tttabii

[tttabii]

— 엔하이픈 killin' it girl ; enhypen “oh, I wanna get with you in the worst way.”

pairing 𝜗ৎ enhypen ot7 x reader , genre: fluff, suggestive, downbad enha. idol and non-idol au for different members. word count: 4867 words

HEESEUNG 𝜗ৎ

You were so unnaturally attractive—not hard to miss, you were so reserved, elegant and effortlessly put together. You were the kind of girl that didn't need to try and contended powerful presence.

Of course, that made you dangerous. Even within your little group of gorgeous girls, you were the one they wanted to keep them a distance from you—whispering about "her," because you have it all, or she has the total package, brains, beauty, and probably a last name associated with old-money too. Everyone had their eye on you. Every dude wanted you.

But Heeseung?

He wasn't admiring you away. He observed you.

And he wanted more than just another "someone's girl" title—he wanted to be deserving of you.That is how he ended up in the fucking infirmary.

Beaten and bruised with split lips from a fight he may or may not have started after overhearing a group of idiots talking reckless about you. Sure, it feels great to get bruised up over.

They weren't even worth the bruises he took but the bunch of guys who taunted you with his name? The fire burning in his gut? He couldn't let it slide.

So here he was, sitting on a cold cot in the infirmary, smelling like sweat, blood, and smoke with his white shirt stained pink near the collar—his red-dyed hair stuck to his forehead.

What he didn't expect was for you to walk in.

"You're the nurse on duty?" he asked you, blinking up at you like you weren't real.

You hesitated. "I'm not a nurse," you said bluntly. "I'm in a program. I assist. It's my rotation today."

Heeseung was grinning. "Well, lucky me."

You didn't indulge in his flirting. At least, not yet. Your fingers were soft but firm as you dabbed a cloth along the cut on his cheek. His eyes followed the subtle furrow of your brow, how you nibbled on the inside of your cheek when you focused. The room smelled of antiseptic and your perfume—sweet, airy, far too expensive for a university campus.

"What happened?" you asked finally, wiping gently under his jaw.

He shrugged and bit back a hiss as your fingers ran over a particularly tender spot. "Just needed to put someone in their place."

"With violence?" you raised a brow. "Seriously?"

"Only for a good reason." His eyes found yours. "Some guys were talking shit about a girl I know. Figured I would handle it."

You stilled. "...A girl?"

He gave you that signature smirk again—slow, confident, cocky as hell. "Yeah. Girl like you doesn't deserve to have her name in the mouth of other people's mouths."

You blinked and for a split second, Heeseung was sure he saw the cool ignited, calm mask slip. Just a flicker. That's all he needed.

"Shirt up," you said quietly, reaching for the roll of bandages.

He didn't hesitate a fraction of a second. He tugged the hem upwards and over his head, tossing it to the side. His torso was lean, sculpted—defined in all the places that made it difficult for you to look at him in the eye. You coughed, clearing your throat and shifting back into doctor mode.

"I heard you're cold," he said lightly, watching you apply the gauze to his ribs. "Pretty hard to believe that now."

"They don't know me," you stated, zoning in on the bandage. "I just keep my circle small."

"Mmm," he hummed, his voice deep, teasing. "Guess I'll have to earn my way in then."

You tried not to smile. Failed slightly. "What makes you think I would even consider?"

He leaned slightly closer; his tone deepened just enough to rattle your pulse.

"Cause baby, I let you touch me before anyone else did."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat on your cheeks.

Heeseung was trouble. But you didn't mind.

JAY ⭒

The first thing Jay saw was not the designer dress molding to your body nor the way your heels lightly clicked against the ballroom's marble floor.

It was how you maneuvered through crowds like you owed no one anything.

Not your time.

Not your money.

Not even your smile.

And God, that alone was dangerous.

He had heard of you already, many times actually. His mom had brought up your name at dinner, your brother had named dropped him while playing a round of golf, and your best friend Ni-ki wouldn't stop talking about how unbelievable your design portfolio was.

Jay even had a tour of your house more than once, always seeing your framed photos from when you were a kid while he waited for your brother, intrigued by the girl in the photos who was always too busy to be home.

Now he understood.

You were too busy building your name to waste your time at parties like these. But here you were tonight—gala-ready and glowing, the edge of your lip gloss shining under the chandelier light, wine glass in hand like a damn Monet painting brought to life. 

Jay was familiar with what people thought when they saw him: the rich heir with the polished suit, coded to be a husband to a fault. Cook, clean, has a driver. He could probably iron a blouse better than most maids, and he didn't mind playing house, if it meant being with someone who was earning their right to a seat at the table.

Someone who didn't need him, but might want him anyway.

Someone like you.

His eyes flicked over the girls around him—names he couldn't place, perfume too overpowering, engagement more stale than champagne left out too long. He was polite, he always was, but he was not focused on them.

He was already moving across the room, tracking your figure as you strolled out of the powder room, brows unknotted, gaze somewhere else entirely, the aura of "unbothered" radiating off of you even from this far off. Until you looked up.

"Hi," Jay said, slipping away from the group smoothly, as if it were the most normal thing to do.

Your eyes landed on him, mildly curious. "Ah, hi. How can I help you?"

Polite. Warm but guarded.

You weren't new to this dance. 

Jay offered a small smile, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding his drink. "I figured now was a good time to introduce myself. I've heard your name so many time it felt rude not to say hello in person."

You blinked. "Let me guess. My brother."

"Your brother. My mother. Ni-ki." He chuckled softly. "You"ve got fans in every generation."

A soft huff left your nose, almost a laugh. "That sounds like exaggeration."

"No, that sounds like someone who's killing it quietly," he said, voice low and smooth, "while everyone else is too loud trying to keep up."

You blinked again. Okay. That wasn't corny.

That was... impressive.

Still, you tilted your head slightly, with your lips curved in the smallest of amused smirks. "So, is that your opening line? Flatter me 'til I fold?"

"I don't need you to fold." His gaze remained steady. "I just want to talk to you. Even if it's just about fashion."

That made your brow raise. "Ni-ki told you?"

Jay nodded. "And also, I once saw your sketches. At your house. I couldn't stop staring."

You took a sip of your wine, masking the brief flicker of surprise in your eyes. "Oh. You hang out with my brother."

"I hang out with a lot of people," he said, taking a half-step closer, enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne, which smelled warm, clean, and a little like cedar and citrus. "But I talk to very few. And I flirt with even fewer."

"And I'm supposed to feel honored?"

"You're supposed to tell me if I should stop."

Your silence was answer enough.

Jay smirked, subtly confident. He didn't press any more than that. Instead, he lifted his glass a little bit.

"To your success," he said simply. "Not the type of success haggled an amount. The type of success earned."

Your lip twitched, an almost-whole smile threatening to curl the corners. For a moment, you hated how flustered that made you feel.

But you hid it well.

And Jay noticed.

He also noticed that this would not be a one-night impression.

He was not going to fumble this.

Not with a girl like you.

Not with a girl like you, killing it without even trying.

JAKE ꕤ

From the first step onto the set, Jake could tell he was screwed.

He'd seen you perform before, of course—how could he not? You were everywhere. Your name was always trending for whatever reason: whether it was a new R&B track being released, a Vogue photoshoot, or just because someone had a half-hearted attempt to drag you online, and it was shut down with receipts and fan edits that could make gods cry.

You weren't an idol.

You were the idol.

A soloist who could be in a group of others and get along with everyone effortlessly, would never back down from a challenge, and had a smile that was just pretty, professional, and mysterious enough to keep people intrigued.

You weren't marketed the same, while your company lets you be you, and it shows.

And maybe that's why other idols were envious, because even in group of 10, you somehow seemed to shine a little brighter.

Jake had always been a fan of you. He didn't say it out loud too often—only Jay knew, and that was because he caught Jake watching one of your live performances backstage during their comeback prep.

He didn't even play it cool, just nodded and muttered, "Yeah... she's crazy talented," before getting flamed by Sunghoon for zoning out again.

But now? Now you were here. In the flesh. Sitting beside him in a slick black dress that was classy, classy-looking and fit you way too good. Your make-up looked cuter than you usually do—something sweeter, younger. He didn't realize how much that would mess with his heart till you sat beside him and he nearly hand dropped his water bottle.

You weren't even trying.

And you were absolutely killing it.

"Are your hands shaking?" the host said suddenly, with an amused look at Jake.

He laughed, faking calmness. "No, no. Not nervous."

You chuckled quietly, voice like sugar and silk, tilting your head into him. "I am," you said, brushing a hand through your hair. "I rarely get nervous on set."

He didn't do anything.

He didn't respond immediately—he was too distracted by how you delivered that with such sincere charm.

You were perhaps the most unbothered person he'd seen on a screen, but this right here, with your fingers fiddling and your eyes flitting to the floor every couple of seconds, would tell him this wasn't an act. This was you.

And, god, it made you even more beautiful.

The segment began not long after. The host clapped his hands and beamed at the two of you. "Alright, you're going to cook something together—and we'll get the judges to taste it at the end. Let's see if the visuals can cook too."

You wore your apron wrong, had the strings knotted like a pretzel, and your first confession on camera was, "I'm kinda terrible at cooking."

Jake laughed. "Then we're doomed."

There was a sense that you were now just fully here, and flesh-and-blood rather than screens.He helped to fix your apron, and then he took the bowl as you chopped vegetables—at least attempted to. Jake flinched on instinct at how you were holding that knife.

"Wait-" He stepped in closer, hands softly altering the hold your fingers had on the knife. "Like this. Your thumb here. You're gonna cut yourself that way."

Your eyes flitted to his, and something about the way you looked away too soon made his heart skip again. You mumbled a soft thank you and resumed cutting, a little more slowly and a little more carefully.

It was easy after that.

The laughter came effortlessly. You teased him when he spilled something, and he joked about your improper carrot slices.

You learned about Layla—his golden retriever—and how he genuinely thought Layla could tell who was pretty based on who she barked at. You told him about how your mom is allergic to dogs so you were never able to have one, and he promised to send you Layla pictures.

"Maybe Layla can come visit your company," he said with a grin. "She loves soloists in black dresses."

You tried not to laugh. You failed.

The dish actually turned out pretty good, surprisingly good according to the host. Jake was shocked. You high-fived, your hands not wanting to separate after holding for a beat too long.

Even after the segment ended, you had a hard time not sneaking glances at him. You didn't think the cameras caught it, but they probably did. Jake had the eyes of a hawk—and you took note when you thought he missed how your fingers trembled a bit whenever he leaned too close or laughed too loud.

He wouldn't sit here and deny that you weren't his type. Not only because you were breathtaking, or because your voice gave him chills. It was how you brushed off hate with a tired smile, how you corrected rumors by just being real, and how—even with a powerful name behind you—you worked twice as hard just to prove you could stand on your own.

Sure, he had seen all kinds of idols come and go in this industry.

But nothing like you.

Jake wasn't a guy who flirted with everyone. But you?

He was halfway there already.

And now that he had finally met you, heard your laugh, listened to you sing alongside him, it was no longer admiration.

It was deeper and he wasn't letting it go ever.

SUNGHOON ꪆৎ

The first thing Sunghoon noticed wasn't your skating.

It was the song blaring through the speakers at the ice rink—PartyNextDoor at 9 a.m. It was like the playlist didn't know figure skating was supposed to be all waltzes, pretty violins, and orchestral swells. But here you were skating like silk over ice, gliding while a sultry beat bounced off the walls.

You skated like you owned the rink.

Like you invented the sport.

Maybe you did.

Every guy you'd ever paired with seemed to fall hard for you—on and off the rink. Sunghoon had seen the viral videos. One guy looked like he was about to propose mid-interview the way he watched you giggle and casually praise his technique like it didn't just melt his brain.

Now, it was his turn.

When his coach told him he'd be doing a duet routine with you, he hadn't slept the entire night. You weren't just the It-Girl of Figure Skating. You were dangerous. Pretty, polite, scarily dedicated, and all said to break hearts without even trying.

You never dated your partners, but you definitely had left an impression. 

And now that he was watching you warm up, skating to a heavy bassline in nothing but leggings, a zip-up hoodie, and a tiny pair of pearl earrings, he suddenly understood every guy who fumbled after working with you.

You weren't even trying, and he was already choking.

You had spotted him at the entrance after a quick spin, the music still vibrating softly around you as you halted gracefully and grabbed your bottle. The playlist switched mid-song, and you winced slightly.

"Ah... didn't think anyone would hear that," you said, your cheeks were rosy by the time you stepped off the ice and hit pause on your phone. "Should have gone with my 'main character' playlist instead."

Sunghoon made an awkward laugh, he couldn't help it. "It's no problem, that song kind of goes hard."

You raised a brow with curiosity. "Oh? Didn't peg you as the type."

"Didn't peg you as the type either," he admitted.

You smiled brightly. "Guess we're full of surprises then."

You casually extended your hand, the vapor from your hot thermal bottle still slinking between you.

"You must be... Sunghoon?"

"Y-yeah," he nodded as he grabbed at your hand, ignoring how soft your fingers felt against his calloused palm.

"Don't be nervous. I promise working with me is really relaxing."

He wanted to laugh at the statement. Relaxing? his heart was racing like he had just completed five fast laps.

But you were right.

The next few hours proved just that. You moved with him like you'd been skating together for months. Your hand in his was steady. When you had to grip his shoulders for the lifts, there was zero hesitation.

Like you trusted him already. And for someone like Sunghoon—who was used to cold partnerships and mechanical routines—you were like sunlight filtering into a snow globe.

You didn't act as if you were superior to him, even if you technically were. He had seen your medals. So had the whole rink.

You were just... real. Confident with no effort. Joking between breaks. Always checking your setlist. Always moving.

And when you leaned over, hair tied into a lazy bun, taking a sip of your lukewarm tea, Sunghoon simply could not look away.

"I saw those interviews, you know?" he said during a water break. He tapped the bottle in his hand. "With your old partners."

You looked at him, amusement in your expression. "Let me guess. You think I'm secretly evil."

He flushed. "No-! I just—They all looked like they were in love with you."

You shrugged, little indicating it mattered. "I can't help it if I'm good at chemistry."

"You mean skating chemistry?"

"Mm," you smirked. "Both."

Oh, damn.

Sunghoon was pretty certain the air cooled. Or turned hot. Essentially he had no idea. All he did know was you just smiled at him like you hadn' realized he was barely holding it together.

And when you slid to fit closer together during practice, your hand coming to rest on his ribs, breathless from the last spin, you looked up at him, slightly pink from the cold—

"You're not bad at this Park Sunghoon," you said, smiling. "I might keep you."

You weren't even flirting.

That was the problem.

You were just being you. Effortlessly that girl—looking fine with no makeup, in your bag, with a goal and no distractions. And still, somehow, he was the one getting distracted.

Sunghoon might've come to Chongqing for gold.

But now he had a real problem:

He wanted you, too.

Bad.

SUNOO .☘︎ ݁

You've worked with a lot of idols—a lot of them. Some were bold enough to flirt between foundation pats and eyebrow trims, offering you drinks, late-night convenience store snacks, and even designer lip glosses "you should try for yourself."

But you weren't stupid. You liked your job, your career, your freedom.

You weren't going to jeopardize all that just because a famous person winked at you and told you your eyeliner technique was "sexy."

You always kept it professional.

Until Kim Sunoo.

When you first met him, it was a quick schedule—nothing fancy, just a light press event, a soft base look with healthy blush and gradient lips. You had seen his face online but in real life?

That fox-like smile could melt empires.

He greeted you with that sunshine-in-human-form smile, huge sparkly eyes and a gentle "Hi, thank you for taking care of me," and he meant it.

It wasn't idol politeness. He said it like he had waited all morning to meet you.

"We're gonna make you glow," you said as you clicked open your cushion compact.

"You're already glowing though," he replied instantly, then tilted his head like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You paused, brush in hand.

"Don't hit on your makeup artist," you muttered under your breath.

"I'm just being honest," he smiled, eyes steady on yours in the mirror.

Professional. You're being professional. You told yourself all of this as you blended his base with the lightest of taps, trying to concentrate on his angular cheekbones, not the way he watched you like you were painting a masterpiece, not just putting skin tint on his pretty face.

At some point mid-makeup session, he reached into the snack pouch next to him and pulled out a small mochi.

You didn't think anything of it—until he suddenly held it up to your lips.

"Open," he said in a tone that led you to believe you were a puppy and he was asking you to sit.

"What the hell are you doing?" you blinked.

"Feeding my artist," he grinned. "You haven't eaten, have you?"

You were staring at the mochi. Then back at him. Then back at it.

"...Just one bite," you mumbled, quickly taking it in before anyone passed by the open makeup room door.

It was warm. Chewy. Strawberry.

"I knew you'd love strawberry," he whispered, like he had been researching your preferences for years.

From that day onward, Sunoo found a way into your schedule every time. "Coincidence," he would say innocently, "I guess we're destined."

He brought food for you. Brought bubble tea with your name scrawled on the cup in black sharpie. Knew your favorite blush. Noticed when your hair was different.

"You make all the idols look irresistible," he said once you were dusting highlighter on his nose bridge while he tilted his chin up and threw you a look. "But I bet I'm your favorite canvas."

"Don't get cocky."

"But I am, right?" he laughed, looking amiss in the mirror with his eyes half-lidded. "You give me extra attention every time."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

This was definitely not like the others.

And when your hands brushed a little longer against his jaw, or when he caught your reflection smiling at something he said—

You were starting to think you might be in trouble.

The kind of trouble that came with strawberry mochi, stolen glances, and Kim Sunoo.

JUNGWON ʚɞ

Jungwon had a huge celebrity crush on you.

Everyone knew this. His members, his fans, and the staff. There were hundreds of clips of him on the internet giggling at the scenes from your popular K-drama—the one with the unspeakable romance that made his ears turn red every time he watched it—and leaning over to quietly mumble "She's just so talented" or "She did that scene so well," like no one would suspect what he was really thinking about in those moments, particularly how your eyes sparkled over the screen.

So when the host mentioned "a surprise guest Jungwon has been a fan of for a while," he just laughed awkwardly about it.

No way it was you.

Right?

That thought lasted five seconds, because when you walked through the studio curtain wearing a cute blouse and fitted pleated skirt, smiling like you'd just stepped out of one of those soft lighting K-drama dream scenes—

Jungwon froze.

Like froze.

"W-What?" he said while getting up so fast his mic pack almost came off. He stumbled back a little, a nervous chuckle sitting high in his throat, while running a hand through his hair. "No way—what??"

You giggled softly, and you bowed politely but tightly, "Nice to finally meet my biggest fan."

His mouth opened, then shut. Then opened again. You could see him fighting for composure like a cat being sprayed with water. Absolutely cornered.

The show set had hanging swings on each side (some fake picnic theme, super cute), so when you sat beside him, swaying slightly, you leaned over just a little and whispered, "You're even cuter in person, Jungwon."

He dropped dead.

He blinked at the camera with his eyes wide open, trying to avoid combustion.

The host laughed and felt brave enough to ask you both to do a quick game, but half the time Jungwon was side-eyeing you like you were a dream come true. Which, to be fair, you kinda were.

"Y'know, I heard a lot about you." you said midway into a question segment, you tucked your hair behind your ear. "They say you're super hardworking and polite and cat-like, and I see the cat part now."

Jungwon, in his black dress shirt rolled to the sleeves, instinctively pulled at the fabric when he noticed your eyes on his arms. "You're staring," he mumbled, smiling shyly.

"Can you blame me?" you said, voice innocent but your smile was saying something completely different.

He chuckled under his breath while his ears turned pink. "Aren't you younger than me?" he said teasingly.

You tilted your head to the side. "And? You want me to call you oppa?"

He waved that away so quickly. "No! No, talk comfortably. Just- talk casually."

God, he thought, this is such chaos.

But, it's also the best day of his life.Then the host dropped the question of the day: "If you had a chance to film a drama together, what kind of story would you want?"

Jungwon blinked at you, stunned again.You, being the professional flirter you were, leaned toward the mic and said, "Well maybe... a friends-to-lovers story? You know, slow burn. I would love to act beside Jungwon."

Jungwon's jaw dropped. Literally.

"Don't tease me like this," he whispered while shaking his head.

You giggled, "I'm not! You're really my type. I like a guy that's sweet and awkward at first but gets bold later."

He turned his face completely away to mask the grin that was plastered across it.

The fans? They were going to LOSE it when this aired. The comments, the edits, the "they lookso good together" compilations? Unstoppable.

But Jungwon didn't care about any of it right now. Because this was the first time he had seen you—not through a screen. Not in some scene with your lines and movements directed.

This was you, head back on the swing, smiling, your eyes on him like he was the main character this time.

"Still can't believe you're here," he mumbled later on during a quick break.

You nudged his foot with yours under the table. "Well, believe it. And if you could keep me in mind for your next drama I would love a kissing scene."

He choked on his water.

NI-KI 𐙚

Ni-ki had seen it all. The giggles, the not-so-subtle hair flips, the fake emergencies to get his attention. It didn't matter if it was right after practice, drenched in sweat, or if he was just dribbling a basketball across campus, girls trailed behind him like he was the last AirPod in a music class.

He didn't blame them. He knew he looked good. He was tall, with sharp eyes and confidence radiating off of him. His chains were sparkling under the sun, his chrome hearts dangling from his belt, and his hair wild but in a not-caring-but-caring way.

He carried a reputation: Dance prodigy. Trouble. Girls' favorite problem.

But you?

You weren't even affected.

The first time he saw you, you walked past the courtyard with a chef's knife sticking out of your tote bag and your signature cat pin on your apron. He remembered every detail because it was seared into his memory. Your hair fell perfectly with curled ends that swung with every step, and your perfume hung in the air like you owned it.

And god, did he stare. Maybe a little too long.

You walked right past him—expression unreadable, lip gloss perfectly in place—like he was just another dude. No slow turn, no fluttering lashes. Just a quick glance at your phone and a soft "Tch" when someone got in your way.

That "Tch" rang in his brain for hours. Just like a slap to his ego.

The next time he saw you was in the hallway by the culinary wing, bent over your table, frosting something that looked dangerously good. He leaned against the wall, observing your hands and your concentration and your nails painted somewhat only so far that they screamed expensive.

You bit down on your bottom lip in concentration, not even knowing he was there—until the teacher walked by and greeted him a bit too loud.

You looked up, even just for a second.

Then you basically went back to piping cream on the pastry like the hottest boy in school wasn't literally right there.

He scoffed to himself and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What the hell is wrong with her?"

He started walking past your class more. Not on purpose. (Okay, a little on purpose.) Sometimes shirtless in a tank after dance practice, allowing his chains to jingle with every step. Other times when he saw you walking with that, bossy, energy of yours he'd "accidentally" cut into your path just to see you glare.

That day near the basketball court?

Yeah. He still dreams about it.

He bumped into you, sweat still fresh on his neck, basketball in hand. You flinched, letting out an annoyed huff.

"Watch it," you muttered, brushing past him like he was a nuisance.

He turned his head slowly, eyes following you like a curse.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself.

After that, he made it his mission to mess with you.

Always blocking your path.

Always calling out your name in a fake-sweet voice.

Always flashing that smirk he knew melted girls in seconds.

You didn't let him.

"Fuck off, Ni-ki."

"Stop inhaling my air."

"Touch me again and I am pouring this béchamel sauce on your head."

He loved it.

He loved your sass, your voice, your mouth curling up in irritation; he wanted to see what that attitude looked like when it wasn't directed at him.

He wondered how long it would take for you to stop running your pretty mouth and start running it against his?

He would think about it. A lot more than he wanted to.

Your lipstick on his neck. Your apron hanging loose. Your whimpers of his name swallowing the demands of food and the kitchen around.

He was so down bad it was stupid.

But he didn't give a shit.

Because he sure as hell didn't want you like the others.

He wanted to ruin you, worship you, spoil you, keep you.

And he would be damned if anyone else touched you first.

[tttabii]

XTC ; PARK JONGSEONG , JAY “I wanna fuck you in the kitchen like I did last year.”

pairing 𝜗ৎ worker!jay x boss daughter!reader ; genre: smut, mentions of smoking, p in v, oral (fem) , word count; 1582

YOU AND PARK JONGSEONG—Jay, as you called him—had a secret sex life your dad could never know about. Your father was the boss, but you didn't really work there. You just went into the office sometimes to check on your dad, or to get cash to go shopping, or for this or that. You'd seen many of the staff previously, waving at them while you sipped your matcha latte.

It always started with seeing Jay for the first time, being chastised by your dad for coming late, as always. But you came in right around the time and told your father not to be upset and that Jay had a reason for coming in late. Your father relaxed, and let him go. Then, from there you were going in a lot to just look at him. He would always feel your gaze, and would look back until you would shyly look away. 

But the first moment that the moment happened and you would bring him coffee, he naturally took it. When your hands brushed against one another, it inspired something so deep, that your inner thighs cramped together right in front of him. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Memories from last year flood your mind, specifically of a steamy encounter with Jay. It all started on that chilly evening when Jay drove you home, noticing you shiver in the cold as you waited for a cab. He insisted you cancel it and join him in his warm car instead. You agreed, and he brought you back to your apartment.

As a gesture of gratitude, you invited him to stay for dinner while you prepared a warm meal. Jay watched attentively as you chopped vegetables, admiring your every move. Unable to resist, he eventually moved closer, pressing himself against your back and nuzzling into your neck.

You gasped at his sudden touch, but didn't pull away. In fact, you found yourself leaning into him, craving more. Jay took the opportunity to start kissing your neck, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

Before you knew it, he had you bent over the kitchen counter, making out with you passionately. Your bodies moved together seamlessly, driven by pure lust and desire. Jay lifted your skirt and pulled your panties aside, his hard length pressing against your entrance.

"Please," you whispered, too consumed by need to care about the consequences.

Jay obliged, entering you in one smooth thrust. You cried out at the sudden fullness, your walls stretching to accommodate him. He felt amazing, better than any man you'd been with before.

Jay set a relentless pace, pounding into you with all the pent-up desire he'd been holding back. You met his thrusts eagerly, your hips bucking back against him as you sought your own pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Jay groaned, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You were on the pill, so there was no need for condoms. Jay took full advantage of that fact, filling you with every inch of his throbbing cock.

The ecstasy was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. Jay's dominant side shone through as he claimed you roughly, driven by a primal hunger. You could barely believe the gentlemanly staff member from your father's office was capable of such intense passion.

Just as the pleasure became too much to bear, Jay slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you as he found his release. Your own orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body shaking and trembling as you milked him for all he was worth.

In the aftermath, you both collapsed against the counter, panting and sweaty. Jay pulled you into his arms, peppering your face with soft kisses as he apologized for getting carried away.

But you didn't mind. You found yourself craving more of his touch, more of his passionate lovemaking. And you knew, without a doubt, that this was just the beginning of a steamy affair neither of you could resist. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You invited Jay over for dinner at your family home, and despite your father's initial reservations about his employee dating his daughter, he eventually gave his approval after witnessing how well Jay treated you. Little did they know about the naughty antics taking place right under their noses.

Throughout the meal, you found ways to tease and torment Jay, sliding your hand beneath the table to grope his hardening bulge. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to maintain composure while you rubbed and squeezed his sensitive flesh through his pants.

As soon as the dishes were cleared, Jay made an excuse about feeling a bit dizzy, likely due to how he got sick the previous day. You offered to take care of him, and your parents, preoccupied with their own conversation with Jay's parents, allowed you both to retire to your bedroom.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Jay pushed you up against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours in a hungry kiss. His hands roamed your body, caressing every curve as he peppered your neck and jaw with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

You gasped as he latched onto your collarbone, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin until a dark purple hickey blossomed beneath his lips. The combination of pain and pleasure sent a jolt straight to your core, making you arch into his touch.

"Stay quiet, yeah?" Jay murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough with desire. "Wouldn't want my boss hearing me fucking his daughter raw."

His words alone were enough to set your body ablaze. You whimpered softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continued his assault on your neck and chest.

Jay's hands made quick work of your clothes, tugging and pulling until they lay in a heap on the floor. He stepped back to admire your naked form, his eyes dark with lust.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, reaching out to palm your breasts, his thumbs circling your hardened nipples.

You reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle as you tried to free his throbbing cock. Jay chuckled, taking over and unzipping his pants himself. His hard length sprang free, and you wrapped your hand around it, stroking him slowly.

Jay groaned, his hips bucking into your touch. He grabbed your wrist, stopping you mid-stroke. "Not yet," he panted. "I need to be inside you first."

With that, he hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you over to the bed. He laid you down gently, hovering above you as he positioned himself at your entrance.

"Please, baby," you whined, your voice barely audible.

Jay didn't need any more encouragement. He thrust into you with one smooth motion, filling you completely. You gasped at the sudden fullness, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick length.

"Fuck, you're still so tight," Jay groaned, his hips snapping against yours as he set a relentless pace.

You could feel every inch of him inside you, claiming you, possessing you. It was pure ecstasy, and you never wanted it to end.

Jay leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure. His tongue delved into your mouth, tangling with yours in a passionate dance.

As he continued to pound into you, you could feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Jay's hand snaked between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles.

Your body shook as you came undone, waves of pleasure rolling through you like a storm. You hung on to him, fingers curling in the sheets, all while your walls clenched around him, coaxing a deep guttural groan out of his throat.

That was all it took.

With a sharp breath, Jay buried himself deep inside you, his grip tightening on your hips as he spilled inside, warmth flooding you as he pulsed within. He stayed like that for a moment—forehead pressed to yours, breath heavy, heart pounding against your chest like a drum.

But it wasn't over. Not for you.

Without saying a word, you turned toward the nightstand, hand slipping into the drawer until your fingers found the familiar shape of the cigarette box—the one he always left behind. You held it up to him with a lazy smirk, your body still humming from the aftershocks.

Jay chuckled lowly, his eyes dark and amused. "You thinking what I’m thinking, baby?"

You raised a brow and tossed him the lighter, "Always."

He flicked the lighter open and lit it, the flame visage whetted the sharpened angles of his head. He took a slow drag before leaning toward you, blowing the smoke straight into your face. You inhaled it without shame, the burn in your lungs felt strangely satisfying—much like the taste of him still left between your thighs.

Jay's eyes fell as a dangerous smirk pulled at his lips.

"Messy little thing," he muttered, two fingers running down your slick core, and you jolted slightly. You weren't sure if the sensitivity was pain or pleasure any longer.

Then he exhaled again—right against your wet heat.

You shuddered.

The feeling was unbelievable, the combination of the cool smoke and the warm breath sending goosebumps across your skin. He kissed your inner thigh, once, twice, before bringing the cigarette back to your lips, letting you have a drag before putting the cigarette down in a tray beside the bed.

"You're not done," he said, his voice low and gravelly, like a promise.

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you again—his tongue dragging through the mess he made, slow and possessively, like he had forever.

And God, you hoped he took his time.

[tttabii]

— 박종성 unexpected problems ; park jongseong

pairing ꪆৎ gentleman!jay x reader ; genre: fluff. one sided enemy to lovers. reader swears that she hates jongseong's guts. word count: 5855.

YOU SWORE THAT PARK JONGSEONG was a living breathing problem.

It was all triggered when he spilled an entire cup of iced americano onto your blouse in front of the humanities building. It was a nice day—sunny, calm, until he bumped into your shoulder with his loud laugh.

The second the freezing liquid soaked through the fabric, and your audible gasp reverberated in the hallway, all he did was look down, blink, a few times... then give you a ward cash.

No "sorry."

No "are you okay?"

Just... fucking money.

You remembered his expression too. Like it was no big deal. Like he bumped a water bottle over, not his cup of coffee on your whole outfit and morning.

And since then, you resolved: Jay Park, is not a good man.

It didn't help that your friend group had the biggest crushes on his.

"Sunghoon's so cute I want to cry,"

"Ni-ki's dancing are unreal."

"Jongseong has such good boyfriend energy, like—ugh, imagine."

"Do you think he smells good?? He looks like he smells good."

You just wanted to scream.

What could be interesting about a bunch of rich boys playing sports? What could you find appealing about these kids who acted like campus royalty? Especially Jay, the way he walked like the whole school was his catwalk? That shit-eating grin like he had a thousand secrets when you definitely weren't interesting enough to even know one?

You didn't care if he was hot. Or rich. Or had nice hair that always flopped perfectly over his eyes. No. You were not like all the other students. You weren't going to fall for it.

...that is until the professor told you about your new seating arrangements.

And just like that—you were seat partners with Park Jongseong.

He never ignored a chance to talk to you, either. From day one.

"Are you always this quiet or do I scare you?"

"That's a nice pen. You want me to get you a gold one?"

"Your notes are too cute for you to hate this class."

You either waved him off or answered him in one word. But he never stopped trying. The effort was honestly... strange.

Jay, however, noticed every little thing.

The way you always furrowed your brows when trying to understand something.

How you fidgeted with the cap of your pen during pop quizzes.

How you zoned out halfway through lectures but still somehow managed to pass.

He remembered the coffee incident, unfortunately.

And maybe he should've said sorry instead of throwing money.

But you looked so pissed, he genuinely thought you were going to throw the cup at his head.

Still, he noticed you in the crowd.

At the basketball match.

Under the scorching sun.

Not screaming his name like the others, but sitting stiffly, clearly dragged there by your friends, lip gloss melting off from the heat. You didn't even like him—he knew that—but something about you kept catching his attention.

Today when you walked in late a cup of coffee was waiting for you on your desk.

You stared at it, then stared at him. You stared back at the cup, and then back at him.

Jay, crossed arms leaning back in his seat looking way, way too smug.

"It's for you. An apology," he said nonchalantly.

You blinked. "Took you that long to apologize?"

"Hey, at least I apologize," he said raising an eyebrow.

You scoffed, pulled out your laptop, and opened up your notes—fighting the way your lips twitched. Not a smile. Not at all. Class moved slowly. You did your best to pay attention, but Jay's tapping his pen and glancing at you every so often pulled you out of your thoughts.

It wasn't until the professor began writing complicated diagrams on the board that you furrowed your brows in confusion. You didn't say anything—but Jay noticed.

Without saying much, he leaned a bit closer and explained it quietly, simplifying everything so well that you almost forgot you were mad at him.

"...Oh. That... actually makes sense," you muttered, barely taking your eyes off your screen.

He just shrugged like it was nothing.

But Jungwon—who sat behind you two—definitely heard the soft "thank you" you mumbled under your breath. He noticed how you didn't pull away as quickly when Jay leaned in. He noticed the slight shifts in your body language.

Maybe Jay wasn't just a problem anymore.

Maybe he was becoming... an unexpected one.

After class, you hurriedly grabbed your stuff, and made your way right outside the hall, where you eventually found yourself scrolling through your phone to pass the time until your friends showed up.

They came a few minutes later, immediately nudging each other, as one leaned toward your ear and said, "Don't freak out. But Jay's totally watching you right now."

You looked up, and sure enough—in that moment he sat leaning against the brick wall with Jungwon by his side, arms crossed, hair a little tousled from running his fingers through it, and staring at you directly.

He wasn't even pretending not to look.

And you tried not to look interested, but your heartbeat said otherwise.

You swore you would never feel this way about him. Not now. Not ever.

But when you caught his stupid gaze—that stupid, confident gaze—and turned away like his stare was on fire. "Whatever," you said real quietly to yourself. "Maybe he he was looking at one of you guys or something."

But none of your friends were falling for it.

"Girl, come on." Juri sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she wrapped around your arm. "Even I like him and I feel like he was staring at you. It feels like it didn't even blink, like what kind of a K-drama is this?"

You bit back a comment, cheeks warming slightly, brushing your fingers through your hair to play it off. "It's not that deep, guys. Come on. I'm hungry." 

"Right, yeah," said one of your friends with a smirk. "Hungry for what though?" 

"Shut up," you sighed, lightly swatting her shoulder as they all burst into laughter, teasing you mercilessly while still debating what to eat for lunch. You could feel the way your heart was skipping in your chest, and you hated it. Hated the thought of him affecting you like this.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the quad, Jungwon was over the staring competition that Jay was losing to.

He abruptly jabbed him with his elbow, sending him an annoyed look. "Stop staring at her and tell me what you want to eat later. You're being weird."

Jay continued to lean against the wall, chewing on his bottom lip, and did not respond right away.

Then finally, a small quiet voice.

"...Do you think she hates me?"

Jungwon blinked and scrunched up his face. "What?"

Jay looked away from where you and your friends huddled, hands stuffed in his pockets. "I mean, I wouldn't blame her. But I don't know, I keep trying."

Jungwon gave him an unimpressed stare before shrugging his shoulders. "She probably does. But..." he paused, watching the way you were trying very hard not to look back at Jay, fiddling with your bag strap, and the way your lips twitched like you were trying not to smile.

"...I think she's warming up to you or something. I don't know."

Jay allowed the tiniest of grins to curve onto his lips, his gaze drifting back to you once more.

Yeah. He was gonna try again.

Your morning was already off to a terrible start. You had cramps twisting in your lower stomach the second you got out of bed, and you knew—knew—the rest of the day would continue in the same terrible fashion.

You wanted nothing to do with the heat. Or your heavy laptop. Or people breathing too loud.

So when you reached your seat and dumped your bag on the chair with a heavy thump, Jay flinched just slightly beside you. He turned his head to look at you, presumably expecting some other cold brush-off or annoyed glare, but instead saw you laboriously pulling out your notebook, then sighing in exasperation as you noticed you forgot your pencil case.

You looked... off.

You were slumped over your desk, one arm under your head and the other curled across your stomach, breathing heavily through your nose. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, especially with how often you shifted uncomfortably in your seat every minute, with your brow wearing an ever-so-slight frown.

Jay frowned a little, his lips pressed together into a line. Was it him? Did he do something again?

But, when class began and you blearily blinked awake, wordlessly pointing at the extra pen laying beside his laptop, he just nodded and slid it to you with a slight gesture of his hand. You took it, wordlessly, and he wasn't expecting a thank you either.

