⤷ Three years of playing it safe at university vanish when campus king Jeon Jungkook decides you're his new obsession. He's all dangerous ink and possessive hands, and he won't stop until your carefully curated invisibility is destroyed and you're completely his.
pairing: 전정국 x fem!reader
Genre: Romance | College AU | Slice of Life | Smut | fwb kinda
Warnings: dom!jungkook, swearing, 18+, multiple orgasms, making out, drinking, teasing, oral (f receiving), fingering, sexting, sex, overstimulation, public claiming (not sex), class differences, power imbalance, protected sex
word count: 4k
Chapter 2
a/n: my first ever ff on tumblr (the last time i wrote one was like 10 yrs ago) ANYWAYS i am supposed to be working on my thesis, look what I'm doing instead, also i am eating pineapple while writing this (ifykyk)
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
You've spent three years at this university successfully avoiding the campus social hierarchy. That is, until he decides to notice you.
Jeon Jungkook is basically the kind of boy they write songs about, a string of bad decisions, all sharp cheekbones and even sharper attitude. The university’s unofficial royalty, he glides through the halls like he owns the place (and honestly, with his family name carved into three campus buildings, he kinda does).
He embodies that classic Doberman vibe for a boyfriend, so he treats the comparison like a second skin or something, tattooed along his forearms in intricate blackwork, winding up his hands an then disappearing under the rolled sleeves of his shirts. It sprawls over his back, in wings and script you’ve only half caught, when he takes off his leather jacket on those too hot afternoons.
He rides this matte black Ducati, purring like some kind of threat, and honestly the sound sticks to your nerves. He smokes clove cigarettes outside the engineering building.
His biceps strain against the seams of his clothes, and his back narrows into a waist you’ve shamefully dreamed about grabbing, like it’s personal. His mouth only does that curl when he’s unimpressed, like you’re supposed to feel it, and it’s weird, because for reasons you cannot explain, he’s started looking at you.
It starts at the coffee shop, him sliding into the booth across from you like you were already there, like it was already decided. Tattooed fingers tap the table while he studies you, not with curiosity exactly...
He doesn’t flirt but he asks questions you don’t know how to answer and somehow you always end up answering anyway. He stares at your mouth when you speak, and then he leaves, and you’re breathless, because the attention feels predatory and protective at the same time, like he’s hunting you but also making sure nothing or no one touches you.
You’re not his type, you know that. You’re soft where he’s hard, careful where he’s chaotic. You live on scholarships while he throws cash at problems like it’s confetti, like money is just another kind of weather.
But Jungkook has decided to collect you, like he collects everything that catches his eye. He’s got the university wrapped around his finger or whatever, and his reputation should’ve made you bolt, like, years ago. He’s got ink under his skin and smoke in his lungs, plus a motorcycle that could take him anywhere, but somehow he keeps parking it right outside your dorm.
Tonight it starts with a meme.
You’re lying in bed at 11:30, scrolling, half-asleep, when your phone buzzes against your chest. The vibration kinda startles you, and you nearly drop your phone on your face.
jk: this you?
Below that text is a pic (a raccoon, in a trash can, very poetic, i know). You squint at your screen, confused. It’s not a flattering comparison, and you don’t understand the reference at all.
you: ??
Three dots show up right away, meaning he’s typing. You picture him somewhere, probably in that ridiculously expensive apartment his parents pretend not to brag about, sprawled on some leather couch that costs more than your tuition, with a bottle of something expensive sitting on the table like it’s totally normal.
jk: the trash panda thing
jk: reminded me of you
You sit up, blanket pooling around your waist. The air in your dorm is cool, but there’s this heat creeping up your neck like you’re being slowly judged by the universe.
Three weeks ago you wouldn’t have had the faintest clue what to even say. Three weeks ago, Jeon Jungkook was just a distant, moving figure on campus, someone you sometimes spotted across the quad.
Now he’s the reason your underwear is missing from your laundry basket, the reason you’ve started checking your reflection more often, and the reason your heart does that ridiculous little flutter thing whenever you hear a motorcycle engine.
you: i’m not a raccoon.
jk: no but like
jk: you’d live in a trash can if you could
you: that's not a compliment
jk: it is tho
jk: raccoons are hot
You stare at the ceiling for a second. This is your life now. Debating whether raccoons are hot with a guy who has your underwear in his pocket from three days ago.
you: are you drunk?
jk: kinda
jk: come over
you: it's tuesday
jk: and?
jk: my bed's big and i'm lonely and i wanna touch you
You shouldn't. You have class at 9 AM and he lives twenty minutes away and your car is making that weird noise again. But you're already sitting up, looking for your jeans.
you: omw
You knew his address by heart now. The towering high-rise downtown, where the doorman recognizes you, and how there’s a toothbrush in his bathroom now.
You grab your keys, slip on your shoes, and take a moment in front of the mirror. Your hair is a wild mess, your face is bare, and you’re still in that same old hoodie from high school. You think about changing, maybe putting on some makeup, trying to look like someone who fits into his world. But then you remember the way he looked at you a week ago, on his bike, behind a random gym, his hands trembling as he unzipped your pants, his soft whisper of "fuck, you're perfect" against your throat.
You leave as you are
ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত
His apartment is different at night. Darker. More intimate, only the lamp by the couch casting long shadows across the floor, it feels like a den, a cave.
He's wearing sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His chest is bare, tattoos sprawling across his pecs and shoulders, the ink dark against his skin. His hair is messy, falling into his heavy-lidded eyes.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is rough, deeper than usual. He doesn't wait for you to answer before he's pulling you inside, kicking the door shut with his foot, and kissing you against the door before it even closes.
His hands are on your waist, thumbs pressing into your hip bones, you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and kiss him back.
"You taste like beer," you mumble against his mouth when you come up for air.
"You taste like mint." He bites your lip, not hard, just enough to make you gasp. "Missed you."
You saw him in the library yesterday, where he'd cornered you between the stacks, his body pressed against yours, his hand sliding up your thigh under your skirt while his friends waited for him outside. But you don't say that, because he's already kissing down your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse point, hands sliding under your shirt, and your brain is short-circuiting.
"Bedroom," he says, not a question, and lifts you like you weigh nothing. You yelp, grab his shoulders, and he laughs into your collarbone, carrying you down the hall while you protest weakly about being able to walk.
"I know you can walk." He drops you on the mattress, follows you down, caging you in with his arms. " But I like carrying you. You're small."
"I'm average."
"You're small. I like it." He's kissing you again, deeper, and his hand is sliding down your stomach, slipping into your waistband without taking them off. "Can I?"
"You asked last time."
"Wanna make sure." His fingers brush over you, light, teasing, through the thin fabric of your underwear. "Wanna hear you say it."
"Yes," you breathe, and he makes this sound, this low growl in his chest that vibrates through you, and then his hand is moving and you're arching into it.
He's learned you even better since the bike. That first time, pressed against the leather seat of his Ducati in the back of that deserted gym, had been frantic and desperate, all teeth and hurried touches in the dark. Now, he knows exactly how you like it, slow at first, teasing, tracing patterns over the fabric until you're squirming, then faster when you're panting, then slowing down again when you're close, keeping you on the edge until you're whining, grabbing onto him like a lifeline.
"Please," you say, and you hate how desperate you sound, but he loves it, you can tell by the way he watches your face with hungry eyes.
"Yeah?" he murmurs, thumb pressing just right through the now soaked fabric. "Wanna come for me?"
"Jungkook—"
"Say my name again. Like that. Fuck."
You come with his name in your mouth,
of course you do
you love how his name sounds from your lips
back arching off the bed, he doesn't stop, drawing it out, until you're shaking and pushing at his wrist because it's too much, too sensitive, too good.
