"Tuesday, 11:47am" - Song Eun-seok (송은석) x f!reader
He learned your routine in one week. It wasn't hard. You're a creature of habit, which he loves about you.
content warnings - This story includes stalking behavior, instances of violence. It contains explicit sexual content, including non-consensual and dubiously consensual situations, overstimulation and creampie, fingering, and clit slapping. Blood is mentioned. Reader discretion is strongly advised. (requested)
word count : 4.1k
an. I changed up the formatting a bit this time and hopefully it reads more smoothly. I also decided to try something a little different with the content warning, so let me know how it feels.
Eunseok noticed you before you noticed him. It was History of Modern Architecture, a Tuesday, 11:47 in the morning, and the professor asked some question about Frank Lloyd Wright that nobody wanted to answer because everyone was hungover or texting or whatever.
But you raised your hand. You raised it slowly, like you were scared, and when the professor called on you, your voice shook a little, but you got it right. And then you smiled.
This tiny, relieved smile, like you'd just passed a test you didn't study for. And Eunseok looked at that smile, and he felt something click into place inside his chest. Something that had been loose his whole life, finally, finally tight.
He learned your routine in one week. It wasn't hard. You're a creature of habit, which he loves about you. You go to class, you go to the library, you go to the café on 8th and Maple. The one where he works. The one where he makes your drink before you even order it because he knows oat milk latte, extra shot, one pump vanilla. You always look surprised when he hands it to you, like you can't believe someone remembered.
He tells himself he's only following you to make sure you're safe. That's reasonable. That's what anyone would do. The world is full of bad people, and you're so soft, so trusting, walking around with your headphones in and your head in the clouds. Someone has to watch out for you. Someone has to be there.
Today was like any other, at first. You wrapped up your last class of the week, and he watched you pack your bag, watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, watched you take your time the way you always do. But then you didn't. You looked at your phone, and your face changed to this little flicker of something, excitement maybe and suddenly you were shoving your books in your bag and heading for the door.
He had to push past three people to get out, knocked someone's coffee out of their hand, and didn't care. He caught up to you half a block later, kept his distance, followed you home. You rushed inside like you had somewhere to be, and he stood across the street and watched your window until the light came on. second floor, second from the left. He smiled. You were home. You were safe.
He was already turning to leave for his shift when your door opened again.
And there you were. Different. You'd changed into a dress, something dark blue, something that showed your shoulders, and you'd put on makeup, and your hair was down and shiny, and you looked like a dream. You looked like someone he didn't know. You looked like someone going somewhere he couldn't follow.
But he followed. Of course he followed.
You walked to the nice part of town, the part with the valet parking and the restaurants that don't have menus in the window. You went into one of them, all candlelight and white tablecloths, and he stood outside and watched you through the glass. He watched you walk to a table in the corner. He watched you smile at someone sitting there. A guy. Dark hair, nice jacket, the kind of face that probably never had to try.
He thought, okay. A friend. You're meeting a friend. That's fine. You're allowed to have friends. And then you leaned down and kissed him. Not on the cheek. On the mouth. A real kiss, the kind that means something, the kind that means everything.
Eunseok doesn't remember walking away. He just knows that suddenly he's on the other side of the street, and his hands are shaking, and there's this noise in his head, this high, thin whine, like a tea kettle about to scream. Because that guy in there, with his hand on your waist, with his mouth on yours and he doesn't know you.
He doesn't know that you bite your lip when you're thinking. He doesn't know that you trace shapes on tabletops when you're bored. He doesn't know that you leave your blinds open at night, just a crack, and that sometimes Eunseok stands on the fire escape and watches you read, watches you fall asleep, watches you turn over and mumble things in your sleep. He doesn't know any of that.
That guy is a stranger. And you kissed him like he wasn't.
Eunseok stands on the street corner, and he watches the restaurant, and he waits. He'll wait all night. He'll wait forever if he has to. Because eventually you'll come out, and you'll walk home, and you'll be alone again. And he'll be there. He'll always be there.
