+*#behind the camera — ch. 3 || lee heeseung
+*pairing: childhood crush-> idol!heeseung x make-up artist!femreader
+*wc: 6.2k
+*content warnings: smut (18+), heavy emotional angst (i had to throw in some realism and cry cry content okay, i can’t help myself), dom!heeseung, sub!femreader, dom/sub dynamics (sir , toy, slut, amongst other softer nicknames), dumification, dacryphillia, LOTS of dirty talk (mainly on heeseung’s part… he’s A YAPPER), CHOKING, manhandling, size kink, degradation/praise, cum play(plz wrap before you tap), oral (reader receiving), light impact play, orgasm control/denial, overstimulation, secret relationships, and idol industry power imbalances.
reader discretion is advised. this is a fictional piece written for entertainment purposes only and does not reflect the real personalities or actions of lee heeseung. by continuing, you’re acknowledging that you are of legal age and comfortable engaging with these themes.
synopsis: the tension finally breaks. heeseung shows up and for one night, you let yourselves have what you’ve both been craving. and you let him in—completely. it’s hot, slow, and everything you swore you wouldn’t want. but after the high, reality waits quietly at the door. nothing was ever supposed to feel this real.
m i k a 🌷: took me a while to actually figure out which way i wanted to wrap up this story into a bow that was both realistic and bittersweet. i hope you read this knowing that its not supposed to work out and that its a gut wrenching feeling to experience this kind of relationship with someone as famous as a kpop idol. otherwise, i hope you like it and i look forward to all the comments, pms, and reblog tags!! thank you for reading this far!💕
🎀taglist: @heegyukeluv @fatherwound @str8ykids @twancingyunhao @nctrenjunie @allygator-98 @jay-scenarios @hansungie01 @jadedxfemme @sagegreenhairclip @lveegsoi @ninistranaut @srhnyx @simj4ke @jiyeons-closet @hxonieverse @fangirl125reader @his-seung
chapter 2 << chapter 3 (final) || m a s t e r l i s t.
chapter 3.
you don’t know how he finds you.
the stairwell isn’t on the map. no signage, no route markers—just an empty industrial corner of the venue with concrete floors and flickering lights and the kind of silence that feels too still for a city this loud.
but he does.
heeseung finds you.
the door clicks softly behind him. your phone is still open in your hand, but your fingers stop scrolling the second your eyes lift and meet his.
he looks… frayed.
hood up. mask hanging loose under his chin. lips parted like he ran here, or didn’t know what to say until right now.
“you okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
he doesn’t speak right away. he just stares at you. at your frame. your face.
and then—quiet, like he hates himself for even admitting it—
“no.”
your heart stutters.
he walks toward you slowly. not with purpose—just with momentum, like standing still hurts more than anything else.
“i can’t do this,” he mutters. “i keep telling myself not to, and then i see you, and—”
he cuts off. his hands press into his pockets. his head dips.
“i shouldn’t feel like this.”
you breathe in, but you don’t interrupt.
“it’s not just…” he glances at you again. “it’s not just about wanting to fuck you. even though god, i do. i think about it all the time and i hate how much i do.”
your breath catches.
his voice stays low, but heavier now. raw.
“but it’s more than that. i want your voice in my ear. i want your fingers brushing mine when no one’s watching. i want you leaning your head on my shoulder when we’re backstage and i’m trying to act like i’m not falling apart.”
he laughs. it’s not funny. “and it’s so fucking stupid, because we both know this doesn’t work. we can’t work. not in this world. not with who i am. not with who you are. it’s not possible.”
your throat tightens.
he finally steps close enough that your backs are almost touching the wall, and his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them.
“i can’t sleep,” he murmurs before chuckling dryly. “well– more than i usually cant.. i can’t rest. i go through ten hours of filming and i still walked off stage looking for your face. and if you’re not in the room i feel like i’m suffocating.”
your breath catches.
he laughs once. bitter. “this is bad.”
“heeseung, we can't–”
“i know,” he cuts you off gently, eyes soft yet burning with a passion that similarly mirrors yours. “i know… but texting you isn’t enough anymore. calling you at night and pretending it’s casual, pretending i don’t notice how breathless you sound when i say your name… it’s not enough. i can’t keep pretending this is harmless.”
he’s breathing harder now. jaw tight. eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, or maybe something else.
