. heeseung tenses up at the contact, his hands still cradling your face, albeit a bit awkward in this new positioning. but he doesn’t pull away. he lets you lean against him, tears spilling from your eyes as both of you breath shakily, like you’re afraid this moment could disappear at any second. for a few seconds, neither of you moves. the room is thick with tension, and the sounds of your sniffles and his uneven breathing. then slowly, cautiously, his hands finally slip down to rest at your back, gently- his touch so light you almost don’t feel it- pulling you a bit closer to him. his movements are tentative, like he’s not sure if he even has the right to hold you, but he’s too afraid to let you go. then, slowly, you pull away. but not far. just enough so you can tilt your head up, your eyes locking with his. and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. all his emotions are laid bare- his sincerity, his longing, his fear. and every emotion he’s feeling is mirrored in your gaze. you’re both scared, but you’re no longer hiding those feelings from each other. this is something new for both of you, but you know you’re ready to navigate it together.

before you can think too much about it, or second guess your thought process, you’re leaning in, pressing your lips against his. softly, tentatively at first. it’s different from every other kiss you shared. it’s not the rushed, messy kisses born from confusion and curiosity. no. it’s different. it’s slow, tender, filled with every unspoken word, every quiet confession that’s stayed locked deep inside until now. all the feelings of longing that have finally surfaced. it’s everything you both wanted but were too scared to ask for. his lips move against yours slowly, and the gentleness of the kiss contrasts everything that came before it. the rush of emotions is still there, but it's calm now, dissipating softly like the rain slowing down after a thunderstorm. it’s just the two of you, finally letting go, spilling your emotions out. heeseung’s hand moves to the back of your neck, his touch gentle but firm, pulling you closer. you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, the soft press of his body against yours. it’s not like before. it’s real. and it’s yours. when he finally pulls back, there’s a moment of silence. neither of you say anything, but you don’t have to. the air is thick with meaning. there’s no need for words anymore. there’s a silent understanding between the two of you. a small, hesitant smile tugs at his lips, his hand moving from the back of your neck to cup your face. “i mean it,” he whispers softly, as though he’s trying to reassure both of you. his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, his eyes flickering to them before back up to your eyes. “i’m not going anywhere.” you nod, a shaky breath leaving your lips as your eyes search his. “i know,” you whisper back, the words a promise exchanged between the two of you. you lean back in, connecting your lips for the second time that night. the second they meet again, it’s different. the hesitation, the sadness, it all melts away, being replaced by something different. something neither of you can hold back anymore. your fingers dig deeper into the fabric of his hoodie, desperate for something to ground you in this moment. you feel heeseung’s hand move around to the back of your head again, fingers tangling slightly in your hair. you pull away, just slightly. your lips are still hovering over his, and you whisper, so quiet you’re not even sure if he heard. “heeseung…” you don’t even know what you’re asking for. you don’t know why you’re saying his name. his breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away. you can feel the hand on your back tighten slightly, and he exhales softly, voice low. “i know.” and then he’s kissing you again, more sure this time, more determined. he guides you backward, each step slow, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. he doesn’t rush you. he just holds you there, lips moving against yours, as if he’s waiting for you to stop him. you don’t.

he slowly eases you down on the bed, his hand on your back supporting you until your back collides with the bed. he follows you, until his body is hovering over yours. he finally pulls back, his weight braced on his forearm. his gaze flickers over your face, as if he’s memorizing every piece of you, trying to read your mind in this exact moment. it’s a look you’ve never seen in his eyes before, and it makes your stomach do flips. he raises one of his hands, his thumb brushing against your cheek. the softness of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help the way you push your head into his touch. and then, he speaks quietly, almost like a vow. “let me prove it to you.”your breath hitches. your eyes widen slightly, and you feel like you can’t move. you can’t speak. you feel like these past two weeks heeseung has spilt you open, making you feel things no one else has ever done before, and now he’s in front of you, offering to do the same. and for the first time, it feels real. heeseung doesn’t push. he just waits. because for the first time in a long time, this isn’t a game to him. it’s not about winning, or getting the girl. it’s about you. silence lingers between you, his words sinking into your mind. let me prove it to you. your heart pounds against your ribs, and part of you is sure he can hear it. his thumb continues to trace slow, soothing circles against your cheek, and the gentleness of it, the want, the need you feel pushes you. your fingers tighten in the fabric of his hoodie, exhaling a slow deep breath. you can feel the nerves pulsing through your body, but the warmth of his body above you, the emotions in his eyes, the softness of his touch, it’s enough. you tilt your chin up, pulling him down into another kiss. he reacts immediately, his lips moving against yours in slow, careful kisses. he still doesn’t rush you. his hand slips from your cheek to trail down your arm, fingertips skimming across your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. slowly, the kiss deepens, bit by bit. his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and just like last time, you let him in. it’s still clumsy, but you let yourself relax under his touch, sighing against his lips. his hand finds your waist, his fingers tightening slightly like he’s trying to hold himself back, and slowly, his lips trail lowers. to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the soft curve of your neck. your breath hitches. his lips are moving slowly, his kisses soft and fleeting, like he’s testing the waters, lingering, waiting for any sign that this is too much. but you don’t stop him. instead, you let your head roll back slightly against the pillow, granting him more access to your neck. his kisses grow more intense at that, sucking a piece of your skin and pulling a gasp out of you. his fingers brush under the hem of your shirt, just barely slipping beneath the fabric, his fingertips pressing slightly on your stomach. it sends a shiver down your spine, and instinctively, your body tenses. not out of fear- but because it’s new.

this isn’t like the last time this happened. it’s more full of emotion, more sure, like you’re dedicating yourself to him. like this time, you’re truly crossing a line that can never be undone. heeseung notices immediately. he stills, his lips hovering over your skin, his warm breath against your neck sending a shiver through you. he stops moving his hand up, simply opting to run slow, lazy circles on your torso with his thumb. he pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching your face, as if he’s trying to understand what you want. what you need.you swallow, his gaze making something churn inside you. your chest is rising and falling in quick, timid breaths, nerves rushing through you. the hesitation is there. the fear. but so is the anticipation. the want. the need to experience something new, to finally give in to what your body and heart have been desiring. so you don’t pull away. you don’t stop him. instead, you push yourself up slightly, your lips hovering against his, and you whisper, “it’s okay.” something in his gaze darkens, something unreadable passing through his expression. he holds your gaze for a second longer, like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind. like he’s trying to make sure that you’re sure. but when you don’t- when you reach up and curl your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his lips fully against yours- his restraint snaps.his kisses are hungry, taking more and more from you. and you love it. his hand under your shirt moves again, fingers splaying across your ribs as he holds you there, his lips moving against yours. for the first time, neither of you are trying to hold back. you arch slightly, pushing your chest into his hand, assuring him he can go further. and just like that his hand moves up more, cupping your breast over your bra and eliciting a gasp from your lips. your fingers curl in his hair, your chest rising and falling at the new sensation. heeseung can feel his restraint slipping more and more by the second. the need to be all over you, to make you feel sensations you’ve never felt before. but even through the haze, he’s careful. because this is you. and he knows this is a lot. his lips place sloppy kisses against your neck, his fingers groping and massaging your breast, ripping gasps and sighs from your lips. it’s like each kiss, each touch is a silent question, waiting, asking for permission without saying the words. and you give it to him. in the way your back arches, the way your hands tug at the strands of his hair, the gasps that leave your pretty lips as he explores places of you no one ever has before. he exhales a shaky breath against your skin, and he pauses, resting his head against your shoulder. his hand pulls at the cup of your bra, teasing you- and himself. tempting both of you with what’s about to happen. his body is tense, his breathing heavy, like he’s trying to control himself.

and then he lifts his head, his eyes dark and dazed as he looks at you. god, the way he looks at you. it makes your heart stutter, your stomach flip, it sends a rush of desire through you, your thighs attempting to close, rub together, ease any of the tension you’re feeling. but of course, like last time, you can’t. not with heeseung resting between your legs. his lips part slightly, like he wants to say something. but instead, he swallows hard, his eyes roaming across your frame. and before you can even process it, before you can allow yourself to feel self-conscious under his gaze- he moves. his finger slides out from under your shirt, and his hands curl around the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head with one smooth motion. a gasp leaves your lips, and he tosses it aside, not caring where it lands. and then he’s back on you. his lips are pressing urgent, feverish kisses across your newly exposed skin. his hands are everywhere, his lips are everywhere. he kisses you like he needs it. it leaves your head spinning, and your body feeling like it’s on fire. “heeseung-“ his name leaves your lips in a breathless plea, barely more than a whisper, feeling everything all at once. you feel him shudder against you, his lips pausing against your breast. then, slowly, his hand slips behind your back, his fingers resting on your bra clasp. it sends a shiver through you, your heart stuttering at the feeling. his voice is low, filled with lust, and he raises his head just slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “can i?” and you nod. you don’t think twice, simply pushing your back off the bed to give him easier access. and slowly, he pulls your bra off of you, leaving your top half completely exposed to him, showing him more than anyone else has ever seen. “you’re fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, before his lips are back on you, his lips immediately latching onto one of your nipples, his tongue flicking, his lips sucking lightly, sending pleasure coursing through your veins. his hand comes up to massage the other one, pulling a choked moan from your lips. the feeling is so new, so foreign, and you didn’t know it could feel this good. you can’t help the way you squirm under his touch, your head falling back as breathless sighs leave your lips. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard. and heeseung groans against your skin. a low, deep sound that vibrates through you, making your stomach clench and your thighs twitch, desperate to alleviate the need growing within you. and slowly, he sits up, his eyes locked on yours. your chest rises and falls rapidly as you watch him, already missing the feeling of his mouth on you. but then. his fingers grab his hoodie, pulling it over his head.

something deep pools inside you at the sight of him. something that has you attempting to clench your thighs. your eyes take over his figure. the toned muscles, the sharp lines, his v-line, the way his sweatpants hang just a little too low on his hips. it makes your mouth water. but you don’t get to stare long. because his lips are back on you immediately. trailing over your chest before moving down slowly. his hands rub down your sides, mapping out every curve. his lips trail between your breasts, then down the center of your stomach. his kisses are slow and unhurried, making you feel dizzy. you body is so sensitive to every little thing he does. your breath catches as he gets lower, and lower, and lower- until he stops. his lips rest right above the waistband of your sweatpants, his hot breath against your skin making you shudder. he looks up at you, his eyes dark, filled with lust, and you can feel yourself clench around nothing. his fingers toy with the waistband of your sweats, simply watching you. as if he’s asking for permission without saying a word. and you give it to him. you push your hips off the bed slightly, slow and needy, your eyes full of desire as you stare at him, a shaky exhale leaving your lips. “fuck,” heeseung whispers against your skin, a shiver running through you. you feel the way his grip on your waistband tightens, his mouth so tantalizingly close to where you need him. and then his lips part, a soft breath leaving his lips as he finally speaks, his voice low and dark. “are you sure?” you nod, a soft whimper leaving your lips as you wriggle your hips, your eyes pleading with him. he only breathes a laugh against your skin, the sound quiet and breathless, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your skin, a shaky breath leaving your lips as the feeling sends a shiver down your spine. “words, baby,” he whispers out, his voice low and teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist and your core clench around nothing. you don’t even know if you can speak. everything is so overwhelming in the best way possible, your eyes flickering all over his face as he just watches you with a smirk. you push your hips up again, your breath coming out desperate and breathy as you whisper. “heeseung, please.” that’s all it takes for him. he smiles, pressing another kiss to your skin before his fingers dip under your waistband, tugging your sweats and underwear down in one go. his fingers tug slowly, revealing more and more by the second. you feel more exposed, suddenly aware of how you’re now completely naked in front of heeseung. but you trust him. his eyes stay on yours the entire time, until he finally gets your pants off your legs completely, tossing them somewhere in the room. only then, does his gaze drop down, and you can see the way his eyes darken as he zeroes in on you. you go to close your legs, suddenly self aware, but he grips your thighs before you get the chance, a soft gasp leaving your lips as he looks back up at you. “keep these open for me, hm?” his thumbs rub slow, absentminded circles against your skin as he just watches you. like he’s committing the sight of you laid out bare beneath him to his memory. but it’s torturous for you.a whimper catches in your throat as your hands grip at the sheets, your hips attempting to move. “heeseung-“ he pushes your hips down, keeping you in place as he shakes his head. “you’re so needy, baby.” slowly, his fingers trail up your inner thighs, so close to where you need him, but never quite touching you, never giving you what you so desperately need. you whine, shifting your hips up, trying to feel something, but he just pushes your thighs down again. “patience,” he murmurs, the corner of his lips quirking up. “let me take my time with you.” and slowly, so slowly, he runs a finger along your slick folds, the sensation making a gasp slip from your lips. your thighs twitch, and he moves his finger up, pressing down on your clit and pulling a soft moan from you.

“oh- heeseung,” you gasp out, your eyes closing and opening again as your chest rises and falls rapidly, growing accustomed to the feeling of someone else controlling your pleasure. he hums, before moving his finger back down, finally inserting a finger inside you. a moan slips past your lips, your walls fluttering around him. “shit, baby,” he exhales, a breathy laugh leaving him as he looks up at your face before back down at your cunt. “you’re so tight.” he curls his finger, stretching you open as you gasp and whine, your hands tightening in the sheets as he pushes another finger inside your dripping cunt. you let out a shaky breath, your head rolling back against the pillow. and then his mouth is on you. a choked moan rips from your throat as his mouth sucks on your clit, the new feeling making your eyes shoot open as your hands fly from the sheets to his hair. “heeseung- fuck-“ you gasp out, your hips attempting to move, but he uses his free hand to press down on your stomach, forcing you to stay still. to take it. it’s too much too fast. you can feel the knot in your stomach tightening, every suck and press pushing you closer to the edge. your fingers tighten in his hair, and heeseung groans against you, sending a delicious vibration through you. your thighs shake as you gasp, teetering right on the edge. “heeseung,” you moan out, your voice shaky and strained, “gonna- i-“ you can barely get the words out before his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. he hums, the feeling making you squirm before he mutters, “already?” and then his mouth is back on you. his fingers are moving faster, his mouth sucking harder, his tongue working over your clit in slow circles. it's too much. your body tenses up and finally, the coil snaps. a broken moan spills from your throat as your back arches off the bed, your body trembling as you come undone. you can feel his arm press down harder, holding your bottom half still as you gasp, unable to do anything but take it. he doesn’t stop. at least, not immediately. he works you through it, his tongue lapping up every drop of your release, his fingers still moving and drawing out your pleasure. only when it’s too much, a whine slipping past your lips as your hands tug at his hair, does he stop. he pulls back, the bottom half of his face glistening with your slick, his eyes dark as he meets yours- and somehow, you want more all over again. “still with me, princess?” his voice is teasing, and he pushes himself up until he’s hovering over you. “or did i fuck you dumb already?” you can barely answer, the aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through you. his lips hover above yours, a small smile on his lips before he presses them against yours. you can taste yourself against his lips, slightly bitter. your hips attempt to close, but he’s already settled himself between your legs, and you can feel him smirk against your lips as he grinds his hips just enough for you to feel him. it makes you gasp against his lips, desire coursing through you again. you can feel how hard he is, the outline of his cock pressing against your inner thigh through his sweats. “you want this just as much as i do, don’t you?” he mumbles against your lips, his voice a low rasp. you can only nod, your breath catching in your throat as he rolls his hips again. “think you can take me, baby?” he smirks, one of his hands sliding down your body to pull your legs open further, pressing his clothed cock right against your core and grinding down, forcing a quiet moan from you. “please,” you whine out, your eyes fluttering shut as your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. “yeah? want me inside you? stretching you out, filling you up for the first time?” he whispers against your lips, pressing his hips harder against yours as he lets out a strained breath. your breath hitches at the lewd words leaving his lips, but your cunt clenches around nothing. you finally crack, words spilling from your lips. “yes- please… want you,” you murmur, your eyes pleading with him, full of desire.

his smirk deepens, and he presses a final kiss to your lips before pushing himself up. his fingers dig into the waistband of his sweats, and in one fluid motion, he pulls them down along with his boxers. his cock slaps against his stomach, his tip angry and leaking, and your eyes widen at the sight. how the fuck was that going to fit inside you? he stroked himself a few times, huffing out a laugh at your surprised expression. “see something you like?” he asks, a teasing tone to his voice. you roll your eyes with a small smile, but you can’t hide the desire in your expression. the way your cunt clenches around nothing as your eyes flicker back down to where his cock strands. he leans down, hovering over you as he pulls one of your legs open, exposing you to himself further. his cock brushes against your inner thigh, his tip leaking against your skin and causing you to shudder. “is it… gonna hurt?” you ask quietly, almost feeling stupid for asking such a question. but he doesn’t judge you. his expression shifts from one of amusement to something more soft, his hand on your thigh rubbing gentle circles as he smiles at you. “it might sting a little bit,” he whispers back, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “but just relax for me, alright? i’ll take care of you.” you nod, your voice breathless as you reply. “okay.” your pulse races as his cock brushes against your folds, the reality of everything setting in. you’re about to lose your virginity. it makes a mix of anxiety and adrenaline rush through you, a mewl leaving you at the feeling. “that’s my girl,” he whispers, his hand leaving your thigh to grab his cock, rubbing himself up and down your folds, coating himself in your juices and drawing quiet moans from your lips, your hips pushing up just slightly, chasing the sensation. finally, he positions himself at your entrance, his hips pushing forward as he enters you. the stretch makes your breath catch in your throat. it stings. it’s overwhelming. it’s such a new feeling, sending a shiver down your spine as your cunt clenches around him, drawing a groan from his lips. “fuck,” you breathe out, your voice shaky and quiet, fading into a moan as your eyes clench shut. he pauses for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch as he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips. “you’re doing so good for me, baby,” he murmurs, his hand sliding to your cunt, rubbing soft circles on your clit and ripping a gasp from you. “just breathe for me.” it distracts you from the burning stretch, dulling the pain the slightest bit as your cunt clenches around him, his hips starting to move again. a soft, shaky breath leaves your lips, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders as he fills you completely. “feel good, princess?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft as his thumb continues to rub circles against your clit, a little faster now. you nod, words caught in your throat as the pleasure begins to mix with the pain, giving way to a sensation- a fullness- you’ve never felt before. finally, he bottoms out. you can fill every ridge and vein, your cunt pulsing around him as it struggles to accommodate the stretch. his thumb never stops circling your clit, easing you into full pleasure. he doesn’t move, simply resting inside you and letting you adjust to the new feeling. and slowly, the pain fades. replaced by pleasure, a want- a need- for more. your hips move slightly, a gasped moan slipping past your lips at the pleasure that rushes through you. “please,” you whimper, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your eyes flutter open, meeting his. “move…”

slowly, carefully, he pulls out slightly, dragging out of you before pushing back in, pulling a soft moan from your lips. every roll of his hips presses him further inside you, making your mind hazy as you adjust to the fullness. “hee,” you whimper out, your head rolling back as the feeling grows more pleasurable, sending your head spiraling with every thrust. his thumb still circles your clit, drinking in every reaction you give him. “yeah, baby?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, making you focus on him for a second. “still doing good?” you nod, your breath getting caught in your throat as he hits a particularly deep spot. it feels good. it feels so good. but you want more. you need more. “yeah,” you whisper. “feels good, but-“ you hesitate, but you don’t need to finish. you catch the way heeseung’s eyes darken immediately, his movements stilling for just a second, like he’s processing your words, before he’s moving again. “you want more, princess?” his voice is lower now, darker. hungrier. it makes you clench around him, a hiss leaving his lips, the corner of his lips quirking up. you nod frantically, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his hand leaves your clit to find purchase on your waist. “please,” you gasp out. “i need-“ you don’t get to finish. a moan spills from your throat as he pulls out, only to slam back in. his careful, slow, pace is gone in an instant, replaced by something deeper. something intoxicating. your fingers claw at his shoulders, his arms, his back, anything you can to ground yourself as his thrusts speed up. “fuck,” he grits out, his head dropping to your shoulder as his hips snap forward again, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. “knew you’d take me so well, baby.” it’s too much. the pleasure builds, your moans getting louder. you can’t even control the noises leaving your mouth, too lost in the pleasure. you don’t even register how loud you’re getting until his hand clamps over your mouth. your eyes fly open, seeing him hovering over you now, his gaze half-lidded and dark. his lips are parted, uneven breaths leaving him as his hips continue to ram into you.“shh, princess,” he rasps, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he hits a particularly deep spot, making you moan out against his mouth. “only i get to hear those pretty sounds, yeah?” a muffled whimper leaves your mouth, your walls fluttering around him as you process his words. his pace never slows, pushing your limits, testing just how much you can really take. and you love it. “bet you’d sound so pretty if you could really let go,” he murmurs, his dark eyes staring into yours. his free hand trails down, resting on your stomach. your eyebrows furrow slightly, just before he presses down. your eyes roll back, a loud moan escaping your mouth and being concealed by his palm. it makes you feel him, all of him. stretching you. filling you completely. “you feel that, baby?” his fingers press harder, drawing another strangled moan from your lips as your eyes clench shut. “so fucking deep inside you. you take me so well, fuck-“ your body responds before you know what you’re doing. your hips roll up to meet his, desperate for more of the pleasure you’re experiencing. and heeseung loses it. “can you be quiet for me, princess?” he whispers. and you nod, hazy, dazed. he smirks, pressing harder on your stomach and pulling a broken moan from your lips as your body jolts beneath him. he slowly removes his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your body to grab your thigh, spreading you wider for him. a choked whimper leaves your lips, your mouth clenched shut as you try your hardest to hold your sounds in. but it feels too good. tears gather in your lashes, your body arching into his.

his cock twitches inside you, a dark grin on his face as he tilts his head at you. “what’s wrong, baby?” his voice is mocking, teasing, cruel. and it only drives you crazier. a tear slips down your cheek, your cunt clenching around him. you don’t trust your voice- hell, you don’t even know if you can speak right now.“too much?” he asks, but he doesn’t stop. if anything, he pushes deeper. you shake your head frantically, a broken sob leaving your lips as more tears spill down your cheeks. he sits back on his heels, the new angle pushing him deeper as a choked moan slips past your lips, your own hand coming up to cover your mouth. he only chuckles, his voice dripping with amusement- and something darker- as he watches you unravel beneath him. “feels good, doesn’t it?” it’s too much. it’s all too much. the coil in your stomach is winding tight, threatening to pull you over the edge at any second. and heeseung notices. he notices how your thighs began to shake, your moans turning into breathy, desperate whimpers, the way you clench around him. “close?” is all he asks, his eyes dark and lidded as he watches you. your hand slides from the sheet to his arm, desperate to find something to ground yourself as you teeter on the edge. “hee-“ you manage to gasp out, your voice breaking off into a moan as tears slide down your cheeks. he groans at the way you clench around him, his hand finding your clit again, rubbing tight, merciless circles, forcing you closer to the edge. and it’s too much. it builds so fast it makes your head spin. hell, you don’t even feel like you’re real at this point.“come for me, princess,” he groans out, thrusting particularly deep inside you. “let go.”your orgasm rips through you, your back arching off the bed as you cry out, a loud, broken moan barely muffled by your hand. your vision goes white, your body locking up as the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had takes over your body. but he doesn’t stop. his pace doesn’t falter for a second, fucking you through your high, testing your limits as the pleasure shifts into something more intense. your body can barely keep up. you’re sobbing, gasping, your body stuck between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “just a bit longer, baby,” he groans, his hand moving from your clit to your waist, holding you still as his thrusts turn erratic. your eyes roll back, your poor body unable to keep up with the pleasure you’re feeling. and then, a low guttural moan escapes heeseung’s lips, his hips pressing as hard as they can against yours as he finally spills inside you. the sensation of being filled has you gasping, clenching around him as his body trembles with his orgasm. slowly, he lowers himself down, pressing soft kisses to your lips to ease you back to reality, your dazed eyes meeting his as ragged breaths escape your lips. you’re wrecked. “you did so good for me, princess,” he murmurs, his voice breathless as his lips trail soft kisses down your jaw, his warm hands soothing over your trembling thighs, slowly pulling you back down to earth. you can’t even find the words to speak. you only nod, your hand slowly lifting to tangle in his hair, just resting there. he chuckles, leaning up to look at you. a soft smile forms on his lips, his thumbs brushing the tears off of your cheeks. “you okay?” you nod again, your voice wrecked, barely more than a whisper. “yeah.”

he doesn’t say anything, simply watching you. his gaze is so soft, his touch featherlight against your skin. his hips pull back slowly, making you gasp at the sensitivity it sends through you. and then he’s pulling out, his hands moving down to your hips as he sits back on his heels. your hips shift, adjusting to the empty feeling, a shiver running through you when you feel his cum dripping out of you. heeseung pauses, his eyes fixed on the sight, hands gripping your hips tighter as he breathes out, “fuck…” your face heats up, self-consciousness taking over when it finally sets in that you’re completely exposed in front of him. your legs attempt to close, a whine leaving your lips- but heeseung’s faster. his hands grip your thighs, keeping you held open as a smile forms on his lips. “don’t get all shy on me now, baby,” his voice is quiet, his eyes flickering up to yours as you avert your gaze. your hips shift, another soft, embarrassed noise leaving you, but he simply laughs under his breath. “you were just moaning for me a few minutes ago.” “heeseung,” you mumble, dragging out his name as you continue to move beneath him, trying to pull your thighs out of his grasp. your hands attempt to bat his away halfheartedly, but you’re too exhausted to actually push him, watching the way he pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth with a smile while watching your struggle. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your stomach that has your breath catching, your hands halting their movements. “you were so good for me. look at you,” he mumbles, his eyes dragging over your body slowly, “all fucked out and pretty.” you let out a noise of protest, slapping at his shoulder before your hands come up to cover your face, groaning against your hands. “okay,” he laughs, finally letting go of your legs. “i’ll stop. don’t want you crying again.” you huff, turning your head to hide your face in the pillow, but a smile tugs at your lips. “you’re the worst.” he only laughs again, slipping off the bed, and you hear his footsteps moving away from the bed. “mhm. didn’t hear you complaining earlier.” you let out a dramatic groan, completely turning your body away from him, choosing not to answer this time.

when he finally returns, he sits down on the bed, one hand gently pulling your leg up, exposing you to him again. “heeseung,” you whine, lifting your head to look at him. his eyes flicker up to yours, before looking down again, the wet rag making contact with your legs and making you gasp, everything still so sensitive. “relax,” he whispers, his touch gentle, moving ever so carefully over the parts that make you flinch, your legs shifting with every pass. you nod into the pillow, finally letting your body relax again as your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion slowly taking over your body. “there we go,” he murmurs, tossing the rag aside and settling in bed besides you, pulling the covers over the both of you. his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him, your body instantly relaxing into his. his fingers rake through your hair, slow and comforting, making you let out a soft sigh, curling further into him. “you good?” he whispers again, like he always have to make sure you’re alright. “yeah,” you you yawn, shifting and closing your eyes. “tired.” you hear a soft, breathy laugh leaving his lips, before he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers resuming their movements in your hair. “go to sleep, y/n.” you nod, letting the beating of heeseung’s heart in your ear guide you into a slumber as sleep lulls you away.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“one iced coffee, please,” you smile, holding out a ten-dollar bill to the cashier in front of you. she gives you a look, but smiles back, taking the cash anyway. “no hot chocolate today?” you wave your hand dismissively, biting back a giddy smile. “oh, it’s not for me.” she raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push, simply nodding and punching in your order. “alright, then. we’ll have that out soon.” you rock back and forth on your feet, wonyoung and yunjin waiting at a table behind you. once your order is out, you’re walking back to the girls with a bit more pep in your step, holding the cup up to signal you’re ready to leave. you begin to walk out the door, a giddy smile on your lips as you look down at the coffee, before back up- completely oblivious to the look wonyoung and yunjin share. “so, why’d you get an iced coffee?” yunjin asks, tilting her head as she looks at the drink in your hand. “oh, just for someone,” you smile, shrugging lightly as you continue to walk. “you look too happy,” wonyoung teases you, poking your cheek as she watches the smile on your face grow larger, “what happened?” “nothing, guys!” you laugh, pushing wonyoung’s hand away. you continue to walk, making a beeline for the gym. you don’t miss the confused looks they send you as you speed up slightly. “okay, seriously, where are we going?” wonyoung asks, speeding up slightly as she picks up on the direction you’re headed. “the gym? the basketball team is in there right now,” yunjin adds, scrunching her eyebrows. “y/n. y/n? that means heeseung is in there! hello?” you don’t even hesitate when you open the gym doors, the two girls trailing behind you, clearly confused. “y/n. why are we in here?” wonyoung hisses, grabbing your arm as the sound of squeaking shoes and a basketball hitting the floor fills the air.

and then, all the noises slow. the guys spare a glance at you, before doing a double take once they recognize you. because heeseung has talked about you. and they’ve seen you with him. but the moment heeseung sees you, his focused expression shifts. his sharp gaze softens, a smile forming on his face as his feet slow to a stop. he starts moving, jogging over slowly. his shirt is slightly damp, his breathing slightly heavy. “hi, pretty girl,” he smiles, his gaze warmer. wonyoung’s grip on your arm loosens, and you can see her jaw drop from the corner of your eye. “hi,” you reply, holding out the coffee, “i brought you coffee.” he grins, taking the cup and tilting his head. “really? i thought you hated iced coffee.” you bite back a laugh, shaking your head lightly before shrugging. “you don’t.” you watch as his smile shifts into something else. something in his eyes that you can’t process, but he’s looking at you like you placed the stars in the sky. it makes your stomach flip, a blush forming on your cheeks. his hand slips around your waist, tugging you closer as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. your hand instinctively grabs onto his jersey, tugging him slightly closer, your lips forming into a smile against his. “hello?” you hear yunjin ask, a few guys behind you laughing. “what?” you ask, pulling back from heeseung’s lips, tilting your head with a small smile. “am i not allowed to come say hi to my boyfriend?” silence. until wonyoung squeals, practically yanking yunjin towards her. “i called it!” even heeseung himself seems a bit thrown off guard, his eyes widening a bit before he pulls himself together, a smug grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “oh?” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for you to hear. “say that again?” “damn, y/n,” jake laughs, stepping up besides the two of you and clapping heeseung on the back. “you managed to lock the playboy down.” “so,” jake continues, nodding at the drink in your hand with a shit-eating grin, “care to bring me one of those next time?” you don’t even get to open your mouth before heeseung is speaking. “no.” jake blinks. “i was talking to-“ “still no.” he throws his hands up, turning on his heel and walking away, grumbling out, “forget i asked.” you roll your eyes, suppressing a smile as you look back at heeseung, who simply shrugs at you. he’s insufferable. and he’s yours.

AFTER FIGHTING FOR THREE DAYS... I GOT IT TO WORK. sorry about the weird formatting at some points, it's the only way i was able to fit this whole fic into one post ^^! also,, did not realize how much i wrote "and then" until i was editing this god damn girl stop sing those words for one second... hope you guys enjoyed !!!!

taglist: @bussolares @w3willris3 @nithxhoon @elairah @fancypeacepersona @talesofthegreatest @jaehoonii @onlyticket-home @cutehoons02 @isagistar @immelissaaa @seongiewon @llearlert @rosepetals09 @cloud-lyy @enhaheart8 @millisvlog @rayofsunshineeee @littlesweettea-aine @evorlaah @kittycatwonie @somuchdard @miraeluv @heewenos @katarinamae @h4niyahcar @aejakeslvr @girlwholovekpop @dearestdreamies

^i tried to tag everyone, but some ppl weren’t coming up so if urs doesn’t work i’m sorry abt that😭

border creds: @uzmacchiato

#heeseung fanfic #heeseung x reader #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #heeseung fanfiction #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung #enhypen ff #heeseung ff #enhypen smut #enhypen fluff #heeseung smut #please like this #i'm so scared to post this #calumcxke

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simp4jungwonn · 2 months ago

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Heeseung nsfw audio

❤️‍🔥Heeseung being overstimulated by your tight wet pussy ❤️‍🔥

#smut #lee heeseung #heeseung x reader #mature audiences only #enhypen #enhypen smut #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung hard hours

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yeonzzzn · 2 months ago

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Heeseung teaching inexperienced reader how to ride him while he sucks on her titties wtfhsjshekwjekke

“fuck, baby, just like that.” heeseung moans against your breast, mouth wrapped around your nipple as his tongue flicks the sensitive bud. one hand gripped tightly on your waist while the other cups your other breast, “you’re doing so so good baby.”

you bite down on your bottom lip, fingers digging into his shoulders as you ride him. legs growing weak and shaky as your hips roll. the fear of you riding his cock wrong still sat at the back of your mind, but hearing heeseung’s moans and feeling his mouth switch to your other nipple shreds that fear almost away.

it wasn’t even an hour ago you sat right beside your best friend on this coach spreading nonsense chatter as you usually do as you both play video games on his tv. but somehow this idle chatter turned into a real conversation, one you were not expecting.

“what you mean you’ve never ridden a dick before?!” heeseung raises a brow at you, eyes still locked onto the fighting game you’re both playing, “you’re not a virgin, I was literally a bedroom away when you lost your v-card! and you’ve had multiple partners since then!”

you groan at the stupid memory from a high school end of the year party. heeseung dragged you to it, saying bullshit equivalent to “Y/N, it’s the end of our senior year! we are about to graduate! loosen up a bit!” then proceeded to put drinks in your hand and you somehow ended up in park sunghoon’s bedroom upstairs on your back and him between your legs after flirting with him the entire night. it wasn’t the ideal way to lose your virginity, mostly since your best friend was indeed the next bedroom over fucking the most popular girl in your class, but here we are.

“don’t remind me,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing the playstation controller onto the coffee table, “but just because i’ve slept with a few guys doesn’t mean we did anything but missionary.” which was true. you’ve had multiple partners over the last few years but they were either one night stands or quick fucks. always ended with you on your back and that’s it.

this perks and idea into heeseung’s brain, tilting his head to the side and staring up at his ceiling, “I could teach you, if you want.” you laugh way too loud. he couldn’t be serious. but you see the way he looks back at you as he too, sets the controller down, “i’m being serious, Y/N.”

you swallow, is this okay? to have your best friend teach you a new sec position? and to do it GOOD? you already know heeseung is some sex god, he brags about it all the time…so you know it would be worth it. you can’t deny and say you haven’t thought about what his cock buried deep within you felt like. and he’s practically giving handing you that pass.

“i-if you’re okay with it…” you whisper.

and god was he okay with it. heeseung didn’t hesitate pulling you into his lap and closing his mouth around yours. he could feel your tremble under his touch and fuck it was making him hard as hell. “now, just do as I say, okay?” he says between kisses, hands now cupping your ass, “but I also need you to understand at any point you feel uncomfortable tell me and we’ll stop.”

you stare in his eyes and knew, you wouldn’t want to.

heeseung keeps his eyes locked with yours as he strips you bare, loving the feeling of your hands removing his clothing afterwards. loves the swallow of your throat and heaving of your chest as you stare at his cock, mouth nearly watering at how red the tip was. heeseung has been in love with you since the day you guys met, and finally having you in his lap, naked, in his apartment was the best dream come true.

he helps guide you to where you’re hovering over him, tip pressed gently to your entrance. you clench around the small amount of him you can feel, fingers pulling at the cushion of the couch behind him. you shook with absolute fear that you’re going to be terrible at this. “slowly slide down on me,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours. you do as he says, sneaking down until he filled you completely, thighs clenching his hips as you both let out a desperate moan. you’re so tightly wrapped around him and fuck he could climax just by the pressure of your cunt surrounding him.

“now,” he breathes out shakily, “start with slowly moving your hips, once you get the feel of it you can use your legs to help shift you up and down my cock. we’ll start with those two steps.”

and fuck he was going to die right here on this couch. one slow movement from you was all it took for him to fling his head back and clinch your waist, nails leaving crescent moons in your skin.

now here you are, his mouth attached to your tits as you bounce on him. what turned into just teaching you how to ride a cock resulted into a full out fuck fest. you can’t get enough of him, and he of you. you didn’t want to stop—not with how fucking good the tip of him felt as he hit your spot, treating to break the barrier that’s keeping him from fully and completely being inside of you. you knew you’d cum at any moment, the clench of your pussy was the give away of it, and heeseung knew it too.

he released his mouth from your tits, hands placed firmly at your hips and he flings his head back, your swollen nipples brushing his chest with each rock of your hips. heeseung’s pupils were dilated and face so fucked out, he was going to burst at any moment too. and you relished in it, “you’re doing so good for me baby, taking my cock so well.”

you really don’t know what came over you after hearing those words, but your fingers were in his red hair, tilting his head further back into the couch, free hand still gripping his shoulder, “fuck I love your cock,” you whimper, “i’m going to cum—“ and heeseung bucked his hips up in time with your movements, shoving himself so deep and hard into you.

“cum with me baby,” he begs, mouth gapped and eyes locked in with yours, one of his hands leaving your hip to gently wrap around your neck, giving a small and gently squeeze. that pressure along had you climaxing on him, clenching down harder and that being enough for heeseung to spill his load into you.

you drop against him, feeling his arms wrap around you, “well,” he says out of breath, “you definitely know how to ride dick now.” you hum in response, having the confidence to do so. but sit up and look at him, knowing deep down you don’t want to ride any other cock that isn’t his. and you knew he was thinking the same thing.

#yeonzzzn asks #heeseunggie #enhypen #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #lee heeseung #heeseung #heeseung x reader #reader x heeseung #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #heeseung smut #enhypen smut #yeonzzzn writing

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bywons · 2 months ago

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LET ME BE YOUR HERO ★ spiderman!enha

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬────𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖬𝖩

❪ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝒾𝐒 ❫ ｡ 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1400wc 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗎 ──𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 贅沢／ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄

★REBLOGPLEASE

LEE HEESEUNG

“hey baby,” heeseung’s voice startles you, causing you to almost fall out of your study desk. you whip your head towards the balcony, to see your boyfriend hanging upside down by his spiderwebs.

“what are you doing here?” you hiss, striding towards the balcony. you pull his spider mask down, revealing his charming face which always gave you butterflies. “god forbid a man wants to visit his girl,” he grins lazily, winking at you when he knows this is an ungodly hour to visit you.

his cover could be blown. “my parents are literally in the next room, hee. can you please get out—” “just a kiss,” heeseung pleads, tilting his head with that mischievous smile of his, still dangling upside down like it’s the most casual thing in the world, “just a kiss and i’ll go.”

and you eventually give in, rolling your eyes as you cup his face and lean in for a kiss. heeseung smiles into the kiss, his lips soft and tender against yours, moving in sync as your teeth graze against his top lip. his breath hitches, falling to the threshold of the balcony with a thud.

“are you okay? you’re gonna wake up my parents,” you whimper, looking down at him. but heeseung only chuckles, looking up at you, “sorry, babe. i get nervous around you.”

PARK JONGSEONG

you became famous overnight all around your college when your face hit the news headline— “college girl saved from local monsters by the city's superhero, spiderman.”

“so, how was the experience?” you get startled by the sudden voice beside you, almost dropping the books in your hand. shutting your locker close, you meet the eyes of park jongseong aka jay— leaning against his own locker, wearing one of those oversized hoodies with a cocky grin.

“nothing special,” you shrug, leaning against your locker too as you scoff, “not big of a fan.” “really?” jay scoffs, inching closer until he towers above you easily. his dark hair locks fall gently over his forehead, making your mouth gape.

“you say spiderman is not all that,” he angles his head sideways, cupping your face between his hands— leaning in just enough for his hot breath to fan over your face, “then why were you so clingy to him last night? you sure didn't want to let go, doll.”

you could feel blood rush up to your face, making it flush before jay. you chuckle, whispering, “but how did you know that?” just like that, jay realises he messed up, his spider-suit peeking under his hoodie.

SIM JAEYUN

“—and the correct option is c,” jake pushes his thick rimmed glasses up his nose bridge, “did you get it?”

“yeah, i got it,” you sigh, your attention nowhere but your boyfriend, who’s neck is still damp from swinging around the city, saving people.

“does spiderman help other girls with their homework too?” you sigh, cocking your head to one side. “no?” jake is caught off guard, his eyes widened as he pulls you on his lap, “only you, i promise.”

before you can stop yourself, you grab the collar of his hoodie and pull him in. jakes eyes widen behind his glasses, but he soon eases into the kiss, one hand cups your cheeks as he leans into you. your stomach flips as he giggles into the kiss, caressing your cheeks.

you back just a little, your forehead pressed to his. “does he kiss other girls too?”

jake laughs, his glasses fogged, “only if she’s you.”

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon quickly pulls you into the janitors closet, banging it shut as he pushes you against the wall. “shut up,” he pleads, all sweaty and out of breathe in his spider-suit, “please just everybody can hear you—”

“i wasn’t even going to say anything,” you lie, gripping onto his biceps as they brace next to your head, bodies too close to each other in the cramped place, “why did you think revealing yourself as spiderman to me was okay?”

sunghoon sighs, he knew that changing into civilian clothes right before college was risky. and of course, out of all people, you happened to see him in the hallways. “just—promise me,” he huffs, leaning in to see your face better in the dark, “you won’t tell anyone, alright?”

“and why do you think i wouldn’t?” you smirk, eyes glinting with mischief as they meet sunghoon’s confused ones.

“seriously?” he hisses, his patience running thin as he grits his teeth, “y/n you better—” “park sunghoon is spi—!”

he doesn’t let you finish the sentence, he leans forward and slams his lips on yours, pulling you into a hurried, angry yet a soft and delicate kiss. he cradles your head with his hand, the other sliding down to your waist. “shut up,” he breathes as he pulls away, chuckling at your flushed face which he loves.

KIM SUNOO

as you’re about to circle around the block towards the alleys to reach your apartment, a fwip sound interrupts you— and suddenly you’re being held up in the air by your waist.

“what the— sunoo?” you almost scream as sunoo only laughs, swinging you onto a building’s rooftop like it’s nothing.

“you almost screamed,” sunoo laughs, pulling up his mask just up to his nose, “you’re so cute.”

“you almost gave me a heart attack,” you complain, smacking his arm playfully as he laughs. “i missed you,” he says, slowly pulling you closer on the rooftop, slow and cool wind caressing you both, “it’s so hard to not see you all the time.”

you giggle in his arms, and sunoo pushes a strand of your hair behind your ears, “can i kiss you?”

“you don’t have to ask,” you finally give him his much needed permission, and sunoo leans in for a kiss amidst the busy night life he secretly watches over.

YANG JUNGWON

you quickly shut the door to your room behind you, facing your boyfriend who’s busy changing into civilian clothes.

“look away!” jungwon blushes as his eyes meet yours. he’s halfway through a plain white shirt, his abdomen exposed.

“what did i tell you about barging into my family gatherings?” you almost shout, slapping jungwon's forearm. “ouch,” jungwon whispers, “but did you see your messages? you told me to save you—”

“not when i said my whole family is here!” you sigh, plopping down flat on your bed and jungwon quickly wears his shirt. before you can say anything, jungwon hovers above you, pressing soft pecks on your lips and neck.

“i need to make sure you're alright,” he smiles in the most gentle way which makes your heart melt, and pull him closer by his collar. “i love you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing it slow.

“i love you more,” you chuckle. “no, i do!” he protests, pulling back to see your face. “no jungwon, you know that i love you more—”

“is somebody there?” a familiar voice floats in from outside your door, probably a relative. “i saw someone in there.” jungwon's face cringes as he looks at your furious one.

NISHIMURA RIKI

riki winces as you press a feathery kiss just above the bruise blooming on his cheek. “does it hurt?” you ask.

“not when you're kissing them,” riki teases, pulling you closer on his lap as he wraps his arms around you, “i want you to kiss all my bruises—”

“i told you not to mess with them,” you complain, an irritated pout forming on your face as you caress riki’s cheek. “you’re spiderman, not a fighter, they are stronger than you.”

“you hurt me more, doll,” riki leans into your touch, smirking as he mumbles, “i still took all of them down though.”

“that's not the point riki,” you sigh, retracting your hand from his cheek, at which he winces again, “i don't want you to get hurt all the time.” riki sighs into your palm, using both of them to cup his own face, “you’re so hot when you’re angry,” he snorts, biting his lip.

“can you please stop—” riki doesn't waste a second listening to your lectures as he pulls you in by your wrist, lips clashing into a heated kiss, which slows down eventually. you pull back first, an unsure and strict expression on your face.

“if it means getting hurt everyday because of you,” riki kisses your wrist, “then so be it.”

스루 ܃ for @flwrstqr ! love ya so much, mwah 💌

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byshens · 2 months ago

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OOPS, IT SLIPPED ✶ 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗉 𝗇’ 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾

MOVIE SCRIPT ────── when you and your boyfriend, heeseung, wanted to take things slow in bed but he ‘accidentally’ slips inside.

𝝑𓏲 lee heeseung ⸝⸝⠀ f. reader genre smut—mdni. 1,438 ────��─ unprotected sex (wrap it up), creampie, petnames—princess, baby—overstimulation. ◜ᯅ◝ lmk if i missed any! ──── catalogue! ✶ requests are open!

you and heeseung had been dating for just over four months and it was about time that you both had started to want to experience in bed with each other. wanting to see how well your bed life would go together, even though you already knew it would do wonders.

and you were right.

heeseung obeyed your wish to start slow, to not actually fuck you yet, but just getting off with one another’s bodies. but you didnt know how desperate just that would make you.

you were laid down on the bed, legs spread open while heeseung was between them, his hard and leaking cock just resting on your pussy. not pushing in, just resting on it. you whined and heeseung only smirked, his hips slowly rolling forward, making his cock rub against your clit, the folds of your cunt desperately trying to wrap around his length.

“fuck..” he groaned, his hands gently resting on your thighs as he continued to slowly roll his hips. not rushing, not overwhelmingly, but calmly. his dick though—was throbbing.

he needed to get inside you as soon as possible, but he knew you wanted to go slow. you havent had much sex experience before him and this being your first time with him, heeseung didnt want to scare you off.

but every fucking second was pushing his buttons, testing his will power. he desperately wanted to ruin you, make you scream his name, fill you up with his seed so much where you feel like you could explode. but he waited.

“mmh, oh god,” you breathed out softly, head fallen back onto the pillows. your lips slightly parted open and every so often ,, small whimpers would leave your mouth—only driving heeseung more insane.

“yeah? how’s it feeling, baby?” heeseung asked, his voice already breathless. his tone wasnt anything but genuine, wondering how good he’s making you feel from just this. begging for you to praise him, need him, crave him.

you blushed softly as heeseung’s right hand went to caress your stomach, watching it suck in from the warm touch before relaxing again. “it’s good, so good,” you moaned quietly, his eyes lighting up as if you just gave him his favorite candy.

