I might just quit tumblr for good until heeseung is back. I’m sorry to the people I stopped supporting regularly like @007chan and @solonenova
I’m sorry to the dms I never respond to and the stories I gave up on @heyinnnn
I really loved this place and I thought I could have something good going. Then life got busy. I lost the joy, I neglected my hobbies. I feel so guilty because I haven’t even kept up with enhypen recently. I should’ve treasured them more. Maybe one day, when everything gets better I’ll be back. Maybe when we have all seven in a group I’ll post something.
I’m bored and I haven’t had time to write lately so imma do small little ideas (blurbs?) every once in a while to contribute to enhablr 😭🙏🏽
Jake x girl best friend. No warnings just fluff ig?
reasons why Jake fell for his girl
first off she’s gorgeous. Like drop dead gorgeous. But she isn’t exactly a model either. When you’re friends with someone long enough, you have enough time to stare and admire. It’s the little imperfections he likes, like how her teeth aren’t completely straight white pearls, or how one brow is slightly more raised than the other. Things that make her more human. And in a way, the more human she is the more he feels like he has a chance.
then there’s the dilemma— does he love her because she pretty or is she pretty because he loves her?
I mean obviously he finds her pretty, he always has, but what if OTHER people find her pretty too? What if the boy who asked her for the answer in science wasn’t just failing his homework? What if the guy at the caribou she goes too gives her extra when she asks even though he’s not really allowed? What if her friends pass out her number and that why she gets spam calls? He’s sure he’s overthinking but how can you not? It’s y/n we’re talking about.
he also loves her heart. Not the muscle, but her character. Honestly probably more than her personality. Her jokes might be lame but she’s so kind. She just has this warm inviting feeling and he’s falling right into it…
he loves her soft hands, her warm eyes, her smile, the way her nose turns red in the cold, her handwriting, her natural nail shape, her emotional maturity, the list goes on
Jake notices all the little things about the people he loves so he knows exactly when and how to confess. He makes sure she isn’t upset, asks about her day and offers to take her out. He pays for dinner and excuses himself to the bathroom for a second to check his teeth. The walk outside is tense and he’s anxious.
“Jake why are you breathing so loud?” She giggles, her breath white in the crisp air.
He just barely catches her eye and smile, not wanting to overwhelm her. “Just nervous, pretty.”
“bout what?”
“how im gonna tell you how much you mean to me…” and the rest of the confession was history. Something too gentle and intimate to share with the whole world.
꒰ ﹒ pairing: jungwon x fem!reader … rivals to lovers au﹒alternative!reader, jungwon has been in love the whole time, fluff, angst if you squint﹒ w/c: 11k~ summary: there’s a thin line between love and hate. you and jungwon know each other at an intimate level that almost seems romantic if it weren't for all the fighting and sabotaging. after spending so much time together, lines begin to blur until you realize you don't hate him after all.
꒰ ﹒ warnings: this doesn't depict the most healthy relationship, there are some harsh things that are said, does contain suggestive content (making out) but no smut
── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──
Jungwon placed a hand on Y/N’s desk, his sweet smile souring ever so slightly. The corner of his lips tugged to the side in a smug smirk as he leaned towards her. He was inches away from her, his breath fanning against her cheeks. From an outsider’s perspective, the scene might seem romantic, but what left Jungwon’s lips was far from it.
“Is this your attempt at looking pretty?” He chuckled softly, “Sunghoon doesn’t like clowns.”
Jungwon brought his finger to trace down Y/N’s cheek which had been painted with blush. His touch was almost gentle, his fingertip smudging the makeup on her skin.
She slapped his hand away and glared daggers at him. There wasn’t a day where Jungwon didn’t find a way to irritate her. For the past three years, he has gotten under her skin, sabotaged her in ways that made her homicidal, and had said things to her that deeply hurt her.
She wasn’t going to play victim, though. She had made sure to make his life a living hell in return. She insulted him, picked at his achievements and personality, and guaranteed to never give him what he wanted.
What Jungwon wanted most was to please his parents. He craved their praise and affection. Jungwon was convinced that the only way to get his parents’ approval was to be top of his class. It didn’t matter how many medals and certificates he had received, his parents were never satisfied. The only thing blocking him from winning his parents’ love was Y/N. No matter how hard he tried, she always beat him.
“You know Sunghoon will never like you, right?” Jungwon whispered against her ear, making a shiver run down her spine.
She clenched her fists around the fabric of her skirt. Her knuckles turned white and her hands were beginning to tremble with rage.
What she hated most about Jungwon was how perceptive he was. Long ago, he was able to pinpoint the root of her insecurities even when her stoicism left her unreadable to most.
Ever since she was young, her parents planted in her head that she was an embarrassment. She was too quiet, too much trouble, too hard to love. Instead of trying to change like her parents wished, she doubled down and made herself even worse in their eyes. She lashed out, dyed her hair, and dressed in a way that would be seen as ‘rebellious.’ She was perfectly content with being the outcast just to spite her parents.
It wasn’t until she garnered a crush on the quiet, yet popular boy, Sunghoon, that she started to wonder if her parents were right. She tried to fit in, buying some makeup and more feminine outfits, but it only made her feel more out of place. He would probably never look her way. No one would. Was she really unlovable?
Her eyes flickered up to meet Jungwon’s, which held a sparkle of smug mischief. His menacing smile revealed a dimple on his left cheek. If it wasn’t for his rotten personality, Y/N would’ve actually thought him beautiful.
“When was the last time you’ve talked to your dad?” Y/N smiled with faux sweetness. “Or has he still not picked up your calls since you dropped two rankings?”
Jungwon’s smile flattened into a harsh line, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. She knew their quarterly rankings were still a sore subject even when it’s already been a week since they’ve been updated.
Jungwon’s gaze remained on her face. She could see the mix of emotions swirling in his brown eyes.
“Just wipe that shit off your face. It looks ugly,” he muttered harshly before stomping off.
There’s a thin line between love and hate. You have to know your enemy like a lover in order to know what hurts them most. It’s intimate, almost romantic. The lines blur until you can’t decipher whether the racing beat of your heart is out of fear or desire.
-
Y/N practiced her makeup skills and continued to show up to school in obnoxiously feminine clothing. It was such a contrast to her regular tomboy-ish style that it made Jungwon snicker as they crossed paths. He could read it all over her face that she was uncomfortable. No matter how hard she tried to smooth her expression into one of impassivity, Jungwon noted the slight tension between her eyebrows and the stiffness in her shoulders.
Jungwon’s amused smile dropped from his lips when he caught Sunghoon glancing at Y/N as she made her way down the hallway. He did a double take, his eyes raking down her body as she walked stiffly as if there was a board strapped to her back.
The look was fleeting, too quick for anyone to really notice, but Jungwon noticed. Just like he noticed everything. His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek as he let out a scoff. His eyes lingered on Sunghoon a little too long to be normal before following Y/N into the library.
“You could’ve sat anywhere in the fucking room,” Y/N snarled.
She glared at Jungwon as he pulled out the chair next to hers. The tables around them were empty while the rest of the students ate lunch in the cafeteria. He gave her a lopsided grin, only irritating her even more.
“Such a princess,” he replied sarcastically, “this is why no one likes you.”
He unzipped his backpack and started taking out notebooks and a textbook. He laid out his pens and highlighters out on the table.
“Yet you decide to associate with me. What does that say about you?” She retorted.
“That I’m willing to help the less fortunate,” he smiled.
She glanced at how he straightened his supplies neatly. The highlighters had to be in rainbow order and not a single sheet of paper was out of place.
“You spend more time playing around with your pens than you do opening the textbook. No wonder you can’t even break the top 5 rank.”
Jungwon’s fingers twitched on the pen he was straightening. He glanced over at her, his eyes flickering down to her smug lips.
“Maybe I’m not here to study. Have you thought about that?” He hummed.
He placed his chin on the palm of his hand and fluttered his eyes at her. He watched as her face contorted with disgust at his attempt to be cute.
She mimicked his stance, placing her chin on her hand. Their faces were only a few inches apart. She stared deeply into his eyes, and Jungwon felt his breath hitch ever so slightly. He could see every little detail of her face. Her eyelashes curled up prettily, revealing a tiny mole at the corner of her eyelid, and her lips were slightly pouted from her hand on her chin.
“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” She asked, “do you want to keep disappointing your parents?”
Jungwon’s wandering eyes narrowed at her before he turned back to face his textbook. He slammed it open, making her snicker. They both remained silent as they studied. The only sound heard was the turning of pages and the scribbling of pen on paper.
Eventually, Jungwon got bored. His eyes became droopy, and it was becoming a challenge not to fall asleep. He rested his head in his folded arms on the table. He turned slightly to peek at Y/N. She was immensely focused, not even glancing his way.
Jungwon hated how easily studying came to her, and how she never had problems with focusing and staying on task. His brain always felt scattered, one idea bouncing off another until he was completely off topic.
He straightened up slightly, placing his chin on his hand once more. He leaned towards her, bringing his other hand up to gently poke her temple. She gave him a glare. He noticed how her nostrils flared, and he grinned. He brought his finger to poke her cheek, and her jaw clenched. He was about to poke her again when she caught his finger with her hand.
“If you don’t stop…”
“You’ll what?” He smirked.
She threw his hand back at him, making him laugh. Instead of stopping, he reached over and closed her textbook, making her lose her place. He grabbed her highlighters and started switching the caps on them so the color of the marker didn’t match the color of the cap.
“Are you serious right now?” She fumed.
She shoved his shoulder, almost pushing him off his chair. He continued laughing menacingly as he started unzipping her backpack. He pulled out a small pouch.
“What do we have here?” He mused, opening it to reveal makeup and sanitary pads.
She grabbed at his forearm, but he turned to face away from her, bringing the pouch out of her reach. He riffled through the contents, spilling them out onto the table.
“Lipstick…mascara…whatever this is…” he started tallying off the products, flicking them aside.
Once he finished going through all of her things, he straightened them out on the table. He glanced over at her, noting her irritated expression. He grinned and leaned forward slightly.
“Aww, don’t make that face, pretty” he purred.
Y/N’s face screwed up in disgust.
“Don’t call me that,” she spat.
Jungwon raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.
“Isn’t that what you’re going for?” He gestured to her rosy cheeks and short skirt.
“Yes, but I don’t want to hear it from you,” she sneered.
Jungwon rolled his eyes and threw the pouch back at her.
“Can’t be pretty with an ugly personality,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Care to say that a little louder?” She threatened.
He turned to fully look at her. Jungwon’s eyes traced her features once more before landing on her eyes. He could see the anger swirling in her intense gaze, and there was something about it that he liked. A grin formed on his lips, and it only deepened the frown lines on Y/N’s forehead.
“I think you heard me,” he said.
He got up and grabbed his things, leaving all of her things scattered on the table for her to pick up herself just to irritate her even more.
“Bye, pretty,” he called out sweetly.
“Fuck you.”
Jungwon smiled.
Y/N couldn’t get the word “pretty” out of her head. The way Jungwon said it sounded mocking yet genuine somehow, and it conflicted her. She couldn’t lie and say she didn’t like being called pretty, but the fact it was Jungwon calling her that made her skin crawl.
-
Jungwon bombed the physics exam so badly, that he mustered up the courage to ask Y/N if she could go over the exam with him. To no one’s surprise, she got almost a perfect score.
Jungwon knew that by asking Y/N to tutor him, she would never let him live it down. However, he was so stressed about his grades. Since he missed so many questions, he knew that the problem was that he didn’t understand the fundamentals, and if he didn’t strengthen those, he would never understand anything in that class.
Y/N smugly agreed to tutor him.
“Where do we need to start? Do you know the structure of an atom?” she asked mockingly.
Jungwon’s eyes twitched with annoyance.
“Just go over radioactivity and radioactive decay,” Jungwon growled.
Y/N tried her best to explain things to him, but he was having trouble wrapping his head around it. He kept asking her to repeat things. She would find different ways to try and relay the information to him until he finally said he understood. However, five minutes later when he would need that information to build on another concept, he'd forgotten everything she'd told him.
Y/N was beginning to lose patience. She never realized how hard it was to be a teacher. Some things just seemed like common sense to her, and she didn’t understand how other people struggled so much.
“Are you genuinely stupid? How many times do I have to explain this to you for it to stick? Are you even paying attention?” She lashed out.
Jungwon was so stressed, and he felt so insecure that he couldn't pick things up as quickly as she could. Resentment began to fester in his chest at the way she was speaking to him.
“Well, maybe if you weren’t so shit at explaining things, I would actually learn something,” he snapped.
Her nostrils flared with annoyance.
“Well, maybe if you didn’t have shit for brains, you’d actually understand what I’m saying,” she fired back.
Jungwon glared at her, his gaze filled with hatred.
“You’re so self-absorbed.”
“Would someone self-absorbed be wasting their time trying to teach you?”
“See? You’re acting like I’m an inconvenience!” He exclaimed.
“Aren’t you?” She retorted.
Jungwon’s lips pressed into a tight line. This was the first time in his life that he’d been provoked to hit a woman.
Y/N sighed and ran her hand over her face. She knew she was being irrational, but she couldn’t help feeling irritated. They remained in silence for a moment, before she took a deep breath and looked back at him. His expression had changed from one of anger to one of despair, and it made her feel guilty.
“Okay, how about this?” she started.
Jungwon glanced over at her wearily.
“What about it is difficult to understand? We can focus on that,” she said.
They slowly navigated their way through the tutoring session. Jungwon kept asking clarifying questions, and Y/N tried her best to repress her impatience. Y/N gradually was able to understand Jungwon’s learning style, and accommodated her way of teaching to better suit it. Eventually, he could explain why he got the answers wrong on his test, picking out the correct ones. It was satisfying to both Jungwon and Y/N. Jungwon finally felt like he was advancing, and Y/N felt gratified by her teaching skills.
Every time Jungwon got a practice problem correct, his eyes lit up and he glanced over at her for approval. She would nod, and a triumphant smile would form on his lips. Y/N found it weirdly endearing.
“You did really well,” she said after they went over the whole exam.
“A compliment? From Y/N?” Jungwon grinned at her, “I must be dead.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’ll be dead if your parents find out about the score,” she said.
His smile faded from his lips.
“They won’t find out.”
-
Y/N always knew when Jungwon was having trouble with his parents at home because he would cling to her and annoy her more than usual. For the past week, he had been kicking the back of her seat in class, tugging at her hair from behind, and dropping small crumbled pieces of paper into the back of her shirt. It took everything in her to not to turn around mid-lecture and hit him in the head with a textbook. She didn’t want to give him what he wanted, which was attention.
“Y/NNNN,” Jungwon whined and pulled at her backpack handle as she tried to walk away after class.
“Y/NNNN,” he continued when she didn’t turn to look at him. “Do you hate me?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
A grin formed on his lips, and he let go of her backpack to walk beside her.
“How much do you hate me?” he asked.
“A lot,” she grumbled.
“On a scale from one to I’d-rather-sit-naked-on-a-hot-grill, how would you like to go with me to the raccoon cafe that just opened up a few blocks away from school?”
Y/N stared at him with a blank expression, and his smile only grew wider.
“C’mon…” he pleaded, poking her face repeatedly.
She slapped his hand away, irritated.
“Why would I want to go with you?” she scoffed.
“Because I’m paying and I know you like raccoons,” he grinned.
Y/N’s eye twitched slightly.
“C’mon, pretty…” he tried again, stepping closer to her.
Y/N immediately took a step back, a shiver running up her spine. Her hands got clammy, and she could hear her heart beating in her ears. She didn’t like this feeling. Whatever it was.
Without another word, Jungwon grabbed her backpack handle again, dragging her down the hallway and out the building.
He dragged her to a variety of places. They went to the raccoon cafe where he indeed paid their entry fee and paid for their drinks. Afterwards, he took her to an arcade where, again, he paid for the tokens. They went window shopping, and when he bought her an ugly keychain and told her “it looks like you,” Y/N hit him across the head, making him laugh.
By that time, it was time for dinner, so Jungwon took her to eat as well. It was already 8pm, and he was still suggesting other places to go to, and Y/N was getting tired and aggravated.
“I want to go home,” she grumbled.
“I don’t. Let’s go to the playground. I’ll push you on the swing,” he said.
He grabbed her wrist and dragged her along. Her feet felt heavy with exhaustion from the long afternoon. She was beginning to put the pieces together. Jungwon was purposefully dragging this out. He wanted to delay going home. Whatever fight he had with his parents must’ve been bad for him to willingly spend the whole day with her.
Y/N planted her feet firmly onto the ground, making Jungwon stop in his tracks. He looked back at her with a frown on his lips.
“I want to go home,” she repeated.
Jungwon bit his bottom lip worriedly. His grip on her wrist tightened slightly.
“Okay. We can study at your place,” he said.
“No. I want to go home alone.”
“It’s dark out. Let me walk you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He really wasn’t backing down.
“What happened with your parents?” She asked bluntly.
“Nothing. What do you mean?” He deflected.
“So you’re just going to spend the night at my house?” She raised an eyebrow.
His face lit up for a second.
“If you’re offering-”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, and Jungwon sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. Something had in fact happened with his parents. He didn’t know how it happened. Maybe it built up gradually, but when he had come home last week after his parents found out about the physics exam he failed, he found his room trashed. His laptop was gone, his gaming console was gone, his favorite DVDs and books were gone. Anything that was deemed a “distraction” was ripped out of his room. The worst of it all was that his parents didn’t mention a thing. They acted as if nothing had happened and everything was normal.
Y/N could tell how stressed he was just from his silence. Deep down, she felt bad for him. Her parents were no walk in the park either, but Jungwon was different. He wanted his parents’ approval. She didn’t.
“One night,” she said.
“Huh?”
“You can stay over one night, but that’s it,” she warned.
“Wait, really?” He asked.
Their eyes met, and she could see the glimmer of hope in them. She groaned but nodded.
“My mom can’t know you’re here,” she warned him as she snuck him into her room, “she’ll freak out.”
“What if I have to pee in the middle of the night?”
“Hold it,” Y/N said between gritted teeth.
“Does she not let you have friends over?” He asked.
She glared at him before going back to setting up a mat and blanket on the floor of her bedroom.
“We aren’t friends,” she muttered.
Jungwon grinned and leaned forward so his chin was almost resting on her shoulder.
“More than friends then?” He whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
Y/N whirled around, almost knocking herself over in the process. He grabbed her by the arms to steady her and chuckled.
“Relax. I’m joking. I won’t do anything,” he laughed.
“You better not or else I’ll skin you alive,” she threatened.
“Like I’d want to do anything with you,” he rolled his eyes.
She narrowed her eyes at him. Jungwon raised his hands in a defensive position, but his lips curled into a teasing smirk. She threw a pillow at his head. He caught it with ease and hugged it to his chest.
When she was done setting up his sleeping arrangements on the floor, she left him in her room while she tried digging for some of her dad’s old pajamas. She changed into her own pajamas in the bathroom. When she returned, Jungwon was already nuzzled into her bed.
“Get off my bed,” Y/N snarled.
“It’s comfy, though,” Jungwon mumbled from under the blanket.
She ripped the sheets off him and threw the pajamas at his chest without warning, catching him off guard.
“Where do I change if I can’t use the bathroom?” Jungwon raised an eyebrow.
“Here. I’ll just close my eyes,” Y/N said.
The smirk returned to his face as he got up from her bed.
“How do I know you won’t peek?” he asked.
He laughed when she scrunched up her face in disgust.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t want to peek,” she said.
She crawled into her bed and pulled the blanket over her head to give him some privacy. She could hear the rustling of clothes as he changed. When everything got quiet again, she peeked from under the blanket.
“Don’t look! I’m naked,” Jungwon said.
Y/N practically shrieked and hid under the blanket again.
Jungwon burst out laughing, and walked over to her bed. All he could see was the lump of her body underneath the blanket. He tugged it down slightly to reveal her face. Her eyes were screwed shut.
“I’m not naked. Idiot,” he chuckled.
“I don’t trust you,” she said.
Her eyes remained closed as she blindly tried to find the edge of her blanket to pull it over herself again. He flicked her forehead, causing her to wince and bring her hand up to cover it.
“So you did want to peek,” Jungwon grinned.
“You’re delusional,” she snapped.
“It’s okay. I understand I can be irresistible sometimes-”
“You’re going to make me throw up,” she gagged.
“Oh, c’mon. You’re just exaggerating at this point,” Jungwon laughed.
“I’m going to sleep. Stay away from me or else,” she threatened, pulling the blanket up to her chin and turning away so her back was facing him.
Jungwon smiled and crawled into his makeshift bed on the floor next to her. He curled up under his own blanket. The room was engulfed in darkness when she turned off her bedside table lamp.
“Goodnight, pretty,” he whispered.
“Shut up,” she whispered back.
-
Y/N and Jungwon were caught the next morning trying to sneak out of the house. Y/N swore her mom had left for work already, but as she twisted the front door knob with Jungwon in tow, she heard a loud gasp that made her stomach sink.
Her mother cursed at her, assuming the worst. She berated Y/N for bringing a boy over, calling her every name under the sun while Jungwon stood there with wide eyes.
“How could you be such a slut! We didn’t raise you like this!” Her mother screamed.
Y/N’s jaw clenched in anger.
“After all we sacrificed for you,” her mother continued, “why do you keep disappointing us?”
“I didn’t ask you to sacrifice anything!” Y/N blew up.
“Um,” Jungwon cleared his throat to try to get her mother’s attention, “Y/N is a friend. I’m having family issues, and I needed a place to stay. Nothing…of that sort happened between us-“
It was no use. Y/N’s mother only heard what she wanted to hear. She heard nothing of what he was trying to say, and he was starting to feel helpless and guilty for having put Y/N through this.
“What are we gonna do with you?” Her mother sighed in desperation, “give me your phone.”
“I’m not giving you anything,” Y/N snapped.
“Hand it over. Now,” her mother hissed, “is this why you’ve been dressing differently lately? You want boys’ attention? What other boys are you fooling around with?”
“Do you really want to know? Let me see…” Y/N tapped her chin in thought before making a show of counting on her fingers.
Her mother looked at her with horror.
“There’s around 6. I don’t know them very well, though. You don’t really need a name to do that kind of stuff, right?” She gave her an evil grin.
Her mother burst out into tears and stormed to Y/N, grabbing fistfuls of her clothing, yanking at her and continuing to call her names. Jungwon was frozen in shock at the scene before him. He wanted to step in and break it up, but he didn’t know if it was his place.
Y/N shoved her off the best she could, putting on her shoes and making her way to the front door. Jungwon followed like a scared duckling. They were almost out the door when Y/N’s mother yanked her by her backpack.
“You filthy little-“
Y/N let her backpack slip through her arms, making her mother stumble before slamming the door closed.
She growled with annoyance as she led Jungwon back to the street. Jungwon remained silent, his mind not being able to comprehend what just happened.
“I’m sorry you had to see that. My mom is crazy,” she finally broke the silence.
“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t slept over-“
Y/N cut him off with the shake of her head.
“She would’ve found something else to yell about. It’s not your fault.”
Jungwon still couldn’t push the feeling of guilt away. They remained silent for a while as they walked to school. Jungwon knew it was probably best to change the topic, but there was something that was bothering him a little bit.
“Are you actually seeing 6 guys?” He asked softly, almost embarrassed to be asking.
She burst out laughing, making him jump back in surprise.
“I can’t even talk to Sunghoon, and you believe I can pull 6 guys at once?” She laughed.
Jungwon’s cheeks turned pink, and he looked away with a huff.
“No. I just said that to make her pop a vein. I want to see just how much she will believe,” she said.
“Doesn’t that just make things worse?”
She shrugged.
“Once I graduate, I’m moving away, and I'll never see her again. Why bother trying to make things better? There’s nothing to salvage.”
Jungwon grew quiet for a moment again.
“You can sleep over at my house tonight if you want,” he said quietly.
“And make my mom think I’m out with a boy all night? That’s a good idea,” she grinned wickedly.
“I mean technically you will be…”
Y/N raised an eyebrow at him.
“I’m a boy, aren’t I?” Jungwon huffed.
Y/N rolled her eyes.
“I guess.”
“You guess?!”
“I’m gonna have to come back to get a change of clothes,” she said.
“You can sleep in mine,” Jungwon said, his cheeks flushing at the thought of Y/N in his sweatpants and tshirt.
Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, noticing the faint blush on his face.
“I sense an ulterior motive,” she said.
Jungwon blinked rapidly, “what ulterior motive?”
“I don’t know. Something perverted,” she shrugged.
Jungwon’s mouth hung open in shock.
“I don’t want to hear that coming from someone who was trying to peek at me while I was changing. If there’s a pervert, it’s you,” he snapped.
“I was not peeking, and you know it!” She exclaimed.
They continued bickering on their way to school. Jungwon was just happy to distract her from what had happened at home.
-
Jungwon tugged at a strand of Y/N’s hair to get her attention. They had independent study time in class to go over their recent assignment.
“Hey, what did you get for number 6?” He asked her.
When she ignored him and didn’t bother to turn around, he frowned. He pinched the fabric on the back of her shirt and pulled at it. He let go abruptly, making it snap back against her skin. She still ignored him. He took his cold hand and grabbed the back of her neck, making her jump in her seat. He gave her a dazzling smile when she turned to glare at him. His eyes flickered down to her lips briefly.
“Hey, pretty. Is that a new lipstick color?”
He watched as her lips pulled up into a slight snarl.
“It’s a nice color and all, but I think a more burgundy color would be better. That one’s too bright and it doesn’t look good on you,” he said.
Y/N’s face scrunched up in distaste.
“Don’t act like you know anything about makeup,” she scoffed.