This was different than other days. You didn't brush him off, or fight him with your snarky attitude. You were just tired. And Jay could tell.

And to be honest, he was too.

Jay shouldn't have been taking notes, he shouldn't have been paying attention to the professor, explaining some stat formula. But his attention had gone sideways.

You were slumped again, your head turned toward the window, eyelashes fluttering lightly as sleep began to pull you down again. He took in the way your hair strands framed your cheek, and how the rise and fall of your chest was slightly uneven—probably from the lad style.

You looked soft, he thought. You were still beautiful, and you were still so headstrong in the way you carried yourself every day, but in that moment, you looked really vulnerable—in a way no one ever got to see.

No one, except him—the person you hated the most.

His chest tightened.

And maybe you didn't know, but Jay had always paid attention. It wasn't just basketball and flirting and showing off. He observed you. And he saw every detail about you.

The way you would cross your arms when someone walked in that you didn't like.

The way your eyes always flicked to the exit in your lecture, as if you were planning your escape.

The way your nose crunched when someone said something dumb—which, usually was him.

And now, how your hands were lightly clenched over your stomach, how you didn't have your usual bag, and how your shoulders were hunched the whole class.

Jay wasn't used to being... protective like this.

Once class was over, he reached out, nudging your elbow gently. "Hey..." he said, his voice lower than usual.

You blinked yourself awake slowly, letting out a soft groan while you hurriedly packed your belongings, not saying much, and being slower than you usually are—your usual brisk pace shattering before his eyes.

He stood up before you did, ready to ask if you were okay, when his eyes glanced down.

And froze.

There—faint, but visible to see—there was a stain on the back of your skirt. The guys who were normally a few rows behind, already walking down the stairs were loud as usual.

Jay knew what kind of assholes they were. He didn't need them seeing this. He didn't need you getting embarrassed.

With a rush, he came to put himself closer and then step into your space—with his back now pressed directly to yours just as you turned slightly in confusion and almost bumped into him. "Jay—?"

"Shh. Just..." He mumbled low enough only you could hear it as he was shrugging off his varsity jacket and looping it around your waist. "Don't move yet."

You froze as you began understanding what he was doing. You looked down and back behind you.

Then the panic hit.

Your voice became suddenly small. "Wait—shit—fuck, seriously?"

He tied the jacket around your hips, snugly but not too tight, making sure there was enough cover. "Yeah. But I got you."

Your heart was breathing a little bit faster now, and you were flushed from more than just the cramps. "You didn't have to-"

"I wanted to." He turned slightly and blocked you with his body as the group passed. "Now let's go before those idiots say anything."

You stared at him for a second, heart racing from the embarrassment. But Jay wasn't laughing.

He wasn't poking fun at you, or even looking smug. He was just calm. Calm and somewhat gentle. You looked down at the jacket he tied for you. It smelled faintly of his cologne.  

"....Thanks," you whispered.

He didn't say anything for a beat, just smiled a tiny smile and moved to the side and offered his arm as if this wasn't a big deal. "C'mon," he said. "Let's go. I'll walk behind you—just in case."

You definitely weren't expecting him to say that—that he'd stay behind you just in case. That he wanted to cover you. That he noticed, cared, and took action without a second thought and without judgment.

You didn't even trust your own voice to speak up, you just nodded slightly; you tucked your chin in a little as you ran down the steps of the lecture hall and followed him. He just stayed behind you—not too close to suffocate,  but enough that you could feel the presence of him.

The soft weight of his jacket around your hips wasn't heavy, but it was... grounding. Almost comforting, in the way it made you feel protected.

Jungwon had picked up the hint quickly, walking ahead a little with his earbuds in, choosing not to say anything or third-wheel—bless him for that.

As you both exited the building, the sun immediately warmed your skin, and you saw your friends standing just outside the gates of the campus. They were chatting casually, but the second their eyes landed on the both of you together—it was over.

Juri squealed first.

"Oh my god-" she gasped rather dramatically as she elbowed one of the girls beside her.

Their eyes dropped down to the most easy to identify varsity jacket wrapped around your waist. Jay's jacket. And how he was still standing subtly behind you, brushing your back with his chest whenever you moved even slightly.

You wanted to melt into the floor.

"Hi guys..." You let out awkwardly, waving a bit as you slowed to a stop in front of them, everything suddenly coming to your attention—him, your cheeks, theirs eyes, his jacket.

He remained behind you, levelled like a wall, a quiet assurance behind you.

The excited squeal one of your friends were trying so openly to suppress. Juri was practically bouncing with excitement, mouthing something you didn't need to interpret to know you were going to glare at.

She winked. You glared. She's grinned even wider.

Traitor.

The rest of your friend group quickly caught on to whatever Juri was scheming and played along too well, saying something about being "suddenly so busy" and "oh no, we forgot we have that meeting" and "so sorry, can't join you guys" before waving and scattering in different directions, pretending to be more occupied than they clearly were.

You turned your head to them, deadpan. "Really?"

Juri winked again from behind her iced latte and skipped away.

Jay watched the whole thing with the kind of amused look that was just barely hidden—a small smirk tugging up at his lips as he leaned a little closer to you.

"So I guess we're alone now," he said casually, tone light.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "You can go find your friends or... practice. I mean, whatever you were supposed to be doing."

Jay shrugged. "I'd rather stay."

You looked up, prepared to protest again, but he was already talking.

"Keep the jacket. It's cute on you," he added nonchalantly, eyes flitting down, clearly taking in how it wrapped snugly around your hips. "Color looks good on you."

Your heart stuttered—an infuriating flutter you refused to admit was because of him.

"Jay," you said, half-informing, half-flustered.

He just chuckled softly. "Wanna join me for lunch then?"

You blinked, surprised. "What about your frie-"

"They'll live," he cut in with a slight grin, nodding toward the sidewalk just past the gates. "They can survive a day without me. I promise."

You hesitated, still gripping the strap of your bag in defiance. But... you were hungry. And your friends really did just ditch you.

And Jay... Jay wasn't being boisterous or cocky like he usually is, he was just... here. Present. Acting like you were a person, not a target. You didn't hate it.

He tilted his head at you, his voice softer this time. "My treat?"

You looked up at him, and bit the inside of your cheek before you sighed. "Fine."

"Fine?" He grinned, eyes bright. "I'll take it. Let's take you back to your dorm first to change?" Jay raised a brow to you, voice softer now, though you could see the teasing in his eyes.

You felt your breath hitch slightly—right, your skirt. You forgot the whole reason you were covered in his varsity jacket. Heat bloomed at the back of your neck as you quickly nodded. "Y-Yeah. Good idea."

He walked next to you in silence, while you led the way. He glanced your way occasionally, when you'd brush your hair behind your ear, or rub your eyes in tired frustration. You weren't used to this—him giving you this much attention.

When you both stepped into the elevator, the air felt thick, like it was charged with things unsaid. Jay didn't say too much either, he just shoved his hands into his sweats pockets and watched the numbers light up until you hit your floor.

You hesitated for a moment before unlocking your dorm door—not because you were scared, but because this was the first time you had ever let any guy inside. Any guy.

But Jay didn't just feel like any guy.

When the door creaked open, he slipped quietly past you. His eyes roamed the small room. It was not too feminine—just cozy, and filled with little details that screamed you.

The soft fairy lights, the half-empty mug on the desk, the pile of books on the chair, the diffuser softly puffing in the corner. Your whole room felt cozy and real, just his type.

He leaned back against the door frame while you set your bag down. "You can shower first if you want," he said casually, shrugging his jacket off his arms. "I'll wait."

You blinked. "Really? I don't wanna take too long..."

"You wouldn't. Go on. It's your priority first alright?" he stated reassuringly, taking a seat at the edge of your bed and already reaching for his phone to scroll until you got into the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a big sigh. A sigh of relief but also a sigh of exhaustion from the day. You quickly took off your clothes and got under the water, allowing it to melt the tensions in your lower back and stomach. There was warmth spreading over your skin, the soft smell of your shampoo rising with the steam.

But halfway through drying yourself, your eyes grew wide with horror.

You forgot your clothes.

You clutched the towel tighter around yourself and creaked the door open just enough to peek in the room. Jay was splayed out on your bed; lazy, legs splayed open slightly, his phone sleeping on his chest while he took it all in. At the sound of the crack of your door, Jay's eyes shot up immediately.

"Jay..." you called softly, voice barely audible. "Can you... go to my wardrobe and pick something out for me?"

He blinked a few times; clearly taking in the sight of your bare legs and shoulders wrapped only in a towel. His throat bobbed as he quickly averted his eyes. "Y-Yeah. Sure. I can do that.."

He leapt out of the bed faster than expected and walked over to your closet like he was on a mission. His fingers traced along the hangers while he glanced along before grabbing what looked most interesting one—a soft little sundress and a cardigan.

He looked at it one second. Cute. Way too cute. He thought he was grabbing something easy to put on—not something that made it look like you were on a date.

...wait.

Is this a date now?

He invited you to lunch. He bought you coffee. He gave you his jacket. Was he serious about this? If so, did you see it that way?

His head cocked slightly as he brought the outfit to your hand peeking through the slit of the door. "Here," he said, clearing his throat. "I hope that's okay."

"Thanks," you mumbled, fingertips nudging together for a moment as you took your clothes back in the room and shut the door again.

Jay turned away, allowing for a little more privacy, walking over to the bed and flopping down onto it again, but now he really looked different. His hand was now behind his head, and he just stared up at the ceiling.

His heart felt weirdly calm and loudly beating at the same time.

This wasn't normal for him. But it didn't feel bad at all.

He didn't even care about the fact that he saw some girl in your department giving him a look as he walked into your dorm earlier. He was probably going to deal with a rumor or two by tomorrow, but honestly, let them think whatever they want. It doesn't mean anything unless you say something.

He wasn't a mess-around type of guy. Regardless of what he might be labeled as—confident, cocky, or a tad intimidating, Jay Park has always eventually been a careful chooser. Something about him sitting on your bed, in your space, waiting for you to get ready just to go out and eat, felt like the first time he wasn't choosing with his head.

Maybe you're his unexpected problem.

But maybe you were the only one he didn't mind having.

You emerged from the bathroom, newly clothed in the soft dress Jay had chosen for you, with the cardigan draping you comfortably around your body. You went straight to your vanity, pulling your hair as gently as you could to the side, and reaching for your cushion foundation. 

You didn't want to take too long; he was already being more patient than anyone had ever been with you, but you wanted to look nice.

Jay, still perched lazily at the edge of your bed, watched as you patted on the soft makeup. He tilted his head slightly, admiring the way your brows furrowed when you concentrated.

"You don't have to rush, you know," he said, "You're already pretty, but I get it. Take your time to look good good."

Once you were finished, he stood up, waiting as you grabbed your phone and lip balm, before walking out of your dorm.

The walk to the restaurant was... quiet in a comforting way. The kind of quiet where the air didn't feel heavy or awkward. Jay walked beside you, hands in his pockets, occasionally looking over at you—the way your cardigan sleeves nearly covered your hands, the way your hair bounced softly with every step.

You were beautiful. And he knew he was going to be in trouble.

As you passed through the parkway leading to the restaurant, an older couple walked past you two and the man looked at you with the woman before pausing to lean and give a warm smile. "What a cute couple you two make," the elderly gentleman remarked, nodding his head at Jay before giving you a wink.

You widened your eyes slightly and immediately shook your head. "Oh! No, no, we're not-" you nervously laughed, looking down to hide the growing redness in your ears.

Jay offered a polite nod and, biting the inside of his cheek to hide the smile coming across his face.

"Well," the elderly man said, his eyes twinkling, "you two would look really good together."

You didn't offer much response to that. But Jay didn't either.

When you arrived at the restaurant—a cute, warm little Japanese place, sandwiched between a couple of shops—he opened the door for you, and then, like it were second nature, he pulled your chair out before sitting across from you. It definitely caught you off guard. You couldn't say many guys did that anymore.

You quietly admired the atmospherics—dark wooden tables, warm light, jazz faintly playing in the background, and the menu was digital, and you scrolled through it quickly while Jay rested his chin on his hand, eyes flicking between you and the dishes.

You finally placed your order, and once the waiter walked away, Jay pulled his phone out to take a picture of the restaurant; you really didn't think much of it—until you noticed his camera stayed pointed a moment too long at you.

"Wait—h-hey!" you leaned forward, a little embarrassed.

He looked up, phone still in hand. "What?" he asked.

"You just took a picture of me."

"You're literally right in front of me. What do you want me to do?"

"Delete it."

"No."

Your mouth opened in protest, but he spoke first, "Don't worry, you look good."

You huffed and crossed your arms, slouching back in your chair. "What if your little fangirl group sees it and comes to murder me in my sleep? You never post girls," you said.

Jay hesitated for a moment, looking directly at you.

"Then I'll be there," he said gently, not teasing, not joking; just being honest. "To protect you."

You blinked.

"And besides," He tilted his head, lips curling into an all too familiar smug grin, "Are you sure you hate me?"

You stared at him, mouth opening but no words coming out—and he knew you couldn't deny how he'd been treating you. The jacket. The dorm. The lunch. The damn picture.

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed.

Jay had posted it—the picture of the restaurant with you slightly blurred in front. And he tagged you. He tagged you.

You looked up at him slowly.

His eyes were still on you—expectant.

"You're waiting for me to repost it," you mumbled under your breath.

Jay gave you a sly smile and leaned back in his seat. "Might as well. You look good. Let them know who I'm with."

Almost immediately after, his phone starts buzzing. Jungwon. Heeseung. Even Sunghoon. His group chat was blowing up with messages that said:

jungwon: finally

heeseung: no way is this real

jake: bro's in love

heeseung: WHO IS SHE

sunghoon: our boy got a girlfriend???

Jay just chuckled, locking his phone.

"Looks like they are freaking out already," he said casually, taking a sip of his water.

Jay was already laughing the minute you said, "My friends are freaking out too."

He leaned in a little more, resting his elbow on the table, as you flicked through the increasing number of likes and notifications about your post on your phone, scrolling nervously with your thumb.

You sat there scrolling through the notifications, and you were only halfway through it when you sighed and started writing back, one after another—

No, we're not dating.

It's just lunch lol.

Nooo he's just being nice.

But texts kept flooding in, from people you hardly spoke to.

And they didn't believe you; why should they? Not when Jay—the guy who has never been seen out like that with a girl—was now publicly posting on his Instagram, tagging you, feeding the two of you in public.

And not when the restaurant he picked was that cute, with it's oh-so-romantic lighting, and view, and the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing he's there for.

Because to him, you were the pretty view. Not the food. Not the street-side sunset later.

You. Only you.

And then the drinks came, the sound of porcelain tea cups softly clinking in the calm space, Jay taking a small sip from one cup, and casually putting it back down, eyes flicking to your plate,  

then to you.

"You're checking mine out," he said.

Your head jerked up. "Wha—no I wasn't."

Jay smirked, grabbing his chopsticks to cut off a perfect bite-sized piece and holding it out to you. "Come on. Eat it."

You hesitated, caught by surprise, blinking as the food stayed in front of your lips. Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you leaned in and took the bite. He watched you chew with content.You had gone silent, now concentrating on your own plate, your cheeks warming up.

He reached for his phone.

"Can I film it again?" he asked. "You looked really cute when I fed you. I'll send it to you—post it if you want."

You stared at him for a beat. "I don't even look cute right now."

"You look perfect."

You tried not to react to that, biting the inside of your cheek before you gave in with a little eye roll. "Fine."

He fed you another bite while filming, a soft chuckle sound leaving his lips behind the camera as you blinked at him mid-bite, clearly shocked.

You looked at the video afterward and well, you liked it. It was oddly cute. Only you were in frame, the lighting soft and golden, the mood intimate.

So you posted it.

Your comments started pouring in. The caption was vague, but that didn't stop people from blowing up your DMs. Your friends were already in your group chat spamming heart emojis and yelling in all caps.

You set aside your phone again and went back to your food.

Jay was looking at you again, but this time he didn't say anything. He just smiled to himself.After lunch, he insisted on paying for lunch—no negotiation—and the two of you walked out into the late afternoon sun walking side by side down the cobbled streets of the city, past window displays and street vendors.

It felt like a date. An actual date.

You weren't sure you were ready to admit that yet.

But he could feel it. The way you hesitated when you were walking past a boutique, the way your shoulders brushed and you didn't pull away, the way your voice softened when you were talking to him. It was different now. You weren't the girl who hated him anymore.  

Eventually, you both reached your dorm, the sky dimming now with an early evening hue. He walked you all the way to the door without a question.

"This is the most fun I've had in a long time," Jay said, with his hands in his pockets, rocking back on the balls of his feet. His voice was softer now—a little shy, despite his confidence.

You studied him for a moment, your heart tugging at something you didn't dare name yet. "Me too," you said, a barely audible whisper.

Then, on gut instinct—uprising from your heart or just the heat of the moment—you tiptoed forward and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. You stepped back, your heart racing, your eyes wide, and your brain scrambling to process what you just did.

Jay stood frozen. Then, his head turned toward you, with a sparkle in his eye and a slow, self-satisfied smile emerging on his lips.

"Well, so much for hating me, huh?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes and shrugged him lightly with embarrassment. "Shut up. It's just a thank you for taking me to an expensive lunch."

He chuckled. In his strange but Jay-like way, he reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. "I guess I should take you to lunch more often then."

This time his voice was lower and there was a hint of seriousness.

"I'm not complaining," you said, and you couldn't help but smile.

That next morning everything felt loud.

The whispers, they were everywhere. You don't think you made it onto campus before you heard it-

"Is that the girl from Jay's post?"

"She's the one he fed right?"

"Ugh I can't believe how lucky she is. I didn't even think he liked girls like her."

The stares you got felt heavier than your backpack. You keep walking, brushing your fingers back through your hair like you didn't care, until your best friend Juri comes sprinting toward you with the loudest gasp.

"You. You kissed him!"

"What- I didn't-"

You blinked fast and took a stumbling step back.

"Okay maybe not you, but you two went to lunch?! Girl come on." she whined, pulling your arm through hers. "And don't you try downplaying it. I seen the story. We all seen the story."

You rolled your eyes. "It was just food."

"Yeah, a food date, with Park Jongseong, that fed you and tagged you and now half the girls on campus wanna burn you at the stake."

You sighed, face heating up as your friend group giggled and teased all the way to the lecture hall. When you stepped inside alone, the buzzing died down just a bit. Not because people weren't talking—they were. But because you were suddenly all too aware of your seat.

Beside Jay.

He was leaning in toward Jungwon, laughing about something when you sat down, catching your presence from the corner of his eye. He turned immediately, smile tugging at his lips.

Jungwon, of course, caught on fast.

"Your girl's here," he snorted, stretching in your direction.  

"Shut up," you muttered, slumping in your seat.

Jay just chuckled.

Class started and you attempted to focus, but it was hot. Way too hot. Second day of your period and it hit you harder than yesterday. The cramps were intense, like someone had clamped a fist in your stomach. You winced slightly leaning your elbow on the desk, annoyed at the heat slowly rising through your body in discomfort.

Jay saw.

Without saying a word, he reached into his bag and pulled out a thermal bottle. He nudged it toward your desk.

You stared at it and then looked up at him, confused.

"It's warm ginger tea... my mom said that it helps with cramps." he whispered.

You blinked. "You made it for me?"

He shrugged and looked back down at his notes. "Thought it might help."

You took the bottle, suddenly at a loss for words.

After class, you walked next to him again. The two of you seemed to slide into a quiet rhythm of walking next to each other without saying a word. Jungwon was behind you humming something rhythmic under his breath, but then he abruptly stopped and said bye.

Jay's hand brushed against yours before he gently laced your fingers together.

You didn't pull away.

Outside, your friends awaited again, sprawled at the steps, but so did those girls. The ones who looked at you like you'd sinned just by being next to him. Popular. Perfect. Pretty.

Jay noticed the way your mood shifted, how your smile faded just slightly. And maybe he could've ignored it, or reassured you with words.

But that wasn't his style. Instead he leaned down and kissed you loud on the cheek.

You squeaked a bit, trying to pull away.

"Jay, what the hell are you doing-"

The sound of his mouth making smacking noises on your cheek over and over filled the breeze, making your friends go wide-eyed as you turned a darker shade of red. Your nose crunched, eyes scrunched shut as you half-laughed, half tried to squirm away without offending him.

"You're so annoying-!"

"And you're so cute." he grinned.

You turned your head, wanting to say something but miscalculated.

Your lips met.

His lips were warm and sweet, just enough to make the girls eyes widened from afar. 

Jay blinked, in shock, pulling away a little, and then, "...fuck it."

He kissed you again, this time intentionally. Longer. He was more sure this time around. Your friends behind you screamed. Someone definitely started recording. The girls who were shooting daggers at you are completely shaken. And you?

You couldn't move, your lips tingling, breath knocked out of your body.

Jay pulled away slowly, his lips barely brushing against your own, and soft and low enough that only you would actually hear him say, "Now you really can't say you hate me."

[tttabii]

since riki said he was into older girls and there's recently a bunch of post saying he got a tattoo.. what if I wrote about him and older tattoo artist!reader 👅👅 yumm that's so hot stop it, I hope it doesn't flop

[tttabii]

— 이희승 , 심재윤 all the time ; lee heeseung, jake sim.

pairing 𝜗ৎ ice hockey player! heeseung x reader x nerd!jake ; smut , you're ni-ki's older sister. word count: 1960

YOU TOOK A SIP  from the drink Heeseung gave you, the alcohol burning pleasantly as it traveled down your throat. His party is in full swing downstairs, but you find yourself drawn to the shadows upstairs, pulled by a magnetic force towards Jake Sim.

Jake, the "nerd" from your physics class, whom you've had a secret crush on for months. . Underneath those baggy clothes and thick glasses, you know there's a stunning specimen waiting to be discovered. Those veiny hands, the pink knuckles, the broad back and the narrow waist, you've heard Ni-ki talk about him plenty before and clearly those features checked out when you saw him with your own eyes. Now you intend to uncover the truth with your own hands.

He has you pinned against the wall, his hands sliding along your body through the thin fabric of your dress, and you could hardly contain the exhilaration of what you were doing. You're searching for a room, desperate to find somewhere private to let you have his way with him.  But unbeknownst to you, Jake has a secret smirk playing on his lips.

Just as you're about to guide him towards the bed, strong hands grip your waist from behind, sending shivers down your spine as you turn around, coming face to face with Heeseung.

"Are you seriously going into my room without permission?" he says, he raises his eyebrows up at you, almond-shaped brown eyes glimmering with mischief. "You know this is my bedroom, right?" He glances at Jake who is now laid back on the bed with his glasses off looking even more attractive than before.

Jake chuckles, his eyes locked onto you as Heeseung's lips trail feather-light kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

"Aw. Did you think I was just an innocent little nerd you were going to ruin?" Jake's hands slip beneath your dress, caressing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as Heeseung continues his sensual assault.

His hands trail your curves, wanting to ignite a flame you'd never known. "I think I got you right where you should be, princess." Jake whispers against the silk of your underwear, his fingers brushing against your center through the thin barrier of your panties. Heeseung captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as Jake takes advantage of your distraction. He yanks your panties aside and plunges two fingers deep inside you, making you gasp into Heeseung's mouth.

Heeseung breaks the kiss, a wicked grin on his face. "Looks like we've got ourselves a little problem," he purrs, his hands slipping beneath your dress to cup your breasts. "Two hot guys, one girl, and only one bed. What should we do?"

Jake smirks, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a torturously slow pace. "I'm sure we can figure something out." His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub in maddening strokes.

Heeseung leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "We're going to make you feel things you've never felt before," he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Gonna take turns dominating you, showing you who you belong to."

Your brain is a jumbled mess as both of theirs work together to tease and play you into a frenzied desire. Heeseung squeezes and rolls your nipples between his fingers while Jake continued to leisurely pleasuring you in the most intimate of ways. 

"Please," you whimper. 

"Please what?" Jake asks, his voice gravelly with lust. "Tell us what you want, baby."

"I want..." You swallow hard, barely able to form the words. "I want you both. I want you to make me yours."

Heeseung grins wickedly. "Good girl. We're going to take such good care of you."

In the dimly lit bedroom, Jake's hands were rough and eager as he tugged at the zipper of your dress. He was smooth and assertive as he backed you up until your knees hit the edge of Heeseung's bed. The next thing you knew, you were on your back, the cool comforter against your skin, and Jake was standing over you, his eyes dark with lust. Heeseung, leaning against the now-locked door, watched with a smirk as Jake threw your legs open wide, his fingers glistening from the wetness he’d spread across your clit. You never thought you’d be in this position, especially not with Heeseung watching, his eyes hungry and intense. Your plan to seduce Jake had been simple, but it had backfired spectacularly. You never expected Heeseung to be part of the equation, let alone the one flocking to you the most. And now, here you were, panties tugged to the side, your glistening entrance on full display. Heeseung's eyes roamed over your body, his smirk turning into a wicked grin as Jake started to peel off his shirt, revealing a toned, slim body that gleamed under the moonlight. He licked his lips, his gaze never leaving you as Jake tossed his shirt aside. "I don’t have condoms by the way," he said, his voice casual but laced with a hint of mischief. Jake turned around, his broad back muscles rippling as he stop rummaging through Heeseung's drawer. You squirmed, your body aching with anticipation. Heeseung didn't waste any time, diving between your thighs and running his tongue along your slick folds. You gasped, your hips bucking as he expertly teased your clit, his fingers digging into your thighs to hold you in place. Your mind was a whirlwind, a mix of shock and sheer lust. You had no idea what your younger brother, Ni-ki, would think if he saw you like this, spread out and exposed, with his two best friends. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, but it only made you wetter. Jake turned back around, his eyes locked onto yours. "Think you can handle us raw, princess?" he asked, his voice sweet but his expression intense.

You nodded, your breath hitching as Heeseung's tongue worked its magic. Your mind was hazy, your body aching with need. You were in way over your head, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you could focus on was the pleasure coursing through your veins, the anticipation of what was to come.

Jake then leaned down to kiss you, his lips flattening yours as Heeseung's fingers threaded into your pussy, pushing your body into the mattress. You moaned against Jake's tongue as your hips bucked with every tug of Jake's eager tongue against you, so hungry for a taste of you. "Look at me," Jake murmured, hand tracing along your jaw to tilt your head back toward him, "Did you expect to get ruined by your favorite innocent nerd and your younger brother's best friend that has been flirting with you for god knows how long, hm?"

You shook your head, whining as Heeseung pulled his fingers out, denying you the edge of your climax. Jake and Heeseung switched positions, turning you around to be on all fours. Heeseung knelt on the bed in front of you, his belt already off, his cock hard and ready. Jake positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips.

You felt Jake’s cock press against your entrance, and you braced yourself, but nothing could prepare you for the sensation of when Heeseung's cock were placed on the entrance of your mouth. You were filled in one swift, brutal thrust, Jake’s cock stretching you from behind as Heeseung's plunged into your mouth. You almost screamed at the sudden fullness, the intense stretch. 

"Mngh... Jakey..." you moaned out, trying to turn around to glimpse him, to see the look in his eyes as he ruined you with his relentless thrusts. Heeseung gripped your hair, pulling your head back to face him. "Moan my name instead, yeah? I claimed you first. And now you're taking both of us so well. Fuck..."

Heeseung's grip tightened, his hips thrusting forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gurgled around him, tears streaming down your face as Jake pounded into you from behind. Your body was a playground of sensation, every nerve ending screaming with pleasure and pain.

Jake's fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you hard and deep. The room spun, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Heeseung's cock throbbed in your mouth, his grip on your hair unyielding as he used your lips and tongue for his own pleasure. You were a mess of sensation, your body slick with sweat, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

The sound of their grunts and moans filled the room, a symphony of lust and domination. You could feel every inch of them, stretching you, filling you, overwhelming you. Your body was on fire, your senses on overload. The taste of Heeseung's cock, the feel of Jake's hands gripping you tight, the sound of their fucking filling the room—it was too much, and yet not enough. You needed more, deeper, harder. 

Your body started to convulse, and the orgasms flowed through your body like waves crashing to shore. Jake's cock swelled inside you and he was thrusting more erratically as he chased his own orgasm. Heeseung's grip on your hair intensified, his hips moving faster and hitting the back of your throat with each violent thrust.

You were drowning in pleasure, convulsing from the waves and waves of orgasms that flowed through you. You could feel Jake's cock pulsing inside you while he held your hips tighter, filling you with his hot cum. Heeseung followed soon after, his cock pulsating in your mouth as he filled it with his seed.

With one last, brutal thrust, Jake filled you completely before pulling out of you, leaving you empty and gasping. Heeseung's cock slipped from your mouth and you collapsed onto the bed, both men still under you but your body spent and satisfied. The only sounds were heavy ragged breath and your heart pounding in your ears.

Jake disappeared, returning with a towel to clean you up. His fingers pushed into your aching cunt, dragging out strings of his cum, his touch igniting sparks of renewed lust. Heeseung scooped you up, carrying you to the bathroom, and his hands roamed your body as the shower turned on. Steam quickly filled the room, fogging the mirror and turning it into a sauna of desire.

You kissed him, feeling like you hadn't finished something. His lips were soft, his tongue hungry, and he didn't hesitate to return the kiss, his hand squeezing your ass as he pulled you harder against his already hardening cock. 

"Still hungry for more?" He chuckled, his voice rumbling in his chest, his fingers trailing down your spine, leaving goosebumps through your skin. 

You nodded, grinding against his dick, submissive and eager.

Jake stepped into the shower behind you, his cock already hard again. Heeseung couldn't resist the urge, turning you onto your back. Your boobs squished against the cold wall as he thrust up inside your wet pussy, groaning at the feeling. 

"Fuck, you're so ready for more," he murmured, his hips moving in a slow, torturous rhythm. 

Jake's chuckle filled the room, his eyes fixed on where Heeseung's cock disappeared inside you. "Dirty girl, wanting more already," he teased, his hands reaching out to cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples. 

He leaned down, his mouth taking over where his thumbs left off, sucking and biting at your nipples. You moaned, your body arching into his touch, your hands gripping Heeseung's arms as he pounded into you. The room was a symphony of lust, the sound of flesh against flesh, grunts and moans filling the air. The scent of sex and steam engulfed you, pushing you closer to the edge.

[tttabii]

— 이희승 , 심재윤 all the time ; lee heeseung, jake sim.

pairing 𝜗ৎ ice hockey player! heeseung x reader x nerd!jake ; smut , you're ni-ki's older sister. word count: 1960

YOU TOOK A SIP  from the drink Heeseung gave you, the alcohol burning pleasantly as it traveled down your throat. His party is in full swing downstairs, but you find yourself drawn to the shadows upstairs, pulled by a magnetic force towards Jake Sim.

Jake, the "nerd" from your physics class, whom you've had a secret crush on for months. . Underneath those baggy clothes and thick glasses, you know there's a stunning specimen waiting to be discovered. Those veiny hands, the pink knuckles, the broad back and the narrow waist, you've heard Ni-ki talk about him plenty before and clearly those features checked out when you saw him with your own eyes. Now you intend to uncover the truth with your own hands.

He has you pinned against the wall, his hands sliding along your body through the thin fabric of your dress, and you could hardly contain the exhilaration of what you were doing. You're searching for a room, desperate to find somewhere private to let you have his way with him.  But unbeknownst to you, Jake has a secret smirk playing on his lips.

Just as you're about to guide him towards the bed, strong hands grip your waist from behind, sending shivers down your spine as you turn around, coming face to face with Heeseung.

"Are you seriously going into my room without permission?" he says, he raises his eyebrows up at you, almond-shaped brown eyes glimmering with mischief. "You know this is my bedroom, right?" He glances at Jake who is now laid back on the bed with his glasses off looking even more attractive than before.

Jake chuckles, his eyes locked onto you as Heeseung's lips trail feather-light kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

"Aw. Did you think I was just an innocent little nerd you were going to ruin?" Jake's hands slip beneath your dress, caressing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as Heeseung continues his sensual assault.

His hands trail your curves, wanting to ignite a flame you'd never known. "I think I got you right where you should be, princess." Jake whispers against the silk of your underwear, his fingers brushing against your center through the thin barrier of your panties. Heeseung captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as Jake takes advantage of your distraction. He yanks your panties aside and plunges two fingers deep inside you, making you gasp into Heeseung's mouth.

Heeseung breaks the kiss, a wicked grin on his face. "Looks like we've got ourselves a little problem," he purrs, his hands slipping beneath your dress to cup your breasts. "Two hot guys, one girl, and only one bed. What should we do?"

Jake smirks, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a torturously slow pace. "I'm sure we can figure something out." His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub in maddening strokes.

Heeseung leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "We're going to make you feel things you've never felt before," he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Gonna take turns dominating you, showing you who you belong to."

Your brain is a jumbled mess as both of theirs work together to tease and play you into a frenzied desire. Heeseung squeezes and rolls your nipples between his fingers while Jake continued to leisurely pleasuring you in the most intimate of ways. 

"Please," you whimper. 

"Please what?" Jake asks, his voice gravelly with lust. "Tell us what you want, baby."

"I want..." You swallow hard, barely able to form the words. "I want you both. I want you to make me yours."

Heeseung grins wickedly. "Good girl. We're going to take such good care of you."

In the dimly lit bedroom, Jake's hands were rough and eager as he tugged at the zipper of your dress. He was smooth and assertive as he backed you up until your knees hit the edge of Heeseung's bed. The next thing you knew, you were on your back, the cool comforter against your skin, and Jake was standing over you, his eyes dark with lust. Heeseung, leaning against the now-locked door, watched with a smirk as Jake threw your legs open wide, his fingers glistening from the wetness he’d spread across your clit. You never thought you’d be in this position, especially not with Heeseung watching, his eyes hungry and intense. Your plan to seduce Jake had been simple, but it had backfired spectacularly. You never expected Heeseung to be part of the equation, let alone the one flocking to you the most. And now, here you were, panties tugged to the side, your glistening entrance on full display. Heeseung's eyes roamed over your body, his smirk turning into a wicked grin as Jake started to peel off his shirt, revealing a toned, slim body that gleamed under the moonlight. He licked his lips, his gaze never leaving you as Jake tossed his shirt aside. "I don’t have condoms by the way," he said, his voice casual but laced with a hint of mischief. Jake turned around, his broad back muscles rippling as he stop rummaging through Heeseung's drawer. You squirmed, your body aching with anticipation. Heeseung didn't waste any time, diving between your thighs and running his tongue along your slick folds. You gasped, your hips bucking as he expertly teased your clit, his fingers digging into your thighs to hold you in place. Your mind was a whirlwind, a mix of shock and sheer lust. You had no idea what your younger brother, Ni-ki, would think if he saw you like this, spread out and exposed, with his two best friends. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, but it only made you wetter. Jake turned back around, his eyes locked onto yours. "Think you can handle us raw, princess?" he asked, his voice sweet but his expression intense.

You nodded, your breath hitching as Heeseung's tongue worked its magic. Your mind was hazy, your body aching with need. You were in way over your head, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you could focus on was the pleasure coursing through your veins, the anticipation of what was to come.

Jake then leaned down to kiss you, his lips flattening yours as Heeseung's fingers threaded into your pussy, pushing your body into the mattress. You moaned against Jake's tongue as your hips bucked with every tug of Jake's eager tongue against you, so hungry for a taste of you. "Look at me," Jake murmured, hand tracing along your jaw to tilt your head back toward him, "Did you expect to get ruined by your favorite innocent nerd and your younger brother's best friend that has been flirting with you for god knows how long, hm?"

You shook your head, whining as Heeseung pulled his fingers out, denying you the edge of your climax. Jake and Heeseung switched positions, turning you around to be on all fours. Heeseung knelt on the bed in front of you, his belt already off, his cock hard and ready. Jake positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips.

You felt Jake’s cock press against your entrance, and you braced yourself, but nothing could prepare you for the sensation of when Heeseung's cock were placed on the entrance of your mouth. You were filled in one swift, brutal thrust, Jake’s cock stretching you from behind as Heeseung's plunged into your mouth. You almost screamed at the sudden fullness, the intense stretch. 

"Mngh... Jakey..." you moaned out, trying to turn around to glimpse him, to see the look in his eyes as he ruined you with his relentless thrusts. Heeseung gripped your hair, pulling your head back to face him. "Moan my name instead, yeah? I claimed you first. And now you're taking both of us so well. Fuck..."

Heeseung's grip tightened, his hips thrusting forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gurgled around him, tears streaming down your face as Jake pounded into you from behind. Your body was a playground of sensation, every nerve ending screaming with pleasure and pain.

Jake's fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you hard and deep. The room spun, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Heeseung's cock throbbed in your mouth, his grip on your hair unyielding as he used your lips and tongue for his own pleasure. You were a mess of sensation, your body slick with sweat, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

The sound of their grunts and moans filled the room, a symphony of lust and domination. You could feel every inch of them, stretching you, filling you, overwhelming you. Your body was on fire, your senses on overload. The taste of Heeseung's cock, the feel of Jake's hands gripping you tight, the sound of their fucking filling the room—it was too much, and yet not enough. You needed more, deeper, harder. 

Your body started to convulse, and the orgasms flowed through your body like waves crashing to shore. Jake's cock swelled inside you and he was thrusting more erratically as he chased his own orgasm. Heeseung's grip on your hair intensified, his hips moving faster and hitting the back of your throat with each violent thrust.

You were drowning in pleasure, convulsing from the waves and waves of orgasms that flowed through you. You could feel Jake's cock pulsing inside you while he held your hips tighter, filling you with his hot cum. Heeseung followed soon after, his cock pulsating in your mouth as he filled it with his seed.