“i need more. i need you near me. with me. i want to touch you when i say things. i want to kiss you when you laugh. i want to put my hand on your back when we walk into a room and not have to worry who sees.”
you’re silent. heart slamming against your chest.
“and i want you,” he adds, voice dropping even lower. “so bad it fucking hurts.”
the words echo in the concrete stairwell.
“i text you and it’s not enough. i call you and it just makes it worse. i watch your videos over and over like a sick fuck because it’s the only version of you i’m allowed to have.”
neither of you move.
heeseung swallows. something sharp in his throat.
“and i can’t stop,” he says, breathless now. “i can’t stop needing you, and i don’t know what to do anymore.”
he reaches out, brushing his fingers against your wrist. not holding. just grounding himself.
his next words are softer. quieter.
“just say something. anything. because if i’m the only one feeling like this…”
he doesn’t finish.
he doesn’t have to.
you can see it in his eyes. “you’re not the only one… you think it’s easy for me not to care about you?”
a beat before he continues.
“i’m tired of holding back. of pretending like you’re just some backstage coincidence. could have more than that… i hate that we have to move secretly and be like this…”
his voice honest. broken. burning.
the space that’s forced between the two of you is straining and nearly unbearable. but required and absolute. you both cannot be together. not in the light with so much eyes monitoring.
“i know it’s messy,” he whispers. “but tell me you don’t want me, and i’ll walk away.”
your lips part and the overwhelming feeling of the consequences of being public eats the back of your mind.
you want him. you want him badly. possibly just as much as he wants you. you want him so much that it’s a terrifying feeling to even admit outloud.
but no words come out.
heeseung steps back first. just a little– like he’s afraid if he stays one second longer, he’ll do something irreversible.
the war between what he wants and what he can’t have. the way he’s already grieving a decision neither of you has made. the guilt. the craving. the way he’s so close to you and still doesn’t touch you like he wants to—like he aches to.
and once that line breaks, there would be no coming back.
you take a slow breath.
you don’t know how long you’ve been standing in the stairwell—heeseung’s hand barely brushing your wrist, his words still bleeding into your skin. even though he just acknowledged this can’t work—you know he’s waiting for you to give him a reason to believe it could.
and then, finally, he speaks again.
quieter, steadier but not calm. never calm.
“after san diego,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “there’s a break before LA. just a few days in california. media stuff, interviews, brand shoots, rehearsals.”
you nod slowly. not sure where he’s going with this.
heeseung swallows. hard. his gaze drops—like it’s easier to say it when he’s not watching you search his eyes for vulnerability.
“my schedule’s full. they’ve got me stacked from morning to night.”
your heart sinks.
but then he adds—“except one.”
your breath catches.
“just one night.” he lifts his eyes again.
“the night before LA’s concert. i’m free after rehearsal around 5pm to relax. i don’t even know how that happened, but that will be the only time no one will be watching me– us.”
“us…” you echo as your stomach twists. finding yourself staring up at him with apprehension.
“if we’re going to do this,” he says, low, raw, real, “if we’re ever going to stop pretending this isn’t killing us… that’s the only night.”
he steps closer. his voice is a whisper now. not because he’s hiding– he’s tired of running.
“i want you,” he breathes. “in every way i’m not supposed to. and i know we can’t keep going like this.”
you stay frozen.
“so if you don’t want this,” he says, softer, “if this isn’t something you want to carry with you after…”
his hand lifts. he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek like it’s the only touch he’ll allow himself.
“please…tell me now and i'll let go.”
your throat is tight.
you don’t speak.
you can’t. because you do want it.
god, you need it, bad.
you want that night more than anything you’ve ever let yourself admit.
even if it can’t happen again. even if it destroys you afterward.
heeseung nods slowly at your silence. his fingers linger a second longer.
and then, you speak up, quietly. “i’ll send the room number.”
he pauses, breath shaky. eyes glittering.
a sound from behind the door makes you jump.
a yell possibly from staff. too close of a call.
heeseung has to go now if he didnt want to get your career ruined by being caught alone with him.
he curses underneath his breath before rushing to your body, pulling you into a quick but steady kiss.
a promise. a secret.
before he leaves, he looks at you one last time—like he already knows what you’re thinking.