“Yes, I don’t know anything about makeup, but I know when something looks off,” Jungwon grinned and tilted his head playfully, “and right now, your face looks off.”
She was about to raise her hand to hit him when a quiet voice made her freeze in her tracks.
“Hey, Y/N?”
She glanced up to lock eyes with the most gorgeous person she’d ever laid her eyes on. Sunghoon gave her a shy smile as she stared at him in shock. Her heart was racing so fast. She felt she was going to go into cardiac arrest. Jungwon glanced at Sunghoon too, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“I, um, noticed you’ve been experimenting with your style,” Sunghoon said.
He waited quietly, his eyes raking across her face for any response. When she continued to stare at him intently, he shrunk back timidly.
“You look pretty,” he said quickly. He gave her a soft smile before walking away, leaving her dumbfounded at her desk.
Jungwon’s eyes trailed behind Sunghoon as he left the classroom. He clenched his fists in his lap, and his nostrils flared with annoyance. Now he thinks she’s pretty? He grabbed his pen and clicked it aggressively. He was imagining stabbing it into Sunghoon’s milky white hand.
His gaze flickered back to Y/N. She was wearing a dress with layered ruffles and lace trimmings. It was bright pink like her lips. Jungwon couldn’t help but think about how she looked nothing like herself. She always looked uncomfortable too. He wanted her to go back to her gloomy wardrobe of blacks and dark colors. He wanted to see her freckles again that she’d been covering up with makeup for the past few months.
The look on her face made his eyebrows furrow. He thought the compliment would have made her happy or at least bring a smile to her lips. All he saw was a frown.
Y/N’s mind was reeling. When Sunghoon approached her without warning, she felt her heart skip a beat, but when he complimented her appearance, she felt her heart sink. He only started noticing her once she changed into something she was not. She didn’t understand why she was feeling so heartbroken. This is what she wanted to happen. She wanted him to notice her, but now that he has, there was no satisfaction.
“So, pretty,” Jungwon flicked at the delicate curls of her styled hair, “How did that feel? Do you think your hard work paid off?”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. What made her feel even worse was that Jungwon calling her pretty in that playful tone did more to her heart than when Sunghoon did it.
“Are you going to confess to him?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness.
“That’s none of your business,” she snapped at him.
Jungwon bit his lower lip anxiously. He didn’t know why his stomach was churning uncomfortably at the thought. Now that Sunghoon seemed to take an interest in Y/N, the idea of them dating was not much of a joke anymore. In a desperate attempt to change her mind, he leaned closer to her.
“He doesn’t like you,” Jungwon said softly, “he only likes this doll character you’re masquerading as.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Instead of a snarky remark, Jungwon watched as her expression shifted. She remained silent, and it made him feel sick. Something was off. She gathered her things and stood up. He knew he fucked up when she didn’t even look back.
-
Jungwon uncontrollably tapped his foot as his eyes stayed glued to the classroom door. It had been three days since Y/N came to school. She missed the exam she was studying so diligently for. Jungwon tried to feel some type of joy knowing he definitely scored higher than her for once, but he couldn’t get rid of the pit in his stomach and the feeling of guilt. He couldn’t focus in class. His gaze was always drifting to the empty seat Y/N should have been sitting in.
When she finally did show up to class, she ditched her girly charade and dressed in her normal clothing. Jungwon’s eyes lit up for a split second until he saw the dark circles under her eyes. He chewed at his bottom lip, contemplating whether or not to go up to her. They’ve never apologized to each other for the things they’ve said before. They would just ignore each other for a while until they started bickering again, but this time it felt different.
Jungwon observed her throughout their classes, trying to gauge what she was feeling. He noticed how her gaze would often flicker over to Sunghoon, and anger stirred in Jungwon’s chest. If it weren’t for Sunghoon, Y/N wouldn’t have tried to transform herself into someone she was not. Jungwon furiously ripped at the corners of his notebook. He kept trying to tell Y/N to not change. He hated how she was trying to fit Sunghoon’s preferences. This was all his fault.
He watched as Sunghoon didn’t even bat an eye at Y/N the whole day which only made his blood boil. Once class ended, he marched over to him and grabbed the strap of his backpack, hauling him out of the room. Sunghoon stumbled beside him with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Um, what are you doing?” he asked.
“Just shut up,” Jungwon snapped.
He dragged Sunghoon, who instantly became quiet, to a deserted corner of the hallway. He practically threw the taller boy to the wall.
“What games are you playing?” Jungwon snarled.
“I…don’t understand,” Sunghoon said quietly.
“Do you like Y/N or not?” Jungwon fired.
“What?” Sunghoon hesitated.
“Answer the question.”
“I mean I don’t know much about her…I tried complimenting her the other day and she gave me this weird look. I don’t think she likes me,” Sunghoon stammered.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No, I don’t like her like that,” he said, “I just thought she looked pretty that day.”
Jungwon grabbed a fistful of Sunghoon’s shirt, but quickly let go and shoved him again. It was guys like this that pissed Jungwon off the most. They think they’re hot shit, and say something sweet to get a girl hooked then throw her to the curb when the fun is over. His anger was boiling over as he stormed off, leaving Sunghoon frozen and wide eyed in the hallway.
“She’s always been pretty,” Jungwon mumbled to himself.
-
“Hey…” Jungwon called out hesitantly to Y/N who was slumped over her textbook in the empty library.
She didn’t bother to look up, but by the way her grip on her pencil tightened, Jungwon knew she acknowledged he was there.
He silently sat in the chair next to hers, bringing out his supplies. They studied without saying a word. Jungwon flipped through his textbook half heartedly. He wasn’t even reading it. He was too focused on Y/N’s presence next to him.
Jungwon scooted his foot closer to hers under the table, tapping it slightly. He felt her move her leg away, and he frowned. She usually would shove his foot away with greater force than he tapped her. He scooted his chair closer to hers to a point where he was almost pressed up against her side. His gaze flickered to her hands that had frozen on her notebook. His finger came up to poke her side gently. She let him do it a couple more times before she abruptly stood up and started shoving her things into her bag.
“Wait, pretty. Don’t go-“
She froze in her tracks, her grip on her backpack strap tightening.
“Don’t call me that…” she whispered, “I’m dressed normally again.”
“So?”
She whirled her head to look at him, her face fuming with anger and hurt.
“So I’m not pretty anymore.”
Jungwon blinked at her, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion.
“You’re the same person regardless of the way you dress, no?”
Y/N stared at him with a blank expression, but he could see the gears turning in her head. Her face fell slightly at his statement. She never truly could change who she was. Jungwon was right. Her pretty clothes and painted face were a facade. It might’ve caught Sunghoon’s attention, but once he got to know her, his interest would have dissipated.
“Yeah, I am,” she said.
Jungwon could see the despair in her face as she turned to walk away again. His heart raced in a panic, and he ran to catch up to her. He stopped her in her tracks, holding her in place with his hands on her arms.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out.
Y/N stared at him with round eyes. Her lips parted to say something, but she remained quiet in shock.
“I’m sorry for what I said about Sunghoon not liking you,” he continued, “I was mad…”
Jungwon’s face scrunched up slightly as he thought through what he wanted to say next. He swallowed nervously.
“I was mad at you for trying to change for Sunghoon, and I was mad at Sunghoon for only noticing you after you tried to change,” he said.
He let go of her arms, his own hands falling back down to his sides. He looked away timidly.
“You’re the same to me no matter what you wear,” he said, “and I’m going to keep calling you pretty… so…deal with it.”
It was Jungwon’s turn to scramble to get his things and walk away. He was embarrassed, but most of all, he didn’t want to see her reaction to what he said.
Y/N stood dumbfounded in the middle of the library as she watched Jungwon’s figure retreat, scurrying away like a little ant.
-
Something shifted in Jungwon and Y/N’s relationship after Jungwon’s apology. They weren’t exactly the best of friends, but they certainly weren’t enemies anymore. They still bickered and annoyed each other, but there were certain topics they stayed away from when it came to picking at each other.
Jungwon admired the ‘I-don’t-care-what-you-think’ attitude Y/N had when it came to her parents. He started implementing it slowly into his own relationship with his parents. He started voicing his opinions to them about how they treated him. Most of the time it only ended in fights and guilt trips, but he was starting to realize how flawed his parents were. There was no point in trying to live up to their standards when they themselves couldn’t live up to his.
He stopped trying to compete with Y/N. He’d much rather sit with her and feign his interest in studying so he could mess with her. She would sometimes comment on how his lack of studying would drop his grades, but the remarks didn’t bother him anymore. He felt like she set him free.
Although Y/N had ditched her girly era, there were some things she didn’t part with. She liked the art of getting ready and she implemented it to her normal style. She started getting into fashion and customizing her own pieces. She was still horrendous at doing her makeup, but she did love wearing lipstick. She often wore dark lip colors that would make Jungwon call her scary.
“It’s the vibe I’m going for,” she said, “I’m getting my eyebrow pierced this weekend.”
“Don’t you need parental permission for that?” Jungwon asked.
Y/N shrugged.
“Not where I’m going.”
Jungwon gave her a weary look.
“Be careful,” he said.
“It’s not like I’m going to get trafficked,” she laughed.
“You never know…” Jungwon muttered.
“Just say you want to come with me,” she gave him a teasing smirk.
“Why would I want to go with you? Go by yourself. I hope the piercing rejects,” Jungwon scoffed.
Y/N grinned and poked his side.
“Come with me. Let’s get your ears pierced,” she said.
Jungwon’s hands immediately jerked up to cover his earlobes with his fingers. His parents would kill him. He glanced over at Y/N, whose smile never left her lips.
“C’mon…” she pouted, “I think you’d look good with your ears pierced.”
His heart fluttered in his chest, and he felt his cheeks burn with blush. Actually…maybe stressing out his parents would be a good thing.
-
It had become a routine to ask each other if they needed a distraction after school. They never asked directly because that would mean they care for each other, and god forbid that be the case.
If one of them needed to delay going home, they would wait at a specific tree on the way out of campus. This time it was Y/N that was waiting under the shade when Jungwon walked by.
“I’m not in the mood for pizza. We’ve had pizza like four times this week because of you,” Jungwon said without even stopping.
Y/N jogged over to him to match his step.
“I didn’t even say anything!” She huffed.
“You have that look on your face. Your eyes say you want pizza,” Jungwon twirled his pointer finger over her face.
She scrunched her face up and scoffed. She did in fact want pizza, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being right.
“Where do you suggest we go then?”
Jungwon smiled.
“I’ll show you.”
They stopped by a convenience store to get some snacks before Jungwon took her to a park. At first, Y/N thought they were going to find an empty picnic table and eat their food there, but he led her off trail through some vegetation.
“This is suspicious,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Relax, we’re almost there,” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her through the last of the brush.
They stopped in a clearing where the ground turned rocky and dipped into a shallow creek. A few meters down the creek there was a small railroad bridge. It looked abandoned, and it was painted with graffiti.
“Let’s go eat on the bridge,” he said, pulling her along.
He climbed up with ease, setting their stuff down on the tracks before turning to hold out his hand for her to take. He hauled her up and placed his jacket down on the ground for her to sit on. He unpacked their snacks and placed them between their bodies.
“How do you know about this place?” she asked as they ate.
Their legs dangled over the edge of the bridge, swinging them mindlessly. There was a slight breeze, and it wasn’t too hot or too cold. The scene was picturesque and serene. The only thing they could hear was the gurgling of the creek and the rustling of leaves in the wind.
“I found it randomly a few months ago. I come here when I need a breather,” he said.
In other words, he came here when he was going through it.
Y/N glanced over at him, and she watched as the wind rustled through his hair. He looked peaceful, completely different from his usual antics. A blush crept up her cheeks. The moment seemed intimate. He was showing her his safe space, and she felt somewhat touched.
After they finished their food, Jungwon showed her around the area a little bit more. They took their shoes off and walked down the water. It wasn’t too deep, only reaching past their ankles. Jungwon kicked water at her, making her shriek.
“You-”
“Me,” he smiled, bending over to cup water into his hands and throwing it at her.
She bent over and started splashing water at him, making him laugh gleefully. He ran down the creek, Y/N hot on his tail. He purposefully ran a little slower, allowing her to catch up to him. She grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt, pulling him to a stop. She scooped up a handful of the water and splashed it onto his back. His back arched slightly at how cold the water was.
“I’m going to die of hypothermia,” he yelled, wiggling out of her grasp.
She rolled her eyes.
“Cry baby,” she muttered.
“How would you like cold water down your back, hm?” Jungwon bent over to scoop water, and Y/N bolted.
They were both dripping wet by the time the sun set. They were back on the bridge, laying on their backs and looking up at the darkening sky. The moon was out, but the stars were difficult to see.
“We should probably go back. You’ll get cold,” he said.
Y/N grunted in protest.
Jungwon turned to the side to look at her. She continued to stare at the sky with a stubborn expression on her face. He smiled and sat up, placing his jacket over her body.
They remained silent, trying to find the stars. Y/N found herself not wanting to go back. Not because she didn’t want to confront her parents, but because she didn’t want the night to end. She realized she wanted to stay with Jungwon a little longer.
That feeling puzzled her. Somewhere along the way, she realized she stopped hating him. He liked to spend time with her, he sometimes bought her food, and even though he had seen her at her worst, he continued to stay.
She glanced over at her backpack, the ugly keychain he got her clipped to the zipper. She didn’t have to keep it, yet she did. She didn’t have to keep engaging with him after all the fights they had, yet she did.
Her heart dropped to her stomach.
Oh…I like him… She thought.
“What if we just never went back home,” he whispered.
“Okay, serial killer vibes,” she muttered.
Jungwon turned his head to look at her and smiled. There was something about it that made Y/N’s breath hitch at the back of her throat. The light of the moon casted a glow across his face, softening his features. He looked…
“Pretty,” she said softly.
“Hm?” he raised his eyebrow at her.
She blinked and looked away, the trance she was in immediately breaking.
“You should find a different nickname for me. That one is already taken by someone,” Jungwon said.
Y/N’s head snapped over to look at him, her mouth hanging wide open. The corner of Jungwon’s lips curled into a smirk.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
-
When they graduate, Y/N is at the top of her class as always. Jungwon had gotten her a bouquet of flowers to congratulate her. A smug expression appeared on her face as she took the flowers from him.
“No matter how hard you tried, you still couldn’t beat me,” she chuckled light-heartedly.
Jungwon smiled, not taking any offense to her remark.
“I’m okay with being second,” he said.
“You’re just saying that because you lost,” she grinned.
He grinned back at her.
“You only care about winning. Do you even care about me at all?” he feigned hurt.
“Why would I care about you?” she replied playfully.
They stare at each other in silence for a moment. Jungwon takes in her bare face, her freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose. The only makeup on her face was a dark purple lipstick on her curved lips.
“If being second keeps me next to you, I’m okay with it,” he said softly.
Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deep red. She could feel her heart flutter slightly in her chest. Jungwon realized what he said, and quickly straightened his posture, coughing nervously.
“You worked really hard too,” she whispered, “I’m proud of you.”
It was Jungwon’s turn to blush. He felt a warmth course through his body. His parents might not have ever said those words to him, but he realized they felt more special coming from Y/N. They’ve both been through so much together. It felt like they were connected somehow.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you flowers,” she said.
Jungwon shook his head.
“It’s okay. You can buy me my first drink instead,” he grinned.
“I’d rather not have to carry you home when you get drunk,” she said.
“You think I’m a lightweight?” Jungwon scoffed.
“Are you?”
He smiled mischievously.
“I don’t know. Let’s go find out.”
-
“You’re a man, right?” Y/N asked Jungwon as they walked through their new university campus. Their first semester hadn’t started yet, but they wanted to get familiar with the layout and find hidden places they could use to study.
“Last time I checked, yes,” Jungwon rolled his eyes.
“Can you help me move into my apartment tomorrow? I just need someone to help me haul my couch up a flight of stairs.”
Jungwon groaned, and Y/N tried her best to look at him with pleading eyes. His eyes narrowed at her expression.
“And what do I get out of this?”
“You get to spend the day with me,” she smiled innocently.
Jungwon stared at her for a moment. It gave her hope that he would say yes.
“I think I’ll pass,” he said.
“What’s wrong with spending the day with me? You’re doing it right now!” she huffed.
“Spending two days in a row with you is like being waterboarded-”
“I’ll pay for your meals for the whole day,” she cut him off.
“What time do you need me?” Jungwon smiled.
Jungwon was going to help her regardless, but the meals were an added bonus. A lot of the smaller boxes were already inside of her apartment. The only thing he really needed to do was carry one side of the couch as they slowly made their way up the stairs. He helped her unpack things, but there wasn’t much to unpack to begin with.
“Don’t open that!” Y/N almost tackled him as he ripped open the tape off a box.
“What? Is it your underwear?” he laughed.
“Yes,” she deadpanned.
Jungwon coughed and immediately took his hands off the box.
After unpacking everything, Y/N brought some bottles of soju to the coffee table. She set them down before collapsing onto the couch next to Jungwon.
They were still new to drinking, and they were figuring out what they liked and didn’t like. They would sometimes get new flavors to try out and just stay indoors, playing games or watching movies.
They watched dramas on her laptop since she didn’t have a television yet. Jungwon loved watching dramas with her. They would often have to pause the show when they got into arguments over who they thought was going to end up with who or what they thought a character should have done in a certain scenario.
Y/N usually fell for the main lead while Jungwon would almost always prefer the second lead.
“He has no personality! Since he’s going to end up with her no matter what, they make him as interesting as a sponge. The second lead is always a better option,” Jungwon said.
“Well, maybe a sponge is my type,” Y/N huffed.
For some reason, that rubbed Jungwon the wrong way. He was nothing like a sponge. He had too many issues to be boring, but knowing Y/N’s background, he understood why she would want someone who wasn’t so problematic. He began to mope, taking another shot.
“I got a new dress the other day. Do you wanna see?” She slurred slightly after they finished the last of the bottles.
“Mhm,” he hummed, leaning back on the couch to stop the room from spinning.
She disappeared into her room for a long time. Jungwon was beginning to think she passed out and fell asleep until she stumbled out the door and into the living room where he was.
Jungwon almost choked on his own saliva at the sight of her. She was wearing a long velvety dress. It was a deep red, almost purple color, and it hugged her figure before loosening and flowing down her hips. It was nothing like the dresses she wore to try and impress Sunghoon. She looked confident in this one.
“What do you think?” She asked, twirling clumsily for him.
Jungwon swallowed nervously.
“You look like a vampire witch,” he said.
“I do? Thanks,” she smiled, “actually, I have the perfect lipstick for this.”
Jungwon’s eyes trailed behind her as she dug around her purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick. She walked over to a mirror that he had hung on the wall earlier, stumbling slightly on the hem of her dress.
He rose to his feet, slowly walking up behind her. He watched her in the mirror as she coated her lips in a shade of burgundy lipstick so dark, it resembled dried blood.
She caught him staring at her in the mirror and she bared her teeth at him playfully.
He was losing his mind. She looked absolutely gorgeous, and his brain was struggling to come up with a compliment. He tugged at the strap of her dress, making it slap against her skin.
“You need a necklace,” he slurred.
Y/N turned to look at him directly, scrunching her nose in annoyance.
“I didn’t ask,” she snapped playfully.
Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and she was swaying slightly.
“Your cheeks are all red,” Jungwon hiccups, poking her warm cheeks with his finger, “it looks like a rash on your face.”
“How about you go fuck yourself?” She gave him a lopsided grin.
Jungwon’s gaze remained on her face. Her eyes were half-lidded as she looked at him, and her hair framed her face in a way that made Jungwon’s breath get stuck in his throat. Her vulgar words weren’t helping either. For some reason, he felt heat rise to his cheeks.
Y/N noticed the way his face flushed. At first, she thought it was because of the alcohol.
“You should be nice to the person who helped you move in,” Jungwon snapped back.
“What are you going to do? Take all my stuff if I’m not?” She challenged.
“Yeah,” he huffed, “when you go to sleep, I’m going to leave with your couch and all of your toilet paper.”
Y/N’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she kept catching his eyes drifting down to her lips and dress. She knew why he was acting like this.
“Why can’t you just compliment me like a normal person?” She shook her head.
“What?” He blinked at her.
“You like being yelled at, is that it?” Y/N laughed, drawing closer to him as he slowly backed up.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” he mumbled.
Jungwon could feel a rush of excitement flow through his body, and he cursed himself for feeling it at all. She stepped closer to him. His heart was racing in his chest, and his wide eyes were fixed to her face.
Y/N’s lips curled into a smirk, and she didn’t miss the way Jungwon’s eyes flickered down to her mouth again. He was attracted to her, she thought. Her heart fluttered slightly in her chest as she pressed herself flush against him.
Jungwon immediately stiffened as he was pressed against the wall. He could feel every curve of her body against his, and his breathing quickened. She was enjoying watching the way he squirmed under her gaze. He wouldn’t even look her in the eyes.
She gently placed her hands at his waist, slowly tracing his sides. She watched him closely, seeing the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. He screwed his eyes shut, as if it would make him feel her touch any less.
She hooked her thumbs under his shirt, rubbing small circles on his bare skin as she gently squeezed his waist. A soft whimper escaped his lips, and he immediately flushed at the sound. He didn’t even dare to look at her expression which was twisted into a wicked grin.
She slipped her full hands under his shirt, feeling the muscles on his stomach tighten as his breath hitched.
“You’re such a perv,” she whispered, “have you been making me angry this whole time just to get yourself off?”
Jungwon’s eyes widened and he shook his head. He was shaking like a leaf, scared of how she perceived him but also enjoying her touch a little too much. It wasn’t so much that he liked getting yelled at. He just liked having her attention on him.
“No…I promise…” he stammered, “I’m not like that…”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, a soft chuckle leaving the back of her throat.
“But you do like it?” She probed.
Jungwon opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly shut it once he realized the predicament he got himself into.
She leaned forward, their faces millimeters apart. She could feel his soft and quick breaths against her lips. She glanced up at his eyes which were looking at her with a mix of fear and desire. She smirked and placed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. She felt him stiffen underneath her lips, only making her want to do more. She was enjoying the control she had over him a little too much.
“You like it,” she stated in a murmur.
Her lips trailed down his jaw, pressing firmly against his skin. She could feel him shaking under her touch at his waist. She nuzzled her nose against his earlobe, feeling the cool metal of his earring. She kissed down his neck. A soft groan left his lips, and he moved his head to the side every so slightly.
She sucked gently at his skin, bringing her hands to trail down his arms. Her lips were coaxing soft moans and whimpers from his throat. She could feel his hands grip at her waist.
“Y/N…” his voice was soft and raspy.
She let her lips linger on his pulse point before pulling back to look at him. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Hm?” She hummed.
“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret…” he whispered, his cheeks flushed.
“What makes you think I’ll regret it?” She murmured.
She leaned forward again, her lips brushing against his in a feathery kiss. Jungwon’s eyes fluttered shut, entranced by her for a moment, but he quickly pulled away. She raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
“We’re drunk,” he was breathless, “if you still want to continue when we’re sober…I’d like that better…”
She tilted her head and gave him an amused smile. His face was completely flushed, and Y/N found it endearing.
“Alright,” she said, stepping away from him.
Jungwon’s racing heart slowly went back to normal as she pulled away. It took so much will power not to let her keep going, but Jungwon wanted to know if she really wanted it. He wanted her sober so there would be no doubt that she wanted him too.
The tension between them remained as they stumbled around her room, getting ready for bed. She had changed out of her dress, and she rolled out a mat next to her bed and handed him a pillow and a blanket. Jungwon’s vision seemed to be spinning. He didn’t know if it was the rush of the alcohol or Y/N’s phantom lips he could still feel burning his neck. He scratched himself nervously.
He watched as Y/N crawled into her bed. Once she got settled in, she looked up at him and smiled. It was a different type of smile. It didn’t carry the same smugness as her smirks while kissing him. It was warmer, almost affectionate. His heart couldn’t help but flutter.
“Go to bed, Jungwon,” she said softly.
He hesitantly lowered himself onto the floor, laying down on the mat. He suddenly didn’t want to go to sleep. What if it was all a dream?
Y/N peeked her head over the edge of her bed to look at him. She could see his eyebrows furrowed with worry even in the darkness of the room.
“Goodnight, Jungwon,” she whispered.
“Goodnight,” he whispered back.
“No ‘goodnight, pretty’ this time?” She teased.
He pulled the blanket over his head to hide his flushed cheeks.
“Goodnight, pretty,” he mumbled, the blanket muffling his words.
She smiled.
“Goodnight, handsome. Kiss you in the morning.”
-
Y/N woke up with a raging headache. Her eyes hurt when she opened them, the sun casting light straight into them from the window. She groaned and sat up slowly.
She swung her feet over the side of her bed and onto the floor. Her hands immediately went to massage the pounding in her temples.
Jungwon was curled up underneath the blanket on the floor. His hair was messy, and his lips were in a slight pout as he slept. Y/N blushed as the memory of the previous night returned to her mind. She couldn’t believe she had done all of that. She couldn’t believe Jungwon let her.
As if he knew she was thinking about him, Jungwon stirred, his eyelids squeezing and his face slightly scrunching up as he woke up. Y/N watched as he slowly blinked and opened his eyes, staring out at the wall facing away from her. She could tell he was thinking about something. He remained frozen in place for several minutes, completely unaware that Y/N was focused on him.
Jungwon didn’t want to turn to look at Y/N’s bed. He didn’t want to confront what happened. What if it never happened in the first place? Should he even bring it up? Eventually, he mustered the courage to turn his body around. As soon as his eyes locked with Y/N’s, he gasped in shock and abruptly sat up.