“can i go faster?” he asked. the second you nodded your head, his pace quickened. not too fast to be overwhelming, no, he knew better. it picked up slowly but surely. the redden head of his cock brushing so gently over your clit, your legs twitching everytime.

“mm, hee..” you moaned. heeseungs hips jolted forward, earning a gasp from you and a groan from him. his mind was drowning in thoughts of just you and with the sound of you calling out his name in such a sinful manner, oh he was gone.

“yeah, princess?” he replied back, eyes watching your face make all sorts of expressions, showing him how good he is doing. you didnt even say a word when you moved your hand to grab his and brought it up to your chest, allowing his hand to grasp a hold of your breast.

heeseung cupped your tit and gave it a gentle squeeze, his heart pounding when you let out a needy whimper, hips jutting up into his own thrusts. he wasnt sure how much longer he could take in just this, with how good you sound, look, feel.

heeseung must of pulled back a bit too much to you because in just mere moments his tip would be pushing slightly through your entrance, his mouth open as he leaned forward to take your lips into a kiss, his hips fully pushing forward into yours to push his cock all the way inside your cunt. you moaned loud but muffledly against his lips, your back arching off the bed and chest pushing against his own.

you placed your hands onto his chest and pushed him back gently, not rough to make it seem as if you were uncomfortable, but back enough in pleasure and shock that you just had to see what he did. and when you gave it a look, you felt yourself start to leak more.

“fuck, fuck, heeseung—“ you whined, not used to the feeling of being filled up. especially not by someone as big as heeseung. he could only fake a gasp and mumble out apologies.

“fuck—baby—i’m sorry, it slipped in—“ he tried to say, but you saw right through him. though, you didnt even mind anymore, you weren’t angry because how could you be angry at him when he’s now fucking into your pussy softly? making it feel like he’s tearing you apart from doing nothing but soft thrusts.

“oh my god—just—just fuck me,” you whimpered, pushing your hips back against his own, trying to get more from him. and how could heeseung ever resist a request like that? he grabbed onto your hips from both sides and pulled almost all the way out before he pushed back in, doing that over and over again while he slowly picked up the speed with each thrust.

the sounds of your wet pussy being fucked in by his cock echoed through the room, followed by loud moans from him and yourself. heeseung was now pounding into you—fast and rough—you were on fire, your mind was blank and all you could feel was heeseung.

“shit, princess, taking me so well,” he praised. his cock twitching between your walls as he desperately fucked into your heat. your stomach started to twist, your breathing started to stager, chest heaving. you knew you were getting close.

“‘m gunna cum, hee—“ you cry out, thighs trembling from either side of his waist, he didnt slow down. he only went faster, his long thrusts making your body jolt forward with each fuck into you. he needed to see your face when you came, he needed to see how fucking gorgeous you looked.

“cum for me, cmon, make a mess on my cock.” he groaned, nails now starting to dig into your skin as he got rougher, pure desire to make you cum. your back arched off the bed again and your hands flew to his arms, desperately trying to hold onto something as you came onto him. “fuck! fuck! heeseung,,” you moan out.

he didnt stop like you thought he would, he only started to chase his own high, pushing your legs close to your chest so he could fall deeper into your heat, hitting all new places to you. your whines and moans never ending, which only made him harder.

“feels so good, baby, your pussy swallowing my cock up so well,” he moaned lowly. sweat slowly starting to form on his skin, his hair covering his eyes as he only focused on using your cunt. the overwhelming feeling of being used after you came was catching up to you. your body twitching and trying to pull away from his thrusts, but he only fucked into you harder.

“please, hee—can’t take anymore,” you cried, but he only shook his head. watching how your eyes started to form tears but your face didnt show any signs of discomfort, just overwhelming pleasure.

“you can take it, your pussy was made for me, baby.” he praised, his thrusts getting sloppier as he felt his high coming. he watched as you practically screamed out his name when you came for a second time, your body worn out but heeseung needed to fill you up. he needed to claim the insides of your cunt, mark them with his own seed.

“fuck, princess, im gonna cum. gonna fill you up,” he moaned. you nodded quickly, toes curling up as he fucked into you once, twice and three more times before he pushed his cock deep inside and stilled, hips slightly twitching as he released inside your walls.

heeseung let go of your legs and let them fall to the sides of him again as he leaned down to kiss your lips, chest up against your own. you moaned into the kiss and let him fuck out his high into you.

“guess that wasnt starting out so slow,” heeseung laughed, only making you roll your eyes at him lovingly. “says the one who tried to use ‘it slipped’, like really?” you fought back at him, watching his face turn red in blush.

he pulled out slowly and went to grab some clean up clothes, helping you to the bathroom so you both could shower. you got in and he got in after you, allowing the warm water to hit your bodies.

“okay, but it really did just slip in—“

“heeseung.”

“okay, my bad.”

💌 ( wish to be in the permanent taglist? apply here ! )

@mimiimiku @liumoonlight @soona-huh @unbel1ve4ble

#📃 𓈒 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ﹗#enhypen smut #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen hard hours #heeseung x you #enhypen headcanons #enhypen heeseung #lee heesung x reader #lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung imagines #heeseung x reader #heeseung smut #lee heeseung #heeseung #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios

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nuokee · 3 months ago

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🔞🎧 no talking | hoon's whimpering

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n #minors do not interact #heeseung smut #jake smut #jay smut

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wemalyri · 23 days ago

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— ON THE BEACH ⋆｡°⭒˚｡⋆

𐙚⋆° heeseung × fem!reader / genre: est. relationship, fluff, smut (MDNI) / ~2k words

warnings: mentions of the car sex, sex in a public place, mutual mastirbation, unprotected sex (don't!), mention of getting caught, dirty talk, praise, use of petnames (baby, sweetheart), I would say pretty sweet and soft

a/n: i wrote it really randomly.... thanks to the edit with heeseung that made me find out about the song and inspired me! (I have one more draft with a heeseung fic inspired by a tate mcrae song btw)

if you liked the fic, pls repost, like or leave a comment!

You two had gone already three or four times — you couldn't remember. With his mouth on your wet folds, licking all clean, with his fingers, rubbing your cunt, with his dick, buried deep inside you. Everything — in his car with the rolled down windows that weren't hiding the sounds you two were making inside.

Originally, it was a planned trip to a beach. Something relaxing, fantastic, that could distract you from daily life and help to escape from the reality of deadlines and endless tasks. But it ended up in you two finding another way to relax, making a mess in Heeseung's car — he couldn't care less because his baby is you, not the car.

When you finally stepped out of the small space, hanging the door open, you immediately felt the fresh sea breeze. You closed your eyes, spreading your arms and inhaling the air, while Heeseung was still in the backseat, adjusting himself and zipping up his shorts. When he stepped out of the car, you felt his hands settling on your waist, his chest pressing to your back.

"Doesn't it feel good?" you asked, not looking away from the sun, that was about to hide in the horizont of the water.

"I think it felt better back in the car," Heeseung joked with a sly grin, making you slightly hit his hand. "No, seriously. I think we should go back," he added, causing you to roll your eyes.

"We came here for the beach," you whined, turning around to face Heeseung. "You promised," a slight pout on your face softened his expression. He affectionately rubbed your arms, looking into your eyes.

"I'm sorry, babe. I was joking," Heeseung gently cupped your face, kissing your forehead, then pulling your head to lay on his chest. You wrapped hands around his waist, enjoying the warmth of his body. Heeseung rubbed your back, leaving a kiss on your temple.

You two headed to the beach. It was quite abandoned — a place that someone could hardly find. A bunch of trees were covering the most part of it, so it felt like you were on the uninhabitated island. The sun was settling down, only the crying of the seagulls could be heard. One of the Heeseung's hands was holding a basket with a picnic mat, another one — your hand.

You laid the mat on the sand and sat down in silence, watching the scenery peacefully. Your eyes caught Heeseung's beautiful profile — his relaxed eyebrows, sparkling deer eyes, straight nose, puffy lips. You still couldn't believe that was your boyfriend.

"I'm glad there are no people here," you mindlessly said. "We can enjoy the view alone, focus on each other with no distractions."

"You know that even if there were people, my eyes would be only on you, right?" Heeseung's words naturally left his mouth — not trying to rizz, to flirt. They were sincere. When you looked into his eyes, they were full of endless love and affection.

Your gaze moved down to his lips. Heeseung noticed. Just after a few seconds of silence, the lips that you were looking at were on yours.

Heeseung's hand moved to your hair, holding you at place, another one rested on your back, encouraging to lean closer to him. His lips were softly moving against yours, already making your head spin. You wrapped hands around his neck, immediately straddling his lap. He rested both of his hands on your waist, tracing them down to your hips.

When Heeseung slipped hands under your shorts, making an attempt to touch your clothed core, you quickly stopped him. He pulled away from the kiss in slight confusion. You stood up, sitting on the mat across from him.

"Babe?" Heeseung enquired with frowned eyebrows.

"I love you," you softly said, looking into his eyes and taking off your shorts. His eyes traveled down your body. "And I'll touch myself for you," you slipped your hand under your shirt, slowly caressing your bare skin of the stomach and moving up your breasts. His breathing hitched. "Watch me," you whispered before hissing, when your fingers pinched your nipple.

Heeseung's mouth slightly opened, but he didn't hesitate and leaned back, holding himself on his arms and watching you like it was a movie. The most interesting, fascinating movie he'd ever seen.

"Take off your shirt, baby. I wanna see your pretty tits while you're touching yourself," Heeseung softly commanded, his eyes traveling down your body, stopping on your panties, wondering if they were already getting soaked.

You listened and pulled up your shirt, tossing it aside after. Your breasts on the display, nipples hard.

"Shit..." Heeseung groaned, already reaching for the zipper on his shorts. "Good girl," he praised, stroking himself through his boxers.

Your hands traveled all the way down your body, touching it everywhere — your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. When control finally felt to slip away and desire started aching between your legs, you whined.

"Wanna touch myself there," your thighs squeezed, trying to get some friction in between them.

Heeseung breathed out, watching you being desperate just from your own touches. That wasn't even his hands. With them, you would lose control already minutes ago.

"You can. But only through your panties," you sighed, already reaching for your aching core. "And don't rush," Heeseung commanded, seeing your desperation, "Take things slowly. Be gentle, baby."

Your shaking hand started slowly caressing your pussy through the panties you were wearing, finger tracing lines between your folds. Your eyebrows frowned, eyes slightly rolling down from the sensation.

Heeseung felt blessed from the sight in front of him. You, touching yourself like there is no other day. On the beach. Just for him. The only thought of having you like this was making his head spin and his cock semi-hard, even though he still hadn't touched it properly.

"Does it feel good, baby?" Heeseung asked, watching you starting to grind your hips against your fingers. "Are you wet down there already?"

"I am," you breathed out in a whiny voice. "Feels so good, Hee. But not as good as when you touch me."

A proud smirk spread on his face. "Is that so? But yet you are already wet. Tell me how wet you are, sweetheart."

His voice and dirty words only intensified the fire inside you. You didn't hesitate to obey, slowing down your fingers on purpose.

"So wet, Hee... My panties are soaked," Heeseung groaned, palming himself through his boxers. "If I took them off right now and touched myself, you could hear it more clearly."

"Do," he said in a low voice, already losing patience. "Take your panties off, baby."

You whimpered at the permission, slightly lifting yourself on your knees, finally pulling down your panties.

"Lie down on your back," Heeseung commanded, when you were already naked. You did as he said, spreading your legs before him. "Shit..." he breathed out, seeing your wet pussy so close and spread just for him. "Just like that, baby. Let me see all of you."

When you finally touched yourself with no barrier, it felt like heaven. Your pussy immediately clenched, sensitive from all the previous waiting. Heeseung pushed his hand under the boxers, pulling out his already hard cock. When you looked at that, your back immediately arched, pussy clenching again.

"Want your cock, Hee," you whined, fastening the speed of your fingers in desperation. The wet sounds now clear in the air.

Heeseung groaned, stroking his cock at the sight. He couldn't take it anymore — seeing you so wet and spread before him, not able to touch what belonged to him.

He snapped out, moving from his position to your body, immediately pressing it to the mat. His hard cock accidentally touched your core, making you two moan.

Heeseung's hands finally settled on your hips, holding you in place, his cock brushing against your folds, savoring the wetness you made just for him.

"H-Hee," you whined, throwing your head back. "Please...I can't wait anymore."

Heeseung drowned in your pleas, taking his cock in his hand to line with your entrance. He traced its tip against your folds a few more times, making you whimper in impatience. When he finally slid inside, it felt like heaven. Like everything was finally on its own place — you under Heeseung, his cock inside you.

He didn't need to give you time to adjust to his size — you were already stretched after a few rounds in his car. Heeseung started slowly moving his hips, pushing all the way in and out.

"So tight... even after I stretched you out so well in the car. It'll never be enough, yes, baby?" he mumbled in your ear, his cock slowly moving inside you.

You desperately shook your head. "Never. Want your cock inside me forever," Heeseung groaned at your words, slamming all the way in and hitting that one spot that made you gasp.

"That's it, baby. Such a good girl for me," he mumbled in your lips before kissing you. The kiss was firm and made the tie in your stomach tighten even more. His hips started moving faster, speeding the rhythm and causing you to moan in Heeseung's mouth. He pulled away from your lips, burying his face in your neck and leaving fresh marks against old ones there. "Don't hold back. Scream my name. No one's here anyway."

You didn't need to be told twice. Every time Heeseung hit the spot inside you, your moans were getting louder. His pace was rapid, trying to give you two that expected release. The sweat was dripping down his forehead right on you.

When Heeseung lifted your thighs, placing them on his shoulders, the new angle started feeling too good.

"Shitshitshit Hee, I'm so close," you managed to mumble, and it felt like he only started pounding into you deeper.

"Come for me, baby," he whispered in your ear, and it made you completely loose. You came with a loud moan, Heeseung's hips not stopping, chasing his own high and prolonging your orgasm. When he finally came to an edge too, you felt his seed spilling inside you. After a while he stopped moving his hips, lying on top of you. You both were heavily breathing.

When you seemed to calm down, Heeseung slowly pulled away, making you two gasp, still sensitive after an orgasm. He leaned to kiss your damp forehead, whispering praises.

"You did so well. Just as always," his lips were all over your face, softly soothing after an intense action. "And I love you too."

You two sat on the mat for a while, enjoying the already darkened sky, then gathered your things and headed to the car. To your surprise, there was another car standing next to yours. Heeseung and you glanced at each other, acknowledging its presence. Then your eyes caught a group of people that was standing next to a car. All of them looked at you two with unbearable expressions on their faces. Like they knew something.

Or heard.

Or saw.

You shyly looked away, putting up with the thought that five strangers probably heard you screaming Heeseung's name. Or maybe even saw your naked bodies, crushing against each other on the mat.

Heeseung noticed your reaction and protectively wrapped his arm around your waist, glaring at unfamiliar people with a threat. He guided you to his car, opening a door for you. Inside of it, you were silent. Heessung covered your hand with his, caressing your skin.

"Let them be jealous. They don't know what they're missing."

You gave him a small smile, intertwining your fingers with his. "I love you," you whispered, looking into his eyes.

"I love you too," Heeseung answered with a smile, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

Being caught in the middle of the act by a group of strangers didn't bother you anymore. You loved your boyfriend too much. That's why after you arrived at your place, you had another one round in his car.

And another one in the bed.

And maybe another one in the shower.

You loved your boyfriend too much. And he loved you too much even more.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #heeseung #heeseung×reader #heeseung fanfic #heeseung imagines #heeseung smut #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung fluff #wemalyri writes

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enhaflixer · 3 months ago

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Kiss Me, He’s Watching

fake bf!Heeseung x being stalked!reader - You kissed Heeseung to escape your stalker’s gaze—but the danger didn’t end there. One fake kiss, and suddenly everything is terrifyingly real.

Warnings: stalking, fear, explicit smut, possessive dynamics

The fluorescent lights of the subway car flicker overhead, casting an unflattering glow across the half-empty train. It's later than you'd usually be out on a weeknight, but your coworker's birthday drinks ran longer than expected. You check your phone: 11:43 PM. Only three more stops until home.

That's when you feel it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

You glance up from your phone, trying to appear casual as your eyes scan the car. And there he is. Third seat from the door. A man in his thirties, wearing a dark jacket despite the warm spring evening, staring directly at you. When your eyes meet, he doesn't look away. Instead, his lips curl into what might be considered a smile, if it weren't so utterly devoid of warmth.

You quickly look back down at your phone, heart rate accelerating. It's nothing, you tell yourself. Just another weird encounter in the city.

The train slows to a stop, doors sliding open. You remain seated, two more stops to go. From your peripheral vision, you see the man stand up. Relief washes over you—he's leaving. But instead of exiting, he simply moves to a seat closer to you. Your stomach drops.

When the doors close and the train lurches forward, you decide you're not waiting two more stops. You'll get off at the next station, find a busier platform, maybe even grab a taxi the rest of the way home. Anything to shake this feeling.

The next stop arrives. You stand quickly, moving toward the doors. As they open, you glance back—he's standing too. Following you.

Panic rises in your throat as you step onto the platform. It's nearly deserted at this hour, just a few late-night commuters waiting for trains going the opposite direction. You walk briskly toward the exit, the sound of footsteps behind you matching your pace.

That's when you see him—a young man leaning against a pillar, scrolling through his phone. He's striking even under the harsh station lights, with delicate features contrasted by sharp eyes and broad shoulders. Something about him radiates both gentleness and strength. You make a split-second decision.

You approach him quickly, heart pounding in your ears.

"Excuse me," you say softly, your voice shakier than you'd like. "Can you please pretend to be my boyfriend for a minute? There's someone following me."

He looks up from his phone, confusion crossing his face for only a moment before his eyes flick past you, assessing the situation with remarkable speed. His expression shifts to understanding, then determination.

"Of course, babe," he says loudly enough to be overheard, smoothly slipping his phone into his pocket. "I was wondering when you'd get here."

In one fluid motion, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours is startling but comforting.

"He's still watching," the stranger whispers against your hair. "Is that the guy? Black jacket, about five-nine?"

You nod almost imperceptibly.

"I'm Heeseung, by the way," he murmurs, maintaining the charade by playing with a strand of your hair.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper back.

You both stand there for a moment, locked in an embrace that feels both foreign and strangely safe. But you can still feel the stalker's eyes boring into your back.

"He's not buying it," Heeseung says quietly, his breath warm against your ear. Then, even softer: "Want me to kiss you? Might be more convincing."

Your eyes widen slightly, but the footsteps behind you seem to be getting closer. You nod again, bracing yourself.

Heeseung's hand gently tilts your chin upward. His eyes meet yours, silently asking one more time if this is okay. There's something unexpectedly tender in his gaze that makes your breath catch. Then he leans down, pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant—the kiss of strangers playing a part. But as his arms tighten around you, something shifts. His lips move more confidently against yours, and you find yourself responding, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders. For a brief moment, you forget about the man watching you, forget that this is all pretend. There is only the softness of Heeseung's lips and the steadiness of his hands at your waist.

When you finally break apart, you're both slightly breathless. Heeseung's eyes search yours for a moment before he looks past you, his expression hardening.

"He's still there," he says, voice lower now, a protective edge creeping in. "What's this guy's problem?"

The stalker stands several feet away, his stare unrelenting, suspicious. Clearly, your performance hasn't convinced him.

Something in Heeseung snaps. He steps slightly in front of you, shielding you with his body.

"What are you looking at?" he calls out, his voice echoing in the nearly empty station. "You need something?"

The man doesn't respond, just continues staring.

"What?" Heeseung's voice rises, anger evident. "You need more proof? Want me to fuck her in front of you too?"

You grab Heeseung's arm, both shocked and grateful for his protective fury. The few remaining commuters on the platform turn to stare.

The stalker finally breaks his gaze, muttering something under his breath before walking toward the exit. But the look he gives you before he turns away sends ice through your veins—this isn't over.

"Hey, are you okay?" Heeseung asks, turning back to you, his expression immediately softening. "Sorry if I went too far. I just couldn't stand the way he was looking at you."

"Thank you," you manage, suddenly aware that you're trembling. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here."

"Which way are you headed?" he asks, concern etched across his features.

"I'm two stops down, but I think I'll just get a taxi now."

"I'll wait with you," he says firmly. "Or I can ride with you the rest of the way, if you want."

As you both head toward the exit, you feel Heeseung's hand gently rest against the small of your back—a protective gesture that makes you feel safer than you have all night.

Neither of you notice the stalker watching from the shadows as you leave the station together, his eyes narrowed with suspicion and something more dangerous simmering beneath.

The taxi ride is quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional direction you give the driver. Heeseung sits beside you, a respectful distance between you now, but his presence remains solid and reassuring. The adrenaline from earlier is beginning to wear off, leaving you feeling drained and slightly embarrassed.

"I'm really sorry about all of this," you finally say, glancing over at him. In the dim light of the passing streetlamps, his profile looks almost ethereal. "I can't believe I dragged a complete stranger into my problems."

Heeseung turns to you, his expression earnest. "Don't apologize. That guy was seriously creepy. Anyone would have needed help."

"Not everyone would have helped the way you did," you point out. "Most people would have just walked away."

He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "Well, I'm not most people."

The taxi pulls up to your apartment building, and you reach for your wallet, but Heeseung already has his card out.

"Please, let me," he insists, paying the driver before you can protest.

"You really don't have to—"

"Consider it my good deed for the day," he says with a gentle smile that makes something flutter in your chest.

You both step out onto the sidewalk, and suddenly you're not sure how to end this strange encounter. A handshake seems too formal after what you've shared, but anything more feels presumptuous.

"I'd feel better if I saw you safely to your door," Heeseung says, breaking the awkward moment. "If that's okay with you."

You nod, grateful for his consideration, and lead him into the building. The elevator ride to the fifth floor is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Standing next to him, you notice he smells faintly of sandalwood and something uniquely his own.

When you reach your apartment door, you turn to face him. "Thank you again. Seriously. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there."

"I'm just glad I could help," he says, and there's a sincerity in his voice that's rare these days.

An idea strikes you. "Wait here for a second?" You unlock your door and rush inside, grabbing a pen and scrap of paper from the entryway table. You quickly scribble your number on it, then return to the hallway where Heeseung waits patiently.

"Here," you say, offering him the paper. "In case you ever need someone to pretend to be your girlfriend." You attempt a joke to lighten the moment, though your heart beats a little faster as he takes the paper.

Heeseung looks at your number, then back at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. He pulls out his phone, inputs your number, and then you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

"Now you have mine too," he says. "If you ever feel unsafe again or if that guy shows up, call me. Doesn't matter what time."

"I couldn't possibly—"

"I mean it," he interrupts, his expression turning serious. "Promise me you'll call if anything happens."

Something about the intensity in his eyes makes you nod. "I promise."

"Good." His expression softens again. "Get some rest, Y/N. It's been a long night."

"You too, Heeseung."

He waits until you're safely inside with the door locked before you hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

The next morning, the whole encounter feels almost like a dream. You might have convinced yourself it was, if not for the new contact in your phone: "Heeseung (Subway Hero)."

Life returns to normal surprisingly fast. You're more cautious on your commute, taking earlier trains and staying in crowded cars, but there's no sign of the creepy man. After a week passes without incident, you begin to relax.

You think about texting Heeseung several times. Your finger hovers over his contact information, but what would you say? "Thanks again for pretending to be my boyfriend and kissing me"? "Want to grab coffee sometime when I'm not being stalked"? Everything sounds awkward or presumptuous. He was just being kind to a stranger in trouble. You don't want to mistaken his kindness for interest.

So you don't text him, and the days pass.

Almost two weeks after the subway incident, you're working late at the office. The design project you've been assigned has a tight deadline, and you've lost track of time staring at your computer screen. When you finally look up, it's past 10 PM, and you're the only one left on your floor.

You pack up quickly, suddenly aware of how quiet and empty the building feels. In the elevator down to the lobby, you check your phone and see a notification for an email from an address you don't recognize.

The subject line reads: "I SAW YOU WITH HIM."

A chill runs down your spine. You should delete it without opening it, but morbid curiosity gets the better of you. The message contains just one line:

"I know he's not really your boyfriend."

Your hands start to shake. Below the text is a photo—of you and Heeseung leaving the subway station together that night. The angle suggests it was taken from a distance, from someone following behind.

As you step out of the elevator into the dimly lit lobby, another email notification appears. Same sender.

"You're alone now. Look up."

Your heart nearly stops. Slowly, you raise your head from your phone screen and scan the lobby. At first, you see nothing unusual—just the security desk (empty at this hour), the entrance doors, the row of potted plants along the wall.

Then a shadow moves near the entrance, and you see him. The man from the subway, watching you through the glass doors, that same cold smile on his face.

Without thinking, you step back into the elevator and frantically press the button for your floor. As the doors close, you see him moving toward the building entrance.

Your fingers tremble as you pull up Heeseung's contact. It's been two weeks. He probably doesn't even remember you. But you promised.

He answers on the second ring.

"Y/N?" His voice is alert, not groggy despite the hour. "Is everything okay?"

"He found me," you whisper, watching the elevator numbers climb. "The guy from the subway. He's here at my office building. He has pictures of us. He knows—he knows you're not really my boyfriend."

There's a brief silence, then Heeseung's voice comes through, calm but urgent. "Where exactly are you now?"

"In the elevator, going back up to my office. I don't think he can get past building security without a keycard, but he was right outside."

"Okay, listen to me. Go back to your office, lock the door if you can. What's the address?"

You tell him, surprised at how clearly you remember his address despite your panic.

"I'm leaving now. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay on the phone with me, okay?"

"Okay," you manage, stepping out of the elevator and hurrying down the hallway to your office. You lock the door behind you, then turn off the lights and move away from the windows. "I'm sorry to drag you into this again."

"Don't apologize," he says, and you can hear rustling in the background, the jingle of keys. "I told you to call if anything happened."

"I know, but—"

"Y/N," he interrupts gently. "I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you anyway."

Despite everything, a small flutter of warmth spreads through your chest at his words.

"He thinks I'm your boyfriend?" Heeseung continues, and you hear a door slam shut on his end. "What are you going to do about this guy?"

"I don't know," you admit, sinking down beneath your desk, phone clutched to your ear like a lifeline. "I guess I should file a police report, but—"

Your sentence is cut short by another email notification. With dread, you open it to find another picture—this one of your office building, with a simple message: "I'll wait."

"Heeseung," you whisper, fear making your voice crack. "Please hurry."

"I'm five minutes away," Heeseung reassures you, his voice steady despite the sound of rapid footsteps on his end. "Stay where you are and keep talking to me."

You curl up tighter beneath your desk, eyes fixed on the locked office door. The building is eerily quiet at this hour—every distant sound making your heart race. Is that the elevator? Footsteps in the stairwell? Your imagination is turning every creak and hum of the building into a threat.

"Tell me about your day," Heeseung says suddenly.

"What?"

"Your day. What were you working on that kept you at the office so late?" His tone is deliberately casual, trying to distract you from the panic.

You take a shaky breath. "A design project for a new client. They're launching a sustainable clothing line and needed the branding finalized by tomorrow morning." Speaking helps—focusing on normal things makes the situation feel slightly less terrifying.

"You're a designer?" There's genuine interest in his voice.

"Graphic designer, yeah. What about you? What do you do when you're not rescuing strangers on the subway?" You attempt a weak joke.

There's a soft chuckle on the other end. "Music production, mostly. I work at a studio downtown."

"That sounds amazing," you say, briefly forgetting your fear. "Do you work with anyone I might know?"

"Maybe. I've worked with—" He cuts himself off. "I'm at your building now. Is there a security guard?"

"There should be, but I didn't see anyone when I was in the lobby."

"There's no one here now either," Heeseung says, his voice lower. "How do I get up to your floor?"

"You need a keycard for the elevator after hours," you explain, anxiety flooding back. "But wait—if there's no security guard, where did he go? And how would the stalker get in without a card?"

There's a moment of silence before Heeseung responds, his voice tight. "I don't know, but I don't like it. Is there another way up? A stairwell?"

"Yes, but it needs a keycard too—" You stop as another email notification appears. With trembling fingers, you open it.

The message contains just three words: "I'M INSIDE NOW."

"Heeseung," you whisper, terror making your voice almost inaudible. "He says he's inside the building."

"Shit," he mutters. Then, more decisively: "I'm going to try something. What floor are you on?"

"Seventh."

"Give me two minutes."

The line goes quiet except for the sound of Heeseung's breathing and occasional grunts of effort. You're about to ask what he's doing when you hear a distant alarm begin to wail.

"What's happening?" you ask.

"Fire alarm," Heeseung explains, slightly out of breath. "Building security will unlock automatically. I'm coming up the stairs now."

Relief washes over you—until you realize that if the security systems are overridden, there's nothing keeping the stalker from accessing your floor either.

As if reading your thoughts, Heeseung speaks again. "Stay hidden. I'll be there soon. Which office number?"

"705. It's at the end of the hallway on the right when you come out of the stairwell."

"Got it. Almost there."

You hear the sound of a door banging open through the phone, then rapid footsteps. A moment later, there's a gentle knock at your office door.

"Y/N? It's me."

You scramble out from under the desk and rush to the door, pressing your ear against it. "Heeseung?"

"It's me," he confirms. "Open the door."

Your hands shake as you unlock the door. The moment it opens, Heeseung slips inside, immediately locking it behind him. In the dim emergency lighting, you can see he's breathing hard, hair slightly damp with sweat—he must have run the entire way.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, the relief of seeing a friendly face overwhelming in your state of fear. He stiffens in surprise for just a moment before his arms wrap around you, holding you securely.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs against your hair.

You nod against his chest, embarrassed but unable to pull away just yet. His heartbeat is rapid beneath your ear, his body warm and solid—an anchor in the storm of your fear.

When you finally step back, you notice he's scanning the room, eyes alert and wary. "We should go. The fire department will be here soon because of the alarm, but I don't want to risk running into this guy."

"Okay," you agree, quickly gathering your belongings.

Heeseung peers out the office door, checking the hallway. "Clear. Let's go to the stairs—they're closer than the elevator."

He takes your hand as you hurry down the corridor, his grip firm and reassuring. At the stairwell door, he pauses, listening intently before pushing it open.

"Stay close," he instructs as you begin descending.

You're halfway between the fifth and fourth floors when a door slams somewhere below you. Heeseung freezes, pushing you gently against the wall, his body shielding yours. You both listen, hardly breathing.

Footsteps on the stairs—coming up.

Heeseung's eyes meet yours, his expression tense but determined. Silently, he gestures upward. You nod in understanding.

As quietly as possible, you both backtrack, climbing up instead of down. When you reach the eighth floor, Heeseung carefully opens the door, checking that the hallway is clear before pulling you through.

"We'll try the elevator on this floor," he whispers. "The alarm should have reset the security lockdowns."

The eighth floor is darker than yours, with only emergency exit signs providing dim red illumination. Heeseung keeps your hand firmly in his as you navigate to the elevator bank. He presses the call button, and you both watch anxiously as the numbers climb from the lobby.

The distant sound of a door opening makes you both tense. Heeseung positions himself slightly in front of you, his stance protective.

The elevator seems to take forever. Three... Four... Five...

"If something happens," Heeseung says quietly, "run. Don't wait for me."

You're about to protest when the elevator finally arrives with a soft chime. The doors slide open, and you both quickly step inside. Heeseung jabs the lobby button repeatedly, then the door close button.

As the doors begin to shut, you catch a glimpse of a figure at the end of the hallway—a man in a dark jacket. Your breath catches.

The doors close fully, and the elevator begins its descent.

"That was him," you whisper, leaning against the wall for support. "That was definitely him."

Heeseung's jaw tightens, a mixture of anger and concern crossing his features. "When we get to the lobby, we're going straight to my car. No stopping, okay?"

You nod, trying to calm your racing heart.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors opening to reveal chaos. The fire alarm has drawn several security personnel and what looks like the beginning of a fire department response. In the confusion, you and Heeseung slip out relatively unnoticed, his arm around your waist guiding you swiftly through the crowd and out to the street.

"This way," he says, leading you to a sleek black car parked half on the curb—he must have been in a hurry when he arrived.

Once inside with the doors locked, you finally allow yourself to take a deep breath. Heeseung starts the engine but doesn't immediately drive away.

"Are you hurt at all?" he asks, turning to examine you with concern.

"No, I'm fine," you assure him, though your hands are still trembling. "Just scared."

He nods, reaching out to briefly squeeze your hand before putting the car in drive. "I'm taking you to my place," he says, pulling away from the curb. "I don't think it's safe for you to go home tonight."

Under normal circumstances, going to a near-stranger's apartment would set off all kinds of alarm bells. But nothing about this situation is normal, and the safety Heeseung represents outweighs any reservation you might have.

"Thank you," you say simply.

He glances in the rearview mirror frequently as he drives, checking that you're not being followed. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving you feeling drained and slightly nauseous.

"I should call the police," you say after a few minutes of silence.

"Definitely," Heeseung agrees. "But let's get somewhere safe first."

His apartment turns out to be in a secure building with underground parking and a doorman—facts that provide immediate relief. Inside, the space is surprisingly homey: a modern open-concept layout with warm lighting and comfortable furnishings. A keyboard and small recording setup occupies one corner of the living area, confirming his earlier mention of music production.

"Make yourself at home," he says, gesturing to the couch. "I'll get you some water."

As he moves to the kitchen, you sink onto the sofa, the events of the night finally catching up to you. Your phone chimes with another email notification, and you nearly drop it in fear.

Heeseung notices your reaction, returning quickly with a glass of water. "Another message from him?"

You nod, unable to open it.

"May I?" he asks, holding out his hand for your phone.

You pass it to him, watching as he opens the email, his expression darkening as he reads.

"What does it say?" you ask, not sure you want to know.

Heeseung looks up, his eyes filled with protective anger. "He says he knows you're with me now. That you've 'chosen your side.' And that he'll be watching both of us." He sets your phone down. "We're definitely calling the police. This is serious stalking."

While Heeseung contacts the authorities, you sip your water, trying to make sense of this nightmare. How did this happen? One random encounter on the subway has spiraled into a genuine threat to your safety. And Heeseung—a complete stranger two weeks ago—is now putting himself at risk to keep you safe.

When he finishes the call, he sits beside you on the couch, close enough that you can feel his warmth but not touching. "They're sending someone over to take your statement. They also advised documenting everything—all the messages, photos, any evidence of him following you."

You nod, staring down at your hands. "I'm so sorry for involving you in this."

"Hey," he says gently, waiting until you look up at him. "None of this is your fault. And I'm not sorry I helped you that night, even if it means being involved now."

"Why?" The question slips out before you can stop it. "Why would you do all this for someone you barely know?"

Heeseung is quiet for a moment, seemingly considering the question carefully. "I've seen what happens when people look the other way," he finally says. "My sister had a stalker in college. Not as extreme as this, but scary enough. People knew—her friends, her roommates—but no one really did anything. They thought it wasn't their problem." His voice hardens slightly. "I won't be that person. Not ever."

The personal revelation surprises you. "I'm sorry about your sister. Is she okay now?"

He nods. "She's fine. It eventually stopped, but it affected her for a long time. Made it hard for her to trust people." He meets your eyes. "That's why I want to help you end this now, before it gets worse."

His words wrap around you like a shield, and for the first time since you saw that man on the subway, you feel truly protected.

"Thank you," you say again, the words inadequate but sincere.

The police arrive about twenty minutes later—a female officer who takes your statement professionally and thoroughly. She confirms what Heeseung already said: document everything, file for a restraining order as soon as possible, and take precautions with your personal security.

"What about tonight?" you ask as she's preparing to leave. "Is it safe for me to go home?"

The officer hesitates. "We can have a patrol car drive by your residence periodically, but we don't have the resources for constant surveillance. Do you have someone who can stay with you? A friend or family member?"

Before you can answer, Heeseung speaks up. "She can stay here. I have a spare room, security building, doorman. She'll be safe."

The officer looks between the two of you. "That would certainly be safer than being alone," she agrees. "And it might be good to have someone with you for the next few days at least, until we can locate this individual."

After she leaves, a quiet falls over the apartment. You're exhausted but too wired to sleep, and the thought of imposing on Heeseung even more makes you uncomfortable.

"I can take you home if you'd prefer," he offers, reading your hesitation. "Or to a friend's place, or a hotel."

You consider the options, but the thought of being alone—or explaining this bizarre situation to a friend in the middle of the night—seems overwhelming. And a hotel doesn't offer the same security as Heeseung's building.

"If you really don't mind, staying here would make me feel safer," you admit. "Just for tonight. I can figure something else out tomorrow."

"I don't mind at all," he says, and there's such sincerity in his voice that you believe him. "Let me show you the guest room and find you something to sleep in."

The spare room is simple but comfortable, with a queen-sized bed and attached bathroom. Heeseung lends you a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that dwarf your frame but are clean and comfortable.

"Try to get some rest," he says, lingering in the doorway. "I'm right across the hall if you need anything. Anything at all."

"Thank you, Heeseung," you say, the words becoming something of a mantra between you. "For everything."

He smiles—a small, tired smile that still manages to reach his eyes. "Good night, Y/N."

After he leaves, you sit on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed by the events of the day. You should be terrified—and you are—but there's also a strange sense of security that comes from knowing Heeseung is just across the hall. A man who was a stranger two weeks ago has become your shield against a nightmare you never saw coming.

When you finally lay down, exhaustion quickly overtakes your racing thoughts. You fall asleep to the distant sound of Heeseung moving around the apartment, the knowledge of his presence a comfort in the darkness.

You wake to sunlight filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the smell of coffee. For a moment, disorientation grips you—until memories of the previous night come flooding back. The stalker, the chase through your office building, Heeseung's rescue, and now... his guest bedroom.

After using the bathroom and attempting to make yourself somewhat presentable, you venture out to the main living area. Heeseung is in the kitchen, back turned to you as he works at the counter. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair slightly rumpled from sleep.

He turns at the sound of your approach, offering a gentle smile. "Morning. How did you sleep?"

"Better than I expected," you admit. "Something smells amazing."

"Coffee and breakfast," he says, gesturing to the stove where eggs are cooking. "I figured you might be hungry."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture catches you off guard. "Thank you. Again."

He waves it off. "Sit. Eat. Then we can figure out what to do next."

Over breakfast, you both discuss the situation more calmly than was possible the night before. You need clothes and personal items from your apartment, but the thought of going there alone makes your stomach clench.

"I'll go with you," Heeseung offers immediately. "And I still think you should stay here for a few days, at least until the police locate this guy."

"I can't impose on you like that," you protest.

"You're not imposing if I'm offering," he counters. "Look, this guy has clearly fixated on both of us now. It makes sense to stick together." His expression softens. "Plus, I'd worry about you being alone."

The admission brings unexpected comfort. "Okay," you agree. "Just until they find him."

After breakfast, Heeseung insists on driving you to your apartment to collect some essentials. The daylight makes the situation feel less threatening, but you're still jumpy, constantly checking over your shoulder. Heeseung stays close, his presence a constant reassurance.

At your apartment, everything looks normal—no signs of disturbance or intrusion. You quickly pack a bag with clothes and necessities for a few days, while Heeseung checks each room, making sure the space is secure.

"All clear," he reports when you finish packing. "But we should let your building manager know what's happening. And you might want to consider getting your locks changed, just in case."

The practicality of his advice grounds you. This isn't just a nightmare to be endured; there are concrete steps you can take to protect yourself.

Back at Heeseung's apartment, you call your boss to explain the situation (leaving out some of the more frightening details) and arrange to work remotely for a few days. Heeseung does the same, rescheduling his studio sessions to work from home instead.

"You don't have to do that," you tell him. "I'll be fine here alone."

"I know," he says. "But I'd rather be here. Just in case."

The rest of the day passes in a strange bubble of temporary safety. You work on your laptop from his dining table while he tinkers with music tracks at his home studio setup. Occasionally, one of you will make coffee or suggest ordering food, and you find yourself settling into an easy rhythm despite the bizarre circumstances.

In the evening, after dinner (takeout from a nearby Thai place), you sit together on the couch, the TV playing a movie neither of you is really watching. Your mind keeps returning to the danger lurking outside—and to the stranger who has become your protector.

"Can I ask you something?" you finally say.

Heeseung turns to you, giving you his full attention. "Of course."

"That night on the subway platform... when you helped me..." You hesitate, searching for the right words. "Why did you believe me right away? Most people would have thought I was crazy."

He's quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "The fear in your eyes was real," he finally says. "I've seen that kind of fear before. It's not something people fake." His gaze is steady, sincere. "And honestly, what did I have to lose by helping? If you were making it up, the worst that happens is I feel a little awkward for a few minutes. But if you weren't..." He shrugs. "Then maybe I could help keep someone safe."

His simple explanation touches something deep inside you. In a world where so many people turn away from others' problems, Heeseung's instinct was to step forward, to protect.

"Well," you say softly, "you definitely did that. Twice now."

A small smile tugs at his lips. "And I'll keep doing it until this is over."

Your phones sit side by side on the coffee table, both silent for now. But you know the stalker will contact you again. And when he does, you won't be facing him alone.

In this moment of quiet, with the city lights twinkling beyond the windows and Heeseung's steady presence beside you, you allow yourself to breathe. The danger hasn't passed, but for now, in this space, you're safe. And that's enough.

The following day, a detective calls to update you on the case. Heeseung sits next to you on the couch as you put the call on speaker, his presence steady and reassuring.

"We've identified the individual from the security footage," the detective explains, her voice professional but tinged with concern. "His name is Lee Minhyuk. He has a history of stalking behavior."

You feel Heeseung tense beside you. "What kind of history?" he asks.

There's a brief pause on the line. "I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily, but you should both be aware that this isn't his first fixation. He's been linked to at least two similar cases in the past three years."

"And?" you prompt, sensing there's more she isn't saying.

"And in the most recent case, the situation escalated to physical violence." The detective's voice becomes more serious. "The victim had a restraining order in place, but Minhyuk violated it. She was hospitalized with non-life-threatening injuries. He served eight months before being released on good behavior."

Your blood runs cold. Beside you, Heeseung's jaw clenches, his eyes darkening with anger and concern.

"So what happens now?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear churning in your stomach.

"We're actively looking for him," the detective assures you. "We have units checking his known addresses and places of employment. But until we locate him, you need to take every possible precaution."

"What about police protection?" Heeseung asks.

Another pause. "Unfortunately, we don't have the resources to provide continuous protection at this time. We can increase patrols in both your neighborhoods, but—"

"That's not good enough," Heeseung interrupts, frustration evident in his voice. "If this guy is violent—"

"I understand your concern," the detective says. "Believe me, I do. But the best advice I can give you right now is to stay together, maintain awareness of your surroundings, continue documenting any contact he makes, and call 911 immediately if you believe you're in danger."

After hanging up, you sit in stunned silence. The abstract threat has suddenly become terrifyingly concrete—a real person with a name and a violent history.

"Y/N?" Heeseung says softly, concern etched across his features. "Talk to me."

"I didn't think it would be this serious," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "A violent stalker? How is this happening to me?"

Heeseung reaches for your hand, his warm fingers wrapping around yours. "We'll get through this," he says firmly. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We just need to be careful until they find him."

You nod, but the detective's words echo in your mind: escalated to physical violence... hospitalized... released on good behavior.

That night, despite Heeseung's reassurances and the security of his apartment, sleep eludes you. You toss and turn in the guest bed, startling at every small noise in the building. When exhaustion finally pulls you under, your dreams are plagued by shadows and footsteps and cold, unblinking eyes watching you from dark corners.

You wake screaming sometime after 3 AM, drenched in sweat, the nightmare still vivid in your mind. In it, the stalker—Minhyuk—had broken into the apartment and was standing over the bed, watching you sleep, something glinting in his hand.

Before you can fully register what's happening, the bedroom door bursts open and Heeseung is there, hair disheveled from sleep but eyes alert and searching for danger.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" he asks urgently, scanning the room before rushing to your side.

"Nightmare," you manage, still trembling. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to wake you."

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, but concern remains etched across his features. "Don't apologize," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head, embarrassed by your reaction despite the lingering terror. "It was just a bad dream."

Heeseung studies your face for a moment, clearly unconvinced. "Would it help if I stayed? Just until you fall back asleep?"

The offer is so sincere, so free of judgment, that tears spring to your eyes. You nod, unable to voice how desperately you don't want to be alone right now.

Without another word, Heeseung moves to sit with his back against the headboard. After a moment's hesitation, you lay back down, surprised by how much safer you feel with him there. He doesn't touch you, but the sound of his steady breathing eventually lulls you back to sleep.

The pattern repeats the next night, and the next. Each time, the nightmares grow more vivid, more terrifying. Each time, you wake calling Heeseung's name, and each time he's there within moments, a solid presence against the fear.

The third morning after another disrupted night, you find Heeseung already in the kitchen when you emerge from the guest room. Dark circles shadow his eyes—clear evidence of his own interrupted sleep—but he smiles warmly when he sees you.

"Morning," he says, sliding a mug of coffee across the counter. "Just how you like it. Two sugars, splash of milk."

You're touched that he's noticed this detail about you in such a short time. "Thank you. I'm really sorry about last night. Again."

He waves away your apology. "Stop apologizing. It's not your fault."

"But you're exhausted too," you point out, gesturing to the faint shadows under his eyes.

Instead of denying it, Heeseung reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a colorful box. "Nothing that sugar can't fix," he declares with a mischievous grin, presenting the box of Frosted Flakes with a flourish. "Breakfast of champions."

The childish delight on his face as he pours two bowls is so incongruous with the somber situation that you can't help but laugh. "Seriously? Frosted Flakes?"

"Don't judge," he says, defending his choice with mock seriousness. "Tony the Tiger has gotten me through some tough times."

You accept the bowl he offers, taking a bite and exaggerating your enjoyment. "Mmm, you're right. They're grrrreat!"

Your tiger impression is terrible, and it makes Heeseung burst into laughter, nearly choking on his cereal. The sound is bright and genuine, lightening the heaviness that's hung between you for days. For a moment, it's easy to forget why you're here—that somewhere out there, someone is looking for you.

"So," Heeseung says when you've both calmed down, "I was thinking we could watch a movie tonight. Something completely mindless and happy. No suspense, no thriller elements, nothing remotely scary."

"That sounds perfect," you admit.

That evening, after you both finish work, Heeseung makes good on his promise. He builds what can only be described as a pillow fortress on the couch, complete with every cushion and throw blanket in the apartment. He microwaves popcorn and pulls out an assortment of candy that would make a dentist cry.

"What are you, twelve?" you tease, but you're smiling as you say it.

