#heeseun

You awoke the next morning and the man who claimed your virginity—your husband—was nowhere to be found. After a night filled with passion, you couldn’t help but grow increasingly curious over who this man was and what he looked like.

You delicately rolled out of bed and stepped barefoot onto the warm marble floor. Before you could take more than a few steps, several mysterious invisible figures approached. Their humanoid forms were hinted at only by the flowing fabric that hugged their outlines. Alarmed, you stepped back, hand grazing the edge of the bedding—until his voice returned.

“Don’t be afraid, my Psyche. They are here for you.”

Startled by the rich echo of his voice, you looked up and around. One of the invisible servants took your hand and led you to the dining hall, where others stood holding platters adorned with fruits, nuts, breads, honey, sauces, and wreaths of delicate flowers. They said nothing, only guiding you from room to room—to eat, to bathe, to dress.

Though your husband remained unseen, you often wondered if he was watching you. Especially when the servants undressed you for the bath. Though you had shared intimacy with him, it had always been under the soft cover of night. Now in daylight, the idea of being observed unsettled you.

Night returned swiftly. You lay once more within the sheets of your magnificent bed—its golden frame crowned by clouds. Just as the world turned dark, you heard it—the powerful sound of his wings cutting through the sky. He entered silently through the balcony, drapes fluttering in his wake, and you felt the density of his presence behind you as he enveloped you in his arms.

His kisses brushed the back of your neck. You turned at his prompting, lips brushing his bare chest. You saw nothing. Only felt. He spoke of your smile, your voice, your laughter—his devotion was unmistakable.

“Why may I not see you?” you asked softly.

“Because love asks for trust before it asks for sight,” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His lips pressed softly to your forehead. “You must trust me. You must abide my rule. Do you understand, my beautiful Psyche?”

You nodded. His words, though soft, held command.

So the days passed. At times, he visited during daylight—but only when your eyes were blindfolded. The first time, your invisible attendants left you alone in the grand hall. Instructions were simple: wear the blindfold, and wait.

Then his voice again.

“Walk forward.”

You obeyed. A nervous swallow caught in your throat. And then—warmth. His arms, steady and sure, pulled you close.

He lifted you easily, holding you against him as he flew. Wind danced through your fingers and hair. You rested atop his body, legs straddling his hips, your waist cradled by his strong hands. Even blindfolded, the thrill of flight ignited your senses. His voice came again, like silk.

“My wings are yours. Tell me, and I’ll take you anywhere.”

“How high are we now?” you teased.

“High,” he murmured.

“Can we go higher?”

His grip shifts as he holds you by your neck—firmly, though never cruelly. His other cradles your waist as a sudden surge of air rushed past as you ascended even higher. You felt the thrill in your stomach, like falling upwards.

You steadied yourself against his torso. He took your hands, raised them to his lips. You traced the bow of his upper lip, the fullness of the lower. He leaned into your palm, pressing a kiss to its center.

You melted.

Your other hand explores his features, desperate to know what he looked like—but knowing all you could do was feel. With trembling fingers, you cautiously reach for him. First, you trace along the edge of his jaw, feeling the smooth yet defined structure beneath your fingertips. His breath hitches slightly as you trail upward, discovering the smoothness of his curved chin that cradles the velvety skin near his lips.

He remains perfectly still as you explore him, allowing your hand to wander.

Your fingers slowly glide to his cheeks—high and sculpted—then to the delicate rise of his brow. You reach higher, and that’s when you feel it: the softness of his hair. Thick, silken strands slip through your fingers like ribbons of dusk. They fall in gentle waves across his forehead, some pieces even draping down over his eyes. You run your fingers along the edge of his hairline, discovering the way it curves slightly as it meets his temples. His hair feels slightly damp with the cool mist of the sky, yet impossibly soft, like spun silk warmed by the sun.

You comb through it slowly, memorizing the length and direction of each lock, gently pushing back a few strands that had fallen forward. You can’t help but linger, brushing some pieces aside before they return to frame his face naturally again.

A faint tremble runs through his body, not from the cold, but from the tenderness of your touch.

Your fingertips then drift back down—across the curve of his brow and over the bridge of his nose. His lashes graze your hand as he blinks, slow and reverent. You trace the slight dip at the top of his Cupid’s bow, feeling how soft and full his lips truly are. When your palm comes to rest in the center of his face, he gently turns into it, and presses a kiss there—soft and warm, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

It is not lust that fills the silence, but something far deeper. Worship. Devotion. Longing wrapped in patience.