You don't know it yet, but you're his. You've been his since that Tuesday at 11:47. You just forgot to tell that guy. He'll help you remember.
Eunseok had a plan. A good one. He was going to meet you, finally meet you, in a way that felt natural. Like fate. Maybe you'd drop your books at the café, and he'd be there to pick them up. Maybe you'd order your usual and he'd say something funny about the weather, something charming, and you'd laugh that pretty laugh, and he'd say, hey, I get off in an hour, if you want to hang out.
And you'd say yes. Of course you'd say yes. Because you're supposed to be together. That's the whole point. But this stranger had to ruin everything.
Eunseok stood outside the restaurant, hands in his pockets, and watched you through the window. Watched you smile. Watched you eat. Watched you laugh at something that guy said, some stupid joke probably, and your head tipped back and your shoulders shook and Eunseok wanted to be the one making you do that.
He wanted to be sitting across from you, watching your eyes crinkle, watching you forget the rest of the world exists. Hours passed. He didn't move.
Finally you stood up. Paid. Left. And there you were, standing outside under the streetlight, looking up at the sky like a little kid. You pointed at something, a star, a planet, who cares and that guy smiled at you like he had any right to look at you that way. You checked your phone, said something, and then you both turned and started walking.
Down the street. Toward your building. Holding hands.
Eunseok followed. Of course he followed. He stayed behind a parked car across the street. His heart was hammering. You didn't notice him. You were too busy looking at that guy, smiling at that guy, your fingers tangled with his like they belonged there. Like they'd always belonged there.
And Eunseok looked at that guy's neck. Looked at the curve of it, the way it moved when he laughed. He thought about how easy it would be. How fast. One second, two seconds, and that guy would never touch you again.
You reached your building. You stopped at the door. And you smiled at him at that stranger, that nobody like you was in love. Like you were actually in love with him. And Eunseok felt something boil over inside him, something hot and ugly and red.
You kissed him. Not a long kiss, but long enough. Long enough to mean something. And then you said something, words Eunseok couldn't hear, and you walked up to your door. You turned around at the last second, and you blew a kiss. A flying kiss.
The stranger pretended to catch it and you laughed. That pretty sound. The one that belongs to Eunseok. The one he hears in his sleep. And then you went inside.
The door closed. The guy stood there for a minute, smiling like an idiot, then turned and walked away. Eunseok watched him go, watched his back get smaller and smaller. And he thought about how easy it would be. How fast. Next time.
He stayed there, behind the car, and looked up at your window. The light came on. second floor, second from the left. He saw your shadow move across the curtain. He imagined you taking off your dress, washing your face, climbing into bed.
He imagined you thinking about that guy, smiling about that guy, falling asleep with that guy's name in your head. He waited until your light went out. And then he waited some more.
Eunseok waited until the street was empty. Until the cars stopped passing, until the windows across the way went dark, until the world felt like it belonged to just him and you. Then he crossed the street.
Your door. He'd imagined touching this door a thousand times. Running his hands over the wood, pressing his ear against it, wondering what sounds lived on the other side. And now here he was. Here he actually was.
His hand traced the wood. Slow. Reverent. Like touching something holy. He smiled, because this was happening, this was really happening, and then he bent down. The mat. The ugly little mat with the flowers on it, the one you never remember to straighten.
He'd watched you lift it so many times, watched you crouch down and feel around for the key you always forgot, and he'd thought, someday. Someday I'll be the one reaching under that mat.
Today was someday.
The key glinted in the streetlight. Small. Ordinary. Everything. He picked it up, and his fingers closed around it, and he felt the warmth of it, the warmth of your hands on it, and he almost couldn't breathe. He put it in the lock. Turned. Heard the click. And then he was inside.
Your home. Your actual home. The air was different here softer, warmer, and there was a smell, that sweet smell, the one that clings to your clothes and your hair and the back of your neck. He stood in the dark hallway and just breathed it in. Let it fill his lungs. Let it become part of him.
