𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 ; lhs
pairing; bad boy!heeseung × good girl!reader
genre; church au, opposites attract, forbidden crush, slow burn, smut with fluff
warnings; religious themes, purity culture pressure, power imbalance (bad boy/good girl dynamic), oral sex, blowing, heavy sexual tension, guilt + yearning
authors note; you asked for it! pt 2 up <3 read pt1 here playlist link is here ♡
files marked: tender;
The sun didn't rise the next morning; it intruded.
It bled through your white lace curtains in sharp, unforgiving slats of gold, stinging your eyes and forcing you awake. For a split second, you were back at the quarry. You could still feel the cold metal of the motorcycle tank against your thighs and the rough, grounding weight of Heeseung’s hands. But then, the chime of the grandfather clock in the hallway struck seven, and the reality of Sunday morning crashed down on you like a physical weight.
You were back in the cage.
You sat up slowly, your body aching in places you hadn't known existed. Your skin felt sensitized, the silk of your nightgown scratching against your collarbone where Heeseung had left a faint, blossoming bruise. You rushed to your vanity mirror, heart hammering. It was there—a small, plum-colored mark just above your collarbone. A brand.
“Ruin me,” you had whispered. And he did.
A sharp knock at the door made you jump so hard you nearly knocked over your perfume bottles.
"Time to wake up, sunshine," your mother’s voice trilled from the other side. It was her "Public Speaker" voice—bright, rehearsed, and utterly devoid of room for argument. "The Lees are coming over for a pre-service breakfast in an hour. Your father wants us all in the dining room by eight sharp. Wear the blue floral, dear. It makes you look so dependable."
Dependable. The word felt like a joke.
"I'll be down in a minute, Mom," you called back, your voice sounding raspy and foreign to your own ears.
You scrambled to your closet, pulling out the blue dress. It was a stifling garment—high-necked, long-sleeved, designed to hide everything. Today, you were grateful for it. You spent twenty minutes applying heavy concealer to the mark on your neck, your hands shaking so badly you had to start over twice.
By the time you walked down the stairs, the house already smelled of expensive coffee and your father’s heavy cologne. The dining room was a sea of white linen and polished silver. Your father sat at the head of the table, his Bible open next to his plate, his face set in a mask of stoic righteousness.
And then, there they were. The Lees.
Mr. and Mrs. Lee sat to your father’s right, looking every bit the pillars of the community. And sitting directly across from your empty chair was Heeseung.
He looked different in the morning light. He had traded the leather jacket for a black button-down shirt, though he had left the top two buttons undone, defying the formality of the room. He looked bored, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee, until the moment you pulled out your chair.
His gaze snapped to yours.
It wasn't a casual look. It was a heavy, deliberate scan that traveled from your eyes down to the high collar of your dress, searching for the marks he knew he’d left. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew. He knew exactly what you were hiding under that blue floral print.
"Good morning, y/n," Mrs. Lee said, beaming at you. "You look a little tired, dear. Did you stay up late studying?"
You felt the heat rush to your cheeks. "I... I had a bit of trouble sleeping," you managed to say, sliding into your seat.
"The devil finds work for idle minds at night," your father remarked without looking up from his scriptures. "Perhaps we should add a few extra psalms to your evening routine."
Heeseung let out a low, dry cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "I don't think psalms are what she was thinking about, Pastor."
The table went silent. Your father looked up, his eyes narrowing as he fixed Heeseung with a cold stare. Mr. Lee shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Heeseung," his father warned, his voice tight.
Heeseung just shrugged, taking a slow sip of his coffee while his eyes stayed locked on yours. "Just saying. It was a restless night for everyone. The moon was bright. Hard to stay inside on a night like that, right, y/n?"
He was playing with fire. He was taunting you in front of the two men who held your entire world in their hands. You felt a bead of sweat roll down your spine.
"The moon was beautiful," you whispered, gripping your fork until your knuckles turned white.