"Sometimes," he admits with a shrug. "Being an adult is overrated."

You settle into the nest of pillows as he scrolls through options on the TV. He ends up selecting an animated film about dragons that's clearly meant for children but is visually stunning enough for adults to enjoy. As the movie plays, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in days, occasionally stealing glances at Heeseung as he laughs unreservedly at the funny parts.

When the movie ends, neither of you makes a move to get up right away. The comfortable silence stretches between you, broken only when Heeseung reaches for his phone.

"Oh God," he says suddenly, covering his mouth to suppress his laughter. "Have you seen this?"

He passes you his phone, showing a ridiculous viral video of a cat walking dramatically to music. It's silly and inconsequential, but soon you're both laughing uncontrollably, sharing more videos and memes back and forth, your shoulders pressed together as you huddle over the small screen.

For the first time since this nightmare began, you feel normal. Just two people enjoying each other's company, finding joy in the absurd corners of the internet. The shared laughter creates a bubble around you both, keeping the fear at bay, if only temporarily.

Eventually, the hour grows late, and you can't suppress a yawn.

"Time for bed," Heeseung says, noticing immediately. Something flickers across his face—concern, perhaps, knowing what sleep has meant for you these past few nights.

On the fourth night, after a particularly brutal nightmare where you couldn't scream, couldn't move as Minhyuk approached, Heeseung makes a gentle suggestion over breakfast.

"Maybe it would help if I just stayed in the room from the start," he offers, his voice careful, non-presumptuous. "The guest bed is plenty big enough. I can sleep on top of the covers if that makes you more comfortable."

The idea of not being alone with your fears is so appealing that you agree without hesitation. "Are you sure you don't mind? I feel like I'm completely disrupting your life."

"You're not," he says simply. "I'd rather be here than listen to you suffer alone."

That evening, a new kind of awkwardness creeps in as bedtime approaches. You've never prepared for sleep knowing Heeseung would be there from the beginning. The nighttime routine you've developed over the past few days—brushing teeth side by side at the dual bathroom sinks, moving around each other with careful politeness—suddenly feels different, charged with awareness.

"I'll give you privacy to change," Heeseung says, retreating from the guest room after retrieving what he needs for the night.

When he returns fifteen minutes later, hair damp from a shower and wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, you've already changed into the pajamas you borrowed from him (a t-shirt so large it reaches mid-thigh and a pair of shorts with a drawstring pulled tight). You're sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through your phone, trying to appear casual though your heart beats a little faster at the sight of him.

"I found something," he says, holding up a small bottle. "Lavender spray for the pillows. My sister swears by it for better sleep." He looks suddenly self-conscious. "It's probably silly—"

"No, it's... that's really thoughtful," you interrupt, genuinely touched by the gesture.

He approaches the bed hesitantly. "May I?"

You nod, and he lightly mists the pillows with the fragrant spray. The gentle scent fills the air, surprisingly comforting.

"And I have one more thing," he adds, reaching into his pocket and producing a small portable speaker. He places it on the nightstand and connects his phone. Soft piano music begins to play, quiet enough to not be distracting. "I use this when I can't turn my brain off after a long day in the studio."

The care he's putting into making you comfortable brings a lump to your throat. "Heeseung, you didn't have to do all this."

He shrugs, a shy smile playing at his lips. "I want you to actually sleep tonight."

You both settle into the bed, Heeseung on top of the covers as promised, you underneath them. Despite the physical barrier of the duvet between you, there's an intimacy to sharing this space intentionally, rather than him rushing in after a nightmare has already claimed you.

"Good night, Y/N," he says softly, reaching to turn off the lamp.

"Good night, Heeseung," you reply, the lavender scent and gentle music already making your eyelids heavy.

You sleep better that night—not perfectly, but the nightmares, when they come, are less intense. Heeseung's presence seems to anchor you, giving your subconscious something to hold onto when the fear threatens to drag you under.

The next morning, you wake to find Heeseung already gone, the side of the bed where he slept neatly made. For a moment, disappointment washes over you until the smell of coffee draws you to the kitchen.

"Perfect timing," he says when he sees you, sliding a plate of toast and scrambled eggs across the counter. "I was just about to come wake you."

"You didn't have to cook," you say, though your stomach growls appreciatively at the sight of the food.

"I didn't mind. Besides, you slept past nine. I was starting to worry you were hibernating." His teasing smile makes the kitchen feel warmer somehow.

Over the next few days, a new rhythm emerges. During daylight hours, you share the apartment comfortably, each working on your respective projects but coming together for meals and breaks. You learn that Heeseung is meticulous about some things (the organization of his music equipment) and charmingly chaotic about others (the state of his sock drawer). He learns that you're grumpy before coffee but surprisingly cheerful during thunderstorms.

Small rituals develop without discussion. Morning coffee prepared just the way you like it waiting for you when you wake up. Evening walks around the secure courtyard of his building, his hand finding yours whenever you pass through a shadowy area. Movie nights where neither of you watches the screen as much as you share childhood stories or debate the merits of different ice cream flavors.

At night, you continue to share the bed, the arrangement becoming less awkward with each passing evening. Your bedtime routine evolves into something almost domestic—Heeseung reading a book while you finish an email, you applying lotion to your hands while he sets the alarm, both of you gravitating to your respective sides of the bed with increasing comfort.

One night, as you're both getting ready for sleep, Heeseung emerges from the bathroom wearing a ridiculous sheet mask that makes him look like a cartoon character.

"What on earth is that?" you ask, unable to contain your laughter.

"Skin care is important," he says with exaggerated seriousness, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. "This one makes me look like a panda. There's a tiger one too if you want to join me."

"Absolutely not," you declare, still giggling.

"Your loss," he shrugs, before lifting his phone. "Wait, this requires documentation."

He sits beside you on the bed, holding up his phone to take a selfie. You try to duck away, but his arm catches you around the shoulders, pulling you into the frame. "Say cheese!"

"I am not posing with you looking like that!" you protest, but you're laughing too hard to resist properly.

He snaps several photos in quick succession, capturing your failed attempts to escape and your helpless laughter. When he shows you the results, you have to admit they're hilarious—Heeseung looking serene in his panda mask while you're caught mid-laugh, head thrown back, joy written across your features.

"Delete those," you demand without any real heat.

"No way," he replies, holding the phone out of your reach. "These are artistic masterpieces."

You make a grab for the phone, but he's quicker, holding it high above his head. What follows is a playful tussle that ends with you both breathless with laughter, the momentary physical contact feeling natural rather than forced or awkward.

Later, when you're both settled in bed, lights off and the now-familiar lavender scent surrounding you, Heeseung speaks softly in the darkness.

"It was good to hear you laugh like that," he says.

You turn toward his voice, though you can only make out his silhouette in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "It felt good to laugh," you admit. "Thank you for... all of this. For making this situation somehow bearable."

"You don't have to thank me," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Besides, now I have blackmail material with those photos."

You swat blindly in his direction, your hand connecting with what feels like his shoulder. He chuckles, the sound warming you from the inside.

By the sixth day of your stay, with no word from the police about Minhyuk's whereabouts, your new routine has solidified. During the day, you both work from the apartment, occasionally sharing meals or brief conversations. In the evenings, you watch movies or talk, carefully avoiding discussion of the situation unless there are new developments. And at night, you sleep in the same bed, the space between you a boundary neither has crossed.

Until tonight.

Something wakes you—not a nightmare this time, but some small sound or shift in the atmosphere. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:17 AM. The room is dark except for the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.

That's when you feel it. The sensation of being watched.

Your eyes dart to the window, heart hammering in your chest. The logical part of your brain knows it's impossible—you're on the twelfth floor, the windows don't open more than a few inches, and there's no balcony or fire escape. But in the shadows cast by the streetlights, every flutter of the curtain looks like movement, every reflection like eyes staring back.

You close your eyes tightly, telling yourself it's just paranoia, just your mind playing tricks in the aftermath of so much stress and fear. But when you open them again, the feeling intensifies. You swear you can see a figure in the darkest corner of the room, watching, waiting.

A sob builds in your throat, but you suppress it, not wanting to wake Heeseung again, not wanting to be more of a burden than you already are. Silent tears slide down your cheeks as you stare at the ceiling, trying to control your breathing, trying to convince yourself you're safe.

But your body betrays you. A small tremor runs through you, then another, until you're shaking with the effort of containing your fear.

Beside you, Heeseung stirs. You feel him turn toward you, hear the soft intake of breath as he realizes you're awake and crying.

"Y/N?" His voice emerges from the darkness, heavy with sleep and barely above a whisper. "What's happening?"

You can hear how deeply he'd been sleeping in the thickness of his words, the way he has to clear his throat softly after speaking. The digital clock reads 2:17 AM.

"I'm sorry," you whisper back, voice breaking. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

There's a rustling of sheets as he shifts beside you. Even in the darkness, you can sense him fighting against the pull of sleep, forcing his eyes to stay open for your sake.

"No, s'okay," he mumbles, words slightly slurred. You feel his hand fumbling across the covers, searching until his fingers find yours. His touch is warm, clumsy with drowsiness. "You're shaking," he observes, concern gradually replacing the grogginess in his voice. "Another nightmare?"

You shake your head, though you're not sure if he can see the gesture in the darkness. "Not exactly. I just... I can't stop feeling like someone's watching me. Like he's here, somehow."

Heeseung makes a soft sound of understanding. You hear him yawn, then feel the mattress dip as he pushes himself up to sitting position. He reaches for the bedside lamp, missing it the first time, his movements slow and uncoordinated. On the second attempt, he manages to switch it on.

The warm glow reveals his face, softened with sleep. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up at odd angles. One cheek bears the imprint of his pillow, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, struggling to stay fully open. Despite his obvious exhaustion, there's nothing but patient concern in his expression as he blinks slowly, trying to focus on you.

"It's just us," he says softly, his voice a comforting rumble in the quiet room. "Just you 'n me here. You're safe."

He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, clearly fighting the heaviness of sleep still clinging to him. The gesture is so innocent, so childlike, that it momentarily distracts you from your fear.

"I know it's irrational," you say, wiping at your tears. "But my brain won't stop. I can't turn it off."

Heeseung's eyes drift closed for a moment before he catches himself, snapping them back open with visible effort. He studies your face, his own expression thoughtful despite the sleep that keeps trying to reclaim him. His eyelids flutter, heavy, but he persists, present with you even as his body begs for rest.

"Can I..." he begins, then pauses to stifle another yawn. "Can I try something? To help distract your mind?"

There's such sincerity in his sleepy determination to help you that you find yourself nodding, willing to try anything to escape the endless loop of fear—and to allow him to go back to sleep.

"Close your eyes," he says, his voice a gentle murmur.

You comply, though a small part of you tenses at the thought of not being able to see any potential threats.

"Focus on my voice," Heeseung continues, his tone soothing despite the drowsiness that makes his words flow together like honey, slow and sweet. "Nothing else matters right now. Just this room..." He yawns again, soft and unguarded. "Just this moment."

The bed shifts as he moves closer, his movements languid with fatigue. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, sense his protective presence drawing nearer despite how desperately his body must be yearning to return to sleep.

You try to follow his instructions, concentrating on the low timbre of his voice, the warmth of his hand still holding yours.

"Y/N," he says, his voice closer now. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

Your eyes fly open in surprise, meeting his serious gaze. There's concern there, and something else—a softness that makes your breath catch.

"To distract your mind," he explains quietly. "Give it something else to focus on besides fear."

The idea is so unexpected, so far from anything you'd anticipated, that it cuts through the panic clouding your thoughts. You find yourself nodding before you've fully processed the request.

Heeseung moves closer, the space between you disappearing as he gently cups your cheek with his free hand. "Tell me to stop if it doesn't help," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

Then his lips meet yours, soft and questioning at first, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But instead of retreating, you find yourself responding, your body instinctively leaning into the contact, seeking comfort and connection.

When his tongue traces the seam of your lips, a soft "mmm" vibrates from his chest—a sound so quietly pleased it makes your stomach flip. You part your lips instinctively, and the moment his tongue slides against yours, a low, satisfied hum rumbles from his throat.

"Is this—" you try to speak, but his tongue sweeps deeper, stealing your words, your thoughts, your very ability to form sentences.

His kiss grows bolder, more insistent, and your brain begins to short-circuit with each stroke of his tongue. The fear that had been cycling through your mind evaporates under the wet heat of his mouth. He tastes faintly of toothpaste and something uniquely him, and when he gently sucks on your bottom lip, he makes another sound—a soft "hmm" that shoots straight down your spine.

You pull back slightly, trying to gather your thoughts. "I—" But that's all you manage before he chases your lips, recapturing them with gentle insistence, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into nothing.

"Shh," he whispers against your mouth, his breath hot against your sensitized lips. "Don't think."

And then he's kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding alongside yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. The hand in your hair tightens just enough to send a shiver through you, and a soft groan—"Mmh"—escapes him when you respond by pressing closer.

His teeth graze your lower lip, and suddenly your mind is completely empty, wiped clean of everything except the sensation of his mouth on yours, his hand in your hair, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating from him.

The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you breathing hard. You open your mouth to speak, to try to articulate how effectively he's scattered your thoughts, but all that comes out is a breathy "I—you—" before words fail you completely.

Heeseung's lips curl into a small smile, understanding in his eyes. "Not thinking anymore?" he asks softly.

You shake your head, unable to string together a coherent sentence. Your brain has turned to absolute mush, every thought process suspended in the warm haze he's created.

"Good," he whispers, and then his lips are on yours again, the gentle scrape of his teeth followed by the soothing slide of his tongue making you gasp. He makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan—"Aahh"—when your fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him closer.

Time loses all meaning as he kisses you again and again, each one melting into the next until you're not sure where one ends and another begins. Sometimes gentle and exploring, sometimes deeper and more intense, but always with that same effect—emptying your mind until there's nothing but sensation.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing uneven, pupils dilated in the dim light, you try once more to speak. "That was—" But the words won't come, your brain still offline, thoughts scattered like confetti.

"Did it help?" he asks, his voice rougher now, lower.

You nod, surprised to find that forming words feels like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. "My—" you start, then swallow and try again. "Brain... empty," is all you manage to articulate, gesturing vaguely at your head.

A smile touches his lips, genuine and slightly pleased. "Good," he says simply, his thumb brushing your lower lip, still sensitive from his attention. The small touch sends another wave of blankness washing through your mind.

He starts to move back to his side of the bed, and you make a small sound of protest, hand reaching out to stop him. Again, you try to speak, to ask him to stay close, but all that comes out is a breathy "Don't—" before words fail you once more.

Understanding flickers in his eyes. He settles beside you, closer this time, one arm wrapping around your waist as you turn toward him. The position brings your faces close together, your breath mingling in the small space between you.

"Better?" he asks.

"Much better," you admit.

He kisses you again, slower this time, more deliberate. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. Each kiss blurs the edges of your thoughts more, until your mind is blissfully, wonderfully blank—no fear, no stalker, no danger. Just Heeseung, his lips on yours, his arms around you, making you feel safer than locked doors or security systems ever could.

When exhaustion finally begins to reclaim you, Heeseung presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead. "Sleep," he murmurs. "I'm right here."

And for the first time in days, you drift off without fear, your head tucked against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm in your ear—a constant reminder that you're not alone.

The nightmares don't come again that night.

Sunlight filters through the curtains when you wake the next morning. For the first time in days, you've slept through the night without nightmares. The space beside you is empty, but the sheets still hold the faint warmth of Heeseung's body. You stretch, a strange mixture of embarrassment and comfort washing over you as memories of the previous night return—his lips on yours, the way your mind had emptied of everything but sensation, how easily you'd fallen asleep afterwards.

The sound of movement in the kitchen draws you from the bed. You brush your teeth and attempt to tame your sleep-rumpled hair before venturing out, unsure what to expect after crossing such an intimate boundary with someone who was a stranger just a week ago.

Heeseung stands at the counter, back to you, humming softly as he measures coffee grounds. He's wearing a faded t-shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, his hair still mussed from sleep. The scene is so domestic, so normal, that for a moment you forget why you're here—that somewhere out there, someone is looking for you with dangerous intent.

He turns at the sound of your approach, a soft smile spreading across his face. No awkwardness, no regret, just warmth.

"Morning," he says. "Sleep okay?"

You nod, relief washing over you at his easy manner. "Better than I have in days."

He pushes a mug of coffee across the counter—already prepared the way you like it. The simple gesture of remembrance makes your chest tighten with something you're not ready to name.

"Thanks," you say, taking a sip to hide whatever might be showing on your face. "For the coffee. And for... last night."

Heeseung's expression softens, understanding in his eyes. "You don't have to thank me for that."

An almost comfortable silence settles between you as you both drink your coffee, the events of last night hanging in the air—acknowledged but not discussed.

"I thought I'd make us a real breakfast," you finally say, needing to do something, to contribute somehow to this strange partnership that's formed. "Since you've been cooking for me all week."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," you interrupt, already moving toward the refrigerator. "It's the least I can do."

Heeseung watches with amusement as you examine the contents of his fridge. "What did you have in mind?"

"How do you feel about omelets? You have vegetables that need to be used."

"Omelets sound perfect," he says, leaning against the counter as you gather ingredients.

The simple task of cooking is grounding. You wash and chop bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, concentrating on the steady rhythm of the knife against the cutting board. Heeseung moves around you, setting the table, occasionally brushing against you in the small kitchen. Each brief contact sends a small jolt through you—not unpleasant, just heightened awareness.

You're halfway through dicing an onion when a notification sound from your phone breaks the peaceful bubble. Your hand falters, the knife slipping slightly. It's probably nothing—an email from work, a news alert, anything—but your heart instantly accelerates, your mind immediately jumping to the worst possibility.

Heeseung notices the change immediately. "Hey," he says gently. "Want me to check it?"

You nod, hating how easily your calm has been shattered, how quickly fear reclaims its hold. Heeseung picks up your phone from the counter, checks the screen, and his shoulders relax.

"It's just an email from someone named Sarah. Subject line says 'Project Updates.'"

Relief weakens your knees. Just work. Not him.

But the damage is done. Your hands have begun to tremble, and the vegetables in front of you blur slightly as your mind slips back into the spiral of fear. What if he figures out where Heeseung lives? What if he's watching the building right now? What if—

"Y/N." Heeseung's voice, closer now. You didn't notice him move, but suddenly he's right behind you, his chest nearly touching your back. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine," you lie, but the knife trembles visibly in your grip.

Heeseung gently removes the knife from your hand, setting it safely on the cutting board. Then his hands are on your shoulders, warm and steadying, turning you to face him. You expect to see pity in his eyes, but there's only warmth and understanding.

"You're not fine," he says softly. "And that's okay."

"I hate this," you whisper, frustration bleeding through the fear. "I hate that one notification can do this to me. I hate that he has this power."

Heeseung's hands slide from your shoulders to cup your face, his touch so gentle it makes your breath catch. "He doesn't have power over you," he says firmly. "This reaction—it's just your brain trying to protect you. It's not weakness."

You close your eyes, trying to believe him, trying to slow the racing of your heart. When you feel his breath against your cheek, your eyes flutter open to find his face much closer, his gaze questioning.

"Let me help you think about something else," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a register that immediately sends warmth spreading through your chest.

You nod, barely perceptible, and then his lips are at your jawline, not quite kissing, just brushing against the skin there. Your hands find his waist, needing something to anchor you as he traces a path down to your neck. When his mouth settles against the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, a small sigh escapes you.

The first gentle scrape of his teeth against your skin makes your thoughts scatter like startled birds. He follows it with the soothing warmth of his tongue, and your grip on his t-shirt tightens involuntarily.

"Is this okay?" he whispers against your skin.

"Yes," you breathe, tilting your head to give him better access. "Don't stop."

His lips curve into a smile against your neck, and then he's kissing the spot again, more purposefully this time. One hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other rests at the small of your back, drawing you closer until you're fully pressed against him.

The fear that had been building melts away with each press of his lips, each gentle scrape of teeth. Your mind empties of everything but the sensation of his mouth on your skin, the solid warmth of his body against yours, the faint scent of sleep and coffee that clings to him.

When he finds a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, your knees actually weaken. Heeseung notices, his arm tightening around your waist to support you.

"Still thinking about the notification?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

You try to respond, but your brain feels deliciously fuzzy, unable to form words. Instead, you shake your head, managing only a soft "Mmm" that makes him chuckle.

"Good," he says, pulling back slightly to look at your face. His pupils are dilated, lips slightly parted, and the sight sends another wave of warmth through you. "Because the eggs are getting warm and the vegetables are only half-chopped."

It takes a moment for his words to register through the pleasant haze in your mind. When they do, you glance back at the abandoned breakfast preparations on the counter and can't help but laugh. "Oh god, I forgot all about breakfast."

Heeseung's answering smile is bright enough to chase away the last lingering shadows of your fear. "Mission accomplished then."

You reluctantly step out of his embrace, turning back to the cutting board. "Let me finish this before I get distracted again."

"Distracted? By what?" he teases, but he keeps a respectful distance as you resume chopping, though his eyes never leave you.

The rest of the morning passes in a comfortable rhythm. You finish making breakfast together, moving around each other in the kitchen with growing ease. The omelets turn out perfect, and the simple accomplishment of creating a meal feels significant somehow—a small island of normalcy in the storm of the past week.

After breakfast, you settle in to work on your design project, which your boss has been understanding enough to let you complete remotely. Heeseung works on his music in the corner of the living room, occasionally humming or playing soft melodies on his keyboard. The peaceful coexistence reminds you of how it might feel to share a space with someone by choice, not necessity.

But reality intrudes every time you check your email or glance at your phone. Each notification makes your heart stutter, each unknown number that calls either of your phones sends a spike of adrenaline through your system. The stalker hasn't contacted you today, but his absence feels more like the calm before a storm than any true reprieve.

By late afternoon, your eyes are burning from staring at your laptop screen, and the tension in your shoulders has returned despite your best efforts to focus on work. You save your design file and stretch, rolling your neck to release the stiffness.

Heeseung glances up from his keyboard, noting your discomfort. "Break time," he announces decisively. "You've been hunched over that laptop for hours."

"I need to finish this project," you protest weakly, but your body betrays you with another stretch.

"The project will still be there after a proper break," he counters, standing and moving toward the kitchen. "I'm making tea. Then we're going to do something completely unproductive for at least an hour."

You find yourself smiling at his determined tone. "Is that so? What did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking..." he pauses dramatically, filling the kettle with water, "a heated battle of Mario Kart."

The suggestion is so unexpected, so delightfully normal, that you laugh. "Mario Kart? Really?"

"Don't tell me you're scared of a little competition," he challenges, raising an eyebrow as he sets the kettle on the stove. "Unless you don't think you can beat me."

"Oh, it's on," you declare, grateful for the distraction. "I'll have you know I was the reigning champion among my college roommates."

"We'll see about that," he grins, the playful light in his eyes making him look younger, carefree—a glimpse of who he might be outside the strange circumstances that have thrown you together.

The promised hour turns into two as you both get increasingly competitive, shouting good-natured insults at each other when one pulls ahead or drops a particularly well-timed shell. You haven't laughed this much in days—maybe weeks—and the release of endorphins leaves you feeling lighter, the constant undercurrent of fear temporarily pushed to the background.

"That's it, I'm cutting you off," Heeseung declares after you beat him for the fifth time in a row. "You're too good at this. It's embarrassing for me."

You raise your controller in victory. "Told you I was the champion."

"Yeah, yeah," he concedes with a mock scowl that quickly melts into a genuine smile. "Hungry yet? I was thinking we could order in. Maybe that Thai place again?"

"Sounds perfect," you agree.

As Heeseung pulls up the restaurant's menu on his phone, you find yourself studying him—the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, the gentle slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips. The lips that were on your neck this morning, that were on your mouth last night, emptying your mind of everything but sensation. Something warm unfurls in your chest at the memory.

He looks up suddenly, catching you watching him. Instead of looking away, embarrassed, you hold his gaze. A moment of silent understanding passes between you—an acknowledgment that whatever is happening between you isn't just about distraction or safety anymore.

Heeseung breaks the moment first, clearing his throat slightly. "The usual? Or did you want to try something different?"

"The usual is fine," you say, grateful for his tact in not drawing attention to the charged moment.

After placing the order, you both gravitate back to the couch, but with a new awareness of each other. You sit closer than necessary, your thigh just barely touching his. When he reaches for the remote to turn on the TV, his arm brushes yours, and neither of you moves away from the contact.

He finds a cooking competition show that requires minimal attention, and you settle in to watch, the domestic scene surreal in its normalcy. At some point, his arm drapes over the back of the couch behind you, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel his warmth.

"This is nice," you say after a while, the words slipping out without conscious thought.

Heeseung glances at you, his expression softening. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "It is."

His fingers begin to play absently with a strand of your hair that falls over the couch. The gentle tugging sensation sends pleasant shivers down your spine, and you find yourself leaning subtly into the touch. Each brush of his fingers against your neck seems to short-circuit a different part of your brain until you're barely processing the show at all, focused instead on the points of contact between you.

The doorbell rings, startling you both. Heeseung's hand withdraws from your hair as he stands to answer it.

"That'll be the food," he says, but you notice he checks the peephole carefully before opening the door.

The reminder of the danger lurking outside your temporary sanctuary dampens your mood slightly. As you set up dinner on the coffee table, your phone buzzes with an incoming email. You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth, that familiar dread pooling in your stomach.

Heeseung notices your reaction and reaches for your phone. "Want me to check it?"

You nod, setting your food down, no longer hungry.

He scans the screen, relief washing over his features. "It's just a receipt from the Thai place." He hands the phone back to you. "We're okay."

But the moment has been tainted. The fear is back, hovering at the edges of your consciousness, threatening to overwhelm the fragile peace you've built throughout the day. You push your food around on your plate, appetite gone.

Heeseung watches you for a moment, then sets his own plate down. Without a word, he shifts closer to you on the couch, his thigh pressing firmly against yours now. When his hand comes up to tilt your chin toward him, you meet his eyes without resistance.

"He's not here," Heeseung says softly. "Right now, in this moment, it's just us. Okay?"

"Okay," you whisper, trying to believe him.

His thumb traces your lower lip gently, and your body responds instantly to the touch, a pleasant haziness beginning to cloud the edges of your fear. When he leans in, you meet him halfway, your lips finding his with growing familiarity.

This kiss is different from the others—not desperate or distracting, but slow and deliberate. His tongue slides against yours with unhurried confidence, and your mind begins to empty in that now-familiar way, thoughts evaporating like morning dew under the sun.

By the time he pulls back, you've forgotten what triggered your fear in the first place. Your food sits cooling on the coffee table, entirely unimportant compared to the warmth spreading through your body.

"Better?" he asks, his voice lower than usual.

You nod, offering a small smile. "You're getting good at that."

"At what?" There's a playful glint in his eye that makes your heart skip.

"Turning my brain off."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his expression growing more serious. "For as long as you need it," he promises.

The rest of the evening passes in comfortable closeness. You eventually return to your food, eating while leaning against each other on the couch. When you finally head to bed, the routine feels both new and familiar at once—brushing teeth side by side, Heeseung waiting in the hallway while you change, the brief moment of adjustment as you both settle into the bed.

But tonight, there's less space between you than before. He still stays on top of the covers while you slip underneath, but when you turn off the lamp, his hand finds yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining naturally.

"Good night, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep.

"Good night, Heeseung," you reply, squeezing his hand gently.

You fall asleep with his fingers still linked with yours, the weight of his hand an anchor against the night terrors that might come. Your last thought before drifting off is that you've never felt safer than in this strange limbo—trapped by circumstances beyond your control, yet somehow freer than you've been in a long time.

The morning comes too quickly, sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains and painting a stripe of gold across the bed. You wake to find yourself curled toward Heeseung, who's still asleep on his side facing you. In sleep, his face is completely relaxed, all traces of vigilance gone, making him look younger and impossibly vulnerable.

You allow yourself a moment to simply look at him, to memorize the sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the slight part of his lips, the way his hair falls across his forehead. There's a strange ache in your chest at the sight—gratitude mixed with something deeper that you're not ready to name.

As if sensing your gaze, his eyes flutter open, landing immediately on your face. A slow, sleepy smile spreads across his features, unguarded and genuine.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you whisper back, strangely reluctant to break the peaceful bubble around you.

Neither of you moves for a long moment, content to exist in this quiet space between night and day, between danger and safety, between strangers and something more. Then reality intrudes in the form of his buzzing phone on the nightstand.

Heeseung rolls over with a groan, reaching for the device. As he checks the screen, his body goes rigid, sleep vanishing in an instant.

"What is it?" you ask, dread already pooling in your stomach.

He sits up, running a hand through his hair as he reads whatever message has appeared. When he turns back to you, his expression is carefully controlled, but you can see the tension around his eyes.

"It's from the detective," he says carefully. "Minhyuk was spotted near my building yesterday."

The fragile peace of the morning shatters completely. Fear rushes back in with a vengeance, your heart rate spiking so quickly you feel light-headed.

"He knows I'm here?" Your voice sounds distant to your own ears, panic rising like a tide.

Heeseung's hand finds yours, squeezing tightly. "We don't know that for sure. But the detective thinks we should consider relocating, just to be safe."

"Where would we even go?" The thought of leaving this apartment—the only place you've felt secure in days—sends another wave of anxiety through you.

"I might have an idea," Heeseung says, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. "But first, breakfast. And coffee. Lots of coffee."

You nod, clinging to his steady presence as your mind races with terrifying possibilities. The tiny window of normalcy you'd carved out for yourselves is closing, and the world with all its dangers is forcing its way back in.

But as Heeseung helps you to your feet, his hand never leaving yours, you realize something important: whatever comes next, you're no longer facing it alone. And for now, that will have to be enough.

The detective's news about Minhyuk being spotted near Heeseung's building leaves you both on edge. Despite Heeseung's attempts at normalcy—breakfast, coffee, casual conversation—there's a new tension in the air, a heightened vigilance in the way he frequently checks his phone and glances at the door.

You try to work on your design project, but concentration is impossible. Your mind keeps conjuring images of Minhyuk watching the building, waiting, planning. By mid-afternoon, you've accomplished almost nothing, your anxiety a living thing crawling beneath your skin.

That's when your phone chimes with a new email notification.

You freeze, looking up to find Heeseung already watching you from across the room, his expression tense. Without a word, he crosses to where you sit, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder as you open the message.

The subject line is blank. The sender's address is unfamiliar—a string of random numbers and letters.

Your trembling finger taps the message open.

There's no text, just an image: a photograph of you and Heeseung standing in his kitchen from earlier that morning, clearly taken through the window of his apartment. The angle suggests it was shot from the building across the street. Below the photo is a single line of text:

"Glass won't protect you forever."

A strangled sound escapes your throat as the phone slips from your fingers, clattering to the floor. Heeseung snatches it up, his face darkening as he views the message.

"That's not possible," he mutters, moving quickly to the windows. "We're twelve floors up."

But as he pulls back the curtain to scan the building opposite, you feel it start—the tightening in your chest, the sudden inability to pull in enough air, the roaring in your ears. The room seems to tilt and spin around you.

"He can see us," you gasp, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. "He's watching us right now. He can see us right now."

Heeseung is at your side instantly, closing the curtains and guiding you away from the windows. "Y/N, breathe. You need to breathe."

But you can't. Your lungs refuse to cooperate, each shallow gasp more painful than the last. Dark spots dance at the edges of your vision, and your hands have gone numb, fingers tingling.

"He's going to—he's going to—" You can't even finish the thought, terror consuming every rational part of your mind.

"Y/N, look at me," Heeseung says firmly, his hands framing your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Focus on me. Just me."

He tries all the techniques that have worked before—deep breathing instructions, gentle reassurances, even pressing his lips to yours in that way that usually empties your mind. But the panic is too overwhelming, the fear too visceral. Even his kiss, which normally blanks your thoughts completely, barely makes a dent in the terror.

When he pulls back, your breathing is still erratic, tears streaming down your face. "It's not working," you choke out. "I can't—I can't turn it off. My mind won't stop."

The helplessness in Heeseung's eyes is devastating. "Tell me what you need. Anything."

"Make it stop," you beg, clutching at his shirt. "Please, I don't care what you have to do. Make me go dumb. Turn my brain off. I can't take it anymore."

His eyes darken at your words, understanding dawning in his expression. "Y/N..."

"Please," you whisper, desperation making your voice crack. "Fuck me until I can't think anymore. Until I can't remember my own name. I need to not be in my head right now. I need everything to just stop."

Heeseung's breath catches, his pupils dilating until there's just a thin ring of brown around the black. You watch the struggle play out on his face—desire warring with concern, restraint battling with the need to help you.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice lower than you've ever heard it. "Because if we do this... I want to help you, Y/N, more than anything. But I don't know if I'll be able to hold back once we start."

A sob escapes you, your hands fisting in his shirt. "I don't want you to hold back. I want you to make me forget everything but you." You're openly crying now, beyond shame or hesitation. "Please, Heeseung. Please make it all go away."

Something snaps in his expression. His hand slides into your hair, gripping firmly as he searches your eyes one last time. Whatever he sees there must convince him, because in the next moment, his mouth crashes against yours with none of the gentleness from before.

This kiss is different—hungry, almost desperate. His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, demanding rather than asking. One arm locks around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he walks you backward until your back hits the wall.

When his teeth sink into your lower lip, pain mingling with pleasure, your thoughts begin to splinter. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs, and your mind fragments further.

"Tell me to stop and I will," he says against your mouth, his breathing ragged. "At any point."

"Don't stop," you gasp. "Don't you dare stop."

His eyes meet yours, something primal and protective darkening his gaze. "I'm going to help you forget everything," he promises, his voice a rough whisper. "Everything but this."

Heeseung's eyes lock onto yours, dark with a raw intensity that makes your heart pound violently in your chest. His fingers twist harshly into your hair, pulling your head back sharply, fully exposing your vulnerable throat. His lips crash against your skin roughly, teeth biting deeply, marking you as his own with bruising kisses that send sparks of pain and pleasure shooting through your veins.

Your breathing is ragged, erratic, your entire body trembling beneath him. His other hand moves urgently down your body, gripping your waist tightly, fingertips pressing deep enough into your flesh to leave bruises, marking you unmistakably as his. You arch your body against his, desperate for more contact, craving the harsh intensity that only he can provide.

"Harder," you plead breathlessly, voice quivering with desperation. "Heeseung, please—use me, ruin me. Make me forget everything else."

A dark, feral growl tears from his throat, his eyes blazing dangerously as he claims your mouth roughly, tongue pushing aggressively past your lips. You moan helplessly into the kiss, surrendering completely to his dominating embrace, your nails scratching feverishly down his back, urging him to take you harder, deeper, to erase every lingering thought from your mind.

Heeseung breaks away, his breath hot and ragged as he trails searing kisses down your trembling body, biting roughly at your collarbone, chest, and stomach, each sharp nip igniting fiery jolts of pain and pleasure that tear gasps from your lips. You writhe helplessly beneath him, mind unraveling with each aggressive touch.

"Please," you beg desperately, voice nearly incoherent, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Heeseung, I’ll do anything. Anything you want, just—just make me forget."

A fierce, primal growl resonates from deep in his chest. "Anything?" he rasps darkly, his eyes blazing with barely controlled hunger. "You're going to regret saying that, sweetheart."

He pushes your thighs apart roughly, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze. His mouth descends aggressively, tongue plunging deep and fast, consuming you without mercy. You scream out sharply, hips bucking uncontrollably against him, your hands clutching desperately at his hair, pulling him even closer. Every intense, relentless movement of his tongue drives you closer to a devastating climax.

But before you reach that peak, he stops abruptly, leaving you sobbing in frustration. Your eyes plead desperately for release as you gasp, "Please—don't stop."

Heeseung positions himself swiftly over you, gripping your hips with bruising intensity, plunging deep and brutally into your aching core without warning, tearing a raw scream from your throat. He sets an unforgiving pace, each powerful thrust ruthlessly tearing apart your remaining thoughts, overwhelming you completely.

"Feel that?" he snarls roughly, hips pounding mercilessly against yours. "That's me claiming you. I'm going to fuck every last thought out of your head until you're nothing but mine."

His filthy, possessive words make your entire body shake uncontrollably, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cry out shamelessly for more. His grip tightens painfully on your wrists, pinning them roughly above your head as his hips drive harder, deeper, faster, each brutal thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

"You're mine," he growls harshly into your ear, teeth scraping your sensitive skin. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you choke out weakly, mind fracturing under the relentless assault of sensation.

"Louder," he demands fiercely, slamming even harder into you, movements ruthless and unyielding.

"I'm yours!" you scream, voice cracking from the intensity.

"Good girl," he snarls, rewarding you with deeper, fiercer thrusts, pushing your body to its absolute limits. His hand wraps around your throat firmly, just enough to make your vision blur, enhancing every overwhelming sensation tenfold.

Your body writhes violently beneath him, unable to form coherent words anymore, reduced to sobbing gasps and broken pleas. Heeseung continues relentlessly, his body driving into yours mercilessly until you're utterly consumed, your mind blanking entirely, eyes glazing over, unable to do anything but feel him, hear him, lose yourself completely to him.

"Cum for me," he commands roughly, his voice low and dangerously seductive. "Show me exactly how completely you belong to me."

Your body reacts instantly, violently, shattering beneath him into waves of devastating pleasure that tear through you, obliterating any remaining thought. You collapse, trembling uncontrollably, completely and utterly surrendered to him, mind blissfully empty, lost entirely in the overwhelming force of his claim.

Then his hands and mouth begin their relentless campaign to empty your mind completely, and thinking becomes impossible.

Hours later, you lie boneless and spent in Heeseung's arms, your mind blissfully, wonderfully blank. No fear, no anxiety, no thoughts of Minhyuk or danger or what comes next. Just the pleasant hum of your body and the steady rhythm of Heeseung's heartbeat beneath your ear.

He's been silent for a while, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare shoulder. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft with something that might be concern.

"Are you okay?"

You have to concentrate to form words, your brain still deliciously fuzzy around the edges. "Mmm. Better than okay."

His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. "I didn't hurt you?"

You shake your head against his chest. "You did exactly what I needed."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel his lips press against the top of your head. "Your mind quiet now?"

"Completely empty," you murmur, surprised to find yourself smiling. "Mission accomplished."

You feel rather than see his answering smile, his whole body relaxing beneath yours. For several long moments, you both drift in comfortable silence, the world beyond this bed temporarily forgotten.

Until Heeseung's phone buzzes on the nightstand.

The tension returns to his body immediately, but he doesn't move to check it, unwilling to disturb the peace you've found. The phone buzzes again, more insistent this time.

"You should get that," you say softly. "It might be important."

Reluctantly, he reaches for the phone, keeping you tucked against him with his other arm. You watch his face as he reads the message, preparing yourself for bad news.

"It's the detective," he says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "She thinks we should consider temporary relocation—somewhere Minhyuk wouldn't think to look."

The fear starts to creep back in at the edges of your consciousness, but you fight it, focusing on the warmth of Heeseung's body against yours, the lingering pleasant numbness in your limbs.

"She says they can arrange a safe house, but it would take a few days." He scrolls through more of the message. "Or... we could go somewhere on our own. Somewhere only we know about."

You push yourself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "Like where?"

A thoughtful expression crosses his face. "My family has a cabin in the mountains. It's remote, secure. Only a handful of people even know it exists."

"How far?"

"About three hours' drive. Completely isolated." His eyes search yours. "We'd be alone out there."

The thought should be terrifying after everything that's happened, but instead it brings an unexpected sense of relief. Somewhere Minhyuk can't find you. Somewhere you could breathe again.

"When can we leave?" you ask.

Heeseung studies your face, perhaps looking for signs of fear or hesitation. "Tomorrow morning, first light. We'll need to be careful, make sure we're not followed."

You nod, settling back against his chest. "Tomorrow then."

His arm wraps around you again, protective and warm. "Get some rest," he murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead. "I'll be right here."

As sleep begins to claim you, one last coherent thought floats through your mind: whatever happens next, whatever Minhyuk tries, you're not alone. You have Heeseung—your protector, your sanctuary.

Your mind emptier.

You wake before dawn, the sky outside still ink-dark. For a moment, you forget why you're rising so early—then memories of yesterday's message flood back. Minhyuk knows where you are. You're no longer safe here.

Heeseung is already up, moving quietly around the apartment, packing essentials into a duffel bag. He pauses when he notices you watching him, a small smile crossing his face despite the tension in his shoulders.

"Morning," he says softly. "I was trying not to wake you."

"I don't think I was really sleeping," you admit, sitting up. "Too much on my mind."

He crosses to sit beside you on the bed, his hand finding yours. "We'll be okay," he promises. "The cabin is safe. My family's owned it for generations, and it's not listed under my name. There's no way he could trace it."

You nod, drawing strength from his certainty. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just pack whatever you need for a week or so. Clothes, toiletries. I've got everything else covered—food, first aid supplies." He squeezes your hand. "And we should get moving soon. I want to be on the road before the city wakes up."

Thirty minutes later, you're both ready. The apartment is locked down—lights on timers to simulate occupancy, mail delivery paused. Heeseung has even arranged for a neighbor to occasionally move his car in the garage to maintain the illusion that you're both still here.

The detective has been notified of your plans, though not your specific destination. "Just tell her we're heading north," Heeseung had instructed during your call. "The fewer people who know exactly where we are, the better."

Dawn is just breaking as you slip into Heeseung's car in the underground parking garage. He drives cautiously, taking a circuitous route through the awakening city, frequently checking the rearview mirror for any signs of being followed.

"You really think he could track us?" you ask, watching Heeseung's vigilant eyes scanning the traffic behind you.

"I'm not taking any chances," he says simply. "Not with your safety."

The city gradually gives way to suburbs, then to open countryside. With each mile that passes, you feel the vise-grip of fear around your chest loosening slightly. By the time you're an hour into the journey, the weight of constant vigilance has lightened enough that you notice your surroundings—the spectacular autumn colors painting the landscape, the mountains rising in the distance, shrouded in morning mist.

Heeseung must notice your gaze, because he reaches across the console to take your hand. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

You nod, surprised to find yourself capable of appreciating beauty after days of seeing only danger. "I didn't realize how much I needed to get out of the city."

His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand. "We both did."

The drive continues, winding steadily upward into the mountains. Cell service becomes increasingly spotty, then disappears altogether. The isolation that would have terrified you days ago now feels like a blessing—a barrier between you and the danger you've left behind.

"Almost there," Heeseung says as he turns onto a narrow dirt road that seems to disappear into the forest. "It's a bit hidden."

'A bit hidden' proves to be an understatement. The road—little more than a trail—winds through dense trees for nearly a mile before suddenly opening into a small clearing. And there, nestled against a backdrop of pines with a breathtaking view of the valley below, stands the cabin.

It's not what you expected—not the rustic, primitive structure the word "cabin" had conjured in your mind. This is a beautifully crafted home of stone and timber, with large windows facing the valley and a wide porch wrapping around two sides.

"Heeseung," you breathe, taking in the scene. "This is..."

"Home," he says simply, a soft smile playing at his lips as he watches your reaction. "At least, it always has been for me."

He parks beside the cabin and comes around to open your door, offering his hand to help you out. The mountain air hits you immediately—crisp, pine-scented, revitalizing. You take a deep breath, feeling something tight in your chest unfurl.

"Come on," Heeseung says, retrieving your bags from the trunk. "Let's get inside before it gets cold."

The interior of the cabin is even more beautiful than the exterior—an open-concept living area with soaring ceilings, the far wall dominated by a stone fireplace. The furnishings are simple but high-quality, clearly chosen to complement the natural surroundings. Large windows frame the valley view like living paintings.

"This is incredible," you say, turning slowly to take it all in. "Your family built this?"

"My grandfather," Heeseung confirms, setting the bags down. "He wanted a place where the family could escape, reconnect with nature. I spent every summer here as a kid." A wistful smile crosses his face. "Haven't been back in a couple of years though. Work always seemed more important somehow."

You move to the windows, gazing out at the panoramic view. The valley stretches below you, a patchwork of golds and reds and deep greens in the autumn sunlight. In the distance, more mountains rise, their peaks ghostly in the afternoon haze.

"I've never seen anything like this," you admit, momentarily forgetting why you're here—not a vacation, but an escape from danger.

Heeseung comes to stand behind you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. "Good," he says softly. "I wanted you to see something beautiful after everything you've been through."

The simple statement, so earnest and thoughtful, brings unexpected tears to your eyes. You turn to face him, finding his gaze already on you, warm and steady.

"Thank you," you whisper. "For all of this. For keeping me safe."

His expression softens further. "You don't have to thank me."

"I do," you insist. "Most people wouldn't have done half of what you have for someone they barely know."

Something shifts in his eyes at that. "I think we're well past 'barely know,' don't you?"

Heat rises to your cheeks as memories of yesterday flood back—his hands on your skin, his mouth on yours, the way he'd made you forget everything but him. "Yes," you agree quietly. "I guess we are."

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken things. Then Heeseung clears his throat, stepping back slightly. "I should get the generator going and check the water. Make yourself at home."

As he busies himself with the practical aspects of opening the cabin, you explore the space that will be your sanctuary for the foreseeable future. Besides the main living area, there's a well-equipped kitchen, a bathroom with a surprisingly modern shower, and two bedrooms—one large, one small. You peek into the larger one, noting the king-sized bed with its blue-and-white quilt, the bedside tables with reading lamps, the large window offering the same spectacular view as the living room.

Your exploration is interrupted by Heeseung's return. "Everything's working," he announces. "Water's running, generator's humming along. We're all set." He glances at his watch. "I should try to call the detective while we still have daylight. The satellite phone works better outside."

You nod, suddenly remembering the reason for this idyllic retreat. "I'll unpack some of the food supplies."

While Heeseung steps onto the porch with the satellite phone, you busy yourself in the kitchen, organizing the groceries you picked up on the drive. The domesticity of the task is soothing—arranging canned goods in cupboards, filling the refrigerator with fresh produce, setting out cooking utensils. For a few minutes, it's possible to pretend this is just a vacation, a romantic getaway rather than a desperate flight from danger.

When Heeseung returns, his expression is more relaxed than before. "Good news," he says, setting the satellite phone on the counter. "They've got leads on Minhyuk. Apparently he's been spotted in the city, which means he doesn't know we've left."

Relief floods through you. "So we're safe here?"

"For now, at least," he confirms. "The detective says to stay put. They'll contact us as soon as they have him in custody."

You lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted as the tension of the day catches up with you. "So what do we do now?"

Heeseung steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with gentle fingers. "Now," he says softly, "we rest. We breathe. We let ourselves feel safe for a while."