“i’ll come to you, baby. i’ll be yours.”
then he’s gone.
and you’re left in a stairwell with your hands shaking, lips tingling, your lungs burning, and only one thought in your head:
one night. just one night
* * * * *
you feel like you’re being dragged across the continent in pieces.
city after city. night after night. too many hours spent powdering faces and checking mic wires while pretending your hands don’t tremble when he walks into the room.
heeseung hasn’t spoken to you since the stairwell.
not directly, anyway.
not in front of anyone.
but you feel him everywhere.
you feel him in the way his eyes track your hands when you prep the others. In the way he lingers near your station before heading to wardrobe. in the way he stands closer during group huddles, even when he doesn’t say a word.
he never asks. never crosses the line again.
but he doesn’t pull back, either.
not like he should.
not like you need him to.
and now—three days before California—you find yourself standing on the side of the road in the middle of fucking Arizona because the crew van broke down.
you’re all en route to venue soundcheck. three vehicles total.
yours—the second van—lost power without warning.
and as luck would have it, the only two staffers in this van were you and heeseung.
it’s quiet now. too quiet.
you sit on the bumper while the driver calls logistics and road side assistance.
heeseung leans against the hot metal siding beside you, one foot up on the curb, arms crossed, hair pulled back in a messy low bun.
he hasn’t looked at you since the van died.
but you can feel it.
the tension, the unspokenness between you is so loud that it hums in your throat.
“well,” he says, finally breaking the silence, “i always wanted to see Arizona.”
you laugh. quiet. dry.
“we’re literally in a gas station parking lot.”
“i’m trying to be romantic,” he mutters.
you glance at him.
he’s watching the sunset over a strip mall. his jaw’s tense. his eyes tired. always so tired.
you often caught your stare lingering over him through the mirrors of the dressing rooms the past few venues. between your channel’s shots that you take of the tour, under very strict guidelines, you hated that you couldn’t help but notice when he’d wrap a blanket that didn’t quite cover his body. never enough to warm him.
you’d purposely wait until his eyes blink open to start talking louder in your videos or to others, even if it didn’t exactly make a difference due to the loud volume from others–it made a difference to you.
his insomnia was barely a thought to other people but to you it was the thing that concerned you the most when the hours ran long and the other members were just as exhausted. you could only imagine how tired his body was.
but he’s doing what he loves. although your support was silent and in the shadows, you wanted to do whatever you could encourage him.
now here he was seated next to you on the bumper of the van, trying to mke you feel better about this inconvenient situation.
he smiles—just barely.
“you don’t have to be romantic heeseung,” you say softly. “you barely slept on the car ride.”
His smile fades.
“I know.”
the quiet stretches again.
the wind kicks up desert dust. the heat clings to your spine. your palms are sweating even though the sun’s low.
heeseung shifts closer. he’s still not touching you, but you can feel the electricity crawl down your arm just from his presence.
“you been thinking about it?” he asks.
your breath catches. you don’t ask what it means. you both know.
he’s talking about the stairwell.
you nod slowly. ‘“too much, i’m afraid.”
He looks down. “yeah, me too.”
You stare ahead at the glowing horizon.
And then—so quietly, so carefully, it almost sounds like guilt:
“i don’t want it to feel like a mistake.” you turn to him with your fingers fidgeting over your sweater.
he’s still looking at the ground. fingers tapping lightly against his elbow.
“i know it’s just one night,” he murmurs, “but if I’m gonna remember it for the rest of my life, I want it to be worth it.”
your throat tightens. you want it to be too…
he finally meets your eyes and that look right there…
it isn’t just lust. it’s longing. hunger. sadness. hope.
the things he can’t say out loud.
the things he won’t ever be allowed to show in public.
“but it’ll be enough,” he says softly. “even if it ruins me a little.”
you don’t reply. there was nothing else to add.
and still—you sadly smile toward him.
it was always going to be worth it.
even if it only lasts one night.
