📁 2026.works. ╰ 📂 JAKE : SMAU/NSFW — best friend’s boyfriend!jake cheating on her with you (part 11)
PART 10 — INDEX
﹕𝜗𝜚﹕ NOTES ; sooo this is part 11 of @jaeyunsbabygirl request. ik there’s a lot going on and ik a lot of you want to know hee’s past so bad sooo i thought i could drop a few hints in this part since its only going to be revealed in part 13 (probably) and who knows mayb yall will guess part of what he did (cuz u can’t guess fully there are too little elements lol 😆) ANYWAY i hope you like it we’re not near the end i repeat it there are still many things i have in mind. ALSOOO this part is happening on several weeks which is why at th start of it it’s beginning july and by the end of the chap it’s beginning august
⌗ in which . . . a drunk night with nishimura riki turns into a blur of closeness where everything you’ve been holding back finally slips out
流星 ໑ . . soberbf!riki x drunkfem!reader
⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), established relationship, intoxication, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don’t), fingering, grinding, riding, creampie, filthy talk, praise kink, glasses kink, intimacy & aftercare ➜ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this reflects reality | wc: 7.0k
♪ el’s bubble: riki with glasses 😍 i love love love ! also because i can’t bring myself to actually wear my glasses . . for my baby @bellaflippy🫰all the filth was her idea, okay? enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are open if you want to see me write something specific ۫ ׅ
tags: @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @kristynaaah @psychicdazestrawberry @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙
now playing . . . nights by frank ocean
"Be careful, baby."
Riki's voice cuts through the haze in your mind, but your body is already betraying you.
The second you stumble inside the apartment and the door clicks shut behind you, you pitch forward dramatically and catch yourself on the wall, your fingers scrabbling against the painted surface like it's the only thing keeping you upright.
The cool plaster feels good against your heated palms, and you press your cheek against it for a moment, letting the chill soothe the flush that's spread across your face.
"Your floor is evil," you mumble, the words slurring together in a way that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to feel embarrassment right now.
Your tongue feels thick and unwieldy in your mouth, and the sentence comes out more like "Yerr floorrrs eevul," but you don't care.
You're too damn busy trying to remember how knees work.
Riki snorts behind you, and you hear the metallic clink as he drops the keys into the small ceramic bowl by the door.
The sound is sharp and clear in the quiet of the apartment, a stark contrast to the thumping bass and layered conversations you'd been surrounded by all night. "The floor is not evil, darling. You're just incredibly drunk right now."
"'M not drunk, baby," you protest, pushing yourself off the wall with all the dignity you can muster, which is approximately none, because the moment you try to stand upright, the room tilts sideways and you have to grab the wall again.
"You're drunk."
"I've had two drinks," Riki says dryly. "You've had... what, six? Seven?"
"Three," you say, and then pause, frowning as you try to count on your fingers. The numbers keep swimming away from you. "Maybe four… or eight. I lost count after the shot that tasted like juice."
"That's because it was juice," Riki mutters, stepping closer. "Juice with three types of liquor in it."
You try peeling yourself off the wall, determined to prove him wrong, determined to show him that you are a fully functioning adult woman who can absolutely navigate a flat surface.
But when you attempt to kick off your heels, your balance deserts you completely.
Your ankle wobbles dangerously, the strap of your heel catching on your other foot, and you nearly face-plant onto the hardwood, a yelp escaping your lips as you pitch forward.
Strong hands catch you just in time, steadying you with practiced ease.
Riki's fingers wrap around your biceps, gripping firmly enough to keep you upright but gentle enough that it doesn't hurt.
He pulls you back against his chest, and you can feel the rumble of his laugh against your shoulder blades.
"I've got you," he says, his voice low and steady, a familiar anchor in the spinning room. "You can't do anything by yourself tonight, can you?"
"I can do plenty by myself," you mumble into his shirt, your words muffled by the fabric. "I'm very independent."
"Uh-huh." He doesn't sound convinced. "Can you walk?"
"Obviously, who the hell do you think I am?" You take one step and immediately stumble, your heel catching on the hem of your dress.
Riki catches you again, and this time, you can hear the exasperated smile in his voice.
"Sure, darling. Very, very independent."
He realizes you're essentially useless in this state, your limbs are heavy and uncooperative, your motor skills have abandoned you entirely, and your judgment is questionable at best.
So Riki, being the amazing man he is, shifts into full caretaker mode, his entire demeanor changing from amused boyfriend to responsible caretaker in the span of a heartbeat.
He's trying to be the good boyfriend who takes care of his incredibly intoxicated girlfriend, even though he's tired too, even though his own head is swimming slightly from the drinks, the dancing, and the late hour.
But he's more functional than you, and he knows it, so he steps up.
He guides you carefully toward the bed, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, supporting most of your weight as you shuffle across the room.
You're leaning into him heavily, your body pressing against his side like you're trying to merge into a single person, and he adjusts his grip to accommodate your clinginess.
"Sit here," he instructs gently, helping you settle on the edge of the mattress. "Just sit for a second. Don't move."
"I'm not moving," you say, even as you sway slightly, your body refusing to cooperate with your intentions. "I'm perfectly still."
Riki shoots you a look that says he doesn't believe you for a second, but he doesn't argue.
Instead, he crouches in front of you, his knees hitting the floor with a soft thud, and reaches for your heels.
You're fumbling with the buckles yourself, your fingers clumsy and uncoordinated, missing entirely as you try to undo the tiny clasps.
Your nails scrape uselessly against the metal, and you make a frustrated sound in the back of your throat.
"Let me," he says softly, batting your hands away gently.
His fingers make quick work of the buckles, sliding the straps free with a dexterity that seems almost unfair given how useless your own hands are right now.
You look down at him and start giggling uncontrollably.
From this angle, you can see everything: how messy his hair has become, strands falling across his forehead and sticking up at odd angles from hours of dancing under hot lights.
How his black shirt has come completely untucked from his jeans, the fabric rumpled and slightly damp with sweat.
He has that tired, slightly annoyed expression on his face, his brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a thin line.
He looks like he's been thoroughly wrecked by the night, but in the best possible way.
It’s like something you want to ruin even further.
He glances up at your laughter, his eyebrows drawing together even more. "What?"
You reach down and squish his cheeks between your palms, pushing his face together until his lips pout out like a fish. "You're cute when you're nagging."
Riki rolls his eyes, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching like he's fighting back a smile despite himself. "Fantastic. Lift your foot."
You obediently lift one foot, then the other, watching as he deftly unbuckles your heels and slides them off.
The moment your feet are free from the torture devices you've been wearing all night, you let out a groan of relief that's probably too loud for the hour, your toes curling against the cool floor.
"Oh my god," you moan. "That feels amazing. Why do we wear heels? Who invented them? They should be arrested."
"They should," Riki agrees mildly, setting your heels aside. "You wore them voluntarily, though."
"Because they make my legs look good." You wiggle your bare feet, examining your toes. The nail polish is chipped, but you can't bring yourself to care. "Absolutely worth it."
Riki stands, rolling his shoulders, and you immediately reach for him, your hands clutching at his shirt like you're afraid he might disappear if you let go.
Your fingers curl into the fabric, pulling him closer, and he stumbles slightly, caught off guard by your sudden grip.
Unfortunately or fortunately, that clinginess is what starts changing the atmosphere.
"Hey," he says, his voice softening. "I'm not going anywhere. I just need to, you know, take my contacts out. My eyes are killing me."
You make a sound of protest, your fingers tightening on his shirt, but he gently pries your hands away and presses a quick kiss to your forehead. "One second, baby. I'll be right back."
He walks to the desk, probably intending to take out his contacts because his eyes are strained from hours of dancing and drinking and the smoky air of the club.
You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he opens a drawer, pulls out a glasses case, and carefully removes the frames inside.
He slides them onto his face with practiced ease, adjusting the arms behind his ears and pushing the bridge up his nose with one finger.
It's such a tiny action.
Such a mundane, everyday thing.
But the consequences are massive.
You're sitting there, feeling boneless and tipsy and incredibly warm, watching him turn around.
Messy hair. Post-club black shirt, untucked and rumpled.
Glasses now framing his face, making him look somehow even sharper, more intellectual, more devastatingly attractive.
The frames are simple and black, rectangular, but they draw attention to his eyes in a way that makes your breath catch.
He looks unfairly put together for someone who was just grinding against you on a dance floor an hour ago.
It looks like he belongs in a magazine spread, not a cramped apartment.
"Wait," you blurt out before you can stop yourself, the word escaping your lips with enough force to make Riki pause mid-step.
He stops, halfway back to the bed, his head tilting slightly. "What's wrong?"
"You look..." You trail off, your drunk brain struggling to find the right words.
There are so many of them, hot, gorgeous, beautiful, edible, devastating, but they're all jumbled up in your head, and you can't seem to grab any of them. "You look really hot."
Riki visibly stops in his tracks.
You say it with full drunk sincerity; there’s no teasing, no filter, no hint of exaggeration.
Just pure, unfiltered admiration, your eyes wide and your lips parted like you're seeing him for the first time.
You're staring at him like he's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, and the intensity of it makes his breath hitch in his throat.
He adjusts the glasses awkwardly, his fingers brushing against the frames in a self-conscious gesture that you've never seen him make before. "You are so, so fucking drunk."
"I'm serious," you insist, leaning forward on the bed, your elbows braced on your knees as you peer up at him.
You keep staring, letting your eyes roam over his face, taking in every detail, the way the glasses make his eyes look darker, more intense, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the way his shirt clings to his shoulders and chest.
That prolonged stare makes him self-conscious and smug at the same time.
It's a dangerous combination, because Riki with an ego is already a lot to handle, but Riki with an ego who's also slightly flustered is absolutely lethal.
"Stop looking at me like that," he mutters, but there's no real conviction in his voice.
"Like what?" you ask, entirely innocent.
"Like… like you want to eat me."
You consider this for a moment, your head tilting to the side. "Seriously, who wouldn’t want to eat you out?"
Riki exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, and you watch the muscle flex with open appreciation.
He walks back over to check on you, probably planning to get you some water and help you sober up, to be the responsible one in this situation.
The second he's close enough, you catch his wrist, your fingers wrapping around his skin with surprising speed and accuracy.
He loses balance slightly and ends up standing between your knees, trapped by your grip and your position on the bed.
His thighs press against the mattress on either side of your legs, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the remnants of his cologne mixed with sweat and something that's just him.
You look up at him through your lashes and literally just keep touching his face.
Your fingers trace along his jawline, feeling the slight stubble that's grown over the course of the night.
You run your fingers over the glasses frame, tracing the metal where it rests against his skin.
You push them higher on his nose, adjusting them like you have every right to be this intimate with him, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
"Smart boy," you murmur, amused with yourself, the words slipping out without any thought to how they might affect him. You're smiling, your lips curved in a lazy, satisfied grin, and you can see the exact moment the words land.
Riki exhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes darkening behind the lenses.
Because this is getting to him.
This is really, really getting to him.
He puts his hands on your thighs, not with any sexual emphasis, just to steady both of you, to keep you from sliding off the bed.
His palms are warm and heavy through the thin fabric of your dress, and you're suddenly very aware of how close he is, of his fingers splayed across your skin as if he's claiming territory.
But now you're close.
Fuck.
Very close.
The heat of his body seeps into yours, and you can feel the tension radiating off him, the way his muscles are coiled tight like he's holding himself back.
You lean your forehead into his stomach and laugh softly, the sound muffled against his shirt. You can feel the hard plane of his abs beneath the fabric, the way his stomach tenses when your breath ghosts across his skin.
Then you pull back just enough to look at him, and there's that quiet. The club noise is gone, the music is just a memory, the world outside this room has ceased to exist.
It's just the two of you, breathing each other's air, existing in this small pocket of stillness.
You end up in his lap almost accidentally.
Riki tries to sit down beside you because he thinks: okay, calm down, give her water, let her sober up, be responsible.
But you follow him immediately, climbing half into his lap because you want warmth, you want contact, you want to be as close to him as physically possible.
You don't even think about it, it's instinct, pure and simple, your body moving toward his like he's gravity and you're helpless to resist.
It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Your legs drape over his, your arms wrap around his shoulders, and your face tucks into the crook of his neck.
Very tipsy, clingy girlfriend behavior, but you're too far gone to care about dignity or propriety or anything except the way his skin feels against yours.
Riki's hands automatically settle at your waist to keep you from sliding off, his fingers pressing into your skin through the fabric of your dress.
He goes still, his entire body tense beneath you, and you can feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest.
This is different.
Now this is something else entirely.
You nuzzle into him, breathing in his scent, expensive cologne mixed with sweat and something distinctly Riki that makes your head swim, and mutter against his skin: "Comfy."
He laughs under his breath, but it sounds strained, like he's fighting a losing battle with his self-control. "Yeah?"
"Mhm." You pull back just enough to look at him, your faces inches apart, your breath mingling in the small space between you. Then you tap the glasses again, your finger grazing the lens. "I still can't get over these. You look so good, like… so, so fucking good. Why do you look so damn good, baby? It's absolutely unfair."
"You're complaining that I look good?"
"Yes," you say seriously. "It's a problem. For my heart."
Riki shakes his head, but there's a smile tugging at his lips. "You're outrageous."
"You like it a lot."
"I do," he admits, and his voice has gone soft in a way that makes your chest ache.
You reach to take his glasses off him playfully, your fingers curling around the frames with the intention of trying them on yourself. "Let me see. I want to try."
Riki catches your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, his fingers wrapping around your pulse point like he's checking your heartbeat.
You can feel the pad of his thumb pressing against the thin skin of your inner wrist, and it makes your breath stutter.
He looks at you for a long second, his dark eyes searching yours through the lenses, reading something in your expression that makes his jaw tighten.
Then, instead of stopping you, instead of pushing your hand away and telling you to be careful, he takes the glasses off himself.
And slides them onto your face.
Slowly.
His fingers brush against your temples as he positions the frames on your nose, and you can feel the deliberate care in the gesture, the way he's taking his time, making sure you feel every second of it.
The frames are too big for you, sliding down your nose slightly, and you blink up at him through the lenses, everything fuzzy and blurred and slightly distorted.
You start laughing because you probably look ridiculous, wearing his glasses with your messy club hair and your smudged makeup and your flushed cheeks.
"Riki—" you start, but he cuts you off.
"Keep them on."
His tone is low and certain.
Commanding, actually.
It’s a tone you've never heard from him before, or maybe you have but never with this intensity, never directed at you with such deliberate purpose.
You quiet immediately, because suddenly you're aware of everything, his hands still on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he's leaving marks.
How closely he's watching you, his dark eyes tracking every micro-expression that crosses your face.
The glasses sitting on your nose, heavy with the weight of implication.
The way your heart is hammering against your ribs so hard you're sure he can hear it.
You feel seen in a way that makes you squirm, exposed and vulnerable, and incredibly, overwhelmingly turned on.
You try to steady yourself, to sit properly on his lap facing him, and your thighs bracket his hips as you settle more firmly against him.
Your dress rides up, the black satin sliding higher on your thighs, and you can feel the rough denim of his jeans against your bare skin.
Then, suddenly, you lean in and kiss him.
It's not a gentle kiss.
It's messy and desperate and fueled by alcohol and want, your lips crashing against his with enough force to make him groan into your mouth.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and you're whispering praises between kisses, the words tumbling out of you without any filter.
"You're so cute," you breathe against his lips. "I love you. You're so handsome, Riki, you have no idea—" Another kiss, deeper this time, your tongue sliding against his. "So pretty. My pretty boy."
You can feel him getting harder beneath you, his body responding to your words and your touch and the way you're pressing against him.
You can feel the growing bulge in his jeans, the way his hips shift slightly like he's trying to find friction, and it makes you smile against his mouth.
"Someone's excited," you murmur, grinding down against him in a slow, deliberate circle.
Riki's breath catches, his hands tightening on your waist. "One day, you are genuinely going to finish me off."
"That is such a nice way to go," you say, and you start teasing him properly now, rolling your hips in slow, torturous motions that make him exhale shakily against your neck.
Your hands slide down his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his shirt, and you push the fabric up slightly so you can trace your fingers along the line of his stomach.
He's your pretty boy, your Riki, and you know exactly how to make him fall apart.
His hands slide under your black satin slip dress, his fingers tracing patterns against your thighs, and you shiver at the contact, your skin breaking out in goosebumps.
He traces higher, his fingertips brushing against the edge of your underwear, slick with your dripping juices that have already soaked through the thin fabric, and you gasp, the sound loud and uninhibited in the quiet room, your clit throbbing desperately under the pressure.
Riki goes still, his eyes snapping to your face, his cock twitching hard in his pants as he hears your raw hunger.
That gasp, that noise, was louder than anything you've ever made during sex — your voice cracking with pure, animal need, pussy clenching around nothing, begging to be filled.
You're usually so quiet, so restrained, so careful about the sounds you let escape, biting your lip to stifle the sloppy wet sounds of your arousal leaking out.
But now, with alcohol loosening your inhibitions and his fingers on your skin, smearing your creamy wetness higher up your thighs, you can't seem to hold anything back, your hips bucking involuntarily, grinding your soaked cunt against his hand like a bitch in heat.
"Did you just—" he starts, but you're already grinding down against him again, your drenched panties sliding over his bulge, coating his jeans with your sticky arousal, and this time you moan, the sound low and throaty and absolutely filthy, guttural and dripping with lust, your nipples hardening into stiff peaks under your dress as your core gushes more slick down your legs.
It's like something unlocks inside you, a floodgate of depravity opening wide, your body surrendering to the need to be fucked raw and hard.
All those sounds you've been holding back, all those reactions you've been suppressing, they all come pouring out, and you can't stop them, don't want to stop them.
"Riki," you whimper, your head falling back as his fingers trace along the edge of your underwear again, teasing you through the thin fabric. "Please."
"Please what, baby?” he asks, his voice rough, and you can hear the wonder in it, the disbelief that you're actually asking, actually begging.
"Damn it, touch me. Please. I need you so, so bad."
He doesn't need to be told twice.
In what universe did you have to tell him twice?
His fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding you already wet and ready, and when he slides one finger inside you, you cry out, the sound echoing off the walls of the small room.
"God," Riki breathes, his eyes wide behind the glasses that are still somehow perched on your nose. "You're so loud."
"I can't help it," you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand as he adds another finger, curling them inside you in just the right way. "You feel so good, baby. So good, so good, so good—"
He's fingering you now, his fingers moving in and out of you with a steady rhythm, and every thrust pulls another sound from your throat, moans and whimpers and broken fragments of his name.
You're clutching his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through his shirt, and you're saying things you'd never say sober, filthy things that make his eyes darken with every word.
"More," you beg, your voice breaking on the word. "Riki, please, more—"
"You're being so good for me," he murmurs, and the praise goes straight to your core, making you clench around his fingers. "Such a good girl, taking my fingers so well. You sound so pretty, baby. I love hearing from you."
All hell broke loose.
Every word of praise he gives you makes you louder, makes you squirm more, makes you say things that he's never heard from you before.
He realizes that he's been starving for this, starving for vocal feedback, for audible proof that he's making you feel good, for sounds that he can catalog and replay in his mind later.
He's been living off crumbs for so damn long, a sharp inhale here, a slight tremor there, and now he's being served a feast, and he doesn't know how to control himself.
The switch happens so fast you barely have time to process it.
One second you're in control, riding his fingers, grinding against his hand, whispering praises and commands.
And the next, he's flipping you onto your back, his hands pinning your wrists to the mattress as he looms over you, his eyes dark and hungry behind the glasses.
"Baby—" you gasp, but he cuts you off with a kiss, hard and demanding, his tongue claiming your mouth with a ferocity that makes your head spin.
"I need to hear more," he growls against your lips, and the sound of his voice, rough, low, and absolutely wrecked, makes you whimper. "I need to hear everything. Every sound. Every moan. I need to know exactly how I'm making you feel."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes roving over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and your parted lips and the glasses still sitting crookedly on your nose.
He reaches up and adjusts them, straightening them with a tenderness that contradicts the intensity of his gaze.
"Keep these on," he says, tapping the frames. "I want you to see everything."
Then he's kissing down your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point, and you're arching into him with a moan that's way too loud for shared apartment walls.
He sucks a mark into your skin, his tongue soothing the sting, and you can feel him smiling against your throat when you make a sound that's embarrassingly close to a sob.
"So responsive," he murmurs against your skin. "All this time, you've been holding out on me, baby. Keeping all these pretty sounds to yourself."
"I wasn't—ah—" You break off with a gasp as his hand slides between your bodies, his fingers finding you again, sliding inside you with ease. "I wasn't holding out. I just—couldn't—"
"Shh," he soothes, his fingers curling inside you, finding that spot that makes your vision blur. "I know. I know, baby. But now you don't have to be quiet. I want to hear from you. I want to hear everything."
And you give him everything.
He works you open with his fingers, one, then two, then three, stretching you with a care that contradicts the hunger in his eyes.
Every curl of his fingers pulls a new sound from you, whimpers and moans and gasps and his name, over and over, like it's the only word you know.
"You're so wet," he groans, his voice strained. "All for me, baby?"
"All for you," you manage, your voice breaking. "Only you—fuck, Riki, please, I need—"
"What do you need?" He pulls back to look at you, his eyes searching your face, and there's genuine concern there beneath the hunger. "Tell me what you need."
"You. I need you inside me, please."
He doesn't make you ask twice.
He sits back on his heels and quickly undoes his jeans, pushing them down just enough to free himself, and you watch with hazy fascination as he strokes himself once, twice, his eyes never leaving your face.
Then he's pulling your dress up around your waist and hooking your legs over his hips, positioning himself at your entrance.
"Look at me," he says, and you force your eyes to meet his through the fuzzy lenses. "I want to see your face when I fill you up."
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch is overwhelming, the fullness making your mouth fall open. You moan, loud and long and unashamed, and Riki's breath catches in his throat like he's been punched.
"Fuck," he breathes, his hips stilling once he's fully seated inside you. "You're so loud. You're so fucking loud, baby. I love it. I love it so much."
You can't respond, can't form words, because he's so deep inside you that you can feel him everywhere, can feel the press of his hips against yours, the way your body is stretching to accommodate him.
The glasses are fogging slightly from the heat of your combined breath, and you can barely see him through the haze, but you don't need to see him to feel him.
He starts moving, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate and measured, his massive cock stretching your tight cunt walls to their limit, the veiny shaft dragging through your sopping wet folds with obscene squelching sounds, and you're making sounds you didn't even know you were capable of — high, keening moans that fill the room, desperate whimpers that break in the middle as his balls slap heavily against your ass, full-throated cries that would be embarrassing if you had any shame left, your voice hoarse from screaming his name while you coat his cock.
But you don't.
The alcohol stripped that away hours ago, and now you're just a mess of sensation and noise, writhing beneath him as he fucks you with a tenderness that belies the filthiness of the sounds filling the room.
Each deep plunge forced obscene slick sounds from between your thighs, the sheets clung damply to your skin, soaked in sweat and release, while the room smelled unmistakably of sex. His grunts mixing with your wails as he bottoms out, each thrust burying him to the hilt.
"You feel so good," he groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot on your lips. "You sound so good, baby. I've wanted this for so long. Wanted to hear from you. Every night, every time we're together, I've been dying to know what you sound like when you're not holding back."
"I'm not—ah—I'm not holding back," you manage, your voice cracking on the words.
"No," he agrees, and he sounds almost reverent. "You're not. You're being so good for me. So loud. So perfect."
He shifts his angle slightly, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white, and you scream, the sound tearing from your throat without any warning.
Riki's hips stutter, his rhythm breaking for just a second, and you can see the way his eyes widen, the way his jaw drops, the way he looks absolutely wrecked by the sound you just made.
"Do that again," he demands, his voice rough. "Scream for me again."
"I can't—"
"You can." He thrusts harder, deeper, hitting the same spot, and you do scream again, your back arching off the mattress, your hands flying up to grip the sheets. "That's it. That's my good girl. Let me hear you."
He's going hard now, chasing your sounds like they're the only thing keeping him alive, and every thrust pulls another cry from your lips.
Then, without warning, he slows down, his hips moving in lazy, grinding circles that make you feel every inch of him. He leans down and kisses you, soft and slow and sweet, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers against your mouth. "So beautiful when you're loud. So beautiful when you're falling apart for me."
"Riki," you whimper, and his name sounds like a prayer on your lips.
"I love you," he says, and then he's speeding up again, his hips snapping against yours with enough force to make the bed shake, and you're screaming his name like it's the only thing that matters.
He flips you over without warning, pulling you onto his lap so you're straddling him, and you sink onto him with a moan that seems to go on forever. Your head falls back, your throat exposed, and Riki takes advantage, leaning up to suck a mark into the sensitive skin while you ride him.
"Look at you," he groans, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. "Riding me so well. Making all those pretty sounds. You're so hot, baby. So fucking hot."
You're grinding down on him, chasing your pleasure, your greedy cunt swallowing his throbbing member whole, walls fluttering and milking him greedily.
The sounds between your bodies were obscene — wet slaps of skin, the bed groaning beneath each brutal thrust, your moans breaking helplessly into his as slick arousal ran down his thighs and gathered in a messy ring at the base of his cock.
"Faster," he commands, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, nails scraping red welts into your skin as he yanks you down harder. "Ride me faster, baby. Show me how much you want it—milk me until I spill every drop inside you."
You obey, bouncing on his lap with renewed urgency, your breasts jolting with every rise and fall, nipples dragging against the heat of his chest. The angle is different now, deeper and sharper, each drop onto him drags his cock against that sensitive spot inside you until your eyes roll back and a broken cry spills from your lips.
You're loud, unbearably loud, but it feels far too good to care, slick arousal smearing between your bodies as you grind down on him and beg for more with every desperate bounce.
"Riki, baby—Riki, I'm gonna—" You can feel the orgasm building, coiling tight in your stomach, and you're clenching around him, your thighs shaking with the effort of holding yourself upright.
"Not yet," he says, his voice firm. "Wait for me. Be a good girl and wait."
"I can't—"
"You can." He slows your hips, holding you still, and you whine, high and desperate. "Wait for me, baby. I want to come together. I want to feel you fall apart at the same time I do."
You're both breathing hard, sweating, trembling, and he's looking at you with such intensity that it makes your chest ache.
His hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone, and he pulls you down for a kiss that's slow, deep, and thorough.
"Now," he whispers against your lips. "Come for me now."
You do.
The orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing over you with enough force to make you scream, your entire body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you.
You're loud, so fucking loud, screaming his name and words that don't make sense and sounds that aren't even words, and Riki follows right after, his hips jerking up against yours as he groans your name, his face buried in your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair.
You're both shaking, trembling, gasping for air, and the room is spinning, but in a good way now, in a way that feels like floating rather than falling.
The glasses are fogged completely, and you can't see anything, but you don't need to see to know that Riki is looking at you like you hung the moon.
He pulls the glasses off your face gently, setting them on the nightstand, and then he's kissing you again, soft and sweet and so tender it makes you want to cry.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly, his voice rough and wrecked. "Was that okay? Did I hurt you?"
You shake your head, unable to speak yet, too overwhelmed to form words.
It was more than okay.
It was everything, actually.
He must read the answer in your expression, because he smiles, small and soft and so full of love that it makes your chest ache. "Good. That's good."
For a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together, both of you breathing hard, your hearts racing in sync.
Riki is still inside you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in a way that feels grounding and safe.
He presses soft kisses to your face, your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, each one gentle and reverent, like he's worshiping you.
"You were so good," he murmurs against your skin. "So perfect for me, baby. You have no idea how much I loved hearing you like that."
You make a soft sound, somewhere between a hum and a whimper, and he shushes you gently, pressing another kiss to your temple.
"I know, I know. Overwhelming, right?" He strokes your hair back from your face, his fingers gentle and soothing. "Just breathe, darling. I've got you."
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out of you, and you whimper at the loss, your body already missing his warmth.
But he's right there, gathering you into his arms, pulling you against his chest as he settles back against the headboard with you tucked against him like you're something precious.
"Shh, it's okay," he soothes, rocking you slightly, his hand running up and down your spine in a calming rhythm. "I've got you. You're okay."
You curl into him, your face buried in his neck, breathing in his scent — sweat, cologne, sex, and something that's just Riki. You can feel his heart beating against your cheek, steady and reassuring, and it helps ground you, helps bring you back to reality after everything that just happened.
"Let me clean you up, okay?" he says softly. "Just let me take care of you."
He shifts you gently, laying you back against the pillows, and you make a small sound of protest, your hands reaching for him.
He catches your fingers and presses a kiss to your knuckles. "I'll be right back. One second, baby."
You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he moves around the room with quiet efficiency, his movements unhurried but purposeful.
He comes back with a warm washcloth and a bottle of water, and he sits beside you on the bed, his hip pressed against yours.
"This might be a little cold," he warns, and then he's cleaning you up with such gentleness it makes your chest ache.
He wipes away the evidence of what you just did, his touch careful and reverent, like you're something precious that might break if he's not careful. He takes his time, making sure you're clean and comfortable, and the whole time he's murmuring soft words of praise and comfort.
"You're so beautiful," he says, mostly to himself, as he works. "So perfect. I love you so much. You did so well for me, baby. So, so good."
When he's done, he tosses the washcloth aside and helps you sit up, holding the water bottle to your lips. "Drink. Slowly."
You gulp it down greedily, realizing only now how thirsty you are, how dehydrated you are from the alcohol and the exertion and the hours of dancing.
The water is cool and soothing, and you drain half the bottle before Riki gently pulls it away.
"Easy," he says softly. "Not too fast. You'll make yourself sick."
You nod, settling back against the pillows, and he sets the bottle on the nightstand before climbing back into bed with you. He pulls the covers up over both of you and gathers you into his arms, your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.
"Are you okay, baby?" he asks again, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath warm and familiar.
You turn in his arms so you can face him, so you can see his face in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
His hair is an absolute mess, sticking up in every direction, and there are scratch marks down his neck from your nails, and he looks thoroughly debauched and so incredibly beautiful that it makes your heart hurt.
"Yeah," you say, your voice hoarse from all the sounds you made. "I'm good. That was... that was really good."
Riki smiles, and it's the soft, unguarded smile he only wears when it's just the two of you, when there's no one around to see how completely gone he is for you. "Agreed, it was amazing. You were amazing."
You reach up and touch his face, your fingers tracing his jawline, feeling the slight stubble beneath your fingertips. "I'm sorry… I’m sorry that I'm usually so quiet," you say softly, the words coming out serious despite your intoxicated state. "I didn't realize you needed... that, I didn't know you were paying that much attention."
He catches your hand and presses a kiss to your palm, his lips warm against your skin. "It's okay, baby. I know it's not your fault. I know that's just how you are, and I love everything about how you are. But tonight..." He pauses, searching for the right words. "Tonight was different. I loved hearing you, loved knowing what felt good, what you needed, what made you fall apart. It felt like I could finally hear you, really hear you, in a way I never had before.”
You smile sleepily, your eyes starting to drift closed. "I liked it too. Being loud. It felt… so damn freeing. I didn't have to hold anything back or anything."
Riki kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips again, each kiss soft and lingering. "We can do it more often," he says. If you want. No pressure, okay? I just... I want to hear you. I want to know everything you're feeling, want to make you feel so good you stop trying to stay quiet."
"I'd like that," you murmur, your voice fading as sleep starts to pull you under.
He reaches over and slides the glasses back onto your face, positioning them carefully on your nose. "You can keep these tonight," he says softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. "They look good on you."
You laugh quietly, the sound muffled against his chest. "I look ridiculous."
"You look beautiful," he corrects, his voice firm and certain, like it's the most obvious truth in the world. "You always look beautiful. But especially right now, wearing my glasses… right here in my bed with me, after making all those pretty sounds for me."
You swat at his chest weakly, too tired to put any real force behind it. "You're insufferable."
"And you're perfect," he counters, pulling you closer. "Now sleep. You're going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow, and I'm going to need all my energy to take care of you."
"You'll take care of me?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.
"Always, baby." He presses one last kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you. "I've got you. I'll always have you."
As you drift off, wrapped in his arms, wearing his glasses, feeling more loved and safe and thoroughly satisfied than you've ever felt in your entire life, you think that maybe being loud isn't so bad after all.
Not if it makes him look at you like that.
Not if it makes him hold you like this.
Not if it lets you hear the way his voice breaks when he says your name, or the way “I love you” slips out like it was always meant to be yours.
Hey can u make a older boyfriend heeseung who is working and has a girlfriend of age above 18 any age but in university they live together and write the smut stuff after he comes home tired from work
You paced anxiously near the apartment entrance, your oversized university hoodie hanging loosely over your frame, one shoulder already bare as you fidgeted with the hem. The day at college had dragged on forever, and all you could think about was Heeseung coming home. Finally, the door clicked open. Heeseung stepped inside, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. His broad shoulders sagged under the crisp dress shirt, tie dangling undone around his neck, dark hair disheveled from countless frustrated rakes of his fingers.
"Welcome home, babe." you greeted softly, stepping forward with a warm smile.
His tired eyes lit up the instant they met yours, the weariness melting away into pure affection. He dropped his bag with a thud, kicked off his shoes, and swept you up into his strong arms in one fluid motion. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he clung to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it was his lifeline.
"Ah ~ My baby’s here" he murmured against your skin, voice husky with relief and love. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, holding you close.
You threaded your fingers through his tousled hair, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. "How was work today? You really look beat."
He pulled back just enough to gaze at you, his affectionate smile deepening as he nuzzled your nose with his. "Long and brutal, but seeing you makes it all disappear. How was your day at college, sweetheart?"
He carried you a few steps into the hallway, your bodies pressed together while you chatted about the classes that bored you, a group project that frustrated you, but mostly how you'd counted the minutes until he walked through the door. He listened intently, peppering in soft hums of sympathy and pride, his thumbs stroking soothing circles on your hips.
"I've been waiting for you, so we could shower together." you whispered finally, your lips brushing his ear. Heeseung's eyes darkened with desire, but his touch stayed loving. He didn't answer with words. Instead, he captured your mouth in a deep, needy kiss, his lips warm and insistent, tasting of the coffee that had fueled his endless day.
Clothes shed between fervent kisses, your hoodie pooling on the floor, his shirt unbuttoned with your eager fingers, his belt clinking as it hit the ground, and his pants going next. By the time you reached the bathroom, both of you stood naked, skin flushed with anticipation. Heeseung twisted the shower knob, steam rising as the water heated perfectly, then guided you under the hot spray with him.
The moment the water cascaded over your bodies, his mouth claimed yours again, slower now, deeper. Tongues tangled lazily as rivulets streamed down your skin. His large hands explored reverently, cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened into tight peaks, then sliding lower to grip your ass and pull you tight against his hardening cock.
Heeseung broke the kiss, his lips lingering hot and swollen against yours for a long moment before he began trailing downward. Water cascaded over both of you, slicking his dark hair and making his skin gleam as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, sucking hard enough at your fluttering pulse point to leave a mark. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin, sending sharp sparks of pleasure straight to your core.
He moved lower with deliberate hunger, mouth latching onto the swell of your breasts. His tongue swirled around one stiff nipple, then the other, before he sucked them deep into his mouth, one after the other—firm, wet pulls that had you arching into him. A deep, needy groan vibrated from his chest as his hands gripped your hips tighter, pinning you to the tiled wall.
He kissed his way down your abdomen, tongue dipping teasingly into your navel, then lower, tracing the crease of your hip with filthy reverence. By the time he dropped to his knees on the wet tile, water streaming down his face and shoulders, your pussy was already dripping, slick arousal coating your folds and inner thighs, the shower doing nothing to wash away how soaked you were for him.
His dark eyes lifted to yours, burning with raw lust and utter devotion. Strong hands gripped the backs of your thighs, lifting one leg over his broad shoulder and spreading you obscenely open. “Lean against the wall for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick and rough. “I need to taste all of you.”
You pressed your back to the cool tiles, breath shaky as he leaned in like a man starved. He started with slow, worshipful kisses all over your soaked pussy, pressing his lips to your swollen outer folds, sucking them gently into his mouth one by one, then the other, lapping up every drop of your wetness with a hungry moan. He was completely devoted, eyes half-lidded in bliss as he savored you.
Heeseung parted your slick lips with his thumbs, exposing your dripping center completely. His tongue dragged a long, heavy stripe from your entrance up to your throbbing clit, then back down. Without warning, he stiffened his tongue and pushed it inside you, thrusting deep, fucking you with it in slow, deliberate strokes while his nose rubbed against your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue plunging into your pussy mixed with the shower’s spray and your broken moans.
“Fuck… you’re so wet for me,” he groaned against your folds, the vibration making your walls clench around his tongue. He pulled back just enough to suck your swollen inner lips into his mouth, tugging and licking them thoroughly before sealing his lips around your clit and sucking with perfect pressure.
Only then did he bring his fingers into play, two thick digits circling your fluttering entrance, coating themselves in your slick before sliding deep inside you. He curled them instantly, stroking that spongy spot while his tongue flicked rapidly over your clit. He devoured you with single-minded obsession, sucking, licking, and fingering you like your pleasure was his only purpose.
Your juices coated his chin and fingers, dripping down his wrist as he worked you harder. He added a third finger, stretching you open while his mouth pulsed around your clit, sucking in rhythm with every thrust. Your thighs trembled violently, one leg hooked over his shoulder as you ground against his face.
“Oh my god ~ Heeseung” you whimpered, fingers yanking desperately at his soaked hair. He moaned loudly into your pussy, the sound filthy and encouraging, refusing to let up even as your walls started fluttering wildly. He kept his tongue working your clit and his fingers pumping deep and fast, curling on every pull until the pressure snapped. “I’m… fuck! I’m gonna cum!”
Hee growled against your core and doubled down, sucking your clit hard while his fingers drove into you relentlessly. Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, thighs clamping around his head as you gushed on his tongue and fingers. He didn’t stop lapping and sucking you through every pulsing wave, drinking down every drop of your release with devoted hunger until you were shaking, oversensitive, and barely able to stand.
Only then did he soften his mouth, pressing gentle, loving kisses to your twitching pussy as the aftershocks rolled through you. He looked up at you with glistening lips and dark, satisfied eyes, like he could stay on his knees worshipping you for hours.
When he finally stood, his cock was fully hard, flushed and heavy, water dripping down the thick length. You didn’t hesitate. You dropped to your knees on the slick tile, gazing up at him with pure hunger and adoration. Heeseung’s hand gently brushed wet strands of hair from your face, thumb stroking your cheek.
“You don’t have to, baby…” he murmured, voice already rough.
“I want to,” you breathed, eyes locked on his. “I need to taste you too, and I want to spoil you a little after a hard day.”
You wrapped both hands around the thick base, feeling the scorching heat and how it throbbed powerfully in your grip. Leaning in, you started with pure devotion, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses all along the underside, tracing every bulging vein with your lips. You licked broad, wet stripes from base to tip, savoring the velvety-taut skin stretched tight over steel. His cock twitched and jumped under your tongue as you worshipped every inch.