He gave himself a little tour. Why not? It's his home too, eventually. He walked through the archway into the living room. Cozy. That's the word. You made it cozy, with the soft blankets and the candles you never burn and the books stacked on the floor because you don't have enough shelves.
He sat on your couch. Your couch. He could feel the dent where you sit, the way the cushion gives a little more on one side. He closed his eyes and imagined you there, curled up, reading, maybe wearing those soft socks with the patterns on them. And then he opened his eyes and saw the picture.
On the center table. Right there, like you wanted him to see it. You and that guy. That stranger. Your faces pressed together, smiling, happy, like you belonged to each other. Like you'd always belonged to each other.
Eunseok picked up the frame, held it in both hands. Looked at your face first, your pretty, pretty face and then looked at the guys. That stupid smile. That stupid jacket. That stupid hand on your shoulder like he had any right.
He ripped open the back of the frame. The little metal tabs cut his thumb, but he didn't feel it. He pulled the picture out and tore it right down the middle. Your half. Guys half. He dropped his part on the floor, let it fall like trash, because that's what it was.
And the other half, your half, your beautiful half he folded carefully and slid into his pocket. Right over his heart. Then he stood up. There was more. There was always more.
He made his way up the stairs, slow, savoring. His hand traced the railing, and he imagined your hand doing the same thing every day. Your palm on this wood. Your fingers curling around it. He wondered if you ran up when you were excited or trudged up when you were tired.
He wondered about everything. The top of the stairs. A hallway. Two doors. One open, the bathroom, he could see the edge of the shower curtain. One closed. Your bedroom.
He put his hand on the knob. Cold metal. Perfect. And he thought about how easy it would be. How fast. One twist, and he could be inside. He could lie on your bed. He could put his face in your pillow. He could wait for you to come home, and when you walked in, when you saw him there, you'd understand.
You'd finally understand that this is where you belong. With him. Together. He didn't open the door. Not yet. But his hand stayed on the knob. And he smiled. Because he could. That's the thing. He could do it whenever he wants. Tonight. Tomorrow. Any night.
Eunseok pushed the door open, and there you were. There you actually were.
In all your glory. Sleeping. Pretty. So pretty it made his chest hurt. The light from the window spilled a little light across your bed, just enough to see, just enough to drink you in. You were on your side, the sheet pooled at your waist, and your top half..god, your top half was covered by this little tank top, something small and soft, with a tiny bow right in the center.
Right between your breasts. The swell of them moved with your breathing, slow and steady, like waves. Like you were dreaming something nice. Something peaceful.
Your skin. He'd imagined your skin a thousand times. Imagine what it would feel like, what it would taste like, whether you'd be warm or cool to the touch. And now here you are. Here he was. He sat down on the edge of your bed and the mattress dipped, just a little.
He reached out. He couldn't help it. His fingers found your neck, that soft curve where your pulse lived, and he traced it. Light. Gentle. Like you were made of glass. Like you were made for him.
He was so caught up…so lost in the feel of you, the warmth of you, the impossible reality of finally touching you that he didn't notice at first. Didn't notice that your breathing changed. Didn't notice that your eyes were open. And then he looked up. And you were looking at him.
Wide eyes. Huge eyes. The kind of eyes that see a stranger in their bedroom in the middle of the night. The kind of eyes that don't understand yet. "Hey babe," he said, and his voice came out soft, gentle, the way you talk to something frightened. "I missed you." You blinked. Your mouth opened. Closed. It opened again.
"Who are you?"
The words hit him like a slap. Who are you? Like he was nobody. Like he was nothing. Like you didn't know that he's the one who makes your coffee every morning, the one who watches you walk home every night, the one who's been loving you since that Tuesday at 11:47.
