Pairing: senior!heeseung x loser!fem!reader
Genre: slowburn, college!au, smut MDNI, comedy, fluff, socially challenged fem!reader, misunderstanding, he fell first he fell harder, angst? (idk about it but I think you guys will understand when reading)
Synopsis: The hopeless romantic you are decided to confess and give a heartfelt letter to your all time crush but fate decided otherwise and made you confess to the wrong person...the so-called womanizer of campus, Lee Heeseung. Maybe you should have just keep your feelings to yourself...or maybe it was a sign from the universe.
Warnings: unprotected!sex (don't risk it), swearing, oral (fem!rec), backshots, fingering, softdom!heeseung, first time, instructional (whatever that means)
WC: 26k
Note: I honestly didn't want to divide it in two more parts so I just posted it as it is...it's fuck ass long I knoooow but please it's worth it :,) Like I said from now on I will try to write more often on the longer format I hope you guys will like it!!!! There’s gonna be a spicy epilogue too so stay tuned!!!!
"You're a disaster...but God help me if I don't want to be a disaster with you for the rest of my life"
🎧Mini playlist : Who knows by Daniel Caesar, Dream by Keshi, Lovers by Anna of the North, Wus Good/Curious by Partynextdoor, WGFT by Gunna
The campus café is a small, cozy establishment nestled between the student union and the art building. You have been here exactly twice before, both times with Yunjin, and both times you have spent more money on a single drink than you usually spend on an entire meal.
Today, the café is moderately busy. A few students hunch over laptops, a couple in the corner have what looks like a very intense conversation about something, and a barista with an impressive mustache wipes down the counter. The smell of espresso hangs in the air.
"Why don't you grab us a table?" Heeseung suggests, pulling out his wallet. "I'll order. What do you want?"
You blink at him. "You don't have to pay for me."
"I'm the one who invited you. It's the least I can do." He tilts his head, that curious expression settling over his features. "Consider it part of the starting slow thing. Coffee first, then maybe a meal, then eventually I'll work up to buying you a gift."
You don't know how to respond to that, so you just tell him your order: a vanilla latte, the most basic thing on the menu, and flee to a small table near the window before your face can betray you any further.
Okay, okay, okay. This is fine. This is manageable. You are just having coffee with Heeseung, the guy who thinks you confessed to him, the guy you have been actively trying to repel, the guy who starred in your extremely inappropriate dream three nights ago. This is fine. Everything is fine.
You watch him at the counter, chatting easily with the mustachioed barista like they are old friends. He laughs at something the barista says, and the sound carries across the café, warm and genuine. A group of girls at a nearby table glance over at him, then put their heads together and whisper. Heeseung doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn't react, doesn't do any of the things you would expect from someone with his reputation.
It's infuriating.
A few minutes later, he walks toward your table with two cups in his hands. "One vanilla latte for the lady," he says, setting yours down with a flourish, "and one Americano for me. I got you an extra shot of vanilla. You seem like you could use it."
"I could use a lot of things," you mutter, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. "Vanilla is a start."
Heeseung settles into the chair across from you, his long legs stretching out under the table. "So," he says, "do you want to tell me why you were hiding behind a bulletin board earlier? Or should I just keep guessing? My current theory is that you're secretly a spy for a rival university and you're gathering intel on our science department."
"Your theory is wrong."
"Then what's the real reason?"
I was hiding from you, you don't say. I was hiding from you because I dreamed about you eating me out and now I can't look at your face without spontaneously combusting.
"I'm just… very committed to checking bulletin boards," you say instead. "There's a lot of important information on them. Club announcements. Study group postings. Lost and found notices. Someone lost a cat last week. Did you see that poster? Very sad. I hope they found the cat."
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Rambling. You ramble when you're nervous." He takes a sip of his Americano, his eyes never leaving your face. "It's cute. But you don't have to be nervous around me, you know. I'm not going to bite."
The word "bite" should not make your stomach flip. It is a normal word. A mundane word. A word that people use in completely innocent contexts all the time. But your brain, still apparently haunted by the ghost of that dream, chooses to remind you of the part where Heeseung's lips trailed down to your collarbone, and suddenly you can't look at his mouth anymore.
"I'm not nervous," you lie. "I'm just… naturally like this. I'm a naturally weird person. This is my baseline."
"Your baseline is being weird?"
"Extremely weird. The weirdest. I once alphabetized my entire book collection by color instead of author name because I wanted to see what it would look like. It looked terrible. I kept it that way for three months."
"I also talk to my plants. All of them. Individually. I have a succulent named Jason and I tell him about my day."
"That's just being a good plant parent."
"I cannot snap my fingers. I've tried for nineteen years and I simply cannot do it. My fingers make no sound. It's like they're broken but specifically only for snapping purposes."
Heeseung smiles now, that same genuine smile that appeared in the cafeteria when you talked about League of Legends. "Okay, that one's a little weird. But in an endearing way."
Endearing. He called you endearing. This is not going according to plan.
"I should go get napkins," you say abruptly, pushing back your chair. "We need napkins. For the coffee. In case of spills. You can never be too prepared."
Heeseung glances at the napkin dispenser that is already sitting on the table between you. "We have napkins."
"These aren't… good napkins. I need the good ones. The thick ones. From the counter. I'll be right back."
You escape before he can protest, weaving through the tables toward the counter where the barista is busy steaming milk. You don't actually need napkins. You need a moment to breathe, to collect yourself, to remind your heart that it is supposed to be beating for Jungwon, not doing gymnastics every time Heeseung smiles at you.
The barista hands you a stack of napkins without you even having to ask. You clutch them to your chest like a shield and turn back toward your table.
Heeseung is watching you, his chin propped on his hand, his expression soft and curious and completely unguarded. The afternoon light from the window catches the angles of his face, the sweep of his hair, the slight quirk of his lips. He looks like a painting. He looks like something you would pin to a Pinterest board titled "dream boyfriend" and then immediately feel bad about because no real person should look that good while just sitting in a café.
You start walking back toward the table, your mind a whirlwind of panic and confusion and the desperate need to get through this interaction without making a bigger fool of yourself.
And then your foot catches on the leg of a chair.
It happens in slow motion. One moment you are walking, your napkins clutched to your chest, your eyes fixed on Heeseung. The next moment your toe hooks around a wrought-iron chair leg that is sticking out slightly from a nearby table, and your body pitches forward, and the napkins fly out of your hands, and the coffee, dear God, the coffee who's sitting on the table gets knocked off and sloshes out of your cup in a great wave.
Time speeds up again. You hit the floor with a thud that rattles your teeth, and the coffee hits you approximately 0.3 seconds later, soaking through your sweater and your jeans and possibly your very soul. The liquid is still warm, not scalding but definitely not pleasant, and it is everywhere, on your clothes, on your hands, dripping from the ends of your hair, pooling on the floor around you in a sad, beige puddle.
The café goes silent.
You sit there, on the floor, covered in your own vanilla latte, and stare at the puddle spreading beneath you. The napkins have scattered across the tiles like confetti, completely useless now. A drip of coffee rolls down your forehead and off the tip of your nose.
This is it. This is the moment you finally break. All the stress of the past week, the letter, the misunderstanding, the dream, the bulletin board incident has been building toward this, and now, sitting in a puddle of expensive café coffee with every eye in the establishment fixed on you, you feel the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
You are going to cry. You are going to cry in front of Heeseung and the mustachioed barista and the couple in the corner and those girls who have been whispering about Heeseung earlier. You are going to cry, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.
But then you look down at your hands, and you realize something.
His coffee. The Americano. The cup who's been next to yours, you have managed, in the chaos of your fall, to keep it upright by holding it. Your arm lifted it above your head at the last second, some primal survival instinct kicking in to protect the beverage that isn't even yours, and the Americano is still sitting perfectly intact in its cup, not a single drop spilled.
You are covered in latte. Your sweater is ruined. Your dignity is in shambles. But his coffee is safe.
"I saved yours," you say, your voice coming out as a croak. You hold up the Americano like a trophy, your arm trembling slightly. "Look. I saved yours."
Heeseung is already out of his chair, already crouching beside you, his expression shifting from shock to concern to something else entirely, something soft and wondering and absolutely devastating.
"You saved my coffee," he repeats.
"It was a reflex. I don't know why. I don't even like you that much. I mean, I like you a normal amount. A regular amount. The amount you're supposed to like someone you accidentally-" You stop yourself before you can say more. "I saved your coffee."
Heeseung stares at you for a long moment. Then, very deliberately, he reaches out and takes the Americano from your hand. He looks at you, covered in vanilla latte, sitting in a puddle on the café floor, your glasses askew and your hair dripping.
And then he pours his own coffee over his head.
Just… tips the cup over and lets the dark liquid cascade down his hair, over his forehead, along the sharp bridge of his nose, soaking into the collar of his black hoodie and leaving trails of coffee across his skin.
You gape at him. The entire café gapes at him.
"What-" you start, but your voice has stopped working.
Heeseung sets the empty cup down with a quiet click and smiles at you, a warm, genuine, completely unhinged smile that makes your heart do a full backflip inside your chest.
"Now we match," he says.
You can't speak. You can't think. You can only stare at him, this absurd, beautiful, incomprehensible boy who has just poured coffee on himself in the middle of a crowded café for no other reason than to make you feel less alone in your humiliation.
"But… your hoodie," you manage. "Your hair. The floor. The-"
"I have other hoodies. My hair will dry. And the floor can be mopped." He reaches out and gently straightens your glasses, which have gone crooked during your fall. His fingers brush against your temple, feather-light. "You looked like you were about to cry. I couldn't let you cry alone."
"Alone?" Your voice cracks. "You couldn't let me cry alone?"
"I mean, ideally you wouldn't cry at all. But if you are going to cry, I figure I should give you company. Solidarity in humiliation, you know?" He's still smiling, still crouching in front of you, still covered in Americano like it is the most normal thing in the world. "We make a pretty good pair of disasters, don't you think?"
Your heart flips. It doesn't flutter. It doesn't skip a beat. It does a full, acrobatic, Olympic-level flip inside your chest, and you feel the sensation reverberate through your entire body.
Why is he like this?
Why is Lee Heeseung, reputed womanizer, notorious player, the guy everyone warns you about, sitting on the floor of a café covered in his own coffee just to make you feel better about spilling yours? Why is he looking at you like that, with those dark, gentle eyes, like you are something precious instead of the absolute disaster you clearly are?
You don't know. You don't understand. And the not understanding is starting to become a problem, because every time you think you have Heeseung figured out, he goes and does something like this, and your careful mental categories crumble a little more.
"We should probably…" You gesture vaguely at your coffee-soaked selves. "Clean up. Or something."
"Probably," Heeseung agrees. He stands up and offers you his hand, his coffee-stained, still-damp hand and you have no choice but to take it. His grip is warm and solid, and he pulls you to your feet with an ease that suggests you weigh nothing at all. "There's a student services office around the corner. They keep spare t-shirts for emergencies. We could both use a change of clothes."
You look down at your sweater, which is now more latte-colored than its original blue. "That's… probably a good idea."
Heeseung pulls out his wallet and drops several bills on the nearest table, far more than the cost of two coffees with a nod to the mustachioed barista. "For the mess," he says. "Sorry about the floor."
The barista nods slowly, his expression suggesting he has seen many things in his years at the café but has never quite witnessed anything like this.
And then Heeseung guides you out of the café, his hand hovering at the small of your back but not quite touching, and you walk through the student union in matching coffee-stained clothes like the world's most unfortunate pair of twins.
The student services office is a small, cluttered room tucked into a corner of the union building. It is staffed by a perpetually exhausted-looking graduate student who has clearly seen too much in his years of dealing with student emergencies. When you and Heeseung walk in, dripping coffee and smelling like a coffee explosion, he doesn't even blink.
"Coffee incident?" he asks flatly.
"Yes," Heeseung says.
"Both of you?"
"I'm told we match now."
The student stares at him for a long moment, then sighs with the weariness of someone who long ago stopped questioning the absurdities of university life. "We have spare t-shirts in the back. They're not fashionable. They have the university logo on them. You don't get to complain about the design."
"We wouldn't dream of it," Heeseung says.
The student disappears into a back room and emerges a moment later with two folded shirts. They are, as promised, aggressively unfashionable, a mustard yellow color with the university mascot printed on the front in peeling letters. Beneath the mascot are the words "Embrace the process!"
"These are incredible," Heeseung says, holding up his shirt with genuine delight. "I'm keeping this forever."
"The bathrooms are down the hall," the student says, already turning back to his computer. "Please don't track coffee into them. I just had the floors cleaned."
You and Heeseung change in separate bathrooms, and when you emerge, you are confronted with the sight of Heeseung wearing a mustard-yellow shirt that is slightly too small for him, the fabric stretching across his shoulders in a way that is definitely not doing things to your heart. The coffee has been wiped off his face, but his hair is still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and the combination of the terrible shirt and the wet hair and the ridiculously attractive face is so absurd that you actually laugh out loud.
"What?" Heeseung asks, grinning. "Do I look as good as I think I do?"
"You look like you traded shirts with a child."
"A very fashionable child. This slogan will hype me up for my next exam." He looks you over, his eyes crinkling. "You don't look half bad yourself. Yellow's a good color on you."
You are wearing the exact same shirt. You look like a banana. But Heeseung says it like he means it, and you feel that traitorous flutter in your chest again.
"We should go," you say, because standing in a hallway with Heeseung while wearing ridiculous matching shirts is doing something strange to your brain chemistry. "I have… I need to… there's a thing…"
"The mysterious thing," Heeseung says. "Your nemesis. Your arch-enemy. The eternal obstacle to us spending more time together."
"It's a very busy thing. It takes up a lot of my schedule."
"Right." He is still smiling, still looking at you with that soft, curious expression. "Well, before you run off to your very important thing, let me walk you to-"
"There you are, Heeseung! I've been looking everywhere for-"
The voice comes from the end of the hallway, and you know that voice. You know it the way you know your own heartbeat, the way you know the lyrics to every Ariana Grande song, the way you know that vanilla lattes are now your mortal enemy.
Jungwon walks toward you, his phone in his hand and a slight frown on his face, like he has been searching for Heeseung for a while. He looks so unfairly beautiful that your heart does the thing it always does when you see him, that painful, hopeful, aching thing that feels like a bruise that won't heal.
But then his eyes land on you, and he stops walking.
"Y/N?" His gaze travels from your face to your shirt to Heeseung's matching shirt to the general air of disaster that still clings to both of you. "What… happened to you guys?"
"Coffee incident," Heeseung says, with the casual air of someone explaining something completely normal. "She spilled hers, so I spilled mine too. Now we're twins."
Jungwon blinks. "You poured coffee on yourself?"
"Matching disasters. It's a new concept. We're pioneering it."
You want to say something, anything, to salvage this situation. Jungwon is looking between you and Heeseung with an expression you can't quite read, and your brain screams at you to explain, to clarify, to make sure he doesn't get the wrong idea about what he is seeing.
"It's not… we're not-" you start, but your voice comes out squeaky and strange. "The coffee was an accident. Well, my coffee was an accident. His coffee was on purpose. But not in a romantic way. In a… solidarity way. Against the humiliation. We are fighting humiliation together."
"Fighting humiliation," Jungwon repeats slowly.
"Enemies," you say, nodding too hard. "We're humiliation enemies. Humi-nemies. It's a whole thing."
Heeseung watches you with that amused expression again, and you can tell he is biting back a smile. "Humi-nemies," he echoes. "Right. That's what we are."
Jungwon is quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles, but it isn't his usual warm smile. It is something smaller, something more careful, something that makes your stomach drop even as you can't identify why.
"You guys make a cute couple," he says.
The words hit you like a physical blow. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No sound comes out.
"We're not-" you try, but Jungwon is already stepping back, already half-turning away.
"I've got to get to class," he says. "Heeseung, I'll catch up with you later. Y/N… nice shirt."
And then he walks away, and you stand in the hallway with your heart in your stomach and Heeseung's matching shirt still warm against your skin.
"We're not a couple," you say, but it comes out as barely a whisper.
"Not yet," Heeseung says cheerfully, apparently completely oblivious to the emotional devastation that just occurred. "But we're off to a good start, don't you think? Coffee disasters, matching outfits, running into my friends, this is basically a textbook meet-cute progression."
You turn to stare at him. He is grinning, still radiating that unshakeable, inexplicable joy that seems to follow him everywhere. He has no idea. He has absolutely no idea that the boy you actually like just saw you in matching shirts with someone else and assumed you were a couple.
"Are you okay?" Heeseung asks, his smile fading slightly. "You look a little pale. Was the coffee too hot? Do you need to sit down?"
"I'm fine," you manage. "I just… I need to go. The thing. The very important thing. It's calling me."
You don't wait for him to respond. You turn and walk away, not running, because running would be too obvious, but walking very quickly, your mind a tornado of panic and regret and the image of Jungwon's smile fading as he says the words that just shattered your entire world.
You guys make a cute couple.
He thinks you are a couple. Yang Jungwon, the boy you have been pining over for four months, the boy you wrote a three-page love letter to, the boy who poked your cheek in the library and called you cute, he thinks you are dating Lee Heeseung.
You are trapped. You are so, so trapped.
By the time you reach your dorm room, you are practically vibrating with suppressed emotion. You close the door, lean your back against it, and press your hands to your face.
You guys make a cute couple.
"We're not a couple," you whisper to your empty room. "We're not a couple. We're humi-nemies. That's a real thing that I definitely didn't just make up because I can't communicate like a normal human being."
Your room does not respond.
You slide down the door until you are sitting on the floor, your legs stretched out in front of you. You look ridiculous. You feel ridiculous. Your entire life has become a comedy of errors, and you are the punchline.
But even as you sit there, drowning in self-pity and the lingering scent of vanilla latte, you can't quite forget the look on Heeseung's face when he poured his coffee over his head. The way he smiled at you, open and unguarded. The way he said I couldn't let you cry alone like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Why is he like that? Why is he so… him?
You don't have an answer. And that, more than anything else, is starting to scare you.
The library has become your second home.
Not by choice, exactly. More by necessity. The library is neutral territory, a place where you can exist without fear of coffee-related disasters, unexpected bulletin board ambushes, or tall informatics students appearing out of thin air to pour beverages on themselves in acts of solidarity. The library has rules. The library has silence. The library has mercifully dim lighting that hides the dark circles under your eyes from three consecutive nights of restless sleep.
It has been four days since the coffee incident. Four days since Jungwon looked at you in your matching shirt and said those fateful words: You guys make a cute couple. Four days of replaying that moment over and over in your head, analyzing every micro-expression on his face, every nuance in his voice, trying to determine if there was something else there, something like disappointment, or regret, or maybe even jealousy.
You have come to no conclusions. Your analytical skills, apparently, are useless when applied to matters of the heart.
So you do what any reasonable, emotionally overwhelmed STEM student would do: you throw yourself into your studies with the intensity of someone trying to forget their entire life. You have read the same paragraph about cellular respiration seventeen times. You have highlighted so many sentences that your textbook looks like a rainbow has thrown up on it. You have consumed approximately four hundred milligrams of caffeine in the past three hours alone, and your hands shake slightly as you turn another page.
It is fine. Everything is fine. You are fine.
"You're going to burn a hole through that book if you keep staring at it like that."
The voice comes from directly above you, and you jolt so hard that your highlighter goes skidding across the table and rolls onto the floor. You look up, your heart already doing that familiar, traitorous leap, and there he is.
Jungwon.
He stands beside your table with a gentle smile on his face, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his hair slightly messy like he has been running his fingers through it.
"Sorry," he says, stooping to pick up your fallen highlighter. "I didn't mean to startle you. You just looked so intense. Like you were trying to intimidate the biology into making sense."
"The biology is winning," you admit, accepting the highlighter with a hand that trembles slightly. From the caffeine. Definitely from the caffeine. "I've been reading the same page for twenty minutes and I still have no idea what oxidative phosphorylation is."
"It sounds like a spell from Harry Potter."
"That's what I've been thinking! But apparently it's something about electrons and I just-" You gesture vaguely at the chaos of papers spread across your table. "I'm losing the war."
Jungwon laughs, that bright, sunny sound that never fails to make your heart flutter. "Mind if I join you? I've been looking for a quiet spot to study, and honestly, sitting next to someone who's fighting for their life against biology sounds way more entertaining than sitting alone."
Your heart, the same heart that belongs to this boy, that has belonged to him since the moment he slid gummy bears across a library table at 2 AM, screams YES with the force of a thousand suns. Your brain, the traitorous organ that got you into this mess in the first place, reminds you of all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
"You probably don't want to sit with me," you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "I'm not very good company right now. I've been mainlining caffeine and I think I can hear colors."
"That sounds like excellent company." Jungwon pulls out the chair across from you and sits down without waiting for permission. "What colors can you hear?"
"Biology textbook beige, mostly. It sounds like despair."
He laughs again, and the sound settles into your chest like a warm blanket. This is fine. This is okay. You can study with Jungwon without making it weird. You have done it before, you have spent a whole hour in this very library, watching him take notes and push his glasses up his nose and poke your cheek with that devastating smile. You can do it again. You are a professional. You are a master of emotional compartmentalization.
For a while, you actually do study. Or at least, you both pretend to. Jungwon opens his philosophy book and starts reading, his brow furrowed in concentration, his pen tapping absently against his notebook. You stare at your biology textbook with renewed determination, willing the words to make sense.
But your eyes keep drifting up, against your will, over the top of your book, to the boy sitting across from you. The way the library light catches the highlights in his hair. The way he bites his lower lip when he is thinking. The way his fingers curl around his pen, elegant and deliberate.
"You're doing it again," Jungwon says, not looking up from his book.
Heat floods your cheeks. "I'm not doing anything. I'm reading about oxidative phosphorylation. It's very interesting. Lots of electrons."
"Y/N." He looks up then, and his expression is softer than you expected. Gentler. "It's okay. I told you before, right? I don't mind being looked at like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm something worth looking at." He sets down his pen and folds his hands on the table, giving you his full attention. "You have a very particular way of looking at people. Did you know that? It's like you're trying to memorize them. Every detail. Like you're cataloguing things that most people wouldn't notice."
Your heart pounds so hard you are certain he can hear it. You want to say I'm only looking at you like this because it's you. But the words won't come. "That's… that's my STEM brain. I'm very analytical. I notice things. It's a curse."
"I don't think it's a curse." Jungwon's voice is quiet, thoughtful. "I think it's actually really special. Most people don't pay attention like that. Most people look at you and see what they want to see, not what's actually there." He pauses, his eyes searching your face. "You're different, Y/N. You actually see people."
The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. This is it. This is the moment. The conversation has shifted into something deeper, something more intimate, and you can feel the confession building in your chest like a wave about to break.
You can tell him. Right now. You can tell him everything, the letter, the misunderstanding, the way your heart has been his since the very beginning. You can clear the air and finally, finally be free of the tangled web you have accidentally woven around yourself.
"Jungwon," you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you expect. "There's something I need to tell you. About Heeseung. About the confession. About everything. It's not what you think. It's never been what you think."
Jungwon's expression flickers, surprise, confusion, something else you can't quite name. "What do you mean?"
"I mean-" You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. "The letter. The one I gave to Heeseung. It wasn't-"
"Wait." Jungwon holds up a hand, stopping you mid-sentence. "Before you say anything else, can I say something first?"
You nod, your heart hammering.
Jungwon leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving your face. "I've been watching you and Heeseung," he says slowly. "The past few weeks. Ever since he told me about the confession. And I've never seen him like this before."
Your stomach drops. "Like what?"
"Like… happy. Genuinely happy. Not the surface-level people-pleasing happiness he shows everyone else, but something real. Something that goes all the way down." Jungwon's voice is earnest, almost protective. "Heeseung is my friend. One of my best friends. And I know what people say about him, that he's a player, a womanizer, that he'll charm you and then move on. But that's not who he really is."
You don't know what to say. You don't know where this is going. But you can't seem to interrupt, can't seem to find the words to stop him.
"Heeseung is…" Jungwon pauses, searching for the right words. "He's the guy who will stay up all night helping you debug code even when he has his own assignments due. He's the guy who remembers everyone's birthday and always gets them a gift that shows he actually paid attention to what they like. He's the guy who can't say no to anyone, ever, because he's so terrified of disappointing people that he'd rather burn himself out than let someone down."
He smiles, but there is something sad in it. "Girls think he's flirting with them because he's nice to everyone. And he won't correct them because he doesn't want to hurt their feelings. So he just… lets them believe what they want to believe, and then he feels guilty when they get attached, and the whole thing becomes this cycle he can't break out of. It's not malice. It's the exact opposite of malice, it's too much kindness, too much caring, and not enough ability to set boundaries."
Your throat is dry. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I think you're different." Jungwon meets your eyes, and his gaze is steady and sincere. "I think you actually see him. Not the reputation, not the rumors, but the real him. And I think he's starting to see the real you too." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. Almost fragile. "So I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"Take care of him. Please." Jungwon's smile is gentle, but there is something behind it, something that looks a lot like pain, carefully hidden, expertly concealed. "He's been alone for a long time, even when he's surrounded by people. I don't think he even realizes how lonely he is. But you… you could change that. I can see it."
The wave of emotion that crashes over you is so overwhelming that you can't speak. This isn't how this conversation is supposed to go. You are supposed to confess to Jungwon. You are supposed to clear up the misunderstanding. You are supposed to finally tell him the truth.
Who knows - Daniel Caesar playing now
But Jungwon isn't finished.
"There's something else I should tell you," he says, and his voice drops even lower, barely above a whisper. "Something I probably shouldn't say. But I think I need to, or I'll regret it forever."
"What is it?"
Jungwon looks down at his hands, folded on the table. When he speaks, his voice is steady, but you can hear the effort it takes to keep it that way.
"I like you."
The words don't make sense. They can't make sense. You hear them, understand them individually, but your brain refuses to assemble them into a coherent meaning.
"What?" you breathe.
"I like you," Jungwon repeats, and now he looks up at you, and his eyes are so full of something, regret, maybe, or longing, or both, that it makes your chest ache. "From the first day of philosophy class. You sat in the front row, near the window, and you had like eight different colored highlighters lined up on your desk, and you took notes so furiously that your pen ran out of ink halfway through the lecture. I remember you made this little frustrated noise and searched your bag for a spare, and you looked so genuinely distraught that I almost offered you mine."
The library. The philosophy lecture. The day you ran out of ink. You remember it, vaguely, distantly, a moment so mundane you never thought about it again. But Jungwon remembers. Jungwon has been watching you, just like you have been watching him.
"I noticed you after that," he continues, and his voice is achingly soft. "The way you always sat in the same spot. The way you organized your notes. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating. I kept telling myself I'd talk to you, but I could never find the right moment. And then midterms happened, and we were both in the library at 2 AM, and I saw you looking exhausted and stressed, and I just…" He laughs, but it is a sad sound. "I gave you gummy bears because I couldn't think of anything else to do. It felt so stupid at the time. Who gives gummy bears to a stranger at 2 AM?"
"A stranger who hadn't slept in thirty-six hours and was about to cry over organic chemistry," you whisper. "It wasn't stupid. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."
Jungwon's smile flickers. "I was working up the courage to actually talk to you. To ask you out properly. But then…" He trails off, and his expression shifts, something closing off behind his eyes. "Then Heeseung told me about the confession. And I saw the way he looked when he talked about you. And I knew… I knew I'd missed my chance."
No. No, no, no. This is wrong. This is all wrong. He hasn't missed his chance. The chance is right here, right now, sitting in front of him with a heart full of feelings that have always been meant for him.
"Jungwon," you say, and your voice cracks. "The letter… it wasn't-"
"I'm not telling you this to make things awkward," Jungwon interrupts gently. "I'm telling you because I want you to know. I like you. I really, really like you. And sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd been braver, if I'd said something sooner, if I hadn't waited until it was too late." He pauses, and his eyes meet yours, and the weight of what he says presses down on your chest like a physical force. "But I'm glad it's Heeseung. He deserves someone like you. And you deserve someone who sees you the way he does."
"You don't understand," you try, desperation creeping into your voice. "It wasn't supposed to be Heeseung. The letter was meant for-"
"Take care of him," Jungwon says again, and this time his voice is final. Resolute. Like he has already made his peace with something you haven't even realized he was struggling with. "That's all I ask."
He stands up, gathering his book and his notebook, and you watch him with a growing sense of panic. This can't be how it ends. You can't let him walk away without knowing the truth.
But then he pauses, looking down at you with that devastating smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your heart do somersaults, and he reaches out and gently pokes your cheek.
"Boop," he says softly.
The gesture that once made you giddy with joy now feels like a knife twisting in your chest.
"Liking you was never a waste of my time, Y/N," he says, and his voice is tender in a way that breaks your heart into a thousand pieces. "I don't regret it. Not even for a second."
And then he walks away, and you are left alone at your table with a biology textbook you haven't read and a heart that is shattering into so many fragments you don't know if you will ever be able to put it back together.
I like you.
I gave you gummy bears because I couldn't think of anything else to do.
Liking you was never a waste of my time.
He liked you. He liked you this whole time. All those months of pining, of yearning, of writing and rewriting that letter and he has been feeling the same thing. You have been two ships passing in the night, each carrying the same cargo of unspoken feelings, and you have missed each other by a margin so narrow it is almost laughable.
But it isn't laughable. It is devastating. It is the most devastating thing that has ever happened to you, and you are sitting in the middle of a silent library trying not to fall apart.
You don't remember packing up your things. You don't remember leaving the library. One moment you are staring at the spot where Jungwon was sitting, and the next you are walking across campus in the fading evening light, your backpack hanging heavy from your shoulders, your feet carrying you automatically toward your dorm.
And then the tears come.
They start slow, a burning sensation behind your eyes, a tightness in your throat. You try to swallow them down, try to hold them back, but they won't be contained. By the time you reach the pathway between the science building and the student union, you are crying openly, tears streaming down your cheeks in hot, relentless rivers.
This isn't a romantic cry. This isn't the kind of crying that happens in movies, where the heroine looks beautiful and tragic and a single perfect tear rolls down her cheek. This is an ugly cry. A messy, hiccuping, snotty cry that makes your nose run and your shoulders shake and your breath come in ragged gasps. You are crying because the boy you liked liked you back, and instead of ending up together like you were supposed to, everything has gone terribly, irreversibly wrong.
You stop walking. You can't keep going. Your legs won't carry you any further. You lean against the rough bark of a tree and press your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sounds that escape from your throat.