* * *
he’s late. not by much, just an hour.but youre not surprised or even upset. you're used to waiting for his schedule to end before talking on the phone.
you're used to waiting for his schedule to end before talking on the phone.
used to getting a message in the early morning saying he just got back to the dorm while you leave your ringer on to wake up just in time to fall asleep again with him on the line…
what you arent used to, is the sound of a keycard sliding into your hotel room door lock.
the high pitched beep makes your stomach do things it shouldn’t.
he doesn’t say hi—just enters quietly. black hoodie pulled low over his brow, a black mask around his wrist and damp hair still curled around his temple from shower steam.
he kicks off his sneakers, and drops his tour bag on the floor.
it’s dangerous. him being here. this entire escapade is so risky…
you’re still his assigned makeup artist.
still supposed to be professional.
still on a schedule with the rest of the crew.
still so early into the tour.
on the second leg of the tour where there's at least a day's rest for the boys.
one perfect—stolen—night to finally ravish each other.
heeseung steps into the dim light of the hotel room. his eyes scan the way you’re perched at the edge of the bed, legs tucked beneath you, oversized tee riding up the soft curve of your thighs.
you don’t speak.
neither does he.
both of you know what’s about to happen.
he reached behind him– a small click.
he's locked the door.
heeseung’s hoodie’s half-off before he even reaches you. he drops his hoodie to the chair, and turns to look at you like you’ve been keeping something from him.
god, he’s so beautiful.
his voice is quiet when it finally breaks the silence. “you stayed up for me, sweetheart?”
“you’re late,” you murmur, eyes searching his. “was about to fall asleep if i wasnt so anxious about you coming by.”
he does that slow blink he usually does over facetime down at you while listening to you speak.
you haven’t even touched him yet and your stomach is already curling at the edges. heat flickering low behind your belly button. it’s almost humiliating how easy he gets to you.
heeseung says nothing at first. just brushing his thumb along your jawline. not quite fully touching you. “couldn’t get away. manager stuck around too long.”
you hum softly, peering up at him. not upset. not exactly.
just… already anticipating the time you’ll have to give back the second he gets a text or call. a rapid second and this quiet little world between you might soon have to slip into secrecy.
his fingers brush your arm and your breath stalls in your throat.
“stand up,” heeseung says lowly.
you do.
he moves like he’s done this before.
he doesn’t rush. just watches the way your shirt shifts when you exhale. watches your pulse flutter at your throat when he steps in closer.
“look at me.”
you do.
and god, he looks tired.
not just tired—haunted.
maybe from the stage. maybe from the pressure. maybe from holding back the way his hands are already gripping your waist like he’s starving.
“how long do we have?” you ask softly.
“long enough.” his voice is quieter now. "been thinking about this all week," heeseung mutters, lowering his posture to your level. "about you. what you would sound like in person when you fall apart."
his fingers trace the hem of your shirt.
"take this off for me."
you don’t speak.
you obey.
lifting the flimsy fabric over your head and toss it aside, your bare chest on display like you’ve been waiting to be seen. his eyes drop immediately. widen. jaw clenching like he’s trying to memorize the sight before it disappears.
heeseung sucks in a sharp breath and shakes his head like he can’t believe what’s standing in front of him.
“fuck, y/n… you’re so fucking perfect.”
before you can say anything else, his hand curls around your neck—firm, steady, grounding. just letting you know that you’re his, for however long this moment allows.
enough to make you slightly dizzy.
"you gonna let me ruin you tonight, baby?"
you nod.
"words."
"yes."
heeseung leans in closer. "yes, what?"
your breath hitches. “yes, sir.”
his lips curl into a wicked, smug smile. like you’ve handed him the keys to the kingdom.
“good girl.”
his lips crash into yours like he’s punishing you for making him wait. tongue hot, needy, searching. his hands roam everywhere—your sides, your ass, the soft dip between your ribs. every place he couldn’t touch on camera. every place he’s only imagined in the dark while whispering your name into his sheets.
his thigh presses between yours and you moan into his mouth.
he pulls back enough to speak. “on the bed.”
you move without thinking. your thighs rub together as you crawl onto the mattress, nerves frayed and clenching around nothing. he follows, crawling over you slowly, shirt finally pulled off and tossed behind him.