With one last, brutal thrust, Jake filled you completely before pulling out of you, leaving you empty and gasping. Heeseung's cock slipped from your mouth and you collapsed onto the bed, both men still under you but your body spent and satisfied. The only sounds were heavy ragged breath and your heart pounding in your ears.

Jake disappeared, returning with a towel to clean you up. His fingers pushed into your aching cunt, dragging out strings of his cum, his touch igniting sparks of renewed lust. Heeseung scooped you up, carrying you to the bathroom, and his hands roamed your body as the shower turned on. Steam quickly filled the room, fogging the mirror and turning it into a sauna of desire.

You kissed him, feeling like you hadn't finished something. His lips were soft, his tongue hungry, and he didn't hesitate to return the kiss, his hand squeezing your ass as he pulled you harder against his already hardening cock. 

"Still hungry for more?" He chuckled, his voice rumbling in his chest, his fingers trailing down your spine, leaving goosebumps through your skin. 

You nodded, grinding against his dick, submissive and eager.

Jake stepped into the shower behind you, his cock already hard again. Heeseung couldn't resist the urge, turning you onto your back. Your boobs squished against the cold wall as he thrust up inside your wet pussy, groaning at the feeling. 

"Fuck, you're so ready for more," he murmured, his hips moving in a slow, torturous rhythm. 

Jake's chuckle filled the room, his eyes fixed on where Heeseung's cock disappeared inside you. "Dirty girl, wanting more already," he teased, his hands reaching out to cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples. 

He leaned down, his mouth taking over where his thumbs left off, sucking and biting at your nipples. You moaned, your body arching into his touch, your hands gripping Heeseung's arms as he pounded into you. The room was a symphony of lust, the sound of flesh against flesh, grunts and moans filling the air. The scent of sex and steam engulfed you, pushing you closer to the edge.

[tttabii]

—  황인탁 DESK GRAFFITI ; HWANG INTAK

pairing⊹ ࣪ ˖ student!intak x student!reader. genre: fluff, slightly suggestive. mentions of giselle and ningning from aespa and jiung. intak being downbad.

THE DESK WASN'T EVEN YOURS initially. You'd just begun to sit there because your assigned desk was missing a leg and tilting every time you moved. But it was yours—not officially—because of what you found carved and doodled into the wood.

At first, it was innocuous. Just song lyrics. Some doodles.Nothing too outrageous, just doodling that looked like a boy passed through and left a piece of himself behind.

"You're the song I can't get out of my head."

"You ever hear something so good it makes you bite your lip?"

"She's sunshine with brass knuckles."

You had blinked at that one. Was it meant for you? No, couldn't be.

"Whoever sits here before me is either hopeless romantic or a Soundcloud artist," you had said jokingly and flipped open your notebook to take notes for class.

"Or both," she giggled and was looking at the writing. "Kinda mysterious too. You think he's hot?"

You rolled your eyes. "I don't even know who he is."

But someone did.

Intak sat three seats behind you, chewing on a straw and watching you trace the graffiti with your finger tip. The second he heard your laugh, something caved in his chest—like an ache, dull but stubborn. He blew out a breath through his nose and turned to Jiung beside him.

"She thinks it's cute," Jiung whispered teasingly.

"I didn't say that," Intak muttered, continuing to look at your back.

"No, but your face did."

Class had barely started, but the sun shone through the windows right on your table. You squinted at the sunlight beaming through as you waved your hand lazily in front of your eyes. Intak noticed your brows got all scrunched together. You looked annoyed but still pretty as hell.

Before he even processed what he was doing, he stood up—acting like he was stretching—and strolled over to yank the curtain down. Instead of heading back to his desk, however, he smacked the back of Minjae's head, who was sitting directly in front of you.

"Don't be a dumbass and move over. I told you to bring me the notes."

"Not my fault you skipped last week," Minjae groaned.

You didn't even glance his way. Not even once. That annoyed Intak. He wanted your attention. Hell, he closed the curtain for you. So when you slumped down, head resting on arms like a pillow, and went to sleep, he blinked in disbelief.

Seriously?

Still, as the lights came down and your breathing came to an even cadence, he couldn't help but keep staring.

The way your hair fell down your back, loose strands curling by your cheek... the soft sound of your breathing... the way your lips parted just slightly...

It made him lose his mind.

The bell rang. You stirred awake. Giselle immediately leaned in, whispering something causing your eyes to widen.

"No way," you whispered. "Wait, she cheated on him?"

"She swears she didn't cheat," Giselle said, "but like... they kissed."

You gasped, hand to your chest, and Intak almost laughed. He should have minded his business. He should've gone back to sketching beats in his notebook.

But then you said, "I'm craving fried egg bread so bad. The street kind, you know?"

And now he was wondering where to buy that. Maybe he would make it? Was that weird? It was weird. He didn't care.

Later that day, at break, you walked out of class with Giselle, Ningning, and a few of the girls. Intak stayed back in the hallway, pretending to check something on his phone as you all passed.

"We should do hotpot after school," Giselle said, linking arms with you. "Barbeque makes me smell like smoke."

"Free food is free food," you said with a light laugh.

Ningning leaned in to look at your lips. "Your gloss is fading again. I told you to buy the one I use. That overpriced one you bought is crap."

You said, "Alright, alright. Shopping trip after hotpot then?"

"I was hoping you would say that," she smirked.

He was listening. You expected him to. Then just as you laughed and walked ahead, you stumbled. There was an odd dip in the tile—always had been—but you caught yourself before you fell, giggling like you always do when this happens.

"Again?" you muttered to yourself as you brushed down your skirt.

He was smiling to himself—you always trip there.

But then when your eyes flickered up and caught him looking—just for a split second, he looked away, pretending that he wasn't looking at you at all.

You definitely didn't mean to look at him.

But you did.

Just a brief glance—one long heartbeat—before quickly averting your gaze. But Jiung noticed. Jiung always took notice. He started elbowing Intak before you even got halfway down the hall.

"Bro. Bro. She looked at you."

"She looked in the general vicinity of me," Intak grunted, shoving past him, trying not to ramble on while his heart ravenously hammered away against his ribs. "I was right next to the fire extinguisher. She could have been looking at that."

"Oh, sure?" Jiung scoffed. "And did the fire extinguisher also have messy bangs and smell like cigarettes and expensive cologne?"

Intak shoved him upside the head.

The nearby convenience store was always jam-packed after second period, especially on warm days. You fidgeted between Ningning and Giselle, joking around about what snacks to buy while Ningning absentmindedly played with your hair.

"I swear if they are out of my strawberry milk again, I'm sueing this place," Ningning muttered.

"You said that last week," you said with a grin as you linked arms with her, causing her to blush slightly.

"I'm serious, this time."

Giselle raised her brows. "Can we at least get those crispy mini gimbaps again? I'm starving."

All of you chuckled to yourselves; quiet, yet bright energy nestled smoothly in the loud presence of your friends. Granted, you were not typically the one that turned eyes like that, but he made sure you were always taking front and center. Especially now, when you had been glowing lately—shine in your hair, softer smile. Something was changing.

And he noticed.

Intak was already inside, idling by the soda fridge with Jiung and two others from their group. When he saw you step through the door he muttered a curse under his breath.

"Act normal, bro," Jiung advised before shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I am," Intak snapped back.

"You're standing like you're about to fight someone."

He blinked and relaxed his shoulders. Although he was still focused on you. The way your hand reached for the bread aisle. The way you scrunched your nose trying to read. The smell of your shampoo, faint but still overwhelming when you passed. He swore he could live off that smell.

Jiung was now grinning and nudged Intak—hard. "Go. She's at the bread aisle. Coincidence? I think not."

"Don't push me-"

Too late.

And that's how he ended up shoulder to shoulder with you, pretending to scan the shelf when really he was having a mild breakdown over how close your hand was to his. You turned around when Giselle called your name, and your hair brushed his shoulder. God. He could've died then and there.

Fast forward to the next day, you walked into class as usual, but you stopped in your tracks when you saw something on your desk waiting for you.

A lunchbox.

A pretty lunchbox, with a little sticky note taped onto the front. Written in messy black ink it read: "You've got me playing your name on loop in my head like a favorite track."

You eyes went wide. Your heart was all but stumbling out of your chest.

"Giselle," you whispered, eyes glued to the lunch box. "Is this... for me?"

"Of course it's for you," she responded matter-of-factly. "It's literally on your desk."

"But it could be yours," you said.

Giselle rolled her eyes. "Girl. Please. Open it."

And you did. There, unwrapped, the fried egg breads, with little fruit cuts on the side. You blinked once, and could already feel your face heating up. 

"I'm gonna die," you whispered, immediately hiding your face in Giselle's shoulder. "This is too cute. WHO did this?"

"Better question," she smirked. "When you gonna kiss him?"

You groaned.

Intak was pretty much at the back of the classroom now pretending to be on his phone. Jiung had been constantly looking at you with a smile beside him.

"She liked it," Jiung whispered quietly.

"She doesn't even know it's from me."

"She will. Look how shy she is being. You've literally turned her a cherry tomato."

Intak took the chance to look again. What a sight. You were sitting there nibbling on the edge of a toast, your face shoved into Giselle's shoulder while Ningning teased you from her other side. So soft. So freaking cute. He couldn't deal.

And then the worst thing happened. Two guys from a different class walked over, chatting to you out of the blue.

"Hey, do you have the sheet for Mr. Han's class?"

"Can you explain questions 6 to us, you're good at explaining."

You being sweet and helpful as always gave them your full attention. And then a question from one of them was muttered out of the blue. "So what's your type?"

You blinked, "Huh?"

"Just curious," one of them grinned.

You hesitated, then said, "Um, I like tall, good looking guys... cute and hot at the same time."

Giselle instantly turned to the boys with a devilish smile. "She likes guys who can dominate her."

 "Giselle!" you exclaimed, slapping a hand over her mouth. "That's NOT what I meant-!"

The boys burst into laughter.

"I-I mean like, someone who knows what they're doing. Like someone who leads the relationship, but isn't controlling. You know?" you continued, flustered.

Intak was biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to possibly draw blood.

"Bro," Jiung muttered under his breath, "did you hear that? She's basically saying she wants someone like you."

"She's saying she wants someone that won't screw it up," Intak said, though he was red at the ears.

One of the guys leaned in closer to you. "What if someone like that asked you out, though? Hypothetically?"

You tilted your head. "I guess... I'd say yes."

Jiung shook his head. "Bro, if you don't do something now, I'm disowning you."

Intak stared at you, and didn't answer. He was too busy watching how your lips curved around the straw in your drink. The way you smiled when Ningning leaned into you. How Giselle was fidgeting with your fingers, like she always did.

You were handsy, soft, and kind—and you didn't even know how easily you could wrap people around your finger.

Especially him.

The minute you felt Intak take a seat at the open desk behind yours, everything shifted in the atmosphere. You didn't turn to look at him, but you could feel it, the pull of his gaze, the way he leaned back in the chair and seemed to own the damn space. His smell before his voice: cologne and smoke, warm and dizzying. He was near now, closer than ever, and it made your stomach flop.

Jiung, always the chaos instigator, saw his opportunity.

He joined in as if it was completely natural. "So tell me, who's the secret admirer?"

You blinked. "What?"

He pointed at the lunchbox, the contents stale and withering, the sticky note still exuberant in the open window breeze.

"That? What do you mean?"

Jiung grinned. "Fried egg bread? Fruit? And that lyric? Sounds like somebody's got a crush."

You were suddenly mortified, and blushed bright red. "It's probably a prank."

"On you?" Jiung leaned on the table. "Nah, you're too cute to prank."

Giselle cackled. "She's blushing again! She totally loved it!"

A boy from one of the groups around the table joined in, flashing a wide grin, "Bet it's somebody in this class. Someone who's been watching you the entire semester."

Intak swallowed, looking down at the table for a second. He swore Jiung was going to get punched in the face if he didn't calm down, but he knew what his friend was doing. And damn it, it was working.

Another boy, Minjae, laughed, "I dunno, that lyric was pretty bold. Kinda sounds like something you'd write if you were imagining her in your bed."

Your jaw dropped. "Wh—!"

"Minjae!" Giselle slapped his arm, but she was grinning anyway, clearly not bothered.

But you were laughing, and hiding your face behind your hands, feeling far too warm in the cheeks—and that sound of yours. That sound, that soft, airy laugh of yours? You broke him. Intak's fingers twitched on the desk behind you.

Jiung leaned back, throwing a look at Intak like your turn, bro.

And then, finally, after a long few seconds of silence, Intak opened his mouth.

"So," he said cooly, voice low and gravelly, "what's your type?"

The whole table froze.

You looked up, blinking as you finally met his eyes for what felt like the first time, this close. Dark, unreadable. His messy hair fell over his brows just slightly, and you noted how nice the angle of his jaw was from this way. Your lips started to part just a little bit.

Giselle's mouth dropped open, Ningning slapped your thigh under the table.

"Oh?" Ningning said sweetly, "We're participating now?"

"I just thought it was an interesting topic," he said, lazy shrug, his knee brushing yours beneath the table. "You said tall and good-looking, right?"

You cleared your throat, waking your brain up a few moments too late. "Uh... yeah. Cute but... hot. Confident. Someone who leads but doesn't... control."

"And..." Jiung jumped in, teasingly, "... dominating."

"You guys are the worst." You half covered your face again.

"C'mon," one of the boys teased. "Dominate... in which way, though?"

"In bed, obviously," Minjae teased.

Your eyes widened and your mouth opened; you had started to argue, deny protest—but Intak, who had not said a word thus far, abruptly sat up.

His voice dropped deep, just for you.

"That what you like?" he asked while staring intensely at your face. "Someone that takes control?"

You caught your breath.

You couldn't even construct a sentence like the idiot you are, not when his eyes looked like that, and his lips twitching slightly like he was holding back something darker. The air around you grew warmer.

You looked down, nervously chuckling. "You guys are seriously messing with me."

But internally, your heart was beating way too fast, your body acting in unimaginable ways to you that you have never felt in school before. And it was him—the boy who never spoke to you and now he was, with his low voice and calm sense of confidence, as if he knows what he is doing to you.

The bell rang.

Everyone started moving, laughing, packing up—but you stayed frozen for a moment.

As the other students filed out of the classroom to head to lunch, Jiung clapped Intak on the shoulder. "You good man?"

Intak didn't answer. He was still sitting behind you, jaw tight, eyes following the contours of your neck while you leaned over to grab your things.

You were too distracted laughing with Ningning, but Intak's head was already somewhere else. To him, it was not your hair falling on your shoulder—it was your tank top slipping down. It wasn't your lip gloss being touched up—it was him smearing it.

God, he wanted to take you somewhere only he could take you and he wasn't going to last much longer pretending he didn't want to take you.

Eventually, you exited the classroom, your bag feeling heavier than it had all semester—full of extra books and notebooks due to your assignments piling up. And guess who noticed?

Intak.

You didn't notice the way his gaze flickered over to your shoulder dipping from the weight. His friends saw it, Jiung saw it, who elbowed him.

"Go on, be a gentleman Jiung grinned, elbowing him again. "Walk her home, carry her bag. Girls love that."

Intak rolled his eyes, but couldn't fully suppress the twitch of his lip corners.

Just as you were preparing to walk away from your group of friends, Giselle mentioned shopping. "We're going to the city shopping. Olive Young, maybe a clothes store."

"I'll go!" one of the guys blurted out.

"...I mean, we'll all go." Minjae added way too quickly.

You raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "Okay..." you mumbled, unsure, but quite honestly too distracted by your phone to question them.

While you and your friends were distracted, Giselle and Ningning had made their way over to Intak, leading him away from the group enough that you wouldn't hear.

"Be honest," Ningning smirked. "It's you, right? The sticky notes? The fried egg bread? The lyrics written on her desk?"

He paused, eyes flicking toward you.

There wasn't any reason to lie anymore.

He bit on his lip, and then nodded.

Giselle grinned. "I thought so."

"You two would be super cute together," Ningning whispered, nudging him. "She's quiet, you're not. You'd pull her out of her shell."

Minjae popped in with a grin. "With those vibes? Yeah, he'd definitely loosen her up. In more ways than one."

"Bro-" Intak groaned, but the blush spreading on his neck said it all.

Back on your end, you were responding to your text when a warm hand brushed your shoulder. Your bag slid off of your arm before you could really think. You looked up and saw Intak casually carrying it as if it didn't weigh anything.

"I got it," he said casually, as if he did this all the time.

You brain kind of short-circuited.

His hand—literally—grazed your skin. Combine that with everything that was said earlier? Yeah, your mind was going to places it shouldn't be, especially out in public in broad daylight.

Before you could spiral too much, Giselle bumped her shoulder into yours. "Where're we going first?"

You blinked. "Oh-uh, Olive Young. I need new lip gloss. I think maybe a clothing store after, and the makeup place near it."

The commute was Jiung's genius idea. "Let's just take the subway, it's faster."

Fast, yes. Comfortable? Not even close. The carriage was packed, and you were gripping the overhead bar tightly, praying not to fall. You barely managed to hold on when the train jerked—but before you could stumble, his hand was on your waist, steadying you.

Your heart was pounding loud in your chest.

You looked up at him. He didn't say anything, didn't even smirk. Just sorta stared ahead like it was no big deal.

Was he always this unfazed? Or just around you?

By the time you made it to the shopping complex, the guys trailed you three like puppies. You dragged him and the others straight to the lip product aisle, trying out every color that Ningning insisted that you swatch. But there were so many colors, and you didn't want to use your own hand because it would be hard to tell what they looked like.

"I don't wanna swatch it on my hand..." you muttered.

"Use mine," a voice said beside you.

You turned. Intak, again.

"You sure?"

He nodded. "Go for it."

You hesitated, and slowly grasped his arm. He stared down at you, biting his lip as you swatched colors on the inside of his forearm. The touch was minor, but you could feel heat flourish on your cheeks.

He followed you through the entire section as you donned swatches—some too bold, other too pale. You couldn't choose.

He didn't mind.

He looked you over. The way you bit your lip when you were deep in thought. How you absentmindedly tucked your hair behind your ear. The tiny grimace you made whenever a shade didn't suit your taste. He was learning you in real time, and he looked like he enjoyed every second of it.

Jiung and the others feigned shopping behind you and weren't doing a great job hiding the grins that were spreading across their faces.

"Dude," Jiung leaned to Minjae after watching the whole thing unfold, "he's so gone for her."

Minjae leaned in. "She just doesn't know it yet."

"What do you think I should buy?" You looked up at Intak, your eyes darting from the basket in your hands to the varying shades on his arms, and on the back of his hand. He was still holding your bag like it weighed zero, while you were cradling your little plastic basket with more lip products than you need.

He examined the shades, idly running his thumb over one of them, glancing down at you. "I would get this one," he gestured towards a muted rose shade. "And I would get that one." He gestured towards a peachy gloss. "You would look great in those."

You raised a brow. "You say that like you've thought about it."

He shrugged, his eyes gleaming just a little. "Maybe I have."

And maybe, he thought, if he ended up bagging you, he would get to see those marks on more than his arm. Your lipstick on his jaw. A little gloss smudged on his lips. Perhaps even some faint stains on his collarbone or neck. The very idea nearly had him chewing on his tongue just to keep himself from being too presumptuous.

Eventually, you had somehow filled your basket to overflowing; lip tints, glosses, lipsticks in every finish, and the two of you moved on to skincare. You browsed the serums and moisturizers while he followed behind you like a loyal, golden retriever puppy, holding your bag without a single complaint.

Your friends had kept a distance to not be obvious, but were still close enough to see. Ningning was hiding behind an aisle holding a toner, while Giselle pretended to try out an eye cream. Somewhere in the chaos, a staff worker was passing by, stopped dead in her tracks while looking at the two of you.

"You two are a cute couple," she smiled warmly.

You immediately shook your head and waved your hands. "Oh no, we're not-"

"Yes we are," Intak cut in, sliding his arm around your shoulder and steering you towards the cashier.

You stared blankly at him. "Why did you say that?"

He just nodded at the entrance. You followed his gaze and noticed a bright pink flyer taped to the door.

Couple discount: 20% off your total purchase.

"Oh."

At the cashier, you started digging into your bag for your wallet, but before you could even unzip your purse, he took your bag out of your hands, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a credit card. "Hey!" you shouted.

"I'll pay." His tone was casual, but that smug look painted across his face was anything but.

You glared at him as he handed over his card, easily bagging all the items while you stood next to him like a confused (and slightly flustered) ghost. 

As the two of you walked out of the store together, friends that you found waiting for you.

"Whoa," Ningning teased, eyeing Intak's arms smeared with swatches. "You really did a number onigde on him, huh."

Your cheeks flushed. "I can wash it off-"

"No," Intak chimed in with a slightly smug smile, his eyes darting to you. "I think I will keep it."You blinked up at him, mouth slightly agape as your heart raced.

Giselle snorted. "God, I can't tell if I'm witnessing a soft rom-com or some sexy enemies-to-lovers fanfic."

"Well," Ningning added, linking arms with you. "I did say her type is guys who lead the relationship."

And Intak? Yeah, he was already doing exactly that.

The next day arrived and there was sunshine pouring through the windows of your classroom, the regular throng of students pouring in through the door with tired faces and messy hair. The day before, you had also walked into the classroom wearing that new lip gloss—the one that Intak told you to get.

Giselle caught on right away.

"Ohhh," she said smugly as she leaned in close, narrowing her eyes. "Is that the Intak seal of approval?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you mumble, eyes glued to your desk.

And your desk wasn't empty.

More lyrics. Messy and scribbled and a little off-kilter, but unmistakably his.

But this time they weren't just flirty; they were risqué. They were the lyrics to a song everyone kind of knew, but the way this song was crafted and the way you were incorporated into it really made your stomach flutter.

Giselle and Ningning instantly leaned in and read it together.

"Oh, he's so cheesy for this," Ningning chuckled, "But like, kind of hot."

Intak? Pretending to be fast asleep at his desk two rows behind you. Head down. Hood up. Jiung was shaking with laughter next to him and whispering things like "you're so gone for her, bro."

You ran your fingers over the new graffiti, your lips twitching up despite yourself.

Sure, maybe he was your type.And maybe you were his type as well.

You glanced over your shoulder. Intak peeked up through the crook of his arm just long enough to meet your eyes.

You didn't look away.

Instead, you mouthed Lunch?

He raised a brow, slow grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. Then he nodded.

Yeah, that was enough for you.

[tttabii]

── 박종성 STATESIDE ; PARK JONGSEONG

“you could be my american, hot, hot boy...” pairing ۶ৎ childhoodbsf!jay x obsessive!reader ; genre: fluff, suggestive, murders, kinda like ghostface. mentions of jennie from blackpink, yeonjun from txt, ryujin from itzy. word count: 2043. exa's note: no part 2 because its just a small drabble and i didnt manage to save it

HE HAD NEVER SUSPECTED A THING. 

Jay Park—your school's golden boy, all quiet smirks and soft calloused fingers playing his guitar in the quad as though he wasn't sending every girl on the campus into a frenzy. Kind, charming, top of his class. Too polite to ever turn someone down outright, too forgiving to disregard.

He didn't even mind the sudden spike in murders across Seoul lately—just brushed it off as bad luck and poor law enforcement.

You did.

Because you were behind them.

Well, not all of them. Jennie took care of the messier hits—the ones that were purely chaos. Body parts strewn all over the alley walls and news anchors stumbling over their words live on television.

Yeonjun was the dramatic actor—always talking about the way in which people scream or the way their voices broke under duress.

Ryujin? Very similar to you. She was in love. She was protective. She was possessive.

But you? You killed with motive.

And that motive was Jay.

"She just got sick or something right?" Jay said, brow furrowing at the headline on his phone.

One of the girls who always hung around at band practice had apparently died. A rare infection contracted in a hospital. Totally tragic.

At him, blinking wide-eyed and hugging your arms tight around yourself, as though the thought had chilled you to your bones. You actually shivered enough for him to reach out to rub small circles on your back to ease your discomfort.

"I don't like talking about stuff like that," you murmured, playing the part perfectly.

He softened. "Sorry. I forgot you're so sensitive about that kind of stuff."

Right, sensitive.

Not that you were the one who parked on the street, slipped into the hospital in the middle of the night dressed in nurse scrubs, pressed a pillow into her fragile little face until her fighting had slowed and finally stopped.

Not that you made sure that the cameras had a mysterious malfunction that night at the hospital.

Jay could never know.

Not your Jay.

It got worse when that other girl started hanging around him like she had a right to him. She had the audacity to follow you both into the convenience store, and even tried to insert herself into the moment. He was just trying to pick an ice cream flavor, standing in front of the freezer aisle with his hands in his pockets, quietly talking to you.

He always spoke gently to you. You looked up, smiled innocently.

"Whichever one you think I'd like," you said, all sweet and sugary.

And that is when she shrieked—literally shrieked and came running over, grabbing onto his arm with her nails and fake laughing. "Jayyyy, you have to get one for me too! We can all have ice cream together at recess, right?"

At that moment, all you wanted to do was stab her in the eye with the little wooden stick that came with the ice cream.But instead, you smiled.

Because Jay wouldn't like it if you lost it. In front of people.He ruffled your hair like you were a cat, then handed the cashier his wallet. "Go outside with her for a second, yeah? I got this."

You went outside. And when he came outside after a moment, he held out a little box to you.

"Surprise."

Your eyes lit up instantly—a new vape, the same flavor you liked, the same one you had mentioned offhandedly last week when your other ran out.

He remembered. Of course he remembered. He always remembered.

This smile was real—until you saw her staring at you, expression all twisted like she'd just caught him cheating.

Cheating? He was never hers to begin with.

Later, you sat on the bench in the campus park, the three of you squeezed together, though Jay was clearly closer to you. You leaned on his side, licking your ice cream slowly while popping open the vape box with your other hand.

The girl was disgusted. "You vape?"

Jay looked up, bored. "I do too."

Her jaw dropped. "Since when?!"

You smirked into your ice cream.

"I bought this for the both of us," Jay said, tossing away the box in his bag. The double standards were ridiculous.

When she tried to lean on him in the same way you did, Jay disregarded her easily.

"Why can she do it and I can't?" she said angrily.

"Because-"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"No-"

"Then why not me?" she huffed, her voice elevating wildly.

Jay sighed while scratching the nape of his neck. "Because she's someone that I've known for a long time."

"I've known you for a long time too!"

And at that point, you finally looked up from your vape, still leaning against Jay's side like you owned it.

"Being in the same class as him and fangirling from the back row does not count as knowing him." you said flatly, your voice soft but dangerous af. "You just stared at him in the most delusional little fan kind of way. Not the same."

She froze, cheeks burning bright red in embarrassment, and finally stormed off, throwing away her ice cream that was half melted. 

Jay chuckled, nudging your shoulder. "You didn't have to go that hard."

You leaned against him again. "She was being annoying."

He didn't argue.

He never did when it came to you.

Later that night, after slipping into the penthouse, Jennie was waiting for you, black gloves still faintly stained red, boots tracking blood across the marble floor.

"Lay low," she said without looking up. "There's another group trying to start something downtown. Don't get involved."

"Whatever." You shrugged. "I'm not in the mood to kill tonight."

Yeonjun laughed from the kitchen, knife still stained in blood. "You're never in the mood unless someone flirts with Jay."

Ryujin walked behind you, resting a hand briefly on your head. "Don't pay attention to them. You know she's just overprotective of her boy."

Your boy.

Yours.

Jay didn't know how much you had shed blood on his behalf. How many lives you had taken or removed from his life without him noticing.

How many cameras were hidden in every corner of his room, even that cute teddy bear you got him for his birthday. Most night you watched him sleep through your phone.  

The scent of rich pasta and sizzling garlic filled the warm dorm room, wrapping itself around you like Jay's blanket draped over your shoulders. You were curled up on the bed, surrounded by the plushies he let you bring over—your favorites, of course.

Jay always let you get your way. He was at the stove, humming softly to himself as he gave the pot a swirl, throwing shy glances at you every moments, blissfully unaware of the tornado ripping through your mind.

You sighed, lips wrapped around your vape as you pulled slow and deep drags, smoke curling from your lips like a whisper.

Your phone buzzed in your hand once again. And again. And again.Your eye twitched.

With a groan, you tossed your phone across the room—gently enough not to break it, but hard enough that it knew you were mad. You heard it thud to the floor, and Jay glanced over at you from the kitchen.

"What's going on, Princess?" he murmured, his voice deep and soothing like honey on gravel. That voice alone could send shivers through your bones. He turned back to his cooking but you knew he was still listening. 

You exhaled another plume of smoke, shaking your head and laughing softly.

"Your beloved little friend is spamming me again. Told me to stay away from you. Something about me being 'possessive' or 'clingy'." You did a mock gasp. "Imagine that."

Jay wiped his hands dry on a towel and ambled over, a plate of pasta gripped in his fingers. He picked up your phone from the floor, unlocked it with your obvious approval (he had your passcode anyway).

The screen lit up to dozens of angry messages from her. But what made him furrow his brow for a moment was the flashing notification for a CCTV monitoring app. Jay's Dorm. Camera 2. Motion Detected.

You knew he saw it but didn't ask questions. He never did. His trust in you was too great. You could burn everything to cinders and he'd probably still think you had clean hands.

But when he said, "I'm serious, if it might make you feel better, I'll stop being friends with her," there really wasn't a lot of point in keeping your excitement bottled up anymore.

Your eyes lit up like colored fireworks, a huge smile broke across your face before you could help it. You set the vape aside, almost knocking over a stuffed toy as you grabbed his hand.  

Jay simply chuckled, entertained, and moved his hand up to your head, giving you that sweet head rub that made you swoon. His fingers traced down the side of your face, grazing bare skin down to your arm—warm, grounding, and totally his.

You almost shivered from the contact.

Fuck, you thought. If it wasn't so weird, you would have moaned right then and there. You wanted to imprint your name onto his skin, to brand him, to let the world know that he was yours. Even if he didn't know it yet. 

The next morning, the mood on campus buzzed like a kicked beehive.

A new murder. Another body.

This time? One of your seniors. One of Jay's friends. The girl had just handed him a homemade cookie on Monday, blushing, giggling. You smiled at her too, sweetly. And then, the next day, she was on the news. They found her body behind the art building, cold, eyes wide in horror, and throat slit too cleanly for it to be a mugging.

Jay had gone pale when he saw the headline. You were already snuggled into his chest, face buried in his hoodie, pretending to be scared.

"There there," he murmured into your hair, "you're with me. You're safe. These murders... they're always around campus, always around people I know. I just... I'll protect you, okay?"

You almost laughed. Oh, Jay... he didn't even know how close he was to the truth. And how far away.

That afternoon back in his dorm, lightness settled back in. You and him were tangled up in each other on his bed, play wrestling and laughing. He was trying to distract you, trying to get you to forget about the news, forget about fear. He tickled you on your sides, and you squealed, grabbed a pillow, and hit him in the face. He tackled you back, and you rolled and laughed until it hurt.

At one point, he was on top of you, your hands pinned, clothes a mess, hair tangled, and lipstick smeared. Then—knock knock knock. You blinked up at him, breathless. "I'll get it," you said sweetly, lips curled as you stood up. 

Jay turned around, chuckling to himself as he adjusted the bed, straightening up the pillows and tossing the comforter back in place. But the moment the door opened, she was right there in front of you.

Jay's "friend."

She was staring at you, her eyes narrowing right away. And then her eyes dropped—to your lipstick smudged mouth, and then to Jay as he came into view. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened a little, in shock. Because there it was—your lipstick all over his neck.

He didn't realize. But she did. "What...?" she started.

Jay blinked. "Oh, hey. What's up?"

"You..." she looked at you, then motioned to him. "You guys are sleeping together?"

You were smiling, slow and venomous. "Oh no, don't be silly. Jay is just very... affectionate."

Jay scratched his neck, confused. "Uh, we were just messing around. Pillow fight. You know how she is."

Your lipstick. On his skin.

She knew. You knew she knew.

She stormed off, and you stood in the doorway, watching her retreating figure with a sweet, serene look on your face. Jay looked down at you and finally noticed the smudge near your lips.

"...Did I get lipstick on me?"

You turned to him, and your smile grew wider. "Mhm. Do you want me to mark the other side too?"

Jay rolled his eyes with playfulness. "You're crazy."

You leaned in, put your hands on his chest, and whispered, "You have no idea."

[tttabii]

me and who

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ in lilac and gold ( lhs ! )

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader ⤷ word count — 21.2k ⤷ based on this request by @heesbbygurl ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — i had so much fun writing this—truly. this honestly might be one of my favorite pieces yet. also, please don’t mind the enhypen masterlist, it’s still under editing and a little messy 🤍

⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), reincarnation au, royal au, prince!heeseung, princess!reader, modern!heeseung, modern!reader, past lives, heavy emotional themes, mentions of childbirth, faint references to past death, soulmate trope, red string trope, fluff, angst, destiny/universe themes, mentions of pain (labor), crying, protective!heeseung, foul language, mentions of historical war/politics, romantic tension, fate-written love, farmer george reference, happy ending, breeding kink, marking, biting, light possessiveness, overstimulation, praise kink, slight size kink

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — as the crown prince of a powerful kingdom, lee heeseung was raised to rule—with sharp instincts, a loyal heart, and a crown that never sat too heavily on his head. he was born for diplomacy, bred for war, and destined for a throne. but the only thing he truly lived for was you. his wife, his queen, the only soul who could quiet the chaos inside him. you loved each other until your final breath. and somehow, even after that. or, where two strangers meet under the eyes of their past selves, and something the universe once forgot finally begins again.

The sun poured golden ribbons over the stone path, warm and gentle as it kissed the castle grounds. Somewhere beyond the hedges, the faint splash of the courtyard fountain echoed—a lullaby of water meeting water, rhythmic and calming.

You sat nestled within the pale embrace of a gazebo, its wooden frame delicately laced with ivy and blooming wisteria, soft petals swaying with every tender breeze.

The book in your hands was worn in the corners but loved—its parchment pages aged, the ink slightly faded yet still carrying the weight of every word.

A sigh left your lips, soft and drawn out.

“'And in silence, he longed for what he dared not touch,'” you read aloud, your voice barely rising above the wind. “What a tragic sort of devotion…”

Your fingers tightened around the spine.

The garden stretched out before you, a sea of color—roses, tulips, peonies, and little blue forget-me-nots nestled near the base of every trimmed bush. Everything was alive, and yet it all stood still, like the entire world paused to listen.

Footsteps padded softly across the gravel behind you.

“Milady,” came the quiet voice of one of the castle maids, her head bowed low as she placed a fresh tray of refreshments upon the small table beside you. Crystal glasses caught the light, and the silver tray gleamed beneath the sun.

You offered a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

She returned it, modest and fleeting, before stepping back. “Shall I leave the strawberries as well?”

“Yes, please,” you replied, adjusting the folds of your gown with one hand.

The silk skirt pooled around you in waves, layered with pale pastels, laced edges, and gold-stitched bows that shimmered every time you moved. A corset hugged your waist, cinched just enough to be proper, but not unbearable—a compromise between elegance and comfort.

She bowed again. “Call if you need anything, my lady.”

“I always do,” you murmured, your gaze falling back to the book.

You turned the page delicately, brushing your fingertips against the words as though they were fragile glass.

And then, quietly to yourself, “How strange it must be, to long for someone in secret… and be loved loudly by someone else entirely.”

You were just about to turn the page—fingertip sliding gently under the parchment—when you heard it.

Footsteps.

Your gaze lifted from the book and drifted to the right, toward one of the many winding paths that led into the garden. Sunlight spilled across the white cobblestone in slanted rays, dancing between the petals and ivy.

Prince Heeseung.

Your breath caught for only a second—but your smile came instantly, unbidden, as if your heart had recognized him long before your eyes did.

He looked like he belonged in the very pages of your book—dressed in a tailored white coat lined with gold filigree that caught the sun at every turn.

The fabric shimmered faintly with each step he took, the polished black boots beneath his dark trousers clicking softly against the stones. His hands were careful, cradling a fresh bouquet of lilacs—your favorite, which he never once forgot.

The lilacs were nearly the same shade as the ribbon in your hair.

His dark hair was brushed back in soft waves, a few strands falling loosely near his brow. And those eyes—those warm, honey-brown eyes—found yours with ease, with something gentle tucked inside their gaze.

“Princess,” he greeted with a smile that turned your knees to air. His voice, low and warm, always had a way of curling around your name like a promise.

You sat up straighter, your hands folding over your lap as you tilted your head at him, playful. “You walk like a man with secrets.”

“I walk like a man bringing flowers to the only one who makes the garden look dull,” he said, grinning as he reached the steps of the gazebo.

“Oh, how terribly dramatic of you.”

Heeseung chuckled, holding out the bouquet. “And yet it made you smile.”

You accepted the lilacs carefully, the scent washing over you like a memory. “You know, the florists will start suspecting you’re courting someone.”

“I am courting someone,” he replied easily, eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks warmed under the weight of his gaze.

“Lucky her,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over one of the petals.

Heeseung stepped closer, just enough to lower himself onto the bench beside you—his posture relaxed, his shoulder brushing yours faintly. His arm rested casually behind you on the seat, not quite touching, but close enough to feel.

“Lucky me,” he corrected, leaning in the slightest bit as his voice dipped lower. “For having a princess who reads poetry and meets me in gardens.”

You laughed under your breath, looking down at the bouquet once more. “You always say the right things.”

Heeseung tilted his head, expression soft. “Only when I’m around you.”

You gave him another smile, one that crinkled your eyes and pulled at the corners of your lips. Then, with a careful hand, you set the bouquet beside the refreshments—delicate lilacs now resting in the sun’s golden glow, nestled beside chilled lemonade and a dish of strawberries.

“Come closer,” you said gently, patting the spot beside you with a slight tilt of your head.

And he did.

Heeseung obeyed with that boyish grin tugging at his lips, sinking into the bench with ease until his shoulder brushed yours—warm, familiar. The closeness was effortless, the kind that came with hours and weeks and years of knowing. Of loving.