"I'm not sure I remember what that feels like," you admit.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. "Then I'll help you remember," he promises.

The first evening in the cabin passes in a peaceful haze. Heeseung builds a fire in the massive stone hearth while you prepare a simple dinner from the supplies you brought. The routine feels surprisingly natural—him pausing to taste the sauce you're making, you passing him logs for the fire, both of you moving around each other with an ease that belies how new this closeness really is.

After dinner, you settle on the comfortable sofa facing the fireplace, a blanket draped over both of you. Outside, night has fallen completely, the darkness absolute in a way it never is in the city. Inside, the fire casts dancing shadows on the walls, bathing everything in warm golden light.

"What are you thinking?" Heeseung asks, noticing your contemplative expression.

You consider the question, surprised by your answer. "That I can't remember the last time I felt this calm."

His arm around your shoulders tightens slightly. "Good. That's what I wanted for you here."

You turn to look at him, studying his face in the firelight—the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the warmth in his eyes as he returns your gaze. Something swells in your chest, a feeling too new and fragile to name.

"What about you?" you ask. "What were you thinking?"

A small smile plays at his lips. "That I've never brought anyone here before. Not like this."

The admission sends a pleasant warmth spreading through you. "Not even your...?"

"No," he says simply. "No one. This place has always been just for family." He pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. "But having you here feels right somehow."

The words hang in the air between you, weighted with meaning. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you both lean in, lips meeting in a kiss that's different from any you've shared before—not desperate or distracting, but slow and deliberate, a question and an answer all at once.

When you break apart, something has shifted between you yet again. The pretense that this is merely about safety, about distraction from fear, has fallen away completely. What remains is something new and uncharted, fragile but intensely real.

"It's getting late," Heeseung murmurs, though he makes no move to pull away. "We should probably get some sleep."

The practical concern brings a sudden awkwardness. There are two bedrooms in the cabin, but after everything that's happened between you, the thought of sleeping apart feels strange, almost wrong.

As if reading your thoughts, Heeseung adds hesitantly, "I can take the small room if you want space, or..."

"No," you say quickly—too quickly perhaps. "I mean, I'd rather not be alone. If that's okay."

The smile that spreads across his face is like sunrise. "More than okay," he assures you.

The nighttime routine you establish feels like an extension of the easy domesticity you've been building—brushing teeth side by side at the single bathroom sink, taking turns changing in the bedroom, pulling back the covers together. When you finally settle into bed, Heeseung's arm wraps around your waist, drawing you against his chest as naturally as if you've been falling asleep this way for years.

"Good night, Y/N," he murmurs, lips brushing the nape of your neck.

"Good night, Heeseung," you whisper back, marveling at how quickly terror has given way to tranquility.

As you drift toward sleep, one last coherent thought forms in your mind: here, miles from civilization, cut off from the world, entirely alone with a man who was a stranger just days ago, you've never felt safer in your life.

Heeseung's eyes soften, his gaze lingering warmly on yours as sunlight filters through the window, bathing your tangled bodies in golden warmth. His thumb brushes gently over your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine.

Over the next few days, your intimacy deepens, boundaries dissolving entirely as your desire grows increasingly insatiable. Mornings find you waking to his warm body pressed firmly against yours, his hands already exploring your skin, teasing sensitive spots until you're fully awake, panting and desperate for him.

Afternoons turn into hours spent in relentless pursuit of pleasure—Heeseung pressing you against cabin walls, your bodies colliding roughly, passionately. His hands gripping your hips tightly, thrusting deep and mercilessly, leaving you screaming his name, your thoughts scattering as he repeatedly takes you over the edge. His mouth is everywhere, biting, sucking, and marking you until your body feels entirely claimed.

Late nights, he has you bent over the couch, his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you firmly in place as he drives into you with powerful, possessive strokes, whispering filthy praise into your ear. He loves seeing how quickly he can make your eyes glaze over, leaving you utterly mindless and completely his, each climax more intense, more consuming than the last.

One rainy afternoon, your bodies slam together against the window overlooking the forest, your cries blending with the sound of raindrops hitting the glass. Heeseung lifts you effortlessly, pinning you hard against the cold surface, entering you sharply and deeply, pushing you to the edge with a brutal, relentless rhythm. You cling desperately to him, sobbing from pleasure, your vision blurring as you lose yourself entirely to the sensations he's inflicting upon your body.

In quieter moments, he lays you out on the bed, spreading your legs wide, taking his time teasing you mercilessly with slow, torturous strokes of his tongue and fingers, pushing you to the brink repeatedly until you're begging him shamelessly for release. He enjoys reducing you to pleading incoherence, knowing that only he can unravel you so completely.

One evening, under the flickering glow of candlelight, you ride him slowly at first, then harder, more desperately as your need overtakes you. His fingers dig painfully into your hips, urging you on, thrusting up into you roughly until your body shatters, leaving you trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks from sheer overwhelming pleasure.

"How did we ever survive without this?" you whisper afterward, your voice soft, your body warm and languid against his.

Heeseung smiles darkly, pressing a possessive kiss to your temple. "I don't know," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "But I plan to make sure you never forget exactly who makes you feel this good."

This time, there's no fear driving you together, no desperate need to escape your thoughts. There's only want—pure and simple and mutual. Every touch is deliberate, every kiss intentional. And when you come together, it's with a sweetness that brings tears to your eyes, your mind emptying not from desperate distraction but from sheer overwhelming pleasure.

"That was..." you begin afterward, struggling to find words as you lie tangled together in the sunlit bed.

"I know," Heeseung says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "For me too."

The admission brings a smile to your lips. "How is this real?" you wonder aloud. "two weeks ago, you were a stranger."

He traces patterns on your bare shoulder, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe sometimes life compresses. A week feels like months because we've experienced so much together."

You consider this, watching sunlight play across his features. "I like that explanation."

His fingers continue their gentle exploration of your skin. "Or maybe," he adds more softly, "this was always going to happen, somehow. Maybe we were meant to find each other, even if the circumstances were..."

"Completely terrifying?" you supply with a small laugh.

He smiles, but his eyes remain serious. "I would never wish what you've been through on anyone," he says. "But I can't regret that it brought you into my life."

The simple honesty of his words makes your chest tighten with emotion. You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey without words what you're not yet ready to say aloud.

The satellite phone rings that afternoon—the detective with an update. They've narrowed down Minhyuk's location but haven't apprehended him yet. The news casts a brief shadow over your idyllic retreat, a reminder that the danger hasn't passed. But somehow, it doesn't hold the same power to terrify you anymore.

"We're safe here," Heeseung reassures you after the call. "And they're getting closer to finding him."

You nod, surprised to realize you truly believe him. The panic that has been your constant companion for days has receded to a dull concern, manageable rather than overwhelming.

That evening, a storm moves in, bringing wind and rain that lash at the windows. You build the fire higher, creating a cocoon of warmth against the elements. The electricity flickers once, twice, then goes out completely, leaving you in firelight and shadows.

"Generator must have cut out," Heeseung says, already reaching for a flashlight. "I'll go check it."

"Be careful," you call as he heads for the door, suddenly anxious about him leaving, even briefly.

He pauses, returning to press a quick kiss to your lips. "Always am," he promises. "Keep the fire going—I'll be back in ten minutes."

While he's gone, you add logs to the fire, then gather candles from the kitchen cupboards, placing them strategically around the living area. The storm seems to intensify, rain drumming against the roof, wind howling through the trees outside. For the first time since arriving at the cabin, you feel a prickle of unease, attuned to every sound.

When the door finally opens, admitting a rain-soaked Heeseung, relief rushes through you so strongly that you cross the room in seconds, throwing your arms around him despite his wet clothes.

"Hey," he says, clearly surprised by the reaction. "It's okay. Just a blown fuse—I fixed it, but the power company's out anyway. We'll have to wait out the storm."

"I don't care about the power," you murmur against his chest. "I just... I didn't like you being out there alone."

He pulls back slightly to look at you, rainwater dripping from his hair onto his face. "I'm right here," he says softly. "Not going anywhere."

You help him out of his wet jacket, insisting he change into dry clothes while you make hot chocolate on the gas stove. By the time he returns, you've created a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace, the closest source of warmth.

"What's all this?" he asks, a smile playing at his lips.

"Camping," you declare with mock seriousness. "Indoor version."

He laughs, the sound warming you more than the fire. "I like the way you think."

You settle into your makeshift camp, sipping hot chocolate, listening to the storm rage outside while remaining perfectly safe and warm within. The contrast isn't lost on you—how something that would have terrified you a week ago now feels almost romantic.

"Thank you," you say suddenly, looking up at Heeseung.

"For what?" he asks, brow furrowing slightly.

"For this," you gesture around you. "For keeping me safe. For... everything."

His expression softens. "You don't have to thank me."

"I know," you admit. "But I want to. Not just for the practical things—the protection, the cabin. But for making me feel..." You search for the right word. "Normal again. Like myself, not just someone who's afraid all the time."

Heeseung sets down his mug, turning to face you fully. "You're extraordinary," he says, his voice low and sincere. "The way you've handled everything that's happened—most people would have broken down completely. But you're still here, still fighting."

The earnestness in his eyes makes your breath catch. "Only because of you."

He shakes his head. "No. I may have helped, but the strength was yours all along." He takes your hand, threading his fingers through yours. "Do you know what I thought when you first grabbed me that night on the subway?"

You shake your head, curious.

"I thought, 'This person is brave.' Not just because you asked a stranger for help, but because I could see in your eyes that you were scared but refusing to be paralyzed by it." His thumb traces circles on your palm. "I still think that. Every day."

Emotion swells in your chest, too big to contain. You lean forward, closing the distance between you, your lips finding his in a kiss that tries to convey everything you're feeling—gratitude, yes, but also something deeper, something that's been growing quietly in the shadow of fear.

The kiss deepens, hands beginning to wander, the storm outside forgotten entirely as you create your own tempest within the circle of firelight. Heeseung's lips trace a path down your neck, finding the spot that makes your mind go blissfully blank, and you surrender to the sensation, to him, to the unexpected gift of feeling safe in a world that had become nothing but danger.

The warmth of the fire bathes the room in soft golden light, shadows dancing gently across your intertwined bodies. Heeseung's fingers glide slowly over your skin, tracing sensual, languid patterns that ignite a slow-burning fire within you. His eyes meet yours, heavy-lidded and filled with desire, making your heart race with anticipation.

He gently guides you to move above him, hands firmly gripping your hips, positioning you carefully until you're comfortably settled with your thighs on either side of his face. A thrill of excitement courses through your body, and you tremble slightly at the intimate vulnerability of the position. Heeseung's gaze reassures you entirely, filled with warmth, adoration, and undeniable lust.

"Take your time," he whispers huskily, warm breath teasing your sensitive skin. "I want to savor you."

His hands slowly stroke your thighs, fingertips pressing lightly into your skin as he draws you closer. Your breath hitches when his lips press softly, sensually along your inner thighs, lingering kisses growing hotter, more intense, making your muscles relax as desire pools deep within your core.

You release a soft, breathless moan as his tongue finally makes contact, moving slowly and deliberately, dragging in slow, teasing strokes, sending waves of languid pleasure cascading through you. Your fingers thread into his hair, guiding his movements gently, hips beginning to rock instinctively, chasing the irresistible sensations he creates.

"Heeseung," you sigh, voice thick with desire, body melting under the slow, sinful movements of his tongue. He hums appreciatively against you, the vibrations rippling pleasure deeper into your body, making you gasp softly.

His touch remains unhurried, deliberately teasing, each slow, tantalizing swipe of his tongue pulling you further into a blissful haze of sensation. He explores every inch of you thoroughly, lips and tongue moving expertly, alternating between slow, gentle strokes and firm, demanding pressure, making you whimper and moan his name repeatedly.

"You taste so good," he murmurs, voice deep and rough, eyes blazing with passion as he briefly pulls away to gaze up at you. "I could do this all night."

Your hips move more insistently now, grinding slowly against his mouth, savoring the deep, languid rhythm you've fallen into. Pleasure coils tighter within you, slow-building yet powerful, as he continues to worship you expertly, driving you steadily toward the edge.

Your breathing becomes ragged, body trembling with need, fingers tightening in his hair as the exquisite sensations push you gently yet inexorably toward release. Heeseung senses your closeness, intensifying his efforts, tongue moving deeply, urgently, drawing you over the edge into a languid, shuddering climax that leaves you breathless and softly trembling above him.

When you finally sink back beside him, his arms wrap around you possessively, pulling you flush against his chest, your bodies tangled intimately as he presses slow, sensual kisses along your skin. The firelight flickers warmly around you, creating a perfect cocoon of warmth, sensuality, and unspoken promises.

Heeseung's fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare skin, his breathing slow and even against your hair.

"What happens when this is over?" you ask softly, the question that's been lingering in the back of your mind finally finding voice. "When they catch him and we go back to the city?"

Heeseung is quiet for a long moment, his hand stilling against your shoulder. Then he props himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression so serious it makes your heart stutter.

"Whatever you want to happen," he says simply. "But I hope... I hope we don't go back to being strangers."

The vulnerability in his voice melts something inside you. "I don't think we could if we tried," you confess. "Not after everything."

Relief softens his features. "Good," he says. "Because I've gotten used to this. To you."

"Me too," you admit, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "I can't imagine waking up and you not being there."

His smile is so tender it makes your chest ache. "Then don't," he says, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. "Don't imagine it."

As you drift toward sleep in his arms, the rain pattering gently against the roof, you realize something profound: in running from danger, in seeking refuge, you've somehow found something you weren't even looking for—a connection that transcends the circumstances of your meeting, a sanctuary not just in this remote cabin but in each other.

Whatever comes next—whether Minhyuk is caught tomorrow or weeks from now—that connection remains. And for the first time since this nightmare began, you find yourself looking toward the future with something like hope.

The storm rages through the night, wind howling around the cabin and rain lashing against the windows. Despite the exhaustion weighing on your limbs, sleep comes in fitful bursts, each crack of thunder or creak of the cabin jolting you awake. Beside you, Heeseung maintains his vigil, dozing occasionally but never fully surrendering to sleep. The baseball bat remains within reach, a grim reminder of the danger lurking beyond the walls.

Just before dawn, the storm begins to subside, rain softening to a gentle patter against the roof. Through a small gap in the blanket covering the bedroom window, you can see the sky lightening from black to deep blue, the first hint of morning approaching.

"We should start packing," Heeseung says, his voice low and tense. "I want to be ready to leave as soon as it's fully light."

You nod, slipping from the warmth of the bed into the chill morning air. The satellite phone still shows no signal—the storm's aftermath continuing to block transmission. You move through the cabin with careful efficiency, gathering only the essentials, keeping away from windows despite the coverings.

"Do you think he's still out there?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper despite the unlikelihood of being overheard.

Heeseung pauses in his methodical packing, his expression grave. "I don't know. But I'm not taking any chances. We leave in twenty minutes, head straight for the car, and don't stop for anything."

The gravity of his words settles heavily between you. For all your planning, there's still the most dangerous moment to navigate—the brief exposure between cabin and car, when you'll be completely vulnerable.

As the minutes tick by, tension builds in your chest, a familiar tightness that signals the approach of panic. You focus on your breathing, on the practical tasks at hand, on Heeseung's steady presence beside you. When everything is packed and ready, you stand together in the kitchen, the duffle bags at your feet, steeling yourselves for departure.

"Ready?" Heeseung asks, the baseball bat in one hand, car keys in the other.

You nod, swallowing hard against the fear. "Ready."

He moves to the door, checking through the peephole before unlocking the deadbolt with deliberate quietness. The metallic click of the lock releasing seems unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn stillness. Heeseung turns the knob slowly, easing the door open just enough to scan the porch and clearing beyond.

"Clear," he whispers, opening the door wider. "Let's go."

You step onto the porch, the wooden boards still slick with rain, the air cool and misty after the storm. The clearing surrounding the cabin is eerily still, trees dripping quietly, no wildlife sounds yet greeting the dawn. Everything appears peaceful, normal—and that, somehow, makes your nerves stretch tighter.

Heeseung goes first, bags slung over his shoulder, bat held ready. You follow closely, your footsteps seeming thunderous despite your attempts at stealth. The car is only thirty feet away, but the distance feels vast, exposed, each step taking too long.

You're halfway to the car when you see it—movement at the forest edge, a dark shape detaching from the deeper shadows beneath the trees. Heeseung notices in the same moment, his body tensing, placing himself between you and the approaching figure.

"Get in the car," he says, voice low and urgent. "Now."

You fumble with the bag, trying to move faster, but your limbs feel heavy with dread. The figure steps fully into the clearing, and even in the dim pre-dawn light, there's no mistaking who it is. Minhyuk—his face gaunt, clothes dirty and wet from the storm, eyes fixed on you with a terrible intensity.

"Go," Heeseung urges again, pressing the car keys into your hand. "Get inside and lock the doors."

But before you can reach the car, Minhyuk calls out, his voice carrying clearly across the clearing. "Don't bother. I cut the fuel line."

Heeseung freezes, a curse escaping under his breath. You can see his mind racing, calculating options, weighing the truth of Minhyuk's claim against the risk of finding out too late.

"What do you want?" Heeseung calls back, his voice steady despite the tension evident in every line of his body.

Minhyuk takes another step forward, and now you can see what he's holding—the metallic glint of a knife catching the growing light. "I just want to talk to Y/N. To explain things." His voice is eerily calm, almost reasonable, which somehow makes it more terrifying. "You've turned her against me. I just need a chance to make her understand."

"She understands perfectly," Heeseung responds, his grip tightening on the bat. "You need to leave. Now."

A strange smile crosses Minhyuk's face. "Always the hero, aren't you? Playing the protector." His eyes shift to you, somehow both pleading and menacing. "He's not really your boyfriend, Y/N. We both know that. This is all an act."

Fear roots you to the spot, but anger rises alongside it—anger at this man who has terrorized you, forced you from your home, hunted you across counties. "It doesn't matter," you find yourself saying, your voice stronger than expected. "I don't know you. I don't want to know you. Leave us alone."

Something shifts in Minhyuk's expression—the calm facade cracking to reveal something darker, more volatile. "You don't mean that," he says, his voice hardening. "He's manipulating you. Making you say these things."

"No one's manipulating anyone," Heeseung says, taking a half-step forward. "Y/N has made herself clear. You need to go."

Minhyuk's gaze snaps back to Heeseung, hatred twisting his features. "This is between me and her. You're the intruder here."

"Heeseung," you whisper, terror clawing at your throat as you watch Minhyuk's grip tighten on the knife. "Please."

The tension stretches between the three of you, the clearing silent except for the dripping trees and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Then Minhyuk moves—a sudden lunge forward that sends panic surging through your veins.

Heeseung reacts instantly, pushing you toward the cabin. "Run!" he shouts, raising the bat as Minhyuk charges.

Time seems to slow and accelerate simultaneously—Minhyuk closing the distance with terrifying speed, Heeseung bracing to meet him, the sound of your own ragged breathing as you stumble backward. You want to run as instructed, but can't bear to leave Heeseung alone, your feet refusing to carry you to safety while he faces danger.

The two men collide with violent force. Heeseung swings the bat, forcing Minhyuk to dodge, buying precious seconds. But Minhyuk is fueled by obsession, by a deranged determination that makes him reckless and unpredictable. He feints left, then strikes right, the knife slashing through the air.

Heeseung avoids the worst of it, but the blade catches his arm, tearing through his jacket. He doesn't cry out, doesn't falter, swinging the bat again with controlled precision. This time it connects, striking Minhyuk's shoulder with a sickening thud.

Minhyuk staggers back, but doesn't fall. The injury seems to fuel his rage rather than slow him down. "You think you can protect her?" he snarls. "You think you deserve her?"

"This isn't about deserving," Heeseung responds, voice steady despite the blood now visible on his sleeve. "This is about her choice. And she didn't choose you."

The words seem to strike Minhyuk more powerfully than the physical blow. His face contorts with fury, and he charges again, knife held high.

You're still rooted to the spot, terror paralyzing your limbs. But as Minhyuk rushes toward Heeseung again, survival instinct finally kicks in. Not for yourself—for Heeseung. Without conscious thought, you grab the nearest object—a large rock dislodged during the storm—and throw it with all your strength.

It strikes Minhyuk's back, not hard enough to injure seriously, but enough to distract him, to disrupt his attack. He whirls toward you, eyes wild with betrayal and rage.

"You," he hisses, changing direction, now advancing on you. "After everything I've done to find you..."

Heeseung doesn't hesitate. He lunges forward, tackling Minhyuk from behind before he can reach you. Both men go down hard, grappling in the mud and wet grass. The knife glints in the growing light as they struggle for control, a deadly variable in the chaotic fight.

You search desperately for another weapon, anything to help, when a new sound cuts through the terrible sounds of combat—sirens, distant but approaching. Relief floods through you, followed immediately by renewed fear. Will help arrive in time?

The sound reaches the fighting men as well. Minhyuk freezes for just an instant, his head turning toward the road—and in that moment of distraction, Heeseung strikes. His fist connects with Minhyuk's jaw, a powerful blow that sends the stalker sprawling backward. The knife falls from his grip, landing on the wet ground between them.

Both men lunge for it simultaneously. Your heart seems to stop as they grapple again, the knife now the focal point of the struggle. Then Heeseung shouts in pain, and you see a flash of red—blood, his blood—and terror unlike anything you've ever known seizes your heart.

But Heeseung doesn't falter. Despite the wound, he manages to knock the knife away, sending it skittering across the clearing. Then, with a final surge of strength, he pins Minhyuk to the ground, his knee on the stalker's chest, one hand gripping his throat.

"It's over," Heeseung says, his voice ragged with exertion and pain. "Do you hear those sirens? It's over."

Minhyuk struggles for a few more seconds, then goes still, the fight seeming to drain from him as the sound of approaching vehicles grows louder. Heeseung maintains his grip, not trusting the sudden compliance.

The sirens grow louder, then headlights appear through the trees, illuminating the clearing with harsh white light. Police cars—three of them—bumping down the rough access road, followed by what looks like an ambulance.

"Here!" you shout, waving frantically. "Over here!"

Everything moves quickly after that. Officers pour from the vehicles, guns drawn, shouting commands. Heeseung carefully backs away from Minhyuk, hands raised to show he's not a threat. Minhyuk is immediately handcuffed, his expression eerily vacant now, the manic energy gone.

You rush to Heeseung, heart pounding violently in your chest as you see the blood staining his sleeve, another patch rapidly spreading across his side. His jacket is torn open, revealing a deep gash that makes your stomach lurch.

"You're hurt," you cry out, your voice breaking as tears immediately flood your eyes. Your hands hover over his wounds, afraid to touch and cause more pain but desperate to help. "Oh my god, you're hurt. You're bleeding so much."

"I'm okay," he assures you, though his face is alarmingly pale, his breathing shallow with pain. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Don't say that!" Your voice rises with panic, tears now streaming freely down your face. "Look at you! This is all my fault. You're hurt because of me."

Your hands tremble as they finally settle on his face, cradling his cheeks as if he might shatter. "You're my baby and you're hurt," you whisper, the words tumbling out without thought, raw with emotion. "Please, you need help right now."

His eyes widen slightly at your words, a softness passing through them despite his pain. He tries to lift his hand to wipe your tears but winces with the movement.

"Don't move," you plead, becoming more frantic as you notice how the blood continues to seep through his clothes. You turn toward the approaching paramedics, desperation in your voice. "Please hurry! He's losing too much blood!"

You turn back to Heeseung, pressing your forehead gently against his, uncaring about the mud and blood. "Stay with me," you whisper fiercely. "I can't lose you. Not now. Not after everything."

Paramedics approach, guiding Heeseung to sit on the steps of the cabin while they examine his wounds. You hover anxiously nearby, unable to tear your eyes from him even as a female officer gently questions you about what happened.

Across the clearing, Minhyuk is being loaded into a police car, his vacant expression finally shifting as his eyes find yours one last time. There's something in his gaze—not remorse, not exactly, but perhaps the first glimmer of understanding that his obsession has led him to ruin.

"He'll be going away for a long time," the detective says, appearing at your side. She looks tired but satisfied. "Attempted murder, stalking, violation of restraining orders—the list goes on. He won't hurt anyone else."

Relief makes your knees weak. You look to where Heeseung sits, enduring the ministrations of the paramedics with stoic patience. When he catches your eye, he manages a small, reassuring smile despite everything.

"You should go to him," the detective says, following your gaze. "We can finish the statements later."

You don't need to be told twice. You cross to Heeseung, carefully sitting beside him on the cabin steps. The paramedics have cut away his sleeve to reveal a long gash on his forearm, already partially bandaged. Another wound at his side has been dressed, though blood still seeps through the white gauze.

"How bad is it?" you ask one of the paramedics.

"He'll need stitches," she replies. "But no major arteries were hit. He was lucky."

Lucky isn't the word you'd use. Brave. Selfless. Incredible. Those come closer.

"We need to transport him to the hospital," the paramedic continues. "Would you like to ride along?"

"Yes," you say immediately, your hand finding Heeseung's uninjured one. "I'm not leaving him."

Heeseung's fingers tighten around yours. "It's over," he says softly, just for you. "Really over."

As they help him onto a stretcher, you remain by his side, your hand never leaving his. Behind you, the cabin stands silent in the growing daylight, its brief role as both sanctuary and battleground now complete. Around you, police officers document the scene, take photographs, collect evidence. Minhyuk is driven away, the police car disappearing down the access road toward a future of concrete and steel bars.

In the ambulance, as paramedics hook Heeseung to monitoring equipment and start an IV for pain medication, he keeps his eyes on you, as if afraid you might disappear if he looks away.

"You saved me," he says, his voice slightly slurred as the pain medication begins to take effect. "With that rock. You saved me."

Tears fill your eyes as you shake your head. "No. You saved me. From the very beginning, you saved me."

His lips curve into a tired smile. "Maybe we saved each other."

As the ambulance begins its journey down the mountain, you hold tight to his hand, to that simple truth. Whatever comes next—hospital rooms, police statements, the eventual return to normal life—you'll face it together. The nightmare is over. Minhyuk can no longer reach you, no longer control your life with fear.

For the first time since that night on the subway platform, you feel truly, completely free. And despite the trauma of the morning, despite Heeseung's injuries and the lingering shock, there's something else growing beneath the relief—hope. Hope for what comes after fear. Hope for a future neither of you expected to find in the midst of danger.

A future together.

Three months later

The afternoon sunlight filters through the café window, painting golden patterns across the table between you. Heeseung sits across from you, absently tracing the faint scar on his forearm—a permanent reminder of that morning in the mountains. You reach across the table, your fingers covering his, interrupting the unconscious movement.

"You're doing it again," you say softly.

He smiles, turning his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. "Sorry. Habit."

It's been exactly twelve weeks since Minhyuk was arrested. Twelve weeks of healing—both physical and emotional. Twelve weeks of rebuilding what had been so violently disrupted. Twelve weeks of discovering who you are together when fear isn't the foundation of your connection.

The legal proceedings had moved swiftly. Minhyuk pleaded guilty to all charges, perhaps finally recognizing the gravity of his actions. His psychiatric evaluation revealed a disturbing pattern of obsessive behavior dating back years before he ever saw you on the subway. The judge had been uncompromising in his sentencing: fifteen years with mandatory psychiatric treatment. You'd attended the sentencing hearing, Heeseung's hand tight around yours as you faced your stalker one final time.

"Whatever made him fixate on you wasn't your fault," the detective had told you afterward. "Some people just break in ways we can't understand."

Those words had helped, as had the therapy sessions you began shortly after returning to the city. But what helped most was Heeseung—his unwavering presence, his patience as you worked through lingering fears, his understanding on the nights when you still woke gasping from nightmares.

"What time is your appointment?" Heeseung asks now, bringing you back to the present.

"Four o'clock," you reply, glancing at your watch. "Dr. Kim says this might be our last weekly session. She thinks we can move to bi-weekly."

Pride flickers across Heeseung's face. "That's great. You've come so far."

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I have a good support system."

His thumb traces circles on your palm, his eyes warm with an emotion neither of you has put into words yet, though you both feel it. "Are you still okay with dinner at my parents' place tonight? We can reschedule if you're tired after therapy."

"I want to go," you assure him. Meeting his family had been a major step—acknowledging that what began in crisis had evolved into something lasting. His parents had welcomed you with genuine warmth, never asking too many questions about how you met, somehow understanding that those details weren't what mattered.

"They like you, you know," Heeseung says, as if reading your thoughts. "My mother keeps asking when you're coming back."

You laugh, the sound still feeling like a small victory each time. "She just wants someone to appreciate her cooking more than you do."

"True," he concedes with a grin.

The waiter arrives with your check, and Heeseung reaches for it automatically. You let him, having learned to pick your battles. Some protective instincts run too deep to challenge—and if you're honest, his devotion is something you've come to cherish rather than resist.

Outside the café, the early autumn air carries just a hint of the coming cold. Heeseung's arm slips around your waist, a gesture that has become as natural as breathing. You lean into him briefly, savoring the solid warmth of him.

"I'll walk you to Dr. Kim's office," he says. "Then I need to stop by the studio for an hour before dinner."

Your paths have settled into a comfortable rhythm over the past months. You returned to your design firm, picking up old projects and beginning new ones. Heeseung resumed his work at the music studio, though he now keeps more regular hours, prioritizing evenings with you. You still have separate apartments, but most nights are spent together, switching between your spaces with easy familiarity.

The walk to your therapist's office takes you past the subway station where it all began—a route you initially avoided but now traverse without the surge of anxiety it once triggered. Progress, Dr. Kim calls it. Reclaiming your city, your life.

"I'll see you at my place around seven?" Heeseung confirms as you reach the office building.

"I'll be there," you promise. "Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself." He pauses, then adds, "And maybe pack an overnight bag. My parents usually insist we stay late, and I don't want you taking the subway alone after dark."

Once, you might have chafed at the protectiveness in those words. Now, you recognize it as care rather than control. "Already packed," you admit. "It's in my work bag."

He smiles, leaning down to kiss you briefly. "That's my girl."

As he turns to go, you catch his hand, pulling him back for a moment. "Hey," you say softly. "I've been thinking."

"Dangerous," he teases gently. "About what?"

You hesitate, then take the plunge. "My lease is up next month."

His expression shifts, a cautious hope lighting his eyes. "Is it?"

"I was thinking maybe I shouldn't renew it."

The implication hangs between you, clear but unspoken. Heeseung's hand tightens around yours, his voice dropping to match your quieter tone. "Any particular alternative in mind?"

You hold his gaze, your heart beating faster but not with fear—with anticipation, with certainty. "Your place is bigger. And you have that spare room you're using as storage that would make a perfect home office for me."

A smile slowly spreads across his face, transforming his features with such joy that it takes your breath away. "I think that could be arranged."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely." He pulls you closer, public setting forgotten as he kisses you properly this time, his hands cradling your face with the same tender care he's shown since that very first night.

When he pulls back, you're both slightly breathless. "Go talk to Dr. Kim," he says, reluctantly releasing you. "I'll see you tonight."

You watch him walk away, struck by how far you've come from that terrified person who grabbed a stranger on a subway platform. The journey hasn't been easy—there are still moments when fear creeps in, still days when you check over your shoulder more often than necessary. But those moments are becoming rarer, overshadowed by new memories, better ones.

As you turn to enter the building, your phone buzzes with a text. Heeseung, already missing you:

"Just realized we never used the small bedroom at the cabin. Maybe we should go back someday. Make some better memories there."

You smile, typing your reply:

"I'd like that. As long as you're with me."

His response comes instantly:

"Always."

A promise that began in crisis, tested by danger, and now—finally—has the chance to unfold in peace. You pocket your phone and head into your appointment, ready to talk about the future rather than the past.

A future with Heeseung. A future without fear.

A future that began with two strangers on a subway platform, and against all odds, became home.

fin.

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo

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heeluvv · 2 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ 01. NEW CONTENT DROPPED

warningsᝰ.ᐟ masturbation, unprotected sex, soft praise kink, noona kink, light crying, degradation kink, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 1/9 completed!

taglistᝰ.ᐟ @starry-eyed-bimbo @vixialuvs @justaquarium @dark-moon-light02 @deobitifull @minjeong28 @wonzzziezzzz @wonsohl @psychicyouthfox @honeyfever @strayy-kidz @bloomiize @tunafishyfishylike @jaehaki @ihearteatingxo @songbyeonkim @sol3chu @mo0neng3ne @strxwbloody @hii01mii @merwdusa @dorrissakurada @lycxee @frequentlykit @heeenha6484 @sjakewrld @stwrlightt @parkjjongswifey @haneulhee @fr34k4c1dr41n @cozyre @vwricky @nyxtwixx @nuggets4lifers @yunkiconico @mynameis-rosie1 @leeknowslefteyebrow @babygguk98 @noiiny @horijiro

──

you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until the number on the page blurs in front of your eyes. the red ink bleeds through the letter like it’s been branded there on purpose, like it’s taunting you. bold, underlined, and cruel: payment past due. the amount is higher than you thought. higher than last month. higher than what’s sitting in your checking account—and your savings? nonexistent. your fingers twitch around the edges of the paper, and you stare at it for a few seconds longer, as if maybe if you look hard enough, the numbers will shrink, change, disappear entirely.

but they don’t.

your hands move slowly, almost disconnected, as you place the letter down on the edge of the kitchen counter. the paper crinkles beneath your fingertips, the sound sharp in the quiet of the apartment. you rake your fingers through your hair, dragging your nails gently across your scalp, trying to ground yourself—trying not to panic. it’s not working.

you don’t have time for this. not now. not with finals looming, two shifts left this weekend, and rent due in five days.

the sound of approaching footsteps makes you flinch.

“everything okay?” nari’s voice is soft, cautious, like she already knows the answer. she probably does. she always does.

you don’t look at her. not yet. you feel her presence behind you, hovering by the counter, hesitating. she picks up the letter carefully, and you hear her breath catch as her eyes scan the contents. there’s a beat of silence before she speaks.

“it’s more than last month,” she says, barely above a whisper.

you nod, still not meeting her eyes. your throat feels dry, your heart pounding behind your ribs like it’s trying to escape. the shame tastes bitter in your mouth.

“i can’t pay it,” you finally say, voice flat. “i barely made it through last month’s bill. and now they’ve added more fees.”

it’s not new. this has been happening every few months. random charges. late penalties. service increases you never agreed to. and no matter how many hours you work or how much sleep you lose, it never seems to be enough. you thought you were managing. thought maybe you were finally getting ahead, even just a little. but here it is—proof that you’re still drowning.

nari places the letter back down and moves to stand beside you. she doesn’t speak right away. her eyes flick toward you, soft with concern. she’s been your roommate for over a year now—someone you met through a shared thread on social media venting about overpriced meal plans and the bullshit cost of dorm laundry. back then, you were both strangers trying to navigate the mess of college life with nothing but broken bank accounts and coffee-stained syllabi.

now, she feels like family.

you’ve always admired how gentle she is, how thoughtful. she worries without smothering, helps without asking, gives even when she barely has enough for herself. you hate how easily she sees through you.

“i’m so sorry, y/n,” she says gently. “let me help. i mean it. just this once.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. you’ve had this conversation before. more than once. every time the bills show up with too many zeroes or your bank app sends another low balance alert, she offers. she always offers. and you always refuse.

because this is your responsibility. your education. your choice.

you never wanted to drag her into the mess you made just trying to survive.

“nari, no. it’s fine,” you say, brushing it off the same way you always do, even though nothing about this feels fine. “i’ll figure it out. i’ll… find another job or something.”

another job. the words sound ridiculous even as they leave your mouth. you’re already balancing two. your body aches at the thought of adding a third, your schedule stretched so thin it feels like one missed alarm could unravel everything.

nari doesn’t argue. she just stands there, looking at you with wide, worried eyes that say more than her words ever could.

you turn away.

you don’t want to see that look. don’t want to see the guilt in her expression or the way her lips part like she’s about to say something she knows you won’t let her finish. instead, you press your palms flat to the cool countertop and try to slow your breathing.

you can’t keep doing this. living check to check. sacrificing sleep, time, your sanity—only to still come up short.

“let me help find you one, y/n. at least let me do that…” her voice was quiet but firm, laced with the kind of gentle urgency that made it hard to ignore. she pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down beside you, her knees bumping yours softly as she reached for your hands.

her fingers curled around yours without hesitation—warm, grounding, comforting in a way that made your chest ache.

“you’ll get out of this before you know it,” she said, her thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “just hang on a little longer.”

the words should’ve felt like encouragement. to someone else, maybe they would have. but to you, they barely registered. her voice echoed distantly in your ears, dulled by the weight pressing down on your shoulders. you wanted to believe her. you really did. but there was only so much hope could do when your brain felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

you were tired.

not just physically—though that part never seemed to go away—but mentally, emotionally, in a way that left you hollow at the edges. your thoughts were messy. loud. overwhelmed with numbers and due dates and rejection emails you didn’t have the energy to open.

you’d always wanted more for yourself. a degree. a real future. stability. success. the version of adulthood that didn’t involve counting coins at the bottom of your purse to buy groceries. being able to chase something you loved without sacrificing everything just to survive.

and yet… here you were. still stuck. still drowning.

“i’ll talk to my friends,” nari added, her voice picking up as she stood again. “i’ll ask around, see if any of their jobs are hiring. you don’t have to do this alone, okay?”

you blinked up at her, too tired to protest, too drained to offer anything back. you barely nodded.

she didn’t wait for an answer. instead, she gently tugged you to your feet and led you toward your room, her hands guiding you like muscle memory.

“just hurry,” she said over her shoulder, already halfway down the hall. “get ready before you’re late.”

you let the door close behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet space, and leaned back against it for a second too long—breathing in slow, like maybe it would help ease the burning behind your eyes.

but it didn’t.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you can’t hear yourself think anymore. the noise presses in from every direction—muffled conversation, the beep of the register, shoes skidding across tile, the mechanical whirring of the blender as it screams through another drink. the scent of syrup, espresso, and sweat mixes into something you’re far too familiar with by now. it clings to your clothes, seeps into your hair, follows you home every night and lingers even after you’ve scrubbed your skin raw.

your apron feels too tight around your waist. the name tag keeps flipping over, catching on your shirt. your hands ache from repetition. your back stings from bending, twisting, reaching for things without stopping. your legs burn, but you keep standing. because if you stop—just for a second—you don’t know if you’ll start again.

you’ve lost count of how many customers you’ve helped. they blur together—faces that don’t really look at you, names that repeat too often, voices that never say please. someone spilled a drink ten minutes ago and just stared at you like it was your fault. someone else snapped when you misunderstood their order and then smiled like it never happened. you’re used to it. too used to it.

the blender screams again, and you find yourself zoning out, eyes on the flashing light of the machine, ears ringing. you place a sweaty cup down on the counter just as your coworker brushes past you, muttering something, her voice barely registers.

“we’re out of cold brew, can you let the manager know?” she says, breathless.

you nod without thinking and duck into the back, weaving past crates of milk and mop buckets that haven’t been moved since your last shift. you find her—your manager—hovering near the inventory shelf, tablet in hand, expression unreadable. she looks up when she hears you but doesn’t say anything. just waits.

“we’re out of cold brew again,” you say softly.

her sigh is immediate. clipped. already annoyed. “i told the morning crew to prep more.”

“they didn’t,” you reply, just as soft.

she exhales again and gives you a glance that feels like a warning. “make a new batch. and try to keep the line moving—we’re backed up out there.”

you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot, unsure if now’s a good time. but you don’t have a choice. not really.

“hey,” you begin, voice lighter than you feel, “i was wondering… if you had any extra shifts next week? i could take one. or two. anything that opens up, i’ll take it.”

you see it the moment her expression changes. not enough to be obvious, but enough that you feel it in your gut. she blinks at you once, slow. “you already have four shifts on the schedule.”

“i know,” you say quickly. “i just… if anyone drops or calls out—”

“i’ll let you know if something comes up,” she interrupts, sharper now. “but we’re fully staffed right now. you’re already lucky to have the hours you do.”

lucky.

that one stings.

you nod like it doesn’t bother you. “okay. thanks anyway.”

you turn back toward the front before she can see the heat crawl up your neck. the shame, the frustration, the quiet burn of helplessness that never seems to leave you alone. it coils tight in your chest as you slide back behind the counter, the overwhelming noise greeting you like a wave to the face.

you move through the orders on autopilot—pour, cap, swipe, pass. your body knows the motions. it always does. even when your brain doesn’t catch up. your arms are heavy. your thoughts are too loud.

your phone buzzes in your apron pocket.

technically, you’re not supposed to check it during a shift. but you do anyway, slipping your hand inside just enough to pull it out, eyes flicking to the screen beneath the counter.

nari: i have something to tell you.

you pause.

your breath catches in your throat.

the message is short. way too short. there are no emojis, no dramatics, no little additions she usually throws in to make you laugh. it’s clean. intentional. unsettling.

you type back fast.

you okay? what’s up?

your fingers hover over the screen, waiting. no immediate reply. no typing bubbles. just silence.

you slip your phone back into your apron, heart racing now—not from caffeine or exhaustion but from something else. dread, maybe. anxiety. it curls low in your stomach and spreads like smoke, slow and sickly.

the hours bleed together until they don’t feel real anymore. it’s like you blinked and suddenly the sky was dark, the register was silent, and your shift was over. you don’t even remember clocking out. your body moves on instinct as you grab your things, slinging your bag over one shoulder, feet dragging slightly with every step. you’re too tired to even complain out loud. exhaustion sits heavy on your shoulders, weighing down every bone like bricks. every joint aches. your eyes sting from the fluorescent lights. your muscles are tight, sore, stretched too far. and the worst part is knowing you’ll have to do it all again tomorrow.

the walk home is a blur. you barely register the passing cars or the hum of traffic. your legs are on autopilot, your thoughts too noisy to settle into anything coherent. by the time you reach your building, your fingers fumble with the key from how badly they’re shaking—whether from fatigue or stress, you’re not sure.

the moment the front door swings open, you’re greeted by a sudden, high-pitched sound that makes you flinch.

“oh my god, y/n!”

nari’s voice rings out before you even step fully inside. she appears from around the corner, practically bouncing on her feet as she rushes toward you with wide eyes and a wild grin.

“i think i’ve secured something for you!” she announces proudly, reaching to help you with your things without waiting for permission. your bag slides off your shoulder with her help, and she carefully sets it down on the couch before turning to face you again.

you blink at her, too tired to match her energy, voice low and worn. “how so?”

the contrast between your tone and hers is stark—hers bright and excited, yours soft, raspy, touched with exhaustion that even you can hear.

“okay, so,” she starts, already walking toward the kitchen like she’s been waiting all day to spill this. “i was talking to one of my classmates earlier—casual stuff, whatever—and she would not shut up about this app she’s using and this guy she’s obsessed with on it.”

you follow her slowly, the smell of something warm and savory pulling you forward. dinner is already set out, steam curling up from the bowls on the counter. she’s cooked again. you don’t even have the energy to thank her properly, but it sits in your chest like a quiet comfort.

“she said it’s this platform where you can post content—videos, mostly—and people follow you, tip you, subscribe to see more. apparently, it’s easy money if you know how to catch attention,” nari continues, grabbing utensils and placing them gently next to your bowl.

you lean against the counter, brows slightly furrowed as you try to keep up.

“what kind of videos?” you ask slowly.

and that’s when she pauses.

her hands still for a second, and you notice the subtle way her eyes flick to the side—toward the fridge, the floor, anywhere but you. she busies herself wiping down a clean countertop, her mouth tight, like she’s carefully choosing what not to say.

the silence stretches just a little too long.

you narrow your eyes. “nari?”

she still doesn’t look at you, her fingers now fiddling with the corner of a napkin that doesn’t need adjusting.

and that’s when you know—whatever she’s about to suggest, it’s not exactly a regular part-time job.

you don’t say anything. not at first.

you just watch her fidget—her hands smoothing the same wrinkle over and over again, her mouth parting like she wants to say something but can’t figure out where to start. her excitement from earlier has dimmed slightly, not completely gone, just… more careful now. the shift is subtle but it’s there, and you feel it tighten something in your chest.

your voice is quieter this time. gentler. “what kind of videos, nari?”

she glances up at you for a split second, then looks away again, reaching to stir a pot that isn’t even on the stove. she’s stalling.

finally, she exhales, turning back to you with both palms pressed to the counter.

“okay, so… don’t freak out.”

you stare at her.

“it’s… kind of a subscription thing,” she says, slow and cautious. “like, you post content—just whatever you’re comfortable with—and people tip you for it. sometimes a lot.”

you don’t speak. not yet. you just let her keep going.

“my classmate told me she made almost five hundred dollars in one weekend. literally just from one post. and this guy she follows? apparently he makes thousands. like, thousands. maybe even millions.”

your mouth is dry.

“what kind of content?” you repeat, even though you already know the answer.

nari bites her lip. her eyes finally meet yours. “sexy stuff,” she admits. “but it doesn’t have to be all out. it can be suggestive. artistic. faceless, even.”

you blink at her. once. twice.

the silence between you stretches until it’s not silence anymore—it’s tension. thick and heavy, sitting right in the center of the kitchen with both of you tiptoeing around it.

“it’s not as intense as it sounds,” she adds quickly. “she said she started small. built her page up over time. and no one from school found out. not even her roommates.”you sink into one of the kitchen chairs, your arms resting limply in your lap. you don’t say anything yet. you’re not even sure what you feel.

nari’s eyes soften as she watches you. “i know it sounds… out there. but i just thought—i don’t know, maybe it’s something you could look into. just to hold you over until things get better.”

you nod, but it’s slow. not agreement—just acknowledgment.

you’re too tired to argue. too drained to pretend the idea isn’t already crawling under your skin, planting itself somewhere dangerous.

because the truth is, you’ve heard of it. everyone has. whispered about in late-night dorm conversations, on private stories, in anonymous confessions posted on spam accounts. girls making rent money in a weekend. boys going viral for being faceless and filthy and addictive.

you never imagined doing it yourself.

but then again… you never imagined being this broke, either.

you stare at your untouched bowl of food, heart thudding softly in your chest.

you’re not disgusted. not even shocked.

you’re just… thinking.

and that scares you more than anything else.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you tell yourself you’re just looking.

that’s it.

just a little more scrolling. just a few more profiles. you’re not doing anything. you haven’t made an account. you haven’t posted. you haven’t committed to anything except curiosity, and that—well, that’s harmless, right?

you open your laptop again. it’s sometime past midnight. your room is dim, the only light coming from your screen and the soft amber glow of the lamp tucked in the corner of your desk. it casts everything in that moody, late-night hue that makes the whole world feel quieter. heavier.

you pull your knees up to your chest, the blanket draped loosely over your shoulders as the homepage loads. it’s different now. you’re not looking aimlessly anymore. you know what to search for. you type top creators, and a list appears almost instantly.

you click one.