“god, i love how shy you get when i tell you what to do,” heeseung breathes against your mouth. “your brain just melts from being ordered around doesn’t it, baby?”
“heeseung—”
“uh-uh,” he levels you with his eyes, thumbing over your bottom lip. “try again.”
“…sir.” you correct yourself.
heeseung’s hum of approval brings another wave of heat over your skin. “you’re all mine tonight, you understand me?” although he's desperate and clinging to you like you’ll dissolve into thin air, his eyes are searching. aware of what’s happening— gaze fixed and analyzing every inch of your body to etch into his memory.
“let me pretend you’re mine and i’m yours completely tonight…”
This is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.
your chest aches with a feeling similar to fear and anxiety but the burning sensation of subspace dizziness jars you back into focus.
”do you understand me, y/n?” he demands, firmly— desperately that if you weren’t being held so strongly you would hear his tone as a plea rather than a command.
you manage a nod.
because if you open your mouth, you’ll beg.
not to fuck you— which you wanted badly.
that; you’ll beg him not to leave.
no time to pump the breaks.
it starts with him on his knees.
mouth hot on your thighs, then higher—lips ghosting over your underwear before he yanks them down with a sharp tug and groans when he sees how soaked you already are.
“so fucking wet. is this all for me?” he asks, mouth hovering right over your clit.
“yes,” you breathe.
“of course it is. no one else gets to see you like this. no one else gets to taste.”
and god, he does.
he devours.
his tongue is slow, precise, practiced. he moans into you like you’re the one feeding him.
you whimper, thighs trembling as you grind down on his face without meaning to.
“needy little thing,” heeseung growls against your cunt, dragging two fingers through the mess he’s making. “can’t sit still, can you? bet you’d let me eat you out for hours if i don’t stop.”
you’re panting. hands in his hair, legs shaking.
your vision goes white when he curls two fingers deep inside you.
“that’s it. ride my fucking fingers. show me how desperate you are.”
you cry out—loud, shameless.
he pulls back, wipes his mouth on his wrist, and smirks.
“so fucking messy already. you’re gonna soak the sheets, for me?”
“please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for.
“please, what?”
“please, sir… please— i need, please, fuck me.”
heeseung blinks like his world’s tipped over, then drags you up from the bed like you weigh nothing.
“since you asked so nicely, like a good girl...”
he kisses you. a pure deep, open-mouthed kiss.
his tongue tangles with yours and his hand grips the back of your neck while he walks you backward toward the bed. you fall onto it in a tangle of limbs, and he follows with slow, calculated movements.
once he strips, you can practically feel your saliva collect in your mouth.
he’s bigger than you imagined.
the screen definitely didnt do him any justice.
his cock standing strong, flushed, and leaking at the tip.
you make a sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—and heeseung laughs, low and dark.
“you think you can take it like a good girl for me?” he asks, fist wrapped around his cock as he strokes it slowly, other hand sliding up your torso before wrapping firmly around your throat. “or are you gonna cry for me like you did on the phone?”
you nod so fast your vision spins.
heeseung’s hand doesn’t leave your neck.
not when he’s pushing you down into the mattress.
not when he’s grinding his cock between your slick folds, teasing you, splitting you open slowly like you’ll break if he doesn’t take his time.
and god—he loves that idea.
“you feel that, baby?” his voice is low, ragged, teeth gritted as he nudges the thick head of his cock inside you. “so fucking tight. can barely get in.”
you’re already gasping. legs spread wide, thighs trembling, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other gripping his forearm where it’s curled around your neck.
“so big, fuck—heeseung—”
“sir,” he growls, snapping his hips forward, forcing you to take more. “that’s not what you call me, sweetheart. i wont fucking remind you again.”
“sir—sir, i’m sorry, i—” your words melt into a moan as he bottoms out, cock buried to the hilt, filling you so deep your vision whites out at the edges.