"Good?" he asks, smug, bringing his hand to his mouth to lick his fingers clean while you watch, cheeks burning.
"You're so-" You can't find the word. "Obnoxious."
"Yeah." He grins, leaning down to kiss you, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, which should be weird but isn't, not with him. "Your turn."
He rolls onto his back, pulls you on top of him, and you can feel how hard he is through his sweatpants, pressing against your thigh. You sit up, straddling him, and he looks up at you with this expression that's half lust and half something softer, something that scares you.
"What?" you ask, a little embarrassed under his gaze.
"Nothing." He runs his hands up your thighs "Just...you look good. Up there."
You pull your shirt off, drop it on the floor, and his eyes darken, hands coming up to cover your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble under his touch.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Every time. Every time I think I imagined how you look and then I see you and it's...better."
"Stop talking."
"Can't." He sits up, mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, the slope of your breast. "I wanna tell you everything. I wanna say-" He stops, bites down on your collarbone, sucks a mark there. "Never mind."
"Jungkook-"
"Shh." He flips you, sudden and smooth, and you're on your back again with him between your legs, and he's kissing down your stomach, fingers hooking in your waistband. "Can I?"
"Yes."
He pulls your pants off, your underwear too, and he just looks at you for a second. You want to cover yourself but his hands are on your knees, pushing them apart, and then his mouth is on you and your head falls back, hands gripping the sheets.
He's good at this. Embarrassingly good. Knows exactly how to use his tongue, when to suck, when to press, when to slide fingers inside and curl them just right. You're making sounds you don't recognize, high and broken, and he's making these noises too, these satisfied rumbles that vibrate against you.
"So good," he mumbles against you, and you feel it, the vibration. "Taste so good. Could do this all night."
"Don't-" You're panting, close, so close. "Don't stop, please-"
He doesn't. He works you through it, fingers and mouth, and you come harder than you have in your life, crying out, back bowing off the bed. He eases you through it, gentle now, pressing kisses to your thighs, your hip, your stomach.
"Okay?" he asks, chin resting on your belly, looking up at you with dark eyes.
You thread your fingers through his hair, God he's so beautiful like this.
"Yeah." You're wrecked. "Yeah, I'm- come here."
He crawls up, kisses you slow and deep. He's still hard, pressing against your hip, and you reach for him but he catches your wrist.
"Not yet," he says. "Wanna take my time."
"Since when do you take your time?"
"Since I want to." He kisses your wrist, the pulse point, then your palm.
And that was weird, because he never did that.
"I need be inside you. Ok?"
Your stomach flips. You nod.
He reaches over, grabs a condom from the drawer, rolls it on while you watch. He's beautiful like this, ink, muscles and lust, and you don't let yourself think about how many girls have seen him like this. You're here now. That's what matters.
He settles between your legs, guides himself in slow, so slow, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. You gasp at the stretch, the fullness, and he stills, breathing hard.
"Good?" he asks, strained.
"Yeah. Move."
He does. Slow at first, deep strokes that hit something inside you that makes your vision blur. He keeps his eyes on yours, which is almost too much, too intimate, and you try to look away but he catches your chin, makes you look at him.
"Stay with me," he says, and you don't know if he means right now or forever, and you're scared to ask.
He speeds up, hips snapping harder, and you wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. He's hitting that spot every time now, and you're already close again, which is ridiculous, which is unfair.
"Touch yourself," he pants.
You obey, fingers sliding between you, and he groans, watching, and the sound sets you off. You come clenching around him, and he follows, burying his face in your neck, groaning long and low as he spills into the condom.
For a minute, neither of you moves. He's heavy on top of you, but you don't mind. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest. His hand finds yours, fingers threading together on the pillow beside your head.
"Stay," he says, muffled against your shoulder.
"That's the second time you've said that tonight."
"Mean it both times." He lifts his head, looks at you with dark, serious eyes. "I want to wake up with you."
You should say no. You have class. You have rules about this, about not sleeping over, about not making this real.
"Okay," you say.
He smiles, rare and soft, and kisses your forehead, your nose, your mouth. "Okay."
He gets up, deals with the condom, brings you a towel and a t-shirt to sleep in. His shirt.
"Pretty," he says, and you roll your eyes, but you're smiling.
You crawl into his bed, under the black sheets, and he follows, wrapping himself around you from behind, arm heavy over your waist.
"Night," he murmurs against your hair.
"Night."
You're almost asleep when your phone buzzes from the floor where your pants are. You ignore it. He doesn't.
"Your alarm or something?"
"No." You're drifting. "Probably mom."
He goes still behind you. "You tell her about me?"
"She knows I have friends."
"Friends." He says the word like it's funny. Like it hurts. "Yeah. Okay."
You should clarify. You should say something. But you're tired, and he's warm, and you let yourself fall asleep instead.
ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত
In the morning, he's already awake when you open your eyes, propped up on one elbow, watching you.
"Creepy," you mumble.
"Can't help it." He traces your jaw with his finger, light. "You're pretty when you sleep."
"Stop."
"Can't help that either." He leans in, kisses you soft, morning breath and all. "Wanna shower with me?"
"Your hot water lasts five minutes."
"Then we'll be fast." He's already pulling you up, hands on your waist, and you let him lead you to the bathroom, let him wash your hair, let him press you against the tile and take you again with water running down your back.
After, wrapped in his robe while he makes coffee in the kitchen, you check your phone.
“You look good in my shirt.”
You look up. He's leaning against the counter, watching you, phone in his hand.
“You're ridiculous.”
“And yet you're still here.”
You don't have a reply to that.
"Class at 9?" he asks.
"Mhm."
"I'll drive you."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
You look at him over the rim of your mug, at his messy hair and his bare chest and his tattoos, at the way he's looking at you like you're something precious, something he wants to keep.
"Okay," you say.
He smiles, small and real, and you don't let yourself name the feeling in your chest.
Not yet.
When he pulls up to the liberal arts building, cutting the engine, the sudden silence is jarring, you climb off.
"Text me after your class."
"I have a study group."
"Text me after that."
You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. "I'll see you later, Jungkook."
He catches your wrist before you can turn away, pulls you closer. "Hey." His other hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. "Be good."
"I'm always good."
"No, you're not." He grins, sharp and wicked. "That's why I like you."
He kisses you then, right there in front of everybody, a claiming kiss that leaves you breathless and blushing. When he pulls away, he's still smiling, and you can feel the eyes of passing students on you.
"Go," he says, smacking your ass lightly. "Learn something."
You flip him off over your shoulder as you walk away, but you're still smiling when you push through the doors to the building.
Your study group is in the library, in one of the glass-walled rooms on the third floor. You're late, and they're already deep into discussion about postcolonial theory. You slide into a chair and try to focus, but your mind keeps drifting back to Jungkook and his hands on your skin, his mouth on yours, the way he'd looked at you this morning.
"Earth to Y/N," says Mia, waving a hand in front of your face. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere," you say, shaking your head. "Sorry. What were you saying?"
"We were talking about Fanon's concept of violence as a cleansing force," says David, pushing his glasses up his nose. "But you seem more interested in whatever, or whoever, has you smiling like that."
"I'm not smiling."
"You are," says Sarah, grinning. "And you're wearing a guy's shirt under your hoodie. Spill."
You look down at the collar of the black t-shirt peeking out from under your hoodie.
"It's nothing," you say, but they're all looking at you, and you know they won't let it go.
"Is it that guy?" asks Mia, leaning forward. "The one you were with at the coffee shop three weeks ago ?"
You'd forgotten they'd seen you together. Jungkook had insisted on buying you coffee, sliding into the booth across from you, his tattooed fingers drumming the table as he studied you. Your friends had been sitting two tables away, watching with wide eyes.
"Maybe," you say, noncommittal.