You cry for the letter you sent to the wrong person. You cry for the courage it took to write it, and the cowardice that has kept you from correcting your mistake. You cry for Jungwon, who liked you and gave up on you because he thought you wanted someone else. You cry for yourself, for the hopeless romantic who dreamed of grand gestures and perfect moments and has ended up with nothing but misunderstandings and a heavy heart that breaks into smaller and smaller pieces.
You cry until your throat is raw and your eyes are swollen and you don't think you have any tears left to shed.
And then a voice, gentle, concerned, painfully familiar, cuts through the fog of your grief.
"Y/N?"
You look up.
Lee Heeseung stands on the pathway a few feet away, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his expression shifting from casual curiosity to alarm as he takes in your tear-streaked face and trembling shoulders.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is softer than you have ever heard it. "Hey, what's wrong? What happened?"
You should make an excuse. You should say you are fine, that it's allergies, that you just got something in your eye. You should tell him to leave you alone, to give you space, to let you fall apart in private.
But the words won't come. All that comes out is another sob, and your knees buckle slightly, and then Heeseung is there, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you.
"It's okay," he says, even though he doesn't know what is wrong, even though you haven't explained anything. "It's okay. I've got you."
"No, you don't understand," you choke out. "Everything is messed up. Everything is so messed up and it's all my fault."
"Then we'll fix it." He says it with such simple certainty, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. "Whatever it is, we'll fix it."
"You can't fix this. No one can fix this."
"Maybe not." Heeseung's hands move from your shoulders to your upper arms, his grip gentle but grounding. "But I can be here. I can listen. And I can promise you that whatever it is, you don't have to deal with it alone."
Something in his voice, the steadiness, the sincerity, the complete lack of judgment, cracks through the last of your defenses. You stop trying to hold yourself together. You let the tears fall, let your shoulders shake, let yourself be exactly as broken as you feel.
And Heeseung doesn't flinch. He doesn't look uncomfortable or try to escape or offer meaningless platitudes. He just stands there, his hands warm on your arms, his presence solid and unwavering, letting you cry without asking for explanations or justifications.
After a while, you don't know how long, the tears begin to subside. Your breathing steadies. The storm inside you quiets to a dull, aching calm. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, suddenly aware of how awful you must look, how puffy and red and wrecked.
"I'm sorry," you whisper. "Your jacket is probably wet."
"My jacket has survived worse." Heeseung's voice is gentle. "Come on. Let's sit down somewhere."
He guides you to a bench nearby, a small wooden bench tucked under a cluster of trees, partially hidden from the main pathway. You sit down heavily, your legs still shaky, and Heeseung sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body but not so close that it feels invasive.
Dream - Keshi playing now
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The evening settles around you, the sky shifting from pale blue to soft pink to deeper purple. A few stars start to appear, faint pinpricks of light against the darkening canvas overhead. The campus is quiet, most students already back in their dorms or the library, and the only sounds are the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Heeseung asks eventually.
"Not really."
"Okay." He doesn't push. He doesn't pry. He just sits there, his shoulder almost touching yours, his presence a quiet comfort in the gathering dark.
"You're not going to ask questions?"
"You'll tell me when you're ready. Or you won't. Either way, I'm not going anywhere."
The simplicity of it, the uncomplicated, undemanding kindness of it, makes your eyes sting with fresh tears. You blink them back, determined not to start crying again.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" you ask, your voice hoarse.
Heeseung turns his head to look at you, and his expression is unreadable. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because… because I'm a disaster. Because I've been weird and awkward and I ran away from you and hid behind bulletin boards and spilled coffee on myself and I can't seem to do anything right. Because you barely know me, and what you do know is mostly just me making a fool of myself."
Heeseung is quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles. Not the smirk or the teasing grin, but something softer. Something realer.
"Can you guess the movie I've watched recently?"
The question is so random that you blink. "What?"
"A movie I've watched recently. Can you guess?"
"Am I supposed to?"
"No, because I've never told you." He leans back on the bench, tilting his face up toward the emerging stars. "I don't usually tell people. It's kind of embarrassing."
You sniffle, curiosity temporarily overriding your grief. "What is it?"
"To All the Boys I've Loved Before."
You stare at him. "The Netflix movie? The one with Lara Jean?"
"The very same." He doesn't look embarrassed at all. If anything, he looks almost proud. "I've watched it like eight times. Maybe nine. I lost count somewhere around the sixth viewing."
"But… that's a teen romance. That's a movie about fake dating and love letters and-" You stop. "Oh."
"Yeah." Heeseung's smile turns wry. "The parallels weren't lost on me. Girl writes love letters she never meant to send. Letters end up reaching the boys. Chaos ensues." He glances at you sideways. "Sound familiar?"
Your heart does something strange, something fluttery and uncertain. "Why did you watch it?"
"Because Lara Jean is a hopeless romantic who's terrified of actually living the romance she dreams about." Heeseung's voice is thoughtful, almost contemplative. "She's brave on paper but scared in real life. She has all these feelings and no idea what to do with them. And she's convinced that if she actually tries to be vulnerable, everything will fall apart."
He turns to look at you fully, his dark eyes catching the faint glow of the distant streetlamps. "Does any of that sound familiar to you?"
Your breath catches in your throat.
"You write beautiful letters," Heeseung continues, his voice dropping lower. "You pour your heart onto paper because it's safer than saying things out loud. You make graphs about video game balance because you're passionate and detail-oriented and you can't help but go all-in on the things you care about. You talk to your plants and name your succulents and hide behind bulletin boards because real life is scary and rejection is terrifying and it's easier to dream about love than to actually risk your heart for it."
You can't speak. You can barely breathe. He is describing you, not the surface-level you, not the "weird first-year STEM student" you, but the real you. The you that lives in daydreams and love letters and the safety of your own imagination.
"The letter you wrote wasn't just a confession," Heeseung says quietly. "It was a work of art. The calligraphy, the words, the way you talked about noticing small things and finding beauty in ordinary moments, that's not something you write to just anyone. That's something you write when you've been paying attention. When you really see someone."
He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is almost a whisper.
"You remind me of her. Lara Jean. The girl who was so busy dreaming about love that she almost missed it when it showed up in front of her. You are Lara Jean. My Lara Jean."
Your heart races. Your palms are sweaty. The evening has grown dark around you, the stars fully emerged now, and Heeseung's face is half in shadow, half illuminated by the distant campus lights.
"Why are you telling me this?" you whisper.
"Because I think you're scared," Heeseung says simply. "I think you've been scared since the moment you handed me that letter. I think you're scared of what it means, scared of being vulnerable, scared of letting someone actually see you. And I want you to know that I see you anyway. Even when you're trying to hide."
He reaches out, and his hand finds yours in the darkness. His fingers are warm, his grip gentle.
"You don't have to be scared with me," he says. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to hurt you. And I'm not going to stop being interested just because you're awkward or clumsy or you spill coffee on yourself or you ramble about League of Legends until you run out of breath." He squeezes your hand. "That's the stuff I like about you. That's the stuff that makes you real."
You stare at him, your eyes still swollen from crying, your nose still red, your heart still aching from the conversation with Jungwon. And yet, sitting here on this bench with Heeseung's hand in yours and his words echoing in your ears, something shifts. Something changes.
"I don't know what I'm doing," you admit, your voice barely audible. "I don't know what I want. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."
"Then don't figure it out tonight." Heeseung stands up, still holding your hand, and gently pulls you to your feet. "Come on. Let's get you back to your dorm. You need rest and probably some water. Crying is dehydrating."
Despite everything, the heartbreak, the confusion, the complete emotional chaos of the past hour, you almost smile. "That's a very practical observation."
"I'm an engineering student. We're practical by nature." He falls into step beside you, your hands still joined, and begins walking you toward your dorm building. "Also, I may have done some research on crying. You know, for science."
"You researched crying for science?"
"It was for a psych elective. But also for life skills. You'd be surprised how many people don't know that emotional tears contain stress hormones that need to be flushed out of your system. Crying is literally good for you."
"You're very weird," you say, but there's no bite to it.
"Coming from the girl who named her succulent Jason, I'll take that as a compliment."
You walk in silence for a while, the campus quiet and peaceful around you. The stars are bright overhead, and the air is cool against your tear-stained cheeks, and Heeseung's hand is warm in yours, steady and reassuring.
When you reach your dorm building, he stops at the entrance, turning to face you. The light from the lobby spills through the glass doors, illuminating his features, the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his lips, the way his dark eyes fix on your face like you are something worth looking at.
"Y/N," he says.
"Yeah?"
"I meant what I said earlier. You don't have to figure everything out tonight. You don't have to have all the answers. But whatever you're going through, whatever made you cry like that… I hope you know you can talk to me. About anything. Even if it's hard. Even if it's confusing. Even if it's not what you think I want to hear."
Your throat tightens. He has no idea how relevant those words are. He has no idea that the thing that made you cry is, in part, him or at least, the situation he is unknowingly caught up in.
"Thank you," you whisper.
Heeseung smiles, that same soft smile that appeared when he poured coffee over his head, when he called you a little mouse, when he listened to you talk about video games for fifteen minutes straight. And then, before you can react, he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.
It isn't romantic or it isn't supposed to be. It is brief and soft and chaste, the kind of kiss you might give a friend who is hurting. But his lips are warm against your skin, and when he pulls back, your cheek is tingling, and your heart does that traitorous flutter again.
"Goodnight, little mouse," he says. "Get some sleep."
And then he walks away, his hands in his pockets, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness of the campus night.
You stand there for a long moment, your hand pressed to your cheek where his lips have been, your heart a tangled mess of grief and confusion and something else, something warm and growing, something you don't want to name.
This is supposed to be simple. You are supposed to like Jungwon. You have liked Jungwon for four months. You wrote him a letter and dreamt about him and catalogued his habits and built an entire future around the idea of him.
But Jungwon walked away. Jungwon made his choice. Jungwon told you to take care of Heeseung and then poked your cheek one last time, a goodbye disguised as a signature gesture.
And Heeseung… Heeseung poured coffee on himself to make you feel less alone. Heeseung held your hand and told you that you were his Lara Jean. Heeseung kissed your cheek and called you little mouse and looked at you like you were something precious.
You don't know what to do anymore. You don't know what to feel. The map you have been following, the one that leads straight to Jungwon has crumbled in your hands, and now you stand in unfamiliar territory with no compass and no guide.
You push open the door to your dorm building and walk to your room in a daze, your mind still spinning. When you finally collapse onto your bed, still in your clothes, still wearing the tear tracks on your cheeks, you stare up at the ceiling and try to make sense of the chaos in your heart.
Jungwon liked you.
Jungwon gave up on you.
Heeseung said he wouldn't go anywhere.
Heeseung kissed your cheek.
You press your fingers to the spot where his lips have been and close your eyes.
"I don't know what I'm doing," you whisper to your empty room. "I really, really don't know what I'm doing."
Your room, as always, offers no answers. But somewhere in the distance, you can almost hear Heeseung's voice: You don't have to figure everything out tonight.
So you don't. You let the exhaustion pull you under, let sleep claim you, and try very hard not to think about the fact that the boy who just comforted you through your heartbreak is the same boy who might be slowly, quietly, unexpectedly stealing your heart.
The university, in its infinite and questionable wisdom, has decided that what the student body really needs is a three-day trip to a skiing station.
You received the email three weeks ago, skimmed it with the vague interest of someone who has never skied in her life and has no intention of starting now, and promptly archived it into the dark abyss of your inbox alongside seventeen other emails you will never open again. The trip is optional, after all. Attendance is not mandatory. You can simply stay on campus, enjoy the quiet emptiness of the dorms, and continue your ongoing mission of avoiding all tall informatics students while trying to piece together the shattered remnants of your romantic life.
It is a perfect plan. Flawless. Foolproof.
Until Yunjin gets involved.
"You're going," Yunjin says, standing in the doorway of your dorm room with her arms crossed and her expression one of immovable determination. She has just finished reading the email over your shoulder, and the glint in her eye is the same one she gets when she is about to bulldoze through every objection you can possibly raise.
"I'm not going," you reply, not looking up from your biology textbook. "I don't ski. I don't snowboard. I don't even own a proper winter coat. The heaviest thing I own is a cardigan, and I'm pretty sure it's made of acrylic."
"Then we'll get you a coat."
"Yunjin."
"Y/N."
"I can't go to a skiing station. I have studying to do. I have lab reports to write. I have approximately eight hundred flashcards to review before the next exam. My social life is already a disaster zone, I don't need to add frostbite and potential avalanche-related injuries to my list of problems."
Yunjin steps fully into the room, closes the door behind her, and fixes you with a look that you recognize as her "I'm about to say something brutally honest and you're not going to like it" expression. "You've been moping for two weeks."
"I haven't been moping. I've been processing."
"You've been moping. You've been staring at walls, listening to sad music, and eating instant ramen for every meal. I saw you crying over a nature documentary the other day because the baby penguin got separated from its family."
"That was emotionally manipulative editing! They set it to sad piano music! Anyone would have cried!"
"Y/N." Yunjin sits down on the edge of your bed, her voice softening. "I know about Jungwon. I know he told you he liked you and then walked away. I know you've been carrying that around like a weight on your chest. But hiding in your room isn't going to make it better. You need to get out. You need fresh air. You need to do something that isn't just staring at the same four walls and replaying the same conversation over and over in your head."
You set down your highlighter. "What if I run into Jungwon on the trip?"
"Then you'll be a normal human being about it. Or you'll be weird and awkward, which is your default state anyway, so nothing will have changed."
"Comforting."
"What if you run into Heeseung?"
The question catches you off guard. Your hand stills on your textbook, and you feel that familiar, complicated flutter in your chest, the one that has been appearing more and more frequently whenever someone mentions his name. "I don't know. I haven't really talked to him since…" Since the night he kissed your cheek. Since the night you realized that maybe, just maybe, your heart is no longer as firmly in Jungwon's camp as you always assumed.
"Exactly," Yunjin says, as if your silence has proven her point. "You need to figure things out. And you can't do that if you're hiding in your dorm room subsisting on sodium and self-pity. The ski trip is three days. Three days of fresh mountain air, hot chocolate, and the chance to actually talk to people face-to-face instead of through a fog of depression ramen."
"The ramen isn't that bad."
"The ramen is a cry for help."
You are quiet for a moment, staring at the pages of your textbook without really seeing them. Yunjin is right. You know she is right. You have been hiding from Jungwon, from Heeseung, from the tangled mess of feelings that you still haven't sorted out. The past two weeks have been a blur of avoidance and overthinking, and you are no closer to clarity than you were on that bench under the stars.
"Fine," you say finally, the word escaping before you can stop it. "I'll go."
Yunjin's face lights up. "Really?"
"But I'm not skiing. I refuse to ski. I'll sit in the lodge and drink hot chocolate and judge people from the window like a ghost."
"That's the spirit."
The morning of the trip arrives with a gray sky and a biting chill in the air. You stand outside the student union with your hastily packed duffel bag, which contains exactly zero items suitable for winter sports because your wardrobe is approximately eighty percent oversized sweaters and twenty percent academic stress, and watch your breath fog in the cold morning air.
The bus is already parked at the curb, a massive coach with the university logo emblazoned on the side. Students mill around, dragging suitcases and carrying thermoses of coffee, their chatter filling the air with a buzz of excitement. You spot a few familiar faces from your classes, a group of engineering students comparing snowboards, and your heart lurches, a flash of dark hair that might be Jungwon disappearing into the bus.
Yunjin has already boarded, abandoning you for a seat near the front because she wants to "network with the economics majors" or some other nonsense that you can't relate to. You are alone, clutching your bag and wondering if it is too late to fake a sudden illness, when a voice speaks directly behind you.
"Need help with your bag?"
You spin around so fast that your duffel bag swings in a wide arc and nearly takes out an innocent bystander. The innocent bystander, thankfully, has very good reflexes. He ducks, straightens up, and smiles at you with that familiar, devastating smile that has been haunting your dreams for weeks.
Heeseung.
He wears a black puffer jacket that makes his shoulders look even broader, a gray beanie pulled low over his hair, and a pair of snow boots that actually look like they belong on a ski trip. His cheeks are slightly pink from the cold, and his eyes are bright with that unshakeable, inexplicable cheerfulness that seems to follow him everywhere.
"Hi," you say, because your brain has apparently decided that monosyllables are all you can manage.
"Hi," he replies, his smile widening. "Fancy meeting you here. I thought you said you were photosensitive and couldn't be exposed to direct light. Is snow-light different from regular light?"
"That was a lie and you know it."
"I know." He reaches out and gently takes your duffel bag from your white-knuckled grip. "Come on. Let's find seats together. The bus is filling up."
"I… what… together?"
"Unless you already have a seatmate?"
Yunjin has abandoned you. You have no allies, no escape routes, and no valid excuses. "No," you admit. "I don't."
"Great." Heeseung starts walking toward the bus, your bag slung easily over his shoulder like it weighs nothing. "Fair warning, I'm a chronic window-seat person. I need to be able to stare dramatically at the scenery while contemplating the meaning of life."
"That's very specific."
"It's a lifestyle choice."
You follow him onto the bus, your heart doing that complicated gymnastics routine that it has perfected over the past few weeks. Heeseung navigates through the aisle with practiced ease, nodding at people who call out to him, exchanging quick greetings, but never stopping until he reaches an empty row near the middle of the bus.
"Window seat's yours," he says, gesturing for you to go first.
"I thought you said you were a chronic window-seat person."
"I am. But I'm making an exception." He stows your bag in the overhead compartment, then steps back to let you pass. "Consider it part of the whole starting slow thing. Sacrifices must be made."
You slide into the window seat, your heart hammering, and Heeseung settles in beside you. The seats are closer together than you expected. His shoulder brushes against yours, and even through the layers of your coats, you can feel the warmth of his body. You press yourself slightly closer to the window, trying to create more space, but the universe, in its infinite comedic wisdom, has clearly designed this bus to maximize accidental physical contact.
"Comfortable?" Heeseung asks, his voice tinged with amusement.
"Extremely. Never been more comfortable in my life. This is peak comfort."
"You're pressed against the window like you're trying to phase through it."
"The window is cold. The glass is… nice. I like glass."
Heeseung laughs, that genuine, surprised laugh that you heard in the cafeteria and the café and on the bench under the stars. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"The rambling thing. The nervous rambling thing." He turns in his seat slightly, facing you. "You know you don't have to be nervous around me, right? I thought we established this. Coffee disaster solidarity. Matching shirts. The whole thing."
"I'm not nervous," you lie. "I'm just… the bus is very… bus-like. It's making me feel things."
"Bus-like feelings."
"Exactly."
Heeseung shakes his head, still smiling, and pulls a pair of earbuds from his jacket pocket. "Here. Music helps me relax on long trips. We can share if you want."
He offers you one of his earbuds, holding it out between his fingers like it is something precious. The gesture is so simple, so unexpectedly intimate, that your breath catches in your throat. Sharing earbuds means sitting close enough for the cord to reach. Sharing earbuds means listening to his music, hearing the songs he likes, experiencing something together in the quiet space between words.
"Okay," you whisper, taking the earbud.
Your fingers brush against his, just for a second, and the contact sends a spark of electricity up your arm. You quickly insert the earbud, focusing very hard on not thinking about how close he is, how warm his shoulder feels against yours, how the faint scent of his cologne fills the space between you.
"What are we listening to?" you ask.
"A playlist I made," Heeseung says, scrolling through his phone. "It's kind of all over the place. Some indie, some R&B, some stuff I found on TikTok that got stuck in my head. I'm not very organized with my music."
"That's shocking. I assumed an informatics engineering student would have their music meticulously categorized by genre, mood, and decade of release."
"You assumed wrong. My playlists are chaos. This one is literally called vibes idk."
"That's the worst playlist name I've ever heard."
"It's an accurate playlist name. You'll see."
Lovers - Anna of the North playing now
He presses play, and music fills your ear.
"We should play a game," Heeseung says after a few songs have played. "To pass the time."
"What kind of game?"
"Twenty questions. But the version where you can skip questions if you don't want to answer. No pressure, no judgment, no awkwardness."
You consider this. Twenty questions with Heeseung is a dangerous proposition. There are so many things you don't want to answer, so many topics you have been carefully avoiding, so many truths that are still tangled up in misunderstandings and misplaced letters. But there is also something disarming about the way he offers the terms, no pressure, no judgment, no awkwardness, like he genuinely cares about making you feel safe.
"Fine," you say. "But you go first."
"Okay." Heeseung leans back in his seat, his shoulder still pressed against yours, his expression thoughtful. "What's your favorite movie of all time?"
"Pride and Prejudice. The 2005 version with Keira Knightley."
"The hand flex scene?"
You turn to stare at him. "You know about the hand flex scene?"
"Every person with a functioning heart knows about the hand flex scene. It's cinema history. Mr. Darcy flexing his hand after helping Elizabeth into the carriage because he's so overwhelmed by touching her? Iconic. Revolutionary. I think about it at least once a week."
You don't know what to do with this information. Lee Heeseung, reputed womanizer, hot informatics engineering student, the guy who is currently wearing a beanie and looking unfairly attractive in bus lighting, knows about the hand flex scene from Pride and Prejudice. He thinks about it weekly.
"You're very strange," you say.
"I prefer culturally literate."
"You said you've watched To All the Boys I've Loved Before at least six times."
"That's one of my favorite modern movies. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite classic. I contain multitudes." He nudges your shoulder with his. "Ask me something else."
The questions flow back and forth as the bus winds its way out of the city and into the mountains. You learn that Heeseung has an older brother who he FaceTimes every Sunday, that he chose informatics engineering because he loves the logic of coding but secretly dreams of being a music producer, that he loves Shin ramyeon and has created his own way of eating his instant noodles. He learns that you started collecting highlighters in middle school and now own over forty different colors, that you have named every plant in your dorm room after characters from classic literature, that you once won a poetry contest in high school but never told anyone because you were embarrassed.
The landscape outside the window shifts as the bus climbs higher into the mountains. Snow begins to appear, first in patches, then in sweeping blankets that cover the trees and the slopes and the distant peaks. The sky is a pale winter blue, and the sun glints off the snow.
The question hangs in the air between you, weightier than the ones that have come before. You could give a surface-level answer, spiders, heights, the dark, but something about the quiet intimacy of the bus, the warmth of his shoulder against yours, the gentle music in your ear, makes you want to be honest.
"Being seen," you say quietly. "Really seen. By someone who matters."
Heeseung doesn't respond right away. When he does, his voice is soft. "Why?"
"Because if someone really sees you, they might not like what they find. It's easier to stay on the surface. To be the version of yourself that you can control." You pause, watching the snow-covered trees blur past the window. "I'm good at dreaming about things. Imagining them. Writing them down. But actually doing them… actually putting myself out there… that's the scary part."
"That's why you write letters," Heeseung says. It isn't a question.
"Yeah. It's safer on paper. You can edit a letter. You can cross things out and start over. You can't do that with real life."
Heeseung is quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his words are careful and measured.
"For what it's worth," he says, "I've been seeing you for a few weeks now. The real you, I mean. The one who rambles and spills coffee and hides behind bulletin boards. And I haven't found anything I don't like yet."
Your heart stutters. You don't know what to say, so you say nothing, just let the music fill the space between you and try to memorize the exact timbre of his voice saying those words.
The skiing station is everything the brochure promised and more. A sprawling complex of wooden lodges and snow-covered slopes, nestled in a valley surrounded by towering peaks. The air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke, and the snow glitteres under the afternoon sun like a carpet of crushed diamonds.
You step off the bus and immediately sink three inches into a snowdrift.
"Excellent start," Yunjin says, appearing at your elbow and grinning. "Really graceful. Ten out of ten."
"I didn't see it."
"It's snow. It's everywhere. How did you not see it?"
You extract your foot from the drift and shake the snow off your boot with as much dignity as you can muster. "I was distracted by the scenery."
"Uh-huh." Yunjin's grin widens. "And by the scenery, you mean the six-foot-tall informatics student you spent the entire bus ride cuddled up with?"
"We weren't cuddling. We were sharing earbuds. There's a difference."
"There's really not."
You grab your duffel bag from the luggage compartment and follow the crowd toward the main lodge, your cheeks burning despite the cold. The lodge is a massive timber-frame building with a soaring ceiling, a massive stone fireplace, and windows that look out over the slopes. Students are already scattered across the lobby, checking in, collecting room keys, and making plans for the afternoon.
Your room is small but cozy, with a window that faces the mountains and a bed that looks impossibly inviting. You dump your bag on the floor, plug in your phone to charge, and then immediately find yourself staring out the window at the snow-covered landscape.
Yunjin finds you an hour later, dragging you out of your room and into the lodge's main café for hot chocolate. The café is warm and bustling, filled with students comparing ski passes and swapping stories about near-misses on the slopes. You find a table near the window, and Yunjin wastes no time in grilling you about the bus ride.
"So," she says, stirring her hot chocolate with a cinnamon stick, "Heeseung."
"What about him?"
"You spent three hours cuddled up with him on a bus."
"Sharing earbuds is not cuddling."
"You let him listen to music with you. You played twenty questions. You told him about your highlighter collection and the poetry contest you never told anyone about." Yunjin fixes you with a knowing look. "Those are not casual bus acquaintance topics. Those are I'm emotionally vulnerable with this person topics."
You stare into your hot chocolate. "I don't know what I'm doing, Yunjin. Everything is so tangled up. I started this whole mess because I was too scared to confess to the right person, and now the wrong person has been nothing but kind and thoughtful and unexpectedly perfect, and the right person told me he liked me and then walked away, and I don't know what I'm supposed to feel anymore."
Yunjin is quiet for a moment. Then she reaches across the table and places her hand on yours. "Maybe there isn't a supposed to. Maybe there's just what you actually feel, when you strip away all the expectations and the plans and the ideas about how things were meant to go."
You look up at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you've been so focused on the idea of Jungwon, the letter, the confession, the grand romantic gesture, that you might have missed what's been happening right in front of you." She squeezes your hand. "Heeseung poured coffee on himself so you wouldn't feel alone. He held your hand while you cried. He looked at you on that bus like you were the most interesting person he'd ever met."
"That doesn't mean-"
"Y/N." Yunjin's voice is gentle but firm. "When are you going to stop being scared and start being honest?"
The question hits you like a punch to the chest. Because she is right. Yunjin is always right, that is the infuriating thing about her. You have been scared since the moment you walked into that PC room, scared of rejection, scared of humiliation, scared of what would happen if you actually let someone see you. And that fear has led you into a labyrinth of misunderstandings and half-truths, and somewhere along the way, you have gotten so lost that you can't even see the exit anymore.
"I need to tell him," you say quietly. "Heeseung. I need to tell him the truth about the letter."
Yunjin nods. "I think that's a good idea."
"He might hate me."
"He might. But he also might not. And either way, you'll finally be able to stop carrying this around." She leans back in her chair, blowing on her hot chocolate. "Besides, from everything you've told me about him, I don't think hating you is high on his list of priorities."
"What if it ruins everything?"
"What if it fixes everything?"
You don't have an answer to that. You just sit there, watching the snow fall outside the window, and feel the weight of your decision settling onto your shoulders. Tonight. You will tell him tonight. Before dinner, maybe, or after. You will find a quiet moment, away from the crowds and the noise and the chaos of the ski trip, and you will finally, finally tell him the truth.
Finding Heeseung turns out to be easier said than done.
The ski station is massive, a maze of slopes and trails and lodges that all look exactly the same. You wander through the main lodge, check the café, peek into the game room, and even brave the equipment rental shop where a terrifyingly efficient employee tries to convince you to try snowboarding. You escape with your dignity barely intact and a pamphlet about beginner lessons that you immediately stuff into the nearest trash can.
It isn't until you step outside, squinting against the glare of the sun on the snow, that you spot him.
He is on the intermediate slope, a dark figure against the white expanse of snow, cutting down the mountain with the kind of effortless grace that makes your heart lurch into your throat. He is snowboarding, of course he is snowboarding, because apparently there is nothing Lee Heeseung can't do and he moves like he was born on a board.
You have two options. Option one: wait at the bottom of the slope like a normal person and flag him down when he finishes his run. Option two: try to reach him now, which will involve navigating the snowy terrain between you and the slope, a task for which you are woefully underprepared both in terms of footwear and basic motor coordination.
You choose option two, because you are an idiot.
The path to the slope is a gentle incline of packed snow that looks deceptively easy to traverse. You take three steps and immediately realize your mistake. The snow is slippery, not the powdery kind of snow that crunches satisfyingly underfoot, but the packed, icy kind that has been trampled by hundreds of skiers and snowboarders and now has the texture of a skating rink.
You take a fourth step. Your foot slides. You windmill your arms frantically. Your other foot slides in the opposite direction. For one glorious, suspended moment, you do something that might generously be called a split, and then gravity takes over and you go down in a tangle of limbs and snow and absolute humiliation.
"Y/N?"
The voice comes from above you. You look up, snow clinging to your hair and your eyelashes and probably places you don't want to think about, and there is Heeseung, standing over you with his snowboard tucked under his arm and an expression somewhere between concern and barely suppressed laughter.
"Hi," you say weakly. "I was looking for you."
"You found me." He kneels down beside you, brushing snow off your shoulder. "Are you okay? That looked like a pretty spectacular fall."
"I've had better. I've also had worse. This is somewhere in the middle."
"Your standards for falls must be very high."
"I'm an overachiever."
Heeseung laughs and offers you his hand. You take it, and he pulls you to your feet with the same easy strength he showed in the café, steadying you when you wobble on the slippery snow.
"Come on," he says, still holding your hand. "Let's get you somewhere less treacherous. The beginner slope is over there, it's flatter and a lot less likely to attack you."
"I don't snowboard."
"I'll teach you."
"Heeseung-"
"It'll be fun. I promise." He already guides you toward the beginner slope, his hand warm and solid around yours. "Besides, you came all this way to find me. The least I can do is give you a snowboarding lesson."
The beginner slope is, as promised, much less intimidating than the intermediate one. It is a gentle hill with a slow incline, populated by other beginners who fall over with the same frequency and enthusiasm that you anticipate for yourself. Heeseung finds a quiet spot near the edge, props his snowboard in the snow, and turns to you with an expression of exaggerated seriousness.
"Okay, lesson one: standing on the board without falling."
"That sounds fake."
"It's very real. I've done it many times."
"Show-off."
He grins and proceeds to walk you through the basics of snowboarding with the patience of a saint and the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely loves sharing his hobbies. He holds your hands when you wobble, catches you when you fall, and laughs with you instead of at you when you face-plant into a snowbank for the third time in ten minutes.
"You're getting better," he says, pulling you upright after your fourth fall. Snow dusts his beanie and clings to his eyelashes, and his cheeks are flushed pink from the cold. "That time you almost made it five feet."
