summary: reader is insecure. steve shows her she's beautiful while still respecting boundaries!
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
classification: smutty blurb
warnings: 18+, not my gif!, cussing, oral (f!receiving), reader has a vagina, not proofread!
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
You weren’t the most experienced.
You weren’t a virgin. You’d done some stuff before, but nothing insane. Something that didn’t help was how insecure you are.
When Steve – King Steve “The Hair” Harrington – first showed interest in you, you were beside yourself. Why would the hottest guy in Hawkins feel anything towards a girl like you?
But Steve knew you were beautiful. Everyone knew you were beautiful, except for you. And you knew he wanted you so bad, as much as he (poorly) tried to hide it.
“Just wanna touch you, baby,” he slurs, kissing at your neck. “Won’t pressure you, but… you’re beautiful. I just wanna taste you.”
You can’t deny the way that his words, his voice, send heat straight down to your core. God, you want him so bad, too. But if he sees you in full, if he sees more than just your face, will he still find you beautiful?
You squirm under him, huffing a laugh, weakly pushing at his shoulders. “Stevie… baby, I dunno. I’m not the prettiest… down there.”
He pulls back, looking at you like you just turned into a dog. His brows were pulled taut in that way that made you swoon. “What do you mean, honey?” he murmurs, cupping your face in his hands. “How would you know, hm?” He kisses at your collar, then at your sternum through your shirt.
You run your fingers through his hair, your breathing getting heavier and heavier. He kneels between your legs. “I’ll be the judge of that, baby. That okay?”
You whine. “I dunno…”
He kisses your thighs. “That’s alright, honey. But I wanna make you feel good. Do you trust me to make you feel good?”
Your face goes red. But you manage a nod.
“Words, sweet girl.” Steve presses a kiss to your bare thigh below your shorts.
“Yes, I trust you,” you whisper.
“Good,” he grins, slowly pulling down your shorts. You tense up, your fingers tightening in his hair. He chuckles. “Relax, baby. I’m leaving your panties on, okay?”
He kisses above your panties first, right on your navel. You whimper and feel him smirk against your hot skin.
He slowly kisses lower. And lower. Then he’s hooking your thighs over his shoulders and pressing a featherlight kiss to your clothed clit.
A gasp is ripped from you. Your fingers tighten in his hair again, your nails in his scalp. The sudden, barely-there pleasure shoots up through you like shocks. “Oh, f– fuck,” you breathe.
He licks up your clothed slit, drenching the fabric even further than your wetness already had. You whine, tugging at his hair even more, causing him to groan into you. A shudder runs through your body, up your chest and out to your fingertips.
Steve hums into you, hooking his hands around your thighs and pulling you closer to his face. He buries his nose and mouth into your pussy as your back arches off of his silk sheets. “Feel good?” he mumbles.
You nod. Your thighs tighten around his head, basically suffocating him, and his eyes just roll back. He pulls back to admire his work.
Your cotton panties are see-through now, every part of you visible. The sopping fabric sticks to your folds and he lightly blows on it. You yelp and squirm in response to the cold air.
He kneads his fingers into your thighs to soothe you. “Shh, babygirl. I got you, don’t worry.”
He dives back in with even more desperation than before. You cry out, trembling under him, tugging at his hair. Your eyes travel to his hips, hopelessly grinding into the mattress while he whimpers into you.
Your abdomen begins to tighten. Your thighs start to shake. He rubs your hips, mumbling nonsense into your heat, gently coaxing you to break.
So you do.
You babble moans, gasping his name, bucking up into his mouth. Steve guides you through it oh so carefully, pulling back when you collapse so you don’t get overstimulated. He presses tender kisses to your soft tummy while your chest heaves.
“You okay? Was that good?” his honey-like voice mutters.
You weakly pull him up to your face, brushing a kiss against his lips. “Thank you,” you whisper.
A smile spreads across his face. Not smug or sarcastic like usual, just genuine. He presses his lips to your forehead. “Of course, pretty girl. Of course.”
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
a/n: ok it's been like two months but i'm back! (sorry lol) i'm on summer break now yay so hopefully i'll be posting more. i have an idea for a possible steve series and i'm thinking of making a smau on twt so keep an eye out! (my twt is djosfools)
synopsis: after dropping off your 9-month old daughter with yeonjun’s parents, the two of you take some time to dive back into old habits.
pairing: husband!yeonjun x f. reader
rating: mature 18+; mdni.
word count: 2.8k
warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, sub/dom themes, dom!yeonjun, cum eating, praise kink, slight degradation kink, excessive pet name usage, oral sex (f. receiving), dacryphilia (kind of), brief mention of consensual somnophilia
masterlist
_____________
Becoming parents had changed your relationship with Yeonjun. Not drastically — he was still incredibly attentive towards you, silly when he needed to be, serious when the moment called for it. He was a fantastic father to the 9 month old daughter you both shared; a perfect partner that never made you feel like you were carrying too much on your own.
What had shifted, unfortunately, was the level of intimacy you two shared.
It was no one’s fault, really. It was only natural that when the baby arrived, you both would trade spontaneous midnight car rides, late night movie dates and wild sex for diaper changes, baby bottles and searching for lost pairs of little socks.
So a moment like this — you both freshly showered, dressed in sweats, wrapped in each other’s arms in the middle of your bedroom — was rare.
You both had taken your daughter to stay with Yeonjun’s parents for a couple of nights. The idea had been presented to you by his mother, who noticed you both looked equal parts enamored and exhausted.
Your daughter had never left the comfort of your household since the day she came home; she had never lived a night without yourself and your loving husband watching over her. It had taken persistent convincing from his mother for both Yeonjun and yourself to come around, but you both eventually caved, deciding that a couple nights to yourself was more than needed.
And now that you had it, it was something you both wanted to cherish.
“Do you think we even know how to be our old selves anymore?”
Your voice filled the bedroom, Yeonjun’s warm arms embracing you more tightly. His chin rested on your head, him simply taking a rare second to hold you close to him.
The dull sound of the television wasn’t enough to erase the silence that lingered around every corner of the house. No cries from your daughter, no static from the baby monitor. No toys singing happy songs and waiting for Yeonjun to accidentally trip over them.
Silence hung in the air for a few seconds longer as you looked up from your position flush against Yeonjun’s chest. Your husband hummed softly in consideration of your words, fingers softly caressing your arm.
“We do. We just need to take some time to get back into our old routines. Start setting aside more time for us.”
Content with his answer, you gave a small nod before curling yourself back into his arms. You each released a sigh of what was definitely pent up tension; tension from months of holding everything together as parents, neglecting parts of yourselves without meaning to.
“You know what I’ve been thinking?” Yeonjun’s deep voice muttered, him leaning away just enough to look down at your expression.
“Hmm?”
A smirk painted his lips as he kissed the tip of your nose, staring down at you with mischief on his features.
“I wonder if you still remember how to be a good girl for me?”
Blush painted your cheeks instantly, head burying back into his chest — this time, to hide. You two had been together long enough for you to know exactly what he was referring to.
Not trusting your own voice, you cleared your throat.
“You know I was never good at that, Jun.”
Yeonjun released a small chuckle, fingers leaning down to trace the loose neckline of his old t-shirt that you wore.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, baby. You’re the best, actually.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Let me show you what I remember. Can I do that?” Yeonjun’s smooth words sent a shiver down your spine, his dark eyes staring into yours with a familiar tension that made time stand still.
“Yes please.” The words slipped from your lips before your brain could fully process them, earning an expectant smile from the man you loved.
“My girl…already being so good for me, aren’t you?” At his own words, Yeonjun lowered his hands to the hem of your shirt, fingers gently caressing your hips underneath. He brought his lips towards your ear, kissing softly on your earlobe.
“Gonna listen real good for me, baby? Let me take care of you?”
His whispered words drew a gentle but deep inhale from you, your hands gripping his biceps in an attempt to keep yourself steady. His fingers wrapped around your chin, guiding you so that your eyes met his. The intensity of his gaze and attention was far too strong for you to look away, eyes locked on his with the utmost focus.
Yeonjun felt it instantly — the way tension began to fall from your shoulders as you focused solely on him. The way your body shivered at his every touch but drifted closer to him in the same breath, as if involuntary.
“That’s my pretty girl. How do you feel, baby?” Yeonjun breathed, pressing a warm kiss to the center of your forehead.
“I feel like…I’m floating.” You whispered out, eyes closing softly as your mind lingered on the feeling of his lips against your skin.
“Floating is perfect. You’re right where I want you, love.”
His large hand lightly gripped the back of your neck, thumb gently caressing the length of your throat; that was all it took to make your knees buckle.
A nearly devious smile covered Yeonjun’s lips as he leaned forward to meet your own in a warm, passionate kiss. You melted into his touch, one hand gripping his wrist as he kissed you more deeply.
“There you are, princess. So eager. That’s my baby.”
Yeonjun moved his warm lips alongside your neck, kisses pressing into the flesh with a practiced ease that still made your heart flutter. You closed your eyes as he turned you so that your back was to his chest, relishing in his every touch as he pulled you impossibly closer.
You felt yourself slipping away under the tenderness of his touch, the guidance of his words and the warmth of his affection.
“What do you want, princess? I’ll give you anything.” His voice was rough with want, fingers sliding inside the waistband of your sweatpants to feel along your soaked center through your panties.
You bit back a moan that slipped out anyways, head leaning back against his chest, giving him more access to kiss along your skin.
“I just want you.”
“You want me? Elaborate, baby.” Yeonjun pressed kisses behind your ear and down your neck, smiling against your skin at the way you shivered under his embrace.
“I need you.”
“You need me where, baby girl?”
“Just….everywhere.”
Your words came out as a mixture between a whine and a broken moan, legs nearly crossing around his hand between your thighs — anything to attempt to soften the desire that had already began to pool.
Yeonjun’s eye twitched in arousal, brows furrowing, expression hardening once more.
“Good girl. Take off your clothes.”
Muscle memory kicked in at the sound of his voice — calm, dominant, laced with want. You obeyed immediately, ridding yourself of the clothes that now felt too warm on your skin. His gaze was frozen on you, taking in the sight he had seen a million times but had never tired of.
“This still okay?”
Yeonjun’s expression softened for a few seconds, stroking your cheek as he scanned your body with dark, reverent eyes. The warmth of his palms caressed your cheek, grounding you briefly in the midst of pleasure.
“Yes…just please hurry.” You breathed, eyes nearly desperate as you stared back at him.
Your chest bloomed with warmth as you watched the small smile form on his lips. It was nearly a smirk, teasing and loving both wrapped in a bow. His forehead rested on yours briefly, eyes closing as he took another moment to breathe you in.
“Patience is a virtue, my love.”
His hand moved from your cheek to your chin, lifting it gently as so to draw your attention back to him. When your eyes fluttered open to meet his, he finally pressed his lips against yours. You both moved in a rhythm that felt familiar and nearly foreign, long overdue. It had been ages since you had a chance to kiss like this — soft, passionate, filled with want. No interruptions due to your child crying, waves of nausea or busy schedules. Just the two of you.
“That’s my girl. I want you face down for me.” Yeonjun murmured, hands caressing your skin in awe. He was addicted to the way you felt in his palms, warm and pliant under the direction of his voice. His fingers grazed the plump of your breasts before you walked towards the bed, face pressed against the pillows, the arch of your back immaculate.
Yeonjun nearly growled under his breath, taking his time to walk towards the bed as he stared at your figure.
So beautiful. So perfect for him. So his.
Pregnancy had made every inch of you more full and it took everything in him not to devour you every rare, free second he got.
From behind his hands splayed across your back, lightly massaging every inch until they rest on your hips. His flushed lips pressed against your spine, kissing a trail from top to bottom that made you whimper against him.
His favorite sound.
“What happened the last time I put you in this position, princess?”
The words were enough to make you whimper, your trembling hands gripping the sheets in anticipation as Yeonjun began to caress your inner thighs.
“I got pregnant.” You whined, eyes closed as your body reveled in the feeling of his touch. A small hum left Yeonjun’s mouth from behind.
“You did, hmm? Pregnant while on all fours for me? Ass in the air? Kind of…slutty of you, don’t you think?”
A sound that almost resembled a sob threatened to leave your body as Yeonjun’s fingers began to lightly caress your swollen folds, his digits drenched in your arousal immediately.
He always managed to do this — make you soaked before he barely began to touch you. Your grip on the sheets tightened as you held back the urge to moan, tears threatening to leave your eyes from a mixture of desire and anticipation.