"Enough talk," your mother intervened, her smile tight and professional. "We have a big day ahead. The sanctuary is going to be packed, and we need to show the congregation what a unified, godly family looks like."
The rest of breakfast was a blur of talk about church budgets and upcoming sermons. You couldn't eat. Every time you moved, you felt the phantom sensation of Heeseung’s fingers. Every time you looked up, he was there—watching the way you breathed, watching the way you flinched when your father spoke.
As the families rose to head to the church, Heeseung managed to catch you in the narrow hallway. Your parents were already out the front door, and his parents were trailing behind. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he pinned you against the mahogany panelling. The smell of him—tobacco and that dark, metallic cologne—instantly transported you back to the quarry.
"Nice dress," he rasped, his voice a low vibration near your ear. "But we both know it’s too much clothes for you."
"Heeseung, stop," you hissed, looking frantically toward the door. "They’ll see you."
"Let them see," he challenged, his eyes dark and defiant. He reached out, his thumb catching the edge of your high collar, pulling it down just a fraction of an inch to reveal the edge of the concealer. "You missed a spot, little saint."
Before you could pull away, he leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. "See you in the back row. Try not to moan during the opening prayer."
He stepped back and walked out the door before you could find your breath, leaving you standing in the hallway of your father’s house, trembling and utterly terrified of the hour to come.
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The Hillcrest Sanctuary was a cathedral of judgment. As the choir began the song, you stood in your usual place, your voice joining the harmony, but your mind was miles away. The benches were packed with people who looked at you as a beacon of purity, a girl who represented everything 'right' with their town.
And then, you saw him.
Heeseung didn't sit with his parents in the front. He stood in the very back, leaning against the stone pillar by the doors, his arms crossed over his chest. He was the only person in the room not holding the book. He was the only person not singing.
Your father stepped to the stage. The sermon was on The Snares of the Flesh.
"There are those among us," your father’s voice thundered, echoing off the rafters, "who believe they can walk in the dark and still claim the light. Who believe that their secrets are hidden from the eyes of the Lord."
You felt like the walls were closing in. You kept your eyes fixed on the wooden podium, but you could feel Heeseung’s gaze like a physical touch. He wasn't looking at your father. He was looking at you.
As the sermon grew more intense, your father began to speak about the 'fall of the righteous.' You felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt, mixed with a terrifying thrill. You looked back, just for a second. Heeseung was watching you, a cynical smirk playing on his lips. He raised his hand, slowly tracing his index finger over his own bottom lip—a direct reference to the way he had tasted you at the quarry.
Your breath hitched. You missed your cue for the choir response. Your mother, sitting in the front bench, cast a sharp, questioning glance over her shoulder. The service felt like an eternity. When the final blessing was given, the congregation began to mingle, a sea of handshakes and forced smiles. You tried to slip away, but a hand caught your elbow.
It wasn't Heeseung. It was your father.
"You were distracted today, y/n," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Your mother noticed it. The Lees noticed it."
"I'm just tired, Dad," you lied, the words feeling heavier than ever.
"Tiredness is a weakness the enemy exploits," he replied, his grip on your arm tightening. "I want you to spend the afternoon in the study. No phone. No distractions. Just reflection."
He let go of your arm and turned to greet a parishioner, leaving you standing there. As you moved toward the exit, you saw Heeseung watching the exchange from across the room. He didn't look mocking anymore. He looked angry. He watched your father move away, and then his eyes met yours.
He didn't say a word. He just tilted his head toward the side parking lot.
You knew you shouldn't go. You knew you were supposed to go to the study and 'reflect.' But as you looked at the stained glass and the polished wood of the sanctuary, it felt like a tomb. You turned and walked toward the side exit, leaving the 'good girl' behind in the benches.
The gravel of the side parking lot was scorching under the midday sun, the heat waves shimmering over the hoods of the pristine SUVs belonging to the town’s elite. You walked with your head down, the heavy lace of your sleeves itching against your skin. You felt like a criminal escaping a crime scene, every step away from the sanctuary doors feeling like a step closer to a ledge.