"Oh my god," says Sarah. "It is. What's his name? Is he a student here?"
You hesitate. You know his name, of course, everyone on campus knows his name, but saying it out loud feels like acknowledging something real, something that you're not sure even exists.
"Jungkook," you say, quietly.
"Jeon Jungkook?" asks David, his eyes widening behind his glasses. "As in, the Jeon Jungkook? The guy whose family donated the new science building?"
You nod, feeling a flush creep up your neck. You'd forgotten about the fact that there were 3 buildings with his family name engraved for everyone to see.
"Holy shit," says Mia. "How did you-?"
"I don't know," you say honestly. "He just... noticed me."
God, that sounded a bit depressing,
"Girl," says Sarah, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "That's not 'noticing.' That's 'hunting.' Be careful."
You want to laugh, but you can't. Because she's right, and the terrifying part is how much you're enjoying it.
Your phone buzzes during your next class, a subtle vibration against your thigh. You pull it out discreetly, hiding it under your desk.
jk: bored
jk: thinking about you
jk: specifically thinking about you in my bed
You feel a flush creep up your neck, and you cross your legs, pressing your thighs together. Professor Davies is droning on about Lacanian psychoanalysis, and you're supposed to be taking notes, but all you can think about is Jungkook's hands on you, his mouth, the way he'd looked at you this morning.
you: i'm in class
jk: so?
jk: touch yourself
You almost drop your phone. You look up, but Professor Davies is still writing on the whiteboard, his back to the class. You type back with shaking fingers.
you: i'm not doing that
jk: why not?
jk: bet you're wet right now
jk: bet you're thinking about this morning
jk: i am
You are, you’re thinking about the shower, the water running down your back, his hands on your hips. The way he pressed you against the tile, and took you from behind, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other between your legs.
you: stop
jk: make me
jk: come over after class
you: i have to study
jk: i'll be quiet
jk: mostly
You can't help but smile, even as your cheeks burn. You're saved by the bell, literally, as the class ends and students start packing up their things.
you: maybe
jk: not maybe
jk: i'll be outside
You grab your stuff, mumble a quick goodbye to your classmates, and you head straight for the door. Sure enough, there he is, leaning against his Ducati, sunglasses on, looking like he walked out of some glossy Vogue cover. People are staring, whispering, but he acts like none of it matters. His focus is stuck on you, and only you.
“Took you long enough,” he says, like it’s a joke, while you’re still getting closer.
“I was in class,” you reply, but you can’t really stop the smile from showing up.
”Missed you,” he answers, and before you can think too hard, he pulls you into this kiss right there in the middle of the quad. It’s not as deep as the one you had this morning, but it’s got the same hold on you. When he finally eases back, he’s already grinning.
“Wanna get out of here?” he asks.
“I have to study,” you say, but it comes out soft, almost thin, and we both know it.
“Study later,” he says, and he presses a helmet into your hands. “Live now.”
You grab the helmet, strap it on , and hop up on the bike behind him.
When you finally reach his place, it’s empty, which is odd. Usually his dog is right there at the door, tail going a mile a minute, but now there’s nothing, not even a trace.
“Where’s your dog?” you ask, while Jungkook locks the door.
“At my parents” he says, and he pushes the door open. “They’re spoiling him.”
You step in, and he comes after, kicking the door shut behind you
“Come here,” he says, and he tugs you in close, kissing you slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world. “God, I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
everyone knows you as the good girl/nerd. except you’re so fucking tired of that image. (and you’re also very… horny.) so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok — things don’t really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend/campus favorite fuckboy: jeon jungkook.
:: genre/tropes/au :: smau + written , fake dating / fake relationship , slow burn , strangers to friends (a little bit of frenemies?¿) to fuckbuddies to lovers
:: warnings :: no love triangle, university au, frat boys/frat parties, alcohol consumption, judgy!oc - oc is lowk mean, jungkook who’s full of himself, mutual pining, bad decisions, jealousy, eventual written smut, silly ahh fic.
SYNOPSIS ⟢ after suffering a gruelling break-up, y/n vowed to start doing all the things her ex-boyfriend had never let her do before; partying, having fun, and making reckless decisions. during a usual night out, y/n spontaneously decides to try to get inked – which ultimately led her to meet lee heeseung, an independent tattoo artist. meeting heeseung was an embarrassing memory that y/n would like to forget (which she had forgotten by the next morning anyways considering she was completely hammered), however, after encountering each other again by chance – or luck if you call it that – heeseung decides he’s found the perfect canvas for his art; his next muse.
pairing ⟢ tattoo artist! heeseung x party girl! reader
genre ⟢ social media au (smau) + written, strangers to lovers, university au
contains ⟢ profanity, suggestive [sexual] discourse, humour/crack, friendly bullying, highly suggestive scenes, smut (18+), story mainly occurs in NYC, luck as a symbolism like everywhere, alcohol and marijuana consumption, family issues, mentions of mental illness, flawed character(s), gets angsty later on.
featuring ⟢ all of enhypen, yeonjun, beomgyu, and soobin of txt, giselle of aespa, yunjin and chaewon of le sserafim + some cameos of other idols
status: COMPLETED! (21/10/25)
author's note: hii, this is my first smau + fic and i'm also rlly new to tumblr so pls lmk if there are any areas where i can improve on! i've always wanted to write but never had the platform to until i found this community on tumblr!! ANYWAYS enough yappin, i hope you enjoy this smau + fic, this took A LOT of detailed planning to come to life!!! <3
TAGLIST [CLOSED]
reblogs appreciated ♡
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PROFILES
husband beaters | mama a tattoo artis t behind u
CHAPTERS
00 PROLOGUE
01 can i please get uhhh
02 lucky me + written (1.1k words, 7 screenshots)
03 BULLSHIT THATS PRETTY PRIVILEGE
04 no bitch DUCK
05 who are you? + written (1.1k words, 6 screenshots)
06 let me make it up to you
07 agent rik and j-won
08 hee’s behind me isnt he.
09 oh shit, WORLDSTAR! + written (2k words, 7 screenshots)
10 we need to talk.
11 you have a visitor! + written (1k words, 6 screenshots)
12 this is WORSE than a situationship. + written (2.1k words, 9 screenshots)
13 bodega cat except you’re in a tattoo shop instead
14 like NYPD type shit
15 the trolley dilemma (ft. riki)
16 can’t miss my chance + written (1k words)
17 unexpected guest + written (1.3k words, 3 screenshots)
18 computer science with a side of beer and family trauma
19 playing house
20 happy birthday 2x
21 lucky you + written (2.1k words)
22 “what are we?”
23 spring break in albany + written (2.5k words)
24 four-leaf clover + written (2k words)
25 some things are better left unsaid
26 we need to talk, again.
27 ran out of luck + written (1.3k words, 3 screenshots)
28 waiting for you in west village + written (2k words, 3 screenshots)
29 new person, same old mistakes
30 winter in boston + written (2.8k words)
31 disappearing act
32 say it again + written (2.1k words)
33 busy woman
34 why can’t we just give it a shot? + written (1.5k words)
35 last hurrah!