“What would people say if they knew you got pregnant like this? All spread out with your pretty pussy in the air?” His dominant yet teasing tone nearly had you seeing stars, coupled with his fingers continuing to tease your folds. You were too blissed out to form a coherent sentence; a moan of pleasure sufficed.
“I’m just teasing, baby. You can’t help what you are, huh?”
With a small chuckle Yeonjun removed his fingers from your folds, grabbing the back of your neck firmly but without force. He pulled your head back just enough to watch the way you happily took his awaiting fingers in your mouth, sucking your arousal from them with a hunger he hadn’t seen from you in ages. His breath hitched as you swirled your tongue seductively around the digits, licking them clean.
“That’s my good fucking girl. So pretty.”
You groaned when he gently guided your face back down into the pillow. By now mascara and soft tears had begun to grace the white pillowcase, your body overwhelmed with pleasure and anticipation.
When it came to intimacy, Yeonjun never rushed. He was the king of taking his time — a blessing and a curse.
Foreplay was his playground and his forte.
“I love the way you spread your pussy for me. Desperate for my cock, huh?” His wet digits found their way to your soaked clit, rubbing gently on the neglected flesh in a way he knew you craved. Sobs left your lips at the contact, fingers returning to gripping the sheets impossibly tight.
“Yeonjun, please. I can’t wait anymore, please.” Your tears increased, voice nearly a cry rather than coherent words. Immediately Yeonjun caressed your back with his free hand that had been resting on your hip, pressing a soft kiss to your tailbone before pulling his fingers away.
“Whatever you say, princess.”
From behind you heard the soft, slick sound of him stroking his dick, pre-cum from him taking his precious time just enough to make the strokes wet. Your eyes shut as you tried to push back the thought of having him buried in your mouth, his rough hands pulling your hair as he mercilessly fucked your throat — next time.
You felt Yeonjun teasingly drag his length up and down your entrance, tip kissing your clit occasionally and earning a broken moan from your lips.
“You’re doing so good, princess. You’ve been so patient. You ready for me?” Yeonjun groaned, the last slivers of restraint stripping from his voice.
As soon as you choked out a ‘yes’, you felt him begin to work his way inside of you, your knees nearly giving out at the sensation of finally having him where you needed him most. His strong hands gripped your hips to keep you upright, Yeonjun inhaling for air as he attempted to bottom out in your heat.
“God…you’re so tight, baby.”
His fingers pressed into your hips, his strokes long and slow as he savored the feeling of you around him. Desperate to feel him closer you reached back a single hand, seeking his embrace. Yeonjun took the opportunity to grab both of your hands, pinning them against your tailbone as he increased the speed of his strokes.
Tears of pleasure wet your cheeks, mind too far gone to think about anything other than the feeling of him impossibly deep inside of you; having his way with you.
“You look so good taking my dick, baby. You were made for it, huh?” Yeonjun groaned, voice rough and dripping with ecstasy. Your reply came out simply as a whimper. You attempted to move your hips to meet his thrusts in an effort to get him to increase his speed.
“Aht, Aht, Aht. What did I say about patience, my love? You’ve been doing so well. I’d hate to leave you all empty.”
As if testing his words he pulled out nearly completely, leaving only the tip barely inside of you. It was enough to make you cry in protest.
“I’m sorry just…please. Need it, Jun. Need you.”
The desperation in your tone seemed to awake something deep inside of him, your husband releasing a groan as he tightened his grip on your wrists.
“God, you’re killing me.” Yeonjun muttered before re-entering you fully with a quickness that took your breath away.
As the speed of his strokes increased, your world began to blur.
You barely registered the fact that your hands had returned to the sheets and his fingers were on your clit, stroking you with one hand while his other gripped your hip impossibly tight. His words had become nothing but muffled sounds in your brain as your body spread with a familiar heat.
“I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna be a good girl and cum with me, yeah? My perfect girl.”
Seconds later broken, whiny sobs leave your lips as your walls come crashing down around him, orgasm blinding white in pleasure and intensity.
Lost in the bliss of your orgasm you barely process the sound of Yeonjun groaning behind you, his miraculous fingers continuing to softly work your throbbing clit as he begins to pump you full of his cum.
As you come down from your high, Yeonjun continues to ride out his, cum leaking around his length. The sound filled the room — wet, addictive and filthy all the same.
“Fuck, baby. You drive me crazy. You know that?”
Exhaustion paints your limbs as you feel his warm hands coax your limp body to lay on your back.
You expected to feel the warmth of a towel against your skin but instead you’re met with Yeonjun’s plush lips kissing at your swollen folds, tongue softly licking between the flesh. Your fingers weakly curled into the strands of his hair, holding him close and feeling him smile against you as he gently licks you clean.
In a matter of seconds your eyes begin to drift closed in contentment and pleasure. When he’s finished, Yeonjun presses delicate kisses into your neck, massaging your breasts gently in his palm.
He was kind enough not to coax another orgasm out of you right now, seeing how spent you were; not wanting to reintroduce too much too soon.
Instead, he’d likely wake you up in an hour with your clit between his lips and his fingers working their way inside of you, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.
You couldn’t wait.
For now, he lightly caressed your cheek, staring at you in awe though you were too tired to see it.
“That’s my baby. You did so good for me. The best in the world.”
synopsis: after 5 years, you finally say ‘i do’ to the man of your dreams. following a day full of wedding bliss, he takes time to cater to his bride.
pairing: husband!yeonjun x fem!reader
rating: mature 18+; mdni.
word count: 3.3k
warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), suggested overstimulation, dacryphilia (slight)
masterlist
_________
Staring into the mirror, you graciously studied your own reflection. The faint sound of wedding bells echoed distantly in your ears, coupled with the millions of warm wishes and congratulatory words you had heard throughout the day.
By now the hot shower had washed every inch of wedding haze from your skin, but the adrenaline and the memories still lingered. It seemed nearly impossible to attempt to calm the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears as you thought about how your perfect day had been just that.
From the start, the day had felt like a dream. A year full of planning had resulted in a wedding beyond your wildest imagination. Your dress was stunning, tailored to perfection. Every person you held dear was in attendance, their eyes full of fond and happiness as they celebrated you and the love you had cultivated so beautifully over the years.
Even with every little detail falling into place, nothing made the day more perfect than the man who you met at the end of the aisle — the one you finally had the pleasure of calling your husband.
Yeonjun.
The man who had cried before, during and after your vows to him. The man whom you held more closely to your heart than anyone else on the planet. There wasn’t a soul you loved or trusted more.
Your palms smoothed down the fabric of your white lingerie set as you continued to study your reflection. Soft curls graced your shoulders, a nice break from the updo you had sported all day. You couldn’t recall another day in your life where you had felt more beautiful.
A patient knock on the door drew you away from your thoughts.
“Baby? Everything okay?” Yeonjun’s rough but sweet voice sounded through the door, immediately pulling a soft smile to your lips.
You both had arrived at the villa around an hour ago. You had managed to escape his plethora of kisses temporarily to rid yourself of your after party dress, shower and slip into the white lingerie set you had purchased solely for this occasion.
Taking a deep breath you quickly covered yourself in a plush robe before walking towards the bathroom door, opening it enough to fully see the man you loved. Immediately his worried expression turned to one of fond after noting that you were safe, but his curious eyes never left you.
Even after all the festivities had commenced, he still managed to look like something out of a magazine. He had shed himself of his suit jacket, leaving him in only a white dress shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, a few top buttons undone. His suit pants were still perfectly in place, fitted to perfection like everything else about him.
He had an effortless beauty that never failed to leave you speechless. He’d say the same about you.
“You’re not suppose to see me yet, sir.”
A glimmer of amusement flashed across Yeonjun’s face as he reached for your cheek through the opening in the door. His thumb immediately brushed the softness of your skin and you melted into his palm before realizing it, eyes closing at the comfort of his touch.
“I can’t help that I can hear you overthinking from outside, beautiful. Husband things.”
You playfully rolled your eyes before opening the door all the way. Yeonjun slowly stepped inside as if the space was sacred, pressing his other hand to your cheek before letting his lips linger on your forehead. His forehead kisses had a funny way of making your world stand still, if only for a few moments in time. Your hands gripped his wrists as you closed your eyes, taking yet another deep breath.
“I think it’s sinking in to me that it’s all done. All the wedding planning is finally finished. No more late nights figuring out venues or stressing over seating arrangements.”
Eyebrows furrowed in thought, Yeonjun moved his hands from your cheeks to your shoulders, turning you towards the mirror. He immediately began to work away at the tension in your shoulders, earning a hum of content from your lips.
“You worked hard for this day, baby. You put your vision on paper and you made it come true. I promise you can relax now.”
Somehow, Yeonjun never gave himself enough credit. Though the wedding was exactly how you envisioned, Yeonjun made sure it happened that way. He hired everyone he could, from the wedding planner to the caterer you insisted on having. Though that didn’t stop you from obsessing over each little detail, he took every ounce of stress that he could from your shoulders. You were forever grateful.
“It wouldn’t have been perfect without you, Jun. You made all my dreams come to life.” Staring at your reflection in the mirror, a kind smile covered his face as he pressed his lips to your neck.
“It’s my job to make all your dreams come true. And I’ll keep doing it for as long as we live.”
Leaning your head deeper into his chest, your gaze met his in a gentle invitation for him to kiss your lips. Without an ounce of hesitation, he obliged.
It was amazing that after all these years you both had mastered the art of each other. Drawn by a gravity neither of you could explain, you both understood each other well beyond the need for words.
“You know what I’m thinking?” Yeonjun murmured, pressing small kisses to your lips that made you softly laugh. You raised an eyebrow to urge him to continue.
“I’m wondering how it’s possible that after all these years, you’re still the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.” Yeonjun wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressing his cheek against yours and you prayed he couldn’t feel the heat that rose on your cheeks.
”You’re too sweet, Jun.”
“I’m honest, baby.” As Yeonjun spoke, his lips pressed kisses to your jaw, his fingertips beginning to playfully tease the belt of your robe. The loose plush knot was the only thing that kept yourself from being exposed to your husband.
“Now when are you going to take off this robe and let me see you?”
A sweet laugh slipped past your lips before you could catch it, your gaze once again meeting Yeonjun’s in the bathroom mirror.
“I’m thinking about it.”
Taking his hand, you led him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Once you were a few feet in front of the bed you let go of his hand. Yeonjun took it upon himself to take a seat at the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands as if he sensed what you were about to do.
Your fingers toyed shyly with the knot on your robe as you stood a few feet before him, heart racing like it always did but with increased fervor. You watched his every move — his brown eyes glued to the rotation of your nervous fingers, his own legs shifting ever so slightly in desire and anticipation.
Before you lost confidence, you slowly began to undo the knot.
Yeonjun held his breath as he watched your every move, eyes alternating between your fingers and the shy expression on your face.
Once the plush hit the floor, Yeonjun released a weighted exhale you understood all too well, eyes scanning your figure.
“Baby, you look incredible. All this for little ole me?”
He stood and stepped forward, his thumb gently caressing your cheek before his eyes went back to scanning your figure. The soft white was radiant against your skin tone, giving you an angelic glow that was the exact opposite of anything your husband was thinking at the moment.
“I thought you might like it.”
Guiding you towards the bed, your husband placed a gentle hand behind your head before laying you down softly against the mattress. You couldn’t help but feel a little exposed — his intense gaze on you as you lay before him in lingerie, curls splayed across the bed. A few strands draped over your shoulders, breasts slightly overflowing from the cups of your outfit; bare-faced, beautiful.
“You look so beautiful, princess. I’ve been thinking about having you under me all day.”
With gentle fingertips Yeonjun lightly graced the plump of your breasts as he spoke, earning an immediate shiver from you.
“That’s what’s been on your mind on our very special day?” You teased, watching your husband who held a smirk on his lips.
“Believe it or not your husband is capable of forming more than one thought sometimes, baby girl.”
Despite the sexual tension in the air you laughed, bright and playful even as Yeonjun kissed the top of your breasts with a sly smile. Your fingers tangled in his hair while one of his hands stroked your torso.
“God. We’ve been together for five years and I still can’t get enough of you.”
Yeonjun pressed a lingering kiss to your flushed lips, sending an immediate shiver down your spine. Your hands immediately moved to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer and deepening the kiss. The smirk that formed on his lips as he continued to kiss you told you that he hadn’t missed the way you craved him. His hand that wasn’t supporting the weight of his own body continued to caress your torso, warmth penetrating your lingerie and settling deep where you craved him most.
After all these years you were still stunned at the way a simple kiss from him could undo you. At the touch of his lips to yours you felt every inch of his love for you; utter devotion and admiration all in one.