Heeseung groaned deeply, one hand resting lightly in your soaked hair. You swirled your tongue around the fat, leaking head, lapping up the salty precum like it was nectar, then suckled gently on the sensitive tip. Moaning softly around him, you finally parted your lips and sank down, taking him into the wet heat of your mouth. Your tongue pressed flat and firm against the underside, tracing that thick vein as you bobbed, coating him in spit until saliva dripped messily down his shaft and over your fingers.
You sucked him with utter devotion, hollowing your cheeks, nursing his cock like you couldn’t get enough. Wet, filthy sounds filled the shower as you worked him deeper, relaxing your throat to take more with every pass. Your hands stroked what you couldn’t swallow, twisting slickly around the base while you moaned continuously around his girth, the vibrations traveling straight through him.
“Fuck… baby,” he hissed, head falling back under the spray, abs flexing hard. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”
You pulled off briefly just to drag your tongue slowly up the entire length again, tracing every ridge and vein with reverent care, then dipped lower to suck one of his heavy balls into your mouth, humming happily as you lavished it with attention before moving back to his throbbing cock. You took him even deeper this time, nose brushing his pelvis as you swallowed around the head, throat tightening rhythmically. Spit ran down your chin, mixing with the shower water, making everything slick and messy.
Your moans grew louder, needier, as you lost yourself in pleasing him, sucking harder, faster, eyes watering with how full he made you, but never stopping. You loved every second: the way his cock pulsed hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of him, the broken sounds he made above you.
Heeseung’s thighs trembled, his grip tightening gently in your hair. “Baby~ I’m so close… if you keep sucking me like that I’m gonna cum down your throat.” You moaned loudly around his cock in eager response, doubling your efforts. You sucked him with pure, devoted hunger and wet, sloppy, and relentless, until his hips stuttered and he let out a deep, guttural groan.
Thick, hot ropes of cum pulsed across your tongue and straight down your throat. You swallowed greedily around him, milking every last drop with your hand and mouth, humming happily as you savored the taste of him. You kept sucking gently through his orgasm, prolonging it until he was shuddering and oversensitive.
Only then did you pull off with a soft, wet pop, lips shiny and swollen, a thin string of spit and cum still connecting you to his twitching cock. Heeseung immediately pulled you up, crashing his mouth against yours in a fierce, messy kiss. He tasted himself on your tongue and groaned into it, arms wrapping tightly around your waist like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between your bodies. The kiss was deep, hungry, and filled with raw need.
After several long moments, he turned you around. Your palms and cheek pressed against the warm, wet tiles as Heeseung molded his chest to your back. One strong arm snaked around your waist, holding you securely. His other hand guided his still-hard cock to your entrance, rubbing the head through your slick folds. He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch stretching your walls with a deep, delicious burn. Both of you moaned loudly as he bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass.
“God, you’re so tight,” he whispered against your ear, voice trembling with restraint. “So fucking warm and perfect around me.”
He stayed buried deep for a moment, just holding you, breathing against your neck as the hot water poured over your joined bodies. Then he started moving in slow, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged his cock against every sensitive spot inside you.
It wasn’t frantic. It was intimate, almost reverent. Heeseung fucked you like he was pouring all the stress of his day into the connection between your bodies. His arm around your waist kept you pressed tight against him while his free hand slid down to rub slow circles over your clit.
Every thrust was deep and deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with your soft moans and his low, gravelly groans.
“You feel so good, baby. You're taking me so well,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder. “My beautiful girl, I needed this so fucking bad.”
He angled his hips slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every stroke. Your moans grew louder, echoing off the tiles. Heeseung’s pace stayed steady but gradually grew a little firmer, chasing both your pleasure and his own.
When your second orgasm hit, it was slower and deeper than the first, your walls fluttering and clenching rhythmically around his cock as pleasure flooded your body. Heeseung groaned at the feeling, thrusting through your release until his own climax overtook him. With a deep, broken moan of your name, he buried himself as deep as possible and came hard, pulsing inside you in thick, warm spurts. He kept rocking gently into you even as he came, drawing out every last second of pleasure.
For a long while afterward, neither of you moved. Heeseung stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped possessively around your waist, forehead resting against the back of your neck as the water slowly began to cool. He pressed soft, lingering kisses along your shoulder and the side of your throat.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice hoarse and sincere. “Coming home to you… this… it’s everything.” You smiled softly, still catching your breath, pressing back into his warm chest.
💭 hard thought... about how much Riki loves it when you suck him off.
꒰ n. riki x fem!reader ꒱ 𖢖 warnings: smut! mdni, softdom!riki, oral sex (m. rec), handjob, slight praise, overstimulation, pet names, hair pulling, deepthroat, cumshoots, cumeating 𖢖 word count: 2k
wen’s note: dont mind me, just me going feral over his kiss tattoo yamyamyam lol
He loves it—more than he’d care to admit—but you know it, and it fills every inch of you with arousal.
You know he loves it and enjoys it because of the way he simply lets you do it, completely yielding to your rather submissive position, yet still holding plenty of power. The little details drive you wild; knowing exactly what and how he likes it. It turns you on to give him pleasure.
You study and memorize his reactions, not just for the sake of pleasure, even though it’s something you already know, even though he tries—sexily yet pathetically, and without success— to keep his composure, you adore watching him slowly fall apart, his skin shivering as your lips trail down his abdomen, agonizingly slow, teasing him further with the obvious frustration and desperation written all over him.
When his cock is exposed and you want to tease him by kissing and licking his abs, you simply take his manhood lightly in your hand, teasing it just enough to build even more tension in him, because nothing compares to his frustrated expression—his furrowed brow, the veins in his hands and arms visible and palpable, his lower lip red from biting it hard, and that certain pleading look in his eyes... But, just as it is now, where you haven’t taken off his underwear, you gently grind his noticeable erection with one hand, while with your other hand, you trace the path your lips and tongue take until they reach the elastic of his boxers.
At this point, Riki places his hands on your head; in their weight, you can feel his desperation. You look up at him and notice his ragged breathing, the desire and gentle arrogance on his attractive face, as he has you there, submissively on your knees before him, about to please him completely.
Your hand stops stroking his cock through the fabric, and now your throat presses against his erection while your chin rests on his abdomen and you smile broadly and mischievously.
Riki knows you’re doing all this to tease him, to make him even more tense, and you’ve achieved your goal—after all, the grip on your hair gently tightens and caresses it with a certain desperation. He can’t stand it a second longer; he wants the warmth of your mouth on his cock, satisfying him.
He licks his lips, and almost purring, his voice slightly whiny but deep and throaty, he encourages you.
“Come on, baby, put it in your pretty mouth, please.”
His voice and gentle plea only make you even hornier, your core throbbing with desire and lust. It’s simply an act that you both enjoy immensely.
Your attention returns to his arousal, and you don’t waste a second pulling down his underwear, finally freeing his hard cock, which springs out and gently brushes against his stomach attractively. You swallow hard, already tasting and feeling his texture in your mouth.
Riki groans, takes a deep breath, and his grip on your hair grows even tighter. You know he’s trying to act tough, but he’d soon be whimpering at your touch. You gaze at his rigid member, slightly flushed even without any stimulation, the vein popping across his erect length… and then, you gaze at him, waiting for you. Both of your pulses quicken, and once again, without wasting any time, your hand wraps around his girth.
However, before you begin... you indulge in one of your favorite activities: making him suffer a little longer, prolonging his pleasure, overwhelming him with foreplay. You push his cock aside so your face and lips can focus on his highly sensitive skin, which reacts immediately as you plant sensual, tempting kisses on his pelvis, his attractive, defined V-line, his soft, freshly shaved pubic area—kissing right on that daring tattoo of a red-lipstick-kiss that fits perfectly against the outline of your lips— while you try to make eye contact, but he breaks it, overwhelmed and aroused as he moans and throws his head back. His muscles tense, quiver, and his body vibrates to the rhythm of his soft, breathy gasps. You’re torturing him with sizzling kindness, with your perverse, sweet, seductive games.
But he’s not the only one suffering, because no matter how much you enjoy teasing him, the situation is pleasantly complicated for you, since there you are, incredibly turned on, on your knees before him, your panties wet, your femininity—every part of you—yearning intensely to be touched by him… but the satisfaction of sucking Riki off is a very good reward, it makes up for everything.
Finally, you lick his entire rigid length, from base to tip. Riki groans, feeling a rush of intense sensations wash over him, as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and the strongest tension returns to him. He watches you do it again, satisfying himself with the sweet yet dirty image of you stimulating his cock.
His precum begins to leak from his tip, and you find it somehow both tender and hot—knowing just how desperate he is, him and every inch of his cock in your hand, at your disposal.
You let out a little giggle at his heavy panting; you’re genuinely amused, turned on, all at once, while he struggles with each of his deepest desires—to stay calm, to be there for you, and not to shove his cock roughly into your mouth to fuck it all the way in.
You begin to stimulate him with your hands while your tongue lubricates and boldly traces his cock, which throbs vigorously at the touch of your tongue. Riki moans, drawing him closer and closer to an overwhelming ecstasy, gently teasing his impending orgasm.
Your tongue teases his highly sensitive glans, circling it gently and provocatively. Riki has no idea how much longer he can last, while you squirm in your spot, feeling faintly weak with your panties soaked through.
But it’s so fun to watch him lose control of himself that you pull your mouth away from his erection and start stroking his cock, one hand pumping his stiffness, getting used to the friction of his soft, rough texture, while the other plays with and holds his testicles. You know that poor Riki is so aroused, on the verge of coming, but somehow he’s holding back.
Riki gets frustrated, thinking that with your tongue on the tip, you’d start sucking him off, but you simply pull away to stroke his dick, so he curses under his breath and asks you, once again, in his seductively husky voice, almost at his limit:
“Oh! F-fuck, yeah... please, please, baby, suck my cock, put it in your mouth...pl—”
You decide not to be so mean and obey him right away. He sighs, gasping, heavily and breathlessly. Finally, your lips encircle his thickness; his cock meets the softness and warmth of the inside of your mouth. His throbbing manhood fills you completely, his skin brushing against the inside of your cheeks, his glans teasing your uvula. You know this is exactly where you both want to be.
Riki deftly gathers a handful of your hair into a loose ponytail while one of your hands holds the base of his cock and the other rests on his thigh.
You look him in the eyes as you take his cock into your mouth and begin to suck him, gently bobbing up and down his shaft, hollowing out your cheeks to feel every throbbing vein. Riki shifts his hips and delicately guides and pushes your head. It doesn’t take long for him to start panting with pleasure, and suddenly the act becomes dirtier, messier, more intimate. The obscene sound of your drooling mouth, gagging subtly and stimulating his cock and his moans fill the room. Your nipples and skin bristle inevitably… and you think it might be possible to bring yourself to orgasm just by squeezing your thighs together and just keep sucking him off slowly.
But so far, you’ve been taking it at your own pace, taking in as much of his length as you can, just a little more than half of his cock, alternating with the stroking of your hands when your jaw gets tired. But he’s impatient, the dirty idea just fills his mind, so once again he asks:
“Please, baby, let me fuck your throat, baby, okay?”
You pull his cock out of your mouth and, looking him submissively in the eyes, you nod. It will bring mutual pleasure to both of you.
You steel yourself mentally, take a deep breath, and take his cock back into your mouth. This time, Riki pushes deeper and deeper, gently.
“There you go, princess, take it, take it, I know you can—”
Your eyes well up immediately, the tickling sensation in your nose becomes intense, his glans teases your throat, until part of his cock slides inside it, but Riki doesn’t stop pushing you and doesn’t let up until you’ve taken every inch of him, until your nose brushes against his pubis and your nails dig into his thighs, leaving you breathless and helpless, drooling and desperate.
Riki growls intensely as he feels his cock trapped in the tightness of your throat and could stay like that, if he didn’t know you’re struggling a bit to adjust, so he pushes you again with gentle force so you can breathe.
“Good girl, good, you did very well, princess. One more time. Can you do it?”
Your eyes are teary, your face is slightly flushed, your heart is pounding, you’ve made a mess on the floor and at the corners of your lips, his fluids and your saliva dripping pornographically, there’s just something about the thin string of saliva that stretches from the tip of his flushed, glistening cock to your lips.... but you nod again.
This time you want to last longer for him, to satisfy him. So you take every inch of him again, whimpering and staring intently into his eyes, hoping he’ll pick up on the signal in your helpless, tearful face—which he does instantly. Riki begins to gently thrust into your throat, this time without holding back his cries of pleasure, without prolonging his orgasm.
The sounds grow more obscene; your throat is being used, filled with a massive intruder that desperately brings you pleasure but takes your breath away and tires your jaw. You cry out even louder, your nails digging into his thighs, but Riki is just in heaven right now.
“Oh, yeah. Fuck, you’re doing so well. Taking me so well, princess. Yes, yes. I’m gonna cum in your pretty mou—shit!”
He whimpers desperately as you feel his penis twitch inside you. Riki pulls your hair, roughly sliding his cock out of you, then quickly grabs the base of his dick and gently rubs his glans against your lips while you’re still gasping for air.
Riki admires the beautiful mess he’s made on your face, but he still pushes and urges you on for one last thing, tugging your hair back to gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him.
“Open wide for me, baby.”
You feel your body burning, your cheeks hot and damp, but you obey him, understanding perfectly what he wants, so you stick out your rosy tongue, ready to receive his load.
Riki roughly strokes his pulsating shaft, filled with all his pent-up tension, letting out a muffled moan as his long-awaited orgasm finally spills out with force. His restless cock rests on your tongue as he finally comes, spurting hot, pearly-white semen, a few drops decorating your lips and the space between your mouth and nose.
A hot, beautiful mess.
Both of you are breathless, satisfied—you still hungry for more—but you smile at him anyway, licking your lips, tasting and swallowing every drop of him, genuinely blissful.
Riki tries to catch his breath as well, his cock going limp in the aftermath of such an intense, satisfying orgasm. Nevertheless, in his characteristic husky voice, he reassures you just how much he liked it.
“Good. You did so well for me. Are you okay? God, I loved it, my baby doll.”
synopsis: in which you post about the most insufferable guy in your class on an AITA thread, only to find someone in the comments defending him a little too passionately.
genre: enemies to lovers??
pairing: insufferable!sunghoon x menace!reader
warnings: sexual tension, so many gawddamn arguments, some eye fucking from sunghoon’s behalf, lowkey bratty!reader, dom!hoon, semi-public sex, washroom sex, spitting, choking, oral (m rec.), fingering, biting, mirror sex, so much degrading, begging, spanking, slapping, teasing, unprotected p in v (don’t do it…), creampie, light cum play…i think that’s it…
wc: 13k
a/n: i love me some enemies to lovers i feel ashamed 😔😋 anyways after almost 3 months ya gurl is back w anotha banger 😛😛 warning, this isn’t edited properly i did like a quick read over or 2 and ran out of patience. ill sit down months later to revise it (no i wont). as always, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :p
˙𐃷˙
the literature lecture hall buzzed quietly with the usual sounds of a monday morning class—keyboard typing, coffee lids snapping shut, chairs dragging lazily across the floor.
rain streaked against the tall windows beside you, grey light spilling across rows of half-awake university students while professor choi clicked through his lecture slides at the front.
this class was your last pick and you were barely listening until the next discussion question appeared on the board.
what does meursault's emotional detachment represent?
professor choi adjusted his thick framed circle glasses.
"thoughts?"
and then, unfortunately, park sunghoon raised his hand.
you already knew this was about to piss you off. your face twisting into one of pure disgust before the man even opened his mouth.
sunghoon sat three rows ahead of you, posture relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair like he owned the lecture hall. he didn't even look interested in the discussion, which somehow made it more annoying whenever he spoke and everyone listened anyway.
professor choi nodded toward him."go ahead."
sunghoon spoke evenly, like a corrupt politician who was going to promise world peace. like he was delivering some groundbreaking intellectual revelation instead of absolute nonsense.
"i think the novel critiques performative emotion more than emotional detachment itself."
you narrowed your eyes immediately. all you could hear was blah blah blah meh meh meh.
sunghoon continued, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips so the bullshit he was going to spew would come out smoother.
"society condemns meursault not because he committed murder, but because he doesn't react the way people expect him to emotionally. he refuses to fake grief, guilt, remorse—"
"because he doesn't have any," you interrupted flatly.
a few heads turned instantly, students giving each other knowing looks. sunghoon glanced over his shoulder at you.
not irritated. oh no no, worse. he was amused.
"that's an oversimplification." he clicked, leaning his head back to the front to give professor choi a lazy look that basically said 'you see what's happening here?'
"no," you said. "you're just romanticizing emotional incompetence because the author used fancy wording."
a quiet snort came from somewhere behind you causing sunghoon to turn fully in his seat now. "you think the entire point of the novel is that he's a bad person?"
"i think the point is that detachment isn't inherently profound just because a man is quiet."
that got a reaction, small and subtle. a couple students trying not to laugh, their binders going up to hide their facial expressions as professor choi gave them a warning look.
sunghoon's eyes narrowed slightly for the first time.
finally.
"you're reducing existentialism to a personality flaw."
"and you're treating basic human empathy like it's optional."
professor choi opened his mouth and closed it again. probably deciding it was safer not to interfere yet.
sunghoon rested his arm against the desk beside him.
"the novel literally argues that societal expectations of emotion are artificial."
"okay, but there's a difference between rejecting social performance and acting like a disconnected freak."
sunghoon gave you a look at the last word, "interesting choice of wording."
"oh please," you scoffed. "you're acting like meursault is some misunderstood visionary when really he's just emotionally constipated."
someone coughed to hide a laugh and sunghoon's jaw ticked slightly.
barely noticeable, but you noticed. because you notice everything about park sunghoon, the good and the bad. unfortunately, more of the good which was all physical. nothing mental of course, the man had an IQ of a turnip.
arguing with park sunghoon had become a skill you'd accidentally perfected over the past two years. he always looked composed, always calm. but there were little tells and small cracks. tiny expressions that appeared when you pushed hard enough.
and right now? he was getting annoyed.
good.
"you're too emotionally reactive to engage with the text objectively," he said, his dark eyes boring into your own as if he was trying to get under your skin.
which, to be fair, he was. you knew that, and he definitely knew that.
you let out a short laugh. "and you think sounding detached makes you intelligent."
his gaze held yours for a second too long. steady and sharp. "maybe i just know how to separate emotion from analysis."
"maybe you just enjoy hearing yourself talk."
sunghoon tilted his head slightly, "you've interrupted me four times."
"because every sentence somehow gets worse."
a few quiet laughs spread through the room again. you saw professor choi pinch the bridge of his nose from the corner of your eye.
sunghoon looked entirely unbothered by the class watching. if anything, he looked more focused now.
like he enjoyed this, he enjoyed the attention he was receiving. the perfect spotlight to argue with a classmate. which made you irrationally angrier. "you're intentionally ignoring nuance."
"and you're intentionally making this deeper than it actually is."
"literature is supposed to be analyzed deeply."
"not every quiet man with a god complex is philosophically revolutionary, sunghoon."
that one landed, hard. his brows lifted slightly and the room went quieter. you could practically feel everyone pretending not to listen now.
sunghoon leaned back slowly in his chair. still staring at you, not daring to break eye contact.
"you know," he said lightly, "for someone who claims i'm insufferable, you spend an impressive amount of time thinking about my opinions."
your stomach flipped in annoyance. strictly annoyance.
"trust me," you replied sweetly, "criticizing you is not a difficult intellectual exercise."
the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. which only irritated you more because why did he look entertained right now?
"you get weirdly passionate whenever i disagree with you."
"because you say insane things with unnecessary confidence."
"and yet you always argue back."
you opened your mouth immediately. "because someone has to humble you."
sunghoon's eyes flicked briefly down toward your mouth before returning to your eyes so quickly you almost thought you imagined it.
almost.
then he said quietly, "you've been trying for two years."
your heartbeat stumbled once, completely involuntary by the way. and judging by the sudden silence in the lecture hall, several other people noticed the shift too.
professor choi finally sighed loudly enough to cut through the tension.
"well," he muttered dryly, "this has certainly been more engaging than most of your discussion contributions."
a few students laughed softly.
you tore your gaze away from sunghoon first, reaching for your pen like your pulse hadn't just betrayed you for absolutely no reason.
meanwhile, across the room, sunghoon leaned back in his chair again.
looking entirely too pleased with himself.
˙𐃷˙
by the time professor choi dismissed the class, the atmosphere in the lecture hall felt weirdly charged.
like everyone had just witnessed something they definitely shouldn't have.
chairs scraped against the floor as students packed up their bags, conversations immediately erupting around the room.
you shoved your laptop into your tote aggressively, muttering curses about the boy who shall not be named.
mostly because you could still feel park sunghoon's smug expression somewhere in your peripheral vision.
you hated him and his stupid fucking beautiful face.
the worst part was that he never even looked genuinely angry during your arguments. no matter how heated things got, sunghoon always stayed calm—relaxed posture, steady voice, slightly amused expression like he was watching you self-destruct for entertainment.
it was infuriating.
sunoo appeared beside your desk, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "you know," he said casually, "that was kind of the highlight of my week."
you glared at your so called best friend, "you're sick."
"no seriously," sunoo grinned. "when you called him emotionally constipated i almost started clapping."
you huffed, standing up. "he deserved worse." together, you and sunoo started toward the lecture hall doors with the crowd of students funneling out into the hallway.
except—someone was standing near the exit.
waiting, wearing a black hoodie. arms crossed loosely.
park sunghoon.
of course he was, because the argument that had erupted during class just wasn't enough for this troll doll. your steps slowed instinctively and sunoo noticed immediately, his smile widened, ear to ear.
fucking traitor.
sunghoon's eyes found yours through the crowd almost instantly. calm as ever and annoyingly unreadable.
then, as you got closer, he pushed himself off the wall.
you already knew he was about to say something irritating, you could feel it.
sunghoon stepped aside just enough to let other students pass before leaning slightly closer toward you.
close enough that you caught the clean scent of his cologne beneath the lingering smell of coffee and rain.
"for someone who hates my opinions," he murmured quietly, "you seem obsessed with hearing them."
you stopped walking and slowly turned your head toward him. you hated how you had to crank your head up to make eye contact with him, the height difference between you two surrendering your loss.
"and for someone who claims to be emotionally detached," you replied sweetly, "you sure spend a lot of time trying to get my attention."
sunghoon's mouth twitched, that stupid almost-smile again. he looked down at you at with this look that you couldn't quite identify.
"see you monday." you hope one of you don't make it to monday, preferably him.
you stared at him for one long second, really stared. at his stupid face. his stupid sharp jawline. his stupid pretty mouth that constantly said the most unbearable things imaginable.
then you walked away before you committed a felony.
sunoo was already laughing beside you. "OH my god," he breathed. "you two are unbelievable."
"he's unbelievable," you snapped immediately, a faint flush covering your face and neck.
sunoo hummed, clearly unconvinced. he was your best friend since elementary school, he knew exactly what this was.
the hallway buzzed with students moving between lectures while rain hammered softly against the windows lining the corridor. you shoved through the doors toward the outside courtyard, irritation simmering hotter with every passing second.
"i genuinely cannot wait until i graduate," you muttered. "the second i get my degree i'm never seeing that freak again."
sunoo snorted, looking at your pink tinted cheeks with a grin. "you still have two years left."
your eye twitched at the realization.
right.
two more years.
two more years of literature classes and discussion boards and seeing park sunghoon sitting three rows ahead of you looking annoyingly composed all the time.
you groaned dramatically. "i can't do this anymore."
sunoo bumped your shoulder lightly. "you've survived two years already."
"barely."
the more you thought about him, the angrier you got.
because sunghoon was the exact type of person that's easy to hate.
too calm. too smug. too aware of how intelligent he was.
and worst of all—too attractive for absolutely no reason.
everything about him irritated you.
his stupid perfect smile whenever he thought he'd won an argument. his stupidly long fingers tapping against his desk during lectures. the way his hoodies stretched across his broad shoulders.
the fact that he somehow looked composed even when everyone else looked exhausted during midterms.
it was deeply, deeply annoying.
you physically smacked yourself in the forehead.
sunoo blinked at your sudden outburst. "what was that for?"
"nothing."
sunoo narrowed his eyes. then slowly—dangerously—he smiled. "oh my god."
you frowned immediately, not liking the way he was smiling down at you. "what."
"i think you might be the issue."
you stopped walking so abruptly someone nearly walked into your shoulder. "excuse me?"
sunoo shrugged innocently. "i'm just saying."
"how the hell am i the issue?"
"you do start a lot of the arguments."
you stared at him in betrayal. "because he says ridiculous things."
"sometimes."
"all the time."
sunoo hummed thoughtfully, not agreeing, which was offensive. why is your best friend not blindly supporting you even when you're probably wrong, which you aren't, but even if you were—the fuck?
you scoffed loudly. "sunghoon is literally the one who started this whole thing."
and he had, freshman year. first semester.
he'd corrected one of your points during a class discussion with that calm, mildly condescending tone of his and something inside you had immediately gone: absolutely not.
listen you can take criticism, just not from that man specifically.
ever since then, every interaction between you had turned into some kind of competition. you couldn't help it. sunghoon always acted so composed, so polished, so annoyingly perfect that it made you want to knock him down a level, or several.
sunoo shoved his hands into his pockets. "okay but maybe if you stopped interacting with him—"
"impossible."
"you didn't even let me finish."
"because you're wrong."
sunoo laughed softly, knowing damn well that nothing he was going to say would penetrate through your thick skull. "you could just ignore him."
you looked at him like he'd suggested murder.
ignore park sunghoon? absolutely not.
that sounded suspiciously like losing. sunoo noticed your expression immediately and burst out laughing. "see? that's exactly what i mean."
you crossed your arms. "i am not the problem here."
sunoo just gave you a look. one of those deeply irritating best friend looks that implied he knew you better than you knew yourself.
which, unfortunately, he probably did.
you pulled your phone out of your pocket causing sunoo to raise a brow.
"what are you doing?"
"i'm getting unbiased opinions."
"from who?"
you opened reddit with complete confidence and sunoo immediately groaned.
"oh no."
˙𐃷˙
your dorm room was suspiciously quiet except for the aggressive tapping of your keyboard.
sunoo sat cross-legged at the end of your bed eating gummy bears straight from the bag while watching you with the exact same expression people have witnessing a public breakup.
concern mixed with entertainment.
you ignored him. because right now you were busy crafting the most objectively accurate reddit post ever written.
the glow from your laptop lit your face as you reread the title for the fifth time.
AITA for telling a guy in my class to shut up because he thinks he's always right?
perfect. concise. truthful.
you cracked your knuckles dramatically before continuing to type. sunoo snorted from the other side, picking out all the red gummies before stuffing them into his mouth.
-
there's this guy in one of my university classes and he is genuinely one of the most irritating people i've ever met.
he's quiet but in a pretentious way? like he thinks being emotionally constipated makes him intelligent. he corrects EVERYONE during discussions and somehow always sounds smug even when he's technically being polite.
the worst part is that he's annoyingly good at everything. presentations? perfect. essays? perfect. participation? professor's favourite somehow.
one time i got a question wrong during class and this man literally smirked at me. SMIRKED. like a disney villain.
today we got into an argument during lecture because he was saying some pseudo intellectual nonsense and i told him to shut up because nobody cares about his superiority complex anymore.
now some people are saying i overreacted but i genuinely think he needed to be humbled.
AITA?
-
you hit post.
then immediately grabbed your phone while bouncing slightly in your seat.
sunoo stared at you with mild distaste. "you look like you just launched a cyber attack."
"i'm right and soon the public will confirm it."
sunoo snorted. "you're insane."
the first comment appeared almost instantly.
you gasped dramatically. "OH MY GOD." sunoo leaned over slightly as you opened it, rolling his eyes as soon as he read the first word.
-
NTA
this guy sounds like if a philosophy podcast became a person.
-
you slapped sunoo's arm excitedly."SEE?"
another comment appeared.
-
girl stand UP. why are you letting a man who's probably named after a victorian disease humble you in public
-
you folded over laughing, sunghoon was a disease alright. a disease that would rot and corrupt your brain before leading you to your own destruction.
sunoo grabbed your laptop before you dropped it off the bed. "okay that one was funny."
more comments flooded in rapidly and sunoo watched as your expression morphed into one of pure joy. like a kid who had just walked into a candy shop with an unlimited budget and no parental supervision.
-
NTA
he sounds insufferable.
-
ESH
you both sound annoying but in a sexual tension way.
-
you frowned, "what does that even mean?"
sunoo looked away suspiciously fast, hiding his smirk.
another one.
-
i know EXACTLY the type of man you're talking about. probably wears silver jewelry and thinks eye contact is a personality trait.
-
your jaw dropped. "THEY GET ME."
sunoo popped another gummy bear into his mouth, eyeing you. "or maybe you're describing every business major ever."
you ignored him because the comments were getting better by the second.
-
does he perchance look like this:
🗿
-
"OH MY GOD." he totally does.
-
girl he likes you.
⤷
no literally this sounds like academic enemies to lovers fanfiction.
-
"okay why does everyone keep saying that," you muttered, a deep frown now etched on your face. you were beginning to not like where these comments were headed.
sunoo made a noncommittal noise. you narrowed your eyes at him briefly before scrolling again.
-
i'm crying at "emotionally constipated." please cook him again.
-
next class hit him with "you're not beating the pretentious allegations."
-
ask him if he learned emotional intelligence from patrick bateman edits and sigma bro podcasts lol.
-
you physically wheezed, your body folding over in laughter. sunoo shook his head slowly, watching you upvote every single comment that dissed sunghoon.
"you're enjoying this way too much."
"because i'm finally being validated."
you pointed accusingly at him. "unlike SOME people."
sunoo rolled his eyes before muttering, "whatever bitch."
another comment appeared.
-
INFO: is he actually arrogant or are you just threatened because he's smarter than you?
-
your smile vanished instantly. "BOOOOO."
you downvoted it immediately, sunoo burst out laughing. "you are NOT supposed to interact emotionally with the comments."
"they interacted emotionally with ME first."
you kept scrolling, feeling increasingly euphoric as strangers across the internet continued confirming what you'd known all along: park sunghoon was deeply irritating.
the comments only got more ridiculous from there.
-
"he smirked at you after you got a question wrong" oh huny he wants you BAD.
-
this sounds less like hatred and more like unresolved yearning.
-
enemies to lovers ahh post.
-
"unresolved yearning?" you repeated aloud in horror.
oh fuck no.
sunoo was smiling now. not laughing. no no, he was smiling.
which was somehow worse, you turned your head slowly to shoot him a glare, "what."
he shrugged. "nothing."
you narrowed your eyes suspiciously then looked back at your screen.
another comment. this one longer.
-
honestly i think you're leaving out context. from your own description, it sounds like he was trying to engage in discussion normally and you took it personally because you already dislike him.
-
your smile faltered slightly.
who the fuck was this? and why the fuck do they think they know the situation?
the comment continued:
-
correcting people during literary discussions isn't arrogance if he's contributing meaningful analysis. also, calling someone "emotionally constipated" because they interpret a book differently than you is kind of ironic.
-
you scoffed loudly. "OH BROTHER." get a load of this guy, why don't they just go and suck sunghoon's dick at this point.
sunoo leaned closer, reading the comment out loud "wait that one kinda—"
"no."
you clicked reply immediately, your fingers flying across the keyboard.
-
if you defend people like this i just KNOW nobody likes you in real life.
-
sunoo let out a disbelieving laugh. "you're fighting civilians now?"
"they started it."
your reply posted and within less than thirty seconds—
the person responded.
-
bold assumption coming from someone who wrote an entire essay about a classmate because he annoyed her.
-
you froze and slowly sat up straighter. you felt your face tense in what you can only identify as pure raw anger.
sunoo noticed instantly when your face went from. mildly annoyed to baboon ass red. "what."
your eyes narrowed at the screen. something about the reply irritated you immediately. the tone. calm. slightly condescending. annoyingly articulate.
...absolutely not. no way.
you started typing again with renewed aggression. you stared at the username with pure hatred.
notniceprince02
your eye twitched, something about it already annoyed you. the reply sat there on your screen like a personal attack.
calm and smug. condescending in a weirdly articulate way that made you want to throw your laptop across the room.
sunoo leaned closer from beside you. "what happened?"
you pointed aggressively at the screen. "this person thinks i'm the problem."
sunoo made a face. "well..."
you slowly turned toward him eyes like slits and your mouth scrunched. "choose your next words carefully."
sunoo immediately looked back down at his gummy bears.
fucking coward.
you cracked your fingers dramatically before typing a response.
-
sorry i didn't realize his defense attorney was in the comments section. should i call you next time he starts acting like a rejected sherlock holmes adaptation?
-
you hit reply with satisfaction, finally letting out the breath of anger you had taken earlier,
sunoo blinked. "you type like you're in a duel."
"because i am."
less than a minute later—another response.
-
maybe people correct you often because you're wrong often.
-
you gasped so loudly sunoo nearly dropped the gummy bear bag. "OH this bitch."
you didn't know who this person was but you are not the one to be fucked with like this. your fingers flew over the keyboard with new found passion.
-
and maybe you defend emotionally detached weirdos online because you see yourself in him.
-
reply posted and the response came back almost immediately.
-
emotionally detached = calm
emotional instability = writing reddit essays because a guy disagreed with you in class
-
sunoo physically leaned forward now the gummy bears had been abandoned.
"okay wait," he said slowly. "this is getting good."
you ignored him, mostly because your blood pressure was rising.
-
if being calm means acting like a pretentious AI generated philosophy quote then congratulations i guess.
-
reply and instant response.
-
if being intelligent sounds pretentious to you that might be a personal issue.
-
your jaw dropped. "PERSONAL ISSUE?"
sunoo was trying not to laugh, badly. you glared at him before pushing at his shoulder hard enough to have him almost fall of your bed. unlucky for you, he managed to catch his balance and stay seated next to you with a dumb grin on his face.
"i'm sorry but they kinda cooked you there."
"whose side are you on?" fucking twink.
"the entertainment's."
traitor.
you sat up straighter on the bed, narrowing your eyes at the screen like notniceprince02 had personally wronged your entire bloodline.
-
you sound exactly like the guy i'm talking about btw. same superiority complex. same "i think i'm the smartest person in every room" energy.
-
the response appeared almost immediately, which somehow irritated you more. did this person have no life? fighting with strangers on the internet like a loser.
this doesn't apply to you of course.
-
maybe you're just intimidated by people who challenge you intellectually.
-
you stared at the screen in disbelief.
sunoo let out a quiet whistle. "they hit a nerve?"
"i'm going to hit THEM."
you typed furiously, your thumbs cramping up but you don't let weak things like this stop you.
-
intellectually challenge me? please. this man raises his hand in class like he's announcing a new world order then says the most pseudo intellectual nonsense you've ever heard.
-
response.
-
interesting. you seem to remember his class participation very vividly.
-
you froze for like half a second and then scoffed loudly.
because it's TRAUMATIZING. not because you care enough to remember, but because it's shocked itself into the crevices of your brain.
sunoo snorted while you kept going.
-
he literally smirks when people get answers wrong. do you know how deeply punchable that is?
-
response.
-
maybe he smirks because your reactions are dramatic.
-
you narrowed your eyes dangerously. this conversation, more like argument, felt more natural that you'd like to admit.
-
okay now i KNOW you're him.
-
sunoo's brows shot up immediately. hold on...
you pointed at the screen frantically. "LOOK AT HOW HE TYPES."
sunoo leaned closer, the two of you stared silently at the replies for a moment. then—sunoo slowly looked at you. "that actually does sound like him."
"THANK YOU." validation surged through your body instantly. you pointed aggressively at the laptop. "RIGHT? the annoying calmness? the fake intellectual wording? the superiority complex?"
sunoo tilted his head, a shit eating grin plastered on his porcelain face. "you know him disturbingly well."
"unfortunately."
another reply appeared.
-
i think it's funny how much attention you pay to someone you supposedly dislike.
-
you barked out a laugh, completely humorless.
-
oh my god. you ARE him.
-
response.
-
and if i was?
-
you sat there, staring. sunoo sat there too, also staring.
the room suddenly felt strangely quiet as you squinted at the screen.
"why did that make me mad."
sunoo was smiling again, that knowing smile. you hated that smile.
"because you think it might actually be him."
"it's not him."
"mhm."
"it's just some annoying reddit user." another response appeared before you could keep ranting.
-
for the record, if this guy really is as arrogant as you claim, why do you keep engaging with him?
-
you rolled your eyes instantly.
-
because someone has to humble him.
-
reply.
-
sounds more like obsession.
-
you gasped, like actually gasped. you? obsessed with sunghoon? out of all the people in this world? fuck no.
sunoo folded over laughing. "OH MY GOD."
"OBSESSION?" you typed so aggressively the keyboard started clacking violently.
-
you people see a man and woman arguing and immediately think there's romantic tension. have you considered that i simply think he's irritating and unfortunate-looking?
-
sunoo looked at you, slowly. "unfortunate-looking?"
you avoided eye contact because unfortunately that part wasn't true. at all. which was deeply annoying. you hated how you couldn't get away with dissing his appearance because as much as you hate to admit it, there was nothing to pick at.
another reply.
-
unfortunate-looking yet you described his facial expressions in detail.
-
you froze. sunoo froze. your eyes slowly widened as you stared at sunoo who looked equally as surprised as you.
"..."
sunoo pointed at the screen. "THAT IS ABSOLUTELY HIM."
"SHUT UP."
˙𐃷˙
by the next morning, your hatred for user notniceprince02 had evolved into something genuinely concerning.
your phone had been vibrating nonstop since eight in the morning.
every. two. seconds.
ping.
ping.
PING.
another reply. another argument. another smug paragraph typed in that calm, annoyingly articulate tone that made your blood pressure spike on sight.
you sat in the student lounge with your laptop open and your phone in your hand simultaneously, responding across two devices like a woman fighting in active warfare.
sunoo sat across from you, fully invested now. having the thread opened on his laptop as he watched you type out responses like it was war.
classes? irrelevant.
education? secondary.
this reddit argument had become the main event.
"you've replied to him thirty-seven times just in this past hour " sunoo said.
"thirty-eight." you hit send aggressively and sunoo blinked in pure shock.
"that was immediate."
"because he's wrong." your phone buzzed again and you looked down instantly.
-
notniceprince02:
"you keep proving my point by reacting emotionally to everything."
-
you scoffed so loudly the two people at the next table glanced over.
"OH my god." your fingers slammed against the keyboard.
-
sorry i forgot being emotionally unavailable is apparently a personality trait now.
-
send.
and would you look at that, a response within seconds.
-
no, but making hating one guy your entire personality definitely is.
-
you stared at the screen with a scowl etched on your face. offended, deeply offended.
sunoo leaned over your shoulder to see you clutching your phone was a grip that would shatter your screen.
then immediately started laughing. "okay no because why does this genuinely sound like sunghoon."
"it's NOT him."
"__."
"it's just some weird sigma male ass kisser who probably listens to podcasts hosted by divorced men."
you ignored him because your phone buzzed again—another reply.
