Private Tutor - lhs
Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader
in which your private tutor heeseung makes you forget every literary term the second he leans in a little too close.
one-shot
content warning: smut, nsfw, dirty talk, fingering, penetration, dom!heeseung, teasing & edging, grinding, MDNI.
Tag list: @jenlunes @mheretoreadff @wvndrls @skzenhalove @babylari999 @hazeheart12 @isagistar @heesno1gooner @ocyeanica03 @heelvcr @yoisoobin @luucortis @classyloredestiny @rayofsunshineeee @en-love-1009 @dutifullycuriousphenomenon @hoonicon @herslhs @htuoyass @sxirenswq @heevansslut @hoonieslove @woniedoyouloveme @prettygirlthings-world @enlov3vampxo (I tried tagging you all but it didn't work but I will try tagging u again:)
glasses on. focus lost. ⋆˙⟡
The first time you met Lee Heeseung, the university library was almost painfully quiet.
It was one of those late autumn afternoons where sunlight spilled lazily through the tall windows, turning dust particles into floating flecks of gold. Students whispered behind rows of towering bookshelves, pages turned somewhere in the distance.
He was tucked away at a small wooden desk near the windows, as though he'd intentionally chosen the quietest corner in the entire building.
A pair of thin-framed glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose while his eyes remained fixed on the open novel in front of him. Beside it sat an intimidating stack of books, each one neatly arranged with colorful sticky notes peeking from the pages. His notebook looked almost impossibly organized—headings written in precise handwriting, arrows connecting ideas in ways that somehow looked beautiful instead of overwhelming.
He looked exactly like someone who belonged there.
The type of student professors used as an example during lectures and somehow managed to make intelligence look effortless.
It was deeply unfair that someone could also be that attractive.
Your advisor had practically cornered you after class the previous week.
"Your literature grade isn't impossible to save," she insisted while handing you a small slip of paper with a name and phone number scribbled across it. "But only if you let someone help you."
You'd stared at the name.
Lee Heeseung.
Top student in the department.
Highest GPA.
Recommended tutor.
You had imagined someone intimidating before you ever met him.
Someone who would make you feel stupid for confusing symbolism with foreshadowing or forgetting literary terms halfway through discussions. Maybe someone overly serious with an ego inflated by perfect grades.
Instead...
The boy sitting across from you looked up the moment he heard your hesitant footsteps.
His eyes met yours, soft brown and startlingly warm.
For a second, he simply blinked.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't forced.
It was the kind of smile that reached his eyes first, gentle enough to loosen something in your chest before either of you had even spoken.
"You must be..." He glanced briefly at the notebook beside him before saying your name with surprising confidence. "Hi."
His voice was quieter than you expected.
You nodded awkwardly.
"Sorry I'm late."
"You're exactly two minutes early."
You frowned.
"...What?"
He looked down at the watch on his wrist before smiling again.
"Our session starts at three."
You checked your phone.
2:58 PM.
"...Oh."
"I like getting here early."
Of course he did.
For some reason, that tiny detail made you laugh.
Heeseung laughed too.
The nervous knot sitting in your stomach loosened instantly.
He gestured toward the empty chair across from him.
"Sit."
You settled into the chair, quietly pulling your notebook from your bag while trying not to notice how neat everything around him looked compared to the complete disaster living inside your backpack.
"You said you've been struggling with Romantic poetry?"
You groaned dramatically.
"I think Wordsworth personally hates me."
A tiny laugh escaped him.
"I don't think he's ever met you."
"It feels personal."
His shoulders shook with another quiet laugh.
Cute.
He slid one of his annotated pages toward you.
Instead of immediately explaining the poem like every tutor you'd ever had, he simply waited.
"What do you think it's trying to say?"
You stared blankly at the page.
"...That nature exists?"
He chuckled.
"Technically... yes."
"I knew it."
"But there's more."
He never interrupted when you spoke.
When you stumbled over your explanation, he simply tilted his head, listened until you finished, and asked another question instead of telling you that you were wrong.
Slowly...
Piece by piece...