Heeseung was waiting by his bike, parked far away from the deacons' designated spots. He was leaning against the brick wall of the education wing, a shadow in the blinding light. As you approached, he pushed off the wall, his eyes scanning your face with a fierce, protective hunger.
"Your old man has a hell of a grip," he rasped, his voice cutting through the distant sound of the congregation’s chatter. "I saw the way he grabbed you. He thinks he owns you because he gave you a name and a prayer book."
"He's just... he’s worried about me," you whispered, though the words felt hollow even to you.
"He's worried about his image," Heeseung corrected, stepping into your space. He smelled like sun-warmed leather and the lingering scent of that morning's coffee. He reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric over your elbow where your father had held you. "He doesn't know you. Not the way I do now."
"Heeseung, I have to go," you said, glancing back at the church. "He told me to go to the study. I have to reflect. I have to be the person they expect me to be."
Heeseung let out a low, dark laugh. "Reflect on what? On how good it felt to scream my name in the dirt? Or on how much you hate that blue dress?" He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing yours. "You aren't going to that study to pray, y/n. You’re going there to hide. And I'm not going to let you."
"What are you saying?"
"Go home," he commanded, his eyes turning to flint. "Go to your 'reflection.' But don't lock your window. If you're going to be a prisoner, at least have the decency to let the devil in."
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The pastor’s study was a room made of mahogany and judgment. It was lined with leather-bound books that smelled of dust and ancient rules. You sat at the heavy desk, a Bible open to the Book of Lamentations, but the words blurred on the page. Your skin felt like it was humming, the memory of the quarry still pulsing in your veins.
The house was silent. Your parents were at a luncheon, leaving you in the care of the 'holy' atmosphere. You looked at the clock. Two in the afternoon. The heat was stifling, the air conditioning doing nothing to cool the fever under your skin.
A faint scratching sound came from the window behind you.
Your heart stopped. You turned slowly. The window was a heavy, double-paned glass that overlooked the back garden. And there, standing on the trellis that led up from the rose bushes, was Heeseung.
He looked like a vision of everything you were supposed to fear. He climbed through the frame with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times, dropping onto the carpeted floor with a soft thud. He didn't say a word. He just stood there, looking at you in the high-backed chair, surrounded by your father’s books.
"You really are a little saint in a cage," he murmured, walking toward the desk. He picked up a heavy glass paperweight, turning it over in his long, slender fingers. "Does he think the walls keep the bad thoughts out? Or does he just want to make sure no one else sees them?"
"You shouldn't be here," you breathed, rising from the chair. "If they come home—"
"They won't be home for hours," Heeseung said, setting the paperweight down with a sharp clack. He walked around the desk, backing you up against the wall of books. "And besides, I think we have some 'reflecting' to do together."
He reached out, his hands sliding into your hair, forcing you to look at him. The intensity in his eyes was staggering. "I couldn't stop thinking about it. In that church. Watching you sing those hymns while my spit was still drying on your skin. You were so good, y/n So perfect for everyone else. But you belong to me now."
"Heeseung—"
"Say it," he rasped, his lips hovering over yours. "Tell me you were thinking about it too. Tell me you want me to finish what we started."
"I- I was," you confessed, the words a broken sob. "I couldn't hear the sermon. I just.. just heard your voice."
Heeseung’s expression shifted from arrogance to something much darker, much more primal. He didn't waste another second. He grabbed the front of your dress, his fingers tangling in the high collar, and with a sudden, forceful tug, he popped the top three buttons.
The sound of the plastic hitting the floor was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
"There," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the mark on your neck. "Now I can see you."
He didn't wait for your shyness to return. He hoisted you up onto your father’s mahogany desk, clearing the Bible and the notebooks with a sweep of his arm. The wood was cold against your legs, but Heeseung was a furnace. He stepped between your thighs, his hands gripping your waist with a bruising strength.
"This is where he studies, right?" Heeseung asked, a dark, mocking smirk on his lips. "Where he writes about the sins of the world?"