36 graduation day + written (2.4k words, 8 screenshots)
37 EPILOGUE: luckiest man alive
SPIN-OFFS
gen z luv! <3 (sunghoon), part 2
we found love on… hinge? (jake)
PLAYLISTS ⊹˚♬₊⋆
black heart ink’s store playlist (heeseung’s pick)
SYNOPSIS ⟢ throughout your entire life, you have been in the public eye; constantly harassed, followed, criticized – you name it. when you got into university, you only ever had one wish: to live a normal life for once. you craved having ordinary friends, a whirlwind romance, and especially, no more bad paparazzi pictures being taken of you anymore. after the first few months of school, you only managed to tick off one of the things on your list. you’re still single and your face is still plastered on the tabloids – what’s new? but then comes park sunghoon, an average run-of-the-mill graduate student. he doesn’t make you feel any different; he treats you exactly how you want to be treated, like a normal girl. what you don’t know, however, is that he bears a not-so-normal secret. soon, you’ll have to decide if love is really worth the risk of losing the last shred of normalcy left in your life.
pairing ⟢ graduate student! sunghoon x high-profile fem! reader
genre ⟢ social media au (smau) + written, strangers to lovers, fame au-ish, university au
contains ⟢ profanity, suggestive discourse, humour/crack, friendly bullying, highly suggestive scenes, alcohol and marijuana consumption, family issues, angst, power dynamics (between social classes), sunghoon has a secret, no actual political discourse (more to be added if necessary).
featuring ⟢ all of enhypen, ningning of aespa + some cameos of other idols
status: ongoing!
author's note: hi guys! this is my second smau, this time with sunghoon heh! just a heads up because this is a fame au, paparazzi pictures are crucial to the story; these photos will only be used for reference only (so you can visualize it better!) and are not made to reflect anyone in the actual photos used (their faces will be blurred however to keep the "y/n" essence alive though lol!) i am super excited to start this following my last smau, like a tattoo, so i hope you all enjoy! <3
warnings ; lee heeseung x reader, childhood friends to lovers, reunion au, alcohol, suggestive themes, emotional intimacy. smut warnings below the cut ;)
synopsis ; you haven’t seen your childhood best friend in years, not really. then a mutual friend invites you to a party and he’s just… there. taller, broader, so attractive. which would be fine if your brain didn’t short-circuit every time he looked at you...
word count ; 7.5k words + text screenshots!
author's pre note ; hi guys! this took AGES because of finals season stress, but i really hope you guys like it as much as i did! MDNI.
smut warnings ; explicit sexual content (18+), consensual sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (do NOT do that!), dom/sub undertones (light), praise kink, dirty talk, power dynamics, light hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, aftercare, staying the night
you don’t even notice him at first.
you’re too busy trying not to spill your drink, shoulder wedged between sunoo and a bookshelf that looks like it’s one unsteady sway away from killing someone. the apartment is humid with too many bodies and not enough open windows, cheap LED strip lights washing everything in blue and purple. music thumps low from the bluetooth speaker on the counter, some playlist jay swore was “chill vibes” and is actually just five different sabrina carpenter songs and a random drake track.
“you good?” sunoo asks over the music, leaning into your ear.
“yeah,” you shout back. “just thinking about how i’m gonna sue if this bookshelf collapses on me.”
he grins, eyes crinkling. “i’ll testify on your behalf.”
you roll your eyes, bringing the cup to your lips. the drink is… suspiciously sweet. someone definitely drowned the alcohol in juice. you’re halfway through another sip when sunoo’s gaze flicks over your shoulder, light catching on the metal of his earrings.
“oh,” he says, like he’s just remembered something. “by the way—don’t freak out.”
every time someone says “don’t freak out,” they fully intend for you to freak out.
you swallow. “what did you do.”
“i invited someone,” he hedges. “you know him, i think. from back home?”
the words slide straight past you because the front door opens right then, a rush of cooler hallway air rolling into the apartment. voices spill in with it, a few greetings, footsteps, the scrape of shoes being kicked off.
you don’t even look, at first. you’re used to these things—people drifting in and out, new faces, friends-of-friends you’ll never see again.
and then sunoo’s hand lands on your forearm, squeezing.
“don’t look,” he says. “actually, do look. but be normal about it, please.”
“you’re being weird,” you say, already turning your head because you’re nosy and have zero self-control—
—and your heart drops down to your stomach.
heeseung.
for half a second, your brain refuses to register him as the same person. the guy stepping into jungwon’s living room, tugging his beanie off and running a hand through his hair, is tall, for starters. like… actually tall, shoulders filling out the hoodie he’s wearing, dark jeans hanging loose on long legs. there’s a thin chain glinting at his throat when he laughs at something jungwon says, head tipping back. his hair is messier than you remember, styled on purpose instead of just flopping into his eyes. his voice when he answers is deeper—still familiar, but settled.
it’s stupid that what really hits you is his hands. big, long fingers, veins running faintly along the backs when he lifts one to push his hair away from his forehead.
your brain, very helpfully: oh. he got hot.
like, not just “oh he grew up” hot. full, proper, “you would swipe right and regret it later” hot.
“you’re staring,” sunoo murmurs, amused.
“i’m not,” you hiss, already staring harder. “shut up.”
heeseung glances up then, like he can feel your eyes on him. his gaze sweeps the room once, quick, and then lands on you.
it hits like a physical thing.
his whole face shifts. the relaxed, polite smile drops into a more real kind of smile, maybe recognition; you see it travel through him, down to the way his shoulders straighten a little.
“oh my god,” you croak, suddenly very aware of the way your hair is half-frizzed from the humidity and you’re wearing a t-shirt with a questionable stain on the hem.
sunoo snorts. “hey, I told you not to freak out!”
“i’m going to kill you.”
“after i just reunited you with your childhood best friend? rude.”
childhood best friend.
he’s already crossing the room, weaving through people like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to shove them aside. his eyes don’t leave your face. every step closer has your pulse climbing higher into your throat.
you haven’t seen him properly in… years. random instagram stories of nothing but food and aesthetic travel pics, sure. the odd “happy birthday” text that fizzled into nothing. but not like this. not within arm’s reach.
“hey,” he says when he finally stops in front of you. his smile does that thing you remember, where it starts a little crooked and then takes over his whole face. “wow. you—”
he hesitates, eyes sweeping over you in a quick, almost shy pass before snapping back up.
“you look different,” he finishes. “in a good way. obviously. not that you didn’t look good before, i just—”
“you want to start over?” you offer, saving him from himself.
the corner of his mouth tugs up. “kind of.”
he smells clean. there’s something vaguely sharp under the detergent—maybe cologne, maybe body wash. either way, it’s nice. too nice.
“hi,” you say, trying for casual. “you’re tall now. crazy.”
he lets out a laugh that punches heat into your chest. “i always was tall. you just stopped seeing me before it got this bad.”
you make a face, but the word sticks. stopped.
you’d both stopped, in different ways. different schools, different friend groups, both promising “we’ll hang out soon” until soon wasn’t a real word anymore.
“i didn’t know you were coming,” you say.
“sunoo threatened me,” he says immediately. “he said if i didn’t show up he’d text my mom and tell her i’m living off of ramen”
“that’s because you are,” sunoo calls from behind you.
“snitch,” heeseung mutters.
sunoo peels away toward the kitchen, giving you a look over his shoulder that says ‘you owe me.’
you’re suddenly very aware that you’re standing alone with heeseung in the middle of a party, your drink clutched too tight in your hand.
“so,” he says. “how’ve you been? that’s a normal question, right?”
“super normal,” you nod. “textbook, even.”
he huffs out another laugh. something in your chest wants to preen at the sound.
you talk.
it starts stilted, the kind of small talk you could have with anyone—classes, work, how shit the bus system is. but somewhere between your rant about your professor who still prints everything and his horror story about a roommate who’d had a sock on the door at 3 a.m. every night for weeks, it eases. the old rhythm slips back in, the push and pull of teasing and fondness, all those years of knowing each other quietly resurfacing.
he remembers everything. the old street you grew up on. your childhood dog’s name. the way you used to be weird about thunderstorms.
“you still sleep with the light on when it rains?” he asks, sipping his drink.