Normally he’d tease you a little for being so eager, so hungry for him. But not tonight. Not after you had both entered a union so sacred and the air was still so fresh with that purity.
He’d spare you this one time.
You were the first to break for air, panting breaths brushing his lips as foreheads and noses touched. You rested both hands against his cheeks, eyes closing as you tried (and failed) to settle the rapid beating of your own heart.
Somehow he still made you feel like this — giddy like a school girl under the heat of his gaze; nearly unable to form a thought under the influence of his attention.
“You’ve been waiting all day for this too, haven’t you baby? Been waiting on me to take care of you?”
His warm hands graced your thighs, taking the time to simply breathe you in. The smell of your body lotion, the way you tensed underneath his touch in anticipation before relaxing in familiarity. He didn’t miss the way you quickly nodded as you eyed his every move.
“Can I taste you, baby?”
Your thighs quivered in his hold, your head dropping back on the pillow as you gripped the covers around you.
“Yes, Jun.” You whispered, your throat dry as you closed your eyes, feeling your husband smile against the plush of your thighs. He began to press kisses into the flesh, the pool between your legs growing with each kiss.
“Thank you, baby girl.“
As he laid between your legs he lifted both your thighs to his shoulders, leaving kisses in his path as he worked his way toward your center. It was all overwhelming. The grip of his long, slender fingers, the way your body reacted just knowing he was near.
You heard a soft chuckle from between your thighs, feeling a soft kiss pressed to your slick folds through the convenient slit in your lingerie.
“Baby, you’re already soaked and I haven’t even touched you yet.” With a satisfied groan Yeonjun began to press gentle kisses to your clit, tongue gracing it ever so gently. You shook under his hold, a soft whine leaving your lips at the contact.
“Such a good girl. You respond to me so well.”
Your thighs began to tremble as his tongue explored your folds, tongue alternating between licking you clean and gently kissing your clit. Your husband hummed in pleasure as your whimpers filled the room, your fingers tightening their grip in his hair and pulling him impossibly closer to your core. You couldn’t help the way your hips began to roll ever so slightly, the sound of your husband devouring you nearly echoing off the walls.
“You missed this, princess? Missed me eating this pretty cunt? Missed cumming on my face?”
You tried your best not to close your thighs around his head but Yeonjun did nearly nothing to help the cause. He kept both arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping them open as he continued to fill his mouth with your essence.
“God, Jjunie.”
Your whines filled the air as you moved one had to the comforter for support, increasing the speed of your hips just slightly as you rode the warm tongue inside of you.
“I’ll take that as a yes, baby girl.”
One of his hands continued to grip your thigh while the other moved from your waist to one of your flushed breasts. He kneaded the warm flesh in his hand, thoughts racing over whether or not he should pause his ministrations to take your hardened nipples into his mouth.
If only you didn’t taste so good.
“Jun, Jun, Jun, you’re gonna make me cum.”
Tears grew at the corner of your eyes as you tightened your grip on the comforter and the poor strands of your husband’s hair.
“Cum for me, pretty baby. Want you to cum all over my face.”
You looked down at his head between your legs in just enough time to catch his dark, lust glazed eyes staring directly into yours, his tongue increasing speed as he lapped at your wetness.
“God, god, god—“
Your whimpers filled the space as you fell mercy to your husband’s incredible mouth, his lips lightly sucking your clit as you fell apart. Yeonjun tightened his grip on your thighs as your cries echoed, him burying his face impossible deeper into your heat.
“That’s my fucking girl. You taste so damn good, baby.”
After a few minutes of him lazily taking his fill of you, he climbed your body until his slick lips melted against yours. The taste of you on his mouth was enough to make you breathlessly moan into his kisses, brain fuzzy in the most satisfying way possible.
“I love you, Mrs. Choi.”
You exhaled for air as you wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders, fingers gripping soft strands of his hair as your eyes met his in the sliver of moonlight that filled the space.
“I love you too, Jun. So much.”
Slowly his clothes began to slip away at the joint dance between his hands and yours, lips locking between every piece of clothing tossed aside.
Yeonjun was still the man you fell in love with 5 years ago; youthful, full of light, loving you with every inch of himself that he could. He was a lover of your attention, catering to your every move and mood. But somehow time had only made him more beautiful.
Once he was fully naked you watched as he took his cock in his hand, stroking the thick length a few times before teasingly brushing his head against your clit. The sensation was enough to make you whimper, your husband leaning down and teasingly kissing the underside of your jaw.
“You think you’re ready for me, baby? You’re so fucking soaked; think I’ll just slip out, huh?”
You nodded quickly, barely hearing anything he said, solely focused on the feel of his cock being so close yet so far.
The slow push of him entering you elicited a sultry moan that he captured in his mouth, your body tensing under his embrace.
No matter how many times he entered you, the pleasant stretch was never something you had gotten use to. His grunts turned into moans as he began to slowly rock inside of you.
“There you go, baby. Taking me so well.”
Your nails that weren’t buried in his hair dug into the soft skin of his back, another whimper leaving your lips that he caught the tail end of with a kiss.
You wrapped your legs around his waist once he was fully inside, drawing him impossibly closer. He buried his face in your neck, a low groan melting against your skin.
“Fuck, baby, you know what that does to me.”
Yeonjun groaned as he tightening one of your thighs around his waist, drawing you both flush against each other.
You opened your eyes briefly to take in the beautiful sight above you. Yeonjun with his eyebrows scrunched the way you loved, eyes closed, lips parted in bliss as he tried to keep himself from losing his mind with every thrust of his hips.
Overwhelmed with love you pulled him gently by his neck until his lips graced yours once more, locking him in a heated kiss.
The rhythm of his hips slowed as he focused on the taste of your lips, his hand on your thigh caressing the goosebumps that had begun to cover your skin.
Yeonjun had always been known for his stamina but you could tell he was close, feeling the way his lips trembled against your skin as the speed of his strokes increased. The feel of him so deep in your walls made you dizzy, your body arching towards him in an attempt to be impossibly closer.
“You feel so fucking good, baby girl. Gonna make me cum real good, yeah?”
In a daze you nodded your head, his words making you tighten your walls around him. At the grip Yeonjun moaned, stopping himself from nearly collapsing against your chest. He mustered all the strength he could to hold himself upright, hips rolling into you with enough strength to leave your mouth open with a gasp.
“Look at me, baby. Open your eyes.”
Somehow he had managed to pin your hands above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours as his thrusts impossibly deepened. When you managed to open your eyes, you met Yeonjun’s. He immediately drank in your expression — eyes wet with tears, pupils blown, lips parted in ecstasy as you struggled to form a thought that wasn’t Yeonjun, Yeonjun, Yeonjun.
That sight was enough to send him over the edge.
“Fuck, baby, I’m cumming, I’m cumming—“
His sweat slicked forehead pressed against yours, pants blending together, breath mingling into a heated kiss. At the taste of your lips he stilled inside your walls, cumming deep inside of you with a muffled groan and a slew of curses against your lips.
Time seemed to move in slow motion as you two stayed glued together.
Ever the insatiable, Yeonjun continued to slowly slide in and out of your leaking cunt, his soft thumb slowly circling your clit to the rhythm of his kisses.
He could tell by the way you clung to him that your second orgasm was near. It always was when you watched the way he lost himself inside of you, leaving you soaked, messy and full of him. His eyes stayed locked on yours as his thumb continued to work, savoring your expression of pleasure as he brought you closer to the brink.
Your thighs trembled and you whined in his hold, your eyes nearly pleading to him for mercy had it not felt so, so good and had you not been so, so close.
“You did so good, princess. Now cum for me, baby.”
hello! i’m obsessed with your mike fic, would you mind writing something for him? maybe angst + fluff
you're burned into my memory
mike wheeler x reader (she/her pronouns)
(SPOILERS FOR ST 5) holly's gone missing in the upside down. hopper is trapped. vecna is after more kids. the party has fallen apart after the events of 2 springs ago. they can't defeat the upside down unless everyone is together again.
word count: 5.3k
aww thank uuuu! anytime i write mike wheeler fics i can never make them short, so hopefully you all like longer fics :p i really really liked this and i love writing a bit of angst so enjoy!!!!
st masterlist
"guys, we're getting nowhere the longer we keep talking in circles," lucas finally cut everyone off after getting tired of being talked over and listening to solution-less ideas. the party quieted, eyes shifting towards the boy at the end of the table. "so then what do you propose? none of us know how to shoot a gun and with nancy at the hospital looking after karen and ted we kind of have no one," dustin cut in.
"there is..one other person we know," lucas said and the name on the tip of his tongue flashed in the other boys' minds. their gazes shifted to mike who froze in place.
you.
"no. no way. she wants nothing to do with us anymore. she doesn't even talk to us at school," mike rushed, shaking his head. clearly, your name was a touchy subject around him and the rest of them.
the events of almost a year and a half ago were still fresh and pretty bitter. "i wouldn't say she wants nothing to do with us. she's still in the party. she's still one of us. if we just explained the situation to her and tell her—"
"no. no. i'm not talking to her. she won't even talk to me if i tried. new idea," mike cut dustin off and the tension rose. will, lucas, and dustin exchanged a glance. there were no other ideas besides reaching out to you.
it wasn't that the boys couldn't shoot a gun, they just didn't have as great as aim as you or nancy did. you could literally be moving and still hit the target straight on. it was some hidden talent or something and deep down, they all knew they needed you. it was just a matter of getting to talk to you because you avoided the four boys at every chance you got. "mike.." lucas started but the taller boy shook his head
"you're not changing my mind. y/n made up her mind and we're not bringing her back into the party after she turned her back on us," there was so much bitterness dripping from mike's tome. "don't forget the reason she turned our back on us. you turned your back on us first," lucas quickly shot back and pointed his finger.
"i was in california. what the hell was i supposed to do? i don't see you giving shit to will," mike defended and the brunette shifted lower in his seat when everyone's gaze flicked to him. "that's not the point, wheeler. you chose to leave. you fucked all of us over," now the two boys were arguing.
mike's face twisted, "whatever. i'm not doing this right now. tell me when you find a new plan." he stormed away. the door slammed on his way out and the uncomfortable silence settled around the three left at the table.
dustin sighed while lucas shook his head. "i don't know who else to ask if it isn't y/n. we can't do it without her," lucas mumbled after a long silence.
"i would love to ask her, but mike's not wrong with her not talking to us. she turns the other way when she sees us," dustin said.
"yeah, even in our calc class, she doesn't talk to me. she really doesn't want anything to do with us," will agreed.
"i..i may be able to get through to her, but you guys are gonna have to trust me and if she agrees, we're bringing her in without asking mike. i don't care what he thinks," lucas sat up and the two boys nodded.
—
you visited hawkins general quite frequently that doris didn't even need to give you a second glance as you printed your visitor sticker and flashed it at the front desk. it was an easy right and then a sharp left down the long hallways until you reached the room you were looking for.
nothing ever changed in the room, but you always tried to liven it up by decorating depending on the season. since it was fall, you had paper leaves taped to the walls and a garland you made from felt. max's figure stayed stationary on the bed like always.
"hi. long day today. i think i failed my calc quiz," you huffed as you sat in your usual chair, dropping all of your things on the ground next to it.
max was your best friend. the things this happened a year and a half ago broke something inside of you. seeing her in lucas' arms with broken bones and blood dripping from her eyes still kept you awake at night. you relived that day over and over and over and each time left you with the same outcome. you'd wake up in a sweat and it'd take you another thirty minutes to calm back down. the only way you could let yourself forgive what happened was visiting her everyday after practice. you'd sit in the chair and tell her about your day and what went bad and what went good. it almost felt normal like you two were at one of your houses gossiping.
you were in the middle of telling her what happened at dance practice when the door clicked open. you stopped talking, looking up to see lucas poke his head in. you mustered a small smile as he reciprocated and shuffled inside. sometimes your schedules overlapped and you'd see him here occasionally.
"hi, sorry," he said as he slid into the chair on the other side of the bed. "hi, no worries. good to see you," you said.
lucas was the only one you talked to still from the party. not that you were forced to, but the circumstances made you see him more than the others and honestly, you were fine with that. he was the most level-headed besides will. it was nice talking with him and sometimes he'd tell you updates about everyone else. you didn't really ask though.
"how is she?" lucas wondered and you nodded. "good. the doctor outside told me just the usual. still unknown about if and when she's waking up," a soft sigh escaped your lips.
max's coma was coming up on a year and half which was the longest you've known someone to be in a state like hers. the doctor never had much insight besides just letting her lay there and let her body decide if she was going to wake up. you didn't doubt her, but a year and a half was a long time.