He turned slightly, eyes gleaming as if simply sitting beside you made the world right again.

“How was practice?” you asked, reaching instinctively for his hand, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.

He let out a dramatic sigh, one that rattled from the very depths of his chest before he leaned in further—head finding its way to the crook of your neck, nose brushing the soft skin there as he inhaled.

“Exhausting,” he murmured, voice muffled by your skin. “Sunghoon almost ripped my sleeve off.”

Your brows raised, amused. “Did he now?”

“All because I told him he ought to start thinking about finding a lady of his own. He’s only two years younger than me, but you'd think I told him to marry a goat the way he reacted.”

You stifled a laugh.

“And Jongseong?” you asked, already guessing.

“Backed me up, of course,” Heeseung grinned into your neck. “He even dragged Jungwon into it—said the two of them were becoming old maids with swords.”

You gasped playfully. “Cruel!”

Heeseung laughed, his breath tickling your skin. “Cruel but not wrong. So naturally, the younger ones decided the only reasonable response was chasing us through the courtyard with their blades drawn like little terrors.”

You blinked. “With actual swords?”

“Oh yes,” he said, sounding far too amused. “They meant business. The knights on patrol just stood there, watching. I think one of them placed a bet.”

You giggled, running a hand through his soft hair as he leaned further into you, completely unbothered by decorum or the passing time. Your fingers threaded through the dark locks gently, combing through with care as if he were the most precious thing in the garden—and he was.

Heeseung hummed under your touch, arms moving around your waist as he drew you closer until there was no space left between you.

“You spoil me,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“And you let me,” you replied with a teasing smile, brushing your fingers along his temple.

“That’s because I’d gladly die in your hands,” he muttered sleepily. “Even if your hands are… very soft. And smell like roses.”

You laughed again, delighted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours,” he corrected, holding you tighter.

And then—without warning—he leaned in and began pressing warm, slow kisses against the slope of your neck. One. Then another. His lips trailing softly just below your jaw, then lower, brushing against the skin just above your collarbone—barely hidden by the delicate neckline of your gown.

“Your dress is unfair,” he whispered between kisses, voice low and teasing. “Makes it impossible to behave.”

You let out a breathy giggle, hand curling into the fabric of his sleeve. “You’re impossible, Heeseung.”

“Mm, say it again.”

“You’re impossible?”

“No. My name. I like it when you say it like that.”

You cooed gently, tilting your head as he angled for your lips. His gaze dipped to your mouth, and his hand moved up the side of your back, eyes half-lidded and completely enamored.

And just as your lips were about to meet—

“Heeseung hyung!”

The prince froze mid-movement, groaning against your skin like a man personally betrayed by the gods.

Another voice followed, louder and more frantic.

“Hyung? We’ve been looking for you for ages!”

From beyond the tall rose bushes near the edge of the gazebo, two familiar figures stumbled into view—Sunoo and Riki, each looking like scolded puppies who’d wandered too far from their leash.

“Unbelievable,” Heeseung muttered under his breath, finally lifting his head with the most exasperated expression. “What could possibly be so urgent?”

Sunoo offered you a sheepish smile as he waved. “Good afternoon, Princess. Sorry to interrupt.”

Riki, meanwhile, had already sauntered over and shamelessly plucked a macaron off the silver tray in front of you, examining it like he’d just discovered a new species. “Pink. My favorite.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “Riki.”

“I figured if I’m going to interrupt, I may as well get a snack.”

Sunoo sighed and folded his arms. “Hyung, the head of the knight guard—Hwan—has been looking for you. Something about finalizing next week’s banquet security plans?”

At that, Heeseung visibly deflated, letting out a second, louder groan before dramatically resting his chin on top of your head like a sulking child. “I’m not going.”

You stifled a laugh, reaching up to play with the ends of his hair. “You do know you’re the crown prince, yes?”

“I do,” he mumbled. “And yet I feel incredibly underappreciated.”

Riki snorted as he took another bite of the macaron, his voice muffled by sugar. “Relax, brother. Princess (Y/N)’s not going anywhere.”

Heeseung gave a noise of agreement and nuzzled further into your hair, arms still locked firmly around your waist. “Exactly. This is clearly a case of poor timing and disrespect toward royal romantic affairs.”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “You say that as if your ‘romantic affair’ isn’t sprawled across a public gazebo.”

“Then they should build us a private one.”

You laughed again, threading your fingers through his hair as he melted into you like a spoiled cat. Riki and Sunoo exchanged one last glance before Riki shrugged and grabbed a second dessert.

“We’ll tell Hwan you’re ‘in conference.’”

“And tell him to come back never,” Heeseung added, voice muffled into your hair.

You sighed through a soft laugh, tapping his arms gently where they were stubbornly wrapped around your waist. “My Prince,” you said with mock sternness. “If you don’t get going, Hwan will double your training hours. Maybe even triple.”

He let out a groan—not very prince-like—as he nuzzled into you one last time. “Cruel. You wound me, my love.”

“You’ll survive,” you hummed, gently nudging him away. He reluctantly loosened his grip, though he still hadn’t made any effort to actually stand.

You smiled fondly. “Come on. The earlier you finish your duties, the earlier you can be with me again.”

That made him perk up, his eyes suddenly lighting like sun-touched gold. “Now that is motivation.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek—warm, lingering, a promise tucked into it.

“Ugh,” Sunoo groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Do you have to kiss every five seconds?”

“Some of us are still single,” Riki added, arms crossed with an exaggerated pout.

You grinned. “Well, maybe if you two stopped terrorizing every debutante at every ball…”

Heeseung snorted, standing at last with a stretch before he placed one last, feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Ignore them, princess. They’re simply jealous.”

You brushed your hands gently along the front of your gown, preparing to stand as well. “I must get going back inside,” you murmured, glancing toward the palace doors. “The sun is starting to turn hotter, and I might melt before you return.”

Heeseung stepped beside you immediately, his hand finding the small of your back with natural ease. “Then I’ll escort you,” he said. “It’s on the way to the courtyard anyway.”

He looked to Sunoo expectantly. “That alright?”

Sunoo gave a small, understanding nod. “Of course. We’ll catch up with the captain while you two take your sweet time.”

As you moved forward, the heavy layers of your gown shifted around your legs, the delicate fabric and gold embroidery trailing slightly behind you. You let out a tiny sigh, brushing your skirt to the side.

“These gowns were not made for walking,” you muttered.

“They were made for floating, though,” Heeseung teased, offering his arm with a grin. “And I’m honored to be walking beside the most beautiful one to ever wear them.”

You flushed as you took his arm, allowing him to guide you gently toward the entrance of the palace. Behind you, Riki mock-gagged and grabbed another macaron while Sunoo simply shook his head, already anticipating a very dramatic retelling of this moment at dinner.

“I’m serious,” you added playfully over your shoulder, glancing at Heeseung. “Hwan is already so tired of your antics. Please, spare the poor man.”

That made the prince laugh—a sound so full and bright that it echoed against the walls of the palace garden like music. “Alright, alright,” he said, pulling you just a little closer. “For your sake, I’ll behave. But only slightly.”

The afternoon breeze was kind to your skin—neither too warm nor biting. It danced through the open corridor, carrying the scent of roses and distant sunlight as you strolled leisurely, your gown trailing behind like golden water. The lace fluttered slightly with each step, your slippers tapping gently against the polished stone floor.

Your two handmaidens flanked you, both young, bright-eyed, and as full of energy as always. The three of you had long abandoned any sense of formality as laughter echoed softly down the hall.

“White and gold,” you said confidently, letting your fingers trace the embroidered detailing of your sleeve. “No combination has ever looked better.”

They both gasped as if you had uttered gospel.

“I told her the same thing!” one of them chirped. “Gold goes with everything. It brings out the elegance in the plainest of things.”

“And it’s so regal,” the other sighed dreamily. “Like something only worn by goddesses and queens.”

You laughed, soft and genuine, as you reached the spiral stairs that led to the tower balcony. The stone was cool beneath your fingertips as you climbed, sunlight spilling in through narrow windows that cast slanted beams along the walls.

Stepping out onto the balcony, the three of you were greeted by the view of the castle’s courtyard below—alive with the clang of swords, thuds of boots, and echoes of distant chatter.

“There they go again,” your handmaiden giggled, pointing toward the princes at the far end of the yard.

You followed her gaze and stifled a laugh of your own as you caught sight of Jungwon’s sword accidentally hitting Riki with the hilt—straight to the side.

Riki let out a loud yelp, and without missing a beat, launched himself at the cat-like prince, chasing him in furious circles around the yard as their sparring partners stood stunned.

“They’re going to fall face-first into the fountain one of these days,” you muttered, watching as the younger princes dashed around wildly.

Your eyes scanned across the yard—rows of knights moving in formation, sparring amongst themselves, or preparing equipment—until they landed on a more composed sight. Prince Heeseung.

He stood slightly away from the others, deep in conversation with the ever-serious Captain Hwan. Between them lay a large scroll, its corners pinned with small weights, possibly a map of the castle grounds.

You could just barely make out their gestures—Heeseung pointing toward a marked area while Hwan nodded sharply. Likely preparations for next week’s banquet, you thought.

“The crown prince looks far too serious today,” one of the girls murmured, following your gaze.

“He always does when Hwan’s involved,” the other added, then nudged your arm with a sly smile. “Now those knights over there, though…”

You turned your head just as she gestured to the opposite end of the courtyard, where Prince Jaeyun and Prince Jongseong—both shirt-sleeved and flushed from training—were surrounded by a group of younger knights. Their laughter echoed faintly, the two clearly in the middle of friendly teasing.

“They’re the heart-stoppers of the guard,” she sighed dramatically. “Imagine catching one of those eyes from below the helmet.”

You chuckled, resting your arms on the balcony railing. “They’re charming,” you admitted. “But Prince Heeseung has my heart.”

Both girls turned to you with the same dreamy expression.

“As he should,” one said, smiling. “You’re both lucky.”

“Betrothed and still looking at you like he’s thirteen again, sneaking out of language lessons to see you in the garden,” the other added with a fond laugh.

You let out a soft breath of laughter, the memory settling sweetly in your chest. “He still acts like it,” you mused. “He gifted me lilacs this morning and almost forgot he had training until Sunoo dragged him out.”

They both laughed at that, clearly endeared.

“And every time he kisses you in public, Prince Riki looks like he’s about to hurl,” your handmaiden added through a grin.

You covered your mouth to stifle the sudden laughter, nodding in agreement.

“Honestly,” you sighed, “I should start rewarding the poor prince for tolerating all our affections.”

“You already do, Your Highness,” one handmaiden said with a wink, leaning her elbows on the stone railing.

The other smiled softly, her voice quieter now, a sincerity woven into her words. “You were the sister figure they always needed, you know.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.

“They’re adored by everyone,” she continued, eyes trailing down to the chaos of the courtyard. “The Queen loves her sons dearly—but with the business of the court, the councils, the expectations—well… they needed someone to be there. And you were.”

“She’s right,” the first agreed. “From the moment you met them… they looked up to you. Just as much as they look up to Prince Heeseung.”

The wind blew gently again, carrying with it the laughter of the younger princes and the faint scent of lavender from the courtyard gardens.

Your gaze softened as it drifted across the yard—Riki now wrestling Jungwon to the ground playfully while Jaeyun scolded them half-heartedly in between sword swings.

They had always looked at you that way, hadn’t they? As if your presence gave them peace in ways no royal decree or bloodline ever could. They weren’t just princes to you. They were yours. In some small, cherished way—they had become the brothers you never had.

You sighed through a smile, delicately pushing your hair back over your shoulder, careful not to disturb the lilac bow resting perfectly near your crown.

“Enough with this sentimental talk,” you murmured, though your voice was thick with affection. “You’re going to make me cry.”

Both handmaidens giggled, nudging each other playfully.

“I’d offer my handkerchief, but it’s silk and I don’t want to ruin it,” one teased.

“Such loyalty,” you quipped, laughing along, your heart lighter now.

Your gaze floated back to the courtyard, naturally—always—seeking him.

Heeseung was still beside Hwan, nodding along to something the knight was pointing to on the map. His arms were folded behind his back, posture noble and every bit the Crown Prince. But then—almost as if the gods whispered your name into his ear—he looked up.

Right at you.

The seriousness faded instantly. His brows softened. His lips curved into a grin brighter than any sunbeam could ever hope to rival.

You giggled quietly, your hand raising in a gentle wave toward him. Heeseung returned the gesture with no hesitation, his smile only growing wider as he waved back, completely unbothered by Hwan’s sharp sigh beside him.

Below, the courtyard erupted.

“OI—LOOK AT THAT! THE PRINCE IS SMILING!”

“You sure that’s our Crown Prince?!”

More teasing hollers rang out as knights and princes alike noticed the sudden softness in their usually stoic eldest. And then—

“Noona! Hi!” Jungwon shouted from where he was pinned by Riki, waving his arm wildly while the younger prince sat on his back like a triumphant puppy.

You covered your mouth, trying—and failing—to hold in the laughter that spilled from your chest.

Then Jongseong’s voice echoed from below, loud and teasing. “Come down here! It’s hot up there, you know!”

He wasn’t wrong. In the few minutes you'd lingered at the stone balcony, the once-soft breeze had given way to a harsher warmth. The sun bore down with more intent now, and you found yourself squinting slightly under its golden glare.

You nodded in agreement and stepped away from the railing, your handmaidens trailing just behind, still giggling about the interaction like it had been the most charming thing they’d seen all day. You couldn’t blame them—it really was.

As you descended the winding steps and approached the edge of the courtyard, the sight that greeted you was one of casual chaos—Jungwon brushing dust from his tunic.

Riki now tugging at Sunghoon’s sleeve as the elder prince tried to ignore him with utmost patience while seated on one of the carved stone benches. Knights moved in rhythm nearby, sparring or catching their breath, the clang of steel and soft thuds of boots filling the air.

Your handmaidens, ever the schemers, gave you one last nudge forward.

“Go on,” one whispered with a grin.

“Oh, don’t give us that look, Your Highness,” the other added when you turned to glare, all faux-offended elegance. “You’re the one engaged to him.”

Before you could retort, they laughed and slipped away—heading straight toward a few young knights polishing their swords under a shaded tree, whispering and giggling like it was a market square and not royal training grounds.

You sighed with fond exasperation, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

But your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a familiar warmth at your back.

A hand gently found your lower spine, fingers curling just slightly—a touch meant only for you. You looked up to see Heeseung already beside you, as if drawn by instinct.

“Princess,” he murmured softly, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. His voice was low, threaded with affection and familiarity.

You smiled at him, heart fluttering despite how often he did that—how natural it had become. “Your brothers are creating chaos.”

Heeseung chuckled, eyes lifting briefly toward the mess of limbs and swords still clashing nearby. “If they come back with their tunics torn again, I’m blaming Jongseong.”

“I heard that!” Jongseong called from somewhere near the fencing rack, earning another soft laugh from you.

The two of you began walking toward the area Heeseung had been previously, where a large table had been set under a temporary canopy.

Scrolls and maps lay sprawled across it, Hwan stood nearby, his posture straight and composed as always, though his expression warmed when he saw you.

“Princess (Y/N),” Hwan greeted with a small nod, voice crisp.

“Sir Hwan,” you replied, offering a gentle smile as your eyes flicked toward the detailed flood plan spread out before you.

Ink lined the parchment in precise, looping script—notes and arrows detailing various parts of the castle, side entrances, garden paths, and service tunnels. Red wax marked certain points, perhaps the ones in need of reinforcement.

The upcoming banquet was to host royals from three nearby kingdoms—it was no surprise security had become the highest concern.

Heeseung stepped beside you again, eyes flicking toward the plan. “We’re adjusting the placements for the northern watchmen,” he explained. “The last storm weakened the stone wall near the greenhouse.”

“I see…” you murmured, leaning in just a bit. “Does that mean the western rose arch will be blocked off?”

Heeseung blinked, a touch surprised. “Yes—how did you know that?”

You smiled faintly. “I remember which part of the garden floods first. We used to race through there, remember? When we were younger?”

Heeseung chuckled. “You always cheated. You’d pretend your skirt got caught, and I’d turn around to help—then you’d sprint past me.”

You tried not to laugh, but failed. “I never cheated.”

Hwan cleared his throat politely, trying not to smile too much. “Well, if we’re done reliving the princess’s war crimes…”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and fond as he pressed another kiss to the top of your head—like habit. His hand curled more firmly around your waist as he turned back toward the map, eyes scanning the ink-streaked parchment with renewed focus.

“Minjun,” he called, gesturing to one of the younger knights standing nearby, armor gleaming faintly under the sun.

“Take the final plan to the western and southern wings. Make sure Sir Jiwon and Sir Minho review them thoroughly. And pass it along to the patrols stationed at the back gardens.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” the young knight responded quickly, already moving with purpose.

“And Sir Hwan—” Heeseung added, catching his knight just as he began to turn away, “hold a meeting with the guards tomorrow morning. I want every possible weak point reinforced and every post briefed, understood?”

“Understood, Your Highness.” Hwan bowed at the waist, casting you a brief respectful smile before walking off. His exit left a small bubble of quiet around you and Heeseung amidst the occasional clatter of sparring swords and the buzz of wind.

With the absence of his ever-stoic personal knight, Heeseung turned fully to you.

A grin tugged at his lips, soft and lazy, like he had no interest in returning to the royal rhythm of duty just yet. He looked down at you, eyes twinkling, and then without warning, both hands found your hips—gentle but confident.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard. “Heeseung,” you hissed, eyes flickering to the side where a few knights—not so subtly—pretended to focus on tying bootlaces or checking their gear. “Are you serious? In front of all these young men?”

Heeseung only laughed, head tipping back slightly. The sound was musical and boyish and so unlike the Crown Prince everyone else bowed to.

“They’ve seen worse,” he teased, leaning in a little, nose brushing yours before pulling away just slightly. “Besides, I’m only reminding them what love looks like.”

You gawked at him, flustered and trying not to smile.

Heeseung's grin softened then, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against your hip. “Do you have plans this afternoon, my heart?” he asked, voice low and full of intention. “Because if not, I was going to steal you away.”

You laughed under your breath, warmth bubbling in your chest. “I do, actually. Tea time.”

Heeseung pouted dramatically. “Again?”

“Yes, but this time your mother invited me,” you said with a knowing look. “And apparently, your brother Sunoo begged her to include him. Said he was going insane from training every day, and sparring with Sunghoon is ‘slowly ruining his will to live.’ His words. Not mine.”

That made Heeseung snort. “Poor Sunoo. I warned him—Sunghoon takes no prisoners, not even in practice.”

“He said your brother has no mercy,” you confirmed with a giggle, “and refuses to hold back just because he’s younger.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, mock-exasperated. “Sunghoon doesn’t even hold back on me.”

You shrugged playfully, “Well, he has your mother’s approval for being ‘disciplined.’”

Heeseung groaned. “Please don’t tell me she said that again.”

“She did,” you replied, smiling wide. “Right after she compared you to a ‘cloud of mischief.’”

Heeseung dragged a hand down his face, clearly wounded. “I’m her firstborn. How is this fair?”

You only leaned in to whisper, “You’re my favorite prince. That’s all that matters.”

Heeseung looked at you like you hung the stars just to light his way.

But a smirk crept up on his face, the type of playful mischief you knew all too well. He leaned in closer, voice low and teasing against your ear, “So you’re saying… you have other favorites?”

You gasped dramatically, eyes widening with faux betrayal. “What? I would never—” you paused for effect, then added with a grin, “But if I did… Jungwon’s a very close second.”

Heeseung clicked his tongue, pretending to pull away. “Unbelievable. Betrayed in daylight. By my own betrothed.”

You laughed, unable to hide your grin as you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re still number one.”

“I better be,” he murmured, before cupping your cheek gently and stealing a real kiss this time—soft, warm, and full of all the affection he never seemed to run out of. You smiled into it, fingertips brushing the hem of his sleeve as you stayed there for a breath too long.

“I’m honored, noona!”

You both startled at the voice, pulling away just in time to see Jungwon grinning wide, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolled over with a puffed-out chest. He practically radiated smugness.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he added innocently, though his mischievous eyes said otherwise.

You giggled, arms opening instinctively. “Come here, you.”

The second youngest prince leaned in, wrapping you in a brief but warm hug. You ruffled his hair with a sisterly laugh just as Heeseung groaned beside you.

“Oh no. Now we’re hugging him too?”

Before Jungwon could respond, Heeseung reached over and roughly tousled the younger boy’s hair, effectively ruining the neat style Jungwon’s handmaid had worked on earlier that morning.

“Hyung!” Jungwon yelped, swatting at his older brother’s hand with a glare. “Do you mind?!”

Heeseung shrugged with a proud grin, not sorry in the slightest. “Affection builds character.”

“It builds trauma,” Jungwon muttered under his breath, brushing his dark bangs back into place with a scowl.

Still, he didn’t move away right away. He just sighed, casting a sideways look at his brother before straightening his shoulders like he had something important to say. “Come on, hyung. I’m not eleven anymore.”

That made you smile fondly.

“I know,” Heeseung said quietly, voice laced with something softer, something older. “But you’ll always be my annoying little brother.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes, cheeks flushing the tiniest bit before he turned on his heel with a dramatic huff. “Whatever. Just don’t embarrass me again in front of the knights!”

Heeseung smirked as he watched the younger boy storm off.

“No promises,” he said, just loud enough for Jungwon to hear.

“I heard that!”

You and Heeseung laughed, watching the youngest stalk toward the training field like a prince on a mission.

Still smiling, Heeseung turned to you again. “So… Jungwon, huh?”

You looped your arm through his. “He’s charming.”

Heeseung made a dramatic face as he led you away from the courtyard, your steps falling into rhythm with his as you both began walking through one of the many open-air corridors that stretched between the training grounds and the main castle. Sunlight filtered through the tall arches, casting golden lines across the stone floors.

“Charming,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “Unbelievable.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm lightly. “Come on, don’t pout. Doesn’t he like some princess from the neighboring kingdom or something?”

“My love,” he said with a faux-wounded pout, placing a hand over his chest. “You are from the neighboring kingdom.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “The other one, Hee. You know what I mean.”

He chuckled, his shoulder bumping yours as he nodded at a few knights that passed by and bowed to their Crown Prince. “I’m only teasing, my love. You wound me with your accusations.”

“Oh please,” you drawled, pretending to flip your hair. “You’d survive a thousand of my wounds and still crawl back with a bouquet of stolen garden roses.”

“I don’t steal them,” he said defensively, eyes wide. “I borrow them.”

You snorted. “They're still dying in a vase somewhere, my thief.”

“Ah, but they die for love,” he whispered dramatically, and you both burst into quiet laughter, the sound echoing softly against the archways.

As you entered the main castle, the air shifted cooler against your skin. The familiar stretch of marble under your shoes and the pristine white-and-gold corridors felt like coming home.

You leaned into Heeseung naturally, no longer needing to keep up appearances of royalty. Here, you were just his. And he was just yours.

“Did you know,” Heeseung started, voice low and casual, “that one of the kitchen boys swears he saw a raccoon sneak into the pantry last night?”

You blinked. “What?”

“He says it ran off with a wedge of brie. I’m inclined to believe him.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “If it’s the same raccoon that stole my slippers last month, I’m filing a formal complaint.”

Heeseung smirked. “We’ll draft a letter. ‘To His Royal Sneakiness, Lord Raccoon.’”

“‘Please return the slippers. And the cheese.’”

You both snorted again, shoulders brushing, hands nearly touching but not quite. Not until Heeseung gently reached over and linked your pinky with his.

As you approached the end of the hallway, two stationed knights nodded respectfully at Heeseung, who gave a short nod back, the air between you momentarily still.

Then, with a small tug, he guided you down a quieter wing of the castle and opened a pair of familiar ivory doors—the ones adorned with subtle silver embroidery, vines carved into the wood. Your shared bedroom.

It wasn’t common for betrotheds to share a room before marriage. But then again, nothing about you and Heeseung had ever been traditional.

You’d known each other since you were in diapers, practically raised beside him during summer visits and royal meetings. Your parents were longtime allies, your mothers best friends, and your fathers forever trying to outmatch each other in chess.

So when Heeseung looked his parents in the eye and asked, “Why wait?”—with that charming, persuasive voice and soft gaze—they had merely exchanged a look and nodded. And you had moved into the Crown Prince’s wing a week later.

Heeseung stepped aside to let you in first, hand brushing your lower back gently.

“I still can’t believe this room is technically mine too,” you murmured, looking at the familiar blend of warm candles, velvet throws, and the little reading nook by the window he’d helped you decorate himself.

“You say that every time,” he smiled, closing the door behind you.

“And I mean it every time.”

You moved to sit at the edge of the bed as Heeseung discarded his royal sash and coat onto the nearby chaise. He walked over, cupped your cheeks, and leaned down until his forehead pressed against yours.

“My love,” he said softly. “This room was mine. But it’s only ever felt like home when you were in it.”

“And, you’ve been sleeping in the same bed with me since we were fifteen. Why do you always act like you’ve kissed me for the first time?” he murmured, eyes gleaming.

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “You arrogant—”

Without hesitation, your fingers found his cheek and you pinched—hard.

He hissed. “Ow—! Okay, okay, that’s uncalled for!”

“Shut up, Lee Heeseung,” you grumbled, though the amused twitch in your lips betrayed you.

He laughed, low and full, his hands finding your cheeks once more—but this time, there was no trace of playfulness in the way he tilted your chin upward, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Come here, then,” he whispered.

And then he kissed you.

A proper one.

His mouth moved against yours with practiced ease, tilting just enough to deepen the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to keep you exactly where he wanted you. You sighed into him, hands curling around his forearms as the warmth between you bloomed fast—like fire catching silk.

He pulled back barely an inch, just enough to catch his breath and your dazed expression. Then, without a single word, he sank onto the bed, tugging you by the waist and pulling you to straddle his lap.

You gasped, landing atop him with a jolt as your palms pressed against his chest.

“Heeseung!” you hissed. “You little—”

He cut you off, arms curling around your waist and dragging you in closer—flush now, no space between your chest and his, your skirts spilling around both of your legs. His lips brushed your ear.

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll make sure you say my name louder next time,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched.

“Heeseung,” you warned, voice trembling from the heat he lit in your stomach.

“Yes, my love?” he said, all mock innocence—his hands not-so-innocently sliding over your waist, fingers curling around the fabric at the dip of your back.

“I have tea with our mothers and Sunoo,” you reminded, heart racing, mind spinning.

He clicked his tongue. “They’ll understand. They adore you. Especially Sunoo—he probably planned this delay.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, resting your forehead on his. “We can’t keep doing this in broad daylight.”

“Then let’s get married already,” he replied instantly, eyes gleaming as his grip on your hips tightened just slightly, anchoring you to him. “That way, I can kiss my wife whenever I damn please.”

You leaned in again, eyes twinkling, catching his lips in a playful kiss that had him chasing after more.

As you pulled back just enough to breathe the words into his mouth, you smiled, “We are at the end of the month, patience, my prince.”

But Heeseung only growled lowly, a sound vibrating in his chest, deep and utterly possessive.

“Not when you sit on me like this,” he muttered—voice thick, the restraint cracking.

He didn’t wait for your teasing reply.

He surged forward, claiming your lips in a kiss that had nothing soft about it this time. It was all heat and desperation—his mouth molding to yours, tongue brushing boldly against the seam of your lips until you gasped and gave in.

You couldn’t stop the small sound that escaped your throat, your fingers digging into the lapels of his shirt, clutching him like he was the only solid thing keeping you grounded.

Your breaths grew louder, shorter—shared between kisses that turned more and more feverish. Heeseung only paused to stare at you, chest rising and falling. His eyes, which held stars just seconds ago, were now blazing with something darker, needier.

And still—still so full of love.

He didn’t say anything as his hands moved behind you, already knowing what to do—his fingers skillfully unlacing the back of your corset. It wasn’t the first time. It was second nature to him by now, and the realization sent a rush of heat all over you. While you would usually fumble with the ties for minutes at a time, he did it in less than ten seconds, eyes never leaving yours.

“Show-off,” you muttered breathlessly, cheeks warm.

“You wouldn’t need help if you didn’t keep choosing the ones with so many damn laces,” he shot back with a smirk, but it faded as quickly as it appeared—his gaze trailing down.

Your hands went to the buttons of his vest with haste, lips brushing against the edge of his jaw as you worked them open. He let you, watching with a hunger that made your fingers tremble slightly.

Once the last button gave, you pushed the garment off, and Heeseung flung it somewhere across the room with zero care.

“Too slow,” he murmured.

You barely got a breath in before he was tugging at your sleeves, your dress slipping down your shoulders in one smooth motion. The soft fabric hung loosely on your arms, exposing the delicate skin of your collarbones, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath it.

“You’re killing me,” he said quietly, forehead leaning against yours again. “Do you know what you do to me?”

You couldn’t answer. Not when he was looking at you like this.

Not when his mouth kissed every bit of skin the dress dared reveal. From your shoulder to the hollow of your throat. Slow. Devout. Like worship.

“I want you,” he whispered into your skin. “Not just now. Not just like this. I want every part of you, every night, every morning. In this room. In that temple. Before the gods and after them.”

You shivered, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt. “You already have me, Heeseung. You always have.”

A guttural sound tore from his throat as his hand gripped the laces of your dress. “Say it again,” he breathed, lips brushing against your collarbone.

“You have me,” you whispered, heart pounding. “Every piece. Every breath.”

With one swift motion, he loosened the bodice, the fabric sliding off your shoulders and pooling at your waist. He drew back slightly, chest rising and falling, eyes devouring the bare skin now revealed to him. His gaze was starved—like he’d waited centuries to touch you like this.

“Mine,” he groaned, hands trembling slightly as they moved over your ribs, your waist, the dip between your hipbones. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

His mouth followed the path of his hands—slow, deliberate. He kissed down your neck, nipping at the skin just below your jaw until a breathy moan escaped you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice strained as he left a trail of marks, warm and tinged with devotion. “The gods have nothing on you.”

When his lips reached the softest part of your chest, his hands gripped your hips tightly—almost possessively—pressing his forehead against your sternum for a second like he was trying to calm himself.

Then he looked up at you, pupils blown. “I’ll worship you like this,” he said, voice rough, “until the stars burn out.”

You didn’t get the chance to answer.

He grabbed your thighs, flipped you effortlessly onto your back, and pressed you into the mattress. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled the rest of your dress off with a low growl, letting it drop to the floor. His body hovered above yours now, heat radiating between you as your bare skin met his.

“You make me lose control,” he said, almost like a confession. “And I don’t want it back.”

His mouth was everywhere—claiming your neck, your shoulders, the curve of your stomach. His name slipped past your lips again and again, soft and helpless, like a prayer and a curse all at once.

He kissed you then—deep, head-spinning, like he wanted to taste your soul. “Let me have you,” he murmured between kisses. “Let me love you the way I was always meant to.”

And when he finally lowered himself between your legs, hands splayed across your hips, tongue tracing fire across your skin, he whispered, “I’ll leave no part untouched.”

His lips grazed the inside of your thigh, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing you inch by inch. His thumbs dragged upward, parting you gently, and when he looked up—eyes dark, hungry, reverent—you nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Stay just like this,” he murmured, voice low, almost trembling. “Let me taste what’s mine.”

And then he buried his face between your thighs.

A gasp tore from your throat as his tongue moved against your core—firm, relentless, like he had something to prove. And maybe he did.

Maybe he was proving that no one else could ever make you feel like this. That no other hands, no other mouth, no other name would ever fall from your lips in this way.

Heeseung groaned against you, the sound vibrating straight through your bones. “You’re everything,” he muttered, voice muffled by your skin. “Sweet. Divine. Addicting.”

Your hips bucked, but his grip only tightened—holding you down, keeping you open. “Don’t run from it,” he said, looking up briefly, mouth glistening. “Take it. Take all of me.”

Then he dove back in—slower this time, more intentional. He licked into you like a man starving, like he wanted to carve his name into you with every flick of his tongue.

Your fingers twisted into his hair, a moan spilling out of you so raw and desperate it made him groan again—deeper this time, as if he felt it.

He sucked gently, then harder, then just right—and your body arched, breath catching as your thighs shook around his head. “That’s it,” he whispered, not letting up. “Come undone for me. I want to feel you lose yourself.”

And when you did—back arched, fingers digging into his scalp, his name a broken chant on your lips—he didn’t stop. Not even then.

Heeseung stayed there, kissing you through it, tongue softening to gentle licks, like he couldn’t bear to let go of the taste of you.

“You taste like heaven,” he said hoarsely, crawling back up your body. “And I’m never going to stop sinning.”

His mouth captured yours in a kiss so deep and possessive, it left you dizzy. His hand cradled the back of your head, the other splayed at your waist as he kissed you like he’d never let you go.

When he finally pulled away, your lips were parted, your breaths uneven, your body still aching for more.

You blinked at him, dazed. “I should—shouldn’t I… return the favor?” you managed to breathe, fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jaw. “It’s only fair.”

But Heeseung only chuckled, low and fond. He clicked his tongue as he cupped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, shaking his head. “Not now, my love,” he said, tone full of mock discipline. “Don’t you have tea with our mothers and poor, bored Sunoo?”

You stared at him, scandalized. “You—!”

Your mouth hung open in shock, lips still tingling from his kisses, body still humming with want, and Heeseung had the audacity to smile—smile—as he kissed you again. Tender, slow, and sweet. But the taste of you still lingered on his lips, and the moment it hit your tongue, your cheeks flushed deep crimson.

He pulled back with a grin, clearly satisfied with your flustered state. “There’s that look I love,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the corner of your kiss-bitten mouth.

You squeaked as he got up, completely unhurried, and bent to retrieve your dress from where it lay pooled on the carpet. He handled it with surprising care, holding it up like it was made of glass, before walking over to grab your corset next—still slightly unlaced from earlier.

He turned to you, holding both items up. “Come now, princess. I may be a selfish man, but I’m not about to be blamed for you being late to tea.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You are absolutely going to be blamed. You undressed me, Heeseung.”

He only smirked as he crossed the room again, kneeling in front of you as he gently helped you slip back into the gown. “And I’ll do it again later,” he whispered, wickedly close to your ear, “but slower.”

You hissed, slapping his shoulder lightly. “You menace.”

Heeseung laughed softly, guiding your arms through the sleeves and then slipping around to lace your corset like it was second nature—deft fingers pulling the strings tight, not too firm, but enough for you to feel properly put together again. His knuckles grazed your back as he worked, and you swore he did it just to rile you up.

“You’ve done this way too many times,” you mumbled, folding your arms as he tied the last ribbon neatly.

“Practice makes perfect,” he replied cheekily, placing a final kiss on your shoulder before straightening up.

Your reflection in the gilded mirror caught your eye—cheeks rosy, lips swollen, hair slightly mussed, but glowing in a way you couldn’t quite hide.

You groaned under your breath.

With a quick sweep, you pulled your hair over one shoulder, trying in vain to cover the fresh marks Heeseung had shamelessly left trailing along your neck and collarbone.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered as you frantically smoothed your sleeves and tried to pat down the mess of curls he’d tangled earlier.

Behind you, Heeseung strolled over, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. “Here,” he said, lifting the delicate golden circlet that had been knocked off and tossed aside somewhere between his kisses and your surrender.

He gently placed it atop your head, careful not to tug or misplace a single strand. Then, with surprising finesse, he combed his fingers through your hair and pulled a few pieces loose to frame your face just right. The strands softened your features, made your flushed cheeks look like a gentle blush rather than a royal scandal.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Forgive me for the mess, my love,” he whispered against your skin, his voice laced with playful guilt.

You puffed out your cheeks, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. “Mess? Heeseung, I look like I just survived a storm.”

You puffed out your cheeks, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. “Mess? Heeseung, I look like I just survived a storm.”

“You look like a woman in love,” he teased, clearly far too pleased with himself. “And slightly ravished, yes, but radiant nonetheless.”

You smacked his arm as he burst into soft laughter.

He reached for his coat from the chaise and slipped it on with practiced ease, but left his royal sash on the side—too formal for a simple walk across the castle, and besides, you both knew he wanted an excuse to not look too princely in front of Sunoo, who would definitely tease him about it.

He offered his hand, and you took it with a begrudging sigh. “You’re lucky I’m fond of you.”

“I’m aware,” he grinned.

With your hand in his, he opened the door and gently tugged you along the corridor, nodding at the knights stationed nearby, who respectfully bowed but absolutely did not miss the light flush on your face or the smug tilt of Heeseung’s smile.

As the two of you walked, fingers still entwined, you couldn’t help but glance sideways at him.

“Should I expect a scolding from your mother for being late?”

Heeseung hummed thoughtfully. “No. But from Sunoo? Absolutely.”

You groaned. “He’s going to smell the perfume and still say, ‘Why do you smell like sex?’”

Heeseung laughed out loud. “Because you do.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You planned this.”

He just gave your hand a little squeeze. “I can’t help it. I like when you leave with part of me on you.”

You choked back a sound—half flustered, half delighted—and smacked his chest again. “You’re awful.”

“And you’re late for tea.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as Heeseung gently tugged you down the main marble steps and out into one of the many open-air gardens nestled in the kingdom’s sprawling palace grounds.

A breeze kissed your cheeks as the scent of lilacs and chamomile floated in the air, winding between columns and trellises of soft wisteria, the sunlight hitting just right

Then the scent grew stronger—steeped lilac tea, freshly poured.

You paused with a soft inhale. “My favorite,” you murmured with a smile.

Heeseung glanced sideways at you, eyes already on your face. “Yeah, I know,” he said simply, like it was obvious—because to him, it was.

You rounded the hedge-lined path and reached the open gazebo area in the heart of the garden. Woven vines framed the white pillars and soft silks blew gently from above, casting dappled shadows on the large round table filled with silver-tiered trays of fruit tarts, scones, sweet breads, and golden jars of jam. The sound of bickering cut through the serene setting.