-
you seem weirdly committed to misunderstanding him.
-
you rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. at this point you wondered how many people at the library thought something was mentally wrong with you.
-
and you seem weirdly committed to defending him. is this his burner account or are you just in love with him?
-
send.
sunoo nearly choked. "OH?"
"what?"
"you're spiraling."
"i'm WINNING."
sunoo pointed at your screen, a thread of reddit beef that's exceeded an appropriate limit. "this does not look like winning."
you frowned at the ongoing thread. unfortunately, it had become one of the top comments under your post. people were fully invested now with random users jumping into the argument just to spectate.
some were taking sides while others were making it worse, much worse.
-
y'all are literally flirting.
-
this is the most enemies to lovers thing i've ever read.
-
somebody invite me to the wedding.
-
"irl academic rivals is CRAZY."
-
you physically recoiled at the thought of being shipped with that garden troll of a man. "what is WRONG with people?"
sunoo looked way too entertained. "they kinda have a point."
"they absolutely do not."
another comment:
-
at this point just kiss and get it over with.
⤷
i would rather chew denim.
-
you typed immediately, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. this was the last thing you had expected as an outcome when you posted on reddit.
sunoo burst out laughing. "chew denim?"
"i'm emotional."
your phone buzzed again.
-
notniceprince02:
"that's dramatic."
-
your eye twitched as you read the message out loud. "HE KEEPS SAYING THAT." people had now physically turned on their seats to look at the two of you with curious and annoyed looks in their eyes.
sunoo pointed accusingly at you while gives others a apologetic smile. "because you ARE dramatic." he whispered to you harshly all while motioning you to shut the fuck up.
"you're both against me."
"no," sunoo corrected. "i just think this is the funniest thing that's happened all semester."
you glared at him before standing abruptly, grabbing your phone. "i'm going to the washroom."
if sunoo wasn't going to appreciate this properly, then some girl in the stall next to you will. sunoo hummed absently. "tell your boyfriend i said hi if he replies again."
"die."
you walked off before he could keep talking.
the hallways buzzed with students moving between lectures, conversations overlapping with the sound of footsteps and lockers shutting nearby.
your phone buzzed again and without looking up, you immediately started typing.
-
no, because at this point you're defending him like you want him carnally.
-
send.
you turned the corner toward the washrooms—and slammed directly into someone.
hard.
your shoulder collided with a solid chest and your phone nearly flew out of your hand.
"shit—"
steady hands caught your arms before you stumbled backward. familiar hands. long fingers curling briefly around your sleeves.
your stomach dropped instantly, because of course.
of fucking COURSE.
park sunghoon looked down at you with mild surprise, dark hair slightly messy like he'd been running his hands through it all morning. a pair of headphones rested around his neck, black hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms.
and unfortunately—unfairly—he looked really good today.
which immediately irritated you, because how dare he have a shit personality and look good while ruining your mood by just breathing in your vicinity.
sunghoon glanced at your death grip on your phone before meeting your eyes again, a small smirk playing on his pink plush lips.
"you should probably watch where you're going." his voice was calm, low and slightly amused.
you narrowed your eyes instantly. "maybe people would move if they weren't standing in the middle of hallways like decorative statues."
one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. there it was, that stupid almost-smile. you hated that stupid almost-smile.
sunghoon's gaze flicked downward briefly. to your phone screen which was still open to reddit. your heart stopped for half a second because the thread was visible. very visible. and at the top of the screen sat a fresh notification from—notniceprince02 replied to your comment
sunghoon's eyes lingered on the notification then slowly lifted back to yours.
silence. your brain short-circuited instantly, no. absolutely not. there was no way. sunghoon looked at you for one long second before asking casually, "still fighting with strangers online?"
your entire body went still, just for a second. because there was absolutely no way—no actual way.
sunghoon stood there holding your arm loosely, thumb brushing the fabric of your sleeve while your phone screen glowed between you both like evidence in a criminal investigation.
notniceprince02 replied to your comment.
your brain was buffering. loading. malfunctioning.
sunghoon's expression remained frustratingly neutral but there was something there. something subtle: amusement.
your eyes narrowed immediately. "why are you looking at my phone?"
smooth. good recovery. yup yup.
sunghoon let go of your arm slowly, way too slowly. "hard not to when you almost tackled me with it."
you scoffed, "you were standing in my way."
"you walked directly into me."
"semantics."
sunghoon hummed quietly as his gaze flicked toward your screen again and then back to you.
"so," he said lightly, "what stranger online managed to upset you this badly?"
your grip tightened around your phone instantly. absolutely not. you were NOT about to entertain sunoo's ridiculous theory.
"nobody."
sunghoon raised a brow, "you look homicidal."
"maybe that's just your effect on people." you retorted back almost automatically. you wonder if you've ever responded to sunghoon in a normal way.
that stupid almost-smile appeared again. small and annoyingly attractive. you hated it, like actually hated it.
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you know," he murmured, "you get strangely defensive whenever i ask simple questions."
your stomach flipped in irritation, strictly irritation. "and you get strangely nosy for someone who acts emotionally detached all the time."
his eyes held yours for a second longer than necessary, steady and focused. like he was trying to figure something out.
the hallway around you blurred into noise and somehow you were still standing there.
too close to him, way too close.
you noticed stupid things at the worst possible times, like the faint scent of his cologne or the tiny mole near his neck. or the fact that his hair fell into his eyes slightly when he looked down at you like this.
deeply irritating.
sunghoon's gaze flicked briefly toward your mouth before returning upward so quickly you almost thought you imagined it.
almost.
"what?" you snapped immediately. you could feel a small flush cover your cheeks and neck at the thought of sunghoon sneaking glances at your lips. maybe he thought you looked really slapable right now, or really kissable. it hurt your ego to think that either one of those things were deemed acceptable to you.
his brows lifted slightly. "nothing."
liar.
you narrowed your eyes harder. "you're being weird."
"you say that every time you don't know how to respond."
your jaw dropped at his audacity. "i always know how to respond."
"mhm."
that stupid calm tone again. you wanted to bite him. which—bad wording. very bad wording.
sunghoon watched your expression shift in real time and something in his face changed slightly. like he noticed the exact moment your thoughts betrayed you.
horrifying. absolutely horrifying.
you recovered immediately, sort of. "why are you even talking to me right now?" you asked. "don't you have some freshmen discussion group to intellectually terrorize?"
sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath—actually laughed. and it caught you so off guard that you momentarily forgot to stay angry.
which made you angrier. "you're the one who ran into me."
"unfortunately."
"yet you're still standing here."
you opened your mouth then closed it. sunghoon noticed, of course he noticed. the only thing he doesn't seem to notice is his mouth opening and closing with cow noises spilling out during class.
the corner of his mouth twitched again. "that's new," he said softly.
"what is?"
"you being speechless." your face heated instantly, not because of him.
obviously.
you crossed your arms defensively. "you're unbelievably annoying."
"and yet," sunghoon said calmly, stepping slightly closer, "you keep talking to me."
your heartbeat stumbled. just once. which was unacceptable.
because now he was close enough that you could see every tiny detail in his expression—the faint curve of amusement in his eyes, the way his lips kept threatening to smile fully.
he looked way too pleased with himself. you hated that too. a group of students walked past nearby and one of them whispered: "there's no way they're not dating."
you whipped your head around instantly. "WE'RE NOT—"
sunghoon's hand suddenly landed lightly against the wall beside your head. not trapping you, but enough to make your words catch awkwardly in your throat.
his expression remained perfectly calm which somehow made the gesture worse. "you're loud when you're flustered," he said quietly.
your brain short-circuited. flustered? FLUSTERED?
you stared at him in disbelief. "i am not flustered."
sunghoon hummed, completely unconvinced as he reached into his pocket to slip out his phone. your pulse was going insane now for reasons you refused to examine.
then—your phone buzzed loudly between you both.
the notification lit up the screen and your head snapped down, unlocking your phone to see something that only made your heart drop to your gut.
-
notniceprince02:
"you still haven't answered my question."
-
silence.
sunghoon looked down at the notification then slowly back up at you. and this time—this time he smiled properly.
small. sharp. dangerous.
your stomach dropped straight to hell. because suddenly—suddenly you knew.
oh my god.
it WAS him.
your soul briefly left your body. there was no other explanation for the horrifying full-body shutdown you experienced standing there in the middle of the hallway.
because park sunghoon was smiling at you. actually smiling. not the tiny smug almost-smirk he usually wore during arguments.
a real smile. sharp at the edges. dangerously entertained. and your phone was still glowing between you both with the notification from: notniceprince02
oh my god. OH my god.
you stared at him, sunghoon stared back. this fucker was playing with you this entire time and he had the audacity to look calm, composed and completely evil all at the same time.
your voice came out accusing immediately. "you're insane." sunghoon's smile widened slightly. which honestly should've been illegal because why did he suddenly look—no.
absolutely not.
"that's a strong reaction," he said mildly.
"you've been fighting with me online for like fourteen hours."
"thirteen, actually."
you blinked up at him, horrified.
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you stopped replying around three in the morning."
your jaw physically dropped. "YOU KEPT TRACK?"
"you type aggressively when you're tired."
you looked genuinely offended. "that is such a weird thing to notice."
"you notice weird things about me too."
silence. dangerous silence. because unfortunately—unfortunately he was right. and judging by the look on his face? he knew he was right too.
you recovered immediately or at least attempted to. "okay first of all," you started, pointing at him aggressively, "using a burner account to argue with me on reddit is psychotic behavior."
sunghoon crossed his arms loosely still way too relaxed. "you made an entire public post about me."
"i didn't SAY your name."
"you described me like a wanted criminal."
"because you're irritating."
"it was weirdly detailed."
your eye twitched. "you're unbelievable."
sunghoon leaned slightly closer, close enough that your stupid heart started acting weird again. "you wrote three paragraphs about my facial expressions."
heat crawled up your neck instantly. because in hindsight—mentioning the smirking might've been a mistake.
"that was for CONTEXT."
sunghoon hummed not buying it for a second. "right....right"
you hated how calm he sounded. like this entire situation entertained him more than anything else. which made sense, considering the man apparently spent his free time anonymously provoking you online.
actual freak behavior.
"and YOU," you shot back, "were defending yourself in the comments like a loser."
sunghoon's brows lifted. "i was defending myself because you compared me to a podcast for divorced men."
"because you talk like one."
"you literally accused me of wanting attention 'carnally.'" your face heated instantly, sunghoon looked way too pleased saying that out loud. "that was BEFORE i knew it was you."
"does that make it better?"
"a little."
his mouth twitched again. you wanted to throw him into traffic. respectfully.
sunghoon glanced down at your phone screen where the reddit thread was still open. hundreds of notifications flooded the post now. people were still replying, still arguing and still shipping you both for reasons you refused to acknowledge.
sunghoon read one of the comments over your shoulder, then laughed quietly. "someone said we have 'academic rivals to lovers tension.'"
you looked horrified, shooting him a quick glare before downvoting on the comment. "don't read those."
"why not?" he asked lightly. "they seem passionate about us."
"there is no 'us.'" you snapped back.
sunghoon's gaze flicked back to yours, steady—focused.
"you sure?"
your stomach dropped. hard. something about the way he said it felt unfairly intentional. like he knew exactly what he was doing now. which—he probably did.
you crossed your arms tighter, defensive. "you're enjoying this way too much."
"you started it."
"you kept replying."
"so did you."
"because i don't lose arguments."
sunghoon stepped closer again, just slightly. enough that your back nearly brushed the wall behind you.
"is that what this is?" he asked softly.
you frowned. "what."
"you needing to win." his voice had gotten quieter somehow, lower and suddenly the hallway noise around you felt distant again.
students walked past constantly but it barely registered.
because sunghoon was standing too close and looking at you like he'd figured something out.
you swallowed once, annoyed at yourself for even noticing. "obviously," you replied.
sunghoon watched you for another second. then, "i think you just like arguing with me."
you let out a disbelieving laugh immediately. "that is genuinely the dumbest thing you've ever said."
"is it?"
"yes."
"then why do you always look excited before you disagree with me?"
your mouth opened. closed. opened again. nothing came out. because that was—that was not the point. like fuck, you caught me i guess.
sunghoon noticed your silence instantly, of course he did. his expression shifted into something smugger and more dangerous. "there it is again."
"what."
"speechless."
you hated him, like actually hated him. especially because he looked so unfairly good right now standing there with messy dark hair and that stupid smug expression like he'd won something.
you narrowed your eyes. "you know what? maybe people only think you're smart because you say things confidently."
sunghoon leaned one shoulder casually against the wall beside you. completely cornering you now without actually touching you.
"maybe," he said calmly, "you only argue with me because i'm the only person who argues back."
your heartbeat betrayed you again. you stared at him, sunghoon stared back. then—your phone buzzed loudly again between you both.
another reddit notification, sunghoon glanced down before taking your phone into his own hands then read aloud: "'just kiss already and save us all the trouble.'"
you lunged for your phone instantly. "give me that."
sunghoon lifted it out of reach easily and your eyes widened. "park sunghoon."
he looked down at you with blatant amusement. "that's the first time you've said my full name without sounding homicidal."
"i AM homicidal."
"mhm."
you reached for your phone again, sunghoon caught your wrist lightly before you could grab it. everything stopped. your breath. your thoughts. your functioning nervous system.
his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, warm and firm. and suddenly you became painfully aware of how close he actually was.
sunghoon looked down briefly at where he was holding you and then back at your face. his expression changed slightly, less teasing and more—dangerous.
your pulse went absolutely insane. then quietly—way too quietly—he said, "you know... you're a lot less mean when you're flustered."
your brain completely stopped functioning. like genuinely. because park sunghoon was still holding your wrist, still standing way too close, still looking at you with that horribly calm expression while your pulse was actively trying to kill you.
and the worst part? he knew. you could tell he knew. his thumb shifted slightly against your wrist and your stomach flipped so violently it made you angry.
sunghoon's eyes flicked briefly to your mouth again. then back up, slowly and deliberately.
"you know," he murmured, "the comments might be onto something."
your brows furrowed instantly. "what comments."
his mouth twitched. "'just kiss already and save us all the trouble.'"
you stared at him in disbelief. "absolutely not."
"why not?"
"because i'd rather die."
sunghoon hummed thoughtfully. "dramatic."
"you make me dramatic." that slipped out before you could stop it, the silence was thick.
sunghoon's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. something darker settling beneath the amusement. your face heated instantly. great. excellent. love that for you.
you tried pulling your wrist back but he didn't let go. not fully, he just loosened his grip slightly. enough to remind you he could let go if he wanted to, but wasn't.
"you know what i think?" he asked quietly.
"i don't care."
"i think you enjoy this."
you scoffed immediately. "arguing with you is psychologically damaging."
"yet you keep doing it."
"because someone needs to humble you."
sunghoon smiled slowly, that smile should've come with a warning label. "you've been saying that for two years, i don't think you're making much progress, __."
your stomach twisted, you hated how softly he said it. like he'd been thinking about it too, absolutely disgusting.
you crossed your arms tighter, or tried to. hard to look intimidating when he still had your wrist trapped loosely in his hand. "you're weirdly obsessed with me for someone who acts emotionally detached all the time."
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "says the girl who wrote a public essay about me." at this point the both of you were repeating yourselves for the nth time, none of you progressing anywhere.
"because you're irritating."
"and handsome?"
you nearly choked. "WHEN did i say that?"
"you didn't have to."
you looked genuinely appalled, sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath. the sound went straight through you in the most irritating way imaginable.
you hated that too, everything about him irritated you. his stupid voice, his stupid face, his stupidly long fingers still wrapped around your wrist.
"you're insufferable."
"you like that word."
"because it applies to you constantly." you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes in the most dramatic way you could possibly pull off.
sunghoon leaned closer, close enough that your back finally brushed against the wall behind you.
you swallowed hard, annoyed. deeply annoyed.
"you know," he said softly, "for someone who claims to hate me, you stare at me a lot."
your jaw dropped. "you stare at ME."
"because you're loud."
"and you're annoying."
"yet here we are."
your heart was beating so hard you were convinced he could hear it. which was humiliating, especially because he looked entirely unaffected.
calm. steady. composed. which is what his heart monitor would read after you ran him over with your car. you wanted to ruin that composure so badly. sunghoon's gaze dropped to your mouth again, this time slower and less subtle. your breathing hitched involuntarily and that smug bastard noticed immediately.
his eyes darkened slightly. "there it is," he murmured.
"what."
"that look."
"what look?"
sunghoon smiled faintly. "the one you get before you start losing an argument."
you pushed against his shoulder instantly, hard. or at least hard enough to make a point but sunghoon barely moved. which only irritated you more. "i never lose."
"sure."
"i'm serious."
"mhm."
you glared at him, sunghoon stared back. then quietly—
way too calmly—he said, "maybe we should give people what they want."
your stomach dropped. "what."
his fingers tightened slightly around your wrist before he stepped closer again, completely boxing you in now.
"the comments seem very invested in us."
"there is no 'us.'" you repeated for the nth time.
"you keep saying that."
"because it's true."
sunghoon looked at you for one long second, then his voice dropped lower, dangerously soft. "then how about we start with the kiss?"
your brain short-circuited so violently you physically stopped breathing. "excuse me?"
sunghoon's expression remained infuriatingly calm. but his eyes—his eyes looked anything but calm now. "you heard me."
heat exploded across your face instantly. "you are OUT of your mind."
"probably."
"i would never kiss you."
sunghoon leaned down slightly, close enough that his voice brushed against your skin. "you keep saying things your body language disagrees with."
your stomach flipped violently. you hated him, because he sounded so certain, so unfairly confident. you opened your mouth to argue again but footsteps echoed nearby and a group of students rounded the corner laughing loudly.
both of you glanced over instinctively, the moment broke slightly. just enough, except sunghoon didn't move away. instead, his gaze flicked briefly down the hall toward the nearby family washroom.
then back to you and your pulse spiked instantly. "sunghoon—"
before you could finish, he tugged lightly on your wrist.
your breath caught as he pulled you forward down the hall.
"what are you DOING?"
sunghoon glanced back at you once, that same dangerous almost-smile pulling at his mouth.
"proving a point."
your stomach dropped straight to hell. your sneakers squeaked slightly against the floor as sunghoon pulled you down the hallway.
not fast enough to look suspicious, which somehow made it worse. his hand stayed wrapped around your wrist the entire time—warm, firm, steady—like he already knew you wouldn't actually pull away.
which was irritating, deeply irritating. "park sunghoon—"
"you say my full name a lot when you're nervous."
"i'm not nervous." he glanced back at you briefly, that smug look again.
"sure."
you swore out his entire bloodline at this moment as your heart was currently beating like you'd just sprinted across campus. sunghoon stopped outside the family washroom and pushed the door open casually before looking back at you expectantly.
your eyes widened immediately. "oh my god."
"what?"
"you're insane."
"you've said that already."
"because you keep proving it."
sunghoon's mouth twitched then he gently tugged your wrist again. you should've walked away, seriously. you should've told him to go to hell and left immediately.
instead—you followed him inside. which honestly felt like a personal failure.
the door clicked shut behind you.
the washroom was too bright and too small. and now sunghoon was standing directly in front of you with nowhere to escape to, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms and dark hair slightly falling into his eyes.
you became painfully aware of every inch of space between you both, which unfortunately (fortunately) wasn't much.
your pulse went insane. sunghoon leaned back lightly against the sink counter, still watching you with that same unreadable expression. except now there was something sharper underneath it, something heated.
you crossed your arms immediately, defensive. "if you murder me in here i'm haunting you."
sunghoon laughed quietly, the sound bounced softly off the tiled walls. "you think i'd need to drag you into a bathroom to kill you?"
"probably not. you'd do it in a psychologically manipulative way."
"interesting that you've thought about it."
"i think about punching you constantly."
sunghoon hummed. "violent."
"you bring it out in me."
his gaze held yours for a second too long. then, "i know."
your stomach flipped, you hated how low his voice sounded in here. hated how every tiny expression felt amplified now that you were alone. you needed to regain control of this conversation immediately.
"so what exactly was your master plan here?" you asked. "corner me in a public washroom and continue being annoying?"
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you came willingly."
well, he got you there. "against my better judgment."
"yet still willingly."
you rolled your eyes aggressively. "you're obsessed with having the last word."
"that's rich coming from you."
"i'm right most of the time." sunghoon smiled slowly, there it was again. that stupid smile that made you irrationally aware of how attractive he was.
you hated that too, everything about him was annoying.
the way he stood, the way he talked. the way his hands and forearms looked resting against the sink behind him—okay.
you needed to stop thinking immediately. sunghoon noticed your brief lapse in concentration. his eyes narrowed slightly, amused.
"what happened?" he asked softly. "lost your train of thought?"
"i'm deciding how much jail time i'd get for assault." good cover up!
"probably less if you looked this cute during the mugshot."
your brain completely blue-screened, you stared at him.
sunghoon stared back. completely calm after saying the most insane thing imaginable.
"you—" nothing, your thoughts evaporated.
sunghoon pushed off the sink slowly, one step closer.
then another. your back instinctively hit the door behind you.
oh my god.
"what?" he asked quietly. you swallowed hard, annoyed at yourself.
"you can't just say things like that."
"why not?"
"because it's weird."
"you're flustered again."
"I AM NOT FLUSTERED."
sunghoon looked down at you for a long second then his gaze flicked to your mouth again. slowly and deliberately. your stomach twisted so hard it physically hurt and you wondered what would happen if you just threw up your guts onto him. how pretty would he look with a bacon egg and cheese splashed onto him?
"you know," he murmured, "for someone who claims to hate me, you let me get very close to you."
"you cornered me." you snap.
"you could move." you opened your mouth then closed it. because—well technically. he wasn't wrong. you absolutely could move, but instead you stayed exactly where you were.
sunghoon noticed immediately, that smug look returned. "there it is."
"stop saying that."
"then stop proving me right."
you glared at him, he stared back. neither of you moved.
the tension in the room felt ridiculous now. thick enough to choke on.
and the worst part? sunghoon still looked calm. slightly amused, even. like he was waiting for you to figure something out.
your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket. both of you glanced downward instinctively. another reddit notification, causing sunghoon laughed softly. "they're probably asking if we kissed yet."
your face heated instantly. "they're delusional."
"mhm."
"stop doing that."
"doing what?"
"looking at me like that."
his brows lifted slightly. "like what?"
you gestured vaguely, frustrated. "like you know something i don't."
sunghoon stepped closer again, barely any space left between you now. his voice dropped lower, quieter.
"maybe i do."
your breath caught, his hand lifted slowly toward your face. you froze up, completely. sunghoon's fingers brushed lightly against your jaw, gentle and careful.
somehow that made it worse. your heartbeat was so loud you were convinced the entire campus could hear it.
sunghoon looked at you for one long second. then quietly—almost teasing—he murmured "still think you'd rather die than kiss me?"
your brain was screaming because park sunghoon's hand was on your jaw right now. his thumb resting lightly against your skin while he looked at you like this —calm on the surface, but with something much more dangerous underneath.
and the worst part? you still hadn't moved away.
your back pressed against the door behind you as your pulse absolutely lost its mind. sunghoon waited patiently for an answer.
that smug bastard. "well?" he murmured softly. you swallowed hard. "you're very confident for someone who uses reddit burner accounts."
the corner of his mouth lifted immediately. there you were, finally talking again.
"deflecting already?"
"i'm not deflecting."
"mhm."
you hated that sound. hated how he kept looking at you like he could see directly through every thought in your head. because right now those thoughts were actively betraying you.
you were suddenly hyperaware of everything, the warmth of his hand, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his hoodie sleeves stretched around his forearms when he shifted closer.
deeply irritating. you narrowed your eyes, trying desperately to regain control of the situation.
"you know what your problem is?"
sunghoon hummed softly, looking down at you with an unreadable glint in his dark eyes. "you think everyone secretly likes you."
"not everyone."
his thumb brushed your jaw slightly as he spoke and your stomach flipped violently.
"just you."
your breath caught embarrassingly fast. sunghoon noticed instantly and his eyes darkened slightly. suddenly the teasing atmosphere shifted into something heavier, quieter.
you hated how good he was at this. "you're unbelievable," you muttered.
"you've said that too."
"because you keep acting insane."
sunghoon leaned down slightly, close enough now that his voice felt warm against your skin.
"you haven't told me to stop."
your brain short-circuited. because—because technically—you hadn't. you opened your mouth immediately. "stop."
sunghoon smiled faintly, but didn't move. "that sounded forced."
you glared at him. "you're annoying."
"and yet you're still here." he kept doing that. kept pointing out things you didn't want to acknowledge.
like the fact that you could absolutely shove him away right now if you wanted to.
except you didn't, which felt like a massive personal failure. your phone buzzed again in your pocket making sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath. "persistent audience."
"they need hobbies."
"says the girl who argued with me online for thirteen hours."
"because you were WRONG."
"about what exactly?"
"everything."
sunghoon's brows lifted slightly. "including the part where you're obviously attracted to me?"
your jaw dropped. silence. violent silence. your entire nervous system shut down. "you—"
nothing came out and sunghoon looked way too pleased with himself. "there it is again."
"if you say 'speechless' one more time i'm calling campus security."
he laughed again, soft and genuine. and it hit you in the chest in the most irritating way imaginable because you'd never heard him laugh like this before.
not during class, not during arguments. this was different, warmer, more relaxed. like he was actually enjoying himself.
you stared at him suspiciously, sunghoon noticed immediately. "what?"
"why are you smiling like that."
"like what?"
"like you're having fun." his gaze held yours for a second, then, "i am."
your stomach twisted again, it felt as if your body was actively betraying you . you looked away first this time, suddenly very interested in the tiled floor beneath you. sunghoon's hand shifted slightly, fingers brushing gently beneath your chin.
guiding your attention back to him and your heart nearly exploded.
"don't do that," you muttered weakly.
"do what?"
"that."
"very descriptive."
you glared at him, or attempted to. hard to look intimidating when your face was hot and your heartbeat sounded like a construction site.
sunghoon studied your expression quietly for a moment.
then smiled slightly, smaller this time and less teasing. "you know what i think?"
"i think you should stop thinking entirely." you spat out weakly.
"i think," he continued calmly ignoring what you just said, "you've spent two years picking fights with me because it's the only time you stop pretending not to care what i think."
your stomach dropped straight to hell you stared at him only to see him look at you with a look you were afraid to identify. and somehow that was worse than the teasing, because he sounded genuine now.
which felt unfair.
you recovered immediately through anger, your favorite defense mechanism.
"oh my god you are SO full of yourself."
"am i wrong?"
"yes."
"then why are you blushing?"
you slapped your hands over your face instantly, and sunghoon actually laughed. fully this time and the sound was so unexpectedly attractive it made you want to walk directly into traffic.
"stop laughing."
"you're cute when you're angry."
"you're making me angrier."
"i know." his voice softened slightly on the last two words, your hands slowly lowered from your face.
sunghoon was still standing impossibly close. still looking at you like he wanted to see what you'd do next.
your heartbeat wouldn't calm down and neither would your thoughts.
and then his gaze dropped to your mouth again, slowly—intentionally.
your breath caught again and sunghoon noticed. again.
his hand slid lightly from your jaw to the side of your neck.
you completely stopped functioning. "sunghoon," you whispered, first name only this time. this was probably the first time in the two years you knew him that you had said his name with such softness.
something shifted in his expression immediately and his eyes darkened. his thumb pressed lightly against your neck.
"yeah?" he murmured.
oh.
oh this was bad.
his thumb pressed gently against the pulse hammering in your throat. that single point of contact felt like a live wire.
"yeah?" he murmured again, his voice dropping into a register you'd never heard, low and rough and utterly dismantling. you had no witty retort, no clever insult. your brain was static, every neuron firing toward the heat of his hand, the dark focus in his eyes.
he saw the surrender you hadn't even voiced. his other hand came up, fingers threading through your hair to cradle the back of your head, and then he was closing the last inch of space.
his mouth was on yours.
it wasn't tentative. it wasn't a question. it was a firm, smooth claim that stole the breath from your lungs and the strength from your knees. his lips moved against yours with a confident pressure that was instantly dizzying. he tasted like mint and something darker, something uniquely him.
a soft, surprised sound escaped you, swallowed immediately by his kiss. he angled your head, deepening it, his tongue sweeping past your lips to tangle with yours.
it was an argument you couldn't win, a debate settled with a devastating, sensual finality. your hands, which had been balled into fists at your sides, came up to clutch at the fabric of his hoodie.
he broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against your swollen lips, "finally." then he was moving again, his body pressing you firmly back against the cool door. you felt your heart pounding in your chest like you had ran a mile, his one word stealing the strength from your legs.
in one fluid, shockingly strong motion, he captured both your wrists in one of his large hands and pinned them above your head. you gasped, a thrill of helplessness shooting straight to your core. his other hand returned to your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a dominant, possessive weight.
"always so loud," he breathed, his lips trailing down your jaw. "so much to say." you could feel the hard, undeniable ridge of his dick pressing against your stomach through both your clothes. the evidence of his desire was a shockwave that made you whimper. he smirked against your skin. "what's wrong? no clever comeback?"
he leaned in again, but instead of kissing you, he hovered. his gaze locked on yours, dark and intense. then he gathered a bit of saliva on his tongue and let it fall, slow and deliberate, past his own lips and onto yours.
the warm, wet intimacy of it made your eyes flutter closed for a second. "open," he commanded softly. dazed, you did. he sealed his mouth over yours again, sharing the wetness, the kiss turning filthy and deep.
you drank him in, your earlier defiance melting into a desperate, aching need. you could feel your underwear stick to you uncomfortably, shifting slighting only to have sunghoon's large body pin you against the door harder. his bulge pushing into your stomach firmer, you could feel him grind against you.
he pulled back, his breathing slightly ragged, and began to mouth down the column of your throat. his teeth scraped lightly, then bit down, not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you cry out and arch against him. he soothed the spot with his tongue before sucking hard, leaving a brand you knew would bloom purple.
he admired his work, then the dizzy, wrecked look on your face. "look at you. all that fire, reduced to this."
his free hand slid down, grabbing the hem of your shirt. "all those essays about my emotional incompetence," he said, tugging the fabric up. you shivered as cool air hit your stomach.
"all that time you spent thinking about me." the shirt went over your head, discarded somewhere on the floor. his eyes raked over your bra. "and for what? to end up here."
"you're—you're still insufferable," you managed to pant, even as you pressed your chest toward him—urging him to take it off.
"i know," he said, his fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra. it came undone. "and you're still obsessed." the bra straps slid down your arms, still trapped in his grasp. he let go of your wrists just long enough to pull the garment away and toss it aside. immediately, his hand returned, clamping back down.
you used your momentary freedom to grab the bottom of his hoodie, pushing it up. he helped, releasing you to yank it and his shirt off in one impatient move.
then he was back on you, skin to searing skin. he was a biter, just as you'd imagined. his mouth latched onto the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before he sucked it deep.
you cried out, your head thumping back against the door. "if you can do it," you gasped, twisting to reach his shoulder with your mouth. you sank your teeth into the hard muscle there, a retaliatory claim. "then i can too."
"fuck." he groaned, the sound vibrating through your entire body. you think you just gushed and ruined your panties.
a competition of marks began. he left a trail of bruises and blooming red patches down your chest, over your ribs. you reciprocated on his neck, his collarbone, his pectoral, each bite earning a sharper gasp or a low, approving growl from him.
the pain was a bright, sharp pleasure, a physical manifestation of all your tangled, furious energy.
suddenly, he was pushing you down. a firm hand on your shoulder guided you to your knees on the cold tile.
you looked up at him, dazed. he loomed over you, his expression one of dark, predatory amusement. he undid his belt buckle, the click obscenely loud in the small room.
"i wonder," he mused, his voice thick, "how much shit you can talk with your mouth full of me."
he popped the button of his jeans, lowered the zipper. the outline of his cock straining against his boxers made your mouth water. "hands behind your back," he ordered.
you hesitated, glaring up at him. with a frustrated noise, you reached for his waistband. he caught your wrist instantly. "ah-ah." his other hand came up and delivered a firm, almost casual pat against your cheek. it wasn't a hard slap, but it was a stinging, dominant correction that made your eyes widen and your clit throb. "i said, no hands."
swallowing your pride, you leaned forward. you nuzzled against the fabric of his boxers, feeling the hard heat beneath. using your teeth, you caught the elastic waistband and tugged it down, revealing him.
he was thick and fully hard, the tip already glistening. you licked a slow stripe from base to tip, looking up at him through your lashes. his jaw tightened as you took him into your mouth, slowly, relishing the salty, clean taste of him, the way his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk.
he let you set the pace for a moment, his hands fisting in your hair. "that's it," he breathed, his composure fraying. "all that attitude... fucking gone." you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, until he hit the back of your throat.
you relaxed, letting him slide further, tears pricking your eyes. the rhythm became faster, harder, driven by the soft, choked sounds he was making above you. his grip in your hair tightened, guiding you.
you could feel his hips shudder and his pace falter as he peered down to see his cock disappear in your mouth. he felt his chest swell just at the sight of you, eyes watering and face red.
"gonna cum," he warned, his voice ragged. you didn't pull away. with a sharp, guttural groan, he spilled hot and bitter over your tongue and across your chest, painting stripes over your skin.
he took a second to admire the mess he had made of you, your skin flushed a pretty pink with his cum coating you like icing on a cake.
he pulled you to your feet, his own legs seemingly unsteady. he pushed your pants and panties down in one rough motion, his fingers immediately finding your slick heat.
he pushed your soaked underwear aside, sliding two fingers through your folds. "so wet," he laughed, a dark, triumphant sound. he brought his glistening fingers to your lips. "and for me. after all that."
he turned you around, bending you over the sink. your reflection was a shock—flushed face, bruised lips, hair a mess, his marks covering your skin. he positioned himself behind you, one hand wrapping around your throat again, pulling you back against his chest. the other hand rubbed tight, demanding circles over your clit.
"look," he whispered harshly in your ear, nodding at the mirror. "look at how silly you look. falling apart on my fingers when just hours ago you were calling me a 'rejected sherlock holmes adaptation' on the internet."
the overstimulation was maddening. pleasure coiled tight in your belly.
"the comments... were idiots," you panted, even as you pushed back against his fingers trying to get him to slip them inside your needy weeping hole.
he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. "they saw right through you." he pushed a finger inside you, then another, curling them. you gasped, your knees buckling. "admit it. you wanted this every time you picked a fight."
"i wanted to win," you moaned, the words torn from you. he hooked his fingers in you, rubbing your gummy walls while his thumb continued to rub circles against your needy clit.
"you are winning," he breathed, nipping your earlobe. "look at you. you won my full, undivided attention." he removed his fingers, and you felt the blunt, hot pressure of his cock at your entrance.
he pushed in, slowly, inch by devastating inch, filling you completely. the stretch was divine. he held you there, both of you panting, watching in the mirror. he almost came at the sight of your fucked out face, his hands gripping your waist with pressure that would surely bruise.
he began to move, a slow, filthy grind that had you seeing stars. his hand on your throat kept you upright, the other hand sliding around to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. "beg for it," he murmured, his eyes locked on yours in the reflection. "beg me to let you cum."
you didn't answer, trying to avoid his gaze in the mirror only for a particularly rough thrust and his blunt nails digging into your face to swiftly put you back in your place.
"no," you gritted out, even as your body shook.
he spanked you once, hard, on the ass cheek. the sharp sting made you cry out and clench around him. "beg."
"sunghoon—"
another spank. his fingers on your clit became relentless. you were so close, teetering on the edge, but he held you there, his thrusts measured and deep.
"you're so stubborn. just like online. all that typing." he punctuated each word with a thrust. "just. give. in."
the pleasure was a tidal wave, held back by his will alone. you were so overstimulated, so desperate, your pride the only thing left. he leaned forward, his mouth at your ear. "come on, sweetheart. let go. tell me you need it."
as much as it killed you to beg, it also killed you to not cum all over his stupidly thick cock. you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten up as you try to push yourself back to meet his strong and unrelenting thrusts.
sunghoon smirks when he notices your desperation, slowing down on purpose. "c'mon, sweetheart. you don't wanna cum f'me?"
the pet name, the raw need in his own voice, broke you. "please," you sobbed, the word barely audible. "please, sunghoon, let me cum."
"good girl," he purred, and his rhythm became punishing and his fingers began to rub punishingly against your swollen clit. "now."
the orgasm ripped through you, blinding and violent. you screamed, your body convulsing around him as he fucked you through it, his own groans joining yours.
you felt his warm cum flood your cunt as you twitched with the aftershocks of your high. he watched you fall apart in the mirror, his expression one of fierce, possessive satisfaction.
as your spasms began to subside, he slowed, still buried deep inside you. he was breathing heavily against your neck.
he planted soft kisses on your shoulder blade and neck, his dick still in you—twitching. your body trembled slightly, refusing to look into the mirror because then you would see the aftermath of what sunghoon had done to you.
the silence afterward felt strange.
not awkward. not exactly.
just... different.
like something between you had shifted permanently and neither of you quite knew how to deal with it yet.
the fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead while rain tapped faintly against the tiny washroom window. your heart still hadn't calmed down properly, which was deeply irritating considering park sunghoon looked entirely too composed standing in front of you when you had finally found your guts to look.
his dark hair was messy now, lips pink from kissing you. his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat that gave his pale skin a beautiful glow.
which—you immediately looked away.
absolutely not.
sunghoon noticed, of course. he noticed everything.
"you're quiet," he said softly.
you scoffed weakly, body twitching when you feel sunghoon grow hard in you. "this is emotionally traumatic for me."
the corner of his mouth lifted, that stupid almost-smile again. except now it looked softer somehow and less smug.
you attempted to move only for his body to keep you caged between the sink and him. you looked down for a moment to see his cum that had escaped from you dripping down your thigh, a shaky breath leaving your bruised lips.
"don't look at me like that."
"like what?"
"like you just won something, you didn't win shit."
sunghoon leaned back lightly against the door of the washroom eyes still fixed on you. "maybe i did."
your stomach flipped and you frowned immediately, just because you two fucked doesn't mean that you would admit defeat to sunghoon and his annoying antics. "you're so annoying."
"you keep saying that."
"because you keep being annoying."
sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath, shaking his head slightly. the sound hit you straight in the chest in the most irritating way imaginable.
silence settled again for a moment, except this time it didn't feel sharp or tense like your usual arguments.
it felt warm, which was arguably more terrifying.
your eyes narrowed suddenly. "sunoo is never letting me live this down."
sunghoon's smile widened immediately. "he already thought you liked me."
"he's delusional."
"mhm."
you pointed at him instantly. "stop doing that."
"doing what?" he snickers as he finally pulls out, a small whimper escaping your parted lips and sunghoon swears he could cum from that little sound alone.
"that fake calm thing."
"it's not fake."
"that somehow makes it worse."
sunghoon pushed himself off of you before turning you around so your back faced the mirror and stepped closer again.
not cornering you this time, just close enough that your pulse started acting stupid all over again. his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then your thighs that were trembling before returning to your eyes.