"i wish they had more answers than that or brought someone else in to look at her. i know she has to be in there somewhere," lucas mumbled, eyes trained on max's sleeping figure. you frowned.
it hurt. so much.
"i know, me too. how've you been though? i haven't seen you here in awhile?" your gaze met his and just from his look, you knew something was wrong.
lucas hesitated. he knew you didn't like hearing about the party that much, but you needed to know what was going on. "honestly, not great. things..haven't been great," the boy started.
you sat up more, curious and concerned. "what's been going on?"
he looked at you again with that same look like whatever he was about to say you weren't going to like. "after a year and a half of silence, we think we may have an idea of what vecna's been up to," the boy paused again and you straightened up even more. "he came after little holly and took her."
your face paled and your blood ran dry. "what do you mean took her?"
even if you couldn't even look at mike anymore, holly was still like your little sister you never had. you babysat her when nancy or mike couldn't. she begged to hang out with you and do "big girl" stuff together. you took her under your wing and she adored you.
"i guess she had been seeing this...this person? she called him mr. whatsit. he told her there were monsters coming. a demogorgon broke into the wheeler house to take her. it hurt ted and karen too. they're here recovering. we don't know where the demogorgon took her, but will's visions have been telling him they're going after more kids to do the same thing."
"holy shit," you muttered in disbelief.
"yeah, i know. we've been trying to find her, but we don't know where to look nor how to stop vecna from taking more kids," lucas finished and you had no idea what to even say.
your heart clenched at the idea of little holly being lost and afraid somewhere in the upside down just underneath your feet. stupid vecna. he just couldn't leave your town alone, could he?
"we may have a plan..it's kind of insane and it might put us all in jail if it goes south..." lucas looked at you again. he paused and carefully deliberated his next words, "we can't do it without you, y/n. we need your help."
your breath hitched.
you swore off being involved with the upside down after max's accident and your own. after failing her, you couldn't find it in yourself to trust yourself to keep everyone else safe. you wanted nothing to do with it anymore. you couldn't be the cause of someone's death.
"lucas.." you started, but he cut you off. "i know you want nothing to do with us or it and i completely understand. we almost all died a year and a half ago. i wouldn't wanna put myself into that situation ever again. this plan though..we're down nancy because she's been here. you're the only other one of us who has perfect aim. if we can shoot the demogorgon and track him back into the upside down, then maybe we can find holly and maybe figure out where vecna's been hiding and take him down once and for all."
tears unexpectedly welled up in your eyes. your gaze lingered on your fidgeting hands in your lap. this felt all too familiar. will. barb. bob. chrissy. eddie. max. holly. it was an endless cycle.
"this shit...it started with us and it's gonna end with us. we can't defeat it though unless we have the entire party. we need our rogue," you met lucas' gaze and he reached over the bed to take your hand in his.
you clasped it and when he squeezed tight you knew you couldn't turn your back on them even if you hated them. more importantly, you couldn't turn your back on holly. if something happened to her, you really wouldn't be able to forgive yourself.
"tell me the plan."
—
you followed lucas into the squawk. admittedly, you were nervous. you had no idea if people would be mad or happy or upset to see you there, especially after no contact for so long. lucas assured you that everyone would be happy to see you though, so you chose to believe him as he led you down a hidden stairwell. you could hear chatter from joyce and robin as they discussed last minute adjustments and occasional banter from erica and dustin.
"hey guys. guess who's in?" lucas said once you reached the floor. everyone looked up at him and when he stepped to the side to reveal you, you shyly waved watching how everyone's eyes widened at the sight of you.
"y/n! you're here!" dustin ran to hug you which earned a chuckle from you as he squeezed you tight. everyone else quickly filled the excitement of seeing you and stepped in to hug you as well.
your nerves quickly eased off.
"thank god i don't have to practice aiming anymore," steve threw the gun your way with a smile and you laughed.
there was one person who hadn't come to greet you and you made eye contact with him standing on the opposite end of the room still. he stared at you the same way he's always stared at you since you guys were kids. a lump formed in your throat when his expression shifted into distaste and he swept his eyes away from yours.
next to max, mike was the other person still constantly on your mind. you two had a lot of history which was maybe why you had such a hard time forgiving him the most. "it's good to have you here, y/n. thank you for doing this," joyce held you and you smiled, your mind and gaze breaking away from mike.
"of course. anything for holly and the rest of the kids," you said, the real reminder why you agreed to help.
for holly.
joyce ran through the plan one more time so everyone was on the same page before sending erica to the turnbows. you stood between lucas and dustin while mike stood on the opposite end of the table. you could feel his eyes burning holes into yours. "now that we have y/n, she'll be in the basement behind the bar with mike. the two of you will listen for the demogorgon and when it gets caught in the barbed wire, that's your chance to take the shot anywhere that won't kill it. once the bullet is in, mike you throw the flame so it will flip back into the upside down," joyce explained your part.
"yeah, got it," you nodded. when you finally looked back over at mike he nodded too. lucas told you the pairings were made with the idea that you wouldn't be involved, but now that you were it just made more sense to keep you and mike together.
you two had the strongest bond anyway. you worked the best as a team. at least before you did. now, you weren't really sure if it was still there.
"so everyone knows their part? we can't get this one wrong guys," joyce looked at everyone. you all nodded.
you really couldn't believe you were putting yourself right back into the action after swearing it off, especially with a plan like this one. if it didn't kill you first, you'd definitely be in deep trouble if something went wrong. either way, you were doing it for holly and all the other kids vecna was after.
you couldn't save yourselves when you were their age, but you could save them now.
the back of the squawk van was quite cramped with you, mike, lucas, robin, joyce, and will plus your bikes and all of the supplies you'd need to set the trap. it was a waiting game after watching erica head into the house with her pie laced with the heavy sleeping benzos. the gun leaned against the side of the van and the tracker bullets weighed heavily in your pocket.
to say you weren't nervous would be a lie. you hadn't shot a gun since everything that happened and while you still didn't miss while practicing, you worried this would be the one time you'd miss.
your nervous quirks were starting to show through the longer you waited for erica's signal. your leg bounced against the van floor and you fidgeted nervously with your fingers—a telltale sign that your anxiety was slowly rising.
because there was hardly any seating in the van, you had to squish with everyone and with your luck, you ended up shoulder to shoulder with mike. his side touched yours and he could feel the way your leg brushed against his each time it bounced on the floor. despite not talking to you for a year and a half, he still knew you inside and out and your nervous habits weren't strangers to him.
he sighed and resisted every urge to place his hand on your knee and gently press your leg down to keep it from bouncing. was he mad at lucas for going behind his back and asking you anyway? yes. was he glad you were here though? also yes. it was hard to hate you no matter how much mike tried.
because once upon a time, you and mike were in love with each other and mike still was in love with you. secretly. unknowingly. subconsciously. you were every part of him.
he regretted everyday failing to be there for you when you needed him most.
the walkie beeped three times from up front. you all looked towards the house and there erica was waving through the window. joyce revved the van back up and you all sat up a little bit more as she drove across the street to back into the garage. that nervous energy turned into adrenaline as you jumped out of the van and followed everyone inside to turn the house inside out.
the first job was getting the turnbow family away from the house. you wrapped them up in blankets and hid their faces with pillowcases. you, robin, joyce, and will helped drag them to the van and lift them inside.
"i hope those benzos were strong," steve muttered as he helped lift them. "don't worry. they could knock anyone out for over four hours," robin assured.
once the family was safely in the van, joyce, robin, will, and erica hopped back in to take them to the abandoned barn across town. you watched them pull out, steve and you exchanging wary glances knowing how much explaining you'd have to do when they woke up.
you went back inside to help with everything else. the boys had been moving furniture and creating space for the hole you were about to dig into the floor. the carpet was the perfect ploy that hopefully the demogorgon wouldn't suspect when it fell into it.
jonathan and dustin worked on laying the barbed wire down while you packed the gun with the bullets. "doing okay?" lucas came by.
"yeah. nervous, but okay," you said.
"don't be nervous. you got it. this is one your best at," he reassured and you managed a smile. "thanks, sinclair. i just hope we can get holly back and save the other kids," you mumbled.
he squeezed your arm before continuing on to help. your gaze swept across the basement before lingering on where mike was in the other corner. he was unpacking the flares when his own eyes met yours. the lump reformed when his gaze lingered instead of looking away like before.
he was still every part of you too.
the waiting was the worst part. the trap was set and all of you were in position to set the plan into motion when the demogorgon arrived. you and mike were hidden in the cramped space behind the bar, legs and shoulders pressed together again while you listened to the sounds above you. your heart was beating and not just because you were about to shoot a demogorgon.
mike watched you fidget again. he could see part of your jeans exposing the bottom of your leg along with one of your many scars from everything that's happened in the last four years. the one on your leg must've been the most recent one—the one he failed to be there for. the one he only saw once he got back from california and you were a crying mess because max was close to death and you were bleeding out and no one could give you an answer about anything.
he finally found the courage to place a gentle hand on your knee to get your leg to stop bouncing. "i regret it, you know. ignoring you. not being there for you," he whispered. your breath hitched.
"mike, we can't do this now," you said because you knew this was a much bigger conversation to have when you weren't about to fight a demogorgon.
"i know. i just wanted to tell you that. i wanted you to know how much i regret everything and how much i wish i could've talked to you this past year and a half."
your heart clenched at his words. even though it was dark, you could perfectly see his face from his close you two were. his eye were full of remorse and apologies. his hand was warm through your jeans and it was hard to focus on anything else but him and his proximity.
the radio cracked and you heard steve's voice. you breathed out, you attention breaking from the boy beside you as you grabbed the walkie. "south down arlington, t-minus 30 seconds. status check. taggers?"
"in position and set. launcher?" you said.
"set. catchers?" you heard lucas. "set. trackers?" jonathan spoke.
"set," steve finished.
you and mike exchanged a glance and that impending doom of waiting began. the two of you were silent as you listened for any noises and on cue, the lights began flickering around you meaning the demogorgon was inside the house.
you could hear the commotion from upstairs and the spine shivering roars and groans from the demogorgon. there were a few loud thuds from one of the rooms which must've been lucas running down the stairs. you gripped the gun tighter and then the carpet gave in and the demogorgon fell straight into the trap. you and mike jumped up as you prepared the gun and raised the barrel. the flames from the flare lit up beside you as you took your aim.
the gunshot echoed throughout the basement. the red light flickered inside of the creature's skin. it spun around, hissing and opening its mouth flaps at you. mike quickly threw the flare which lit up the room even more as the flames started engulfing it. you quickly reloaded to shoot it again if needed.
"y/n!" mike exclaimed. you quickly aimed again before the demogorgon jumped back up to the first floor. the two of you stumbled back, watching as jonathan whacked it with the shovel.
the thing jumped towards the bookcase and pulled the wall apart into the upside down. it disappeared inside like a mouse running to its hiding place. the wall closed as fast as it opened and then everything was still again. you let out the breath you were holding while everyone looked around to make sure the demogorgon was really gone.
"trackers in pursuit, i repeat trackers in pursuit," dustin said through the walkie.
the rest of you still in the house cheered and you hugged mike without thinking as you both celebrated the victory. you were too caught up in the moment to really care that you were even this close to him and he was holding you to his chest or that his cologne filled your nose and reminded you of plans like this going well before.
you even cracked a smile as you pulled back to meet his gaze, except you weren't expecting the sight before you when you looked up again.
instead of mike staring back at you, it was a face you hadn't seen in a really long time. you stumbled back, your back hitting the counter. that wasn't possible. your mom died four years ago. your mom stared back at you and when you looked around to see if you were truly tripping, you realized you weren't even in the turnbow's house anymore.
mike hugged you without even really thinking, but having you in his arms just for a split second maybe everything feel like it could be okay. you smelled good and when he pulled back to meet your gaze his smile disappeared.
your eyes had gone white and you were frozen stiffly in place. his heart dropped. "shit. y/n? y/n!" mike shook you, but you didn't move or snap out of it.
"guys! guys! something happened to y/n! help!" mike called up to anyone who could hear him. lucas and jonathan stuck their heads through the opening. "what happened?" lucas called.
"she's not moving. i-i think vecna got her," mike stuttered.
"shit. shit. we need to find a cassette player. tina turnbow has to have music around here. what's her favorite song? we need music," lucas scrambled and urged jonathan to go find a cassette player and cassettes.
"it's uptown girl by billy joel," mike said without missing a beat. he kept trying to shake you to snap you out of it, but whatever vecna was doing to you had you trapped in your mind.
"m-mom? w-what's going on?" you stuttered as she quickly shushed you. you looked around more and realized you were in your house—or a version of your house. "don't talk, y/n. he might hear you," she said.
