yukiscoffeebreak

[yukiscoffeebreak]

-How to Break a Boy Beautifully-

---------------------------------------------exsunooxpsychoreader---------

warnings: emotional manipulation, tying, knife, mension of wounds/cuts/bruises, sweet revenge, reader is mentally sick/a psycho, lots of crying, reader finds pleasure in pain

synopsis: She doesn’t need to break him, she just wants to reshape him. Soft whispers, delicate ties, and a love so consuming, he can’t tell where she ends and he begins. Every kiss is a cage. Every touch a lesson in surrender. And somewhere between the madness and beauty, he falls.

note from author: Today is sunday and Im back with a new oneshot story. I hate sundays so I try to fill them with some writing. This one is a little shorter than the stuff I usually do. Honestly I went a little too crazy by writing this but well I hope someone likes it. Enjoy:3

songs: everything I wanted - Billie Eilish Devil In Your Eyes - Cil BABYDOLL - Ari Abdul Living Hell - Bella Poarch

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The cellar was not a room anymore. It was a shrine.

The air was heavy with perfume, soft jasmine and overripe roses, as though every molecule had been soaked in longing.

Candles burned at the edges, dozens of them, wax running down the walls like tears.

You had dressed the place in velvet and lace, covered the floor in cushions, fairy lights, broken music boxes, and pages from your old notebooks.

A piece of him in every corner.

Even you were dressed in a lacy, soft, short sleeping dress just like he loved it months before...

And in the middle of it all, tied, trembling, quiet, was Sunoo.

His body had stilled.

The panic had faded hours ago.

What replaced it was a quiet ache, a slow sadness that sat in his chest like a cold stone.

His pretty eyes, his kajal smudged with tears, his pretty soft plump and rosy lips. You loved this all.

His wrists were bound with satin now, not rope. A soft pastel mint.

His favourite colour. It didn’t bite. Not like before.

But he couldn’t move.

The bruises were fading now. You hadn’t hurt him in days. Not really. Just little things. Small things. Love-notes in pain.

A scratch here, a pressure there. Some cuts. No tortue. A memory left on skin.

And you always apologized after.

Always with a kiss.

“Baby,” you cooed from the other side of the room, “Are you tired of me yet?”

He didn’t answer.

You gasped, dramatically, clasping your hands to your chest before laughing like a maniac. “Oh, Don’t pout like that. Your lips go all pink and pretty and I just want to eat them.”

You skipped toward him, bare feet silent on the soft carpet of plush toys and rose petals.

He flinched.

You paused.

“Still scared of me?” you asked sweetly. Your smile didn’t falter. “You poor, silly thing. You always were dramatic.”

Then you were kneeling beside him. Folding down like a swan, all grace and sugar and something broken beneath the surface.

You touched his cheek.

“Oh my love, my sugarplum, my sugar-stained boy,” you whispered, brushing hair from his face. “You’re so quiet now. It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. I can do all the talking for both of us.”

He was crying.

Tears slipped down his face like glass melting.

You caught one with her finger and popped it into your mouth like candy. Closed your eyes.

“Mmm. Still sweet,” you whispered. “You taste like a boy in love. Even now.”

Sunoo whimpered, his voice fragile. “Why are you doing this…”

You smiled wider.

“Oh, my love. My darling. I’m doing this because I love you. You broke my heart, so I stitched yours into mine. Doesn’t that make sense?”

He shook his head, barely.

You pouted.

“You used to kiss my fingertips,” You said, voice almost a lullaby.

“You said I had hands like magic. Now look at them—” you held them up like a child showing a teacher their drawing, “they’re stained with your colors. All red and pretty..!”

You reached behind him, cradled his neck gently, then lowered her forehead to his.

“We used to be perfect,” you whispered. “You used to hum in your sleep. Remember that? I’d wake up just to listen. Like god had put a little symphony inside you just for me.”

You pulled back, eyes glowing.

“Do you think she ever heard that sound?” You voice went sharp for half a second. “The one you made when you slept beside someone you trusted? I don’t think she did. I think you saved that music for me.”

Sunoo was shaking now. His breath shallow.

You noticed.

“Oh, shh,” You whispered, wiping his tears again with the sleeve of your sweater. “Don’t cry....my cute, pretty perfect baby. You look too pretty like this. It breaks my heart. It breaks it all over again.”

You pressed your lips to his temple. Slow. Tender. Almost reverent.

“I’m not crazy, you know. I’m just… delicate. And in love. And maybe that’s the same thing.”

He tried to speak. His voice was a whisper, dry as dust.

“Please…”

You laid your head on his shoulder.

“I named a star after you last night,” you murmured. “I stitched your name into every wall. I sang to the basement door until it sang back. I wrote poems on your bruises and fed your ghost peaches and warm milk.”

You looked up again.

Eyes glowing. Tears at the corners. Smiling.

“I hurt you just a little. Because you needed to be softer. You needed to be still. You needed to remember that your body was mine before it was anyone else’s.”

The ribbons around his wrists tightened just slightly as he shifted.