“No, I’m telling you! Apricot is a universal jam—like, anyone would pick it!”

“Universal doesn’t mean it’s good, Riki! Raspberry is superior, and everyone with a tongue knows that!”

You laughed under your breath at the familiar sight of Sunoo and Riki, seated on opposite ends and leaning toward each other with exaggerated scowls.

Sunoo’s sleeves were dramatically pushed up like he was ready to duel with a spoon, and Riki’s pout was so intense it could’ve curdled milk.

Your smile grew as your eyes landed on the two women seated elegantly between them—your mother, Queen of your homeland, draped in soft burgundy with jewels that shimmered beneath the garden light, and Heeseung’s mother, the Queen of this kingdom, regal in deep navy lined with gold.

They sat side by side, teacups in hand, mid-conversation and sharing a laugh—the kind that spoke of decades of friendship, diplomacy, and sisterhood.

Heeseung slowed beside you, offering a slight bow of his head.

“My queens,” you said softly as you approached, your tone still laced with respect despite the fondness behind your eyes. You followed Heeseung’s lead, dipping your head slightly.

“Oh, please,” your mother groaned playfully. “Do we still have to do this every time?”

The Queen beside her smiled knowingly. “You’re about to be our daughter-in-law, not a courtier.”

“Sit, sit,” your mother added with a wave of her hand.

You and Heeseung chuckled, and he leaned in to kiss the top of your head once more, hands resting on your arms just a moment longer before he let go.

“I’ll leave you in good company,” he said, eyes locking with yours. “Try not to let Sunoo drag you into jam debates.”

Sunoo looked up, eyes wide. “You agree with me, right?” he demanded before Heeseung could even take a step back. “You like raspberry more, right?”

Heeseung only smirked. “I like peace and quiet. Which I clearly won’t get here.”

You snorted behind your hand as Heeseung’s mother laughed, waving her son off. “Go, Heeseung, before Sunoo recruits you into his crusade.”

Heeseung chuckled and gave you a parting wink before disappearing through the garden arch.

You turned back to the table and gracefully took the seat beside your mother, smoothing down your skirts.

Sunoo immediately leaned in and whispered, “Tell me you noticed the lip marks on your neck.”

“Sunoo!” you hissed, glancing at the queens who pretended not to overhear, amused smiles tugging at their lips.

“What?” Riki snorted, sipping his tea far too smugly. “You’re the one who came back glowing like you just won a war.”

You sighed deeply, cheeks already flushing again. “I hate both of you.”

Your mother smiled behind her cup. “Oh, sweetheart… you’re in love. We were all insufferable once too.”

The night of the banquet arrived with stars high and proud in the velvet sky, but even they would dim compared to what awaited within the castle walls.

You stood before the towering gilded mirror in your shared chambers, the scent of roses and lavender oils clinging softly to the air. Your hair was being twisted and pinned into perfection by skilled fingers, each strand smoothed and coiled as your lady-in-waiting delicately fastened glittering earrings to your ears.

Another slid your necklace into place—a heavy yet elegant piece of red garnet and obsidian, catching the flickering glow of the chandelier like drops of fire and shadow.

Your gown was made of the richest velvet in black, kissed with deep red silk layers beneath, cascading like spilled wine around your legs. Embroidered gold vines twirled across the bodice and sleeves, wrapping you in something regal, something worthy of a queen.

A knock at the heavy oak doors pulled everyone’s attention.

“May I?” Heeseung’s voice called from outside, deep and silken, already warm with a smile.

You barely had time to answer before the door cracked open, and there he was—standing in all his glory.

The red and black of his coat matched yours perfectly, the fabric gleaming with intricate golden embroidery and crystal embellishments that sparkled beneath the room’s warm lights.

His broad shoulders carried the weight of a kingdom and yet, the moment his eyes found you—his world narrowed.

He stood there, still, breath caught in his chest.

“…My gods,” he whispered. “You look like you walked out of a dream.”

You gave a soft wave of your hand, a simple motion that dismissed the flurry of handmaidens and attendants. With quiet bows and knowing smiles, they exited swiftly, leaving only the two of you in your glowing, silent world.

Heeseung didn’t wait.

He crossed the room in long, purposeful strides and spun you gently in place, eyes devouring every inch of your form. Your dress flared at your movement, brushing against the polished marble like a whisper.

“You’re unreal,” he murmured, hands settling on your waist as he stopped your twirl. “You look like a flame carved into royalty.”

“And you,” you teased, trailing your fingers down the gleaming lapel of his coat. “Look like temptation in human form.”

Heeseung grinned, gaze dropping to your lips for half a second too long. “Then what happens when royalty meets temptation?”

You raised a brow, smirking as you replied, “A scandal the bards will sing about for centuries.”

Heeseung laughed, rich and deep, before tugging you closer by the waist. “Let them sing, my love. Let them sing.”

His forehead pressed gently to yours. “Tonight, everyone will see what I’ve always known.”

“That I’m yours?” you whispered.

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “That I’m yours.”

He kissed your hand before pulling your arm through his.

“Shall we go make the entire kingdom jealous?”

You grinned, your fingers tightening around his. “Lead the way, my prince.”

With that, Heeseung offered his arm like a true royal consort and guided you out of the warm, perfumed sanctuary of your shared chambers. The heavy double doors closed behind you, and the subtle echo of your steps fell against the polished stone floors.

Two royal knights—adorned in your shared kingdom’s colors of crimson and onyx—followed at a respectful distance, silent and poised.

The corridor was dimly lit by torchlight, flickering shadows casting dancing patterns across the walls. But inside your little bubble, the world felt quieter, warmer. You and Heeseung strolled side by side, caught in easy conversation that dissolved any remaining nerves.

“Do you remember last month’s banquet?” Heeseung asked with a smirk, nudging your side.

“You mean the one where you complained about the wine?” you teased, arching a brow.

He scoffed dramatically. “It wasn’t wine. It was grape juice in disguise.”

You burst into soft laughter. “You pouted about it for a full hour. Told the steward you expected something aged, not squeezed fresh that morning.”

“I’m a prince. I expect stringency in my wine,” he said in a mock-snobby voice, chin tilted upward as you giggled.

But your smile faded slightly as you reached the archway that led to the Great Hall. You could already hear it—the hum of noble chatter, bursts of light laughter, and the elegant trill of string instruments playing from the balcony above. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air.

Your posture straightened instinctively, hands smoothing down the front of your gown. Heeseung noticed.

He slowed his pace, his hand sliding gently around your waist to pull you closer. His lips dipped to your ear, his voice low and soothing.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, my love,” he whispered. “They should be scared of you.”

“You are the future Queen of both kingdoms,” he continued, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a quiet storm of pride behind his smile. “And you’ve already won their prince.”

Your cheeks warmed, but the nerves began to ease. You exhaled, squeezing his hand in silent gratitude. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Heeseung only grinned, squeezing back once before the chamberlain standing just outside the banquet doors struck his staff once against the marble.

“Presenting,” he boomed, his voice echoing through the high-arched ceilings, “Crown Prince Lee Heeseung of House Lee, and Crown Princess (L/N) (Y/N) of House (L/N).”

At once, the hall stilled. Music faltered. Conversations died mid-sentence. It was like the world hushed—like the wind itself bowed.

All eyes turned.

Every noble, every knight, every courtly guest from both your homeland and Heeseung’s, rose from their seats. Heads lowered in bows and curtsies, hands pressed over hearts in solemn reverence. But more than formality, there was awe—undeniable awe—at the sight of you two.

Your steps were fluid as you and your prince made your way toward the long banquet table seated at the front of the room. Your parents were already seated—your mother glowing in cream and emerald, your father in sleek royal navy. Heeseung’s parents sat beside them, regal and composed, eyes glinting with something between pride and fondness.

The long table had empty seats between the kings and queens—but your eyes caught the familiar shadows of six tall figures standing further back. The other six princes. They stood at the side of the hall, backs straight, hands clasped behind them, watching as the two of you passed.

When you drew near, they bowed in unison with the crowd—a sea of heads dipping low in reverence.

But only they rose slowly, eyes glinting with quiet respect.

Jungwon was the first to lift his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mouthed dramatically, “About time.”

You suppressed a laugh.

Heeseung only rolled his eyes subtly and pulled your chair out for you like the proper gentleman he always was. “Your throne, my queen,” he teased softly.

The moment you were both seated, the hall gradually stirred back to life. Conversations resumed, the orchestra picked up its melody again, and the clinking of goblets filled the golden-lit room.

You greeted your parents first—your mother reached over the table to press a kiss to your cheek, her rings cool against your skin. “You both look stunning,” she said, eyes dancing. “But don’t just sit there like old monarchs.”

“Go,” Heeseung’s mother added, smiling behind her teacup. “Socialize. Be young. Dance. Be adored.”

Your father gave a playful huff. “Yes, yes, impress your subjects.”

Heeseung let out a breathy laugh and rose from his seat, pulling your chair out once again as he offered you his hand. “Shall we obey our queens and kings?”

You took it with a grin. “What choice do we have?”

He placed a gentle hand at the small of your back as he led you from the front dais and into the growing crowd. Your gown swished elegantly around your legs as you walked, and the subtle music and chatter wrapped around you like silk.

It didn’t take long to reach the cluster of princes near the long side of the room—familiar faces all dressed in variations of dark velvet, adorned with gold, sapphire, and crimson embellishments. The other royal heirs.

“Look who decided to show up,” Jongseong teased as he raised his glass at your approach, eyes glinting. “And matching too. I should’ve expected the dramatics.”

“You’re just jealous,” Heeseung quipped, “that your partner doesn’t coordinate with you.”

“You don’t have a partner,” Jaeyun pointed out.

“Exactly my point,” Heeseung smirked.

You couldn’t help but laugh, stepping a little closer to the group when—

“Oh my gods!” A familiar voice squealed behind you.

You turned just in time to be pulled into a sudden, elegant hug, delicate perfume surrounding you as Wonyoung grinned from ear to ear.

“It is you,” she beamed. “I told Yujin it was you and she said, ‘No, that can’t be her, she’s probably still getting ready—’”

“That does sound like me,” Yujin said with a giggle as she joined, wrapping her arms around you in a warm embrace. “But seriously, look at you! This dress? That crown? Prince Heeseung’s gonna have a hard time keeping people away tonight.”

“Please, he’s already glaring at everyone who makes eye contact with her,” Wonyoung whispered playfully, tipping her head toward your prince.

You glanced back—Heeseung, very much still engaged in conversation with Sunghoon, had his arm folded as he gave the other prince a look. You couldn’t hear the words, but you definitely saw the eye roll Sunghoon gave in response.

“Still boring as ever,” Woonyoung said under her breath, giving Sunghoon a pointed look.

Heeseung caught the tail end of that and shook his head with a laugh, muttering to Sunghoon, “Don’t mind them, they’ve been like this since we were kids.”

“I do mind, actually,” Sunghoon muttered back dryly, lifting his glass. “I was having a nice quiet moment before the fanclub showed up.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Wonyoung cooed sarcastically.

You giggled as she and Yujin each hooked an arm through yours, pulling you just a little away from the boys and deeper into the social haze of the room.

“You have to tell us everything,” Yujin said, eyes wide with curiosity. “How’s your room? Did the Queen really let you redecorate the west wing? Is it true that Heeseung almost punched a steward for misplacing your earrings last week?”

“Okay, that one was not my fault—” you began.

“Defensive,” Wonyoung grinned. “That means it’s true.”

You let out a snort, eyes trailing briefly to Heeseung just a few feet away, standing tall among his brothers. He caught your gaze with that familiar amused tilt of his head, his lips twitching as if he was holding back a laugh of his own.

“I swear,” Wonyoung continued, drawing your attention back. “Sunghoon nearly pushed me into the fountain last week.”

“What?” you blinked.

“All I said was that he walks like he owns the ground he steps on,” she huffed dramatically, flipping her hair. “Which is true, by the way. And he said, ‘Perhaps you should walk on water next time so I don’t have to see your face.’ Can you believe that?”

You burst into laughter, hand covering your mouth as Yujin gasped beside you. “He did not say that.”

“Oh, he did. Ask him.” Wonyoung nodded toward Sunghoon, who—unaware he was being discussed—was now slowly sipping from his own goblet, side-eyeing the trio of you as if expecting more trouble.

You and the girls dissolved into giggles again, your shoulders bumping lightly as the night continued to swell with warmth and music. Soon enough, more familiar faces began approaching, drawn to the lively cluster you had unintentionally created.

A group of princesses from neighboring kingdoms swept in, silk gowns gliding across the marble floor, their hair braided in intricate gold-threaded patterns, each one offering hugs and kisses on the cheek in greeting.

“Princess (Y/N), it’s been too long.”

“You look divine tonight, truly.”

“We heard about your new position—Crown Princess now, huh?”

You smiled graciously, cheeks warming under the compliments as you exchanged hugs and pleasantries, your fingers brushing over glittering sleeves and layered skirts. The perfume of lilac and fresh berries mixed with the sound of laughter and violins in the air.

Then, Yujin reappeared with a golden goblet, holding it out to you with a grin.

You eyed it skeptically. “You know I have the alcohol tolerance of a dying rabbit, right?”

“It’s not wine, your highness,” she sing-songed, lifting her chin. “It’s grape juice. I promise. I even tasted it.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “Yujin, last time you said that I ended up singing to a ficus tree.”

“That ficus was deeply moved,” Wonyoung said solemnly, hand over her chest. “You had it in tears.”

You rolled your eyes but took the goblet anyway, the cool metal glinting in the light. You took a sip—sweet, chilled grape juice, just as she’d said.

“…Okay, fine,” you mumbled. “You’re forgiven.”

Yujin smiled smugly. “As I always am.”

The chatter around you buzzed softly—princesses and lords weaving in and out of conversations, the noble youth of kingdoms mingling under chandeliers and candlelight.

You glanced once more toward Heeseung, only to find he was already watching you. Elbow leaned against a polished oak table, golden goblet in hand, the lamplight tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His head tilted in quiet admiration, lips slightly curled upward like he couldn’t help himself.

You gave him a soft smile, one only he could read through the crowd, and mouthed, “I’m okay.”

His grin deepened just slightly before he dipped his head in a subtle nod, his attention returning to the conversation he was having with someone you recognized instantly—Prince Taehyun of the Southern Kingdom, poised and calm as always, expression unreadable even while sipping wine.

“Did you hear,” Yujin leaned in close to whisper behind her goblet, her voice conspiratorial, “Prince Beomgyu’s got it bad for Taehyun’s older sister?”

Your brows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Oh, deadly serious. And Taehyun doesn’t approve—” she paused, nose wrinkling, “—or disapprove. Which, honestly, makes it worse.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s too diplomatic to give a straight answer.”

Wonyoung perked up beside you, eyes wide. “Wait, wait. Isn’t she the one who wore that gold corset at the Summer Moon banquet last year?”

“The very one,” Yujin confirmed, nodding. “And Beomgyu’s been in love ever since. I’m telling you, it’s been a mess.”

You nearly choked on your sip of juice, laughing. “Oh gods—do you remember the night Beomgyu told me about it?”

Yujin blinked, then her mouth split into a knowing grin. “The drunken night in Dalanor’s banquet hall?”

You nodded, eyes sparkling at the memory. “He had one too many glasses of wine and started ranting about how Taehyun keeps throwing him into a spiral.”

Wonyoung leaned in eagerly. “What did he say?”

“He was so drunk, he grabbed Heeseung’s shoulder like he was the last sane man in the world,” you said through a giggle, “and went, ‘Your Highness, is it yes or no? Does he want me to marry her or does he want to stab me in my sleep?’”

Yujin laughed, nearly spilling her drink. “I remember Heeseung’s face! He just laughed and poured him another drink.”

You grinned. “And Beomgyu started sobbing into his goblet about how Taehyun winked at him when he mentioned the wedding idea. A wink. What does a wink even mean?”

“It means,” Wonyoung drawled dramatically, “welcome to royal romance hell.”

The three of you burst into laughter again, the sound bubbling up and mixing with the music in the air. You glanced back over toward Heeseung just in time to see him casually glance your way once more—his gaze lingering for a beat longer than it needed to, as if your laugh pulled his focus no matter where he stood.

Then he turned back to Taehyun, the two princes deep in what looked like a heated discussion about wine—or possibly the definition of flirting—while the night carried on around you.

You fidgeted with your fingers, gloved hands resting delicately over the fabric pooled at your lap. The royal carriage swayed gently with each turn, the soft creak of gilded wheels and distant sounds of celebration muffled behind velvet-lined walls.

Your white wedding gown—stitched with fine silver thread and delicate pearls—billowed across the floor like a river of moonlight. It was heavy, grand, and far too large for the carriage… but you didn’t mind.

Matching jewelry adorned your ears, neck, and wrists—heirloom pieces passed down through generations, each gemstone kissed by history and polished for this day.

Your veil shimmered like frost under the faint sunlight peeking through the curtained window, yet none of it glittered as brightly as your nerves.

Across from you, your mother and father sat side by side, their fingers loosely intertwined as they watched you with a softness that only parents could carry.

Your mother smiled first, the kind that carried decades of wisdom behind it. “Your hands always fidget when you’re nervous,” she said, gently reaching over to fix a strand of hair that had slipped from your veil.

“But you don’t need to be. You’re marrying for love—not alliance, not duty. That alone makes your union more powerful than any treaty signed before it.”

You blinked, lips parting in a slow smile. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so,” she replied, squeezing your hand. “I’ve seen the way Heeseung looks at you. Like the stars themselves would bow if you asked them to. That kind of devotion cannot be taught—it’s rare, and it’s real.”

You felt your throat tighten just a little.

Then your father let out a quiet sigh, the sound a little too heavy to hide. His eyes stayed on you, warm and just slightly glassy. “I told myself I’d be ready for this,” he said. “But nothing could prepare me to see my little girl in a wedding gown.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out half choked. “You’re going to make me cry.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it between his own. “You’ll always be my little girl. Even when you're crowned queen. Even when you have children of your own. That will never change.”

You nodded slowly, breathing through the swell in your chest. “Thank you, Father. Thank you both.”

The carriage began to slow, the golden wheels rolling over polished stone as the sound of bells rang out in the distance.

Your breath hitched. You could hear the faint murmur of voices outside, the gathered crowd, the music… and just beyond it all, the sacred temple—its white marble steps lined with petals, towering pillars wrapped in garlands of lilacs and white roses, the banner of your kingdom billowing gently in the breeze beside Heeseung’s.

A high priest awaited at the top of the stairs, hands folded in reverence. The temple doors stood open, glowing with sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. It looked like a dream carved into reality.

The door to the carriage opened with a creak.

Your father stepped out first, extending his hand to help you. You took a deep breath as your gloved fingers slid into his, and your feet touched the polished stone ground. The hem of your gown brushed the flower-strewn path as you stood tall, eyes lifting toward the temple ahead.

“Ready?” your father asked, voice low beside you.

You nodded, slowly, then turned to look back one last time at the carriage—at the road that brought you here—and finally, forward again. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Your mother let out the smallest breath of a smile, a hand delicately pressing over her heart as she watched you with glassy eyes. One of the royal knights approached her with a polite bow, then gently extended his arm.

She took it with practiced grace, allowing herself to be escorted to her place at the front row of the temple—where the sacred lights from the stained-glass windows painted the marble floors in hues of gold and violet.

You stood at the start of the long aisle, the flower-strewn carpet lined with lanterns and pale petals. The air inside the temple was reverent, heavy with the scent of lilac and rosewater, lit only by candlelight and divine sunbeams that poured through the windows like blessings themselves.

And at the end of it all—standing before the altar beneath arching stone and blooming ivy—was Heeseung.

His white ceremonial suit shimmered under the temple lights, the gold embroidery gleaming with each breath he took. Crystals lined the trim of his royal jacket, catching the light like stars. His hair was perfectly styled—yet a single strand still fell naturally over his brow—and gods, he had never looked more like a king.

Heeseung swore his breath left his lungs.

The moment your figure stepped onto the aisle, framed by light and shadow, your gown flowing like starlight behind you and veil trailing with each slow, graceful step—he couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across his lips. Not the small kind. Not the gentle kind. The full kind, the one that crinkled his eyes and made his chest ache with a thousand unsaid words.

“By the gods,” he murmured under his breath. “She’s real.”

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Could only stand there in full awe as if you were the very goddess the temple was built for.

Your gaze met his—warm, filled with every memory and every dream you’d ever shared. And as you stepped closer and closer to the altar, the sounds of hushed gasps and admiration filled the pews.

Heeseung barely heard them. He only saw you.

At the end of the aisle, your father stood tall but emotional as he gently guided you the last few steps forward. Once the music slowed, he turned toward Heeseung, looking the prince in the eye with all the weight of a father handing off the most precious thing he’d ever protected.

He took Heeseung’s hand and placed yours in it.

“Take care of her,” your father said, his voice deep but warm, soft with meaning. “She’s always been our light.”

Heeseung’s expression softened instantly. He nodded—not with stiff formality, but with reverent sincerity. “Always,” he whispered. “With all I have.”

Your father gave a small, proud smile before stepping aside, finding his seat beside your mother, who wiped the corner of her eye with her silk handkerchief.

You and Heeseung now stood before the altar together.

Fingers interlocked.

He looked down at you, and the way his thumb grazed the back of your knuckles sent a wave of calm through you.

“You look like every prayer I never thought would be answered,” he murmured so only you could hear. “And I must’ve done something right in a past life… because you're walking straight to me.”

You felt your heart rise to your throat as your eyes welled up—but you smiled, wide and unstoppable.

“Then hold me like you’ll never let me go,” you whispered back, voice trembling slightly.

“I already do,” Heeseung breathed, gaze locked on yours. “I already have.”

And somewhere behind you, the temple bells began to chime.

The ceremony was about to begin.

The gods were watching.

And the entire kingdom held its breath—for this union, for this love, for the future they believed in.

Laughter spilled from your lips like music, even as your hand tightened around Heeseung’s. The sky was dusted with sunset, the air alive with the roaring cheers of thousands—your people, your kingdom, the witnesses to a union that would be written into history books and bedtime stories alike.

“Careful,” Heeseung chuckled, eyes glinting as he helped you navigate the ornate steps of the royal carriage. “The gown’s winning the battle right now.”

You gave him a playful glare but let him hoist the heavy train of your dress just enough so you could climb inside without tripping. The velvet cushions cradled you immediately, the whole space fragrant with rose petals and wild lilac—gifts from the palace staff who had prepared it in secret.

Heeseung followed in after you, and the moment he closed the door behind him—sealing out the deafening celebration, the blinding flash of royal photographers, the weight of the world—

He turned to you.

And pulled you into him.

The kiss was firm and full of everything he hadn’t said at the altar. His hands cradled your jaw with devotion, lips pressing to yours like they were finding home.

You smiled against his mouth—because how could you not?—arms wrapping around his shoulders as your laughter was swallowed into the warmth of him.

He only pulled away when your lungs begged for air.

And even then, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, fingers trembling ever so slightly as his gaze dropped to the dazzling ring glittering on your finger.

A rare golden band, wrapped in tiny vines of diamonds. At its center—a stone so clear and so rare, it was said to have been taken from the gods’ altar themselves, gifted only to royal soulmates.

Heeseung sighed softly, brushing his lips against the gem once more, before lifting his gaze back to you.

“My wife,” he whispered, as if saying it for the first time made it real. His voice cracked with the weight of it, eyes shining like the stars overhead. “My beautiful wife.”

The word settled in your chest like a prayer answered.

You reached forward, cupping his cheek, fingers threading into the strands of his dark hair that had begun to fall from their styled place. His skin was warm under your touch, his eyes—god, his eyes—were filled with nothing but wonder.

Your voice trembled as tears began to blur your vision. “And you’re my husband,” you whispered. “My beginning. My middle. And my always.”

Heeseung’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, as if the moment was too much. Then he leaned into your touch, turning just enough to kiss your palm.

“Remind me to thank the gods for making you,” he said softly, pressing your forehead against his. “Because there is no way I deserved this. Deserved you.”

“You deserve everything,” you whispered, pulling him closer. “Everything, Heeseung.”

You let out a soft breath, letting your forehead rest gently against his chest, the rise and fall of it slow and steady beneath your cheek.

His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer, your white gown crinkling slightly between your bodies but neither of you cared.

“We’re headed to the island, right?” you murmured into the fabric of his coat, fingers curling around the lapel, the velvet soft under your touch.

Heeseung hummed, chin resting gently on the top of your head, his voice vibrating against your cheek. “Mhm. The very island I had that mansion built on… for us.”

He smiled as he spoke, almost shy about it. “Just for the two of us to spend our honeymoon in peace. No titles. No duties. Just you. Me. And the sea.”

You giggled, tilting your head up slightly to press a kiss to the tip of his chin. “I swear, I have the best husband ever. The perfect prince ever.”

That made his whole face light up. He beamed, heart full, like he was just realizing he could finally hold you like this without rules or eyes or limits. His hand slid to your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin as he whispered, “You’re perfect. Really perfect.”

You flushed, lips curling in a soft smile. “Well… I’m just glad the island isn’t that far from the mainland. At least we can come and go whenever we want.”

Heeseung snorted, pulling back just enough to give you a playful look. “You mean you can come and go as you please,” he said, eyes teasing. “Because you have a habit of storming off on me, my love.”

You gasped with a laugh, swatting lightly at his chest. “That was one time—!”

“Three,” he corrected smoothly. “Once after I forgot your birthday flower, the other when I fell asleep halfway through your poetry reading—”

You narrowed your eyes. “And the third?”

He grinned. “I don’t even remember, I think you were just being dramatic.”

You let out a mock gasp of offense, which only made Heeseung laugh harder. He pulled you back in, kissing your temple as he whispered, “I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, you know. Even if you storm off again.”

“Even in this giant dress?” you teased, gesturing to the sheer volume of fabric surrounding you.

He nodded solemnly. “Even if I have to carry you and the fifteen layers of it across the entire kingdom.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing too loudly, burying your face back into his chest as the carriage bumped gently along the road—your fingers tangled in his, your heart full, your future already unfolding before you in soft gold and island winds.

You gasped as Heeseung thrust into you again, deep and unrelenting, his rhythm messy and desperate now—etiquette forgotten, restraint burned to ash.

He moaned low into your ear, voice wrecked. “Fuck—been dreaming of this,” he whispered, lips dragging along your jaw. “Years of holding back—do you even know what you’ve done to me?”

You whimpered, arching into him as your nails raked down his back, drawing soft, broken curses from his lips. “Heeseung—”

“That’s it,” he breathed, kissing you hard, possessive. “Say my name like that again, sweetheart—please—”

“Heeseung,” you gasped, body trembling under him, overwhelmed by the sheer stretch and heat of him, of this, of everything. “You’re my husband—y-you’re really mine—”

That did something to him.

He growled low in his throat, pulled out, and you whined at the loss—but then he flipped you onto your stomach, firm and commanding, and patted your ass twice, a dark gleam in his eyes as he said, “Up, love. Let me see you.”

You obeyed on instinct, body moving to all fours, ass raised, face flushed against the pillows.

“Fuck,” he muttered behind you, dragging his hands down your spine. “Look at you… gods, you’re perfect.”

He lined himself up again, the thick head of his cock brushing against you, teasing, making you whine and twitch in anticipation.

“Beg for it,” he said, voice barely steady. “Just once. Please, baby—after everything—I need to hear it.”

“Please, Heeseung,” you whimpered, backing against him. “Please… I need you.”

He slammed back into you with a groan that echoed off the high ceilings, one hand gripping your hip, the other wrapping around your waist to pull you against him. The sound of skin meeting skin was shameless, vulgar, as he lost himself in the heat of you, panting curses into your shoulder.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he moaned, head dropping to your back. “This body—this fucking body was made for me.”

Your cries grew louder as his thrusts deepened, more erratic now—driven by years of pent-up love, desire, obsession.

When he reached forward and wrapped his fingers around your throat, pulling your back to his chest, he whispered against your ear: “Mine. My queen. My wife. I’ll spend the rest of my life ruining you like this.”

And as your walls clenched around him, body trembling from the pleasure blooming like wildfire inside you, he kissed your temple—soft, reverent, the only gentle thing in that moment—and whispered, “Give it to me, love. Let go. Let me have all of you.”

You shattered with a cry, the kind that echoed off the walls, one hand gripping the sheets as your body convulsed around him. Your release hit hard—white-hot and overwhelming—and Heeseung groaned against your skin, hips stuttering as you clenched tight around him.

“That’s it,” he rasped, pressing kisses along your shoulder, hips still lazily rocking into your overstimulated body. “Fuck—so good for me, so perfect.”

You could barely breathe, chest rising and falling as sweat clung to your skin. But Heeseung wasn’t done—not even close.

He hooked two fingers under your chin, lifting your face to meet his. Your eyes were glossy with tears, lips parted as soft whimpers spilled out of you. Heeseung’s gaze flickered between your eyes and mouth, his own expression completely undone.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, then kissed you—sloppy, desperate, like he was trying to taste the moans still lingering in your throat.

But then he pulled away—just enough to flip you back onto your back, drawing a gasp from your lips as he manhandled you closer to the edge of the bed.

“Heeseung—” you breathed, voice cracking.

He leaned down, kissed the tears slipping from the corners of your eyes with such gentleness it made your heart ache.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “I know. But I need you one more time.” Then he raised your legs, resting them over his shoulders, and thrust back in.

Your cry was broken, high and breathless, your hands flying to his arms for something to hold onto as your body arched into him.

“Still so tight,” he groaned, hips rolling into you deep and slow, like he was savoring every second. “Gods, you take me so well, even after—fuck, I’ll never get over this.”

You sobbed softly, overwhelmed by the stretch, the intensity, the sheer love in the way he moved inside you.

He leaned down, folding your legs closer to your chest, his forehead pressed against yours as he whispered, “Look at me. Let me see you fall apart again.”

And then he slammed into you—hard and sloppy, each thrust punching a moan out of your throat as he hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back instantly.

“Heeseung—ah—!” you cried, voice ragged, high, needy.

“That’s it,” he rasped, watching your face with a wild hunger in his eyes. “That’s the face I wanted to see—gods, look at you—so gone for me.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. The pleasure was blinding, white-hot and all-consuming as he plunged into you over and over, cock hitting so deep and so perfect, your body had no choice but to obey.

Your mouth hung open, drooling a little, moaning with every deep, brutal thrust—and Heeseung ate it up like a man possessed.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, sweat dripping from his brow as his pace grew faster, rougher. “I’ve fucked you stupid, haven’t I?”

You whimpered, tried to answer, but only a breathless moan left your lips.

He smirked darkly. “Can’t even talk. Just taking it. Letting me ruin you.”

Your body jolted with every movement of his hips, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the chamber like a prayer.

“I’m close,” he panted, voice shaking. “You’re squeezing me so tight, gods, I’m gonna—fuck—”

You could only whimper, tears sliding down your cheeks again from the overwhelming heat building inside you.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked. “I’ll fill you up,” he whispered. “Make you mine. Want you so round and full of me. Barefoot in the palace with my child inside you—fuck, baby, you’d look so perfect like that.”

A strangled moan ripped out of you, nails digging into his arms as your legs trembled around his shoulders.

“Wanna get you pregnant,” he kept going, voice turning desperate as his thrusts grew rougher. “Wanna see your belly swell. Everyone’ll know you’re mine—all mine. My wife. My queen. My everything.”

You cried out, and he kissed the tears from your cheeks again, groaning as your body tightened around him.

“Gonna give it to you,” he gasped. “Take it—take all of me—”

And then he buried himself deep one final time, spilling inside you with a long, low moan, his whole body shaking as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged, arms trembling.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “I love you—I love you—I love you.”

He kissed you again—deep, slow, as if trying to pour every bit of himself into your mouth, like he didn’t know where he ended and you began. His hands were still trembling, still greedy even now, cradling your face.

Then, slowly, gently, he eased your legs down from his shoulders, never once letting go. His hips shifted just enough so that he could wrap his arms around you, rolling onto his side and taking you with him—still buried inside you, warm and full and his.

You let out a soft gasp as your body adjusted, sensitive and raw, but comforted by his arms pulling you flush against his chest.

Heeseung let out a shaky exhale, pressing his nose into your hair. “Still with me?” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

You nodded sleepily, breath shallow, heart pounding as you pressed your palm against his bare chest—feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips.

He kissed your forehead, and then your cheek, then the corner of your lips, his voice low and thick. “I’m not pulling out,” he mumbled, half-drunk on love, half-drunk on you. “Not yet. Not ever.”

You laughed softly—weakly—body still pulsing from everything. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he muttered, pulling you impossibly closer, like he wanted to fuse your bodies together. “I meant what I said, you know. About getting you pregnant. About seeing you with my child.”

“I want all of it,” he whispered. “You in this bed, in our castle. You walking through the palace holding your stomach. You with my name, my ring, my child. I want everything.”

You could barely speak. So you just whispered, “You already have everything.”

His eyes fluttered shut at that, a soft, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

The room was quiet, save for your breathing, the soft rustle of the silk sheets tangled beneath you. You were both still trembling from the aftermath—but wrapped in him, filled by him, you felt like the world had stopped moving just for the two of you.

The royal library was bathed in the soft light of the afternoon sun, golden beams streaking through the high arched windows. The gentle rustle of pages echoed quietly, along with Jaeyun’s voice reading aloud from a worn leather-bound storybook.

“…and then the young prince lifted the veil of thorns, finding the princess fast asleep, untouched by time, heart still waiting for his,” Jaeyun read, lips curling into a fond smile as he glanced down at your belly, voice softening even more. “He kissed her, and—”

You huffed, adjusting your position with an audible grunt as you shifted your weight on the deep-cushioned couch. It was custom-made, one of Heeseung’s many attempts to appease your growing complaints about how “every chair in the palace was clearly built for pain and suffering.”

Jaeyun winced. “Uh… did I do something wrong, noona?” he asked carefully, lowering the book.

You sighed heavily and gave him a sweet smile, brushing his arm. “No, sweet boy. You’re perfect. Don’t let the thundercloud above my head scare you.”

His brows furrowed in confusion before glancing up—and that’s when he saw your husband, standing near the grand shelf of magical history books, looking like a deer caught in divine, hormonal headlights.

Heeseung blinked. “What… what’d I do?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stared. A slow, furious, finger-pointing kind of glare.

Heeseung looked behind him. Then pointed at himself. “Me?”

Jaeyun immediately started packing up the book with the speed of a trained soldier. “I’m gonna, um… give you two some privacy. Or leave the continent. Whichever’s safer.”

You gently held his wrist. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jaeyun. Don’t let the idiot standing near the bookshelf convince you otherwise.”

Heeseung’s jaw dropped. “Wait—what idiot—hey!”

That’s when you sniffled. Loudly. Tears instantly welled up in your eyes as your lip trembled, and you looked down at your round belly, hand resting protectively over it.

Jaeyun froze in horror. “Noona—wait, are you crying? Did I—?”

From across the library, Jungwon’s head snapped up, quill falling from his fingers. He was at your side in a heartbeat, eyes wide and worried.

“What happened?” Jungwon asked, voice soft but urgent, his hand gently resting on the edge of your couch as he leaned over. “Noona, what’s wrong?”

You pointed at Heeseung again, face crumpling as the tears rolled down your cheeks. “He forgot my pickles and sour cream,” you sniffled. “I woke up and it wasn’t there and I waited and waited and I was starving and craving and he just—”

“Oh.” Jungwon tried very, very hard not to laugh, biting the inside of his cheek as he nodded seriously. “Pickles and sour cream. A fatal offense.”

“I didn’t forget!” Heeseung defended, walking closer, arms flailing slightly in helplessness. “I mean—I did, but not on purpose! I had to help Jungwon with the—”

Jungwon lifted his hand, still grinning. “Forgive my brother, noona,” he said sweetly. “I think it’s partly my fault. I made him stay up last night helping me deal with some… knight stuff.”

You raised a brow, still crying, still very much hormonal. “What kind of knight stuff?”

Jungwon cleared his throat. “Uhm. A few of the southern patrol horses were unshod, and the stablemaster said the armory budget was overspent again. So we were fixing allocations and—”

“Oh, so horses are more important than your pregnant wife?” you cut in, voice trembling as you narrowed your eyes at your husband.

Heeseung panicked. “No! No, absolutely not—I would die for you. I would kill for you. I was going to go after breakfast and—”

“You said that yesterday!” you cried, covering your face.

Jaeyun stood behind Jungwon now, whispering, “We should probably leave before she gives birth out of spite.”

“Smart,” Jungwon whispered back.

Heeseung rushed to your side, dropping to his knees in front of you and placing both hands gently on your belly.

“My love, please,” he said, looking up at you with big, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you all the pickles. All the sour cream. I’ll grow a pickle tree if I have to. Just please don’t cry, it breaks my heart.”

You glared at him for one more moment before sighing, lower lip still wobbling. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Heeseung beamed. “That’s a relief. Because I love you too. And you, little one,” he said, pressing a kiss to your belly. “Don’t worry, father will bring home all your weird cravings.”

You sniffed again, wiping your face as Heeseung pulled out a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed your cheeks gently.

“…You want ice cream with chili flakes too?” he asked cautiously.

“Obviously,” you muttered. “I’m not a monster.”

Jungwon and Jaeyun had already vanished by then, likely off to send a servant to retrieve a very urgent royal order of pickles and sour cream.

You sniffled once more, dabbing your own cheek as you tapped your fingers insistently on Heeseung’s arm.

He blinked. “Huh?”

You gave him a look.

“Oh! Right—right, sorry!” he scrambled, immediately hopping to his feet in a heartbeat. One arm slipped behind your back, the other lacing through your fingers with practiced ease. “Here we go—one, two—”

You groaned as he gently helped you up from the cushioned couch, belly stretching against the fabric of your soft dress. “Ugh. This is all your fault.”