"what? who? where are we? how are you.." you trailed off when there was a noise by the door and then a shadowy figure in the light. your mom looked as scared as you did.
the door knob jiggled. "mom," you muttered and she held you tight. "it's okay, baby. it's okay," she curled you into her arms as the door opened and in came 01 or henry.
"y/n. i haven't seen you in awhile," he spoke directly to you and pulled you from your mom's grasp so you were standing directly in front of him. your hands trembled and your breaths shook. "w-what do you want," you stuttered.
"you don't get yourselves involved for a year and a half and now you try to foil my plans?" his voice had that tone that made a shiver run down your spine.
"you have holly," you spit out and when you said that he grabbed your throat and squeezed, cutting your air supply in half. "you have no idea what you're getting yourself into, y/n. you and your friends don't realize how big this actually is. it's best you don't try to get involved again," he practically growled.
you struggled in his grasp, but the struggling only made it worse. "your mother here has been helping me," he said.
"don't say that! she's dead! she's not real!" you rasped.
"what even is real? is this real?" henry forced your head to look around your house. it felt real, but the closer you looked the more you realized how distorted things really were. pictures were crooked and the color of the walls were opposite to what they really were.
"you stay away from my plans and i will not hurt you or your friends. i may even be able to help you with your other friend, max?" your face paled.
"you hurt her!" you yelled again.
"i can also save her if i really wanted to. you let me do this and i will never step a foot near your friends ever again," you choked for breath the tighter his hand got.
jonathan ran down the stairs with a cassette player. "i found uptown girl!" he exclaimed.
"hurry! hurry! get it in!" mike urged as him, lucas, and jonathan scrambled to put the cassette in and hit play. you were still frozen and white-eyed.
mike's heart was pounding. he was gonna lose you all over again. the familiar tune of billy joel began filling the room while the boys watched your reaction that would hopefully pull you from this trance.
you could distantly hear the man's voice from where henry had you. "you guys are clever, i will give you that. listen to what i say, y/n. i don't take this lightly and you shouldn't either."
he finally let you go and you dropped to the floor.
mike quickly caught you when you came to. you gasped for air, grabbing your throat and shaking in his arms as you realized you were back in real time. "hey, it's okay. it's okay. it's us. we're right here," mike calmed you as you clutched his arm and regained your breath.
"y/n, what happened?" lucas urged, getting down to your level.
"v-vecna. he wants to kill us if we don't stop helping the kids," you got out with a dry breath.
—
you couldn't go home after that and sleep by yourself, so mike offered you to stay at his place even though it was only him and nancy there. it was better than being by yourself, so you agreed and said goodnight to lucas and jonathan after confirming that you were okay and would meet up again tomorrow morning.
mike got you clothes from nancy's room to wear while he made you tea to help soothe your throat. there were faint litters of bruises across your skin that were tender with each touch. your mind felt foggy and disoriented.
"he said he could save max," you muttered from where you sat at the kitchen island. mike looked at you, concern etched in his features.
"you believe him?" he asked.
"i don't know," you sighed.
the taller boy came around to join you. he gave you the cup of tea which you gratefully accepted. the silence was tense and deafening, but you didn't know what to say and neither did he. 24 hours ago you weren't even speaking. you didn't even look at each other. now you were in his house remembering all of the times he'd sneak you in late at night and you'd share soft fits of laughter watching a movie on his tv trying not to wake up his parents downstairs.
"how did lucas convince you to help us?" mike finally broke the silence.
"he just..explained what was happening and i knew i couldn't leave holly in danger like that. i did it for her," you said simply. "and for you, i suppose. she's your little sister," you added softly.
mike met your gaze again. it was so hard when he looked at you like that still. it was the same way he always looked at you and at the squawk earlier. hurt, confusion, love.
"i should have been there. you radioed so many times. you asked for help so many times. i left when i should have been here. i'm really sorry, y/n. i've hated myself since," mike said again and your heart clenched.
"you ignored me. you acted like i didn't even exist, like what we had wasn't real," you mumbled.
"i know and i hate myself for it. i..i don't know why i did that. i-i thought my feelings for el were still there, but they weren't. i just thought of you every time instead. i was so stupid and i hurt you."
his hair was a mess from the night and you were so worn down. "i'm surprised you remembered my favorite song still," you mumbled, a tiny smile hiding on your lips.
"it was the only thing you played when it came out. i think i have the lyrics burned into my memory," mike laughed and you let your own slip out. "thanks for being there for me tonight," you said softly.
the boy grinned. he reached around and pulled you into a tight hug which had you melting into his arms. he was warm and smelled good despite all the stuff you were doing, you felt safe in his arms.
"i know we can't go immediately back to how things were, but i'm willing to try. to start again?" mike pulled back and looked at you with more hope in his eyes that made your heart flutter.
truthfully, the year and a half without mike had been hard. you missed him and the rest of the party. they were your people and your family and you knew you couldn't completely turn your back on family. after tonight, you knew you couldn't leave them again.
"yeah, i'd like that," you said.
the boy's lips turned up into a grin. he engulfed you into his arms again where you felt a faint kiss on the top of your head and you relaxed into him. the nerves from tonight were fully gone knowing you had him by your side again.
Content: When Yeonjun fucks you real slow missionary style it's like a gracious, beautiful dance that ultimately makes you come.
Type: MEDIUM/STEAMY
Word Count: 1,409
This story is part of my Quick Fix Dirty Kpop Imagines series. Check it out for more x female reader smut and other groups and members.
You could tell that Yeonjun was a skilled dancer from the way he took off his clothes. You weren't even in his bedroom yet. The way he undressed while making out with you with lust and passion was quite a show, and he skillfully made you a part of the performance.
This wasn't ordinary foreplay. There was a certain grace and beauty to it. And that only became more apparent when you saw him in the nude for the first time.
Tall and slim, yet muscular and toned. Defined abs and pecs on an otherwise slender body. His chest felt great and round when you touched it, and as he put his hands and lips on your skin in all kinds of places during your dance toward his bed, you caught yourself thinking that he moved like a butterfly out to discover the world.
He twisted his torso, turned his neck from side to side, and swayed his arms in powerful waves. All to stroke and feel every part of you, like an insect drawn to a flame.
It was poetic the way he moved when you made love. And while not a turn-on in the traditional sense, it would be a lie to say the dance didn't have a sensual and arousing effect on you.
It made the way he caressed you feel more intense. Every motion became part of the dance, in which your bodies moved as one. And when he lay you down on the bed and eventually penetrated you, he did so real slow and while looking you straight in the eye.
It made your heart flutter. It gave you butterflies in your stomach, and a string sensation between your legs. He wasn't exceptionally big, but you were horny as hell and his cock somehow felt better than any that had previously been in you.
He knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn't rehearsed the way his performances would be on stage. He improvised and went with the flow, but he knew how to take you along for the ride and that made all the difference. He knew what to do with his body and yours, and that was a skill unmatched.
The low and sensual pace was certainly part of the magic. He fucked you real slow, making sure every movement was felt and enjoyed to the max. It made you shiver in pure pleasure, and he could tell that you loved it from the way you exhaled and scratched his back and shoulders.
You dragged your nails along his bony body. You caressed the man and let him lead you. And with each minute that passed of this soft, wonderful, incredible love-making, the pace picked up and the movements of his hips grew stronger.
If foreplay was the first act, and the slow-fuck was the second, the third one leading up to the grand finale began when he pushed himself up on his elbows.
He stared right down at you, piercing eyes digging into your soul. His arms aligned with the sides of your body, and his hands moved over your breasts and neck. You caught yourself staring at his lips.
He spread his legs slightly and raised his ass a little higher in the air. The shaft lingered and clung to your wet folds. He began to roll his hips, wide motions at a slightly tilted angle, repeatedly sticking his dick inside you at a steady and perfectly matched pace.
His body moved like waves flushing over yours, gently crashing ashore again and again. The hard cock rubbed you not just in the right place, but in new places, churning your clit like he was kneading a dough.
He went deep each time he came down, and his elbows eventually buckled. You exhaled and squeezed him hard, when you felt his mouth on your neck. Being fucked by the fit man in such a sensual manner was like being a fan invited up on stage to get the sensational experience of a lifetime.
Even his precision was professional. Each time he rolled back he pulled the dick nearly all the way out, the head stretching your lips as wide as it could. And when the full length of his body rolled back down, the entire shaft was swallowed and rubbed the depth of your hole – a greater sensation than any sex toy you might previously have tried.
And all this while staring into your eyes with passion and love written all over his face; a hint of a smile, a drooping look of lust and desire.
The pace continued to increase. Each thrust became faster and more intense. It was a gradual but steady incline, a slow build-up lasting a really long time, until at some point, toward the end of the third act, he reached the peak of the performance.
Your fingers dug so hard into his skin they left marks, and scratched so violently against his back that your nails created red lines as evidence of your passion. The scars would linger on the man for days.
When the rolling and rapidly thrusting motions were at their strongest and fastest, Yeonjun raised his head again and closed his eyes. It was a relief that he didn't keep staring, because it was simply impossible to pull your gaze away from his face when he looked at you the way he did, and you didn't know how much more your body and mind could take.
The slight smile on his lips turned into a twisted grin. His arms around your body tightened, and he squeezed you hard behind your should, using the position to pull himself repeatedly back and forth in your embrace.
Then he crashed down and pressed his lips against yours. You grimaced too, when the churning of the dick pushed you over the edge. When you came all over his throbbing cock, your whole body shook in a powerful visualization of your orgasm.
The way your head tilted back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head made Yeonjun relieved too. Because no matter how skilled he was in the art of amazing sex, he couldn't control his body either once you got to the grand finale.
He suddenly allowed himself to release. He decided that the show must end, like all great performances do. And while you were in the midst of your own incredible release, he did a wide, powerful roll to abruptly thrust his cock deep inside you, his hips clapping against the inside of your thighs.
“Uhhrghh!” he groaned loudly. This told you it was time for the encore.
He kept thrusting hard and wide several times more. Each time he slid the dick in, another wave rushed through and out of him, filling your body with warmth both literally and emotionally.
And when he was done – fully empty – he was more satisfied with the performance than he ever had in the past. This might have been his best show yet, and it was largely thanks to you, his co-star.
None of it would have been possible without a brilliant partner. Someone who knew how to dance and follow his lead.
Neither of you had ever felt so sexually connected to anyone before. The time in Yeonjun's bed was nothing short of incredible, and he showed you what great love-making can be.
And here's the best part: If this was a theater performance, the experience would probably and traditionally have ended here. But Yeonjun was a k-pop idol, and with that came fan service and meet-and-greets. The night was only just beginning, and while the main event was over, you spent the rest of it cuddling and making out.
The aftercare enhanced the experience tenfold, and in hindsight it was the best part of the night. Just like meeting your idol for the very first time.
The brief version of all this is as follows: Yeonjun was an amazing lover, and you never wanted to leave his bed, nor did he want you to go. It wasn't just the best performance of his life, but of yours too. And to think that you would do it all again, many times, brought great joy into your life.
It was clear that Yeonjun wasn't just a talented member of a group. He was an incredible solo artist in his own right, and on this night he truly proved that to you.
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Summary: You consider Yeonjun to be a really good friend. He's sweet, he makes you laugh, and you always have fun together. The only issue is that you have feelings for him, feelings you refuse to acknowledge you have. You assume he doesn't see you as anything more than a friend, and you lie to yourself, allowing yourself to think that only being friends with Yeonjun is something you're content with. So how do you respond when you stumble across supposed pictures of Yeonjun out with another girl online? Do you fess up to him, or sever ties and try to forget about him?
word count: 2.4k - masterlist
You had seen the rumors online by now. Technically, you had no right to be angry with him. He could do whatever he wanted, with whoever he wanted. He wasn’t your boyfriend, even though most newcomers in your life always assumed he was. “If he’s not your boyfriend, why do you always smile when you talk about him?” was always a question your friends would ask you.
“I don’t know, he’s my friend…It’s completely platonic.” You’d shrug. You were completely oblivious to how in love you were with him. Or maybe you were just lying to yourself, ignoring all of the warning signs that you had caught feelings for Yeonjun.
Like most people, the two of you had met through work. Both idols, just under different companies. It wasn’t an instantaneous thing; instead, it was just the two of you making eye contact over and over as you would pass each other in the hallways of different events. The eye contact turned into silent nods of acknowledgment, then full-on beaming smiles in each other’s direction.