You noticed.

“Ah-ah,” you murmured, voice silk and thorn. “Don’t wriggle. You’re too fragile. I don’t want to break your bones, sweetheart. Just your heart.”

Sunoo sobbed.

You leaned in, pressed your forehead to his, and smiled. Your lips ghosted over his like a prayer, but you didn’t kiss him.

“I could’ve been soft forever,” you whispered, eyes closed. “I would've brushed your hair every morning and made pancakes shaped like hearts. I would've written your name on foggy windows and kissed your eyelids to sleep. But you let her touch you.”

He whimpered, shaking his head. “It didn’t mean anything…”

“But it meant something to me,” you snapped, the knife twitching in your grip like a jealous limb. Then, softer again, syrup-sweet: “But that’s okay. You can make it up to me now. By staying. By crying just a little more. By being my good babyboy.”

You stood up, cheerfull with a twisted look in your eyes like a traumatized child.

“Let me show you something.”

You walked across the room and opened a box. Inside: Polaroids. Notes. A pressed flower. A receipt from your first date. The toothbrush he left behind.

“I kept everything,” you said, holding it like a baby. “Everything you forgot to care about.”

You smiled widly, broken, sick and crazy.

Then you turned, a soft tremor in your hands.

“You want to leave, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

“I should keep you here,” you whispered. “Until your eyes remember me. Until your breath only sings for me. Until you say my name the way you used to.”

“Oh I could keep you forever,” you whispered again. “I could put you in a velvet-lined box and keep you beside my bed. Feed you honey from my fingers. Your pretty tongue would lick it up. I would clip your wings and keep you safe.”

He shook his head, weakly. “Please, let me go…”

“Why?” you asked, your voice light. “So you can lie to someone else? So you can kiss another girl who doesn’t know your middle name? So you can forget me?!”, your voice grew a bit louder.

“I..I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to—I was lost—I didn’t love h..her.”

You made a sound like a lullaby breaking.

“I know, goose. But you let her touch you. You gave her your mouth, didn’t you? You gave her that breath I, only I used to count.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Shhhh.”

You stepped closer. The knife glinting in your hand—for now.

“I’m tired. I’m so, so tired of pretending this is forever.”

You knelt again. Reached behind him.

Undid the ribbons.

One loop.

Two.

Three.

His wrists fell forward. Free. Red. Raw.

You leaned into him, whispered against his skin:

“Go, babyboy. Run. Before I wrap you up again and sing you into stone.”

He didn’t move.

“Go,” you said again, voice breaking, tears streaming dwn your own face now. When did you became this sick? That was a question to yourself.

“Before I decide I love you too much to let the world have you.”, you said.

He stood up. Trembling.

Fear in his pretty eyes.

And he ran.

Out the door. Up the stairs. Through the dark.

You didn’t follow.

You sat there, the ribbon trailing from your fingers, smile curling at the edges.

And to no one at all, you whispered:

“You’ll come back. You always come back to the ones who break you the softest.”

But the scent of jasmine followed him as he left. And he swore he could hear you humming in B minor.

©all rights reserved

[yukiscoffeebreak]

-Nevertheless...I Still Want Him-

---------------------------------jungwonxartcollegestudentreader-----

warnings: kiss, tongue kiss, flirty wonie

synopsis: What can I say...? Hes not your boyfriend, hes not your fuckbuddy, hes not just your friend, but hes still with you. Often. Often, he comes over, joins you and only sat there watching you and your work. And yet his presemce was too much. And more than a safe place for you...

authors note: I was bit off the last weeks because my new semester started...im busy with my studies but here it is, my new work. Hope y`all like it:3

songs: FLOWER - JISOO Get Up - NewJeans drinks or coffee - ROSÈ Billie Bossa Nova - Billie Eilish

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The soft hum of a desk lamp filled the quiet apartment, casting a warm glow over the cluttered workspace. Pencils, brushes, and tubes of paint lay scattered across the wooden desk, some smudged with dried color.

The night air seeped in through the slightly cracked window, cool against your flushed cheeks.

Your fingers moved precisely, delicately tracing lines on the canvas.

A deep, thoughtful crease sat between your brows, eyes focused, lips slightly parted. You were in your world—lost in the strokes of the brush, the shades of light and shadow, the form taking shape beneath your hands.

And then, you felt him.

Warm, pretty arms wrapped around you from behind, strong but gentle, slipping across your waist with an ease that made your breath hitch.

Your body stiffened for just a moment before she realized who it was.

“…Jungwon?”

Your voice came out soft, quiet, but serious as always. You never spoke much, never wasted words on meaningless things. And yet, even in that one word, there was something—something fragile, something questioning.

“What are you doing?” you asked, though you didn’t push him away.

Jungwon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let his chin rest against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. His scent, clean and familiar, filled your senses.

“You’ve been working too much again,” he murmured. His voice, nasal yet smooth, so distinctly him, sent a shiver down your spine.

“You barely looked up when I came in.”