"Hee- heeseung, please..."
"Please what, baby?" He leaned down, his tongue flicking over the bruise on your neck. "Please stop? Or please show you exactly why I’m the bad boy they’re all so afraid of?"
He reached down, his fingers finding the hem of your skirt. He didn't ask this time. He pushed the fabric up to your waist, exposing you to the dim light of the study. He saw that you weren't wearing the lace panties from the night before; you were wearing nothing at all, just as he had left you.
"You're such a good girl," he growled, his voice thick and honey-dark. "My good girl. You listened to me."
He knelt down on the floor, his head disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. You gripped the edge of the desk, your head falling back against the bookshelves. The smell of old paper and tobacco swirled around you as Heeseung’s mouth found you.
He was relentless. He used his tongue like a weapon, tracing the lines of your body with a hunger that felt like it would consume you both. He didn't care about the rules of the house or the sanctity of the room. He was reclaiming you, marking you in the heart of the place that tried to keep you pure.
"Heeseung!" you gasped, your voice echoing off the mahogany walls.
"Shh," he whispered, pulling back for a second to look up at you. His face was flushed, his lips glossy. "Don't want the neighbors to hear the pastor’s daughter finally finding her voice, do we?"
You didn't know what to do but open your legs wider. He hums against your skin and went in closer. You felt his tongue flat against your entrance. Licking up all the juices you have been gathering since the morning. "So sweet for me, my little saint." "Mmmph, Hee- please."
That was all he needed. His little saint wanting more. His dirty little saint wanting nothing but him. He stood up, eyes level with you catching your lips into a deep kiss. Catching you by surprise as he slid two fingers into you, his rhythm faster and more demanding than it had been at the quarry. He was pushing you, testing the limits of your surrender. You leaned back, head falling, knuckles turning white as Heeseung lips fall onto your neck covering your purple marks from yesterday with more. All you could feel was his slender fingers and you can't help but let go of moans escaping your lips. With his left hand holding you in place and his other doing wonders to your pussy, you couldn't help but feel a tight feeling in your stomach.
You felt the orgasm building, a tidal wave of heat that threatened to shatter the silence of the house.
"Do it," he commanded, his fingers curling deep inside you. "Come for me right here on his desk. Show me who you really pray to." It was like he already knew, studied you. Studied you for hours, days, weeks, and years. "Let go baby. Show me how I make you feel."
"Hee...I'm close...ungh."
"Oh my- I'm gunna...Hee..." you whined. You bit down on your finger not wanting anyone, even God, to know how Heeseung has you right now. Propped up on your father's desk with his fingers deep into you, his lips against your skin with the biggest smirk on his face. That was it. His pupils blown, sweat beads forming against his hair, slender fingers disappearing into you...all in your father's study. That was what threw you over the edge.
The world exploded in a blur of gold light and dark shadows. You screamed into his shoulder as the climax hit you, your body spasming against the wood. Heeseung held you through it, his hands anchoring you to the earth while your soul felt like it was finally, truly free.
When it was over, he pulled you down from the desk, holding you against his chest as you both caught your breath. The study felt different now. The books didn't look like judgments anymore; they just looked like paper.
"You're not going back," Heeseung whispered into your hair, his voice fierce. "I don't care what they say. I don't care about the scholarship or the reputation. You're mine, y/n. My little Saint. And I'm taking you with me."
The sounds of your heavy panting filled the room as your chest heaved. Heeseung was looming over you, his eyes dark with a triumphant sort of hunger, waiting for you to shrink back, waiting for you to be the shy girl who apologized for existing.
But something in you had snapped at the quarry. The "good girl" had been buried under the limestone, and the person left behind was tired of being a spectator in her own life.
You looked at the heavy mahogany door, knowing your parents could be back at any moment, and then you looked at Heeseung. You reached out, your fingers trembling not with fear, but with a sudden, desperate resolve. You grabbed the hem of his black button-down, tugging him closer until your chests were brushing.