The blanket that was pulled up to his chin fell to his waist, revealing dark burgundy lip imprints across his jaw and neck. Y/N’s eyes widened at the sight. Her hand unconsciously touched her lips. Was she really that all over him last night?
Jungwon’s eyes flickered down to the movement of her fingers tracing her lips, and his face flushed with heat. It was true. It did happen.
They remained in silence for what seemed like forever. They were both too scared to speak. What was the other thinking? Did they think it was a mistake?
One thing Y/N knew for sure was that she liked it. She liked the way his skin felt under her lips and the way he had sounded when she touched him. He was warm when they were pressed together, and she wanted him to wrap his arms around her. She wanted to kiss him again.
“Jungwon…” she whispered.
His heart sank. He was preparing himself for a rejection. It was a mistake. He bit his lip in an attempt to keep his lips from trembling.
“I made you a promise,” she continued.
He glanced up at her, his eyebrows slightly furrowing together in confusion. She held out her hand for him, and he hesitantly took it. She pulled him towards her, making him sit beside her on her bed.
“What promise?” His voice came out shaky.
Her eyes raked across his face, seeing the nerves and look of confliction in his eyes. He shrunk away from her gaze. She breathed in a breath of courage before leaning in towards him.
“To kiss you,” she whispered.
His eyes widened, and he could hear his heart racing in his ears. Before he could say anything in response, her lips pressed against his in a gentle kiss. It was a different kiss than the ones she had given him last night. This one was more hesitant and shy as if she was worried about how he’d react.
Jungwon’s heart swelled in his chest. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer. He felt her gasp against his lips at the contact, and it only made him smile into the kiss. He felt over the moon.
He pressed his lips firmer against hers, showing her that he wanted this and she had no reason to hesitate anymore. He could feel her hands slowly grab his waist, and suddenly the memory of her lips on his neck flooded his mind. He was trying so desperately not to make any embarrassing sounds. He pulled away slightly, their labored breaths mingling together.
“Tell me you want me to keep going…” he panted against her lips.
He was still scared she didn’t truly want this. He didn’t want to seem overbearing and pushy. He needed to know…
Her lips captured his’ once more, silencing his worries immediately. His hand cupped the back of her head, deepening the kiss. He felt her hands run down his chest, making him shudder. He gently sucked on her bottom lip as his fingers ran through her hair. Her body relaxed fully against his, her weight leaning forward slightly, making him slowly sink onto his back.
His hands splayed against her back as she pressed herself on top of him. Her lips began to trail down his jaw and neck again, making him groan. It still didn’t feel real. Her touches were making his body heat up in the most embarrassing way. When he felt her straddle his hips, he squirmed.
“Wait,” he croaked out softly.
Her lips froze on his neck, and she pulled back to look at him.
“As much as I want to keep going,” Jungwon’s voice shook slightly, “I want to be on the same page on some things.”
“What things?” She tilted her head.
He gently sat back up, guiding her off of him and onto the bed by her waist. His hands remained on her waist, his thumbs tracing nervous circles over her shirt.
“I want to be clear about my…feelings,” he said.
Their eyes met, and when he knew he had her undivided attention, he swallowed nervously. He never planned how he was going to confess to her. It seemed like everything had proceeded out of order.
“I like you, Y/N. A lot,” he started, “and I think I’ve liked you since the very beginning. You annoyed me, yes, but I liked your attention. You’re funny, smart…pretty…”
He blushed as he tried to continue.
“You’ve helped me through a lot of stuff unintentionally. You’ve been there for me when no one else was, and I hope I have been there for you too…You made me realize my flaws, and you make me want to be better. I’m still working on a lot of things, and I don’t know how you’d feel about this, but…”
He glanced up to meet her eyes timidly.
“Can I be your boyfriend?”
A smile cracked onto Y/N’s lips. When Jungwon saw her smile, his lips mirrored hers. Somehow, her smile always seemed to erase any worry that may have crossed his mind.
“This is an interesting development,” she laughed.
“Is it, though?” Jungwon gave her a lopsided grin, “I think I was being very obvious about my feelings. You were just too blinded by hatred to notice.”
“No, no. Don’t be putting this on me now,” she shook her head and pointed her finger at him, “how was I supposed to know you liked me when all you would do was insult me. Weird way of flirting if you ask me…”
Jungwon smiled so big, she could see his dimples.
“As if calling you pretty all the time was an insult,” he rolled his eyes.
“To be fair, you did call me ugly sometimes.”
“I never told such lies,” Jungwon shook his head.
“You would nitpick at my makeup!”
“Your makeup and you are two very different things,” he pointed out.
He reached up to gently trace his thumb across her cheek.
“I think you’re the prettiest without makeup,” he said, “but I do really like that burgundy lipstick…”
Y/N burst out laughing.
“Oh, you’ll love looking at yourself in the mirror right now,” she said.
He smiled warmly at her, and he gently tugged her face towards his own. He leaned forward, his lips almost brushing hers.
“What do you say, pretty girl?” he whispered, “can I be yours?”
Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest. She never wanted someone as much as she wanted Jungwon. He may not be perfect, but no one was. He was perfect for her. Despite seeing each other at their worst, they remained by each other’s sides. They understood each other in a complex way others didn’t and couldn’t. She would be a fool to say no.
“Mhm,” she hummed, “please be mine.”
Jungwon grinned and pressed his lips to hers in a sweet, chaste kiss. Once he pulled away, he laughed giddily.
Siren do you write angst 😈😈⁉️ Okok js hear me out so I was reading this fic and it was abt enha being fathers, husbands, and stuff right but I was lowk thinking what if siren wrote a fic abt enha being parents right BUT the mom died like during birth. and it would js be their reactions or how they single parent after, if they would remarry, etc
It’s so evil but I need it, like it hurts in such a good way and I was like I’m gonna ask siten to write this!!
ENHYPEN AS SINGLE FATHERS —
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a/n: I don’t usually write angst. I’ve always felt like fanfiction is a space to escape reality—to live the version of life where everything works out, where you’re loved, where it’s soft and safe. Real life is already harsh enough… so why relive sadness here? But this—this one meant something. Writing this hurt, but in a way that reminded me why we write at all. To feel. To honor grief. It was challenging. It was emotional. But I’m proud of this. And I hope it reaches someone who needed to be reached. Thank you for requesting this my love
LEE HEESEUNG
He doesn’t cry at the hospital. Not once. Just stares at your body until the nurses beg him to hold his baby. He does, silently. Then breaks in the car. Sobs like his lungs are collapsing. For the first few months, he sleeps on the floor next to the crib, waiting to wake up from this nightmare. He talks to your framed photo every night.
“She has your eyes. I don’t know how to do this, Y/N.”
His parents visit but he avoids eye contact with them. Anyone who says “She’s in a better place” gets blocked. He plays piano lullabies to the baby. He plays them even when the baby’s asleep. Just so he doesn’t feel alone.
He never remarries. Never even dates. He still wears his ring.
PARK JONGSEONG
He becomes a perfect father—and a hollow man. Every bottle is warmed to the right degree. Every onesie folded just how you liked. But he hasn’t looked in a mirror since you died. He avoids reflective surfaces. Dresses in black. Shaves in the dark.
Your funeral photos are framed on his work desk. His calendar still has the due date circled. His daughter has your nose. He can’t look her in the eyes for weeks.
When she’s older and asks what you were like, he lies.
“She wasn’t perfect. She got angry. She made mistakes.”
But then he starts crying, and admits:
“But I loved her. I still do. I always will.”
He’d never replace you. But he might remarry out of guilt—thinking the child needs a mother. It doesn’t last. No one is you.
SIM JAEYUN
He holds the baby while they pull the sheet over your body. Refuses to leave the delivery room. He whispers,
“She died loving you. That’s how strong she was.”
Jake raises the baby in your hometown. Learns your childhood recipes. Tells bedtime stories with your name in them. His son calls you “angel mommy.”
There’s an ache in Jake’s voice when he sings lullabies. His voice cracks sometimes. He doesn’t even try to fix it.
When the kid asks why he doesn’t date anymore, Jake smiles sadly.
“Because I already had my forever.”
He never moves on. But he becomes the father everyone wishes they had—gentle, goofy, and golden-hearted. His eyes just stay a little tired forever.
PARK SUNGHOON
Silent. Cold. Forgets how to speak for weeks. He doesn’t cry at your funeral. He holds the baby in his arms, rocks it robotically, and stares into space. His friends worry. He takes six months off everything.
But one day he goes shopping and accidentally picks up your favorite snack. That night, he crumbles. He screams into the bedsheets, sobbing so violently that the baby starts crying too.
He raises her alone. Quietly. She learns patience, elegance, and sharpness from him. But she also watches him watch the door too long, as if still waiting for you to come home.
When she gets her first period, he panics and calls your sister crying.
“Y/N would’ve known what to do.”
He never dates. Ever. He can’t. His heart still belongs to you.
KIM SUNOO
He keeps everything exactly how you left it. Your shoes by the door. Your hair tie on the sink. He greets your photo like it’s you every morning.
“Did you sleep well? Me neither.”
He sings your favorite songs while feeding the baby. Sometimes he buys two coffees out of habit. He writes letters to you and hides them in your old drawer.
When your child turns one, he throws a party, makes a video montage of you, and smiles the whole time. But after the guests leave, he breaks down in the kitchen. Can’t stop shaking.
His daughter has your laugh. Sometimes it hurts him. Sometimes it keeps him going.
He might love again. But not easily. Not fully. Just enough to survive.
YANG JUNGWON
He’s strong. For everyone else. For the baby. For your parents. At your funeral, he says all the right things. Holds hands. Comforts. But when he’s alone?
He sleeps on your side of the bed. Wears your hoodie. Leaves the bathroom light on like you used to.
He overcompensates. Learns how to braid hair, how to do nail art, how to teach consent and emotions. He journals everything. His daughter becomes his whole life.
He keeps a video of your pregnancy laugh saved on his phone. Watches it on loop sometimes. Doesn’t tell anyone.
When the child graduates high school, he breaks down again. Because you weren’t there. And he did it. And you didn’t see.
“I did my best, Y/N. Did I do it right?”
NISHIMURA RIKI
He goes numb. Doesn’t speak for days. Refuses to hold the baby at first. Blames himself. Shuts down completely.
“It’s all my fault.”
He only reconnects when the baby grabs his pinky. Something shifts. He starts trying. Slowly. Clumsily. He never reads parenting books. He just learns on instinct.
He teaches the kid to dance, play video games, and love hard. But he struggles with birthdays. Can’t celebrate yours. Can’t even say the word “hospital.”
He dates casually in his 30s, but it always feels wrong. Always ends. He compares everyone to you. And no one comes close.
—
You’re gone. But they all love you forever. And none of them ever stop whispering your name when the night’s too quiet.
Things had actually been going well. That’s what made what came next so confusing.
The last time we’d hung out before that night, Jake had been almost relaxed, or as relaxed as Jake ever got. He’d talked to me about physics and theories again, all soft-spoken enthusiasm, hands moving in quick, nervous gestures that he didn’t seem to notice. It felt… easy, finally. Like he was starting to trust me. I’d even caught him laughing once, this quiet, awkward little laugh that sounded like it surprised him as much as it did me.
So when I texted him later that week and asked if he wanted to take a walk after class — “it’s nice out, clear sky, maybe see the stars for real this time” — I didn’t expect him to say yes. But he did.
He showed up at the park a little after six. The sun was already starting to sink, spilling the last streaks of gold over the trees. He looked out of place there, standing by the path with his backpack slung over one shoulder like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be waiting for me or just passing through. His hoodie was too big, his hair falling over his glasses again, and yet somehow he fit into the fading light like he belonged to it.
“Hey,” I said, smiling as I walked up.
“Hey y/n..” His voice was soft, and he looked down when he said it. He always did.
For a while, we just walked. The park was quiet, except for the sound of gravel crunching under our shoes and the occasional chirp of crickets warming up for the night. Every time our arms brushed, he’d stiffen slightly, like the smallest touch might break something fragile inside him.
“I like it here,” I said finally. “It’s calm. Simple.”
He nodded, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “It’s… nice. People don’t look at you here.”
I turned to him. “Do you hate when people look at you?”
He hesitated. “Only when I start thinking about what they see.”
That silence after was heavy. I wanted to reach for his hand, but he was already retreating inside himself again. You could feel it — like the air between us shifted, stretched.
We ended up sitting on a bench near the pond, the water reflecting the last shreds of orange sky. Jake fidgeted the whole time — tugging at his sleeves, tapping his fingers against his knees, glancing at me and then quickly looking away.
“Do I make you nervous?” I asked quietly.
He froze, mid-tap. “…A little.”
I smiled. “Why?”
He shook his head, eyes fixed on the water. “You’re… beautiful,” he said, barely audible. “And you don’t… You don’t treat me like I’m weird.”
The words hit something deep inside me. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t. I just watched him — the way his jaw tightened, the faint tremor in his fingers, the way the evening light caught the edge of his glasses.
“I don’t think I’m good at this,” he said after a while. “Any of this. Being around people. Saying things that make sense. You probably think I’m—”
“Jake,” I said softly, cutting him off.
He looked up. And for a moment, it felt like the whole world stilled.
His eyes were wide, uncertain, and so full of something raw it almost hurt to look at him. The wind picked up, rustling the trees. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed — a sound that belonged to another world entirely.
“I don’t think you’re weird,” I whispered. “I think you’re kind. And smart. And…” I hesitated, afraid of saying too much. “You make things feel… different.”
He stared at me like he didn’t know what to do with that. Then he swallowed hard, his throat moving as if the words he wanted to say got stuck somewhere between his heart and his mouth.
And before I could second-guess it, I reached out.
His hand was cold, trembling, but he didn’t pull away. He just looked at me, like he was waiting for permission to exist. The air between us grew thick, almost electric. Every heartbeat felt too loud.
When he leaned in, it wasn’t smooth or practiced. It was hesitant — slow, clumsy, almost unsure. His nose brushed mine, his breath caught, and then his lips met mine.
It wasn’t perfect. It was a little messy — his glasses bumped against my face, his lips were dry and trembling — but it felt real. It felt like every nervous heartbeat, every unspoken thought, every wall he’d built was breaking all at once.
He pulled back for a second, eyes darting between mine, breath unsteady. His hand came up, uncertain, and rested against my cheek like he was checking if I was real.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
So he kissed me again. Deeper this time, but still careful — like he was terrified of ruining it. His hand slipped from my cheek to my neck, his thumb tracing tiny, trembling circles on my skin. The world around us blurred — the faint hum of the city, the cool air, the fading light.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. His face was flushed, his lips pink, and his eyes — god, his eyes — they looked alive.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
“Jake,” I murmured, brushing his hair from his face. “It’s okay.”
He nodded, but something in his expression changed — like the reality of what just happened was starting to sink in, and the panic was clawing its way back up.
“I should probably—” He stood abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s getting late.”
“Jake—”
“I’ll text you,” he said quickly, not meeting my eyes. His voice cracked on the last word.
And before I could stop him, he was already walking away.
I sat there on the bench for a long time after he left, the taste of him still faint on my lips, the night finally swallowing the last traces of sunlight.
He never texted.
And somehow, that silence hurt worse than anything he could’ve said.
Nerd!Jake x reader. Jake's been left to his own thoughts, and they aren't good ones. And Y/N seems fed up with this waiting...
Jake's POV
I don’t think she likes me.
That’s what I kept telling myself, over and over, like a mantra that was supposed to make it hurt less. Because it made no sense that someone like her would ever want to be around someone like me. She’s beautiful — in that quiet, disarming way that sneaks up on you. Not loud, not flashy. Just… radiant. The kind of beauty that makes you forget where you are for a second.
After that night at her apartment, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every little thing replayed in my head — the sound of her voice, the way her laugh cracked through the tension when I said something awkward, even how her hair fell into her face when she leaned over her notes. I’d catch myself zoning out in class, wondering if she’d thought about me too, before immediately shutting that thought down.
She probably hadn’t.
I’d wanted to text her so many times. I even opened the message app and typed something out. Thanks for letting me come over. Had a good time. Maybe we could study again sometime?
Then I stared at it. My thumb hovered over “send” for almost ten minutes before I panicked and erased the whole thing. It sounded stupid. Too eager. Too needy.
You’re really easy to talk to. Deleted that too.
Too personal.
Then I tried something safer — Hey, do you understand question five? But that just made me sound like I didn’t care about anything but the assignment. Besides, I was the one tutoring HER.
I must’ve written and deleted at least twenty versions of that text. Each time I convinced myself it was the wrong one, that if I sent it, she’d see right through me. She’d know that I liked her. That I was desperate for her to say something back. That I was the kind of guy who overthinks a simple message until it becomes a thesis on self-loathing.
So, I said nothing.
For days, I just kept to myself. Sat in the same seat at the front of class, pretending to take notes while my mind spiraled. Every time she walked past, I felt my chest tighten. She’d smile, just a little, and it was enough to completely short-circuit my brain.
And then one afternoon, she came up to me after lecture. “Hey, Jake,” she said, all casual, like my heart wasn’t already racing.
I swear my throat closed up.
She asked if I wanted to hang out again, go over some new material. I mumbled something that probably didn’t make sense. “Yeah, sure, if you want”, like I was the one doing her a favor. But inside, I was burning. I wanted to say: Yes, please. I’d cancel everything just to be near you.
We met a few days later, back at the lab. It wasn’t anything special. Same dull fluorescent lights, same scattered papers. But it felt different because she was there.
I remember sitting across from her, trying not to stare too long. She had this way of listening that made me feel like I wasn’t completely invisible. Somehow, the conversation shifted to physics, she asked me something small about the Big Bang, and I just… started talking.
It’s embarrassing, really. I went off for at least twenty minutes. I talked about singularities, about how the universe expanded faster than the speed of light, about cosmic background radiation, entropy — everything. I couldn’t stop. It was like something broke open inside me, and all the things I’d kept buried just spilled out.
Usually, people cut me off when I talk like that. Or their eyes glaze over. But she didn’t. She just looked at me, nodding, smiling a little, asking these gentle questions that made me want to keep going. I can’t believe she let me talk about that. About something so boring, so dense, so… me. And the worst part is how pathetically desperate I was for someone to listen to me like her.
When I finally stopped, the silence hit me hard. I felt stupid, like I’d just ruined it. But she smiled and said, “You explain things really well. It actually makes sense when you say it.”
That sentence... it stuck. I kept replaying it in my head for days after.
Walking home that night, the air was cold, sharp, grounding. I kept thinking about how she’d looked at me. Not like I was weird, not like I was too much. Just like I was someone worth hearing. I didn’t know what to do with that. I’d never felt seen before, not like that.
I think that’s when I realized it — this feeling I’d been trying not to name.
I like her. I really, really like her.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
Because I don’t think she likes me.
But every time I think about her smile, I can’t help but hope I’m wrong.
AN- what do we think about the purple and jake's POV? I have a few idea for more parts...Lemme know if anyone wants to be tagged or what we think of this! :)
fake bf!Heeseung x being stalked!reader - You kissed Heeseung to escape your stalker’s gaze—but the danger didn’t end there. One fake kiss, and suddenly everything is terrifyingly real.
The fluorescent lights of the subway car flicker overhead, casting an unflattering glow across the half-empty train. It's later than you'd usually be out on a weeknight, but your coworker's birthday drinks ran longer than expected. You check your phone: 11:43 PM. Only three more stops until home.
That's when you feel it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
You glance up from your phone, trying to appear casual as your eyes scan the car. And there he is. Third seat from the door. A man in his thirties, wearing a dark jacket despite the warm spring evening, staring directly at you. When your eyes meet, he doesn't look away. Instead, his lips curl into what might be considered a smile, if it weren't so utterly devoid of warmth.
You quickly look back down at your phone, heart rate accelerating. It's nothing, you tell yourself. Just another weird encounter in the city.
The train slows to a stop, doors sliding open. You remain seated, two more stops to go. From your peripheral vision, you see the man stand up. Relief washes over you—he's leaving. But instead of exiting, he simply moves to a seat closer to you. Your stomach drops.
When the doors close and the train lurches forward, you decide you're not waiting two more stops. You'll get off at the next station, find a busier platform, maybe even grab a taxi the rest of the way home. Anything to shake this feeling.
The next stop arrives. You stand quickly, moving toward the doors. As they open, you glance back—he's standing too. Following you.
Panic rises in your throat as you step onto the platform. It's nearly deserted at this hour, just a few late-night commuters waiting for trains going the opposite direction. You walk briskly toward the exit, the sound of footsteps behind you matching your pace.
That's when you see him—a young man leaning against a pillar, scrolling through his phone. He's striking even under the harsh station lights, with delicate features contrasted by sharp eyes and broad shoulders. Something about him radiates both gentleness and strength. You make a split-second decision.
You approach him quickly, heart pounding in your ears.
"Excuse me," you say softly, your voice shakier than you'd like. "Can you please pretend to be my boyfriend for a minute? There's someone following me."
He looks up from his phone, confusion crossing his face for only a moment before his eyes flick past you, assessing the situation with remarkable speed. His expression shifts to understanding, then determination.
"Of course, babe," he says loudly enough to be overheard, smoothly slipping his phone into his pocket. "I was wondering when you'd get here."
In one fluid motion, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours is startling but comforting.
"He's still watching," the stranger whispers against your hair. "Is that the guy? Black jacket, about five-nine?"
You nod almost imperceptibly.
"I'm Heeseung, by the way," he murmurs, maintaining the charade by playing with a strand of your hair.
"I'm Y/N," you whisper back.
You both stand there for a moment, locked in an embrace that feels both foreign and strangely safe. But you can still feel the stalker's eyes boring into your back.
"He's not buying it," Heeseung says quietly, his breath warm against your ear. Then, even softer: "Want me to kiss you? Might be more convincing."
Your eyes widen slightly, but the footsteps behind you seem to be getting closer. You nod again, bracing yourself.
Heeseung's hand gently tilts your chin upward. His eyes meet yours, silently asking one more time if this is okay. There's something unexpectedly tender in his gaze that makes your breath catch. Then he leans down, pressing his lips against yours.
The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant—the kiss of strangers playing a part. But as his arms tighten around you, something shifts. His lips move more confidently against yours, and you find yourself responding, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders. For a brief moment, you forget about the man watching you, forget that this is all pretend. There is only the softness of Heeseung's lips and the steadiness of his hands at your waist.
When you finally break apart, you're both slightly breathless. Heeseung's eyes search yours for a moment before he looks past you, his expression hardening.
"He's still there," he says, voice lower now, a protective edge creeping in. "What's this guy's problem?"
The stalker stands several feet away, his stare unrelenting, suspicious. Clearly, your performance hasn't convinced him.
Something in Heeseung snaps. He steps slightly in front of you, shielding you with his body.
"What are you looking at?" he calls out, his voice echoing in the nearly empty station. "You need something?"
The man doesn't respond, just continues staring.
"What?" Heeseung's voice rises, anger evident. "You need more proof? Want me to fuck her in front of you too?"
You grab Heeseung's arm, both shocked and grateful for his protective fury. The few remaining commuters on the platform turn to stare.
The stalker finally breaks his gaze, muttering something under his breath before walking toward the exit. But the look he gives you before he turns away sends ice through your veins—this isn't over.
"Hey, are you okay?" Heeseung asks, turning back to you, his expression immediately softening. "Sorry if I went too far. I just couldn't stand the way he was looking at you."
"Thank you," you manage, suddenly aware that you're trembling. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here."
"Which way are you headed?" he asks, concern etched across his features.
"I'm two stops down, but I think I'll just get a taxi now."
"I'll wait with you," he says firmly. "Or I can ride with you the rest of the way, if you want."
As you both head toward the exit, you feel Heeseung's hand gently rest against the small of your back—a protective gesture that makes you feel safer than you have all night.
Neither of you notice the stalker watching from the shadows as you leave the station together, his eyes narrowed with suspicion and something more dangerous simmering beneath.
-
The taxi ride is quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional direction you give the driver. Heeseung sits beside you, a respectful distance between you now, but his presence remains solid and reassuring. The adrenaline from earlier is beginning to wear off, leaving you feeling drained and slightly embarrassed.
"I'm really sorry about all of this," you finally say, glancing over at him. In the dim light of the passing streetlamps, his profile looks almost ethereal. "I can't believe I dragged a complete stranger into my problems."
Heeseung turns to you, his expression earnest. "Don't apologize. That guy was seriously creepy. Anyone would have needed help."
"Not everyone would have helped the way you did," you point out. "Most people would have just walked away."
He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "Well, I'm not most people."
The taxi pulls up to your apartment building, and you reach for your wallet, but Heeseung already has his card out.
"Please, let me," he insists, paying the driver before you can protest.
"You really don't have to—"
"Consider it my good deed for the day," he says with a gentle smile that makes something flutter in your chest.
You both step out onto the sidewalk, and suddenly you're not sure how to end this strange encounter. A handshake seems too formal after what you've shared, but anything more feels presumptuous.
"I'd feel better if I saw you safely to your door," Heeseung says, breaking the awkward moment. "If that's okay with you."
You nod, grateful for his consideration, and lead him into the building. The elevator ride to the fifth floor is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Standing next to him, you notice he smells faintly of sandalwood and something uniquely his own.
When you reach your apartment door, you turn to face him. "Thank you again. Seriously. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there."
"I'm just glad I could help," he says, and there's a sincerity in his voice that's rare these days.
An idea strikes you. "Wait here for a second?" You unlock your door and rush inside, grabbing a pen and scrap of paper from the entryway table. You quickly scribble your number on it, then return to the hallway where Heeseung waits patiently.