"so what now?" he asked quietly, his hands coming out to grab on to your hips.
you folded your arms tighter, defensive reflex.
"what do you mean."
"are you still gonna argue with me in class?"
you stared at him like that was the dumbest question ever asked.
"obviously."
sunghoon laughed softly. "figured."
"just because i fucked you doesn't mean your opinions suddenly got better."
"ouch."
"you still sound pretentious."
"and you still interrupt me constantly."
"because you're wrong constantly."
sunghoon shook his head, smiling now. his hand reaching down to push the cum that was trailing down your inner thigh back up—rubbing your swollen cunt with his remnants.
you squeaked out at the feeling, grabbing a hold of his wrist as he watched you with a lazy smile. you hated how much better he looked when he smiled properly.
your phone buzzed loudly against the counter beside you.
then again and again.
you looked down at the endless reddit notifications flooding your screen and groaned dramatically.
"i genuinely hate everyone on that app." sunghoon glanced at your phone before looking back at you, his fingers leaving your cunt to rest back on your hips again much to your dismay.
amusement flickered across his face immediately. "they were pretty accurate though."
"don't start."
"'enemies to lovers' seemed popular."
"they're unemployed."
sunghoon laughed again and you stared at him suspiciously for a second, then narrowed your eyes. "you know this is all your fault."
"interesting argument."
"you replied first."
"you made the post first."
"because you're irritating."
"and yet here you are."
your face heated instantly, sunghoon noticed. his expression softened slightly after that, teasing fading into something quieter.
more careful, he looked at you for a long second close enough that your heartbeat immediately betrayed you again. then, with that same smug little smile returning to his mouth, he tilted his head slightly and murmured, "so."
you narrowed your eyes immediately. "so what."
sunghoon's gaze held yours, steady, amused and dangerously warm.
"do you still think i'm the asshole?"
— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!
⌗ in which . . . you’re baking late at night when lee heeseung walks in and the quiet kitchen shifts from playful comfort into something heated
流星 ໑ . . bf!heeseung x fem!reader
⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), established relationship, oral sex (f. receiving), food play, use of kitchen tools as sensory props, kitchen setting, dominant dynamic, dirty talk, sensory-heavy descriptions ➜ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this reflects reality | wc: 2.6k
♪ el’s bubble: okay, kinkiest thing i've probably ever written . . i have to get off my phone and reflect 😢 requested by anon, thank you ! not my best work imo, please ignore any errors, none of this has been proofread and i ended up changing a lot of things last minute 😂 enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are always open if you want to see me write something specific ۫ ׅ
tags: @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @kristynaaah @psychicdazestrawberry @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙
now playing . . . sweet by cigarettes after sex
The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the apartment, save for the gentle clinking of a metal spoon against a ceramic bowl.
You hummed along to the silent melody, lost in the sweet, comforting world of late-night baking.
Dressed in one of Heeseung’s oversized t-shirts that hung loosely over your frame, paired with a tiny pair of shorts peeking out from beneath, you felt perfectly at ease.
The kitchen air was thick and warm, smelling deliciously of vanilla, sugar, and melting chocolate.
A tray of perfectly golden cupcakes sat cooling on a rack. At the same time, you meticulously piped swirls of creamy buttercream onto another batch, adding a scattering of rainbow sprinkles to each one.
You were so engrossed, head tilted in concentration, that you didn't hear the soft shuffle of bare feet until a warm presence leaned against the counter beside you.
"Mmm, something smells good," a low, raspy voice rumbled, still thick with sleep.
You jumped, nearly smearing frosting across your cheeks. "Heeseung! That scared me!"
You turned to see him, hair mussed, eyes still heavy-lidded, but a small smile playing on his lips.
He was wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare, and you felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest at the sight of him.
"I couldn't sleep," he mumbled, reaching out a finger and swiping a dollop of frosting from the bowl. He licked it slowly, his eyes closing in bliss. "This is amazing."
"Hey, hold up, that's for the cupcakes!" you playfully scolded, swatting his hand away. "Go back to bed, Hee. These aren't even close to ready yet."
He grunted, leaning his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. "But I'm really, really hungry, baby. Can't I just have one?"
"No, you cannot," you giggled, trying to push him away gently. "They need to be fully decorated, and you're in my way, mister."
"Just one little bite? Please?" he pleaded, his voice a low purr as he nipped playfully at your earlobe.
"Hee!" You swivelled, pushing him back with a hand on his bare chest. "Stop that, you're going to make me mess up." You laughed, genuinely enjoying his sleepy antics.
This was literally your life.
These quiet, playful moments in the late hours were all part of your routine after having been living under the same roof as Heeseung.
You turned back to your task, reaching for a bottle of chocolate syrup from the top shelf.
As you stretched, your shirt rode up a little, and the hem of your shorts rose with it. You leaned forward, craning your neck to see the label, completely oblivious to the sudden, subtle shift in the atmosphere behind you.
Heeseung had been about to steal another taste of frosting, but his eyes had drifted.
The soft, buttery curve of your lower back, the smooth line of your thigh, and then, a fleeting glimpse of delicate lace peeking out from beneath the fabric of your shorts.
It was just a flash, a whisper of ivory against your skin, but it was enough.
More than enough, actually.
The playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense focus. He went completely still, his half-raised hand dropping slowly to his side.
The sweet smell of vanilla and chocolate suddenly seemed to amplify, becoming almost intoxicating.
You finally retrieved the syrup, turning back with a cheerful hum. "Alright, now for the chocolate drizzle..." You trailed off, noticing him.
Damn it.
He wasn't even looking at the cupcakes anymore.
His gaze was fixed on you, heavy and unblinking, his earlier playful expression entirely gone.
"Heeseung?" you asked, a little confused. "What's wrong? Is there something on my face?" You touched your cheek self-consciously.
He didn't answer, just took a slow, deliberate step closer. His eyes, usually so warm and expressive, were now dark, almost predatory.
The playful hunger he'd shown for the cupcakes was now directed solely at you, and it was a hunger that made your breath catch in your throat.
"Hee? Baby? Hello?" you tried again, a nervous flutter starting in your stomach.
The air in the kitchen, once warm and comforting, now felt thick with an entirely different kind of heat.
He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip through the fabric of his shirt. His touch was light, yet possessive, sending a shiver through you.
"You look really pretty right now," he murmured, his voice deeper, rougher than before. "So, so sweet."
He moved closer still, caging you against the cool marble of the counter.
The half-decorated cupcakes, the bowls of frosting, and the sprinkles all seemed to blur into the background.
His eyes devoured you, tracing the line of your collarbone, lingering on the soft swell of your chest beneath his shirt.
"Heeseung, what are you doing? I'm in the middle of baking," you protested weakly, your voice barely a whisper.
You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the sudden, desperate intensity of his gaze.
This wasn't the playful Heeseung from moments ago.
Hell no.
This was something else entirely.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Forget the baking," he breathed, his hand sliding up your side, fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. "I want to taste you instead."
A beat.
Before you could even fully process his words, his mouth was on your neck, a soft groan rumbling in his chest as he kissed and sucked at the sensitive skin beneath your ear.
His hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body, pulling you flush against him until you could feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against your shorts.
"The fuck, Heeseung, wait," you tried, a weak protest, but your body was already betraying you, arching into his touch.
The rich confectionery scent was suddenly mixed with his intoxicating musk, filling your senses.
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark and burning. "Please," he whispered, a raw, needy edge to his voice that made your knees tremble. "Just... please give me a taste."
He kissed you then, deeply and urgently, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting of frosting and something uniquely, deliciously him.
His hands found the hem of his shirt you were wearing, easily pushing it up and over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor amidst a scattering of rainbow sprinkles.
The cool air of the kitchen hit your bare skin, but you barely noticed, consumed by the fire he was igniting.
He broke the kiss, his eyes dropping to your exposed chest, a low growl escaping his throat.
"Gosh, you're going to make a mess, I don’t want to clean up so much," you managed, a faint protest as his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin of your breast.
He chuckled, a dark and husky sound.
"That’s good, baby. I love making a mess," his thumb grazed your nipple, making it harden instantly.
"Especially when it's this fucking sweet."
He bent his head, his mouth closing over one peak, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. His free hand slid down, pushing aside the thin fabric of your shorts, seeking the soft warmth between your thighs.
The cool marble counter pressed against your back, a stark contrast to the burning heat his body was generating.
"Heeseung," you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his messy hair as he suckled greedily.
The kitchen, once a sanctuary of domestic calm, had transformed into a playground of raw desire. Bowls clattered as his elbow nudged them, a half-finished cupcake toppled, its frosting smearing across the counter. A sticky trail of chocolate syrup lay forgotten beside a whisk.
He pulled away from your breast, his eyes still heavy-lidded, but now blazing with a possessive hunger that made your core clench.
He reached for a bottle of whipped cream from the fridge, shaking it vigorously before spraying a decadent dollop onto your stomach.
"So good," he murmured, licking it clean with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, making you writhe against him. "So, so, so fucking good, baby."
His mouth moved lower, tasting, teasing, until you were practically melting against the counter.
He was insatiable, devouring you with a desperate urgency that left no room for thought, only sensation.
Your ragged breaths now drowned out the soft hum of the refrigerator, the soft moans escaping your lips, and the frantic rhythm of his touch.
He lifted you, settling you onto the counter amidst the forgotten baking supplies, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.
The cool marble, the sticky frosting, the scattered sprinkles – it was all a deliciously messy backdrop to the heat building between you.
He peeled your shorts away only to be met with a teasing glimpse of lace, and his hands tightened on your thighs as though restraining himself was rapidly becoming impossible.
“You wear this while making cupcakes and expect me to behave?” he rasped, voice thick with disbelief, fingers hooking into the delicate sides before tugging the lace down in one impatient motion, his stare turning darker as he left you completely exposed beneath him.
Heeseung's dark eyes burned into your exposed pussy, splayed wide on the counter amid the chaos of scattered bowls — thick buttercream frosting oozing, chocolate ganache pooling, sugar dusting everything like filthy snow.
The air hung thick with the thick, sugary aroma clashing against your sharp, heady scent of arousal.
He licked his lips slowly, predatory. "Fuck, baby, your cunt's weeping for me already. So puffy, so slick, lips parted like they need my mouth buried in 'em. I'm gonna tongue-fuck this juicy thing until you're a shaking mess, begging to soak my face."
You shivered, thighs trembling as he draped your legs over his broad shoulders, knees hooked high to splay you obscenely.
His strong hands gripped your inner thighs, thumbs digging in to hold you open without mercy.
He snatched a spoon from the mess, scooping a dollop of frosting, but instead of your core, he smeared it thick across your sensitive inner thighs, cool cream trailing up toward your crease, inches from your heat, making your skin prickle and twitch.
"Gonna paint these slutty thighs first, make 'em sticky for me to lick clean while I devour your dripping slit. Feel that chill? Your body's already begging for more."
"Heeseung, baby... please," you whined, hips rolling instinctively, clenching on nothing as the frosting melted warm against your flesh.
He smirked, dragging the spoon's edge along your thigh muscles, pressing firmly to massage the cream deeper into your skin, sending tingles racing toward your core.
Then he grabbed the piping bag’s rounded, flexible form, brushing against your skin as he steadied it in his grip, making your muscles jump, blood rushing hotter to your system.
"Spread wider for me, you greedy girl. Let me mark these thighs red while your pussy throbs untouched. Look at it, all shiny and desperate." He held the piping bag steady as his other hand guided your thighs further apart , exposing every inch of your pulsing entrance.
His hot breath ghosted over your clit first, making it throb harder.
Then his tongue struck — flat and broad, lapping from your hole upward in one long, greedy swipe, collecting your tangy slick.
No utensils here, thankfully, it was just his wicked mouth claiming you.
He groaned deep, the vibration humming straight through your core. "Shit, you taste like pure sin, gorgeous. Salty-sweet nectar. Gonna slurp every drop while these thighs quiver around my head."
You moaned loud, fingers twisting in his hair, yanking him closer.
“Ugh, keep doing that, baby.”
He dove in ravenously, lips sealing around your cunt to suck hard, pulsing pulls that hollowed his cheeks.
His tongue flicked the peak relentlessly, tip battering it side-to-side, then circling tight spirals.
Below, he thrust his tongue into your entrance, spearing shallow but insistent, fucking your walls with wet, obscene thrusts.
Slurping sounds filled the kitchen as he sucked your lips into his mouth, tugging them gently between sucks, releasing with filthy pops.
While his face stayed glued to your cunt, he reached for the spoon, dipping its bowl in chocolate ganache.
He ran the curved underside of the spoon lightly over your ass cheeks, the cool metal gliding across your skin in slow, teasing passes, dipping into the crease but never breaching, just hovering at the rim, making your hips buck wildly into his devouring mouth.
"Feel the spoon tickling your tight ass? Chocolate dripping down, begging to mix with your come. But this sloppy cunt? All mine to tongue. Clench on it, baby. Fuck, milk my tongue like the cock it wishes it was."
Your breaths came in gasps, body arching off the counter. "Ugh—fuck, yes… Baby—faster."
"That's my filthy girl," he rasped against your folds, pulling back a slick string of your arousal, connecting his lips to your pussy.
He snatched the icing spatula next, its side gliding over your lower belly, pressing into your hip bones, then down to slap lightly against your clit, sending a sharp jolt through your core.
The frosting from your thighs smeared onto his chin as he plunged back in, nose grinding your clit while his tongue lashed your entrance, plunging deep, curling to hit that spongy spot inside.
He hummed filthy praises into you. "Your pussy's gushing rivers, pretty. Coating my tongue, dripping down my throat. So fucking responsive, I love it. Twitching every time I flick this clit. You love being my little kitchen toy, don't you? Legs spread, thighs sticky, cunt feasted on like dessert."
His free hand slapped your thigh with the spatula again, the sting amplifying every lick, every suck, as he alternated between vacuuming your folds and tongue-fucking your hole.
Pleasure built like a storm, coiling viciously in your gut.
He grabbed the whisk now,its looped wires dragging slowly over your breasts, trailing down your sides, grazing your nipples through, tiny scratches raising goosebumps everywhere, indirect fire that made your pussy clamp harder on his invading tongue.
"These wires on your tits, huh? Making your whole body buzz while I eat this perfect cunt. Push it out, grind on my face, gorgeous."
You thrashed, heels digging into his back. "Heeseung! Oh fuck, I'm gonna—"
"Not yet," he growled, pulling his mouth away just as you teetered on the edge, your pussy clenching desperately in the air, slick drooling down your ass.
He used the spoon to smear more frosting along your inner thighs and ass, the cool sweetness contrasting his hot breath as he blew teasingly over your throbbing clit. "Gonna edge this needy slit until you're sobbing. Beg for my tongue back in your sloppy hole."
"Please! Damn it, just use me, Hee!" you cried, hips humping nothing.
Satisfied, he attacked again, fiercer.
Tongue swirling your clit in furious circles, then flattening to lap your entire pussy in broad strokes, sucking your folds clean of any stray juice.
He added fingers to spread you wider, his digits holding your lips apart for his tongue to plunder deeper, lapping your walls, humming vibrations that shattered you.
"Come for me now, my pretty girl," he demanded, voice muffled in your heat. "Flood my mouth with that hot liquid. Drown me in your come while I lap it all up."
The dam broke.
Waves crashed through you, your cunt spasming violently, gushing slick in rhythmic pulses against his greedy tongue.
He drank you down, swallowing every spurt, nose rubbing your oversensitive clit to drag out the ecstasy until tears pricked your eyes and your thighs quaked uncontrollably.
He eased off slowly, licking softly through the aftershocks, cleaning every drop. Rising finally, his chin glistened with your release mixed with thigh-smeared frosting and chocolate.
"Best meal I've ever had." He pressed a tender kiss to your sticky inner thigh, nipping the skin lightly before licking away a chocolate streak.
warnings. MDNI (there'll be a warning cut), heavy angst, alpha!jay being our target again i'm so sorry this is the last time i promise!, tw: nosebleed, softdom!heeseung because i love soft doms, p in v, fingering, missionary AND doggy because why not, unprotected sex (haih pls just don't), loss of virginity, nipple sucking, body worshipping, BITING, MARKING, BITE-MARK, heeseung cries a lot good lord but he deserves it lowkey, LIKE BONNIE AND CLYDE MAKIN' LOVEEE (insert hoonwon's voice), yes they make love your honour, and yes it's a happy ending your honour, not beta read we die like injang, tumblr pls stop with your 1000 blocks limit im gna come at you!!! lmk if i missed anything :>
word count. 15,175 words
note. i'm sorryyyyyyy for the delay sjshidshk here's the last part!!! thank you for showing this series your love and support <3
It’s finally the day of the competition.
Yet you haven’t heard from Heeseung for days.
You try not to make it obvious, nor to show how much you care. Not when Jungwon wouldn’t say anything either.
The younger alpha has been replacing Heeseung instead, walking you home while chatting about anything but the elephant in the room.
Or, in your case, the wolf in your universe.
There’s a lump of disappointment lodging in your chest whenever you think about it. You think that Heeseung has finally given up on trying to make up. You think that you’ve been too indifferent and unintentionally have pushed him away further than the two of you have ever been.
You don’t know why the thought makes you feel bitter.
“Our pitching is next,” Jungwon whispers next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You watch the group before you begin their pitching presentation.
In the first stage, the pitching was done in separate rooms to make it less time-consuming. But your group has advanced to the final stage, and now you have to convince five professionals from the business industry why your business idea is better than three other groups in front of hundreds of audience.
The image makes your blazer suddenly feel too tight around your ribs. You shift, trying not to think about the eyes watching every movement of the participants sitting on the far end of the stage.
Where the hell did this many people come from, anyway? You never see this crowd in lecture halls!
“Y/N. You’re nervous.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“Well, you don’t really smell like you’re relaxed right now.”
You purse your lips. Jungwon is right, of course, except you actually feel like your nerves are on the edge of bursting.
You’re not exactly good with stage fright. Especially in front of all these people whose names sound way too dramatic, like they don’t belong to the normal citizens like you. Their eyes are too penetrative, like they’re already figuring out every single doubt and nerves in your body, ready to tackle with impossible-to-answer questions.
You move in your seat again, trying to find comfort. But the seat is too hard for your tailbone. Beside you, Jungwon leans closer, speaking over the speaker blasting by your ears.
“Are you going to Jake hyung’s after party tonight?”
“His after party?” your eyebrows shoot up. Then you remember the invitation and something inside you sinks.
“Oh. Right. It’s his birthday today, right?”
And Heeseung must be there, you think bitterly, unaware of the withering daisies now wafting from your neck. They’re close friends, after all.
You don’t understand why, or you maybe actually do, but the lump in your chest only gets bigger. Really, you shouldn’t expect much by a man. They’ll always prioritise their homeboys over you in every way, your brain adds to the fuel.
Jungwon chuckles when he sees your frown, showing off his perfect dimples that could disarm any opponent.
Something clicks in your mind. Yeap. That’s right. You just need to force Jungwon to smile in front of the judges and surely—
“Relax, Heeseung hyung’s daisy. Look to your right.”
You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of his name finally being mentioned by the younger alpha, or the flutter in your chest at being called his daisy—but your head whips so fast in that direction, heart ramming behind your ribs.
Seated at the front row, standing out too much due to his handsome features and not-so-subtle hair colour, is Lee Heeseung. From where you sit, you can’t really make out his expression.
But the alpha is already staring at you, burgundy hair swept back neatly to expose his forehead. A small curve of his lips quirks up like he’s been expecting you to notice him.
You sit dumbly as he gives you a tiny wave, not sure what to do now that the alpha is actually here.
Here. To watch your group presentation and not there: To celebrate Jake’s birthday at his party.
For the first time in weeks, you feel your omega stirs and you almost choke.
“It’s our turn!”
You inhale sharply, snapping your eyes back to the centre of the stage. The previous group is already receiving applause and walking towards the other end of the stage to join the audience.
Okay. It’s actually your turn.
You feel sick to your stomach. You almost miss it when Jungwon nudges at you to stand, smoothing down his own blazer as he shoots you a dimpled smile. On the way to the centre of the stage, your mind is nothing more than a whirlwind of overthinking.
Trailing after Jungwon in your heels is nerve-wracking because what if you trip?
Bowing down to greet the judges and audience is scary because what if you lose your balance?
Staring back at the audience is distressing because what if they silently judge your makeup?
But all thoughts fly out the window when you meet eyes with Heeseung again.
As if the noise in your head suddenly vanishes, you can feel your frantic mind quieting down and your breathing, previously quite erratic, steadies without so much effort.
And it only happens when Heeseung holds your gaze, trusting and comforting all at the same time.
It’s like the stage was a tidal wave and Heeseung was the shore that keeps you safe.
Your omega stirs again.
Before you know it, Jungwon is already passing the mic to you. You take in a shaky breath, sweaty palms almost slippery, and imagine that every cell in your brain is filing up your speech in a neat line.
Despite your worries, everything goes well.
Your presentation goes on without a hitch and it ends exactly the way your best-scenario imagination does. You even manage to answer one out of five questions from the panel, and you can’t help the pride swelling in your chest when your group is announced as the first runner-up of the competition.
It’s a national-level competition, so being in the top three is already satisfactory for you and your group members, who were lowballing to only bring home participation certificates.
“First runner up is good enough! Congrats!” you squeal, almost hugging Jungwon in your excitement. The alpha dodges you as if you were a bullet, eyes darting to somewhere behind your head.
“Hey. You dodged my hug,” you huff.
“I have no intention to challenge a dominant alpha,” Jungwon gives you a teasing smile and wiggles his eyebrows. You raise yours, and before you can ask what he means by that, Jungwon is already raising his hand and waving at someone.
“Heeseung hyung! Your daisy is here!”
Your daisy. Heeseung hyung’s daisy.
His daisy.
Crimson red blooms across your cheeks, and your heart decides to skip a few beats you think it’s going to fall to the floor from how fast it's pounding.
Jungwon is fast to grab your shoulders and turn you around, like a proud parent introducing their child to their conglomerate friends. Your protest dies in your throat once your eyes settle on Heeseung’s approaching figure.
He’s donning a white dress shirt with slightly rolled-up sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms and athin silver bracelet. A dark gray vest, tailored and buttoned neatly hugs his frame snugly, showing off his narrow waist. There’s a big bouquet of pink roses held close to his chest, handled delicately like it’s something sacred.
His eyes, round and soft around the edges, are already trained on you. A wide smile curves up his lips, charming and disarming you’re sure the omegas around you are stealing glances.
Inside, your omega stirs again.
“Hi, Y/N.” He holds out the bouquet to you, his smiling turning shy. “For you.”
You take it slowly, admiring the beautiful petals. There are tiny daisies filling up the spaces between the roses and you feel something tug at your heartstring.
“Thank you, Heeseung. How’ve you been?”
Closer, only now do you notice the lack of colour in his face. His cheeks are losing its radiant flush, and his lips are void of its usual pinkish hue. There’s a slight delay before he responds and his smile comes slower than usual.
Something feels off. Not obvious enough to name, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.
As if noticing your stare, Heeseung tries to cover his face. He raises his hand and pretends to cough.
“I was quite sick,” he says after a moment, trying to sound casual. He gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry that I didn’t show up without any updates.”
“It’s okay,” you softly say. You don’t know if it’s truly okay, though, because now your heart thinks that there’s something wrong.
Is he hiding something from you?
“I came to see you,” he says, like it’s the only place he’s ever meant to be. “I didn’t want to miss it. Congratulations, Y/N.”
He really came for you. Not for Jungwon or anyone. Not to Jake or anyone. But for you.
You can faintly hear your omega murmuring something, but your racing heart is louder than any noise in your head.
You’re about to reply when Jungwon inserts himself into the conversation, announcing his presence like a royal entering a ball.
“Thank you, hyung! I know we were great.” Jungwon says way too loudly, forcing Heeseung to shake hands with him. You let out a laugh while Heeseung only rolls his eyes.
“You too, Jungwon.”
“Anyway, why don’t we take a picture?” Jungwon, ever the trusted wingman, wiggles an eyebrow at Heeseung, hoping that you won’t notice. You actually do, but for some reason, you don’t say anything against it.
Heeseung studies your face. “Can I take a picture with you, Y/N?”
You hesitate for a second, heat sweeping across your cheeks before you nod. “Sure.”
Jungwon instantly pushes you in Heeseung’s direction. The dominant alpha, not expecting his accomplice to take such a bold move, catches you by the elbows instinctively. His fast reflexes are proving to be useful in the situation.
“Okay, look at the camera. Y/N, don’t be so stiff!”
Jungwon, that menace. One of these days you’re gonna beat his ass for sure.
“Heeseung hyung, is that a GDP gap? Get closer!”
“I’m sorry about him,” Heeseung whispers into your ears and chuckles breathily. Something kicks in your heart. “He’s a bit annoying, right?”
You just cannot hold your tongue. “He is, and I had to stick around with him when you weren’t around,” you catch yourself saying and silently curse yourself. Beside you, Heeseung stills for a second.
Why are you already whining to him? Fuck these stupid feelings, man. You’re still mad at him!
But Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grin only gets wider. He leans down further, hot breath brushing against the shell of your ears.
“I’ll keep trying,” he murmurs, edged with his usual determination. “Even if you don’t let me.”
You try not to notice that Jungwon has been silently snapping the candid moments. You also try to ignore the way your heart beats like a war drum. You try not to think too much about the manly pheromones coming from Heeseung—the cinnamon and sea salt that are awakening old memories, and the way his taller shoulder brushes yours.
“On three!” Jungwon interrupts, a boyish smirk on his face. You quickly clear your throat and smile at the camera.
“Two!”
Heeseung’s left shoulder bumps into you softly from behind, angling his body to face you. His hand hovers a safe distance from the back of your waist, not touching you even by accident like he’s afraid even that would be too much.
“One!”
As the flash goes off and you hold the bouquet dearly to your chest, you quietly wonder when it stopped hurting so much.
The next morning, you’re awakened by the sound of Yujin squealing and thumping on your door.
“Y/N! Get your fucking ass out now!”
The urgency in her voice makes you jolt awake and scramble to your feet. With sleepiness still clinging to your lashes, you stumble to the door, mentally preparing yourself to punch a robber.
“Yujin! What is it?!” you ask, voice hoarse but still laced with panic.
“Did you already make up with Heeseung?!”
You pause and stand there dumbly, hazy mind slowly clearing up at her sudden interrogation. With the biggest question mark on your face, you blurt out, “Huh?”
“Heeseung posted you on his Instagram!”
“Huh?”
“Y/N! He never posted girls on his account!” Yujin screams in your face, looking more excited than ever. “Fucking hell, open your damn phone!”
Yujin rushes into your room, flipping your pillows where she knows you always keep your phone despite the electromagnet radiation that she warns you about. She unlocks the screen by shoving it into your bleary face and hits the pink-purple-orange gradient icon quickly.
“There!”
You blink the blurriness away from your eyes, adjusting to the bright screen in your face. Yujin waits impatiently, gauging your reaction with wide eyes.
On the screen is the picture you took last night. You haven’t checked the result yet because you were quickly ushered away to take group pictures with other participants after and by the time you reached home, you were out the moment your head hit the pillow.
But now, you realise, the picture turns out really well.
Heeseung stands taller than you, a close-lipped smile spreading wide across his face as he stood proud and protective beside you. You have a similar smile mirroring his, leaned into him in a way that hinted at familiarity and domesticity. The pop of colour from the roses makes the picture look more alive, and the colour filter he used makes it look almost nostalgic.
An ancient feeling, like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, blooms in your chest. You stare at the picture longer than intended, then read the caption he typed in cursive.
‘smarty daisy did it again.’
You re-read it once. Then twice. The soft declaration, the hints on intimacy makes your omega purr in delight. Nobody has ever called you daisy, especially their daisy, but here Heeseung is: calling you his daisy like he’s just found a new favourite flower.
“Yujin…”
To your surprise, Yujin replies with a sniffle. When you look up, her eyes are already glossed over.
“Yujin? Why are you…”
“I’m sorry I got emotional,” Yujin cuts in, laughing it off like a funny joke with a shaky voice.
“It’s just—I never met true mates. And while the circumstances between you two weren’t great, I’m just so glad that you have an alpha willing to amend his mistakes.”
You can already feel your eyes watering.
“Yujin…”
Yujin takes your hands in her hold and urges you to sit on the mattress with her. It’s silent for a moment, and you take the chance to stare at the picture again.
It’s an Instagram story, but there is already a long line of comments. You read through each one of them, curiosity getting the best of you.
narin.kim no fucking way
jakesimisimiya hey so u ditched me ON MY BDAY
jeyipark @jakesimisimiya talk to me i am his lawyer
just.jungwon cute cute cuteeeee wonder who took the pic tho
evanlee @just.jungwon she is cute
nishimurariki welcome to the simp club
sunooyaa it’s time to ask me if my back hurts from carrying this ship
Every comment makes your breath feel shorter. You try hard to bite back a smile and ignore the small flutter in your chest, not noticing the way Yujin observes everything. When she eventually speaks, her voice has dropped to a serious tone.
“Have you forgiven him?”
You tear your eyes away from your phone, taking a moment to reply. Then, with a shake of your head, you reply, “No. Not yet, I think.”
It’s not a whole lie. While the human part of you has already forgiven him, your omega is still giving you radio silence. But for now, you decide to keep it to yourself first—the way your omega has been more responsive these days, albeit slowly and slightly.
“That’s good,” Yujin nods. “Forgiveness should come from your heart. You shouldn’t force it just because you feel bad for him.”
The words land like a gentle reminder tucking you in a warm blanket. You don’t say anything and look back at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply box. The gears of your mind start turning, looking for a polite way to thank the alpha.
Then, softly, Yujin continues, making your head spin with the weight of her words for the rest of the day.
“But when it’s really time to forgive him, I hope you don’t run away from it too.”
You end up reposting Heeseung’s story and hide.
The attention is quite heavy for you, to be honest. You’ve never been the centre of that many eyes, not since in the backyard of Jake’s frat house.
You never dare ask Heeseung as well. A reply of, ‘Thank you Heeseung’ is all you can manage, keeping the rest of the sentence to yourself.
‘Why did you post only me?’
You’re not blind. You see the chaos he created from that single post. The notorious alpha who doesn’t do relationships, who always prioritises his friends over girls is suddenly skipping Jake’s birthday to see a boring competition and posting a picture with the omega he came for. You become a hot sensation overnight—people just can’t stop talking about it.
Because of that, thoughts about him become even more frequent and inevitably, your heart starts to melt at how persistent he is.
It’s been more than a month yet Heeseung doesn’t falter. He keeps choosing you in routine. He keeps choosing you in public.
And, apparently, he chooses you in private, too.
You don’t mean to overhear the conversation, really. You’re just leaving the restroom during practice break, about to have lunch with Rei when you see two shadows disappearing around the corner. Your heart almost stops.
Seeing Heeseung and Narin together brings back old wounds that almost makes you lose your mind. Your quiet omega has been tugging you to follow, to see what the alpha is doing with the omega that your wolf has marked with a red ink on her forehead.
So you follow them quietly, covering your scent gland with a hand in hope to hide your presence. With your back to the wall, you hold your breath as you hear the conversation between the two of them.
“—on, Heeseung. You left things unfinished that night.” Narin’s voice is the one you hear first, frustration spilling into her tone.
“I don’t intend to finish it,” Heeseung replies, always sounding calm and composed. It painfully reminds you of the talk you had with him after the tournament.
“Why? You always sleep with different people. Why did I never get a chance?” Narin scoffs, disbelieving. “And they've been saying that you’ve stopped!”
“I have. I don’t do that anymore.”
“Is it because of Y/N?”
Your ear perks up. Damn bro, they’re now talking about you. It slips from your mind sometimes, about how childish Narin can be. Something akin to anticipation builds up in your chest, waiting for Heeseung’s reply.
“Yes,” he answers, firm and fast. “I’m pursuing her right now. I hope that’s clear.”
There is silence from Narin, but the spike in her scent sours the atmosphere almost instantly. While you, well, you try not to feel so giddy about it.
“Are you stupid? Her? Didn’t she cut the—”
“What happened between Y/N and I is a private matter of our hearts. It’s not your business,” Heeseung cuts in sharply with a bite to his voice. Your omega shifts inside you. “Are you done? Because I’m leaving.”
Panic ensues in your system at the thought of being caught eavesdropping. Your mind scrambles for escape, so without thinking you almost sprint to the vending machine at the end of the hallway and pretend to buy a drink.
Acting like you don’t notice them while catching your breath proves to be the hardest sport for you yet. You stare blankly at the vending machine, unaware of the grape juice sitting right under your nose and fully aware of the manly pheromones approaching you.
Thank Goddess that he smells like himself only. You think you’re going to break down if Narin’s scent clings onto him.
“Are you thinking of a different drink?” Heeseung murmurs softly, standing beside you and mimicking you staring at the machine.
You steal a glance at him, feeling the movement of your wolf becoming more responsive and bold. Behind your ribs, your heart is galloping like a horse.
“No. I still like grape juice.”
“Mhm, okay,” Heeseung fishes out his wallet and makes the purchase like it’s routine. The impact of the can dropping can’t even beat the loud pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung opens the can with one hand.
“For you.”
“Thank you.”
You take it, fingers brushing his. You try not to overthink the sparks the touch sends to your system and quietly drink, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your face.
“Y/N, I have something to tell you,” he begins, this time sounding slightly nervous. “Narin and I talked just now.”
Oh. Okay. He’s actually coming clean about it.
You didn’t expect that at all.
You nod, still not looking at him. Heeseung takes a second to himself, like he’s plotting something, then before you know it, he’s already moving to stand in front of you, bending his body to be on your eye-level.
You almost choke and take a step back.
“Heeseung?”
“I need you to look into my eyes,” he licks his lips, holding your eyes with his intense gaze. “Because I need you to know that you’re the only omega I like and I’m pursuing.”
The sincerity in his voice is almost too much, but you find savouring it instead.
“And I made that clear to her just now.”
Is he trying to reassure you?
You search his face, and all you can see in those dark eyes is utter devotion and determination.
It makes your chest tighten.
“I’m serious, Y/N. I will keep trying no matter what.”
You can only hum and nod, failing to find your voice.
“Okay.”
Heeseung shoots you with a small grin and straightens up. He glances at his smartwatch and frowns.
“I have to skip tonight’s practice. There’s a meeting about the upcoming music festival,” he says, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. “I’ll find someone to walk you home.”
“It’s okay. I’ll use the Safe Night Walk service,” you politely decline, already sick of hearing Jungwon talking about his lifelong crush on some noona that won’t see him as a man every time he walks you home.
Seriously, you don’t blame that omega. Jungwon is really cute, it’s hard to see him more than a kitty cat.
Heeseung’s face, on the other hand, twists into confusion before a look of understanding crosses his face.
Safe Night Walk is a service provided by the omega activist club of your university. The purpose is pretty self-explanatory, where any omega who’d like to go home at night can request an alpha to keep them safe. It’s pretty well-known for how rigid the alpha selection process is, seeing as the new president of the club is the fiercest to hold the title yet, making the service the most credible it has ever been.
Which is probably why Heeseung agrees to it too easily.
“Oh, right. Jay also tried for the selection, but he never told me if he passed or not,” Heeseung pauses, pondering about something.
“Sunghoon also signed up for it and we know each other. Do you want me to contact him?”
You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get someone when it’s time to go home.”
It’s quite hard to convince the alpha that you don’t need his friend’s service, but Heeseung eventually relents. He gives you a fond smile, walking backwards and not breaking eye contact.
“Call me if no alpha is available.”
“Okay.”
“I will run to you in ten minutes. No—five minutes.”
Your heart stutters, but your face remains neutral. “As if you can do that.”
Heeseung grins. The easy affection etched in his features is almost too scary for you to bear.
“For you, I will.”
The shared apartment is quiet save for the track playing from his producer room. Heeseung lies down on his couch, staring at the ceiling in silence. His lyrics notebook sits idly on the coffee table, open and now forgotten. Outside, the rain pouring down does nothing to wash down his guilt.
He had lied to you.
He just came back from a doctor appointment, not a meeting about any festival. A checkup meant to follow up with his condition after the night he collapsed in Jay’s arms.
‘You only have two weeks to win the omega back. If nothing succeeds, you must cut the one-sided bond, Heeseung-ssi.”
Heeseung only wants to do one thing and cutting the bond is not an option.
It’s better for him to die being yours than to live being nothing to you.
“I’m sorry,” he quietly mutters to the empty space.
“I ran away again,” he swallows thickly. “I’m still the old Heeseung in some ways. I’m sorry, Y/N.”
The pitter-patter of the rain is the only sound he receives back, thickening the guilt spilling over his chest.
He grazes the scent gland with the tip of his finger. It pulses slowly, faintly, like a calm before a storm. A storm that is just turning the key and entering the door.
“I’m home,” Jay announces, toeing off his shoes. There are tiny droplets of rain in his hoodie, but that’s not what catches Heeseung’s attention.
It’s the scent that lingers in his citrusy pheromones.
Soft daisies and sweet honey—unmistakingly you.
Jay smells like you.
Something churns violently in his stomach.
Every silent breakdown, every secret insecurity of his best friend comes crashing down on him. His blood roars in his ears that Heeseung believes he’s seeing red.
In that one single sniff that he picks up with his sensitive nose, Heeseung almost thinks that the floor holding his weight is crumbling down.
He springs up to sit, eyes narrowing down in his friend’s direction. His alpha is already growling, ready to take the other alpha down in a fight.
Jay, still oblivious to the storm building inside the house, throws Heeseung a smile.
“Hee, just now—”
“Park Jongseong,” Heeseung starts slowly, trying to hide the hurt in his voice as he stands and approaches him slowly. “Why the fuck do you smell like her?”
Jay’s expression turns into confusion. He sniffs at the collar of his hoodie and—oh.
Oh.
Heeseung can’t stand the look of realisation on his face. It’s like being left out of something that should be his, something that only he should know and have. His chest twists sharply and before he can stop himself, he’s already shoving Jay into the wall, fists trembling with restraint.
“Jay,” he breathes out, his voice treading the edges of fear and heartbreak. “Please tell me why the fuck am I smelling Y/N on your right now.”
Despite his anger, Heeseung’s voice sounds way too broken. Anxiety cracks through his demeanour, and for a moment, Heeseung’s not sure if he wants to hear Jay’s answer. There is a thin veil of tears glossing over his eyes and his scent gland is throbbing violently, shooting pain all over his body.
It’s almost like he was back in the backyard, watching you scream in pain as you smelled another woman on him. Heeseung sobs, hating himself even more than he ever did.
Was this how you felt that night?
Jay claws at the hands around his collar, almost gasping for air.
“Heeseung—it’s not what you think—”
“Then tell me! Fuck!” he shouts, eyes pleading Jay desperately to prove him wrong.
The longer he smells the blend of your scent with Jay’s pheromones, the dizzier his head gets. His frantic heart is buzzing with the thoughts of being replaced, of losing yet another chance to make things right, of losing you.