“no,” you lie. “i’m brave now.”
he lifts a brow. “sure.”
your skin buzzes. it’s fine. it’s normal. childhood friends can reconnect. there’s nothing weird about your heart doing backflips just because he looks at you like that.
it’s not until someone bumps into you—as in, full-on shoulder check—that you realize how close you’ve drifted. his shoulder almost touches yours, his arm half-curving behind you like he meant to shield you from the impact.
you mumble an apology to the stranger, then turn back. heeseung’s gaze flicks down to your mouth for a split second before he drags it away.
okay. you need a second.
“bathroom,” you say, the word tumbling out. “i—uh, i’ll be right back.”
he nods, maybe a little too fast. “yeah. sure. i’ll be… around.”
of course he’ll be around.
you elbow your way down the hall until you find the bathroom and shut yourself in, pressing your back to the door. the music muffles. the tiny space smells like somebody’s floral soap and cheap air freshener.
you stare at your own messages for another full minute, heat crawling up your neck.
when you finally pocket your phone and look in the mirror, your reflection looks… flustered. flushed cheeks, eyes a little wide.
“pull it together,” you mutter to yourself. “it’s literally just heeseung.”
the words don’t even sound convincing to you.
you splash a bit of water on your wrists, wipe it off on a hand towel that’s seen better days, and escape back into the hallway.
you find him exactly where you left him, leaning against the wall near the kitchen, tapping his fingers against his cup to the beat of the music. he glances up the second you step into view.
“got lost?” he asks.
“considered climbing out the window,” you say. “decided the fall might kill me.”
“dramatic as always,” he says, but his eyes sweep your face like he’s checking if you’re actually okay.
────────
the night blurs.
someone starts a dumb drinking game in the living room. jungwon fails at shuffling cards. sunoo ends up on the floor, laughing so hard he can’t breathe. you drift in and out of conversations but somehow always end up back near heeseung, orbiting to one another each time.
when you finally glance at your phone again, the time makes you wince.
“i should head out,” you say, finding him in the kitchen refilling his drink with water now. how responsible…
“i’ll walk you,” he says immediately.
“you don’t have to.”
“i know,” he says, grabbing his hoodie from the back of a chair. “but i want to.”
────────
the apartment air has been thick and warm. outside, the hallway is cooler, quiet in that slightly echoey, late-night way. he walks beside you down the stairs, his shoulder a steady presence at your side.
“so, be honest,” he says once you’re outside, city air hitting your face. “on a scale of one to ten, how much did you hate seeing me again?”
you snort. “i was at, like, a solid… negative three.”
“wow,” he says. “so you missed me.”
“don’t push it.”
you fall into step together. it feels bizarrely like being twelve again, walking home after dark, shadows stretching long on the sidewalk. the world is quieter now. a car rolls past, headlights washing you both in white for a second.
“i did, you know,” he says, softer. “miss you.”
your throat dries. “we text.”
“that’s not the same,” he says. “and we weren’t even good at that.”
you know he’s right. the texts got shorter, lighter. schedules clashed. you both let it happen.
“life got… busy,” you offer lamely.
“yeah,” he agrees. “but i still thought about you. more than i probably should admit.”
you shoot him a look. “that’s weird,” you say. “you’re weird.”
his smile is small but real. “you liked that i was weird.”
“i tolerated it. don’t rewrite history.”
you reach your building faster than you want to. the yellow light above the front door flickers, buzzing faintly. you stop, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
he shoves his hands into his pockets, looking up at the building, then back at you.
“so,” he says. “guess this is where i say ‘it was good seeing you again’ and then we send each other reels for the next six months and avoid actually hanging out.”
you grimace. “that sounds painful. not inaccurate, though.”
he huffs a laugh, then looks at you properly, all the joking stripped back for a second.
“we could not,” he says.
“not what?”
“not avoid it,” he says. “i mean. if you want. we could actually… see each other. there’s a whole city we’ve both been ignoring.”
your pulse does that stupid climb again.
“that’s bold of you,” you say. “assuming i want to be seen in public with you.”
“you already did tonight,” he points out. “no take-backs.”
you try to roll your eyes, but it melts into a smile. “fine,” you say. “we’ll hang out. once. see if you’re still annoying enough.”
“i promise i’m worse now,” he says solemnly.
“comforting.”
you hesitate, then pull your phone out. he raises his brows.
“give me your number,” you say. “i’m not digging through five-year-old texts.”
“you still have them?”
“don’t get excited,” you mutter, but he’s already grinning.
he types his number in, calls himself so he’ll have yours. your screen lights up with his contact—
lee hee🤢 from when you were twelve and thought you were hilarious.
“wow,” he says, seeing it. “still the same contact name, huh?”
“some things never change,” you say.
except everything else did.
you say goodnight. he steps back a little, like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you. your fingers twitch.
“hey,” he says, before you can turn away. “i’m… really glad you were here tonight.”
you swallow. “yeah,” you say, too quiet. “me too.”
your chest feels warm all the way up the stairs.
────────
a few hangouts later, something’s changed. it happens slowly. quietly. like something shifting under your feet without warning.
the first time is coffee.
you go to that tiny café near his place, the one that looks like it should smell like old books but somehow smells like cinnamon instead. he shows up wearing a beanie and that old hoodie he’s had since high school, sleeves fraying at the cuffs. it should look stupid.
it doesn’t.
he orders something iced because he claims hot drinks “burn his soul,” whatever that means. you sit across from him at a too-small table, your knees bumping under it every time someone squeezes past behind you.
it’s easy, way too easy, the way conversation just… unfurls. he talks with his hands. you tease him about it. he calls you out for chewing on your straw. you roll your eyes so hard you almost see gods.
it’s nothing. it’s everything.
you leave the café and walk the long way home even though it’s cold and you’re both underdressed.
he says, “i forgot how cold you get,” and before you can protest, he unzips his hoodie, tugging the side of it around your shoulder like it’s normal.
you feel the butterflies in your ribs for hours.
the second time is at the bookstore.
sunoo drags you and heeseung along because he wants to “absorb literature through osmosis,” which means he wanders off and leaves you alone with him between two shelves.
he’s flipping through a photography book, head tilted, lips parted just a little in that unconscious way he has when he’s focused.
you should not be looking at his mouth. you should not be thinking of—
“what?” he asks, glancing up with a hint of a smile. like he caught you, somehow.
you scoff, crossing your arms. “nothing. you look stupid.”
“right,” he says. “because i’m the one staring at you.”
you freeze.
he looks back down at the book immediately, like he didn’t mean to let that slip. like he’s pretending he didn’t notice the way your brain just short-circuited.
the dynamic keeps shifting back to your old ways, but something is different. you can't deny it.
the third time is late. way too late.
you’re half-asleep in bed when your phone buzzes with a voice message. you expect sunoo. maybe your friend.
it’s heeseung.
you press play against your better judgment.
heeseung: “i know it’s like, 2A.M., but i just met god. or maybe satan. unclear. there’s this raccoon the size of a third grader staring at me from the dumpster. he has seen my soul. we have beef now.”
you snort. out loud. in the dark.
then he sends a second one.
heeseung: “also, sorry if i woke you up. i just… didn’t know who else to send my raccoon death-wish to.”
you stare at your phone.
what the hell does that even mean.
you send back a text telling him to stop instigating wildlife at 2 a.m. he responds with a photo of the raccoon with the caption my enemy.
your chest hurts in a weird, embarrassing way.
the fourth time is when you’re sharing a booth.
you go out for dinner with the group, but the only open seat is beside him, so you slide in, trying very hard to act like it’s normal that your thighs are touching.
he shifts to make room. you shift too. somehow you end up even closer.
your whole left side feels like a live wire.
heeseung doesn’t move his leg away. not once. not even when he reaches for the menu and his knee bumps yours so firmly you almost drop your water.
the worst part is that he doesn’t react. not in any obvious way.
but you feel it.
you feel everything now.
the brush of his arm. the way he turns his head when he talks to you. how his gaze lingers a half-second too long before he looks away.
you’re hyperaware of him in a way that feels embarrassing.
and then—because the universe hates you—the waitress calls you two a couple by accident.
you sputter. he chokes on air. sunoo kicks heeseung under the table on purpose.