You swallowed, gripping the paintbrush a little tighter. He was right—he was always right about you. He knew you too well. He always noticed when you were losing yourself in your work, when you forgot to eat, when you barely slept.

His arms tightened just slightly, pulling you closer.

You could feel everything—the firm press of his chest, the slow rise and fall of his breath. It was too much. Too close. Yet, you didn’t move away.

Jungwon had always been there.

Not as your boyfriend, but not just as a friend. Something else. Something undefined. And it wasn`t a new thing that he just came over to your place almost every day. When you had so work on your college projects.

You turned your head slightly, your brown eyes meeting his.

He was perfect.

Every inch of him.

His now brown hair (last week it was blonde), styled effortlessly, his skin smooth and flawless, without a slingle hair, his eyes warm but unreadable.

Even now, under the dim glow of your desk lamp, he looked unreal.

“…You should go home...its late” you whispered, but even as you said it, you knew you didn’t mean it.

Jungwon smiled—a small, knowing smile. He wasn’t fooled. He never was.

“I don’t"

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his fingers curled loosely against your stomach. His touch was light, barely pressing into you, yet it sent a deep warmth curling through your body.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungwon had always been like this. Too close to be just a friend. Too gentle to be something casual. But never crossing that invisible line—never claiming you, never saying the words you sometimes caught yourself desperately wanting to hear.

You don’t even know what you two are.

And yet, you let him touch you like this. You let him be close. Because it feels good. It feels like something you shouldn’t need but do.

“…You always do this,” you muttered, staring at your half-finished painting.

Jungwon hummed against your shoulder, unbothered. “Do what?”

Your fingers tightened around the brush, the bristles trembling slightly as you tried to focus on the strokes of color. But it was impossible with the way he was leaning into you, the warmth of his body radiating against your own.

“This.” You swallowed. “You touch me like this. You come over, you stay late, you do… this.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, he sighed softly, his breath tickling your ear. “You never tell me to stop.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Because he was right. You never did.

You bit your lip, staring at the streaks of paint on your fingers, at the canvas in front of you. The image was blurred now, unfocused, your mind completely taken over by the feeling of him.

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned your head just enough to meet his eyes.

Big, brown, impossibly pretty. They held something in them—something deep, something unreadable, something that made your chest ache.

Jungwon’s face was too close, his nose almost brushing yours.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you let the brush drop from your grip, the soft clatter against the desk barely reaching your ears over the pounding of your heart.

His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second.

The air between you was heavy. Charged.

And then—

He smirked. Just barely. The corner of his mouth tilted up, the slightest hint of amusement in his features as if he could feel your hesitation, your anticipation. As if he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You hated him for it. And yet, you wanted more.

His fingers slid up, ghosting over your ribcage, the touch barely there. It sent a wave of shivers through your body, and you felt the heat crawl up your neck.

“Are you going to tell me to stop?” he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer.

You opened your mouth.

You should say it. You should push him away, tell him this is confusing, tell him you don’t know what you two are.

But instead—

“…No.”

The word barely left your lips before he leaned in closer, his nose brushing against your jaw, his breath fanning across your skin.

“Didn’t think so,” he whispered.

He was cute yet hot.

You didn`t noticed that he was extremly close now.

Jungwon’s fingers moved before you could react, slipping up to your face, gentle and deliberate.

The warmth of his touch ghosted over your skin as he reached for your glasses, his fingertips brushing against your temple.

"What are you—"

"Kissing’s not easy with these on," he murmured, setting them down gently on the desk beside your scattered brushes.

The sudden absence of them made you blink, the world around you turning slightly blurred.

He chuckled. A soft, breathy sound, barely audible but filled with something playful. “There,” he whispered. “Now I can actually see you.”

Your breath hitched.

And then—his lips were on yours.

Soft. Warm. Slow.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into it, the feeling of him so intoxicating that it made your knees feel weak—even though you were sitting.

His hand came up to cup the side of your face, thumb grazing your cheek, his other arm still loosely wrapped around your waist, keeping you close.

The kiss was gentle at first, exploring, savoring. His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, coaxing you into his rhythm.

And then—

Something changed.

His fingers pressed just slightly into your jaw, tilting your face up, and before you could even process it—

His tongue slipped between your lips.

Your entire body tensed.

Your eyes widened.

A rush of warmth shot through you, from the pit of your stomach to the tips of your fingers, curling deep into your chest. It was unfamiliar—too new, too much.

Jungwon felt your reaction, and he let out a quiet hum against your lips, his amusement evident.

“…You’ve never done this before,” he murmured, breaking away just slightly, his breath fanning across your lips.

You were frozen, still feeling the lingering warmth of his tongue, your own lips tingling from the sensation.

He leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours, teasing.

“I can tell.”

Your cheeks burned.

You swallowed hard, unable to find your voice, unable to figure out if you should pull away or lean in for more.

Jungwon only chuckled again, his voice deep and soft. “You’re cute when you’re shy.”

And now at the latest it was clear, that this wasn`t just a friendship.