He guided you toward the answer without making you feel like you'd failed.
It was strangely comforting.
"You don't have to rush," he murmured after noticing you growing frustrated.
His voice was low enough that it barely carried beyond your table.
He turned the book around so you could see the highlighted lines.
"Literature isn't about finding the fastest answer."
His fingertip traced beneath a sentence.
"It's about sitting with the words."
His eyes lifted to yours.
"Sometimes the best interpretations come after you've let them settle in your chest for a while."
You weren't entirely sure whether he was still talking about poetry.
By the end of that first session, you'd understood the chapter better than you had after three weeks of lectures.
By the time you walked back to your dorm that evening, you found yourself smiling for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with literary analysis.
—
You hadn't expected Tuesdays and Thursdays to become your favorite days of the week.
At first, you told yourself it was because your grades were finally improving.
Then you convinced yourself it was because studying felt easier with someone patient sitting across from you.
Eventually...
You stopped lying to yourself.
The sessions became something you looked forward to long before they actually happened.
Heeseung was always there first.
But it was the small things that started to undo you.
The way his fingers would brush yours when he passed you a pen. The way he’d lean in close to point at a line in your notebook, his breath warm against your ear as he explained a metaphor. The way his glasses would slip slightly down his nose when he was focused, and how he’d push them back up with his middle finger in that unconsciously attractive gesture.
By the sixth session, you were completely distracted.
Heeseung was explaining a particularly difficult passage when his hand rested on the back of your chair, leaning in so close you could smell his clean, woody cologne. His voice was low and steady as always, but your mind kept wandering to how his fingers would feel somewhere else.
You shifted in your seat, pressing your thighs together under the table.
Heeseung paused mid-sentence. His eyes flicked down for the briefest moment, then back to your face. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he said nothing. He simply continued explaining the text as if he hadn’t noticed how affected you were.
You were mortified.
But you were also so needy it was becoming impossible to hide.
The seventh session, the library was nearly empty. Finals week was approaching, and you had stayed late for an extra session. The overhead lights had been dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of the desk lamp between you.
Heeseung was sitting closer than usual, his chair pulled up right beside yours. His hand rested casually on the back of your chair, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder as he pointed at your notes.
You were trying — really trying — to focus on the passage he was explaining. But his cologne, the warmth of his body so close, and the way his glasses sat on his nose were making it impossible.
Your thighs pressed together again, a soft, involuntary sound escaping your lips.
Heeseung stopped talking.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Then his hand moved.
It slid slowly from the back of your chair to rest on your thigh, fingers warm through the fabric of your skirt. He didn’t say anything. He simply watched you, calm and controlled, thumb stroking a slow circle against your skin.
Your breath hitched.
Heeseung’s voice was low when he finally spoke.
“You’ve been distracted for weeks,” he murmured, eyes dark behind his glasses. “Tell me what you need.”
You couldn’t answer. Your face burned with embarrassment.
His hand slid higher, pushing your skirt up slowly.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “Use your words, like I taught you.”
“I… I can’t focus,” you whispered, voice shaky. “Not when you’re this close.”
A small, satisfied smile curved his lips.
“Then stop pretending,” he said, voice dropping. “His fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric, gliding through your slick folds. “So wet already. Just from sitting here pretending to study while I talked.”
You whimpered as he circled your clit with deliberate slowness, applying just enough pressure to make your hips twitch.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice dropping. “You don’t get to move until I say so.”
He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them perfectly against that spot that made your toes curl. You bit your lip hard to stifle a moan. His fingers moved faster, deeper, thumb pressing firm circles on your clit while his other hand held your thigh open.
“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes fixed on where his hand disappeared between your legs. “So pretty when you’re falling apart for your tutor. Does this feel better than studying, princess?”
“Yes— fuck— yes,” you gasped, head falling back.
He curled his fingers harder, hitting that perfect spot repeatedly until your legs started shaking.
“Don’t cum yet,” he commanded, voice rough but controlled. “Hold it for me.”
You whined in protest, but obeyed, muscles trembling with the effort. Heeseung watched you with dark fascination, fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm.