"Here," you say, offering him the paper. "In case you ever need someone to pretend to be your girlfriend." You attempt a joke to lighten the moment, though your heart beats a little faster as he takes the paper.
Heeseung looks at your number, then back at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. He pulls out his phone, inputs your number, and then you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.
"Now you have mine too," he says. "If you ever feel unsafe again or if that guy shows up, call me. Doesn't matter what time."
"I couldn't possibly—"
"I mean it," he interrupts, his expression turning serious. "Promise me you'll call if anything happens."
Something about the intensity in his eyes makes you nod. "I promise."
"Good." His expression softens again. "Get some rest, Y/N. It's been a long night."
"You too, Heeseung."
He waits until you're safely inside with the door locked before you hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway.
-
The next morning, the whole encounter feels almost like a dream. You might have convinced yourself it was, if not for the new contact in your phone: "Heeseung (Subway Hero)."
Life returns to normal surprisingly fast. You're more cautious on your commute, taking earlier trains and staying in crowded cars, but there's no sign of the creepy man. After a week passes without incident, you begin to relax.
You think about texting Heeseung several times. Your finger hovers over his contact information, but what would you say? "Thanks again for pretending to be my boyfriend and kissing me"? "Want to grab coffee sometime when I'm not being stalked"? Everything sounds awkward or presumptuous. He was just being kind to a stranger in trouble. You don't want to mistaken his kindness for interest.
So you don't text him, and the days pass.
Almost two weeks after the subway incident, you're working late at the office. The design project you've been assigned has a tight deadline, and you've lost track of time staring at your computer screen. When you finally look up, it's past 10 PM, and you're the only one left on your floor.
You pack up quickly, suddenly aware of how quiet and empty the building feels. In the elevator down to the lobby, you check your phone and see a notification for an email from an address you don't recognize.
The subject line reads: "I SAW YOU WITH HIM."
A chill runs down your spine. You should delete it without opening it, but morbid curiosity gets the better of you. The message contains just one line:
"I know he's not really your boyfriend."
Your hands start to shake. Below the text is a photo—of you and Heeseung leaving the subway station together that night. The angle suggests it was taken from a distance, from someone following behind.
As you step out of the elevator into the dimly lit lobby, another email notification appears. Same sender.
"You're alone now. Look up."
Your heart nearly stops. Slowly, you raise your head from your phone screen and scan the lobby. At first, you see nothing unusual—just the security desk (empty at this hour), the entrance doors, the row of potted plants along the wall.
Then a shadow moves near the entrance, and you see him. The man from the subway, watching you through the glass doors, that same cold smile on his face.
Without thinking, you step back into the elevator and frantically press the button for your floor. As the doors close, you see him moving toward the building entrance.
Your fingers tremble as you pull up Heeseung's contact. It's been two weeks. He probably doesn't even remember you. But you promised.
He answers on the second ring.
"Y/N?" His voice is alert, not groggy despite the hour. "Is everything okay?"
"He found me," you whisper, watching the elevator numbers climb. "The guy from the subway. He's here at my office building. He has pictures of us. He knows—he knows you're not really my boyfriend."
There's a brief silence, then Heeseung's voice comes through, calm but urgent. "Where exactly are you now?"
"In the elevator, going back up to my office. I don't think he can get past building security without a keycard, but he was right outside."
"Okay, listen to me. Go back to your office, lock the door if you can. What's the address?"
You tell him, surprised at how clearly you remember his address despite your panic.
"I'm leaving now. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay on the phone with me, okay?"
"Okay," you manage, stepping out of the elevator and hurrying down the hallway to your office. You lock the door behind you, then turn off the lights and move away from the windows. "I'm sorry to drag you into this again."
"Don't apologize," he says, and you can hear rustling in the background, the jingle of keys. "I told you to call if anything happened."
"I know, but—"
"Y/N," he interrupts gently. "I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you anyway."
Despite everything, a small flutter of warmth spreads through your chest at his words.
"He thinks I'm your boyfriend?" Heeseung continues, and you hear a door slam shut on his end. "What are you going to do about this guy?"
"I don't know," you admit, sinking down beneath your desk, phone clutched to your ear like a lifeline. "I guess I should file a police report, but—"
Your sentence is cut short by another email notification. With dread, you open it to find another picture—this one of your office building, with a simple message: "I'll wait."
"Heeseung," you whisper, fear making your voice crack. "Please hurry."
-
"I'm five minutes away," Heeseung reassures you, his voice steady despite the sound of rapid footsteps on his end. "Stay where you are and keep talking to me."
You curl up tighter beneath your desk, eyes fixed on the locked office door. The building is eerily quiet at this hour—every distant sound making your heart race. Is that the elevator? Footsteps in the stairwell? Your imagination is turning every creak and hum of the building into a threat.
"Tell me about your day," Heeseung says suddenly.
"What?"
"Your day. What were you working on that kept you at the office so late?" His tone is deliberately casual, trying to distract you from the panic.
You take a shaky breath. "A design project for a new client. They're launching a sustainable clothing line and needed the branding finalized by tomorrow morning." Speaking helps—focusing on normal things makes the situation feel slightly less terrifying.
"You're a designer?" There's genuine interest in his voice.
"Graphic designer, yeah. What about you? What do you do when you're not rescuing strangers on the subway?" You attempt a weak joke.
There's a soft chuckle on the other end. "Music production, mostly. I work at a studio downtown."
"That sounds amazing," you say, briefly forgetting your fear. "Do you work with anyone I might know?"
"Maybe. I've worked with—" He cuts himself off. "I'm at your building now. Is there a security guard?"
"There should be, but I didn't see anyone when I was in the lobby."
"There's no one here now either," Heeseung says, his voice lower. "How do I get up to your floor?"
"You need a keycard for the elevator after hours," you explain, anxiety flooding back. "But wait—if there's no security guard, where did he go? And how would the stalker get in without a card?"
There's a moment of silence before Heeseung responds, his voice tight. "I don't know, but I don't like it. Is there another way up? A stairwell?"
"Yes, but it needs a keycard too—" You stop as another email notification appears. With trembling fingers, you open it.
The message contains just three words: "I'M INSIDE NOW."
"Heeseung," you whisper, terror making your voice almost inaudible. "He says he's inside the building."
"Shit," he mutters. Then, more decisively: "I'm going to try something. What floor are you on?"
"Seventh."
"Give me two minutes."
The line goes quiet except for the sound of Heeseung's breathing and occasional grunts of effort. You're about to ask what he's doing when you hear a distant alarm begin to wail.
"What's happening?" you ask.
"Fire alarm," Heeseung explains, slightly out of breath. "Building security will unlock automatically. I'm coming up the stairs now."
Relief washes over you—until you realize that if the security systems are overridden, there's nothing keeping the stalker from accessing your floor either.
As if reading your thoughts, Heeseung speaks again. "Stay hidden. I'll be there soon. Which office number?"
"705. It's at the end of the hallway on the right when you come out of the stairwell."
"Got it. Almost there."
You hear the sound of a door banging open through the phone, then rapid footsteps. A moment later, there's a gentle knock at your office door.
"Y/N? It's me."
You scramble out from under the desk and rush to the door, pressing your ear against it. "Heeseung?"
"It's me," he confirms. "Open the door."
Your hands shake as you unlock the door. The moment it opens, Heeseung slips inside, immediately locking it behind him. In the dim emergency lighting, you can see he's breathing hard, hair slightly damp with sweat—he must have run the entire way.
Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, the relief of seeing a friendly face overwhelming in your state of fear. He stiffens in surprise for just a moment before his arms wrap around you, holding you securely.
"Are you okay?" he murmurs against your hair.
You nod against his chest, embarrassed but unable to pull away just yet. His heartbeat is rapid beneath your ear, his body warm and solid—an anchor in the storm of your fear.
When you finally step back, you notice he's scanning the room, eyes alert and wary. "We should go. The fire department will be here soon because of the alarm, but I don't want to risk running into this guy."
"Okay," you agree, quickly gathering your belongings.
Heeseung peers out the office door, checking the hallway. "Clear. Let's go to the stairs—they're closer than the elevator."
He takes your hand as you hurry down the corridor, his grip firm and reassuring. At the stairwell door, he pauses, listening intently before pushing it open.
"Stay close," he instructs as you begin descending.
You're halfway between the fifth and fourth floors when a door slams somewhere below you. Heeseung freezes, pushing you gently against the wall, his body shielding yours. You both listen, hardly breathing.
Footsteps on the stairs—coming up.
Heeseung's eyes meet yours, his expression tense but determined. Silently, he gestures upward. You nod in understanding.
As quietly as possible, you both backtrack, climbing up instead of down. When you reach the eighth floor, Heeseung carefully opens the door, checking that the hallway is clear before pulling you through.
"We'll try the elevator on this floor," he whispers. "The alarm should have reset the security lockdowns."
The eighth floor is darker than yours, with only emergency exit signs providing dim red illumination. Heeseung keeps your hand firmly in his as you navigate to the elevator bank. He presses the call button, and you both watch anxiously as the numbers climb from the lobby.
The distant sound of a door opening makes you both tense. Heeseung positions himself slightly in front of you, his stance protective.
The elevator seems to take forever. Three... Four... Five...
You're about to protest when the elevator finally arrives with a soft chime. The doors slide open, and you both quickly step inside. Heeseung jabs the lobby button repeatedly, then the door close button.
As the doors begin to shut, you catch a glimpse of a figure at the end of the hallway—a man in a dark jacket. Your breath catches.
The doors close fully, and the elevator begins its descent.
"That was him," you whisper, leaning against the wall for support. "That was definitely him."
Heeseung's jaw tightens, a mixture of anger and concern crossing his features. "When we get to the lobby, we're going straight to my car. No stopping, okay?"
You nod, trying to calm your racing heart.
The elevator reaches the lobby, doors opening to reveal chaos. The fire alarm has drawn several security personnel and what looks like the beginning of a fire department response. In the confusion, you and Heeseung slip out relatively unnoticed, his arm around your waist guiding you swiftly through the crowd and out to the street.
"This way," he says, leading you to a sleek black car parked half on the curb—he must have been in a hurry when he arrived.
Once inside with the doors locked, you finally allow yourself to take a deep breath. Heeseung starts the engine but doesn't immediately drive away.
"Are you hurt at all?" he asks, turning to examine you with concern.
"No, I'm fine," you assure him, though your hands are still trembling. "Just scared."
He nods, reaching out to briefly squeeze your hand before putting the car in drive. "I'm taking you to my place," he says, pulling away from the curb. "I don't think it's safe for you to go home tonight."
Under normal circumstances, going to a near-stranger's apartment would set off all kinds of alarm bells. But nothing about this situation is normal, and the safety Heeseung represents outweighs any reservation you might have.
"Thank you," you say simply.
He glances in the rearview mirror frequently as he drives, checking that you're not being followed. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving you feeling drained and slightly nauseous.
"I should call the police," you say after a few minutes of silence.
"Definitely," Heeseung agrees. "But let's get somewhere safe first."
His apartment turns out to be in a secure building with underground parking and a doorman—facts that provide immediate relief. Inside, the space is surprisingly homey: a modern open-concept layout with warm lighting and comfortable furnishings. A keyboard and small recording setup occupies one corner of the living area, confirming his earlier mention of music production.
"Make yourself at home," he says, gesturing to the couch. "I'll get you some water."
As he moves to the kitchen, you sink onto the sofa, the events of the night finally catching up to you. Your phone chimes with another email notification, and you nearly drop it in fear.
Heeseung notices your reaction, returning quickly with a glass of water. "Another message from him?"
You nod, unable to open it.
"May I?" he asks, holding out his hand for your phone.
You pass it to him, watching as he opens the email, his expression darkening as he reads.
"What does it say?" you ask, not sure you want to know.
Heeseung looks up, his eyes filled with protective anger. "He says he knows you're with me now. That you've 'chosen your side.' And that he'll be watching both of us." He sets your phone down. "We're definitely calling the police. This is serious stalking."
While Heeseung contacts the authorities, you sip your water, trying to make sense of this nightmare. How did this happen? One random encounter on the subway has spiraled into a genuine threat to your safety. And Heeseung—a complete stranger two weeks ago—is now putting himself at risk to keep you safe.
When he finishes the call, he sits beside you on the couch, close enough that you can feel his warmth but not touching. "They're sending someone over to take your statement. They also advised documenting everything—all the messages, photos, any evidence of him following you."
You nod, staring down at your hands. "I'm so sorry for involving you in this."
"Hey," he says gently, waiting until you look up at him. "None of this is your fault. And I'm not sorry I helped you that night, even if it means being involved now."
"Why?" The question slips out before you can stop it. "Why would you do all this for someone you barely know?"
Heeseung is quiet for a moment, seemingly considering the question carefully. "I've seen what happens when people look the other way," he finally says. "My sister had a stalker in college. Not as extreme as this, but scary enough. People knew—her friends, her roommates—but no one really did anything. They thought it wasn't their problem." His voice hardens slightly. "I won't be that person. Not ever."
The personal revelation surprises you. "I'm sorry about your sister. Is she okay now?"
He nods. "She's fine. It eventually stopped, but it affected her for a long time. Made it hard for her to trust people." He meets your eyes. "That's why I want to help you end this now, before it gets worse."
His words wrap around you like a shield, and for the first time since you saw that man on the subway, you feel truly protected.
"Thank you," you say again, the words inadequate but sincere.
The police arrive about twenty minutes later—a female officer who takes your statement professionally and thoroughly. She confirms what Heeseung already said: document everything, file for a restraining order as soon as possible, and take precautions with your personal security.
"What about tonight?" you ask as she's preparing to leave. "Is it safe for me to go home?"
The officer hesitates. "We can have a patrol car drive by your residence periodically, but we don't have the resources for constant surveillance. Do you have someone who can stay with you? A friend or family member?"
Before you can answer, Heeseung speaks up. "She can stay here. I have a spare room, security building, doorman. She'll be safe."
The officer looks between the two of you. "That would certainly be safer than being alone," she agrees. "And it might be good to have someone with you for the next few days at least, until we can locate this individual."
After she leaves, a quiet falls over the apartment. You're exhausted but too wired to sleep, and the thought of imposing on Heeseung even more makes you uncomfortable.
"I can take you home if you'd prefer," he offers, reading your hesitation. "Or to a friend's place, or a hotel."
You consider the options, but the thought of being alone—or explaining this bizarre situation to a friend in the middle of the night—seems overwhelming. And a hotel doesn't offer the same security as Heeseung's building.
"If you really don't mind, staying here would make me feel safer," you admit. "Just for tonight. I can figure something else out tomorrow."
"I don't mind at all," he says, and there's such sincerity in his voice that you believe him. "Let me show you the guest room and find you something to sleep in."
The spare room is simple but comfortable, with a queen-sized bed and attached bathroom. Heeseung lends you a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that dwarf your frame but are clean and comfortable.
"Try to get some rest," he says, lingering in the doorway. "I'm right across the hall if you need anything. Anything at all."
"Thank you, Heeseung," you say, the words becoming something of a mantra between you. "For everything."
He smiles—a small, tired smile that still manages to reach his eyes. "Good night, Y/N."
After he leaves, you sit on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed by the events of the day. You should be terrified—and you are—but there's also a strange sense of security that comes from knowing Heeseung is just across the hall. A man who was a stranger two weeks ago has become your shield against a nightmare you never saw coming.
When you finally lay down, exhaustion quickly overtakes your racing thoughts. You fall asleep to the distant sound of Heeseung moving around the apartment, the knowledge of his presence a comfort in the darkness.
-
You wake to sunlight filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the smell of coffee. For a moment, disorientation grips you—until memories of the previous night come flooding back. The stalker, the chase through your office building, Heeseung's rescue, and now... his guest bedroom.
After using the bathroom and attempting to make yourself somewhat presentable, you venture out to the main living area. Heeseung is in the kitchen, back turned to you as he works at the counter. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair slightly rumpled from sleep.
He turns at the sound of your approach, offering a gentle smile. "Morning. How did you sleep?"
"Better than I expected," you admit. "Something smells amazing."
"Coffee and breakfast," he says, gesturing to the stove where eggs are cooking. "I figured you might be hungry."
The thoughtfulness of the gesture catches you off guard. "Thank you. Again."
He waves it off. "Sit. Eat. Then we can figure out what to do next."
Over breakfast, you both discuss the situation more calmly than was possible the night before. You need clothes and personal items from your apartment, but the thought of going there alone makes your stomach clench.
"I'll go with you," Heeseung offers immediately. "And I still think you should stay here for a few days, at least until the police locate this guy."
"I can't impose on you like that," you protest.
"You're not imposing if I'm offering," he counters. "Look, this guy has clearly fixated on both of us now. It makes sense to stick together." His expression softens. "Plus, I'd worry about you being alone."
The admission brings unexpected comfort. "Okay," you agree. "Just until they find him."
After breakfast, Heeseung insists on driving you to your apartment to collect some essentials. The daylight makes the situation feel less threatening, but you're still jumpy, constantly checking over your shoulder. Heeseung stays close, his presence a constant reassurance.
At your apartment, everything looks normal—no signs of disturbance or intrusion. You quickly pack a bag with clothes and necessities for a few days, while Heeseung checks each room, making sure the space is secure.
"All clear," he reports when you finish packing. "But we should let your building manager know what's happening. And you might want to consider getting your locks changed, just in case."
The practicality of his advice grounds you. This isn't just a nightmare to be endured; there are concrete steps you can take to protect yourself.
Back at Heeseung's apartment, you call your boss to explain the situation (leaving out some of the more frightening details) and arrange to work remotely for a few days. Heeseung does the same, rescheduling his studio sessions to work from home instead.
"You don't have to do that," you tell him. "I'll be fine here alone."
"I know," he says. "But I'd rather be here. Just in case."
The rest of the day passes in a strange bubble of temporary safety. You work on your laptop from his dining table while he tinkers with music tracks at his home studio setup. Occasionally, one of you will make coffee or suggest ordering food, and you find yourself settling into an easy rhythm despite the bizarre circumstances.
In the evening, after dinner (takeout from a nearby Thai place), you sit together on the couch, the TV playing a movie neither of you is really watching. Your mind keeps returning to the danger lurking outside—and to the stranger who has become your protector.
"Can I ask you something?" you finally say.
Heeseung turns to you, giving you his full attention. "Of course."
"That night on the subway platform... when you helped me..." You hesitate, searching for the right words. "Why did you believe me right away? Most people would have thought I was crazy."
He's quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "The fear in your eyes was real," he finally says. "I've seen that kind of fear before. It's not something people fake." His gaze is steady, sincere. "And honestly, what did I have to lose by helping? If you were making it up, the worst that happens is I feel a little awkward for a few minutes. But if you weren't..." He shrugs. "Then maybe I could help keep someone safe."
His simple explanation touches something deep inside you. In a world where so many people turn away from others' problems, Heeseung's instinct was to step forward, to protect.
"Well," you say softly, "you definitely did that. Twice now."
A small smile tugs at his lips. "And I'll keep doing it until this is over."
Your phones sit side by side on the coffee table, both silent for now. But you know the stalker will contact you again. And when he does, you won't be facing him alone.
In this moment of quiet, with the city lights twinkling beyond the windows and Heeseung's steady presence beside you, you allow yourself to breathe. The danger hasn't passed, but for now, in this space, you're safe. And that's enough.
-
The following day, a detective calls to update you on the case. Heeseung sits next to you on the couch as you put the call on speaker, his presence steady and reassuring.
"We've identified the individual from the security footage," the detective explains, her voice professional but tinged with concern. "His name is Lee Minhyuk. He has a history of stalking behavior."
You feel Heeseung tense beside you. "What kind of history?" he asks.
There's a brief pause on the line. "I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily, but you should both be aware that this isn't his first fixation. He's been linked to at least two similar cases in the past three years."
"And?" you prompt, sensing there's more she isn't saying.
"And in the most recent case, the situation escalated to physical violence." The detective's voice becomes more serious. "The victim had a restraining order in place, but Minhyuk violated it. She was hospitalized with non-life-threatening injuries. He served eight months before being released on good behavior."
Your blood runs cold. Beside you, Heeseung's jaw clenches, his eyes darkening with anger and concern.
"So what happens now?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear churning in your stomach.
"We're actively looking for him," the detective assures you. "We have units checking his known addresses and places of employment. But until we locate him, you need to take every possible precaution."
"What about police protection?" Heeseung asks.
Another pause. "Unfortunately, we don't have the resources to provide continuous protection at this time. We can increase patrols in both your neighborhoods, but—"
"That's not good enough," Heeseung interrupts, frustration evident in his voice. "If this guy is violent—"
"I understand your concern," the detective says. "Believe me, I do. But the best advice I can give you right now is to stay together, maintain awareness of your surroundings, continue documenting any contact he makes, and call 911 immediately if you believe you're in danger."
After hanging up, you sit in stunned silence. The abstract threat has suddenly become terrifyingly concrete—a real person with a name and a violent history.
"Y/N?" Heeseung says softly, concern etched across his features. "Talk to me."
"I didn't think it would be this serious," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "A violent stalker? How is this happening to me?"
Heeseung reaches for your hand, his warm fingers wrapping around yours. "We'll get through this," he says firmly. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We just need to be careful until they find him."
You nod, but the detective's words echo in your mind: escalated to physical violence... hospitalized... released on good behavior.
That night, despite Heeseung's reassurances and the security of his apartment, sleep eludes you. You toss and turn in the guest bed, startling at every small noise in the building. When exhaustion finally pulls you under, your dreams are plagued by shadows and footsteps and cold, unblinking eyes watching you from dark corners.
You wake screaming sometime after 3 AM, drenched in sweat, the nightmare still vivid in your mind. In it, the stalker—Minhyuk—had broken into the apartment and was standing over the bed, watching you sleep, something glinting in his hand.
Before you can fully register what's happening, the bedroom door bursts open and Heeseung is there, hair disheveled from sleep but eyes alert and searching for danger.
"Y/N? What's wrong?" he asks urgently, scanning the room before rushing to your side.
"Nightmare," you manage, still trembling. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to wake you."
The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, but concern remains etched across his features. "Don't apologize," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"
You shake your head, embarrassed by your reaction despite the lingering terror. "It was just a bad dream."
Heeseung studies your face for a moment, clearly unconvinced. "Would it help if I stayed? Just until you fall back asleep?"
The offer is so sincere, so free of judgment, that tears spring to your eyes. You nod, unable to voice how desperately you don't want to be alone right now.
Without another word, Heeseung moves to sit with his back against the headboard. After a moment's hesitation, you lay back down, surprised by how much safer you feel with him there. He doesn't touch you, but the sound of his steady breathing eventually lulls you back to sleep.
The pattern repeats the next night, and the next. Each time, the nightmares grow more vivid, more terrifying. Each time, you wake calling Heeseung's name, and each time he's there within moments, a solid presence against the fear.
The third morning after another disrupted night, you find Heeseung already in the kitchen when you emerge from the guest room. Dark circles shadow his eyes—clear evidence of his own interrupted sleep—but he smiles warmly when he sees you.
"Morning," he says, sliding a mug of coffee across the counter. "Just how you like it. Two sugars, splash of milk."
You're touched that he's noticed this detail about you in such a short time. "Thank you. I'm really sorry about last night. Again."
He waves away your apology. "Stop apologizing. It's not your fault."
"But you're exhausted too," you point out, gesturing to the faint shadows under his eyes.
Instead of denying it, Heeseung reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a colorful box. "Nothing that sugar can't fix," he declares with a mischievous grin, presenting the box of Frosted Flakes with a flourish. "Breakfast of champions."
The childish delight on his face as he pours two bowls is so incongruous with the somber situation that you can't help but laugh. "Seriously? Frosted Flakes?"
"Don't judge," he says, defending his choice with mock seriousness. "Tony the Tiger has gotten me through some tough times."
You accept the bowl he offers, taking a bite and exaggerating your enjoyment. "Mmm, you're right. They're grrrreat!"
Your tiger impression is terrible, and it makes Heeseung burst into laughter, nearly choking on his cereal. The sound is bright and genuine, lightening the heaviness that's hung between you for days. For a moment, it's easy to forget why you're here—that somewhere out there, someone is looking for you.
"So," Heeseung says when you've both calmed down, "I was thinking we could watch a movie tonight. Something completely mindless and happy. No suspense, no thriller elements, nothing remotely scary."
"That sounds perfect," you admit.
That evening, after you both finish work, Heeseung makes good on his promise. He builds what can only be described as a pillow fortress on the couch, complete with every cushion and throw blanket in the apartment. He microwaves popcorn and pulls out an assortment of candy that would make a dentist cry.
"What are you, twelve?" you tease, but you're smiling as you say it.
"Sometimes," he admits with a shrug. "Being an adult is overrated."
You settle into the nest of pillows as he scrolls through options on the TV. He ends up selecting an animated film about dragons that's clearly meant for children but is visually stunning enough for adults to enjoy. As the movie plays, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in days, occasionally stealing glances at Heeseung as he laughs unreservedly at the funny parts.
When the movie ends, neither of you makes a move to get up right away. The comfortable silence stretches between you, broken only when Heeseung reaches for his phone.
"Oh God," he says suddenly, covering his mouth to suppress his laughter. "Have you seen this?"
He passes you his phone, showing a ridiculous viral video of a cat walking dramatically to music. It's silly and inconsequential, but soon you're both laughing uncontrollably, sharing more videos and memes back and forth, your shoulders pressed together as you huddle over the small screen.
For the first time since this nightmare began, you feel normal. Just two people enjoying each other's company, finding joy in the absurd corners of the internet. The shared laughter creates a bubble around you both, keeping the fear at bay, if only temporarily.