@heefreakshow. verified. 5.2 million subscribers.

his profile loads, and it’s exactly what you expect. polished, but not too polished. his display photo is somewhat dark and grainy, a half-lit frame of his bare chest, chin tilted up just enough to be teasing without giving anything away. the banner across the top reads: “i don’t just talk dirty. i make you feel it.”

his content is locked, but the previews aren’t.

you hover for a moment, your thumb pausing above one of the thumbnails before tapping it without thinking. the video opens in a small window, looped, muted at first, but it doesn’t matter—what pulls you in is the way he fills the frame. it starts with a soft hum of music, low and bassy, vibrating faintly through your speakers as the camera tilts upward from a dark-lit bed.

his chest appears first—broad, smooth, glowing faintly under the moody blue light. he’s shirtless, his skin flushed, breathing slow but deep. the camera dips, revealing his thighs spread wide and relaxed, and the hard, unmistakable bulge straining through his pants. your breath catches. the fabric looks tight—too tight—like it’s fighting to contain him. you can almost feel the pressure through the screen.

his hands trail over his torso, slow and lazy, fingers dragging along the curves of his stomach, tracing the line of muscle before resting on the waistband of his pants. his face isn’t fully visible—just the faintest shadow of his jaw, a teasing sliver of his bottom lip. the only thing clearly captured is his hair: pink, messy, soft-looking and slightly damp, like he’s just run his hands through it too many times.

and then he moves.

his fingers slip down, unbuttoning his pants with quick, practiced ease. the zipper lowers with a soft click, and he pushes the fabric down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard, tip flushed and leaking as it rests against his abdomen. his breath stutters slightly, chest rising as he wraps his hand around himself, stroking slow—deliberate, like he’s savoring it. he tilts his hips toward the camera, giving you a better view, and you swear he’s looking straight at you even though you can’t see his eyes.

his voice comes in a beat later—low, raspy, thick with arousal.

“i couldn’t help myself, baby…”

you feel something warm twist in your stomach. the words feel too direct, too personal. his pace quickens as precum beads at the tip, slicking over his fingers as he groans, deep and breathy, like it’s pulled straight from his chest.

his other hand rises, trailing over his stomach until it reaches his chest, fingers pinching at one nipple as his hips twitch upward. the reaction is instant—a quiet moan spilling from his mouth as his head tilts back slightly, lips parted in pleasure.

“fuck…” he breathes out, barely audible between sharp inhales. “i want you here with me, baby…”

you freeze, the weight of the moment crawling down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

you scroll down to the next name on the list.

@jayafterhours. verified. 5.3 million subscribers.

his banner is simple—black background, sharp white font. his bio reads: “don’t waste my time unless you can take it.”

you don’t hesitate. you click.

the video loads instantly, and the difference between him and the last profile is immediate. there’s nothing soft about it. no slow lighting, no teasing buildup. it opens straight into a scene already mid-motion—loud moans echoing through your speakers, fast and desperate, though none of them are coming from him.

the camera is perfectly framed, clearly placed on a desk, angled to capture everything without obstruction. a woman lies flat on her front, arms outstretched as her fingers curl over the edge of the wood. her legs tremble slightly, back arched, skin damp with sweat. behind her, jay moves with sharp, brutal rhythm—his hands gripping her hips like he owns them, fingers pressing deep into the flesh as he drives into her hard enough to rock the table beneath them.

“such a fucking slut, aren’t you?” he grits out, his voice low and full of gravel, each syllable landing like a slap.

his hand comes down suddenly to grip her ass, squeezing tight before delivering a sharp slap that makes her body jolt. the sound of skin meeting skin cracks through the room. she lets out a choked moan, broken and messy.

“d-don’t stop—j-jay!” she cries, voice high, shaking as her nails drag along the desk surface for something to hold on to.

but you barely register her.

your eyes stay on him.

he doesn’t look at the camera—not directly—but the angle captures enough. his head is tilted back slightly, the veins in his neck prominent, his jaw clenched. his lips are caught between his teeth, biting down like he’s holding something back. there’s a faint flush along his collarbone, sweat trailing down the side of his throat.

he isn’t shirtless.

somehow, that makes it worse.

he’s dressed in a crisp white button-down, slightly wrinkled now, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. a black tie hangs loosely around his neck, the knot crooked like it was tugged halfway through the scene. it swings gently with the movement of his hips, adding to the rhythm, the sound, the image of him fully in control without even needing to try.

there’s something terrifyingly composed about him. like he’s done this a thousand times. like nothing surprises him anymore. like the entire scene is unfolding exactly how he planned it.

and yet, despite the chaos, the noise, the cries echoing off the walls—you can’t stop looking at him.

you don’t hesitate when your eyes land on the next name.

@jakeoncam. verified. 5.5 million subscribers.

simple bio: “i like being watched.”

your heart skips slightly as you click on the preview, already familiar with the routine by now. and yet, nothing about this feels repetitive—each creator you've looked at so far has had their own way of pulling you in, but jake’s feels… different.

the screen fades in slowly, no music, no buildup. just the soft creak of bedsheets and the low, wet sound of friction. he’s fully on display, his body stretched across a dark comforter, shirtless, skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. the camera is placed at a low angle, perfectly capturing the curve of his back as he grinds down onto a pillow with messy, desperate rhythm.

his blonde hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, a few pieces plastered to his cheek. his eyes are shut tight, brows drawn in deep concentration, lips parted as he pants softly into the mattress. his hips roll in tight, fluid motions, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he presses himself down harder into the cushion.

“fuck… i’m gonna cum… fuck, baby…”

his voice is breathless—higher, whinier than the others—and it hits you unexpectedly. it’s not performance. it sounds real. wrecked. like he’s been holding back for too long and is just now letting go.

he gasps softly, his pace stuttering, body tensing as the pressure builds—but the clip cuts off just before the release, leaving you blinking at your screen with your chest tight and your legs shifting.

you don’t realize how long you’ve been holding your breath until it escapes you all at once.

and you don’t stop there.

you move onto the next one almost instinctively, driven more by something primal now. not even out of curiosity anymore—need. something about each of them feels increasingly personal, like they’re not just performers, but something else. something closer.

@hoononrepeat. verified. 5.3 million subscribers. “if it’s not messy, i don’t want it.”

you click, the motion smooth and practiced now. part of you knows you’re getting too deep, that this is becoming more than just research, but you don’t stop.

his video starts mid-motion.

the frame is tight, focused completely on him—sunghoon’s hand gripping his cock, already soaked and shining with cum, sliding along the length with slow, deliberate strokes. his chest is heaving, his abs flexing with each movement. the lighting is dark, moody, barely enough to cast definition over his frame, and yet it still highlights every shift of muscle.

a silhouette appears at the bottom of the screen—a woman, faceless, mouth parted and positioned perfectly beneath him. her head bobs forward as he pushes his cock into her mouth without hesitation.

he groans, long and drawn out, his voice rough like it’s scraped from the bottom of his throat.

“fucking hell…”

his hand buries in her hair, fingers curling tight as he guides her down, hips jerking forward sharply. the wet sound of it echoes faintly, almost drowned out by his ragged breathing. she gags softly, hands pressing at his thighs, but he doesn’t let up.

he’s focused. lost. unrelenting.

“take it,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “take all of it, princess…”

the words hit hard. not because of what he says, but how he says it—low, commanding, almost personal. like he knows you’re watching. like the words aren’t meant for her at all.

you feel your pulse thud somewhere low in your stomach. your fingers curl tighter around the edge of your laptop.

you should stop.

but you don’t.

@watchmesunoo. verified. 5.4 million subscribers.

his page is simple—light pastel banner, soft text, almost misleading at first glance. but when the preview loads, there’s nothing soft about it. it starts mid-action, no intro, no setup—just raw, unfiltered need. his body fills the screen, the lighting harsh enough to highlight the tension in his muscles, the sweat slicking down his chest in messy trails.

his hand holds a small vibrator—slim, silver, and humming at a steady pace as he presses it along the length of his cock. it’s already hard, flushed dark and leaking, twitching visibly each time the buzzing toy runs over his slit. he slides it slowly, teasingly, from the base to the tip, circling it around the head before dragging it back down again. his hips jerk, his thighs tightening under the pressure.

his face is in view. fully.

his cheeks are red, tear-streaked, lips trembling with every breath. wet hair clings to his forehead in dark strands, and his eyes are glassy—shiny with desperation, the kind that makes your chest tighten just watching. he looks completely wrecked. beautiful in a way that shouldn’t feel this intimate, like you’ve caught him in something far too private.

“fuck… noona…” he whines, voice high and broken as his fingers curl tight around the bed sheets. “let me cum… please—noona…”

his hand trembles slightly as he lowers the vibrator, pressing it to the base of his cock as his other hand slides upward, two fingers dragging through the mess that’s already smeared across the head. he rubs the tip quickly, desperately, almost like he’s punishing himself for how close he is. his back arches sharply, the line of his throat exposed, jaw slack as more tears spill freely down his cheeks.

“f-fuckkk—i’m cumming!” he cries out, voice cracking as his body jerks violently, hips lifting off the mattress.

you can’t look away.

his cock twitches hard in his hand, and a thick wave of cum spills over his fingers, dripping down in messy strands that coat his palm and smear over his abdomen. his chest heaves. his thighs shake. he doesn’t stop moving until his hand is completely soaked and his voice has faded into soft, hiccuping breaths.

you’re still staring, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly. the screen is glowing in the dark of your room, and all you can do is sit there, frozen, pulse pounding behind your ribs as the clip loops quietly again.

@wonsodirty. verified. 5.2 million subscribers.

his profile surprises you even more.

the name alone already catches your eye—bold, a little cheeky, a little misleading. you expect something bratty, maybe cocky, something playful or reckless. but when the preview loads, it’s none of that.

it’s quiet. intimate.

the camera is placed at a low angle, steady, fixed on soft bedsheets that shift with every subtle movement. the lighting is warm and dim, the kind that wraps everything in a golden hue and makes skin look like silk. there’s a soft rustling in the background, the sound of him breathing, uneven and slightly hitched.

he comes into frame slowly—first his legs, then his thighs, spread slightly apart as he settles against the headboard. he’s not doing much at first. just breathing. just existing. but even that feels heavy with tension, like something just below the surface is about to break.

he’s shirtless. not in a performative way. just bare. his chest rises and falls in shallow motions, skin flushed with heat, the faintest sheen of sweat glinting under the soft light. his hand moves slowly at first, fingers wrapped tight around the base of his cock, stroking with careful precision. it’s already hard, already leaking at the tip, the kind of arousal that’s been building for far too long.

you watch as he closes his eyes, biting down on his bottom lip, his brows knitting together like he’s trying not to fall apart too quickly.

then, he whispers something—so soft you almost miss it.

“feels so good…”

his voice is high, sweet, breathy in the most fragile way. and it’s real. not loud. not dirty. just pure and cracked with something raw.

his strokes stay slow, almost too slow, like he’s punishing himself for how sensitive he is. his hips twitch every time he passes over the tip, precum smearing down the shaft and making his hand glisten as he continues.

you can’t help but watch his face—how red his ears are, how hard he’s trying to keep his composure. you notice how his legs tense, thighs flexing every time he lets out one of those quiet, needy sounds.

his strokes get faster, hips starting to lift slightly off the bed, his thighs trembling beneath him. he looks like he’s trying to hold back. like he’s afraid of what’ll happen if he lets go too soon.

“i can’t… i c-can’t hold it, please…”

he cries out as his hand jerks up once, twice, and then his entire body stutters. his back arches just slightly, his mouth dropping open in a silent gasp as ropes of cum spill over his fist, painting across his stomach in messy spurts.

his breathing turns shaky. his head tilts back against the pillow, eyes fluttering, lips parted as a tiny, breathless whimper escapes him.

the clip ends with his fingers still curled tightly around himself, his chest rising fast, his body twitching as he comes down—wrecked and glowing and silent.

you move onto the last profile.

@nikiuncensored. verified. 5.6 million subscribers.

the name alone already tells you everything you need to know. it feels reckless. raw. unapologetically bold in a way that makes your pulse skip without warning. you hesitate only for a second before clicking on the preview.

the video starts without ceremony—no soft intro, no teasing buildup. just action. the camera is low, placed somewhere near the base of the woman’s stomach. you can’t see her face, not even her chest—just the lower curve of her abdomen rising and falling with every sharp breath she takes. her thighs tremble faintly at the edges of the frame, knees slightly parted, twitching every time his mouth presses in.

but she’s the background.

your eyes go straight to him.

ni-ki comes into view slowly—his shoulders first, broad and tense, then his head, tipped slightly as his mouth lowers between her legs. his tongue flicks upward in tight, rhythmic strokes, wet and steady, circling over the clit with agonizing precision. the movement is deliberate. practiced. his lips part to suck softly, then flatten again as he switches pace, building her up in waves.

his fingers move with the same energy—two of them disappearing inside her only to pull out again, slick and glistening before they’re thrust back in with a soft squelch that echoes in the low hum of the room. the air is heavy. the lighting is dim, warm enough to cast shadows over the sharp line of his jaw, the flushed curve of his cheeks.

“fuck…” he breathes, voice strained with something between amusement and awe, “you’re so fucking wet…”

he groans as he presses in harder, his mouth practically consuming her now, lips wrapped fully around her clit as he sucks with loud, messy slurps. the sound is obscene, echoing in the quiet room—wet and desperate and hungry.

his eyes flutter shut, like he’s savoring the taste. like he could stay there all night and never come up for air. his free hand curls around the outside of her thigh, gripping tight, keeping her in place as his tongue works mercilessly. her moans are loud, cracked and high-pitched, but you barely register them. all you can hear is him—groaning, gasping, devouring.

he moves his head side to side slightly, mouth still latched to her clit, and the slurping sound becomes louder, wetter. his fingers curl up inside her and she screams, hips jerking toward his face, but he doesn’t back off. if anything, he doubles down.

he growls, low in his throat, sending vibrations straight into her core as his grip tightens.

and you’re stuck there—watching the way his mouth works, the way his muscles flex with every movement, the way he loses himself in it like it’s the only thing that matters.

the preview cuts off just as his lips part again, tongue dragging in a long, slow lick up her slit like he’s far from done.

and god—you believe it.

you’re completely breathless.

your chest rises and falls in slow, uneven waves, lungs struggling to catch up with the flood of emotions coursing through your system. your skin is warm, flushed, your fingers twitching faintly from where they rest on your thighs. everything inside you feels electric. overstimulated. wired with something you can’t quite name—but it’s there.

now, finally, you understand.

you understand why this app—the one you opened on a whim—could stir something so heavy inside you. why it’s been sitting in the back of your mind like a spark waiting for oxygen. it’s not just sex. it’s not just content. it’s control. attention. power.

you shift slightly where you sit, the damp heat between your thighs impossible to ignore. your panties are soaked, your breath shallow, and despite the way your body aches, you force yourself to sit up straighter. you push the thoughts down, shake your head, blink yourself back into focus.

you’ve battled with yourself long enough.

without giving yourself the space to overthink it, your finger moves. you press the button—create account—and watch the screen change, your heart racing with each small confirmation box that pops up in front of you.

you type quickly. no hesitation now. @babydollx0.

the name feels soft. flirty. safe.

but the next part isn’t so easy.

you hesitate when it asks for a profile photo. you scroll through your gallery—old pictures, half-deleted mirror selfies, nothing that feels right. nothing that says what you want it to say. nothing that matches the version of yourself you’re about to become.

you toss your phone onto the bed and push off the covers, the sheets falling away from your legs in soft folds as you rise to your feet. your room is still quiet, dimly lit by the lamp in the corner, casting soft golden shadows across your walls.

you move quickly.

your drawer slides open with a soft clatter as you dig through the scattered mess inside—tangled bras, folded shorts, tucked-away lace. your fingers pause when they find it: a tiny, black thong. the skimpiest one you own. barely fabric at all.

you strip out of your shirt first, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. the cool air hits your bare chest, making your nipples pebble instantly. there’s no hesitation now. no shame. just movement.

you tug the thong on slowly, adjusting it at your hips, letting the waistband hug your curves as you step in front of the mirror.

you pose without overthinking it—back facing the mirror, head turned slightly over your shoulder, your front angled just enough to tease without revealing everything. the lighting does the rest. it casts your silhouette in soft shadows, highlighting the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your hips. everything else remains hidden—blurred in the low glow of the lamp.

it’s just enough to make someone want more.

you lift your phone, frame the shot, and for the first time in a long time…you feel powerful.

you set your phone carefully on the edge of your desk, adjusting the angle until it captures only what you want it to—the lower half of your body, your thighs parted slightly, your stomach rising with shallow breaths. your face is out of view. there’s no light beyond the soft glow of your desk lamp, and the shadows cast across your skin make everything look muted, quiet, secretive.

your thumb hovers over the record button, trembling slightly. you're not nervous because you don’t know what you’re doing. you’re nervous because you do.

your mind is cluttered with noise. doubt swims through you in thick waves, crashing hard against the edges of your resolve. your chest feels tight. you can feel the fear circling in your gut, whispering things like what if you regret it? what if someone finds out? what if you can't take it back?

but the fear isn't loud enough to drown out the truth.

you think of the letter on the counter, the rent due in less than a week, the account notifications warning you that your balance is low—too low. you think of the long shifts, the missed hours, the denial from your manager. you think about how you’re out of options.

and then you press the button.

the recording begins. the red icon glows faintly in the corner of your screen. it’s happening now. you’ve officially started.

your breath catches as your hands move instinctively, dragging down the curve of your stomach with a slow, deliberate rhythm. you let your fingers tease the hem of your thong, playing with the waistband, pulling it slightly before letting it snap back into place. you don’t say a word. there’s no script for this. you let the action speak for itself.

you shift in your seat, angling your body just enough for the camera to catch the soft curve of your ass, arching your back to deepen the shadow and leave the details to the imagination. it’s subtle. sensual. controlled.

then, after a pause that makes your heart pound harder, you bring your fingers to the front of your thong. with one smooth motion, you pull the fabric aside.

just enough to reveal yourself.

your folds glisten, slick already gathered between them from the buildup of watching, waiting, and wanting all night. you’d been trying to ignore it. trying to focus on the mechanics of the process. but your body never really forgot. not after what you’d seen. not after the way they sounded.

your fingers move without hesitation now, sliding between your folds and gathering the wetness. you exhale slowly, letting the feeling settle, letting the camera keep rolling. your touch is gentle at first—small, slow circles around your clit, nothing too fast. you don’t want to rush. you want it to look natural. sensual. you want it to feel good.

and it does.

your body shifts. your back arches slightly. your thighs tense. your fingers grow bolder, faster. not by much—just enough to feel it start to build. your breathing grows uneven. soft, audible. you hold back the sound in your throat, biting your lip hard enough to feel the pressure.

and then you think of them.

the teasing smirk from the one who never broke eye contact. the groans that scraped low and rough from behind clenched teeth. the soft, desperate whimpers that bled through clenched fists and sweat-slick sheets. the sharp snap of a hand against skin. the steady rhythm of fingers soaked to the knuckle.

you remember the flushed cheeks. the breathless pleas. the soaked mouth of someone who looked ruined just from giving. the thighs that trembled under the weight of restraint. the tongue that moved with unshakable precision, curling into someone’s heat like it was instinct—like it was art.

your fingers speed up.

your hips jerk slightly, your body reacting without permission. you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut as your clit pulses beneath your touch.

“fuck…”

the word leaves you in a low, broken whisper. it’s almost inaudible. almost too quiet to catch. but it’s there.

your chest rises with effort as you force yourself to stay quiet—to stay in control. nari is just a few feet away, asleep or scrolling in the room next door. you can’t let her hear. you can’t risk that. so you press your lips together tightly and breathe through your nose, letting your hand do the talking.

your fingers move in tighter circles. your stomach contracts. your legs pull in slightly as the pleasure curls deeper inside you, hot and electric. you don’t stop. you can’t stop. not now.

you don’t need to speak. the way your body moves is enough.

the video keeps recording, and for a second, everything else disappears—your exhaustion, your guilt, your fear. all of it fades into the rhythm of your own breathing, the slick sound of your fingers working between your thighs, and the realization that this isn’t just a performance.

it’s power.

and for the first time in a long time… it’s yours.

your fingers work faster now, soaked and steady, slipping in and out of your cunt with a rhythm that’s grown almost frantic. the sound of it—slick, wet, obscene—echoes low in the quiet room, barely masked by the rapid stutter of your breath. your body moves with instinct, hips rising to meet your hand, legs spread wide as you chase the heat that’s been coiling deep in your core since the moment the video started.

you start with two fingers, curling them up just right to press against the spot that makes your stomach tighten. your lips press into a thin, trembling line as you try to keep quiet, forcing yourself to muffle the moans that threaten to spill out with every thrust. your walls clench tightly around your fingers, greedy, hot, desperate for more.

and you give it to yourself.

you let out a ragged breath as you push in a third finger, the stretch making your thighs tremble. the pressure is overwhelming now—blinding, almost painful in the best possible way. you shift in your chair, back arching as you press your heels into the floor, legs falling open wider to give yourself more space. your body is flushed and burning, skin damp with sweat, nipples tight from the brush of cool air and lingering adrenaline.

your chest heaves as you move faster, harder, fingers curling deep into yourself as the pleasure builds fast and sharp like a scream stuck in your throat. your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut, and for a split second, you forget about the camera. you forget about the fear. you forget about everything but the feeling—

“fuck… oh my god…”

the words tear from your throat, broken and low, muffled by the force of your own clenched jaw. your legs start to shake, your body twitching with the effort to stay upright as your orgasm rushes up and crashes through you.

“fuckkk—i’m gonna cum… shit…”

your voice is higher now, cracked at the edges, as your hips jerk forward and your muscles seize. the pressure bursts all at once, your cunt clenching around your fingers as you gush hard, soaking your hand and the inside of your thighs. the release is hot, messy, completely overwhelming—wave after wave rolling through your body until you’re panting, twitching, slumped over the desk with your mouth open in a silent gasp.

your other hand scrambles toward your phone, shaking as you fumble to tap the screen. the camera is still recording—still capturing every shudder, every twitch, the flushed glow of your skin and the shine slicked over your thighs.

you end the video with one shaky movement, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath.

your hand is drenched. your skin is burning. your thoughts are scrambled.

and you don’t hesitate.

you upload it raw, unfiltered, untouched.

you don’t trim the edges. you don’t add a caption. you don’t even blink before pressing the button.

you want it to speak for itself.

you want them to wonder.

you watch the screen as the upload bar slowly completes, your profile still blank, still new, still waiting to be discovered.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

the soft chirp of birds cuts through the stillness of morning, gentle and rhythmic, floating in through the cracks of your half-open window. golden sunlight pours across your sheets, casting long shadows along your floor, warm and soft against your bare legs. your body is sprawled out lazily across the mattress, limbs tangled in the fabric as your eyes flutter open slowly, blinking away the blur of sleep.

your room is quiet except for the persistent buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand beside you. it hums every few seconds, faint but constant, like it's trying to get your attention. you glance at it, brows furrowing slightly, but you don’t reach for it. not yet. your body still feels heavy with sleep and something else—something deeper.

you push the covers off your legs, the cotton sheets rustling as you sit up and stretch, your spine arching with a soft crack. you move slowly, stepping onto the cool floorboards and making your way toward the bathroom, your legs stiff, your joints still waking up with you.

just as you reach the door, nari’s voice floats out from the hallway, warm and familiar.

“good morning, girl,” she calls casually, emerging from her room with a yawn, her hair tied up messily and hoodie falling off one shoulder. she looks at you for barely a second before launching into what’s clearly been sitting on her mind.

“so,” she says, tone direct, “are you planning on making an account?”

you pause.

the words land heavier than you expect, and for a second, the hallway feels too quiet—like her question has taken up all the space. the thought hadn’t left your mind, not really. it was still there, tucked into the corner of your chest like something that needed to be dealt with eventually. she had brought it up before. multiple times. her voice always hopeful. her offers always kind. and you always deflected.

your throat tightens. not painfully—but just enough to make you hesitate.

you turn to look at her, your expression unreadable. the memory of last night creeps back in, vivid and electric. the video. your fingers. the way your breath had caught in your throat when you hit upload. the warmth that still lingered between your thighs. the weight of what it meant.

“i’ll look into it,” you say, voice hoarse. “but i don’t know, nari… does it really even work?”

she crosses her arms gently, leaning her shoulder against the wall. her gaze softens as she watches you.

“i can’t really speak from experience,” she says slowly, “but from what i’ve heard… it’s definitely something you should consider. especially with how much you’ve been struggling. i know it’s not what you’re used to. i know it’s different. but y/n… it’s real money. quick money. and you wouldn’t have to break your back for it.”

her voice stays gentle, but her words hit hard. your shoulders drop slightly, and her eyes flick down to your expression, reading you the way only she can.

“just think about it, okay?” she continues, her tone still light. “i’m heading out in a bit, but whatever you decide, just let me know. i can look around for other stuff too, if you don’t want to go that route.”

your chest tightens again—this time from emotion.

you don’t say anything. you just step forward and wrap your arms around her, pulling her in tight. the words rise up in your throat before you can stop them.

“thank you so much, nari,” you whisper. “what the fuck would i have done without you…”

your voice cracks on the last word. you bury your face in her shoulder and hold her a little tighter, your body warm against hers.

you don’t thank her enough.

not for the rent reminders. not for the quiet way she pretends not to notice when you come home late and fall asleep in your work clothes. not for the soft leftovers she always leaves out with a sticky note. not for the way she never once judged you when you admitted you were coming up short again.

she just showed up. over and over.

and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“i’ll always be here for you, y/n,” she murmurs, her arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

when you finally pull back, there’s a single tear running down your cheek. you wipe it away quickly, hoping she doesn’t notice—but she does. she always does. she doesn’t say anything this time, just gives you a gentle look before stepping away.

you clear your throat, trying to shake the emotion from your voice.

“you can go ahead,” you tell her softly. “i… i just have something to check really quick.”

she nods, disappearing into her room.

you stand there for a moment, your feet unmoving, the silence returning like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. you exhale through your nose and turn around slowly, walking back into your room and closing the door behind you.

your phone is still buzzing on the nightstand.

and you’re finally ready to see what it has to say.

you close the door behind you and pause for a moment, letting your fingers linger against the wood. your room is quiet again, but it’s not the same kind of quiet as before. it’s weighted now—thicker, charged with something unspoken. your steps back to the bed feel heavier than they should. your body isn’t sore in the traditional sense, but there’s something beneath your skin that hasn’t left you since last night. like your muscles remember what you did. like your skin is still humming from the heat of it.

you sit on the edge of your bed, your blanket half-pulled down, the air cool against your bare legs. your phone is where you left it—face down on your nightstand, completely still. the buzzing that had filled the room earlier has stopped, like it’s holding its breath. waiting for you to be ready.

you reach for it slowly, with both hands, like you’re afraid you’ll drop it if you don’t steady yourself. the moment your fingertips brush across the screen, it lights up.

and everything changes.

1,462 new notifications. tips: +$1,951.76. new subscribers: +863.

you sit there, frozen, as the likes roll in by the second, stacking in waves across the screen. every few seconds, another tip comes in. ten dollars. twenty. fifty. a hundred. your balance is growing so fast it doesn’t feel real.

you open the comments, and the words hit you all at once.

“this is art. actual art.” “i’m obsessed.” “i came without even touching myself. that’s how real this felt.”

you read them with wide eyes, your thumb scrolling slowly, like dragging through honey. it’s too much to take in all at once. too many voices. too many people who’ve seen you now—really seen you—and want more.

you click over to your inbox. there are dozens of messages, all timestamped from the early hours of the morning. most of them are praises, offers, begging. a few are bold. graphic. unfiltered. and buried among them—at the very top, a verified profile—is the one that makes your entire body still.

@heefreakshow.

you’re completely taken off guard.

nothing could have prepared you for this—none of it. not the flood of attention. not the numbers still rising. and especially not him. not the quiet, effortless way one of the creators you watched last night—half in awe, half with your hand buried between your thighs—has now turned his gaze on you. messaged you. noticed you.

you stare at the notification like it might disappear. like maybe your phone glitched and it’s not really him. your thumb hovers just inches above the message, heartbeat loud in your ears, the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on your chest.

and then—before you can overthink it—you press.

the message expands across your screen in one clean, perfect line.

god, you were so fucking hot. why don’t you let me see what more you’re capable of doing?

you go still.

your throat tightens. your lips part, but no sound comes out. your entire body feels like it’s pulsing—heat rising from your neck, crawling down your spine, settling low in your stomach. your eyes read the words once. then again. then again.

you’re speechless.

not because it’s crude—though it is. not because it’s confident—because of course it is. but because it’s him.

you sit there, phone trembling slightly in your grip, and all you can think about is how none of this would’ve happened if nari hadn’t pushed you. if she hadn’t looked you in the eyes and told you she believed in you. if she hadn’t said the words you were too afraid to say out loud.

you owe her everything.

because now? now you’re more than okay. you’re not just surviving—you’re starting. you’re in it.

and you have absolutely no plans of stopping.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ first episode is done! honestly i'm excited to see how this will play out because a lot more is coming, i hope you all enjoyed!

3K notes · View notes

heejamas · 3 months ago

Text

WAITING ROOM ──★ ˙

꒰ ‎﹒ pairing: heeseung x fem!reader ... ﹒ friends to lovers, fluff ... ﹒ w/c: 21k synopsis: for three years, you and heeseung have hovered between friendship and something more—stolen glances, late-night car rides, hands brushing under tables. but when the waiting finally ends, you realize you were never just friends to begin with. ꒰ ‎﹒ warnings: smut, mdni! explicit sexual content, petnames, unprotected sex (dont do it!!!!) not proofread 💿 % (◠﹏◠ ✿) #nowplaying: waiting room - phoebe bridgers

Three years ago, you met Heeseung at a Halloween party. And, in a way, he never really left.

You remember the night in sharp, neon clarity, the kind that only exists in memories warped by time and too many cheap drinks. The bass of the music was rattling against the walls, distorting into something unrecognizable by the time it reached your ears. The air was thick, humid with the breath of a hundred strangers crammed into an apartment too small to hold them. It smelled like spilled alcohol, synthetic fog from a cheap smoke machine, and the faintest trace of cinnamon, probably from some idiot who thought Fireball was a good idea.

You were standing in the kitchen, gripping a plastic cup half-full of something blue and questionably sweet, when you felt it. The warmth of someone moving too close. The press of a shoulder against yours. And then—disaster.

A smear of green, across your arm, your ribs, your stomach.

You stared at it, confused. It looked like paint. Wet, sticky, and clinging to the fabric of your skeleton costume like it belonged there. You blinked once, twice, before dragging your gaze upward, locking eyes with the culprit.

“Oh, shit.”

He was green. No, really, he was covered in it, from his jawline to his collarbone, down his arms, streaked across his hands. He was, in fact, one of the Ninja Turtles.

“Are you radioactive?” you asked, because that felt like a genuine concern at this point.

Heeseung—though you didn’t know his name yet—blinked at you, then looked down at his own arm as if just realizing that, yeah, maybe painting his entire body for a costume wasn’t the best idea. “I, uh—fuck, I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think what?” you repeated, glancing down at your once-pristine skeleton costume. “That maybe body paint takes a while to dry?”

“No, see, I thought it was dry. I waited, like, an hour before putting the costume on.” He sounded both defensive and regretful, like someone who had just now realized the full extent of their mistake.

You sighed, poking at the stain. “Well, congrats. You’ve officially made me the first skeleton in history to die of green slime exposure.”

He let out a breath of laughter, then scratched the back of his neck—a habit you’d later come to recognize as his go-to nervous tic. “On the bright side… at least now you match me?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“Not even a little.”

A slow grin spread across his face, lopsided and teasing. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

And he did.

That was the beginning of it, you suppose. A stupid mistake, an even stupider conversation, and a boy painted green who somehow managed to wedge himself into your life like he belonged there. You didn’t know then that he’d become your best friend. That in three years, you’d be sitting next to him in a car at two in the morning, singing along to songs you didn't really know. That you’d learn the exact way he liked his coffee, the rhythm of his breath when he fell asleep next to you on your couch, the way he always looked at you like he was on the verge of saying something important but never quite did.

No, back then, all you knew was that he was an idiot. And that, somehow, against all odds—you kind of liked him anyway. But you and Heeseung became friends by accident.

It wasn’t an immediate thing, not like some cosmic force snapped its fingers and tied the two of you together. No, it was slower than that, more like a series of small collisions, a gradual intertwining of orbits. And most of it had to do with Yunjin.

You and Yunjin had been friends since the beginning of college. One of those friendships that happens fast, like flipping a switch. One day, you were just two people forced into the same group project, and the next, you were sneaking snacks into late-night study sessions, texting each other memes at 3 a.m., and laughing until your stomach hurt over things that weren’t even that funny. She was the kind of person you felt like you had known forever, even though it had only been a few years.

But somehow, despite all that time, you had never actually registered who she lived with. You knew she had a roommate—she’d mentioned him in passing a few times, usually accompanied by an exasperated sigh or an eye roll—but you had never put much thought into it. The guy could’ve been a faceless NPC for all you cared. Just a background character in the world of Yunjin’s apartment. Until one fateful Tuesday afternoon.

You had gone over to Yunjin’s place to work on a mind-numbing, soul-draining research paper, and the two of you were sitting cross-legged on her living room floor. The atmosphere was calm, quiet—at least, until the front door swung open with the force of someone dramatically entering a scene in a sitcom.

“YUNJIN,” a voice rang through the apartment, loud and excited. “I JUST BOUGHT ZELDA: BREATH OF THE WILD. I NEED TO PLAY IT IMMEDIATELY.”

You barely had time to process before the source of the chaos came bounding into the room. A guy, slightly breathless from what must have been a very passionate journey home, clutching a Nintendo Switch game case like it was the most important thing in the world.

And he was green.

Well, not literally—he wasn’t still covered in body paint—but your brain made the connection instantly. The excitement, the unfiltered enthusiasm, the slight air of someone who had been making questionable life decisions since birth.

It clicked.

“Oh my god,” you blurted. “You’re the Ninja Turtle guy.”

Heeseung froze mid-step, eyes flickering to you like he was only now realizing there was another person in the room. For a second, he just stared, lips parted in muted shock, like you had just caught him committing a crime.

Then, in a tone that was both confused and slightly mortified, he said, “Oh. Uh. Yeah. That’s me.”

You squinted at him, taking in the full picture—the messy hair, the slightly wrinkled hoodie, the expression of someone who had absolutely not been expecting to relive his Halloween mistakes today. Then, you turned to Yunjin.

“You live with the Ninja Turtle guy?”

Yunjin, who had been watching this interaction unfold with barely concealed amusement, grinned. “I guess.”

Heeseung cleared his throat, regaining some of his composure. “For the record, my name is Heeseung.”

“Really?” you said, nodding slowly. “I thought your name was Donatello”

He looked mildly offended. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “I feel like I at least deserve to know which turtle was responsible for my suffering. I thought it was Donatello.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes but played along. “Leonardo. Sunghoon was Raphael, Beomgyu was Michelangelo, and Jake was Donatello.”

You considered this for a second, then turned back to Yunjin. “I can’t believe you live with Leonardo.”

Yunjin, deadpan, replied, “Trust me, I can’t either.”

And that was the second collision.

You didn’t know it then, but this was how it would always be with Heeseung—dramatic entrances, loud declarations, and an energy that burst into the room like an unexpected firework. You had met him twice now, and both times, he had been the human embodiment of chaos. But for some reason, that chaos felt a little less like a background character now. And after that day, Heeseung stopped being just Yunjin’s roommate.

You started seeing him everywhere. Not because you were seeking him out—not at first, anyway—but because he had a tendency to appear in your life like some kind of recurring side character in a sitcom. You’d be minding your own business in Yunjin’s apartment, and he’d burst through the door, ranting about how someone stole his favorite study spot in the library. You’d go to grab coffee before class, and there he’d be, dramatically arguing with the barista about why oat milk was a scam. He just kept showing up, like the universe had decided that, for better or worse, he was part of your story now.

And then, you found out you had a class together. It wasn’t a real class. Not in the sense that it required effort or critical thinking. It was one of those ridiculous elective courses that the university offered purely to fill up credit requirements—something slapped onto the catalog as an afterthought, designed for students who were too lazy or too exhausted to take anything serious.

You had signed up for it without even reading the description, choosing it solely because it fit into your schedule and had a reputation for being an easy A. Heeseung, apparently, had done the same.

That was how the two of you ended up in "The Philosophy of Memes and Internet Culture."

The class was exactly as stupid as it sounded. The professor was a guy in his late 40s who still said things like “epic fail” unironically. The syllabus included assignments like “analyzing the impact of Vine on modern humor” and “writing a 500-word essay on the evolution of the Rickroll.” It was the kind of class that could only exist in a university desperate to appear progressive and relevant, and you were 90% sure the school administration had no idea it was happening.

It was, in short, the best class either of you had ever taken.

You and Heeseung immediately became the worst students in the room. Not because you weren’t paying attention, but because you were paying attention too much—finding everything so absurdly hilarious that neither of you could take it seriously. Every lecture felt like a fever dream. Every assignment was an excuse to see how much nonsense you could get away with before the professor caught on.

And then, of course, came the group project. It was a simple assignment: pick a meme, trace its origins, and present its cultural impact. Most people chose something predictable—Doge, Grumpy Cat, Distracted Boyfriend.

You and Heeseung, however, chose Shrek. More specifically, you chose Shrek’s cultural legacy as an ironic meme figure.

It was supposed to be a joke. A way to entertain yourselves in a class that was already ridiculous. But the further you got into your research, the more serious it became.

Somewhere along the way, you and Heeseung stopped just pretending to care and actually started caring. You spent hours deep-diving into obscure Shrek forums, analyzing the rise of “Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life” discourse, debating whether or not the character’s internet resurgence was fueled by genuine appreciation or detached irony. You became scholars of the Shrek Renaissance.

The night before your presentation, you were in Yunjin’s apartment, sitting on the floor with your laptops open, surrounded by a mess of half-empty snack bags and unfinished slides. The clock blinked 2:37 AM, and neither of you had any business still being awake.

Heeseung was slouched against the couch, staring at his screen with the expression of a man who had seen too much. “I think I know too much about Shrek,” he said, voice hollow.

You let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah. We flew too close to the sun on this one.” There was a beat of silence.

Then, Heeseung slowly turned his laptop around, revealing a slide titled ‘Shrek and the Post-Ironic Era of Internet Humor: A Critical Analysis.’ And for some reason, that was it. That was the moment you broke.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that you had just spent the past three hours watching deep-fried Shrek memes with Gregorian chants in the background. Maybe it was just the sheer, stupid absurdity of the entire situation. But suddenly, you were laughing.

Not just laughing—cackling. The kind of breathless, full-body laughter that made your stomach hurt. That made you feel like you were going to die right there on Yunjin’s living room floor, lost to the void of Shrek academia.

And Heeseung—poor, equally sleep-deprived Heeseung—was right there with you. He doubled over, gasping for air, his head nearly colliding with your shoulder as he choked out, “We’re never recovering from this.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You turned to him, trying to catch your breath, and found him already looking at you. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his cheeks flushed from laughter, his whole body still shaking slightly from the aftermath. And for a moment—just a moment—you thought, this is nice.

Not just the laughing. Not just the inside jokes and the chaos.

But him.

You pushed the thought away before it could settle.

Because, at the end of the day, Heeseung was your friend. Your dumbass friend who still had green body paint under his fingernails two weeks after Halloween. Who got irrationally angry at mobile game ads. Who had just spent the last six hours dissecting Shrek memes with you like it was a matter of academic integrity.

And that was all he was.

Right?

Heeseung, on the other hand, wasn’t sure when it started. That feeling.

That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling. The one that sat quietly in the back of his mind, like a notification he refused to check. Like a waiting room. A vague, almost imperceptible awareness that he enjoyed your company a little too much—that your laugh had started to feel like background music in his life, something he didn’t know he needed until it was gone.

Not that it meant anything. Obviously.

He liked lots of people. He was a social guy. He made friends easily, enjoyed being around them, and—despite Yunjin’s many accusations—was not emotionally repressed. He just… liked the things you liked. That was normal.

It was normal that he started watching that terrible reality show you always talked about, even though he swore he hated it. It was normal that he got a random impulse to buy you a weirdly specific snack he saw at the store because “it just screamed your vibe.” It was normal that he sent you voice notes every time he saw something even remotely related to Shrek, even months after your presentation.

That was just friendship. Which was why, as a friend, he invited you to an arcade.

It was one of those places that felt like it had been stuck in time since the 90s—neon lights, sticky floors, a vague smell of burnt popcorn in the air. The kind of place that probably hadn’t passed a health inspection in years, but had an undeniable charm to it. You were too good at skee-ball.

It was honestly annoying. Heeseung had challenged you three times, and each time, you had obliterated him without breaking a sweat. It wasn’t even close. “You’re cheating,” he accused, arms crossed as he watched you land another perfect shot.

You grinned, tossing the last ball effortlessly. “You’re just mad because you suck.”

“I don’t suck,” he argued. “This game is just—rigged. The physics are all off.”

“Oh my god. Did you just say ‘the physics are off’ in a skee-ball game?”

“Yes,” he said, completely serious. “I am a man of logic and reason.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Sure. Okay. Man of logic and reason. If you’re so smart, let’s see how well you do at Dance Dance Revolution.”

Heeseung froze. “I—uh—what?”

“Come on,” you said, already dragging him toward the machine. “Let’s see those skills.”

Here was the thing about Heeseung: he was good at a lot of things. He could play video games for hours without blinking. He could talk his way out of almost any bad situation. He could even recite the entire “All Star” lyrics from memory.

But he could not dance. At all. And that became painfully clear the second the game started.

Heeseung missed every step. Every single one. While you moved effortlessly, barely even glancing at the screen, he was flailing. His feet weren’t in sync with his brain. His arms kept jerking awkwardly, and he could hear you laughing beside him, and somehow, that made it worse.

By the time the game ended, Heeseung was defeated. He doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping dramatically. “I think I died,” he announced.

You patted his back. “You fought bravely.”

He looked up at you then, about to retort, but the words got lost somewhere in his throat. Because you were smiling at him—really smiling. Your eyes were crinkled at the edges, your face still flushed from laughing. The neon lights flickered against your skin, casting everything in shades of blue and pink, making you look—

Well. Heeseung swallowed. That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling? Yeah. It was there.

But you were just his friend.

So, when Beomgyu casually mentioned, in the most offhanded, unbothered way possible, that he thought you were cute, Heeseung should’ve just let it go. But he didn’t.

“You think she’s what?”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Cute. You know, in a hot way.”

Heeseung felt something in his chest twist. It was irrational. Objectively, completely irrational. Because, yeah, you were cute. That wasn’t news to him. He had eyes. He was aware. He had just… never thought about the fact that other people might also be aware.

Heeseung almost laughed. It was a knee-jerk reaction, the kind of dry, disbelieving scoff that came when someone said something so absurd it didn’t even process at first. But then, Beomgyu kept talking.

“I was thinking of asking her out.”

And Heeseung felt it. That twist, low and tight, in the pit of his stomach.

He blinked at Beomgyu, waiting for the usual rush of banter to kick in, for the easy teasing to roll off his tongue. But for some reason, his mouth felt dry. Beomgyu liked you. Beomgyu thought you were cute. Beomgyu wanted to date you.

It wasn’t that wild of a concept. People liked you all the time. You were funny and charming in that effortlessly chaotic way, the kind of person who made friends in the span of a single conversation. It made sense that Beomgyu, out of all people, would look at you and go, Yeah, she’s my type.

And it wasn’t like Heeseung had a say in the matter. So he shrugged, leaning back against the couch, and said, “Yeah, good for you, man. Good for you”

And that should’ve been the end of it. Except. Beomgyu actually did ask you out. And the worst part? You said yes.

At first, Heeseung didn’t think much of it. He was fine. It was fine.

So what if you had gone out with Beomgyu last Friday and came back looking kind of flushed, kind of happy? So what if, the next time he saw you, you had that soft, secretive look in your eyes, the one that said you were thinking about something that made your stomach twist in the good way?

So what. You weren’t dating. You weren’t his. And he sure as hell wasn’t jealous. Except then it wasn’t just one date. Because you went out again. And again. And again. And suddenly, Beomgyu wasn’t just one of Heeseung’s friends anymore—he was the guy you were seeing. And that, for some reason, was so much worse.

The thing about Beomgyu was that he was annoying. Like, Heeseung had always known this, but now, for the first time in his life, it felt personal. “Dude,” Beomgyu groaned, stretching his arms behind his head as they sat in their usual spot in the campus lounge. “Y/N is so fun, bro. Like, actually so fun.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s, like… different.” Heeseung made a face. “No, I’m serious,” Beomgyu whined. “She’s not like other girls.”

I’m gonna walk into traffic, Heeseung thought.

“No, like—” Beomgyu hesitated, looking off into the distance. “She’s just cool, you know?”

And Heeseung didn’t know why that pissed him off. Maybe because he knew that already. He had always known that. He had known it before Beomgyu, before any of these dates, before whatever the hell this was.

He had known it since the night he met you. Since the moment you called him Donatello when he was, in fact, Leonardo. Since the first time you said his name with that teasing edge, like you were permanently in on some joke he didn’t even realize he was making.

So, yeah. Maybe he didn’t like hearing Beomgyu say it like he had discovered it first.

But whatever. Heeseung let it go. Because it wasn’t like this was going to last forever. And then, it didn’t.

One day, you walked into Yunjin’s apartment, kicked your shoes off in a way that sent one flying across the room, and threw yourself onto the couch with all the weight of someone carrying a great and terrible burden.

Heeseung, sitting on the floor, scrolled mindlessly through his phone, pretending he hadn’t immediately noticed you. But then, you sighed. A deep, world-weary, existentially exhausted sigh.

Yunjin looked up from where she was painting her nails. “Jesus,” she muttered. “What.”

You groaned, stuffing your face into a pillow. “I think I’m over it.”

Heeseung’s thumb froze mid-scroll. Casual. He had to be casual. So, without looking up, he mumbled, “Over what?”

Another dramatic sigh. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life itself. “Beomgyu.”

Heeseung blinked. Okay.

Yunjin, who had been the biggest advocate of this whole thing, frowned. “Wait, what do you mean? You were literally texting him heart emojis yesterday.”

“I don’t know.” You stretched out your legs like the weight of your own existence was exhausting you. “I just… don’t feel like it anymore.”