"Almost being the key word."
"Almost is progress. Almost is the first step toward eventually."
You look at him, really look at him and feel something shift in your chest. This is it. This is the moment. You can't put it off any longer.
"I need to tell you something," you say, your voice coming out steadier than you feel. "Can we sit down for a minute?"
Heeseung's expression flickers, curiosity, concern, something else you can't name but he nods. "Of course."
You find a bench near the edge of the slope, tucked under a pine tree whose branches are heavy with snow. The afternoon sun starts to sink lower in the sky, painting the mountains in shades of gold and pink, and the air is cold enough to make your breath fog. You sit down, and Heeseung sits beside you, close but not too close, his snowboard propped against the bench.
For a long moment, you don't say anything. You are gathering your courage, trying to find the right words, trying to figure out how to start a conversation that might change everything.
"The letter," you say finally. "The one I gave you in the PC room. There's something I need to tell you about it."
Heeseung doesn't react. He just waits, his dark eyes steady on your face.
"It wasn't meant for you," you say, and the words come out in a rush, tumbling over each other in their hurry to escape. "I wrote it for someone else. For Jungwon. I'd been planning to confess to him for weeks, and I'd written this whole letter, and I asked someone where he was and they said he was in the PC room, and I walked in and I saw someone sitting at the computer and I just assumed it was him, and I didn't look, I didn't check, I just handed over the letter and started talking, and then you looked up and it wasn't him at all, it was you and I was so embarrassed and everyone was watching and I couldn't correct you in front of all those people, and then everything spiraled and I kept trying to tell you but I couldn't find the right moment and then Jungwon found out and I couldn't correct it in front of him either and now everything is a mess and I'm so, so sorry, and I understand if you're angry, I understand if you hate me, I just… I couldn't keep lying to you anymore. You deserved to know the truth."
You stop talking. Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it in your temples. Your hands shake, and you press them together in your lap to keep them still. You don't look at Heeseung, you can't look at him, can't bear to see the expression on his face.
The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity.
And then Heeseung says, in the most casual voice imaginable: "I know."
Your head snaps up. "What?"
"I know the letter wasn't meant for me." He smiles, not a smirk, not a grin, but something gentle and warm and completely without judgment. "I've known since the beginning."
"But… how… since when-"
"Since I read it." Heeseung leans back on the bench, looking out at the snow-covered slope with a thoughtful expression. "The letter was beautiful. Every word of it. But it wasn't about me. It was about someone who smiles a certain way, someone who gave you gummy bears at 2 AM, someone who studies hard during free time at the library." He glances at you sideways. "I've never given anyone gummy bears. And I'm an informatics student, I don't take philosophy."
Your brain short-circuits. "You knew. This whole time. You knew."
"I knew."
"And you didn't say anything?"
"What was I supposed to say?" Heeseung's voice is gentle. "You were so flustered and embarrassed, and I could see you panicking in front of everyone. If I called you out right there, you would have been humiliated. And then I kept waiting for you to tell me yourself, but you never did, and eventually I just…" He shrugs. "I got curious. You wrote this incredible letter, and you were so weird and skittish and interesting, and I wanted to understand you. So I kept showing up."
"You kept showing up because I was interesting?"
"At first. Then it became something else." He turns to face you fully, his expression open and earnest. "You're not like the other people who confess to me. They want the idea of me, the reputation, the image. You didn't even want the real me. You wanted someone else entirely. And that was… refreshing. You weren't trying to impress me. You were trying to get rid of me. It was the first time anyone ever hid behind a bulletin board to avoid me."
"I wasn't… I didn't…" You bury your face in your hands. "This is so humiliating."
"It's not humiliating. It's human. You made a mistake. A very entertaining, very elaborate mistake." He gently pulls your hands away from your face, forcing you to look at him. "And somewhere along the way, while you were busy trying to make me lose interest, I got to know the real you. The one who names her plants after literary characters. The one who writes passionate essays about video game balance. The one who cried over a baby penguin last week."
"Yunjin told you about that?"
"Yunjin and I have been texting. But don't worry she didn't spilled all your dirty secrets."
You gape at him. "You and Yunjin have been texting?"
"She reached out after the coffee incident. Said she wanted to make sure my intentions were good." He smiles, a little sheepishly. "I think I passed the test. She said I was less of a disaster than expected."
"I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill both of you."
"Before you do, let me finish." Heeseung's voice softens, and he takes your hand in his, the same way he did on the bench under the stars, steady and warm and reassuring. "I knew the letter wasn't for me. But I also know that somewhere along the way, something changed. Maybe it changed for you too. Maybe it didn't. Either way, I wanted to give you the space to figure it out on your own terms."
You stare at him, your mind reeling. He knew. He has known this entire time, and instead of being angry or hurt or humiliated, he just… waited. Gave you space. Let you come to him when you were ready.
"You're not upset?" you whisper.
"I'm not upset."
"You don't feel… I don't know, betrayed? Lied to?"
"Y/N." He squeezes your hand. "You were scared. I get it. I've spent my whole life being scared of disappointing people, scared of saying no, scared of letting anyone down. I know what it's like to be trapped in a situation you didn't mean to create. I'm not going to hold that against you."
The tears threaten again, not the ugly, heartbroken tears from that night on the pathway, but something softer. Something that feels almost like relief.
"I'm sorry," you say, your voice cracking. "I'm so sorry for not telling you sooner."
"You're telling me now. That's what matters."
"I don't know what I feel," you admit. "About anything. About anyone. Everything is so confusing."
"Then don't figure it out right now." Heeseung stands up, pulling you gently to your feet. "We have three days at a ski station. There's a jacuzzi. There's hot chocolate. There's an entire mountain to explore. Let's just… enjoy it. See what happens. No pressure, no expectations, no misunderstandings."
Just like that, the weight you have been carrying for weeks, the guilt, the anxiety, the tangled knot of secrets, begins to loosen. Not disappear entirely, but loosen enough that you can breathe again.
"There's really a jacuzzi?" you ask.
Heeseung grins. "There's really a jacuzzi. I saw it on the map. Outdoor, heated, with a view of the mountains. Very romantic. Very much the kind of thing you'd put in a letter about someone."
"You're making fun of me."
"A little bit. But also, I'm serious." He picks up his snowboard and tucks it under his arm. "What do you say? After dinner? We can go check it out."
You think about it. The jacuzzi. With Heeseung. In a swimsuit. In warm water under the stars, surrounded by snow-covered mountains. It is terrifying. It is ridiculous. It is exactly the kind of thing the hopeless romantic inside you has always dreamed about.
"Okay," you say. "After dinner."
By the time dinner rolls around, you are a nervous wreck.
You have spent the rest of the afternoon in your room, alternating between staring at the ceiling and frantically texting Yunjin for advice. Yunjin has responded with a series of increasingly unhelpful messages:
Yunjin: wear the cute swimsuit
You: i don't OWN a cute swimsuit
Yunjin: wear the one you borrowed from me for the pool party last semester
You: the black one???
Yunjin: YES the black one. he won't know what hit him
You: i don't want him to be HIT i want this to be NORMAL
Yunjin: nothing about your life has been normal since the moment you walked into that PC room. embrace it. wear the swimsuit.
You wear the swimsuit.
Underneath your clothes, of course. Underneath a thick sweater, a pair of jeans, and the oversized winter coat you borrowed from Yunjin specifically for this trip. You feel like you are wearing armor, except the armor is actually a swimsuit, and the battle is against your own nervous system.
Dinner is a blur. The lodge's restaurant is packed with students, the noise level somewhere between "lively" and "chaotic," and you barely taste the food on your plate. You keep glancing toward the table where Heeseung sits with a group of his friends, and every time he catches your eye, he smiles at you, that same soft, knowing smile that makes your stomach do complicated acrobatics.
At one point, you accidentally make eye contact with Jungwon across the dining hall. He sits with a group of philosophy students, and when your gazes meet, he raises his hand in a small wave. His expression is unreadable, not sad, not angry, just… neutral. You wave back, and then you both look away, and that is it. A quiet acknowledgment of everything that has happened and everything that hasn't.
After dinner, you return to your room and proceed to have a minor meltdown.
The text from Heeseung arrives at exactly 8:47 PM.
Heeseung: jacuzzi? meet in the lobby in 10? bring a towel
You stare at the message for approximately three full minutes. Then you type out seventeen different responses, delete all of them, and finally settle on:
You: okay
Just "okay." No punctuation. No enthusiasm. Just the monosyllabic response of someone who is either incredibly chill or seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
You grab your towel and make your way to the lobby. The lodge is quieter now, most students either in the game room or in their own rooms recovering from the day's activities. The fireplace in the main lobby still crackles, and a few people gather around it with mugs of hot chocolate.
Heeseung is already there, leaning against the reception desk with a towel slung over his shoulder and that same gray beanie pulled over his hair. He has changed out of his snowboarding gear into something simpler and when he sees you approaching, his face lights up with that genuine smile that never fails to make your heart flutter.
"Ready?" he asks.
"No," you admit.
"Good. Let's go anyway."
The jacuzzi is on the outdoor deck of the spa building, a steaming oasis surrounded by snow-covered rocks and pine trees draped in lights. The mountains rise in the distance, dark silhouettes against a sky so full of stars it looks like a painting. The air is freezing, the kind of cold that makes your lungs ache, but the water is perfectly, blissfully warm, and when you finally shed your coat and your sweater and your jeans and slip into the bubbling water in your borrowed black swimsuit, you let out a breath you didn't realize you have been holding.
"This is nice," you admit, sinking down until the water reaches your chin. "This is really, really nice."
"Told you." Heeseung slides into the water across from you, his towel discarded on a nearby bench. The lights catch the angles of his face, the curve of his shoulders, the way his hair curls slightly at the ends from the steam. "Sometimes I'm right about things."
"Sometimes."
"Rarely. Occasionally. Once in a blue moon."
You laugh, and it feels good, lighter than it has in weeks. The warm water, the cold air, the stars overhead, the boy across from you who has known the truth all along and hasn't run away, it all feels like something out of a dream.
"I'm glad you told me," Heeseung says quietly. "About the letter."
"Me too."
"And I'm glad you're here. At the ski station. In the jacuzzi. With me."
Your heart flutters. "Me too."
"So what happens now?" Heeseung asks, but there is no pressure in his voice. Just curiosity. Just openness.
"I don't know," you say honestly. "But I think… I think I'd like to find out."
Heeseung smiles, soft and real and full of something you are only just beginning to recognize.
"Then let's find out," he says. "Together."
The jacuzzi is bathed in purple light.
You don't know if it is intentional or if someone just installed colored LEDs and called it a day, but the effect is undeniably, unfairly romantic. The water glows with a deep violet hue, shifting to indigo where the bubbles break the surface, and the steam rising into the cold mountain air catches the light and turns it into something almost magical. It looks like a movie.
A romance movie, specifically. The kind you have watched a hundred times in your dorm room, wrapped in a blanket, dreaming about the day something like this would happen to you.
And now it is happening. And you are absolutely, catastrophically unprepared.
Heeseung sits across from you in the bubbling water, his arms stretched out along the edge of the jacuzzi, his head tilted back slightly to look at the stars. The purple light paints shadows across the planes of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the column of his throat disappearing into the steam. Droplets of water cling to his skin, and when he tilts his head forward to look at you, his dark eyes reflect the violet glow in a way that makes your stomach drop straight through the floor.
"You're doing it again," he says, his voice low and amused.
"Doing what?"
"Staring at me like you're trying to figure me out."
"I'm not staring. I'm… observing. It's different."
"Is it?"
"It's scientific. I'm conducting research."
Heeseung's lips curve into that familiar smile, the one that is definitely a smirk's first cousin by now, maybe even its sibling. "And what has your research concluded so far?"
"That you're very annoying," you say. "And that the purple light is doing unfair things to your bone structure."
"Unfair things to my bone structure," he repeats, laughing. "That's a new one. I'll add it to the list of compliments I've received."
"You keep a list?"
"Mentally. It's not written down anywhere. I'm not that egotistical."
"Debatable."
He laughs again, and the sound echoes across the water, mixing with the gentle hum of the jacuzzi jets. You try very hard to be normal, to act like you aren't sitting in a bubbling hot tub with a boy who has known your secret all along and has still chosen to be here, in the purple light, looking at you like he wants to kiss you.
And then he reaches for your foot.
His hand closes around your ankle beneath the water, warm and gentle, and before you can process what is happening, he lifts your leg, guiding your foot toward him. Your heel presses against his chest, against the firm warmth of his skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your breath catches in your throat so abruptly that you make a small, strangled sound that is definitely not dignified. The memory of your wet dream surges instantly, and you mentally thank the purple lights for hiding the sudden flush on your face.
"What are you doing?" you manage, your voice coming out several octaves higher than normal.
"You were floating awkwardly," Heeseung says, like this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. His thumb traces a slow circle against your ankle bone, feather-light and devastating. "I thought you might want something to anchor you."
"My ankle. You're anchoring my ankle."
"Ankles are very anchorable."
"That's not a word."
"It is now. I'm an engineering student. I can invent words."
Your heart pounds so hard you are certain he can feel it through the sole of your foot. His hand still wraps around your ankle, warm and steady, and the position is so unexpectedly intimate, your leg stretched across the space between you, your foot pressed against his chest, his thumb drawing lazy patterns on your skin, that you don't know where to look or what to say or how to breathe.
"You know what's funny?" Heeseung says, his voice conversational, like he isn't currently holding your foot against his heart. "The jacuzzi scene in To All the Boys I've Loved Before."
Your brain, which is already operating at approximately ten percent capacity, struggles to process the shift in topic. "The… jacuzzi scene?"
"Lara Jean and Peter. The ski trip. The hot tub." He gestures vaguely at the purple water around you. "They're in a jacuzzi together for the first time, and Lara Jean is all nervous, and Peter is trying to be cool about it, and there's all this tension because they're fake dating but they're both starting to feel real things."
"I know the scene," you say, your voice faint.
"It's kind of the turning point in the movie. The moment where the fake relationship starts becoming real." Heeseung tilts his head, and his eyes meet yours, and there is something in them, something dark and warm and knowing—that makes your skin tingle. "Funny how we ended up in a jacuzzi too. At a ski station. Just like them."
"Are you saying we're in a romance movie?"
"I'm saying the parallels are getting a little uncanny." His thumb traces another circle on your ankle, slow and deliberate. "The letter. The ski trip. The hot tub."
"Well, technically the parallels are there but it's still different…"
"You're right. At the end of the day we're not in a movie… This is real life."
"Which means…"
"Which means we're in uncharted territory now." Heeseung's voice drops, becoming something lower, something that vibrates through the water and into your bones. "No movie to reference. No script to follow. Just… whatever happens next."
Your mouth is dry. When did your mouth become so dry? You are surrounded by water, and yet every drop of moisture has apparently evaporated from your body.
"That's terrifying," you whisper.
"Is it?" His hand tightens slightly on your ankle, grounding you. "I think it's kind of exciting. Don't you?"
You don't know how to answer that. You don't know how to articulate the complicated knot of fear and anticipation and something else, something warm and fluttering that has taken up residence in your chest. So you do what you always do when you don't know what to say: you deflect.
"You're very smooth, you know that?" you say, aiming for teasing and landing somewhere closer to breathless. "Has anyone ever told you that? The ankle thing, the movie reference, the uncharted territory line, it's a lot."
Heeseung's lips twitch. "Is it working?"
"I'm not answering that."
"That's an answer in itself."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet you're still here." His eyes flicker down for just a moment, barely a second, but enough to make your skin flush. "Letting me hold your ankle."
You pull your foot back, but he doesn't let go. His grip remains gentle, steady, his palm warm against your skin. "I'm not letting you do anything. You just… did it."
"And you didn't stop me."
"I was being polite."
"Polite." Heeseung's smile widens. "Right. That's what this is. Politeness."
The purple light flickers slightly, casting new shadows across his face. The bubbles swirl around you, warm and enveloping, and the cold mountain air nips at your exposed shoulders, creating a contrast that makes every sensation feel heightened. You are acutely aware of everything, the heat of the water, the chill of the breeze, the rough texture of the jacuzzi edge beneath your fingers, the steady pressure of Heeseung's hand on your ankle.
"Can I ask you something?" Heeseung says.
"You're going to anyway."
"True." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. More curious. "Have you ever done this before?"
"Done what? Sat in a jacuzzi?"
"Been physical with someone. Intimate." He says the words without embarrassment, without leering, just genuine curiosity. "You get so flustered every time I touch you. Earlier, when I kissed your cheek, I thought you were going to combust. And I'm not trying to make fun of you, I'm genuinely asking. Is this… new for you?"
Your cheeks, already flushed from the heat of the water, burn even hotter. "That's a very personal question."
"You don't have to answer. Remember? Twenty questions rules. No pressure."
You are quiet for a moment. The bubbles churn around you. The stars glitter overhead. Heeseung's thumb continues its slow, hypnotic circles on your ankle.
"I've kissed people before," you say finally. "A few times. But it was always… quick. Awkward. Spin the bottle at parties, that kind of thing." You pause, gathering your courage. "I've never had a real relationship. I've never… you know."
"Made out with someone?"
The bluntness of the question makes you choke on air. "I… that's… yes. That. I've never done that."
"Okay," Heeseung says simply.
"Okay? That's all you have to say?"
"What else would I say?"
"I don't know. Something. Most people would say something."
Heeseung is quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he says, "I haven't either. Much, I mean. I've had my few moments but the amount you can count on your fingers. People assume I have, because of the reputation, but the truth is I've never really… connected with someone like that. I've had opportunities, I guess, but I didn't want to do it just for the sake of doing it. I wanted it to mean something."
The confession catches you off guard. You assumed, everyone assumed, that Lee Heeseung was experienced, that his womanizer reputation was built on a foundation of romantic conquests. But here he is, in the purple light of the jacuzzi, telling you that the reputation is just that: a reputation. Smoke and mirrors. Assumptions built on his inability to say no.
"We're both disasters," you say.
"Absolutely. But at least we're disasters together."
"Disaster twins."
"Matching shirts and everything."
You laugh, and it comes out lighter than you expected. The tension that has been coiling in your chest begins to ease, replaced by something warmer. Something that feels almost like comfort.
Wus Good/Curious - PARTYNEXTDOOR playing now
Somewhere in the lodge, someone has connected their phone to the outdoor speakers. The song that starts playing is slow and sensual, the timing so absurd, so perfectly, comedically timed, that you can't help but laugh. "Did you plan this?"
Heeseung laughs too, shaking his head in disbelief. "I swear I didn't. The universe is just showing off at this point."
"This is the least romantic song that could have possibly played."
"I don't know. It's got a certain vibe." His eyes meet yours, and there is a glint of mischief in them. "Very sensual. Very on-the-nose for a jacuzzi scene."
"It's about-" You stop, your face heating.
"It's about what?"
"You know what it's about."
"I want to hear you say it."
"You're the worst."
Heeseung grins, and the purple light catches the curve of his lips, the sparkle in his eyes, the way the water droplets trace paths down his neck and across his collarbone. The song continues playing, and you are suddenly very aware of how close he is, how the space between you has somehow shrunk without you noticing.
"Come here," he says softly.
"What?"
"Come here. I want to show you something."
Your heart hammers so hard you can feel it in your throat. "Show me what?"
"Trust me."
And you do. That is the terrifying thing. Despite everything, the misunderstandings, the secrets, the weeks of chaos and confusion, you trust him. You trust the boy who poured coffee on his head to make you feel less alone. You trust the boy who held your hand while you cried. You trust the boy who has known your secret all along and has never once made you feel foolish for it.
You move through the water, closer to him, and the purple light swirls around you like something out of a dream. When you are within reach, Heeseung's hands find your waist beneath the water, gentle but sure, and he guides you until you are straddling his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, your faces inches apart.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps. His hands are warm on your waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles against the curve of your hips. His face is so close you can see the individual droplets of water on his eyelashes, can count the shades of brown in his eyes, can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.
"Yes," you whisper. "This is… okay."
"You're shaking."
"I'm nervous."
"I know." His hands slide up from your waist, over your ribs, coming to rest on either side of your face. His palms are warm against your cheeks, his fingers threading gently into the wet strands of your hair. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. We can just sit here. We can talk. We can get out and go back inside. Whatever you want."
The gentleness of his voice, the patience in his eyes, the way he holds your face like you are something precious, it makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the realization that you are in very, very deep trouble.
Because this boy, this absurd, beautiful, incomprehensible boy who stumbled into your life through a misplaced letter and a catastrophic misunderstanding, has somehow become someone you can't imagine letting go of.
"What I want," you say, your voice barely steady, "is for you to kiss me."
Heeseung's eyes darken. The purple light flickers across his features, and his thumbs trace the line of your cheekbones, and his lips part slightly, and for one suspended moment, the entire world holds its breath.
"Okay," he murmurs. "But we're going to do this right."
And then he kisses you.
His lips meet yours softly at first, gentle, exploratory, the barest brush of contact. He tastes like the mint tea he had after dinner, and his mouth is warm, and the kiss is so sweet and so tender that you feel your entire body melt into him. Your hands, hovering awkwardly at your sides, come up to rest on his shoulders, and you feel the muscles beneath his skin shift as he pulls you closer.
But then you try to deepen the kiss, and it goes wrong.
Your nose bumps against his. Your teeth clack together with an audible click. You pull back, mortified, your face burning. "I'm sorry… I didn't… I don't know what I'm doing-"
"Hey." Heeseung's voice is gentle, his hands still cupping your face. "Hey. It's okay. Look at me."
You force yourself to meet his eyes, expecting to see amusement or frustration or something worse. But all you see is patience. Warmth. Something that looks a lot like affection.
"Everyone's first real kiss is awkward," he says. "That's normal. That's how it's supposed to be."
"It wasn't supposed to be with someone who actually knows what they're doing."
"Then let me teach you." His thumb traces your lower lip, feather-light. "We'll go slow. You follow my lead. And if at any point you want to stop, just say the word. Okay?"
Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it in your temples. "Okay."
He leans in again, slower this time, giving you every opportunity to pull away. When his lips meet yours, the pressure is deliberate, gentle but firm, guiding you. His mouth moves against yours in a slow, languid rhythm, and you follow, mimicking his movements, learning the dance as you go.
"Tilt your head a little," he murmurs against your lips. "There. Like that."
You adjust, and suddenly the angle is better, the kiss deepening naturally. His hands slide from your face down to your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel the length of his body against yours, warm and solid and very, very real.
"Now try parting your lips," he whispers. "Just a little."
You do, and the kiss changes. Becomes something deeper, more intense. His tongue brushes against your lower lip, a question rather than a demand, and when you open for him, the sensation is so overwhelming that a soft sound escapes your throat, something between a sigh and a gasp.
"Good," Heeseung breathes. "You're doing so good."
The praise sends a shiver down your spine. Your fingers curl into his shoulders, gripping him like he is the only solid thing in a world. The kiss deepens further, his mouth moving against yours with a confidence that makes your head spin, and you follow his lead, letting him guide you, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips and the steady, grounding pressure of his hands on your waist.
"Now," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, "there's variation. You don't have to do the same thing the whole time."
"Variation," you repeat, your voice dazed.
"You can kiss here-" His lips brush the edge of your jaw. "-and here-" A kiss to the sensitive spot just below your ear. "-and here." A kiss to the hollow of your throat that makes your breath catch and your fingers tighten on his shoulders.
"That's… a lot of places."
"There's more." He pulls back, and his eyes meet yours, dark and warm and full of something that makes your stomach flip. "But we can save those for later. If you want."
"If I want," you echo, still dazed.
"Only if you want." His hand comes up to cup your face again, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
"This is insane," you whisper.
"Completely insane."
"I can't believe this is happening."
"Neither can I." He presses his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "But I'm really, really glad it is."
"Can we try again?" you ask, your voice small but steady. "The kissing thing. I think I need more practice."
Heeseung laughs, and the sound vibrates through his chest and into yours. "Practice makes perfect."
"I'm a STEM student. I believe in empirical evidence."
"Then let's gather some data."
He kisses you again, and this time, you are ready. Your lips meet his with more confidence, your hands sliding from his shoulders into his hair, it is soft, damp from the steam, and the way he sighs against your mouth when your fingers thread through it makes you feel powerful in a way you have never experienced before.
This time, when you deepen the kiss, it's less clumsy. It's more natural, instinctive, the kind of kiss that feels like it has been waiting to happen for weeks and is finally making up for lost time. Heeseung's hands tighten on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, and the water swirls around you.
Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath your fingertips. Heeseung's tongue teases your lower lip, seeking entrance which you grant without hesitation. The kiss becomes hungrier, more desperate as your bodies press together in the warm water. He has been patient with you, letting you set the pace, never pushing for more than you are ready to give.
You feel something hard pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric of your swimsuit. You pull back slightly, breathless, your cheeks flushed with both desire and embarrassment.
"Don't mind it," Heeseung murmurs, his voice husky with arousal. "It's just a natural reaction to kissing someone I find incredibly attractive."
But instead of shying away, something bold awakens inside you. You've been waiting for this moment, wanting to take your relationship to the next level. Taking a deep breath, you meet his gaze directly, though your words come out in a clumsy rush.
"I want to... I mean, if you want to... I think I'm ready to... do it," you stammer, feeling your face heat up even more. "With you."
Heeseung's eyes widen slightly before softening with affection. "Are you sure? Here? Your first time should be special."
"It is special because it's with you," you insist, trying to sound more confident than you feel. "I want this. I want you. I want to be honest with myself."
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Okay," he murmurs, his hands moving to cup your face. "But we need to prepare you properly. I don't want to hurt you."
His thumb brushes against your cheek as he continues, "Have you ever... touched yourself before?"
You shake your head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement.
"That's okay," he assures you. "I'll teach you. I'll make sure you feel good."
WGFT - Gunna playing now
Heeseung shifts slightly, adjusting your position on his lap. One hand trails down your back, over your hip, and between your legs. Even through the fabric of your swimsuit, his touch sends sparks through your body.
"First, I need to make sure you're ready," he explains softly. His fingers find the edge of your swimsuit bottom, toying with the fabric. "May I?"
You nod, your breath catching in anticipation.
Slowly, his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding your folds. You gasp at the contact, your body tensing for a moment before relaxing into his touch.
"It's twitching," he murmurs against your ear. "That's good. It means your body wants this too."
His fingers explore gently, learning your anatomy as you bite your lip to hold back moans. He finds your clit and circles it slowly, watching your face for reactions.
"When I touch you here, it should build pleasure." he explains.
He demonstrates, applying a bit more pressure. You can't help but arch your back, a soft cry escaping your lips.
"Like that?" he asks with a knowing smile.
You can only nod, lost in the sensations he's creating.
After a few minutes of this delicious torture, he slides one finger lower, testing your entrance. "I'm going to prepare you," he warns softly. "It might feel a little strange at first, but I promise it will get better."
His finger enters you slowly, carefully. There's a slight discomfort, but as he begins to move in and out, the sensation transforms into pleasure. He watches your face intently, adjusting his movements based on your reactions.
"Does that feel good?" he asks.
You nod, your hips beginning to move in rhythm with his hand.
He adds a second finger, stretching you further. "You're so tight," he groans. "I can't wait to be inside you."
His words send another wave of desire through you. His thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in circles as his fingers continue their work inside you. The dual stimulation is overwhelming in the best way possible.
"Heeseung," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.
"I know, little mouse," he murmurs, kissing you deeply. "Let it build. Don't fight it."
The pleasure intensifies, coiling in your stomach like a spring. Your movements become more erratic as you chase the feeling building within you.
"That's it," he encourages. "Good girl"
With a cry, you shatter, waves of pleasure washing over you. Heeseung continues his movements, drawing out your orgasm until you collapse against his chest, trembling and breathless.
"You're so beautiful when you come," he whispers, kissing your forehead. "Can you do more?"
You can only nod, still recovering from the intensity of your first orgasm with someone else.
He slides down his shorts slightly just to reveal his already hard cock and slides your swimsuit to the side. His hands move to your hips, and you begin to grind against him instinctively. The water sloshes around you as you move, his lenght sliding between your folds, creating a delicious friction under the water. Lost in the moment, you shift your hips, trying to get closer, to feel more of him.
Suddenly, you both freeze as you feel him slip inside you. There's a sharp pain, followed by a sense of fullness that takes your breath away. Your eyes widen in shock as you look at Heeseung, whose expression mirrors your surprise.
"Oh my god," he gasps, his hands tightening on your hips. "I... I didn't mean for that to happen. Are you okay?"
You nod, still processing what just happened. The initial pain is already fading, replaced by a strange mix of discomfort and pleasure.
"I'm so sorry," Heeseung continues, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I should have been more careful. I didn't..."
As he stammers through an apology, you can't help but let out a small laugh. The absurdity of the situation , your first time happening so accidentally, so clumsily, suddenly strikes you as hilarious.
Heeseung looks at you in confusion before a smile breaks across his face. "You're laughing?"
"We're so clumsy," you giggle, the tension breaking between you. "All that careful preparation and then..."
He joins in your laughter, the moment transforming from awkward to intimate. "Well," he says once the laughter subsides, "since we're already here... are you okay to continue? We can stop if you want."
You shake your head, a new determination filling you. "No, I want to continue. Show me what to do."
Heeseung's expression softens with affection. "Okay," he murmurs, his hands guiding your hips. "Just relax and let me do the work. Move with me, but let me lead."
He begins to move slowly, guiding you in a gentle rhythm. The water sloshes around you as you find a pace together. With each thrust, pleasure builds, different from before but just as intense.
"You feel so good," Heeseung groans, his control beginning to slip. "So tight around me."
His praise only heightens your arousal. You try to meet his movements with your own, but your motions are awkward and uncoordinated. You feel clumsy, unsure of exactly how to move to maximize pleasure for both of you.
"Don't worry about doing it perfectly," Heeseung reassures you, noticing your frustration. "Just feel. Let your body respond naturally."
He adjusts your position slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts. A gasp escapes your lips as he hits a particularly sensitive spot.
"There," he murmurs, repeating the movement. "How does that feel?"
"Amazing," you breathe, your hands clutching at his shoulders.
Heeseung's hands roam your body, caressing your breasts, your back, your hips. His mouth finds your neck, sucking gently at your pulse point. Marking you as his.
"I've wanted this since the moment we got in the jacuzzi," he admits between kisses. "But I was too scared you would run away if I decided to act up."
"I want it," you assure him, your voice breathy with pleasure. "I want all of you. I'm not scared anymore."