His self-esteem, already in pieces since that tragic night, is filled with doubt and uncertainty to the brim.
Not you, please. Heeseung quietly prays. Please not you, Jay.
“I walked her home!” Jay yells, face red from how tight Heeseung’s gripping his collar. His wolf whines at the unexpected aggression from his closest alpha, confused and wounded from being treated like an enemy. “She used the Safe Night Walk service and I was one of the alphas on duty.”
Hearing that, Heeseung’s grip loosens a fraction, trying desperately to believe his friend.
“It’s raining so I lent her my hoodie.” Jay quietly mutters, losing the previous edge. There’s a look of hurt on his face now that he fails to mask. He searches Heeseung’s tearful face, dread growing in his chest.
Despite the aggression, Jay cannot find it in him to be upset when all he can see in his friend is fear and hurt.
“Please, Heeseung. I will never betray you like that.”
Heeseung bites his lips until it bleeds and finally lets go. Jay almost drops down to the floor, clawing at his throat for relief. His neck has turned deep red, bruised from Heeseung’s grip.
Heeseung is strong even when he never admits it, the dominant traits in him giving him the advantage when his wolf is riled up. Jay is lucky that Heeseung didn’t use his commanding voice—he would’ve been helpless if it happened.
But deep down, Jay knows that Heeseung would never do that to him. They’re best friends, after all.
The air is thick and heavy with a dominant alpha’s wrath. Heeseung doesn’t even realise how sharp his scent has turned until he finds himself struggling to breathe.
There’s a ringing silence between the two alphas. Jay is still on the floor, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to process. Heeseung, on the other hand, is on the verge of breaking apart.
Quietly, the alpha mutters an apology.
“I’m sorry.”
Heeseung leaves the house in a storm of cinnamon and tearful bergamot, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles.
He’s never felt closer to death than tonight.
You take your time with your skincare. Or rather, you’re actually zoning out while tapping toner into your skin.
Your conversation with Jay still lingers in the back of your mind.
“Thank you for giving him a chance, Y/N. I was scared that you wouldn’t.”
What would happen if you didn’t?
You sigh and stare into the mirror. You’re freshly out of the shower and in your comfiest pajamas, yet a hint of Jay’s pheromones is still there. It seems that the rain doesn’t wash it away; it only makes it stick longer.
Inside, your omega shifts uncomfortably, unsettled by the scent of the foreign alpha. You roll your eyes.
“I know you hate it, but it can’t be helped when we haven’t forgiven him yet.” You grunt, capping your bottled product. “I mean, I already did, but since you’re like, my other half, I can’t just—”
Forgiven.
The toner slips from your hand and clatters on the floor.
Your lungs freeze.
“...What?”
I want to forgive him.
Slowly, a habit that you’re already accustomed to since that night, you place a hand on your chest. Your omega’s presence is more tangible now, like she’s finally arose from her deep slumber.
And she’s finally talking to you.
“Are you sure?” you start slowly, not wanting to offend the fragile soul. “We can take more time, you don’t have to feel rushed—”
I want my alpha, Y/N. I forgive him and I hope you do, too.
Every word fails you in that moment. You stand alone in your room, with only your wolf as your lifelong companion. There’s a strange feeling in your heart.
“Idiot. I told you, didn’t I? The stubborn one out of the two of us is you.”
He hurt us badly, Y/N. Of course I had to stand on business.
“It’s better that you did,” you hum, finally feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. “Or else I probably won’t see this side of him and will only remember him as a bad alpha.”
Your omega doesn’t reply. In return, there’s a soft pulsing in your scent gland; something that hasn’t occurred in so long. You gasp.
But before you can process it, your phone rings, the noise slicing through the atmosphere sharply. You frown when you see that it’s your next-door neighbour, a fellow floormate that likes to borrow your detergent.
“Hello?”
“Y/N, oh my Goddess. Don’t come out!” she whisper-shouts, panic evident in her voice. “There’s an alpha outside of your door right now and he smells so bad. I think he’s dangerous. We’re about to call the security.”
Your heart drops. “What? Who?”
There’s a sound of movement and whispering before you hear a gasp.
“Okay, what the hell. It’s actually Heeseung and he’s crying,” your floormate says in disbelief. You, on the other hand, are in bigger disbelief.
Heeseung? Didn’t Yujin already let him know that you’re home?
Your feet are already padding across the tiles of your apartment, heart beating in your lungs.
“Y/N…I think you need to come out. He’s not moving at all.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
Your sweaty palm trembles at the doorknob. Heeseung’s pheromones, thick and definitely smells distressed—which explains why your neighbour said that he smells bad—seeps through the gap between the door and the floor. But he doesn’t knock, like he’s here only to feel your presence.
Your omega whines, restless from the distressed pheromones, eager to comfort. You take a deep breath before you yank the door open.
The scene that greets you almost makes you speechless.
Heeseung stands in front of you, head hanging low like he’s trying to make himself smaller. The hallways are filled with slightly open doors and heads peeking out; all the omegas and betas living on this floor are definitely curious about the distress-smelling alpha and his omega.
“Heeseung?”
He doesn’t respond at first. His breaths come out uneven—too sharp, too shallow—like his lungs have forgotten to work properly. For a second, you think he doesn’t hear you.
But then, he lifts his gaze slightly, holding back a storm behind his eyes as he looks into yours. His nose flares, and then his scent turns more sour.
“Heeseung?”
There, lingering too faintly under your body wash, your lotion, and your own scent like it’s already fading out slowly—is Jay’s pheromones.
Something finally shatters in his chest.
“You smell like him.”
His voice is grim and shaky, tugging at your heartstrings. You immediately know what he’s referring to and for some reason, an ugly feeling twists in yiur gut.
But before you can respond, Heeseung already drops to his knees.
A chorus of gasps is heard across the hallways. The bystanders are no longer caring about being seen eavesdropping. You think you even see a phone directed your way, but it’s the least of your concern now.
“Heeseung—”
“I can take anything you do to me,” Heeseung’s voice cracks, barely holding it together. “I can take any punishment you want to give me but not this.”
Heeseung cranes his neck. Trails of tears clinging to his lashes are falling his nose, his cheeks, the side of his face, down to the floor.
“Please, not him. Please—I beg you.”
His face crumples, like he’s imagining the sight of you and Jay together in his mind.
“I can’t—” his breath stutters, chest heaving like it’s caving in on itself. “I can’t do it, Y/N. I thought I could take it. I thought I deserved it, but—”
His fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, knuckles turning white.
“It hurts,” he chokes out, voice breaking into something almost unrecognisable. “It hurts so fucking bad.”
Your heart lurches.
Because you know.
You know exactly what he’s feeling.
The suffocating ache. The betrayal that sits in your lungs and refuses to let you breathe. The way your mind spirals, painting images you don’t want to see but can’t stop imagining.
It’s the same pain.
The same one he put you through.
Heeseung lets out a broken sound, shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of it.
“I get it now,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I get why you looked at me like that. I get why you—”
Heeseung cuts himself off. This time, a more pained, more broken noise slips past his lips.
“I get why you ended it.”
Everything hurts. His scent gland is angry red, throbbing endlessly like a sign of the real ending. His head pounds sharply and his lungs—oh Goddess, Heeseung can’t breathe.
His body sways. Instinctively, you crouch down to his level and catch him before he can fall. Panic fills up your system when a trickle of crimson blood starts peeking out of his nose.
No. No, please no. Not this again.
You cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks shakily. You turn your face and shout at your neighbour to call the ambulance or anyone—you just can’t let this happen.
You can’t let Heeseung go through the same pain you did.
“Heeseung, please don’t close your eyes.”
His head weighs heavier as he lolls forward, eyes almost snapping shut. You let his head rest on your shoulder, not caring about the blood now staining your shirt. Hot tears brim along your lashline.
“Heeseung, please—”
“Please forgive me,” Heeseung whispers weakly into your ears. The pain is unbearable, crushing his bones and penetrating his system like a sharp-end disease—an inevitable reaction from smelling another alpha on you.
So this is what you went through, he thinks wistfully. You must be in so much pain.
“Please forgive me, Y/N.”
“Where’s the ambulance?!” You finally break, cheeks wet with tears. Heeseung has completely gone still in your embrace, adding panic to your system. You reach out to hold his face.
“No, no, please.”
The lower part of his face is smudged red. His eyes close shut, still leaking out his tears even in his unconsciousness.
You let out an ugly sob, feeling utterly broken and scared.
“I forgive you, Heeseung. Please.”
You’re so fucking scared. Scared of losing yet another life you could’ve had when you were so close to having it.
Scared of not having the chance to love and to be loved again, this time with the person your soul chooses and not because fate says so.
“Please don’t leave me again.”
When Heeseung comes to, you’re holding his hands, zoning out.
There’s a distant look in your expression. A thin air of sad, wilted daisies lingers, no doubt wafting from you. His wolf, having just woken up like him, immediately shifts restlessly in his chest at the scent.
Your thumb brushes over his knuckles absentmindedly, tracing the veins like you’re memorising something before it disappears again.
He stays quiet, letting his eyes trace every curve of your features. The pretty slope of your nose, the soft swell of your cheeks, the petals of your lips. Then they stop at your puffy eyes.
Something inside him twists uncomfortably.
Why does he always make you cry?
You don’t even notice that he’s awake yet, too lost in your head as you stare at the beige wall of the ward. Not until he squeezes your hand back, eager and nervous to see if you’ll return it back or let go.
When you feel the grip tighten, your eyes snap back to him. And then, like a small win that heals something in his heart, you squeeze his hand back.
Heeseung almost breaks down.
“You’re awake,” you say in relief and move to stand. “I’ll get the doctor.”
Heeseung obeys, never finding it in him to go against your words anymore. But his hand never lets go. He savours every second that you let him hold you—the closest he’s ever touched you since the night he saved you.
He doesn’t let go even as the doctor does a checkup on him. The doctor comes in with Jay, who looks as disheveled as he is. There’s an awkward atmosphere between the two alphas, but neither dares to say anything and lets the doctor do his job.
He was unconscious for twelve hours, apparently.
“The scenting from your omega helped speed up the recovery process,” the doctor elaborates. Heeseung steals a glance at you, gauging your reaction, but your face remains neutral.
It’s no wonder that he’s been feeling at peace since waking up—you had been scenting him when he was out.
“You just need to stay for a blood test and then you’re good to go,” the doctor continues, flashing him with a reassuring smile.
Murmurs of thank-yous ripple in the room as the three of you watch the doctor take his leave. Shortly after, the tension returns, and it’s almost obvious to you that the suffocating air comes from the two best friends.
Jay shifts on his feet awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “I’m gonna grab us lunch.”
Which leaves him alone with you in the room.
Heeseung braves himself and takes a look at you, but you’re already staring at him. Your stare unsettles him, like you’re waiting for him to confess for a crime he didn’t know yet he committed.
“How are you feeling?” you ask instead.
“I—I think I’m good. Yeah,” Heeseung says quickly, a bit taken aback. He watches as you nod, then inspect his face by blinking closer, oblivious to the way he almost explodes from the proximity.
When satisfied, you lean back slightly, but still keep a close distance with him.
“Heeseung.”
The temperature suddenly drops, and the serious look on your face damn near makes him cry. Heeseung tries to mask his panic.
Did he do something wrong again? Fuck. He messed up, didn’t he?
“Hm?”
You take a shaky breath. “Jay told me about everything.”
Heeseung freezes. Everything?
Everything as in the fight that almost broke out last night? Everything as in how pathetic he is for you, which shouldn’t be so shocking or earth-shattering because he is pathetic and a loser for you?
Or everything as in his worsening health condition?
For a moment, you just stare at him. But the more seconds pass, the more obvious it is that you’re holding back tears.
“About the two options you had.”
Heeseung stops breathing. True to his speculation, it is about his health condition. About the fate that he has to choose, about the options that stand between mercy and cruelty.
“Why didn't you tell me? No—” you shake your head, your grip on his hand trembling greatly. His lips remain shut.
“Why didn’t you just cut the bond?”
The sadness dripping in your scent feels almost physical. You hang your head low, enveloping the two of you with the distressed scent of your pheromones. A low whine echoes in your chest, not heard but felt. Your omega is just as destroyed as you are, utterly horrified from the choice he made.
What if you never forgive him? What would become of him?
Heeseung brushes his thumb over your hand consciously, trying to seep his own calming pheromones into your troubled scent. It helps, he notices, as the tremble in your hands subsides, breath evening out.
Then, with a raw honesty, he answers.
“Because I didn’t want a life where you don’t exist in it.”
There’s a lump in your throat but you swallow it down, refusing to break now that you have the chance to understand. To understand the equally wounded alpha in front of you, flawed yet still trying.
“I know that sounds selfish,” he adds quickly. “It is. I was choosing myself when I said that.”
You shake your head, tears threatening to escape. “You could’ve died, no—you almost died, Heeseung.”
“I know.”
Heeseung doesn’t argue. He looks down to your joined hands, branding his brain with the image. A soft smile appears on his lips. He wishes he could hold your hands more often.
“I just…” he exhales shakily. “I thought if I let go of the bond, it would be like I never got the chance to love you at all.”
You squeeze his hand. Your alpha, you realise, is just as soft as you are. He’s always been. It was just misunderstood and misdirected—his flaws that almost cost you your life. You resented him for it, ran from him to avoid it, made it hard for him to save yourself.
But in the end, quietly, tenderly—you find yourself forgiving him.
You understand now; what he was afraid of.
For Heeseung who used to live in short-lived attachments and practiced detachment, loving someone would sound like a too-big responsibility for him. Too lost in his own fear—fear of loving someone so much they could have power over you—he made choices that hurt you.
It doesn’t justify his actions, nor did it undo everything. But understanding him softens the pain.
“You’re so stupid,” you finally whisper, but it breaks halfway through. Heeseung looks almost hurt from your comment.
“I already forgave you.”
His head snaps up but you don’t look at him.
You take your time to speak. “I already did for a while. I was just waiting for my omega to open up her heart,” you chance him a glance and smile wistfully.
“And she did just before you came to my door last night.”
A beat of silence passes by. Heeseung can’t seem to find his voice, too stunned with the sudden grace being granted upon him.
He searches your face. For any lies, for any possible fabrication. He’s desperate to know if this was all just fragments of his dream, if you were just a manifestation of his desperation to be forgiven.
But you’re real. You’re breathing, and you’re telling him that you’ve forgiven him.
“Is this…true?” he asks, voice sounding breathy. “Don’t forgive me just because you feel bad, Y/N. I can’t live with that.”
“No, you didn’t force me,” you shake your head, returning his gaze with built-up courage.
“You earned it.”
Your scent softens, sweeter now that you finally let it out. Like the anger finally loosens its grip on your chest, you can feel your omega melts, her walls crumbling piece by piece.
Heeseung stares at you, mouth slightly agape. The weight he’s been carrying finally cracks and finally, finally—breathing finally comes easy for him now that his chest loosens.
His alpha paws at him in joy.
“Thank you, Y/N. I—” his voice cracks, and so do the tears he’s been holding back. “Oh my Goddess—thank you for forgiving me.”
Heeseung hesitates before he slowly wraps an arm around your shoulder, gauging your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he pulls you closer and you let yourself fall into his embrace.
Heeseung buries his nose in your hair, and the familiar scent of daisies and honey and your hair wash only makes him sob harder.
“Can we try again? Please?”
You nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, smiling into the hug.
“Mhm. Let’s try again.”
Trying again with Heeseung is soft and gentle.
Heeseung doesn’t change. If anything, he becomes more present than ever. If there was hesitation in his action before, he seems more confident to initiate things now.
Holding hands when you’re together. Tucking your hair behind your ears because ‘it hides your beautiful face’. Carrying your bag before you can even greet him properly. Bringing you food and trying to bake, even when you receive complaints from Jay about his oven almost catching on fire. But honestly, out of every failed experiments he did in the kitchen, it’s his ramyeon that you love the most.
And you always get it for free, presented like a five-star Michelin with radish and perfectly-made half-boiled egg. ‘Girlfriend privileges’ is what Sunoo called it, as he and the other alphas eat from their cup noodles.
With forgiveness, conversations come easy. Talking about everything and nothing with Heeseung is like trying to map a land. You finally get to know the story behind his jersey number.
‘My mom always tells me that I’m her number one,’ he told you when you asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. ‘It sticks until now, but I know that he said that only because I was sulking about being the second son—they love my brother more, to be fair!’
You never thought that Heeseung could be cute and adorable. But the two now fit his description perfectly.
Sometimes, his old habits crawl back. Heeseung still finds it hard to tell you about things that bother him, still trying to run away from ugly emotions that make him feel vulnerable.
Just like right now, Heeseung is trying so hard not to pout as he watches his teammates grab a cookie from the Tupperware you bring.
When Riki reaches for a third, his resolve finally cracks and he slaps the alpha’s hand away.
“That’s enough, you greedy alpha. Shoo!”
You stifle a laugh, basking in the rare occasion where Heeseung shows his emotion almost openly like this. He doesn’t like sharing, of course, but he says nothing—which unsettles you a bit.
“Are you mad?” You finally ask after pulling him out for some privacy.
He doesn’t reply. Heeseung takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then shakes his head.
“I’m not mad.”
“Please tell me what’s wrong,” you coax him again, reminding yourself that Heeseung is still trying to unlearn some of his bad habits. “I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me.”
Heeseung gnaws at his lips and avoids your eyes. He knows, with a devastating resignation, that he could never refuse if he looks. So he doesn’t look.
But your scent does the same damage anyway. It’s sweet, it’s too intoxicating and Heeseung can feel himself melt even before he can protest.
He finally relents. “Okay,” he sighs.
Heeseung reaches out and takes your fingers in his, clutching at your smaller ones like a lifeline.
“Y/N…” he starts, contemplating his words, unconsciously pouting. “Can’t you bake only for me and not…share?”
You bite back a grin.
“See? It isn’t hard to tell me,” you squeeze his hand. “You can tell me anything, Heeseung. I will always listen.”
Heeseung gives you a pouty nod.
As for him, Heeseung thinks he was never happier than he is right now.
There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest every time he does something for you.
Be it walking you home, or waiting at the lobby of your apartment to walk to the campus together. Or feeding you food and having a can of grape juice always ready for you.
All the things he used to avoid—doing domestic things, having one person to devote all his attention and affection to—they become things that bring his heart at ease now.
And Heeseung loves being taller than you. He loves when you have to look up to talk to him, or the way you can easily hide your face in his chest when he says something corny. The way he can reach the higher shelf for you and become useful to you. He loves towering over you because every time he does it, he can’t help but notice the sweet spike in your scent.
You love it too.
Over time, the two of you get closer than ever. Every brush of hands, every bump of shoulders, every laughter shared—they only bring you back to him, and him to you. And slowly, like a prophecy finally meeting its destiny, the red thread finds its way back to you.
“Are you sure about this?”
You’re now standing in between his legs while Heeseung sits on the mattress of his bed, craning his neck to search your face.
Your fingers pause in his hair when you feel a faint pulse beneath his skin.
A reminder that he’s still hurting from the one-sided bond. A reminder of the weight of fate tying the two of you.
Heeseung could’ve walked away like you did. He could’ve defied his wolf and cut the bond. But he did nothing of those.
He’s still here, still choosing you in every way you keep choosing him.
“I want this, Heeseung,” you whisper back, carding your fingers through his burgundy hair. “I’ve never been so sure.”
One of the things that the both of you learn more about the relationship is the importance of the sacred bond. This time, you’re no longer running away or denying it—you and Heeseung take time to learn about its history, about the nature of the bond—and in your case, about how to fix the broken bond.
“It must come from your wolves,” you remember Jay’s mom saying. “And only then can you commemorate the bond and heal it for good.”
Commemorating, in this context, is to finally mate with your alpha.
It’s a big leap in the relationship, especially since you’re every way inexperienced. Heeseung knows this; which is why he never rushed you and let himself take the hit of the broken bond.
To the Goddess, without the commemoration, the bond is still considered one-sided. It results in Heeseung still experiencing pain from time to time and, after another nosebleed pre-game and out of care for your alpha, you decide you’re done taking your own time.
Your omega holds the sentiment as you, not having the heart to let the alpha suffer for your own sake.
Noticing your silence, Heeseung grabs your wrist gently and brings it to his nose. He starts nosing at the tender skin, pumping out his calm pheromones as he bathes you in his scent.
“Have you been with anyone else before?”
You hesitate. Then, with a shy smile, you shake your head.
“No.”
Contrary to your expectation, Heeseung stills immediately. His face crumples slightly and his phereomones—previously calming and comforting—suddenly takes a sour turn.
You frown. “Heeseung?” You hold his face, heart clenching at his trembling lips. “What’s wrong?”
When he looks up to you, there are silent tears spilling down his cheeks. It alerts you almost immediately.
“Hee?”
“I—” Heeseung takes a deep breath, but his lips wobble, betraying his effort to remain calm.
“I touched people like it didn’t mean anything,” his voice breaks. Heeseung closes his eyes, like the mere looking into your eyes was too much for him to bear. “And now you’re standing here like this is something sacred and I—”
When you understand what he means, you can feel your own heart breaking.
“Heeseung…”
“Why are you letting me handle something this—precious? I—I don’t deserve you, Y/N. I never did.”
“Please don’t say that,” you coo at him, wiping his tears with the pad of your thumb.
“I chose you knowing everything you’ve done,” you whisper. “Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re trying.”
Heeseung leans into your touch, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Like the warmth of your touch is the only thing that keeps him grounded. A comfortable silence falls upon you two, full of warm understanding and acceptance.
“Thank you,” Heeseung kisses your palm, long and gentle. “Thank you, Y/N. I mean it.”
A smile creeps up your face. You lean down to kiss his forehead.
“Come and sit here,” Heeseung pats his thighs. You pause for a moment, already getting shy from the proximity. But deep down, you can’t deny that you want this.
Slowly, you descend onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Heeseung pulls you closer by your hips, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle.
“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” then you pause. “I’m not heavy, am I? Are you comfortable?”
Heeseung hums. “Your weight is perfect for me, baby.”
The term of endearment makes warmth bloom across your cheeks. Heeseung gazes at you fondly, his nose already inching closer to where your scent smells the strongest.
He takes a lungful of your sweet scent—daisies and honey—and almost groans from the feeling of it. His favourite scent in the world. It’s been so long since he got to have you like this, so he keeps scenting you like he’s taking his fill.
“Your scent—you smell so good, Y/N.”
He lets his nose graze your scent gland. Once, twice, before brushing it with small, slow licks. You clutch at his shoulders, sparks bursting from the touch.
“Mhh!”
Heeseung trails up wet kisses up the column of your neck, dragging his tongue along your skin, savouring the soft gasps leaving your parted lips. His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging into your camisole while you try not to lose your mind over the foreign sensation.
Everywhere Heeseung touches with his lips is hot, sending strange, tingly feelings up your spine. It’s wet and it should make you recoil, but you find yourself loving it, already wanting more.
Heeseung stops when he reaches your lips, hot breath brushing against the soft pair. His eyes, now hooded and dark, are losing their round shape, like he, too, is already unraveling from just this.
“I’m gonna kiss you now, my daisy,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your parted lips, open and so inviting. Something churns inside your stomach, always keening when being called his daisy.
Then you nod, granting him permission.
“Please kiss me, Heeseung.”
There’s a tiny quirk of a smile, before he finally closes the gap between your mouths. He’s careful, caressing the plump of your lips with his own, tentatively and slowly at first, before he captures your mouth in his. You close your eyes.
Heeseung kisses you like it’s sacred. He moves slowly, allowing you to follow his pace and getting used to the feeling of his mouth on yours. It’s gentle and sweet. It’s everything you have imagined sharing a kiss with a lover.
His lips, soft and wider than yours, easily dominate the kiss with a flick of his tongue.
Your lips part in a gasp and Heeseung takes the chance to prod his tongue in, licking into every corner of your mouth like he’s been starved for you. You clasp a hand in his hair, losing your pace as Heeseung takes over.
With each passing second, the kiss turns into a needier one and you grow hotter. It’s messy now, with drool leaking down your chin and the noises you make getting louder. When you start to feel lightheaded, you tap his shoulders, lungs burning from the lack of breath.
Heeseung lingers for a second, as if he never wants to let go, before detaching from your lips.
He looks absolutely wrecked. His lips are shiny with spit, panting into your mouth like he needs more.
“Need some air?” he whispers, voice hoarse, caressing your waist tenderly. You nod, catching your breath before you lean in and try to kiss him again.
This time, Heeseung lets you take the lead, grabbing your hips tight enough to ground himself. You mouth at the corner of his lips, peppering kisses across the pinkish skin before he loses his patience and starts kissing back, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.
Pulling you flush against his own hips, Heeseung is desperate to feel you closer. The scent of his pheromones is taking a richer, darker tone, dripping with building arousal. He wants to stay like this forever—wants to memorise every taste, every curve of your lips, and carve it into his memory.
You’re unraveling just as fast. Driven by a deeper need to feel each other and more, you pool your arms around his neck and pull him closer, instinctively bucking your hips to soothe the ache between your legs.
Beneath you, Heeseung freezes. A strangled groan catches at the back of his throat, his fingers digging into your hips. His head is on cloud nine; he can’t believe you just did what you did, feeling his own lust slowly getting thicker.
Then, as if testing, you roll your hips again.
This time, the sound that leaves his throat is deep and ragged. Heeseung bites his lips, brows pinched together, his restraint visible through the veins popping in his neck.
“Y/N,” he rasps, voice strained. “Good? Comfortable?"
Your eyes, dazed and glossed over, look into his eyes and you nod. You move your hips again, chasing the delicious friction like a lifeline. “More.”
“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath.
Wordlessly, he snakes an arm around your waist and flips your position. Your back meets the mattress before you can process it, the impact punching a breath out of your lungs. Heeseung hovers over you, chest heaving rapidly, heated gaze raking over your body like he’s already dreamed of this many times.
“Heeseung,” you sigh, lifting your arms to his nape, already hating the distance. “Want you closer.”
Heeseung thinks he’s still in a dreamland, because there’s no way you’re lying down under him, hair splayed like a halo, asking him for more. Your lips, kiss-bruised and bitten-raw from the previous makeout session, are parted in a soft gasp, looking every bit like his wet dream.
No. This is better than any of his dreams.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out as if he’s in a daze, a willing hostage to your magical spell. “Fuck, I just—I just love you so much.”
The confession lands like a feather drifting through the air. Your breath catches in your throat, searching for Heeseung’s eyes and almost tearing up when you see only devotion and sincerity in his gaze.
“Heeseung…”
“My precious daisy,” Heeseung lowers down and gives a smooch to the back of your ear. Your breath hitches. “My sweet, sweet honey.”
Another wave of heat pools between your legs. His voice—oh Goddess, his sweet and sultry voice in your ears, accompanied by such adoration is almost too much. You whine, clutching his shirt in a desperate grip.
“What do you need, baby?” Heeseung breathes hard into your ears, his own voice almost cracking from restraint. “Tell me, hm?”
“Need you to touch me.”
He barely stops nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. “Where do you need me?”
You grab one of his wrists and bring it to where you need him most. The moment his fingers touch your soaked sweatpants, Heeseung lets out a deep, throaty groan. He pulls away slightly just to catch the expression you make—mouth agape, eyes closing shut—as he presses a finger on your cunt.
“Here? You like it here?”
“Y-Yes—” You purse your lips, pleading eyes peering into his dark gaze. “Please—More, please.”
Heeseung holds back a smirk. “You’re so good to me,” he purrs, his alpha swelling with pride and arousal. “I’m gonna give you everything you ask for, hm?”
Heeseung slips his hand into your panties and curses out loud at the wet sensation on his fingers.
“Fuck, Y/N—you’re leaking.”
He props himself on one arm. His long, slender fingers stroke your folds, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room. You claw at his upper arms and arch your hips, letting out a broken breath.
“H-Heeseung!”
A deep growl rumbles in his chest. Heeseung leans down and peppers kisses all over your cheeks as he flicks his thumb over your clit. The high-pitched, whiny moan that you let out makes his twitching cock kick and drool, already begging to be freed.
“Does that feel good?” he rasps, nudging at your hole with the tip of finger. The tight hole is almost sucking his finger in, eliciting a breathless moan out of your lungs.
You nod frantically, desperate to feel anything inside.
“‘Feels so good, alpha.”
“Mhm,” he purrs, circling your gaping hole lightly, teasingly. “I’m gonna put it in slow and nice for you and you’re gonna take it, ‘kay?”
You suck in your bottom lips, heat pooling low in your stomach at the deep timbre of his voice.
“Yes. Please give it to me.”
Heeseung almost melts at the big eyes you’re giving him. He gives you a soft peck and speaks against your mouth, “Tell me if it hurts, Y/N. I will stop immediately.”
When you give him the green light to go, Heeseung slowly pushes his middle finger in, fighting back a loud moan at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He pauses for a moment, gauging for any discomfort in your face, and then starts pumping in and out gently when he sees only pleasure.
It feels strange and uncomfortable at first; having something inside you. But the subtle feeling of pain is slowly disappearing the longer he shoves his finger in. His thumb, eager to please you, keeps circling your swollen nub, adding to the building sensation in your stomach.
Before you know it, you’re already leaking out more slick. Your head thrashes to your left and right, breathy moans spilling out of your lips.
“Ngh—fuck—Hee—“
Heeseung forces himself to stay still; forces himself to breathe at the sight of you unraveling and so, so pliant under his touch, even when all he wants to do is ruin you. He inserts another finger, the additional stretch burns so good that you almost cry.
“Heeseung!”
The alpha lets out a heavy, ragged breath as his fingers skillfully scissor you open, willing your walls to loosen for him. His lips fall open as he watches you fist the mattress with a tight grip, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure.
Heeseung thinks he’s about to come just from watching your erotic expressions alone.
“Ah—ah—ngh!” You squirm and whine and writhe, throat scratchy from how long you’ve been keeping your mouth open.
Heeseung’s eyes darken as he takes in the way the straps of your camisole fall down your shoulders. The soft swell of your chest moves up and down in a rapid breathing, nipples peeking out just enough to tease.
Fuck—you’re a sight to behold.
He can’t think straight, not when every sense is filled up with your thick, heady scent. Your slick, where it smells the strongest, is now pouring out of your gaping hole in waves and drenching his fingers down to his wrist, making the tent in his pants tighten painfully.
“I’m gonna add one more—fuck,” Heeseung almost chuckles in disbelief at the way your body sucks him in. “Your cunt is a little greedy, baby. Might just take all my fingers in.”
You’re already a mess of broken moans and high-pitched, ‘ah—ah—fuck’. The sensation is becoming too much. You have fingered yourself before, but they don’t have the girth of Heeseung’s long and slender ones; reaching deep inside where you can’t get before, or the roughness of the pad of his thumb circling on your clit relentlessly—bringing you closer to the edge faster than you can think.
Heeseung can already feel it. Your greedy little hole is catching at his fingers even tighter, signalling how close you are to cumming. He leans down, latching his mouth on your neck and littering it with bruising kisses that are going to leave marks, increasing the speed of his wrist until your hips lift off the mattress.
“H-Hee—! I’m—God, fuck—“
“Give it to me, my daisy,” he whispers, voice hoarse and rough from arousal, thumb flicking faster. “That’s it. Give everything to me.”
Heeseung watches closely as you close your eyes and mouth falls open as you come, the erotica of everything almost makes his neglected cock bust out. A feeling of intense ecstasy floods your system, crashing through your body, slick gushing out in waves upon delicious waves.
The alpha slows down the movements of his wrist, thumb circling lazily as he lets you ride out the high. He’s already dizzy from your pheromones, so sweet and inviting, that he almost pushes you into oversensitivity.
He plops out his fingers and puts it into his mouth, tongue lapping at the nectarine of your slick like a thirsty dog. His alpha hums in satisfaction at the sweet taste of his omega’s come, all drenched and warm just for him.
“Fuck, Y/N,” Heeseung hovers over your body again, now kissing you hard in pent-up hunger. “I wanna eat you out so badly but I just can’t wait anymore.”
You hum into the kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. Heeseung parts for a moment, jagged breathing hitting your lips warm as he stares into your eyes. His gaze softens.
“Are you okay?”
You nod. “‘M’kay.”
Heeseung nuzzles his cheek against yours, hands sliding up and down your waist before slipping under your camisole and cups your breasts. You let out a half-shocked gasp.
“Can you take more, baby?” He murmurs against your ears, teetering on the edge of sanity as he listens to the sinful sounds leaving your mouth. “Can you take my big, fat knot this time?”
You can’t find your voice, too lost in pleasure as Heeseung kneads your breasts and plays with your nipples. Heeseung drags his tongue along your earlobe, desperate to hear you more.
“Look at these perky tits,” he says as he drags down your camisole, letting it bunch around your waist. His mouth gapes at the way the plump flesh spilling over his fingers, so soft and yielding. “Fuck—you’re so beautiful, Y/N, I will fucking cry.”
“Nnggh!” You cry out when he latches his mouth on your left nub. He sucks and grazes his teeth on your hardened nipple, never breaking eye contact, the wet sensation sending heat straight to your core.
“Hee!” Your hand flies into his hair when he sucks particularly hard at the bottom swell of your breast, marking his territory. His rough fingers fondle your right tit, rolling the perky nub with reverent attention that makes you clamp your thighs shut.
You squirm, feeling another pool of slick gathering. “H-Heeseung—!”
“Oh, fuck, baby,” he lets go with a pop, lips shiny and slick with his own spit. “Please say my name like that again,” he requests, simultaneously rolling his hips to gauge your reaction.
As he expected—your body, so sensitive and pliant in his hold—immediately writhes from the friction. Heeseung watches with awe, nose twitching as another wave of your scent floods the room, mixing with the sultry accent of his cinnamon and seasalt almost too perfectly.
“Heeseung!”
Heeseung feels so dizzy. His thoughts are only filled with your name, your voice, and your pretty, pretty face that contorts in pleasure when he grinds more. His crotch area is already so fucking wet from pre-cum and your arousal that he thinks he’s losing a chance at any decent and coherent thoughts.
He gives you another roll, and when the name that leaves your swollen lips comes out broken and high-pitched, Heeseung decides that he can’t take it anymore.
“I’m gonna fuck you now, my daisy,” he rasps, leaving one last mark on your cleavage before sitting up. He helps you out of your clothes, marvelling in the way your body trusts him completely.
You’re all soft lines and gentle curves. Heeseung loses his breath as he traces his eyes from the soft mounds of your chest—littered red from his markings, to the narrow pinch of your waist, and the flare of your hips. He caresses the flesh with his hands, gripping it like a love handle as he revels in the contrast of his tanned, big hands on your soft, unblemished skin.
And your pussy—fuck, it’s still glistening from your previous climax and his ministrations, and is now getting wetter under his heated gaze alone.
But it’s the look in your eyes that completely undoes him—pure trust and devotion only for him that he so damn near cries.
“So beautiful,” he praises again, unable to stop the word from flowing out of his mouth. He slides down his hands down your thighs, groping the supple flesh, almost moaning from the sheer softness of it.
“Every inch of you is perfect, baby,” he husks, intoxicated by your pheromones invading his senses.
You hold your breath, peering up at the dominant alpha through your lashes. In a moment of such vulnerability, your chest is filled with affection and trust only for the man now handling your body with care, as if your body was made of porcelain.
My alpha, your wolf purrs inside, heart pounding into your chest.
You spread your thighs wider, so inviting and pliant.
“Alpha,” you mewl, nervously looking up at him. “Please.”
Heeseung can feel his dick twitching from the sight alone. With a swift movement, his shirt is already discarded, thrown somewhere on the floor.
“Say it clearly, baby. Tell me what you need.”
Heeseung fumbles with the strings of his sweatpants as his hooded gaze bores into your hazy one, hissing when his aching cock is finally springing free from the confines of his pants.
You almost drool at the sight of his weeping cock, standing tall and proud against his abdomen. Its tip is angry red, leaking precum down the length of prominent, bulging veins. Your hole flutters with dripping need.
The words come out so easily now that your pussy is pulsing with an aching need to be filled.
“Please fuck me, Heeseung.”
Heeseung’s lips are bitten raw from restraint, his jaw tight as he forces himself not to move—not to give in to the urge to push forward and lose himself inside you. But before he can move to get a condom from the drawer, your hand snaps to his wrist, shaking your head no.
“Just—just do it,” you bite your lips trying not to squirm under his darkening gaze. “I want to feel you.”
It takes everything in him to stay still—to not reach for you, not pull you back, not ruin this by losing control. Heeseung looks for any doubt in your face.
“Are you sure, baby?”
“Mhm,” you tug at his wrist, guiding his hand to cup your pussy. Heeseung almost combusts right then and there.
“Quick, Heeseung. Need you here.”
“Oh my fucking God—” Heeseung curses under his breath, trying to remain calm. But his body betrays him, his muscles tensing, breath unsteady, as he forces himself to stay where he is.
He sits taller, his thumb rubbing your clit teasingly. His other hand strokes his cock lazily, flicking his wrist around the erection and hisses when more precum drools out.
The whole time, he doesn’t let go of your eyes, taking in every micro-expressions you make like a greedy man. You’re so sensitive, so expressive, and so, so wet—always so eager to shower him with more slick and more of your sultry moaning.
He aligns his cock in between your folds, grinding the bulbous head against your swollen clit. A choked moan escapes both of you, too fucked over the pleasure. Another gush of slick trickles down your hole, intensifying your scent.
“Heeseung—”
“Shh, baby, I know,” Heeseung coos at the tears pooling along your lashline. He reaches out to wipe it, torn between guilt and absolutely fucking pleasure that he feels from seeing you break apart at his hand like this.
“I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?” He rasps, still rolling his hips, gathering your slick around the tip of his cock.
He trails his fingers down your wrists before pinning them over your head, hovering over you completely like an eclipse. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, Heeseung finally pushes in.
He doesn’t move after that.
A broken breath leaves him, forehead dropping to your shoulder as if the effort of holding himself back is physically weighing on him. His grip on your wrists tightens just slightly, seeking something to ground him to the moment. Beneath him, you’re trembling from the mix of pain and pleasure, the latter outweighing the former.
“Y/N…” he exhales, voice rough, almost unsteady. “Look at me.”
There’s something in the way he says it. It’s not commanding or urgent, like he really needs to see you or he’ll fall apart.
You turn your head, meeting his gaze, your expression soft but overwhelmed, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing. It stings, but not enough for you to pull away. Heeseung did a good job at preparing you.
He searches your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him.
“Am I—” he swallows, jaw tightening. “Am I hurting you?”
You shake your head, even though the feeling is new, intense, more than you expected. But the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s watching you like this could fall apart at any second—it steadies you. Heeseung is so careful, so scared of hurting you that it almost makes you cry.
“It’s… okay,” you whisper, fingers twitching under his hold. “Don’t stop.”
His eyes squeeze shut for a second, like he’s bracing himself, like your trust is something he has to deserve in real time.