Heeseung winced. “Yes, I—I know.”

“I should have your cock chopped off for this, you little—”

“Whoa—! Okay!” Heeseung laughed nervously, heart thudding against his ribs as he tucked you closer to his side. “Easy now, love. You scare me sometimes.”

You shot him a narrowed glare. “Sometimes? You should live in fear.”

“I do!” he said immediately, guiding your steps slowly and carefully as you waddled your way toward the hallway. “Every waking second, actually. Have I mentioned how stunning you look while plotting my demise?”

You clicked your tongue, though your cheeks betrayed you with the faintest tinge of blush.

Pregnancy had turned you into an emotional tempest. One second, you were smiling sweetly and asking Heeseung if he’d sing to the baby—and the next, you were threatening bodily harm over poorly cut fruit or lukewarm tea.

He loved you more for it. Terrified? A little. But madly in love? Completely.

Heeseung tried not to laugh at the memory of last week, when one of your most beloved royal cooks almost got fired.

You had wobbled your way down to the kitchen, belly-first, eyes ablaze. He had just finished making your requested plate of crackers—and forgot the sour cream.

The way you gasped, horrified, clutching your chest like your world had ended.

“I waited all day for this,” you whispered like a betrayed ghost. “And no sour cream? Off with your hat. No—your head!”

The poor man stood there, blinking in shock as you fumed.

By the time Heeseung had rushed in—dragging Sunghoon behind him for backup—he found you mid-sob and mid-threat, the cook still trying to apologize.

Sunghoon, eyes wide, bowed quickly to the cook. “We’re so sorry—she’s, uh—pregnant. Very pregnant.”

The cook only chuckled, waving it off. “It’s alright, Your Highness. This happens all the time. It’s quite normal, really.”

“Normal?!” Sunghoon whispered in horror as you let out a wail again.

Back in the present, Heeseung looked down at you now, walking slowly through the castle hallway, his hand cradling your back while you leaned your weight into him.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You sighed. “No. I’m bloated, I’m mad at you, my ankles feel like they’re being crushed by divine punishment, and I’m sweating in places no princess should sweat.”

“…So that’s a yes?”

You smacked his chest, and he only grinned, leaning down to kiss your temple again. “I love you, you know. You’re terrifying. But I’m obsessed with you.”

“I know,” you muttered, lips twitching upward despite yourself.

As you passed a stained-glass window, you paused and turned to face him—hand still on the curve of your belly.

“…You really forgot the pickles?” you asked again, narrowing your eyes.

Heeseung’s face went pale. “I swear to the gods, I’ll name our firstborn Sour Cream if that’s what it takes to make it up to you.”

You burst into laughter so hard you had to lean against him again.

The palace gardens were in full bloom.

You walked slowly beneath the soft morning sun, the wind warm and gentle as it kissed your face. Every step felt like a task and a half at nine months pregnant, your belly stretching the limits of your once-elegant maternity dress that now clung to you like it was begging for retirement.

Still, you needed the air.

The lilacs and lavenders had just been planted—your favorite colors. A gift from Heeseung after you spent an entire evening crying because you missed the way your childhood home used to smell.

“They’re blooming beautifully,” you murmured as you waddled beside your mother and mother-in-law, who were deep in discussion about installing fountains near the kingdom gates.

“A marble structure, perhaps,” your mother-in-law offered, gesturing with her fan. “Something timeless, to match the new rose archway.”

Your own mother nodded, her hand resting gently against your back. “And maybe benches shaded by wisteria vines—good for walks like these.”

You smiled faintly, hands settled protectively over your belly. You felt huge. Round and sore and terribly emotional.

Lately, all you wanted was Heeseung. You missed his hands on your belly, his kisses at the corners of your mouth, the way he’d whisper “You’re still the most beautiful woman in the world” every time you cried over not fitting into your royal robes anymore.

Poor Heeseung had endured months of emotional whiplash—you throwing pillows at him one minute, begging for cuddles the next—but he never wavered. Always patient. Always soft.

You sighed. “That man is too good for me.”

A sharp pang shot through your lower abdomen.

Your hand shot down to your belly as your breath caught, and in the next heartbeat—warm liquid trickled down your legs, soaking the hem of your dress and dripping onto the garden soil below.

Your eyes widened.

The queens turned to you instantly. “Darling?” “What is it?!”

“I think… I think my water just broke,” you whispered.

Panic, majestic and maternal, swept through both women. Your mother’s voice shot up first. “Servants! Fetch the midwife—now!”

“The healer too!” your mother-in-law added. “And blankets! Bring towels! Quickly!”

You winced again, grabbing at your lower back as another cramp rocked through you. “I can walk! I’m fine—just… need help.”

“Absolutely not,” your mother huffed, hooking her arm under yours with impressive strength for someone in full court attire. “You’re not walking anywhere without us.”

The two queens flanked you like royal guards, one on each side, carefully helping you take slow, careful steps back toward the palace. You groaned at each movement, breath labored, hands trembling.

“Where is Heeseung?” you whined, voice wobbling.

“He’s in council with the stewards—someone will fetch him,” your mother-in-law promised, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Don’t you worry, darling. He’ll be with you before the next contraction hits.”

“I swear if he misses this—” you hissed as another pain bloomed in your spine, “—I’ll induce a second pregnancy just to make him suffer through the next one!”

Both queens laughed despite themselves.

“You’re doing wonderfully, sweetheart,” your mother whispered, kissing your temple. “Heeseung will come running the second he hears. Just hold on a little longer.”

“And scream at him when he does,” your mother-in-law added with a mischievous grin. “It’s tradition.”

You let out a strangled half-laugh, half-sob as your foot crossed the marble threshold of the castle.

“Bring hot water!” a maid cried out. “Prepare the birthing chamber!”

Servants scrambled like a military drill as the two queens continued leading you toward the royal wing.

And as another wave of pain rolled through you, sharp and sudden, you gripped both women’s hands tightly and muttered—

“…Heeseung is so dead.”

The words had barely left your mouth when a young servant, barely older than a squire, nodded frantically at your mothers’s command.

He turned on his heel and sprinted down the castle corridors, nearly slipping on polished marble as he weaved past nobles and guards. His face was pale, his steps frantic—because everyone in the kingdom knew that when it came to you, Prince Heeseung did not waste time.

Especially not today.

The council room sat in a gilded hallway of the eastern wing, its doors heavy with ornate gold carvings, muffling the sound of bored sighs and shuffling chairs from within.

Inside, the seven princes were scattered across the long oak table, listening—somewhat respectfully—as an aging duke discussed property disputes near the northern border.

Heeseung sat at the center of the table, shoulders square, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His jaw tensed as he adjusted the fit of his vest, trying to mask just how miserable he looked.

Beside him, Jongseong leaned on an elbow, eyes half-lidded in sheer exhaustion. “If he says the word acreage one more time, I’m jumping out the window.”

Sunoo, who had long given up on pretending to listen, was poking Jungwon with a quill, whispering, “Bet you a week of your rations that hyung zones out and agrees to give the entire north to some greedy lord.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes, muttering, “He already did last month.”

Across the table, Riki and Sunghoon were whispering animatedly—probably about girls or sword duels or which of them would win in a wrestling match if their lives depended on it.

Jaeyun had a book propped open on his lap, held just under the table’s edge, completely absorbed and occasionally mouthing the words under his breath.

Heeseung cleared his throat, trying to gather enough composure to politely end the duke’s hour-long monologue. “We’ll reconvene to review—”

The council room doors flew open so hard they rattled on their hinges.

All seven princes shot up, hands instinctively flying to their sides as if expecting danger. The guards posted at the entrance had barely enough time to react before the young servant stumbled into the room, panting so hard it sounded like he’d just outrun a horse.

Heeseung was already halfway to standing, eyes sharp and alert. “Speak.”

The servant didn’t even bow. “T-The princess! Princess (Y/N)—she’s gone into labor!”

The words hit Heeseung like lightning.

Everything else vanished. The air, the weight of duty, the politics, the room itself—it was all just static in the background.

“Council dismissed,” Heeseung ordered, voice hard and final.

He didn’t wait for a single reply. He threw his glasses on the table with a clatter, not even bothering to place them gently, and shrugged off his coat as he made for the door. His vest was still half-buttoned, his cravat slightly askew, but he didn’t stop to fix any of it. He just ran.

“Hyung!” Jongseong called after him, but he was gone.

Sunoo blinked. “He didn’t even breathe.”

“Why do I feel like we’re in labor too?” Riki muttered, already on his feet.

“Heeseung-hyung’s going to faint before (Y/N) does,” Sunghoon said, half amused and half terrified.

Back in the halls, Heeseung’s footsteps echoed like thunder. Servants scrambled out of the way, bowing quickly before darting aside. He passed the main stairs, two wings of the palace, and stormed through three doors before finally reaching the private chambers near your bedroom—where the royal birthing room had been prepared days in advance.

He saw the royal guards, saw the maids darting in and out with wet cloths and blankets.

And then he heard you.

A muffled cry of pain from within.

His heart nearly stopped.

Heeseung stood just outside the doors, hand on the carved gold handle, breaths ragged as he tried to steel himself—but just before he could push it open, a commanding voice echoed through the corridor.

“Prince Heeseung, you cannot go in.”

He turned, startled, eyes narrowing as he was met by the flowing robes of the Archbishop of Decelis, flanked by a few elder members of the High Council—those who hadn’t been in attendance during the earlier meeting. Their expressions were grave, respectful, but firm.

“What?” Heeseung snapped, his tone already laced with disbelief. “Why not?”

One of the older men stepped forward, hands folded neatly in front of him. “My prince, it is tradition. Men are not permitted inside the royal birthing chambers. It is an honored law of the land.”

Heeseung dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated and on the verge of unraveling. “Tradition?” he echoed, almost laughing bitterly.

“That’s my wife in there. My child. And you’re telling me I can’t be with them because of some old, dusty decree written before any of you were even born?”

The Archbishop stood firm. “It is to maintain the sanctity and protection of both mother and child. We must follow protocol.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, his heart screaming inside his chest. Behind him, hurried footsteps approached—the rest of his brothers flooding into the corridor one by one, panting and wide-eyed.

“Hyung, we came as fast as—” Jungwon began before seeing the situation unfold.

But Heeseung didn’t turn to them.

Because just then, through the thick double doors, he heard you scream again.

His spine straightened. His vision tunneled.

A young maid appeared from the side chamber, looking breathless and flushed. “Prince Heeseung!” she called, bowing quickly. “Her Highness is calling for you. She keeps asking—she’s crying, asking where you are.”

Heeseung moved for the doors again, only for the Archbishop to raise a hand, stepping into his path once more.

“Your Highness, please—”

“Do you like being the Archbishop of Decelis?” Heeseung asked sharply, voice low and dangerous.

The man froze.

The council members stiffened.

“Do you?” Heeseung repeated, eyes like wildfire.

“…Yes, my prince.”

“And you all,” Heeseung turned to the councilmen. “Do you like your titles? Your seats? Your influence?”

No one answered.

He took a slow, threatening step forward, each word like a blade. “Would you like to remain the Archbishop of Decelis? And remain members of this council?”

The hallway went deadly silent. Even the guards didn’t breathe.

Because Heeseung had never raised his voice. Never threatened anyone. Never looked like this before. But now—he was livid. A man unhinged by love, fear, and a cry from someone he couldn’t bear to be separated from.

“You forget your place,” he growled. “That’s my wife. That’s my child. And I swore before gods and men to protect her, cherish her, be by her side in every joy and every pain. And if any of you think for a second that I’ll let her scream for me alone while you stand here quoting traditions—”

His voice cracked at the edge.

“Then you’re not just wrong. You’re finished.”

The Archbishop opened his mouth—then closed it again.

“I said move.”

The men parted.

Heeseung didn’t waste another second—he slammed the doors open and marched in, not as a prince, not as a future king, but as your husband.

As a man about to become a father. As someone so in love with you that the thought of you suffering made him feel physically ill.

You were there, on the padded birthing bed, your back supported by pillows, your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat, hands gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles were white.

Your mother and mother-in-law were at your side. The midwife—an older woman with gentle hands and sharp instructions—was calmly checking your status.

You looked up, eyes glassy and tired, and—

“Heeseung,” you whimpered.

He rushed to you without a word, dropping to his knees beside the bed and grabbing your hand. His fingers trembled as they laced through yours. “I’m here. I’m here, love, I’m right here.”

“I told you you were dead,” you gasped between contractions, squeezing his hand hard enough to crush bone.

Heeseung winced. “If I survive this, I’m building you another garden. Bigger. Full of lilacs. And pickles. And sour cream. Just—keep breathing, okay?”

You cried. “This is your fault!”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, kissing your hand desperately, forehead resting against your arm. “I’m a terrible husband. I’ll never touch you again—I’ll sleep in the stables if I have to.”

“You’re damn right you will,” you hissed, then screamed through the next wave of pain.

Heeseung paled, but kissed your temple anyway. “You’re doing amazing, my love. You’re almost there.”

Behind him, one of the queens whispered, “He’s more scared than she is.”

And he was.

Because he’d faced sword fights, battles, political scandals, and enemy threats. But nothing terrified him more than the idea of you in pain.

The midwife barely glanced at him, too focused on the task. She peeked between your parted legs and gave a tight, pleased smile. “She’s fully dilated. We’re ready.” Then she dropped onto the birthing stool at the end of the bed and called over her shoulder, “You, get the clean towels. And the water, now.”

“Yes, madam!” a maid stammered as they scurried to follow.

“Alright, Your Highness,” the midwife addressed you gently now, her voice calm but firm. “When I say push, I need you to push hard, understand?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “It hurts—gods, it hurts so much—”

Heeseung was already at your side, kneeling beside you despite the thick gold embroidery of his royal vest crumpling beneath him. He took your trembling hand and pressed it to his lips, his forehead leaning against yours.

“You can do this, love,” he murmured, voice cracking. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You sobbed softly, body trembling. “I’m scared…”

“I know,” he said. “But you’re strong. So strong. You’re everything. And our baby—our little prince or princess—they’re so close. Just a little more, okay?”

Another contraction hit and the midwife barked, “Push!”

You cried out, gripping Heeseung’s hand so tightly it felt like you might break it, and he welcomed every second of it—because if he could take your pain for you, he would a thousand times over.

“That’s it!” the midwife encouraged. “Good girl, Your Highness, again!”

Heeseung wiped the tears streaking down your cheeks with his other hand, pushing the damp strands of hair off your sticky forehead, his lips kissing every inch he could reach.

“I love you,” he whispered. “You’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you.”

But after another few rounds, you fell back against the pillows, exhausted. “I can’t… I can’t anymore, Hee…”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, desperate now, tears pricking his eyes. “You’ve made it this far, you can. Just one more, darling. Please. Our baby’s waiting for you.”

You whimpered, chest rising and falling fast, but his hand didn’t leave yours, and his words—warm and trembling—wrapped around you like armor.

“One more push!” the midwife called again. “I see the head! One big push, my lady!”

You screamed as you gave everything, every last ounce of strength in your body—and then—

A sharp, high-pitched cry cut through the air.

The room stilled.

Heeseung gasped, tears immediately spilling down his cheeks as the sound hit him like an arrow through the heart.

“She’s here,” the midwife breathed with a smile. “A healthy baby girl!”

The moment your daughter was wrapped in warm linens and placed against your chest, your body quaked with sobs—relief, exhaustion, love, everything. She was tiny, pink, and perfect, crying softly as her fists curled against your skin.

“Oh, gods,” you wept, arms trembling as you cradled her. “She’s so… she’s so little…”

Heeseung was crying openly now, brushing soft, trembling kisses over your cheeks, your temple, your lips—everywhere.

“You did it,” he breathed, voice shaking as he stared at you like you hung the stars. “You did so good, love. She’s perfect. You’re both perfect.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his hand gently stroking your daughter’s soft downy head. Her cries softened, soothed by your warmth, and when her tiny hand flailed, Heeseung instinctively wrapped his finger around hers.

“She’s got your nose,” he whispered with a teary laugh.

“And your eyes,” you whispered back, voice breaking as more tears fell.

He kissed you again, lingering and reverent.

“My queen,” he murmured, voice soaked in awe, “my love, the mother of my child…”

And for the first time in forever, the kingdom outside went quiet—because in that room, on that bed, with your daughter in your arms and your husband holding you like you were made of gold.

You stood in the quiet, polished halls of the royal wing of the museum, the scent of aged books and lavender floor polish lingering in the air.

Jungwon and Sunoo had excused themselves a few minutes ago, excited to take pictures by the towering marble fountain near the entrance, leaving you to explore at your own pace, sipping on the lilac tea you bought from the museum café.

Your footsteps slowed to a stop when you turned the corner and came face to face with it.

A massive oil painting, stretching from the polished floor almost to the vaulted ceiling. Encased in a golden frame, dusted only at the corners with time. And in it, frozen in hues of soft ivory and golden light—

“Prince Lee Heeseung and Princess (L/N) (Y/N), in a timeless embrace beneath a canopy of lilacs and lavenders.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The artist had captured something so impossibly intimate it made your chest ache. Heeseung stood tall, dressed in a white military-style coat, adorned with golden embroidery that shimmered even under the museum’s soft lights. His hand gently cupped the princess’s cheek, gaze tender and unguarded, as if the entire kingdom didn’t exist when she was near.

The princess wore a flowing white gown with a lilac sash, long sleeves embroidered with delicate gold threads, mimicking vines curling around her arms. She looked up at him, her eyes almost tearful with love, one gloved hand clutching the edge of his coat as though anchoring herself to him.

But it wasn’t just the beauty of the painting that left you frozen.

It was her face.

Her face—your face.

Same eyes. Same smile. Same shape of the nose and curve of the chin. Even the way she tilted her head slightly, like she was listening to something only he could whisper.

You took a shaky breath and stepped closer, glancing at the golden standee resting just beside the red velvet rope:

“Prince Lee Heeseung and Princess (L/N) (Y/N). Captured in the royal gardens during the Spring Festival of 1782.

This portrait is one of the most beloved in the royal collection, known not just for its artistic mastery, but for the love story it represents. Theirs was not a marriage of convenience or political alliance—but one of deep, enduring love.

They were said to have loved each other until their very last breath.”

You blinked at the plaque, rereading your name etched in gold again and again, as if the letters might rearrange themselves into something more logical.

“…That’s not funny,” you whispered, barely audible.

A slow chill crawled up your spine as you looked back at the painting.

What were the odds? Your name. Your face. The same features captured in oil centuries ago. Was the tea messing with you? Were you sleep-deprived?

You turned to glance behind you, half-expecting Jungwon and Sunoo to be playing some elaborate prank, but the corridor was empty.

You let out a small exhale and turned back to the painting.

But you weren’t alone anymore.

There was someone standing beside you.

A tall figure, dressed in a sleek black blazer and slacks, his silhouette sharp against the soft golden lighting of the gallery. His hands were tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed, but his gaze… his gaze was fixed right where yours had been moments before—on the painting. Unmoving. Focused. Like it meant something.

Your eyes flicked down to the silver pin on the left lapel of his blazer: the Decelis University insignia. A student, then.

You shrugged to yourself, figuring he was probably here on the same field trip. You took another sip of your lilac tea, the floral taste now bittersweet on your tongue as your heart settled in your chest again.

“It’s uncanny,” he murmured beside you.

You blinked and tilted your head slightly. “Are you talking to me?”

His lips curved, not quite into a full smile—but into something quieter, gentler. And his voice—God, his voice was warm. Deep, but velvety.

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t really see anyone else here besides you.”

You let out a soft laugh, caught off guard. “Wow. Is that your line, or do you just flirt in front of 18th-century paintings?”

“Only with people who look like they’ve just seen a ghost,” he teased.

You turned to him, finally taking in his features properly. And your breath caught in your throat.

His hair was dyed a soft lilac—the exact same shade as the flowers in the painting. It caught the sunlight pouring in from the museum’s high glass windows, casting a faint halo around his head. But it wasn’t just the hair. It was the eyes. The way he looked at you—not like a stranger—but like someone remembering.

“What did you mean by uncanny?” you asked softly, your grip tightening around your tea cup.

He glanced at the painting again, then back at you.

“Well,” he began, “for starters… she looks exactly like you.”

You swallowed. “Yeah,” you said, voice smaller than you meant. “I noticed that.”

The stranger beside you let out a soft laugh—not the polite kind, but the real one. Full-bodied and warm, the kind that came from the chest, from somewhere deeper. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, something boyish blooming across his face as he fully turned to face you now.

He was breathtaking up close.

Lilac hair tousled like the wind had played with it on the walk here, his blazer crisp and worn with ease, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone—but still somehow did.

There was something timeless about him. Like his face didn’t belong to any specific era. Like it had been painted in oil and carved into memory long before today.

He glanced back at the painting again and tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Well,” he teased, “the real one looks way better.”

Your breath hitched.

Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could stop it. “Oh my gods,” you muttered under your breath, fighting a smile as you stared at the floor, willing it to open and swallow you whole.

He chuckled, clearly pleased with your reaction.

You sighed, defeated, and risked another look at him.

The way he stood there, relaxed but attentive. The way he smiled like he already knew you—like he was waiting for you to remember too. The way his eyes searched yours with a kind of gentleness, like he didn’t want to scare you off, but couldn’t help getting drawn in.

You finally found your voice again, soft but steady.

“Well,” you said, looking right at him this time, “you look exactly like him, so…”

Your hand lifted slightly, finger pointing toward the prince in the painting, but he didn’t follow it. His eyes were on you. Only you.

He took a step closer.

Not too much—but just enough that you could smell his cologne, something clean and woodsy, like cedar trees after the rain.

“You think so?” he asked, voice quiet, as if the question itself held centuries of weight.

You nodded.

And you gave him the smallest smile. The kind of smile you only give someone you feel like you’ve known your whole life—someone you’ve missed before you even met.

His eyes softened.

And then he looked up at the painting once more, but not for long. “They say those two married for love, not for politics,” he murmured. “That they stayed together until their last breath.”

You blinked. “You know the story?”

“Bits and pieces,” he said. “My professor’s a nerd about royal bloodlines. Said they were the last real fairytale before the world became… complicated.”

“…That’s kind of beautiful,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking back at you. “It is.”

You stared at each other for a moment too long.

And in that silence—filled only by distant footsteps and the soft hum of the museum—you felt it.

That pull in your chest.

Like gravity—but gentler. Like you’d been waiting your whole life to stand in this exact spot, with this exact person, under the eyes of your past selves immortalized in paint and gold leaf.

You swallowed down the weight in your chest and cleared your throat, unsure how to ask the question on your tongue without sounding absolutely unhinged. But the curiosity burned hotter than your nerves.

So you looked up at him, voice hesitant but steady.

“…What’s your name?”

He turned to you, that boyish grin softening into something quieter—shyer, even. He chuckled under his breath and reached a hand toward you, the sunlight from the glass ceiling catching on the silver ring he wore.

“Lee Heeseung,” he said.

You stared.

You had to blink once, twice, to make sure you heard him right.

The same name etched into the gold plate by the painting.

The same name whispered by fate across brushstrokes and centuries.

The same name that made something in your bones stir like they remembered.

Was the universe playing a joke? A test? A cosmic prank?

Or had it been quietly arranging this moment since the day you were born?

You were certain if someone snapped a photo of this second, the stars would burn a little brighter behind the frame.

You reached for his outstretched hand, your fingers brushing against his palm. The moment your skin touched his, a jolt shot up your arm—not painful, not harsh. Just… warm. Familiar. Like home.

He didn’t let go.

And honestly? You didn’t want him to.

His fingers wrapped around yours just right, firm but careful, like he already knew you needed both comfort and gentleness.

“And you?” he asked, voice softer now. Like he was scared to breathe too hard and shatter something delicate.

You swallowed, heart loud in your ears.

“(L/N) (Y/N),” you said, breathless.

Something shifted in his eyes.

Like a sunrise cracked through storm clouds.

Heeseung smiled—slowly, knowingly. “Nice to meet you, Princess,” he murmured, still not letting go.

Your breath hitched.

The nickname shouldn’t have meant anything coming from a stranger. But from him—it felt like the world had finally remembered a story it forgot to finish.

In that fleeting space between his smile and your breathless heartbeat, you realized something:

Maybe some loves weren’t just meant to last lifetimes.

Maybe some loves were lifetimes.

Maybe you and him—Lee Heeseung, the stranger who felt like a memory—had been chasing each other through history, always finding, always losing, always waiting.

And as the sunlight spilled through the stained glass, casting lilac and gold across your skin, you smiled.

Because somehow, in a crowded museum filled with relics of the past—you had found your future.

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[tttabii]

— 李羲承 DELIVERY GIRL ; LEE HEESEUNG

pairing : idol!heeseung x deliverygirl!reader, fluff, suggestive content, reader barely knows about kpop, heeseung is whipped. word count: 3248

HEESEUNG WAS LEANING AGAINST the doorframe of the private entrance of the practice floor in HYBE, leaning slightly, hair damp and slicked back from sweat, beanie slightly askew, and that same black bracelet wrapped around his wrist. He held his phone in his hand and felt it vibrate "Delivery: Arrived."

He didn't even wait for the expected ping from the intercom. He took off jogging down the hall like a guy on a mission. Members smirked at each other as you could guess that Sunghoon was already joking, "Hyung's gonna be brokenhearted if she switches delivery services."

But Heeseung didn't care.

Because you were outside again, arms balancing a tray of drinks and food the same way you had before, hair tied back with loose strands framing your face, earbuds in, probably listening to something good.

He figured it must be Korean R&B by now—you'd mentioned it once in passing, not even knowing you gave him a reason to scroll through his own playlist that night and try to see what songs he thought you might like.

You didn't greet him like a fan. Not like the others. You didn't squeal, you didn't stutter, and it didn't even look like you recognized him. Which was sort of funny and sort of refreshing.

"Hi," he said, grinning, leaning in a little closer than necessary as you handed him his bubble tea. "You remembered the brown sugar pearls this time, right?"

You scoffed. "You make it sound like I would ever get it wrong."

He chuckled. "That's true. You never do." He took another mouthful and closed his eyes for effect. "Perfect as always."

You did your best to suppress the blush creeping up your face. You pursed your lips together tightly, and rolled your eyes at him. "Anyway, eat. You look like you haven't slept."

"I haven't," he said, the lilt of his voice dropping barely an octave. "Practice has been crazy. Comebacks and all. Seeing you makes it a little better."

That got you to blink. Just once. You assumed he was just being flirty. Some customers were like that, and you figured idols probably had a bit of that charm built-in for fan service.

Still... you didn't miss how he looked at you. Like really looked at you. Not just at your face, but the way your eyes flicked to the side whenever you spotted a lost kid near the entrance.

How your head turned whenever an elderly person struggled with their bag. You'd offered help more than once, and he'd seen it. Every time.

You waved him off courteously after he paid you, watching as you moved to help a little boy crying near the lobby. The kid's balloon had popped and he didn't know where his mom went. You crouched down and gave him your untouched chocolate bread, then started calmly asking him questions to ease him.

Heeseung just stood there watching. He hadn't even realized he was standing there with his ramen and tea, still not moving. Later that night, he said to his members at the dorm, "She doesn't even know who we are."

Jungwon rose a brow, "The delivery girl?"

Heeseung nodded and pulled off his hoodie, "Not even the slightest clue. She just said she knows BTS and Blackpink."

Jay smirked, "Then she's safe."

"Safe?" Heeseung repeated.

"Safe from, you know..." Jay waved vaguely, "the crazies."

Heeseung didn't speak, just stared at his phone wondering what it would take for you to see him as anything more than just another customer.

────୨ৎ────

It was supposed to be a day off for Heeseung.

No vocal lessons, no dance rehearsals. A hoodie and a hat pulled down low, and time alone. He haphazardly scouted the streets around HYBE with earbuds in and sunglasses perched on his nose. He blended in, basking in the air that felt like respite.

Then he saw you. You stood inches away from the entrance of a building with the brown delivery bag loosely dangling off of your arm. Soup dripping from your shirt while your hands shook, the cup sat cracked open on the pavement.

The customer—no, that girl—was laughing while surrounded by two girls, all attempting not to look like they were laughing at you. "God, you really haven't changed," one of the girls mocked. "Still slow. Still a loser. What? Couldn't get into college so now you ended up doing this?"

You didn't say anything. You were staring into your own shoes. It's always easier to be polite than to be honest. Even when it hurts.

But Heeseung? He wasn't going to stand by. His voice was low, but sharp. "You think that's funny?"

The girls turned. They froze.

"Oh my god-" one of the girls gasped."Heeseung?!" 

It was the first time you blinked up, and the embarrassment that had previously flooded your eyes was replaced with something worse, recognition. You weren't ready for him to see you like this. 

Heeseung walked over, standing in front of you like a shield. "You just poured hot soup on someone who was doing their job," he said, eyes dark with quiet anger. "That's what you call a joke?"

The girls looked at each other, stammering. "W-We didn't mean to—she's an old classmate, it was just-"

"You humiliated her." His voice was eerily calm; it cut. "That's not something fans of mine should be proud of."

They went pale.

"I don't think I want people like you supporting me, if this is how you treat people," he finished, sharp and final. You finally looked at him fully, with soaked shirt clinging to your body and eyes wide.

Your voice was quiet, "Heeseung..."   

"Let's get you out of here," he said, turning slightly to shield you again. "You shouldn't be around trash like that."

The girls tried to apologize, but he ignored them completely; he was focused on you, gently escorting you away with a hand hovering behind your back, not touching, just there. Protective. He ended up buying you some clean clothes from a nearby shop and took you to a quiet rooftop café to sit in the sunlight while your package was ruined by the delivery company.

You sat there in the borrowed sweater two sizes too big, slightly damp hair with hot tea, and mumbling, "Sorry you had to see that."

"You don't have to be sorry," Heeseung encouraged to you. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But... I looked pathetic."

He leaned closer, angling his head so he could give you a small grin. "You looked like someone who wasn't being given nearly enough respect. I'm going to show you that much."

Your heart stumbled a beat, but you didn't turn away. "...You still don't know who I am, do you?" he teased, after a long pause.

You cocked your eyebrow at him. "I mean... you're a decent person with good taste in music and a good sense of style, but your choices for food combination is horrendous."

He laughed generously. "You're lucky I like you."

"You don't even know me," you mumbled.

"I'm trying to," he said even quieter than before. "If you'll let me."

Heeseung stared up at the ceiling, trying and failing to sleep.Not after what happened.

Not after that look in your eyes, wide and glistening with tears, like he'd torn down the walls you'd spent years constructing. He sat in the dorm's music room, alone, hoodie pulled over his head, city lights seeping through the blinds.

Everyone else was asleep—his chest was a mess. He picked at the guitar strings, eyes half-lidded, barely able to speak because of how raw, how raspy he was.

The words came through without a filter, like a confession he didn't know he'd needed to verbalize:

"입술 위에 남긴 네 온도 그날 밤처럼 또 떠올라 차가운 도시 속 따뜻한 너— 넌 몰라도, 널 지키고 싶어."

(The warmth you left on my lips. Like that night, you return again. You're warmth in a cold city— You don't even know it, but I want to protect you.)

He settled back, letting the guitar rings out into the silence. But you weren't just soft. No, you weren't just soft. You were a contradiction—honey pouring out of your words but steel in your spine.

Always looking out for everyone else. Even when your own hands were shaking. He remembered how your jaw clenched when you were hurt, how you swallowed the pain. But he saw it. All of it.

And he wanted to hold you in every way that mattered—and some that didn't need words.

His next lyrics melted from lips half parted, something deeper now, more intimate:

"네 목선에 입 맞출 때,이 도시의 noise 다 멈춘 듯해,너의 상처까지 안고 싶어—네 눈물의 이유가 되고 싶어."

(When I kiss the curve of your neck.The city's noise fades into silence.I want to hold even your wounds—Want to be the reason behind your tears.)

He hit save and gave the track the title "You, 1:37AM" and then placed it in his unreleased folder, layered under the depth of password-protected files. He couldn't show the company. Not yet. This wasn't live. This was private.

Just you and him.And if someday he was able to sing it to you live—all he needed was a mic and a spotlight and your eyes—the moment he hoped for, he promised he would sing each lyric like a vow. He stroked the guitar again, letting the notes fade out with a final, raw note that he would not even bother recording:  

"넌 몰라, 얼마나 깊이 들어왔는지,그 어떤 멜로디보다 더 날 적셔—"

(You don't know how deep you've gotten into me.You drench me deeper than any melody ever has.)

The fever was lingering, but you weren't sure if it was because of the cold or the images burned into your brain. That clip—you didn't even mean to watch it so lengthy.

But his fingers? The way they just brushed against the hem of his shirt as he lifted it up with that little smirk on his lips?

You had never seen him like that. Not Heeseung who would shyly smile when you told him "don't overwork yourself," or stood at the entrance waiting for you before you could even arrive.

No, this was Heeseung in his own world. Stage lights, smoky eyes, and a crowd screaming his name. And now... your name was the one he had miss.At HYBE, the air felt just a little heavier.

"Where's delivery girl-nim?" Jay asked, taking a sip from his iced Americano like the bitter taste of her absence didn't bother him.

"She hasn't been here all week," Jungwon mumbled, looking at his phone.

"You think she quit?" Jake leaned in towards Heeseung with his eyebrows raised. "Wait, didn't you guys talk a lot? Did she switch agencies or something?"

Heeseung shook his head, maybe a little too quickly. "Dunno." He wanted to say: I don't even have her number.

What he didn't say was how he kept checking the delivery app, hoping her name would pop up. How he remembered your favorite songs now—Korean R&B, right? How he replayed the voice note you'd once accidentally left when confirming a drop-off—your soft laugh tucked at the end.

He had no idea how much he missed seeing you tell him to eat well, seeing that sweet tilt of your head when he was still wearing clothes from practice, sweaty and out of breath. He also missed how you hadn't a single question about who he was, yet still somehow saw him clearer than anybody ever had.

And back home... well, you were in deep.One reel turned into five, then fifteen. There was one part where he locked eyes with the audience, smirked then slowly licked his lips in a way that made it clear he knew the world was watching.

Your jaw dropped.

Sir?

This was not how you were supposed to feel. This is ridiculous, you're a delivery girl. But you also now had a YouTube watch history that looked like:

- "Heeseung sexy moments 😳🔥" 

- "Enhypen members being chaotic for 10 minutes" 

- "Heeseung laughing compilation (that laugh is ILLEGAL)"

And you followed Enhypen's verified account. 19 mil followers. Nineteen. Million. And this man guessed your favorite artist easily just by your vibe.

Your heart flipped. Is it... wrong that you suddenly wanted to get better just to see him again?

The chime of the bell at the front desk of the HYBE building tinkled lightly as you entered balancing two bubble teas and a bag of freshly cooked ramen.

Your hoodie was slightly too big for you, and your hat was pulled down low—your hair pulled back in a low messy bun because you were still recovering but work was calling. You thought nothing of it today.

Just a delivery. Until he stepped off of the elevator.

Heeseung. Wearing a compression shirt—black, fitted, completely unfair—and a chain that barely sat above his collarbone. He looked up from his phone and froze. His lips parted slightly.

And then, before you could muster a word, he hugged you.

Full-on, arms around your waist, body pressed against yours kind of hug. Like he'd been waiting all damn week to feel you again.

You froze for just a second, wide eyed until his hand slipped gently behind your back and chin brushed your shoulder.

"You're okay," he murmured, almost saying it to himself. "You're okay..."

Finally, you blinked, voice small. "Heeseung...? What-what happened?"

"I got worried," he replied, blunt and honest. "You just disappeared."

You looked up at him, still catching your breath, and feeling a little part bewildered and a little something more serious... something more insidious, especially as that damned compression shirt clung to every dip and contour of that fit torso.

"I was sick," you said in a small voice. He looked hurt by that.

"And you didn't tell anyone?" he asked, shrugging after a resigned sigh. "Can I get your number?"

You blinked. "What I mean is. So if you poof again, I don't have to call every freaking food delivery guy in Seoul to find you."

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. "You did that?"

He smirked, just barely. "Maybe."

At that point, you knew you were done for the instant he threw you that smile. Lashes low, voice dipping dangerously low into that too soft tone. That flirting, teasing inflection that made you weak in the knees, and you were holding hot soup!

Oh god. He was going to get you killed. Then he added with a wink, "By the way... miss the way you tell me to eat good. No one else can do it like you."

You were still staring. This guy...

────୨ৎ────

Your phone buzzed as soon as you put the delivery down at the front desk, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.

Unknown Number: i hope u didn't wear that lip ring to kill me on purpose.

Your heart raced. You stared at the message for a second, confused, then another came in—fast.

Unknown Number:  the black dress pic. yeah. i saw it. u look dangerous.i like dangerous girls..

You knew immediately who it was. Heeseung. You glanced backward through the hallway you just walked from, but he was nowhere to be found. Just the faint sound of an elevator closing in the distance. Another buzz:

heeseung 🤫: u've been hiding under those hoodies and sweatpants like u're not walking temptation itself.why'd u do that to me, huh? i was trying to be good.

You instinctively bit your lip, blood flooding to your cheeks—and lower. 

heeseung 🤫: but then i saw ur page. that lip ring. that dress. that body.do u even know what u're doing to me, baby?

You stepped out of the HYBE building, your heart pounding, barely keeping your pace steady as you slipped your phone into your pocket. And—in true Heeseung fashion—it buzzed again. You had to peek.

heeseung 🤫: wanna see more of me? bc i wanna see all of u.no more hoodies next time, yeah? unless u want me to rip it off u with my teeth.

Your knees buckled a little as you reached your scooter.

And then—heeseung 🤫: next time u bring ramen... don't be surprised if i pull u into the practice room instead and make u moan louder than the song i wrote about u.

He was not playing fair.