Your words seem to unleash something in him. His movements become more deliberate, more purposeful as he chases his own release. One hand moves between your legs again, finding your clit and rubbing in time with his thrusts.
The dual stimulation quickly pushes you toward another orgasm. "Heeseung," you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"I know," he groans. "Come with me this time."
His words are all it takes to push you over the edge. As you clench around him, Heeseung finds his own release, burying his face in your neck with a guttural moan.
For a moment, you stay connected, catching your breath as the water continues to bubble around you. Heeseung presses soft kisses to your shoulders, your neck, your cheeks.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly, pulling back to look at you.
You nod, a contented smile spreading across your face. "Better than okay. That was..."
"Incredible," he finishes for you, returning your smile. "You're incredible."
As you slowly separate, Heeseung adjusts your swimsuit back into place before
As you both recover in the warm bubbling water, you notice something pressing against your thigh again. You glance down and see that Heeseung is already getting hard once more. A blush spreads across your cheeks as you meet his eyes.
"Already?" you ask with a small laugh.
Heeseung grins, a hint of embarrassment in his expression. "I can't help it," he admits. "You feel so good, and I've wanted this for so long. My body seems to have a mind of its own around you."
A boldness takes hold of you, spurred by the confidence your first time gave you. "If you want to do it again... your way this time... I don't mind," you say, trying to sound casual despite the flutter in your stomach.
Heeseung's eyes darken with desire at your words. Without warning, he pounces, lifting you effortlessly from his lap. He carries you to the edge of the jacuzzi and gently sets you down on the edge. The contrast between the warm water and the cool air sends a shiver through your body.
"My way?" he asks, his voice husky with arousal. "I like the sound of that."
He kneels in the water between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs apart. His eyes never leave yours as he leans forward, pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh. You watch, mesmerized, as he works his way upward, leaving a trail of fire on your skin.
When he reaches your core, he pauses, his breath warm against your most sensitive flesh. "I've wanted to taste you since the first time I saw you in that swimsuit," he confesses, his voice low and intimate.
Then he dives in, his tongue exploring your folds. You gasp, your hands flying to his hair as waves of pleasure wash over you. Heeseung maintains eye contact as he eats you out, his dark eyes watching your every reaction, learning what makes you moan, what makes you arch your back.
"You taste so sweet," he murmurs against you before returning to his task, his tongue circling your clit before dipping inside you.
The sensations are overwhelming, building quickly toward another orgasm. Heeseung seems to sense your approaching release and redoubles his efforts, adding his fingers to the mix, curling them inside you as he continues to lavish attention on your clit.
"Heeseung," you cry out, your hips bucking against his face. "Please don't stop."
He doesn't. Instead, he increases his pace, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony until you shatter, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you. He continues his ministrations, drawing out your orgasm until you're trembling and breathless.
Only then does he pull back, a triumphant grin on his face as he licks his lips. "Delicious," he declares, rising from the water.
He kisses his way up your body, over your stomach, between your breasts, along your collarbone, up your neck, until finally his lips claim yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue as the kiss deepens, passionate and hungry.
Without breaking the kiss, Heeseung positions himself at your entrance. This time, there's no accidental slip, he enters you deliberately, slowly, filling you completely. You moan into his mouth at the exquisite stretch and fullness.
He begins to move, his hips thrusting in a deep, slow rhythm that drives you wild. Each stroke is measured and controlled, hitting all the right spots. His movements are faster and harder than before, but still gentle, still considerate of your inexperience.
"You feel incredible," he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. "You're taking it well."
His hands roam your body as he moves, caressing your breasts, your hips, your thighs. His mouth finds your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he whispers praises and encouragements.
"You're doing so well," he murmurs. "Taking me so deep. You feel amazing wrapped around me."
His words only heighten your arousal, pushing you closer to another peak. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, matching his rhythm as best you can despite your inexperience.
After a few minutes, Heeseung pulls out gently. "Turn around," he commands softly.
You obey, positioning hands at the edge of the jacuzzi. He enters you from behind, this new angle allowing him to reach even deeper inside you. You cry out at the intensity of the sensation.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice strained with restraint.
"More than okay," you manage to gasp. "Don't stop."
He resumes his movements, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusts into you. The water sloshes with each movement, adding to the sensory experience. Heeseung's pace increases, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he chases his release.
His moans fill the night air, raw and uninhibited. "I'm getting close," he warns. "Where do you want me?"
"Inside me," you answer without hesitation.
Heeseung hesitates for a moment. "Are you sure? We didn't use anything."
Your mind races for a second before you respond, "I'm on the pill. It's okay."
With a groan of relief, Heeseung continues his movements, his pace becoming erratic as he approaches his climax. With one final deep thrust, he buries himself inside you, his body trembling as he finds his release.
For a moment, he stays inside you. Then he pulls out gently and helps you turn back over. He leans to slowly kiss you while stroking himself a few times before releasing again onto your stomach, warm and sticky.
You look at him in surprise.
"I couldn't," he explains, noticing your confusion. "I couldn't resist, I wanted to see you covered of me."
He reaches for a nearby towel, gently cleaning your stomach before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Next time," he promises, "I'll be more gentle. We'll take our time, explore everything properly."
"There's going to be a next time?" you ask with a smile.
Heeseung grins, pulling you into his arms. "Oh, there's definitely going to be a next time. And a time after that, and after that... I'm never getting enough of you."
The walk back to your room feels like floating.
Not literally, of course, your feet are very much on the ground, leaving wet footprints on the wooden floorboards of the lodge hallway, but your mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere purple-lit and steaming, somewhere filled with the taste of mint tea and the feeling of warm hands on your waist and the sound of Heeseung's voice murmuring instructions against your lips.
You have had sex. In a jacuzzi. Under the stars. With Lee Heeseung.
The hopeless romantic inside you does cartwheels. The realistic part of your brain is still buffering, stuck on a loading screen that says "please wait while we process what just happened." Your body is somewhere in between, pleasantly warm despite the cold air, tingling in places you hadn't known could tingle, wrapped in your borrowed coat and your towel and the lingering sensation of his skin against yours.
Heeseung walks beside you, his hand intertwined with yours. He hums softly, and when he catches you looking at him, he smiles that devastating smile and squeezes your hand.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing. Just… processing."
"Processing what?"
"Everything." You gesture vaguely with your free hand. "The conversation. The jacuzzi. The… everything after the conversation."
"The everything after the conversation," he repeats, his smile widening. "Very descriptive."
"I'm a STEM student, not a poet."
"You wrote a three-page love letter with calligraphy. You're absolutely a poet."
"That was a one-time thing. A fluke. I've since retired from poetry."
"Tragic. The literary world has lost a great talent."
You reach your door, and Heeseung stops, turning to face you.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and his voice is gentle. "Really okay? That was… a lot. I know it was a lot. And I want to make sure you're not freaking out."
"I am absolutely freaking out," you admit. "But in a good way. I think. It's hard to tell. My brain is still catching up."
"Good freak-out or bad freak-out?"
"Good. Definitely good. Just… overwhelming." You pause, searching for the right words. "It wasn't how I imagined my first time would be. It was awkward and clumsy and it accidentally went in, and I'm pretty sure I made some very weird sounds, and-"
"It was perfect," Heeseung interrupts softly. "It was real. It was you. That's all I want."
Your heart, which has already been through approximately seventeen different emotional states in the past hour, does another complicated flip. "You're very good at saying the right thing."
"I'm not trying to say the right thing. I'm just telling you the truth." He reaches up and tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your temple. "You're amazing, Y/N. And I'm not saying that because of what just happened. I'm saying it because it's been true since the moment you walked into that PC room and handed me a letter that wasn't meant for me."
"You're going to make me cry again."
"Please don't. I've seen you cry twice now, and both times it made me want to fight whoever made you sad. I can't fight myself. That's a conflict of interest."
You laugh, and it comes out a little watery. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm aware." He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft, gentle, lingering. "Goodnight, little mouse. Get some sleep."
"Goodnight, Heeseung."
He pulls back, his hand slipping from yours, and walks backward down the hallway for a few steps, still smiling at you. "Dream about me."
"I make no promises."
"I'll take that as confirmation."
He turns the corner and disappears, and you are left standing in front of your door with the lingering warmth of the best night of your life.
The moment you step into your room, Yunjin is on you like a hawk on a field mouse.
"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"
You close the door behind you, leaning against it with a dazed expression. Yunjin sits cross-legged on her bed, her phone in her hand, a half-eaten bag of chips on the nightstand. Her eyes are wide, her expression a mixture of curiosity and accusation.
"The jacuzzi," you say faintly.
"For three hours?"
"Was it three hours? It doesn't feel like three hours."
"Y/N." Yunjin shuts her laptop with a decisive click. "You're wearing a towel. Your hair is wet. You have that look on your face, the one that says I just did something and I don't know how to process it. Spill. Now. Every detail."
You push yourself off the door and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"We had sex," you say.
"What?!"
"We had sex, don't make me repeat it please or I'm gonna die…"
Yunjin is silent for exactly two seconds. Then: "YOU GUYS FUCKED?"
"Yeah…"
"IN THE JACUZZI?"
"There aren't exactly a lot of alternative locations. The water is warm. There's purple lighting. It's very atmospheric."
Yunjin scrambles off her bed and crosses the room in three steps, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you upright. "I need details. I need all the details. How did it happen? Who initiated it? Was it good? Was he good? Did he-"
"Yunjin!" You press your hands to your burning cheeks. "I can't just… I don't know how to-"
"Start from the beginning. The jacuzzi. What happened?"
You take a deep breath, gathering your scattered thoughts, and then the words start tumbling out of you as you tell her everything.
Yunjin is quiet for a moment, processing. Then she lets out a long breath. "So your first time was in a jacuzzi, under the stars, with a hot informatics engineering student who knew you'd accidentally confessed to the wrong person and liked you anyway."
"That's… yeah. That's basically the summary."
"And you're telling me you're still worried this is some kind of disaster?"
"I'm not worried," you say slowly. "I'm just… confused. About what we are. We don't exactly have the what are we conversation. We just kind of… had sex. And now I don't know if we're dating, or if it was a one-time thing, or if he's going to wake up tomorrow and realize he made a huge mistake and-"
"Stop." Yunjin holds up a hand. "Just stop. I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to actually hear it."
"I'm listening."
"Lee Heeseung has known your secret for weeks. He's seen you at your absolute worst, hiding behind bulletin boards, choking on lettuce, spilling coffee all over yourself, crying on a bench in the middle of the night. He's seen you ramble about video games until you run out of breath, and he's seen you face-plant in the snow eight times in one afternoon. And after all of that, he still chooses to spend three hours in a jacuzzi with you and make sure your first time is special and safe and good."
Yunjin leans forward, her expression intense. "That's not the behavior of a guy who's going to wake up tomorrow and change his mind. That's the behavior of a guy who is completely, thoroughly, absolutely gone for you."
The words settle into your chest. "You really think so?"
"I know so. And I think you know so too. You're just scared to admit it because admitting it means this is real, and real is scary."
"When did you get so wise about relationships?"
"I've been watching you be a disaster for months. I've picked up a few things."
You laugh, and it comes out lighter than you expected. "So what do I do?"
"Tomorrow, you go find him. You see how he acts. And if he acts like nothing's changed except that he's even happier to see you than usual, then you'll have your answer."
"And if he acts weird?"
"Then I'll key his snowboard."
"Yunjin!"
"Kidding. Mostly." She grins and flops back onto her bed. "Now go to sleep. You've had a big night. You need rest. And honestly, I need time to process the fact that my best friend had a romantic jacuzzi rendezvous while I was sitting here eating chips and doomscrolling on TikTok."
"You could have come to the jacuzzi."
"And interrupt whatever is happening between you two? I'm a good friend, not a saint. I'd be third-wheeling so hard I'd need a snowplow to get out."
You laugh again, and for the first time in weeks, you feel light. Unburdened. Like the weight you've been carrying since the moment you walked into that PC room has finally been lifted.
"Goodnight, Yunjin."
"Goodnight, you absolute disaster of a human being. Dream about your hot engineer boy."
"He's not my-"
"Yet. He's not your boy yet. But I give it twenty-four hours."
You throw a pillow at her. She catches it and tucks it under her head with a satisfied grin.
The next morning, you wake up with a start, your heart racing. Dreams of purple light and warm water and hands on your waist and a voice murmuring good girl, you're doing so good against your lips haunt your memory.
You press your face into your pillow and scream.
It is a happy scream, mostly. A disbelieving, giddy scream. But it is also a nervous scream, because in approximately one hour, you are going to have to go downstairs and face Heeseung in the cold light of day, and you have absolutely no idea how that is going to go.
Would he be awkward? Would he be distant? Would he pretend nothing happened? Would he-
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Heeseung: good morning little mouse. breakfast in 30?
You stare at the message for a solid ten seconds. Then you type back:
You: okay
Heeseung: you're very eloquent in the morning
You: i haven't had caffeine yet
Heeseung: i'll have a vanilla latte waiting for you. extra shot of vanilla. just like last time
Heeseung: hopefully with less spilling this time
You: no promises
You get dressed in a daze, pulling on approximately four layers of clothing because you still don't own proper winter gear and the borrowed coat can only do so much. Yunjin is already gone, she has left a note on the nightstand that says went to find the economics majors. don't do anything I wouldn't do. (do everything I wouldn't do), so you are alone with your thoughts as you make your way down to the lodge's dining hall.
You spot Heeseung immediately. He sits at a table near the window, two cups of coffee in front of him, his hair still slightly messy from sleep. When he sees you approaching, his entire face lights up.
"There you are," he says, standing up and pulling out a chair for you. "I was starting to think you'd bailed."
"On breakfast?"
"On me. On this. On everything." He says it lightly, but there is a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a tiny crack in his usual confident demeanor. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me this morning, or if you'd need space, or-"
"Hey." You reach out and touch his hand, just briefly. "I'm here. I want to see you."
The relief that washes over his face is so genuine, so unguarded, that your heart clenches. "Okay. Good. That's… good."
You sit down, and he slides the vanilla latte toward you. Your fingers brush as you take the cup, and the contact sends a spark of electricity up your arm. You both pretend not to notice, but the way Heeseung's ears turn slightly pink suggests he feels it too.
"So," you say, taking a sip of your latte to give yourself something to do with your hands. "Breakfast."
"Breakfast," he agrees. "Eggs. Bacon. Possibly a pastry if we're feeling adventurous."
"Very adventurous."
"I'm a risk-taker."
You try to eat normally. You really do. But every time you look up from your plate, Heeseung looks at you with that soft, wondering expression, and you forget how to chew, and you end up staring at him with a piece of toast halfway to your mouth like you've been frozen in time.
"You're doing it again," he says.
"Doing what?"
"The staring thing. The I'm trying to figure you out thing."
"I'm not trying to figure you out. I already figured you out. You're a people-pleaser who can't say no and you have a secret soft spot for romantic comedies."
"Then what are you thinking about?"
You set down your toast. "I'm thinking about last night. And what it means. And what we are now."
Heeseung's expression shifts, becoming more serious. "Do you want to have that conversation? The what are we conversation?"
"I don't know. Do you?"
"I asked you first."
"That's very mature."
"I have my moments." He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Look, I know we did things kind of backwards. Most people start with coffee and work their way up to jacuzzis. We started with a misplaced love letter and somehow ended up in a hot tub under the stars. It's not exactly a conventional timeline."
"When has anything about us been conventional?"
"Fair point." He reaches across the table and takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "I don't know what we are. Labels feel… complicated. But I know what I want us to be."
"What's that?"
"Something real. Something that isn't built on misunderstandings or accidents or letters that weren't meant for me. Something that's just… us. Figuring it out together."
Your heart does that fluttering thing again. "That sounds terrifying."
"I know. But you've been scared this whole time, and you've still kept showing up. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen."
"I haven't felt brave. I've felt like a disaster."
"Disasters can be brave. The two aren't mutually exclusive." He squeezes your hand. "So what do you say? Want to be brave together?"
You look at him, really look at him, and see the boy who poured coffee on his head, the boy who held you while you cried, the boy who knew your secret and waited for you to tell him in your own time. And you feel the fear, familiar and insistent, coiling in your stomach.
But beneath the fear, there is something else. Something warmer. Something that feels a lot like hope.
"Okay," you say. "Let's be brave together."
Heeseung smiles, real and open and devastating. "Okay."
The afternoon finds you back on the beginner slope, strapped into a snowboard and wondering how you let Heeseung talk you into this again.
"You said you wanted to practice," he reminds you, tightening the bindings on your boots. "Snowboarding, I mean. Not… other things."
"My entire body is sore from yesterday. Both from the snowboarding and from the… other things."
"Then we'll take it slow. No jumps, no tricks, just a gentle run down the beginner hill." He stands up and offers you his hand. "I'll be right there the whole time."
"You said that yesterday, and I still fell eight times."
"And you got up eight times. That's the important part."
You take his hand and let him pull you to your feet. The beginner slope stretches out before you, populated by other beginners who fall over with roughly the same frequency as you.
"Okay," you say, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I can do this. I'm a capable human being. I understand physics. Snowboarding is just physics with extra steps."
"That's the spirit."
"I'm going to fall."
"Probably."
"And you're going to catch me?"
"Always."
The word hangs in the air between you, heavier than it should be. Always. Not just on the ski slope, but everywhere. Always.
"Okay," you whisper. "Let's go."
You push off.
The first few seconds are wobbly, your balance shifts, your arms flail slightly, your heart pounds in your ears. But then something clicks. Your body remembers the lessons from yesterday, the way Heeseung taught you to lean into the turns, to keep your weight centered, to trust the board beneath your feet.
You pick up speed, and instead of panicking, you lean into it. The wind rushes past your face, cold and exhilarating.
And then, miraculously, impossibly, you reach the bottom of the slope without falling.
"I DID IT!" you scream, your voice echoing across the mountain. "I DID IT! I SNOWBOARDED!"
You are laughing, giddy with adrenaline and triumph, and you turn around to find Heeseung, to share this moment with him, to see the proud expression on his face.
But Heeseung isn't at the bottom of the slope.
He is still at the top.
And he is shouting something.
"Y/N! Y/N L/N!"
The entire slope seems to go quiet. Other skiers and snowboarders slow down, turning to look at the boy standing at the top of the beginner hill, his hands cupped around his mouth, his voice carrying across the snow with startling clarity.
"I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY!"
Your heart stops. Then starts again, twice as fast.
"I'VE BEEN TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO SAY THIS FOR WEEKS!" Heeseung shouts. "AND I REALIZED THAT THE BEST WAY TO TELL YOU IS THE SAME WAY YOU TOLD ME, WITH WORDS THAT I CAN'T TAKE BACK!"
People are staring. Everyone is staring.
"LEE HEESEUNG, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" you shout back, your voice cracking.
"I'M CONFESSING!" he yells. "PROPERLY! IN FRONT OF EVERYONE! BECAUSE YOU DESERVE A CONFESSION THAT'S JUST FOR YOU! YOU DESERVE THE LOVE YOU'VE DREAMED ABOUT!"
"THE FIRST LETTER WASN'T FOR ME!" Heeseung continues, his voice ringing across the snow. "BUT I WANT TO WRITE YOU ONE! I WANT TO WRITE YOU A HUNDRED LETTERS! I WANT TO LEARN YOUR FAVORITE HIGHLIGHTER COLORS AND THE NAMES OF ALL YOUR PLANTS AND THE EXACT WAY YOU LIKE YOUR VANILLA LATTES!"
Someone in the crowd lets out a wolf whistle. Someone else starts recording on their phone. You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except stand at the bottom of the slope and stare up at the boy who shouts his heart out for everyone to hear.
"YOU'RE A DISASTER!" Heeseung yells, and his voice is full of joy, full of affection, full of something that looks a lot like love. "YOU'RE A HOPELESS ROMANTIC WHO'S TOO SCARED TO LIVE THE ROMANCE YOU DREAM ABOUT! YOU HIDE BEHIND BULLETIN BOARDS AND YOU CHOKE ON LETTUCE AND YOU SPILL COFFEE ON YOURSELF AND YOU MAKE GRAPHS ABOUT VIDEO GAME BALANCE AND YOU CRIED OVER A BABY PENGUIN IN A NATURE DOCUMENTARY!"
"This is the worst confession I've ever heard!" you shout back, but you are laughing, tears streaming down your face, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.
"I'M NOT FINISHED!" Heeseung takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer, still loud enough to carry, but more intimate, more vulnerable. "YOU'RE A DISASTER, Y/N L/N! AND I'M A DISASTER TOO! I'M A PEOPLE-PLEASER WHO CAN'T SAY NO, I HAVE A REPUTATION THAT DOESN'T REFLECT WHO I ACTUALLY AM, AND I POURED COFFEE ON MY HEAD BECAUSE I COULDN'T STAND TO SEE YOU CRY ALONE!"
He starts walking down the slope toward you, his snowboard forgotten at the top, his boots crunching through the snow.
"AND I THINK, NO, I KNOW THAT I'VE BEEN FALLING FOR YOU SINCE THE MOMENT YOU WALKED INTO THAT PC ROOM AND LOOKED AT ME LIKE I WAS THE WORST THING THAT HAD EVER HAPPENED TO YOU!"
He gets closer now, close enough that you can see the nervousness in his eyes, the vulnerability beneath the bravado, the way his hands shake slightly despite his confident posture.
"SO I'M ASKING YOU, IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE, ON THIS VERY EMBARRASSING SKI SLOPE, IF YOU'LL BE MY DISASTER. OFFICIALLY. NO MORE MISUNDERSTANDINGS. NO MORE LETTERS MEANT FOR OTHER PEOPLE. JUST US."
He stops a few feet away from you, his breath fogging in the cold air, his dark eyes fixed on your face.
"WHAT DO YOU SAY, LITTLE MOUSE?"
The silence that follows is deafening. Every person on the slope watches you, waiting for your answer.
And you, you, the hopeless romantic who has always been too scared to live the romance you dream about, you take a deep breath, throw your arms out wide, and shout at the top of your lungs:
"I LIKE YOU TOO, YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT! I'VE LIKED YOU FOR WEEKS AND I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SAY IT AND YOU JUST SHOUTED IT FROM A MOUNTAINTOP LIKE A CHARACTER IN A KDRAMA!"
Heeseung's face breaks into the biggest smile you have ever seen. "IS THAT A YES?"
"THAT'S A YES! THAT'S A THOUSAND TIMES YES! NOW COME HERE AND KISS ME BEFORE I PASS OUT FROM THE EMBARRASSMENT OF HAVING THIS CONVERSATION IN FRONT OF LITERALLY EVERYONE!"
He doesn't need to be told twice. He crosses the distance between you in three long strides, catches your face in his hands, and kisses you, deep and thorough and joyful, right there at the bottom of the beginner slope, with the snow sparkling around you and the crowd erupting into cheers and someone's phone recording what will undoubtedly become the most-watched video on the university's social media for the next month.
When he pulls back, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm against your lips, he grins like he has just won the lottery.
"You shouted your feelings from a mountaintop," he murmurs. "You, the girl who was too scared to even correct a misunderstanding, just shouted your feelings from a mountaintop."
"You started it."
"I did. And you finished it." He kisses the tip of your nose. "I'm so proud of you."
You have never been more embarrassed in your entire life, and you have never been happier.
"We're still disasters," you say.
"Absolutely. But now we're disasters who are dating."
"Are we dating? Is that what this is?"
"This is me, shouting from a mountaintop that I want to be with you. I'm pretty sure that counts as dating." He pauses, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Unless you don't want-"
"I want." You grab the front of his jacket and pull him closer. "I want everything. The letters and the coffee disasters and the matching shirts and the snowboarding lessons and the jacuzzi conversations and the ridiculous mountaintop confessions. I want all of it."
Heeseung kisses you again, and this time it is softer, sweeter, full of promise.
"You know what this means," he says against your lips.
"What?"
"We're going to have to tell Jungwon."
You groan. "Can we wait until after the trip? I need at least twenty-four hours to recover from this before I have another emotionally complicated conversation."
"Deal." He pulls back, taking your hand in his. "Come on. Let's get out of here before someone asks us for an interview."
And hand in hand, laughing like fools, you run away from the crowd and the chaos.
fem! reader x heeseung, age gap ( reader is 18+ heeseung is in his 20s), reader is hyper feminine, corruption kink, a bit of manipulation, reader is naive, dom! heeseung, masturbation (f and m), fingering, thigh grinding, dry humping, phone sex, dirty talking, virginity loss, unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation, after care!!
word count: 13.8k
Warning: So this is my first “dark” themed fic, as I said it has corruption kink and heeseung is kind of a red flag in here, there is an age gap but both reader and heeseung are adults, and as always even if it is kind of a dark theme I must clarify that everything that happens is consensual.
Hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblog are appreciated !!
It was all harmless.
At least, that’s what Heeseung told himself when he’d catch his eyes following you around the house. It was innocent at first, curiosity, maybe. You were always there, practically glued to his sister’s side, her new best friend that had just moved to town for your first year of college, fluttering around the kitchen like a little innocent lamb in soft skirts and cotton knee socks, humming Taylor Swift songs and talking about 90’s romcoms, whispering secrets and giggling into your hands like life was nothing but sweet, soft cotton candy.
You were a good girl.
The kind of girl who asked before taking the last slice of pizza. The kind who apologized when she bumped into furniture. The kind of girl that went to church with her parents every Sunday. The kind of girl that always said “Please” and “Thank you”. The kind of girl that blushed every time she saw a shirtless man in some tv add. The kind who still said “freaking” instead of swearing.
He shouldn’t have wanted you.
You were his sister’s best friend. You were younger. Inexperienced, naive. Pretty in a way that was accidental. The kind of pretty that didn’t even know it was driving him crazy. With your perfect hair, your perfect posture and your perfect body. Too polished, too perfect, too easy to ruin. And God, if there was one thing Heeseung had always been good at, it was self-control. He prided himself on it. But the thing about you was… you made it hard. Really fucking hard.
You were around too often. At first just after school, but then it turned into weekends. Study sessions, movie nights, sleepovers. You’d flit around his house in oversized sweaters and tiny shorts, and pink hair clips, leaving behind the soft scent of shampoo and vanilla lip gloss and something else that smelled like innocence and drove him crazy.
Heeseung would find himself in the doorway, watching you from the shadows like a man possessed. The curve of your thighs when you sat crisscrossed on the rug. The slope of your neck when you tilted your head to listen. The way you bit the tip of your straw when you were focused on homework. The way you batted your eyelashes. The way your perfect smile appeared on your beautiful lips when someone said something silly. The way you bent over to pet his dog saying “Aren’t you the cutest thing in the world?” All of it so innocent. So unaware.
And he hated you for it.
Or maybe he hated himself, for wanting to be the one to take it all away.
He told himself it would pass. That the obsession was just a phase, something he could shake off with enough cold showers and pornography and distraction. But it got worse. So much worse. Because you had a way of saying things, softly, like they didn’t mean anything, that drove him absolutely fucking wild.
Like one afternoon in the living room.
The sunlight filtered through the curtains, falling on your hair like a halo. You were lounging on the couch beside his sister, legs tucked under your dress, fingers playing with the hem absentmindedly. The neckline was loose again, kept slipping off your shoulder like it wanted to tempt someone.
Heeseung leaned in the doorway, a drink in his hand and hell in his chest. Watching.
You were mid-conversation, talking in that dreamy, soft voice you always used when you were lost in thought, completely unaware of how dangerous your presence was.
“I just…” You hesitated, then let out a small, shy laugh. “I just don’t want it to be… rough, you know? Or rushed. I want someone who’s gonna take their time with me.”
His sister groaned.
“You’re too romantic. That stuff never happens in real life.”
You shrugged a little, pouting.
“But it should. Like… it’s kind of sacred, isn’t it? Giving yourself to someone? It should be with someone patient. Someone who wants to make it feel good. Not just… do it and leave.”
Heeseung’s fingers tightened so hard around the glass he was holding, he thought it might crack.
Your voice dropped a little, shy.
“And I know it’s probably gonna hurt at first. I’ve never even touched myself before. But if they’re gentle… I think it could be really special.”
His sister rolled her eyes.
“You sound like a nun.”
“I went to Catholic school!” you giggled.
And that was the worst part. You weren’t playing, you weren’t flirting. You were being honest.
You had no idea what your words were doing to him.
Heeseung swallowed thickly, his mind unraveling. Every syllable was like fuel on fire. If they’re gentle… if they take their time… if it doesn’t hurt.
He would be so good to you.
Not because he was good. But because you deserved softness even in your undoing.
He’d make you cry, but from pleasure. From overstimulation. From the way it would feel to finally be touched. He stared at you, jaw tight, breathing shallow, thoughts spiraling darker by the second.
You were too pure to understand. Too naive to know how badly someone like him could ruin you.
And still you kept talking, lips forming words like slow and careful and first time, with your legs tucked up in that little dress, skin glowing under the sunlight, and your voice all gentle like you didn’t just push him closer to the edge of insanity.
Heeseung turned away before he could do something stupid.
He’d take your purity.
Your faith.
Your wide-eyed, good girl trust.
And you’d thank him for it. Eventually.
Heeseung had always been patient. But with you?
He was starting to lose it.
You always liked Heeseung.
He was… sweet. That’s the word you always used to describe him when his name came up. Sweet in a quiet, almost grown-up way.
He didn’t talk as much as your other friends’ brothers. He wasn’t loud or annoying or rude. He never made fun of you the way some older boys did for being a little dumb and not knowing about sports or video games. Heeseung always just smiled at you gently, nodding when you greeted him, letting you pass through doorways first. He was respectful. Kind.
He made you a cup of warm milk once, when you couldn’t sleep during a sleepover. Brought it to you with honey and cookies, placed it right in your hands with a soft, “Don’t burn your tongue.” And your heart fluttered just a little. Because not many boys talked to you like that, gentle, patient, almost protective.
You chalked it up to him being older. More mature.
You liked being around him, even if you didn’t know him that well. There was something about his presence that made you feel… safe. Watched, maybe. But not in a bad way. You were never afraid of him. If anything, you liked when he looked at you. He had these eyes. Dark and deep and a little tired sometimes, like he didn’t sleep enough. But when they landed on you, you felt warm all over, like being wrapped in a blanket straight from the dryer. It made your cheeks burn, but you always looked away quickly, unsure if you were imagining it.
You didn’t think he really noticed you. Not like that.
Why would he?