©all rights reserved

[yukiscoffeebreak]

-2:46am-

------------------------------------------------------nikixreader---------

warnings: very soft niki, very deep thoughts, depression, mention of self harm, mention of cuts/marks/wounds, kissing, makeout, slow sex (no mention of protection), car sex, nicknames (baby), crying while sex

synopsis: A car, a ride, music, kissing turns into more. Like always. This was the only thing that makes you feel alive. And car sex wasn`t a new thing for you. He was the only person you wanted, the only personunderstanding you. And between the shit of life exist this moments, the moments that let you breathe..

note from author: I wanted to do a very deep, intense and slow story while putting in too my own thoughts. Not proofread as always. Grammar errors could be in T-T Hope y`all enjoy:3

songs: bellyache - Billie Eilish Male Fantasy - Billie Eilish Billie Bossa Nova - Billie Eilish OverHeated - Billie Eilish Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex Gone - ROSÉ

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The night is stretched thin.

The tears dried.

You try to threw the doubts and fuckin killing thoughts away.

Your sick of drowning in them.

Cutting your skin like paper.

He still loves you. Even with that ugly red strings and marks.

He kissed them instead of laughing about it.

He understands.

The road hums beneath you, the tires rolling over slick asphalt, headlights carving through the dark.

The world is asleep, but neither of you ever seem to be.

The passenger seat is cold against your bare legs, the leather slightly sticky where your skin presses into it.

You barely sit properly—knees bent, feet tucked under you, body tilted toward him. Not buckled up. You lean against Niki like he’s a piece of furniture, not a person. Your head on his shoulder, the side of your face pressing against the soft fabric of his hoodie.

He drives with one hand.

The other rests against your thigh, fingers lazy, tapping. He’s not gripping, not holding, just… there.

Resting.

Like it’s second nature. Like it always is.

Outside, the city flickers past—red lights and gas stations, the occasional neon sign buzzing with life, the sharp glint of wet pavement reflecting the glow.

Inside, the air is thick.

Warm.

Tense.

The music plays low, something with a deep bass that pulses under your skin, a song you both know but never acknowledge.

It’s a strange mix of your playlists—his music bleeding into yours, yours bleeding into his—until it’s impossible to tell whose song is whose anymore.

"You’re quiet," Niki murmurs, voice cutting through the stillness.

You don’t answer.

You just breathe him in, his scent lingering in the space between you. Faint cologne, a little bit of cigarette smoke, something unmistakably his.

"You mad?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You don’t answer again.

He sighs, fingers tightening—just slightly—on your thigh before relaxing again. "You always get like this when you're cold," he mutters, shaking his head.

His words settle somewhere inside you, because he’s right.

You always do get like this—when the night feels too long, when the air is too sharp against your skin, when exhaustion presses behind your eyes but you refuse to sleep. You withdraw. Go quiet. Freeze over.

It’s not intentional.

It’s just how you are.

Niki knows this.

He hold at an abdoned parkplace.

He sighs again, deeper this time, before reaching for the hem of his hoodie, tugging it over his head in one swift movement.

His shirt rides up slightly with it, flashing a sliver of his stomach, the sharp cut of his hipbones and his damn muscles, before settling back down. He barely hesitates before shoving the hoodie at you.

"Put this on before you start biting me," he mutters, half teasing, half not.

You hesitate for one second too long.

And that’s enough for him to notice.

"You want my hoodie, don’t you?" His voice dips, smug and lazy.

Your eyes snap up, narrowed. "Shut up."

His smirk widens, but he doesn’t say anything else, just watches as you yank the hoodie over your head, swallowing yourself in the fabric.

It’s too big—the sleeves fall past your fingertips, the hem pools at your thighs, nearly covering the shorts you’re wearing. You push the sleeves up slightly, but they just slip down again, oversized and ridiculous.

Niki’s eyes flicker over you, slow, calculating.

And then, before you can react, he reaches out—grabs your wrist, tugs and suddenly, you’re in his lap.

A sharp inhale gets caught in your throat.

The world shifts.

Your knees press into the seat on either side of him, straddling him before you can process it, your body now caged between his arms and the car door. His hands slide against your waist, not gripping, just resting, just there.

Your breath stutters.

Your eyes drop to him—because now you can.

You can see him differently from this angle, look down on him instead of the other way around.

And fuck

His dark eyes flicker over your face, slow and unreadable. His messy, dark hair falls over his forehead in uneven strands. His lips are slightly parted, the light catching on the curve of them, and suddenly, you can feel your own heartbeat in your throat, steady and pulsing.

He looks unfair like this. Unfairly pretty. Unfairly perfect.

The space between you is small. Almost nonexistent.

You realize, vaguely, that your fingers are curled into the fabric of his shirt. That your breathing is uneven. That your body is warmer now, but it has nothing to do with the hoodie.

Niki notices all of this.

Of course he does.

His lips twitch slightly, something lazy, something knowing, something cocky.

"Speechless?" he murmurs.

His tone was so goddamn teasing and made your face heat up.

You hated yourself for it.