Eventually, the hour grows late, and you can't suppress a yawn.
"Time for bed," Heeseung says, noticing immediately. Something flickers across his face—concern, perhaps, knowing what sleep has meant for you these past few nights.
On the fourth night, after a particularly brutal nightmare where you couldn't scream, couldn't move as Minhyuk approached, Heeseung makes a gentle suggestion over breakfast.
"Maybe it would help if I just stayed in the room from the start," he offers, his voice careful, non-presumptuous. "The guest bed is plenty big enough. I can sleep on top of the covers if that makes you more comfortable."
The idea of not being alone with your fears is so appealing that you agree without hesitation. "Are you sure you don't mind? I feel like I'm completely disrupting your life."
"You're not," he says simply. "I'd rather be here than listen to you suffer alone."
That evening, a new kind of awkwardness creeps in as bedtime approaches. You've never prepared for sleep knowing Heeseung would be there from the beginning. The nighttime routine you've developed over the past few days—brushing teeth side by side at the dual bathroom sinks, moving around each other with careful politeness—suddenly feels different, charged with awareness.
"I'll give you privacy to change," Heeseung says, retreating from the guest room after retrieving what he needs for the night.
When he returns fifteen minutes later, hair damp from a shower and wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, you've already changed into the pajamas you borrowed from him (a t-shirt so large it reaches mid-thigh and a pair of shorts with a drawstring pulled tight). You're sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through your phone, trying to appear casual though your heart beats a little faster at the sight of him.
"I found something," he says, holding up a small bottle. "Lavender spray for the pillows. My sister swears by it for better sleep." He looks suddenly self-conscious. "It's probably silly—"
"No, it's... that's really thoughtful," you interrupt, genuinely touched by the gesture.
He approaches the bed hesitantly. "May I?"
You nod, and he lightly mists the pillows with the fragrant spray. The gentle scent fills the air, surprisingly comforting.
"And I have one more thing," he adds, reaching into his pocket and producing a small portable speaker. He places it on the nightstand and connects his phone. Soft piano music begins to play, quiet enough to not be distracting. "I use this when I can't turn my brain off after a long day in the studio."
The care he's putting into making you comfortable brings a lump to your throat. "Heeseung, you didn't have to do all this."
He shrugs, a shy smile playing at his lips. "I want you to actually sleep tonight."
You both settle into the bed, Heeseung on top of the covers as promised, you underneath them. Despite the physical barrier of the duvet between you, there's an intimacy to sharing this space intentionally, rather than him rushing in after a nightmare has already claimed you.
"Good night, Y/N," he says softly, reaching to turn off the lamp.
"Good night, Heeseung," you reply, the lavender scent and gentle music already making your eyelids heavy.
You sleep better that night—not perfectly, but the nightmares, when they come, are less intense. Heeseung's presence seems to anchor you, giving your subconscious something to hold onto when the fear threatens to drag you under.
The next morning, you wake to find Heeseung already gone, the side of the bed where he slept neatly made. For a moment, disappointment washes over you until the smell of coffee draws you to the kitchen.
"Perfect timing," he says when he sees you, sliding a plate of toast and scrambled eggs across the counter. "I was just about to come wake you."
"You didn't have to cook," you say, though your stomach growls appreciatively at the sight of the food.
"I didn't mind. Besides, you slept past nine. I was starting to worry you were hibernating." His teasing smile makes the kitchen feel warmer somehow.
Over the next few days, a new rhythm emerges. During daylight hours, you share the apartment comfortably, each working on your respective projects but coming together for meals and breaks. You learn that Heeseung is meticulous about some things (the organization of his music equipment) and charmingly chaotic about others (the state of his sock drawer). He learns that you're grumpy before coffee but surprisingly cheerful during thunderstorms.
Small rituals develop without discussion. Morning coffee prepared just the way you like it waiting for you when you wake up. Evening walks around the secure courtyard of his building, his hand finding yours whenever you pass through a shadowy area. Movie nights where neither of you watches the screen as much as you share childhood stories or debate the merits of different ice cream flavors.
At night, you continue to share the bed, the arrangement becoming less awkward with each passing evening. Your bedtime routine evolves into something almost domestic—Heeseung reading a book while you finish an email, you applying lotion to your hands while he sets the alarm, both of you gravitating to your respective sides of the bed with increasing comfort.
One night, as you're both getting ready for sleep, Heeseung emerges from the bathroom wearing a ridiculous sheet mask that makes him look like a cartoon character.
"What on earth is that?" you ask, unable to contain your laughter.
"Skin care is important," he says with exaggerated seriousness, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. "This one makes me look like a panda. There's a tiger one too if you want to join me."
"Absolutely not," you declare, still giggling.
"Your loss," he shrugs, before lifting his phone. "Wait, this requires documentation."
He sits beside you on the bed, holding up his phone to take a selfie. You try to duck away, but his arm catches you around the shoulders, pulling you into the frame. "Say cheese!"
"I am not posing with you looking like that!" you protest, but you're laughing too hard to resist properly.
He snaps several photos in quick succession, capturing your failed attempts to escape and your helpless laughter. When he shows you the results, you have to admit they're hilarious—Heeseung looking serene in his panda mask while you're caught mid-laugh, head thrown back, joy written across your features.
"Delete those," you demand without any real heat.
"No way," he replies, holding the phone out of your reach. "These are artistic masterpieces."
You make a grab for the phone, but he's quicker, holding it high above his head. What follows is a playful tussle that ends with you both breathless with laughter, the momentary physical contact feeling natural rather than forced or awkward.
Later, when you're both settled in bed, lights off and the now-familiar lavender scent surrounding you, Heeseung speaks softly in the darkness.
"It was good to hear you laugh like that," he says.
You turn toward his voice, though you can only make out his silhouette in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "It felt good to laugh," you admit. "Thank you for... all of this. For making this situation somehow bearable."
"You don't have to thank me," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Besides, now I have blackmail material with those photos."
You swat blindly in his direction, your hand connecting with what feels like his shoulder. He chuckles, the sound warming you from the inside.
By the sixth day of your stay, with no word from the police about Minhyuk's whereabouts, your new routine has solidified. During the day, you both work from the apartment, occasionally sharing meals or brief conversations. In the evenings, you watch movies or talk, carefully avoiding discussion of the situation unless there are new developments. And at night, you sleep in the same bed, the space between you a boundary neither has crossed.
Until tonight.
Something wakes you—not a nightmare this time, but some small sound or shift in the atmosphere. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:17 AM. The room is dark except for the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.
That's when you feel it. The sensation of being watched.
Your eyes dart to the window, heart hammering in your chest. The logical part of your brain knows it's impossible—you're on the twelfth floor, the windows don't open more than a few inches, and there's no balcony or fire escape. But in the shadows cast by the streetlights, every flutter of the curtain looks like movement, every reflection like eyes staring back.
You close your eyes tightly, telling yourself it's just paranoia, just your mind playing tricks in the aftermath of so much stress and fear. But when you open them again, the feeling intensifies. You swear you can see a figure in the darkest corner of the room, watching, waiting.
A sob builds in your throat, but you suppress it, not wanting to wake Heeseung again, not wanting to be more of a burden than you already are. Silent tears slide down your cheeks as you stare at the ceiling, trying to control your breathing, trying to convince yourself you're safe.
But your body betrays you. A small tremor runs through you, then another, until you're shaking with the effort of containing your fear.
Beside you, Heeseung stirs. You feel him turn toward you, hear the soft intake of breath as he realizes you're awake and crying.
"Y/N?" His voice emerges from the darkness, heavy with sleep and barely above a whisper. "What's happening?"
You can hear how deeply he'd been sleeping in the thickness of his words, the way he has to clear his throat softly after speaking. The digital clock reads 2:17 AM.
"I'm sorry," you whisper back, voice breaking. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."
There's a rustling of sheets as he shifts beside you. Even in the darkness, you can sense him fighting against the pull of sleep, forcing his eyes to stay open for your sake.
"No, s'okay," he mumbles, words slightly slurred. You feel his hand fumbling across the covers, searching until his fingers find yours. His touch is warm, clumsy with drowsiness. "You're shaking," he observes, concern gradually replacing the grogginess in his voice. "Another nightmare?"
You shake your head, though you're not sure if he can see the gesture in the darkness. "Not exactly. I just... I can't stop feeling like someone's watching me. Like he's here, somehow."
Heeseung makes a soft sound of understanding. You hear him yawn, then feel the mattress dip as he pushes himself up to sitting position. He reaches for the bedside lamp, missing it the first time, his movements slow and uncoordinated. On the second attempt, he manages to switch it on.
The warm glow reveals his face, softened with sleep. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up at odd angles. One cheek bears the imprint of his pillow, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, struggling to stay fully open. Despite his obvious exhaustion, there's nothing but patient concern in his expression as he blinks slowly, trying to focus on you.
"It's just us," he says softly, his voice a comforting rumble in the quiet room. "Just you 'n me here. You're safe."
He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, clearly fighting the heaviness of sleep still clinging to him. The gesture is so innocent, so childlike, that it momentarily distracts you from your fear.
"I know it's irrational," you say, wiping at your tears. "But my brain won't stop. I can't turn it off."
Heeseung's eyes drift closed for a moment before he catches himself, snapping them back open with visible effort. He studies your face, his own expression thoughtful despite the sleep that keeps trying to reclaim him. His eyelids flutter, heavy, but he persists, present with you even as his body begs for rest.
"Can I..." he begins, then pauses to stifle another yawn. "Can I try something? To help distract your mind?"
There's such sincerity in his sleepy determination to help you that you find yourself nodding, willing to try anything to escape the endless loop of fear—and to allow him to go back to sleep.
"Close your eyes," he says, his voice a gentle murmur.
You comply, though a small part of you tenses at the thought of not being able to see any potential threats.
"Focus on my voice," Heeseung continues, his tone soothing despite the drowsiness that makes his words flow together like honey, slow and sweet. "Nothing else matters right now. Just this room..." He yawns again, soft and unguarded. "Just this moment."
The bed shifts as he moves closer, his movements languid with fatigue. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, sense his protective presence drawing nearer despite how desperately his body must be yearning to return to sleep.
You try to follow his instructions, concentrating on the low timbre of his voice, the warmth of his hand still holding yours.
"Y/N," he says, his voice closer now. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"
Your eyes fly open in surprise, meeting his serious gaze. There's concern there, and something else—a softness that makes your breath catch.
"To distract your mind," he explains quietly. "Give it something else to focus on besides fear."
The idea is so unexpected, so far from anything you'd anticipated, that it cuts through the panic clouding your thoughts. You find yourself nodding before you've fully processed the request.
Heeseung moves closer, the space between you disappearing as he gently cups your cheek with his free hand. "Tell me to stop if it doesn't help," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.
Then his lips meet yours, soft and questioning at first, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But instead of retreating, you find yourself responding, your body instinctively leaning into the contact, seeking comfort and connection.
When his tongue traces the seam of your lips, a soft "mmm" vibrates from his chest—a sound so quietly pleased it makes your stomach flip. You part your lips instinctively, and the moment his tongue slides against yours, a low, satisfied hum rumbles from his throat.
"Is this—" you try to speak, but his tongue sweeps deeper, stealing your words, your thoughts, your very ability to form sentences.
His kiss grows bolder, more insistent, and your brain begins to short-circuit with each stroke of his tongue. The fear that had been cycling through your mind evaporates under the wet heat of his mouth. He tastes faintly of toothpaste and something uniquely him, and when he gently sucks on your bottom lip, he makes another sound—a soft "hmm" that shoots straight down your spine.
You pull back slightly, trying to gather your thoughts. "I—" But that's all you manage before he chases your lips, recapturing them with gentle insistence, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into nothing.
"Shh," he whispers against your mouth, his breath hot against your sensitized lips. "Don't think."
And then he's kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding alongside yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. The hand in your hair tightens just enough to send a shiver through you, and a soft groan—"Mmh"—escapes him when you respond by pressing closer.
His teeth graze your lower lip, and suddenly your mind is completely empty, wiped clean of everything except the sensation of his mouth on yours, his hand in your hair, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating from him.
The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you breathing hard. You open your mouth to speak, to try to articulate how effectively he's scattered your thoughts, but all that comes out is a breathy "I—you—" before words fail you completely.
Heeseung's lips curl into a small smile, understanding in his eyes. "Not thinking anymore?" he asks softly.
You shake your head, unable to string together a coherent sentence. Your brain has turned to absolute mush, every thought process suspended in the warm haze he's created.
"Good," he whispers, and then his lips are on yours again, the gentle scrape of his teeth followed by the soothing slide of his tongue making you gasp. He makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan—"Aahh"—when your fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him closer.
Time loses all meaning as he kisses you again and again, each one melting into the next until you're not sure where one ends and another begins. Sometimes gentle and exploring, sometimes deeper and more intense, but always with that same effect—emptying your mind until there's nothing but sensation.
When he finally pulls back, his breathing uneven, pupils dilated in the dim light, you try once more to speak. "That was—" But the words won't come, your brain still offline, thoughts scattered like confetti.
"Did it help?" he asks, his voice rougher now, lower.
You nod, surprised to find that forming words feels like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. "My—" you start, then swallow and try again. "Brain... empty," is all you manage to articulate, gesturing vaguely at your head.
A smile touches his lips, genuine and slightly pleased. "Good," he says simply, his thumb brushing your lower lip, still sensitive from his attention. The small touch sends another wave of blankness washing through your mind.
He starts to move back to his side of the bed, and you make a small sound of protest, hand reaching out to stop him. Again, you try to speak, to ask him to stay close, but all that comes out is a breathy "Don't—" before words fail you once more.
Understanding flickers in his eyes. He settles beside you, closer this time, one arm wrapping around your waist as you turn toward him. The position brings your faces close together, your breath mingling in the small space between you.
"Better?" he asks.
"Much better," you admit.
He kisses you again, slower this time, more deliberate. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. Each kiss blurs the edges of your thoughts more, until your mind is blissfully, wonderfully blank—no fear, no stalker, no danger. Just Heeseung, his lips on yours, his arms around you, making you feel safer than locked doors or security systems ever could.
When exhaustion finally begins to reclaim you, Heeseung presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead. "Sleep," he murmurs. "I'm right here."
And for the first time in days, you drift off without fear, your head tucked against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm in your ear—a constant reminder that you're not alone.
The nightmares don't come again that night.
-
Sunlight filters through the curtains when you wake the next morning. For the first time in days, you've slept through the night without nightmares. The space beside you is empty, but the sheets still hold the faint warmth of Heeseung's body. You stretch, a strange mixture of embarrassment and comfort washing over you as memories of the previous night return—his lips on yours, the way your mind had emptied of everything but sensation, how easily you'd fallen asleep afterwards.
The sound of movement in the kitchen draws you from the bed. You brush your teeth and attempt to tame your sleep-rumpled hair before venturing out, unsure what to expect after crossing such an intimate boundary with someone who was a stranger just a week ago.
Heeseung stands at the counter, back to you, humming softly as he measures coffee grounds. He's wearing a faded t-shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, his hair still mussed from sleep. The scene is so domestic, so normal, that for a moment you forget why you're here—that somewhere out there, someone is looking for you with dangerous intent.
He turns at the sound of your approach, a soft smile spreading across his face. No awkwardness, no regret, just warmth.
"Morning," he says. "Sleep okay?"
You nod, relief washing over you at his easy manner. "Better than I have in days."
He pushes a mug of coffee across the counter—already prepared the way you like it. The simple gesture of remembrance makes your chest tighten with something you're not ready to name.
"Thanks," you say, taking a sip to hide whatever might be showing on your face. "For the coffee. And for... last night."
Heeseung's expression softens, understanding in his eyes. "You don't have to thank me for that."
An almost comfortable silence settles between you as you both drink your coffee, the events of last night hanging in the air—acknowledged but not discussed.
"I thought I'd make us a real breakfast," you finally say, needing to do something, to contribute somehow to this strange partnership that's formed. "Since you've been cooking for me all week."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," you interrupt, already moving toward the refrigerator. "It's the least I can do."
Heeseung watches with amusement as you examine the contents of his fridge. "What did you have in mind?"
"How do you feel about omelets? You have vegetables that need to be used."
"Omelets sound perfect," he says, leaning against the counter as you gather ingredients.
The simple task of cooking is grounding. You wash and chop bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, concentrating on the steady rhythm of the knife against the cutting board. Heeseung moves around you, setting the table, occasionally brushing against you in the small kitchen. Each brief contact sends a small jolt through you—not unpleasant, just heightened awareness.
You're halfway through dicing an onion when a notification sound from your phone breaks the peaceful bubble. Your hand falters, the knife slipping slightly. It's probably nothing—an email from work, a news alert, anything—but your heart instantly accelerates, your mind immediately jumping to the worst possibility.
Heeseung notices the change immediately. "Hey," he says gently. "Want me to check it?"
You nod, hating how easily your calm has been shattered, how quickly fear reclaims its hold. Heeseung picks up your phone from the counter, checks the screen, and his shoulders relax.
"It's just an email from someone named Sarah. Subject line says 'Project Updates.'"
Relief weakens your knees. Just work. Not him.
But the damage is done. Your hands have begun to tremble, and the vegetables in front of you blur slightly as your mind slips back into the spiral of fear. What if he figures out where Heeseung lives? What if he's watching the building right now? What if—
"Y/N." Heeseung's voice, closer now. You didn't notice him move, but suddenly he's right behind you, his chest nearly touching your back. "You're shaking."
"I'm fine," you lie, but the knife trembles visibly in your grip.
Heeseung gently removes the knife from your hand, setting it safely on the cutting board. Then his hands are on your shoulders, warm and steadying, turning you to face him. You expect to see pity in his eyes, but there's only warmth and understanding.
"You're not fine," he says softly. "And that's okay."
"I hate this," you whisper, frustration bleeding through the fear. "I hate that one notification can do this to me. I hate that he has this power."
Heeseung's hands slide from your shoulders to cup your face, his touch so gentle it makes your breath catch. "He doesn't have power over you," he says firmly. "This reaction—it's just your brain trying to protect you. It's not weakness."
You close your eyes, trying to believe him, trying to slow the racing of your heart. When you feel his breath against your cheek, your eyes flutter open to find his face much closer, his gaze questioning.
"Let me help you think about something else," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a register that immediately sends warmth spreading through your chest.
You nod, barely perceptible, and then his lips are at your jawline, not quite kissing, just brushing against the skin there. Your hands find his waist, needing something to anchor you as he traces a path down to your neck. When his mouth settles against the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder, a small sigh escapes you.
The first gentle scrape of his teeth against your skin makes your thoughts scatter like startled birds. He follows it with the soothing warmth of his tongue, and your grip on his t-shirt tightens involuntarily.
"Is this okay?" he whispers against your skin.
"Yes," you breathe, tilting your head to give him better access. "Don't stop."
His lips curve into a smile against your neck, and then he's kissing the spot again, more purposefully this time. One hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other rests at the small of your back, drawing you closer until you're fully pressed against him.
The fear that had been building melts away with each press of his lips, each gentle scrape of teeth. Your mind empties of everything but the sensation of his mouth on your skin, the solid warmth of his body against yours, the faint scent of sleep and coffee that clings to him.
When he finds a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, your knees actually weaken. Heeseung notices, his arm tightening around your waist to support you.
"Still thinking about the notification?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.
You try to respond, but your brain feels deliciously fuzzy, unable to form words. Instead, you shake your head, managing only a soft "Mmm" that makes him chuckle.
"Good," he says, pulling back slightly to look at your face. His pupils are dilated, lips slightly parted, and the sight sends another wave of warmth through you. "Because the eggs are getting warm and the vegetables are only half-chopped."
It takes a moment for his words to register through the pleasant haze in your mind. When they do, you glance back at the abandoned breakfast preparations on the counter and can't help but laugh. "Oh god, I forgot all about breakfast."
Heeseung's answering smile is bright enough to chase away the last lingering shadows of your fear. "Mission accomplished then."
You reluctantly step out of his embrace, turning back to the cutting board. "Let me finish this before I get distracted again."
"Distracted? By what?" he teases, but he keeps a respectful distance as you resume chopping, though his eyes never leave you.
The rest of the morning passes in a comfortable rhythm. You finish making breakfast together, moving around each other in the kitchen with growing ease. The omelets turn out perfect, and the simple accomplishment of creating a meal feels significant somehow—a small island of normalcy in the storm of the past week.
After breakfast, you settle in to work on your design project, which your boss has been understanding enough to let you complete remotely. Heeseung works on his music in the corner of the living room, occasionally humming or playing soft melodies on his keyboard. The peaceful coexistence reminds you of how it might feel to share a space with someone by choice, not necessity.
But reality intrudes every time you check your email or glance at your phone. Each notification makes your heart stutter, each unknown number that calls either of your phones sends a spike of adrenaline through your system. The stalker hasn't contacted you today, but his absence feels more like the calm before a storm than any true reprieve.
By late afternoon, your eyes are burning from staring at your laptop screen, and the tension in your shoulders has returned despite your best efforts to focus on work. You save your design file and stretch, rolling your neck to release the stiffness.
Heeseung glances up from his keyboard, noting your discomfort. "Break time," he announces decisively. "You've been hunched over that laptop for hours."
"I need to finish this project," you protest weakly, but your body betrays you with another stretch.
"The project will still be there after a proper break," he counters, standing and moving toward the kitchen. "I'm making tea. Then we're going to do something completely unproductive for at least an hour."
You find yourself smiling at his determined tone. "Is that so? What did you have in mind?"
"I'm thinking..." he pauses dramatically, filling the kettle with water, "a heated battle of Mario Kart."
The suggestion is so unexpected, so delightfully normal, that you laugh. "Mario Kart? Really?"
"Don't tell me you're scared of a little competition," he challenges, raising an eyebrow as he sets the kettle on the stove. "Unless you don't think you can beat me."
"Oh, it's on," you declare, grateful for the distraction. "I'll have you know I was the reigning champion among my college roommates."
"We'll see about that," he grins, the playful light in his eyes making him look younger, carefree—a glimpse of who he might be outside the strange circumstances that have thrown you together.
The promised hour turns into two as you both get increasingly competitive, shouting good-natured insults at each other when one pulls ahead or drops a particularly well-timed shell. You haven't laughed this much in days—maybe weeks—and the release of endorphins leaves you feeling lighter, the constant undercurrent of fear temporarily pushed to the background.
"That's it, I'm cutting you off," Heeseung declares after you beat him for the fifth time in a row. "You're too good at this. It's embarrassing for me."
You raise your controller in victory. "Told you I was the champion."
"Yeah, yeah," he concedes with a mock scowl that quickly melts into a genuine smile. "Hungry yet? I was thinking we could order in. Maybe that Thai place again?"
"Sounds perfect," you agree.
As Heeseung pulls up the restaurant's menu on his phone, you find yourself studying him—the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, the gentle slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips. The lips that were on your neck this morning, that were on your mouth last night, emptying your mind of everything but sensation. Something warm unfurls in your chest at the memory.
He looks up suddenly, catching you watching him. Instead of looking away, embarrassed, you hold his gaze. A moment of silent understanding passes between you—an acknowledgment that whatever is happening between you isn't just about distraction or safety anymore.
Heeseung breaks the moment first, clearing his throat slightly. "The usual? Or did you want to try something different?"
"The usual is fine," you say, grateful for his tact in not drawing attention to the charged moment.
After placing the order, you both gravitate back to the couch, but with a new awareness of each other. You sit closer than necessary, your thigh just barely touching his. When he reaches for the remote to turn on the TV, his arm brushes yours, and neither of you moves away from the contact.
He finds a cooking competition show that requires minimal attention, and you settle in to watch, the domestic scene surreal in its normalcy. At some point, his arm drapes over the back of the couch behind you, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel his warmth.
"This is nice," you say after a while, the words slipping out without conscious thought.
Heeseung glances at you, his expression softening. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "It is."
His fingers begin to play absently with a strand of your hair that falls over the couch. The gentle tugging sensation sends pleasant shivers down your spine, and you find yourself leaning subtly into the touch. Each brush of his fingers against your neck seems to short-circuit a different part of your brain until you're barely processing the show at all, focused instead on the points of contact between you.
The doorbell rings, startling you both. Heeseung's hand withdraws from your hair as he stands to answer it.
"That'll be the food," he says, but you notice he checks the peephole carefully before opening the door.
The reminder of the danger lurking outside your temporary sanctuary dampens your mood slightly. As you set up dinner on the coffee table, your phone buzzes with an incoming email. You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth, that familiar dread pooling in your stomach.
Heeseung notices your reaction and reaches for your phone. "Want me to check it?"
You nod, setting your food down, no longer hungry.
He scans the screen, relief washing over his features. "It's just a receipt from the Thai place." He hands the phone back to you. "We're okay."
But the moment has been tainted. The fear is back, hovering at the edges of your consciousness, threatening to overwhelm the fragile peace you've built throughout the day. You push your food around on your plate, appetite gone.
Heeseung watches you for a moment, then sets his own plate down. Without a word, he shifts closer to you on the couch, his thigh pressing firmly against yours now. When his hand comes up to tilt your chin toward him, you meet his eyes without resistance.
"He's not here," Heeseung says softly. "Right now, in this moment, it's just us. Okay?"
"Okay," you whisper, trying to believe him.
His thumb traces your lower lip gently, and your body responds instantly to the touch, a pleasant haziness beginning to cloud the edges of your fear. When he leans in, you meet him halfway, your lips finding his with growing familiarity.