“we’re not—” you start.
“no,” he says at the same time. “we’re just—friends. old friends.”
you swear your stomach drops through the floor.
the waitress apologizes and moves on. the table continues talking.
but heeseung glances sideways at you, jaw tight, something unreadable in his eyes.
you don’t touch your fries after that.
────────
you lock your phone and stuff it in your pocket before you can overthink for too long.
it all comes to a head after another one of jungwon’s kickbacks.
it’s smaller this time. fewer people, more actual conversation. you end up at the dining table beside heeseung, playing some card game you barely understand. he keeps leaning over to explain the rules, breath ghosting your cheek, his hand brushing your wrist when he points at your cards.
you lose, obviously. there’s no way to focus when he’s right there, sleeves pushed up, laughing that low, warm laugh every time you mess up.
later, when the night’s thinned out and people are stretched across the couch half-asleep, you step out onto the balcony for air. the chill hits your overheated skin, soothing.
you’re halfway through a deep breath when the sliding door clicks open behind you.
“knew i’d find you out here,” he says.
you don’t turn immediately. the city sprawls out below, streetlights smearing gold over asphalt. “stalker behavior.”
“says the one who’s been staring at me all night,” he shoots back.
your head snaps around. “i have not.”
he raises a brow. “you had to be reminded it was your turn every single round.”
“i'm just sleepy,” you lie, voice a touch too high.
he steps closer, the railing at your back cool against your spine. there’s not a lot of space out here, but his presence fills what’s left of it.
“you’ve been weird lately,” he says.
“thanks,” you say dryly. “super specific, very helpful.”
he huffs a laugh. “i mean it. you get all quiet around me sometimes.”
“just thinking,” you say. “you’re a lot to process.”
“yeah?” he asks, smile twitching. “what’s there to process?”
you could pretend. you could laugh it off.
instead, maybe because you’re tired, you hear yourself say:
“that you’re the same idiot who used to wipe snot on my sleeve.”
his lips part. “i never—”
“you absolutely did.”
“ok, once,” he admits, then sobers. “but that’s… good, right? that i’m not the same?”
“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “it’s confusing.”
his gaze searches your face. something like realization flickers there, slow and dawning.
“oh,” he says quietly. “you mean—”
“don’t finish that sentence,” you cut in, panic skittering through you. “seriously.”
“why?” he asks, and there’s something rougher in his voice now. “because you don’t want me to be right?”
your mouth goes dry.
“heeseung,” you say, a warning.
“i’m just asking,” he says, but his eyes are on your mouth again, lingering. “because i’ve been losing my mind over you for weeks and if i’m making that up in my head i need to know.”
the words hit you like a slap and a relief at once.
“you—what?”
he laughs under his breath, incredulous. “you really think i’m hanging out with you this much just because i’m nostalgic?”
you stare at him, heart hammering.
“that’s part of it,” he admits. “i missed you. like. a lot. but then you showed up and you’re just… you. and it’s worse now.”
“worse,” you echo.
“so much worse,” he says. “i'm losing my mind over you, you’re in my head all the time. in every way.”
your brain short-circuits.
a car passes below, horn distant. inside, someone laughs at something on tv. up here, everything condenses to the space between you and him.
“say something,” he says, softer. “anything. even if it’s ‘you’re disgusting, never talk to me again.’ just—don’t leave me hanging.”
you swallow. your tongue feels too big in your mouth. you wish you could text him your answer instead, emojis and all.
“i don’t want to never talk to you again,” you manage. “that would be… dramatic.”
“so what do you want?” he asks.
you hate him for asking that. you hate him for giving you the choice.
you also kind of love him for it.
you’re saved—temporarily—by jungwon sliding the door open to shout something about ordering food. the spell breaks. you jerk back, heart in your throat, and mumble something about being starving.
heeseung lets you flee, but his eyes follow you back inside.
────────
you don’t sleep.
you toss, turn, stare at your ceiling, replay every second of that balcony conversation until it blurs. your phone lights up once with a instagram reel from him. nothing even remotely interesting.
you leave it on read for exactly three minutes before caving and opening your best friend's chat instead.
you stare at the last message for a long beat.
then you flick out of the chat, thumb hovering over heeseung’s name. his contact photo is some stupid picture sunoo took of him mid-bite at a diner.
you tap it before you can overthink.
you: are you awake
the reply is almost instant.
heeseung: no i'm texting in my sleep
heeseung: yeah i’m awake what’s up
you chew your lip.
you: can you come over
the typing bubble appears, disappears, appears again.
heeseung: rn??
you: unless you’re busy eating ramen or something
heeseung: wow the disrespect
heeseung: send me your address
your heart climbs into your throat.
you: you remember it
heeseung: ofc i do
heeseung: gimme like 15
you toss your phone onto your bed like you're playing hot potato, then immediately scramble to pick it up again to check the time, your reflection in the dark screen, the mess of your room.
“oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, dragging a hand down your face. “this is so dumb. you’re so dumb.”
you shove some clothes off your chair, fix your blanket, check yourself in the mirror. you’re in an oversized t-shirt and shorts. not exactly lingerie, but it’s better than the stained sweatpants you almost put on.
the knock on your door comes faster than it should. either he lives closer than you thought or he sprinted.
your stomach drops straight through the floor.
you crack the door open.
he’s there, hair a little mussed from the wind, hoodie thrown over a t-shirt, gray sweats hanging low on his hips. he’s slightly out of breath, cheeks tinted from the cold. or the speed— maybe you’re projecting.
“hey,” he says. his voice is softer than it was on the balcony, like it’s weighed down with the late hour. “did i… did something happen? are you okay?”
you realize how this looks. late-night emergency summons.
“i’m fine,” you say quickly. “sorry. that probably sounded like a crisis text.”
“kind of,” he admits, stepping inside when you open the door wider. he toes his shoes off by habit. “i almost brought snacks.”
“you should've,” you say. “i wasn't gonna stop you.”
he lets out that little huff you love. the one that sounds half like a laugh and half like an exhale. he follows you to your room without another word.
your room suddenly feels tiny with him in it. he scans the space, lingering on the old photo stuck to your mirror—two kids on a bike, you on the handlebars, him behind you, both mid-laugh.
“you kept that,” he says.
“yeah,” you say, throat tight. “you almost killed us that day.”
“i maintain my innocence,” he says, turning back to you. “you’re the one who thought standing on the seat was a good idea.”
“you dared me,” you remind him.
“you always did what i dared you to,” he says quietly.
that sits between you, heavy.
you gesture lamely toward the bed. “you can sit.”
he does, perching on the edge, hands braced on his knees. you sit beside him with your hands pressed together between your knees.
silence, for a second. the air hums.
“so,” he says finally. “why am i here, exactly?”
you force yourself to meet his eyes. in the dim light of your bedside lamp, they look darker, softer.
“you said you didn’t want to be left hanging,” you say. “on the balcony.”
his jaw works. “yeah.”
“i thought about it,” you say. “and i decided that would be… mean.”
“you’re incapable of being mean,” he says.
“don’t be gross,” you mutter, but your chest aches.
you take a breath.
“i like you,” you blurt, because apparently your brain has given up on finesse. “like, not just in a ‘haha we have history’ way. in a ‘it makes me stupid how much i want you to touch me’ way. and i hate it because you’re you and this feels like—like crossing some invisible line we should’ve talked about years ago.”
his eyes widen a fraction. his throat bobs when he swallows.