Then one day, while waiting backstage for another group to finish up, he bumped into you while you were turned around. Still to this day, he swears it was a complete accident, but judging by the fact that he can never keep a straight face when you reminisce about that first major interaction between the two of you, you’d beg to differ. He was sweet, extremely apologetic, and his cheeks were red. Then yours were, and your face felt hot, and after the two of you formally introduced yourselves to each other, your group mates sideyeying the two of you the entire time, your manager pulled you away, sending you on stage. Your closest friend in the group, Eun-ha, playfully nudged your shoulder as the two of you ran to the stage. She wiggled her eyebrows at you, which made you swat her away, trying to conceal your giddiness. You couldn’t deny that he was insanely attractive, and though you received a lot of attention from your fans, you didn’t really get a lot of guys to approach you often. You didn’t think you’d talk to him again. People kept reposting clips of the performance, noticing that your normally stony exterior was different that night, since you couldn’t stop smiling the entire time. Maybe she’s just really happy this comeback… people would wonder as they typed out different possibilities onto various comment sections and forums. Little did anyone else know, when you wrapped up the festival and were ushered back to the car with your group to go home, you found something in your bag. As you rummaged around looking for your lip balm, you felt a little piece of loose paper towards the bottom. You furrowed your eyebrows together, pulling the piece of paper out from your bag, flipping on the carlight overhead to illuminate your view, considering it was early in the night. It was a phone number scribbled in blue ink, signed with the initial Y. You had known exactly who it was, and you tried desperately to play off your excitement not to give yourself away to your members and manager sitting a mere few inches away from you.
Later that night, when you finally made it back to the comfort of your bedroom, you quickly pulled out the piece of paper again and punched the digits into your phone. You weren’t sure how to play this…Should you flirt with him? No, you weren’t really interested in a relationship at the moment. A relationship, if exposed, would cause major damage to your career. Years of training would be diminished if you got caught up in something as stupid as a dating scandal. Plus, eye contact and smiles don’t equal someone being attracted to you; maybe he was just being polite? Should you joke around like you did when he bumped into you? Or play dumb and ask who the number belongs to?
In the end, you decided to just be yourself. And by that, you decided to joke around with him. I guess it’s better to communicate over the phone. I wouldn’t want you to run me over again. You typed out and sent. You sat on the edge of your bed as you anticipated his reply, biting your nails nervously. Less than a minute passed before he responded back.
Maybe you're right :) Let’s just be safe and talk here.
And that had been the start of it all. Over the next year or so, the two of you had become really good friends. You spent countless nights on the phone with Yeonjun, asking him for guidance on parts of your choreographies you were stuck on, sneaking out to eat together. You weren’t dating, but felt it was best to be discreet.
You didn’t live in the dorms anymore, so oftentimes, Yeonjun would come over and end up crashing on your bed with you. But it was all innocent…After all, you had a lot of other friends who slept over, and you never gave it a second thought. But then again, your other friends never wrapped their arms around you as you slept. Nor did your friends brush the hair out of your face and tuck the stray strands behind your ears like Yeonjun did.
Your other friends never had to “sneak out” to come stand outside of your apartment door to let them in at odd hours of the night. Nor did they grab your hands and make you slow dance with them around whatever room you were standing in. Yeonjun would sway you around, humming, with your head pressed against his chest. You had never felt more secure in your life than in those moments. But again, he was just a really good friend and nothing more. So when you started to ignore his phone calls after seeing some grainy photos of a man who was supposedly Yeonjun with some random girl, you tried to spin the story. The reason you weren’t answering his calls was because you were busy! You know, typical idol stuff…Practice, content filmings, the usual stuff that kept you busy. You just needed a few days to yourself. To be fair, you really hadn’t been talking to any of your friends, including your members. Eun-ha had come over a few days ago, worried as to why you had suddenly gone so quiet over the group chat. Normally, the two of you spent your free days together in some way, and she knew something must’ve been wrong for you to go silent, especially with her.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N?” She asked, squinting her eyes at you in suspicion.
“Why would I not be okay? Everything’s just great.” You said unenthusiastically, peering down at your phone and swiping another message from Yeonjun off of your lockscreen.
“Because you’re not acting like yourself. You wouldn’t answer anyone's messages. Even Yeonjun reached out to ask if you were okay.” Now that the last part of her sentence got your attention.
“Yeonjun? Why would he care?” You tried to play off your intrigue, your tone sounding bitter. Eun-ha scoffed, shifting to face you from her side of the couch.
“You’re joking, right? Actually, that’s when I knew something was seriously wrong because even if he doesn’t have any information, then it must be bad. The two of you are inseparable!” Eun-ha exclaimed.
“Obviously, we’re not.” You said under your breath, your arms folded defensively in front of your chest. Eun-ha tilted her head in confusion.
“What do you mean? Did the two of you get in a fight?” She asked, eyes displaying genuine concern. God, you loved Eun-ha.
“No, no. He didn’t…he didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve just been avoiding him. I need some time alone to clear my head.” You tried to explain. More so to yourself than to your friend. You weren’t ready to admit to yourself that you were jealous. Even if it was all unconfirmed and there was a possibility that the photos weren’t of him. The last you had heard of it, his company hadn’t said anything. Most often, if the company deems it’s not worthy of a response, whether that be because it’s untrue or better to sweep under the rug, normally the rumors hold no validity. But if it wasn’t true, that still didn’t change the fact that you were jealous and hurt at the thought of him being with some other girl. One is supposed to be happy for their friends when they’re dating, not jealous. Catching feelings for your friend is messy, and if it ends badly, you not only lose a boyfriend but also a friend. You couldn’t bear the thought of permanently messing up your relationship with him
“So, if he didn’t do anything wrong, what’s the issue?” Eun-ha pressed, seemingly not understanding your dilemma.
“I think he has a girlfriend, and when I heard about the whole thing, I panicked.” You said, avoiding eye contact with your group mate.
“You panicked because you have feelings for him, right?” Eun-ha stated. You looked over at her in shock, eyes going wide.
“How’d you-” Before you could fully get your question out, she responded quickly.
“Because it’s so obvious. Even before you formally met him, you were always making eyes at each other. I seriously think you should talk to him. You might not have the full story.” Eun-ha placed a hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring pat.
“If I talk to him, then I’m going to have to explain why I was avoiding him all week. He’s going to figure it out.” You lowered your head. Because of how long the two of you had been friends, you assumed that if he was interested, he would’ve made a move by now. You didn’t want anything to change or be tainted between the two of you.
“And would that be a bad thing? I think one of you needs to just suck it up and confess.” Eun-ha said. “If you think for a second he doesn’t have feelings for you, you’re dead wrong. No guy who’s not interested goes out of their way to ask your friends if you’re okay.”
Maybe Eun-ha was right. Maybe I had been ignoring the obvious truth this entire time.
After Eun-ha had left, you were again left alone with your thoughts. Your phone was placed on the coffee table in front of you, and you were blatantly aware of what you had to do. You had been dragging your feet the past few hours, and the sun had set, leaving you in the dark. You went over every possible outcome in your mind. Either you come clean and he feels the same way, or he awkwardly rejects you. Or the rumors are true and he’s already in a relationship. If that turns out to be the case, you weren't sure of what you’d do next. Just as you picked up the phone, coming to the conclusion that stalling was getting you nowhere, your doorbell buzzed. You walked over to the buzzer next to the front door, pressing the button and speaking into it. “Who is it?” You asked.
“Yeonjun.” You felt a jolt go through your body, and you suddenly felt breathless. You pressed the button that unlocks the door and backed away a few feet. Your psalm became sweaty, and you tried to take deep breaths in, though they were really only a placebo. When the door finally opened and he stepped inside, the two of you stood in the doorway silently for a few seconds before he snapped out of it and slipped off his shoes before fully entering. “Y/N…What’s going on? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all week.” You swallowed hard and darted your eyes around the room, unwilling to stare at him.
“Sorry…I’ve been busy most of the week.” You responded with the first excuse you could come up with. Yeonjun looked at you, confusion evident on his features.
“We’re always busy, that’s never stopped us from talking before.” He responded, taking a few steps toward you, lessening the gap of space between the two of you. Now you were out of lies. As you looked into his dark brown eyes, ones full of hurt and worry, you began to feel horrible for ignoring him the entire week. You had to just come clean and face the consequences.
“Okay, fine. You want the honest truth? I saw those pictures online, the pens people were saying were of you with a girl. I saw them, and I got jealous, and instead of just asking you about it, I chose to just ignore you and avoid it altogether.” You blurted out, stepping toward him slightly. You didn’t know if this was the last time you’d be seeing him. Maybe with every word, you began to damage your friendship more and more. Every blow would ultimately take its toll. However, to your surprise, Yeonjun didn’t seem to be taken aback, or shocked, ot uncomfortable with your little confession. Instead, he seemed relieved.
“So, you’re not technically mad at me? This is all because of those bogus pictures?” Now you were staring at him strangely, which he immediately took note of and laughed.
“Bogus? So, it wasn’t you?” You queried, feeling more and more foolish with each passing second. But beneath the more dominant feelings of foolishness, you had to admit that you were somewhat relieved.
“No, it wasn’t me. Besides, I already have my eyes on someone.” He mumbled the last part of his sentence. It felt like Yeonjun had your heart on strings, and with every hand hold, hug, or night spent sleeping in his arms, you continued to tug and pull your emotions in different directions. He was toying with you, and it wasn’t until now that you finally began to realize it. You glanced at him in hesitation as he slowly closed the gap between the two of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him.
“I can’t believe you were jealous over something that never even happened.” He whispered, a grin on his face as he peered down at you.
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” You groaned, placing your forehead against his chest.
“Nope.” He chuckled, curling a finger underneath your chin and lifting your face up so he could bend down and place his lips against yours.
And to think you had spent the past year under the impression that the man leading you into your bedroom with your lips connected was just a really good friend…
{A/N: Helloooooo everyone! Lately, I've been listening to a lot of TXT, and it's gotten to the point where I had the fanfic itch. I got the idea for the story while at work, lol, so I came home and wrote it. Just something short n' sweet. No series for this, as I have to finish part two of my Yoongi fanfic before starting anything new. I also have a midterm paper to write. I've never written anything for TXT before, but I decided to add them to my masterlist, so the story will be linked there, and they now have a dedicated section! As always, requests are open. I'll probably end up doing a "As a bf" prompt for each TXT member...and I still have to finish SVT bf prompts🥸 and I should probably start Enhypen as well...ughhh so much to do lol. Those might be winter break/2026 stories.
I've also been playing around with some line dividers, so it'll be a trial-and-error type of deal for a while until I find one that I really like. This was posted on AO3 a day earlier, so if you prefer to read on there, it's available already. Anyways, you know the drill, have a wonderful day or night...I love you all and mwahhhhhh💋💋💋💋💋💋}
synopsis: Caught on the ends of his strings, you follow his every move, forever his perfect doll.
wc: 6k ✶ warnings: dollification, dom!yeonjun, bondage, dacryphilia, powerplay dynamic, choking, oral (f!rec), fingering mentions, no protection, creampie, cumeating, overstimulation, edging mention, yeonjun mentions just wanting to use reader, reader called doll sometimes, scratching? teasing, only a bit of humiliation, praise!, reader pulls yeonjuns hair a bit, manhandling, subspace, reader is kinda mentioned as a doll like actually a doll, im so sorry if i forgot any >< pls let me know so i can add it if i did!
an: im so sorry this one is late >< i got so into my head on this one and i still cant tell if i like it but i hope you guys do <3 this was not proofread im so sorry pls forgive me sweet angel
[m.list] [from: those who haunt us m.list]
It is a shame that most have not spent time thinking about the art of perfection. That, and the fact, perfection is not always as it seems. For most of your existence, it was drilled into you that to be perfect, you must not make a single mistake. Every move was to be made as it was intended. If there was a box, it was not shaped like a square but cut to fit the exact shape the creator of the medium you were practicing first intended it to look like.
There was no new way to do things; it was a bar you must meet, not surpass. It was exhausting work to hold yourself to the standard, and even more so when you had to hold yourself back. It was why the strings had been invented, why girls like you of wood and art were made, and it was solely because you would become easier to control. No arms got tired of being held up if they did not have the option of falling. Every angle of your leg in a dance was perfect, not because of skill, but from precise formulation and conduction.
Maybe your creator had believed all his dolls to be soulless. In his eyes, you did not need a soul to meet the needs of perfection; all you needed was a pretty face and even prettier stings for him to pull as he pleased. But you knew this must not be a life worth living, a project worth giving everything to just to see people sigh as if you were nothing but a normal girl.
Because the people who came to see you on the stage had only sat down and gotten back up to leave as if there was nothing for them to see besides a girl spinning on stage. There was no emotion behind your act of perfection, and so as you danced, they did not feel moved, and neither did you.