"It's me," he said, and he tried to smile, trying to make it okay. "It's Eunseok." You pushed his hand away. Actually pushed it. Like he was garbage. Like he was a stranger. "Get out." Your voice was small but sharp. "Get out now, and I won't call the police." Police. The word hung in the air between you, ugly and wrong. Police. Like this was a crime. Like love was a crime.
Eunseok tilted his head. Frowned. You were confused, that was all. Still sleepy. Still not understanding. "Calm down, love," he said, and he reached for your face again, wanting to smooth the fear away, wanting to make you see. "You're probably still sleepy. Just—"
You slapped his hand. Actually slapped it. The sound cracked through the room, sharp and disrespectful. And Eunseok felt something shift. Something went hot and tight in his chest.
He reached for you again to grab you, to hold you, to make you understand and your fist connected with his nose. A punch. You punched him. Pain exploded across his face, hot and wet, and his head snapped back and he let go, hands flying to his nose, blood dripping through his fingers.
And when he looked at you again, everything was red.
He grabbed you by the hair. Handful of it, yanking, and you screamed, the kind that should wake the neighbors but he didn't care. He pulled you off the bed, dragged you across the floor, and you landed hard, the impact punching the air out of you.
He stood over you, breathing hard, blood still dripping, and he heard himself yelling but the words didn't matter. What mattered was that you did this. You made it ugly. You made it violent. This could've been sweet. This could've been beautiful. But you had to be such a noisy bitch.
You scrambled up. Ran for the door. Fast, faster than he expected, but not fast enough. He caught you, grabbed you, slammed you into the wall. Your body hit hard, and he was on you, pressing against you, trapping you there with his weight and his heat and his anger. And then you stopped moving.
You went still. Completely still. And he knew why. Because you could feel him. Pressing into you from behind. Hard and ready and so desperate for you it hurts.
"You feel what you do to me?" he murmured, and his voice was soft again now, almost wondering. His nose nestled into your hair, breathing in. Roses. Sweet roses. Your shampoo. He'd smelled it a hundred times from across the café, but this…this was different. This was everywhere. This was everything.
"Eunseok… please get off me." Your voice was shaking. Begging. You turned your neck, trying to look at him, trying to reach him with your eyes. He smiled. "No, love." The words came out whiny. Needy. The way a child asks for something they want more than anything in the world.
"I need you. I need this." His hand slid around your body, down your stomach, lower, lower, until he found you. And when he did when he felt how wet you were, how ready he smiled against your hair. "And it seems you want this too."
You tried to squirm away, but he was faster. His hand grabbed the hem of your shorts, yanked them down, and they fell to the floor with your underwear, pooling around your ankles. His hand came back, found you again, and his fingers started moving. Circles. Slow at first. Teasing. Exploring. Your breath hitched. You couldn't help it. He heard it, felt it, and he smiled.
The other hand wrapped around your waist, pressing you harder into the wall, holding you steady while his fingers worked. Circles, then deeper, then a finger pushing inside. Slow. So slow. He wanted you to feel every second of it. Every inch. You groaned. Tried to hide it. Failed.
"Please," you whispered. "Please stop." But you were tight around him, and when he felt you clench, he sped up. Faster. Harder. Matching the rhythm of his own breathing, his own need. "You gonna come, love?" he whispered against your ear. "This pussy gonna come?"
You didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Your body was betraying you, arching into his hand, chasing something you didn't want to want. And when you came..when you finally shattered against his fingers, body lurching forward, a sound escaping your throat that wasn't quite a scream, he smiled. He pulled out slowly. Let you feel the emptiness. And then he tapped your clit. Lightly. Once. Twice. Three times.
You flinched with every tap. Every flinch made him laugh. "See?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. "I knew you'd understand eventually. I knew you'd feel it too."
He pulled back and turned you around just enough to look at you. To see your face. Your tears. Your fear. And he smiled, soft and sweet, like this was exactly what he'd always wanted. “Fuck” he said looking at you.