His hands returned to your hips. He pressed you gently against his chest and twirled through the sky, spiraling down. You felt the clouds race past, the air cool and wild. And then you were home again.

Perched high atop a pillar, he sat with you curled on his lap. His nose brushed your throat, his hands roamed your back with gentle reverence. Flowers perfumed his hair. Below, nothing but open sky. Around you, the breathless quiet of being treasured.

This was love. He was love.

Many nights had passed since that first moment of bliss—each one spent wrapped in the warmth of his presence. Sometimes you faced his chest, your ear pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Other times, he cradled you from behind, his arms coiled protectively around your waist as if you were something sacred. He traced invisible constellations across your skin with the tips of his fingers, whispering the names of stars only he knew. His wings would arch around you like a canopy, cocooning your body in warmth and softness. Their silken feathers would occasionally graze against your skin, a delicate sensation that stirred your senses and made you shiver—not from cold, but from awe.

Just as you had done with his face, your hands learned the shape of his wings. Your fingertips followed the elegant curvature of the bone that supported them, firm and strong beneath the surface. The feathers were softer than velvet, yet with each stroke, you could somehow tell they gleamed brighter than the stars. Though you could not see them, you knew they were beautiful. Everything about him was. And yet, your longing to see him grew deeper with each passing day. It burned in you like a quiet ache—the yearning to gaze into the eyes of the man whose voice, whose touch, had become your world.

But it wasn’t the only ache. You thought often of your family—your brothers, your sisters, your mother and father. You missed them more than you could admit, and your heart would sometimes wander back to that final moment atop the cliff—the tearless goodbyes, the sorrow you were too proud to show. If only you could see them again, if only for a moment.

You sat beside the glistening stream that weaved through the palace gardens, listening to the soft, rhythmic lull of the water. Its serenity calmed your thoughts, though not enough to keep them from drifting toward home. What you didn’t know was that Eros was never far. He always knew when your thoughts began to dim. And in the silence, he watched you with a hidden grief of his own—because he could feel what you were feeling. He could sense the weight of your longing. And despite the risks, he couldn’t bear to see you sad.

That night, his voice came as a hush against your cheek, low and honey-smooth.

“Psyche… my pretty-soul girl,” he murmured, the tenderness in his tone almost enough to bring tears to your eyes. “If it would ease your heart, I will summon your sisters. I will send the West Wind to carry them here, just as it did you.”

He paused. His fingers brushed your jaw as though sculpting it from moonlight.

“But take heed…” His voice dipped, suddenly quieter, firmer—warning laced in velvet. “They may come with smiling faces, but their words may be sharp. Poison can wear the mask of love. Do not let them plant doubt where trust has bloomed. Whatever they say—whatever they ask—stay true to your heart. And stay faithful to my one rule.”

His hand lingered, cupping your cheek. You leaned into it.

“I will trust you,” you whispered.

He said nothing, but you felt it—the way his forehead came to rest against yours, the way his breath stilled for a moment longer than usual.

Heeseung: Contrary to his gentle and soft nature, he does enjoy a little bit of roughness. I think in the earlier chapter of MRE, he and reader were...ahem..engaged in certain activities and he let her have control up until a point where he was kind of breaching so he took over and really went kind of hard...and bouncy. Heeseung (MGR) has a couple of positions that he really likes and he and reader have engaged in these positions a couple of times throughout MRE and HHP. He likes it when reader is on top, and he also enjoys the reverse cowgirl. He LOVES the diversity of seeing you from the back or front. loves it.

Ethan:

Yo...my man Ethan...similar to Heeseung in the aspect that he loves to see you front or back, but his preference in positions are doggy and just having you straddle his lap while he sits on the couch. He's kind of (actually alot) dominant, so laying down and having the reader sit atop like how Heeseung likes it, isn't his to go to because he always wants to be in control and on top. Sometimes he wont mind if Eden or reader does it, but ONLY if he initiates it. He's one of those types, if he's laying down and you straddle him, he's going to immediately flip you over and fuck your brains out hard to teach you a lesson...and he will be hitting it from the back. But i also will say, if youve read chapter 15, when he is in his emotions, he has a whole seperate favorite position and its very sentimental and endearing. the one that he had you in in part 3 ;)