You exhale sharply. "Shut up."

His smirk deepens. "That’s, like, the third time you’ve told me that tonight. Starting to think you just don’t know what else to say."

You glare at him. "I always know what to say."

"Then say something," he challenges, tilting his head, mouth barely an inch from yours.

You could.

You should.

But you don’t.

You just stare at him—at the sharp cut of his jawline, at the way he looks at you, like he’s both amused and hungry, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

So you do.

You grab his face—sleeves falling over your fingers, palms cupping his jaw—and you kiss him.

It’s slow at first.

Lazy. Teasing.

Your lips brush over his, testing, tasting.

His breath is warm against your mouth, sharp and uneven.

He doesn’t rush. He lets you take control, lets you pull back just to press in again, lets you kiss him exactly how you want.

He exhales against you, a low, quiet sound, before tilting his head, deepening the kiss.

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you down against him, making sure you can feel everything.

The air thickens.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, pull, and he groans into your mouth.

You kiss until the air is heavy, until the car windows fog up, until breathing stops feeling like a priority.

You barely notice when his lips leave yours, dragging down—over your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

You do notice when he exhales against your skin, murmuring, "Still cold?"

Your fingers tighten in his hair.

Your breath stutters.

"No."

He chuckles against your throat.

But he doesn’t stop.

His fingers—light but firm—trace the edges of your waist beneath the oversized hoodie, sending a wave of heat skittering across your skin.

It’s lazy. Sleepy. Tired yet lovely.

The kiss.

The way his lips move against yours with no hurry, no rush. He doesn’t pull away to breathe; he just stays there, his mouth barely brushing yours, as if he’s letting you decide when it’s time to pull back.

He’s never like this, always teasing, always pulling you forward, but now? Now, he’s letting you set the pace.

And you can’t decide if that pisses you off or entices you even more.

You can feel the weight of his gaze before you even open your eyes, his stare so sharp it’s like a tangible thing.

He’s watching you closely, studying your expression. You wonder how long he’s been watching you like this, wondering if you’ll break.

The thought flickers through your mind for a second, and just like that, your body reacts before your mind catches up.

You shift your legs, settling them more fully against him.

The way your thighs press against his hips pulls a quiet groan from his chest, but he doesn’t move.

He’s still leaning back, just a little, his hands loosely holding your hips, letting you move.

Letting you test.

You exhale softly, not because you want to, but because the air around you is thick with something else..

His hand,still warm, still steady,slips underneath the hem of the hoodie, his fingertips brushing your bare skin, skimming up your side.

A shiver runs through you.

You try to hold it back, to act unaffected, but you can’t.

You don’t answer, not with words.

Instead, you shift against him again, tilting your head just enough to kiss his neck. Your lips press against the skin there, soft at first, but when his breath catches, you kiss deeper, a little firmer.

He shudders under you, the low hum of a moan vibrating through his chest.

You pull back just enough to catch his gaze, dark, sharp, almost too focused on you, like he’s trying to figure you out. Trying to understand the mask you’ve kept up. His lips curl into that smug smile you know all too well, the one that says he’s too pleased with himself.

“What are you gonna do now, baby?” he asks, his voice still thick, heavy with the low burn of desire. “You going to keep acting all cold?”

You barely meet his eyes.

Instead, your hands travel up his chest, the warmth of his body pulling you closer, until you’re almost melting into him. His lips find yours again before you can respond, and this time, it’s not so lazy. It’s heated, desperate even, like the space between you is no longer enough.

Your mouths move in tandem, messy and breathless, but it’s still slow—no urgency.

Just want.

His hands slide under the hoodie more fully now, his fingertips grazing the curve of your hips, pulling you even closer, until you’re pressed against him.

Everything from you.

You felt your depression fades away, the doubts and thoughts slipping away with just damn kisses.

Touches.

Makeout.

Sex.

he was the only person you wanted to be with.

His warmth against your bare skin, the heat of his body bleeding through your clothes, makes your head spin.

You break away, but only for a moment, your lips hovering just above his. Your breath mingles with his, hot and rapid.

“What do you want?” His voice is barely audible, but it cuts through the haze between you. “You never let me know what you want.”

You could snap back with a sarcastic remark, but the words are stuck, lodged somewhere deep in your chest.

The moment was too pretty to be feisty now.

Instead, you lean back down and kiss him again, slow and soft, this time just letting your lips press together, letting the minutes slip by with no need for words.

Your hands—fingers still curling against his shirt—slide down, finding the button of his jeans, but you don’t undo it.

Not yet.

You just press your palm against the fabric, feeling the heat of his body, the hard line of his muscles beneath the cotton.

He shifts slightly under you, and you feel the shift in his breathing—like he’s holding back.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice thick with something you can’t quite explain.

But that’s all it takes. His hands slip to your back, pushing you against him, his mouth slanting over yours in a deeper, hungrier kiss. He’s not rushing, though.

It’s all languid, the movements lazy like he’s content with just this moment.

His lips move against yours in slow, open-mouthed kisses, tasting you. His tongue touches yours, briefly, before pulling away again.