This wasn't idol-fan teasing anymore.

This was Heeseung, stripped down to the core, to the rough draft, and every letter, every word, was crawling down your spine, sweet and sinful like silk.

Your response was something along the lines of:

you: asjhdjahdj idk stop 🫣

Smooth. Real smooth.

But of course, Heeseung saw it for what it was—victory. He didn't need a full sentence to realize he had you just where he wanted: flustered, hooked, and thinking about him in the middle of a bright, sunny day at work.

You could almost hear his cocky little laugh before he responded on the screen.

heeseung 🤫 cute. so... u free this weekend or u gonna keep playing hard to get in that skirt i wanna see u in?

Half of you was ready to throw your phone across the street, and the other half wanted to just call in sick again. But you quickly typed back before he could write something else that made you combust on the sidewalk.

you: i gotta do my job before you get me fired or arrested. yes. i'm free.

And that was that.

Saturday night fell upon you. You stared at yourself in the mirror.

Short denim skirt? Check.

Belt cinched just right? Check. The top had enough collarbone to be a tease, but not enough to get kicked out of a restaurant.

Lip piercing glinting under the bathroom light, hair curled and soft.  

You looked like someone he would write a second song about. When you arrived, Heeseung was already waiting.

Black jeans. Fitted shirt. Leather jacket draped over his shoulder. Sunglasses even while the sun was going down. But the moment he saw you, his innocent expression dropped into something much hungrier.

His eyes consumed you from top to bottom as if it was the first time he had seen you, frame by frame. "You trying to kill me?"

That was his greeting. He didn't waste any time—his arms slid around your waist and pulled you close like he had been deprived your touch all week. You felt the warmth against your neck when he leaned in.

"You're mine tonight." He whispered low into your ear just as the guy behind the counter glanced at you—perhaps, just a second too long.

Bad idea. Heeseung straightened, hand still gripping your hip while the other lazy gestured at the guy. "Two yeah?"

His tone? Polite. But the hand gripping you tightened slightly while his thumb subtly grazed over your exposed skin. You could feel it, even in his voice was laced with possessiveness. And that was when the camera clicked. Low shutter sound. Quick flash. 

The paparazzi had captured the moment— Heeseung of ENHYPEN, one arm around the mystery girl from behind and both of them laughing, and glowing from the golden streets of Seoul.

His fans were going to go insane. But he didn't care. Because tonight, you weren't just the delivery girl anymore. You were the reason his unreleased folder is becoming full.

The girl that was making him lose sleep.

The girl he wanted to tell the entire world about—even if it was too soon. So when the night came to a close and he dropped you off, thumb brushing over your lip ring before his lips found yours slowly, you knew...

This was not going to stop at one date. Not with the way his fingers lingered on your thigh and the way his voice dipped lower with every goodbye.

[tttabii]

ME NEXT 😺

[tttabii]

— 西村 力 BACK TO ME ; NISHIMURA RIKI

“i'm outside your apartment, baby, come back to me.” pairing ꪆৎ dancer!ni-ki x student!reader, baseballcaptain!ni-ki x collegestudent!reader ; genre: fluff, angst, suggestive no smut. college au. exes to lovers, self-sabatoging, mentioned of aespa ningning, reader having a crush on sunghoon (after the breakup). riki still being loyal to you.

YOU NEVER IMAGINED that you would be the type of person who was capable of ruining their own happiness.

And yet, here you were—months later—still staring at the back of the boy who would always fall asleep in your lap in the library, watching some other girl give him the water bottle and watch him return the smile that used to feel just for you.

Ni-ki smiled back at the girl soft and polite, the same smile that once made your heart stutter. He didn't see you this time—didn't see the way you stood frozen across the campus lawn, gripping your phone too tightly, eyes glued to the hand that wasn't yours anymore.

You used to have everything. Everything that you thought seemed built for an eternity.

He was the sun in a cold college town, all light and life, gliding across the campus with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, dancers nodding to him with admiration, teammates clapping his back after a baseball win. And you? You were the quiet one. A "normal" girl, as some whispered, who somehow landed him.

They could never quite understand it. And maybe part of you didn't either. "Are you seriously going to ignore him forever?" your friend asked, biting into her sandwich as you sat across from her in the cafeteria.

You poked your soup with a spoon, steam rising up into your face, your throat still sore from being sick last week. "I'm not ignoring him," you mumbled.

She looked at you. "He came to your dorm. Twice. You didn't answer the door when he just wanted to check on you." You sunk in your bowl. "I didn't want him to see me like that." Like a disaster. Like someone who didn't know how to pull herself together. Like someone who believed girls who told her she didn't deserve it. You broke up with him first. You thought you were doing him a favor—thought walking away was saving him from your spiral. But you didn't realize how heavy the silence would be until it was too late. A few weeks passed by when your phone buzzed. Sunghoon. The guy you thought maybe could help you forget. Tall, flirty, always smiling that perfect grin you used to love. "Do you think she'd say yes?" he asked, the connection crackling a bit in the call. You hesitated, clutching the blanket around your legs. "Who?" He laughed. "Your friend. Yuri. She's the one I'm into." You blinked. "Wait... what?" "Yeah. I was gonna ask her out after midterms. You think she'd be down?" Your throat felt dry. Your chest felt empty. "Yeah. Maybe." But deep down you knew she wasn't. You remembered her talking about Nicholas. You remembered her saying Sunghoon wasn't her type. And still, you stayed quiet. Pretending. Smiling into the phone while your stomach twisted with disappointment. After you hung up, the tears came easy. They always did these days. "Dude was a jerk." Yizhuo, your best friend said honestly as you laid your head onto the table outside the coffee shop. "You don't go out on a date to hear a guy brag about his gym routine for 45 minutes." You groaned. "He asked me if I wanted to see his protein shake collection." Someone snorted from the table behind you but you didn't bother to look. "Oh god, I miss Ni-ki," you mumbled, pressing your face into your arms. Silence. Then the soft clink of a cup. A passing whisper. "I heard she liked someone but he liked her friend." You slowly lifted your head.

He was there. Only a few feet away. Ni-ki. Right beside Yumi, towel draped around his neck, tank top glued to his chest from dance practice. Yumi was handing him the water like it was the most normal thing in the world. He took it, said thank you. Politely and distantly. But still. He looked good. He always did. And you hated that it still made your chest ache. That night, you unblocked him. Followed him. Seconds later he followed you back immediately. No message. No emoji. No late night "I missed you" texts.

Just silence. 

A cautious one.

You began taking the short route to class, the one that went by the Fine Arts building. Not because you wanted to see him, but... okay, maybe you did. And sometimes you did. You would catch his eye—briefly and fleetingly. Then you would look away like you were scared and pretend your heart didn't leap every time. One time, you saw them holding hands. Ni-ki and Yumi. Her arm twined in his. Him looking down at her instead of smiling like before, just existing. But still. Touching. Together. You were standing next to Sunghoon as he yelled about how your friend never responded to his texts. You tried to listen, you really did. But your world was narrowed down that sight. You left before Sunghoon could ask you why your voice shook, and jogged to the closest bathroom, your heart exploding out of your chest, tears in the corners of your eyes. Was she everything he wanted? Were your thoughts really always right? It didn't get any better when you saw Ni-ki repost Yumi's story to his profile "baseball captain 🥹 proud of u!!" along with a picture of him in his jersey talking with his friends from afar. Your phone buzzed again. Another message from someone who wasn't him. You wanted to scream. Or throw it. Or text him everything you'd been holding back. There was really no reason to have been jealous then—not like this. You were the one who ended things. You were the one who told him that you needed space, who let your insecurities take over. You really did try to move on. Keyword: Tried. Sunghoon. That one boy who talked too much and listened too little. None of it worked. None of them made you feel the way he did. So many months later—you seeing Ni-ki with Yumi—still made your stomach turn painfully. It happened one cold afternoon. You were on your way to meet Yizhuo at the volleyball court, cutting past the baseball field when some guy called out to you. "Hey! You free tomorrow night? There's a new club opening just down the block." You turned back in confusion, "Club?" "Yeah," he grinned. "We should go. Get to know one another." You weren't the clubbing type, not like this. You opened your mouth to say something when a familiar voice chimed in from behind you. "Seriously?" Yumi. Of course. She walked past you with a scoff, glancing from the guy to you. Her eyes dropped to the jacket wrapped around your shoulders—his jacket. Ni-ki's bastard jacket. The same one he used to throw over you after practice, the one that still smelled like him when the wind caught it just right. "You're stopping this low for her?" Yumi said, looking at the guy with a smirk, then back at you. "She's not even the club type. Unless you can turn her into a club whore or something. That what you like?" The guy blinked, clearly taken aback. "What? I thought she was cute-" "Right," she laughed, already turning away. "Good luck with that." You stood there, frozen, fingers digging into the sleeves of your hoodie. Your throat was tight. Hot. Like you really might say something, but you didn't. Not with her sauntering off across the baseball field, and to the one guy witnessing the whole thing: Nishimura Riki. He saw it all. His brows were drawn together. His eyes were on the jacket. His jacket. And just like that, you turned and walked away. Again. That night, lying in bed, your phone just inches from your face, you checked his profile. He had unfollowed Yumi. His new story? Just a short clip of his teammates screaming "DAY TWO, CAPTAIN!" while he drank from a red solo cup at his apartment. You stared at the screen, heart twisting. Why had he unfollowed her? Did he know? You hadn't meant to go. You really hadn't. But here you were anyway—heart racing, the same jacket tossed over your shoulders, the sleeves covering your hands. Underneath, a tank top, grey sweatpants you knew he liked, hair tied in a low ponytail. Your most natural, most familiar self. You knocked.

The music was loud, voices spilling through the door. It swung open to reveal Heeseung, a red flush on his face and a half-empty drink in his hand.

He paused, looking you from head to toe. "Woah. You look... cute."

"Who is it?" Ni-ki asked from behind you. Heeseung turned to look. "Uh. You should come here." When Ni-ki appeared in the doorway, he froze mid-step. His hair was messy. His cheeks a little pink from the alcohol. But his eyes were immediately locked on you. Then they dropped, just for a second, to the jacket hanging loosely off your frame. His jacket. No one said anything. Awkward silence. You weren't sure who had to speak first. Until Jay, who was here for the tea, mumbled something under his breath and shoved Ni-ki forward. "Get it together, take her to your room, idiot." You were lucky to hear a few chuckles after the instructions before they all left noise behind them. Now, it was just you and Ni-ki. Out in the hallway. In silence. Ni-ki stepped aside from the doorway. "You wanna come in?" His room smelled just like him. It was warm, clean, faint signs of citrus. You perched yourself on the end of the bed as he leaned back against the desk, arms folded, trying not to look at you.   "You... unfollowed her." you finally said, quietly. He winced and gently scoffed. "Well yeah, after what she said to me." You eyes perked up. "What did she say?"   "She told me everything," he said. "I guess she thought I'd agree with her. Thought I'd be mad that you wore my jacket. She said it was pathetic, or something." You fidgeted with the hem of the jacket. "I wore it because it was cold." "I know," he said. "You don't have warm jackets. All your jackets are thin as shit." You were surprised by that—that he remembered. That he even noticed. "And what about that time I saw you... holding hands?" you asked softly. "You and Yumi." Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair. "Her ex was being weird. I was just walking her off campus. I didn't even realize we were holding hands until she grabbed mine." You nodded. Some bitterness caught in your throat. "She said a lot of things," he went on. "None of them true."   You didn't know what came over you then. Maybe it was the months of holding it in, maybe it was seeing him again like this, so close, so him. But your eyes welled up.

"I'm sorry," you said softly. "I was so—I let all those dumb voices get in my head. I never thought I was enough for you. And I ended it because I thought... maybe you'd be better off."

He began to move toward you slowly, kneeling between your legs. Your breath caught in your throat. "What are you doing?" You asked, blinking tears away.

He placed his hands gently on your thighs and rubbed soft circles—grounding you. "I'm here," he said. "Just listening."

You cried harder. You didn't mean to. "I ignored you. For so long. And you tried. God, you tried so hard. I just... I couldn't face you thinking that I ruined everything." 

"You didn't ruin anything," he replied softly. "You hurt. And you healed. But I never stopped wanting you."

"I'll be better," you whispered. "If you just... if you'd give me another chance."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead on your shoulder. His arms wrapped around your waist. Tighter. As if he'd fall apart if he let go. "You always were enough for me," he said quietly. "I just wanted you to see it too."

You melted into his touch—instinctively, softly—as he held your arms across your body and led you backward, as you surrendered to the mattress beneath you. The room was dim, and the only light came from the strings of lights that framed the ceiling, casting shadows on the walls. You could hear his breath, shaky and controlled, as he hovered above you. His palm cradled your cheek quietly and softly before he pulled you into a kiss—not a rushed kiss, but a heated kiss as if he had been holding this inside for far too long. And maybe he had. You both had. "God," he whispered against your lips, the tone of his voice a rasp. "You're driving me insane showing up like this... in my jacket." The way he said it sent chills up your spine. His fingers slid under the collar and peeled the fabric from your shoulders. He revealed your smooth skin underneath, your collarbone cooled by the chilled air. The thin straps of your tank top fell into view, and for a second, he just looked at you—eyes dark and full of something deeper than lust. His lips met your collarbone next, slowly, reverently. You let out a gasp, a soft, shaky sound, your eyes flew shut, your head tilted back, as the tension left your body and your senses took over. His touch, after so long—it felt like lighting a match in your chest. You had forgotten how badly you had wanted him. How desperately your body remembered him, regardless of what your heart had tried to forget.

But the moment shattered with a knock.

"Yo," Jake's voice called from outside the door. "We still have drinks out here in case your girl wants a dri—wait. Ni-ki... are you knocking her up in there?" You blinked. Ni-ki let out an incredulous groan, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "Jake, shut the fuck up," he muttered, voice muffled. You let out a small giggle, your cheeks burning as you tugged the jacket over your shoulder. Ni-ki rolled off you, albeit reluctantly, but kept you rucked into his side like you were a treasure when you stepped out. Jake looked like an idiot, standing there with a dumb grin, immediately noticing the flushed look on both your faces—along with the way your fingers clung to Ni-ki's sleeve. "I'm going to assume you two made up," Jake teased, raising his brows and gesturing at the coffee table full of snacks and drinks. Your stomach chose that moment to let out a not-so-subtle growl. Ni-ki chuckled under his breath, head dipping toward yours. "Hungry?" You nodded sheepishly. "A little." He handed you a slice of pizza before grabbing one for himself, and the second you bit into it, a bit of sauce caught the corner of your mouth. "You got..." Ni-ki said, reaching forward without a second thought. His thumb brushed delicately over your lower lip, wiping it away. You froze slightly—not from discomfort, but just the sheer familiarity of it. He always did things like that. Little things. Like you were his to take care of. You leaned into the touch without meaning to, letting him clean your mouth like you did before everything fell apart. His eyes softened, fingers lingering for just one second too long. Jay, sitting on the couch with a very drunk Heeseung passed out across his lap, raised a mildly unimpressed brow. "You know," he said, adjusting Heeseung's head lazily, "you're kind of stupid for breaking up with him in the first place." You glanced over, mouth still full, blinking. Jay didn't say it cruelly—it was just the truth. Blunt maybe, but not untrue. You swallowed, dried your fingers on a napkin. "Yeah," you muttered, voice low. "I know." You felt Ni-ki's fingers interlace with yours under the table. You didn't pull away.

[tttabii]

i would give him the most sloppiest, wettest, creamiest, soul taking, slimy, life changing, death dropping, heaven sent, flabbergasting, hypnotizing, heavenly, astonishing, leg trembling, hands desperately grabbing the sheets, legs stretching out again and again, toe curling, voice breaking, whimper causing, waist slowly moving up and down, small heavy breath, "I can't take it much longer" breaths getting quicker, twitching throbbing eyes shut lip biting, back arching, edging begging for relief, warm hot rush bubbling up spit upon spit tongue twisting ground tip-talking against month sideways spit from the end and lick from the bottom to the top then spit from the to and lick to the bottom deepthroating mascara dripping down my face, slower then faster faster than little faster then perfect pace twisting mouth around each side, hands in my hair brutally using my mouth, spiritually enlightening chakra balancing, mangekyo sharingan unlocking, golden light like a halo around the top, noise from the very edge of his throat for the final release head ever. And THEN l'd let him pound me so hard into the bed and use my body as though it doesn't belong to anymore that he literally throws me around and does as he please. I wouldn't argue, I wouldn't raise a word, no sir, not to daddy, absolutely not. He could ruin me, corrupt me, hit me, choke me, tie me up, bite me, I would absolutely encourage everything he does as long as I get a smidge of his attention and love. This man could make me fuck myself on his fingers and I wouldn't argue even if I ended up passing out, he could bruise me up and laugh at me and I would take it just to listen to him praise me. I would take him for 50 rounds in 60 positions cause never back down never what???? NEVER GIVE UP and I am not giving up to screw me till my mind becomes nothing but subservient to him.

[tttabii]

—박종성 with or without you ; jay

pairing ꪆৎ stalker obsessive!jay x innocent!reader. genre: suggestive, slight angst, fluff, sensitive topics like murder. jay steals reader's undergarments. word count: 4954.

YOU WERE THE TYPE OF GIRLS THAT TURNED HEADS.

Not because you were loud. Not because you were trying to be. But because everything about you demanded people look at you in the softest, dumbest way. 

Your short skirt twirled around you as you laughed with your girlfriends, your cardigan had slid off one shoulder, and your lip gloss glinting in the sun like it was made just for you. You weren't exactly dumb. You just didn't see stuff—you didn't really see it. You didn't notice the way guys looked at you like you were a walking, talking invitation. You thought they were "just being friendly."

You were that kind of dumb. 

But not to him. 

Jay saw you.  

Really saw you. 

And not just on that Saturday, but when you were walking down the street as if you had no idea the world could swallow you whole.

Your heels clicked-on-the-pavement while your friends teased each other and you giggled behind your hand, swaying slightly in that stupid little dress. 

He was already in the café, tied his apron around his waist, pretending to care about his shift. He didn't need the money. He didn't need any of it. He just wanted to have a reason to be close. Close to girls like you.  

He understood your type: naive, glitzy, perhaps a little soft on the edges. The type that thought it was alright to hand out their number "just to be nice". The type that had no idea how dangerous that kind of behavior could be.

You had barely stepped foot in the door when some dork of a dude—tall, wearing a hoodie, and slipping off of him like wax was poor intentions—was checking you out like you were dessert. Jay felt it before he even saw it. He felt that same itch at the back of his skull. And that familiar crawl that went under his skin.

You asked your friends if they wanted anything.

They said no.

So you had walked in alone.

And in that instant, Jay memorized all the angles of you. The gloss of your lips. The shade of your natural blush on your cheeks. The way your dress clung too tight in all the wrong places. You had no idea what you looked like to people like him. People who'd kill for something that pretty.

Literally.

You ordered something stupid and sweet. Of course you did.

While you waited, Hoodie Dude slithered in beside you. Jay's jaw tightened as he listened.

"Hey," he said casually, "you're pretty cute. Do you study around here?"

You looked at him with a small, polite little smile and said, "Yeah. I go to college nearby."  

He asked for your number.

You cocked your head to the side. "Oh, I'm not really—"

"Just as friends," he said quickly.

And you being you handed it over.

Jay didn't blink. Just moved to the prep counter like the passing moment was non-existent. But he heard everything.

And his hand slid toward the flask in his pocket—one of many little solutions he kept for moments like these. Moments when someone crossed a line they weren't supposed to cross.

A drop.

Not enough to kill someone instantly.

No. Jay was patient.

He liked the slow burns. The kind you couldn't trace back, and no one would ever be suspicious. Ten hours from now, Hoodie Guy would be found collapsed somewhere without an explanation and no one would know it was because of the iced mocha from earlier. The cup would be long gone.

Just like him.

"Order 118," Jay called, voice smooth.

You turned your head with a bright smile as you walked to cash and the counter. Your hands brushed against his as you grabbed your drink. Your hand and your touch were fire.

"Thanks," you said, bright and innocent.

Jay didn't answer right away.

He watched your lips part, the gloss catching the light.

He watched your lips part, the gloss catching in the light. Watched you walk out the door like you hadn't just been seconds away from danger. He smiled faintly.

"Anytime," he murmured.

His gaze didn't leave you.

Not even after the door shut.

Because you were his now.

You just didn't know it yet.

When you arrived home that night, there was a strange feeling in the air—not anything overwhelming. It was not the kind of unsettling feeling that screamed danger or even panic. Just stillness. Your phone was dry. Not a single message since you waved goodbye to your friends a couple hours before. Nothing in the group chat, no "wyd" text from that guy who normally walked you to the library, not even a meme from your roommate.

You blinked at the screen, confused for a moment. But then you shrugged. Maybe everyone was just busy. You flipped it face down and didn't think of it again.

The water was warm in the shower. You hummed a little to yourself while washing your hair, thinking about your classes tomorrow, which outfit you would wear. Maybe your ruffled mini skirt would work with the sheer tights if it wasn't too cold.

You didn't really notice when eyes watched you through the crack in your dorm's hallway blinds. You didn't feel the weight of obsession perched in the shadows outside your window.

But he was there.

Jay always was.

Lately, your campus felt tense.

More tense than usual.

The news was everywhere—a series of senseless and disconnected deaths. Just random, mostly men, mostly young. Some in apartments. Some near the park. Some just on the street. There were whispers in the corridors of lecture halls and girls were clinging closer to their guys. Lockdowns were getting talked about.

You were starting to notice it too—especially today.

Because one of those guys that usually offered to walk with you toward the library? The nice one, with the fluffy hair and shy smile?

Gone.

Not seen in days.

You only found out when his friends took you aside by the vending machine in the science building. Woo Min was scratching at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "He... he really liked you, y'know," he said, nervously. "He talked about you all the time."

You blinked. "Huh?"

His friends told you what happened. The murder. The body. That he had been walking around on the street a few hours before he was murdered—a couple blocks from your campus. You just stared, silent, lips slack.

"Oh... I had no idea he felt that way," you said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I didn't mean to—I mean, I just thought he was being nice."

"We know..." one said quietly. "It wasn't your fault."

You bit your lip.

It wasn't, right?

Probably just an accident. Bad timing. Just wrong place wrong time. But damn, the chill creeping up your spine.

You were still thinking about it when you went out again that evening... just restless enough to leave your dorm. The city usually helped you sort things out, and the café wasn't far—same one as yesterday. Same barista, who you distinctly remember had a very sharp jawline and pretty hands.

Jay.

You pulled into the café, fingers in your cardigan sleeves. The jingle of the bell over the door rang above your head. And he looked up.

No one else inside—just him behind the counter. He smiled when he saw you, one of those smiles that wasn't fake or forced, but just... soft. His eyes ran over your frame a second too long before he tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

"Back again?" he asked, leaning forward. His voice was calm; smooth like velvet. "I thought you'd be scared to go out these days."

You blinked. "I kinda am."

"Then why come here?"

You hesitated. "It's quiet. I feel... safer here."

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

And then he smiled wider. "Good."

You ordered something different this time—an iced latte, something sweet to calm your nerves. Jay started working on it without breaking eye contact, like he already knew what you were going to say.

"You seemed off today," he remarked inconspicuously. "You worried about the news?"

You nodded slowly and fiddled with the strap of your bag. "Yeah. One of the guys I knew was... well, he's one of the people who... you know."

"That you knew well?" Jay's back was toward you as he worked the machine.

"Not really," you said. "He just walked me to the library sometimes. But I didn't know he liked me. His friends told me today."

Jay said nothing.

The machine hissed.You continued rambling."I thought it was coincidence," you said, quietly. "But I don't know. It't creepy, like someone's-"

"Watching?" he interrupted as he turned back to you, drink in hand.You blinked.His eyes were bright.

You nodded slowly. "Yeah. Kind of."

Jay sat the drink on the counter. Your fingers brushed his as you reached for the drink again, then you looked to his face.

"So, what happened to that guy the other day?" he suddenly asked. "The one who hit on you here?"

"Oh. He still has me on delivered," you said with a half-shrug, and small laugh. "Guess he was just trying his luck."

Jay tilted his head. "That's a shame. He seemed like the type who could have done worse things."

You smiled nervously.

He kept his gaze on you for a beat longer than needed; then, quite suddenly, the bemused expression slipped from his face like a mist on the morning sun.

"Forget it. Just forget all of it," he said softly. "Just be careful. Okay?"

You looked up at him, surprised by how gentle, almost protective, he sounded. "Okay."

Jay watched you take a sip of your drink. His eyes were glued to your lips. You didn't see the smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth. You didn't notice how he was looking at you like he already owned you.

Because to Jay, this wasn't with or without you.

It was just with you.

Whether you wanted it or not.

        愛 ♡

Your room was supposed to be your safe place.

Your sanctuary.

But it wasn't anymore. You didn't know that while you were in class—exhausted and yawning, trying to pay attention to the lecture—someone had been inside.

Inside your room.

Rummaging through your drawers.

When you got back, your bed still looked tidy. The lights were off. Nothing broken. But there was something wrong. You felt it like a crawling itch on your skin. You didn't notice the missing pair of underwear right away.

Or the hoodie that smelled like your perfume, the one you wore last week.

Or the fact your socks were slightly out of place.

You were too tired. You dumped your bag and changed into pajamas without thinking too hard.

You made ramen—you were hungry for something hot and salty—and while the water boiled, you sat on your phone, your brain still half-dead. That's when it happened.

A note slid under your front door. You heard it. That dry, slow shuffle of paper across linoleum. You turned, blood freezing.

Someone was outside your door. You immediately threw it opened to find no one there.

The hall was empty, enveloped in eerily quiet. The girl down the hall who was usually watching Bloodhounds and squealing over Woo Do-Hwan at this hour was silence.

Just the humming of the vending machine.

You swallowed, slowly reaching for the letter. The letter was folded perfectly—like a love letter—but there was no name, no address. Just a sharp, handwritten line in smeared dark red ink. Not blood. But it looked close enough.

You opened it with shaking hands. Just one sentence.

"You're always forgetting to lock the balcony door."

Your lungs froze. You had locked it. You were sure. You always checked it twice. You spun around, ran to your bedroom—and there it was.

Unlocked.

The wind had pushed it open slightly, a creak so soft it made your stomach twist. You stared, trembling, ramen completely forgotten.

You didn't sleep. Couldn't.

The shadows felt darker tonight. The wind more menacing. Every creak had you flinching. You hardly remembered brushing your teeth or checking the corners of your room five times. You even asked someone who lived on your floor the following morning—a quiet girl from across the hall.

She blinked when you asked her if she saw anything weird last night. "Actually..." she said slowly, brushing hair behind her ear, "I think I did. I came back up around 11, and I swear I saw some guy coming out of the elevator in a rush. Hoodie, black cap. Didn't look at me."

Your heart sank.

That was around when the note came.

You nodded, thanked her, forced a smile—then immediately left.

You went to the café again. It felt like the only place that your brain wouldn't spiral. Somewhere warm, with actual light and people. Jay was there, of course, behind the counter, looking calm and relaxed, eyes on you the very second you entered.

He froze when he saw your face. You had dull eyes. Dried out lips. Your hair was slightly frizzy. Bags under your eyes, you looked haunted. He smiled meekly, "Rough day?"

You chuckled softly, "Rough night too."

He tilted his head. "What happened?"

You hesitated. You didn't know why you were telling him, but it felt easier in some form. Perhaps because he was listening. Maybe because of the way he made you feel... seen. "There's someone who... I don't know.

Someone sent me a note. It slipped under my door while I was cooking. I've been thinking someone is watching me. I've lost some clothes, the other day my balcony door was open even though I locked it because I know I did."

Jay's face transformed into grim disbelief. He leaned into the counter. "Are you serious?"

You nodded. "And... this other guy just died," you added quietly. "Someone my friend knew."

Jay whistled low under his breath. His jaw clenched slightly. "That's messed up."

You gave a weak nod, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I thought about reporting it," you said softly. "But the letter said not to."

His face went blank. "The note said that?"  

You nodded. "Don't go to the cops."

That's exactly what it said on the back of the paper. You hadn't told anybody else. Jay took a slow breath. He shook his head with a pursed frown and softened his eyes. "That's dangerous. But... if you can't go to the police..."

Jay's finger tapped the counter. "If it makes you feel better, " he said almost shyly, "you could crash at my place?"

You blinked at him, startled. Jay shrugged. "Just until your roommate gets back, you said she was with her boyfriend, right?"

You nodded again. You were feeling uncertain.

"No pressure," he said softly. "But honestly, I'd feel better, knowing you were "safe".

He gave you a smile, sweet, charming, harmless. But deep inside his head?

Oh, poor you. So naive.

He remembered the smell of your clothes, the feel of your hoodie in his fingers. The lace he took just last night. He remembered how you looked when you were asleep—peaceful and blissfully ignorant, him standing just outside your glass balcony door, watching for hours.

Of course. 

You should stay with him.

After all, it's what he's always wanted.

He mentioned he lived in the city, which was odd enough, but once you felt the smooth pavement beneath your feet in his neighborhood, you were shocked. The place was one of those areas: quiet, gated, wealthy.

Big windows. Neatly trimmed hedges. Actual wealth. You felt a little out of place dragging around your duffle bag in your flip flops with your hoodie sliding down one shoulder as the soles of your feet absorbed the dimmed warmth of the stone pathway leading to his house.

Jay was out in the yard throwing away trash when you pulled up. Once he spotted you, his face lit up with that goofy smile that eased the tension in your chest for a few seconds. He walked up to meet you halfway, effortlessly lifting your bag from your shoulder and brushing off your protests.

"You shouldn't be carrying this heavy bag by yourself," he said quietly while walking to the door with you, "not when I'm here."

His house was pristine—unnaturally so. The floors looked freshly polished, and the air smelled slightly floral and clean, similar to lilies. You weren't sure why, but it felt more like a show house than somewhere Jay lived.

Still, you were too mentally exhausted to think anything of it. You sunk into the plush couch like dead weight, arms hugging your knees, and sighed.

Jay's voice was soft. "Want to take a shower? I know you've had a long day."

You nodded. The hot water sounded like a blessing.

He pointed toward the bathroom and told you he bought a new shampoo "just for you." You paused mid-step, blinking at him. "You didn't have to..."

"I know," he said with familiarity. "But I thought you would want to feel comfortable here. Like home."

That last word lingered in your throat a bit. Like home. You weren't sure why that caused a skip in your heart, but you nodded again and walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind you. The shampoo was branded with your favorite smell. You didn't even remember telling him that.

You thought for a second if you had—in passing perhaps—and just attributed it to that. You were too mentally fatigued to ponder deeper any more. Maybe it was all coincidence. 

When you came out, hair damp and clinging to your shoulders, wearing one of his robes, he was in the kitchen humming something deep under his breath.

It wasn't anything you recognized. Something about it made you feel like it would be crossing a line to ask for a name. The humming stopped the moment you entered the room.

You gave a weak smile. "Smells good."

Jay glanced over his shoulder at you, still in the apron, and his smile came back to him easily again. "I made you gyudon. I saw you skipped meals too, right?"

You stared. "...How did you know?"

"You hardly touched your food at the café the past two days.

"I notice things.."

It should have weirded you out. But it didn't. Not fully.

Maybe because you were starting to crave someone noticing. Anyone. You were scared. People around you kept dying. You had nightmares last night. Your roommate hadn't texted back. You were shaking when you showed up. And now there was warm food and someone smiling at you like he wanted nothing more than for you to eat.

You dug in.

It was pretty good. Really good.

Jay sat across from you quietly taking you in, barely touching his plate. His eyes traced the movement of your mouth with a kind of gentle reverence that made you swallow slower, more aware. He smiled every time you brushed your fingers across the spoon, like he was trying to memorize the way you held it.

"You live here alone?" you said softly, trying to break the strange quiet.

His eyes didn't leave you.

"Yeah."

"What about your parents?"

His smile didn't change, but something in his eyes... cracked.

It was small. Barely perceptible.

"They're overseas," he said simply. "They've been gone for a long time."

You nodded.

You didn't prod further.

Because you didn't know they were buried in the back garden. That he'd killed them when he was fifteen and inherited their wealth through some falsified documents and a charming lie to the courts. That no one asked too many questions—not when his parents had always been so strict and he had such a promising future.

He stood, taking your empty bowl. "I'll clean this up. You can get ready for bed."

You thanked him again, pulling the sleeves over your hands as you stood awkwardly in the living room. You wanted to ask where you were sleeping, but before you could, Jay's voice cut in again.

"You can wear my shirt, if you want," he said, "I left one on the bed."

And you did find it, folded on the edge of the bed, a black shirt that smelled just like him. You changed and curled up under the blankets. Your eyes were heavy. His room was warm and you had a fleeting sense of peace, your body was too tired to worry about any of it anymore.

You didn't notice the door creaking open thirty minutes later.

You didn't see him, standing half asleep and barefoot over you.

You didn't feel the way his fingers hovered just above your hair, brushing without touching and his breath shallow.

You only sighed in your sleep, shifting ever so slightly.

He stood there for a while.

Watching.

He mumbled something you didn't hear—too quiet to decipher—and then he slipped something small and cold under your pillow and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. You wouldn't find the photo for another few days.

A polaroid of you.

Asleep.

From your dorm balcony.

You'll tell yourself it's just a prank when you find it.

And he'll hug you tight, assuring you are safe with him.

The nightmare was suffocating. A black figure chasing you through hallways that bled into each other, twisting, growing darker the further you ran.

The faster your feet moved, the heavier they felt—until finally something grabbed your ankle, pulling you into a void of whispering voices and shadows with human faces.

One of them smiled. It was wearing Jay's face.

You jolted awake, gasping for air as beads of sweat clung to your body and your shirt stuck to your spine. The sheets were tangled around your legs leaving you feeling restrained, as though the sheets were also wrapped around your body.

The air felt still. Too still. It felt like the house itself was holding its breath.

You sat up unsteadily, kicking the covers off, and planted your cold bare feet on the freezing ground. It shocked you for a second.

Not real, you told yourself. Just a nightmare. You stepped out of your room quietly, and the hallway was illuminated by gold sconces light. The hallway felt eerily quiet, and you walked slowly, your arms hugging yourself.

Then you slammed into a broad back and your instinct was to scream. The person spun around and you caught your breath.

"Woah," Jay said, blinking. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah," you stuttered, hand pressing against your chest as your heart thundered in your throat. "Sorry. Just a bad dream."

He regarded you carefully, eyes scanning the sweat that glistened in your hairline, your shaking arms, and your bright red cheeks.

God, you must've looked like a ghost, and he must've been worried. His lips parted, as if he was going to say something, but instead, he reached out and grabbed your wrist. His palm was warm. Much warmer than yours.

"Come," he said softly. "You're tense. Let me help."

He led you into the kitchen again, gently set you on the stool, then turned to boil the kettle. Everything was measured and deliberate—the kettle clicked, the cabinet opened smoothly, he'd elegantly poured a steaming liquid into a ceramic mug. 

He brought it to you. Chamomile. Soft and fragrant. 

You held it, your eyes still a little unfocused, until you felt his fingers trailing merciless up your arm, warm against the cold sweat. He then settled behind you, his thumbs pressing gently where the knots were in your shoulders, worked them out with ease and practiced motion.

"You're okay. I'm here." His voice was low, just above a whisper.

You let out a shaken whimper, and he leaned just a little, thumb brushing over your hand as he said it again.

"I'm here."

And in that moment, you believed him.

You mumbled something about needing the bathroom and stepped off of the stool. He nodded, telling you to take your time, and you gave him a weak smile before heading down the hallway. But then you passed the door to his bedroom—ever so slightly ajar.

And that's when you saw it.

His laptop—open with the screen still lit up. There was a folder window open. Your name was in the title. Your heart stumbled. It had to be a coincidence.

Then, your gaze settled on the laundry basket in the corner.

And there it was. Your underwear. One you hadn't packed. You hadn't even seen it since last week when it vanished from your dorm. Your fingers acted faster than your brain could check, clicking on the folder.

There were pictures.

Videos.

All of you.

In your dorm. Changing. Sleeping. Getting dressed. A close-up video of your hand reaching for your cell. A clip of you brushing your teeth, and another of you crying in your bed. You were filmed in a different angle every time, it was as if he had multiple cameras discreetly placed.

You clicked into another folder.

Target Eliminated.

Your breath caught in your throat. Names.

And faces. Some you recognized, vaguely. A guy from your lecture who always says hi. The tall guy you caught staring a little too long at your thighs when you wore shorts to the library. The student athlete you danced with at that party.

Dead.

Gone.

The nightmares, the news articles, the rumors... none of it was random.

You stumbled backward in a daze, landing on his bed with a soft thud, trying not to scream. Your vision blurred as you struggled to piece anything together. Your throat was dry.

No. No way. It couldn't be Jay. He was kind. He made you tea. He was warm. He—he—

Your mind was blown apart as a shadow fell across the floor.

You looked up.

There he stood in the doorway. Arms folded. Cold. Unfazed.

"I was calling your name in the bathroom," he said deliberately, in a steady tone. "Only to find no one was there." "Your tea is getting cold."

Your blood ran cold.

His gaze held yours, picking up the twitch of panic in your eyes, but he stood still. Just waiting.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, trembling slightly, but you didn't fight him when he took you by the hand.

Jay's hand slipped to your lower back, warm and firm, and he led you out of his room, as if nothing had happened—as if you hadn't seen a file with your name on it and proof that people had been erased from your life.

The hallway suddenly felt longer, dimmer, like the air thickened around you. But you let him take you back to the kitchen anyway. After all, where else did you have to go?

You hesitated before sitting down, your legs shaking, and you wrapped your fingers around the warm ceramic mug again. Holding it up to your lips, you took a sip—the tea was still warm, still soothing, but this time it tasted different too.

It tasted like control.