You were… just you. Sweet, shy, quiet. Not bold or sexy like the girls you’d seen hanging around guys like him. You wore cardigans and ballet flats and tried not to say the wrong thing. You blushed too easily. You still slept with a ton of stuffed animals. You still wandered around at Miniso for too long and got excited about Sanrio blind boxes. You went to church and attended bible study. You liked sugary pop and romantic movies. And you believed—genuinely—that waiting for marriage was the right thing. Your parents had raised you that way, and you still held onto it, even when your friends laughed or called it old-fashioned.
It was something special. And you wanted to give it to someone who saw it that way too.
Sometimes—only sometimes—you’d wonder what Heeseung thought about things like that. If he was the kind of guy who’d understand. But then you’d shake the thought off, cheeks burning, because what were you even thinking? Heeseung was nice, sure, but he was also older. Experienced. And incredibly handsome, one of the most handsome boys you’d ever known. With his beautiful hair and that knee-dropping smile and he always smelled so manly and expensive. He probably dated girls who wore lingerie and knew what they were doing. Not girls like you.
Still… sometimes when you caught him looking at you, it made your stomach do this weird little flip.
Once, you dropped your lip gloss cap on the kitchen floor, and before you could bend to pick it up, he was already there, crouched in front of you, holding it out with two fingers and a soft little smirk.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “I know these are expensive”
Your face got so hot you had to excuse yourself. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything.
Because Heeseung was sweet. That was all.
He was just nice to you.
He wasn’t expecting you to be there.
He’d just come back from a long afternoon playing soccer with his friends, sweaty, mildly irritated from traffic, and ready to collapse in his room. But the second he walked through the door, he heard the sliding glass door to the backyard open, followed by high-pitched laughter. His sister.
And then yours.
He paused in the hallway.
And when he looked through the kitchen window, when he saw you lying there in the sun like some kind of clueless daydream, all soft skin and sunkissed glow, he nearly dropped his keys.
You were wearing a bikini.
It wasn’t even that revealing, he could admit that. It was light blue, maybe a little frilly, definitely conservative by most standards. You weren’t trying to show anything off. You were stretched out on a towel beside his sister, sipping something cold through a straw, big sunglasses covering your eyes, your hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail that exposed the delicate line of your neck. The fabric clung to your chest, modest but tight. Your stomach was bare, soft, smooth, glowing in the late afternoon sun. Your legs stretched out forever, the curve of your thighs making his throat go dry. And when you shifted onto your side, he saw the way the bottoms hugged your hips and your ass and he had to grip the edge of the counter just to stay put.
Fuck.
You had no idea.You probably didn’t even think about him seeing you like that. You’d just smiled and slipped into your little bikini, completely unaware that you’d just become the centerpiece of every filthy thought he’d been trying to suppress for weeks.
He watched the way you laughed at something his sister said, the way you tucked your legs beneath you and took another sip of your drink, lips wrapping around the straw like it was nothing. Like you weren’t killing him.
Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, you sat up and turned toward the house.
And you waved at him. Big smile. Sunglasses pushed up onto your head. Completely innocent.
“Oh, he’s here, hi Hee!”
He felt something snap in his chest.
He nodded, barely managing a stiff wave back before forcing himself away from the window. He stalked up the stairs to his room like a man on fire, slamming the door shut behind him and bracing his palms against it, chest heaving.
He could still see you. In his mind. Burned behind his eyelids. That soft stomach. That sweet, pretty smile. That perfect body he so wanted to ruin. Those lips wrapped around a straw like you didn’t even know what that did to him.
You were so fucking innocent. And he was losing it.
Heeseung shut his eyes, let his head fall back against the door, and pulled his pants down, his cock was already rock-hard beneath his boxers, and he wasted no time in stroking himself fast, desperate. He pictured you in his mind as his hand moved mercilessly, how you’d looked all bathed in his cum, how you’d look crying around him, how soft and warm and wet you’d feel around him, how he’d teach you, how a girl like you must be treated, and how you would say, with your velvet, sweet like honey voice “Thank you, Hee.”
He didn’t just wanted to ruin you, he wanted to own you. He wanted to take every last small piece of innocence from you until you were completely his. He wanted to hold you. For him to use whenever he wanted to.
He came on his hand incredibly hard, and embarrassingly fast, staining his jeans and the floor with his release. His chest heaving, your name still itching on his tongue.
“She doesn’t even know what she’s doing…”
But God, did he want to be the one to show you.
Later that same day, when you stepped into the kitchen that afternoon to get some water, wrapped in a towel over your damp bikini, and found him standing at the counter, you smiled.
“Oh—sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” you said shyly, adjusting the towel at your chest.
He turned to you slowly, and his smile was warm. Soft. The kind that made your stomach feel a little fluttery.
“It’s your house too,” he said casually, gesturing toward the fridge. “Want me to get that for you?”
“Oh, it’s okay—”
But he was already moving, opening the door, grabbing a cold bottle and uncapping it before gently placing it in your hand.
“Hydration’s important,” he teased, tapping the top of the bottle before stepping back, letting you pass.
You giggled, tucking your chin down.
“Thank you.”
“You’re always so polite,” he said, still smiling, leaning against the counter now. “My sister could learn a thing or two from you.”
Your cheeks heated instantly. You ducked your head.
“I just… I don’t wanna be a bother.”
“You’re not,” he said. And then, quieter—“You never are.”
Something about the way he said it made your heart squeeze. He wasn’t teasing. His voice was steady, sincere. His eyes met yours without flinching.
You took a sip of water to distract yourself, but your hands were a little shaky.
“You’re really sweet,” you blurted, before you could stop yourself. “I mean—you’re always so nice to me. I just… I notice.”
His mouth curved slowly into something that made your breath catch.
“I’m just being honest,” he said. “I think you deserve to have people be nice to you.”
There was something in the way he said it. Something that made your chest feel full and your skin feel warm.
“I’m really glad you’re around,” you whispered, more to your water bottle than to him.
And Heeseung’s gaze darkened, just for a split second, before it softened again.
“I’m glad you’re around too,” he said gently. “You’re… special.”
You looked up at him, heart thudding. The way he said that word—special—like it meant something deeper. Like it mattered.
You didn’t know he was watching your every micro-expression. That behind the kind smile, his mind was already several steps ahead. That every sweet thing he said was planting seeds, pulling you closer, curling you around his finger one word at a time.
You just thought he was being kind.
You didn’t know he was planning to own you.
“I don’t know… he’s just so nice,” you murmured, voice soft, cheeks warm as your fingers toyed nervously with the edge of your sleeve. “He’s really… gentle.”
Across the room, his sister raised an eyebrow as she leaned closer to her mirror, applying a coat of lip gloss with practiced precision.
“…Heeseung?”
You nodded shyly.
“Yeah. I know it probably sounds dumb, but… he always opens doors for me. And he brings me stuff without me even asking. He’s just really… sweet.”
You didn’t see the way her expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossed her face as she capped the gloss and turned toward you, arms crossed, hip resting against her dresser.
“I mean… he can be sweet,” she said, slowly. Carefully.
Your brows pinched.
“Can be?”
She shrugged, casual but a little too measured.
“He’s nice to you. That’s different.”
You propped yourself up on your elbows, blinking.
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated, then crossed the room and dropped beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her. Her expression wasn’t suspicious, not accusing. Just… protective. Like she knew something you didn’t, and wasn’t sure if she should say it.
“I love my brother,” she started, her voice lighter now, like she didn’t want to make this a big deal. “But Heeseung’s not exactly… boyfriend material.”
Your heart skipped.
“He’s always been kind of a flirt,” she continued. “Girls fall for him constantly, and… he lets them. He’s a playboy, he uses them and discards them. He’s broken like more than 20 hearts I’m pretty sure. Plus, he only dates extremely sexual girls, I used to hear them every night, it was traumatising.”
You stayed quiet. Your fingers stilled on your sleeve. There was a tightness in your chest you didn’t quite understand.
“But…” you said slowly, “I don’t think he’s like that with me.”
“No,” she agreed quickly. “He’s not.”
You looked up at her.
She gave you a small smile.
“Because you’re you. You’re not like the girls he usually talks to. You’re… innocent. You’re cute and soft and blush at Calvin Klein ads”
The word lingered in the air between you. Innocent. Like it meant something heavier than just naïve. Like it was a reason.
Your throat felt tight.
“So… you think he’s pretending?”
“I don’t think he’s evil,” she said with a sigh, leaning back on her palms. “I just think Heeseung knows how to get people to like him. He’s smart. Charming. And really good at making you feel… special.”
You swallowed, blinking down at the soft bedspread beneath your hands. Something about those words unsettled you. You weren’t sure if it was the warning in her tone or the echo of your own thoughts that scared you more.
Because Heeseung did make you feel special.
“He just…” Your voice was barely audible now. “He makes me feel safe.”
She let out a small laugh, that meant more than it let on.
“Yeah. That’s kind of his thing.”
You looked away, pretending to smooth the fabric on the bed, but your mind was somewhere else entirely, playing back all the soft smiles, the thoughtful gestures, the way his eyes always found you when you entered a room.
Maybe you were being stupid.
But maybe… it didn’t matter.
Because you were already falling.
Your parents were on a business trip that weekend so you spent over your best friends house, the perfect excuse for sleepover and watching movies until five a.m. But that afternoon your best friend had to go to cheerleading practice, you wanted to be a part of the team too, but your parents didn’t let you, saying that the skirts were too short and the dances inappropriate. So you stayed in her house, it wasn’t a big deal, you’d done it a few times before. But the thing his, her parents weren’t home either, too busy with work, and Heeseung was the only one at home.
He was still asleep, probably hangover from a party. So you made yourself a smoothie and sat on the couch with a Pride and Prejudice copy on your lap, enjoying the sunlit, quiet day.
It was like that for a couple of hours, and then he woke up.
Heeseung watched you from the hallway for a full minute before stepping inside.
You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, flipping through some paperback with a pink cover, all soft focus and innocence. Your hair was damp from a shower. Skin dewy. That same oversized hoodie still clinging to your thighs, his sister’s, probably, but it looked better on you.
And he saw an opportunity too.
He made sure to keep his steps light as he entered the room, careful not to startle you.
“Hey, angel,” he said, low and gentle.
You looked up and smiled immediately, same sweetness as always. His eyes were a little baggy, his face a little red and his hair messy, he was wearing a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, and he still looked so handsome. Even after a probably wild night.
“Hi, Hee.”
He said your name next, soft and drawn out. Like it was something he could taste.
You straightened a little, even though your posture was always perfect.
“You want the couch?”
“No,” he said, already settling beside you. “Just wanted to sit with you.”
You flushed at that. He noticed.
He always noticed.
He didn’t look at you right away. He leaned back, spreading his legs slightly, letting the silence stretch while you tried to focus on your book again. He could feel the heat from your thigh next to his, and every so often, your knee would brush his leg as you shifted.
After a few minutes, he let himself sigh. Low. Tired. Like he needed something.
You glanced at him.
“Rough night?” you asked, a bit teasing.
“Just long, had too many drinks, my heads spinning” he replied, then tilted his head toward you, eyes half-lidded. “But this helps.”
You blinked.
“Me?”
He nodded, slow.
“Yeah. You’re easy to be around. You make things quiet.”
That made you smile shyly, and he reached out—carefully—to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
Your breath hitched. Just a little.
“You’re so sweet,” he murmured, voice so low almost like a whisper“I don’t think you even know what you do to people.”
Your eyes widened slightly, and he backtracked with a soft chuckle, tapping the book in your lap.
“I mean that in a good way,” he added. “You just… calm people. Make them feel safe.”
You laughed softly, clearly flustered.
“That’s a nice thing to say.”
Heeseung hummed, and then, slowly—so slowly—he rested his hand on your bare knee.
You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything.
It was barely a touch. Just his palm resting there. Heavy, warm and possessive. You looked down at it, lips parted slightly, as if you weren’t sure what to think. But you didn’t pull away. You just blinked at him.
And he smiled.
“You’re okay with this, right?” he asked, voice velvet. “Just friends being close?”
You nodded, a little too quickly.
“Yeah… I don’t mind.”
Of course you didn’t. You didn’t even realize he’d done it on purpose. That the contact had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with pushing you one step closer to breaking.
His thumb stroked a lazy circle against your skin, and you felt it jump, every pore awake and too aware of his touch. No man had ever even touched your thigh like this, you wouldn’t have let them.
You squirmed slightly, then tucked your legs closer beneath you, but not away from him.
“You’re warm,” you murmured, face still red, eyes a little glassy.
Heeseung leaned in then, barely an inch. Just enough to let his breath brush your cheek.
“So are you,” he whispered.
Your lashes fluttered, and you swallowed hard, he was so close. Then he looked away and lazily grabbed the tv remote, but his hand didn’t leave your knee.
You tried to focus again on the words written on the pages and the conflicts between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, but you couldn’t. Because Heeseung kept touching you, even with his eyes glued to the basketball game on the tv.
He knew you wouldn’t ask him to move. So he pushed further. His fingers wandered, innocent at first, trailing along the hem of your shorts like he wasn’t doing anything at all. Like it wasn’t deliberate. Like it didn’t make your stomach twist in knots.
You stiffened when his pinky slipped beneath the fabric, resting against the bare skin of your inner thigh.
Still, he didn’t look at you. Not once. Not even when your breath caught or when your hips shifted the tiniest bit, involuntary. He just kept watching the game, one leg spread comfortably, like this was nothing new to him.
"You’re quiet,” he murmured after a minute, tongue wetting his lips slowly. “Something wrong?”
You blinked at the book in your lap, realizing you hadn’t flipped a page in ten minutes.
“No. I’m just… distracted.”
“Hm,” he hummed, his thumb now tracing lazy circles higher, barely grazing the sensitive skin that hadn’t been touched before. “You’re tense.”
You swallowed, shaking a bit.
“A little.”
“Don’t be,” Heeseung said, finally glancing at you with a calm, unreadable expression. “This is normal.”
Your brows pulled together.
“Normal?”
He nodded, his touch still featherlight, maddening.
“Yeah. Between friends. Friends touch like this.”
Your heart pounded in your chest. Heeseung, your best friend’s brother. Who always sat too close. Who looked at you too long. Who never touched you like this until today.
“Oh…” you said softly, chewing your lip. You hadn’t heard that before, but he sounded so sure. So calm. You didn’t want to seem weird or make it awkward. “Okay…”
His hand stayed there, warm and steady. His touch even gentler now, but it felt deeper. Like it was sinking into your skin, curling around your bones.
You shifted a little. Your thighs pressed together, but you didn’t move his hand.
Because even if you didn’t fully understand what was happening…
You liked it. More than you should.
And Heeseung could tell.
That’s why he leaned in closer, breath brushing your ear as he said quietly,
“See? Feels nice, doesn’t it?”
You didn’t answer him, but he could see it, in the way your lashes lowered, in the way your legs shifted just slightly, pressing together under his hand.
Heeseung smiled to himself.
“Feels good, right?” he murmured again, voice soft like he was talking you through something. “I told you. We are friends, we can be close like this.”
Your cheeks were burning now, but you still nodded. Slowly.
“Y-Yeah…”
“That’s my good girl,” he praised, barely above a whisper, and your stomach flipped. You didn’t know why that made you feel warm all over, but it did. Like honey spreading beneath your skin. Like heat blooming where his fingers rested. A sensation that you had only felt a very few times before when you accidentally opened an explicit link on the internet or when an intimate scene came by in a romance movie.
And then he moved.
Just a little. His hand inched up, fingers slipping further under the leg of your shorts. Still calm, still slow, like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t now brushing the softest, most sensitive part of your thigh. His knuckles grazed the edge of your underwear, against the lace of your white panties.
You inhaled sharply.
But Heeseung only tilted his head, glancing at you with those calm, dark eyes.
“You okay?” he asked, tone so gentle. So sweet.
You swallowed, fingers tightening around your book.
“I—I think so…”
He nodded like that was the right answer.
“You’re being really good. I’m proud of you.”
You blinked up at him, chest rising and falling faster now.
“Really…?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, and his fingers dipped lower, just enough to make you gasp, but not enough to give you anything. “You’re letting me take care of you. That’s what friends do, right?”
You bit your lip, trembling just slightly.
“I guess so…”
“You don’t have to think so hard,” he whispered, leaning in so close you could feel the smile in his voice. “Just let me do it for you. Let me make you feel good.”
You didn’t even notice your thighs falling open a little more. Like your body itself was responding to him. His smile deepened, just a twitch at the corner of his lips, barely there, but sharp. Like he was proud of himself. Proud of you.
"See?" he said, voice quiet and warm. "You’re relaxing already."
You nodded again, just to please him. Your brain was starting to blur around the edges, it was too much. His hand, his voice, the heat pulsing between your legs like it was begging him to go further.
Without warning, his fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties, knuckles grazing over soft, untouched skin.
You sucked in a sharp breath, hips flinching.
But he didn’t stop. Just kept going. Slowly. Carefully.
Like he’d done this a hundred times before.
Like this was routine.
Your whole body felt like it had been lit from the inside.
Heeseung’s fingers were slow, steady, gliding through your wetness, between your untouched folds, circling your clit with maddening patience. Every little movement sent electric shocks down your legs, curling your toes, making your stomach twist and tighten with something you didn’t know how to name.
You felt raw, sensitive. Ruined.
“Shhh,” he hushed gently, like he was calming you from a nightmare, not dragging you into the most sinful thing you’d ever felt. “It’s okay. It’s going to feel so nice, babygirl, I promise.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, lashes damp. You were so warm, too warm, your thighs twitching every time he brushed just right, you kept whimpering and letting out little sighs. Your knees had started to fall open for him without you realizing, your body seeking more without permission.
“You’re wet, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice low and full of something darker. His lips brushed your cheek, but his fingers brushed lower. “Is that for me?”
You whimpered, heart pounding. You felt humiliated, but you didn’t want him to stop. It was something you’d never felt before.
“I-I don’t know—”
“Yes, you do,” he said, firmer this time. And he pressed in deeper, one finger sliding slick and slow through you before circling your clit again, just soft enough to leave you aching.
Your legs jerked as you cried out. Your book slipped from your lap and hit the floor with a thud. But neither of you looked down.
Heeseung chuckled under his breath, mocking but sweet and kissed your cheek again.
“So cute.”
You were blinking rapidly, face flushed, skin hot all over.
This wasn’t what friends did. You’d never even imagined something like this, never touched yourself, never let anyone else touch you. You told yourself you were saving it. Waiting for marriage. But this… this didn’t feel like sin.
It felt like need.
“Is this really okay?” you asked, your voice a tiny breath.
Heeseung smiled against your skin.
“It is if you let me.”
And you did. Your hips tilted forward, small, instinctive, still not fully understanding what was happening and his brain snapped a little at the sight.
God, he’d waited so long.
Heeseung had thought about this more nights than he’d ever admit. Always quietly, always respectfully. He never wanted to scare you, not his sweet, shy girl with her soft laugh and her trembling hands. He never even touched you wrong.
But now that you were here, legs spread for him, cheeks red and mouth open, soaking his fingers, he didn’t think he’d survive letting go.
His thumb pressed a little harder, and you cried out, hips stuttering up into his hand. You were so responsive. So sensitive. Your body was practically begging.
“You feel that?” he murmured, brushing against your clit again and again. “That’s your body asking for more.”
You whimpered again. Your legs were shaking. You didn’t even realize how much your hips were grinding into his hand, only that it felt like bliss.
“Feels too good to stop now, doesn’t it?” Heeseung whispered.
You nodded, dazed, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from sheer overload. From the combination of embarrassment and arousal.
“I’ll take care of you,” he said gently, like a promise. “Just let me make you feel good, baby. That’s all I want.”
Then his voice dipped, low and soft and dangerous:
“Been wanting this for so long… Wanting you like this. Spread out, sweet, dripping for me.”
You gasped, face crumbling, thighs twitching again as the pressure in your belly spiked.
Heeseung groaned, the sound rough and low in his throat. Then he slipped two fingers inside of you, and it burned so good. You felt yourself clench around him, soaked walls around his digits as he twisted his wrist and curled them inside of you touching something that made you cry again and jerk your hips up from the couch.
“There it is, look at you. So fucking beautiful like this. Don’t even know what you do to me.”
Between your hazy view you saw it, saw him. The bulge against the cotton of his sweatpants, thick and big and pulsing. But it was too much, your face became all red again and you closed your eyes again.
“I shouldn’t…” you whispered, more to yourself than him. Overwhelmed by the obscene sound coming out of you everytime his palm slammed against your pussy. Your eyes blinked through the haze, guilt pooling in your throat. “I—I’ve never even—”
Heeseung leaned in again, so warm and calm, like none of this fazed him. His free hand stroked your cheek gently, thumb brushing under your eye.
“I know,” he said softly, like he understood everything. “You’re a good girl. You wanted to be careful.”
You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. His voice, his fingers, the way he looked at you like you were something precious even while his touch made your head spin, it made your heart ache and your stomach twist all at once.
His fingers pushed in deeper, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch of it. Your back arched without thinking, your breath coming in soft, broken gasps. You could feel yourself dripping until you were soaking the couch beneath you.
“Oh, baby…” Heeseung cooed, the pad of his thumb still rubbing gentle circles over your clit. “You’re clenching so tight. Didn’t know you could feel this good, did you?”
You shook your head, face burning. Your thighs were twitching, your hips rolling into his hand like your body couldn’t help it.
“That’s okay,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, so soft it made your head spin. “That’s what I’m here for. To teach you. Help you. Good girls like you deserve to feel this good”
Another finger slipped in beside the first two, your walls stretching around him. Your jaw dropped, a helpless little moan spilling out, and he groaned, so quiet, but filthy.
“Shit. Listen to you. Didn’t even touch you like this before and already making those pretty noises,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapped around sin. “So fucking sweet for me.”
You tried to cover your mouth, shame flooding through you, but he caught your wrist instantly, guiding it down.
“Don’t hide,” he said gently. “I like hearing you. That’s the whole point, baby. You’re doing so well.”
His fingers curled just right, pressing into that soft, spongy spot again, that made your legs jerk and a loud gasp break free from your throat. Your body was shaking now, breath ragged, and Heeseung only smiled, watching you unravel.
White heat bloomed low in your belly. Your breath came in short, choppy bursts, each one catching on the edge of a whimper. You couldn’t keep still, your hips were rocking up without permission, chasing the next touch, the next wave. You could feel yourself getting wetter, slick dripping down the backs of your thighs, sticking to your skin.
It was shameless. But you couldn’t care. You weren’t even thinking anymore. Not with the way he kept touching you like he’d done it a thousand times before, like he knew how to wring every little cry out of you.
"Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear like silk. “Letting someone take care of you like this?”
You nodded frantically, eyes glassy, mouth parted around a breathless gasp. Your hands gripped the couch cushion for something to anchor you, but it didn’t help. Everything felt like it was slipping, your thoughts, your morals, your control.
His fingers moved again, curling slow and deep, then sliding up to stroke over your clit with maddening tenderness.
Your back arched hard. You let out something between a sob and a moan.
Your body was buzzing, heat pulsing under your skin, your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Your nipples were tight, pressed against the fabric of your hoodie, overly sensitive even without being touched. You couldn’t even close your legs, your thighs trembled too much, weak and twitching, falling open for him again and again.
You were so close to something. So close it hurt.
And Heeseung just watched, mouth parted slightly, eyes dark, like he was watching his favorite thing in the world unfold.
“Look at you,” he murmured, thumb rolling lazy circles over your clit. “Falling apart so easy for me. You like this, baby?”
You whimpered.
“Y-Yeah… I can’t— it’s— it’s too—”
He kissed your cheek, your jaw, down the side of your neck.
“You can. I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice dripping with affection. “Just let it happen. Let me make you feel good.”
The pressure broke all at once.
You came with a cry, thighs snapping shut around his hand, body seizing and twitching. Your nails dug into the cushion, into his shoulder, whatever you could grab. It hit you hard, like heat and lightning bursting in your chest and spreading through your limbs.
You couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop trembling. You were sobbing quietly now, overwhelmed by how good it felt. How full. How perfect.
Heeseung held you through it, one arm wrapped around your back, the other between your legs, stroking you through every aftershock like he wanted to memorize the way you pulsed around his fingers.
You collapsed against him, body limp and slick with sweat.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, softer this time. “So perfect, sweetheart. So, so good.”
Heeseung settled between your legs, like a painter admiring his masterpiece, dragging your ruined panties down slowly, almost reverently. You squirmed a little bit, too sensitive, too gone. Your mind wasn’t working anymore, you felt ashamed, used, but also you felt released. Your chest was still heaving, still trying to catch your breath, your pussy pulsing and dripping.
“Look at this mess,” he murmured, holding the fabric up, sticky and soaked. “You came so hard, baby. All over my fingers. Didn’t even know your little pussy could do that, did you?”
You let out a choked gasp, hands flying up to cover your face.
He chuckled softly, spreading your thighs again.
“Uh-uh. No hiding. I made you feel good, didn’t I?”
You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice, still dizzy from how hard you'd come.
“Yeah?” He smiled, almost smug but still so sweet. “Then how do good girls respond when someone makes them feel good?”
You swallowed, heart skipping. His fingers brushed your inner thigh again, featherlight, reminding you who was in control. You hesitated, lips parting.
He clicked his tongue.
“C’mon, sweetheart. You can say it.”
Your voice was barely above a whisper.
“...Thank you.”
Heeseung’s eyes softened, his thumb stroking your skin with approval.
“There she is,” he said, praising you with a soft kiss to your cheek. “My good girl.”
Your cheeks burned hotter than ever. You were dripping, legs wide open with nothing to shield you but your shaking hands, and Heeseung just looked so calm. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like seeing you like this was normal.
“I’ve barely touched you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your knee. “And already got you shy? Poor thing… You’re so fucking cute when you’re embarrassed.”
You whimpered behind your hands, thighs instinctively trying to close, but his palms held them open, firm but still gentle.
Then your phone buzzed somewhere on the couch.
You jolted, startled, blinking through the haze. Heeseung didn’t even flinch, just slid his hands up your thighs a little higher, thumbs brushing teasingly close again.
“I-I think that’s—” you tried to sit up, but he gently pushed you back down with a kiss to your inner thigh.
“Check it,” he said smoothly, but his eyes never left your soaked cunt.
Your fingers fumbled for the phone, brain still barely catching up, vision blurry as you unlocked it.
Bestie : omw back home now! be there in 10 🫶
Your heart nearly stopped.
“She’s coming back,” you gasped, sitting up fully now, panic blooming in your chest. “Heeseung, we have to—”
“Relax, angel” His voice was calm. Dangerous. Sweet.
He leaned in again, dragging his tongue slowly, deliberately, up your soaked folds. You cried out, half-shoving your phone aside as your body betrayed you, hips bucking into his mouth.
“She won’t be here for another ten,” he murmured, licking his lips like he was tasting something divine. “That’s enough time for me to make you come again.”
“But—”
“You’re already dripping,” he said, cutting you off with a filthy grin, fingers slipping back through your slick folds. “She’s not even here yet, and you’re still wide open for me. You want me to finish, don’t you?”
You whimpered, helpless.
“I-I don’t know if I can—”
“Oh, you can,” he said, and kissed your trembling thigh again, right beside the spot where his fingers were teasing you.
His thumb pressed against your clit just as two fingers slipped in again, easily this time, your soaked walls clenching down immediately.
Heeseung groaned low in his throat.
“Fuck. Still so tight.” He looked up at you, mouth wet, eyes dark with something wicked. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”
You let out a soft cry, body arching into his touch.
And still, his voice was gentle. Loving.
“I’m gonna make you come again, sweetheart,” he whispered, thumb circling your clit faster now. “Nice and quick, right here on the couch, before she walks in and sees what a needy little mess you are for me.”
You were already close again. Too sensitive, too worked up, but it didn’t matter. Not with the way he was touching you. Not with how good he made it feel.
You could barely form a thought, let alone protest.
Your best friend would be home in minutes. But all you could think about was the burn in your belly, the ache between your legs, and her brother’s fingers stretching you open like they belonged there.
It had been a few days, and you couldn’t sleep.
You turned over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time, blankets twisted around your legs, skin damp from heat that had nothing to do with the weather. The open window let in a soft breeze, cool against your flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm you. You were too aware of your body. Too aware of the empty ache between your legs. Of what had happened.
And worse, how much you still wanted it to happen again.
Your phone sat face down on the nightstand. Quiet. Still. But you felt it like it was burning a hole beside you. Your best friend had texted earlier. A casual “You didn’t come over this weekend” with a sad face emoji that you couldn’t bring yourself to open.
You were supposed to wait.
You had told yourself that a hundred times. That no one would get to touch you like that, not unless you were in love. Not unless it was forever. You hadn’t even touched yourself before. That part of you was supposed to be sacred. Untouched. Yours.
And now?
Now you could still feel the echo of him between your thighs. His voice, low and sweet, telling you how good you were. How wet, how tight. You could still feel his fingers, slow and patient and deep, pushing you over the edge until you broke apart in his hands.
Your body ached at the memory, hot, needy, restless.
You pulled your knees up and pressed your thighs together, trying to fight it. But it was impossible. Everything throbbed. Everything missed him.
Tears pricked your eyes.
You hadn’t cried yet, not after it happened. You’d felt too dizzy, too shocked. But now, days later, it was crashing down all at once. The guilt. The shame. The confusing, gnawing want.
You wiped at your face, then hesitated. Your hand froze against your cheek.
You wanted to try.
Just once.
You bit your lip, heart hammering. You slid your fingers down slowly, uncertainly. Every part of you trembled. It felt wrong. But your body was already warm, already wet, as if it remembered what to expect. Your fingers grazed over your folds. Tentative, barely there.
You let out a breath, shaky, embarrassed. It didn’t feel bad, but it wasn’t right, either. It wasn’t him.
You tried again. Pressed down more, tried to mimic the slow circles Heeseung had made against your clit. Your legs twitched. Your stomach tensed. But the pleasure didn’t bloom, it stalled, stuck behind shame and frustration.
Heeseung had made you melt with nothing but his hands and a few filthy words. You couldn’t even make yourself moan.
Your hand fell away.
You turned your face into your pillow and finally let yourself cry.
You hated that he had that power now. That your body only responded to his touch, his voice, his praise.
You felt dirty. Ruined. A part of you wanted to scrub yourself clean, erase every second of that afternoon on the couch. But another part, the darker, hungrier part, wanted him back between your legs. Whispering in your ear. Telling you how good you were when you couldn’t even think straight.
You curled up tighter under the blankets, fingers trembling, your thighs still sticky and warm with need. You had never felt so empty.
And it terrified you to realize:
You didn’t want to be pure anymore.
You just wanted him.