“Slow,” he mutters to himself more than to you. “Gotta go slow…”
He barely shifts, testing, careful, measured. Like every movement is something he has to think through instead of give in to. He sinks in another inch, mind floating from the tight sensation of your hole. A strained sound slips past his lips, low and wrecked, his control slipping just enough to show.
“God…” he breathes, almost shaking. “You feel—”
He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard, like even finishing that sentence would push him too far.
Instead, his hand comes down to your waist, grounding himself there, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin like he needs something soft to hold onto.
You can feel it—how much he’s holding back. Not just physically, but everything. The way his body tenses with every tiny movement, the way his breathing keeps stuttering like he’s constantly pulling himself back from the edge as he pushes inside, inch by inch.
And something in your chest tightens.
“You can move,” you murmur softly, a little unsure, but still wanting. Wanting him, wanting every side of him and not just this careful version of him.
His head lifts immediately.
“No,” he says, almost too quickly. Then his voice grows softer. “Not if you’re not ready.”
Your brows knit slightly, a small shake of your head.
“I am,” you insist, voice quiet but certain. “I trust you.”
Your declaration hits deeper than anything else.
For a moment, he just looks at you—really looks—like he’s trying to understand how you can still say that to him. Then his grip tightens again; a firm grip that anchors you to the moment.
“Okay,” he breathes.
And this time, when he moves, it’s still slow—but there’s something underneath it now. Not just restraint, but a crack in it. A quiet, dangerous edge that slips through no matter how hard he tries to hold it back.
His forehead presses to yours, breaths tangling, uneven.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, softer now. “Anything—you tell me, yeah?”
You nod, already clutching onto him, already feeling yourself giving in to the rhythm he’s so carefully trying to control.
God, Heeseung tries not to lose himself completely. Chanting ‘Go slow, go fucking slow,’ like a mantra in his head is proving to be the hardest test he’s ever been through.
But he still tries—even when it starts slipping crack by crack.
You can feel it in the way his pace stays measured, like every pound into your walls is a calculated move. It makes your heart flutter, really, but you want more.
You don’t know how to say it without sounding desperate, but your body knows you better. Instinctively, you clench around his cock. The action is not fully registered in your head until Heeseung’s rhythm falters.
“Y/N…” he exhales, your name catching in his throat like it’s too much for him to hold.
“More,” your fingers tighten around his arms, pulling him impossibly closer. “More, please.”
You tighten your walls again, drawing a shuddering gasp from him. His head drops forward as his control stutters, cock twitching inside you.
“Don’t,” he starts, half-warning and half-whining, “Don’t do that or I’m—”
You can’t stand it anymore. You meet his thrust, hitting his navel with yours, gasping because the sensation feels too good. A broken groan leaves him, deep and absolutely fucking wrecked.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, gripping your hips tighter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Heeseung kisses up the length of your neck, leaving more marks before he props his arms. When you catch his eyes, something flickers in that heated gaze, like his control is finally slipping away, snapping with the way he pistons his cock into you. You choke out a breath.
“Okay?” he asks, still worrying. You nod frantically, desperately.
“Yes—please—more—”
Heeseung does it again. Again and again and again until all there’s left is the sound of your broken gasps and the wet, filthy noise of his balls hitting your hole.
“Still—fuck—still okay?” he asks, voice rough, barely held together.
You can’t form any coherent thoughts, so you nod again, breathless and more certain this time. “Please…don’t stop.”
Heeseung lets out a curse, lifting your hips slightly before continuing pounding into you, faster and harder. A high-pitched moan rips from your throat, the new angle hitting the spot that has you seeing stars.
He watches your face, his own contorting in pleasure, setting a pace that has you blabbering out broken words and more drool.
You feel so full. His cock is so deep inside you, filling you up to the hilt. It’s a strange feeling, but it’s also so, so addictive that you just want more, more, and more. It’s the only thing you can ask for: “More, more—Heeseung—ah—please.”
Heeseung leans down, taking your earlobe into his mouth, alternating his pace between achingly slow rolls of his hips and harsh, sharp thrusts, whispering hotly into your ears.
“You’re taking me so well.”
“So fucking tight, baby, fuck.”
“My daisy. My honey. My everything.”
The heat in your stomach intensifies, building up like a tidal wave waiting to crash. Your nails dig into his biceps, meeting his heated gaze with your glassy one.
“Mate with me, Heeseung. Please.”
Heeseung almost stops, but you’re fast to hook your legs around his waist, urging him to continue. He continues with slower grinding, locking eyes with you.
It’s finally time to seal the bond for good. But even in the haze of pleasure and nirvana, all Heeseung cares about is your well-being.
“Now, baby?” he whispers in between thrusts. He catches your jaw in his hand, thumb brushing your cheeks softly. He knows it’s bound to happen tonight anyway, but if he can save you from the pain longer, he will. “It will sting, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”
You nod, never felt more sure than now. You lean up to kiss him, breath mingling hotly before you look into his eyes.
“I trust you, Heeseung,” you whisper back. You grind back into him, hips stuttering when his cock thrusts almost sharply into your cunt.
With broken gasps, you finally say it. “Please mark me yours.”
Heeseung almost tears up from the sheer weight of your words.
Trust. Yours. Mine.
Something that the old him would’ve never imagined wanting and needing.
But here, as your starry eyes gazing into his teary gaze, Heeseung’s never felt so full and complete. He doesn’t even know that he was capable of loving someone this much; of this overwhelming affection that he has only for you.
A single drop of tears slides down his cheek as he kisses you again, trying to convey his emotions into the sweet touch. You respond just as reverent, understanding him without words being spoken.
“Do you trust me?” he murmurs against your mouth. His hips are slowing down, getting lost in the warm sensation of your breath and your sweetening scent.
You give him a peck. “I do.”
Heeseung smiles fondly. He leaves one last kiss on your forehead before he sits up, pulling out of you at the same time. You almost whine at the loss of touch, but he’s quick to reassure you.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”
Then, with a dominating strength that makes your stomach flutter, he grabs your waist and flips you over. You arch your back almost instinctively, shoving your ass in the air. Heeseung groans, his alpha howling in pride at seeing his omega presenting like this. His jaw clenches from restraint, absolutely close to losing his mind over this sight of you.
His cock slips back in easily. Heeseung splays a hand over the skin between your shoulders, pushing you gently into the mattress.
You glance over your shoulders, wiggling your ass and pushing it further into his face. “Like this, Heeseungie?”
Heeseung bites his lips, mouth salivating from the sight. “Yeah, baby.” He is so fucking turned on. “I’m gonna move now, yeah?”
At the single movement of your head, Heeseung is already thrusting inside, barely holding himself back. The new angle gives more access to his cock to hit places you didn’t know exist in your walls, sending sparks of electricity to your nerves.
“Ah, ah—nnghh!! Heeseungie!”
“Keep saying my name like that, baby,” Heeseung drools over the jiggles of your round ass. He kneads the flesh with his thick fingers, moaning at the dimples his nails make by digging into it.
“So soft. So beautiful,” he grinds and rolls his hips, leaning down to bite down on your buttcheeks. You clench around him. “So responsive for me. God—you’re perfect, Y/N.”
“I’m—I’m close—”
“Oh, I can feel it, baby,” Heeseung grunts through his teeth. Your walls keep sucking him back in, as if refusing to let go. “I’m close too—fuck.”
Heeseung picks up his pace, his muscles flexing as he, too, almost reaches his high. He leans down, broad chest meeting your back and noses at your pulsing scent gland, sweat dripping down his chin.
It’s intoxicating, the way your scent blends in with his pheromones, like a perfect match made in heaven—which might not be so far from the truth. He is your true mate, after all, written in the prophecy for God knows how long.
He can feel how close you’re getting, your whining turning needier and messier. His canines sharpen slowly, readying himself to mark you.
You drool into the mattress, incoherent words leaving your mouth. The coil in your stomach tightens, so close to snapping, so close to bringing you over the edge.
And it’s with a flick of his thumb over your clit that you finally give. You go still, shockwaves of your release rippling through your body, pulling Heeseung with you as he cums, spraying your insides white.
Following his promise, Heeseung chooses that exact moment to sink his teeth in your nape, right over where your scent gland is. You yelp, body trembling from the intense feeling of pain and pleasure.
The feeling is otherworldly—like something inside you finally clicks into place.
A warmth blooms from where he’s marked you, spreading through your body in slow, overwhelming waves. It’s not just the sensation—it’s him. You can feel him in a way you’ve never felt before, like his presence has settled beneath your skin, threading into every part of you.
Your fingers clutch at the sheets, breath stuttering as something inside you tightens and softens. You feel complete, like the quiet ache you never noticed has finally disappeared.
Heeseung groans softly against your skin, almost like he feels it too—like the bond snaps into place just as strongly on his end. His hold on you tightens, not possessive, but grounding, as if he needs to make sure you’re real, that this is real.
He quickly laps at the blood and the wound, tongue gentle now, almost reverent as he soothes the mark he’s just made. His hips slow down, now grinding into you lazily to ride out the wave before you mewl from oversensitivity.
He pulls out after a while and gently turns you back to face him. As soon as he locks eyes with you, Heeseung’s composure breaks instantly, tears spilling down his cheeks. He catches your lips in a wet kiss.
“My daisy,” he cries, cradling your jaw and never intending to let go. “Oh Goddess—I love you so much.”
His voice, broken and gasping with gratitude and relief, moves your heart in ways that unravel you just the same. You kiss back just as hard, heart finally full and complete.
Your omega purrs in satisfaction, and to your surprise, you can almost hear another wolf echoing back to yours.
It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s Heeseung’s wolf—your alpha, finally and wholly yours.
Heeseung breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against yours. Your scent gland pulses, but this time, it’s gentle and grounding, like a mark of a new beginning; a bond now finally healed and sealed.
“Y/N,” he breathes out against your mouth. “Don’t get tired of me yet, okay? I… I cherish you so much. ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel like enough.”
You let out a soft giggle and pull him closer, sealing your lips with his again.
“Then don’t say anything. Show me, my alpha…show me that we belong to each other.”
As moonlight spills into the bedroom, a blessing from the Goddess for the mated pair, the sheets bear witness to the moment two fractured souls finally become one.
You wake up before Heeseung.
Trying to remove his arms from your waist proves to be a real challenge; the alpha refuses to let you go even in his sleep. You chuckle softly and plant a kiss on his forehead before slipping out of the blanket.
Standing on slightly wobbly legs, you drift into the kitchen, your throat screaming for water. You let the sunshine hit your skin, highlighting your afterglow, as you down a whole glass of water.
The house is quiet. Jay, with the intention to give the two of you privacy, has gone to visit his parents for the weekend. You silently thank him for it. You don’t want to know how awkward it’d be if he has to hear all the noises you made last night.
Just as you’re about to return to Heeseung’s warm embrace, your eyes catch a sign on another door. It’s located at the end of the hallway, a few paces away from Heeseung’s and Jay’s bedrooms. It’s almost unnoticeable, but the name on the sign is what intrigues you to go closer.
EVAN LEE
Evan? That’s Heeseung’s English name.
You know it’s an invasion of privacy, but your wolf is nagging at you to go. So, with almost zero reluctancy, you let yourself inside.
It’s his producer room, you guess, judging from the equipment filling up the space. You let your eyes roam, smiling to yourself when you catch random things that just scream Heeseung.
There are two frames of pictures hanging on the wall, one of his family and another one of him and Jay. The two looked younger, more reckless, a given when you notice the uniform they were wearing. High-school Jay with a neat shirt, tucked in and collar buttoned up while high-school Heeseung was missing his tie. They were smiling bright, already so handsome from such a young age.
You look at the random stickers on his PC—basketball, white cats, and alphabet stickers that are arranged into ‘NI-KI’.
A pair of headphones sit on the table, each ear decorated with different aesthetics. The left one is full of flowers, tiny stickers of ‘ddeonu’ are left as watermark, while the other is just one big orange cat sticker, and instead of leaving his name in a way that doesn’t stain, Jungwon actually signed with a marker pen.
You laugh, wondering what might be Heeseung’s reaction when that menace did that. It’s Sony, after all, and judging from the sleek design—it’s definitely pricey. But knowing how soft Heeseung is for Jungwon, he probably just let it slide because ‘Jungwonnie is cute’.
This room is so full of everything Heeseung loves. His passion for music and basketball, his affection for his close friends. A thought, not unkindly or bitter, crosses your mind: you cannot wait to leave traces of you here, too—something of yours, beside everything he already loves.
Just as you’re about to leave, something in the corner stops you in your tracks. It’s a notebook, hidden under a keyboard, like it’s never meant to be found.
You walk over and look at the notebook, breath catching in your throat when you read the cover.
For my daisy.
Is this for you?
With trembling fingers—a result from your pounding heart—you flip the cover. There’s handwriting, unmistakably Heeseung’s, filling up the first page.
These are my silent apologies to the girl I lost. I was too late to love you when you still loved me, but I promise myself that I will start and continue loving you, even when I can no longer hear your echo until the very end.
P.s. park jongseong stop making fun of me this will become a hit album TRUST!
Just like what the note has said, the notebook is full of song lyrics. Each line, each intended melody, each scribble left in the margin—every one of them is meant for you, intended for you, and just for you.
Your vision blurs, heart tightening so painfully it almost aches—because this wasn’t just regret. It was love. Quiet, enduring, and yours all along.
Heeseung didn’t know how to stay or to cherish—but he’s been unlearning every single bad habit for you. Through your resentment, through your tears, through your silences, until finally, your omega was willing to open up and give him another chance at love.
Your chest swells with affection and pride, echoing with only the name of the alpha.
You reach for a pen and flip back to the first page, leaving your first ever trace in his producer room.
p.s. i love you more, my cinnamon alpha.
andddd that's the end of it!!1 thank you once again and until next time <3
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
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: footjob, swearing, oral (fem!rec), fingering
WC: 17k
Note: This one is a long one guys (just so you know), I really wanted to try putting more efforts in my writing and do something longer than I usually do, I don't know if people tend to read the shorter or longer fics but well... I'm really proud of myself for writing more detailed and polished fics, especially knowing that I'm a lazy person who usually do the bare minimum.
"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"
You’re staring at your own reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the girl staring back looks like she’s about to either throw up or ascend to another dimension. Maybe both. In that order.
The letter is clutched so tightly in your hand that the pale lavender envelope is starting to crease, and you force yourself to loosen your grip before you ruin the one thing you’ve spent three weeks perfecting. Three weeks. That’s twenty-one days of drafting, crossing out, rewriting, Googling “how to write a love letter without sounding like a desperate loser,” and then rewriting again. You’ve used up an entire pack of stationery. You’ve watched so many calligraphy tutorials that the YouTube algorithm thinks you’re training to become a medieval scribe. All for this one moment. This one letter. This one massive, terrifying, possibly life-ruining leap of faith.
You are a hopeless romantic. Hopeless being the operative word.
It’s not that you don’t believe in love. You do. Desperately, overwhelmingly, with every fiber of your first-year STEM student soul. You believe in meet-cutes and slow burns and the exact moment when two people look at each other and the entire world goes soft around the edges. You’ve read about it a hundred times. You’ve watched it play out on every screen you own. You’ve composed entire daydreams about it during particularly boring chemistry lectures. Love is your favorite subject, the one you’ve studied with more dedication than calculus or physics combined. There’s just one tiny, inconvenient, absolutely infuriating problem.
You’re terrified of it.
Not the idea of it. The idea is lovely. The idea is safe. The idea lives in your head where everything unfolds exactly the way you want it to, where you always say the right thing, where you never trip over your own feet or laugh too loud at the wrong moment or stand frozen in a doorway like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. But real love? The kind that requires vulnerability and eye contact and actually speaking words out loud with your mouth? That kind of love makes your palms sweat and your heart race in a decidedly unromantic, fight-or-flight kind of way. You are, and this is the most embarrassing part, a coward. A romantic coward. You dream of grand gestures but can barely manage a coherent sentence when an attractive person so much as glances in your direction.
Which brings you back to the letter.
The letter is your loophole. Your workaround. Your way of confessing your feelings without actually having to say them, because writing them down felt manageable in a way that speaking never has. You can be eloquent on paper. On paper, you can say things like “the first time I saw your smile, it felt like someone had turned on all the lights in a room I didn’t even realize was dark” without immediately wanting to crawl into the nearest hole and live out the rest of your days an hermit. On paper, you’re brave. On paper, you’re the kind of person who goes after what she wants.
In reality, you’ve been hiding in this bathroom for fifteen minutes, and your hands are shaking so badly that a passing person would think you are having an epileptic seizure.
“Okay,” you whisper to your reflection. “Okay. You can do this. You are a woman on a mission. You are a warrior. You are-”
A toilet flushes in one of the stalls behind you, and you nearly launch yourself through the ceiling.
A girl you vaguely recognize from your introductory programming class emerges, gives you an odd look as she washes her hands, and leaves without saying anything. You wait until the door swings shut, then press your forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and contemplate every life choice that has led you to this moment.
His name is Jungwon.
Yang Jungwon. Second year. Undeclared major but leaning toward something in the humanities, which you know because you may have done a bit of light, respectful, completely non-creepy research. He has a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and a laugh that sounds like sunshine if sunshine could make noise, and he holds doors open for people even when they’re still like ten feet away, which creates that awkward situation where the person has to speed-walk to not seem rude, but he never seems to mind. You first noticed him at the campus library during midterms when he quietly slid a pack of gummy bears across the table toward you at 2 AM, muttering something about glucose being good for brain function, and then went back to his book like he hadn’t just fundamentally altered the trajectory of your entire emotional existence.
That was four months ago. You’ve been pining ever since. Pining, yearning, longing, you’ve run through the entire lexicon of unrequited affection, and you’re exhausted. Today, you’ve decided, is the day it ends. One way or another.
You push yourself off the mirror, square your shoulders, and march out of the bathroom with the determination of someone going to war. The envelope is slightly damp from your grip, but it’s still intact, and the words inside are still true, and somewhere on this campus, Yang Jungwon is about to receive the most heartfelt confession letter ever written by a first-year student who has consumed an unhealthy amount of romance media.
Now you just have to find him.
—————
The hallway is bustling with students, the usual midday chaos of people rushing to classes or huddling in groups to complain about assignments. You scan the crowd, looking for a familiar face that might point you in the right direction, and your eyes land on a guy leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone with the dead-eyed expression of someone who has just finished a three-hour lab.
“Excuse me,” you say, and your voice comes out about an octave higher than normal. You clear your throat. “Sorry, um, do you know where I can find Yang Jungwon? Second year?”
The guy looks up, blinks slowly, deciding whether or not to acknowledge your presence, and then shrugs. “PC room, I think. Saw him heading there like twenty minutes ago.”
The PC room. Of course. It’s in the engineering and informatics building, a place you’ve rarely ever been to. But you know where it is, roughly, and you thank the guy with what you hope is a normal smile and not the rictus grin of someone rushing toward emotional catastrophe.
The walk across campus takes approximately seven minutes, and you spend every single one of them rehearsing what you’re going to say. You’ve already written the letter, so technically you don’t have to say anything, you can just hand it over and flee but you want to say something. Something cool. Something memorable.
“Hey, Jungwon, this is for you.” Simple. Direct. Good.
“I wrote you something. No pressure, just read it when you have time.” Casual. Low-stakes. Excellent.
“Hi, I’ve been emotionally compromised by your existence for several months, please accept this paper rectangle of feelings.” Okay, maybe not that one.
The engineering building looms in front of you before you’re ready. You push through the main doors and immediately feel out of place. The students here move with a different energy, less frantic, more focused, the kind of people who probably know what a server is and have opinions about programming languages you’ve never heard of.
You follow the signs toward the PC room, your footsteps echoing in the corridor, and with every step, your heart climbs higher up your throat. This is it. This is the moment. You’re going to walk in there, find Jungwon, hand him the letter, and then whatever happens happens. At least you’ll have tried. At least you’ll have been brave, even if it’s only for thirty seconds.
The door to the PC room is slightly ajar, and you can hear voices inside, multiple voices, which gives you pause. You assumed he’d be alone. Or with maybe one other person.
You hesitate. Your hand hovers over the door handle. Every instinct is screaming at you to turn around, go back to your dorm, and spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been. And maybe you would, if not for the small, stubborn voice in the back of your mind that says: You’ve already come this far. Don’t you want to know? Don’t you want to be the kind of person who actually does the thing instead of just dreaming about it?
Yes. Yes, you do.
You squeeze your eyes shut, take a breath so deep it makes you lightheaded, and push the door open with more force than strictly necessary. It slams against the wall with a bang that makes approximately twelve heads swivel in your direction, and for one horrifying moment, you are the center of attention in a room full of strangers.
But you don’t see any of them. You only see the figure sitting at the computer closest to the door, his back half-turned to you, hair falling over his forehead, the exact silhouette you’ve been looking for. Or at least, the exact silhouette you think you’ve been looking for.
You don’t stop to confirm. You don’t let yourself think. You just march forward, thrust the letter out in front of you like a shield, and launch into the speech you’ve been rehearsing for three weeks.
“This is for you. I’m sorry if this is weird or sudden but I’ve liked you for a really long time and I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. You don’t have to respond right away. You don’t have to respond ever, actually. I just wanted you to know that someone out there thinks you’re wonderful and I wrote it all down because I’m better at writing than talking and honestly I might pass out if I keep standing here so please just take this and I’ll go-”
You finally look up.
And the face staring back at you is absolutely, categorically, one hundred percent not Jungwon.
The boy in front of you is taller than Jungwon. Broader shoulders. Sharper jawline. Different eyes, darker, deeper, currently widened in a mixture of surprise and something you can’t quite read. His lips are parted slightly, as if he was about to say something before you launched into your emotional word-vomit, and he’s holding a half-eaten protein bar that’s now frozen halfway to his mouth.
The room has gone completely, utterly silent.
You can feel the stares of every single person boring into the back of your head. Someone coughs. Someone else whispers something that sounds suspiciously like “did she just-” before being shushed by their neighbor.
And then the boy, the very handsome, very wrong boy, sets down his protein bar, takes the letter gently from your trembling hand, and says in a voice that’s low and smooth and completely unfamiliar: “Wow. Okay. What’s your name?”
This is the worst moment of your entire life. You are going to die right here, in this PC room, surrounded by computer monitors and half-empty energy drink cans and a dozen witnesses who will spread this story to every corner of the university within the next three hours. Your obituary will read: here lies Y/N, the loser who can’t even recognize her ultimate crush.
“Y/N,” you croak, because your mouth is apparently still functioning even though every other part of you has shut down. “L/N Y/N. First year. STEM.”
You don’t know why you said STEM. He didn’t ask for your department. You’re offering information nobody requested. This is a disaster.
But the boy, he’s looking at you with an expression you can’t decipher, his head tilted slightly to the side like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. He’s wearing a dark hoodie with the informatics department logo on it, and there’s a pair of expensive-looking headphones draped around his neck, and his hair is slightly mussed in a way that suggests he’s been running his fingers through it while concentrating. He’s absurdly good-looking, the kind of good-looking that makes you simultaneously want to stare and look away, and you’re only now noticing the way several girls in the room have been watching him since you entered, not just because of your blunder, but because they’ve been watching him.
“I’m Heeseung,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Lee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.”
Lee Heeseung. The name registers somewhere in the back of your panic-addled brain. It’s familiar in the way that campus gossip is familiar, attached to words like hot and player and don’t get your hopes up because he’ll charm you and then move on. You’ve heard girls in your dorm talking about him in hushed, giggling tones, trading stories about brief encounters and misinterpreted invitations. And you, in your infinite wisdom, have just handed a love letter meant for someone else directly into his notorious hands.
You have to fix this. You have to tell him it was a mistake. You have to-
“I’m flattered,” Heeseung says, and his smile widens slightly, not quite a smirk but definitely approaching smirk territory. “Really. This is... I mean, no one’s ever confessed to me with an actual letter before. It’s kind of old school.” He turns the envelope over in his hands, examining it with what seems like genuine curiosity. “The handwriting is really pretty. Did you do the calligraphy yourself?”
“Yes,” you say, because you are physically incapable of lying when put on the spot, and also because your brain has apparently decided that the best course of action is to just answer whatever questions he asks like this is a normal conversation and not the emotional equivalent of a tornado.
“Impressive.” He looks at you, really looks at you, and something shifts in his expression. The teasing edge softens just a fraction. “A confession is a lot, though. I mean, I’m honored, but we don’t even know each other.”
This is your opening. This is the moment where you say “actually, that’s because this letter wasn’t meant for you, there’s been a terrible misunderstanding, I’m so sorry, please forget this ever happened.” The words are right there, lined up on your tongue, ready to go.
But the room is still watching. A dozen pairs of eyes. The whispers have stopped, but the staring hasn’t, and you can feel every single gaze like a physical weight pressing down on you. If you correct him now, in front of everyone, you’ll have to explain. You’ll have to admit that you walked into a crowded room and confessed to the wrong person like an absolute buffoon. You’ll become a campus legend for all the wrong reasons: the girl who was too stupid to even identify her own crush. The story will follow you for the rest of your university career. You’ll never live it down.
But if you just... let him believe it... if you just nod and agree and leave as quickly as possible... you can fix this later. Privately. Without an audience. You can find him tomorrow, or send him a message, or do literally anything other than humiliate yourself further in front of all these people.
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“I know,” you hear yourself say. “It’s a lot. I know.”
Heeseung nods thoughtfully, like you’ve said something profound. “But I’m not against it. Starting slow, I mean. If you want.”
What.
“What,” you say, but it comes out more like a statement than a question.
“I’m okay with starting slow,” he repeats, and now the smile is definitely back, a little crooked, a little curious. “You’re cute. And clearly brave. I like that. So if you want to, I don’t know, get coffee sometime and see where this goes... I’m open to it.”
Someone in the room lets out a low whistle. Someone else says “Heeseung, are you serious right now?” in a tone of utter disbelief. But Heeseung doesn’t look away from you. He’s waiting for your answer, his gaze steady and warm, and you are standing in the epicenter of a complete and total catastrophe with absolutely no idea how to get out.
Say no. Say it was a mistake. Say the truth.
“Okay,” you whisper.
Okay?! Okay?!
“Okay,” he echoes, and the smile breaks fully across his face, transforming him from handsome to devastating. “Good. I’ll find you. Y/N, first year, STEM, right?”
You nod mutely.
“Cool.” He tucks your letter carefully into the pocket of his hoodie, like it’s something precious, like he’s planning to read it later, and the gesture makes your stomach twist with guilt so intense you think you might actually be sick. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”
You don’t remember leaving the room. You don’t remember the walk back across campus or the elevator ride to your floor or the moment you collapsed face-first onto your dorm bed. All you know is that one moment you were standing in the PC room, and the next you are here, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single agonizing second on an endless loop.
You confessed to the wrong person.
You confessed to the wrong person.
And for some reason that you absolutely cannot comprehend, he said yes.
Across campus, in a PC room that has finally returned to its normal hum of activity, Lee Heeseung pulls a slightly crumpled lavender envelope out of his hoodie pocket and stares at it for a long moment.
“Dude,” says his friend Jay from the next computer over, not bothering to hide his grin. “What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” Heeseung says honestly. And he doesn’t. He’s used to attention, he knows how to handle it, how to smile and nod and gently redirect without hurting anyone’s feelings. It’s a skill he’s developed over the years, the only way he knows to deal with the unfortunate side effect of his people-pleasing tendencies. He’s nice to someone, he helps them with an assignment, he holds a door open or offers a pen, and suddenly they’re looking at him with stars in their eyes, and he doesn’t know how to tell them that he was just trying to be polite without sounding like an arrogant jerk. So he lets them down easy, or he avoids the situation entirely, and his reputation grows in ways that don’t reflect the truth at all.
But this, this is new. A letter. An actual, physical, handwritten letter, with swooping calligraphy and a lavender envelope and a girl who looked so terrified that he thought she might actually pass out right there on the linoleum floor.
She looked at him like he was a natural disaster. Like she was watching a building collapse in slow motion and couldn’t do anything to stop it.
And then she said okay anyway.
“She’s interesting,” Heeseung murmurs, more to himself than to Jay, and carefully opens the envelope.
“Interesting how?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy reading, his eyes moving slowly across the carefully penned words, the ink slightly smudged in places where the writer’s hand might have trembled. It’s beautiful. It’s earnest. It’s the kind of letter that someone writes when they mean every single word, when they’ve poured their entire heart onto the page without holding anything back.
He’s never received anything like it before.
And he wants to know more about the girl who wrote it, the girl who burst into his afternoon like a hurricane of nerves and feelings.
“Jay,” he says, still staring at the letter, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I think something interesting just walked into my life.”
He doesn’t notice the way his friend shakes his head and mutters something about “here we go again.”
He’s too busy wondering when he’ll see Y/N next.
—————
The following forty-eight hours of your life can be accurately described as a masterclass in strategic avoidance and tactical regret.
You skip two classes. Not on purpose, exactly, you just can’t bring yourself to leave your dorm room when every shadow in the hallway might be Lee Heeseung coming to collect on that coffee date you apparently agreed to in a moment of temporary insanity. You survive on instant noodles and the protein bars your friend left on her desk with a sticky note that said “FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY,” which this absolutely qualifies as. You watch three entire seasons of Bridgerton without retaining a single moment because your brain is too busy replaying the PC room incident on a continuous, merciless loop.
“I’m Lee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.”
“I’m okay with starting slow.”
“You’re cute.”
You bury your face in your pillow and scream, but it comes out muffled and pathetic, like a small animal giving up on life.
By day three, you’ve developed a system. You only leave your room during off-peak hours, skittering through campus, your head on a constant swivel. You’ve memorized the locations of every vending machine in buildings Heeseung is unlikely to frequent. You’ve started taking the long way to your remaining classes, cutting through the art department and the greenhouse and once, memorably, a service corridor that smelled strongly of bleach and soap. You’ve become a ghost. A phantom. A creature of the shadows who survives on granola bars and instant noddles.
But the problem with running away from your problems is that your problems don’t actually go anywhere. They just wait. And think about you. And eventually, when you least expect it, they catch up.
It happens on a Thursday.
You’re crouched behind a potted plant near the science building, scanning the courtyard for any sign of tall, attractive informatics students, when your phone buzzes with a text from your best friend, Yunjin.
Yunjin: heard you’ve been living like a sewer rat. want me to bring you real food?
You: can’t. i’m in the middle of a crisis
Yunjin: You’re executing what we talked about yet?
You: it’s in process
Yunjin: at the end of the day, you will have to tell him
You stare at the message for a long moment. It’s such a simple solution. So elegant. So reasonable. And yet, every time you imagine yourself walking up to Heeseung and saying “actually, I meant to give that letter to someone else,” your entire body physically recoils like you’ve touched a hot stove. The humiliation would be astronomical. The look on his face, surprise, then confusion, then that horrible moment of realization that he was never supposed to be the recipient would haunt you for the rest of your natural life. And you’d still have to explain the Jungwon part. And Jungwon would find out. And then you’d be the weird girl who couldn’t even confess to the right person, and Heeseung would be the guy who got accidentally confessed to, and everyone would laugh about it for weeks, and-
Your phone buzzes again.
Yunjin: i can hear you overthinking from across campus. just rip off the bandaid. what’s the worst that could happen
You type back a single message: he could tell everyone and i’d have to transfer schools and change my name and become a farmer in New Zeland
Yunjin: dramatic. but valid. good luck with your plant hiding
You shove your phone back into your pocket and peek around the potted plant again. The courtyard is clear. This is your window. You take a deep breath, steel your nerves, and scuttle out from behind the foliage.
The plan for today is simple: find Heeseung, explain the misunderstanding, and disappear forever. You’ve spent the entire morning psyching yourself up for this. You’ve practiced the speech in the mirror seventeen times. You’ve even written a script on your phone that you can refer to in case of emergency. It’s thorough, it’s clear, it leaves absolutely no room for misinterpretation, and it ends with a sincere apology and a polite request that you both pretend this never happened. It’s perfect. It’s foolproof. All you have to do is locate the target.
Easier said than done. You’ve been looking for him since yesterday, not to talk to, but to observe from a safe distance so you could plan your approach and the universe, in its infinite comedic wisdom, has made him completely unfindable. It’s like he vanished off the face of the earth the moment you actually wanted to see him. Three days ago, you couldn’t walk three feet without catching a glimpse of him, but now? Now he’s a ghost. A myth. A concept rather than a physical entity.
You’re going to have to ask for help.
This is, objectively, a terrible idea. Asking for help means talking to people, and talking to people about Heeseung means potentially revealing that you’re looking for him, which means potentially revealing why you’re looking for him, which means the whole campus could know about the letter situation by lunchtime. But you’re running out of options, and you’re running out of granola bars, and you can’t live behind potted plants forever.
You find your informant near the engineering building, a girl with neon green headphones and a laptop covered in stickers, sitting on a bench and typing furiously at something that looks like code. She seems approachable. She seems like she won’t ask too many questions. You approach with what you hope is casual confidence and not the desperate energy of someone who has been living on protein bars.
“Excuse me,” you say, and your voice comes out surprisingly normal. Points for you. “Do you know where I can find Lee Heeseung? Third year, informatics?”
The girl looks up, her eyes flicking over you with mild curiosity. She doesn’t ask why you’re looking for him, which makes you want to hug her. “Heeseung? Yeah, I think I saw him heading to the quad about ten minutes ago. Something about meeting up with some people before his next class.”
The quad. Of course. The most open, public, exposed location on the entire campus. The place where literally everyone congregates. The absolute last place you want to have a conversation about accidental love confessions.
“Great,” you say, and your voice is definitely an octave higher now. “Great. Thank you. Thanks. So much.”
The girl gives you a weird look, shrugs, and goes back to her coding.
You’re already moving, your feet carrying you toward the quad before your brain can catch up and talk you out of it. This is fine. This is progress. You’ll find him, you’ll pull him aside, you’ll give him the speech, and then you’ll be free. You’ll be a normal person again. You’ll be able to walk through campus without checking every corner for a tall informatics student who thinks you’re cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date.
The quad is bustling when you arrive, clusters of students sprawled across the grass and gathered around the stone benches near the fountain. The afternoon sun is bright and warm, the kind of weather that makes everyone want to be outside, which is lovely and picturesque and deeply inconvenient for your purposes. You squint against the glare, scanning the crowd for a familiar dark-haired figure.
No Heeseung.
You circle the perimeter, weaving between groups of friends and dodging a frisbee that comes sailing dangerously close to your head. You check near the fountain, near the big oak tree, near the cluster of food trucks that’s set up along the east edge. Still no Heeseung. Your informant said ten minutes ago, he should be here. Unless he already left. Unless you missed him. Unless this is a sign from the universe that you should give up and commit to the farmer life plan after all.
You’re so focused on your search that you don’t notice someone approaching until a shadow falls across your path, and a voice, warm, familiar, the exact voice you’ve been daydreaming about for four months, says:
“Y/N? Hey, it is you!”
You look up.
Yang Jungwon is standing right in front of you, smiling like the sun just came out from behind a cloud, and every single coherent thought in your brain immediately evaporates.
He’s wearing a soft-looking cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his dark hair is slightly windswept, and there’s a tiny mole near his chin that you’ve never noticed before but is now seared into your memory forever. He’s holding a book, something with a cracked spine and a title in a language you don’t recognize and he’s looking at you with genuine, undiluted pleasure, like running into you is the best thing that’s happened to him all day.
“It’s me,” you say, because you are a conversational genius. “I mean. Yes. Hi. Hello.”
Smooth. Flawless execution. Ten out of ten.
Jungwon doesn’t seem to notice your complete lack of verbal grace. His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes in exactly the way you’ve catalogued in your mental Jungwon database. “I thought I recognized you. You’re in my philosophy elective, right? Front row, near the window?”
He knows where you sit. He knows where you sit. This is both the best and worst information you’ve ever received, because on one hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, but on the other hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, and now you have to be a normal human being and not the disaster you currently are.
“Front row near the window,” you confirm, nodding a little too vigorously. “That’s me. I like the natural light. For... note-taking purposes.”
“Makes sense.” He shifts his weight, tucking the book under his arm. “You take really detailed notes, by the way. I sat behind you once, and I was honestly impressed. Your color-coding system is no joke.”
Jungwon has looked at your notes. Jungwon has been impressed by your notes. Your brain is short-circuiting at approximately the speed of light, and you have to physically resist the urge to fist-pump in the middle of the quad.
“Thank you,” you manage. “I have a lot of highlighters. Maybe too many. Is there such a thing as too many highlighters? I don’t think so, but I’ve been told my stationery collection is concerning.”
Oh no. Why are you talking about stationery? You need to say something charming. Something witty. Something that will make him see you as more than the girl with the aggressive color-coding system.
“I don’t think it’s concerning,” Jungwon says, and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that makes your knees go weak. “Passionate, maybe. Dedicated. I respect it.”
“Passionate and dedicated,” you repeat faintly. “That’s... yeah. That’s my brand.”
He laughs, and it’s exactly like you remember, bright and warm, the kind of laugh that makes you want to do whatever you just did again and again just to hear it on repeat. “I like it. Passion is underrated.” He tilts his head, studying you with an expression you can’t quite read. “So what brings you to the quad? You usually eat lunch in the science building courtyard, don’t you?”
Your heart stutters. He knows where you eat lunch. He’s observed your habits. This is either a sign of mutual interest or you’ve accidentally become the subject of a sociological case study, and at this point you’re willing to accept either outcome.
“I’m, um, looking for someone,” you say, and the confession letter debacle comes crashing back into your consciousness like a wrecking ball through a glass window. Right. You’re supposed to be finding Heeseung. You’re supposed to be fixing the misunderstanding. That’s why you’re here. Not to bask in the radiant warmth of Jungwon’s attention like a lizard on a sunny rock.
“Anyone I know?” Jungwon asks, and there’s something in his tone, curiosity, maybe.
“Probably not,” you say quickly. “Just a... just a person. A random person. Not important.”
Jungwon raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but before he can press further, a new voice cuts through the afternoon air like a knife through butter.
“There you are.”
You freeze. Your blood turns to ice. Every cell in your body screams in unison: run.
Lee Heeseung is walking toward you across the quad, his headphones hanging around his neck and his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket. He looks exactly as devastatingly attractive as he did three days ago, which is deeply unfair. His expression is a mixture of curiosity and amusement, and when his eyes meet yours, that slight smile, the one that’s not quite a smirk but definitely is a smirk’s second cousin, curves across his lips.
“I heard you’ve been looking for me,” he says, coming to a stop beside Jungwon like this is the most natural gathering in the world. “You know, if you wanted to see me, you could have just messaged. I would have given you my number at the PC room.”
Jungwon looks between you and Heeseung with visible confusion, his earlier smile fading into something more guarded. “Wait. You two know each other?”
This is it. This is the moment the universe has been building toward. Every terrible decision, every act of cowardice, every misguided attempt to avoid embarrassment, it’s all led here, to this exact spot on the quad, with the wrong guy standing next to the right guy and your entire romantic future hanging in the balance.