“yeah?” heeseung’s eyes burn into yours. “you sorry for being a dumb, fucked out slut for me?”
you nod frantically, brain barely keeping up with the stretch.
“then say it,” he demands. “say what you are.”
you whimper, hands scrambling to hold onto something—him, the sheets, your sanity.
“i’m your dumb little slut, sir.”
heeseung smiles.
a slow, wicked thing that doesn’t reach his eyes—because his eyes are busy watching you come undone beneath him.
“fuck, i love hearing that pretty mouth...”
his hand tightens just a little around your throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your head swim. enough to remind you who you belong to.
he starts moving then.
slow, deliberate thrusts, the weight of his cock dragging against every nerve inside you.
your body arches under him, already teetering on the edge from the stretch and pressure and the way his grip never leaves your throat.
“you love being used like this, huh?” heeseung pants, sweat beading at his temple. “love being fucked stupid on my cock?”
you can’t even speak.
your mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a desperate moan.
“god, you’re so tight baby—fuck. this pussy was made for me.”
you mewl, head falling back against the pillow.
“say it.”
“it's—“ his thrusts interrupt you. “i’m made for you…” you choke out, tears pricking your eyes from the stretch.
“damn, right you are baby… made just for me to use and abuse…” heeseung presses his forehead to yours, hips moving slowly. so deep. so slow. like he’s savoring you.
“you’re so, so good, babygirl. such a good fucking girl. all mine, yeah?”
“yes, sir.”
“you like being fucked like this? stretched open and stuffed full of my cock?”
“yes—yes, i do—”
“i can feel you clenching, sweetheart. you gonna cum already?”
“i—i don’t know—”
“look at you.” his hand slides up to your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks until you’re forced to hold his gaze. “already cock-drunk. not even halfway through.”
you’re crying now—just a little.
tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your legs tremble and your cunt squeezes around him like your body knows it won’t be able to take much more.
but he’s not stopping.
you could swear you see a flash of a smile etch his face before your vision blurs with more tears.
heeseung pulls all the way out, then slams back in hard enough to knock a cry from your lips.
“you don’t cum until i say,” he warns. “you understand me, dumb girl?”
“yes— yes, sir! i’ll try—”
“no, you won’t try.” he cuts you off, voice sharp. “you’ll obey. you want to be my good girl, you take everything i give you. don’t you dare fucking cum yet.”
your nails dig into his bicep, your thighs squeezing around his waist as your body bucks beneath him.
he doesn’t slow down.
in fact, he presses your thighs apart forcefully with his much wider frame.
he fucks you through it—deep, punishing thrusts that leave you twitching and sobbing, pleasure building so tight it hurts.
“so fucking wet,” heeseung grunts. “you hear that? listen to how soaked you are for me… messy little toy.”
your cheeks burn.
your body’s trembling uncontrollably now, tears rolling faster, mouth falling open in a broken cry as he keeps going.
and going.
and going.
“sir, please—please i’m gonna—”
“don’t.”
“i can’t—”
heeseung slaps your thigh. hard.
you scream—your cunt clenching so tight he chokes on a moan.
“fuck! you’re such a fucking brat,” he growls. “can’t even follow simple instructions. guess, i’ll have to fuck obedience into you.”
he changes the angle—grips your hips tight, drags your ass flush into his lap and starts pounding into you, fast and brutal. your breasts bouncing with every thrust.
your eyes roll back.
heeseung grabs your chin again, forcing your eyes on him.
“keep your fucking eyes open. you're going to watch me while you fucking break.”
he fucks you harder. rougher. hands gripping your hips as he slams into you with enough force to knock the air from your lungs.
your weak arms do nothing to stop him from pummeling into your helpless body.
“cmon baby, take it. take all of me.”
you’re sobbing now, gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering you to earth.
your orgasm hits you like a train.
oh, fuck.
it tears through you in white-hot pulses, your mouth open in a silent scream, legs shaking, cunt fluttering violently around him.
“you didn’t ask,” he snarls, still fucking you through it. this time gripping your face hard. “again.”
your core reflexifly tries to shove him out, to spasm and clench more than what his girth was allowing you to.