"Heeseung," you whispered, your voice steadier than it had been all morning. "Stop treating me like a porcelain doll. I don't want to just watch you do things to me."
Heeseung’s eyebrows shot up, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his sharp features. He let out a low, breathy chuckle. "Oh yeah? And what does the little saint want to do? Tell me and I'll show you all the things you can do to make me fall apart."
"I-I want to..." you said, your face heating up, but you looked away. His fingers grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. "To what my love." "I want to help you too..."
You pushed yourself off the desk and dropped to your knees on the plush carpet of your father’s study, the position feeling both sacrilegious and exactly right. You looked up at him through your lashes, your heart thudding against your ribs like a drum. "I want you to teach me."
Heeseung froze. His hands, which had been reaching to pull you back up, stayed suspended in mid-air. "Teach you what, y/n?"
"How to... how to suck you..." You reached for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the leather. "I want to know how to make you make those noises. The ones you made at the quarry."
Heeseung let out a choked sound, a mix of a groan and a laugh. He stepped back, his legs hitting the edge of the desk. "You have no idea what you’re asking for little one."
"I'm not her right now," you countered, finally getting his belt loose. You gently tugged the waistband of his jeans and boxers down, and his cock slapped against his toned lower abdomen once it was freed. It was already hard, the tip red and dripping, the vein running along the bottom of his shaft pulsing slightly.
Heeseung’s head hit the back of the bookshelf with a soft thud. He squeezed his eyes shut, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the desk. "God, you're going to be the death of me."
"Wow, Hee-…” You whispered, the sight of him in the dim light of the study making your pulse race. You gently took his cock in your hands. “You have a really pretty dick.”
You leaned forward and pressed a shy kiss to the tip of it. Heeseung let out a loud, pained moan that made you jump. "Don't... don't be sweet about it," he rasped, his eyes opening to reveal a gaze that was completely unraveled. "I can't help it if I go rough on you..."
You looked up at him, a bit lost. "I don't... I don't know how. Teach me, Heeseung. Tell me what feels good."
His expression softened for a fraction of a second, his "bad boy" mask slipping to show the lovesick boy underneath. He reached down, his fingers tangling in your hair to guide your head forward.
"Start with your tongue," he whispered, his voice thick and strained. "Just like how you kiss me. Flick it over the underside... yeah, right there."
You followed his direction, letting a glob of saliva drip onto his cock. It landed on his tip and then slid down his length, pooling at his balls.
"Ahh...," he choked out, his knees buckling slightly. He sat back on the edge of the desk, his arms giving out as he watched you.
“Is this okay?” You asked, your shyness resonating up towards him, making his dick become even harder. You began to gently jerk your spit into his cock, watching the way the friction made his breath catch.
“S-so good,” he breathed.
You took his tip into your mouth, trying to remember the rhythm. He moaned—truly moaned—the sound echoing off the rows of theology books. It was loud and pretty, a sound of pure surrender.
“Don’t you dare stop,” he commanded, his hand tightening in your hair, but not to pull you away—to hold you there. “my little saint, on her knees hungry for me” he groaned.
You took him deeper, your throat tightening around his length. He let out a loud moan, his pretty eyelashes fluttering shut. His whole body was shaking and he whimpered again as he subconsciously rolled his hips into your mouth. With his hand in your hair, he slight pushed you down even further. You gagged slightly, and he immediately tensed up, groans, moans, and profanity leaving his mouth.
“I-I- Oh my saint you are killing me! You're going to make me cum, it just felt so goo— O-oh…”
You pulled his dick out of your mouth with a pop “C-can you cum in my mouth?” You jerked your hand over his tip while you tongued at his base.
“Fu-fuck yes my saint. That f—” His head hit the bookshelf again, a couple of prayer books rattling. “That f-feels so...”
You smiled, playfully tracing your middle finger around his slit to smear his precum around. You looked up at him as you pressed more kisses up his shaft.
“Oh my god…” he whined. His eyebrows knit together and his lips stayed parted as he looked down at you. You hummed and spit on his cock again, jerking his tip as he seemed to like so much. “Use your lips my saint...”