Yunjin gave you a look. “Like, what? He’s a hobby you got bored of?”

“No! It’s just—” You hesitated, pressing your lips together. “Like, I liked the idea of him. And at first, it was fun. But then, the more time we spent together, the more I realized… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

You exhaled, shutting your eyes. “I feel like I was trying to make myself like him the way I was supposed to. But it just wasn’t working.”

And that was when Heeseung’s grip on his phone tightened. He forced himself to keep his face neutral, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “The way you were supposed to?”

You turned your head towards him. “Yeah. Like, Beomgyu is great, okay? He’s funny, and he’s cute, and he’s nice, and I should like him.” You paused, expression softening. “But every time he kissed me, I just…”

You trailed off, lost in thought. Heeseung swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why.

Yunjin made a gagging noise. “Okay, ew. Please don’t get all sentimental about kissing Beomgyu on my couch.”

You laughed, pushing her half-heartedly with your foot. “I’m just saying—it’s not clicking. You ever get that? Like, you try to like someone, but no matter how much you do, it just doesn’t fit?”

And the way you looked at Heeseung when you asked that—like you expected him to understand—made something in his chest tighten. Because yeah. He knew exactly what that felt like. He just… couldn’t say it.

So he swallowed, rolling his shoulders back, and forced a small smirk. “Damn,” he said, voice light. “Tough loss for Beomgyu.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah.” Then, a pause. “Guess I’m single again.”

Something in Heeseung’s chest lurched. But he just nodded, keeping his expression neutral, easy, unfazed. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like it didn’t change everything.

A few weeks later, Heeseung showed up at your apartment. It was raining that day.

Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but in that soft, half-hearted drizzle that made everything look just a little bit duller. The sky was gray, the streets were damp, and Heeseung had definitely stepped into at least two puddles on his way up to your place.

Which, in his opinion, was already way too much effort just to fix your stupid kitchen cabinet.

“Okay, I just wanna say,” he announced as soon as you let him in, dragging his slightly-wet socks across your floor, “I don’t know how the hell you managed to completely detach a cabinet door, but honestly? I’m kind of impressed.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside to let him in. “Are you gonna help me or are you gonna make fun of me?”

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna make fun of you.” He grinned, toeing off his shoes before making his way to your kitchen. “But I’ll fix it after.”

You followed behind him, crossing your arms as you watched him inspect the broken cabinet. It wasn’t like you had meant to break it. You had simply been existing in your own kitchen, minding your own business, when the handle somehow got caught on the sleeve of your hoodie—one tug too strong, and suddenly the door was in your hands instead of on its hinges.

“I literally don’t understand how this happened,” Heeseung muttered, crouching down to assess the damage.

“Okay, handyman,” you shot back. “Can you fix it or not?”

Heeseung snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, let me just—” He held out a hand. “Pass me my phone.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“My hands are kinda full,” he said, nodding towards the cabinet door that he was currently balancing on one knee. “Look up how to fix this real quick.”

You huffed but grabbed his phone from the counter, unlocking it without thinking as you leaned against the kitchen island. You didn’t love the idea of looking up a YouTube tutorial like some kind of DIY newbie, but considering that Heeseung was already physically here fixing your problem for you, you figured you could at least meet him halfway.

So, with one hand holding his phone, you typed "how to reattach cabinet door" into the search bar—

And then, your thumb froze. Because right there, at the top of the screen, was a notification. A message. From Chaewon. Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know who Chaewon was. Of course, you did. You weren’t stupid. Chaewon was his ex.

The one he never really talked about. The one who had, at one point, been a name you’d only heard in passing, just a piece of his past that you had no real reason to care about. Except… you did.

Because now, here she was. On his screen. Texting him. And suddenly, you felt fucking ridiculous. Because why were you even reacting like this? It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend. It wasn’t like he owed you an explanation. So, then… why did it feel like this?

You forced yourself to look away from the message, pressing the YouTube link on the screen as if nothing had happened. But something had. Because when Heeseung glanced at you, waiting for your next words, you just… couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your voice didn’t sound normal. “It says you need a screwdriver.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow at your abrupt shift in tone, but he didn’t question it. “Okay,” he said slowly, getting up to grab one from his bag.

You took the moment to shove his phone back onto the counter, clenching your jaw as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. It was fine. You were fine.

“Hey.” His voice cut through the air, slightly muffled as he rummaged through his bag. “Can you hold this while I—”

“No, it’s fine.” The words came out too fast, too stiff.

And Heeseung noticed. He glanced at you, pausing with the screwdriver halfway in his grip. “You good?”

You forced out a laugh. “Yeah. Why?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head. “You just got all weird all of a sudden.”

“I didn’t.”

“You definitely did.”

You exhaled sharply, schooling your expression into something that wasn’t betrayal or insecurity or whatever dumb thing was currently buzzing inside your head. “I’m just tired.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Heeseung didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t push. He just hummed under his breath, turning back to the cabinet as he started working again.

And maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was irrational. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The notification. The name. The way your stomach had twisted on instinct before you even had a chance to tell yourself it didn’t matter.

Because maybe… Maybe it did.

The next time you’re at Yunjin’s apartment, Heeseung isn’t there.

It’s not intentional, not entirely. Maybe there’s a small, petty part of you that’s relieved when Yunjin mentions he’s out, like the universe decided to grant you a break from the exhausting push and pull of whatever this thing is between you. But mostly, you’re just here because you always are.

There’s an old episode of some dating reality show playing in the background, and Yunjin barely glances at it as she paints her toenails a shade of red so deep it’s almost brown. You pick at the hem of your sleeve, casual, too casual, before finally asking, “Does Heeseung still see Chaewon?”

Yunjin snorts, like it’s the dumbest thing she’s heard all day. “God, I hope not.”

Something in your stomach untwists just slightly, but you don’t let the relief settle. You just raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What happened with them, anyway?”

Yunjin pauses, her brush hovering mid-air. She gives you a look. The kind that says she sees through you. The kind that makes your skin prickle with the discomfort of being known. But then she sighs, leans back against the couch, and says, “They burned out.”

You blink. “That’s it?”

Yunjin tilts her head. “You ever leave a candle burning too long?” She dips the brush back into the bottle, shaking her head. “They were good until they weren’t. And when they weren’t, it was obvious. Chaewon got tired of waiting for him to catch up.”

You frown. “Catch up?”

Yunjin shrugs. “She loved him first. And she wanted him to love her back just as fast, just as much. But Heeseung…” She sighs, blowing lightly on her nails. “Heeseung takes his time. He doesn’t fall in love all at once, he kind of… eases into it. Like the dumbass that he is.”

Your chest tightens.

Because you think about the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. About the way he always notices when you’re cold before you even say anything. And then you think about the way he doesn’t say anything. About the way he’s always on the edge of something, always almost.

Yunjin is watching you. You can feel it. And you know, you just know, she’s about to say something that’s going to ruin you.

So you get up, stretch your arms above your head like you can shake the weight of this conversation off your skin. “Right. Well. That was fun. Thanks for the gossip.”

Yunjin smirks. “You’re so fucking obvious.” You ignore her, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. But before you can shove it in your mouth, she says, “Heeseung’s not stupid, you know. He just doesn’t like to move until he’s sure.”

You pause. And because you’re you, and because this is Heeseung, and because everything about this whole thing is a goddamn waiting game— You pretend you don’t hear her.

And then it’s 2:14 a.m. when your phone buzzes.

You’re half-asleep, curled up in bed, the glow of your screen slicing through the darkness. You squint at it, groggy, before reading the message.

heeseung: you awake? heeseung: also. do u want mcdonalds

You blink. Then again. You type out a response with fingers that still feel half-dead from sleep.

you: is that even a question heeseung: valid. be outside in 10

And just like that, you’re stepping into your slides, and slipping out the door like this is the most normal thing in the world. Because with Heeseung, it kind of is.

The streetlights cast long, tired shadows across the pavement, and the air is that weird mix of crisp and stale that only exists at this hour, like the city itself is pausing, caught between the last breath of night and the first inhale of morning.

Heeseung’s car rolls up exactly nine minutes later, music already playing low through the speakers. When you slide into the passenger seat, he barely even looks at you before reaching into the back and tossing you his hoodie.

“You’re gonna get cold,” he says simply.

You huff, but you put it on. It smells like him—faint detergent, something vaguely woody, and the unmistakable scent of McDonald’s fries from however many late-night runs have preceded this one.

Heeseung pulls out onto the street, the familiar hum of the engine settling between you. He’s got one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, and there’s a soft shadow of exhaustion under his eyes, but he still looks… at ease.

It’s quiet for a while. Comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn’t feel like it needs filling.

Then, as he turns onto the main road, he says, “You ever think about how weird time is?”

You glance at him. “That’s an insane way to start a conversation.”

“I’m serious,” he laughs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Like, right now. It’s 2:30 a.m. for us, but somewhere else, it’s a normal afternoon. Someone’s getting lunch, someone’s going to work. And here we are, about to eat McNuggets in a parking lot.”

You hum. “I feel like this is your way of convincing me that time isn’t real.”

He nods solemnly. “Nothing is real.”

“Except McNuggets.”

“Exactly.”

A beat passes, the soft rumble of the tires against the road the only sound for a moment. Then, quieter, more thoughtful, Heeseung asks, “Where do you think you’ll be in a year?”

The question catches you off guard. You tilt your head, thinking. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I have plans, but… life never really goes how you expect it to, does it?”

Heeseung exhales a small laugh. “No. It really doesn’t.”

You hesitate before adding, “Where do you think you’ll be?”

He takes a moment. His grip on the steering wheel tightens just slightly, like he’s holding onto the words before letting them go. “I don’t know either.” He pauses, then glances at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I just hope I’m somewhere that still feels like home.”

You feel something shift. A small, almost imperceptible weight settling between the two of you.

And maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s the fact that your brain isn’t fully awake yet. Or maybe it’s just him—this version of Heeseung that only exists at 2:30 a.m., the one who speaks in half-truths and unspoken things. But you suddenly feel like you understand exactly what he means.

The McDonald’s drive-thru is basically empty when you pull in. The girl at the window looks like she hates her job, and Heeseung, being Heeseung, makes it his personal mission to get her to smile.

“Are McFlurries still a scam?” he asks solemnly.

The girl raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You mean, is the machine broken?”

“Yeah.”

“Obviously.”

Heeseung sighs. “I knew it. A tragedy, really.”

Her lips twitch—just barely—but he sees it. He shoots you a triumphant look as he pulls forward.

With the food secured, he parks in a near-empty lot. There’s something about eating fast food in a car past midnight that makes it taste ten times better—something about the way the city is so still, like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you and the glow of the dashboard lights.

For a while, you just eat in silence, the occasional rustle of a fry bag or the quiet click of a sauce container the only noise. Then Heeseung says, “If you could live in any movie, which one would it be?”

You think for a moment. “Probably something stupid and fun. Like… a rom-com where everything works out in the end.”

Heeseung snorts. “Yeah? You want to be the main character that badly?”

“Obviously.”

He grins, dipping a fry into his BBQ sauce. “You’d be the chaotic best friend, though.”

You throw a fry at him. He catches it in his mouth.

“What about you?” you ask, popping a nugget into your mouth.

Heeseung leans back against the seat, thinking. “I don’t know. Something small. Quiet. One of those movies where nothing really happens, but it still makes you feel something.”

You tilt your head. “Like a waiting room.”

Heeseung turns to you. “What?”

“A waiting room,” you say, like it’s obvious. “That’s what those movies feel like. Like something is about to happen, but you don’t know what, and maybe it’s okay if nothing does.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then he smiles. And it’s not his usual grin, not the teasing, lopsided smirk. It’s something smaller, softer. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Like a waiting room.”

Neither of you say anything after that. The city hums in the background, neon lights bleeding into the darkness, the last remnants of fries sitting forgotten between you.

And then, a party. Not the kind you remember from three years ago, not the one where you met a boy covered in green body paint who changed your life without even meaning to. But still, a party. The music is just as loud, the air just as thick with heat and laughter, the night just as full of things waiting to happen.

You’re not sure why you came. Yunjin had begged, of course, had stood in your doorway with her most dramatic expression, wailing about how you never do anything fun anymore. But even then, you could have said no. You could have curled up in your apartment, wrapped yourself in something soft and safe, ignored the way your stomach flipped when you thought, what if Heeseung is there?

But you didn’t.

And now, you’re here, standing in the middle of someone’s too-small living room, holding a lukewarm drink, feeling like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. And then, you hear your name.

It cuts through the music, through the laughter, through the static in your brain. It pulls you toward the kitchen, toward the familiar lilt of a voice you know better than your own. And there he is. Heeseung.

Standing in front of the fridge, cracking open a beer, wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans that hang just right. His hair is a little messy, his eyes a little bright, and when he sees you, he grins—that same lopsided, teasing, dangerous smile.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he says, raising his drink in a mock toast.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of whatever’s in your cup. "Don’t make a big deal out of it."

Heeseung hums, leaning against the counter. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

But he’s looking at you like it is a big deal. Like maybe he’s been waiting for you all night. Like maybe he always is.

Hours pass, the party moves around you—people spilling in and out of rooms, music shifting from one song to the next—but you and Heeseung stay where you are, orbiting around each other.

At some point, someone suggests a game. Cards, or maybe something more ridiculous—something designed to make people confess things they wouldn’t say otherwise. You should say no. You should step away before you find yourself caught in something you can’t get out of.

But you don’t. You sit next to Heeseung on the floor, close enough that your knees touch. The game starts, questions fly, people laugh. And then—

Jake turns to you. "Alright, Y/N. Who was your first college crush?"

You blink. "What?"

The group whoops in unison. Jungwon throws an arm around your shoulder. "Come on, don’t be shy."

Your throat goes dry. Your eyes flicker to Heeseung, just for a second, but it’s enough. His smirk twitches—just barely, just enough to be noticeable—and suddenly, you know you have to get out of this.

You clear your throat, reaching for your drink. "I think I’ve blocked it out," you lie.

A chorus of boos erupts, but the game moves on. The moment passes. But beside you, Heeseung is watching you, his fingers tapping against his knee, like he’s putting something together. You pretend not to notice.

Later, when the party has blurred into something soft and distant, when most people are drunk or half-asleep, when the night has stretched itself out into something too fragile to hold forever, Heeseung finds you on the balcony.

You’re leaning against the railing, breathing in the cool air, staring out at the city lights. "You hiding from me?"

You don’t turn around. "You think everything’s about you, don’t you?"

He laughs—soft, amused, something warm threading through the sound. "It usually is."

You roll your eyes, but then he’s beside you, resting his forearms on the railing, close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through the night air.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The music inside is muffled now, the party nothing more than background noise. The city stretches out before you, endless and alive, full of people who have no idea that this moment is happening.

And then, quietly, Heeseung asks, "You really don’t remember your first college crush?"

Your fingers tighten slightly around the railing. You exhale. "I remember."

A pause. "Yeah?"

You glance at him. He’s watching you, expression unreadable, something deep and knowing in his eyes. You swallow. "Yeah."

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, and for a second, you think—Is he going to ask? Does he already know? But he doesn’t.

He just nods, looking back at the skyline, and says, "Me too."

And somehow, that’s worse. Because you think—no, you know—that he’s not talking about some early college memory, some long-forgotten infatuation.

He’s talking about you.

And for the first time, you wonder if this thing between you—this waiting, this almost, this three years of something unspoken—has been more obvious than you thought. You wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one waiting.

One month later. The thing about time is that it moves whether you’re ready or not. It stretches, it folds, it carries you forward even when you feel like you’re standing still.

And ever since the party, things with Heeseung have been… different. Not in an obvious way. Not in the way that people would notice, not in the way that Yunjin would tease you about over breakfast. But in the small things.

In the way his eyes linger just a little too long. In the way your stomach flips when he says your name. In the way every conversation feels like it’s balancing on the edge of something you can’t name.

Because you and Heeseung have always been close, always been drawn together like something written into the universe itself. But now? Now, it feels different. Like someone turned up the volume on something you didn’t even realize was playing in the background.

And the worst part? Neither of you are talking about it.

Instead, you’re doing what you do best—pretending. Pretending that nothing is different, that things are still light and easy, that three years of something unspoken aren’t finally starting to spill over the edges.

Until one day, when you’re sitting on Yunjin’s couch, your phone rings. It’s your mother. You hesitate before answering, already bracing yourself for whatever she’s about to say.

And the moment you put your phone down, you groan, collapsing onto the couch, like the weight of the conversation is physically pressing down on you. Heeseung and Yunjin are both looking at you expectantly, their attention fully on you in a way that makes you regret opening your mouth at all. But it’s too late now, so you just exhale, pressing your fingers against your temples before muttering, "My mom called."

Yunjin snorts. "Yeah, we got that much. What did she want?"

You roll your eyes, but the annoyance in your chest is directed at yourself more than anything else. "There’s a wedding. My cousin’s. Next weekend."

Heeseung, who had been absentmindedly rolling a bottle cap between his fingers, finally glances up, eyes curious. "You going?"

"Yeah." You sigh again. "Didn’t really have a choice. If I said no, she would’ve found a way to guilt-trip me into oblivion."

Yunjin grins knowingly. "Classic mom move."

You hum in agreement, then hesitate, picking at the hem of your sleeve. "And then she made it weird," you mutter.

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly on the couch so he’s facing you more fully. "How weird?"

You pause for a second, then groan, throwing your head back. "She brought up the fact that I’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything."

Yunjin cackles. She actually leans forward, hands on her knees, cackling. "Oh my God," she wheezes. "That’s so embarrassing for you."

You glare. "Thank you, Yunjin, for your endless support."

But Heeseung doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease. He just tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression. "She said that?"

You nod, rubbing your temples. "Yeah. She was all, ‘You can bring someone, you know,’ and then just immediately went for the ‘You’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything,’ like I don’t already know that."

Yunjin wipes a fake tear from her eye, still far too entertained. "Damn. She really called you out like that."

"Okay," you deadpan, "I think we’ve established that this is humiliating for me. Can we move on?"

But Yunjin grins, her eyes practically glowing with mischief, and that’s when you know you should have never said anything at all. "Well," she says, stretching out the word, "if it bothers you that much… you could always bring Heeseung."

Silence.

You feel it immediately—the way the air shifts, the way your stomach twists, the way your breath catches for just a second too long. You don’t look at Heeseung. You can’t.

Instead, you scoff, shoving her shoulder. "Oh my God, shut up."

"I’m serious!" she laughs. "It makes sense, doesn’t it? You need a date. Heeseung’s around."

Heeseung is silent. And that—that’s what makes your chest tighten. Because Heeseung is never silent.

You finally force yourself to glance at him, just a flicker, just to see how he’s reacting to this. And when you do, you find him already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his fingers stilling where they had been absently playing with the bottle cap.

Something tightens in your throat. Because it’s one thing to laugh it off. It’s one thing to pretend this isn’t something charged, something delicate, something that feels like standing on the edge of something too big to name.

But Heeseung isn’t laughing.

When you open the door on the wedding day, Heeseung is already leaning against his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, looking entirely too good for someone who is supposed to be doing you a favor. His hair is neat but still has that slight, careless tousle to it, his sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms, and his black dress shirt is criminally well-fitted.

You try very hard not to notice any of that. But Heeseung is looking at you like you just stopped time.

It’s not obvious—he doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t let his jaw drop like some kind of movie cliché—but his fingers twitch slightly where they’re resting in his pockets, and his throat bobs as he swallows. His eyes move over you in a way that isn’t just admiration but something deeper, something heavier, something that makes your chest feel too tight.

You pretend not to notice that, either. Instead, you lift an eyebrow, shifting your weight onto one foot. "You gonna open the door for me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Heeseung blinks, snapping out of it. He clears his throat, pushing off the car, his usual smirk creeping back into place. "Right, yeah. My bad."

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm anyway. The ride starts out easy. The hum of the road fills the space between you, the occasional comment about the directions or a song playing on the radio breaking the silence.

"You, uh," Heeseung starts, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "You sure your mom’s gonna be cool with me coming?"

You blink. "What? Yeah, of course. I already told her."

He raises an eyebrow. "You told her?"

"Yeah," you say, adjusting the hem of your dress. "I mean, I talk about you all the time, so it’s not like it’s weird or anything."

Silence. You don’t notice it at first, but when you glance over, Heeseung is staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel a little tighter than before.

And the thing is—Heeseung is not someone who gets flustered easily. He doesn’t trip over his words, doesn’t get all weird when people talk about him. But now, he’s sitting there, completely silent, like his brain just blue-screened.

Because you talk about him all the time. To your mom. His ears burn at the thought.

Because it’s one thing to be close. It’s one thing to be your best friend, to be the person you go to for late-night McDonald’s runs and life-altering conversations on balconies. But it’s another thing entirely to know that he exists in your life even when he’s not there.

That when you’re on the phone with your mom, when you’re recounting your day, when you’re talking about the people who matter—he’s there. And it’s so stupid how much that does to him.

He coughs, forcing himself to sound normal. "Oh. Cool. Yeah. That’s cool."

You snort. "I told her you’re my friend, and that’s it."

Heeseung hums, tapping his fingers on the wheel again. "Yeah. Right."

But for some reason, the word friend doesn’t sit right in his mouth.

The wedding is beautiful. Not in the over-the-top, fairytale kind of way, but in the way that feels real. The ceremony is held outdoors, the late afternoon light draping everything in gold, the air carrying the soft hum of laughter and clinking glasses. There are flowers on every table, music drifting lazily through the air, and a warmth that lingers beneath the chatter of distant relatives catching up.

And you almost forget that you’re here with Heeseung. Almost. Except—you can feel him.

You can feel him next to you at the table, the warmth of his presence settling into your skin. You can feel the way his hand brushes against yours when he reaches for something, the way his eyes flicker toward you when he hears you laugh.

And the worst part is that he looks good as hell.

It’s almost unfair, the way he carries himself. The way his sleeves are still rolled up, the way his shirt is slightly undone at the collar, the way he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, watching everything unfold like he belongs here.

And for the first time in a long time you don’t know where you stand with him.

Because this is Heeseung. The boy who sends you Shrek memes at 2 a.m. The boy who once argued with a barista about oat milk for a full five minutes. The boy who makes you laugh until you can’t breathe.

But right now? Right now, he’s something else, too. Something that makes your stomach flip. Something that makes you forget how to breathe.

The music shifts. It’s not immediate—not some grand, dramatic moment where the world slows down—but you feel it.

The moment the first notes of the song drift through the air, you feel it in your chest. Like something tightening. Like something pulling at a thread you don’t want to unravel. Because you know this song. Of course you know this song. And so does he.

You don’t even have to look at Heeseung to know he recognizes it too. That he knows exactly what’s playing, that he knows how much you love her, that he knows you’ve played this song before—in his car, in your apartment, in the quiet spaces between friendship and something else.

You know he knows. And yet, he still turns to you, his voice a low murmur beneath the hum of conversation. “Phoebe Bridgers,” he says.

You swallow. “Yeah.” Heeseung hums, watching you carefully. His fingers drum lightly against the table, slow and steady, in time with the beat of the song. Then, after a second—

"You should dance with me."

You blink. You blink again. Your stomach twists. “What?”

Heeseung shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything. “You love this song.”

Which—okay. That’s true. But this is not a song you dance to. This is a song you listen to alone, in your room, in the quiet, when it’s too late and you’re too restless and you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about.

This is not a wedding song. And yet, Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like this is a dare, like he’s waiting for you to say no, to call him out, to pull away before it’s too late.

And yet, his hand is outstretched, waiting, patient, warm. And yet— You take it. You don’t think, you just do it, just let yourself be pulled. And Heeseung holds you like he’s afraid to press too hard.

One hand on your waist. The other clasping yours loosely, like he’s letting you decide how close to be. Like he’s still waiting for you to laugh and push him away and say, ‘This is so stupid’.

But you don’t. You just breathe. You just exist here, in this moment, with him.

If you were a waiting room, I would never see a doctor I would sit there with my first-aid kit and bleed

Your throat tightens. Because God, this song.

Because you know every lyric by heart, because you know what it means, because there’s something about it that always makes you feel like you’re standing in the middle of something you’ll never quite have.

And now, here you are, dancing to it with him.

Heeseung exhales softly, tilting his head toward you. “You ever think about that?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

His fingers twitch slightly against your waist. “How music reminds you of people.”

Your stomach flips. Because of course you do. Of course, you think about it. Of course, this song, this moment, this whole damn night is going to be tied to him now, forever, no matter what happens after.

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I think about it.”

Heeseung hums, like that makes sense. Like he already knew what you were going to say. Then—

"Does this song remind you of me?"

Your breath catches. The air between you thickens.

Because that shouldn’t be a question. Because he already knows the answer. Because you’re standing here with him, swaying to a song that makes your chest ache, and you know, you know he hears the lyrics just as clearly as you do.

I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to sound normal. “Maybe.”

His lips twitch. “Maybe?”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Heeseung laughs, soft, breathless. And God, you hate him.

You hate the way he makes everything feel like a game, like he’s always hovering right at the edge of something and waiting for you to push him over. You hate that it’s working.

And when broken bodies are washed ashore—who am I to ask for more?

You shiver. Because this is the part of the song that gets to you every time. Because who are you to ask for more?

Who are you to ask for something that maybe, just maybe, was never meant to be yours? But then Heeseung, of all people, says “I think this song reminds me of you, too.”

Your heart stops. You look at him, and he’s already looking at you, and suddenly this doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.

This doesn’t feel like something you can laugh off. Because Heeseung is serious.

Because his hand is still on your waist, his fingers still brushing against the fabric of your dress, his breath still warm against your cheek, and you don’t know how to go back from this. You don’t know if you want to.

Heeseung shifts slightly, his grip tightening for just a second. “You ever think about it?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

Heeseung hesitates, his eyes flickering over your face. His jaw tightens—just barely.

"Us."

Your stomach drops.

Because he says it so simply, like it’s nothing, like it’s a passing thought, like he hasn’t just destroyed your entire world in one syllable. Us. The word sits heavy in the air between you, impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you didn’t hear.

Heeseung doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, doesn’t do anything to make this easier for you. He just keeps holding you, keeps swaying with you, keeps waiting—like he has all the time in the world.

You want to say something.

You want to throw your head back and laugh it off, tell him he’s being ridiculous, tell him to stop playing with you. You want to scoff and roll your eyes and pretend that the thought of you and Heeseung has never crossed your mind, that it hasn’t been haunting you for years, that it hasn’t been living under your skin since the first time he looked at you like you were something worth remembering.

But you can’t. Because this is Heeseung. Because he knows you too well, because he’d hear the lie in your voice, because there is nowhere left to hide when he’s looking at you like this.

So instead, you stall. You breathe in, slow and careful, and say, "What about us?"

It’s a cheap move. A pathetic attempt at deflection. And Heeseung knows it.

He exhales, the ghost of a laugh slipping past his lips, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your waist. "You know what I mean."

You glance down at your hands, the way your fingers are still laced together with his, the way your other hand rests so easily on his shoulder, like this is something you’ve done a thousand times before. And maybe you have.

Maybe you and Heeseung have always been dancing around each other like this. Maybe you’ve just never let yourself notice. The song keeps playing, keeps taunting you, keeps threading its meaning between your ribs, pulling you closer and closer to something you don’t know how to name.

I wanna make you drive all night just because I said, maybe you should come over

You let out a slow breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. "We’re friends, Heeseung."

He hums. "Yeah. We are."

But he doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t move away, doesn’t drop his hand from your waist, doesn’t step back into the safe distance you’re used to. He stays. And that’s the part that gets you.

Because if he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t be holding you like this. If he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place.

You glance up at him again, searching, waiting for him to say something else, to give you an out, to change the subject, to laugh and let it go. But he doesn’t. He just watches you. And suddenly, you feel exposed in a way you never have before.

Like every late-night conversation, every half-smile, every almost has been leading here, to this moment, to this song, to this feeling that you don’t know how to escape. You force yourself to swallow.

"Why are you asking me this?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, considering you, considering his words.

"Because I think about it, too."

Your breath catches in your throat. Your fingers tighten against his shoulder. Your heart slams against your ribs.

You feel like the whole world has shrunk down to just this. To the space between your bodies, to the way he’s looking at you, to the fact that he thinks about it, too.

Heeseung’s fingers twitch slightly against yours, but he doesn’t let go. He’s watching you with this careful intensity, like he’s waiting for something, like he’s giving you the chance to decide what happens next.

And that’s the problem.

Because you don’t know what happens next.

Because you’ve spent years existing in this strange, untouchable place with him, in this in-between, in this waiting room of a relationship that never moves forward but never lets you leave either.

And now, suddenly, here you are. Standing on the edge of something irreversible.

She'll be the best you ever had if you let her

Your heart stumbles. Because this song knows too much.

Because this song feels too much like the two of you, like something ripped from your ribs and put into lyrics, like a truth you weren’t ready to confront. And maybe—just maybe—Heeseung feels it, too.

Because he leans in. Just a little. Just enough.

Not enough to cross the line, not enough to destroy the thing you’ve built, but enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, enough that the scent of him—clean soap, something faintly woodsy, something entirely him—wraps around you.

Enough that you could close the distance if you wanted to. And God, you do.

But you don’t. Because you’re afraid. Because you don’t know what happens when you let this become real.

Because Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like he could ruin you if he wanted to, like he’s giving you the chance to ruin him first.

I know it's for the better

You exhale, too shaky, too uneven. And Heeseung notices.

His gaze flickers, barely, to your lips, to the space between you, to the way you haven’t moved away from him yet. And then his jaw clenches.

Like he’s just realized how close you are. Like he’s just realized this is about to happen if neither of you stop it. And that’s the thing, neither of you stop it.

Not immediately. Not when his fingers tighten slightly on your waist. Not when your grip on his shoulder trembles just a little. Not when the air between you stretches so thin it might snap in half.

Not until you hear, Know it’s for the better…

The song starts to fade. The moment fractures. And just like that, you both pull away.

Not much. Just an inch, a breath, a single second too late. But it’s enough.

Enough for reality to settle back in. Enough for the noise of the wedding to come rushing back, for the chatter and laughter and clinking glasses to remind you where you are, who you are, what you almost did.

And Heeseung, he knows it, too. You see it in the way his throat bobs, in the way he blinks hard, in the way he forces himself to take a step back, to drop his hand from your waist, to roll his shoulders like he can shake off whatever just happened between you.

The song ends. And neither of you say a word.

And three months later, silence.

At first, it’s subtle—just a missed text here, a conversation that doesn’t last as long as it used to, an inside joke that no longer lands the way it should. But then it becomes something else. Something colder. Something that feels less like a pause and more like a choice.

And that’s what happened to you and Heeseung.

You didn’t stop talking completely. That would have been too obvious, too final, too much like admitting that something had shifted beyond repair. You still sent the occasional meme, still ran into each other at Yunjin’s, still had conversations that skimmed the surface of what they used to be.

But it was different. The late-night McDonald’s runs stopped. The effortless teasing felt strained. The ease of being around each other—the one thing you never questioned—was suddenly gone.

Neither of you did anything about it. You let it happen. Because it was easier that way.

Because acknowledging it meant admitting that something had changed, that you had gotten too close, that something had almost happened that night at the wedding. And you weren’t ready to admit that.

You weren’t ready to ask if Heeseung had almost kissed you, or if you had almost kissed him, or if you had both just been caught in some stupid, fleeting moment that meant nothing at all. So, you didn’t.

And now, three months later, all that’s left is silence.

The rain comes down in sheets, heavy and relentless, drumming against the windows of your apartment. You sit curled up on your couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone abandoned on the coffee table. The storm had rolled in an hour ago, sudden and unforgiving, and now the whole city feels swallowed by it, the streetlights barely visible through the downpour.

Then, there’s a knock at your door. You weren’t expecting anyone. It’s too late, too stormy, too much of a nothing kind of night for visitors.

But something in you knows—before you even open the door, before you even take that first breath—that it’s him.

And it is. It’s Heeseung.

Standing in your doorway, soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead, breathing unevenly like he just ran here.

You freeze. "Heeseung?"

His eyes flicker over your face, searching, desperate, wild in a way you’ve never seen before. His clothes are damp, sticking to his frame, his hands clenched at his sides. But it’s his expression that gets you.

Like something is breaking inside of him. Like something has already broken.

“I can’t—” His voice catches, hoarse and raw, and then he shakes his head, like words are failing him, like they’re too small for what he’s trying to say.

Your heart is pounding. “Heeseung, what are you—”

"I can’t stop thinking about you."

The words crash into you like a wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare.

Heeseung swallows hard, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it, like he’s trying to find a way to make you understand.

"I’ve tried," he continues, voice shaking. "I really, really tried. But you’re always there. You’re in every song I hear, in every dumb inside joke, in every single thing that happens to me. I see something stupid and my first thought is always, ‘Y/N would think that’s hilarious.’ I go to text you and then I stop because I don’t know if I’m supposed to anymore. I—"

He lets out a sharp, frustrated laugh, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “I thought if I just gave it time, it would go away. I thought I could just—move past it. But I still feel like I’m standing in that damn Halloween party with you, waiting for something to happen.”

Your throat is tight. “Heeseung—”

“I miss you,” he interrupts, pushing forward, stepping into your space like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door on him if he doesn’t. "I miss you so much it’s making me lose my goddamn mind."

Your pulse is roaring in your ears. You should say something. You should do something. But you can’t. You just stand there, staring at him, your body frozen in place. And Heeseung just keeps talking.

"I don’t know how to be your friend anymore," he admits, wrecked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to sit next to you and act like I don’t want more. I don’t know how to look at you and pretend that you’re not the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about before I fall asleep. I don’t know how to listen to that fucking song without remembering the way you looked at me that night."

The air is too thick. Your vision is blurring.

Heeseung breathes out a shaky, desperate laugh, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "And the worst part?" He meets your eyes, and it destroys you. "I don’t think I want to stop thinking about you."

And that’s it.

That’s what breaks you. That’s what makes you move.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.

You step forward, grab the front of his stupid wet shirt, and kiss him.

The storm rages outside. And for the first time in three years, neither of you pull away.

The moment your lips crash into his, Heeseung stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but then he’s pulling you closer, like he’s been waiting for this forever.

His hands cup your face, fingers threading into your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he lets go. And you grip the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you standing, like if you let go, the moment might shatter around you.

Heeseung sighs into the kiss, like he’s relieved, like this is something he’s needed more than breathing itself. He tilts his head, deepening it, and you melt into him, the heat of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.

It’s surreal, familiar and foreign all at once, like stepping into a dream you’ve had before but never been able to hold onto. Because this is Heeseung. The boy who has always been by your side, the boy who has spent years making you laugh until your stomach hurts, the boy who has always been a constant in your life.

But now, he’s something else too. Now, he’s the only thing you can feel. And that’s the strangest part, how utterly consuming this is. Because your brain is struggling to keep up, still caught in the absurdity of it—Heeseung is kissing me, I’m kissing Heeseung, this is happening, this is happening.

And then he moves forward, stepping into the apartment fully, finally, his hands still tangled in your hair, still refusing to let you go. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound almost lost beneath the roar of the storm outside.

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. His lips find yours again, his hands skimming over your waist, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he spent pretending he didn’t want this. And you can’t breathe. Because this isn’t like any kiss you’ve ever had before.

You’ve kissed people you liked. You’ve kissed people you thought you could love. But you have never, never felt this. This heat, this ache, this impossible, indescribable pull. Like your entire life has been leading up to this moment.

Like every other kiss you’ve had before this was just a poor imitation of what it was supposed to feel like. And that’s terrifying. Because how do you go back after this? How do you pretend this doesn’t mean something?

Heeseung exhales against your lips, his breath uneven, his fingers tightening just slightly against your waist. Like he’s thinking the same thing, like he’s struggling just as much as you are to make sense of this.

You should stop. You should pull away, take a breath, process. But you can’t.

Because he tilts his head, kisses you deeper, and suddenly, you’re walking backward without realizing it, your body moving on instinct, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you steady. Heeseung follows, one hand sliding down to rest against the small of your back, guiding you without thinking, without hesitation.

Your legs hit the couch. You stumble slightly, your balance faltering for the first time, and Heeseung, on pure reflex, catches you. His hands tighten instantly, pulling you against him, steadying you before you can fall.

But the movement leaves zero space between you. You can feel everything, his chest rising and falling against yours, the heat radiating off of him, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they’re curled into the fabric of your shirt.

His breath brushes against your lips, his nose bumping against yours as you both hover, just for a moment, just long enough to realize how close you are, just long enough to make it worse.

Before you can stop yourself, before you can think, you kiss him again. This time, it’s slower. This time, it’s deeper. This time, it’s not about the rush, the adrenaline, the storm raging outside. This time, it’s about everything else.

About the way his hands move carefully now, like he’s trying to remember every single detail, about the way he tilts his head slightly to fit his mouth against yours like he’s done this a thousand times in his head, about the way he lets out a soft, wrecked sound when you slide your fingers up into his still-damp hair. And you’re drowning in him.

You fall back onto the couch, pulling him with you, and he follows without hesitation, bracing himself with one hand on the cushion beside you, the other still gripping your waist, his fingers trembling just slightly against your skin.

His lips leave yours only for a second, just long enough for him to breathe, just long enough for his eyes to flicker over your face, like he’s trying to memorize you at this moment.

And then, so softly you almost don’t hear it—

“Tell me you want this.”

Your breath catches. Because God, you do. You do. You always have. So you don’t say anything. You just pull him down and kiss him again.

The weight of him settles over you, his body pressed against yours, his hands everywhere and nowhere at once—on your waist, your ribs, twitching like he doesn’t know where to hold you first, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you long enough to decide.

It's overwhelming. His warmth, his scent, the soft, unsteady breaths he exhales between kisses, the way his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt just slightly, just enough to brush against bare skin. It’s careful. Hesitant. Like he’s testing something fragile.

Heeseung groans softly, his grip tightening, his lips parting against yours in a way that sends a full-body shiver down your spine. His hands move up your sides, down to your hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes like he wants to commit this exact moment to memory. You arch just slightly, chasing his warmth, and the movement makes Heeseung suck in a sharp breath, his forehead pressing briefly against yours.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

You laugh, breathless, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder. “That’s dramatic.”

His lips graze yours again, barely there, just enough to drive you insane. “You have no idea.”

And you could stay here forever—wrapped up in him, in his weight, in the way his lips brush over your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he’s learning you one kiss at a time.

He shifts just slightly, pressing more of his weight into you, his thigh slipping between yours, and your breath catches. Heeseung notices immediately. You feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his grip on your waist tightens, in the way he exhales shakily against your cheek.

You don’t move. He doesn’t move. The air changes. Slows. Thickens. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore. Suddenly, it’s so much more than that. It’s every feeling you’ve been ignoring, every second of the past three years, every single moment leading up to this one catching up to you all at once.

And Heeseung feels it too. Because he pulls back, just a little, just enough to look at you properly, his expression wrecked. His fingers brush against your cheek, light, careful, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. Like he’s scared of what happens if you don’t.

You stare up at him, breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears, and— God, he’s beautiful.

His hair is still damp from the rain, strands falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look softer. His lips are kiss-bruised, parted slightly as he catches his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

You exhale slowly, one hand sliding down his chest, feeling the way his heart slams against his ribs, and he shudders. You know what this means. You know there’s no going back after this. So you whisper—soft, shaky, everything all at once—

"Heeseung."

And that’s all it takes.

Heeseung exhales—a shaky, uneven breath, like he’s barely holding himself together. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on your waist, his body still hovering over yours. Then, softly, barely above a whisper—

"Say my name again."

Your stomach flips. You don’t, not at first. Because you feel lightheaded, because this is Heeseung, because what the hell is happening right now?

But Heeseung isn’t impatient. He doesn’t push. He just watches you, his gaze flickering over your face—your lips, your eyes, the way your breath catches in your throat. And then, carefully, deliberately, he grabs your wrist.

Your breath hitches as he lifts your hand, as he guides it slowly, until your palm is pressed flat against his chest. You can feel it. His heartbeat. It’s slamming against his ribs, too fast, too unsteady, completely out of control.

You stare at your hand, at where it rests over his racing pulse, at the way his skin burns beneath your touch. Heeseung swallows hard.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his voice low, rough, wrecked.

And you do, because it’s all you can feel, because it’s like his entire body is responding to you, and you nod, your fingers twitching slightly against his shirt.

Heeseung lets out a breath like he’s relieved, like he needed you to know this, to feel this, to understand what you do to him. Then, slowly, carefully, giving you every chance to stop him, he leans down, brushing his lips against the curve of your jaw. You suck in a breath, your eyes fluttering shut as he moves lower, pressing the softest, slowest kiss to the side of your neck. Your fingers curl against his shoulders, your pulse hammering beneath your skin, and he feels it.

“Heeseung,” you breathe, and it’s embarrassing how it comes out, a little too soft, a little too needy, like you’re already losing yourself in him.

He shudders, letting out a sharp breath. “Fuck—”

Then, his teeth graze your pulse point, and you gasp, back arching instinctively into him. Your hips shift beneath his, your hands moving without thinking, fingers grasping at the hem of his hoodie, your skin itching for more of him, more warmth, more of everything.

Heeseung lets you. He lets you push the fabric up, lets you brush your fingers over the bare skin of his stomach, lets you feel the way his muscles tense under your touch. He exhales a groan, head dropping to your shoulder like you’ve just taken the breath right out of him.

He murmurs your name, voice strangled, his fingers digging into your waist as if you’ve completely unraveled him. You suck in a breath, your hands still fisting his hoodie.

“I want to hear you,” he admits, so quietly, like he almost wasn’t planning to say it out loud. “I want to—”

He cuts himself off with another soft groan as you push the hoodie all the way up, your fingers skimming over his bare chest before you finally tug it over his head. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you barely register it.

Because Heeseung is above you, half-naked, breathing heavy, flushed, and looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that exists. You don’t know what to do with yourself. So you just stare up at him, breathless, waiting. And then, finally, you whisper—

"Heeseung, tell me what you want."

Heeseung exhales sharply, his breath warm against your skin, his fingers still pressing into your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, steady himself, like he’s trying not to lose his mind completely.

His hand slides up, fingertips grazing your ribs, slow and deliberate, and you shudder beneath him. His thumb brushes the fabric of your shirt, his touch gentle but knowing, and he meets your eyes, and God, he looks ruined.

"I want—" He starts, but then he laughs breathlessly, shaking his head like he can’t believe himself, like this is too much, like you are too much. His hands are still moving, still exploring, still teasing at the fabric of your shirt, still making your body burn in ways you’ve never felt before. "I want all of you."

Your stomach flips. Because he’s not even touching you properly, and yet it’s the way he says it, the weight of his voice, the truth in it, that makes your pulse stutter.

And then, before you can respond, before you can tease him for how wrecked he sounds, his hands move, slow and deliberate. Fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up, knuckles skimming over your stomach, over your ribs, over every single inch of skin he reveals as he goes.

Your breath stutters, your body arching up into his touch. His jaw clenches, his lips part, and then he’s leaning down, pressing his mouth to your collarbone, trailing featherlight, open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he slowly tugs your shirt over your head.

And then, finally, your shirt joins his hoodie on the floor. And suddenly, you’re both bare and breathless, staring at each other like you don’t know what to do next, even though you both know exactly what’s about to happen.

"Heeseung," you whisper, and his eyes flicker, dark, burning, like your voice alone is enough to unravel him.

"You’re not making this easy," he murmurs, his fingers skimming up your sides, his thumb brushing along your ribs, his body pressing down just slightly, just enough to feel how perfectly he fits against you.

Your breath catches. "Good."

And that ruins him. Heeseung groans, low and deep, and then he’s leaning down again, lips trailing along your jaw, down your neck, to your collarbone, soft, open-mouthed kisses, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every single second. His voice is strained, thick with something raw, something undeniable.

"You feel so good."

You whimper at his words, your nails digging into his shoulders, and Heeseung reacts immediately, his hips pressing down, his body slotting perfectly against yours, his breath catching as he feels you, all of you, right there beneath him.

"Shit," he mutters, his head dropping to your shoulder, his hands gripping your waist like he needs something to hold onto. You’re both breathless now, bodies pressed so close there’s no space left between you, every single movement sending heat crashing through your veins. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this."

Your heart stumbles. Because neither of you were supposed to say it. Neither of you were supposed to acknowledge it. But now—it’s out there. And there’s no taking it back.

And then Heeseung looks at you, really looks at you. His eyes, dark and hooded with something deeper than just desire, trace every inch of your face, your parted lips, the flush spreading down your neck, the way your chest rises and falls, rapid and uneven beneath him.

“You’re…” He swallows hard, his voice thick with something close to reverence. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

His hands move lower, squeezing your thighs before dragging up again, pushing your legs further apart beneath him. Heeseung exhales sharply, his pupils blown wide as he takes in the way you look beneath him, flushed, needy, completely and utterly his for the taking.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, thick with barely restrained need. “You’re perfect.”

His mouth finds your collarbone, lips hot and insistent as he moves lower, tasting, worshiping. His tongue flicks over the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly before he sucks, leaving a mark. His fingers dig into your skin as he rolls his hips down against yours, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. He watches, fascinated, as your body reacts to his, as your fingers clutch at his arms, as your lips part with another breathy whimper that shoots straight through his bloodstream.

“You like that?” he murmurs, dragging his lips up to your ear, his voice nothing but a low rasp. “Like feeling me this close?” You nod, but it’s not enough. Heeseung needs to hear you say it. “Tell me,” he demands, his fingers tightening just enough to make you squirm.

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a breath.

Heeseung smirks against your skin, the sound of your desperation fueling the heat building between you. “Good.” His lips trail back down, kissing, tasting, exploring every inch of you. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Heeseung hovers over you, his breath warm against your skin as his hands trail lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your pants. His fingers toy with the fabric at your hips, teasing. His voice, when he speaks, is deep and laced with restraint.

“Can I take these off?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the sight of him like this—his lips swollen, his gaze dark with barely contained desire, sends a shiver down your spine. Your stomach tightens, heat curling low in your belly as you whisper, “Yes.”

And the second the word leaves your lips, Heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back this whole time. His hands move with deliberate slowness, sliding under the waistband, his fingers warm and firm against your hips as he starts to pull your pants down.

His hands guide your pants lower until they slip past your thighs, pooling somewhere near your ankles, and he takes his time, his lips pressing slow, reverent kisses along the soft skin of your lower belly, just above the edge of your underwear.

He groans against your skin, his voice husky. “You have no idea how good you look right now.”

His hands splay over your thighs, his lips follow the same path, pressing kisses, biting gently, dragging his tongue across the warmth of your skin as he moves lower. You let out a shaky breath as he spreads your legs just a little more, his fingers gripping, massaging, his lips marking every inch of your inner thighs as he inches closer to where you need him most.