“oh no, you don’t.” heeseung laugh isn’t humorous— it’s angry. he pushes down on your lower abdomen and pins you in place with his dick shoved deeper inside. “greedy fucking brat. didn’t even ask to cum.”
you’re sobbing now—overstimulated, your body locked in place, every nerve ending raw and trembling.
heeseung doesn’t stop.
he doesn’t even slow down.
“don’t think we’re done yet,” he pants. “i’m not finished with you, baby. not until you give me another.”
“sir, i—i can’t—” still drowing in your high.
“no. you will.” he growls. “you’ll give me another like the good little slut you are. i want to feel you fucking gush all over me. cum.”
he slaps your clit. not hard but enough to tip you over the abyss.
you scream.
and then you cum again—harder, messier, your body seizing under him.
heeseung curses, hips stuttering.
“fuck—you’re clenching so tight—“ he throws his head back, before sucking in a sharp breath— lunging forward. “oh, fuck— i’m gonna cum! where do you want it?”
you’re too gone to answer.
“where, baby?” he growls, hand tightening again around your throat. “you want me to make a mess all over you?”
a breathless gasp leaves your lips. his hand tightens its grip. “answer me.”
“yes—sir—please, please, cum—”
he lets out a sound you’ve never heard before. half-growl, half-groan, pure desperation as he slams into you one final time.
heeseung groans—loud, long—and pulls out just in time, spilling hot and heavy across your stomach, breathing hard as he collapses over you. holding himself up with shaking arms.
you shudder, gasping as your body registers the shots of warmth over your sticky skin.
heeseung breathes, face nestled into your neck for support.
“you did such a good job baby…” he whispers. his forehead pressed to yours, while his hand’s still gently curled around your throat.
“my good girl…”
you’re gone.
wrecked.
and for a moment… all you can do is let him hold you there. his fingers smoothing over your aching muscles. your bodies tangled, sweaty, soaked, and clinging to the last thread of something neither of you can name.
for a while, there’s only the sound of your breaths.
then the silence creeps in.
heeseung’s hand finds yours.
you stare at the ceiling.
you feel the reality start to settle in again. the walls of the hotel room close around you.
the clock ticking on the nightstand reminds you this is temporary.
you turn your head to look at him.
he’s already looking at you.
and for a second… you let yourself believe he’ll say it. something more.
but he doesn’t.
he just squeezes your hand.
once.
hard.
then he presses a kiss to your shoulder and says, “you mind cuddling for a bit before…”
he doesnt need to finish his sentence.
you nod. because you already know—
he can’t stay.
that makes it hurt worse when you move against the most logical thing to do; which is leave immediately—and snuggle into his warmth.
because that’s all you can do.
you had this much. this has to be enough, even if it doesn't feel like it ever will be.
you’ve both been fantasizing about this.
and now that it’s happened, you finally understand what it means to have something under your skin.
something that won’t leave.
even when he does.
you’re the first to move.
it’s not much—just a shift of your arm, the turn of your head, the way your chest rises unevenly as you catch your breath.
heeseung doesn’t say anything at first.
he just lies there. facing you. one hand playing with your hair, the other still lightly grazing your thigh like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you.
you glance at him through your lashes. everything feels too still. too quiet. your body’s warm, messy, and sore in ways that make your heart squeeze.
you wish it was enough.
but the seconds keep ticking.
and you know how this ends.
heeseung finally exhales, his deep colored eyes drawing you in.
"you okay?" he asks, voice hoarse from effort. from restraint.
you nod, not trusting your voice.
his fingers find yours in the sheets and squeeze.
you squeeze back.
no declarations. just touches. just these small, impossible moments stitched together by hands that tremble a little more each time they let go.
you want to say something.
want to ask if this means anything to him.
but you don’t.
because you already know what needs to be said and done.
because he’s lee fucking heeseung.
because you’re not supposed to share a bed with him, much less talk to him outside of work.
and because you’ve spent the last few years building something his fans could ruin for you with one single headline.