He pushed you into the wall. Not hard, not mean, just firm. The way you push someone when you need them to understand something important. The wall shook a little but you didn't notice. You never notice anything. That's okay. He notices enough for both of you.
He kissed you like a hungry man. Like a man who'd been starving his whole life and finally, finally got to eat. His mouth on yours, taking, taking, because you'd been holding out on him and he deserved this. He deserved you.
His free hand, the one not gripping your waist, not holding you in place that hand went to his pants. Unbuttoned. Unzipped. Pulled himself out because he needed you to feel him, needed you to know what you did to him.
He stroked himself while he kissed down your neck, slow, savoring, and then he found that spot, that perfect spot right below your ear, and he sucked. Hard. He was going to leave a mark. A big one. The kind that takes days to fade. The kind that makes people look and wonder and know. Know that you belong to someone. Know that you belong to him.
He grabbed your legs and you yelped, that little sound, that perfect little surprised sound and your hands flew to his neck, holding on, and your legs wrapped around his waist like they were made to be there. Like they'd always been waiting for this moment. He used one hand to reach under you, position himself, line up, and then he pushed in. The sound you made. God. The sound you made.
He smiled. He couldn't help it. Because you felt like home. You felt like everything. He started fucking into you, hard and fast and desperate, because he'd waited so long and he couldn't wait anymore.
"Oh god," he said. "Fuck….Lord…" His voice came out whiny, high, like he was the one being taken apart. "Shit…Fuck….Oh god." He pressed his face into your neck, breathed you in. "God, baby, you feel so good. You feel so fucking good."
He lifted you a little, adjusted his grip, held you by the underside of your thighs so he could look at you. Really look at you. And there you were. Your face, that beautiful face, was completely wrecked. Mouth open, little breaths puffing out, eyes half-closed, gone. You were gone. You were his.
He smiled again and walked to the bed. Dropped both of you down, never pulling out, never stopping, just kept moving inside you because he couldn't not. Because stopping would be like stopping breathing.
Your hands let go of his neck, fell above your head, and he looked at you. Your body on his bed..your bed, laid out like an offering. Pornographic. Perfect. He was close. So close. But he wanted to hold out. He wanted to make this last.
"Baby," he chanted. "Baby, baby, baby." "Eunseok," you whispered. "Eunseok." Soft. Like a prayer. He loved the way his name sounded in your mouth. Loved it.
"You close, baby?" he asked, and his voice was sweet, so sweet, like he was asking if you wanted more cream in your coffee. "You about to come on my cock, huh, baby? You gonna do that for me?" He reached down and found your clit. Red and puffy.
He started rubbing, slow circles at first, then faster, because he knew what you needed even if you didn't. Your hand came up, tried to push him away. "Too much," you begged. "Too much, too sensitive—"
But Eunseok didn't care. He grabbed your wrist, pinned it down, and used his other hand to keep rubbing. He pushed into you harder, faster, and set a rhythm that left no room for argument. His thumb worked your clit at a ridiculous speed, merciless, because mercy was for people who didn't understand what this was.
"Too sensitive," you begged again, and your voice broke, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. "Come on this cock, baby," he said, and he knew that didn't make sense, but nothing made sense anymore except you. "It's yours. It's always been yours. So make it yours. Come. Come for me, baby."
"Shit," he gasped. "I'm cumming. I'm—" And he did. He came inside you hard, painted your walls, filled you up, and some spilled out, leaked onto the sheets, and he kept moving, kept going, because you weren't there yet, you weren't..
And then you were. Seconds later. Your body spasming around him, pulling him deeper, and he felt every pulse, every clench, every tiny movement you made. He stayed inside you after. Didn't want to leave. Didn't want to ever leave.
When he finally pulled out, he laid next to you. Your fucked-out body, limp and spent and perfect. He turned to look at you. Smiled. Reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, the way he'd imagined doing a thousand times.
"Now," he said, soft and sweet, like this was normal, like this was how people said hello. "Let's try this again. Hi, babe. I missed you."