This kiss is different from the others—not desperate or distracting, but slow and deliberate. His tongue slides against yours with unhurried confidence, and your mind begins to empty in that now-familiar way, thoughts evaporating like morning dew under the sun.
By the time he pulls back, you've forgotten what triggered your fear in the first place. Your food sits cooling on the coffee table, entirely unimportant compared to the warmth spreading through your body.
"Better?" he asks, his voice lower than usual.
You nod, offering a small smile. "You're getting good at that."
"At what?" There's a playful glint in his eye that makes your heart skip.
"Turning my brain off."
He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his expression growing more serious. "For as long as you need it," he promises.
The rest of the evening passes in comfortable closeness. You eventually return to your food, eating while leaning against each other on the couch. When you finally head to bed, the routine feels both new and familiar at once—brushing teeth side by side, Heeseung waiting in the hallway while you change, the brief moment of adjustment as you both settle into the bed.
But tonight, there's less space between you than before. He still stays on top of the covers while you slip underneath, but when you turn off the lamp, his hand finds yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining naturally.
"Good night, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep.
"Good night, Heeseung," you reply, squeezing his hand gently.
You fall asleep with his fingers still linked with yours, the weight of his hand an anchor against the night terrors that might come. Your last thought before drifting off is that you've never felt safer than in this strange limbo—trapped by circumstances beyond your control, yet somehow freer than you've been in a long time.
The morning comes too quickly, sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains and painting a stripe of gold across the bed. You wake to find yourself curled toward Heeseung, who's still asleep on his side facing you. In sleep, his face is completely relaxed, all traces of vigilance gone, making him look younger and impossibly vulnerable.
You allow yourself a moment to simply look at him, to memorize the sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the slight part of his lips, the way his hair falls across his forehead. There's a strange ache in your chest at the sight—gratitude mixed with something deeper that you're not ready to name.
As if sensing your gaze, his eyes flutter open, landing immediately on your face. A slow, sleepy smile spreads across his features, unguarded and genuine.
"Morning," he mumbles, voice husky with sleep.
"Morning," you whisper back, strangely reluctant to break the peaceful bubble around you.
Neither of you moves for a long moment, content to exist in this quiet space between night and day, between danger and safety, between strangers and something more. Then reality intrudes in the form of his buzzing phone on the nightstand.
Heeseung rolls over with a groan, reaching for the device. As he checks the screen, his body goes rigid, sleep vanishing in an instant.
"What is it?" you ask, dread already pooling in your stomach.
He sits up, running a hand through his hair as he reads whatever message has appeared. When he turns back to you, his expression is carefully controlled, but you can see the tension around his eyes.
"It's from the detective," he says carefully. "Minhyuk was spotted near my building yesterday."
The fragile peace of the morning shatters completely. Fear rushes back in with a vengeance, your heart rate spiking so quickly you feel light-headed.
"He knows I'm here?" Your voice sounds distant to your own ears, panic rising like a tide.
Heeseung's hand finds yours, squeezing tightly. "We don't know that for sure. But the detective thinks we should consider relocating, just to be safe."
"Where would we even go?" The thought of leaving this apartment—the only place you've felt secure in days—sends another wave of anxiety through you.
"I might have an idea," Heeseung says, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. "But first, breakfast. And coffee. Lots of coffee."
You nod, clinging to his steady presence as your mind races with terrifying possibilities. The tiny window of normalcy you'd carved out for yourselves is closing, and the world with all its dangers is forcing its way back in.
But as Heeseung helps you to your feet, his hand never leaving yours, you realize something important: whatever comes next, you're no longer facing it alone. And for now, that will have to be enough.
-
The detective's news about Minhyuk being spotted near Heeseung's building leaves you both on edge. Despite Heeseung's attempts at normalcy—breakfast, coffee, casual conversation—there's a new tension in the air, a heightened vigilance in the way he frequently checks his phone and glances at the door.
You try to work on your design project, but concentration is impossible. Your mind keeps conjuring images of Minhyuk watching the building, waiting, planning. By mid-afternoon, you've accomplished almost nothing, your anxiety a living thing crawling beneath your skin.
That's when your phone chimes with a new email notification.
You freeze, looking up to find Heeseung already watching you from across the room, his expression tense. Without a word, he crosses to where you sit, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder as you open the message.
The subject line is blank. The sender's address is unfamiliar—a string of random numbers and letters.
Your trembling finger taps the message open.
There's no text, just an image: a photograph of you and Heeseung standing in his kitchen from earlier that morning, clearly taken through the window of his apartment. The angle suggests it was shot from the building across the street. Below the photo is a single line of text:
"Glass won't protect you forever."
A strangled sound escapes your throat as the phone slips from your fingers, clattering to the floor. Heeseung snatches it up, his face darkening as he views the message.
"That's not possible," he mutters, moving quickly to the windows. "We're twelve floors up."
But as he pulls back the curtain to scan the building opposite, you feel it start—the tightening in your chest, the sudden inability to pull in enough air, the roaring in your ears. The room seems to tilt and spin around you.
"He can see us," you gasp, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. "He's watching us right now. He can see us right now."
Heeseung is at your side instantly, closing the curtains and guiding you away from the windows. "Y/N, breathe. You need to breathe."
But you can't. Your lungs refuse to cooperate, each shallow gasp more painful than the last. Dark spots dance at the edges of your vision, and your hands have gone numb, fingers tingling.
"He's going to—he's going to—" You can't even finish the thought, terror consuming every rational part of your mind.
"Y/N, look at me," Heeseung says firmly, his hands framing your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Focus on me. Just me."
He tries all the techniques that have worked before—deep breathing instructions, gentle reassurances, even pressing his lips to yours in that way that usually empties your mind. But the panic is too overwhelming, the fear too visceral. Even his kiss, which normally blanks your thoughts completely, barely makes a dent in the terror.
When he pulls back, your breathing is still erratic, tears streaming down your face. "It's not working," you choke out. "I can't—I can't turn it off. My mind won't stop."
The helplessness in Heeseung's eyes is devastating. "Tell me what you need. Anything."
"Make it stop," you beg, clutching at his shirt. "Please, I don't care what you have to do. Make me go dumb. Turn my brain off. I can't take it anymore."
His eyes darken at your words, understanding dawning in his expression. "Y/N..."
"Please," you whisper, desperation making your voice crack. "Fuck me until I can't think anymore. Until I can't remember my own name. I need to not be in my head right now. I need everything to just stop."
Heeseung's breath catches, his pupils dilating until there's just a thin ring of brown around the black. You watch the struggle play out on his face—desire warring with concern, restraint battling with the need to help you.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice lower than you've ever heard it. "Because if we do this... I want to help you, Y/N, more than anything. But I don't know if I'll be able to hold back once we start."
A sob escapes you, your hands fisting in his shirt. "I don't want you to hold back. I want you to make me forget everything but you." You're openly crying now, beyond shame or hesitation. "Please, Heeseung. Please make it all go away."
Something snaps in his expression. His hand slides into your hair, gripping firmly as he searches your eyes one last time. Whatever he sees there must convince him, because in the next moment, his mouth crashes against yours with none of the gentleness from before.
This kiss is different—hungry, almost desperate. His tongue pushes past your lips immediately, demanding rather than asking. One arm locks around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he walks you backward until your back hits the wall.
When his teeth sink into your lower lip, pain mingling with pleasure, your thoughts begin to splinter. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs, and your mind fragments further.
"Tell me to stop and I will," he says against your mouth, his breathing ragged. "At any point."
"Don't stop," you gasp. "Don't you dare stop."
His eyes meet yours, something primal and protective darkening his gaze. "I'm going to help you forget everything," he promises, his voice a rough whisper. "Everything but this."
Heeseung's eyes lock onto yours, dark with a raw intensity that makes your heart pound violently in your chest. His fingers twist harshly into your hair, pulling your head back sharply, fully exposing your vulnerable throat. His lips crash against your skin roughly, teeth biting deeply, marking you as his own with bruising kisses that send sparks of pain and pleasure shooting through your veins.
Your breathing is ragged, erratic, your entire body trembling beneath him. His other hand moves urgently down your body, gripping your waist tightly, fingertips pressing deep enough into your flesh to leave bruises, marking you unmistakably as his. You arch your body against his, desperate for more contact, craving the harsh intensity that only he can provide.
"Harder," you plead breathlessly, voice quivering with desperation. "Heeseung, please—use me, ruin me. Make me forget everything else."
A dark, feral growl tears from his throat, his eyes blazing dangerously as he claims your mouth roughly, tongue pushing aggressively past your lips. You moan helplessly into the kiss, surrendering completely to his dominating embrace, your nails scratching feverishly down his back, urging him to take you harder, deeper, to erase every lingering thought from your mind.
Heeseung breaks away, his breath hot and ragged as he trails searing kisses down your trembling body, biting roughly at your collarbone, chest, and stomach, each sharp nip igniting fiery jolts of pain and pleasure that tear gasps from your lips. You writhe helplessly beneath him, mind unraveling with each aggressive touch.
"Please," you beg desperately, voice nearly incoherent, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Heeseung, I’ll do anything. Anything you want, just—just make me forget."
A fierce, primal growl resonates from deep in his chest. "Anything?" he rasps darkly, his eyes blazing with barely controlled hunger. "You're going to regret saying that, sweetheart."
He pushes your thighs apart roughly, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze. His mouth descends aggressively, tongue plunging deep and fast, consuming you without mercy. You scream out sharply, hips bucking uncontrollably against him, your hands clutching desperately at his hair, pulling him even closer. Every intense, relentless movement of his tongue drives you closer to a devastating climax.
But before you reach that peak, he stops abruptly, leaving you sobbing in frustration. Your eyes plead desperately for release as you gasp, "Please—don't stop."
Heeseung positions himself swiftly over you, gripping your hips with bruising intensity, plunging deep and brutally into your aching core without warning, tearing a raw scream from your throat. He sets an unforgiving pace, each powerful thrust ruthlessly tearing apart your remaining thoughts, overwhelming you completely.
"Feel that?" he snarls roughly, hips pounding mercilessly against yours. "That's me claiming you. I'm going to fuck every last thought out of your head until you're nothing but mine."
His filthy, possessive words make your entire body shake uncontrollably, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cry out shamelessly for more. His grip tightens painfully on your wrists, pinning them roughly above your head as his hips drive harder, deeper, faster, each brutal thrust sending shockwaves through your body.
"You're mine," he growls harshly into your ear, teeth scraping your sensitive skin. "Say it."
"I'm yours," you choke out weakly, mind fracturing under the relentless assault of sensation.
"Louder," he demands fiercely, slamming even harder into you, movements ruthless and unyielding.
"I'm yours!" you scream, voice cracking from the intensity.
"Good girl," he snarls, rewarding you with deeper, fiercer thrusts, pushing your body to its absolute limits. His hand wraps around your throat firmly, just enough to make your vision blur, enhancing every overwhelming sensation tenfold.
Your body writhes violently beneath him, unable to form coherent words anymore, reduced to sobbing gasps and broken pleas. Heeseung continues relentlessly, his body driving into yours mercilessly until you're utterly consumed, your mind blanking entirely, eyes glazing over, unable to do anything but feel him, hear him, lose yourself completely to him.
"Cum for me," he commands roughly, his voice low and dangerously seductive. "Show me exactly how completely you belong to me."
Your body reacts instantly, violently, shattering beneath him into waves of devastating pleasure that tear through you, obliterating any remaining thought. You collapse, trembling uncontrollably, completely and utterly surrendered to him, mind blissfully empty, lost entirely in the overwhelming force of his claim.
Then his hands and mouth begin their relentless campaign to empty your mind completely, and thinking becomes impossible.
-
Hours later, you lie boneless and spent in Heeseung's arms, your mind blissfully, wonderfully blank. No fear, no anxiety, no thoughts of Minhyuk or danger or what comes next. Just the pleasant hum of your body and the steady rhythm of Heeseung's heartbeat beneath your ear.
He's been silent for a while, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare shoulder. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft with something that might be concern.
"Are you okay?"
You have to concentrate to form words, your brain still deliciously fuzzy around the edges. "Mmm. Better than okay."
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. "I didn't hurt you?"
You shake your head against his chest. "You did exactly what I needed."
His arms tighten around you, and you feel his lips press against the top of your head. "Your mind quiet now?"
"Completely empty," you murmur, surprised to find yourself smiling. "Mission accomplished."
You feel rather than see his answering smile, his whole body relaxing beneath yours. For several long moments, you both drift in comfortable silence, the world beyond this bed temporarily forgotten.
Until Heeseung's phone buzzes on the nightstand.
The tension returns to his body immediately, but he doesn't move to check it, unwilling to disturb the peace you've found. The phone buzzes again, more insistent this time.
"You should get that," you say softly. "It might be important."
Reluctantly, he reaches for the phone, keeping you tucked against him with his other arm. You watch his face as he reads the message, preparing yourself for bad news.
"It's the detective," he says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "She thinks we should consider temporary relocation—somewhere Minhyuk wouldn't think to look."
The fear starts to creep back in at the edges of your consciousness, but you fight it, focusing on the warmth of Heeseung's body against yours, the lingering pleasant numbness in your limbs.
"She says they can arrange a safe house, but it would take a few days." He scrolls through more of the message. "Or... we could go somewhere on our own. Somewhere only we know about."
You push yourself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "Like where?"
A thoughtful expression crosses his face. "My family has a cabin in the mountains. It's remote, secure. Only a handful of people even know it exists."
"How far?"
"About three hours' drive. Completely isolated." His eyes search yours. "We'd be alone out there."
The thought should be terrifying after everything that's happened, but instead it brings an unexpected sense of relief. Somewhere Minhyuk can't find you. Somewhere you could breathe again.
"When can we leave?" you ask.
Heeseung studies your face, perhaps looking for signs of fear or hesitation. "Tomorrow morning, first light. We'll need to be careful, make sure we're not followed."
You nod, settling back against his chest. "Tomorrow then."
His arm wraps around you again, protective and warm. "Get some rest," he murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead. "I'll be right here."
As sleep begins to claim you, one last coherent thought floats through your mind: whatever happens next, whatever Minhyuk tries, you're not alone. You have Heeseung—your protector, your sanctuary.
Your mind emptier.
-
You wake before dawn, the sky outside still ink-dark. For a moment, you forget why you're rising so early—then memories of yesterday's message flood back. Minhyuk knows where you are. You're no longer safe here.
Heeseung is already up, moving quietly around the apartment, packing essentials into a duffel bag. He pauses when he notices you watching him, a small smile crossing his face despite the tension in his shoulders.
"Morning," he says softly. "I was trying not to wake you."
"I don't think I was really sleeping," you admit, sitting up. "Too much on my mind."
He crosses to sit beside you on the bed, his hand finding yours. "We'll be okay," he promises. "The cabin is safe. My family's owned it for generations, and it's not listed under my name. There's no way he could trace it."
You nod, drawing strength from his certainty. "What do you need me to do?"
"Just pack whatever you need for a week or so. Clothes, toiletries. I've got everything else covered—food, first aid supplies." He squeezes your hand. "And we should get moving soon. I want to be on the road before the city wakes up."
Thirty minutes later, you're both ready. The apartment is locked down—lights on timers to simulate occupancy, mail delivery paused. Heeseung has even arranged for a neighbor to occasionally move his car in the garage to maintain the illusion that you're both still here.
The detective has been notified of your plans, though not your specific destination. "Just tell her we're heading north," Heeseung had instructed during your call. "The fewer people who know exactly where we are, the better."
Dawn is just breaking as you slip into Heeseung's car in the underground parking garage. He drives cautiously, taking a circuitous route through the awakening city, frequently checking the rearview mirror for any signs of being followed.
"You really think he could track us?" you ask, watching Heeseung's vigilant eyes scanning the traffic behind you.
"I'm not taking any chances," he says simply. "Not with your safety."
The city gradually gives way to suburbs, then to open countryside. With each mile that passes, you feel the vise-grip of fear around your chest loosening slightly. By the time you're an hour into the journey, the weight of constant vigilance has lightened enough that you notice your surroundings—the spectacular autumn colors painting the landscape, the mountains rising in the distance, shrouded in morning mist.
Heeseung must notice your gaze, because he reaches across the console to take your hand. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
You nod, surprised to find yourself capable of appreciating beauty after days of seeing only danger. "I didn't realize how much I needed to get out of the city."
His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand. "We both did."
The drive continues, winding steadily upward into the mountains. Cell service becomes increasingly spotty, then disappears altogether. The isolation that would have terrified you days ago now feels like a blessing—a barrier between you and the danger you've left behind.
"Almost there," Heeseung says as he turns onto a narrow dirt road that seems to disappear into the forest. "It's a bit hidden."
'A bit hidden' proves to be an understatement. The road—little more than a trail—winds through dense trees for nearly a mile before suddenly opening into a small clearing. And there, nestled against a backdrop of pines with a breathtaking view of the valley below, stands the cabin.
It's not what you expected—not the rustic, primitive structure the word "cabin" had conjured in your mind. This is a beautifully crafted home of stone and timber, with large windows facing the valley and a wide porch wrapping around two sides.
"Heeseung," you breathe, taking in the scene. "This is..."
"Home," he says simply, a soft smile playing at his lips as he watches your reaction. "At least, it always has been for me."
He parks beside the cabin and comes around to open your door, offering his hand to help you out. The mountain air hits you immediately—crisp, pine-scented, revitalizing. You take a deep breath, feeling something tight in your chest unfurl.
"Come on," Heeseung says, retrieving your bags from the trunk. "Let's get inside before it gets cold."
The interior of the cabin is even more beautiful than the exterior—an open-concept living area with soaring ceilings, the far wall dominated by a stone fireplace. The furnishings are simple but high-quality, clearly chosen to complement the natural surroundings. Large windows frame the valley view like living paintings.
"This is incredible," you say, turning slowly to take it all in. "Your family built this?"
"My grandfather," Heeseung confirms, setting the bags down. "He wanted a place where the family could escape, reconnect with nature. I spent every summer here as a kid." A wistful smile crosses his face. "Haven't been back in a couple of years though. Work always seemed more important somehow."
You move to the windows, gazing out at the panoramic view. The valley stretches below you, a patchwork of golds and reds and deep greens in the autumn sunlight. In the distance, more mountains rise, their peaks ghostly in the afternoon haze.
"I've never seen anything like this," you admit, momentarily forgetting why you're here—not a vacation, but an escape from danger.
Heeseung comes to stand behind you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. "Good," he says softly. "I wanted you to see something beautiful after everything you've been through."
The simple statement, so earnest and thoughtful, brings unexpected tears to your eyes. You turn to face him, finding his gaze already on you, warm and steady.
"Thank you," you whisper. "For all of this. For keeping me safe."
His expression softens further. "You don't have to thank me."
"I do," you insist. "Most people wouldn't have done half of what you have for someone they barely know."
Something shifts in his eyes at that. "I think we're well past 'barely know,' don't you?"
Heat rises to your cheeks as memories of yesterday flood back—his hands on your skin, his mouth on yours, the way he'd made you forget everything but him. "Yes," you agree quietly. "I guess we are."
The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken things. Then Heeseung clears his throat, stepping back slightly. "I should get the generator going and check the water. Make yourself at home."
As he busies himself with the practical aspects of opening the cabin, you explore the space that will be your sanctuary for the foreseeable future. Besides the main living area, there's a well-equipped kitchen, a bathroom with a surprisingly modern shower, and two bedrooms—one large, one small. You peek into the larger one, noting the king-sized bed with its blue-and-white quilt, the bedside tables with reading lamps, the large window offering the same spectacular view as the living room.
Your exploration is interrupted by Heeseung's return. "Everything's working," he announces. "Water's running, generator's humming along. We're all set." He glances at his watch. "I should try to call the detective while we still have daylight. The satellite phone works better outside."
You nod, suddenly remembering the reason for this idyllic retreat. "I'll unpack some of the food supplies."
While Heeseung steps onto the porch with the satellite phone, you busy yourself in the kitchen, organizing the groceries you picked up on the drive. The domesticity of the task is soothing—arranging canned goods in cupboards, filling the refrigerator with fresh produce, setting out cooking utensils. For a few minutes, it's possible to pretend this is just a vacation, a romantic getaway rather than a desperate flight from danger.
When Heeseung returns, his expression is more relaxed than before. "Good news," he says, setting the satellite phone on the counter. "They've got leads on Minhyuk. Apparently he's been spotted in the city, which means he doesn't know we've left."
Relief floods through you. "So we're safe here?"
"For now, at least," he confirms. "The detective says to stay put. They'll contact us as soon as they have him in custody."
You lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted as the tension of the day catches up with you. "So what do we do now?"
Heeseung steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with gentle fingers. "Now," he says softly, "we rest. We breathe. We let ourselves feel safe for a while."
"I'm not sure I remember what that feels like," you admit.
His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. "Then I'll help you remember," he promises.
The first evening in the cabin passes in a peaceful haze. Heeseung builds a fire in the massive stone hearth while you prepare a simple dinner from the supplies you brought. The routine feels surprisingly natural—him pausing to taste the sauce you're making, you passing him logs for the fire, both of you moving around each other with an ease that belies how new this closeness really is.
After dinner, you settle on the comfortable sofa facing the fireplace, a blanket draped over both of you. Outside, night has fallen completely, the darkness absolute in a way it never is in the city. Inside, the fire casts dancing shadows on the walls, bathing everything in warm golden light.
"What are you thinking?" Heeseung asks, noticing your contemplative expression.
You consider the question, surprised by your answer. "That I can't remember the last time I felt this calm."
His arm around your shoulders tightens slightly. "Good. That's what I wanted for you here."
You turn to look at him, studying his face in the firelight—the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the warmth in his eyes as he returns your gaze. Something swells in your chest, a feeling too new and fragile to name.
"What about you?" you ask. "What were you thinking?"
A small smile plays at his lips. "That I've never brought anyone here before. Not like this."
The admission sends a pleasant warmth spreading through you. "Not even your...?"
"No," he says simply. "No one. This place has always been just for family." He pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. "But having you here feels right somehow."
The words hang in the air between you, weighted with meaning. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you both lean in, lips meeting in a kiss that's different from any you've shared before—not desperate or distracting, but slow and deliberate, a question and an answer all at once.
When you break apart, something has shifted between you yet again. The pretense that this is merely about safety, about distraction from fear, has fallen away completely. What remains is something new and uncharted, fragile but intensely real.
"It's getting late," Heeseung murmurs, though he makes no move to pull away. "We should probably get some sleep."
The practical concern brings a sudden awkwardness. There are two bedrooms in the cabin, but after everything that's happened between you, the thought of sleeping apart feels strange, almost wrong.
As if reading your thoughts, Heeseung adds hesitantly, "I can take the small room if you want space, or..."
"No," you say quickly—too quickly perhaps. "I mean, I'd rather not be alone. If that's okay."
The smile that spreads across his face is like sunrise. "More than okay," he assures you.
The nighttime routine you establish feels like an extension of the easy domesticity you've been building—brushing teeth side by side at the single bathroom sink, taking turns changing in the bedroom, pulling back the covers together. When you finally settle into bed, Heeseung's arm wraps around your waist, drawing you against his chest as naturally as if you've been falling asleep this way for years.
"Good night, Y/N," he murmurs, lips brushing the nape of your neck.
"Good night, Heeseung," you whisper back, marveling at how quickly terror has given way to tranquility.
As you drift toward sleep, one last coherent thought forms in your mind: here, miles from civilization, cut off from the world, entirely alone with a man who was a stranger just days ago, you've never felt safer in your life.
-
Heeseung's eyes soften, his gaze lingering warmly on yours as sunlight filters through the window, bathing your tangled bodies in golden warmth. His thumb brushes gently over your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine.
Over the next few days, your intimacy deepens, boundaries dissolving entirely as your desire grows increasingly insatiable. Mornings find you waking to his warm body pressed firmly against yours, his hands already exploring your skin, teasing sensitive spots until you're fully awake, panting and desperate for him.
Afternoons turn into hours spent in relentless pursuit of pleasure—Heeseung pressing you against cabin walls, your bodies colliding roughly, passionately. His hands gripping your hips tightly, thrusting deep and mercilessly, leaving you screaming his name, your thoughts scattering as he repeatedly takes you over the edge. His mouth is everywhere, biting, sucking, and marking you until your body feels entirely claimed.
Late nights, he has you bent over the couch, his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you firmly in place as he drives into you with powerful, possessive strokes, whispering filthy praise into your ear. He loves seeing how quickly he can make your eyes glaze over, leaving you utterly mindless and completely his, each climax more intense, more consuming than the last.
One rainy afternoon, your bodies slam together against the window overlooking the forest, your cries blending with the sound of raindrops hitting the glass. Heeseung lifts you effortlessly, pinning you hard against the cold surface, entering you sharply and deeply, pushing you to the edge with a brutal, relentless rhythm. You cling desperately to him, sobbing from pleasure, your vision blurring as you lose yourself entirely to the sensations he's inflicting upon your body.
In quieter moments, he lays you out on the bed, spreading your legs wide, taking his time teasing you mercilessly with slow, torturous strokes of his tongue and fingers, pushing you to the brink repeatedly until you're begging him shamelessly for release. He enjoys reducing you to pleading incoherence, knowing that only he can unravel you so completely.
One evening, under the flickering glow of candlelight, you ride him slowly at first, then harder, more desperately as your need overtakes you. His fingers dig painfully into your hips, urging you on, thrusting up into you roughly until your body shatters, leaving you trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks from sheer overwhelming pleasure.
"How did we ever survive without this?" you whisper afterward, your voice soft, your body warm and languid against his.
Heeseung smiles darkly, pressing a possessive kiss to your temple. "I don't know," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "But I plan to make sure you never forget exactly who makes you feel this good."