“i should shower,” you say quietly, the words sticking in your throat.
heeseung’s hands fall away from your body reluctantly.
you miss it instantly.
you sit up, pulling the sheets with you. the ache between your legs is still fresh. raw. a reminder that what just happened was real—so painfully real—and already slipping through your fingers.
he doesn’t stop you when you move toward the bathroom.
but you catch him watching you go.
his jaw clenched. his eyes tired.
the light clicks on. the water runs. and for a second, it’s just you staring at yourself in the mirror.
your hair is a mess. your lips are kiss-swollen. your chest is marked where his mouth lingered too long.
you look ruined.
but not in the way you expected.
when you come out wrapped in a towel, he’s already half-dressed. sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand.
his expression is unreadable.
your stomach drops.
“manager’s asking where i am,” he says.
you nod.
"you should go."
heeseung doesn’t resist or make a move to leave urgently.
time lags.
he just nods while rising up from the bed slowly.
he watches you find your shirt on the floor like it hasn’t already been peeled off of your body before you both shared tonight so passionately.
“you’ll be at rehearsal for the day 2 concert tomorrow?” he finally says.
“yeah.”
a beat.
then softer: “you okay?”
you nod. but you don’t smile.
because the ache between your legs is nothing compared to the one settling in your chest.
you’ll see him again tomorrow.
you’ll have to be around him all afternoon before he performs in the evening.
you’ll touch up his foundation like you weren’t falling apart underneath him just hours earlier.
he looks at you. really looks.
eyes glossed over with unspoken anguish that you can only reflect back with a sad smile.
and for a second—just one second—you swear he wants to say something that might shatter your world and piece you back together..
all he says is:
“you make it really hard to walk away like this, you know that?”
you’re still smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “had to make it worth your while. even just for a little bit..”
he flinches.
just barely.
and you hate yourself for noticing it.
you step closer, pulling on your shirt from earlier, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “it’s okay, heeseung. this was never supposed to be more than a moment.”
he stands, towering over you now, eyes searching your face like he’s memorizing it.
"you don’t believe that."
"doesn’t matter what i believe. our jobs—us. won’t work. no matter how much the fans ship us."
he hesitates. like he wants to say something that would undo it all. that would make this feel like the beginning instead of the end.
his phone buzzes loudly in his hand again. you dont need to look to know who’s calling.
“see?” you press your lips into a sad, tight lipped smile. “duty calls.”
heeseung sighs, eyes filled with a million words that you could easily decipher as longing, regret, dispair.
there’s a weight on both of your shoulders that neither of you can name out loud. not at this moment. not when you both feel how viciously swept up the situations gotten the both of you.
you walk him to the door anyway.
because that’s what you do when someone doesn’t belong to you.
its the right thing to do.
you both knew this moment would come after your short lived fling.
and just before he leaves, he leans in and plants a kiss on your lips.
once. soft. slow.
like an apology that comes too late.
when he pulls away, his voice cracks just a little.
“sleep well, sweetheart.”
“goodnight, ace.” you add nothing else after that.
because that’s what this is.
a goodbye.
a moment.
a secret.
something that doesn’t exist outside these walls.
but god—you’ll remember it.
you sit on the edge of the bed after he’s gone, the scent of his cologne still clinging to your sheets.
you wonder if he’ll think of you when he wakes up tomorrow in another hotel room or when he’s back on stage with ten thousand voices screaming his name
you wonder if he’ll miss the way you whispered his name like a secret meant only for him.
most of all… you wonder if you’ll ever be able to touch someone else again without thinking of the way he said,
let me pretend you’re mine and i’m yours completely tonight…
and how, just for a night—
you let yourselves believe the illusion.
a secret only the two of you will remember and seal away for good.
yet… you will never forget the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing he’s had in years.
and maybe, for now… that’s enough.
[ e n d ]
chapter 2 << chapter 3 ( final )
m i k a🌷: god this was insane to write, i had to pace around a couple times before actually continuing. MY FREAKING HEART mELTED…. may or may not continue the story in a different series, depending on how well this does;)
if you’re looking forward to more stories like this in the future send me a message, ask, or private message me to be added to a main taglist to get notified of future works by me. i’ve got my masterlists pinned in my bio if you want to check more of my work out! (some links don’t work since i changed usernames… but if you seach “masterist” most of them pop up!)