Heeseung hums against your skin, his breath hot, teasing. “So soft,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration, with hunger. His hands squeeze your thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to make you arch slightly. “So perfect.”

His lips brush dangerously close to the edge of your underwear, his nose nuzzling against the sensitive skin just beside it, inhaling deeply like he wants to drown in you. His grip tightens. His lips part, and he looks up at you.

The sight of him between your legs, hair messy, lips swollen, his dark eyes filled with something you can’t quite name—it’s almost too much.

His voice is thick, teasing but affectionate. “You’re shaking,” he notes, his thumb brushing the inside of your thigh in slow, soothing circles.

Your breath catches. “Because of you.”

Heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping tighter, his lips trailing higher again, back to your hip, back to your stomach, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin there. “You have no idea how much I love hearing that,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly, he starts to move up. His fingers slide up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, like he needs to feel every part of you, like he’s grounding himself in your presence. He exhales sharply, his forehead resting against yours for the briefest second, like he’s gathering himself, like he’s trying to hold back.

“I need to taste you,” he murmurs, his voice nothing but a raw, desperate rasp. “Please.”

Your breath stutters, your fingers gripping onto his arms, feeling the tension coiled tight beneath his skin. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself, but the truth is, you want this just as much.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmurs.

Your pulse is a pounding rhythm against your ribs, your whole body thrumming with heat, but somehow, you manage to find your voice.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want it. I want you.”

Heeseung groans, his grip tightening for just a second before he’s moving again, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His hands slide back down your body, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

And then he’s sinking back down between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands parting your legs with a reverence that makes your head spin.

Heeseung grips the hem of your underwear between his fingers, his breathing ragged, his hands slightly trembling as he looks up at you. His eyes search yours, dark and full of something raw. “Can I?” His voice is hushed, reverent, like a prayer whispered into the silence.

Your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, as you nod. “Yes,” you murmur.

Heeseung exhales, almost like he’s relieved, like he was afraid you’d stop him. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he slides the fabric down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin as he does, his touch both featherlight and electric.

And then he sees you. His breath catches in his throat, his hands tightening slightly around your thighs as he takes you in. His gaze, hooded and heavy with admiration, rakes over you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory, like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his voice almost disbelieving.

The way he’s looking at your body, so intense, so completely captivated, sends a flush of heat racing up your spine. Your instincts kick in, your legs twitching slightly as the urge to close them overtakes you. But Heeseung doesn’t let you.

His hands move quickly, firm but gentle as he grips your thighs, keeping you open for him. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Your breath hitches, your whole body thrumming under his touch. Heeseung leans in, lips ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath hot against your already burning skin. He looks up at you again, his eyes locking onto yours, and what he says next sends a sharp pulse of anticipation straight through your core.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promises, his voice low, edged with something sinful. “So good that you’ll never forget me.”

And then he dips down. The first press of his mouth against your clit is enough to steal the air from your lungs. Warm, wet, hungry—Heeseung doesn’t just touch, he devours. His tongue moves slow at first, tasting you, savoring every single reaction you give him.

You gasp, arching against him, your body already trembling from the sheer intensity of his touch. Heeseung groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, sending shockwaves up your spine. His grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he keeps you exactly where he wants you.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your heat. “Just like I knew you would.”

Your moans come freely now, breathy, desperate, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as Heeseung works you open with his mouth. He hums against you, pleased, lost in you, whispering praise between every stroke of his tongue. “So good for me.” Kiss. “So fucking perfect.” Lick. “You’re mine.” Suck.

And when you whimper his name, broken and pleading, Heeseung only grips your thighs tighter and pulls you even closer, determined to ruin you completely.

Heeseung groans against you, the vibrations sending a shiver up your spine as he keeps his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking, licking, savoring you like he’s starving. Then, slowly, he moves one hand between your legs, his fingers tracing a teasing path through your slick folds. You shudder, your hips instinctively bucking at the sensation, and Heeseung chuckles, a low, rough sound against your skin.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before glancing up at you through dark lashes. “So fucking perfect.”

And then he presses a finger inside you. The stretch is slow, deliberate, his touch both gentle and utterly devastating as he sinks into your heat. You gasp sharply, your walls fluttering around him, and Heeseung groans, low and guttural.

“Fuck,” he hisses, watching the way you take him in. His finger curls inside you, testing, feeling. “You’re so tight, baby.”

The words send another wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening at the sheer hunger in his voice. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he eases his finger in deeper as he continues working you open, his tongue never once leaving your clit. Your back arches, your fingers tangling in his hair, and Heeseung groans again, the sound muffled as he devours you, the heat of his mouth sending you spiraling closer to the edge.

“Heeseung—” His name slips from your lips, breathless, desperate.

Heeseung growls against you, deep and possessive, and you swear you can feel the sound reverberate through your entire body. His grip tightens, his pace quickens, his finger thrusting deeper, curling, coaxing pleasure out of you with every calculated stroke.

And then he adds a second finger. Your body tenses, the stretch just enough to make you whimper, and Heeseung groans at the way you clench around him.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, his voice thick, raspy, dripping with admiration. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His lips wrap around your clit again, sucking hard, and your body seizes, heat curling so tight inside you that you can’t hold back any longer. Heeseung feels it, and he sucks harder, pumps his fingers deeper, his other hand pressing down on your stomach to keep you still as your moans turn into cries, your body trembling beneath him.

“Cum for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “Let me feel it.”

And you do. The pleasure slams into you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your body locks up, your thighs trembling around his head. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking, keeps sucking, drawing every last drop of pleasure from you as you fall apart beneath him.

Your body shudders, aftershocks rippling through you, and Heeseung finally slows, his touch turning soft, reverent, as he presses one last lingering kiss to your sensitive clit before pulling back.

He looks up at you then, his lips glistening, his pupils blown wide, his breath ragged. And then he smirks, his voice low and utterly wrecked.

“Told you I’d make you feel good.”

You smile softly, but before you can even reach for him, he moves, fast, precise. A startled gasp escapes your lips as he manhandles you, lifting you effortlessly off the couch, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, his hands gripping your thighs with a possessiveness that sends a shiver through your entire body. His hold on you is strong, unwavering, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

You cling to him, your arms locking around his shoulders as he carries you with ease, moving through the dimly lit apartment. Your lips find his neck, tasting the warmth of his skin, inhaling his scent. The closeness, the heat between your bodies, makes you whimper softly against his throat.

And Heeseung groans. A low, deep sound that rumbles in his chest as he grips you tighter, his pace quickening like he’s growing just as desperate as you are.

Because this isn’t just anyone. This is Heeseung.

The boy who has been stitched into your life for years, who has laughed with you, argued with you, known you in ways no one else has. This is the person you love most in the world—and you’re finally having him like this for the first time. The thought makes you cling to him even harder, your lips trailing messily along his jaw, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, needing more, needing all of him.

When Heeseung reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He kneels onto the bed with you still wrapped around him, letting your back sink into the soft mattress as he gently lays you down, his body hovering over yours.

His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he looks down at you, his gaze deep, searching. His Bambi-like eyes, so wide, so full of something tender, something real, hold you in place more than his body ever could.

His hands, still gripping your thighs, slowly loosen, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your skin. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s realizing, holy shit, this is happening.

And then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches for his belt. The soft sound of the buckle unfastening fills the space between you, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric as he pushes his pants down, revealing his bare skin, the strong lines of his toned body, every inch of him that you’ve never seen before but already crave more than anything.

You exhale sharply, your eyes dragging over him, admiring the way the soft glow of your bedroom light casts shadows over his sculpted stomach, the definition in his arms, the sharp cut of his hips. He’s breathtaking. And every second that passes, the ache inside you grows, the need twisting tighter and tighter.

You swallow hard, your voice soft but certain when you finally whisper, “I didn’t know I needed you this much until now.”

Heeseung stills. For a moment, his breath catches, his fingers twitching where they rest against your skin. The flush that spreads across his cheeks, blooming down his neck, his lips part slightly, his eyes flickering between yours, something breaking, something giving way inside him.

Then he looks down at you again. And this time, his gaze is molten. Dark, intense, filled with something raw and unfiltered as he leans down, his lips hovering just above yours.

“I think,” he whispers, his voice low, breathless, “I’ve always needed you like this.”

And then he kisses you. Deep, slow, pouring everything into it, every ounce of longing, every unsaid word, every moment spent waiting for this. His hands roam, tracing the curves of your body, feeling, memorizing.

The moment you feel him, thick and hard against your aching core, you let out a soft, needy moan against his lips. Heeseung still has his underwear on, but the heat of him, the way his hips press down, grinding slowly against you, makes your body arch instinctively, chasing the friction.

Heeseung groans into the kiss, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against your lips. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, before he soothes the sting with a slow, lingering kiss.

Your hands wander, trailing down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the firm ridges of his toned stomach, lower, until your fingers reach the waistband of his underwear.

Your breathing is ragged, your body thrumming with anticipation as you whisper, “Please, take this off.”

Heeseung curses under his breath, his body tensing above you. He doesn’t want to tease you, doesn’t want to drag this out. He wants you just as much, he needs you just as badly. Without hesitation, he pushes his underwear down, freeing himself completely. The air between you thickens, the weight of the moment settling in as his bare body hovers over yours, his skin flushed, his muscles taut with restraint.

You lean in, hands splaying across his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath. Your fingers trace every inch of him, his collarbones, the defined lines of his stomach, the dip of his lower abdomen, moving lower. But before you can go further, Heeseung catches your wrist. His grip is firm but gentle, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark and searching as he looks at you.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I need to ask you…” He swallows hard, his thumb brushing slow circles against your wrist, like he’s grounding himself in your touch. “Are you totally sure?”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice. His expression—so open, so vulnerable—makes your heart clench.

“Because once this happens,” he continues, his forehead nearly touching yours, “I’m not ever letting you go.”

And there it is. The unspoken truth, finally laid bare between you. This isn’t just a night of pleasure. This isn’t just a long-overdue release. This is everything.

Your lips part, your throat tightening with emotion, and for a second, you can only stare at him, overwhelmed by how much he means to you, how deeply you feel this. Then you whisper, with more certainty than you’ve ever had about anything in your life:

“I’ve never been so sure about something before.”

The moment the words leave your lips, something shifts in Heeseung. His entire body tenses for a beat, then he exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, like he’s just now letting himself believe this is real.

And then he kisses you. It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s hungry, possessive, filled with all the pent-up emotions neither of you ever dared to voice until now.

His hands slide up your arms, capturing your wrists, pinning them above your head as he presses you deeper into the mattress. His body presses against yours, skin to skin, warmth melting into warmth.

And then you feel it, the tip of his cock, hot and heavy, pressing against your entrance, so achingly close. Heeseung breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath uneven. He looks down between you, his jaw clenched, his grip tightening just slightly on your wrists as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for all his life.

His voice is nothing but a hushed rasp when he says: “Tell me if it hurts.”

Heeseung lets go of your wrists, his hands sliding down your body with a deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring the feeling of your skin beneath his palms. His fingers find your hips, gripping them gently before one hand moves lower, wrapping around the base of his cock.

He watches you carefully, his gaze dark, hungry, yet filled with something soft, something almost reverent, as he presses the tip against your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he rolls his hips slightly, dragging himself against your slick folds, teasing, his length brushing against your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation sends a shiver through you, a breathless whimper escaping your lips as your fingers dig into his biceps, your body tensing in anticipation.

Heeseung groans, his grip tightening around himself as he watches the way your body reacts to him. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice wrecked. “You’re so wet… so fucking perfect for me.”

Your nails sink deeper into his skin as he finally begins to press inside, the stretch slow and steady, filling you inch by inch. The feeling is overwhelming, him, thick and hot, splitting you open so exquisitely that all you can do is moan softly against his shoulder, your body trembling beneath him.

Heeseung curses under his breath, his forehead dropping to the crook of your neck as he stills, letting you adjust. His hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing over your ribs, your waist, gripping you firmly like he’s afraid to let go.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “So fucking good, baby.”

His words send another rush of heat straight through your core, and you can’t help the way your hips shift slightly, taking him even deeper. Heeseung groans at the feeling, his lips parting against your skin.

He lifts his head, searching your face, his eyes filled with both need and restraint. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing softly over your hip. “Can I move?”

You nod quickly, breathless, your fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms, his shoulders, needing him closer. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

Heeseung exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hips as he begins to move, rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts. Your breath stutters, a moan slipping from your lips, and Heeseung loses it.

His movements quicken, his hips snapping against yours, his grip turning bruising as he holds you in place, thrusting deeper, harder. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving, and with every stroke, he sinks further into you, like he’s trying to become a part of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice rough against your skin. “You’re taking me so fucking well. So perfect for me.”

His lips find your jawline, tracing a path down your neck, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin before he sucks, leaving a mark, claiming you in every way possible. Your moans grow louder, your body arching against him, and Heeseung groans, loving the way you respond to him, the way you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His lips travel lower, over your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts. He kisses, licks, nips, worshiping every inch of you as he keeps thrusting into you, each movement deep and unrelenting.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice wrecked, possessive. “Only mine.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he pounds into you, his pace growing desperate, wild, his body completely losing control in you. And all the while, he praises you. “Tighter than I ever imagined.” Thrust “So fucking beautiful.” Kiss “You feel like heaven, baby.” Groan.

His words, his touch, his everything push you closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as the pleasure coils tightly inside you, ready to snap. And Heeseung feels it. He knows you’re close. And he’s not stopping until he sends you over the edge.

Your body trembles beneath him, pleasure curling tight inside you, hot and overwhelming. Your fingers cling desperately to his skin, your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to ground yourself against the way he moves, deep, unrelenting, perfect.

“Heeseung—” Your voice is breathless, wrecked. Your nails dig into his back as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. “God, you feel so good.”

Heeseung groans at your words, his hips stuttering for just a second before he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he rasps, voice dripping with praise, with something darker, something possessive.

And that’s when you snap. The coil inside you tightens dangerously, winding so tight you know you’re seconds from breaking. But you don’t want to break, not yet.

So, with the last shred of control you have left, you grab Heeseung by the side of his neck, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair, holding him in place. “Let me ride you,” you plead, your voice thick with desperation. “Please.”

Heeseung growls. A deep, guttural sound that sends a shiver through your entire body. His fingers dig into your hips, his thrusts faltering for a moment as your request sinks in. Then, he moves. In one smooth motion, Heeseung shifts, rolling over and pulling you with him. The world tilts, and suddenly, you’re on top, straddling him, his cock still buried deep inside you.

A sharp, choked moan leaves your lips as you feel him fully, the angle changing, the sensation making your entire body tremble.

“Fuck,” Heeseung groans beneath you, his hands flying to your waist, holding you steady as his eyes drag over your body, your heaving chest, the flush painting your skin, the way you’re clenching around him, barely able to contain yourself.

His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire expression wrecked with need. “You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent.

His hands move, Heeseung slides them up your torso, fingers splaying across your ribs before catching your breasts in both hands, squeezing, worshiping. His thumbs flick over your nipples, and the sensation sends another jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you whimper.

“You’re so delicious,” he groans, his thumbs circling your hardened peaks, his hips rolling up slightly into you, making you gasp.

Your head tilts back, your hands bracing against his chest, your body arching into his touch. The heat between you is unbearable, your body already on the edge, but you refuse to let this end too soon.

You start to move, slowly at first, rolling your hips in a deliberate, teasing rhythm, feeling every inch of him stretch and fill you completely. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, pleasure pooling deep in your stomach as you watch Heeseung’s reaction.

Heeseung groans, his grip on your thighs tightening, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s trying to ground himself, trying not to lose control too soon. His head tilts back for a moment, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths as he tries to contain himself.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw clenching as his eyes squeeze shut, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His hands flex on your thighs, squeezing, like he’s trying to hold back, like the feeling of you around him is too much.

But then he opens his eyes, and the second his gaze locks onto you, dark and hooded with raw, unfiltered hunger, your whole body burns. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, sweat glistening along his collarbones as he watches you move above him, taking him so perfectly, so effortlessly.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he groans, his voice rough, biting down his lips, barely above a whisper. “Just like that, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you, making you clench tighter around him. Heeseung feels it, and his breath hitches, his fingers twitching against your skin.

One of his hands moves from your thigh, sliding up your body, tracing along your stomach, your ribs, before finding the back of your neck. He grips you there, firm but gentle, and pulls you down until your foreheads almost touch, your breath mingling with his.

His other hand stays on your thigh, stroking, soothing, before he snaps. A deep growl rumbles in his chest, and he picks up the pace, his hips rolling up to meet yours, his hands guiding your movements. The pleasure intensifies, your thighs burning with the effort, but Heeseung doesn’t let you slow down.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping hard, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he takes control. And then he slams into you. A sharp, broken moan escapes your lips as he thrusts up, driving deeper, harder, filling you so completely that you swear you might lose your mind.

“That’s it,” he groans, his grip unrelenting as he pounds into you, chasing the feeling of you wrapped so perfectly around him. “Take it, baby. Take all of me.”

His voice, deep, rough, dripping with praise, sends you spiraling, pleasure building, your body trembling under his relentless pace. His mouth finds your jaw, then your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your sweat, and then his teeth graze your pulse point, his lips closing around it as he sucks.

Your fingers claw at his shoulders, your body arching against his, your moans coming faster, higher, completely overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you.

Heeseung doesn’t slow down. His thrusts stay deep, hard, relentless, his grip unyielding as he drives into you, chasing the pleasure building between you both. His hands remain at the back of your neck, keeping you close, keeping you exactly where he wants you, his breath hot against your skin.

He groans, voice wrecked, rough. “Fuck—baby, you feel so good. So fucking perfect.”

His words send another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your thighs tighten around his hips. You’re close, you can feel yourself unraveling, your body tightening as the coil inside you threatens to snap. And Heeseung knows. He feels it.

His fingers tighten against your skin, his movements growing desperate, erratic, as his own release begins creeping up on him. His forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven, his voice nothing but a strained rasp.

“Cum for me again, baby,” he pleads, his words like fire against your skin. “Let it go.”

The command, the way his voice drips with authority and adoration, is what finally undoes you. A sharp, broken moan rips from your throat as your body tenses, pleasure surging through you like wildfire. Your walls clench around him, pulsing, milking him, and Heeseung loses it.

A deep, guttural groan escapes his lips as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep, his entire body shuddering as he lets go, his release spilling into you. The pleasure crashes over both of you at once, your moans mixing together, filling the room, raw and unrestrained.

And then, stillness.

Your body, still trembling, collapses against his chest, your forehead pressing into the slick heat of his skin. Your breaths are ragged, uneven, matching his as he tries to catch his pace, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

Neither of you speak for a long moment, the silence filled only with the sounds of your slowing breaths, your racing heartbeats.

Heeseung moves his hands, still firm but now gentle, slide down to your lower back, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles against your damp skin. His touch is tender, reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again, like he can’t believe this moment is real.

His lips brush against your hair, barely a whisper of a kiss, before he exhales shakily. And then, he murmurs—soft, breathless, like a vow.

“I’m never letting you go.”

Your chest tightens at the raw emotion in his voice. His arms wrap tighter around you, holding you impossibly close, his hands never stopping their slow caresses against your back. His lips press against the top of your head, again and again, each kiss softer than the last.

“Never,” he whispers. “Never, never, never…”

His words sink into your skin, into your bones, into you. And as you melt further into his embrace, letting the warmth of him envelop you completely, you realize: You never want him to let go.

You slowly lift your head, your breath still uneven, your body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure.

You meet his eyes, his Bambi-like, doe eyes, wide and full of something so deep, so undeniable, it makes your chest tighten. They glimmer under the dim light of your bedroom, reflecting every unspoken word, every silent confession hanging thick in the space between you.

You let out a breathy, almost disbelieving smile, your gaze sweeping over his face, his flushed cheeks, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the soft sheen of sweat on his skin. He looks wrecked. He looks perfect.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

Heeseung mirrors your smile, soft and hazy, his expression filled with something tender, something so Heeseung that it makes warmth flood your entire body. His hands find your face, large and warm, his knuckles grazing your cheeks in slow, delicate strokes, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

You lean into his touch, nuzzling against his palm, and the way he exhales, soft, shaky, like he’s feeling everything too, sends a shiver down your spine.

Then, barely above a whisper, you say, “I…”

And suddenly, you stop yourself.

Because the weight of what you were about to say hits you all at once.

Your lips part slightly, your throat tightening. The words are right there, sitting heavy on your tongue, aching to spill out. But there’s fear too, fear of what this means, fear of how much this changes everything.

Heeseung notices. His fingers pause against your cheek, his brows twitching just slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes like he’s searching, trying to read you.

But then, he smiles. Soft, knowing, patient. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch featherlight, his voice a quiet murmur in the space between you.

“I know,” he whispers.

Your breath catches. Because you believe him.

Heeseung has always known you better than anyone, always understood you in ways that no one else could. And right now, in this moment, with the way he’s holding you, looking at you, you realize you don’t have to say it.

Because he already knows.

Heeseung leans in, his nose brushing against yours, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting, giving you the choice. And when you press your lips to his in the softest, most deliberate kiss, you’re telling him everything you couldn’t say in words.

Heeseung sighs into the kiss, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against his warmth, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.

And when you finally pull away, when you rest your forehead against his and breathe him in, you realize: You were never afraid of loving Heeseung.

You were afraid of admitting that you always have.

But now, with his arms around you, his lips brushing against your temple, his heartbeat syncing with yours, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

Because he’s never letting you go.

And neither are you.

That’s why he stays at your house the next day. And the day after that. And for the few days that follow, until time becomes a blur and neither of you think to question it.

Because how could he leave, how could either of you go back to a world where you weren’t tangled up in each other like this?

The first morning, you wake up wrapped in Heeseung’s arms, your head tucked against his chest, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soft, lazy circles against your back. Neither of you move for a long time. Neither of you want to.

His lips press into your hair, a silent good morning, and you melt into him because it feels natural, because this is Heeseung, your best friend, the boy who has always been a constant, and yet, now, everything is different.

And it’s better. He doesn’t leave. You don’t ask him to.

Instead, you spend the morning like you have a thousand times before: lounging on the couch, talking about nothing, watching movies you’ve seen a hundred times. Except now, there’s a new rhythm, an unspoken understanding.

His fingers brush yours absentmindedly. His arm finds its way around your waist without hesitation. His lips press against your temple between conversations like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because maybe, it is.

The second night, he kisses you in the kitchen while you’re making dinner, stealing a taste of the sauce on your lips, grinning when you roll your eyes. The third night, you fall asleep with your fingers intertwined, his breath warm against your neck, his hand resting over your heart like he’s afraid you might slip away in the night. By the fourth day, he’s using your shampoo, leaving his clothes in your drawers, stealing your socks because he swears they’re more comfortable than his own.

By the fifth, you don’t even realize he never went home. Because this is home now. Not the walls. Not the bed. But this. Him. You. Together.

One night, a week after everything changed, you find yourselves in your living room, curled up against each other, laughter spilling into the quiet air.

It feels surreal, how easy this is, how natural. And yet, when you look at him, really look at him, you realize this was never sudden at all. This wasn’t a moment. This was a lifetime in the making.

It was in the late-night phone calls when you both should’ve been asleep. It was in the way he always kept your favorite snacks in his kitchen without thinking. It was in the stolen glances, the inside jokes, the nights spent shoulder to shoulder, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of something more. It was in every single thing before this.

And now that the truth is out in the open, now that you know, you don’t ever want to live in a world where you don’t wake up next to Heeseung. And it doesn’t feel real.

Not because you don’t want it to be—but because it still catches you off guard. The quiet way Heeseung reaches for your hand without thinking. The way his presence in your space isn’t something fleeting, but something constant. Something permanent.

It’s been two weeks since everything changed, and somehow, the world didn’t shift to match it. The sun still rises the same way. Your friends still send memes in the group chat. Life moves on, but now, there’s this.

This is Heeseung pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder when he wakes up before you. This is him playing with your fingers absentmindedly when you’re watching something together. This is the way he still teases you the same, still makes fun of you the same, but now he kisses you after like he can’t help it.

Yunjin is the only one who knows.

She had her suspicions, she always had her suspicions, but it became painfully obvious the moment you showed up at her place wearing a hoodie that was at least two sizes too big, one she distinctly remembered seeing Heeseung wear last week.

Which is why, at her birthday party, there’s this lingering tension in the air. It’s subtle, the way you and Heeseung hesitate just slightly when you’re around the others, the way you don’t know if you’re supposed to act like you always have or like something’s changed.

Because something has changed. But the world doesn’t know yet.

You and Heeseung sit at the dining table, pretending everything is normal, pretending that you’re not constantly aware of the warmth of his body next to yours, the way his knee brushes yours every time he shifts.

And then, under the table, he takes your hand. It’s subtle, careful, the warmth of his palm slipping against yours, his fingers threading through yours in a way that makes your stomach flip. Heeseung doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge it, just holds your hand beneath the table, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Finally,” Sunghoon mutters, watching Heeseung with a knowing smirk.

Heeseung freezes. You both turn to see Sunghoon leaning against the chair next to him, arms crossed, eyes flickering down to where your hands are intertwined beneath the table.

“I was wondering when you were gonna stop being a coward,” Sunghoon teases, nudging Heeseung’s foot under the table. “Took you long enough, man.”

Heeseung groans, dropping his head back against the chair. “Jesus, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon just grins, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Nah, I’m happy for you guys. But also, I knew you two had something going on.” He points a lazy finger at you. “Your whole ‘we’re just friends’ thing was so fake.”

The table erupts in laughter, and you sigh, shaking your head. But then, Heeseung squeezes your hand, and when you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. Soft. Quiet. Certain. And you realize, this feels right. Being here. Being together. Being this.

The night winds down. People leave. And you end up in Heeseung’s car, the windows slightly fogged from the cold air outside. The soft strum of Waiting Room fills the quiet, the melancholic chords settling deep into your chest.

You watch Heeseung, his hands gripping the wheel loosely, his face relaxed, bathed in the glow of the streetlights.

“Wanna go to McDonald’s?”

You blink. “What?”

Heeseung smirks, eyes flickering to you before turning back to the road. “You heard me.”

A beat of silence. You laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

You order fries and ice cream and talk about the dumbest things. about how Niki's new girlfriend is the worst, about how Jay got too drunk, about how Jake still doesn’t know how to properly pour a drink.

But somewhere between the laughter, somewhere between the way Heeseung licks salt off his fingers and tosses fries into your mouth, somewhere between the way you lean against his shoulder in the drive-thru line.

Heeseung sighs. And then—

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You still. Your fingers tighten slightly around your drink, your breath catching at the quiet, vulnerable way he says it. And when you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, soft, so soft, his gaze deep, searching.

Your chest tightens. “Heeseung…”

He smiles, a little shy, a little unsure. Then, he reaches out, sliding his fingers over yours, his thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I just—” He swallows, then exhales. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Your breath catches. And in that moment, in the soft hum of the radio, in the glow of the streetlights, in the taste of salt and ice cream and the warmth of Heeseung’s fingers against yours, you know.

“I thought maybe it would go away,” he continues, his lips quirking slightly, like he’s laughing at himself. “Like—it’s just Y/N, right? My best friend.”

You hold your breath, watching him, the streetlights casting soft shadows across his face, making his eyes look even softer, warmer.

“But then,” Heeseung shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Every time I thought I had it under control, you’d do something stupid, like wear my hoodie and refuse to give it back, or make me watch Shrek 2 for the tenth time, or grab my hand in a crowded room like it was nothing.” He swallows, his voice dropping to something even softer. “And I’d realize—I was never going to stop feeling this way.”

Your chest tightens. Because it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? The quiet kind of love. The kind that slips into the cracks of everyday moments, unnoticed until one day, it’s too big to ignore.

You feel the words sitting heavy in your throat, pressing against your ribs, and when you finally speak, your voice is barely a whisper.

“Heeseung.” He looks at you, his brows lifting slightly, like he’s bracing himself. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, then squeeze his hand. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time, too.”

The tension in his shoulders dissolves instantly. His lips part, his eyes searching yours like he wants to make sure he really heard you right.

And then, he smiles. Not the teasing kind, not the smirk he throws at you when he’s making fun of you, but something real. Something deep. The kind of smile that says, I know. I knew before you even said it.

You shift closer, your forehead brushing against his, the warmth of his breath mixing with yours. “I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it,” you murmur. “But I do now.”

Heeseung hums, tilting his head slightly. “You sure?”

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Good.” He squeezes your hand, his nose nudging against yours. “Because I would’ve had to spend another three years waiting for you to catch up, and I don’t think I could survive that.”

You groan, shoving his shoulder lightly, and he chuckles, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you in, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

And just like that, it’s easy again. The way you tease each other, the way you fit against him, the way you fall back into the rhythm of your friendship except now there’s no pretending.

Now it’s all out in the open. And it’s better.

As Heeseung drives you home, the song still playing softly in the background, your mind drifts back. To three years ago. To that stupid Halloween party where you met, you in your skeleton costume, him in that ridiculous Ninja Turtle onesie.

To the late nights spent working on that Shrek project, arguing about PowerPoint transitions like it was life or death, only to laugh until your sides hurt. To the wedding where he spun you around on the dance floor, looking at you like he already knew, like he was just waiting for you to catch up. To every car ride, every inside joke, every time you almost realized what he meant to you.

Your fingers tighten around his, and Heeseung glances at you, his eyes flickering between you and the road.

“What?” he asks, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too. “Nothing.”

Because you understand now. Because Waiting Room plays softly in the background, and the lyrics echo in your chest—know it’s for the better.

You do. You know now that keeping Heeseung in your life like this, is the best thing you’ll ever do.

And when Heeseung looks at you, his grip on your hand tightening like he knows too, you realize.

For you, it was worth waiting.

my masterlist 🧦 ☆★ // previous fic

author's note: hey guys! this is my first long fic about heeseung, the first one i've ever written, and i hope you liked it! i know 21k+ words is a lot, but i had so much fun writing it. thank you for reading! <3

#enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #heeseung au #lee heeseung #enhypen heeseung #heeseung x you #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung x yn #heeseung imagines #heeseung fluff

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ninisdollie · 11 days ago

Text

Like an angel - Lee Heeseung 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which Heeseung is obsessed with his sweet, innocent, shy sister’s best friend, and not in a healthy way.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x heeseung, age gap ( reader is 18+ heeseung is in his 20s), reader is hyper feminine, corruption kink, a bit of manipulation, reader is naive, dom! heeseung, masturbation (f and m), fingering, thigh grinding, dry humping, phone sex, dirty talking, virginity loss, unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation, after care!!

word count: 13.8k

Warning: So this is my first “dark” themed fic, as I said it has corruption kink and heeseung is kind of a red flag in here, there is an age gap but both reader and heeseung are adults, and as always even if it is kind of a dark theme I must clarify that everything that happens is consensual.

Hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblog are appreciated !!

It was all harmless.

At least, that’s what Heeseung told himself when he’d catch his eyes following you around the house. It was innocent at first, curiosity, maybe. You were always there, practically glued to his sister’s side, her new best friend that had just moved to town for your first year of college, fluttering around the kitchen like a little innocent lamb in soft skirts and cotton knee socks, humming Taylor Swift songs and talking about 90’s romcoms, whispering secrets and giggling into your hands like life was nothing but sweet, soft cotton candy.

You were a good girl. The kind of girl who asked before taking the last slice of pizza. The kind who apologized when she bumped into furniture. The kind of girl that went to church with her parents every Sunday. The kind of girl that always said “Please” and “Thank you”. The kind of girl that blushed every time she saw a shirtless man in some tv add. The kind who still said “freaking” instead of swearing.

He shouldn’t have wanted you.

You were his sister’s best friend. You were younger. Inexperienced, naive. Pretty in a way that was accidental. The kind of pretty that didn’t even know it was driving him crazy. With your perfect hair, your perfect posture and your perfect body. Too polished, too perfect, too easy to ruin. And God, if there was one thing Heeseung had always been good at, it was self-control. He prided himself on it. But the thing about you was… you made it hard. Really fucking hard.

You were around too often. At first just after school, but then it turned into weekends. Study sessions, movie nights, sleepovers. You’d flit around his house in oversized sweaters and tiny shorts, and pink hair clips, leaving behind the soft scent of shampoo and vanilla lip gloss and something else that smelled like innocence and drove him crazy.

Heeseung would find himself in the doorway, watching you from the shadows like a man possessed. The curve of your thighs when you sat crisscrossed on the rug. The slope of your neck when you tilted your head to listen. The way you bit the tip of your straw when you were focused on homework. The way you batted your eyelashes. The way your perfect smile appeared on your beautiful lips when someone said something silly. The way you bent over to pet his dog saying “Aren’t you the cutest thing in the world?” All of it so innocent. So unaware.

And he hated you for it.

Or maybe he hated himself, for wanting to be the one to take it all away.

He told himself it would pass. That the obsession was just a phase, something he could shake off with enough cold showers and pornography and distraction. But it got worse. So much worse. Because you had a way of saying things, softly, like they didn’t mean anything, that drove him absolutely fucking wild.

Like one afternoon in the living room.

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, falling on your hair like a halo. You were lounging on the couch beside his sister, legs tucked under your dress, fingers playing with the hem absentmindedly. The neckline was loose again, kept slipping off your shoulder like it wanted to tempt someone.

Heeseung leaned in the doorway, a drink in his hand and hell in his chest. Watching.

You were mid-conversation, talking in that dreamy, soft voice you always used when you were lost in thought, completely unaware of how dangerous your presence was.

“I just…” You hesitated, then let out a small, shy laugh. “I just don’t want it to be… rough, you know? Or rushed. I want someone who’s gonna take their time with me.”

His sister groaned.

“You’re too romantic. That stuff never happens in real life.”

You shrugged a little, pouting.

“But it should. Like… it’s kind of sacred, isn’t it? Giving yourself to someone? It should be with someone patient. Someone who wants to make it feel good. Not just… do it and leave.”

Heeseung’s fingers tightened so hard around the glass he was holding, he thought it might crack.

Your voice dropped a little, shy.

“And I know it’s probably gonna hurt at first. I’ve never even touched myself before. But if they’re gentle… I think it could be really special.”

His sister rolled her eyes.

“You sound like a nun.”

“I went to Catholic school!” you giggled.

And that was the worst part. You weren’t playing, you weren’t flirting. You were being honest.

You had no idea what your words were doing to him.

Heeseung swallowed thickly, his mind unraveling. Every syllable was like fuel on fire. If they’re gentle… if they take their time… if it doesn’t hurt.

He would be so good to you.

Not because he was good. But because you deserved softness even in your undoing.

He’d make you cry, but from pleasure. From overstimulation. From the way it would feel to finally be touched. He stared at you, jaw tight, breathing shallow, thoughts spiraling darker by the second.

You were too pure to understand. Too naive to know how badly someone like him could ruin you.

And still you kept talking, lips forming words like slow and careful and first time, with your legs tucked up in that little dress, skin glowing under the sunlight, and your voice all gentle like you didn’t just push him closer to the edge of insanity.

Heeseung turned away before he could do something stupid.

He’d take your purity. Your faith. Your wide-eyed, good girl trust.

And you’d thank him for it. Eventually.

Heeseung had always been patient. But with you?

He was starting to lose it.

You always liked Heeseung.

He was… sweet. That’s the word you always used to describe him when his name came up. Sweet in a quiet, almost grown-up way.

He didn’t talk as much as your other friends’ brothers. He wasn’t loud or annoying or rude. He never made fun of you the way some older boys did for being a little dumb and not knowing about sports or video games. Heeseung always just smiled at you gently, nodding when you greeted him, letting you pass through doorways first. He was respectful. Kind.

He made you a cup of warm milk once, when you couldn’t sleep during a sleepover. Brought it to you with honey and cookies, placed it right in your hands with a soft, “Don’t burn your tongue.” And your heart fluttered just a little. Because not many boys talked to you like that, gentle, patient, almost protective.

You chalked it up to him being older. More mature.

You liked being around him, even if you didn’t know him that well. There was something about his presence that made you feel… safe. Watched, maybe. But not in a bad way. You were never afraid of him. If anything, you liked when he looked at you. He had these eyes. Dark and deep and a little tired sometimes, like he didn’t sleep enough. But when they landed on you, you felt warm all over, like being wrapped in a blanket straight from the dryer. It made your cheeks burn, but you always looked away quickly, unsure if you were imagining it.

You didn’t think he really noticed you. Not like that.

Why would he?

You were… just you. Sweet, shy, quiet. Not bold or sexy like the girls you’d seen hanging around guys like him. You wore cardigans and ballet flats and tried not to say the wrong thing. You blushed too easily. You still slept with a ton of stuffed animals. You still wandered around at Miniso for too long and got excited about Sanrio blind boxes. You went to church and attended bible study. You liked sugary pop and romantic movies. And you believed—genuinely—that waiting for marriage was the right thing. Your parents had raised you that way, and you still held onto it, even when your friends laughed or called it old-fashioned.

It was something special. And you wanted to give it to someone who saw it that way too.

Sometimes—only sometimes—you’d wonder what Heeseung thought about things like that. If he was the kind of guy who’d understand. But then you’d shake the thought off, cheeks burning, because what were you even thinking? Heeseung was nice, sure, but he was also older. Experienced. And incredibly handsome, one of the most handsome boys you’d ever known. With his beautiful hair and that knee-dropping smile and he always smelled so manly and expensive. He probably dated girls who wore lingerie and knew what they were doing. Not girls like you.

Still… sometimes when you caught him looking at you, it made your stomach do this weird little flip.

Once, you dropped your lip gloss cap on the kitchen floor, and before you could bend to pick it up, he was already there, crouched in front of you, holding it out with two fingers and a soft little smirk.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “I know these are expensive”

Your face got so hot you had to excuse yourself. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

Because Heeseung was sweet. That was all. He was just nice to you.

He wasn’t expecting you to be there.

He’d just come back from a long afternoon playing soccer with his friends, sweaty, mildly irritated from traffic, and ready to collapse in his room. But the second he walked through the door, he heard the sliding glass door to the backyard open, followed by high-pitched laughter. His sister.

And then yours.

He paused in the hallway.

And when he looked through the kitchen window, when he saw you lying there in the sun like some kind of clueless daydream, all soft skin and sunkissed glow, he nearly dropped his keys.

You were wearing a bikini.

It wasn’t even that revealing, he could admit that. It was light blue, maybe a little frilly, definitely conservative by most standards. You weren’t trying to show anything off. You were stretched out on a towel beside his sister, sipping something cold through a straw, big sunglasses covering your eyes, your hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail that exposed the delicate line of your neck. The fabric clung to your chest, modest but tight. Your stomach was bare, soft, smooth, glowing in the late afternoon sun. Your legs stretched out forever, the curve of your thighs making his throat go dry. And when you shifted onto your side, he saw the way the bottoms hugged your hips and your ass and he had to grip the edge of the counter just to stay put.

Fuck.

You had no idea.You probably didn’t even think about him seeing you like that. You’d just smiled and slipped into your little bikini, completely unaware that you’d just become the centerpiece of every filthy thought he’d been trying to suppress for weeks.

He watched the way you laughed at something his sister said, the way you tucked your legs beneath you and took another sip of your drink, lips wrapping around the straw like it was nothing. Like you weren’t killing him.

Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, you sat up and turned toward the house.

And you waved at him. Big smile. Sunglasses pushed up onto your head. Completely innocent.

“Oh, he’s here, hi Hee!”

He felt something snap in his chest.

He nodded, barely managing a stiff wave back before forcing himself away from the window. He stalked up the stairs to his room like a man on fire, slamming the door shut behind him and bracing his palms against it, chest heaving.

He could still see you. In his mind. Burned behind his eyelids. That soft stomach. That sweet, pretty smile. That perfect body he so wanted to ruin. Those lips wrapped around a straw like you didn’t even know what that did to him.

You were so fucking innocent. And he was losing it.

Heeseung shut his eyes, let his head fall back against the door, and pulled his pants down, his cock was already rock-hard beneath his boxers, and he wasted no time in stroking himself fast, desperate. He pictured you in his mind as his hand moved mercilessly, how you’d looked all bathed in his cum, how you’d look crying around him, how soft and warm and wet you’d feel around him, how he’d teach you, how a girl like you must be treated, and how you would say, with your velvet, sweet like honey voice “Thank you, Hee.”

He didn’t just wanted to ruin you, he wanted to own you. He wanted to take every last small piece of innocence from you until you were completely his. He wanted to hold you. For him to use whenever he wanted to.

He came on his hand incredibly hard, and embarrassingly fast, staining his jeans and the floor with his release. His chest heaving, your name still itching on his tongue.

“She doesn’t even know what she’s doing…”

But God, did he want to be the one to show you.

Later that same day, when you stepped into the kitchen that afternoon to get some water, wrapped in a towel over your damp bikini, and found him standing at the counter, you smiled.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” you said shyly, adjusting the towel at your chest.

He turned to you slowly, and his smile was warm. Soft. The kind that made your stomach feel a little fluttery.

“It’s your house too,” he said casually, gesturing toward the fridge. “Want me to get that for you?”

“Oh, it’s okay—”

But he was already moving, opening the door, grabbing a cold bottle and uncapping it before gently placing it in your hand.

“Hydration’s important,” he teased, tapping the top of the bottle before stepping back, letting you pass.

You giggled, tucking your chin down.

“Thank you.”

“You’re always so polite,” he said, still smiling, leaning against the counter now. “My sister could learn a thing or two from you.”

Your cheeks heated instantly. You ducked your head.

“I just… I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“You’re not,” he said. And then, quieter—“You never are.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart squeeze. He wasn’t teasing. His voice was steady, sincere. His eyes met yours without flinching.

You took a sip of water to distract yourself, but your hands were a little shaky.

“You’re really sweet,” you blurted, before you could stop yourself. “I mean—you’re always so nice to me. I just… I notice.”

His mouth curved slowly into something that made your breath catch.

“I’m just being honest,” he said. “I think you deserve to have people be nice to you.”

There was something in the way he said it. Something that made your chest feel full and your skin feel warm.

“I’m really glad you’re around,” you whispered, more to your water bottle than to him.

And Heeseung’s gaze darkened, just for a split second, before it softened again.

“I’m glad you’re around too,” he said gently. “You’re… special.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. The way he said that word—special—like it meant something deeper. Like it mattered.

You didn’t know he was watching your every micro-expression. That behind the kind smile, his mind was already several steps ahead. That every sweet thing he said was planting seeds, pulling you closer, curling you around his finger one word at a time.

You just thought he was being kind.

You didn’t know he was planning to own you.

“I don’t know… he’s just so nice,” you murmured, voice soft, cheeks warm as your fingers toyed nervously with the edge of your sleeve. “He’s really… gentle.”

Across the room, his sister raised an eyebrow as she leaned closer to her mirror, applying a coat of lip gloss with practiced precision.

“…Heeseung?”

You nodded shyly.

“Yeah. I know it probably sounds dumb, but… he always opens doors for me. And he brings me stuff without me even asking. He’s just really… sweet.”

You didn’t see the way her expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossed her face as she capped the gloss and turned toward you, arms crossed, hip resting against her dresser.

“I mean… he can be sweet,” she said, slowly. Carefully.

Your brows pinched.

“Can be?”

She shrugged, casual but a little too measured.

“He’s nice to you. That’s different.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, blinking.

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated, then crossed the room and dropped beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her. Her expression wasn’t suspicious, not accusing. Just… protective. Like she knew something you didn’t, and wasn’t sure if she should say it.

“I love my brother,” she started, her voice lighter now, like she didn’t want to make this a big deal. “But Heeseung’s not exactly… boyfriend material.”

Your heart skipped.

“He’s always been kind of a flirt,” she continued. “Girls fall for him constantly, and… he lets them. He’s a playboy, he uses them and discards them. He’s broken like more than 20 hearts I’m pretty sure. Plus, he only dates extremely sexual girls, I used to hear them every night, it was traumatising.”

You stayed quiet. Your fingers stilled on your sleeve. There was a tightness in your chest you didn’t quite understand.

“But…” you said slowly, “I don’t think he’s like that with me.”

“No,” she agreed quickly. “He’s not.”

You looked up at her.

She gave you a small smile.

“Because you’re you. You’re not like the girls he usually talks to. You’re… innocent. You’re cute and soft and blush at Calvin Klein ads”

The word lingered in the air between you. Innocent. Like it meant something heavier than just naïve. Like it was a reason.

Your throat felt tight.

“So… you think he’s pretending?”

“I don’t think he’s evil,” she said with a sigh, leaning back on her palms. “I just think Heeseung knows how to get people to like him. He’s smart. Charming. And really good at making you feel… special.”

You swallowed, blinking down at the soft bedspread beneath your hands. Something about those words unsettled you. You weren’t sure if it was the warning in her tone or the echo of your own thoughts that scared you more.

Because Heeseung did make you feel special.

“He just…” Your voice was barely audible now. “He makes me feel safe.”

She let out a small laugh, that meant more than it let on.

“Yeah. That’s kind of his thing.”

You looked away, pretending to smooth the fabric on the bed, but your mind was somewhere else entirely, playing back all the soft smiles, the thoughtful gestures, the way his eyes always found you when you entered a room.

Maybe you were being stupid.

But maybe… it didn’t matter.

Because you were already falling.

Your parents were on a business trip that weekend so you spent over your best friends house, the perfect excuse for sleepover and watching movies until five a.m. But that afternoon your best friend had to go to cheerleading practice, you wanted to be a part of the team too, but your parents didn’t let you, saying that the skirts were too short and the dances inappropriate. So you stayed in her house, it wasn’t a big deal, you’d done it a few times before. But the thing his, her parents weren’t home either, too busy with work, and Heeseung was the only one at home.

He was still asleep, probably hangover from a party. So you made yourself a smoothie and sat on the couch with a Pride and Prejudice copy on your lap, enjoying the sunlit, quiet day.

It was like that for a couple of hours, and then he woke up.

Heeseung watched you from the hallway for a full minute before stepping inside.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, flipping through some paperback with a pink cover, all soft focus and innocence. Your hair was damp from a shower. Skin dewy. That same oversized hoodie still clinging to your thighs, his sister’s, probably, but it looked better on you.

And he saw an opportunity too.

He made sure to keep his steps light as he entered the room, careful not to startle you.

“Hey, angel,” he said, low and gentle.

You looked up and smiled immediately, same sweetness as always. His eyes were a little baggy, his face a little red and his hair messy, he was wearing a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, and he still looked so handsome. Even after a probably wild night.

“Hi, Hee.”