“okay,” he says slowly. “can i… also say my thing now?”
“if you disagree just lie,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.
he shifts, turning fully to face you, one knee bumping yours. he’s close enough now that you can count his lashes, see the tiny freckle near his jaw you’d forgotten about.
“i like you too,” he says. “in the ‘i think about kissing you every time you look at me for longer than two seconds’ way. in the ‘i get jealous when other people make you laugh’ way. in the ‘this has been a long time coming and i’m terrified of fucking it up’ way.”
you exhale shakily. “oh.”
“yeah,” he says, a wry twist to his mouth. “oh.”
he hesitates, glancing down at your mouth again, then back to your eyes.
“if i kiss you right now,” he says quietly, “we’re not going back to whatever we were pretending to be before this. you know that, right?”
your pulse throbs in your ears.
“that’s kind of the point,” you say, surprising yourself with how steady it comes out.
something in his face breaks open then, all careful restraint cracking.
“come here,” he murmurs.
his hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. it’s barely a touch, but your whole body leans into it like you’re starving.
you tilt toward him, breath mingling, noses almost brushing. his gaze drops to your lips, then back up, searching.
“last chance to change your mind,” he says, voice low, a little rough. “because if i get started, i’m—”
you cut him off by closing the distance, your mouth slotting over his.
he inhales sharply against your lips, hand tightening on your jaw. the kiss starts tentative, testing, and then he makes a low sound in the back of his throat that you feel everywhere and it tilts into something hungrier, and deeper. his other hand finds your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp.
you end up half in his lap without meaning to, knees bracketing his thigh. his hoodie rides up under your hands, warm skin under your fingertips. he kisses like he’s been thinking about this for years, like he’s memorizing the shape of you all over again.
when you finally pull back, you’re both breathing hard. his forehead rests against yours, eyes closed, thumb still stroking the edge of your lower lip like he doesn’t want to stop touching you for even a second.
“fuck,” he whispers, almost to himself. “that was… yeah. that was bad.”
“bad?” you echo, offended.
“no! bad for my self-control,” he clarifies, opening his eyes. they’re dark, pupils blown. “i told you. once i started…”
his gaze trails down, lingering where your shirt has started slipping off your shoulder, the strap of your bra peeking. heat crawls down your spine.
“heeseung,” you start.
he swallows, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip.
“you sure you want me to keep going?” he asks, voice so low it borders on a growl.
your heart stutters.
this is it. the line. the point of no return.
you tilt your head, press your mouth to the corner of his in a quick, deliberate kiss.
“i think,” you murmur against his skin, “this is where we stop talking?”
his laugh comes out shaky, disbelieving.
“yeah?” he says, fingers tightening on your waist as he shifts, guiding you fully into his lap. “don’t have to tell me twice.”
his mouth finds yours again, more sure this time, hands already tracing paths down your sides. you grind down against his hips firmly, and his lips pull back from yours in a groan, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you closer.
“you have no idea what you do to me,” his lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, just below your ear. he reaches for the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms, letting him pull it off of you, discarding it across the room. heeseung makes a low, strangled sound deep in the back of his throat, his eyes raking over your exposed chest, taking in every detail.
he pulls back, tugging his hoodie off, his shirt going with it, and you nearly drool at the sight of him bare. “oh my god.” you manage, your hand moving forward to feel every inch of his smooth skin. he takes a deep breath, his hips twitching up against you.
“let me suck you off,” you blurt out, your breath ghosting over his lips with your words. heeseung’s jaw clenches, pulling back to look at your eyes, feeling his knees go weak at the sight of your lust-clouded gaze.
“i want you on your knees,” he murmurs, voice thick with the desire he’s nearly incapable of suppressing. “now.”
your eyes widen at the sudden shift in command, but you obey. you get up off of his lap, pulling him by the hand to help him up, kneeling down in front of him with glossy eyes. your hands find your knees, bracing yourself.
he exhales sharply as you drop down without hesitation, gazing up at him with those wide, pleading eyes. his jaw tenses visibly, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s barely holding himself back. his voice comes out hoarse, halfway between a growl and a groan.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he stares down at you. “you look too good like this.”
“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” you say, fighting a smile.
“don’t tempt me,” he returns, letting out a sharp, breathless laugh. he tugs his sweats down, leaving him standing in front of you in nothing but boxers. he reaches down, fingertips brushing against your chin as he tilts your face up to look at him.
“you sure?” he says, his voice suddenly soft, his eyes gentle. you nod, reaching up for the waistband of his boxers wordlessly. he watches with wide eyes, his bottom lip catching between his teeth, watching as you pull them off and let the fabric pool at his ankles.
“holy shit.” you draw in a shaky breath, your hand reaching up to wrap around him. your hand just barely manages to wrap around the entire thing, and his breath hitches the moment he feels your touch.
“fuck,” he groans. “now open your mouth.” he commands, his hand moving to hold behind the back of your head. your mouth falls open, your tongue pushing out. his breath hitches audibly at the sight of you so obedient and eager. his pupils dilate, darkening slightly.
“good girl,” he murmurs, his voice gruff from need. his fingers tangle into your hair, gripping firmly. not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re feeling his control over you.
your body leans forward like you’re already anticipating him, and he exhales sharply. “You look so pretty like this.” his voice is so quiet, you’re not sure if he meant for you to hear it or not.
the grip in your hair tightens as he guides himself towards your waiting mouth, letting the head of his length rest on your tongue for a second before pushing forward. your lips curve around him perfectly, accommodating to his size, your eyes fluttering closed in a deep focus.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice heavy with approval. his gaze burns into you as he pushes his hips further forward into your mouth, slowly, savoring every second. “perfect.”
your tongue swirls around his tip, his precum mixing with your saliva, the taste overwhelming you. you dip your head further forward, feeling his cock scrape across your soft palate, landing against the back of your throat. you gag a bit, small tears pricking your eyes from the feeling of him filling you entirely.
you pull back, sucking him in harder, eliciting a groan from him at your insistence. he’s almost dizzy from how good you feel, and how well you’re taking him in. a low, shaky, exhale leaves him, his lips parting in a deep focus on the view of you. “mmf— just like that, fuck,” his voice is ragged, thick with need for you. “you’re doing so good.”
you pull your head back slowly before he suddenly pulls your head back onto him without warning, causing you to gag again. he winces internally when he hears you gag, worried. “f.. fuck, sorry, i—“ he mutters a small stream of apologies, his free hand moving to cup your cheek gently in apology. you screw your eyes shut, focusing hard, humming softly in response to his hurried words.
“you’re good, you’re doing— fuck— you’re doing good.” he assures you. you hum again, an attempted ‘thank you.’
the feeling of you humming against him causes his grip in your hair to tighten almost reflexively, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths. The sound, the vibration, the sensation, all of it is almost too much for him, and he has to clench his jaw to keep his composure.
his other hand caresses your cheek again, his touch gentle against you, eyes fixed as he murmurs soft whispers of praise, “such a good girl.”
he pushes your head back, pulling it forward again, searching your face for any sign of opposition, finding none. he does it again, a bit faster, testing the waters. both hands find a place to tangle in your hair as he starts to slowly push your head back and forth, watching closely, his eyes flickering with satisfaction.
you let a moan slip out around his length, causing him to throw his head back, bucking his hips forward unintentionally before he catches himself. he doesn’t even try to hide how much it affects him. he lets out a choked, desperate sound at the way your moan is muffled by his cock, the vibration of your voice sending a shockwave of pleasure through him.
his hips twitch forward involuntarily again. “Jesus,” he breathes raggedly. “that— fuck, that’s perfect.” his control is slipping fast. too fast.
he quickly pulls you back, letting his dick spring free with a soft pop, a string of saliva connecting your tongue to the head of his shaft. he almost whines at the feeling of separation from your mouth. “i gotta..” he pants, his voice faltering slightly, the words catching in his throat, replaced by a soft swear as he tries to regain his composure.