He let out something between a whine and a moan as you took him in your mouth again, slowly jerking his base while your tongue worked over his tip.
“Oh god,” he whined, his knuckles white from gripping the mahogany desk so hard. “W-wait, gonna—”
He pulled your hair tighter forcing you down further his dick. Pulling on your hair so that you also make eye-contact with him. "Want me to fill your pretty mouth with my cum?"
You wish you could've nodded but with your head fully in control by Heeseung all you do is moan sending chills down his dick. You felt tears forming in your eyes as you heard your gags around his dick. "Fu-fuck..." He pulled your mouth off of him and you craved the feeling of him. You looked at him with the biggest doe eyes through your lashes, and Heeseung swear that could have made him fuck you right there and then.
Pumping his base with his hand, Heeseung let out the prettiest moan he’d made all night when he came. His hand unleashed your hair and opened your mouth with his thumb on your chin. "Open up for me." You did. Tongue out waiting for his cum like a little saint you are. You could see his eyebrows furrowing, mouth agape wondering how pretty he was in the light. Still pumping his own dick, catching his high, he aligned his dick to your open mouth, keeping the underside of dick on your tongue. He came hard and you swallowed every last drop of cum he pumped into your mouth right there in the center of your father's sanctum.
Once he caught his breath, he looked down at you, his eyes glassy and wide. “Oh my saint...you even swallowed? Who knew you had such talents.”
You wiped the corners of your mouth with your thumb, looking up at him with a defiant, satisfied smile. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” he said with a smirk.
He reached down, pulling you in to kiss you. Tasting himself on your tongue in the middle of that study was the ultimate sin, and the ultimate thrill. He looked at you as he stood up, his thumb tracing your jaw.
"You're not the shy girl anymore," he whispered. "You're a goddamn masterpiece."
The silence of the study was thick, a heavy, velvet curtain that had dropped around the two of you. Heeseung was still leaning back against the mahogany desk, his chest heaving, his eyes fixed on you with a look of pure, unadulterated awe. You were still on your knees, the lace of your blue dress bunched around your thighs, the taste of him lingering on your lips like a forbidden sacrament.
For a heartbeat, the world was perfect. The "good girl" was dead, instead a heat of sins radiating through you.
Then, the heavy oak front door of the house groaned open.
The sound was like a gunshot. The rhythmic, confident click-clack of your mother’s heels on the hardwood foyer floor echoed through the house, followed by the deep, resonant murmur of your father’s voice. They were home. Two hours early.
"Heeseung," you hissed, the blood draining from your face so fast your head spun.
Heeseung snapped into action with the precision of someone who lived his life on the edge of trouble. He didn't panic; his eyes went sharp, his jaw setting. He reached down, pulling his jeans up and buckling his belt in one fluid motion while you scrambled to your feet, your fingers fumbling fruitlessly with the popped buttons of your dress.
"The window," he whispered, gesturing toward the right.
"The books!" you gasped, looking at the floor. Several leather-bound hymnals and a copy of The Path to Purity were scattered across the Persian rug where you’d swept them off the desk. Your father’s Bible lay facedown near Heeseung’s boots.
" y/n? Are you in there, dear?" your mother’s voice called out, getting closer. Her footsteps stopped right outside the heavy study door.
Heeseung didn't have time to make it to the window. He looked at the door, then at the small, narrow alcove behind the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves—a space meant for a ladder, but just deep enough for a shadow. He dived into it, pressing himself against the cold wood just as the brass handle of the study door turned.
You barely had time to throw yourself into the high-backed leather chair, pulling your cardigan tight over your chest to hide the missing buttons. You grabbed the nearest book—ironically, a text on Moral Fortitude—and stared at it with wide, unseeing eyes.
The door swung open.
Your father walked in first, his suit jacket already off, his tie loosened. He stopped short, his eyes scanning the room. Your mother followed, her eyes immediately dropping to the floor.