The air in the car is suffocating now.

You could break away, could pull back and act like you don’t care—but you don’t.

You’re frozen against him, your body responding to his touches even as you fight to keep your walls up.

It’s always like this with him.

You almost hate how easily he can make you forget the world around you. How quickly he pulls you in.

You love him.

He pulls you just enough to sit up straight, lifting you slightly, his hands still resting on your hips, but now you’re straddling him fully, the fabric of his hoodie sliding across your bare skin.

He doesn’t care that your legs are still pressed against his, that the seat is hard and uncomfortable.

He’s content to pull you close, leaning into you as he kisses the curve of your neck, soft lips brushing over your skin.

And you, in your typical, cold way, don’t let yourself enjoy it.

You push back slightly, making a move to escape his hold—but he’s quicker, pulling you back down into his chest with one arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His breath is warm against your neck, his fingers sliding under your shirt, teasing at the waistband of your shorts.

“I’m not…” you start to protest, but the words fall away when his lips press to your collarbone, soft, lingering, just enough to make you forget what you were even going to say.

The windows are fogged now, completely covered in mist, and neither of you cares.

Neither of you is thinking about anything other than the slow, languid rhythm you’ve settled into. His hands are everywhere, roaming, touching, but never forcing—just enough to make your breath quicken, your pulse throb.

He shifts again, his lips finding your ear, his voice low and raspy. “You’re still not gonna say anything, huh?”

But this time, you don’t pull back. This time, you sink into him, letting the heat between you build without fighting it.

You kiss him again, lazy and soft, but something else is there now. Something deeper, more raw than before.

And in that moment, you realize—neither of you is going to back down. Neither of you is going to say what you both know is true. But the tension? That doesn’t go away.

It just sits there.

Lingering.

Waiting.

Moments passed, minutes passed, you`re both naked.

Completly exposed except his hoodie.

"You don`t need to hide it. I mean it`s okay if you don`t want to"

His voice was soft, so so soft and low. No pain. No pressure.

You pulled it over your head.

You were naked.

The bloody strings on your arms, caused by yourself were showing now.

He didn`t looked at them imidiatly, like others would.

He had took you out of this cycle. The pretending that all is fine and whan day is done, lyin` half dying on the bathroom floor.

You were depressed and after a while there was not even more a reason for your mood and your tears. And for the thoughts. You just had them.

You isolated yourself, letting the people around you think you`re okay.

They were too many times you got hurt.

Mostly by words. Only by words.

You were strange, your body was. Your hair straight, brown, skin pale, you needed glasses thick as fuck, your stomach was flat, your arms skinny, but your thights thick. Your eyes were nothing special.

Strange.

Ugly.

You were numb, empty.

So you tryd to fix the pain with the blade.

Noone understood you.

Until he did.

He wraps his arms around your waist kissing your cuts with his pretty, duck-like lips.

You felt the gentle touch, finally sitting down on him causing you both to moan lightly.

"Nikii..."

His lips found yours again, biting your underlip softly.

"Baby, does it hurt..?", he asked looking into your eyes.

You replied just after seconds, still a bit dazed from the feeling. He was indeed much but..it wasn`t the first time. "N..no I`m fine. I can move."

He kissed your neck as you move your hips slowly, buried your face in the crook if his neck.

Slowly.

It was always slowly.

You both never had rough sex.

You felt like you didn`t deserved this, yet you had it. Had him.

The thoughts and memories came back, slipping down your cheeks.

The mocking laugher, how you got beaten up and the words that hurt you echoed in your mind.

You hated the way you smiled even in that moments, loved the way you didn`t need to smile around him if youre not feeling like doing it.

He felt his skin turning slightly wet, your face still pressed in his neck.

His hands took your head, cupping your face.

You stopped the movement of your hips.

"What..?"

"Your crying.."

You said nothing more, your eyes told it all.

"Stop thinking about it."

He simply said. No fake-happyness. No "all will be fine".

He was a person that truly understands.

"I love you, Niki..you know that..?", you whispered, your voice slightly hoarse, still sitting on him.

His hand runs trough your hair. "I love you so much more."

His tone was not cheesy romantic or something of that stupid, citchy shit. It was serius, low, truthfull.

He slides his hands to your hips guiding them again.

You wrapped your hands around his neck, looking in his eyes and you saw even the smallest changes in his look. Pleasure. Love.

You felt yourself getting close, even if its going to be a soft high.

The climax hit you both at the same time.

You lied in his arms.

With tear stroked cheeks.

You sob.

You trembled.

You`ve buried the little girl in you for too long now.

The girl who wanted to laugh, to be happy, to be loved.

The girl that made your mom proud..

Not the girl who has blood-drying strings on her arms. Not the girl whos googeling how to tie a knot just to end it.

You didn`t felt like a kid anymore.

Your childhood was brutally ripped out.

From yourself.

Your hearted ached. It really ached. It felt tight. Crushed. Breaked.

The feeling in your chest was empty somehow.