“I wouldn’t say know,” you begin, but Heeseung is already talking over you, apparently immune to the desperate telepathic signals you’re trying to beam directly into his brain.
“She confessed to me two days ago,” Heeseung says, and his tone is so casual, so conversational, like he’s discussing the weather or what he had for lunch. “Walked right into the PC room, handed me a letter, told me she’d liked me for a long time. It was very romantic. Very old-school. I was impressed.”
Silence. Jungwon stares at Heeseung. Then at you. Then back at Heeseung.
“She... confessed to you,” Jungwon repeats slowly, and his voice has gone flat in a way that makes your heart splinter into approximately seven thousand pieces.
“Full confession,” Heeseung confirms, still smiling. “I’m thinking we’ll start with coffee. Keep it simple, you know? She’s shy. I don’t want to overwhelm her.”
This is a nightmare. This is a waking, breathing, actively-unfolding nightmare, and you are trapped in it like a fly in amber, unable to move or speak or do anything except watch as every possible future with Jungwon crumbles to dust before your eyes.
Because here’s the thing you realize in that horrible, crystal-clear moment: you can’t correct Heeseung now. Not in front of Jungwon. Not when Jungwon has just been told, in no uncertain terms, that you confessed to someone else. If you explain the truth, that the letter was actually meant for Jungwon, that the whole thing was a catastrophic mistake, then what? Jungwon would know you’d been planning to confess to him, but he’d also know that you somehow managed to mess it up so spectacularly that you confessed to his friend instead. You’d look incompetent at best and completely unhinged at worst. And Heeseung would be humiliated, and Jungwon would be awkward, and you’d be the epicenter of a social catastrophe so immense that all three of you would have to avoid each other for the rest of your academic careers.
You are trapped. Completely, utterly, irreversibly trapped.
“Interesting,” Jungwon says, and the word is so neutral that it cuts deeper than any insult ever could. “I didn’t realize you two ran in the same circles.”
“We don’t,” you croak. “We really, really don’t.”
“We’re just getting started,” Heeseung says cheerfully, and he has the audacity to wink at you. Like this is some kind of adorable inside joke instead of the emotional apocalypse it actually is.
You have to get out of here. You have to escape before the sob building in your chest forces its way out and makes everything infinitely worse. You can feel it pressing against your ribs, hot and insistent, and if you don’t leave right now, you’re going to burst into tears in the middle of the quad in front of both of them, and then the disaster will be complete.
“I have to go,” you blurt out, and you’re already backing away, your feet moving before your brain can issue any kind of warning. “I have… a thing. A class. A lab. A lab class. It’s very important. I can’t miss it. I have to go.”
Heeseung’s brow furrows slightly. “Wait, I thought you wanted to talk to-”
“Nope! No talking! We’re good! Everything’s fine! Bye!”
You spin around and power-walk toward the nearest exit, which happens to be in the direction of the fountain, which you only realize when your foot catches on the low stone ledge and you go sprawling forward with all the grace of a newborn giraffe.
Your knee hits the ground. Your dignity hits the ground approximately three feet to the left. Several people turn to look.
“Y/N!” That’s Jungwon’s voice, concerned and moving closer, and you absolutely cannot handle that right now.
“I’m fine!” you shriek, scrambling to your feet with adrenaline-fueled desperation. “Totally fine! Happens all the time! I’m very clumsy! It’s part of my charm!”
You don’t look back. You can’t look back. If you look back, you’ll see Jungwon’s worried expression and Heeseung’s confused one, and you’ll have to confront the full magnitude of what just happened, and your fragile emotional state simply cannot withstand that kind of pressure. So you run. Not jog, not power-walk…run. Across the quad, past the food trucks, through a gap between two buildings, and out onto the main campus pathway like the hounds of hell are snapping at your heels.
You don’t stop until you reach the arts building, and you don’t start breathing normally until you’ve locked yourself in a practice room on the third floor, surrounded by soundproof walls and a piano that’s seen better days. You slide down against the door, pull your knees up to your chest, and let out a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a wail.
Everything is ruined. Everything. You had one chance, one single, solitary chance to fix the misunderstanding and salvage your dignity and maybe, just maybe, preserve the possibility of something with Jungwon somewhere down the line. And instead, you let your hopeless romantic heart get distracted by a five-minute conversation about philosophy notes and highlighters, and now you’re the girl who confessed to Lee Heeseung, and Jungwon thinks you’re interested in someone else, and there is no conceivable way to untangle this mess without making everything exponentially worse.
You’re going to have to transfer schools. You’re going to have to move to another country. You’re going to have to fake your own death and start a new identity as a goat farmer in New Zeland.
The door handle jiggles behind you. “Occupied!” you yell, your voice cracking.
“Y/N? Is that you?”
Your best friend Yunjin’s voice filters through the door, muffled but unmistakable, and the sound of it is enough to crack the dam you’ve been desperately trying to hold together. You scramble to your feet, fumble with the lock, and yank the door open to reveal Yunjin standing in the hallway with a cup of bubble tea in each hand and an expression of profound concern on her face.
“I saw you running,” she says, her eyes scanning your disheveled appearance. “Like, truly running. I’ve never seen you run before. You once told me running was for people who don’t appreciate the journey.”
“Yunjin,” you crumble, and your voice is so pitiful that she immediately sets down both drinks and pulls you into a hug.
“Okay,” she says, steering you back into the practice room and closing the door behind her. “Okay. Sit down. Tell me everything. What happened? Did you talk to Heeseung? Did you fix it?”
You laugh, but it comes out wrong, high and wobbly, on the edge of hysteria. “Fix it? Fix it? Yunjin, I made it so much worse. I made it so much worse that I think I actually created new dimensions of worse. Scientists are going to have to invent new words to describe how badly I messed this up.”
She settles onto the piano bench, and you collapse onto the floor in front of her, crossing your legs and burying your face in your hands. The story spills out of you in a torrent, the quad, the search for Heeseung, the unexpected appearance of Jungwon, the conversation that made your heart soar, and then the moment Heeseung appeared like a harbinger of doom and casually announced your confession to the one person you never wanted to know about it.
“And then I fell,” you finish miserably. “In front of both of them. And I ran away. And now Jungwon thinks I like Heeseung, and Heeseung thinks I like Heeseung, and I can’t correct either of them without making everything even weirder, and my life is a romantic comedy written by a petty incel.”
Yunjin is quiet for a moment. Then she lets out a long, slow breath. “Okay. That’s... that’s a lot.”
“I know.”
“And you’re telling me you couldn’t just say, hey Heeseung, sorry for the mix-up, the letter wasn’t for you, my bad?”
You look up at her, your eyes rimmed with red. “In front of Jungwon? After Heeseung already told him I confessed? What would Jungwon think of me?”
Yunjin considers this. “That you’re a disaster, probably.”
“Exactly!”
“But a lovable disaster,” she adds. “Disasters can be endearing.”
“Yunjin, please focus.”
She holds up her hands in surrender, but there’s a glint in her eye that you recognize, the one that means she’s about to drop some wisdom on you whether you’re ready for it or not. Yunjin has been your best friend since orientation week, when you both accidentally joined the wrong club meeting and ended up spending two hours in a competitive gardening seminar before realizing your mistake. She’s practical where you’re dreamy, decisive where you’re hesitant, and she’s talked you down from approximately four hundred anxiety spirals since the semester started. If anyone can find a way out of this mess, it’s her.
“Okay,” she says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Let me present you with an alternative perspective.”
“I’m listening.”
“Lee Heeseung,” she says, ticking off points on her fingers, “has a reputation. A big one. Everyone knows it. He’s the guy who’s super nice to everyone, especially girls, and then they fall for him and he gets all surprised when they expect something more, and then things fizzle out because he wasn’t looking for anything serious.” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “Sound familiar?”
You blink. “I mean... I’ve heard things. But he didn’t seem like-”
“That’s his whole thing,” Yunjin interrupts. “He doesn’t seem like it. That’s why it works. He likes when everyone is after him. But nice doesn’t equal interested, so girls get the wrong idea and then they get hurt. It’s a cycle.” She pops a tapioca pearl into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “My point is, you don’t need to do anything. You don’t need to fix this. You just need to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“For him to get bored.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Think about it. You’re not actually interested in him, right? You’re not going to fall all over yourself trying to get his attention. You’re not going to be waiting outside his classes or accidentally showing up wherever he hangs out. You’re not going to be like every other girl who’s chased after him.”
You frown. “So... what, I just... do nothing?”
“No, you do the opposite of chasing.” Yunjin grins, and it’s slightly wicked. “You make yourself as uninteresting to him as possible. You’re awkward, you’re weird, you’re clearly not trying to impress him. You don’t dress up when you know you might see him. You talk about boring things. You mention, I don’t know, your extensive collection of vintage stamps or whatever nerdy hobby you can think of. You make yourself boring.”
“I don’t have a stamp collection.”
“Then make one up! The point is, Heeseung is used to girls who want him. If you clearly don’t want him, his interest is going to fizzle out faster than a cheap sparkler. He’ll move on to the next girl who bats her eyelashes at him, and you’ll be free. No confrontation necessary.”
You turn this over in your mind. It’s... not the worst idea you’ve ever heard. In fact, compared to your current strategy of blind panic and tactical fleeing, it’s practically genius. If you can’t correct the misunderstanding without making everything worse, maybe you can just... let it die on its own. Let Heeseung’s fabled short attention span work in your favor. Become so aggressively unappealing that he loses interest within a week and never thinks about you again.
And once he’s out of the picture, once enough time has passed, maybe you can try again with Jungwon. Properly. With better aim.
“You’re a genius,” you tell Yunjin, the hope creeping back into your voice. “An absolute genius. I could kiss you.”
“Please don’t, you’re covered in grass stains.” She nudges one of the bubble teas toward you with her foot. “Drink your tea. Hydrate. And then we’re going to brainstorm all the ways you can make yourself seem as unappealing as possible to a hot third-year informatics student.”
You grab the drink and take a long sip, the sweetness settling something in your chest. For the first time in three days, you feel something other than panic. You feel strategic. You feel determined. Lee Heeseung might think you’re cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date, but he hasn’t met the version of you that’s about to emerge, a version so bland, so uninteresting, so aggressively mediocre that he’ll run in the opposite direction before the week is out.
“Okay,” you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Okay. Let’s do this. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested starts now.”
Yunjin raises her bubble tea in a toast. “To being boring.”
You clink your cup against hers. “To being boring.”
Somewhere across campus Heeseung is still standing in the quad with a confused expression on his face and a lavender envelope in his pocket, wondering why the girl who supposedly has a crush on him just sprinted away like she was being chased by bears.
He’s not used to this. He’s not used to any of this.
And that, he realizes with a small, bemused shake of his head, is exactly what makes it so interesting.
—————
Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested lasted exactly four days before it encountered its first major obstacle.
That obstacle is approximately six feet tall, has flowing hair that falls perfectly across his forehead, and is currently walking directly toward your table in the cafeteria with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face that suggests he has absolutely no idea he's supposed to be losing interest in you.
You spot him approximately 2.3 seconds too late. By the time your brain registers the approaching danger, you are already mid-bite into a sad cafeteria sandwich, your mouth full of bread and lettuce and the dawning realization that you are trapped. There is no escape route. Your table is in the corner, surrounded on three sides by walls and on the fourth side by Heeseung's rapidly approaching form. You are a cornered animal. A very stupid, very panicked cornered animal with mayonnaise on her chin.
"Y/N!" Heeseung says your name like it's his favorite word, bright and warm and entirely too enthusiastic for someone who's supposed to be a notorious womanizer with a short attention span. "I was hoping I'd run into you. Mind if I sit?"
Mind if he sits? Of course you mind. You mind immensely. You mind with every fiber of your being. Sitting with Heeseung is the exact opposite of what Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is supposed to accomplish. Sitting with Heeseung means talking to Heeseung, and talking to Heeseung means opportunities to accidentally charm him, and charming him is categorically Not The Goal.
But Heeseung is already pulling out the chair across from you, and his smile is so genuine, and there's a tiny bit of what looks like grease on his cheekbone that suggests he's just come from some kind of engineering lab, and you are weak. You are so, so weak.
"Go ahead," you hear yourself say, and then immediately want to punch yourself in the face.
Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested, Day Four, 12:34 PM: catastrophic failure already in progress.
Heeseung settles into the chair with an easy grace, setting his tray down and immediately stealing one of your fries like you're old friends who share food on a regular basis. You watch the fry disappear into his mouth and feel a small part of your soul leave your body.
"So," he says, leaning back and studying you with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You ran away from me pretty fast the other day. Should I be worried? Do I have something on my face?"
He doesn't. He absolutely doesn't. He has the kind of face that belongs on a billboard, all sharp angles and soft edges and that one little mole on his forehead that you are definitely not noticing because noticing things about Heeseung's face is counterproductive to the mission.
"No," you say quickly. "No, you're fine. Your face is fine. I mean, you don't have anything on your face. I just remembered I had somewhere to be. Very suddenly. It was urgent."
"An urgent… lab class?" Heeseung's lips twitch. "That's what you said, right? An urgent lab class on a Thursday afternoon?"
Your face heats. "Yes. Exactly. Lab class. Very urgent. Science doesn't wait."
"Mmm." He pops another one of your fries into his mouth. "Well, the good news is, you don't look like you're in a hurry right now. So we can actually talk. You know, like normal people who are supposedly getting to know each other?"
Right. Getting to know each other. Because you confessed to him. Because he thinks you like him. Because you're living in an elaborate lie of your own making.
This is your chance, though. This is the perfect opportunity to implement Phase One of the Make Him Uninterested plan: Be Weird and Off-Putting. You just have to be the most boring, strange, unappealing version of yourself that you can possibly imagine. How hard can it be?
Pretty hard, as it turns out, because your brain chooses this exact moment to go completely blank.
"So," Heeseung says, apparently unbothered by your silence, "tell me about yourself. What do you like to do for fun? Besides writing beautiful love letters and then running away from the recipient?"
You choke on your own saliva. Just… straight up choke on nothing, like a cartoon character. "I don't…that wasn't…I do normal things. Normal fun things. Like… watching paint dry. And counting ceiling tiles. Very relaxing. You should try it."
"There are forty-seven in this cafeteria," you say, doubling down with the desperate energy of someone who has already committed to the bit. "Forty-eight if you count the one that's partially covered by that vent over there. But some people don't count partial tiles. It's a philosophical debate, really."
"Fascinating," Heeseung says, and the worst part is that he sounds like he actually means it. "What else?"
What else? What else can you say that will make you sound completely unappealing? You cast around for inspiration, your eyes landing on your sandwich. Okay. Fine. If words can't do the job, maybe actions can.
You pick up your sandwich with both hands and take the weirdest bite you can physically manage, mouth open slightly too wide, chewing with exaggerated jaw movements, making an unfortunate amount of noise in the process. You feel like a cow. You look like a cow. You are embodying the spirit of a cow, and surely, surely, this is enough to make any self-respecting hot informatics student run for the hills.
Heeseung watches you chew. His expression doesn't change.
"Good sandwich?" he asks mildly.
"Mmf," you say, still chewing, still being a cow. "Very good. I love-"
And then the lettuce hits the back of your throat.
You don't know how it happens. One moment you're chewing normally, well, abnormally, but in a controlled way and the next moment a piece of lettuce stages a rebellion and lodges itself directly in your windpipe. Your eyes go wide. Your hand flies to your throat. You make a sound that is somewhere between a wheeze and a honk.
"Y/N?" Heeseung's amused expression shifts to concern. "Are you okay?"
You are not okay. You are choking. You are choking on lettuce in front of Lee Heeseung in the middle of the cafeteria, and this is how you're going to die.
Heeseung is on his feet now, moving around the table with surprising speed. "Hey, hey, can you breathe? Do you need me to-"
You shake your head frantically, still making dying cow noises, and grab your water bottle with shaking hands. The first gulp does nothing. The second gulp, by some miracle, dislodges the lettuce just enough for you to cough it up into a napkin with all the grace and dignity of a cat hacking up a hairball.
Silence.
The entire cafeteria, you're convinced, is staring at you. In reality, probably only a few nearby tables have noticed, but it feels apocalyptic. You sit there, red-faced and teary-eyed, clutching a napkin full of your own near-death experience, and want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
Heeseung kneels beside your chair, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he isn't sure if touching you would be welcome. "Hey. You're okay. You're okay, right? Do you need me to get you anything? More water? A doctor? A new sandwich without lettuce?"
His voice is gentle. Genuinely gentle. Not the smooth, charming tone you expect from someone with his reputation, but something softer, something that sounds almost like real concern.
"I'm fine," you croak, your voice ravaged. "I'm fine. That happens. All the time. I'm very bad at eating. It's one of my traits."
"One of your traits," Heeseung repeats, and the corner of his mouth twitches despite his obvious worry. "Being bad at eating?"
"It's a lifestyle choice."
He laughs. Not a polite chuckle or a mocking snicker, but a real laugh, surprised and bright and completely unguarded. He sits back down in his chair, shaking his head, and looks at you with something that is definitely not boredom or disinterest.
"You're really something else, you know that?"
You don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. You just sit there, still clutching your napkin of shame, and wonder how Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has somehow resulted in him laughing at your jokes and looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's encountered all week.
"So," Heeseung says, propping his chin on his hand, "I've been wondering. What made you decide to confess to me? Was there a specific moment? Something I did?"
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
This is the worst possible question he could ask. You can't tell him the truth…I didn't mean to confess to you, I meant to confess to your friend, you just happened to be sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time, please don't hate me…but you also can't just… not answer. He's looking at you expectantly, his dark eyes curious and open, and you have approximately three seconds to come up with a convincing lie before the silence becomes too awkward to recover from.
"Your… kindness," you say, grasping at straws. "You're very… kind. To everyone. I noticed."
Heeseung tilts his head. "My kindness?"
"Very kind," you repeat, nodding vigorously. "So kind. The kindest. I saw you… hold a door open for someone once. It was… inspiring."
"I held a door open."
"A door. Yes. It was a very heavy door. And you held it. For a long time. Multiple people went through. It was very impressive."
Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and you stare back, your face burning, your soul evacuating your body. This is it. This is the moment he realizes you are completely unhinged and decides to never speak to you again. This is the victory of Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested.
"That's…" Heeseung starts, and then pauses. "That's the first time anyone's ever confessed to me because I held a door open. Usually I get compliments about my face. Or my voice. One girl told me I had a nose made to be sat on, which I still don't fully understand."
"Your node is… fine," you say weakly. "I didn't notice your nose. Or your face at all. Just the door. The door was the important part."
"A door," Heeseung says, and that smile is spreading across his face again, the one that makes him look less like a notorious player and more like someone who has just found a particularly entertaining puzzle. "You wrote me a three-page love letter because I held a door open."
"The calligraphy alone took a week," you say, and immediately regret it.
Heeseung laughs again, and this time it's softer, almost wondering. "You're not what I expected," he says. "At all."
"Is that… good or bad?"
"I haven't decided yet." But he's still smiling, and his eyes are still fixed on you with that curious intensity, and you're starting to get the sinking feeling that everything you do, no matter how strange or off-putting you try to be, is having the exact opposite effect of what you intend.
You need a new strategy. Something foolproof. Something so aggressively unappealing that even the most determined people-pleaser can't pretend to be interested.
And then, like a gift from the gods of social awkwardness, the topic of video games comes up.
Heeseung mentions something about blowing off steam after a tough assignment by playing a few rounds of something, and the question slips out before you can stop it: "Wait, do you play League of Legends?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes. You?"
And that's it. That's the moment the dam breaks.
You don't mean to start geeking out. It just happens. One moment you're thinking be boring, be uninteresting, be bland, and the next moment you're fifteen minutes deep into an impassioned monologue about the current meta, the problems with the jungle role, and why Riot Games needs to nerf a specific champion into the ground before she single-handedly destroys the competitive scene.
"-and don't even get me started on the new items, because the balance team clearly doesn't play their own game, which is fine, whatever, it's not like I have strong opinions about it except I absolutely do, and I wrote an entire essay about it on the subreddit that got like two thousand upvotes, so clearly I'm not the only one who thinks the armor penetration scaling is completely broken-"
You stop.
You stop because you have just realized, with dawning horror, that you have been talking for an incredibly long time without letting Heeseung get a single word in. You have been gesticulating. You have been making sound effects. At one point, you're pretty sure you drew a diagram on a napkin to illustrate the optimal jungle pathing route.
This is it. This is definitely, absolutely it. There is no way a hot third-year informatics student wants to listen to a first-year STEM girl rant about video game balance for fifteen straight minutes. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has just achieved its first genuine success.
You brace yourself for the polite excuse, the awkward glance at his phone, the slow backing away.
Instead, Heeseung leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and says: "Okay, but hear me out, what if the armor penetration scaling isn't the problem, and it's actually the base damage values that need to be adjusted? Because if you look at the win rate data across different elos, the issue isn't consistent at all levels of play."
You blink.
"I main ADC," he adds, as if this is a perfectly normal confession. "So trust me, I feel your pain about the jungle situation. Do you know how many times I've been left to solo dragon because my jungler was AFK farming? Too many. Too many times."
"You… main ADC?"
"Vayne and Kai'Sa mostly. Sometimes Jhin if I'm feeling dramatic."
You have no response to this. Your brain has short-circuited somewhere around the phrase "win rate data across different elos," and it's still rebooting.
"Your essay on the subreddit," Heeseung continues, pulling out his phone. "What was the title? I want to read it. I love seeing well-reasoned arguments about game balance, and honestly, most of what gets posted is just people complaining without any actual data to back it up."
"It was… it was called The Current State of Armor Penetration: A Statistical Analysis and Why I'm Losing My Mind," you say faintly.
Heeseung types something into his phone, scrolls for a moment, and then his face lights up. "Found it. Two thousand three hundred upvotes and fourteen awards? That's impressive. Wait, you made graphs? You made graphs?"
"I was very passionate about the subject."
"Passionate," Heeseung repeats, looking up from his phone with an expression you can't quite read. "Yeah. I'm starting to get that about you."
He tucks his phone away and smiles at you, and it isn't the smooth, practiced smile you expect from the campus womanizer. It's something smaller. Something realer. Something that makes your stomach do a weird, traitorous flip that you immediately try to suppress.
"You know," he says, tilting his head as he studies you, "you remind me of a mouse."
Your brain screeches to a halt. "A… mouse?"
"Yeah. A little field mouse. The way your nose scrunches up when you're thinking, and how you get all twitchy and skittish when you're nervous. It's cute. It's really cute."
Cute. He calls you cute. He compares you to a rodent and somehow makes it sound like a compliment, and worst of all, worst of all, you can feel a traitorous blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire.
"I'm not…I don't…mice are not cute. Mice are pests. They carry diseases. I'm basically a health hazard."
Heeseung laughs, and it's the same genuine laugh from before, and he's looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's seen in years. "A health hazard. Right. Well, consider me warned."
He stands up, gathering his tray, and for one beautiful, hopeful moment, you think the ordeal is over. But then he pauses, looking down at you with that unreadable expression, and says the words that haunt you for the rest of the day:
"I was interested before, but now?" He shakes his head, still smiling. "Now I'm really interested. See you around, little mouse."
And then he walks away, leaving you alone at your corner table with a half-eaten sandwich, a napkin full of regurgitated lettuce, and the sinking realization that Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is not only failing, it's backfiring spectacularly.
You try to be weird, and he calls you cute.
You try to be boring, and he engages with your niche gaming opinions.
You try to choke to death in front of him, and he kneels beside your chair with genuine concern in his eyes.
You bang your forehead against the cafeteria table once, twice, three times, not caring who sees. This is a disaster. This is an unmitigated, unprecedented, absolutely catastrophic disaster. Hana's plan was supposed to work. Heeseung was supposed to get bored. He was supposed to move on. He was not supposed to look at you like you're a puzzle he wants to solve, or call you a mouse in a tone of voice that makes your heart do gymnastics, or read your League of Legends essay and compliment your graphs.
You need to regroup. You need to call an emergency meeting with Yunjin. You need to figure out a new strategy before this situation spirals even further out of control.
But first, you need to go to the library and return the books that are due today before you accrue another fine, because no matter how catastrophic your love life becomes, the university library shows no mercy.
—————
The library is your sanctuary. It always has been, a quiet, climate-controlled haven where the smell of old paper and the soft hum of fluorescent lights can soothe even the most tensed of nerves. After the cafeteria incident, you need sanctuary more than ever. You slip through the main doors with your stack of books clutched to your chest, inhaling the familiar scent of knowledge and dust, and feel some of the tension begin to ease from your shoulders.
Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine. You return your books, you find Yunjin, you regroup, and you figure out a way to-
"Y/N?"
The voice comes from somewhere to your left, and you know that voice. You know it the way a flower knows the sun, the way a compass knows north, the way a hopeless romantic knows the exact cadence of her crush's greeting.
Jungwon is sitting at a table near the history section, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and loose papers. He's wearing glasses…glasses…and his hair is slightly mussed from what you assume is hours of intense studying, and he's looking at you with that smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your entire nervous system short-circuit.
"Hey," he says, waving you over. "What are you doing here?"
Existing in the same space as you, you think. Breathing the same air. Trying not to spontaneously combust.
"Returning books," you say, holding up your stack as evidence. "I have some overdue ones. The library fines are no joke."
"Tell me about it. I had to pay fifteen thousand won last semester because I forgot about a book I'd checked out for a research paper." Jungwon winces at the memory. "My wallet still hasn't recovered."
"That's brutal."
"The library giveth, and the library taketh away."
You laugh, and it comes out surprisingly normal, not too loud, not too high-pitched, just a regular human laugh from a regular human person who is definitely not having an internal meltdown about how good Jungwon looks in glasses.
"Hey," Jungwon says, glancing at the empty chair across from him, "if you're not in a hurry, do you want to study together? I've been here for three hours and my brain is starting to melt. It would be nice to have some company."
Your heart stops.
Yang Jungwon, the Yang Jungwon, the owner of the smile and the laugh and the gummy bears at 2 AM is asking you to study with him. This is the kind of moment you've daydreamed about for months. This is a meet-cute in progress. This is the universe throwing you a lifeline after the cafeteria disaster, a chance to actually spend time with the boy you've been pining over since midterms.
"Yes," you say, before your brain can remind you of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. "Yes, I'd…I'd love to. Let me just return these first."
You practically skip to the returns desk, your heart doing a full backflip in your chest. By the time you make it back to Jungwon's table, your philosophy textbook and notebook spread out in front of you, you've convinced yourself that this is exactly what you need. Some time with Jungwon. Some time to remember why you wrote that letter in the first place. Some time to reconnect with the feelings that got buried under the chaos of the Heeseung situation.
The only problem is that you can't focus on studying at all.
You try. You really, genuinely try. You open your textbook to the assigned chapter. You uncap your highlighter. You fix your eyes on the page and attempt to absorb information about ethical frameworks and moral philosophy. But your eyes keep drifting up, against your will, over the top of your book, to the boy sitting across from you.
Jungwon is studying. Actually studying, not fake studying, not pretending to study while secretly watching you the way you're watching him. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his pen moving steadily across his notebook as he takes notes. Every so often, he pauses, taps the end of his pen against his chin, and then resumes writing with renewed focus. The late afternoon light slants through the window behind him, catching the highlights in his dark hair and making him look like he's stepped out of a painting.
He is beautiful. He's so beautiful that it makes your chest ache, a soft, sweet ache that you've been carrying around since the moment you first saw him in this very library. You watch the way his fingers curl around his pen, the way he bites his lower lip when he's thinking, the way his glasses slide down his nose and he pushes them back up with an absent gesture.
"I can feel you looking at me," Jungwon says, not glancing up from his notebook.
Your entire body jolts like you've been electrocuted. "I wasn't…I was just…there's a clock behind you. I was checking the time."
Jungwon looks up then, and there's a knowing glint in his eyes that makes your stomach do a slow, somersaulting flip. "The clock is to your right, Y/N. Not behind me."
You look to your right. Sure enough, there's the clock, hanging on the wall in plain view, which you would have noticed if you'd spent even one second actually looking for it instead of gazing at Jungwon's face like a Renaissance painter studying their muse.
"I'm… directionally challenged," you say weakly.
"Uh-huh." Jungwon sets down his pen, and the smile playing at the corners of his mouth is soft and teasing and absolutely devastating. "Come here for a second."
"What?"
"Just come here. Lean forward a little."
Your body obeys before your brain can intervene. You lean across the table, your heart hammering so loudly you're certain the entire library can hear it. Jungwon leans forward too, closing the distance between you, and you catch a faint whiff of something clean and subtle, laundry detergent, maybe, or the kind of fragrance that just smells like him.
His hand reaches out, and before you can process what's happening, his index finger gently pokes your cheek.
"Boop," he says.
You make a sound. You don't know what the sound is supposed to be. Maybe a laugh, maybe a question, maybe a plea for mercy. What comes out is something closer to a squeak, a small, strangled, completely undignified squeak that would be embarrassing if you had any brain cells left to feel embarrassment.
Jungwon's smile widens, and his finger lingers on your cheek for just a moment longer than necessary. "You had an eyelash," he says. "Right there. But also, you just looked really cute staring at me like that. I couldn't resist."
Cute. He calls you cute. That's twice in one day that a devastatingly attractive boy has called you cute, and your hopeless romantic heart doesn't know whether to celebrate or go into cardiac arrest.
"I wasn't staring," you whisper, but it comes out completely unconvincing.
"You were absolutely staring." Jungwon withdraws his hand, but his smile stays, warm and fond and knowing. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's kind of nice, actually. Being looked at like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm something worth looking at."
The words settle into your chest like a stone dropping into still water, sending ripples through your entire body. He thinks it's nice. He thinks you're nice or at least your staring is nice and he pokes your cheek and calls you cute and now he's going back to his studying like he hasn't just fundamentally altered your brain chemistry.
You try to return to your textbook. The words swim in front of your eyes, meaningless and blurry. You highlight a sentence at random, realize you have no idea what it says, and highlight it again for good measure. The page is now approximately forty percent highlighter ink.
"You're going to run out of highlighter at that rate," Jungwon observes, not looking up.
"I have backups," you say. "I always have backups."
"Of course you do."
The studying session continues for another hour, and you absorb approximately zero information about ethical frameworks. What you do absorb is a comprehensive catalogue of Jungwon's study habits: the way he organizes his notes with color-coded tabs, the way he mutters to himself when he's working through a difficult concept, the way he absentmindedly drums his fingers against the table when he's thinking. Every detail is another entry in your mental Jungwon database, another thread in the tapestry of your affection.
By the time you pack up your things and say goodbye, "See you in philosophy," Jungwon says, and you respond with something that might be words or might be a series of enthusiastic nods, you are floating. You are literally, physically floating, your feet barely touching the ground as you drift out of the library and across campus toward your dorm.
Jungwon pokes your cheek. Jungwon calls you cute. Jungwon says he likes being looked at by you.
You are winning. Despite the Heeseung disaster, despite the cafeteria catastrophe, despite everything, you are winning.
By the time you reach your dorm room, you are a mess of giddy energy with nowhere to go. You close the door behind you, throw your backpack onto your desk chair, and then proceed to wriggle across your bed like an ecstatic worm, kicking your feet and muffling your squeals into your pillow.
"He called me cute," you whisper to your empty room, your voice muffled by fabric. "He poked my cheek. He did the boop thing. The boop thing, you guys. Who does the boop thing? Adorable people, that's who. Perfect people. People with beautiful smiles and kind eyes and-"
You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a dreamy expression. The ceiling has forty-three tiles in your room. You counted them on your first night in the dorm. But right now, all you can see is Jungwon's face, the way he looked at you across the library table, the way his finger felt against your cheek, the way his voice went soft when he said like I'm something worth looking at.
You are going to marry him. You are going to marry Yang Jungwon and have a beautiful wedding with string lights and wildflowers and a three-tier cake, and you will tell the story of how you stared at him in the library and he poked your cheek and-
You stop wriggling.
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
You can't marry Jungwon. You can't even confess to Jungwon, because Jungwon thinks you confessed to Heeseung. Jungwon thinks you're interested in someone else. Jungwon was sweet and friendly and maybe a little bit flirty, but that's just his personality. He's nice to everyone. He gives you gummy bears at 2 AM; he probably gives gummy bears to everyone who looks tired. You aren't special. You are just… there.
The giddiness begins to drain out of you, replaced by the familiar weight of reality. You are still trapped in the Heeseung situation. You are still the girl who confessed to the wrong person. And no matter how many times Jungwon pokes your cheek, that fundamental fact isn't going to change.
With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself through your evening routine: shower, skincare, the episode of the baking show you're halfway through and finally crawl into bed around midnight, your emotions a tangled knot of hope and despair.
Sleep comes slowly, a gradual descent into darkness, and then-
—————
You are in the PC room again.
But this time it's different. The lights are dimmer, the computers all dark, the chairs empty. It's just you, and the door is swinging shut behind you, and there's someone waiting at the computer closest to the door.
Heeseung.
He's sitting in the chair, facing away from you, his headphones around his neck and his shoulders relaxed. When he hears your footsteps, he turns, and his expression isn't surprised or amused or curious. It's something else entirely. Something darker. Something that makes your breath catch in your throat.
"You're here," he says, and his voice is lower than you've ever heard it, a rumble that vibrates through your bones. "I've been waiting for you, little mouse."
"I'm not-" you start, but he's already standing, already moving toward you, and you can't seem to make your feet work. You're rooted to the spot, watching him approach with a mixture of fear and something else, something you don't want to name.
He stops inches away from you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that you can see the individual strands of his hair and the curve of his lips and the way his eyes, God, his eyes are fixed on your mouth.
"You know what I've been thinking about?" he murmurs, and one of his hands comes up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your temple. "I've been thinking about that letter. The way you said you only had eyes for me. The way you said you couldn't stop thinking about me."
"That wasn't-" you try, but your voice comes out as barely a whisper, and Heeseung's thumb is tracing along your jawline now, feather-light and devastating.
"I can't stop thinking about you either," he says, and his face is getting closer, closer, and you can feel his breath against your lips. "Do you want to know what I think about?"
Your heart is hammering. Your skin is on fire. You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except stare up at him with wide eyes as his other hand settles on your waist, warm and solid and pulling you closer.
"I think about this," he whispers, and then his mouth is on yours.
The kiss is…it's…
It's intense. It's consuming. It's the kind of kiss that erases every rational thought from your brain and replaces it with pure, unfiltered sensation. His lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a confidence that makes your knees weak. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you make a sound against his mouth, something small and breathless and completely involuntary.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his voice is rough. "You’re what I’ve been looking for my whole life, Y/N. You’re my miracle."
And then his lips are on your neck, trailing fire down to your collarbone, and your head falls back, and his name escapes your mouth in a way you've never said it before-
He kneels before you, his movements fluid and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours as he unzips his jeans, freeing his already hard cock. It stands proud and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He takes your foot in his warm hand, bringing it to his shaft.
"Look what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. He wraps your foot around his length, his thumb pressing against your arch as he begins to move your foot up and down his cock. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a low groan escaping his lips.
The sensation of his hot skin against your sole sends shivers through your body. You watch, mesmerized, as he uses your foot to pleasure himself, his hips thrusting in rhythm with the movements of your foot. His other hand moves to your ankle, his grip firm but gentle, his fingers stroking your sensitive skin.
His eyes open, locking with yours again, and the intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "You're so beautiful," he breathes, his movements becoming faster, more urgent. "You’re perfect the way you are."
His breathing grows ragged, his muscles tensing. With a guttural moan, he comes, his hot release spilling over your foot and his hand. He leans forward, his tongue darting out to taste his own cum from your skin, his movements slow and sensual. He licks your foot clean, his tongue tracing patterns on your arch, between your toes, sending waves of pleasure through your body.
Then he shifts, positioning himself between your legs. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I need to taste you," he says, his voice rough with need.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He tosses them aside, then leans in, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh.
His tongue flicks out, teasing your clit, and you gasp, your hands flying to his hair. He chuckles, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through you. "Patience, little mouse," he murmurs against your skin.
His tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, building your pleasure gradually. He alternates between broad, flat strokes and quick, precise flicks of his tongue against your clit. His fingers join in, one, then two, sliding inside you, curling to hit that spot that makes you cry.
Your hips buck against his face, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Heeseung," you moan, your fingers tightening in his hair.
He responds with increased enthusiasm, his tongue working faster, his fingers pumping in and out of you. The pressure builds inside you, a coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it snaps.
You come with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you. But Heeseung doesn't stop. He continues his assault on your senses, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to bring you to the edge again.
And then you are squirting, your release flooding his mouth and chin as he drinks you in, his movements never faltering. He looks up at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he laps up every drop.
When he finally pulls away, his face glistening with your juices, he crawls up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and the intimacy of it sends another wave of desire through you.
"Tell me you’re only thinking of me," he whispers against your lips, his hands roaming your body. "and not Jungwon."
You wake up.
You wake up in your dorm room, in your bed, at 7:43 AM on a Tuesday morning, with your heart pounding and your skin flushed, your panties soaked and your sheets twisted around your legs like they've been through a battle.
For a long moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe.
Did you just… did you just dream about… did Lee Heeseung, the guy you're supposed to be making uninterested in you, the guy you've been trying to avoid and ignore and repel, just star in what can only be described as an extremely obscene dream? The virgin you are just cringed at the memory.
You press your hands to your burning cheeks and let out a sound that is somewhere between a groan and a scream.
"No," you whisper to the empty room. "No, no, no. This isn't, this can't…I don't even like him. I like Jungwon. Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon for four months. I wrote a letter to Jungwon. I have a color-coded mental database of Jungwon's habits. I want to marry Jungwon and have a three-tier wedding cake with wildflowers!"
But your brain, traitorous and unhelpful, keeps replaying fragments of the dream, the way Heeseung's eyes go dark, the way his voice rumbles against your ear, the way his hand feels on your waist, the way his tongue is warm and-
You grab your pillow and press it over your face, screaming into it with all the force your lungs can muster.
This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. You are a Jungwon girl. You've always been a Jungwon girl. You don't think about Heeseung like that. You don't think about Heeseung like anything. Heeseung is an obstacle. Heeseung is a problem to be solved. Heeseung is the guy you're actively trying to repel, not the guy who shows up in your subconscious and does things that make you blush in the privacy of your own bed.
"I'm a psychopath," you say to your pillow. "I'm a complete and utter psychopath. Who dreams about this with a guy they're supposed to be making uninterested? A psychopath, that's who. A deranged lunatic. A person with a broken brain."
Your pillow, predictably, does not respond.
You drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. You don't want to look at yourself. You don't want to see the evidence of the dream still lingering in your flushed cheeks…and between your legs.
This is a problem. This is a Major Problem with capital letters and possibly a warning siren. You can't afford to be having dreams about Lee Heeseung. You can't afford to be thinking about Lee Heeseung at all. Your entire strategy, Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested depends on you being able to keep a clear head and a steady heart, and neither of those things is going to be possible if your subconscious keeps ambushing you with extremely vivid, extremely inappropriate content.