"What on earth happened here?" she asked, her voice sharp with confusion. She stepped forward, picking up the fallen Bible. "The books... y/n, why is the study in such disarray?"
"I... I was looking for a specific reference," you stammered, your voice trembling. You didn't dare look toward the bookshelf where Heeseung was hiding. You could feel his presence, a dark pulse in the corner of the room. "I tripped against the desk. I'm sorry, Dad. I'll clean it up."
Your father didn't move. He walked slowly toward the desk, his eyes fixed on your face. He was a man trained to sniff out guilt, a man who spent his life looking for the cracks in people's souls. He stopped right in front of you, leaning down until he was at eye level.
"You're flushed," he noted, his voice a low, terrifying calm. "And your hair... it's a mess."
"The window was open," you lied, the words tasting like copper. "The wind... it was blowing through."
Your mother walked over to the window, her brow furrowed. "The screen is unlatched. And the roses are crushed." She turned back, her eyes narrowing as they swept over the room. "Thomas, something isn't right."
Your father’s gaze shifted from your face to the desk. He reached out, his hand hovering over the mahogany surface. He went still.
Heeseung’s heat was still there. The wood was still warm from where he had pressed you against it. And there, right next to your father’s inkwell, was a single, dark drop of moisture that hadn't yet evaporated.
Your father touched it with his index finger. He brought it to his nose, his expression turning from suspicion to a cold, white-hot rage. He knew that smell. It wasn't incense. It wasn't floor wax. It was the smell of the world he tried so hard to keep out of his house.
"Out," he whispered.
"Thomas?" your mother asked, startled.
"Get out of the room, Evelyn," your father commanded, his voice growing in volume until it vibrated in the small space. "And take y/n with you."
"Dad, I—"
"OUT!" he roared, slamming his fist onto the desk.
You scrambled out of the chair, your mother grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the door. You glanced back one last time, your heart breaking. Your father wasn't looking at you anymore. He was looking directly at the shadow behind the bookshelf.
He knew.
As the door slammed shut behind you, you heard your father’s voice, low and deadly. "You can come out now, Lee. I know you're in there."
The silence that followed was the loudest thing you’d ever heard. Then, the sound of Heeseung’s boots on the carpet—heavy, defiant, and completely unafraid.
"Took you long enough, Pastor," Heeseung’s voice rasped, sounding louder and more dangerous than you’d ever heard it. "I was wondering when you’d stop looking at the books and start looking at what’s right in front of you."
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The hallway was cold, the air-conditioning humming like a distant warning as your mother’s fingers dug into your arm. She was vibrating with a mixture of social panic and maternal fury, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm as she marched you away from the study door.
"What have you done?" she hissed, her voice a jagged whisper. "The deacons, the board, the reputation we’ve built for twenty years... if there is a boy in that room, y/n—"
She stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway, the harsh overhead light catching the collar of your dress. In your scramble to cover yourself, the fabric had shifted.
"Your dress," she breathed, her face turning a ghostly shade of white. Her hand flew to your chest, pulling the cardigan aside. The popped buttons were gone, leaving the blue floral fabric gaping open.
And there, stark and undeniable against your pale skin, was the mark Heeseung had left. A dark, plum-colored blossom of rebellion right on your collarbone.
Your mother let out a strangled sound, a mix of a sob and a gasp. Her hand moved from your arm to your throat, her thumb grazing the bruise with a clinical kind of horror. "He touched you. That… that delinquent. That animal."
"His name is Heeseung, Mom," you said, and for the first time in your life, your voice didn't shake. The shyness was gone, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. "And he didn't do anything I didn't want him to do."
A sharp crack echoed through the hallway.
The slap was so fast you didn't see it coming. Your head snapped to the side, your cheek stinging with the impact of your mother’s ring-laden hand.
"Don't you dare," she whispered, her eyes wide and wet with tears of shame. "Don't you dare say you wanted this. You are a daughter of this church. You are a masterpiece of God. You are nothing without the purity we gave you."