This time, there's no fear driving you together, no desperate need to escape your thoughts. There's only want—pure and simple and mutual. Every touch is deliberate, every kiss intentional. And when you come together, it's with a sweetness that brings tears to your eyes, your mind emptying not from desperate distraction but from sheer overwhelming pleasure.
"That was..." you begin afterward, struggling to find words as you lie tangled together in the sunlit bed.
"I know," Heeseung says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "For me too."
The admission brings a smile to your lips. "How is this real?" you wonder aloud. "two weeks ago, you were a stranger."
He traces patterns on your bare shoulder, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe sometimes life compresses. A week feels like months because we've experienced so much together."
You consider this, watching sunlight play across his features. "I like that explanation."
His fingers continue their gentle exploration of your skin. "Or maybe," he adds more softly, "this was always going to happen, somehow. Maybe we were meant to find each other, even if the circumstances were..."
"Completely terrifying?" you supply with a small laugh.
He smiles, but his eyes remain serious. "I would never wish what you've been through on anyone," he says. "But I can't regret that it brought you into my life."
The simple honesty of his words makes your chest tighten with emotion. You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey without words what you're not yet ready to say aloud.
The satellite phone rings that afternoon—the detective with an update. They've narrowed down Minhyuk's location but haven't apprehended him yet. The news casts a brief shadow over your idyllic retreat, a reminder that the danger hasn't passed. But somehow, it doesn't hold the same power to terrify you anymore.
"We're safe here," Heeseung reassures you after the call. "And they're getting closer to finding him."
You nod, surprised to realize you truly believe him. The panic that has been your constant companion for days has receded to a dull concern, manageable rather than overwhelming.
That evening, a storm moves in, bringing wind and rain that lash at the windows. You build the fire higher, creating a cocoon of warmth against the elements. The electricity flickers once, twice, then goes out completely, leaving you in firelight and shadows.
"Generator must have cut out," Heeseung says, already reaching for a flashlight. "I'll go check it."
"Be careful," you call as he heads for the door, suddenly anxious about him leaving, even briefly.
He pauses, returning to press a quick kiss to your lips. "Always am," he promises. "Keep the fire going—I'll be back in ten minutes."
While he's gone, you add logs to the fire, then gather candles from the kitchen cupboards, placing them strategically around the living area. The storm seems to intensify, rain drumming against the roof, wind howling through the trees outside. For the first time since arriving at the cabin, you feel a prickle of unease, attuned to every sound.
When the door finally opens, admitting a rain-soaked Heeseung, relief rushes through you so strongly that you cross the room in seconds, throwing your arms around him despite his wet clothes.
"Hey," he says, clearly surprised by the reaction. "It's okay. Just a blown fuse—I fixed it, but the power company's out anyway. We'll have to wait out the storm."
"I don't care about the power," you murmur against his chest. "I just... I didn't like you being out there alone."
He pulls back slightly to look at you, rainwater dripping from his hair onto his face. "I'm right here," he says softly. "Not going anywhere."
You help him out of his wet jacket, insisting he change into dry clothes while you make hot chocolate on the gas stove. By the time he returns, you've created a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace, the closest source of warmth.
"What's all this?" he asks, a smile playing at his lips.
"Camping," you declare with mock seriousness. "Indoor version."
He laughs, the sound warming you more than the fire. "I like the way you think."
You settle into your makeshift camp, sipping hot chocolate, listening to the storm rage outside while remaining perfectly safe and warm within. The contrast isn't lost on you—how something that would have terrified you a week ago now feels almost romantic.
"Thank you," you say suddenly, looking up at Heeseung.
"For what?" he asks, brow furrowing slightly.
"For this," you gesture around you. "For keeping me safe. For... everything."
His expression softens. "You don't have to thank me."
"I know," you admit. "But I want to. Not just for the practical things—the protection, the cabin. But for making me feel..." You search for the right word. "Normal again. Like myself, not just someone who's afraid all the time."
Heeseung sets down his mug, turning to face you fully. "You're extraordinary," he says, his voice low and sincere. "The way you've handled everything that's happened—most people would have broken down completely. But you're still here, still fighting."
The earnestness in his eyes makes your breath catch. "Only because of you."
He shakes his head. "No. I may have helped, but the strength was yours all along." He takes your hand, threading his fingers through yours. "Do you know what I thought when you first grabbed me that night on the subway?"
You shake your head, curious.
"I thought, 'This person is brave.' Not just because you asked a stranger for help, but because I could see in your eyes that you were scared but refusing to be paralyzed by it." His thumb traces circles on your palm. "I still think that. Every day."
Emotion swells in your chest, too big to contain. You lean forward, closing the distance between you, your lips finding his in a kiss that tries to convey everything you're feeling—gratitude, yes, but also something deeper, something that's been growing quietly in the shadow of fear.
The kiss deepens, hands beginning to wander, the storm outside forgotten entirely as you create your own tempest within the circle of firelight. Heeseung's lips trace a path down your neck, finding the spot that makes your mind go blissfully blank, and you surrender to the sensation, to him, to the unexpected gift of feeling safe in a world that had become nothing but danger.
The warmth of the fire bathes the room in soft golden light, shadows dancing gently across your intertwined bodies. Heeseung's fingers glide slowly over your skin, tracing sensual, languid patterns that ignite a slow-burning fire within you. His eyes meet yours, heavy-lidded and filled with desire, making your heart race with anticipation.
He gently guides you to move above him, hands firmly gripping your hips, positioning you carefully until you're comfortably settled with your thighs on either side of his face. A thrill of excitement courses through your body, and you tremble slightly at the intimate vulnerability of the position. Heeseung's gaze reassures you entirely, filled with warmth, adoration, and undeniable lust.
"Take your time," he whispers huskily, warm breath teasing your sensitive skin. "I want to savor you."
His hands slowly stroke your thighs, fingertips pressing lightly into your skin as he draws you closer. Your breath hitches when his lips press softly, sensually along your inner thighs, lingering kisses growing hotter, more intense, making your muscles relax as desire pools deep within your core.
You release a soft, breathless moan as his tongue finally makes contact, moving slowly and deliberately, dragging in slow, teasing strokes, sending waves of languid pleasure cascading through you. Your fingers thread into his hair, guiding his movements gently, hips beginning to rock instinctively, chasing the irresistible sensations he creates.
"Heeseung," you sigh, voice thick with desire, body melting under the slow, sinful movements of his tongue. He hums appreciatively against you, the vibrations rippling pleasure deeper into your body, making you gasp softly.
His touch remains unhurried, deliberately teasing, each slow, tantalizing swipe of his tongue pulling you further into a blissful haze of sensation. He explores every inch of you thoroughly, lips and tongue moving expertly, alternating between slow, gentle strokes and firm, demanding pressure, making you whimper and moan his name repeatedly.
"You taste so good," he murmurs, voice deep and rough, eyes blazing with passion as he briefly pulls away to gaze up at you. "I could do this all night."
Your hips move more insistently now, grinding slowly against his mouth, savoring the deep, languid rhythm you've fallen into. Pleasure coils tighter within you, slow-building yet powerful, as he continues to worship you expertly, driving you steadily toward the edge.
Your breathing becomes ragged, body trembling with need, fingers tightening in his hair as the exquisite sensations push you gently yet inexorably toward release. Heeseung senses your closeness, intensifying his efforts, tongue moving deeply, urgently, drawing you over the edge into a languid, shuddering climax that leaves you breathless and softly trembling above him.
When you finally sink back beside him, his arms wrap around you possessively, pulling you flush against his chest, your bodies tangled intimately as he presses slow, sensual kisses along your skin. The firelight flickers warmly around you, creating a perfect cocoon of warmth, sensuality, and unspoken promises.
Heeseung's fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare skin, his breathing slow and even against your hair.
"What happens when this is over?" you ask softly, the question that's been lingering in the back of your mind finally finding voice. "When they catch him and we go back to the city?"
Heeseung is quiet for a long moment, his hand stilling against your shoulder. Then he props himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression so serious it makes your heart stutter.
"Whatever you want to happen," he says simply. "But I hope... I hope we don't go back to being strangers."
The vulnerability in his voice melts something inside you. "I don't think we could if we tried," you confess. "Not after everything."
Relief softens his features. "Good," he says. "Because I've gotten used to this. To you."
"Me too," you admit, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "I can't imagine waking up and you not being there."
His smile is so tender it makes your chest ache. "Then don't," he says, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. "Don't imagine it."
As you drift toward sleep in his arms, the rain pattering gently against the roof, you realize something profound: in running from danger, in seeking refuge, you've somehow found something you weren't even looking for—a connection that transcends the circumstances of your meeting, a sanctuary not just in this remote cabin but in each other.
Whatever comes next—whether Minhyuk is caught tomorrow or weeks from now—that connection remains. And for the first time since this nightmare began, you find yourself looking toward the future with something like hope.
-
The storm rages through the night, wind howling around the cabin and rain lashing against the windows. Despite the exhaustion weighing on your limbs, sleep comes in fitful bursts, each crack of thunder or creak of the cabin jolting you awake. Beside you, Heeseung maintains his vigil, dozing occasionally but never fully surrendering to sleep. The baseball bat remains within reach, a grim reminder of the danger lurking beyond the walls.
Just before dawn, the storm begins to subside, rain softening to a gentle patter against the roof. Through a small gap in the blanket covering the bedroom window, you can see the sky lightening from black to deep blue, the first hint of morning approaching.
"We should start packing," Heeseung says, his voice low and tense. "I want to be ready to leave as soon as it's fully light."
You nod, slipping from the warmth of the bed into the chill morning air. The satellite phone still shows no signal—the storm's aftermath continuing to block transmission. You move through the cabin with careful efficiency, gathering only the essentials, keeping away from windows despite the coverings.
"Do you think he's still out there?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper despite the unlikelihood of being overheard.
Heeseung pauses in his methodical packing, his expression grave. "I don't know. But I'm not taking any chances. We leave in twenty minutes, head straight for the car, and don't stop for anything."
The gravity of his words settles heavily between you. For all your planning, there's still the most dangerous moment to navigate—the brief exposure between cabin and car, when you'll be completely vulnerable.
As the minutes tick by, tension builds in your chest, a familiar tightness that signals the approach of panic. You focus on your breathing, on the practical tasks at hand, on Heeseung's steady presence beside you. When everything is packed and ready, you stand together in the kitchen, the duffle bags at your feet, steeling yourselves for departure.
"Ready?" Heeseung asks, the baseball bat in one hand, car keys in the other.
You nod, swallowing hard against the fear. "Ready."
He moves to the door, checking through the peephole before unlocking the deadbolt with deliberate quietness. The metallic click of the lock releasing seems unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn stillness. Heeseung turns the knob slowly, easing the door open just enough to scan the porch and clearing beyond.
"Clear," he whispers, opening the door wider. "Let's go."
You step onto the porch, the wooden boards still slick with rain, the air cool and misty after the storm. The clearing surrounding the cabin is eerily still, trees dripping quietly, no wildlife sounds yet greeting the dawn. Everything appears peaceful, normal—and that, somehow, makes your nerves stretch tighter.
Heeseung goes first, bags slung over his shoulder, bat held ready. You follow closely, your footsteps seeming thunderous despite your attempts at stealth. The car is only thirty feet away, but the distance feels vast, exposed, each step taking too long.
You're halfway to the car when you see it—movement at the forest edge, a dark shape detaching from the deeper shadows beneath the trees. Heeseung notices in the same moment, his body tensing, placing himself between you and the approaching figure.
"Get in the car," he says, voice low and urgent. "Now."
You fumble with the bag, trying to move faster, but your limbs feel heavy with dread. The figure steps fully into the clearing, and even in the dim pre-dawn light, there's no mistaking who it is. Minhyuk—his face gaunt, clothes dirty and wet from the storm, eyes fixed on you with a terrible intensity.
"Go," Heeseung urges again, pressing the car keys into your hand. "Get inside and lock the doors."
But before you can reach the car, Minhyuk calls out, his voice carrying clearly across the clearing. "Don't bother. I cut the fuel line."
Heeseung freezes, a curse escaping under his breath. You can see his mind racing, calculating options, weighing the truth of Minhyuk's claim against the risk of finding out too late.
"What do you want?" Heeseung calls back, his voice steady despite the tension evident in every line of his body.
Minhyuk takes another step forward, and now you can see what he's holding—the metallic glint of a knife catching the growing light. "I just want to talk to Y/N. To explain things." His voice is eerily calm, almost reasonable, which somehow makes it more terrifying. "You've turned her against me. I just need a chance to make her understand."
"She understands perfectly," Heeseung responds, his grip tightening on the bat. "You need to leave. Now."
A strange smile crosses Minhyuk's face. "Always the hero, aren't you? Playing the protector." His eyes shift to you, somehow both pleading and menacing. "He's not really your boyfriend, Y/N. We both know that. This is all an act."
Fear roots you to the spot, but anger rises alongside it—anger at this man who has terrorized you, forced you from your home, hunted you across counties. "It doesn't matter," you find yourself saying, your voice stronger than expected. "I don't know you. I don't want to know you. Leave us alone."
Something shifts in Minhyuk's expression—the calm facade cracking to reveal something darker, more volatile. "You don't mean that," he says, his voice hardening. "He's manipulating you. Making you say these things."
"No one's manipulating anyone," Heeseung says, taking a half-step forward. "Y/N has made herself clear. You need to go."
Minhyuk's gaze snaps back to Heeseung, hatred twisting his features. "This is between me and her. You're the intruder here."
"Heeseung," you whisper, terror clawing at your throat as you watch Minhyuk's grip tighten on the knife. "Please."
The tension stretches between the three of you, the clearing silent except for the dripping trees and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Then Minhyuk moves—a sudden lunge forward that sends panic surging through your veins.
Heeseung reacts instantly, pushing you toward the cabin. "Run!" he shouts, raising the bat as Minhyuk charges.
Time seems to slow and accelerate simultaneously—Minhyuk closing the distance with terrifying speed, Heeseung bracing to meet him, the sound of your own ragged breathing as you stumble backward. You want to run as instructed, but can't bear to leave Heeseung alone, your feet refusing to carry you to safety while he faces danger.
The two men collide with violent force. Heeseung swings the bat, forcing Minhyuk to dodge, buying precious seconds. But Minhyuk is fueled by obsession, by a deranged determination that makes him reckless and unpredictable. He feints left, then strikes right, the knife slashing through the air.
Heeseung avoids the worst of it, but the blade catches his arm, tearing through his jacket. He doesn't cry out, doesn't falter, swinging the bat again with controlled precision. This time it connects, striking Minhyuk's shoulder with a sickening thud.
Minhyuk staggers back, but doesn't fall. The injury seems to fuel his rage rather than slow him down. "You think you can protect her?" he snarls. "You think you deserve her?"
"This isn't about deserving," Heeseung responds, voice steady despite the blood now visible on his sleeve. "This is about her choice. And she didn't choose you."
The words seem to strike Minhyuk more powerfully than the physical blow. His face contorts with fury, and he charges again, knife held high.
You're still rooted to the spot, terror paralyzing your limbs. But as Minhyuk rushes toward Heeseung again, survival instinct finally kicks in. Not for yourself—for Heeseung. Without conscious thought, you grab the nearest object—a large rock dislodged during the storm—and throw it with all your strength.
It strikes Minhyuk's back, not hard enough to injure seriously, but enough to distract him, to disrupt his attack. He whirls toward you, eyes wild with betrayal and rage.
"You," he hisses, changing direction, now advancing on you. "After everything I've done to find you..."
Heeseung doesn't hesitate. He lunges forward, tackling Minhyuk from behind before he can reach you. Both men go down hard, grappling in the mud and wet grass. The knife glints in the growing light as they struggle for control, a deadly variable in the chaotic fight.
You search desperately for another weapon, anything to help, when a new sound cuts through the terrible sounds of combat—sirens, distant but approaching. Relief floods through you, followed immediately by renewed fear. Will help arrive in time?
The sound reaches the fighting men as well. Minhyuk freezes for just an instant, his head turning toward the road—and in that moment of distraction, Heeseung strikes. His fist connects with Minhyuk's jaw, a powerful blow that sends the stalker sprawling backward. The knife falls from his grip, landing on the wet ground between them.
Both men lunge for it simultaneously. Your heart seems to stop as they grapple again, the knife now the focal point of the struggle. Then Heeseung shouts in pain, and you see a flash of red—blood, his blood—and terror unlike anything you've ever known seizes your heart.
But Heeseung doesn't falter. Despite the wound, he manages to knock the knife away, sending it skittering across the clearing. Then, with a final surge of strength, he pins Minhyuk to the ground, his knee on the stalker's chest, one hand gripping his throat.
"It's over," Heeseung says, his voice ragged with exertion and pain. "Do you hear those sirens? It's over."
Minhyuk struggles for a few more seconds, then goes still, the fight seeming to drain from him as the sound of approaching vehicles grows louder. Heeseung maintains his grip, not trusting the sudden compliance.
The sirens grow louder, then headlights appear through the trees, illuminating the clearing with harsh white light. Police cars—three of them—bumping down the rough access road, followed by what looks like an ambulance.
"Here!" you shout, waving frantically. "Over here!"
Everything moves quickly after that. Officers pour from the vehicles, guns drawn, shouting commands. Heeseung carefully backs away from Minhyuk, hands raised to show he's not a threat. Minhyuk is immediately handcuffed, his expression eerily vacant now, the manic energy gone.
You rush to Heeseung, heart pounding violently in your chest as you see the blood staining his sleeve, another patch rapidly spreading across his side. His jacket is torn open, revealing a deep gash that makes your stomach lurch.
"You're hurt," you cry out, your voice breaking as tears immediately flood your eyes. Your hands hover over his wounds, afraid to touch and cause more pain but desperate to help. "Oh my god, you're hurt. You're bleeding so much."
"I'm okay," he assures you, though his face is alarmingly pale, his breathing shallow with pain. "It's not as bad as it looks."
"Don't say that!" Your voice rises with panic, tears now streaming freely down your face. "Look at you! This is all my fault. You're hurt because of me."
Your hands tremble as they finally settle on his face, cradling his cheeks as if he might shatter. "You're my baby and you're hurt," you whisper, the words tumbling out without thought, raw with emotion. "Please, you need help right now."
His eyes widen slightly at your words, a softness passing through them despite his pain. He tries to lift his hand to wipe your tears but winces with the movement.
"Don't move," you plead, becoming more frantic as you notice how the blood continues to seep through his clothes. You turn toward the approaching paramedics, desperation in your voice. "Please hurry! He's losing too much blood!"
You turn back to Heeseung, pressing your forehead gently against his, uncaring about the mud and blood. "Stay with me," you whisper fiercely. "I can't lose you. Not now. Not after everything."
Paramedics approach, guiding Heeseung to sit on the steps of the cabin while they examine his wounds. You hover anxiously nearby, unable to tear your eyes from him even as a female officer gently questions you about what happened.
Across the clearing, Minhyuk is being loaded into a police car, his vacant expression finally shifting as his eyes find yours one last time. There's something in his gaze—not remorse, not exactly, but perhaps the first glimmer of understanding that his obsession has led him to ruin.
"He'll be going away for a long time," the detective says, appearing at your side. She looks tired but satisfied. "Attempted murder, stalking, violation of restraining orders—the list goes on. He won't hurt anyone else."
Relief makes your knees weak. You look to where Heeseung sits, enduring the ministrations of the paramedics with stoic patience. When he catches your eye, he manages a small, reassuring smile despite everything.
"You should go to him," the detective says, following your gaze. "We can finish the statements later."
You don't need to be told twice. You cross to Heeseung, carefully sitting beside him on the cabin steps. The paramedics have cut away his sleeve to reveal a long gash on his forearm, already partially bandaged. Another wound at his side has been dressed, though blood still seeps through the white gauze.
"How bad is it?" you ask one of the paramedics.
"He'll need stitches," she replies. "But no major arteries were hit. He was lucky."
Lucky isn't the word you'd use. Brave. Selfless. Incredible. Those come closer.
"We need to transport him to the hospital," the paramedic continues. "Would you like to ride along?"
"Yes," you say immediately, your hand finding Heeseung's uninjured one. "I'm not leaving him."
Heeseung's fingers tighten around yours. "It's over," he says softly, just for you. "Really over."
As they help him onto a stretcher, you remain by his side, your hand never leaving his. Behind you, the cabin stands silent in the growing daylight, its brief role as both sanctuary and battleground now complete. Around you, police officers document the scene, take photographs, collect evidence. Minhyuk is driven away, the police car disappearing down the access road toward a future of concrete and steel bars.
In the ambulance, as paramedics hook Heeseung to monitoring equipment and start an IV for pain medication, he keeps his eyes on you, as if afraid you might disappear if he looks away.
"You saved me," he says, his voice slightly slurred as the pain medication begins to take effect. "With that rock. You saved me."
Tears fill your eyes as you shake your head. "No. You saved me. From the very beginning, you saved me."
His lips curve into a tired smile. "Maybe we saved each other."
As the ambulance begins its journey down the mountain, you hold tight to his hand, to that simple truth. Whatever comes next—hospital rooms, police statements, the eventual return to normal life—you'll face it together. The nightmare is over. Minhyuk can no longer reach you, no longer control your life with fear.
For the first time since that night on the subway platform, you feel truly, completely free. And despite the trauma of the morning, despite Heeseung's injuries and the lingering shock, there's something else growing beneath the relief—hope. Hope for what comes after fear. Hope for a future neither of you expected to find in the midst of danger.
A future together.
-
Three months later
The afternoon sunlight filters through the café window, painting golden patterns across the table between you. Heeseung sits across from you, absently tracing the faint scar on his forearm—a permanent reminder of that morning in the mountains. You reach across the table, your fingers covering his, interrupting the unconscious movement.
"You're doing it again," you say softly.
He smiles, turning his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. "Sorry. Habit."
It's been exactly twelve weeks since Minhyuk was arrested. Twelve weeks of healing—both physical and emotional. Twelve weeks of rebuilding what had been so violently disrupted. Twelve weeks of discovering who you are together when fear isn't the foundation of your connection.
The legal proceedings had moved swiftly. Minhyuk pleaded guilty to all charges, perhaps finally recognizing the gravity of his actions. His psychiatric evaluation revealed a disturbing pattern of obsessive behavior dating back years before he ever saw you on the subway. The judge had been uncompromising in his sentencing: fifteen years with mandatory psychiatric treatment. You'd attended the sentencing hearing, Heeseung's hand tight around yours as you faced your stalker one final time.
"Whatever made him fixate on you wasn't your fault," the detective had told you afterward. "Some people just break in ways we can't understand."
Those words had helped, as had the therapy sessions you began shortly after returning to the city. But what helped most was Heeseung—his unwavering presence, his patience as you worked through lingering fears, his understanding on the nights when you still woke gasping from nightmares.
"What time is your appointment?" Heeseung asks now, bringing you back to the present.
"Four o'clock," you reply, glancing at your watch. "Dr. Kim says this might be our last weekly session. She thinks we can move to bi-weekly."
Pride flickers across Heeseung's face. "That's great. You've come so far."
You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I have a good support system."
His thumb traces circles on your palm, his eyes warm with an emotion neither of you has put into words yet, though you both feel it. "Are you still okay with dinner at my parents' place tonight? We can reschedule if you're tired after therapy."
"I want to go," you assure him. Meeting his family had been a major step—acknowledging that what began in crisis had evolved into something lasting. His parents had welcomed you with genuine warmth, never asking too many questions about how you met, somehow understanding that those details weren't what mattered.
"They like you, you know," Heeseung says, as if reading your thoughts. "My mother keeps asking when you're coming back."
You laugh, the sound still feeling like a small victory each time. "She just wants someone to appreciate her cooking more than you do."
"True," he concedes with a grin.
The waiter arrives with your check, and Heeseung reaches for it automatically. You let him, having learned to pick your battles. Some protective instincts run too deep to challenge—and if you're honest, his devotion is something you've come to cherish rather than resist.
Outside the café, the early autumn air carries just a hint of the coming cold. Heeseung's arm slips around your waist, a gesture that has become as natural as breathing. You lean into him briefly, savoring the solid warmth of him.
"I'll walk you to Dr. Kim's office," he says. "Then I need to stop by the studio for an hour before dinner."
Your paths have settled into a comfortable rhythm over the past months. You returned to your design firm, picking up old projects and beginning new ones. Heeseung resumed his work at the music studio, though he now keeps more regular hours, prioritizing evenings with you. You still have separate apartments, but most nights are spent together, switching between your spaces with easy familiarity.
The walk to your therapist's office takes you past the subway station where it all began—a route you initially avoided but now traverse without the surge of anxiety it once triggered. Progress, Dr. Kim calls it. Reclaiming your city, your life.
"I'll see you at my place around seven?" Heeseung confirms as you reach the office building.
"I'll be there," you promise. "Should I bring anything?"
"Just yourself." He pauses, then adds, "And maybe pack an overnight bag. My parents usually insist we stay late, and I don't want you taking the subway alone after dark."
Once, you might have chafed at the protectiveness in those words. Now, you recognize it as care rather than control. "Already packed," you admit. "It's in my work bag."
He smiles, leaning down to kiss you briefly. "That's my girl."
As he turns to go, you catch his hand, pulling him back for a moment. "Hey," you say softly. "I've been thinking."
"Dangerous," he teases gently. "About what?"
You hesitate, then take the plunge. "My lease is up next month."
His expression shifts, a cautious hope lighting his eyes. "Is it?"
"I was thinking maybe I shouldn't renew it."