Heeseung wasn’t going to stop now. No, he waited so long for this, and since he broke you only with his fingers, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. It was worse than before. Maybe it was wrong, maybe he shouldn’t be using you like this, but the worst part of all, is that he knew that you would fall apart the next time he put his hands on you, that you won’t stop him, because thing with innocent, pure girls like you, is that once you tasted a bit of sin, you would become addict.
You’d been quieter than before, this weekend you were staying over again, and you had been avoiding eye contact all day, just shyly munching on a pizza slice while his sister talked about some school drama, and every time your gaze locked with his for even just a few little seconds, you blushed and looked away instantly.
But he noticed.
The way you were clenching your thighs together under the table, the way you were nervously biting your lip until it was red and swollen, the way your eyes turned glassy.
You wanted more, you were just too shy to admit.
So he was going to push.
That’s why, later that night when you walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water in the middle of the night, he was already there.
You froze in the doorway.
The kitchen light was off, but the fridge door was open, the dim white glow across the room. Heeseung stood in front of it, shirtless, the lines of his back and shoulders lit in sharp contrast, shadows painting him like something unreal. He turned his head just slightly, already knowing it was you.
“Couldn’t sleep, angel?” His voice was quiet, low.
You hesitated. Your bare feet curled against the cold tile.
“...Just thirsty.”
Heeseung turned around slowly, closing the fridge door with one hand. In the silence that followed, your pulse pounded in your ears. He was so close. The kitchen was so small. You could smell his skin, clean, warm, manly. Him.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, voice calm. Almost teasing. “I’m hurt.”
You almost stopped breathing.
“I haven’t—”
“You have.” He smiled a little, tilting his head. “Barely looked at me all day. Not even when I sat next to you. Not even when I cut a slice of pizza for you.”
Your eyes dropped instantly, heart fluttering like it always did when he spoke like that, low and sure, like he already knew what you were thinking.
“I was just... distracted” you said weakly.
He didn’t buy it.
“Is that why you’re walking around with those pretty thighs clenched tight all day?” He moved closer, so close your back bumped the edge of the counter. His hand came up, just ghosting your arm. “That why you haven’t said a word to me since I made you cum like a good girl?”
Your breath shuddered out of you.
“Heeseung…”
“I think you want more,” he murmured, voice dropping just for you. “But you’re too shy to ask.”
Your skin lit up everywhere he hovered. You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t speak, because it was true. You’d been thinking about it since it happened, his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel like you were unraveling just from his fingers. You tried not to want it again. Tried to forget.
But your body hadn’t forgotten.
Heeseung leaned in, one hand resting beside your head on the counter, boxing you in.
“I bet you even tried to touch yourself, didn’t you?”
You inhaled sharply.
“I bet it didn’t work,” he continued, brushing his nose against your temple. “I bet you got frustrated and teary, all needy and messy, because it wasn’t me.”
You felt the air leave your lungs.
“How’d you feel, baby?” he whispered. “All alone in your bed, fingers not doing what you needed? Thinking about me instead?”
You let out a small, wrecked sound, and he smirked.
“I knew it,” he said, dragging one finger slowly down your bare arm. “You were so good before, so pure”
His hand trailed down your side, until it rested just above your hip, warm and sure.
“And the worst part?” he said, leaning in closer until his lips brushed your jaw. “You like it.”
Heeseung kissed the corner of your mouth, just once.
“So... do you want me to make you feel good again?”
You nodded, tiny, helpless, breathless.
“Use your words,” he said, thumb stroking your hip, patient but demanding.
“I… I want it,” you whispered.
“Yeah?” His voice was a low hum, pleased and dangerous. “Say please.”
You looked up at him then, eyes shiny and teary and full of shame and need.
“Please.”
Heeseung grinned, eyes dark.
“Good girl.”
That's how you ended up in his room, only in your tiny laced panties, on top of him trying to respond to the messy kiss he was giving to you. It was a mess of tongues and saliva, no one had ever kissed you like this before, like he wanted to devour you and own you, but you liked it, liked the feeling of his warm lips against yours, not giving but taking.
“You’re already shaking,” he murmured, voice low and dripping with amusement. “Didn’t even touch you yet.”
Your breath hitched as he leaned down, lips brushing your jaw.
“Tell me you missed it,” he whispered.
You hesitated, eyes wide, hands gripping his shoulders, trembling. But you couldn’t lie. Not when your body was practically begging.
“I… I missed it.”
Heeseung smiled against your neck.
“Good girl.”
His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to stop him. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. Not when your body remembered the way he made you feel, how his voice made you melt, how he knew exactly where to touch, how it felt to be undone by someone you blindly trusted too much.
You whimpered and your thighs tried to close, but he was already between them, already pressing open-mouthed kisses down your chest. Another small, pathetic sound left your throat when his tongue circled around your hardened nipples, so sensitive, a jolt of pleasure going through your whole body.
“Say it,” he demanded gently. “Tell me who you need.”
“You,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I-I need you.”
His grin turned wicked.
“That’s right. That's my good girl."
He kissed his way lower, letting his hands spread your thighs wide again. The heat between your legs throbbed, slick with anticipation. He groaned softly at the sight.
“My messy girl," he murmured, running a teasing finger through your folds. “You’re soaked already. Just for me.”
You moaned, body arching, your hands flying to your mouth to stifle the sound. But Heeseung wasn’t having that.
“Uh-uh,” he scolded, gently prying your hands away. “You don’t get to hide from me. Not anymore.”
He shifted, guiding you up gently so you were straddling his thigh. His large hands gripped your waist, coaxing you forward until the heat of your core was pressed firmly against the muscle of his leg.
"You missed me this much, baby? You want to feel good again?" his voice was sweet but low and there was small hint of mocking in it, but you didn't care, you were so needy, you wanted to feel it again.
So you just nodded, shamelessly, eyes starting to water.
Then he smiled and gripped your hips, making you grind against his thigh. A shiver went down your spine, a flick of pleasure pulsing in your soaked intimacy, and you moaned, high-pitched and aching.
"Just like that,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
Your breath stuttered, your hands clinging to his shoulders for balance. You’d never done anything like this—never even thought you could—but Heeseung’s steady grip and the heat in his gaze made you feel brave. Safe. He moved your hips slowly for you, rocking you back and forth against the firm muscle of his thigh. The friction sent sparks flying through you, and your head dropped against his chest with a whimper.
“Feel that?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s it. So good for me. Look at how well you listen.”
Your thighs were trembling, slick pooling between them, as his thigh flexed beneath you. Every roll of your hips pulled another whimper from your lips. The pressure was dizzying, just the right angle, like he knew what your body craved before you did. Every nerve in your body was on fire. You couldn’t even talk, couldn’t think. You were just mumbling nonsense, incoherent “I-It feels so good - so good” “I’ve never…” “Oh my god!”
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, guiding you faster now. “Look at you, making a mess all over me.”
Heeseung watched you with dark, hungry eyes, eyes that soaked in every twitch, every moan, every clench of your thighs. You looked ruined and perfect, and he loved it. Loved that he was the one making you fall apart like this.
“Come for me like this,” he whispered, voice rough with want. “I want to feel you fall apart right here, sweet girl.”
Your body shook, every nerve lit up as your release hit, clenching helplessly around nothing, your slick soaking his skin. You whimpered into his shoulder, tears spilling over your cheeks from the intensity of it all. Your heart was pounding so hard it echoed in your ears, your body wrung out and trembling.
But Heeseung wasn’t done. Not even close.
“Shh, don’t think,” he murmured against your ear, rocking you slow and lazy through the aftershocks. “You don’t need to think when you’re with me. Just be my good girl. Let me take care of everything.”
He tilted your chin up, made you meet his eyes through your haze.
“Forget all that other stuff,” he whispered. “Your rules, your guilt. Doesn’t matter right now. You were made to feel good like this. You deserve this.”
He kissed you, slow and sweet, before adding with a low, filthy murmur:
“Now be a good girl and get dumb for me. Let me make you feel even better.”
And with your body pliant against his, still trembling from the high he gave you, you knew you would.
He was ruining you. Not even in a painful, mean way.
In a soft, slow, dangerous way.
You were once an innocent, shy girl. A girl that blushed at the slightest mention of sex, a girl that was scared of raising her voice. Maybe you still were like that, at least on the outside. But inside? You had become a mess of need. A thing that belonged to his voice, his hands, the memory of his touch on your body. Nothing else could reach you now. Nothing else could make you feel whole.
He kissed you like he owned you, made you grind on his thigh until you were shaking and soaked, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. And afterward, when you collapsed against his chest, still trembling, he cupped your jaw and whispered:
"I made you feel good, baby. And how do good girls say thank you?"
You didn’t know how to say it at first, too shy, too dizzy. So he kissed you again until you mumbled it through a moan “T-Thank you, Hee, thank you…” and he smiled like he'd just won a game.
It only got worse from there.
Late at night, you’d lie alone in bed, panties pushed to the side, phone pressed to your ear with tears pricking your eyes because it didn’t work. Not without him.
"That's it, angel," he’d murmur, voice low and thick through the speaker, probably touching himself too.”Do it how I taught you. Two fingers. Not too fast. Pretend it's me."
You’d whimper, thighs shaking, pillow soaked under your cheek. He always knew exactly what to say to make you fall apart.
Then you started sneaking out.
You’d wait until his sister was asleep beside you, breathing soft and even, before slipping out of bed in your oversized shirt and bare legs. You’d tiptoe down the hallway, heart pounding, to knock once on his door. He never made you wait long. He was always ready, leaning in the doorway with lazy eyes and bare chest, tugging you inside with one hand on your waist.
Some nights he didn’t even undress you. Just lifted your shirt and kissed your thighs, mouthing at the fabric of your panties until they were soaked through, whispering, “My angel, so needy for me, huh? Couldn’t even sleep without feeling me?”
Other nights, he sat on the bed, pulled you onto his lap, and made you grind against the bulge in his boxers until you were shaking, clinging to his shoulders, panting into his neck.
Sometimes, he didn’t touch you at all. Sometimes, he just kissed you. Slow, deep, messy kisses that made your legs tremble and your core ache, kisses that left you gasping for air and begging for more. He’d pull away with a smug grin, stroking your cheek. "Poor baby," he’d whisper, thumb brushing your wet lips. "So addicted to me, aren’t you?”
You stopped paying attention in class, you stopped listening to his sisters chatter, you stopped listening to the priests words. Everything in your mind was him, and you couldn’t wait for the next time he touched you. It was so embarrassing, sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night after dreaming about him, eyes glassy and panties soaked, your core pulsing full with need but you were too shy to call him so you’d cry yourself to sleep until the pain went away. And when that time came, where he finally touched you again, you melted the right second his hands slipped between your legs.
Your body wasn’t yours anymore, it was his.
You stopped wearing panties around the house, you knocked on his bedroom door like a habit.
Every time you felt empty, every time you needed him, he was there, whispering in your ear:
"That’s my girl. So needy all the time, aren’t you? You can’t help it. I’ve ruined you.”
And that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part, you were falling in love with him.
It didn’t happen all at once.
At first, it was just about the way he made you feel. That overwhelming pleasure. The way he knew your body better than you did. The way he spoke to you, praised you, touched you like you were made just for him.
But then it crept in, quiet and slow, the way real feelings always do. It was in the way your heart started skipping when you saw his name light up your phone. In the way you lingered in his room a little longer after he made you come, hoping he’d ask you to stay. In the way you watched him when he wasn’t looking, memorizing the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the way his lashes curled when he blinked.
And it did hurt, a little bit. Because maybe you were naive and dreamy, but you knew, that deep down, he didn’t love you. At least not the way you wanted him to love you. He loved how obedient you were, how easy you made it for him. He loved the mess you made on his sheets, the way your voice shook when you begged. He loved owning you.
But that was it.
The thing is, you hadn’t done anything past touches and oral sex, but you knew, eventually, that you would beg for it, for him to take you completely, you were at the very edge, and you knew that, when that finally happened, you would be completely lost. And maybe you wanted to.
Maybe the idea of giving him that final part of yourself—your last piece of innocence—felt like the only way to truly belong to him.
Because you already belonged to him, didn’t you?

You were in his room again.
The door was shut, locked, you thought, but your mind was too hazy to be sure. You couldn’t think properly, couldn’t breathe without hiccuping on the moans slipping past your lips. Your thighs trembled as he moved his fingers inside of you, thumb moving lazily over your swollen clit, whimpering and gasping for air when he curled them inside of you against your soaked walls, eyes full of tears, face all flushed.
It was the third one.
“Hee” you whimpered, voice cracking, shame burning hot in your chest. “I-I can’t— it’s too—”
“You can,” he murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Look how wet you are—fuck. So tight, too.”
You shook your head before you could stop yourself, tears collecting at the corners of your lashes. He groaned low in his throat like it turned him on even more, curling his fingers just right inside you again, hitting that spot that made your legs kick, that made your hips lift without your permission.
“You're so sweet, so fucking innocent—” his fingers twisted slightly, “—and you’re letting me ruin you in my bedroom with your best friend asleep just down the hall. That’s so bad, baby.”
You didn’t even realize you were crying until his thumb pressed down just a little harder and your back arched off his sheets like it wasn’t even your body anymore.
“Hee—Heeseung, I—” Your voice broke on a gasp, hands fisting in the sheets now, legs trembling uncontrollably. “It’s happening—please, I can’t—”
“You can,” he whispered again, fingers still curling so deep inside you, his voice so low and filthy it made you shiver. “You’re cumming, baby. Let it happen. Let me feel you—come on, be a good girl.”
It was too much, your body tightened around him, all that pressure finally snapping and spilling over into something uncontrollable. You cried out for him, legs kicking slightly, body going stiff, then trembling all over as the heat surged through you, pleasure rolling over in waves. Your eyes blurred, your mouth fell open, and his name broke off your lips again and again like it was the only thing holding you to the earth.
“Fuck,” Heeseung groaned, watching you fall apart like he was committing it to memory, his fingers slowing down but never stopping. “That’s it. That’s my good girl. So fucking pretty when you cum.”
You were gasping, panting, blinking through tears, your whole body twitching from aftershocks. You had never felt anything like this before. Not even close.
Heeseung removed his fingers with a slick sound, bringing them to his mouth and moaning at the sweet taste of you, and while your body was still shaking, you felt your cheeks burn, he always did that but it made you shy anyways.
But there was something about you tonight, you felt like it just wasn’t enough anymore. The touches, the late nights with his fingers between your legs or you riding his thigh until you were shaking. You wanted more.
You wanted him.
So with breathy, weak voice, you spoke to him while he kissed you, against his lips.
“Please, Heeseung,” you whispered, voice barely holding together. “I want it to be you.”
Heeseung stopped, then exhaled like he’d been punched in the gut. His eyes darkened, throat working as he hovered over you, one hand curling around your jaw while the other stroked his cock in slow, lazy motions, over the fabric of his sweatpants.
“Say that again,” he said, voice deep, low, dangerous. “Look me in the eye and tell me.”
Your cheeks got red again, and you blinked as you felt a tear slip down one of them.
“I want you,” you said shakily. “Please. I want you to take my virginity.”
A growl ripped from his throat. It was like something snapped inside of him.
He let go of his cock, grabbed your hips instead, dragging you completely down the bed roughly, making you gasp, until your thighs were spread wide under him, your entrance bare and glistening and sensitive, still pulsing and so exposed you wanted to cry from shame and need at the same time. Heeseung then pushed down his pants in one movement, freeing his cock completely and you blushed again because this was the first time you saw him like this. He was thick, so thick that your legs trembled at the thought of it inside of you, he was veiny and his tip was red and glistening with precum.
His touch was still soft but rougher when without hesitation, like he had been waiting for this his whole life, he grabbed the hem of your hoodie and slipped it out of you before throwing it on the floor. You couldn’t even respond before his lips found your sensitive nipples, hot and wet mouth around them, and you moaned his name arching your back against him, wanting to feel more of his touch.
“So fucking polite,” he murmured, teasing the head of his cock against your folds, not pushing in. “Begging me all sweet like that. You really don’t know what you’re getting into, do you?”
You whimpered, blinking up at him, breathing fast.
“Poor thing,” he smirked, cock twitching against your entrance. “Gonna split you open. Stretch this tight little virgin cunt until you cry.”
The second he started pushing in, the thick head of him breaching your untouched walls, your lips parted in a high, broken sound, your body tensed all over, too much, too full, too hot, and he just groaned, head dropping to your shoulder.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re tight. Tighter than I even dreamed.”
You gasped again when he shifted his hips and went deeper, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him, clinging so tight he could barely move. It burned. It throbbed. Your legs were shaking around him, fingers digging into his back like you were drowning. You closed your eyes with so much force that you saw starts, tears falling down the red skin of your cheeks.
“Hurts—” you whispered.
His gaze softened just a little bit, but he didn’t stop.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, licking your tears away, “first time always does. But I promise I’ll make it feel good. You trust me, right?”
You nodded. It was messy and desperate, and you didn’t know why, this man had taken all the purity from you, but you did.
“Good girl.” His hips rolled slowly, and you felt him everywhere, thick and hot and heavy inside you, pressing so deep it made your stomach flutter, stretching your walls so good, you felt so full, so owned. “I want you to remember this,” he said darkly, mouth dragging over your ear. “Every time you feel sore, every time you feel me dripping out of you later, I want you to remember who did this to you.”
You moaned, helpless, as he started to move, slow and deep, dragging his cock out until just the tip remained before pushing all the way back in, making your whole body jerk. The stretch stung, but your body was softening around him, wet and fluttering, clinging like it wanted more. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, your cheeks soaked with tears, your heart full of shame but somehow, full of love too because you were loving this, loving how he felt, how he was talking to you, how he moved inside of you.
“Look at you,” Heeseung murmured, dragging your legs higher around his waist. “So good for me. Crying, shaking, and you’re still letting me fuck this virgin pussy like it’s mine.”
You nodded again, not even thinking, and his hips pushed again, a little rougher this time, and a loud cry broke from your throat as he slammed back in, the sharp sting of the stretch still there, but somehow it just made everything more intense. His cock dragged along your walls so deep, so full, the pressure at your core tightening unbearably.
He smirked.
“Yeah? It is mine?”
“Yours,” you whispered, tears running hot down your cheeks.
“That’s right,” he cooed, snapping his hips harder now, slow but with force, enough to knock the breath out of your lungs each time. “You’ll never be this innocent again, sweetheart. I’m takin’ all of it.”
His hand slid between your bodies again, his thumb finding your swollen clit, rubbing soft, tight circles that made you scream.
“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, holding your thighs up around his waist, folding you open like he owned you. “You’re taking it so well now. Pussy’s learnin’ me, isn’t it? Getting used to this cock already.”
You moaned through clenched teeth, head rolling back into the pillow, overwhelmed. It felt like too much, he was so heavy over your body, but also not enough, your body craving more even as it trembled beneath him.
“Eyes on me,” he said, grabbing your jaw with one hand and forcing you to look up at him. “I want you to watch while I ruin you.”
Your lashes fluttered, tears clinging to your cheeks. You were crying, breath hitching, but not from pain, it was all just too much. And you loved it. His pace picked up. Not brutal but relentless, deep, rolling thrusts that made your thighs shake, your toes curl, your breath come in broken sobs as he slammed against your skin with wet, obscene sounds.
You couldn’t speak, ouldn’t think straight. All the shame and shyness disappeared the second you felt him inside of you. His cock dragged against your walls with each deep thrust, your body slick and messy, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every movement.
“Listen to how wet you are,” he whispered, almost laughing, dark, low, obsessed. “Dripping for me. So fuckin’ tight, but your pussy’s greedy, baby. She wants more, huh?”
You sobbed, your back arching when he suddenly shifted, folding you deeper, pressing your knees toward your chest as he sank in even further, stealing the air from your lungs.
“Oh my god—Heeseung—” you gasped.
“Yeah? You feel that? That’s me right here—” he slid a hand down to press against your lower stomach, just over where the head of his cock was hitting deep inside. “Right there, baby. Right where you needed me.”
Your hands scrambled up to his shoulders, nails dragging uselessly over his skin as your body trembled. Your brain was melting, no thoughts left except HeeseungHeeseungHeeseung. You felt it again, the pressure building, everything was too much. And he knew it.
“Gonna cum again?” he mocked sweetly. “That’s so cute. Barely been fucked and already falling apart. Is it too much?”
You sobbed out a moan, your body arching up, clenching around him like you couldn’t stop.
“Thank me,” he said suddenly, voice sharp in your ear. “Say thank you for fucking you this good.”
Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and wide, lips trembling.
“Say it,” he ordered, pushing deeper, hips grinding against your pelvis until your thighs shook uncontrollably. “Be a good girl.”
“Th-thank you,” you choked out, voice wrecked. “Thank you, Heeseung.”
He groaned, cock twitching deep inside you.
“Say thank you for taking my virginity.”
You cried harder, but you said it, gasping through tears, face flushed and humiliated and so turned on it hurt. But you didn’t care, you were his now.
“Thank you… for taking it,” you sobbed. “Thank you for ruining me.”
“Fuck,” he hissed. “That’s my girl.”
His thrusts got faster, deeper, pounding into your sweet, tender pussy like he was claiming it, like he wanted to leave it swollen and aching and full of him.
“Gonna cum inside,” he growled. “Gonna fill you up and keep it there. Want you dripping, sore, thinking of me every time you sit down.”
Your body tensed all over again, everything built fast, hot, unbearable, and you came with a scream, tears falling as your body shook, muscles locking around him so tight he groaned, hips stuttering
“Fuck, that’s it,” Heeseung grunted, barely holding on, his cock pulsing deep inside your spasming walls. “You want it, don’t you? Wanna be full of me.”
You nodded frantically, crying through it, too far gone to even speak, but he didn’t need words. Your body said everything, writhing under him, sucking him in deeper with every flutter.
“You want me to breed this pretty little pussy,” he moaned, hips stuttering. “First time and I’m already ruining you. Filling you up so good, baby—fuck, maybe I’ll get you pregnant. Maybe I’ll knock you up just like this, all messy and crying for me.”
You gasped, another twitch racing through you at his words. You were trembling, overstimulated, body arching under him even as your orgasm still echoed through your limbs.
“That's what you want, right?” he whispered, fucking you through it, each thrust slower but deeper, his cock twitching as was so close. “Want me to fuck a baby into you. Stuff you full. Claim you for real.”
His body hovered over yours, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, jaw clenched so tight it ticked as he fought to hold it together. His brows furrowed, lips parted on a low moan as he came, cock throbbing deep inside your spasming cunt.
You felt it, the thick, hot spill of his release, filling you to the brim, warm and endless. He gripped your thighs tighter, pulling your body closer, anchoring himself as he fucked it deeper with short, needy thrusts. His groan was guttural when he finally spilled, hot inside you, filling you so deep it burned. He held himself there, cock buried to the hilt, like he didn’t want to lose a single drop.
Your fingers dug into his shoulders, shaking, breath ragged and broken.
“God,” he groaned, voice rasping, barely audible. “So fucking good. Gonna get you pregnant like this.”
His hands trembled slightly, not from nerves, but from restraint, like every muscle in his body was straining to keep control. Veins stood out on his arms, his chest heaving against yours, skin burning hot.
He looked down at you, and his eyes, blown wide, pupils dark and wild, were obsessed.
“Look at me,” he whispered, pushing your hair back with shaking fingers. “I want you to remember what I look like when I cum inside you for the first time.”
You blinked up at him through the blur of tears, vision filled with the flushed pink of his cheeks, the swollen red of his lips, the glint of sweat that made his collarbones shine in the low light.
His cock twitched again, still deep, still thick and hard even after filling you so completely.
He smiled, slow, dark, too pleased.
“Still clenching,” he murmured, shifting slightly. “You don’t want to let me go, do you?”
When he finally pulled back, a mix of slick and cum slipped out with a slow, wet sound, and his jaw locked again, nostrils flaring like it physically hurt him to see it.
“Fuck no,” he muttered, shoving it back in with two fingers, watching your face twist from overstimulation. “You’re keeping every drop. Gotta make sure it sticks.”
Then he leaned down, still panting, pressing his forehead to yours.
“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered. “All mine. Full of me.”
You didn’t even notice you were crying again until Heeseung kissed the tears from your cheeks, slow and tender.
“Shh, baby,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse as he stroked your hair back. “You did so good for me. Took it all, didn’t you? My sweet girl.”
You could barely nod, body twitching beneath him, every inch of you overstimulated, messy, full. His arms wrapped around you carefully as he rolled the both of you onto your sides, cradling your body against his chest, your cunt pulsing, twitching, leaking all over his sheets.
Heeseung looked down and moaned.
“Fuck. Look at the mess we made,” he whispered against your temple, nuzzling close, not even trying to hide how obsessed he was. “All my cum dripping out of this perfect little pussy. Bet you can feel it, huh?”
You whimpered, still trembling, thighs too sore to close. He kissed the corner of your mouth.
“I know, baby. I know it’s a lot,” he murmured, brushing soft fingers down your side, slow and soothing. “I got you. I’ll clean you up.”
He reached for a towel nearby and gently started dabbing between your legs, but even then, he couldn’t help himself.
“God,” he muttered, watching your thighs twitch from the sensitivity. “You’re so ruined for me now.”
You blinked up at him, eyes still hazy and damp.
“You’ll never be the same again, angel,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Nobody’s ever gonna fuck you like that. Nobody’s gonna make you cry the way I do.”
You whimpered, and he smiled, soft and so proud.
“My good girl,” he praised, rubbing slow circles into your thigh with his free hand. “Took it all so sweet. You didn’t even know you could take that much, did you?”
You shook your head, burying your face in his neck as he chuckled and held you tighter.
“Yeah,” he breathed, kissing your temple again. “All mine now. Sweet little thing’s all used up and full of me. Gonna keep you that way.”
He tossed the towel aside once he was satisfied and pulled you into his chest completely, letting you rest against his body, warm and safe, even with the filth still heavy in his voice.
“You okay, baby?” he whispered softly, letting his hand run up and down your spine now, gentler.
You nodded, a soft hum escaping your lips.
You blinked up at him through heavy lashes, still glassy with leftover tears. You could barely speak, throat raw from moaning, from crying, from begging, but somehow the words came, a whisper barely audible.
“…thank you.”
Your voice was so small, so wrecked. But it was the way you said it, all soft and sweet, like you meant it with your whole heart. His eyes darkened again, slowly dragging over your face. The tears on your cheeks. The swollen lips. The ruined innocence.
His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth as he let out a shaky breath.
“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, eyes fluttering closed for a second like he was physically affected. “That’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
You flushed, face hot against his skin.
He leaned in closer, kissed your temple, and whispered like a secret:
“My sweet girl… all ruined and grateful for it.”
His voice was shaking now too, not from arousal this time, but from something deeper, Possession, obsession.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”
He pulled you closer, wrapping you up like you were something precious and fragile, even though you’d just let him break you completely. And you had. Your body still ached, sore and pulsing, filled and messy, but you’d never felt so full, or so safe.
“Thank you for letting me be your first,” he whispered finally. “And your last.”
Your eyelids fluttered shut as his warmth pulled you under. The ache in your thighs, the mess between your legs, the soreness blooming across your skin… none of it mattered. You were in Heeseung’s arms. Safe. Ruined. You weren’t sure if he loved you, maybe he did in his own dangerous way, you didn’t know what you were going to say to his sister tomorrow morning.
( 이희승; ) ⓘ 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ pet names ⋆ creampie ⋆ dom!heeseung ⋆ big dick hee ⋆ choking ⋆ rough sex : 453
──── in which ︵ take it for heeseung, will you?
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heeseung growls loudly, grabbing your legs and pushing them back, spreading you wider. the new angle hits that special spot inside you with each thrust, making you scream.
“take that fuckin' dick." he groans, watching your perfect face contort in pleasure, your mouth open in a perfect o.
“so— big—!" you cry out, his eyes flash with something primal at your words. he's always been big, and hearing you struggle to take him only makes him harder. he reaches down, wrapping his arm around your throat as he continues to pound into you. “too big for this tiny little pussy?"
you try to shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “nooo— can take it—"
he squeezes your throat gently, cutting off your air slightly. “that's my fuckin' girl."
he thrusts harder, deeper, his balls slapping against you with each movement.
“mhhhf—" you pant heavily, chest rising and falling as your brain turns to mush from the lack of air.
he loves seeing you like this, helpless and full of his big dick. he unwraps his arm suddenly, letting you gasp for air. “you gonna keep saying you can take it?"
you mewl weakly, hands trembling on the sheets. “i— i can—" before you can even finish your sentence, he grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulders. the new position opens you up even more, allowing him to hit your spot with every single thrust.
he starts fucking you so hard the headboard hits the wall repeatedly. “keep talkin' shit."
“o-oh— god!" your words are cut off by a loud scream as he nails that spot inside you again. he continues his brutal pace, his hips snapping forward as he buries himself deep inside you. you can feel every thick inch of him stretching you wide open. “that's it, scream for me."
“ohohohfuck—!" the sound of your high-pitched screams fills the room, mixing with the wet sounds of him slamming into your cunt over and over again. his fingers dig into your legs hard enough to bruise as he holds you in place, using you like his personal fuck toy. “fuck, you're so tight."
“hee—“
hearing his name on your lips sends him over the edge. he pounds into you even harder, his breathing ragged and loud. his cock swells inside you as he starts to come, filling you with his hot cum. “take it." he growls out, pressing deep inside you.
he stays buried inside you for a moment before pulling out slowly. his cum starts dripping out of stretched hole immediately. heeseung watches as more of his load leaks out, mixed with your own juices. “good girl." he praises you softly, running a hand down your leg.
id let him pound my poosi til it’s all painted w his come, i get so wet whenever i see this heeseung dawg i genuinely want to be dominated by him so badly ngh i wish i had a rose toy cz my fingers arent enough 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂💔💔💔
WARNINGS
18+ ONLY MDNI, Threesome, Cursing, Jealousy, Breast worship (what’s new), Making out, Oral sex (f!receiving), Mention of food, Light biting, Daddy kink, Role play, Cum eating/swapping, Unresolved feelings, Dom!Jay, SoftDom!Heeseung, PowerSub!Reader, HeeJay are pervs
SUMMARY
After several long months of ignoring the angel and devil living across the hall, said roommates take matters into their own hands to please you on your special day.
WORD COUNT
4k
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This one’s simple but kinda crazy?? ngl I REALLY got carried away with the wc for this first request, but I’m going to try and keep the others shorter so I can get through them quicker. Definitely felt less pressure while writing this for fun tho. Happy birthday 🪶 anon! I took some artistic liberties with your simple request lmao, but hope you and everyone enjoy it regardless (if it’s not ur cuppa tea dw!)