When you were right on the edge,he finally pulled his fingers out.
You cried out at the loss, but heeseung’s eyes darkened.
“Not yet.”
Your hands moved to his belt with trembling fingers, unbuckling it as he watched you with that steady, observing gaze.
He didn’t help.
He simply sat there, letting you pull his pants down yourself, revealing how hard he already was.
Heeseung leaned back slightly, one hand resting on your thigh as you freed him. His cock was thick and flushed, the tip already glistening.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice calm but rough around the edges. “So eager for your tutor’s cock.”
He took your hand and wrapped it around him, guiding you to stroke him slowly.
“That’s it,” he praised quietly. “Nice and slow. Feel how hard you make me.”
You stroked him for what felt like forever, your own arousal dripping down your thighs as he watched you with dark, controlled eyes. Heeseung was breathing heavier now, but he never lost that calm dominance.
Finally, he pulled your hand away.
“Enough teasing,” he said. “Sit on my lap.”
You straddled him on the chair, skirt bunched around your waist. He rubbed the head of his cock against your slick entrance, teasing your clit with slow, deliberate movements for a long, torturous minute.
You whimpered, hips trying to sink down, but he held you in place with a firm grip on your waist. He didn’t push inside. Instead, he gripped your hips and guided you to grind against him, sliding your wetness along his entire length.
“Grind on me,” he ordered, voice rough. “Use my cock like a good girl. Let me feel how desperate you are.”
You obeyed immediately, rolling your hips desperately, the pressure of his thick cock rubbing against your clit driving you insane. The friction was perfect but not enough. You were so needy, so impatient, that your movements became frantic, chasing more.
Heeseung watched you with dark, controlled eyes, hands gripping your hips to guide your rhythm.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice calm even as his cock throbbed beneath you. “So impatient. Grinding on your tutor’s cock like you can’t control yourself.”
You whimpered, grinding harder, the head of his cock catching against your entrance with every roll of your hips. The teasing pressure was driving you crazy.
Then it happened.
You moved too eagerly, too desperately, and the head of his cock slipped inside you — just the tip, stretching you open.
You gasped sharply, freezing at the sudden fullness.
Heeseung’s grip on your hips tightened, a low groan escaping him.
“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes fluttering for a second. “Look what you did, princess.”
He didn’t push deeper. He simply held you there, the head of his cock nestled just inside you, throbbing with the effort of staying still.
“You wanted it so badly you couldn’t even wait,” he said, voice dark and teasing. “Such a needy little thing.”
You whimpered, trying to sink down further, but his hands held you firmly in place.
“Not yet,” he commanded, eyes locked on where you were barely connected. “Stay right there. Feel how much you need me.” You were so wet, so desperate, that even just the tip of him felt overwhelming. Your hips twitched involuntarily, trying to take more, but Heeseung’s grip was unyielding.
“Please,” you begged, voice breaking. “Please, Heeseung—”
He finally gave in with a low groan, pulling you down onto him in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
You moaned loudly at the sudden fullness, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely.
Heeseung’s hands gripped your hips harder, holding you still for a moment as he savored the feeling.
“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “So tight. So perfect for me.”
Then he started moving — deep, steady thrusts that made the chair creak beneath you.
“Ride me,” he ordered, voice rough but controlled. “Show me how much you’ve been needing this.”
You obeyed, rolling your hips desperately, chasing the pleasure only he could give you. Heeseung watched you the entire time, eyes dark and focused behind his slightly fogged glasses, taking in every moan, every tremble, every desperate movement.
When you were right on the edge, shaking and whimpering, he gripped your hips harder and thrust up into you with more force.
“Cum for me,” he commanded. “Right now.”
You shattered around him with a broken cry, clenching hard as waves of pleasure ripped through you. Heeseung followed moments later, burying himself deep and groaning your name as he came inside you, hips stuttering with the force of it.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your shared heavy breathing.
Heeseung stayed inside you, forehead pressed to yours, one hand gently stroking your thigh as you both came down.
“Good girl,” he whispered tenderly. “You did so well for me.”