“yeah?” you ask, breathless. “what— what is it?” you manage.
he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, his chest heaving, his voice raspy as he speaks. “wanna fuck you,” he says finally. your eyes darken at his words, and you reach your hand up for him to grab, helping you stand.
he quickly moves to kiss you deeply, his hands moving down to your shorts, his thumbs slipping under the waistband to pull them down. his tongue juts forward into your mouth, the kiss roughening with every second. his hands rake up and down your body, groaning at the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips.
without breaking the kiss more than a second, he reaches down, helping lift you up, carrying you back to the bed, your legs wrapped around his waist. he sits down on the edge of the bed, trailing kisses down your neck, your bodies flush to one another, your heat hovering right over his member.
“r—ready?” you manage, looking at him with desperate eyes. he nods quickly, pulling back to look at you fully. you reach down between your bodies, your hand wrapping around his dick, angling it to your hole before sinking down onto it slowly. his jaw falls open, a guttural groan leaving his lips as his head throws back, his hands flying to your hips, his grip almost bruising.
his breath catches in his throat as you look at him, your expression a mix of pleasure and a little bit of pain. his eyes are dark and intense on yours, watching you carefully. “doing okay?” he asks, voice deep and rough, rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs.
you huff out, nodding. “yeah, been a minute.” you say, laughing lightly. he lets out a low, shaky breath, whispering a quick ‘i get it,’ his eyes flicking down to where your hips meet.
his fingers unintentionally sink into the skin of your hips, his restraint slipping.
you lean forward, your lips catching his again in a searing kiss. you roll your hips against his once, and he lets out a groan between kisses. he pushes up against you, and you feel the heat start to build like fire in your gut.
His arms snake around your waist, holding you close as he deepens the kiss, tongue teasing against yours, lips pressing against yours passionately. It’s only when you start lifting up off of him that he lets out a guttural moan, hands gripping your hips even tighter.
he pulls you down, his tip pushing against your cervix. heeseung’s eyes rake over your entire body, taking in the sight of you in awe. “you’re so perfect, you feel so good…” he mutters, watching as you slowly start moving up his length, drawing in a shaky breath, reaching forward to grab his shoulders for stability. you say his name between moans, your voice softly breaking.
heeseung’s breath hitches at the sound of you, his arms locking around you even tighter as his fingers dig into the small of your back. he burrows his face in your neck, your name escaping his lips in quiet sighs. his hips lift slightly to meet yours every time you sink down, chasing that every inch of friction, listening to every sound that spills from your lips.
your eyes are heavy with lust as you speed up just slightly, bobbing up and down like your bodies were made for each other.
“you have no idea how long i’ve thought about this night,” he breathes.
his hands tighten on your hips as you slow down, grinding with a slow, torturous roll. every sound you make fuels him, and he reaches forward, his finger hooking under your chin, making you look at him through half-lidded eyes. he opens his mouth to speak the moment you clamp your walls down onto him, and all of his words die in his throat, his head falling back in pleasure.
his hands start moving your hips for you, increasing the speed of each movement, guiding your hips into a relentless rhythm. every thrust drives him closer to the edge, but he doesn’t care. he wants you to be screaming his name first.
he lifts you just slightly higher before pulling you down harder and deeper, his breath catching as you both gasp at the feeling. you let out an embarrassing whimper, feeling the knot in your stomach building as the grip on your hips bounces you up and down his length, your eyes screwing shut.
his whole body tenses at the sound of his name spilling from your lips, broken and desperate. he can’t hold back anymore. he grains your name, low and rough, hips surging up to meet yours as he loses all sense of control, deep, frantic thrusts making you cry out.
one hand grips your hip hard; the other tangles in your hair, pulling just enough to make you arch against him. “You feel so damn good… gonna make you come apart on me. come on, you’re doing so good for me, baby.”
almost immediately, as if waiting for his permission, your body shakes, walls clamping down, releasing every bit of tension, falling apart. “f— oh my fucking god!” your moans are nearly screams of pleasure with every movement.
heeseung holds you through it, whispering praises into your ear, his voice a low rasp. “God, that’s it, good girl… look at you, so perfect… you’re so good for me, baby, so damn beautiful..” his body is as tight as a bowstring as he fights to keep himself under control, but just hearing you come undone for him has him on edge, and he cant’t help himself from rolling his hips up against you, a small smirk playing his lips as he hears your exhausted but pleased whine from the sensation.
“baby, I gotta—“ you cut him off with a nod, and a low groan comes from deep in his chest. he flips you onto your back without warning, driving into you hard. his rhythm falls apart frantically as he chases his release. “look at me,” he says, his voice breaking. “look at me when I come, I wanna see those eyes, I wanna remember this…”
the moment your eyes look at his, he’s gone, shuddering above you as pleasure rips through him, his head falling into the crook of your neck, his groans muffled against you as he bites down onto the skin of your shoulder gently. every muscle tenses before going slack with pure bliss.
the room has gone quiet other than the sound of both of your panting, your ears ringing from a mixture of the sudden silence and the overstimulating pleasure you’d just felt.
for a few seconds, neither of you move.
your skin buzzes with overstimulation, and your legs feel useless. your shirt is on crooked, and you’re sweating in places you didn’t even know you could sweat from.
the room is quiet in that loud, ringing way that kinda hurts your ears. you stare at the ceiling, blinking slowly, trying to get your head to catch up.
heeseung’s still hovering over you, breathing uneven, forehead pressed into the side of your neck.
“you good?” he murmurs.
“define good.”
he huffs a breath, then shifts carefully off you, sitting up like he’s suddenly very aware of himself. the bed dips. you immediately miss the warmth of his body on yours.
you’re still staring at the ceiling when he reaches down, grabs your shirt from the floor, and hands it to you. you tug it on, wincing a little as the fabric brushes against your sensitive skin.
he’s already standing. “hang on.”
you hear him move around the apartment. drawers. running water. when he comes back, he sets a water bottle and a warm washcloth within reach on the bed.
you don’t say anything. you just take them.
he sits beside you while you drink, close enough that your knees brush. the washcloth helps. the water helps. your breathing finally evens out.
for a moment, neither of you speak.
then he exhales, staring up at the ceiling. “well.”
you glance at him. “yeah.”
“that’s gonna live in my head forever.”
“gross.”
“…yeah.”
a beat passes.
“i’m really glad it was you.”
your chest tightens in that quiet, annoying way. you don’t trust your voice, so you just say, “me too,” and hope it comes out normal.
he shifts closer carefully, his arm settling around your waist like it’s second nature. you go with it, tucking into his side, the space between you closing without discussion.
“don’t make this a one-time thing,” he says after a moment. “i’ll actually be pissed.”
you snort softly. “threatening me already?”
“just being honest.”
you let your head tip against his shoulder. he stays still, lets you settle, thumb tracing slow, absent circles at your side.
the room feels different now. calmer. like something finally clicked into place.
“you staying?” you ask, eyes already half-closed.
he doesn’t hesitate. “yeah.”
you hum, content, exhausted, your body slowly coming back online.
curled into him, his arm heavy around your waist, it finally sinks in.
you're slowly beginning to wrap your head around the fact that you just hooked up with your childhood best friend.
a/n ; tried to give y/n some personality. did it work? not entirely.
ALSO, please don’t take any of my writing as a reflection of real life. fanfiction isn’t meant to be realistic, and it definitely isn’t something to measure your own experiences against. it’s fiction, and it’s meant to stay that way. don’t be hard on yourself over unrealistic expectations 🤍
also, what did we think of the screenshots of texts?? i think it's fun :3!