He leaned back against the counter with his arms folded, muscles straining against the black shirt, watching you too closely with his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, head cocked slightly to one side. He had you pinned in place under his stare, and your heart raced, and not entirely in fear.

You hated how your body reacted.

Hated that part of you warmed under his scrutiny.

"Y-You didn't-"

You cut yourself off. The question got stuck in your throat like thorns.

"Come on, baby," he murmured, soft, sweet—mocking. "Tell me."

You met his gaze, eyes wide. "The guys... the videos... why do you have these?"

He wouldn't even blink.

"To make sure you're safe," he said, voice steady. "I just removed the distractions. They were in the way."

You stared at him, unable to look away, as he reached out to your hair and curled a strand of it between his fingers, twisting it ever so slightly. His hand moved to your jaw, and his thumb brushed along the soft skin just beneath your cheekbone.

You shivered under his touch. Jay stepped closer, now looming over you, and you felt something flutter in your chest—part fear and part something shamefully warmer.

You should hate this.

You should scream.

You should run.

But you didn't.

Because he was so close. Because he smelled clean, dark, and intoxicating. Because part of you—some deep, naive part—wanted to be taken care of.

"You don't have to think so hard, sweetheart," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "You just needed someone to show you, right? Someone to make sure you were doing the right thing?"

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something but nothing came out but a trembling breath. That was all he needed. He slid his fingers along your shoulder and circled behind you again, feeling each inch of your warmth press against your back.

"I've been watching you for a long time," he whispered near your ear. "and I know what you need better than anyone else."

Your instincts flooded your mind—you tried to move, you tried to run. But hardly had you made it a step before he caught your wrist again—not aggressively but firmly. He trapped you between himself and the counter.

Your breathing stuttered.

"Jay-"

"Shh," he whispered, brushing his knuckles down your arm. "Don't be scared. I'll never hurt you. I only ever did what was necessary. You know that, don't you?"

His fingers stretched along the sides of your waist, and the touch nearly felt soft. You whined, the sound coming out before you were able to swallow it down.

"You like this," he said lowly—and you thought you could hear a hint of amusement. "You don't want to admit it, but you do. Your body always tells me the truth."

You clenched your jaw, fighting all means of response - fighting all means of your body reacting, but it did. Heat

You gritted your teeth, doing your best to not respond—to not let your body react—but of course, it did. Heat blossomed in your stomach. Your thighs clenched.

Jay leaned in, his lips barely brushing your temple. "You were meant for me," he said, his voice improved with conviction. "That is exactly why, no one else gets you. That is why you are here now. Safe. With Me."

He tilted your chin up again, your eyes locking with his. You didn't even realize how close your lips were to his until he smiled, slow and sure, like he already knew you were his.

And you were.

Even if some part of you still wanted to run, another part wanted to stay.

[tttabii]

this might be the best thing I ever read

do you trust me?

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader "y/n" x park sunghoon

genre: smau, college au, slasher/whodunnit, love triangle

summary: as y/n tries to wrap her head around her feelings, she also has to fight off a serial killer that is plaguing her friends and the students of her university. who is the killer and will y/n survive the slashings and live to choose who her heart belongs to?

warnings: profanity, eventual death, murder and violence but nothing explicit, overall 18+

character profiles status: started on january 15th 2025 completed 5-3-25 reply to be added to the taglist (please check your tag perms)

how does she look pretty even when dead?

suspicious art professor...

intak on time out

a date?? when a serial killer is out and about?

im going to fucking kill someone

is this another conspiracy theory

this is what that fucker wants

it's personal

girls night!!!

can we catch a break??? fuck!

sherlock holmes

i need to buy a gun

and then there were five

evidence board

its scooby doo time

don't die

unmasked

from the killer's eyes

final girl

trust

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

[tttabii]

── 이희승 always you ; lee heeseung

pairing ₊⊹ idol!lee heeseung x idol!reader. reader is a member of le sserafim. mentioned of seventeen in the background. genre: fluff. THE NERVES WERE EATING at your stomach, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your Prada dress as the black SUV edged forward into the sea of screaming fans. Cameras were pointed in every direction, flashing at the immaculate image of idols arriving for the Prada x Chrome Hearts event. Chaewon peered over from her seat, lips twisted into a smirk. "You're going to ruin that dress if you keep fidgeting," she giggled as you looked back at the rearview mirror nervously again. You nibbled your lip and looked at your makeup, your bangs, the curve of your liner. "I'm just  making sure I look fine, that's all," you mumbled. Chaewon squinted at you, amused. "Who are you trying to look good for?" she tilted her head coyly. "N-no one!" you reacted hastily, quickly and too stiffly. "Liar," she sung, nudging you with her elbow. "Is it... Yeonjun? Jay? Me?" You rolled your eyes. "Shut up—and no, it is not them." "Mmhm," she hummed, eyes sparkling. "I'll find out."

But your focus was already outside, watching the blur of fans and security and polished idols stepping out of luxury cars. You clutched the handle of the car door, your heart thudding like a bass drum inside your ribcage.

It wasn't just nerves. It was him.

Lee Heeseung.

You hadn't seen him in years. Not since high school. Back when he was just the dreamy senior who was good at basketball and unknowingly stole your heart with the kindest smile you have ever seen. He was good at everything—Math, English, Sports, and even making you think you were the only person in a room without even trying. You still remembered that day like it was tattooed into your memory.

"Woah, that's kinda insane..." he chuckled when he saw the giant red 0/100 scrawled across your test. He'd kneeled in front of you, still holding the basketball he'd come to retrieve, and somehow ended up spending the rest of the period trying to explain every question. His voice had been so patient, and his laugh—god, that laugh—was the exact moment you fell, hard.

But you never told him. You never had to. And now you were both idols. At the same company. Breathing the same rarefied air. He had debuted in 2020. You in 2022. So many things have changed—your status, your career, your world—but you still didn't know if he remembered you. The car door opened. Your stylist brushed your hair one more time, tilting your bangs just right and framing your face perfectly. You stepped out to the sound of fans cheering, the shine from your Chrome Hearts jewelry, the click of your Prada heels on the concrete, and the way your black dress hugged your body in all the right places. You gave a shy, awkward peace sign to the cameras; even though you were wearing an outfit that screamed confidence, you still felt shy. That's just what they knew you as: the reserved one with the bold fashion. And then you saw him. Heeseung.

He was a few meters away, surrounded by his group, but your eyes found him like the matching pieces of a puzzle. His cherry-dyed hair shimmered under the sunlight, pushed back to reveal his forehead. He wore a black blazer; it was slightly open and the slope of his chest peeked out beneath it. His smile—relaxed, radiant, effortless—was aimed at his fans, but it was enough to make your knees weak. 

You turned away quickly, hoping the camera didn't catch the flush rushing to your cheeks.

You walked over to the barricade, fans calling your name, holding banners and gifts. You bent over a bit, reaching out for a smaller envelope that a younger fan had decorated by hand—when out of no where—CRASH. The metal barricade was shaking as it let out a loud screeching noise. The force of the crowd behind it was becoming too much, fans rushing forward in a frenzy. Your body was in shock as you involuntarily jerked backward, your heels was off balance.Before the security could act—before the others could step in, Heeseung was there. His hand was quick to move, gripping onto your arm, and yanking you back promptly. You almost tripped because your heel got stuck on the pavement, but successfully pulled you back with a good hold. Heeseung wrapped his arm protectively around your back, eyes wide and looking upon your face. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice low, tense. Your heart was racing. Not just because of the barricade. But because of him. He was so close. He still smelled the same. His cologne—a warm, soapy, skin-like smell. His hand was still on your waist, and his eyes weren't moving from yours. You blinked a few times, trying to catch your breath. "Y-Yeah," you whispered. 

Heeseung let out a shaky breath of relief then looked down at the barricade being put back in place by the guards, then looked back at you. "Be careful next time." He murmured, softer now. "I can't have you getting hurt out here." Just like that—you were fifteen again, sitting on the bleachers, flustered over a math test, watched the boy you liked kneel down and save you from your own disaster. Only now... he wasn't just a crush. And you weren't just a kid anymore.

When your members—Chaewon, Yunjin, Kazuha—rushed over to see you, their faces racked with concern, you nodded and waved the whole moment away. "I'm fine," you said breathlessly, still jacked with adrenaline and simply trying to take a second to breathe. "Just... still a little shocked." "Those fans were crazy," Yunjin mumbled, resting a hand so softly on your back. "Are you sure you're okay?" You nodded again, practicing a weak smile. "Yeah. Just glad that nobody got hurt." Security finally got the crazy crowd to chill out, and thankfully the fans were being escorted out now that the red carpet section was over. As a group moved into the closed off event space, with climate control, and a sleek and polished look fit for fashion week, you let out a deep breath.

The chaos outside was replaced with glimmering lights, soft music, and displays of the newest Prada x Chrome Hearts collaboration. You found yourself slowly wandering from one collection display to another, letting the elegance of the pieces distract you.

Your eyes locked onto one thing: a sleek, silver Prada x Chrome Hearts necklace with intricate detailing and tiny cross pendants. It practically screamed your name. A stylist who noticed your fascination smiled and gestured for you to try it on.

"They are right—you can try it—go ahead," they urged gently. You hesitated only for a second before reaching for it. It was light-weight yet sturdy. You held it delicately as you turned toward the mirror, cautiously working the clasp behind your neck. All of a sudden, another hand glided over your skin, took the clasp from your fingers. You froze. "Here—let me." You caught your breath. You slowly turned, almost too slowly and there he was. Heeseung. In person, he was much taller than you remembered. His cherry-red hair flared at the ends, his black Prada blazer fitted like a glove. And there was the slightest smirk dancing on his lips as he stepped back, classic Heeseung satisfaction as his fingers grazed your neck for one second longer. "Thanks..." you mumbled, face burning as you turned to check out the necklace in the mirror instead of facing Heeseung. "Are you..." he spoke slowly, almost teasing, "...that girl that got a zero for a grade on her math test in middle school?" You quickly flicked your eyes up. "Huh?"

"I remember you—the junior always hanging around the bleachers. Always struggling to do the math equations," he chuckled softly. "I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure until just now." "Yep," you said, your lips twitching. "That was me." "No way you became an idol," he said, leaning slightly towards you, genuinely shocked. "I didn't think that was your deal." "And why is that?" "Because idols don't study math." You rolled your eyes and let out a breathy laugh. "Oh, shut up." His smile widened at that, and something in your response must have brought him more amusement than it should have. You gently unclasped the necklace and returned it to the staff, trying to calm your hammering heart, you needed to breathe. But Heeseung fell into step next to you as you walked toward another part of the exhibit. He kept the conversation moving, asking how debut life was treating you, which member was the loudest, if you still hated math (you did). He was as easygoing and smooth as ever. Meanwhile, you were struggling to keep from combusting internally, unsure if it was because of the lingering scent of his cologne or how naturally he carried the conversation.

You didn't even realize how much time passed until one of his members called him over.

"Heeseung! Come on, they're waiting for our clip." He looked back at you and gave you that soft, boyish wave. "Catch you later, math girl." You waved back, awkwardly. "Bye, basketball boy." He laughed. "You remembered that?" Of course you remembered. When he left, you returned to your group just in time to record your own stuff. But Yunjin wasn't going to let anything slide. "I knew it wasn't Yeonjun," she whispered, sliding up next to you as the cameras rolled. "So, that's who you were being all shy about in the car." You didn't say anything. Your silence spoke everything. "Oh my God. You're down bad," Eunchae teased.

The event concluded in a flurry of farewells and flashes from cameras. Days passed—and just as things seemed to calm down, the internet exploded.It started with a fan-taken video on Twitter: the moment the barricade fell. Instead of the chaos, fans pointed their attention at him—the way Heeseung pulled you back without hesitation, arm around you fully, and the moment both of your eyes locked for a split-second. "WAIT... is that Y/n from LE SSERAFIM??" "They look way too comfortable—what's going on??" "He pulled her like they're close CLOSE." "The way she looked at him... yeah something's up."

Then came the behind-the-scenes vlog drop. A tiny moment, barely a blip: Heeseung clasping a necklace around your neck. Nothing dramatic. Nothing scripted. 

Zoomed in. Cropped. Slowed. Captioned: "WHO DOES THIS UNPROMPTED???"

Within hours, you were trending.

"Wasn't her ideal type older, flirty, a gamer, and played basketball???" "HELLO?? That's literally Lee Heeseung." "No because they both went to the same school??" "Bet they've probably have been close since then and just kept it secret." "All you jealous girlies have to relax, let them breathe 😭" "LE SSERAFIM x ENHYPEN collab WHEN. WE NEED IT."  

Of course, the hate comments were there too. Jealous stans picking at your every little interaction. Some accused you of "using" the moment for clout. Others attacked Heeseung for "being too obvious." At the end of the day, it seemed like the majority were shipping you two HARD. Later that night, you decided to go on live on Weverse to check on your fans, but as soon as you opened the comment section that's when it came! "HEESEUNG 😭😭😭" "GIRL YOU DIDN'T TELL US Y'ALL WERE FRIENDS???" "NOT THE NECKLACE SCENE I CANNOT" "Say it now. Are y'all dating???" "Y'all knew each other back then huh 👀" You let out a shaky chuckle and looked at the chat, trying your hardest to hold your composure and look cool.  "He was... my senior," you finally said, eyes flickering to the camera, lips tugging into a tight smile. "I didn't know him like that..."

The silence stretched on as you looked away from the comments that were racing by. The tips of your ears—traitorous pink—betrayed you as you maintained a straight face. You tucked your hair behind your ear glancing back at your screen. "You all are really reaching," you joked lightly, though your voice quivered just enough to out you. The chat exploded. "NAH SHE'S BLUSHING 😭😭😭" "SHE'S GONEEEE" "EAR CHECK?? YUP. RED." "They know each other more than she's letting on💀" "She's denying it like a k-drama female lead I can't 😭" You playfully hid your face in your sleeve and groaned. "Okay—next topic!" You laughed pushing to get the subject away from Heeseung. But it was too late. You ended the live a little while later, smiling softly and waving goodbye. "Goodnight, Fearnots. Be nice okay? Don't get carried away." But as soon as you ended the stream, your phone buzzed with a new message. heehee 🏀: "Didn't know I made your ears turn red."

You froze. Stared. And maybe smiled like a highschool girl in love.

[tttabii]

—박종성 with or without you ; jay

pairing ꪆৎ stalker obsessive!jay x innocent!reader. genre: suggestive, slight angst, fluff, sensitive topics like murder. jay steals reader's undergarments. word count: 4954.

YOU WERE THE TYPE OF GIRLS THAT TURNED HEADS.

Not because you were loud. Not because you were trying to be. But because everything about you demanded people look at you in the softest, dumbest way. 

Your short skirt twirled around you as you laughed with your girlfriends, your cardigan had slid off one shoulder, and your lip gloss glinting in the sun like it was made just for you. You weren't exactly dumb. You just didn't see stuff—you didn't really see it. You didn't notice the way guys looked at you like you were a walking, talking invitation. You thought they were "just being friendly."

You were that kind of dumb. 

But not to him. 

Jay saw you.  

Really saw you. 

And not just on that Saturday, but when you were walking down the street as if you had no idea the world could swallow you whole.

Your heels clicked-on-the-pavement while your friends teased each other and you giggled behind your hand, swaying slightly in that stupid little dress. 

He was already in the café, tied his apron around his waist, pretending to care about his shift. He didn't need the money. He didn't need any of it. He just wanted to have a reason to be close. Close to girls like you.  

He understood your type: naive, glitzy, perhaps a little soft on the edges. The type that thought it was alright to hand out their number "just to be nice". The type that had no idea how dangerous that kind of behavior could be.

You had barely stepped foot in the door when some dork of a dude—tall, wearing a hoodie, and slipping off of him like wax was poor intentions—was checking you out like you were dessert. Jay felt it before he even saw it. He felt that same itch at the back of his skull. And that familiar crawl that went under his skin.

You asked your friends if they wanted anything.

They said no.

So you had walked in alone.

And in that instant, Jay memorized all the angles of you. The gloss of your lips. The shade of your natural blush on your cheeks. The way your dress clung too tight in all the wrong places. You had no idea what you looked like to people like him. People who'd kill for something that pretty.

Literally.

You ordered something stupid and sweet. Of course you did.

While you waited, Hoodie Dude slithered in beside you. Jay's jaw tightened as he listened.

"Hey," he said casually, "you're pretty cute. Do you study around here?"

You looked at him with a small, polite little smile and said, "Yeah. I go to college nearby."  

He asked for your number.

You cocked your head to the side. "Oh, I'm not really—"

"Just as friends," he said quickly.

And you being you handed it over.

Jay didn't blink. Just moved to the prep counter like the passing moment was non-existent. But he heard everything.

And his hand slid toward the flask in his pocket—one of many little solutions he kept for moments like these. Moments when someone crossed a line they weren't supposed to cross.

A drop.

Not enough to kill someone instantly.

No. Jay was patient.

He liked the slow burns. The kind you couldn't trace back, and no one would ever be suspicious. Ten hours from now, Hoodie Guy would be found collapsed somewhere without an explanation and no one would know it was because of the iced mocha from earlier. The cup would be long gone.

Just like him.

"Order 118," Jay called, voice smooth.

You turned your head with a bright smile as you walked to cash and the counter. Your hands brushed against his as you grabbed your drink. Your hand and your touch were fire.

"Thanks," you said, bright and innocent.

Jay didn't answer right away.

He watched your lips part, the gloss catching the light.

He watched your lips part, the gloss catching in the light. Watched you walk out the door like you hadn't just been seconds away from danger. He smiled faintly.

"Anytime," he murmured.

His gaze didn't leave you.

Not even after the door shut.

Because you were his now.

You just didn't know it yet.

When you arrived home that night, there was a strange feeling in the air—not anything overwhelming. It was not the kind of unsettling feeling that screamed danger or even panic. Just stillness. Your phone was dry. Not a single message since you waved goodbye to your friends a couple hours before. Nothing in the group chat, no "wyd" text from that guy who normally walked you to the library, not even a meme from your roommate.

You blinked at the screen, confused for a moment. But then you shrugged. Maybe everyone was just busy. You flipped it face down and didn't think of it again.

The water was warm in the shower. You hummed a little to yourself while washing your hair, thinking about your classes tomorrow, which outfit you would wear. Maybe your ruffled mini skirt would work with the sheer tights if it wasn't too cold.

You didn't really notice when eyes watched you through the crack in your dorm's hallway blinds. You didn't feel the weight of obsession perched in the shadows outside your window.

But he was there.

Jay always was.

Lately, your campus felt tense.

More tense than usual.

The news was everywhere—a series of senseless and disconnected deaths. Just random, mostly men, mostly young. Some in apartments. Some near the park. Some just on the street. There were whispers in the corridors of lecture halls and girls were clinging closer to their guys. Lockdowns were getting talked about.

You were starting to notice it too—especially today.

Because one of those guys that usually offered to walk with you toward the library? The nice one, with the fluffy hair and shy smile?

Gone.

Not seen in days.

You only found out when his friends took you aside by the vending machine in the science building. Woo Min was scratching at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "He... he really liked you, y'know," he said, nervously. "He talked about you all the time."

You blinked. "Huh?"

His friends told you what happened. The murder. The body. That he had been walking around on the street a few hours before he was murdered—a couple blocks from your campus. You just stared, silent, lips slack.

"Oh... I had no idea he felt that way," you said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I didn't mean to—I mean, I just thought he was being nice."

"We know..." one said quietly. "It wasn't your fault."

You bit your lip.

It wasn't, right?

Probably just an accident. Bad timing. Just wrong place wrong time. But damn, the chill creeping up your spine.

You were still thinking about it when you went out again that evening... just restless enough to leave your dorm. The city usually helped you sort things out, and the café wasn't far—same one as yesterday. Same barista, who you distinctly remember had a very sharp jawline and pretty hands.

Jay.

You pulled into the café, fingers in your cardigan sleeves. The jingle of the bell over the door rang above your head. And he looked up.

No one else inside—just him behind the counter. He smiled when he saw you, one of those smiles that wasn't fake or forced, but just... soft. His eyes ran over your frame a second too long before he tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

"Back again?" he asked, leaning forward. His voice was calm; smooth like velvet. "I thought you'd be scared to go out these days."

You blinked. "I kinda am."

"Then why come here?"

You hesitated. "It's quiet. I feel... safer here."

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

And then he smiled wider. "Good."

You ordered something different this time—an iced latte, something sweet to calm your nerves. Jay started working on it without breaking eye contact, like he already knew what you were going to say.

"You seemed off today," he remarked inconspicuously. "You worried about the news?"

You nodded slowly and fiddled with the strap of your bag. "Yeah. One of the guys I knew was... well, he's one of the people who... you know."

"That you knew well?" Jay's back was toward you as he worked the machine.

"Not really," you said. "He just walked me to the library sometimes. But I didn't know he liked me. His friends told me today."

Jay said nothing.

The machine hissed.You continued rambling."I thought it was coincidence," you said, quietly. "But I don't know. It't creepy, like someone's-"

"Watching?" he interrupted as he turned back to you, drink in hand.You blinked.His eyes were bright.

You nodded slowly. "Yeah. Kind of."

Jay sat the drink on the counter. Your fingers brushed his as you reached for the drink again, then you looked to his face.

"So, what happened to that guy the other day?" he suddenly asked. "The one who hit on you here?"

"Oh. He still has me on delivered," you said with a half-shrug, and small laugh. "Guess he was just trying his luck."

Jay tilted his head. "That's a shame. He seemed like the type who could have done worse things."

You smiled nervously.

He kept his gaze on you for a beat longer than needed; then, quite suddenly, the bemused expression slipped from his face like a mist on the morning sun.

"Forget it. Just forget all of it," he said softly. "Just be careful. Okay?"

You looked up at him, surprised by how gentle, almost protective, he sounded. "Okay."

Jay watched you take a sip of your drink. His eyes were glued to your lips. You didn't see the smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth. You didn't notice how he was looking at you like he already owned you.

Because to Jay, this wasn't with or without you.

It was just with you.

Whether you wanted it or not.

        愛 ♡

Your room was supposed to be your safe place.

Your sanctuary.

But it wasn't anymore. You didn't know that while you were in class—exhausted and yawning, trying to pay attention to the lecture—someone had been inside.

Inside your room.

Rummaging through your drawers.

When you got back, your bed still looked tidy. The lights were off. Nothing broken. But there was something wrong. You felt it like a crawling itch on your skin. You didn't notice the missing pair of underwear right away.

Or the hoodie that smelled like your perfume, the one you wore last week.

Or the fact your socks were slightly out of place.

You were too tired. You dumped your bag and changed into pajamas without thinking too hard.

You made ramen—you were hungry for something hot and salty—and while the water boiled, you sat on your phone, your brain still half-dead. That's when it happened.

A note slid under your front door. You heard it. That dry, slow shuffle of paper across linoleum. You turned, blood freezing.

Someone was outside your door. You immediately threw it opened to find no one there.

The hall was empty, enveloped in eerily quiet. The girl down the hall who was usually watching Bloodhounds and squealing over Woo Do-Hwan at this hour was silence.

Just the humming of the vending machine.

You swallowed, slowly reaching for the letter. The letter was folded perfectly—like a love letter—but there was no name, no address. Just a sharp, handwritten line in smeared dark red ink. Not blood. But it looked close enough.

You opened it with shaking hands. Just one sentence.

"You're always forgetting to lock the balcony door."

Your lungs froze. You had locked it. You were sure. You always checked it twice. You spun around, ran to your bedroom—and there it was.

Unlocked.

The wind had pushed it open slightly, a creak so soft it made your stomach twist. You stared, trembling, ramen completely forgotten.

You didn't sleep. Couldn't.

The shadows felt darker tonight. The wind more menacing. Every creak had you flinching. You hardly remembered brushing your teeth or checking the corners of your room five times. You even asked someone who lived on your floor the following morning—a quiet girl from across the hall.

She blinked when you asked her if she saw anything weird last night. "Actually..." she said slowly, brushing hair behind her ear, "I think I did. I came back up around 11, and I swear I saw some guy coming out of the elevator in a rush. Hoodie, black cap. Didn't look at me."

Your heart sank.

That was around when the note came.

You nodded, thanked her, forced a smile—then immediately left.

You went to the café again. It felt like the only place that your brain wouldn't spiral. Somewhere warm, with actual light and people. Jay was there, of course, behind the counter, looking calm and relaxed, eyes on you the very second you entered.

He froze when he saw your face. You had dull eyes. Dried out lips. Your hair was slightly frizzy. Bags under your eyes, you looked haunted. He smiled meekly, "Rough day?"

You chuckled softly, "Rough night too."

He tilted his head. "What happened?"

You hesitated. You didn't know why you were telling him, but it felt easier in some form. Perhaps because he was listening. Maybe because of the way he made you feel... seen. "There's someone who... I don't know.

Someone sent me a note. It slipped under my door while I was cooking. I've been thinking someone is watching me. I've lost some clothes, the other day my balcony door was open even though I locked it because I know I did."

Jay's face transformed into grim disbelief. He leaned into the counter. "Are you serious?"

You nodded. "And... this other guy just died," you added quietly. "Someone my friend knew."

Jay whistled low under his breath. His jaw clenched slightly. "That's messed up."

You gave a weak nod, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I thought about reporting it," you said softly. "But the letter said not to."

His face went blank. "The note said that?"  

You nodded. "Don't go to the cops."

That's exactly what it said on the back of the paper. You hadn't told anybody else. Jay took a slow breath. He shook his head with a pursed frown and softened his eyes. "That's dangerous. But... if you can't go to the police..."

Jay's finger tapped the counter. "If it makes you feel better, " he said almost shyly, "you could crash at my place?"

You blinked at him, startled. Jay shrugged. "Just until your roommate gets back, you said she was with her boyfriend, right?"

You nodded again. You were feeling uncertain.

"No pressure," he said softly. "But honestly, I'd feel better, knowing you were "safe".

He gave you a smile, sweet, charming, harmless. But deep inside his head?

Oh, poor you. So naive.

He remembered the smell of your clothes, the feel of your hoodie in his fingers. The lace he took just last night. He remembered how you looked when you were asleep—peaceful and blissfully ignorant, him standing just outside your glass balcony door, watching for hours.

Of course. 

You should stay with him.

After all, it's what he's always wanted.

He mentioned he lived in the city, which was odd enough, but once you felt the smooth pavement beneath your feet in his neighborhood, you were shocked. The place was one of those areas: quiet, gated, wealthy.

Big windows. Neatly trimmed hedges. Actual wealth. You felt a little out of place dragging around your duffle bag in your flip flops with your hoodie sliding down one shoulder as the soles of your feet absorbed the dimmed warmth of the stone pathway leading to his house.

Jay was out in the yard throwing away trash when you pulled up. Once he spotted you, his face lit up with that goofy smile that eased the tension in your chest for a few seconds. He walked up to meet you halfway, effortlessly lifting your bag from your shoulder and brushing off your protests.

"You shouldn't be carrying this heavy bag by yourself," he said quietly while walking to the door with you, "not when I'm here."

His house was pristine—unnaturally so. The floors looked freshly polished, and the air smelled slightly floral and clean, similar to lilies. You weren't sure why, but it felt more like a show house than somewhere Jay lived.

Still, you were too mentally exhausted to think anything of it. You sunk into the plush couch like dead weight, arms hugging your knees, and sighed.

Jay's voice was soft. "Want to take a shower? I know you've had a long day."

You nodded. The hot water sounded like a blessing.

He pointed toward the bathroom and told you he bought a new shampoo "just for you." You paused mid-step, blinking at him. "You didn't have to..."

"I know," he said with familiarity. "But I thought you would want to feel comfortable here. Like home."

That last word lingered in your throat a bit. Like home. You weren't sure why that caused a skip in your heart, but you nodded again and walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind you. The shampoo was branded with your favorite smell. You didn't even remember telling him that.

You thought for a second if you had—in passing perhaps—and just attributed it to that. You were too mentally fatigued to ponder deeper any more. Maybe it was all coincidence. 

When you came out, hair damp and clinging to your shoulders, wearing one of his robes, he was in the kitchen humming something deep under his breath.

It wasn't anything you recognized. Something about it made you feel like it would be crossing a line to ask for a name. The humming stopped the moment you entered the room.

You gave a weak smile. "Smells good."

Jay glanced over his shoulder at you, still in the apron, and his smile came back to him easily again. "I made you gyudon. I saw you skipped meals too, right?"

You stared. "...How did you know?"

"You hardly touched your food at the café the past two days.

"I notice things.."

It should have weirded you out. But it didn't. Not fully.

Maybe because you were starting to crave someone noticing. Anyone. You were scared. People around you kept dying. You had nightmares last night. Your roommate hadn't texted back. You were shaking when you showed up. And now there was warm food and someone smiling at you like he wanted nothing more than for you to eat.

You dug in.

It was pretty good. Really good.

Jay sat across from you quietly taking you in, barely touching his plate. His eyes traced the movement of your mouth with a kind of gentle reverence that made you swallow slower, more aware. He smiled every time you brushed your fingers across the spoon, like he was trying to memorize the way you held it.

"You live here alone?" you said softly, trying to break the strange quiet.

His eyes didn't leave you.

"Yeah."

"What about your parents?"

His smile didn't change, but something in his eyes... cracked.

It was small. Barely perceptible.

"They're overseas," he said simply. "They've been gone for a long time."

You nodded.

You didn't prod further.

Because you didn't know they were buried in the back garden. That he'd killed them when he was fifteen and inherited their wealth through some falsified documents and a charming lie to the courts. That no one asked too many questions—not when his parents had always been so strict and he had such a promising future.

He stood, taking your empty bowl. "I'll clean this up. You can get ready for bed."

You thanked him again, pulling the sleeves over your hands as you stood awkwardly in the living room. You wanted to ask where you were sleeping, but before you could, Jay's voice cut in again.

"You can wear my shirt, if you want," he said, "I left one on the bed."

And you did find it, folded on the edge of the bed, a black shirt that smelled just like him. You changed and curled up under the blankets. Your eyes were heavy. His room was warm and you had a fleeting sense of peace, your body was too tired to worry about any of it anymore.

You didn't notice the door creaking open thirty minutes later.

You didn't see him, standing half asleep and barefoot over you.

You didn't feel the way his fingers hovered just above your hair, brushing without touching and his breath shallow.

You only sighed in your sleep, shifting ever so slightly.

He stood there for a while.

Watching.

He mumbled something you didn't hear—too quiet to decipher—and then he slipped something small and cold under your pillow and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. You wouldn't find the photo for another few days.

A polaroid of you.

Asleep.

From your dorm balcony.

You'll tell yourself it's just a prank when you find it.

And he'll hug you tight, assuring you are safe with him.

The nightmare was suffocating. A black figure chasing you through hallways that bled into each other, twisting, growing darker the further you ran.

The faster your feet moved, the heavier they felt—until finally something grabbed your ankle, pulling you into a void of whispering voices and shadows with human faces.

One of them smiled. It was wearing Jay's face.

You jolted awake, gasping for air as beads of sweat clung to your body and your shirt stuck to your spine. The sheets were tangled around your legs leaving you feeling restrained, as though the sheets were also wrapped around your body.

The air felt still. Too still. It felt like the house itself was holding its breath.

You sat up unsteadily, kicking the covers off, and planted your cold bare feet on the freezing ground. It shocked you for a second.

Not real, you told yourself. Just a nightmare. You stepped out of your room quietly, and the hallway was illuminated by gold sconces light. The hallway felt eerily quiet, and you walked slowly, your arms hugging yourself.

Then you slammed into a broad back and your instinct was to scream. The person spun around and you caught your breath.

"Woah," Jay said, blinking. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah," you stuttered, hand pressing against your chest as your heart thundered in your throat. "Sorry. Just a bad dream."

He regarded you carefully, eyes scanning the sweat that glistened in your hairline, your shaking arms, and your bright red cheeks.

God, you must've looked like a ghost, and he must've been worried. His lips parted, as if he was going to say something, but instead, he reached out and grabbed your wrist. His palm was warm. Much warmer than yours.

"Come," he said softly. "You're tense. Let me help."

He led you into the kitchen again, gently set you on the stool, then turned to boil the kettle. Everything was measured and deliberate—the kettle clicked, the cabinet opened smoothly, he'd elegantly poured a steaming liquid into a ceramic mug. 

He brought it to you. Chamomile. Soft and fragrant. 

You held it, your eyes still a little unfocused, until you felt his fingers trailing merciless up your arm, warm against the cold sweat. He then settled behind you, his thumbs pressing gently where the knots were in your shoulders, worked them out with ease and practiced motion.

"You're okay. I'm here." His voice was low, just above a whisper.

You let out a shaken whimper, and he leaned just a little, thumb brushing over your hand as he said it again.

"I'm here."

And in that moment, you believed him.

You mumbled something about needing the bathroom and stepped off of the stool. He nodded, telling you to take your time, and you gave him a weak smile before heading down the hallway. But then you passed the door to his bedroom—ever so slightly ajar.

And that's when you saw it.

His laptop—open with the screen still lit up. There was a folder window open. Your name was in the title. Your heart stumbled. It had to be a coincidence.

Then, your gaze settled on the laundry basket in the corner.

And there it was. Your underwear. One you hadn't packed. You hadn't even seen it since last week when it vanished from your dorm. Your fingers acted faster than your brain could check, clicking on the folder.

There were pictures.

Videos.

All of you.

In your dorm. Changing. Sleeping. Getting dressed. A close-up video of your hand reaching for your cell. A clip of you brushing your teeth, and another of you crying in your bed. You were filmed in a different angle every time, it was as if he had multiple cameras discreetly placed.

You clicked into another folder.

Target Eliminated.

Your breath caught in your throat. Names.

And faces. Some you recognized, vaguely. A guy from your lecture who always says hi. The tall guy you caught staring a little too long at your thighs when you wore shorts to the library. The student athlete you danced with at that party.

Dead.

Gone.

The nightmares, the news articles, the rumors... none of it was random.

You stumbled backward in a daze, landing on his bed with a soft thud, trying not to scream. Your vision blurred as you struggled to piece anything together. Your throat was dry.

No. No way. It couldn't be Jay. He was kind. He made you tea. He was warm. He—he—

Your mind was blown apart as a shadow fell across the floor.

You looked up.

There he stood in the doorway. Arms folded. Cold. Unfazed.

"I was calling your name in the bathroom," he said deliberately, in a steady tone. "Only to find no one was there." "Your tea is getting cold."

Your blood ran cold.

His gaze held yours, picking up the twitch of panic in your eyes, but he stood still. Just waiting.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, trembling slightly, but you didn't fight him when he took you by the hand.

Jay's hand slipped to your lower back, warm and firm, and he led you out of his room, as if nothing had happened—as if you hadn't seen a file with your name on it and proof that people had been erased from your life.

The hallway suddenly felt longer, dimmer, like the air thickened around you. But you let him take you back to the kitchen anyway. After all, where else did you have to go?

You hesitated before sitting down, your legs shaking, and you wrapped your fingers around the warm ceramic mug again. Holding it up to your lips, you took a sip—the tea was still warm, still soothing, but this time it tasted different too.

It tasted like control.

He leaned back against the counter with his arms folded, muscles straining against the black shirt, watching you too closely with his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, head cocked slightly to one side. He had you pinned in place under his stare, and your heart raced, and not entirely in fear.

You hated how your body reacted.

Hated that part of you warmed under his scrutiny.

"Y-You didn't-"

You cut yourself off. The question got stuck in your throat like thorns.

"Come on, baby," he murmured, soft, sweet—mocking. "Tell me."

You met his gaze, eyes wide. "The guys... the videos... why do you have these?"

He wouldn't even blink.

"To make sure you're safe," he said, voice steady. "I just removed the distractions. They were in the way."

You stared at him, unable to look away, as he reached out to your hair and curled a strand of it between his fingers, twisting it ever so slightly. His hand moved to your jaw, and his thumb brushed along the soft skin just beneath your cheekbone.

You shivered under his touch. Jay stepped closer, now looming over you, and you felt something flutter in your chest—part fear and part something shamefully warmer.

You should hate this.

You should scream.

You should run.

But you didn't.

Because he was so close. Because he smelled clean, dark, and intoxicating. Because part of you—some deep, naive part—wanted to be taken care of.

"You don't have to think so hard, sweetheart," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "You just needed someone to show you, right? Someone to make sure you were doing the right thing?"

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something but nothing came out but a trembling breath. That was all he needed. He slid his fingers along your shoulder and circled behind you again, feeling each inch of your warmth press against your back.

"I've been watching you for a long time," he whispered near your ear. "and I know what you need better than anyone else."

Your instincts flooded your mind—you tried to move, you tried to run. But hardly had you made it a step before he caught your wrist again—not aggressively but firmly. He trapped you between himself and the counter.

Your breathing stuttered.

"Jay-"

"Shh," he whispered, brushing his knuckles down your arm. "Don't be scared. I'll never hurt you. I only ever did what was necessary. You know that, don't you?"

His fingers stretched along the sides of your waist, and the touch nearly felt soft. You whined, the sound coming out before you were able to swallow it down.

"You like this," he said lowly—and you thought you could hear a hint of amusement. "You don't want to admit it, but you do. Your body always tells me the truth."

You clenched your jaw, fighting all means of response - fighting all means of your body reacting, but it did. Heat

You gritted your teeth, doing your best to not respond—to not let your body react—but of course, it did. Heat blossomed in your stomach. Your thighs clenched.

Jay leaned in, his lips barely brushing your temple. "You were meant for me," he said, his voice improved with conviction. "That is exactly why, no one else gets you. That is why you are here now. Safe. With Me."

He tilted your chin up again, your eyes locking with his. You didn't even realize how close your lips were to his until he smiled, slow and sure, like he already knew you were his.

And you were.

Even if some part of you still wanted to run, another part wanted to stay.