This was how yeonjun had found you. Tied up to the rafters, arms extended, rising over your head before you were made to turn and turn and turn, falling so that even your hair stayed in its perfectly pinned place. You were supposed to seem dead, and maybe he had seen that past the girl on the floor playing pretend, acting, you were slowly dying on the inside, so far down beneath the chiffon and ribbons, that even your light could not reach the surface. But he had pinpointed your star on a map, circled it, and made it his mission to find a way to make you shine.
You remember the first time you had met him, how he had waited until your creator stepped out for drinks, leaving you a heap on the mess of used outfits from all the dolls he had kept before he had made you. It was a wonder how the thought of them being gone had not haunted you; slowly, the perfection caught up with them until they splintered, until some ingénue made their debut on the stage that had once been theirs.
Your creator had never let you off your strings, had only wrapped them round and round the sticks they had been tied to, forming a straining ball wound so tight it might have been deemed a punishment.
It had made you cry, every night, dreaming of somehow adding even the smallest bit of yourself to a performance past your face or body. And maybe that's why when yeonjun had knelt by your tangled hands, and looked past the perfection and to your soul, you had made the decision that you would listen to him because here was someone who could see you, for you.
“Do you love what you do?” he had asked, tilting his head just a notch to the side to make your eyes trace the line of his jaw.
You had not known how you would answer the question, every emotion blooming in your chest at once, the shock of his beauty, the curiosity at his mystique, the pain from your wrists all the way to your heart at the topic of conversation. There was hardly a time you got to speak back then, your throat so dry from its lack of use that it took you time to get the words out for him, and you still did not know if they had been the right ones. “I want to.”
Because there was little love that you had for the box of perfection, but there had been love for the art, and what it meant to feel through it. You wanted that, to feel, to have emotions past the hunger to perform. That was the part that you were missing, the ache, the love. Because perfection had become soulless when you could not break past the strings.
“I could help you,” he had said it like fact, thumb coming up to wipe at your cheek, catching your tears against his fingerprint, making your lashes flutter.
Yeonjun had been the answer you had been looking for. The key to your escape and eventual happiness, your emotion.
He had snipped your strings and given you a stage that had been waiting for you your whole life. He taught you that perfection came from more than just direction, but practice and sometimes even pain.
You spun, round and around, toes aching from the string of pirouettes you had been sharpening, pushing yourself until the lights were blinding and your legs were slipping out from under you. The sound of you hitting the hardwood floor was like a gunshot in the quiet theater.
You don't have to look up to know that yeonjun is watching. The only one sitting in one of the hundreds of red velvet seats. Always two-thirds of the way up, right in the center, leaning back with his elbow on the armrest and chin in his hand.
It had been exciting the first time that you had known he kept such a sharp eye on you. Never turning away, kept all attention drawn to your moves, never questioning your creative direction, or at least not unless he saw you wavering in the wrong direction. It was never anything serious, and it was only ever a suggestion, but it was rare when he spoke up, and you knew that if he did, it was because he cared and only wanted the best.
But it never stopped the chill from working its way down your spine when his voice came just over your breathing. The sound of his question echoed out into the empty theater, “Are you done?”
It was not a demand for you to continue, no tight tug on your wrists to get back up, even when you could not stand any longer. No, he asked because he needed to know what your limit for yourself was.
You don't have to respond, your standing is enough of an answer as you find your stance again, arms heavy with an ache you knew well enough now after years of training prior on strings that never gave you time for rest. But this was different, this was choice, and now you chose to pick yourself back up, and push through the pain, work it into the dance, and thrive because you knew behind the dazzling lights on the stage blocking him from your view, he would be sitting there happy to watch you try again.
And again, you do try, over and over until you're sure your lungs can not handle it, limbs so weak you feel as if you're moving through water. Across the room, hardly even seen behind the lights, you know yeonjun has gotten up without a word, standing and walking past the stage to the far right, where he can then exit, no second glance needed in your direction. It's the door that does it for you, the shutting of it like closing the book for the night right before bed.
You fall out of your turn, hands going to your knees as you bend to take a breath, inhaling as if you were drowning. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you're fighting yourself. You must have messed up, done something that was not right, even if he did not speak up, and it burned to think of him upset with you.
At your wrists, you had tied ribbons to mimic the strings you had once worn, with yeonjuns choriography and your passion to push through the pain into a new kind of perfection that was not one shape but many, you had come to form a ballet about your life. It would be the biggest project you would undergo and the most meaningful. It's why you worried he wouldn't like it, that somewhere in the story of your life, he would see just a doll playing at being a girl.
But when you made it to your dressing room, the one he had done up with the memories of all your past performances, he had laid out on the short chaise lounge couch an outfit he had picked for you to wear. You swallowed down your worry, or at least enough of it to not have it choking you anymore. This was a good sign, the clothes, he had only picked them out for you on the best of days, the ones when he appreciated the turn on his investment.
Maybe it was wrong to think of yourself that way, but you had been made with that very thought in mind; if you were not good enough, someone would replace you. Yeonjun had made it clear that for him that that was not the case; he had picked you because you had soul, not because he wanted a payout at the end of the day. He had made it clear you could leave, that he would not have been upset if you did so, but if you did stay, it was best you found yourself in your projects and thought of what it meant to you first over him. But it was hard to think of anyone else besides him at the end of the day, not when he put so much care into you, even down to the fine lace and ribbons he found to dress you in.
“Do you believe you have done well?” his voice was low, not out of malice but from the way he was turned away from you, looking down at his wrists as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. Unbuttoning the silver button and rolling the fabric up and up until it was snug around the crease of his elbow. You watched him in the mirror, how his hair hung down just to his brow, the bulb lights shining their golden exposing glow over the scene. He didn't need much of a spotlight to look so breathtaking.
You turn his question over like a rock at the bank of a river, flipping it until you find the answer you're looking for. Your eyes catch on the one thing that could make you the most insecure. There hanging around the corner of the mirror were your old stings, hanging like a warning, haunting your every step with the idea that one day they might fall right back onto your wrists. You don't even notice that he's watching you now, watching the way your eyes trace over the threads like they had been stitches pulled from you, as if he had been the one to show you that you could heal well without them, and yet you're still stuck in the past. Because you shake your head no, avoiding his eyes and looking down.
The floorboards creak under the weight of his steps, the heat of his knuckles on your chin as he lifts your head cuts through your sense of disappointment at your performance tonight. Even if there had been no crowd, you had come to realize you only ever really performed for yourself now, and in turn, yeonjun. And tonight did not feel as if you had done well enough.
You didn't want to look him in the eyes now, not when pity would only make you bitter, but you looked nonetheless and found a swirling mix of emotions, ones you couldn't dissect but understood didn't hold the pity you were expecting. It made your stomach flip, hands instinctively curling around the ribbons dangling from your wrists as you dared yourself not to turn away.
“You know, sometimes it looks almost as if you're scared of me.” he brushes the pad of his thumb along your jaw, the shock of it felt behind your ear, racing along to your spine. You wanted to swallow down your emotions; the fear was only masking the insecurity that one day he might leave you, just as your maker had left all the dolls before your arrival. It was not yeonjun who you were scared of, but of who you would be if he were ever gone.
“I'm not.” and it was the truth, his thumb moving to press to your bottom lip, catching it on the pad of his finger as if he could touch the lie if it were there.
“Good, because you know you don't have to be,” his brows crease in a quick flash of verity, his dark eyes falling to your lips, tracing the line he's drawn back and forth with his finger, “that is unless…” he drops his hand, letting the tips of his fingers trace down your bare shoulder, so slow hes able to watch the goosebumps form along the trail hes led right down to your wrist, “you happen to misbehave,”
Your breath catches in the back of your throat, lashes fluttering as you try and blink away the sudden fog falling over your mind. It's hard not to fall into the perfect form for him, lips parting expectantly as he wraps his fingers around the ribbon tied to your right wrist, tugging on the pink silk just enough to bring your hand to his chest giving you the permission to touch him. “Because then I would have to prove to you how easy it would be to put you in your place.”
He says it low, the words sweet, like a trail of sugar left out for a mouse to stumble upon, predatory like a lure you wouldn't be able to resist. Once he leans in, pressing the plush of his lips to yours, he's slow, testing how deep he should push you, and you're ruined.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, the buttons straining under your hold as you fall into him, letting him deepen the kiss until he's groaning into your mouth, tasting exactly how eager you are to have him so close. He had never gotten used to how responsive you were to his touch, searching to lean into him, waiting for him to prop you up in just the right position he needed to slit you.
The first kiss you had shared had rewritten something in you so long ago. Yeonjun had given you tangible proof that you could feel that your body could hold emotions far better than strings could hold your arms. Your stomach had turned, but not in a weak attempt at sadness or fear at your creator, but in a sickly sweet swirl of need. In one kiss, he had cracked open Pandora's box and set your skin ablaze and dropped the first coin into a well inside you that you feared could only ever feel full if it was him pressed against you, satiating every craving you turned over in your hand.
And yeonjun was so willing, so receptive to your emotions, your needs. He had learned you inside out, found every soft joint and crease in your heart, and with every kiss that came after the first, he reminded you just how bound to him you found yourself, strings or no strings.
He guides your free hand up to his hair, the permission passed for you to tug and pull the strands to find any excuse to ground yourself before he takes full control over you. His lips trail down your jaw, your body bowing for him, neck exposed as he places soft kisses along your thumping pulse, nose pressed to your collarbone as he tastes the salt on your skin, smells the intoxicating perfume he had picked out just for you.
His hands wrapped around you slide down over the curve of your ass, the silky gossamer of your skirt just thin enough to feel the heat of his hands sinking deep into your skin as he curls his fingers into your thighs to pull you flush against him. You whimper at the feel of his blunt nails digging into your sheer tights; any harder and he'd tear them to shreds, scratching along your skin. But he lets his fingers slide right along the seam of your thighs, dragging up and up until you're almost sure he will find how sticky your panties are from nothing but a few light touches.
It should be shameful, a girl, no more than a doll made real, falling for her savior, letting the ghosting of his fingers along your cunt turn you to warm liquid so ready to be spilled like blood. But you find no shame when you ache so much, so bad, your gasping of his name like a plea, “yeonjun-”
His answering hum is pressed to the hollow of your throat but you can not find what you had wanted to say when his hands have moved to squeeze the flesh of your ass, hold strong engouh to brusie as he uses one hand to wrap around your thigh, ripping a run into your tight the steady seam splitting as he lifts your leg so easily bringing it to his hip to press closer to you. He chuckles at your stunned silence, grin pressed just under your ear, before he asks, “What is it, doll?”
This is what he enjoys: watching you struggle for words, bending you to his will like a branch to the wind. He loves to watch you tremble, more so when he knows it's from his touch. He lets the tip of his nose trace the shell of your ear, your body reacting instantly, fingers pulling at the strands of his hair until the bitter bite of his teeth is felt at your earlobe. “Tell me what you want.”
But you cannot find the words; a soft, pathetic whimper escapes you, desperate to feel anything other than empty. You dont even notice how hes already leading you back to the lounge couch, your leg falling back to the ground as he slowly walks you backward, “or do you need a little bit of direction?” he stops you right as the backs of your knees hit the sofa his hands on your hips grounding you to the moment as you start the slow process of tugging open the buttons of his shirt. You only make it halfway down before he's stopping you, tugging on the ribbons on your wrist, and you don’t second guess the action. Your hands fall away from him, your whine so close to a plea for him to let you continue.
“You know, maybe I'd have let you undress me if you had answered me the first time. But now…” his voice is thick as he says it, dropping the octave as he lifts his hand, fingers tracing up your throat, circling like a necklace, and you sink your teeth into your tongue to stop you from apologizing, from begging him to forgive you. “Now I think it's time I show you what happens when you don't listen,”
He pushes you back, your body falling onto the heap of clothes laid out on the couch, the silk and chiffon welcoming you as you huff out a breath scrambling to push yourself up onto your elbows, yeonjuns hands reaching for your legs, grabbing your from the back of your knees and pushing your legs open before he slots himself into the space hes created.
You can feel just how hard he is as he presses right against your warmth, his bulge straining against the fabric of his slacks, the thin material of your tights and panties already pathetically soaked through with your arousal. Angling your hips just right to feel the drag of his hips pressed to your clit makes you mewl, arms wrapping around his neck, you curl your fingers back into his hair, tugging until his brows scrunch, his moan working its way down your spine like fire.