He said your name next, soft and drawn out. Like it was something he could taste.

You straightened a little, even though your posture was always perfect.

“You want the couch?”

“No,” he said, already settling beside you. “Just wanted to sit with you.”

You flushed at that. He noticed.

He always noticed.

He didn’t look at you right away. He leaned back, spreading his legs slightly, letting the silence stretch while you tried to focus on your book again. He could feel the heat from your thigh next to his, and every so often, your knee would brush his leg as you shifted.

After a few minutes, he let himself sigh. Low. Tired. Like he needed something.

You glanced at him.

“Rough night?” you asked, a bit teasing.

“Just long, had too many drinks, my heads spinning” he replied, then tilted his head toward you, eyes half-lidded. “But this helps.”

You blinked.

“Me?”

He nodded, slow.

“Yeah. You’re easy to be around. You make things quiet.”

That made you smile shyly, and he reached out—carefully—to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched. Just a little.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured, voice so low almost like a whisper“I don’t think you even know what you do to people.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he backtracked with a soft chuckle, tapping the book in your lap.

“I mean that in a good way,” he added. “You just… calm people. Make them feel safe.”

You laughed softly, clearly flustered.

“That’s a nice thing to say.”

Heeseung hummed, and then, slowly—so slowly—he rested his hand on your bare knee.

You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything.

It was barely a touch. Just his palm resting there. Heavy, warm and possessive. You looked down at it, lips parted slightly, as if you weren’t sure what to think. But you didn’t pull away. You just blinked at him.

And he smiled.

“You’re okay with this, right?” he asked, voice velvet. “Just friends being close?”

You nodded, a little too quickly.

“Yeah… I don’t mind.”

Of course you didn’t. You didn’t even realize he’d done it on purpose. That the contact had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with pushing you one step closer to breaking.

His thumb stroked a lazy circle against your skin, and you felt it jump, every pore awake and too aware of his touch. No man had ever even touched your thigh like this, you wouldn’t have let them.

You squirmed slightly, then tucked your legs closer beneath you, but not away from him.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, face still red, eyes a little glassy.

Heeseung leaned in then, barely an inch. Just enough to let his breath brush your cheek.

“So are you,” he whispered.

Your lashes fluttered, and you swallowed hard, he was so close. Then he looked away and lazily grabbed the tv remote, but his hand didn’t leave your knee.

You tried to focus again on the words written on the pages and the conflicts between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, but you couldn’t. Because Heeseung kept touching you, even with his eyes glued to the basketball game on the tv.

He knew you wouldn’t ask him to move. So he pushed further. His fingers wandered, innocent at first, trailing along the hem of your shorts like he wasn’t doing anything at all. Like it wasn’t deliberate. Like it didn’t make your stomach twist in knots.

You stiffened when his pinky slipped beneath the fabric, resting against the bare skin of your inner thigh.

Still, he didn’t look at you. Not once. Not even when your breath caught or when your hips shifted the tiniest bit, involuntary. He just kept watching the game, one leg spread comfortably, like this was nothing new to him.

"You’re quiet,” he murmured after a minute, tongue wetting his lips slowly. “Something wrong?”

You blinked at the book in your lap, realizing you hadn’t flipped a page in ten minutes.

“No. I’m just… distracted.”

“Hm,” he hummed, his thumb now tracing lazy circles higher, barely grazing the sensitive skin that hadn’t been touched before. “You’re tense.”

You swallowed, shaking a bit.

“A little.”

“Don’t be,” Heeseung said, finally glancing at you with a calm, unreadable expression. “This is normal.”

Your brows pulled together.

“Normal?”

He nodded, his touch still featherlight, maddening.

“Yeah. Between friends. Friends touch like this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. Heeseung, your best friend’s brother. Who always sat too close. Who looked at you too long. Who never touched you like this until today.

“Oh…” you said softly, chewing your lip. You hadn’t heard that before, but he sounded so sure. So calm. You didn’t want to seem weird or make it awkward. “Okay…”

His hand stayed there, warm and steady. His touch even gentler now, but it felt deeper. Like it was sinking into your skin, curling around your bones.

You shifted a little. Your thighs pressed together, but you didn’t move his hand.

Because even if you didn’t fully understand what was happening…

You liked it. More than you should.

And Heeseung could tell.

That’s why he leaned in closer, breath brushing your ear as he said quietly,

“See? Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer him, but he could see it, in the way your lashes lowered, in the way your legs shifted just slightly, pressing together under his hand.

Heeseung smiled to himself.

“Feels good, right?” he murmured again, voice soft like he was talking you through something. “I told you. We are friends, we can be close like this.”

Your cheeks were burning now, but you still nodded. Slowly.

“Y-Yeah…”

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, barely above a whisper, and your stomach flipped. You didn’t know why that made you feel warm all over, but it did. Like honey spreading beneath your skin. Like heat blooming where his fingers rested. A sensation that you had only felt a very few times before when you accidentally opened an explicit link on the internet or when an intimate scene came by in a romance movie.

And then he moved.

Just a little. His hand inched up, fingers slipping further under the leg of your shorts. Still calm, still slow, like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t now brushing the softest, most sensitive part of your thigh. His knuckles grazed the edge of your underwear, against the lace of your white panties.

You inhaled sharply.

But Heeseung only tilted his head, glancing at you with those calm, dark eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, tone so gentle. So sweet.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around your book.

“I—I think so…”

He nodded like that was the right answer.

“You’re being really good. I’m proud of you.”

You blinked up at him, chest rising and falling faster now.

“Really…?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, and his fingers dipped lower, just enough to make you gasp, but not enough to give you anything. “You’re letting me take care of you. That’s what friends do, right?”

You bit your lip, trembling just slightly.

“I guess so…”

“You don’t have to think so hard,” he whispered, leaning in so close you could feel the smile in his voice. “Just let me do it for you. Let me make you feel good.”

You didn’t even notice your thighs falling open a little more. Like your body itself was responding to him. His smile deepened, just a twitch at the corner of his lips, barely there, but sharp. Like he was proud of himself. Proud of you.

"See?" he said, voice quiet and warm. "You’re relaxing already."

You nodded again, just to please him. Your brain was starting to blur around the edges, it was too much. His hand, his voice, the heat pulsing between your legs like it was begging him to go further.

Without warning, his fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties, knuckles grazing over soft, untouched skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath, hips flinching.

But he didn’t stop. Just kept going. Slowly. Carefully.

Like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Like this was routine.

Your whole body felt like it had been lit from the inside.

Heeseung’s fingers were slow, steady, gliding through your wetness, between your untouched folds, circling your clit with maddening patience. Every little movement sent electric shocks down your legs, curling your toes, making your stomach twist and tighten with something you didn’t know how to name.

You felt raw, sensitive. Ruined.

“Shhh,” he hushed gently, like he was calming you from a nightmare, not dragging you into the most sinful thing you’d ever felt. “It’s okay. It’s going to feel so nice, babygirl, I promise.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, lashes damp. You were so warm, too warm, your thighs twitching every time he brushed just right, you kept whimpering and letting out little sighs. Your knees had started to fall open for him without you realizing, your body seeking more without permission.

“You’re wet, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice low and full of something darker. His lips brushed your cheek, but his fingers brushed lower. “Is that for me?”

You whimpered, heart pounding. You felt humiliated, but you didn’t want him to stop. It was something you’d never felt before.

“I-I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do,” he said, firmer this time. And he pressed in deeper, one finger sliding slick and slow through you before circling your clit again, just soft enough to leave you aching.

Your legs jerked as you cried out. Your book slipped from your lap and hit the floor with a thud. But neither of you looked down.

Heeseung chuckled under his breath, mocking but sweet and kissed your cheek again.

“So cute.”

You were blinking rapidly, face flushed, skin hot all over.

This wasn’t what friends did. You’d never even imagined something like this, never touched yourself, never let anyone else touch you. You told yourself you were saving it. Waiting for marriage. But this… this didn’t feel like sin.

It felt like need.

“Is this really okay?” you asked, your voice a tiny breath.

Heeseung smiled against your skin.

“It is if you let me.”

And you did. Your hips tilted forward, small, instinctive, still not fully understanding what was happening and his brain snapped a little at the sight.

God, he’d waited so long.

Heeseung had thought about this more nights than he’d ever admit. Always quietly, always respectfully. He never wanted to scare you, not his sweet, shy girl with her soft laugh and her trembling hands. He never even touched you wrong.

But now that you were here, legs spread for him, cheeks red and mouth open, soaking his fingers, he didn’t think he’d survive letting go.

His thumb pressed a little harder, and you cried out, hips stuttering up into his hand. You were so responsive. So sensitive. Your body was practically begging.

“You feel that?” he murmured, brushing against your clit again and again. “That’s your body asking for more.”

You whimpered again. Your legs were shaking. You didn’t even realize how much your hips were grinding into his hand, only that it felt like bliss.

“Feels too good to stop now, doesn’t it?” Heeseung whispered.

You nodded, dazed, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from sheer overload. From the combination of embarrassment and arousal.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said gently, like a promise. “Just let me make you feel good, baby. That’s all I want.”

Then his voice dipped, low and soft and dangerous:

“Been wanting this for so long… Wanting you like this. Spread out, sweet, dripping for me.”

You gasped, face crumbling, thighs twitching again as the pressure in your belly spiked.

Heeseung groaned, the sound rough and low in his throat. Then he slipped two fingers inside of you, and it burned so good. You felt yourself clench around him, soaked walls around his digits as he twisted his wrist and curled them inside of you touching something that made you cry again and jerk your hips up from the couch.

“There it is, look at you. So fucking beautiful like this. Don’t even know what you do to me.”

Between your hazy view you saw it, saw him. The bulge against the cotton of his sweatpants, thick and big and pulsing. But it was too much, your face became all red again and you closed your eyes again.

“I shouldn’t…” you whispered, more to yourself than him. Overwhelmed by the obscene sound coming out of you everytime his palm slammed against your pussy. Your eyes blinked through the haze, guilt pooling in your throat. “I—I’ve never even—”

Heeseung leaned in again, so warm and calm, like none of this fazed him. His free hand stroked your cheek gently, thumb brushing under your eye.

“I know,” he said softly, like he understood everything. “You’re a good girl. You wanted to be careful.”

You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. His voice, his fingers, the way he looked at you like you were something precious even while his touch made your head spin, it made your heart ache and your stomach twist all at once.

His fingers pushed in deeper, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch of it. Your back arched without thinking, your breath coming in soft, broken gasps. You could feel yourself dripping until you were soaking the couch beneath you.

“Oh, baby…” Heeseung cooed, the pad of his thumb still rubbing gentle circles over your clit. “You’re clenching so tight. Didn’t know you could feel this good, did you?”

You shook your head, face burning. Your thighs were twitching, your hips rolling into his hand like your body couldn’t help it.

“That’s okay,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, so soft it made your head spin. “That’s what I’m here for. To teach you. Help you. Good girls like you deserve to feel this good”

Another finger slipped in beside the first two, your walls stretching around him. Your jaw dropped, a helpless little moan spilling out, and he groaned, so quiet, but filthy.

“Shit. Listen to you. Didn’t even touch you like this before and already making those pretty noises,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapped around sin. “So fucking sweet for me.”

You tried to cover your mouth, shame flooding through you, but he caught your wrist instantly, guiding it down.

“Don’t hide,” he said gently. “I like hearing you. That’s the whole point, baby. You’re doing so well.”

His fingers curled just right, pressing into that soft, spongy spot again, that made your legs jerk and a loud gasp break free from your throat. Your body was shaking now, breath ragged, and Heeseung only smiled, watching you unravel.

White heat bloomed low in your belly. Your breath came in short, choppy bursts, each one catching on the edge of a whimper. You couldn’t keep still, your hips were rocking up without permission, chasing the next touch, the next wave. You could feel yourself getting wetter, slick dripping down the backs of your thighs, sticking to your skin.

It was shameless. But you couldn’t care. You weren’t even thinking anymore. Not with the way he kept touching you like he’d done it a thousand times before, like he knew how to wring every little cry out of you.

"Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear like silk. “Letting someone take care of you like this?”

You nodded frantically, eyes glassy, mouth parted around a breathless gasp. Your hands gripped the couch cushion for something to anchor you, but it didn’t help. Everything felt like it was slipping, your thoughts, your morals, your control.

His fingers moved again, curling slow and deep, then sliding up to stroke over your clit with maddening tenderness.

Your back arched hard. You let out something between a sob and a moan.

Your body was buzzing, heat pulsing under your skin, your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Your nipples were tight, pressed against the fabric of your hoodie, overly sensitive even without being touched. You couldn’t even close your legs, your thighs trembled too much, weak and twitching, falling open for him again and again.

You were so close to something. So close it hurt.

And Heeseung just watched, mouth parted slightly, eyes dark, like he was watching his favorite thing in the world unfold.

“Look at you,” he murmured, thumb rolling lazy circles over your clit. “Falling apart so easy for me. You like this, baby?”

You whimpered.

“Y-Yeah… I can’t— it’s— it’s too—”

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, down the side of your neck.

“You can. I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice dripping with affection. “Just let it happen. Let me make you feel good.”

The pressure broke all at once.

You came with a cry, thighs snapping shut around his hand, body seizing and twitching. Your nails dug into the cushion, into his shoulder, whatever you could grab. It hit you hard, like heat and lightning bursting in your chest and spreading through your limbs.

You couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop trembling. You were sobbing quietly now, overwhelmed by how good it felt. How full. How perfect.

Heeseung held you through it, one arm wrapped around your back, the other between your legs, stroking you through every aftershock like he wanted to memorize the way you pulsed around his fingers.

You collapsed against him, body limp and slick with sweat.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, softer this time. “So perfect, sweetheart. So, so good.”

Heeseung settled between your legs, like a painter admiring his masterpiece, dragging your ruined panties down slowly, almost reverently. You squirmed a little bit, too sensitive, too gone. Your mind wasn’t working anymore, you felt ashamed, used, but also you felt released. Your chest was still heaving, still trying to catch your breath, your pussy pulsing and dripping.

“Look at this mess,” he murmured, holding the fabric up, sticky and soaked. “You came so hard, baby. All over my fingers. Didn’t even know your little pussy could do that, did you?”

You let out a choked gasp, hands flying up to cover your face.

He chuckled softly, spreading your thighs again.

“Uh-uh. No hiding. I made you feel good, didn’t I?”

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice, still dizzy from how hard you'd come.

“Yeah?” He smiled, almost smug but still so sweet. “Then how do good girls respond when someone makes them feel good?”

You swallowed, heart skipping. His fingers brushed your inner thigh again, featherlight, reminding you who was in control. You hesitated, lips parting.

He clicked his tongue.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You can say it.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“...Thank you.”

Heeseung’s eyes softened, his thumb stroking your skin with approval.

“There she is,” he said, praising you with a soft kiss to your cheek. “My good girl.”

Your cheeks burned hotter than ever. You were dripping, legs wide open with nothing to shield you but your shaking hands, and Heeseung just looked so calm. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like seeing you like this was normal.

“I’ve barely touched you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your knee. “And already got you shy? Poor thing… You’re so fucking cute when you’re embarrassed.”

You whimpered behind your hands, thighs instinctively trying to close, but his palms held them open, firm but still gentle.

Then your phone buzzed somewhere on the couch.

You jolted, startled, blinking through the haze. Heeseung didn’t even flinch, just slid his hands up your thighs a little higher, thumbs brushing teasingly close again.

“I-I think that’s—” you tried to sit up, but he gently pushed you back down with a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Check it,” he said smoothly, but his eyes never left your soaked cunt.

Your fingers fumbled for the phone, brain still barely catching up, vision blurry as you unlocked it.

Bestie : omw back home now! be there in 10 🫶

Your heart nearly stopped.

“She’s coming back,” you gasped, sitting up fully now, panic blooming in your chest. “Heeseung, we have to—”

“Relax, angel” His voice was calm. Dangerous. Sweet.

He leaned in again, dragging his tongue slowly, deliberately, up your soaked folds. You cried out, half-shoving your phone aside as your body betrayed you, hips bucking into his mouth.

“She won’t be here for another ten,” he murmured, licking his lips like he was tasting something divine. “That’s enough time for me to make you come again.”

“But—”

“You’re already dripping,” he said, cutting you off with a filthy grin, fingers slipping back through your slick folds. “She’s not even here yet, and you’re still wide open for me. You want me to finish, don’t you?”

You whimpered, helpless.

“I-I don’t know if I can—”

“Oh, you can,” he said, and kissed your trembling thigh again, right beside the spot where his fingers were teasing you.

His thumb pressed against your clit just as two fingers slipped in again, easily this time, your soaked walls clenching down immediately.

Heeseung groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck. Still so tight.” He looked up at you, mouth wet, eyes dark with something wicked. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

You let out a soft cry, body arching into his touch.

And still, his voice was gentle. Loving.

“I’m gonna make you come again, sweetheart,” he whispered, thumb circling your clit faster now. “Nice and quick, right here on the couch, before she walks in and sees what a needy little mess you are for me.”

You were already close again. Too sensitive, too worked up, but it didn’t matter. Not with the way he was touching you. Not with how good he made it feel.

You could barely form a thought, let alone protest.

Your best friend would be home in minutes. But all you could think about was the burn in your belly, the ache between your legs, and her brother’s fingers stretching you open like they belonged there.

It had been a few days, and you couldn’t sleep.

You turned over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time, blankets twisted around your legs, skin damp from heat that had nothing to do with the weather. The open window let in a soft breeze, cool against your flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm you. You were too aware of your body. Too aware of the empty ache between your legs. Of what had happened.

And worse, how much you still wanted it to happen again.

Your phone sat face down on the nightstand. Quiet. Still. But you felt it like it was burning a hole beside you. Your best friend had texted earlier. A casual “You didn’t come over this weekend” with a sad face emoji that you couldn’t bring yourself to open.

You were supposed to wait.

You had told yourself that a hundred times. That no one would get to touch you like that, not unless you were in love. Not unless it was forever. You hadn’t even touched yourself before. That part of you was supposed to be sacred. Untouched. Yours.

And now?

Now you could still feel the echo of him between your thighs. His voice, low and sweet, telling you how good you were. How wet, how tight. You could still feel his fingers, slow and patient and deep, pushing you over the edge until you broke apart in his hands.

Your body ached at the memory, hot, needy, restless.

You pulled your knees up and pressed your thighs together, trying to fight it. But it was impossible. Everything throbbed. Everything missed him.

Tears pricked your eyes.

You hadn’t cried yet, not after it happened. You’d felt too dizzy, too shocked. But now, days later, it was crashing down all at once. The guilt. The shame. The confusing, gnawing want.

You wiped at your face, then hesitated. Your hand froze against your cheek.

You wanted to try.

Just once.

You bit your lip, heart hammering. You slid your fingers down slowly, uncertainly. Every part of you trembled. It felt wrong. But your body was already warm, already wet, as if it remembered what to expect. Your fingers grazed over your folds. Tentative, barely there.

You let out a breath, shaky, embarrassed. It didn’t feel bad, but it wasn’t right, either. It wasn’t him.

You tried again. Pressed down more, tried to mimic the slow circles Heeseung had made against your clit. Your legs twitched. Your stomach tensed. But the pleasure didn’t bloom, it stalled, stuck behind shame and frustration.

Heeseung had made you melt with nothing but his hands and a few filthy words. You couldn’t even make yourself moan.

Your hand fell away.

You turned your face into your pillow and finally let yourself cry.

You hated that he had that power now. That your body only responded to his touch, his voice, his praise.

You felt dirty. Ruined. A part of you wanted to scrub yourself clean, erase every second of that afternoon on the couch. But another part, the darker, hungrier part, wanted him back between your legs. Whispering in your ear. Telling you how good you were when you couldn’t even think straight.

You curled up tighter under the blankets, fingers trembling, your thighs still sticky and warm with need. You had never felt so empty.

And it terrified you to realize:

You didn’t want to be pure anymore.

You just wanted him.

Heeseung wasn’t going to stop now. No, he waited so long for this, and since he broke you only with his fingers, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. It was worse than before. Maybe it was wrong, maybe he shouldn’t be using you like this, but the worst part of all, is that he knew that you would fall apart the next time he put his hands on you, that you won’t stop him, because thing with innocent, pure girls like you, is that once you tasted a bit of sin, you would become addict.

You’d been quieter than before, this weekend you were staying over again, and you had been avoiding eye contact all day, just shyly munching on a pizza slice while his sister talked about some school drama, and every time your gaze locked with his for even just a few little seconds, you blushed and looked away instantly.

But he noticed.

The way you were clenching your thighs together under the table, the way you were nervously biting your lip until it was red and swollen, the way your eyes turned glassy.

You wanted more, you were just too shy to admit.

So he was going to push.

That’s why, later that night when you walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water in the middle of the night, he was already there.

You froze in the doorway.

The kitchen light was off, but the fridge door was open, the dim white glow across the room. Heeseung stood in front of it, shirtless, the lines of his back and shoulders lit in sharp contrast, shadows painting him like something unreal. He turned his head just slightly, already knowing it was you.

“Couldn’t sleep, angel?” His voice was quiet, low.

You hesitated. Your bare feet curled against the cold tile.

“...Just thirsty.”

Heeseung turned around slowly, closing the fridge door with one hand. In the silence that followed, your pulse pounded in your ears. He was so close. The kitchen was so small. You could smell his skin, clean, warm, manly. Him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, voice calm. Almost teasing. “I’m hurt.”

You almost stopped breathing.

“I haven’t—”

“You have.” He smiled a little, tilting his head. “Barely looked at me all day. Not even when I sat next to you. Not even when I cut a slice of pizza for you.”

Your eyes dropped instantly, heart fluttering like it always did when he spoke like that, low and sure, like he already knew what you were thinking.

“I was just... distracted” you said weakly.

He didn’t buy it.

“Is that why you’re walking around with those pretty thighs clenched tight all day?” He moved closer, so close your back bumped the edge of the counter. His hand came up, just ghosting your arm. “That why you haven’t said a word to me since I made you cum like a good girl?”

Your breath shuddered out of you.

“Heeseung…”

“I think you want more,” he murmured, voice dropping just for you. “But you’re too shy to ask.”

Your skin lit up everywhere he hovered. You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t speak, because it was true. You’d been thinking about it since it happened, his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel like you were unraveling just from his fingers. You tried not to want it again. Tried to forget.

But your body hadn’t forgotten.

Heeseung leaned in, one hand resting beside your head on the counter, boxing you in.

“I bet you even tried to touch yourself, didn’t you?”

You inhaled sharply.

“I bet it didn’t work,” he continued, brushing his nose against your temple. “I bet you got frustrated and teary, all needy and messy, because it wasn’t me.”

You felt the air leave your lungs.

“How’d you feel, baby?” he whispered. “All alone in your bed, fingers not doing what you needed? Thinking about me instead?”

You let out a small, wrecked sound, and he smirked.

“I knew it,” he said, dragging one finger slowly down your bare arm. “You were so good before, so pure”

His hand trailed down your side, until it rested just above your hip, warm and sure.

“And the worst part?” he said, leaning in closer until his lips brushed your jaw. “You like it.”

Heeseung kissed the corner of your mouth, just once.

“So... do you want me to make you feel good again?”

You nodded, tiny, helpless, breathless.

“Use your words,” he said, thumb stroking your hip, patient but demanding.

“I… I want it,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” His voice was a low hum, pleased and dangerous. “Say please.”

You looked up at him then, eyes shiny and teary and full of shame and need.

“Please.”

Heeseung grinned, eyes dark.

“Good girl.”

That's how you ended up in his room, only in your tiny laced panties, on top of him trying to respond to the messy kiss he was giving to you. It was a mess of tongues and saliva, no one had ever kissed you like this before, like he wanted to devour you and own you, but you liked it, liked the feeling of his warm lips against yours, not giving but taking.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured, voice low and dripping with amusement. “Didn’t even touch you yet.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned down, lips brushing your jaw.

“Tell me you missed it,” he whispered.

You hesitated, eyes wide, hands gripping his shoulders, trembling. But you couldn’t lie. Not when your body was practically begging.

“I… I missed it.”

Heeseung smiled against your neck.

“Good girl.”

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to stop him. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. Not when your body remembered the way he made you feel, how his voice made you melt, how he knew exactly where to touch, how it felt to be undone by someone you blindly trusted too much.

You whimpered and your thighs tried to close, but he was already between them, already pressing open-mouthed kisses down your chest. Another small, pathetic sound left your throat when his tongue circled around your hardened nipples, so sensitive, a jolt of pleasure going through your whole body.

“Say it,” he demanded gently. “Tell me who you need.”

“You,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I-I need you.”

His grin turned wicked.

“That’s right. That's my good girl."

He kissed his way lower, letting his hands spread your thighs wide again. The heat between your legs throbbed, slick with anticipation. He groaned softly at the sight.

“My messy girl," he murmured, running a teasing finger through your folds. “You’re soaked already. Just for me.”

You moaned, body arching, your hands flying to your mouth to stifle the sound. But Heeseung wasn’t having that.

“Uh-uh,” he scolded, gently prying your hands away. “You don’t get to hide from me. Not anymore.”

He shifted, guiding you up gently so you were straddling his thigh. His large hands gripped your waist, coaxing you forward until the heat of your core was pressed firmly against the muscle of his leg.

"You missed me this much, baby? You want to feel good again?" his voice was sweet but low and there was small hint of mocking in it, but you didn't care, you were so needy, you wanted to feel it again.

So you just nodded, shamelessly, eyes starting to water.

Then he smiled and gripped your hips, making you grind against his thigh. A shiver went down your spine, a flick of pleasure pulsing in your soaked intimacy, and you moaned, high-pitched and aching.

"Just like that,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your breath stuttered, your hands clinging to his shoulders for balance. You’d never done anything like this—never even thought you could—but Heeseung’s steady grip and the heat in his gaze made you feel brave. Safe. He moved your hips slowly for you, rocking you back and forth against the firm muscle of his thigh. The friction sent sparks flying through you, and your head dropped against his chest with a whimper.

“Feel that?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s it. So good for me. Look at how well you listen.”

Your thighs were trembling, slick pooling between them, as his thigh flexed beneath you. Every roll of your hips pulled another whimper from your lips. The pressure was dizzying, just the right angle, like he knew what your body craved before you did. Every nerve in your body was on fire. You couldn’t even talk, couldn’t think. You were just mumbling nonsense, incoherent “I-It feels so good - so good” “I’ve never…” “Oh my god!”

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, guiding you faster now. “Look at you, making a mess all over me.”

Heeseung watched you with dark, hungry eyes, eyes that soaked in every twitch, every moan, every clench of your thighs. You looked ruined and perfect, and he loved it. Loved that he was the one making you fall apart like this.

“Come for me like this,” he whispered, voice rough with want. “I want to feel you fall apart right here, sweet girl.”

Your body shook, every nerve lit up as your release hit, clenching helplessly around nothing, your slick soaking his skin. You whimpered into his shoulder, tears spilling over your cheeks from the intensity of it all. Your heart was pounding so hard it echoed in your ears, your body wrung out and trembling.

But Heeseung wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Shh, don’t think,” he murmured against your ear, rocking you slow and lazy through the aftershocks. “You don’t need to think when you’re with me. Just be my good girl. Let me take care of everything.”

He tilted your chin up, made you meet his eyes through your haze.

“Forget all that other stuff,” he whispered. “Your rules, your guilt. Doesn’t matter right now. You were made to feel good like this. You deserve this.”

He kissed you, slow and sweet, before adding with a low, filthy murmur:

“Now be a good girl and get dumb for me. Let me make you feel even better.”

And with your body pliant against his, still trembling from the high he gave you, you knew you would.

He was ruining you. Not even in a painful, mean way.

In a soft, slow, dangerous way.

You were once an innocent, shy girl. A girl that blushed at the slightest mention of sex, a girl that was scared of raising her voice. Maybe you still were like that, at least on the outside. But inside? You had become a mess of need. A thing that belonged to his voice, his hands, the memory of his touch on your body. Nothing else could reach you now. Nothing else could make you feel whole.

He kissed you like he owned you, made you grind on his thigh until you were shaking and soaked, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. And afterward, when you collapsed against his chest, still trembling, he cupped your jaw and whispered:

"I made you feel good, baby. And how do good girls say thank you?"

You didn’t know how to say it at first, too shy, too dizzy. So he kissed you again until you mumbled it through a moan “T-Thank you, Hee, thank you…” and he smiled like he'd just won a game.

It only got worse from there.

Late at night, you’d lie alone in bed, panties pushed to the side, phone pressed to your ear with tears pricking your eyes because it didn’t work. Not without him.

"That's it, angel," he’d murmur, voice low and thick through the speaker, probably touching himself too.”Do it how I taught you. Two fingers. Not too fast. Pretend it's me."

You’d whimper, thighs shaking, pillow soaked under your cheek. He always knew exactly what to say to make you fall apart.

Then you started sneaking out. You’d wait until his sister was asleep beside you, breathing soft and even, before slipping out of bed in your oversized shirt and bare legs. You’d tiptoe down the hallway, heart pounding, to knock once on his door. He never made you wait long. He was always ready, leaning in the doorway with lazy eyes and bare chest, tugging you inside with one hand on your waist.

Some nights he didn’t even undress you. Just lifted your shirt and kissed your thighs, mouthing at the fabric of your panties until they were soaked through, whispering, “My angel, so needy for me, huh? Couldn’t even sleep without feeling me?”

Other nights, he sat on the bed, pulled you onto his lap, and made you grind against the bulge in his boxers until you were shaking, clinging to his shoulders, panting into his neck.

Sometimes, he didn’t touch you at all. Sometimes, he just kissed you. Slow, deep, messy kisses that made your legs tremble and your core ache, kisses that left you gasping for air and begging for more. He’d pull away with a smug grin, stroking your cheek. "Poor baby," he’d whisper, thumb brushing your wet lips. "So addicted to me, aren’t you?”

You stopped paying attention in class, you stopped listening to his sisters chatter, you stopped listening to the priests words. Everything in your mind was him, and you couldn’t wait for the next time he touched you. It was so embarrassing, sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night after dreaming about him, eyes glassy and panties soaked, your core pulsing full with need but you were too shy to call him so you’d cry yourself to sleep until the pain went away. And when that time came, where he finally touched you again, you melted the right second his hands slipped between your legs.

Your body wasn’t yours anymore, it was his.

You stopped wearing panties around the house, you knocked on his bedroom door like a habit. Every time you felt empty, every time you needed him, he was there, whispering in your ear:

"That’s my girl. So needy all the time, aren’t you? You can’t help it. I’ve ruined you.”

And that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part, you were falling in love with him.

It didn’t happen all at once.

At first, it was just about the way he made you feel. That overwhelming pleasure. The way he knew your body better than you did. The way he spoke to you, praised you, touched you like you were made just for him.

But then it crept in, quiet and slow, the way real feelings always do. It was in the way your heart started skipping when you saw his name light up your phone. In the way you lingered in his room a little longer after he made you come, hoping he’d ask you to stay. In the way you watched him when he wasn’t looking, memorizing the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the way his lashes curled when he blinked.

And it did hurt, a little bit. Because maybe you were naive and dreamy, but you knew, that deep down, he didn’t love you. At least not the way you wanted him to love you. He loved how obedient you were, how easy you made it for him. He loved the mess you made on his sheets, the way your voice shook when you begged. He loved owning you.

But that was it.

The thing is, you hadn’t done anything past touches and oral sex, but you knew, eventually, that you would beg for it, for him to take you completely, you were at the very edge, and you knew that, when that finally happened, you would be completely lost. And maybe you wanted to.

Maybe the idea of giving him that final part of yourself—your last piece of innocence—felt like the only way to truly belong to him.

Because you already belonged to him, didn’t you?

You were in his room again.

The door was shut, locked, you thought, but your mind was too hazy to be sure. You couldn’t think properly, couldn’t breathe without hiccuping on the moans slipping past your lips. Your thighs trembled as he moved his fingers inside of you, thumb moving lazily over your swollen clit, whimpering and gasping for air when he curled them inside of you against your soaked walls, eyes full of tears, face all flushed.

It was the third one.

“Hee” you whimpered, voice cracking, shame burning hot in your chest. “I-I can’t— it’s too—”

“You can,” he murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Look how wet you are—fuck. So tight, too.”

You shook your head before you could stop yourself, tears collecting at the corners of your lashes. He groaned low in his throat like it turned him on even more, curling his fingers just right inside you again, hitting that spot that made your legs kick, that made your hips lift without your permission.

“You're so sweet, so fucking innocent—” his fingers twisted slightly, “—and you’re letting me ruin you in my bedroom with your best friend asleep just down the hall. That’s so bad, baby.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until his thumb pressed down just a little harder and your back arched off his sheets like it wasn’t even your body anymore.

“Hee—Heeseung, I—” Your voice broke on a gasp, hands fisting in the sheets now, legs trembling uncontrollably. “It’s happening—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he whispered again, fingers still curling so deep inside you, his voice so low and filthy it made you shiver. “You’re cumming, baby. Let it happen. Let me feel you—come on, be a good girl.”

It was too much, your body tightened around him, all that pressure finally snapping and spilling over into something uncontrollable. You cried out for him, legs kicking slightly, body going stiff, then trembling all over as the heat surged through you, pleasure rolling over in waves. Your eyes blurred, your mouth fell open, and his name broke off your lips again and again like it was the only thing holding you to the earth.

“Fuck,” Heeseung groaned, watching you fall apart like he was committing it to memory, his fingers slowing down but never stopping. “That’s it. That’s my good girl. So fucking pretty when you cum.”

You were gasping, panting, blinking through tears, your whole body twitching from aftershocks. You had never felt anything like this before. Not even close.

Heeseung removed his fingers with a slick sound, bringing them to his mouth and moaning at the sweet taste of you, and while your body was still shaking, you felt your cheeks burn, he always did that but it made you shy anyways.

But there was something about you tonight, you felt like it just wasn’t enough anymore. The touches, the late nights with his fingers between your legs or you riding his thigh until you were shaking. You wanted more.

You wanted him.

So with breathy, weak voice, you spoke to him while he kissed you, against his lips.

“Please, Heeseung,” you whispered, voice barely holding together. “I want it to be you.”

Heeseung stopped, then exhaled like he’d been punched in the gut. His eyes darkened, throat working as he hovered over you, one hand curling around your jaw while the other stroked his cock in slow, lazy motions, over the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Say that again,” he said, voice deep, low, dangerous. “Look me in the eye and tell me.”

Your cheeks got red again, and you blinked as you felt a tear slip down one of them.

“I want you,” you said shakily. “Please. I want you to take my virginity.”

A growl ripped from his throat. It was like something snapped inside of him.

He let go of his cock, grabbed your hips instead, dragging you completely down the bed roughly, making you gasp, until your thighs were spread wide under him, your entrance bare and glistening and sensitive, still pulsing and so exposed you wanted to cry from shame and need at the same time. Heeseung then pushed down his pants in one movement, freeing his cock completely and you blushed again because this was the first time you saw him like this. He was thick, so thick that your legs trembled at the thought of it inside of you, he was veiny and his tip was red and glistening with precum.

His touch was still soft but rougher when without hesitation, like he had been waiting for this his whole life, he grabbed the hem of your hoodie and slipped it out of you before throwing it on the floor. You couldn’t even respond before his lips found your sensitive nipples, hot and wet mouth around them, and you moaned his name arching your back against him, wanting to feel more of his touch.

“So fucking polite,” he murmured, teasing the head of his cock against your folds, not pushing in. “Begging me all sweet like that. You really don’t know what you’re getting into, do you?”

You whimpered, blinking up at him, breathing fast.

“Poor thing,” he smirked, cock twitching against your entrance. “Gonna split you open. Stretch this tight little virgin cunt until you cry.”

The second he started pushing in, the thick head of him breaching your untouched walls, your lips parted in a high, broken sound, your body tensed all over, too much, too full, too hot, and he just groaned, head dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re tight. Tighter than I even dreamed.”

You gasped again when he shifted his hips and went deeper, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him, clinging so tight he could barely move. It burned. It throbbed. Your legs were shaking around him, fingers digging into his back like you were drowning. You closed your eyes with so much force that you saw starts, tears falling down the red skin of your cheeks.

“Hurts—” you whispered.

His gaze softened just a little bit, but he didn’t stop.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, licking your tears away, “first time always does. But I promise I’ll make it feel good. You trust me, right?”

You nodded. It was messy and desperate, and you didn’t know why, this man had taken all the purity from you, but you did.

“Good girl.” His hips rolled slowly, and you felt him everywhere, thick and hot and heavy inside you, pressing so deep it made your stomach flutter, stretching your walls so good, you felt so full, so owned. “I want you to remember this,” he said darkly, mouth dragging over your ear. “Every time you feel sore, every time you feel me dripping out of you later, I want you to remember who did this to you.”

You moaned, helpless, as he started to move, slow and deep, dragging his cock out until just the tip remained before pushing all the way back in, making your whole body jerk. The stretch stung, but your body was softening around him, wet and fluttering, clinging like it wanted more. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, your cheeks soaked with tears, your heart full of shame but somehow, full of love too because you were loving this, loving how he felt, how he was talking to you, how he moved inside of you.

“Look at you,” Heeseung murmured, dragging your legs higher around his waist. “So good for me. Crying, shaking, and you’re still letting me fuck this virgin pussy like it’s mine.”

You nodded again, not even thinking, and his hips pushed again, a little rougher this time, and a loud cry broke from your throat as he slammed back in, the sharp sting of the stretch still there, but somehow it just made everything more intense. His cock dragged along your walls so deep, so full, the pressure at your core tightening unbearably.

He smirked.

“Yeah? It is mine?”

“Yours,” you whispered, tears running hot down your cheeks.

“That’s right,” he cooed, snapping his hips harder now, slow but with force, enough to knock the breath out of your lungs each time. “You’ll never be this innocent again, sweetheart. I’m takin’ all of it.”

His hand slid between your bodies again, his thumb finding your swollen clit, rubbing soft, tight circles that made you scream.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, holding your thighs up around his waist, folding you open like he owned you. “You’re taking it so well now. Pussy’s learnin’ me, isn’t it? Getting used to this cock already.”

You moaned through clenched teeth, head rolling back into the pillow, overwhelmed. It felt like too much, he was so heavy over your body, but also not enough, your body craving more even as it trembled beneath him.

“Eyes on me,” he said, grabbing your jaw with one hand and forcing you to look up at him. “I want you to watch while I ruin you.”

Your lashes fluttered, tears clinging to your cheeks. You were crying, breath hitching, but not from pain, it was all just too much. And you loved it. His pace picked up. Not brutal but relentless, deep, rolling thrusts that made your thighs shake, your toes curl, your breath come in broken sobs as he slammed against your skin with wet, obscene sounds.

You couldn’t speak, ouldn’t think straight. All the shame and shyness disappeared the second you felt him inside of you. His cock dragged against your walls with each deep thrust, your body slick and messy, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every movement.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he whispered, almost laughing, dark, low, obsessed. “Dripping for me. So fuckin’ tight, but your pussy’s greedy, baby. She wants more, huh?”

You sobbed, your back arching when he suddenly shifted, folding you deeper, pressing your knees toward your chest as he sank in even further, stealing the air from your lungs.

“Oh my god—Heeseung—” you gasped.

“Yeah? You feel that? That’s me right here—” he slid a hand down to press against your lower stomach, just over where the head of his cock was hitting deep inside. “Right there, baby. Right where you needed me.”

Your hands scrambled up to his shoulders, nails dragging uselessly over his skin as your body trembled. Your brain was melting, no thoughts left except HeeseungHeeseungHeeseung. You felt it again, the pressure building, everything was too much. And he knew it.

“Gonna cum again?” he mocked sweetly. “That’s so cute. Barely been fucked and already falling apart. Is it too much?”

You sobbed out a moan, your body arching up, clenching around him like you couldn’t stop.

“Thank me,” he said suddenly, voice sharp in your ear. “Say thank you for fucking you this good.”

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and wide, lips trembling.

“Say it,” he ordered, pushing deeper, hips grinding against your pelvis until your thighs shook uncontrollably. “Be a good girl.”

“Th-thank you,” you choked out, voice wrecked. “Thank you, Heeseung.”

He groaned, cock twitching deep inside you.

“Say thank you for taking my virginity.”

You cried harder, but you said it, gasping through tears, face flushed and humiliated and so turned on it hurt. But you didn’t care, you were his now.

“Thank you… for taking it,” you sobbed. “Thank you for ruining me.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. “That’s my girl.”

His thrusts got faster, deeper, pounding into your sweet, tender pussy like he was claiming it, like he wanted to leave it swollen and aching and full of him.

“Gonna cum inside,” he growled. “Gonna fill you up and keep it there. Want you dripping, sore, thinking of me every time you sit down.”

Your body tensed all over again, everything built fast, hot, unbearable, and you came with a scream, tears falling as your body shook, muscles locking around him so tight he groaned, hips stuttering

“Fuck, that’s it,” Heeseung grunted, barely holding on, his cock pulsing deep inside your spasming walls. “You want it, don’t you? Wanna be full of me.”

You nodded frantically, crying through it, too far gone to even speak, but he didn’t need words. Your body said everything, writhing under him, sucking him in deeper with every flutter.

“You want me to breed this pretty little pussy,” he moaned, hips stuttering. “First time and I’m already ruining you. Filling you up so good, baby—fuck, maybe I’ll get you pregnant. Maybe I’ll knock you up just like this, all messy and crying for me.”

You gasped, another twitch racing through you at his words. You were trembling, overstimulated, body arching under him even as your orgasm still echoed through your limbs.

“That's what you want, right?” he whispered, fucking you through it, each thrust slower but deeper, his cock twitching as was so close. “Want me to fuck a baby into you. Stuff you full. Claim you for real.”

His body hovered over yours, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, jaw clenched so tight it ticked as he fought to hold it together. His brows furrowed, lips parted on a low moan as he came, cock throbbing deep inside your spasming cunt.

You felt it, the thick, hot spill of his release, filling you to the brim, warm and endless. He gripped your thighs tighter, pulling your body closer, anchoring himself as he fucked it deeper with short, needy thrusts. His groan was guttural when he finally spilled, hot inside you, filling you so deep it burned. He held himself there, cock buried to the hilt, like he didn’t want to lose a single drop.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, shaking, breath ragged and broken.

“God,” he groaned, voice rasping, barely audible. “So fucking good. Gonna get you pregnant like this.”

His hands trembled slightly, not from nerves, but from restraint, like every muscle in his body was straining to keep control. Veins stood out on his arms, his chest heaving against yours, skin burning hot.

He looked down at you, and his eyes, blown wide, pupils dark and wild, were obsessed.

“Look at me,” he whispered, pushing your hair back with shaking fingers. “I want you to remember what I look like when I cum inside you for the first time.”

You blinked up at him through the blur of tears, vision filled with the flushed pink of his cheeks, the swollen red of his lips, the glint of sweat that made his collarbones shine in the low light.

His cock twitched again, still deep, still thick and hard even after filling you so completely.

He smiled, slow, dark, too pleased.

“Still clenching,” he murmured, shifting slightly. “You don’t want to let me go, do you?”

When he finally pulled back, a mix of slick and cum slipped out with a slow, wet sound, and his jaw locked again, nostrils flaring like it physically hurt him to see it.

“Fuck no,” he muttered, shoving it back in with two fingers, watching your face twist from overstimulation. “You’re keeping every drop. Gotta make sure it sticks.”

Then he leaned down, still panting, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered. “All mine. Full of me.”

You didn’t even notice you were crying again until Heeseung kissed the tears from your cheeks, slow and tender.

“Shh, baby,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse as he stroked your hair back. “You did so good for me. Took it all, didn’t you? My sweet girl.”

You could barely nod, body twitching beneath him, every inch of you overstimulated, messy, full. His arms wrapped around you carefully as he rolled the both of you onto your sides, cradling your body against his chest, your cunt pulsing, twitching, leaking all over his sheets.

Heeseung looked down and moaned.

“Fuck. Look at the mess we made,” he whispered against your temple, nuzzling close, not even trying to hide how obsessed he was. “All my cum dripping out of this perfect little pussy. Bet you can feel it, huh?”

You whimpered, still trembling, thighs too sore to close. He kissed the corner of your mouth.

“I know, baby. I know it’s a lot,” he murmured, brushing soft fingers down your side, slow and soothing. “I got you. I’ll clean you up.”

He reached for a towel nearby and gently started dabbing between your legs, but even then, he couldn’t help himself.

“God,” he muttered, watching your thighs twitch from the sensitivity. “You’re so ruined for me now.”

You blinked up at him, eyes still hazy and damp.

“You’ll never be the same again, angel,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Nobody’s ever gonna fuck you like that. Nobody’s gonna make you cry the way I do.”

You whimpered, and he smiled, soft and so proud.

“My good girl,” he praised, rubbing slow circles into your thigh with his free hand. “Took it all so sweet. You didn’t even know you could take that much, did you?”

You shook your head, burying your face in his neck as he chuckled and held you tighter.

“Yeah,” he breathed, kissing your temple again. “All mine now. Sweet little thing’s all used up and full of me. Gonna keep you that way.”

He tossed the towel aside once he was satisfied and pulled you into his chest completely, letting you rest against his body, warm and safe, even with the filth still heavy in his voice.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered softly, letting his hand run up and down your spine now, gentler.

You nodded, a soft hum escaping your lips.

You blinked up at him through heavy lashes, still glassy with leftover tears. You could barely speak, throat raw from moaning, from crying, from begging, but somehow the words came, a whisper barely audible.

“…thank you.”

Your voice was so small, so wrecked. But it was the way you said it, all soft and sweet, like you meant it with your whole heart. His eyes darkened again, slowly dragging over your face. The tears on your cheeks. The swollen lips. The ruined innocence.

His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth as he let out a shaky breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, eyes fluttering closed for a second like he was physically affected. “That’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You flushed, face hot against his skin.

He leaned in closer, kissed your temple, and whispered like a secret:

“My sweet girl… all ruined and grateful for it.”

His voice was shaking now too, not from arousal this time, but from something deeper, Possession, obsession.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping you up like you were something precious and fragile, even though you’d just let him break you completely. And you had. Your body still ached, sore and pulsing, filled and messy, but you’d never felt so full, or so safe.

“Thank you for letting me be your first,” he whispered finally. “And your last.”

Your eyelids fluttered shut as his warmth pulled you under. The ache in your thighs, the mess between your legs, the soreness blooming across your skin… none of it mattered. You were in Heeseung’s arms. Safe. Ruined. You weren’t sure if he loved you, maybe he did in his own dangerous way, you didn’t know what you were going to say to his sister tomorrow morning.

It didn’t matter, you were his now.

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