His hand on your back soothed you, the following kiss helped you to wake up, out of your dark world.

Ofter he helped you to put your clothes on, he wiped your tears, kissed them away wothout saying anything.

Again you were in his hoodie.

This time sleeping.

He had put you on his lap, curled up.

Peacefull.

He took your arm softly, kissed the deep cut on your wrist. It will be fine. He will save you.

Even if you still were the girl, who was a afraid to be.

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©all rights reserved

[yukiscoffeebreak]

-smoke & sin-

----------------------------------------------heeseungxreader---------

warnings: age gap of 6 years, smoking, heeseung lets reader smoke from his cigarette, alcohol, cash games (casino) kissing (tongue), sex (a little rough yet soft i think), sex without protection (pls don`t do it) curse words, nicknames (baby, princess)

synopsis: You never ever had imagined your future like this. Livin in a 5 star luxury apartment with a boyfriend who could be straight out of a movie. Lee Heeseung. Even the age gap did not scared you as he asked you to be his girlfriend. You both exist beyond the world’s judgment of your ages. You never care. The love burns like a cigarette—slow, intoxicating, and forbidden.

note from author: I tryd AI this time to help me remove all the grammar errors. Hope its better this time and i hope y`all like ittt T-T

songs: Sweet - Cigarettes After Sex Billie Bossa Nova - Billie Eilish older - Isabel La-Rosa One Of The Girls - The Weeknd, JENNIE, Lily-Rose Depp Can`t Feel My Face - The Weeknd FEVER - ENHYPEN

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The cityscape of Seoul stretched endlessly before you, a symphony of neon lights and bustling streets, alive even in the deep hours of the night.

From the balcony of your shared luxury apartment, the world looked small, distant, a flickering illusion.

The air was thick with the scent of tobacco and the lingering notes of Heeseung’s cologne, a scent so intoxicating it wrapped around you like a second skin.

You lay with your head resting on his lap, the cool night breeze brushing against your bare legs. He sat with one hand tangled in your hair, his fingers threading through the strands with a slow, lazy rhythm. In his other hand, he held a cigarette between his slender fingers, the ember glowing faintly in the dark.

He took a long, slow drag before offering it to you. Without hesitation, you brought it to your lips, the taste of his lips on it, inhaling deeply, feeling the burn settle in your lungs before exhaling into the night.

He watched you with that signature smirk, eyes dark, unreadable. "You always look good like this," he murmured, his voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head to look at him, your gaze tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. "Like what?"

"Lost in the night. Lost in the smoke. Lost in me."

You let the cigarette dangle between your fingers as you exhaled another plume of smoke. "They say I should be lost in someone my own age."

You laughed, "Six fuckin` years between us".

Heeseung chuckled, taking the cigarette from you, crushing it into the ashtray beside him. "They don’t know what they’re talking about."

"Do you?"

His fingers brushed against your cheek, trailing down to your chin before tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "I know enough to say that I don’t care what they think. Do you?"

You leaned into his touch, your voice barely above a whisper. "Never did."

The city continued to pulse beneath you, but in that moment, all you could hear was the steady thrum of Heeseung’s heartbeat, the slow rhythm of your breaths intertwining. The night stretched on, wrapping you both in a darkness that felt like home.

Nothing more beautiful in the world existed.

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The bar was a den of sin, bathed in warm, golden light, thick with the scent of whiskey and cigarettes.

Heeseung sat beside you in the VIP lounge, one arm draped over the back of the plush leather booth, his other hand wrapped around a crystal glass of whiskey.

His gaze was sharp, assessing, as he watched the men at the poker table a few feet away. You, meanwhile, swirled the remnants of your drink, ice clinking softly against the glass.

"Thinking of playing?" you mused, watching the flicker of interest in his expression.

He smirked, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before setting it down with a quiet clink. "Do you think I should?"

You tilted your head, studying him. "I think you like taking risks."

His hand found your thigh beneath the table, fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path along the inside. "Only when the stakes are high enough."

You arched a brow, unfazed. "And are they?"

His grip tightened slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Always."

The dealer called for another round, and Heeseung exhaled, shifting slightly as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Stay here. Watch me win."

You smirked, watching as he stood, effortlessly slipping into the empty chair at the poker table.

God, you loved this man.

It was so ironic how he wanted to play in a oversized band shirt and baggy jeans, while the other man were sitting there in suits.

They barely acknowledged his presence until the first cards were dealt.

Then, as Heeseung leaned back, fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, the game began.

You watched him play with the same ease he carried on stage, the same quiet confidence that made the world fall at his feet.

The way his fingers danced over the cards, the slight tilt of his head as he considered his next move—it was all intoxicating, mesmerizing. And by the time he finished, chips stacked high in front of him, you knew he had never lost control. Not once.

As he made his way back to you, he slid a single chip across the table, letting it rest in front of you. "For luck."

You picked it up, rolling it between your fingers. "I thought you didn’t need luck."

Heeseung leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I don’t. But...you’re my exception."

You chuckled, "Hell, I love you."