🖤🤍🖤🤍
After an incredibly rough week of work, you’d completely forgotten to switch off your alarm last night so you could sleep in for your birthday. It was your long-awaited day.
“The fuck,” You groaned before tapping the screen of your phone to silence the obnoxious sound.
Clambering and scurrying footsteps could be heard outside your bedroom and in the shared kitchen. A nagging feeling in your stomach told you that you wouldn’t be allowed back to sleep any time soon.
After about a minute, you noticed the sound of your roommates gathering outside your door— then knuckles tentatively rapping against it.
You pulled your duvet over your head and curled up tighter onto your side, refusing to answer.
Another knock.
It was more insistent this time, annoyingly so.
“What?” Your grumpy tone made it known that they were unwelcome visitors this early in the morning.
Please go away…
Jay, seemingly unbothered by your attitude, cracked open the door, surveying your condition before swinging it wide open to reveal a birthday cake in his hand.
Heeseung didn’t look any better than you in his black sweatsuit set and cowlicked ash-gray hair hiding his half-lidded eyes. Jay more than likely dragged him out of bed to help him prepare your surprise, yet he still gave you a smirk behind Jay’s shoulder and flashed you a peace sign.
With a mischievous smile, Jay strode to the edge of your bed wearing a typical pair of gray sweatpants and a black tank, his lean arms on display. “Morning, birthday girl.”
Heeseung made his way in and released a handful of red and pink balloons that floated to the ceiling; you’d think it was Valentine's Day or something. “Happy birthday, ___.”
Slowly, you dragged yourself up to sitting, keeping your blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You rubbed your eyes, “I can’t believe I sabotaged myself with my alarm today.”
“Happens to the best of us,” Jay balanced the cake in one hand as he kneeled on the floor by your bed and ran a hand through his pale blonde hair, “And well, now you just have more of your day to enjoy. But first, cake.”
Of course, they knew better than to sing. You sighed and stared down at the simple, pink-frosted cake piped with red dollops in a heart-shaped border.
In the center was written in red frosting:
u can’t pick ur dad
but u can pick ur daddy(s)
hbd!!!
You snorted and pressed a hand to your lips, raising an eyebrow at the two. Grammatically, it didn’t even make any sense, but you guessed it wasn’t supposed to.
“What the hell is this? Which of you—” You barely managed to get out, shoulders shaking from laughter as you eyed Heeseung and gave Jay a look of scrutiny, “Or should I even bother to ask?”
In return, Jay playfully swiped the pads of his fingers across the corner of your lips, effectively smearing a bit of pink cream onto your skin.
“Hey—“ Despite flinching, your tongue automatically darted out to sample the rich semi-sweet frosting, eyes widening in approval, “Mm!”
Jay chuckled and licked the remaining frosting off of his thick fingers, watching as you quickly averted his gaze, “I baked and decorated it. Obviously. But this guy stalked your Pinterest boards and saw something similar. So that’s how we got the idea, I guess.”
“Stalked? I just follow her,” Heeseung insisted, twirling the pink ribbon from a balloon around his finger. The two of them glanced at each other, and despite being touched by the sentiment, you paused.
While you had some pretty questionable content saved to the boards on your account, you definitely couldn’t have known Heeseung bothered to keep an eye on them.
What else did they see?
“Oh— how thoughtful of you,” You glanced over at the culprit, who suddenly found your carpet fascinating.
Jay cleared his throat and gestured the candle-lit cake towards you, its dancing flames taunting you, “Well, make your wish before the candle wax melts all over it, ___. Anything you want?”
“Hm,” You casually stretched your arms and shrugged off your blanket to reveal your gym shorts riding up your thighs as you crossed your ankles, “So if I wished for you both to leave me alone right now, you’d grant my wish?”
Heeseung untangled his finger from the balloon ribbon, blinking in surprise just as Jay’s shoulders slumped slightly, a flicker of hurt unexpectedly crossing his features. The blond pressed his lips together and stood to his feet.
“Well, if that’s what you want. We’ll leave you be.”
“Jay…”
He nearly bumped into Heeseung on his way out but stopped at the sound of your sultry voice.
Heeseung seemed enraptured as you gnawed at your lips and ushered Jay back with a simple look and tilt of your chin. The younger man’s gaze settled on the stretch of your thin cotton shirt over your breasts, and you felt yourself flush.
“I’m fucking with you both. Bring my pretty cake back.”
Both of them seemed to perk up as though they misheard you before trying to cover up how your choice words affected them.
Jay huffed at your smug grin, “Go on then, blow it out, princess.”
With a roll of your eyes, you leaned forward and blew out the candles lined along the top of the rosy pink cake, leaving a trail of smoke in the air.
“There, I made my wish. Thank you, boys.”
The last word seemed to grate on Jay’s nerves, with the way he haphazardly slid your cake onto your desk.
“Hey, be careful. Why wouldn’t you handle your hard work with care? I’m gonna eat that later,” You quipped.
“What was your wish?” Jay dared to ask, crossing his arms as he leaned back onto your desk.
That earned him a weird look from you.
“You can’t just ask her that,” Heeseung nudged Jay in his side and took the opportunity to sit next to you, the mattress dipping under his weight. Heeseung was a bit intimidating in size, but his proximity didn’t make you uncomfortable in the slightest— or so you liked to tell yourself. “We’re not done with your gifts yet.”
You faced him and leaned back on your hand, placing the other atop your thighs, skin suddenly prickling with goosebumps. “No?”
Heeseung couldn’t help the subtle smile playing at his lips due to the unnecessary but predictable tension between you and Jay, “We know the extra attention isn’t your favorite, but just for today, don’t fight it.”
“What do you mean? Don’t fight what exactly…?” You continued to feign confusion, feeling your heart thump erratically as Heeseung tucked your messy hair behind your ears and dragged his soft caress along your warm cheeks.
You felt a sense of adoration in his touch, those languid eyes of his melting into your own so you wouldn’t have doubts about what was to follow.
“This,” The manner in which Heeseung moved against you was gentle but confident, his moist lips capturing yours as though he didn’t want a second with you to go to waste but still knew he could take his time with you.
How could you fight such a sweet kiss?
Not long after, Heeseung began to playfully prod his tongue along your inner cheek before swirling it against yours, slowly dropping his palms down your delicate neck, then even lower, until he found your soft breasts. The squeeze of his warm hands around them sent a jolt through your body and tightened the knot in your belly; you couldn’t help but arch your back to press closer to him with an airy moan.
It took a second before you realized the gravity of what you were doing with your shyest roommate and steadied yourself against his chest. “Heeseung—”
Then you felt a rougher set of fingers hook underneath your jaw and steal you away from Heeseung’s kisses.
Jay stood over you and held you in place, pressing a frosting-dipped thumb past your lips, the flavor awakening your tastebuds once more.
“Suck,” Jay commanded under his breath, which was somehow more intimidating than if he were to shout it. As he pushed the pad of his thumb down onto your wet muscle, you obediently closed your lips around the knuckle of his finger and met his keen eyes.
He nodded approvingly, “That’s a good girl.”
It was common for the two of you to always give each other a hard time, but if he ever overstepped his boundaries, he always made up for it through an unexpected warm gesture or a home-cooked meal the next day once things had simmered down. He wasn’t as much of a hardass as he let on.
At first, Heeseung appeared to be the most laid-back and benevolent of you three, but you always figured he was more of a maverick than one might initially guess. It wasn’t until he started playing clever pranks on you after a couple of months of getting to know him that you realized you’d finally cracked through that bashful exterior of his.
Although the three of you shared an undeniable chemistry that allowed you to live together as roommates without entirely wanting to rip each other’s throats out, neither of them had ever made a move on you before— and you couldn’t have ever guessed they’d make a move on you together.
Were there signals over the months that you’d missed? Looking back, yes, that might’ve been the case— but you’d chosen to ignore them due to an inability to make up your mind. Perhaps that’s why things were getting out of hand; you’d driven the two of them up the wall, and they had no choice but to retaliate.
All you could do right now is try to make it through whatever they had in store for you… and somehow, you didn’t mind that.
“Hate it?” Jay asked.
Judging by your heavy eyelids and the sweet hum of your voice vibrating against his digit, he had an idea that it was quite the contrary.
“Figured,” Jay removed his thumb from your mouth with a pop and leaned over to pull you against his lips for a crushing kiss of his own.
He was all heat and didn’t hesitate to tug your lips between his teeth or shove his tongue against yours until you were red in the face, gasping for air and more of him simultaneously.
“Mmh— Jay!”
He gave you a haughty look and continued to make a mess out of you, ruthlessly nipping at your ear and down your neck, knowing that you enjoyed the roughness of his affection. It almost killed you when he slowed down a bit, eyes flickering open to stare at you with his forehead pressed to yours, breathing the same air as you.
Right then, you felt Heeseung mouth over the fabric of your shirt, gradually coaxing your nipple to hardness. With the moan you rewarded him with, he grew bold and pulled the fabric over your breasts to take the one closest into his mouth, suckling sweetly around it.
You swore your nipples had a direct connection to your clit because it pulsed against your tight shorts and made you sink your fingers into tufts of Heeseung’s dark grey hair with a whimper.
Of course, Heeseung would be the one to make you give in.
After seeing your lovely reactions to his other roommate’s ministrations, Jay promptly kneeled on the bed and caught your other nipple with his soft lips. You cried out as he released it with a smack, only to continuously flick at the tip with his tongue, sending you into oblivion.
The two boys worked in tandem to pleasure you, tugging at your delicate nipples and laying kisses on your burning skin, the delicious sounds of their mouths worshiping your body falling on your ears. How they had their own ways of going about it made you feel even more cherished by the two. This was the kind of gift that kept on giving.
“Oh my god, that feels so good,” Panting, you tipped your head back and squeezed your eyes shut, letting the pleasure wash over your body at being tended to with such enthusiasm. Your panties were growing wetter by the second.
“I told you she’d lose it once we started milking her tits,” Heeseung commented, reaching up to stroke your cheek with his thumb, “Like the feeling of getting milked that much, baby?”
The way Heeseung addressed you made your stomach do flips.
“Mmn, yes… You guys are fucking— ah— crazy,” You whined helplessly.
“We’re not the ones posting kinky shit to our public socials,” Jay deflected with a hoarse laugh, remembering something in particular he saw on yours that he liked.
He continued to suck and knead at your breast with the intent to make you swell under his touch, and by the time you were begging for release, he wanted you to be soaked through your little shorts.
With a bit of tooth and control, Jay gradually sucked around your areola until you let out a delighted yelp, in which he quelled your pain with laps of his tongue. He was extremely cognizant of how your hips twitched, inviting him to touch you further.
“Hngh— please, it’s not like I planted a seed in your minds. You were both perverts to start with,” You shot back despite feeling stranded in the fog of bliss, “Jacking off in the shower with my soap…”
Jay, in particular, froze at your accusation.
“I’ve used that brand my whole life and noticed each bottle went quicker ever since I moved in with you two. And then jacking off in my bed when I’m not home—”
You punctuated your slight annoyance by curling your fingers around Heeseung’s cheeks. That irked you a bit more than Jay’s shower antics for hygienic reasons.
“I can smell your shampoo all over my pillow, you know. Can you at least change my sheets out of courtesy once you’re done? Bet you wanted me to figure it out, didn’t you?”
The entirety of Heeseung’s skin above his collar turned a deep shade of scarlet, his large eyes shining from embarrassment. “Shit, uh. I-I…I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll even do your laundry for a month.”
“What, so you can steal another pair of my panties?”
Heeseung couldn’t hide his startled expression. A few seconds passed before a smirk made its way onto his flushed face, and he wet his lips. “‘Course not …”
Jay cocked a brow at Heeseung having been exposed to the degree that he was. Really, the two of them should’ve known better. Although the blond wasn’t sure if there were more things Heeseung’s done that you hadn’t caught onto yet, he knew that to be so in his case.
“I knew it all along,” You sat up straighter and stroked Jay and Heeseung beneath their chin, spreading your legs to reveal how your arousal had seeped through your layer of panties staining the fabric of your bottoms a darker, enticing shade.
With greedy looks in their eyes, both boys set their sights on the evidence of your excitement, saliva collecting under their tongues.
“So, how are you both really gonna make up for such shameless, deranged behavior?”
Heeseung felt his cock twitch heavily in his sweatpants at your challenge, knowing it was all your fault.
“We were just getting to that part,” Jay appealed, caressing his hand along your inner thigh, dipping closer and closer to your warmth, “___, trust me, you’ll forget all about our fuck-ups in a few minutes.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” You directed Heeseung to continue stimulating your tits by dragging his chin forward as you leaned back onto your elbows.
He peeked over his shoulder at Jay, who positioned himself between your legs, and it was evident by the dark glint in his eyes that he wanted to taste you as well. However, you judged his sinful shenanigans to be greater than Jay’s and instead jerked his head towards your chest, your free hand gripping your breast.
“C’mon, Daddy, make my wish come true. Milk my tits and pussy, I want it so badly...”
That was a first. Your words seemed to reset the two back in order; Heeseung’s breath caught in his chest, but Jay fell back into the flow of things quicker.
“Shit, baby. We’ll give it to you.”
You squirmed as Jay ran his hot tongue over the seam tucked between your swollen mound, his fingers tugging at your waistband to strip you bare.
Heeseung held your hazy gaze as he yanked off his top, tossing it onto the floor before diving back into devouring your breasts. With each messy kiss placed on your chest, your entire body shuddered, and Heeseung found himself groaning against your skin from how amazing it felt to finally gratify his urges for you.
It was so satisfying to make you moan nonsensical things while feeling your nails scrape along his nape and upper back.
Once Jay freed you from your shorts, all that was left was your drenched panties, which he took an even more passionate lap at, shoving his tongue against the dip of your entrance through the fabric but all too conveniently avoiding where you needed him most.
“Mm, Daddy… please,” You whispered with a gulp, spreading your legs even wider to lure him in, “Please make me come on your tongue.”
Jay’s eyes softened; in return, he pressed a kiss to the flesh of your trembling thigh and began to remove the last barrier of clothing that kept him from your warm, wet pussy. “Alright, baby. I’m gonna help you come so much, okay?”
“Mhmm…” You nodded.
Ah, it was so different to see him like this. He’d always spoiled you one way or another, hadn’t he?
If only you noticed how his cock was straining in his pants at seeing you spread so prettily for him while thoroughly enjoying getting your tits sucked.
“I haven’t seen a pussy prettier than this,” Jay commented, catching his roommate’s attention.
For a second, you were given a chance to breathe and merely collapsed onto the sheets, staring up at the balloon-covered ceiling as Heeseung leaned over your body to enjoy the sight of your arousal dripping down your folds.
“Fuck, it’s so wet,” Heeseung murmured, his eyes drinking up the erotic view of you from above as he spread your lips apart with his middle and index fingers. “Look at that drooly little hole. It’s clenching so tightly…”
Jay chuckled, and you could only whimper, feeling Heeseung’s breath ghost over your pussy. Hearing them talk about you so casually caused your face to overheat; you wondered if they ever discussed you behind your back like this.
“Think this pink little clit would like it if we suck on it?”
Before Jay could respond, Heeseung pressed forward and swiped his tongue across your swollen clit, fit his lips around the nub, and then sucked.
“Heeseung!” You jerked against his face and reached back to grip your duvet, feeling more wetness drip onto your sheets.
Heeseung had the nerve to snicker in front of Jay’s face before pressing himself back up at the sound of your needy voice.
Jay’s jaw clenched, but he hadn’t made a move to stop the other male since it wasn’t against their agreement. All he could do was sink his grip into your mattress, pissed that Heeseung had just stolen the first taste of you from him.
Well, he did practically invite him over to gloat before feasting on you. He just didn’t anticipate that it’d backfire; should’ve thought twice about that.
Little did you know it’d work in your favor.
“Mm, knew you’d taste like candy,” Heeseung hummed, clearly trying to hold back a smile. He tipped your chin up, his voice low and tender, “Give Daddy a kiss, I want you to taste yourself.”
You were tentative in doing so but eventually got lost in the sensation of sharing the taste of your arousal with Heeseung. It made your lips tingle, toes curling against Jay’s shoulders.
“Ah…”
Every inch of your skin became a magnet for Heeseung’s lips as he kept himself busy, rubbing at your tits, fully aware of the havoc he’d wreaked with Jay. He supposed that’s one thing he shared in common with you— getting on Jay’s nerves when he felt like it.
Oh, were you feeling absolutely dizzy now, and even more so when a plush pair of lips you’d been missing began to make out with your pussy.
You exhaled harshly and glimpsed down your body at the blond tending to your aching mound. All that softness previously on display was gone; Jay’s never looked more starved than he did now, grip fierce on your thighs whilst plunging his tongue into your pussy.
“Oh fuck, Jay—!“
He wasn’t messing around. With each heavy drag of his hot tongue on your clit, your muscles seized, breath growing shorter and shorter, your body on the brink of an orgasm.
Heeseung latched onto your tit and rolled your other nipple under his fingers, watching your desperate expression from beneath his lashes.
With the incredible sensations you were experiencing all over the pleasure points of your body, you were done for.
Jay reveled in the fact that you couldn’t keep your plush thighs from squeezing tightly around his head. He was just as attentive to your responses as Heeseung, his kisses to your clit pushing you over the edge as your eyes fluttered shut.
Shocks of pleasure traveled up your core, causing spasms throughout your entire body. The boys couldn’t get enough of your precious moans echoing off your bedroom walls, and Jay seemed to be enjoying your high as much as you were. You felt his moans rumble against your skin— had a feeling he was savoring every drop of you.
Heeseung fondly ran his fingers through strands of your hair strewn across the sheets while your limbs were awash with ecstasy. Despite your twitching, you felt Jay continue to dip between your thighs and gather your creamy release on his tongue. Shortly after, he crept over your body and reached for your jaw, his eyes trained on yours as you felt his cock scorch against your abdomen.
“Open,” He urged, and not a second later, you were mindlessly offering him your tongue.
Your cream dribbled from the tip of his tongue onto yours, like honey— and just before the strand could break, he sealed his lips over yours, stroking deeply and slowly into your mouth like he wanted you to blackout in his arms from lack of oxygen.
Oh god…
After all that, you managed to let out a breathless chuckle and offer Jay a bashful smile which he returned.
“So, did we somewhat make up for our shameless, deranged behavior?” He asked.
Well. You supposed you could say you weren’t nearly as put off by the secret perversions that took place over the past several months as you were 30 minutes ago.
You swallowed thickly, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you pressed your sticky thighs together. “Yeah… a bit.”
“Just ‘a bit’ she says. Good thing we have more gifts,” Heeseung exchanged a look of amusement with Jay and kneeled by your side.
He began to stroke himself over the jet black sweatpants hanging low on his hips, brazenly shooting you a heated look as he did.
Without thinking, you reached out to touch him, and his large hand immediately covered yours, guiding you to squeeze along his thick cock and feel him up as you pleased. You just couldn’t get your hands on enough of him— either of them.
Heeseung clicked his tongue.
“Wanna open mine?”
—
A/N CONT.
Yay, I can finally add something to Jay’s repertoire! It was fun to see what naturally came out on the page for him in this fic, he ended up being Very Daddy. 😵💫 I actually started a femdom sub!Jay fic months ago but never got around to finishing it so I’m glad some other anons requested more of him lmao
I wasn’t sure if I’d like writing a threesome fic, but I thought I’d try it out– I didn’t hate it. A threesome tit sucking scene had been a long time comin 🤭 ANYWAYS Hee was a nice contrast to Jay in this as I’m still high off of him in NIIY. 🥰 This is also my first time writing in some aspects of a Daddy kink, but I’m still exploring it. Let me know if you enjoyed that aspect bc I know I usually tend towards more switch dynamics in my fics?
I was about to write a part 2, but I gotta get the other requests done! Also random but not, I feel like perv Hee is just a running joke in this fandom on here, so I’m just keeping the legend alive (again), he’s the official panty thief ™
As always, reblog, like or follow me if you enjoyed and check out my masterlist for more fics ⚰️🖤 It’s appreciated!
✎ Pairing: professor heeseung! + female college student reader!
✎ Warnings: smut, soft dom hee, service top hee, NSFW AUDIO, dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, cum eating, teasing, mentions of masturbation.
✎ Genre: professor, student.
✎ Summary: you purposely fail your assignments so you can be alone with your professor.
✎ Number of words: 2,872k
Find your way around!
• Requested by anon. I hope you see this, lol currently not taking requests at the moment, but I decided to squeeze this one in.
Class had ended, and everyone was scrambling towards the door, and so were you as you slung your backpack over your shoulder but stopped in your tracks when you heard your professor's voice.
“Y/n, would you mind staying behind? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.” Professor Lee speaks up, causing you to turn on your heels and face him as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
You walk towards his desk until you’re a few feet away from him and look down at your feet, trying to hide your flustered state. “Y-yes, Professor Lee?” You say quietly.
Your professor takes a seat and touches his fingers together while resting his elbows on his desk, and you can’t help but think he looks so attractive like that.
“Y/n, you turned in your assignment late again,” he says, followed by a sigh. “Could you tell me why?” He asks as you nervously pick at your nails.
“I-I forgot again,” you lie. “Sorry, professor lee” you lower your head once more. Truthfully you hadn’t forgotten you had been doing it on purpose, hoping he’d have you stay back and have a talk with you like he was doing now.
Never mind the fact that you’ve been getting zeros and partial credits on your assignments.
“Forgot? Now, y/n, that’s not like you at all,” he says with a slight smirk that you miss cause you were still looking down at the floor beneath your feet. “Is there something on your mind that you’d like to share? Maybe something bothering you? Distracting you, perhaps?” He teased, already knowing full well what you had been up to, and he wasn’t opposed to playing your naughty little game.
He wasn’t oblivious to you staring at him every time he walked into class. He didn’t miss the way your eyes would flicker down to his crotch whenever he readjusted his trousers, and he definitely didn’t miss when you caught your bottom lip between your teeth as you zoned out while staring at him and not so discreetly rubbing your legs together.
It amused him, to say the least, and he couldn’t lie. He’s thought about you on occasion quite a few times when he had his late-night masturbating sessions, moaning your name as he spilled his warm release all over his sweaty abdomen.
“N-no, Professor Lee,” you play innocent.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re all alone,” his soft, reassuring tone makes you look up at him finally, and you can’t help but get lost in his heavy lingering gaze. “I’m your professor. You can talk to me, Darlin” He stands up and walks around his desk until he's standing less than a foot away. “I wouldn’t happen to be the cause of you forgetting, would I?” He asks as he sneaks his hands inside your blazer and rests his palms on your sides, softly rubbing up and down.
You look up at him, breath hitching in your throat when he squeezes your hips, and you have to bite your lip to hold back a moan, and he can’t help but smile at the heavy effect he has on you. “Yes,” you whisper while analyzing every last centimeter of his beautiful face up close.
“Yeah?” He cups your cheeks with his large palms tilting your head up until your eyes meet. “What about me makes you forget, Darlin?” He strokes your cheek with his thumb, and you melt into his soft, warm touch.
You gulped, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and your mind wandered to all the lewd filthy thoughts you had about him during class.
“Everything,” you say, feeling a bit bolder as you take a step forward, pressing yourself against him, and he raises an amused brow at your move. “The way you talk,” you say quietly, eyes shifting back and forth between his. “The way you walk in the room” You grabbed his tie and looked at him innocently despite your not-so-innocent implications. “The way your brows crease when you’re focusing on your lecture, everything about you makes me distracted, professor. Every time you do the smallest thing, I forget about everything else but you” You bite your lower lip.
His lips upturn in a smile at your little confession, and his heart rate picks up from having the knowledge of you noticing all the little details about him.
“Hmm, yeah, is that so Darlin?” He lowers his hands, cupping the roundness of your ass.
“Yes,” you moan when he puts his hands under your dress and his warm palms make contact with your bare flesh.
“Well, Darlin, I am flattered” He leaned down, ghosting his lip’s against yours as he spoke in a low gravelly tone. “But, I’m still gonna have to teach you a lesson for being so forgetful” He presses a soft kiss to your lips, and you feel your body ignite from the short-lived contact of his lips meeting yours. “After all, I am your professor,” he smirks before swiping his tongue on your bottom lip and squeezing your soft ass, causing a breathy whine to slip past your lips as he uses the opportunity to stick his tongue in your mouth, swirling it with your as he pushes you against the edge of his desk. “Sound fair?” He asks, breathing heavily from the make-out session.
“Yes, professor lee” He smirks at your desperation, enjoying how pliant you have already become for him.
He easily lifts you up on his desk after hiking your skirt around your waist. He smiles at the sight of your white cotton panties and rubs his palm over your drenched core, feeling the damp fabric from how wet you had gotten just from kissing. “Darlin, is this all for your professor?” He teased and prodded his finger at your clothed hole.
“Yes, professor, all for you,” you breathe out, and your voice is already whiny and desperate with need as he rubs your clit over your underwear.
He pushed your panties to the side, gawking at the little mess you made of yourself, and he had barely even done anything to you. “You’re so cute,” he whispers while looking at you fondly, and you shy away from his gaze as he pushes one finger in your hole, groaning from how your pussy squeezes tightly around his single digit as he slowly works you open.
You lean back and rest on your elbows, watching as he adds another finger alongside his index, curling them up and massaging your upper walls with the pads of his fingers. “Darlin,” he whispers, and he still doesn’t take his eyes off your little cunt, all creamy and wet, just waiting to be filled with his cock. “You distract me too,” he hums at the little noises you make for him. “Make me forget what I’m saying all the time” He chuckles and rests his hand on your right thigh, rubbing your smooth flesh. “Sometimes you distract me so much that I can’t even stand up and come from behind my desk cause I’m so hard for you,” he gulped loudly, daring to accompany his two fingers by adding a third, and your eyes roll back in your head briefly from the pleasuring stretch of his fingers opening you up. “Even at night, when I go home, all I can think about is fucking your pretty little cunt” He looks at you briefly, and his eyes are dark and hooded with nothing but pure lust, and you moan at his dirty confession clenching around his fingers in satisfaction. “And even after I touch myself to the thought of you, it’s still never enough cause I know that my hand will never ever feel as good as you.” He blows a breath of cool air over your bare pussy.
Your legs shake in pleasure, and you’re not sure how much longer you can last when his fingers are fucking you so well.
“Just look at me” He looks between his legs, and you automatically find his line of vision staring at the very prominent tent in his khaki pants, moaning at the sight of his huge bulge.
“Professor,” you grip whatever you can on his desk, trying to stabilize yourself, but it’s no use as you become a squirming mess when he fastens the pace of his fingers.
“Yeah, darlin', look at what you do to your professor. Are you gonna make it better? Hmm?” He asks as he places his thumb on your clit, and your body jolts from the new sensation, mouth falling open, allowing a pleasured cry to escape as you feel the heat rising in the pit of your stomach.
“Fuck,” you mewl out, unknowingly rutting yourself on his fingers as you get closer to the indescribable bliss building up inside you. “Yes, professor lee, I’ll make it all better” Your mouth hangs open in a silent cry of his name, legs trembling and breath heavy as you come around his fingers and your pussy clenches rhythmically.
“I know you will, darling, always such a good little thing for your professor,” he coos, still pumping you full of his fingers and guiding you through your first orgasm as your lips, purse, and brows furrow in absolute total pleasure.
He retracts his fingers, nearly drooling as his hungry eyes rake over the wetness that covers his digits.
He sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking and slurping up all your essence as his hard throbbing dick twitches in need for you underneath his slacks. “Better than anything I could have ever imagined,” he moans at your taste, sucking his fingers, completely clean.
He impatiently reaches for his belt, quickly undoing the buckle and button before pulling down the zipper and finally freeing himself from the restrictive confines of his pants.
“Professor, you’re so b-big,” you stutter at his massive size, staring you in the face beneath his underwear, a huge wet spot staining the front and outlining his thick tip.
He chuckles at your cute observation, and you blush. “All yours,” He says, rubbing himself over his underwear. “Gonna be good and take professor's big cock?” he strokes his palm over your thigh, and you nod frantically, which pleases him immensely. “Mmm yeah, Darlin,” he rasps and pulls down his underwear revealing his delicious cock to you, and it’s even better than what you dreamed about. It was thick, long, and veiny tip leaking with fresh beads of pearly precum as he worked the wetness over his shaft.
“Need you inside so bad” The words mindlessly slip past your lips, but you’re too entranced by him to even take notice or care. “Wanna feel your big cock inside of me, professor” You spread your legs as wide as they can go clenching around nothing as your wet gaping hole awaits to be stuffed full of your professor’s massive cock.
He rests his heavy length on your wet pussy dragging it back and forth slowly. “Don’t worry, professor is gonna give you what you need” His eyebrows grew taut in pleasure just from the feeling of your wetness soaking his length as he gripped your thighs, still massaging your aching core with his warm cock. “Gonna make your tiny little pussy feel good, okay, darlin?”
“Okay,” you say in a breathless whine, and you both release a sharp breath as he presses his tip at your hole and slowly sheaths himself into the warmth of your walls.
“Oh my fucking god,” he practically growls when your silky heat invites him in, hugging his cock tightly with your warmth. “Oh, Darlin, your pussy feels amazing.”
“Yeah?” You hold onto his wrist, watching your tight pussy stretching open and making room for his dick to sink deeper inside.
“Oh yeah,” he confirms while his eyes focus on the same spot that you’re looking at. “You see that, Darlin? See me splitting your little pussy with my cock?” Your eyes roll back and he has to bite back a smirk, now steadily rocking his hips into you, the quiet squelch between your bodies making both of your heads spin.
He pulls out, leaving nothing but his tip inside, grabbing his thick base and teasingly dipping in and out of your soaked hole.
You whine at the loss-making a fuss from the dull, empty feeling. “Awe, Darlin, what’s the matter?” He asks as if he’s not fully aware of what he’s doing to you right now.
“Please, professor lee” you pout and make a dissatisfied sound as he pulls all the way out, leaving you completely empty. “Please, no more teasing, please,” you beg desperately as your hole tightens around nothing and your back arched off his desk. Your hole searches for his cock so he can give you what you need and fill you up again. “Need you,” you breathe out, chest heaving, and you feel as if you were going to cry if he didn’t stick it back in soon.
“Me too,” he moans when he fills you up again, this time setting the perfect pace. “Need you too, Darlin, so bad” He puts emphasis on his words by leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips.
He grabbed your hips, sensually rolling his hips into you, stroking your walls at all the right angles to make your toes curl.