You need to talk to Yunjin. Immediately. Before your brain can conjure up any more unauthorized imagery.
But as you grab your phone and type out a frantic message, EMERGENCY MEETING REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY CODE RED REPEAT CODE RED, you can't quite shake the lingering sensation from the dream.
The way Heeseung's thumb traces along your jawline.
The way he calls you little mouse in that low, rumbling voice.
The way he says you were perfect the way you were like he means it, like it's true, like he's been into you his whole life and hasn't even known it.
You shake your head violently, flinging droplets of water across the bathroom mirror.
"Nope," you say out loud. "Nope, nope, nope. We're not doing this. We're not thinking about this. We're going to go to class and eat lunch and avoid all tall informatics students, and we're going to get our brain back on the Jungwon track where it belongs."
But even as you say it, even as you try to mean it, a small, treacherous part of you wonders if maybe, just maybe, the Jungwon track isn't the only track worth following anymore.
You shove that thought into a mental box, lock it, and throw away the key.
You have a plan. You have a strategy. You are going to make Heeseung uninterested, and you are going to figure out a way to untangle the misunderstanding, and you are going to end up with Jungwon like you were always supposed to.
The dream is just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. It can't mean anything.
You refuse to let it mean anything.
(But when you catch yourself glancing toward the informatics building on your way to class, you walk a little faster, and you definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent do not wonder what Lee Heeseung is doing right now.)
—————
The dream haunts you for three days.
Not in a supernatural, ghost-in-the-corner kind of way. More in an I-can't-make-eye-contact-with-my-own-reflection kind of way. Every time you close your eyes, fragments of it flicker behind your eyelids like a movie you hadn't asked to watch. The dark PC room. The way Heeseung's voice drops to a rumble. The phantom sensation of his tongue on your clit, his hand on your ankle, his look-
You physically convulse every time the memory resurfaces, which is approximately every forty-five minutes. Your philosophy notes become a graveyard of distracted doodles, half of which look suspiciously like the curve of someone's jaw. You have to throw away an entire page because you accidentally write "little mouse" in the margin instead of "moral relativism."
Yunjin is no help whatsoever.
"So you had a wet dream about the hot guy who you’re supposedly getting bored of," she says over bubble tea the day after the incident, her expression thoroughly unimpressed. "This is a problem because…?"
"Because I don't like him, Yunjin! I like Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon since midterms! Jungwon is the goal! Jungwon is the three-tier wedding cake!"
"And Heeseung is…?"
"A temporary obstacle! A misunderstanding with legs! A very tall, very inconvenient plot twist!"
Yunjin sucks on her tapioca pearls with the air of a therapist who has heard it all before and is no longer surprised by anything. "You know what they say about protesting too much."
"I am not protesting too much. I am protesting exactly the right amount. I am protesting a perfectly calibrated quantity."
"Sure." She pats your hand with condescending sympathy. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Oh wait-"
You throw a tapioca pearl at her face. It sticks to her cheek for a solid three seconds before falling off, and the look of absolute betrayal on her face is the only bright spot in your otherwise nightmare-plagued week.
But now it's Thursday. Thursday, 2:15 PM. You're stationed in the science building's main hallway, crouched behind a bulletin board that is absolutely not wide enough to hide your entire body, waiting for the coast to clear so you can sprint to your next class without encountering any tall informatics students.
Your system has evolved since the early days of the crisis. You now have a color-coded schedule of Heeseung's known movements, courtesy of some light reconnaissance work that Yunjin calls "stalking" and you call "strategic intelligence gathering." You know his class schedule. You know his preferred study spots. You know that he tends to grab coffee from the campus café at exactly 3 PM on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which means the science building hallway should, theoretically, be a Heeseung-free zone at 2:15.
Theoretically.
You're just about to make your move, a quick dash to the stairwell, then up two flights, then a straight shot to classroom 307, when you hear it.
"Hey, is Y/N L/N in there?"
Your blood freezes. Your muscles lock. Your soul briefly departs your body and then slams back into it with force.
That's Heeseung's voice. That's unmistakably, undeniably, catastrophically Lee Heeseung's voice, and it's coming from approximately ten feet to your left, where the door to your department's main office stands open.
You press yourself harder against the bulletin board, praying for invisibility, praying for a sudden power outage, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you into its merciful embrace. None of these things happen. Instead, you hear the department secretary respond with cheerful obliviousness.
"Y/N L/N? First year, STEM? I think I saw her in the hallway just a minute ago. Let me check, oh, there she is! Y/N! You have a visitor!"
The secretary is pointing directly at your bulletin board. Your bulletin board that is not hiding you at all. Your bulletin board that is, in fact, leaving approximately seventy percent of your body completely visible to anyone who happens to look in that direction.
Heeseung turns.
Your eyes meet.
Time stops.
There are moments in life that feel like they stretch into eternity, moments so profoundly awkward, so cosmically embarrassing, that the universe itself seems to pause and take notice. This is one of those moments. You are frozen in a half-crouch behind a bulletin board, your backpack dangling from one shoulder, your hair escaping from the ponytail you threw it into this morning, your expression one of pure, unfiltered terror. Heeseung is standing in the doorway of the department office, looking unfairly attractive in a simple black hoodie and jeans, his eyebrows rising slowly toward his hairline.
A small crowd of students has paused in the hallway to watch. You can feel their eyes on you like a physical weight. Someone whispers something to their friend. Someone else pulls out their phone.
You are going to die. You are going to perish right here in the science building hallway, and your ghost will be doomed to haunt this bulletin board for all eternity.
"Y/N?" Heeseung's voice is a mixture of confusion and amusement. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively take a step back, which results in you bumping directly into the bulletin board and causing several flyers to flutter dramatically to the ground. "Were you… hiding behind that?"
"No," you say, too quickly. "No, I was…I dropped something. A contact lens. I was looking for my contact lens."
"You don't wear contacts."
"I might! You don't know my life!"
"Your glasses are literally on your face right now."
You reach up and touch your glasses, which are indeed sitting on your nose, clearly visible, doing their job of correcting your vision. You have no response to this. There is no response to this. You have been caught in a lie so transparent it's essentially a window.
Heeseung's lips twitch. "You know, most people who have a crush on me don't run away and hide behind furniture. This is very confusing for my ego."
The crowd is still watching. Why is the crowd still watching? Don't they have classes to go to? Midterms to study for? Lives to live that don't involve spectating your public humiliation?
"I wasn't hiding from you specifically," you say, because apparently your mouth has decided to operate independently from your brain. "I was hiding from… the sun. It's very bright in here. I'm photosensitive."
"You're a STEM student hiding from the sun in a basement hallway with no windows," Heeseung says slowly. "That's… a new one."
"It's a medical condition. It's very serious. My doctor says I need to avoid direct fluorescent lighting."
"The fluorescent lighting is what's getting you."
"Absolutely. It's my greatest enemy. Well, second greatest. After-" You stop yourself before you can say after incredibly hot informatics students who keep appearing in my life like a recurring nightmare.
Heeseung waits. When you don't finish the sentence, that smile, the one that's definitely a smirk's second cousin, maybe even its first cousin at this point, spreads across his face.
"Well," he says, "now that I've found you and dragged you out of the shadows, literally, I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee. With me. Right now."
Every single person in the hallway is looking at you. The secretary is looking at you from the office doorway, her expression one of grandmotherly delight at what she clearly perceives as a romantic overture. The students who stopped to watch are exchanging glances and whispers. One girl gives you an encouraging thumbs up.
You are trapped. You are cornered. You are a mouse being offered coffee by a very tall, very persistent cat.
And just like every other time Heeseung has put you on the spot, you open your mouth and the wrong words come out.
"I love coffee," you say. "Coffee is my favorite liquid. After water. And possibly juice. But it's definitely in the top three."
life with your sweet angel of a boyfriend, absolute purrfection.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: pumabf!riki x reader
smut, established relationship, domestic fluff, protective!ki, jealousy, cuddling, lots of kissing, oral (f.+ m. receiving), he purrs, sub!reader, bratty!reader, biting (he does it with love), little bit of blood mentioned, morning sex, swearing, teasing, not proofread lolz (3.9k words)
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ promises he doesn't mean to but is insanely protective.
an arm around your should or waist, eyes ghosting around any room you step it looking for a threat. you would think you're entering a cage of fighting lions, but no — you're just entering a supermarket. the poor other costumers were treated like missiles about to explode by him. "ki, red or green?" no response. "ki?" "hm?" he mutters, eyes still roaming around. your hands find his face, snapping him out of his haze. the moment your eyes meet he softens, sharp eyes turning big, brows relaxing. "do you want red or green grapes?" you ask again. "oh, green please." he smiles softly, eyes crinkling. but as soon as you turn to grab the grapes he snaps back to scan the room for any potential threat.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ full on gnarls when you're being bratty heheheh
he tries to be as nice to you as he can while he's balls deep inside you. poor boy gets so lost inpleasure and turns absolutely wild. he wants his hands all over you at the same time, like his hands are never in the same position for more than ten seconds. the first time you slept together he was trembling with how much he had to hold himself back, pretty boy blanked out at the feeling of your pussy around him :(( but with time you wanted to see what he's hiding, there was a little bite or choke every now and then but you want this man WILD. "can't even fuck me properly, huh?" "come on, is this all you've got?" you are an absolute manace and after the initial shock riki experienced hearing those words coming from you, his heavy breaths and choked moans were replaced by grunts as he slammed his hips against you with one smooth motion. satisfied with the sqeaky moan it got out of you, he thought this was the end – a mere little slipup on your part. but no, this only fuelled you. "what," you giggled between small gasps, "too shy to put me through the matress?" oh this was your end. within the blink of an eye he had you flipped on your stomach, legs rough nudged apart before he buries himself inside of you again. you know that he's big, i mean look at the height of him his dick was bound to be more than average, but he has never been this deep in you. for a moment you believe you've lost hearing and your brain switched off. as if you weren't in heaven enough already, the feeling of him carelessly lying on top of you, cock drilling in and out of your puffy pussy, had you speechless. "oh now you wanna shut up, hm?" he gnarls into your ear, yanking your hair back. you mouth falls open, but no words come out of it; only whines and throaty moans. "wanna act like a fucking brat but cave at the feeling of me destroying your cunt huh?" messy kisses were placed on your exposed neck, sharp fangs grazing that one sensitive spot that has you pussy flutter. pathetic whines answer him and he chuckles, " 's what i thought baby, now come on and take it."
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is practically glued to you at all times.
yes, outside he's protective, rough boyfriend but once you're home? oh that boy turns to puddle around you. he's still stuck on you, but he basically clings to you like a koala. "babyyyy, can you pleaaaaase just come to the couch with me?" he whines as you fold your clothes. "ki, i told you that as soon as i'm down with this i'll be all yours." "but," he sighs, "it always takes you so long to do itttt." you'd think he hasn't seen you in days, meanwhile the only time you were separated today was when either of you went to the toilet; and even then he was outside the door yapping your ear off. your person space is his person space and he refuses to change that for a single moment of the day.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is such a cuddle bug.
the minute you lie down, he's on you. i mean full on covering every part of you, face nuzzling into your neck as his arms circle your waist. a content sigh escapes him, this is his absolute favourite thing. your smell hits his nose instantly and he can't help but try and get closer to (it's literally impossible at this point). if possible, he would crawl into your skin to discover parts of you he has yet to see. "ki that giggles." you giggle, lovingly smacking his shoulder. "mmmm, you smell so good baby." his voice barely noticeable as how closely his lips are pressed against your skin. "you've smelled me a million times before silly boy. how can you not get bored?" in the blink of an eye he sat up. he looked purely distraught. "how can you say that?" he questioned, dead serious. "if i ever happen to lose you i need to be able to find you again! your smell is key here." you stare at him, utterly baffled. a moment of silence passes, both of you just staring at each other. "i mean," you start, "you have my location at all times and you're pretty much always with me." he scoffs, "well obviously, but there's still a small chance of you getting lost or taken from me." your heart swells at his confession. "awwww, come here baby." you open your arms wide and he happily plops back down on you again. content hums leave him again, accompanied by a deep sigh. softly, your fingers start threading through his hair, earning such lovely sounding purrs from him, vibrating against your chest. "i love you so much," he mumbles sleepily, the affect hair playing as him is insane. "i love you, ki." you whisper back as he drifts off to sleep. aren't you the luckiest to have this clingy cuddly giant.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ get jealous easily :((
he would never accuse you of straying away and being not loyal. ever. if someone's eyes linger on you more than three seconds he's ready to pounce. as we've established he always has a hand on you somewhere, so obviously you're off the market! he uses his height as an advantage, no matter how tall you are, he most likely will be taller that you. looking like you shack he sends daggers across the room, eyes narrowing with anger. however, as soon as you notice and spin around, putting a hand on his cheek he turns to mush. "what's gotten you so worked up baby?" you mutter, small smile on your face. "just this guy looking at you. it's insulting to both you and me." he murmurs, but you can tell by his voice that all his attention is on you now, guy long forgotten at your display of attention. you turn, "who is it?" "red shirt." you scoff, "slimey looking thing." at that he chuckles, lips pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. "i love you, angel." you reach down, intertwining your fingers with his, "don't worry ki," you smile up at him "i'll forever and always be yours."
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ leaves innocent kisses anywhere but your lips when you're out and it's the sweetest thing.
considering how much he loves on you, you had some ground rules established. his jealous and protective nature has him on you at all times, not just his hands roaming but also his lips. if provoked, he started a full on make out in the middle of the street. anything to put those hitting or even look at you too long in their place. here comes in one the rules: no public makeouts! a little kiss, a quick peck is fine, it's welcomed. but no full on making out, no tongues intertwining. but of course the little menace finds a way to go around this rule. it started on your hand, just a kick peck to the back of your intertwined hands. next it was you cheek, then your forehead, the top of your head, your temple. if he's feeling extra cheeky he starts kissing the corner of your mouth relentlessly. he's so fucking smug about it too! "whaaaaat, i haven't done anything against the rules!" he's so fucking cute :(( he just wants to love you at all times.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ has a very sensitive nose and tends to bury it inside your neck when he gets overwhelmed
as we've established, riki adores your smell. nothing brings him nearly as much comfort as the smell of your skin. he specifically asks you not to put on any perfume or scented lotions. life gets busy and at some point everyone gets overwhelmed with it all. busy schedules, little sleep, it's all been catching up him and on a random day after running errands with you he finally gets to lay on the couch with you. yet his mind is not any busy, thoughts circling on his mind in a never-ending loop. you were focused on the show playing in the back when he suddenly nuzzles his head into your neck. at first you thought he was simply being cuddly, but he was more stiff than usual. he didn't melt into you as he usually does. "what's up, pretty boy?" you mumble as you stroke his hair. he only manages a weak hum in response. "riki are you okay?" his heart clenches at the sound of your voice. filled with so much worry, he instantly feels guilty. "no it's alright," he mutters as he sits back up again. "no, no, something's up. talk to me." taking a deep breath in as he struggles to meet your eyes. "ki," you say softly, hand reaching over to softly stroke his arm. "you can always talk to me. about anything." oh he's so in love with you, he just wants to kiss you senseless. "i know," he breathes. "i just...i don't know. life is just a lot and i cannot seem to switch my brain off." you coo, "come here my big baby." within seconds he's snuggled up against you, face in your neck again. "you smell like home." just like that; he dropped a sentence like that out of the blue. at a loss for words you can only pepper kisses all over his cheeks and forehead, clutching him extra tight.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ purrs into your pussy while he's eating you out <33
while we're on the topic of smells, this boy goes CRAZY for the smell of your pussy. first time he went down on you he came all over the sheets by just smelling you it's that serious. my boy definitely has an oral fixation, he could spend hours between your legs — and he does. from slow licks, to sloppily making out with your cunt he absolutely worships you. every time he finds himself face to face with your pussy he tries to find new ways to make you lose your mind. he's an absolute MASTER at the tongue and finger combo, scissoring his fingers inside your gummy walls as he sucks and nips at your clit. this genuinely is his favourite thing to pass the time, so it is not wonder that he eventually starts contently purring. the first time it happened you were so surprised at the extra stimulation you came instantly and boy was he proud. the low vibrations add a delicious sensation on top of his already skilled hands and tongue. he sometimes starts and stops, loving the desperate whines that leave your pretty lips, begin him to continue purring. riki gets cocky with it, but every time he goes down on you he gets to the point of his eyes firmly squeezed shut, unconsciously purring at the feeling and smell of you that consume all his senses <333
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ leaves bites all over you while being inside of you to muffle his moans (he's still a little embarrassed <33)
big dick rik is a recurring guest on my blog, mans knows exactly what to do to get all obsessed and cock drunk I DONT MAKE THE RULES (i do but whatever). puma!ki however adds the beautiful dimension of biting <33 it started with a little nip here and there to get a reaction out of you, but the freakier the two of you got over time, the more he gets lots in pleasure and can't hold himself back. he knows you'd never judge him, in fact you encourage it, but he does feel a little embarrassed being a moaning mess when your pussy feels too good :(( so nipping turns into his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he has you on all fours, desperately trying to quieten his moans. the warm feeling of your insides has him believing he's in heaven, hips rutting into all messily...and when you moan at the feeling of his canines sinking into you?? yea the moans only get cranked up even more. the first time he drew blood he was so shocked by himself, staring at you all wide eyed :c but when you simply flip your hair over the little wound, exposing the other side of your neck and pushing his head down to meet your soft skin he's back in business.
but it doesn't even have to be the two of you hardcore going at it, it can be lovingly spooning on an early morning and he's just all sleepy still, eyes closed, relishing the feeling of being inside you first thing in the morning. the world still asleep, he buries his head in the crook of your neck (can you tell this boy has a favourite body part on you?), biting down near the pulsing vein. your little gasps and whines music to his ears, he bites down a little harder, hoping that when you leave the house later everyone can still see :(
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is a very whiny boy when you go down on him :,)
do not let the propaganda fool you, this boy is so fucking vocal!!! while he does take quite a lot of the initiative when you go down on him, he lets out the prettiest sound a man has ever made. he's very big on praise, you're his precious girl and he's so thankful that you choose to pleasure him :(( "so fucking pretty huh, fuck look at you," he moans as you lick up and down his length, eyes always on him. he gets so lost in the pleasure that he has to rapidly blink, not wanting to miss a single little thing you do. if you decide to be a little tease (which you usually are) and kitty lick only his tip, refusing to touch the rest of him he falls i love with you even more. while he does have his hands entangled in your hair, he'd never force himself deeper inside of you. you do things at your own pace and he's happy to be there! so when you suddenly stop the small licks and fully take him down your throat in one motion he can't help but gasp, throaty moan following. "filthy fucking thing aren't you? jesus you're perfect." riki looks majestic like this, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. if you moan around him it's most definitely over for him. what his purring is doing to you, your moans do it to him. that's when the whines most definitely come out and you of course love taking advantage of it. it's obscene, you bobbing your head up and down his cock, a mix of spit and precum dripping out of your mouth all over his thighs as you moan nonstop. his legs twitch at the sensation of your mouth, abs flexing every time you have his entire length down your throat. and when he gets close? best believe it's the whine olympics. the grasp on your hair tightens, sending small tingles through your scalp and down your spine. " 'm so close angel, fuck please don't stop oh my god." and with that he releases the prettiest whiny moan as he empties out his load into your mouth.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ does the cutest little head tilt at random times, blinking at you (no thoughts behind those eyes)
pretty boy spaces out every now and then, no thoughts head empty. so when you come into the room, yapping the day away he needs a second to snap out of it and when you look at him expectantly he just goes "huh?". he's so fucking cute, head cocked to the side, brows slightly furrowed in confusion. "did you hear a single thing i just said?". a snail could shake its head quicker than he did, softly blinking at you. how could yoh stay mad at him when he's looking at you like this??? "aww," you coo. "pretty boy was lost in thought weren't you." his nose crunches in fake disapproval, but deep down both of you know he loves being babied.
or sometimes he gives you the most RANDOM look of disapproval it's truly hilarious, he cannot keep a straight face at times it's so fucking endearing. "what did i do?" you ask baffled, hands thrown up in defence. the menace he can be at times he just shoots you another side eye before pulling you closer. but don't think you'll get an answer, his mind works in mysterious ways....
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ can only purr when he gets too sleepy :((
the thought of this genuinely has me tweaking out. you know when you get too tired and words turn into hums? this is him, but with purring. his head is on your chest, arms loosely around your ways, legs tangled with yours. you were just telling him about your day, nothing out of the ordinary and you knew he was tired, but this sweetheart insists on hearing all about your day. "– so i was just standing there, can you believe it?...ki?" soft vibrations make your upper body tingle. "you wanna go sleep, sweet boy?" you whisper softly but he gives you a more firm, disapproving purr. "alright alright, i'll continue." another, more soft and content purr from him. as always, your hands brush through his hair, earning a constant wave of purrs, which you notice to become more and more slower by the minute. you stop your sentence mid way, continuing to play with his blonde strands of hair. ever so softly, he gives your waist a squeeze, just to let you know a tiny part of him is still awake, an attempt to show you he's listening (or at least trying to). "i'll tell you the rest over breakfast tomorrow." you murmur, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "i love you, ki." he might be too tired for words, but that doesn't stop him from purring the sound waves of an i love you back :c
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is a teasing little shit and loves to bite down on your lips.
doesn't even have to be when you're kissing NO mfer just chomps down on your lips when he feels like it! it's another thing he does when he's feeling jealous over protective. you could be out in public, just chilling at a cafe when he moves over and bites down on your bottom lip. no explanation, nothing, just a smug smile on his face as he leans back again. "what was that for you?" you look at him, puzzled. "barista drew a heart on your cup and has been looking over here." he replies with a shrug. "riki she was probably just being nice. and she could be looking at you and not me." he firmly shakes his head. "nope, she was looking at you at all times, plus there's no heart on my cup see?" he counters, shoving his cup in your face. you can't help but smile at his theatrics, leaning over the desk to give him a quick peck on the lips, one that he tries to chase with a little whine. "nu-uh," you warn. "none of that in public mister." one would think he was just denied entry to heaven with the way he started sulking.
if you ever decide to do it back, it turns into a little competition. you've heard of tickle fights, now get ready for biting fights. you would be hiding behind a corner, jumping out when he passes but you just to bite down on his plush lips. this would obviously lead into a chase through your entire flat, with him catching you 99% of the time and throwing you down on the couch. his lips are all over you then, kissing, nipping and occasionally biting down. riki loves the way you giggle and squirm at the impact, big hands trying to hold you down but never too tightly, this is far too much fun.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ randomly starts purring songs (yes purring not humming)
it had been a peaceful afternoon, just the two of you lounging around, soft kisses exchanged while lying intertwined on the couch. you were making dinner, dancing around the stove to the record playing in the back. riki hovered around you, giving you the occasional spin to see the pretty smile form in your face. stirring the pot, he stood behind you, hands obviously around your waist, chin on your head, swaying you from side to side to the music. you softly started humming along to the song when you were joined by some deeper melodies, the vibration of his purring tickling the top of your head. "what's got you all giggly?" he questions, oblivious to what he had just been doing. "your purrs were tickling me." "huh?" poor boy had no idea he started doing it, blushing slightly at his unconscious trait. another giggle escapes you, "don't worry, i don't mind it. it's like we're singing a duet in our own way!" the pure beam that was your smile made him believe his heart just stopped for a second and he could only squeeze you tighter, propping his chin back on top of your head.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is a big fan of the "just five more minutes" phrase because he knows you can't resist him.
it's not news that riki is very much into physical contact, this boy is the definition of velcro. separating from you in the morning is pure heartbreak for him, he's counting down the minutes until he can see you again :( so when your alarm rings in the morning, he's all grumpy whines, refusing to ease the iron grip he has on you. "ki, i have to get ready." you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep. "noooo." he mumbles back, rolling over so that he's on top of you. " 'm not letting you go, you're all mine." it's endearing, this huge man being all clingy. "of course i am," you answer. "but i still have to get ready for work baby." protesting purrs vibrate against your collarbones as he softly nips the skin. "ten more minutes." "five." "deal." his body instantly relaxes, acting like a weighted blanket. "we always do this in the mornings, why are do you argue with me?" he murmurs into your chest and you sigh. "i have no clue if i'm being honest." at that he chuckles, "you love me soooooo bad don't you?" without missing a beat you reply, "always." you could risk being late for work a few minutes, saying no to him was just not in the cards :,)
ʟɪɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: this has been collecting dust in my drafts for ages........it's lowkey ass and i'm repeating myself but 😞😞
ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @saeivra @shawnyle @kookiesnkim @itsnotawrongnumber @shaiimuraaa @yelihusband @chaebbys @feedrinplz @twerkispeak @noirellee @wonscapes @tamedhoon (comment or send me an ask if you want to be tagged or removed <33)
can you please make a Jungwon smut where he is an idol and they are havjng a concert. He was horny that time and y/n were at the backstage mid concert just using her phone. Then Jungwon snuck backstage to fuck y/n? please make it long! add some scenarios too, up to you, author! Thankyouu!
FAN MAIL?
─── turns out winning the raffle was the least lucky thing to happen OR four years of watching him perform — and he spent the whole night making sure you’d never forget who you were on your knees for.
laceys note this has been in my drafts for ages so im finally posting it this is filthyyyy, I hope it’s close to the request above! enjoy ☺️
The raffle had been a joke.
You’d entered it half-asleep at two in the morning, phone screen too bright, telling yourself it didn’t matter because you never won anything. Three weeks later you were standing in a queue of twenty-three people outside an arena in Seoul with a lanyard around your neck that said WINNER — VIP BACKSTAGE ACCESS and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
The concert itself had been — there weren’t words for it.
You’d been a fan for four years. You knew every line, every note, every choreo transition. But nothing prepared you for the reality of him under stage lights. Jungwon, center stage, moving like the music lived inside him, his jaw sharp and his eyes darker than any photo had ever captured. You’d screamed yourself hoarse and cried twice and your friend would never let you live down either of those things.
But the last two performances — something had been off. Not to the general crowd, maybe. But you’d watched enough lives and studied enough fancams that you caught it. A timing slip in the second song. A note in the bridge that didn’t land where he wanted it. The way his expression had shuttered slightly, professional mask snapping back into place.
You knew that look. You’d seen it in interviews. Jungwon was a perfectionist to his core, and he was unhappy.
—
The backstage room was nice — long tables with food and drinks, the other winners milling around talking excitedly, staff members guiding everyone through. You were still buzzing from the show, accepting a drink someone handed you, trying to look like a normal functioning person.
Then the members came in and functioning became significantly harder.
They were still in their stage clothes, hair slightly damp, the kind of beautiful that shouldn’t exist in person. Sunoo found your group first, immediately warm and bright and making everyone laugh within thirty seconds. You drifted toward him naturally — he had that gravity.
“Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, he was asking the group but his eyes landed on you.
“It was incredible,” you said honestly. “The production on the third act especially — the lighting changes were perfect.”
Sunoo looked pleasantly surprised that you’d noticed something specific. “Right? We worked on that transition for weeks.” He smiled, full and genuine. “You know your stuff.”
Jay appeared at Sunoo’s shoulder, equally effortless, falling into easy conversation about the setlist. You were laughing at something Jay said about a quick-change that had nearly gone wrong when you felt it.
The quality of being watched.
You glanced sideways.
Jungwon was standing a few feet away with another winner, nodding along to whatever they were saying — but his eyes were on you. Dark and direct and assessing in a way that made your stomach drop clean out of your body. When he saw you catch him, he didn’t look away. Just held it for one beat, two, before returning his attention to the person in front of him.
You turned back to Jay and Sunoo and willed your face to behave.
It didn’t work very well.
He made his way through the room gradually, the way a leader did — attentive to everyone, making each person feel seen. You tracked him in your peripheral vision.
He reached your small cluster eventually. Up close he was worse. Better. Both.
“You’ve been talking to my members for long enough,” he said, and his voice was the concert voice, low and unhurried, but quieter. For the group but somehow aimed at you. “I’m Jungwon.”
“We know,” someone in your group said, and there was laughter.
He smiled — polite, idol-smooth. His eyes cut to you. “You were at the barrier. Left of center.”
Your heart stopped. “You noticed that?”
“I notice things.” A pause. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Genuinely one of the best nights of my life,” you said, and you meant it without any performance. “You were—” You stopped yourself from saying something embarrassing.
“Go ahead.”
“You were extraordinary,” you said. “All of you. But you especially. The way you held the second act — the control you have, the stage presence. It was flawless.”
Something shifted in his expression. Small, subtle — but you caught it, the same way you’d caught the slip earlier. Something loosening slightly behind his eyes.
“You’re kind,” he said.
“I’m honest.”
Another pause. He looked at you for a moment like he was recalibrating something. “Who’s your bias?”
The group made a collective oooh sound. Your face went warm.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, and his mouth curved just slightly. He already knew. You could tell he already knew. He just wanted to hear you say it.
“It’s—” You pressed your lips together. Looked at him. I mean. Look at him. “It’s you. It’s been you for four years.”
“Four years,” he repeated.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
The question surprised you — not aggressive, genuinely curious. You considered lying or deflecting and then decided against it. “Because you care so much. You’re never coasting. Every performance like it’s the only one. You’re—” You shook your head slightly. “You hold yourself to an impossible standard and you almost always clear it. That’s rare.”
The almost landed. You saw it land.
He looked at you for a long moment. Then he said, very quietly, “Almost?”
“Tonight,” you said, equally quiet. “But the recovery was immediate. Most people didn’t see it.”
“But you did?”
“I pay attention.”
Something in his jaw tightened. Not at you — at himself. That perfectionist core, the thing you’d recognized from three years of watching him, pulling taut. And underneath it, you realized — underneath the composure and the idol-smooth surface, he was frustrated. Genuinely, quietly furious at himself.
The room kept moving around you. Conversations, laughter, cameras clicking. He leaned slightly closer. “What’s your name?”
You told him. He repeated it once, low, like he was filing it somewhere. Then he said, “Come with me for a minute.”
You probably should have hesitated.
You didn’t.
He moved through the room with practiced ease, pausing once to say something to a staff member who nodded, and then a door and a corridor and the noise of the backstage room faded behind you. He led you down a quieter hallway — equipment cases stacked against the walls, the distant bass of the venue’s post-show music — and then into a room. Small. A green room, someone’s, a couch and a vanity mirror and a rack of clothes and the door clicking shut behind you.
The noise disappeared entirely. He turned to face you and up close, away from the crowd and the performance of it, the frustration was more visible. His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark and working through something. They moved over you slowly.
“You’re very pretty,” he said, low and plain, like it annoyed him. “Did you know that when you walked in there?”
“I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“I was.” His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face up. His thumb traced your cheekbone. “Four years you’ve been watching me. Paying attention. And then you walk in looking like this.” His grip tightened slightly. “Problem.”
“I’ve been told,” you said softly.
“I had a bad night.”
“I know.”
“I need somewhere to put it.” His eyes stayed on yours. “You’re going to let me.”
Not a question. Still — “Yes,” you said. “Sir.”
Something shifted in his face. Settled. Like a decision made.
“Good girl.” His mouth came down to yours and it was nothing like gentle.
He kissed you like he was taking something, his hands moving over you with focused precision — one at your jaw tilting you where he wanted, one fisting in your hair, and you made a sound against his mouth that made him pull back just enough to look at you.
“Again,” he said.
You made it again and his grip in your hair tightened and he walked you backward until your knees hit the couch.
“Down,” he said.
You sank to your knees between his legs as he sat, looking up at him, and his expression from above was dark and satisfied and still burning with that frustration looking for somewhere to go.
His hand came to your face — thumb tracing your lower lip, pressing in slightly. “Open.”
You opened. He looked at you for a long moment like he was deciding how much of himself to lose, and then his fingers curled into your hair and he guided you forward.
You took him into your mouth slowly, learning the weight and size of him, and your jaw stretched immediately and your eyes watered slightly at the corners and his exhale above you was sharp and rough.
“There,” he said, low. “Look at me.”
You looked up.
His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on you, and he held that eye contact as his hips rolled up — not all the way, not yet, just testing. Feeling. Your hands went to his thighs to brace and he looked at them there and something in his expression darkened further.
“Hands behind your back.”
You moved them. Locked your own fingers together at the small of your back.
“Good girl.”
He set the pace gradually — not merciful about it, building from slow to something that had you gagging slightly around him, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes and spilling, and he reached down and wiped them with his thumb, almost tender, before gripping your jaw and tilting your face up further.
“You’re doing so well,” he said roughly. “Taking it so well. Such a good girl.” His thumb stroked your wet cheek. “You’re crying and you’re still not tapping out. You want it that badly?”
You made a sound around him that meant yes and his head dropped back briefly before snapping back down to watch you.
“Desperate,” he said, like the word satisfied something in him. He pulled you off slowly — a string of saliva, your wrecked expression, the state of you on your knees — and he looked at you for a long moment.
“Up,” he said quietly.
He stood you between his knees and his hands moved over you efficiently — your top gone, your bra unclipped — and then he looked at you, really looked, and his hands came up and cupped your breasts with firm, claiming pressure before he groped them roughly, squeezing until you gasped, and then one sharp light slap that made you yelp and your thighs press together.
“Sir—”
“Too much?”
“No,” you breathed.
His hands smoothed over the sting immediately, palms warm and firm, and he pressed his mouth to the curve of your breast and then looked up at you through his lashes and the contrast — the roughness and then that — made your knees weak.
“Turn around,” he said. “Brace on the vanity.”
You turned. The mirror showed you both — him behind you, still mostly dressed, composed and controlled; you flushed and undone and waiting. His hands worked your skirt up and your underwear down and then his palm came down once, sharp, against the soft of your inner thigh and you jolted forward into the vanity.
“Stay still,” he said.
“Yes, sir—”
Another slap, lighter, directly against your centre and you made a sound you’d never made before in your life, broken and desperate. His hand smoothed over the heat immediately.
“Look at that,” he said, low and almost reverent. “Look how much you want it.” His fingers slipped through your folds and his exhale was rough. “You’re soaking. This is all for me?”
“All for you,” you managed. “Please—”
“Please what.”
“Please, sir, I need—”
“I know what you need.” He pressed two fingers inside you without ceremony and your head dropped forward and you watched his hand in the mirror, watched his expression — focused and dark and entirely in control. He worked you with the same precision he gave everything, and when you clenched around him his jaw tightened.
“Big,” he said quietly, like he was narrating. “You feel how big my fingers are?” He crooked them and you gasped. “You think you’re taking my cock after this?” He added a third finger and stretched you slowly, deliberately, and the slight burn of it made your eyes roll. “Going to have to work for it.”
“Please,” you said again. “Daddy, please—”
His fingers stilled.
The room went very quiet.
Then his free hand came around and gripped your jaw, tilting your face up to see him in the mirror, and his eyes were dark.
“Say that again,” he said.
Your heart was hammering. “Daddy.”
A slow exhale through his nose. “Good girl.” His fingers resumed. “You’ve been waiting three years to say that to me, haven’t you? Naughty girl.”
You hadn’t known you were. But yes.
He worked you open until you were shaking and barely holding yourself up on the vanity, and then he removed his fingers and positioned himself and pushed inside you and oh—
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming, the size of him splitting you open slowly, inch by inch, and your mouth fell open on a silent sound, fingers white-knuckling the table edge.
“Breathe,” he said, behind you. Watching your face in the mirror.
You breathed.
He pushed the rest of the way in and the sound you made was wrecked and undignified and he made a low satisfied sound against your neck.
“There,” he said. “There she is. You feel that? You feel how deep I am?”
“Yes, daddy, yes—”
“Good.” He pulled back and drove forward and your whole body rocked into the vanity. “Good. Watch the mirror. I want you to watch.”
You watched.
You watched him take you apart in real time — the roll of his hips ruthless and deep, the way your expression kept slipping further from coherent with every stroke, the way he watched your face instead of his own reflection, cataloguing every flicker. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and he didn’t apologize for it.
“Taking me so well,” he said roughly. “Look at you. Look at you, taking every inch like a good girl.” His hand came around to your throat, not squeezing, just resting — possessive and grounding. “You’re going to think about this every time you see my face on a poster.”
He drove into you harder and the sound that left you was embarrassingly loud. His hand muffled it, coming up to cover your mouth.
“Quiet,” he said against your ear, amused and merciless. “There are twenty-two other people just down the hall.”
When your legs stopped reliably functioning he moved you to the couch — lifting you with irritating ease, turning you, arranging you — and then your back was against the cushions and he hooked your legs up over his shoulders and looked down at you.
From this angle he was enormous.
“Daddy—”
“I know,” he said. He pushed inside and the angle made you see white. “I know. You’re okay.” His hand smoothed up your calf, almost gentle, while his hips set a pace that was anything but. “You’re so good. You’re taking it so well.”
He watched your face go slack with the focused intensity of someone studying something important. When your eyes started to lose focus he made a rough sound of satisfaction.
“There she is,” he said quietly. “There she is. Going dumb on my cock.” His hand came to your face, tilting it up so he could see you clearly. “Look at me. Stay with me.”
You tried. You genuinely tried.
“Daddy,” you slurred.
“I’m here.” Deep stroke. You whimpered. “I’m right here.” Another. “Good girl.”
His thumb found your clit and worked it in tight circles and the sound you made against his palm was desperate and high and he drove into you deep and held there pressing against something inside you that made your whole body shake.
“Come for me,” he said. Low and certain. Like a decision you both knew you were making. “Right now. Give it to me.”
You did. Completely. Your whole body clenching around him in waves, his name and daddy tangled together and leaving you in a wreck, tears at the corners of your eyes again that he wiped away with his thumb — that same tender gesture against all the roughness.
He worked you through every tremor and then his pace picked up — chasing his own now, losing some of that ironclad control for the first time, hips driving into you with a desperation he hadn’t shown yet.
“God,” he breathed, rough and low. “I want to — I should—”
“Inside,” you managed. “Please, daddy, inside—”
“You’re sure—”
“Please—”
He buried himself deep and the groan that left him was quiet and wrecked and entirely real — nothing performed about it — and you felt the warmth of him and your body clenched around him again drawing it out and he shuddered against you.
The room went very still.
His forehead dropped to yours. Both of you breathing. His hands, which had been so controlled, were shaking slightly where they braced beside your head.
He looked down at you — at the state of you, thoroughly undone — and something softened in his expression. His thumb stroked your cheekbone.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
“Extraordinarily good,” you managed.
His mouth curved. That real one — small and genuine and slightly tired. He pressed a brief, unexpected kiss to your forehead and then pushed up, straightening, the composure already resettling around him like a coat.
He fixed himself. Helped you find your footing when you stood, steadying you with a hand at your elbow when your knees expressed their opinions about the evening.
He looked at you. You looked at him.
“You were extraordinary tonight, by the way,” you said, and you meant the same thing you’d meant before, in the room full of people. “The almost doesn’t define it.”
He held your gaze for a long moment.
“Come back,” he said. “To the next show.”
“Are you giving me tickets?”
“I’m giving you my number,” he said. “The tickets come after.”