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The apartment was dark when he returned from practice, the only light coming from the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Heeseung stepped inside, shutting the door quietly before dropping his bag by the entrance. His body ached from the long hours, but as soon as his eyes found you, standing in the dim glow of the living room, all exhaustion faded.

You were wearing one of his sweaters, the fabric hanging loosely off your shoulders, just long enough to barely cover the tops of your thighs. Your gaze met his, with the slight arrogance in his eyes, knowing.

You loved this expression on his face so much.

"Missed me?" he murmured, voice rough with fatigue and something else.

You smirked, crossing the space between you, your fingers reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "Maybe."

He caught your wrist, pulling you against him, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. "Liar."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as you tilted your head up to meet his lips.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, a silent confession of all the things left unspoken. His hands roamed down your back, gripping your waist as he deepened the kiss, as if he needed to remind himself that you were real, that this was real.

When he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered, "Tell me you need me."

You exhaled, fingers tracing the edge of his collar. "Always."

Heeseung’s hands tightened on your hips, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured, "Then let me prove it."

"Nothing rather than this.."

His lips found yours again in a more intense kiss, pushing you against the wall.

You gasped slightly.

His tongue parting your lips and exploring your mouth with such a dominance that made you weak in the knees.

His hands slid from your hips under your- no, his sweater.

His fingers were cold. You shivered a bit, but enjoyed this feeling at the same time.

He pulled the piece of clothing over your head, without hesitation.

"Shit Y/N..."

He groaned at the sight of yours as he removed his own shirt, tossing it to the side and doing the same with his pants and your shorts.

"Bedroom..?", you asked baredy above a whisper, slightly moaning it because you really couln`t deny the wetness is your panties anymore.

"Mh yeah..", he managed to say and pushed you in your room of privacy.

Soon you landed naked on the bed.

"Heeseung please..."

"Please what baby.."

"Fuck me Hee pleasee..", you whined desparetely.

"Beggin` so pretty...good girls get what they want..", he said smirking down at you, removing the last piece of clothing that separated you two.

And god his member was big. You dripped even more as you glanced down at his thing.

He chuckled, "What, too much for my pretty princess?"

"N..no i can handle it Hee.."

"You sure?", he asked.

"Yeah, I`m sure", you confirmed.

"Condom?", he asked, kissing your collarbone down to your breasts.

"Mhgg..n...no w..we did it so m..many times before without ,Hee..", you managed to say between moans.

"As you wish baby.."

Then he pushed himself inside you, you swear you saw stars.

"F...fuuuck shit", he cursed at the tight feeling of your pussy around him.

He began to move and after a while he loosed his own control, grabbing you by your thights, his fingers digging into your skin and his thrusts even harder inside you.

The night stretched on with him moving and keeping you cummin` many times. Moaning his name. Lookin into his pretty eyes.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, catching your breath after the fourth round. Though the quiet moment now felt serene, the frantic rush of desire slowly giving way to the kind of intimacy that only those truly connected could share.

His hand, still damp from the heat, rested lightly on your stomach, fingers tracing soft, absent patterns over your skin.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear, his heartbeats slowing in the aftermath of it all.

His breathing was steady now, the calm that always followed his wild, passionate moments, the part of him that seemed to trust you so completely.

"You're beautiful," he murmured quietly.

He said it so simply, as though it was a truth so clear, it didn’t need to be spoken aloud. But hearing it still made your heart flutter, soft and sweet.

You turned your face to him, brushing the hair from his forehead. His tired eyes met yours, a depth of emotion swimming in the dark pools of brown.

You could see the hint of vulnerability there now, a stark contrast to him a fiew minutes before.

"You make me feel alive." you said, your voice softer than usual bute still a bit cold, tracing a line along his jaw with the tips of your fingers. "No one else does that. No one else could ever."

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"I’ll always make you feel alive, baby," he said, his voice a hushed promise. "Always."

His thumb gently stroked your shoulder, his lips trailing down the side of your neck, slow and languid.

You could feel his lips curve into a faint smile as he kissed you there, a place he always found to be your most sensitive spot.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours.

"You’re not just mine," he whispered low, "You’re everything. Everything I never knew I needed. So fuck this 6 years between our ages."

"Yeah."

The world outside, the one full of judgment and gossip, no longer existed. In this bed, in this space, the two of you were enough.

Heeseung pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you with careful gentleness.

"Don’t leave me," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, though you knew it came from a place of deep sincerity. "Please."

You lifted your head to look at him again.

"I’m not going anywhere," you replied.

The silence that followed was comfortable, the kind that only comes after shared moments of intimacy.

Touches, Kisses, Sex- you took all what he gives you.

Not because he looked handsome, not because he do this things so good and not becsause he had money.

No.

It is because you truly loved him.

This feelings weren`t fake.

As Heeseung's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, you felt safe.

Safe in the arms of a guy older than you.

Better than all the younger guys that had broke your heart before.

For once, the city lights didn’t matter, the fame didn’t matter, and the world could fade away.

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