Inside the study, the sound of a heavy chair being overturned thudded against the wall.
Inside the mahogany walls, Heeseung stood his ground. He didn't look like a boy caught in a lie; he looked like a soldier who had finally reached the front lines. Your father stood behind his desk, his breathing heavy, his face a mask of righteous fury.
"You’ve spent your whole life being a stain on your father’s name, Heeseung," your father rasped, his hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the desk. "But to come into my home? To defile my daughter in the very place where I prepare the word of God?"
"Defile?" Heeseung laughed, a short, ugly sound that lacked any humor. He stepped forward, invading the Pastor’s personal space. "Is that what you call it when someone finally shows her that she’s a human being and not a prop for your Sunday morning performance? You don’t love her, Thomas. You love the way she makes you look."
"Get out," your father whispered, his voice shaking. "Get out before I call the police. I will have you locked away. I will make sure the Lees disown you."
"They already have," Heeseung countered, his gaze unwavering. "In their hearts, they’ve been done with me for years. But you? You're terrified. Because you know that once she tastes freedom, she’s never coming back to your cage. You can pray all you want, but you can't pray away the fact that she chose me over you."
Your father’s hand shot out, grabbing the heavy glass paperweight from the desk—the same one Heeseung had toyed with earlier. For a second, it looked like he might actually throw it, might actually break the commandment he preached every week.
Heeseung didn't flinch. He leaned in, his nose inches from the Pastor’s. "Go ahead. Break something. Show me the man behind the sermon."
Your father’s chest heaved. Slowly, his fingers loosened, and the paperweight thudded onto the desk. "She will never see you again. I will send her away. I will break her spirit until she begs for forgiveness."
"You can try," Heeseung said, turning toward the door. He paused, looking back over his shoulder with a chillingly calm smirk. "But just so you know? She’s a much better student than you think. She learned everything I had to teach her. And she liked it."
The study door swung open, and Heeseung stepped out into the hallway. He saw you immediately—standing there with your mother’s hand still raised, your cheek blossoming with a red handprint, and your dress torn.
His expression went from defiant to murderous in a heartbeat.
He didn't look at your mother. He walked straight to you, his boots heavy on the hardwood. He reached out, his hand cupping your stinging cheek, his thumb grazing the mark your mother had just made.
"Did she do this?" he asked, his voice a low, terrifying growl.
"I'm fine," you whispered, though your eyes were filling with tears.
"Heeseung, leave this house this instant!" your mother shrieked, her voice cracking.
Heeseung ignored her. He looked past you at your father, who was standing in the doorway of the study, looking like a man who had lost his grip on reality.
"I'm taking her," Heeseung said. It wasn't a question. It wasn't a threat. It was a statement of fact.
"You'll do no such thing!" your father roared.
Heeseung turned back to you, his eyes searching yours. The "Bad Intentions" were gone, replaced by a raw, desperate need to protect the only thing that felt real to him.
" y/n," he whispered, his voice cracking for the first time. "Look at me. You stay here, and they'll kill the girl I met at the quarry. They'll bury you under those books and those prayers until there's nothing left. Come with me. Now."
You looked at your mother, whose face was twisted in a mask of social horror. You looked at your father, who looked at you like you were a broken vessel that needed to be discarded.
Then you looked at Heeseung. You saw the dark hair, the leather jacket, the jagged rebellion—and the way he was looking at you like you were the only holy thing he had ever seen.
You didn't say a word. You reached out and took his hand.
Your father let out a sound of pure agony. "If you walk out that door, y/n, you are dead to this family. You are dead to this church. You will have nothing."
You paused at the threshold, the front door open to the humid summer air. You looked back at the house that had been your entire world—the white-washed walls, the polished silver, the suffocating silence.
"I already have nothing here," you said softly.
Heeseung pulled you toward his bike, and as you climbed on, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your bruised cheek against his back, you felt the engine roar to life. It was the sound of the world ending.
And it was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard...
©️tenderfiless est. 2026
author's note: part 3???? ♡