The implication hangs between you, clear but unspoken. Heeseung's hand tightens around yours, his voice dropping to match your quieter tone. "Any particular alternative in mind?"
You hold his gaze, your heart beating faster but not with fear—with anticipation, with certainty. "Your place is bigger. And you have that spare room you're using as storage that would make a perfect home office for me."
A smile slowly spreads across his face, transforming his features with such joy that it takes your breath away. "I think that could be arranged."
"Yeah?"
"Definitely." He pulls you closer, public setting forgotten as he kisses you properly this time, his hands cradling your face with the same tender care he's shown since that very first night.
When he pulls back, you're both slightly breathless. "Go talk to Dr. Kim," he says, reluctantly releasing you. "I'll see you tonight."
You watch him walk away, struck by how far you've come from that terrified person who grabbed a stranger on a subway platform. The journey hasn't been easy—there are still moments when fear creeps in, still days when you check over your shoulder more often than necessary. But those moments are becoming rarer, overshadowed by new memories, better ones.
As you turn to enter the building, your phone buzzes with a text. Heeseung, already missing you:
"Just realized we never used the small bedroom at the cabin. Maybe we should go back someday. Make some better memories there."
You smile, typing your reply:
"I'd like that. As long as you're with me."
His response comes instantly:
"Always."
A promise that began in crisis, tested by danger, and now—finally—has the chance to unfold in peace. You pocket your phone and head into your appointment, ready to talk about the future rather than the past.
A future with Heeseung. A future without fear.
A future that began with two strangers on a subway platform, and against all odds, became home.
Simon's girlfriend isn't very sweet, no where near as sweet and kind as her flatmate. But when he falls for her, she falls too and the pair are left to deal with their growing feelings...
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!reader ⋆·˚ ༘
ratings: ㅤㅤㅤㅤ☾ angst . ✺ fluff . ☁︎ smut
warnings: slight cheating, the flatmate and simon are in an abusive relationship, f!reader, simon is soft and sweet, lots of hurt and comfort, each title is a Lizzy MacAlpine song that you can listen to with the chapter x
a/n: hey lovies!! here is the masterlist for these pair, hoping to keep updating regularly as I am enjoying writing fir them, to be tagged in new pieces please comment and ask, thank you for all the love and support x
⋆·˚ ༘ pushing it down and praying ... ㅤㅤㅤㅤ☾ ✺
⋆·˚ ༘ ceilings... ㅤㅤㅤㅤ☾ ✺
⋆·˚ ༘ means something ㅤㅤㅤㅤ☾ ✺
taglist: @realwhoreforfictionalmen @lover-girlxx @superunkn0wn @cumsluut (comment to be added to the taglist my lovely x)
Can you make a hybrid smut story of ni-ki from enhypen as a panther
Instincts and us ~
Black panther!ni-ki x reader
Hybrid au, fluff, smut
Wc:~3.3k
Warnings: primal/instinctual behavior, mild pain/discomfort, hybrid/human relationship, smut, unprotected sex (don't do that), niple play, multiple rounds
A/N: thanks for your request, it was such a good idea!
In a world where humans and hybrids lived side by side, their coexistence was a delicate balance of acceptance and unspoken boundaries. Mixed couples, those daring to love across the divide, were rare, their relationships often met with curious glances or quiet disapproval. You never thought you’d be one of them, never imagined your heart would belong to someone like Ni-ki, a black panther hybrid whose presence was as captivating as it was untamed. Yet here you were, five months into a relationship that felt like a whirlwind, standing in the living room of the apartment you now shared, surrounded by cardboard boxes and the promise of a life together.
His name was Nishimura Riki, but he went by Ni-ki, a name that carried a rhythm as effortless as his movements. With jet-black hair that fell softly over his forehead and golden eyes that seemed to pierce through the dimmest light, he was striking, even among other hybrids. His lean frame moved with a predator’s grace, every step deliberate, every glance heavy with intent. But beneath the sharp edges of his panther nature was a warmth, a playful, almost boyish charm that had caught you off guard the night you met.
It was at a small, dimly lit café, the kind with mismatched furniture and the faint hum of jazz in the background. You’d been sketching in your notebook, lost in the lines of a half-finished drawing, when he appeared across from you, sliding into the booth with a confidence that made your heart skip. "You’re missing the best part" he’d said, his voice low and teasing, a faint rumble in his throat that you later learned was his panther’s purr. He’d pointed to a cluster of rooftops outside, insisting they held more stories than the skyline you were sketching. You argued back, laughing, and by the time the café closed, you were hooked, on his smile, his wit, and the way his eyes softened when they lingered on you.
That was seven months ago. Now, as you stood in your new apartment, the air still carrying the faint scent of fresh paint, you marveled at how quickly Ni-ki had become your everything. Moving in together had been a bold step, sparked by a late-night conversation where he’d looked at you, golden eyes glowing in the dark, and said "I can’t keep waking up without you." Your heart had raced, but you’d felt the same, agreeing to share a space despite the whispers of doubt from friends and family. Mixed couples were rare, after all, and navigating his hybrid instincts would be no small feat. But love, you’d decided, was worth the leap.
The apartment was a cozy compromise, tucked in a quiet neighborhood where trees lined the streets and the air felt just wild enough for Ni-ki to breathe easy. It had two bedrooms, wide windows that let in streams of sunlight, and a small balcony where he could stretch out when his instincts craved open air. The living room was a mess of unpacked boxes, your books mixed with his vinyl records, your sketchpads stacked beside his collection of scented candles (a quirk you found endlessly endearing). You glanced at the couch, where Ni-ki was sprawled, one leg dangling over the armrest, his eyes half-closed as he basked in a patch of sunlight. His tail, sleek and black, flicked lazily, brushing against the cushions.
"Comfortable?" you teased, setting down a box labeled "kitchen stuff" and wiping your hands on your jeans.
He cracked one eye open, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Very. You should try it, sun’s perfect today."
You laughed, crossing the room to sit beside him. His warmth radiated through the thin fabric of his shirt, and when you leaned against him, he instinctively draped an arm around you, pulling you closer. It was moments like these, quiet, unguarded, that made everything feel right. But living with Ni-ki wasn’t just about stolen moments in the sun. His panther instincts were a constant presence, a puzzle you were still learning to navigate.
The first time you’d seen his instincts take over was early in your relationship, during a crowded street festival. A drunk passerby had gotten too close, his voice too loud, and Ni-ki’s eyes had darkened, his posture shifting to something protective, almost feral. A low growl had rumbled in his chest, barely audible but enough to send the man stumbling back. You’d been startled, but Ni-ki had softened instantly, his hand finding yours, his voice apologetic. "Sorry" he had muttered, ears twitching. "I don’t like surprises." You had squeezed his hand, reassuring him, and slowly, you’d started to understand the rhythm of his instincts: how they flared in crowds, sharpened in the dark, or calmed under your touch.
Now, living together, those instincts were part of your daily life. You’d learned to recognize the signs: the way his ears perked up at sudden noises, the restless pacing when he hadn’t stretched his legs in a while, or the way he’d scent-mark the apartment by brushing against furniture (and, sometimes, you). It was strange at first, catching the faint musk of his scent on your clothes, but you’d come to love it, a reminder that he was yours, and you were his.
"Stop thinking so hard" Ni-ki murmured, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. He’d shifted to face you, his golden eyes searching yours. "I can hear your brain working from here."
You smiled, nudging his shoulder. "Just thinking about how we got here. It’s… a lot."
His expression softened, and he reached for your hand, his fingers warm and slightly calloused. "Good a lot or bad a lot?"
"Good" you said quickly, squeezing his hand. "Definitely good. Just… different. I’m still getting used to you shedding fur on my sweaters."
He laughed, a bright, unguarded sound that made your chest ache. "I told you, I can’t help it. Blame the panther."
"Oh, I do" you teased, but your voice was soft, your gaze lingering on him. Moments like these made the challenges, the whispers from coworkers, the curious stares from strangers, fade into the background. You loved him, instincts and all, and he loved you, human quirks and all.
Still, living together brought new lessons. Ni-ki’s need for space clashed with your love for cozy nights in, and his nocturnal energy meant he was often prowling the apartment at 2 am while you slept. You’d woken once to find him perched on the balcony, staring at the moon, his silhouette all sharp angles and quiet strength. "Couldn’t sleep" he had said when you joined him, his tail curling around your waist as you stood together. You’d learned to keep the balcony door unlocked, to stock the fridge with his favorite raw meat snacks, and to laugh when he playfully pounced on you in panther form during lazy mornings.
He was learning too, how to soften his intensity, how to warn you before his instincts took over, how to let you in. The first time he’d let you touch his ears, soft and velvety under your fingers, you’d felt like you’d won a small victory. "Only you" he’d murmured, his voice a low purr, and you’d known he meant it.
As you sat together now, the sunlight casting shadows across the room, you felt a quiet certainty settle over you. This life: messy, new, and filled with the hum of his instincts, was yours to build together. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.
"Happy?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Very" you replied, smiling. "You?"
He didn’t answer right away, just tightened his arm around you, his tail brushing against your side. But the low, content rumble in his chest said everything you needed to know.
The days blurred into a comfortable rhythm in their shared apartment. Mornings started with Ni-ki's lazy stretches on the balcony, his black tail swishing as he watched the world wake up, while you brewed coffee in the kitchen. Afternoons were filled with your sketches and his music playlists, the two of you tangled on the couch in easy silence. Evenings brought playful chases around the living room, his panther instincts turning simple games into something electric, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief. You'd been together five months, living under the same roof for just over a week, and every moment felt like a step deeper into a bond that defied the rarity of mixed couples.
But then came the change.
It started subtly one evening. Ni-ki had been restless all day, pacing more than usual, his ears twitching at every little sound. You'd chalked it up to the full moon approaching, hybrids like him were sensitive to lunar cycles, or so you'd read in passing. He brushed off your concerns with a tight smile, his voice a bit rougher than normal. "Just need some space" he'd muttered, disappearing into the guest room with a book he clearly had no intention of reading.
By nightfall, things escalated. You heard him moving around in there, the door firmly shut, but the sounds were... off. Low growls, muffled thuds like he was slamming against the walls, and heavy breathing that echoed through the thin door. Worry gnawed at you as you knocked softly. "Ni-ki? Everything okay?"
A pause, then his voice, strained and deeper than usual. "I'm fine. Just... stay out, okay? Go to bed."
You frowned, pressing your ear to the door. "You don't sound fine. Let me in, maybe I can help."
"No!" The sharpness in his tone made you flinch. It wasn't anger, but something desperate, primal. "Please, just... trust me. I'll be okay by morning."
Morning? You glanced at the clock, it was barely 10 pm. Unease settled in your stomach like a stone. You'd seen his instincts flare before, protective growls in crowds, scent-marking the apartment, but this was different. This felt like he was hiding from you, and that hurt more than you expected.
You tried to distract yourself, scrolling through your phone in the living room, but the noises from the guest room only grew louder. Pacing footsteps, ragged breaths, and what sounded like claws scraping wood. Your mind raced through possibilities: Was he sick? Injured? Hybrids had their own health issues, things humans didn't deal with. Rut. The word flickered in your thoughts, something you'd heard about in whispers but never discussed with him. Panther hybrids went through seasonal ruts, intense periods of heightened instincts, driven by a need to mate. But Ni-ki had never mentioned it, and you'd assumed it wasn't an issue yet.
By midnight, you couldn't take it anymore. You knocked again, louder this time. "Ni-ki, open the door. You're scaring me."
"Go away!" His voice cracked, followed by a deep, guttural growl that sent shivers down your spine. Not at you, but at whatever was tormenting him. You heard the lock click, wait, had he locked it? The doorknob wouldn't budge.
"Ni-ki, please. Talk to me." Your voice trembled, fists pounding lightly on the wood. Silence stretched, broken only by his heavy panting. Tears pricked your eyes; this wasn't like him. He was always open, always pulling you close. Why shut you out now?
Inside the guest room, Ni-ki was a storm of agony. The rut had hit him like a freight train that afternoon, his body burning with an unrelenting heat, instincts screaming for release. His skin felt too tight, his senses overwhelmed, every scent in the apartment amplified, especially yours, lingering on the sheets he'd dragged in here. He didn't want this, not like this. Not when he could hurt you. Panthers in rut were aggressive, possessive, their control fraying at the edges. He'd heard stories of hybrids losing themselves, marking too hard, taking without care. You were human, fragile in ways he wasn't. The thought of bruising you, of his claws drawing blood in the heat of the moment, terrified him more than the pain ripping through his body.
He'd locked the door to protect you, curling up on the floor with his knees to his chest, tail lashing wildly. But your voice outside, worried and soft, was torture. He could smell your concern, hear your heartbeat quickening. "Fuck" he whispered to himself, nails digging into his palms to ground himself.
You slid down the door, back against it, refusing to leave. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong. We've been through stuff before, your instincts, the stares from people. We handle it together, remember?"
He pressed his forehead to the door, separated by inches of wood. Your scent was intoxicating, pulling at him like a magnet. "It's... rut" he finally admitted, voice hoarse. "First time since we moved in. I didn't want you to see me like this."
Rut. Confirmation hit you like a wave, but relief mixed with it, he wasn't dying or leaving. "Okay, rut. I get it. But why lock yourself away? Let me help."
"You don't understand" he growled, the sound vibrating through the door. "I could hurt you. The urges... they're too strong. I won't risk it."
Your heart ached at the fear in his voice. You'd researched hybrids a bit after meeting him, knowing mixed relationships meant learning curves. Rut was biological, a surge of hormones making him needy, dominant. But you trusted him. "Ni-ki, open the door. We can talk about it. I'm not afraid of you."
A long pause. Then, with a shaky breath, the lock clicked open. You turned the knob slowly, pushing inside. The room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp. Ni-ki sat against the far wall, shirt discarded, sweat glistening on his toned chest. His golden eyes were dilated, almost black, fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse race. His ears were flattened, tail thrashing, and his claws extended slightly, digging into the carpet.
"Close the door" he said, voice rough. You did, leaning against it, giving him space.
"You look... in pain" you whispered, taking in his flushed skin, the way his muscles tensed.
"It hurts" he admitted, not meeting your eyes. "Everything's on fire. And you... your scent is everywhere. It's driving me insane."
You stepped closer, cautious. "Then let me help. Tell me what you need."
His gaze snapped to yours, a mix of hunger and restraint. "You. But I can't, won't, force it. Go back to our room. Lock the door if you have to."
But you didn't move. Instead, you knelt in front of him, close enough to feel his heat. "I'm not leaving you like this. We've been together for months; I know you won't hurt me."
He reached out, then pulled back, fists clenching. "You don't know how bad it is. The instincts... they want to claim, mark. It's not gentle."
Your hand found his, intertwining fingers despite his claws. He shuddered at the touch. "Then show me. Teach me. We're in this together, remember?"
Something broke in him then. With a low growl, he pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you possessively. His nose buried in your neck, inhaling deeply, a rumble vibrating from his chest. "Mine" he murmured, the word laced with need.
"Yours" you echoed, tilting your head to give him access. His lips brushed your skin, hot and urgent, teeth grazing lightly. A spark ignited in you, matching his intensity. You'd always found his hybrid side alluring: the strength, the protectiveness. Now, it was amplified, and you wanted to ease his pain.
His hands roamed your back, claws retracted just enough not to scratch, pulling at your shirt. "Off" he demanded, voice husky. You complied, lifting it over your head, baring yourself to him. His eyes darkened further, a purr escaping as he traced your collarbone with his fingers.
"You're beautiful" he whispered, but the rut pulled him back, his mouth claiming yours in a fierce kiss. It was deeper than usual, tongues tangling, his fangs nipping your lip just enough to draw a gasp. You melted into it, hands in his hair, tugging gently at his ears. He groaned, hips bucking instinctively against you.
"Ni-ki" you breathed, breaking the kiss. "Bed?"
He nodded, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the guest bed, laying you down like something precious. But the gentleness faded as he hovered over you, golden eyes scanning your body. "Tell me to stop if it's too much."
"I will" you promised, pulling him down. His mouth found your neck again, sucking marks that would bloom purple tomorrow, his way of claiming. You arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he ground against you, the friction delicious through your clothes.
Clothes became an obstacle. He stripped you with careful urgency, his own pants following. Naked, skin to skin, the heat between you was electric. His tail wrapped around your thigh, holding you close as he kissed down your chest, fangs grazing your breasts. "Need you" he growled, positioning himself.
You nodded, wrapping your legs around him. "Take me."
He didn’t need more encouragement. He entered you slowly, a deep moan tearing from his throat as your warmth enveloped him. The stretch was intense, his size amplified by the rut, but the pleasure outweighed any discomfort. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging in as he filled you, his tail lashing wildly behind him.
"Fuck" he gasped, pausing to let you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours. His hands gripped your hips, claws pricking your skin but not breaking it. "You feel… so good."
You nodded, breathless, your hands sliding to his back, urging him to move. He did, starting with slow, deliberate thrusts, each one hitting deep, sending sparks of pleasure through you. But the rut wouldn’t let him stay gentle for long. His pace quickened, hips snapping against yours, the rhythm relentless yet controlled, his eyes never leaving your face.
You moaned, loud and unfiltered, your body arching to meet his thrusts. The room filled with sounds: skin slapping, your gasps, his growls mingling with purrs. His tail tightened around your thigh, possessive, grounding, as his hands pinned your wrists above your head, the dominant side of his instincts surfacing. But even then, he was careful, his grip firm but not bruising, his claws retracted just enough.
You cried out, pleasure building, nails raking his back. He buried his face in your shoulder, growling your name, his control slipping but never breaking.
"Fuck, you feel so good" he panted, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the dominant side emerging. But his eyes searched yours, checking, always checking.
"More" you begged, meeting his thrusts. His free hand slid between you, fingers circling your clit with precision, drawing you closer to the edge.
"Come for me" he commanded, teeth nipping your earlobe. The combination: his voice, his touch, his relentless pace, sent you spiraling. Orgasm crashed over you, waves of ecstasy making you clench around him.
He followed soon after, a roar escaping as he spilled inside you, hips stuttering.
But the rut wasn't done; hybrids needed multiple rounds. He flipped you onto your stomach gently, entering from behind, his chest to your back. "Again" he whispered, kissing your spine.
You lost count after that, positions shifting, his instincts guiding but your consent anchoring. He was rougher in moments, claws leaving faint scratches that stung sweetly, but he soothed them with licks and murmurs. "Sorry, baby" he'd say, only to thrust harder when you assured him it was okay.
By the third round, exhaustion mixed with bliss. He held you close, spooning as he moved slowly, tenderly now, the peak of rut easing. "Love you" he murmured, nuzzling your hair.
"Love you too" you replied, spent but content.
As dawn broke, the rut subsided, leaving him boneless beside you. He pulled you into his arms, tail draping over your waist. "Thank you" he whispered. "For not running."
"Never" you said, kissing his forehead. In that moment, locked away no longer, your bond felt unbreakable.
Nerd!Jake x reader. Will his insecurities end all? Maybe this relationship is strictly study buddies and not all Jake has ever yearned for...
The first time you noticed Jake, you didn't know what it was. Something in his posture, maybe, or the way his fingers twitched nervously at the edges of his notebooks. How he would chew those fluffy lips of his, until they were raw and sometimes bled from nerves. Always so tender.
He always sat at the front of class, completely immersed in whatever theory the professor was droning on about, occasionally pushing his glasses up his nose. His wavy hair often fell into his eyes, and when he reached up to push it back, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle muscles in his arms, the way the fabric of his t-shirt stretched over his frame.
Jake was... different. In a way that drew you in, made you want to know more. You liked how his voice became a little more animated when he spoke about the things he liked. How he’d go on these long, excited tangents about string theory or the multiverse, only to shrink back when he realized no one was really paying attention to him. His eyes, dark but full of attention, would flick to the floor, and you could see his whole body tense up, as if he were apologizing for existing.
That nervousness, that deep self-doubt that clung to him like a second skin—it made him endearing, even though you knew it wasn’t healthy. Jake was smart. He was brilliant, in fact. But he couldn’t seem to accept that. And you wanted to be the one to tell him, to show him that he didn’t have to hide behind his insecurity.
It was the first week of November when you finally spoke to him.
“Hey, Jake?” Your voice broke the silence of the lab as you shuffled your papers.
Jake glanced up at you, his cheeks turning pink almost immediately. He was quick to adjust his glasses, and his gaze darted to the window, then back down to his notes. “Uh, hey,” he stammered, never meeting your eyes. “What’s up?”
You smiled, trying to make him feel comfortable. “I was thinking of going over the assignment tonight. You, uh, wanna work together? We could meet at my place?”
His eyes widened. “Oh. You want to work with me?” He sounded so surprised, so unsure, as though the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind that someone would want to spend time with him outside of class.
You nodded. “Yeah, sure. I know the material pretty well, but I could use someone to bounce ideas off of. And you’re, like, a genius with this stuff, so…”
Jake swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not... a genius. I mean, I’m probably not even close. But, uh... yeah. Sure. Your place sounds fine.”
You barely heard the last part, as Jake muttered it to himself, his gaze flicking downward. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or something else that kept him from looking directly at you, but it felt like a wall was between you two.
That night, Jake arrived at your apartment at precisely 7:00 PM, as though punctuality could help him keep his anxiety at bay. You opened the door to find him standing there, clutching a bag of books with both hands like it was his lifeline. He was dressed in his usual oversized hoodie, and his hair was messily falling over his black frames.
“Hey, come in,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. His presence was a little overwhelming, and yet he seemed to shrink into himself the moment he crossed the threshold. His eyes darted around, clearly taking in everything, his shoulders tense, his hands clutching the strap of his bag even tighter.
“Thanks for inviting me over,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“No problem,” you said, your heart hammering in your chest for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, tea?”
Jake shook his head quickly. “No, I’m good.” His voice faltered, and he rubbed the back of his neck in an anxious gesture. “Sorry, I’ve just… never been to a girl’s place before.”
The words hung in the air, and you blinked, not sure how to respond. He’d never been to a girl’s place? Was that a comment about his general social awkwardness, or was it something more personal? He wasn’t making eye contact, and his words were tumbling out like he couldn’t control them.
“You… haven’t?” You weren’t sure if you were more surprised or confused. You’d heard him mention before that he didn’t have many friends, but this felt different, like there was a depth to his isolation that made you want to reach out and pull him closer, to ask him to let you in.
“No,” Jake muttered, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier. “I mean, I’m not really good at... anything, I guess.” He let out a short laugh, but it was hollow, sad.
You didn’t know what to say, so you simply nodded, leading him to the kitchen table where you’d already spread out your textbooks and notes. As you set up the papers, you couldn’t help but feel the tension in the room, thick and palpable.
Jake stood by the table, hovering like he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to sit, or if he even belonged there. The air felt suffocating, and you could almost hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest.
“I…uh, I can sit over here,” he said, finally picking a chair farthest from you. It was as if the distance was a physical barrier between you, as though he could somehow keep his insecurities at bay if he stayed far enough away.
You didn’t argue, though the space between you seemed to stretch endlessly. For a while, you both worked in silence, the only sound the scribbling of pens and the occasional rustling of papers. Every time you glanced at Jake, he had his head down, scribbling furiously, eyes flicking nervously from his notes to the pages in front of him, but never meeting your gaze.
It was unbearable. The silence. The tension.
“Jake,” you said quietly, breaking the stillness.
He flinched, his pen almost slipping from his hand. “H-huh?”
“You’re—” You hesitated, unsure how to phrase it without making it worse. “You’re doing fine, okay? You don’t have to avoid me. I mean, you’re brilliant, and I really want to hear your ideas.”
Jake’s face flushed even deeper, if that was possible. “I—I don’t think I’m... brilliant,” he whispered, almost as if to himself. “I mean, girls don’t think about me like that. No girl wants to hang with... a nerd. A—”
“Stop,” you said gently but firmly. “Jake, you are a genius. You’re just... you’re so caught up in thinking you’re not good enough that you don’t even see it. You’re amazing.”
Jake’s eyes darted down to the table, his hands gripping the edge of the chair like he was holding on to something for dear life. This pretty veins that trailed around his thick fingers…. His breath hitched, and for a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of his ragged inhalations.
“I… I don’t know how to believe that,” he whispered, barely audible. “I don’t know how to accept compliments or… attention. I’m just not used to it.”
The confession hit you harder than you expected, like an unexpected punch to the gut. You saw the raw vulnerability in him, and for a moment, you wished you could reach across the table and pull him into a hug.
Instead, you moved a little closer, your voice softer now. “Jake… I- I’m sorry no one’s given you the attention you deserve...”
Jake’s eyes flicked up to meet yours for the first time since he’d walked in the door. His gaze was wide, almost desperate, like he was searching for something in you….a reassurance, a promise. He resumed chewing those tender lips which were already pink and busted.
“I don’t know how to be anything other than… this,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how to be someone you would… actually like.”
The words lingered between you, and for a moment, the room felt impossibly small. Your heart ached for him. You leaned forward, closer, not sure if he would even let you in.
“Jake,” you said softly, “you don’t have to be perfect for me to like you. You think I invite just any guy over to study?”
And for the first time, Jake met your gaze, really met it, with an expression that was a mixture of hope and something else—something deeper, rawer. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the quiet desperation for connection, for understanding.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
Except nothing happened…for the rest of the night that unbearable tension lingered. Eventually you got him to open up enough to accept a snack. Just reheated lasagna and some juice. Nothing special. But NOTHING happened.
At one point you thought you might even kiss. The night was over and he lingered by the door picking at his nails as he mumbled a quiet goodbye. But you didn’t get a kiss. Or a hug. Or even a last glance in the eyes.
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