His tip roams your insides until the slight curve of his cock finds that sweet spot that makes you moan loudly and beg him for more and more. “Yes, right there” He doesn’t go harder or faster. He listens to you attentively, brushing the head of his cock over that same spot over and over.
“Yeah, right there, Darlin? That feel good?” He smirks, knowing damn well it does. He deep strokes your heat until it feels numb from the consent in and out motion, and by now, your legs are shaking wildly. Your moans are a little too loud, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he places the pad of his thumb over your swollen, engorged clit.
You let go of his wrists, falling back on his desk, not being able to hold yourself up properly anymore cause the pleasure he’s giving to your body is just too much to handle, and your lungs nearly give out from your intense pants and moans.
“That’s right” Your disheveled state makes him go completely feral as he speeds up the tempo chasing his high with you. “Take your professor's big cock Darlin” he grunts, snapping his hips erratically as his thighs clap loudly against your plump ass, and the noises overtake his classroom along with your soft moans and his heavy breath.
“Professor Lee, im gonn- fuck I’m- I’m gonna cum!” He holds onto your waist for dear life, restlessly pounding into your tight cunt as you clench around his girthy cock.
“Go ahead, Darlin, cream your professor's cock” He pants loudly, giving you his all with every last thrust as you cum around his cock, whimpering and moaning as you feel the heat surge throughout your entire body. Your muscles tense up, and your toes curl, mouth falling open as you let out high pitch moans from the breathtaking orgasm he gives to you.
“Please, professor lee cum in me,” you plead in your fucked out state, and just those words alone are enough to make him lose any ounce of self-control as he spirals down with you.
“Darlin,” he moans, and his hips stutter. He quickly loses his rhythm as he grunts and spills his creamy release inside your pulsating cunt, filling you until you’re brimming over with his white gooey cum.
You pull him closer by his tie, and he breathes heavily against your lips, kissing you passionately as he rolls his hip continuously to empty his throbbing balls in your heat, moaning into your mouth as your cunt coaxes out all he has to give.
Once you both somewhat catch your breath’s, he kisses your forehead as he gently pulls his softening cock out of you, quickly moving your panties to the side so your cunt can bathe in his cum. “There, I know you forget a lot, so I thought I’d give you a little reminder” He bites on his bottom lip after giving you a teasing smile and nudges his nose against yours before leaning up and putting his trousers back on.
He grabs your hand, helping you stabilize yourself once you stand up from his desk, and it takes you a moment to stand up straight cause your legs are still literally shaking. “Thank you for the lesson, professor lee” You say with a hint of bashfulness in your tone as you smiled at him shyly.
“Of course,” he smiles at you as you gather up the rest of your things and get ready to head out of the classroom. “And darlin', if you ever need another lesson, feel free to ask me for help anytime” He winked and collected all the disheveled papers on his desk.
“Yes, professor lee” you smile, and with that, you finally leave his class, and come to think of it, you’re probably gonna need his help a lot more often from now on.
FIN.
Thank you for reading. Please reblog and leave feedback! - 🐹
────── you're tired of being princess peach: the perfect life, the perfect husband, the suffocating routine. for months you've been secretly fucking heeseung, the bowser: fake kidnappings that turn into real, filthy nights of rough bondage, his mouth devouring you, his cock claiming you while you pretend to resist.
➛ pairing: bowser! heeseung x princess peach! reader | ➛ genre: mario bros au, smut (mdni!!), i would say crack fic bc come on, cheating, rivals to lovers, pwp, secret relationship | #nowplaying: the sweet escape - gwen stefani | you right - doja cat | big girls don't cry - enhypen | the weekend - sza | bad guy - billie eilish | ➛ word count: 5.8k
➛ warnings: smut (mdni!!!), piv, unprotected sex, monster fucking, kidnapping roleplay, bondage, spanking, oral sex (m & f receiving), deepthroating, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation (public ish / voyeuristic), anal play, cuckolding, dom brat tamer! heeseung, infidelity, cheating (reader is married to mario loll), consensual dub-con (fake kipnapping roleplay), yandere behavior, mild pain play
➛ ronnie's notes: ok so i just wanted to write heeseung as bowser and make the reader absolutely rail him (or get railed by him whatever floats your boat) idk what else to say tbh but this is a 5k words drabble and not really proofread wrote that in 3 days but we ball..... enjoy i guess lmao
IT'S NOT EASY BEING PRINCESS PEACH. you've been rotting in this castle for months. your castle i mean — with the stained glass windows and the gardens that bloom and the marble floors. it's beautiful, but it's suffocating.
your dress is gorgeous, silk and lace and embroidery that took someone weeks to finish. but it weighs a ton, and the corset digs in just enough to remind you that looking the part isn't the same as wanting to play it. your heels scrape marble when you pace (which you do a lot, especially lately) until the sound gets so deep under your skin you want to scream.
your husband has been gone for a week. some mission in the mushroom forest, maybe, something about goombas. you stopped listening halfway through. the toads check on you every few hours like clockwork. bring tea you don't drink, ask if you need anything. you smile and say no and then they leave. they tried to save you the first few times. they don't anymore. and your husband — god, your husband probably thinks you're still waiting with your hands folded, hopeful, counting on him. but you stopped counting weeks ago.
and then you wait.
because heeseung always comes back. and he doesn't break down the door this time.
he just walks in, boots heavy on stone slowly like he's got all the time in the world. the chandeliers shake a little even though he's trying to be quiet — they always do when he's around, like the whole castle recognizes his presence and tenses up. you hear the clink of metal. he stops in the doorway of your oversized bedroom, with his hands in his pockets, dark hair falling into his eyes. looking at you like he's double checking he's got the right princess, the right tower, the right night.
you don't scream, damn you don't even flinch. you just sit up straighter on the edge of the bed, smooth your skirt once, and say calmly, almost bored:
"you're late."
heeseung grins, lazy and shameless.
"had to wait for your boyfriend to leave first," he says, stepping inside. the door clicks shut behind him but he doesn't lock it. "he's real chatty, you know that? i almost felt bad."
"you don't feel bad about anything."
"true." he walks closer slowly. the floor creaks under his weight and you feel it more than hear it. "but i could pretend, you know, for you."
you tilt your head slightly and let the crown sit crooked. a strand of hair falls across your face and you don't fix it. "the toads are gonna notice i'm gone soon," you say. not worried, just factual.
"good." he stops right in front of you now. close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to look at him. "that's the whole point, isn't it, princess?"
you raise an eyebrow. "remind me again why we're doing this?"
"because," heeseung says, voice dropping lower, rougher, "you man's gotta come save you. and you gotta be stolen. and i gotta be the bad guy." he leans down just slightly. "it's all very tragic."
"right." your lips twitch with almost a smile. "so tragic."
"heartbreaking, really."
"and the part where you tie me up and drag me out of here kicking and screaming?"
his grin sharpens, all teeth. "that's my favorite part, baby."
he doesn't answer right away. just reaches behind him and pulls out rope this time, thick, rough hemp. he lets it uncoil slowly in his hand, dragging across the floor with that low rasp that makes your stomach flip. his hands reach your hips, gripping, and then he turns you around, looping the rope once around your wrists, crossed behind you. his fingers brush your skin as he works.
"last time you used the chain." you muttered.
"last time i wasn't worried about evidence." he tugs the knot tighter. "gotta make it look like you fought back."
you tilt your head so you can see his face. "what if i don't fight?"
he pauses and looks at you with that dark, lazy amusement. "then we improvise." another loop, higher this time, binding your forearms together. "you can scream in the hallway. thrash a little. toads eat that shit up."
you flex your fingers and feel the rope pull. "you like this too much."
"maybe." he finishes the knot at the small of your back, then comes around to face you. crouches down so you're eye level. "but you're letting me. so."
you hold his gaze. "he's gonna see these," you say quietly.
heeseung tucks that loose strand behind your ear with the knuckle of his index finger first — slow drag, rough skin catching lightly on the shell of your ear before he switches to his thumb. it lingers there on your cheekbone, pressing just firm enough that you feel the callus from whatever weapons he swings when he’s not playing villain. "who fucking cares? tell him i was rough," he says, voice pitched low and close. "that you begged me to stop. cried a little maybe." his thumb slides down, traces the curve of your jaw, then hooks under your chin to tilt your face up higher. "and while he’s kissing it better you’ll be thinking about how i tied you up spread out on your own bed, skirt shoved to your waist, while he was out playing hero somewhere stupid."
your breath snags in your throat and he hears it. his eyes flick down to your mouth for half a second then back up. "you’re the worst," you whisper and it comes out shaky.
"yeah." he stands in one smooth motion, yanks the rope upward like it weighs nothing. he steadies you with a hand on your hop, fingers digging in deep enough to leave crescent marks through the silk “but you keep letting me come back right?” he adds.
he steps behind you then. both hands on your wrists now — rough palms sliding up your forearms, checking the rope. he tugs each coil tighter until the hemp bites red lines into your skin. his thumbs press into the pulse points at your inner wrists, feeling how fast your blood’s moving. then he leans in close — chest to your back, hips slotting against your ass — and reaches around to adjust the front of your dress where it’s slipping off one shoulder. his knuckles graze the swell of your breast on purpose as he pulls the fabric back up, just enough to tease the edge of your nipple through the corset.
“i’ll mark you real good tonight,” he murmurs against the side of your neck. hot breath and his teeth scraping once over your earlobe. "he’ll see these tomorrow and think you fought like hell.”
he steps back, grabs the chain from his belt. he drapes it over your shoulder slow — heavy links sliding across your collarbone, cool against flushed skin — then lets one end trail down between your breasts like a deliberate path. his fingers follow it for a second, brushing the valley there, pressing just hard enough you feel it in your nipples. "for effect," heeseung smirks. “and because you like the sound it makes when you move.”
you roll your eyes but the smile’s already there. "so what, you just carry me out screaming?"
"that’s the plan.” he hooks one arm under your knees, the other around your upper back, and lifts you like you’re nothing. the motion forces your thighs apart around his waist, rope pulling your arms tight behind you so your chest arches forward into him. your bound wrists dig into the small of your back; the angle makes your hips tilt up, cunt pressing right against the hard ridge of his belt buckle through your dress. he shifts you higher on purpose — one quick bounce — so the metal grinds against your clit for a split second. you choke on a sound that’s half gasp, half moan.
“you ready?” he asks, his voice wrecked already.
you lean in, lips brushing his ear. “make it convincing. he’s gotta hear it from the next kingdom over.”
he kicks the door open so hard the frame rattles. strides into the hallway, boots slamming marble in steady rhythm. you count two heartbeats and then scream loud and raw, the sound echoing off stone walls like you’re being torn apart. you thrash, your hips rolling against him more than fighting, thighs squeezing his sides, heels kicking once into his thigh. the rope creaks with every twist; the chain clinks against your chest. he doesn’t flinch, just clamps his arm tighter under your ass — fingers splaying wide, one slipping between your thighs from behind to press flat against your soaked cunt through the silk. he rubs once — slow, firm circle right over your clit — while he keeps walking.
“that’s it,” he mutters against your hair, so low no one else hears. “sell it, pretty. scream like i’m ruining you…”
you do, louder. wetter sounds slipping between your fake cries every time his fingers grind against you with his next step. and the whole castle hears the princess being stolen while the monster carries her out like she belongs to him.
heeseung doesn’t slow down until the castle gates are long behind you. the night air hits cold against your flushed skin as he crosses the bridge, then ducks into the shadowed path that leads straight to his domain — the dark, jagged spires of bowser’s keep. the drawbridge groans open without him even asking; the lava moat bubbles low and angry below.
inside it’s warmer and the stone walls pulse with heat from the torches and the underground fires. he carries you through echoing corridors, past chained goombas who don’t even glance up, until he hits the spiral staircase to the tallest tower. he shifts you roughly and flips you over his shoulder. your wrists still tied tight and your ass is up and your thigh is framing his neck.
the first step up the stairs jolts you. his shoulder digs into your stomach, forcing a real huff out of you. then his free hand comes down — hard, open palmed slap right across your bare ass cheek and the sound cracks through the stairwell. you yelp, legs kicking once on instinct.
"quiet down," he growls, but there’s a grin in it. another slap sharper, catching the sensitive underside where thigh meets ass. your cunt clenches hard around nothing; you feel the slick slide down your inner thigh. "here you don’t need to keep screaming for your husband anymore, princess." another slap and this one lingers, his palm stays pressed flat, fingers curling in to squeeze the stinging flesh. he spreads you a little with the grip, thumb brushing the edge of your dripping slit from behind. “no more lying about how wet you get when i take you.” his voice drops darker. “just you, spread out, begging the monster to fuck his pretty little traitor.”
you moan muffled against his back and he laughs mean. he keeps climbing, every few steps another slap, alternating cheeks, building the heat until your skin’s hot and throbbing, every smack sending fresh sparks straight to your clit.
by the time he reaches the top, your thighs are shaking. he kicks the heavy door open and it bangs against the wall and strides straight to the massive four poster bed in the center of the chamber with black sheets and red velvet hangings.
he doesn’t set you down gentle, he throws you. you land on your back with a bounce, wrists still bound behind you, forcing your shoulders to arch, tits pushed up against the tight corset. the dress is a mess — hiked to your hips, soaked silk clinging between your legs. he stands at the foot of the bed with his eyes raking over you slowly. heeseung's chest heaving a little from the stairs, belt already half undone.
"look at you," he says and his voice is rough and mocking. "princess peach, all tied up and dripping in my bed. what would your husband say if he saw his perfect wife like this? legs open, cunt leaking for the monster who just kidnapped her."
you try to close your thighs, more tease than resistance, but heeseung grabs your ankles, yanks them apart, your knees hooked over his elbows. the rope pulls tighter behind your back and you whimper. "don't even try," he warns you as he drops to his knees between your legs. "you're not going anywhere."
heeseung doesn't pull your dress up further, instead, he just ducks his head under the silk skirt, like it's a veil, his shoulder forcing your thighs wider. his hot breath hits your clit first, then his tongue, flat, with a slow drag from your entrance all the way up, tasting every inch of the mess you've made. he groans against you like hés starving. "fuck, this pussy tastes so good," he mutters into your cunt. "sweet and dripping, all f'me."
then he really dives in, his tongue pushing inside you, fucking you open while his nose grinds against your clit. you arch hard and he just grips your hips tighter, nails digging crescents into your ass to hold you down. he sucks your clit into his month, then releases it with a wet pop, only to lick broad stripes again. the sounds are loud, he's slurping and sucking and your own choked moans are mixing with the wet smack of his mouth.
his hands keep your thigh pinned wide, his thumb spreading your lips open so he can get deeper. "scream for real this time," he orders, his voice muffled against your pussy. he pulls back just enough to spit on your clit, then drives back in. "let the whole fucking tower hear hoe much you love getting eaten out by the bad guy."
your hips grind up into his mouth harder now, the rope pining your arms so tight behind your back, that every buck makes the hemp scrape fresh burns into your wrists, but you don't care. you chase it, thighs clamping around his head. "f-fuck heeseung, —" you gasp. "please don't stop—"
he pulls back just enough to make you whine, and he smirks from under the skirt. "who said you get to tell me what do do, princess?" his voice is mean and his fingers dig harder into your ass, bruising. "you're the one tied up, baby. the one cheating on her hero husband with my tongue buried in her cunt. shut up and take it."
you giggle, and kick your heel lightly into his back. "make me."
so he does. he dives back in rougher, his tongue flicking fast and relentless over your clit, two fingers shoving inside of you without warning, curling hard and pumping deep. his free hand slaps your inner thigh and then he holds it open wider. "that's right," he growls against your folds. "keep running that pretty mouth, see what it gets you."
you're responsive now — every lick pulls a sound out of you. moans turn into whimpers, your hips rolling messy and urgent. "harder— hee, please, fuck—" you're begging, thighs shaking harder around his ears. he sucks your clit between his teeth and you shatter. whole body seizing up, cunt clenching around his fingers as you cum hard. a raw cry rips out of your throat and you flood his mouth, your vision spotting white. he doesn't stop, just laps you through it, his tongue slow and filthy now, drinking every drop of you. your hips twitch and even though you're oversensitive you grind down anyway because it hurts so good.
when you finally slump back, he pulls out from under the skirt and stands up slowly, at the foot of the bed. his face was wrecked — his lips were red, his chin dripping, his eyes dark but still fixed on you like a prey. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but his gaze doesn't leave yours. "look at the mess you've made," he says. "cumming all over the monster's face, while your husband is out there saving the day. how pathetic."
your bratty fire sparks back, so you bite your lip and shift on the bed, pushing yourself up to sitting, your knees together like you're trying to play innocent. "yeah? then why are you so hard?"
your eyes drop to the bulge straining his pants, and heeseung's jaw ticks. he steps closer and towers you from the edge of the bed. he grabs your chin hard, bruising, his fingers still slick with you, and forces your face up. "on your knees," he orders.
but you don't move, instead, you just stare up at him, defiant. "make me."
his grip tightens, he yanks you forward by the chin until you're sliding off the bed, your knees hitting the stone floor with a thud. you're so much smaller like this on your knees, looking up at his bigger frame, his boots plant wide on either side of your thighs, basically caging you in. "yeah, that's better," he mutters. his thumb smears your own wetness across your bottom lip. "brats like you belong down here anyway."
you lick if off slowly, eyes locked on his. "fuck you, heeseung."
"you will." and then he lets go of your chin, his hands moving to his belt, unbuckling it completely. he pulls the zipper down slowly and he shoves his pants open, pulls himself out — he's thick, hard, huge, veins pulsing under your gaze. you almost drool at the sight, pre cum beads at the tip already, and he strokes once, base to head, unhurried. "open," he says.
you make him wait a second longer just to be a brat. "what if he walks in right now?" you murmur, your lips almost brushing the tip of his cock. "sees me on my knees mouth full of his rival's cock?"
heeseung growls and grabs the back of your head, his fingers tangling hard in your hair, and pushes in without warning, filling your mouth deep. "then he would know what a cheating little slut his wife really is," he hisses. he holds you there for a second, feeling your throat adjusting to his size. "now suck this cock, princess."
you moan around him and he starts moving, your tongue swirling messy under his shaft, cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. your spit slicks him up quickly, dripping down your chin onto your chest. he's thick enough it aches your jaw, but you push through, looking up at him the whole time. "that's it," he mutters, with his hips rocking forward. "choke on it. pretend it's his — but we both know you'd rather have mine." his free hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing into the bulge where he's filling you. "gonna cum down your throat and send you back to him with my taste still on your tongue."
you hum in agreement and suck harder, heeseung's grip tightens on your hair, and he rocks forward letting you feel every thick inch sliding deeper, until the tip of his cock bumps the back of your throat. "relax that pretty mouth," he mutters. "you're gonna take it all princes, you know how, don't you?"
so you try, your throat working, but when he pushes the last inch in, your eyes water instantly. your nose is pressed to his pelvis and you make a muffled wet sound around him, half protest and half moan. he groans with his hips twitching forward. "fuck, that's it — feel how deep i am?" he holds you there a second longer than you can handle, feeling your throat squeezing him. he pulls back just enough for you to drag in a shaky breath through your nose before sliding back in, slower this time.
"look up at me," he orders. so you do, and your lashes are wet, tears clinging, but you blink up at him anyway. "good girl. your husband is never gonna get this version of his princess, is he?"
you shake your head and whine around his cock, and then he starts fucking your mouth for real. every thrust bumps the back of your throat making your gag reflex flutter. spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and drips down onto your chest. "fuck, you're taking it so well." your eyes are rolling back a little when he grinds in deep and holds, but then he speeds up, chasing it. "gonna cum—" he warns. "gonna fill that mouth and you're gonna swallow every drop, you hear me princess?"
you moan in agreement and he loses it, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing thick on your throat as he comes hard. you swallow reflexively, throat working around him, milking every last bit. when he's done, he doesn't pull out gentle, he yanks your head back by the hair, his cock slipping free with a wet pop. strings of spit and cum connect your lips to the tip for a second.
you gasp, coughing once, your chest heavy. "up," he snaps. his hand is still fisted in your hair and he hauls you up to your feet. your legs shake, your knees weak from kneeling so long but he doesn't care. he spins you around fast, shoves your face down onto the bed. your bound arms twist awkwardly under you; cheek pressed to the sheets, your ass up, dress still bunched around your waist.
he kicks your thighs wider apart. one hand plants between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard. the other grips your hip. you whimper whiny, your hips rocking back instinctively. "heeseung — please —"
"please what?" he mocks. then he leans over you, his chest to your back, his cock still hard and sliding between your folds. he teases your entrance without pushing in. "please fuck your cheating cunt? please make you forget your fucking husband exists?"
"yes—" you whine, voice breaking. "please, just — i need it, i need you—"
he laughs and slams in in one brutal thrust, bottoming out so deep your breath punches out of you. the stretch burns so good and you're still sensitive from cumming earlier, walls fluttering around his cock. "fuck you're tight," he grits out and starts moving roughly in a punishing rhythm. hips snapping hard enough the bed frame creaks. every thrust jolts you forward, face smushing into the sheets. "taking me so good even after i fucked your throat raw— greedy little thing."
you moan into the mattress pushing back to meet him as best you can with your arms tied. “harder — please, heeseung—”
he slaps your ass once then grips both hips, yanking you back onto him with every stroke. “you want it harder princess?” his voice was strained. “you just take it. take it and think about how you’re gonna crawl back to him tomorrow with my cum leaking out of you.”
your whines turn higher, needier. “gonna — gonna feel you all day—”
"damn right you will." he angles deeper and hits that spot that makes your toes curl. one hand slides up and wraps around the rope binding your wrists and he uses it like a handle, pulling your shoulders back, arching you harder. "scream for me again, let the whole fucking castle know who owns this pussy."
you do, while he fucks you rough and relentless, claiming every inch like he's marking territory your husband will never touch again. heeseung's hips snap harder now, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room like a filthy rhythm. your whines turn desperate, high pitched, every thrust punching the air out of your lungs. "f-fuck — too deep, hee —" you gasp.
he laughs darkly and breathless, one hand sliding up your sweat slick back to fist your hair again. "to deep? you're fucking soaked, princess, dripping down my balls." his voice is wrecked and mean, his hips grinding in deep circles. "bet you never cum this hard on his tiny dick. that's why you keep letting me steal you, huh? you need a real monster cock to stretch this cheating pussy?"
you're right on the edge — walls fluttering tight around him, clit throbbing from the friction every time his hips slam. "heeseung — i'm gonna — please"
that's when the door bursts open and slams against the wall with a crack. in waddles this short, stocky guy, his red hat crooked, his mustache twitching, overalls dirt streaked from whatever dumb quest he was on. his eyes go wide, his face flushing redder than his shirt as he freezes in the doorway. the little gloves on his hands clench into fists but he doesn't move. he just stands there, staring at the scene: you face down on the bed, ass up, bound arms pinned, your dress ruined and shoved to your waist while heeseung fucks you from behind.
heeseung doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down. if anything he goes even harder, his thrusts turning brutal, cock slamming so deep you feel it in your guts, and the obscene squelch of your cunt taking him deep fills the silence in the room. he glances over at the intruder, smirks wide and feral and then he turns back to you like the guy's not even there.
"oh look," he drawls, voice loud and mocking. "your little hero showed up early, probably thought he was gonna rescue his perfect princess." he yanks your hair back harder, forcing your head up so you're looking right at the door, right at him. tears streak your cheeks from the overstimulation and you bite your lip, but a moan slips out anyway, raw and needy. "tell him how good it feels, baby, come on. tell him you're creaming all over my cock instead of waiting for his pathetic ass."
your husband stammers something high pitched italian accented gibberish, his face twisting in horror and humiliation. his eyes dark from your flushed wrecked expression to where heeseung's thick cock disappears into you, slick and shining, his balls slapping your clit with every rough pound. your husband takes a step forward, then stops, his hands shaking like he doesn't even know what to do.
you try to speak, but heeseung cuts you off with a hard slap on your ass. your cunt clenching hard around him from the sting, and you whimper, your hips pushing back on instinct. "heeseung, f-fuck—"
"don't lie to him now baby," heeseung growls, leaning over closer, chest to your back, his mouth hot against your ear. "tell your husband the truth, tell him how you beg me to tie you up and fuck you raw every time. how his wife's pussy milks my cock." he punctuates each word with a deep thrust — in, out, in — making your tits bounce under the corset.
your husband's face crumples and he backs up a step, muttering something and then he spins on his heels and bolts out the door, slamming it shut behind him so hard the torches flicker. heeseung bursts out laughing and immediately pick up the pace, his hips pistoning faster now. "poor little guy," he mocks, chuckling under his breath.
his hand slides down from your hip, his fingers slick with your arousal, and without warning he presses one thick digit against your asshole, slowly at first, circling the tight rim before pushing in knuckle deep in one smooth slide. you jolt forward with a chocked whine, whole body clenching around both his cock and digit. the stretch burns, making everything feel even filthier.
"fuck you just squeezed me so tight," heeseung groans against your ear, finger curling inside you in slow, teasing pumps matching the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. "you like that, huh? my finger in your ass while i fuck this cheating pussy raw?"
you can't form words, just moans and whimpers, face pressed into the sheets now, drool pooling under your cheek. your hips push back chasing both sensations and heeseung laughs again, darker this time and twists his finger deeper. "answer me, princess," he demands. "tell me you love being stuffed full like a dirty little slut while your husband's probably crying somewhere."
"y-yes—" you sob, voice wrecked. "fuck yes — i love it, hee, please don't stop—"
"that's my girl," he hisses, stretching you wider with his finger while his cock pound relentless. "now cum for me, princess, cum hard on this cock."
and you do instantly, walls clamping down like a vice, your whole body shaking as the orgasm rips through you. "heeseung — fuck yes—" you sob, your voice whiny, gushing wet around him in hot pulses. he groans loud and follow right after, burying deep with one last brutal thrust. his cock throbbing, spilling thick ropes of cum inside you, filling you up until it leaks out around him, dripping down your thighs in warm, sticky rails.
heeseung collapses over you for a second, his chest heaving against your back, his cock still twitching inside you as the last pulses fade. his breath fans hot across your shoulder before he finally exhales. he pulls out carefully, watching the thick white spill out of you the second he bottoms out. it drips slow down your thighs, mixing with your own slick. he groans low at the sight, his thumb brushing once over your asshole down your swollen folds just to spread it wider, like he's admiring his work.
"that's my good girl," heeseung murmurs, the mean edge softening. he flips you over gentle, his hands under your shoulders, easing you onto your back so the rope doesn't dig in worse. your arms ache when they finally relax forward and he notices, and his fingers work the knots loose one by one, careful not to yank, rubbing slow circles over the red welts left behind. "fuck look at theses marks," he says. "gonna bruise so pretty tomorrow."
you shiver at the thought. he leans down and presses a slow open mouthed kiss to each wrist, his tongue flicking over the rope burns like he's soothing them and claiming them at the same time. then he hits back on his heels, his eyes raking over the rest of you: corset still half laced, dress a crumpled ruin around your waist, crown long gone somewhere on the floor.
"c'mere," he says, sliding his arms under your knees and back. he lift you like you weigh nothing, cradling you against his chest. your head lolls onto his shoulder, you're boneless and wrecked and still leaking him down your thighs. he carries you across the room, past the heavy velvet curtains into the attached bath chamber.
the tub's massive, black marble, filled and steaming with hot water that smells of something herbal like he planned this part too. he stops at the edge, still holding you, and sets you down on your feet gently, steadying you with his hands on your hips when your legs wobble. "easy there. let's get this off," he murmurs, his fingers finding the laces of your corset, working them loose one by one, slowly pulling out the silk loosen around your ribs. you breathe deeper, and then he peels the ruined dress down, no rush and no roughness. he strips down every last layer gently until you're completely bare.
he stands again, his eyes dark but soft as he takes you in. he doesn't say anything filthy this time, just leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth, soft. he scoops you back and lowers you into the sub carefully. the hot water stings the fresh mark on your wrists and the raw skins of your ask for a moment, then melts into soothing warmth that makes your whole body loosen.
heeseung strips himself next, armor pieces first, his leather straps undone, shirt tugged over his head in one smooth motion, revealing the hard lines on his chest, the faint scars that look like old battle marks. pants down next, kicked off with his boots, and he's bare in seconds, his cock still semi hard, his thighs thick and his skin flushed from everything you just did.
he slides in behind you after, water sloshing over the rim. his long legs bracketing yours, chest to your back, pulling you in until you're resting against him completely. his arms come around you — one hand splayed low on your stomach, the other dipping under the surface to rest between your thighs, possessive but careful.
"relax baby," he murmurs against your ear softly. "let me clean you up, mhm?" he reaches for a cloth on the edge and dips it, squeezes warm water over your shoulders. he watches it run down your collarbone, between your tits and his hand follows, soapy now, sliding over your skin in long strokes. his hands roam over down your arms, careful over the rope marks. across your stomach, and then, between your thighs.
you tense when his fingers brush your cunt still sensitive and swollen but he shushes you. "easy, princess, i'm just washing you." but his touch lingers. two fingers part your folds gently, rinsing away the mess he left, thumb grazing your clit in slow barely there circles. you whimper, hips twitching up into his hand on instinct.
he chuckles low, his breath hot on your neck. "still needy huh? after all that?" he presses a kiss to the side of your throat, then another lower, teeth grazing your pulse. "good, means you're mine."
his hand keeps moving, washing and teasing, never quite enough to make you cum again but enough to keep you trembling. the other hand slides up to your neck, thumb under your jaw, tilting your head back so he can kiss you properly. he kisses you slowly and deeply, his tongue sliding against yours like he's tasting the last of himself on you.
when he pulls back, water dripping from his hair onto your shoulder, his voice drops quieter, rougher. "i want you to be my princess now," he says, his voice raw. "for real this time. not the fake kidnapping bullshit, just… you. here with me, no more going back to him."
you swallow, his fingers are still between your legs, but not moving now, just resting there. "say it baby," he whispers, lips brushing your ear. "say you're mine, please."
your breath hitches. you turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. "i'm yours, heeseung," you murmur, your voice small but sure.
heeseung exhales hard through his nose and kisses you again, harder this time, and his hand finally moves. his fingers slipping inside you slow, curling gentle but deep, his thumb pressing firm on your clit. "good job baby," he growls against your mouth. "now cum for me one more time, mhm?"
so you do — arching back against him, water sloshing over the edge, moaning soft and broken into his kiss while his fingers work you open and claim you all over again.
your husband will never know you spent the whole night tied up and desperate under the guy he thinks is his enemy. at least, it's not that hard being princess peach anymore.
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