His eyes burn into you, drinking down the way you try to meet every rut of his hips with your own, your soft pants coming in waves as you try to catch your breath with every movement, “look at you.” he slows down his grinding, relishing in the way you tremble, clawing at his shsoulders, the silky nylon covering your feet slipping along the fabric of the couch as you try and find purchase to push back against him, to find the friction hes keeping from you just to watch you break. “So pitiful,” he peppers plush kisses down the side of your neck, working up to your mouth before he whispers against your lips, “so soaked and I've hardly even touched you,”
You can't find the words to answer him, no small answer laced with shame or need, not when he finds the perfect rhythm to leave your mind numb, and instead you answer with a soft cry as you fall apart right under him. He practically coos as he helps you ride out your high, chuckling when he finally pulls away, sitting back on his knees as he looks down to the soiled spot right along the seam of his pants. “Do you feel a bit embarrassed by how easy it is to get you off?”
You're sure you should have felt the spotlight on you; his words only revealed how the small humiliation made you tingle instead of cower. “No,” but your knees pulled in trying to hide how messy you must have looked. You were sticky and aching for him at every passing glance; now was no better.
“Good, because it's fucking perfect.” he leaves no room for you to cover yourself, not when he hooks his fingers into your skirt and tights, pulling them down and off, the fabric pooling on the floor as you're left in nothing but your leotard.
You had been like this before, laid out for him on this very couch, leaned back waiting for him, fists mad in the fabric you lay on, trying not to reach out to him in fear that he might pull away just to tease you as he did sometimes. He loved to watch you squirm, teasing you as if it were part of his job. He did it now, pushing your legs apart just enough for him to see the outline of you against the soaked fabric of your last layer of clothes.
Your body jolted at the feel of his finger coming down to trace along the seam of you, moving slow enough to kill. He was enjoying it, smirking with just the edge of his lips as he used his free hand to take up the space on your thigh, keeping your leg open just so that he could find patterns along your cunt like a promise he was writing out to later make true on. “Yeonjun-” you gasped, hips rolling to try and meet the single finger he used, his dark eyes snapping to your face as if he was only just recognizing how agonizing it must have felt for you to wait for him to finally play instead of plan.
“Hum?” as if he was curious why you were calling out for him. It's what he always did, his need to hear the praise, to know you wanted him, past just the need but with words, solid and tangible enough for him to grab.
“I need you, please.” Your knuckles ached from the hold you had on resisting him, and he chuckled, finger working to hook around the crotch of your leotard, sliding along the slick mess of your cunt, back and forth just to hear the way you whined before pushing it to the side. The fabric cut into your inner thigh, the cold air of the dressing room only proving how flushed you felt for him.
“God, just look at you.” his words felt like a spotlight, the one you were made to perform for, only for him, only you had been perfect from the moment you had walked out onto the stage. He hummed low in the back of his throat, a deep rumbling moan, before he bent between your legs, his lips pressing to your clit for only as long as the small kiss took to place, and you wanted to melt for him.
“You're so sensitive.” his lips were plush and pink, covered in your wetness as he said it, “just so perfect, so easy to do with what I like.” his hands came down to your thighs, spread wide, smoothing over your skin with a slowness that should have been anything but sinfully torturous before he pushed them up to your chest.
For as many years as it took for you to learn to follow a command, now as no different, yeonjun knew you would hold still for him, knew he did not need to take your hands in his and guide them behind your knees. But it was the control he was looking for, your willingness to hand over the one thing you had refused anyone else since he had saved you. He took the fairy pink ribbons still around your wrists from your practice, skilfully tying them into a bow to lock your arms in place to hold up your legs.
You tested their restraint, and every pull only helped to lift your legs closer to your chest, your heart beating wildly behind your ribcage at the feeling of being caught like a bird. He was the only one you trusted enough to have you like this, perfectly in place for him to do to you what he wanted.
Leaning back on his knees, you watch as he fumbles with his belt, the button of his pants coming undone, his shirt untucked and wrinkled. You leaned just right and found it hypnotizing to watch him slip his hand into the waistband of his underwear, his fist wrapped around his cock, flushed and already leaking for you.
You whined at the sight of him letting his thumb swirl along his tip, collecting the precum like a ritual. How could someone look so devastating moments before you knew they were to ruin you? It made you greedy for more, arms straining as you rolled your hips forward, locked in place with nothing more than silk ribbons and his dark stare. “Do you think you can stay still?” Your pout is instant, falling over your features as if already ready to beg to let you fight him, because you know how impossible it will be for you to be still in the slightest the second he begins to push in. You were already withering away at the thought of him, and you were ready to writhe. “Because if you don't, I might not let you finish.”
And it didn't matter if you already knew it was a lie, you'd let him believe it just to get you close to him, “I can, please, I promise-” but almost as soon as he pressed in just the tip your wrists began to ache from the strain you put on them as your body tried to arch towards him, the silk pinching agaisnt your skin, your mouth falling open in a half silent moan.
His hand not helping to guide himself into you, lies flat against the back of your thigh, blunt nails digging into your skin just enough to try and keep himself grounded, his heavy lidded gaze stuck on the lust included haze that's now fallen over your face. He goes so slow, pushing in and letting you feel the stretch of him, the pressure from your legs held together by your own arms only adding to the sensation.
And when he finally pushes in all the way, he's close enough for your fingers, now slightly numb, to curl into his shirt, the buttons half undone as you find anything to ground yourself, holding onto him as if you were scared he would let go. He leans his body weight on you, pressing your thighs down, keeping you trapped, your calves thrown over his arm as he mutters, “For someone who's built on following direction, you're very bad at following through on your promises.” he pulls out almost as slow as he pushed in, your legs trembling only proving his point. “Maybe I should keep mine, teach you a lesson.”
He pulls almost all the way out of you, your body instinctively clenching, your swift reaction to cry out, “No! Please Yeonjun-” your hold on him feeling so performative when you're so helpless, fully at his whim. And he knew he had you, knew it the second your eyes began to water, your voice turning so thready from the soft whimpers you kept letting slip with every brush of his fingers, his cock. This was what he loved most, watching you break, edges sharp as porcelain, mask down, tangled and struggling against the ribbons he knew reminded you so much of the strings he had snipped you free from.
“Or maybe I should just use you like the doll you are, take my pleasure whether you get off or not,” and in one swift motion, he thrusts back in, hips snapping against yours, your cry from the shock only making him chuckle, deep and throaty as he finds a new pace to now pound into you. “But you like that, don't you? Hum? You love it when I use you.”
But you can hardly hear him as he keeps up his thrusts, mind fogging up with the rhythmic lewd sounds coming from the space between you, wet and shameful as you clench around him. He's angled just right, pushing just deep enough to curl your toes as you nod to every word he's saying. “Say it, I need to hear you say it, or I'll stop.”
You're on the verge of tears, mouth opening and closing as you try and form words that won't come, mind so cloudy, but not nearly enough to notice how he's slowing down just enough to make the threat real. “No, please! I love it, I love it when you use me-”
He moans at the confession, head rolling back as he slips back into his easy thrusts. Your warmth, your wetness, and your willingness all bring him so much closer to the end that he's desperately trying to extend. Because he can feel how close you are, can tell by the tears now catching at the edge of your lashes and your hips angle just right to get him to press deeper, right against the sweet spot that has you at a loss for words.
Yeonjun is losing himself to the feel of you, hands curling into the tulle and silk you lay against, knuckles bloodless, and for a thready second, he knows he won't be able to stop himself from falling apart completely. You feel the tight knot in your stomach, your eyes shutting for only a second before he grabs at your chin, “look at me,” it's a demand, said between his teeth as he tries to drag out your coming orgasm, “say it again- tell me-” he cant even get the rest of the sentence out, hips stuttering as he gasps at the way you clench around him from nothing more than a command.
“I wanna be yours- please yeonjun- please!” Your tears are falling, words watery as your hands still attempt to break free of your restraints, even without you noticing, but all you want is him impossibly closer, “I wanna feel it- I want your cum-”
His brows scrunch, moans so loud it echoes over the sloppy sound of his thrusts, his hand slipping from your chin right to your throat, squeezing just enough to take the last bit of you that he can to control. Your mind goes hazy, head rolling back as you come undone for him, your cry half cut off from the hold he has on you, keeping you pinned down as you squirm with nowhere to hide as he keeps slamming into you, giving you no slow down to ride out your high.
Your cunt strangles him, fluttering and sucking his cock as you shake from the overstimulation before his brutal pace stiffens, slowing down before he cums inside you, your soft whimpers at the warmth only making his groan deeper. Every slow rutting of his hips against yours is drawn out as he drinks down the feel of your high until he pulls his hand away from your throat, his lips on your cheeks kissing away the tear tracks left.
You whimper as he pulls out, feeling the ooze of your combined release dribbling from your abused cunt. Yeonjuns cock twitches at the sight, fingers greedy to push the cum right back in just to hear you squeak out a weak cry. You clench around his fingers, body too tired to fight, everything instinctual even when he undoes the bonds around your wrists. Numbly, your legs fall, arms dead weight, like it had only been that moment he had cut you free from your strings after years of hanging at the will of someone other than him.
But you did nto care anymore, not when he pushed your legs open to kiss again at your clit, so neglected tonight, and yet still making your jolt with every feather light kiss yeonjun finds fun to now tease you with knowing he had you just as he wanted you. “I can't.” not because you didn't want to, but because you knew once more and you'd find yourself melted into the floor, completely undone and broken. Your head dumbly falls to the side, watching him moments before you feel him lick up a stripe between your slit.
Even with overworked legs, tired and useless, they try to close around his head, his hands sticky with your slick press down your thighs so he can clean you thoroughly with his mouth. Every moan he lets slip at the taste of you sends sweet vibrations up your spine, the sloppy kisses to your clit making your lashes flutter before he pulls away, chin slick with your combined release, before he kisses you.
It's messy and so sensually slow, the salty taste of his cum on your tongue mixed with the soft mewls that he swallowed down like a prize for a performance well done. “How perfect you are for me,” he mutters against your lips. He looks down at your hand, limp by the side of your head, wrist still tied in silk, “my perfect doll.” he reaches out for your ribbon, tugging at the knot until he can kiss right at the back of your hand.
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stars and traumas. glitter chapter thirteen. ☆ : ･ﾟ✧ *
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synopsis: as you find yourself stuck on a deserted island, you meet five boys who happened to be living there. you begin to notice something different about the boys as you attempt to find a way back home. with no sense of boundaries and strange glitter all over their bodies, your curiosity of who or what these boys are peaks. you begin getting close to the strangers, them helping you on your journey, but it leads you into a spiral of your own thoughts and emotions. now feeling some sort of connection to the five boys, the question begs: will you even end up leaving? if not, which boy makes you stay?
pairing(s): txt individually x gn!reader
chapter warning(s): profanity, angst, trauma mentions, mentions murder and murder weapons, panic attacks, talks of child abuse, let me know if i missed anything, ~3.3k words
it was the fact that he knew he shouldn’t have helped you. not in the way he did, at least.
mainly because the intensity of his memories has gotten this bad once before. he’s sacrificed his own mind to help another and continues to be left with an aching heart afterwards. it’s what helped yeonjun discover what happened to him as a baby, and what would help you get home.
but the way he allowed you inside his head… beomgyu shouldn’t have done that.
there was a good reason as to why he could never remember what happened on that traumatic night— his mind shielding itself from the tragedy and allowing him only to access the good parts of it, like how he arrived onto magic island to meet his brothers despite the pain of his wounds.
as faces began to look blurry, and his overall vision turned red, beomgyu began to meltdown from how overwhelmed he was. not only did he experience what happened to him once more, but he relived it with such strength that it felt real.
everyone stands in shock as the mind fae takes a step back, gasping gulps of air.
seeing beomgyu be this overwhelmed was very uncommon. he was meant to be the calm one of the bunch, the one others could lean on for help and safety. he was able to take away their pain in a fraction of a second with an embrace, but now that this fairy desperately needs help, no one in the room knows what to do.
“why did you guys not do anything? why did you not help me?” beomgyu’s voice starts off calm, almost like he was trying so hard to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. but as his mind continues to reel and he continues to talk, his voice becomes so loud you could practically see the windows vibrate from sound waves, “i… i fucking trusted all of you! and none of you helped me!”
fear, not of what might happen, but of how the brunet might handle it all radiates across each person. no one could form a single word for a good while, which only led to more pain on beomgyu’s behalf.
“of course we tried to help you,” yeonjun tries to ease the tension and console the younger, his hands making motions to prompt beomgyu to calm down.
soobin also interjects with his own reassurance, “we did try, gyu. look, we’re sorry we couldn’t pull you out in time, but it was difficult to do so. it was like your mind was way too far gone to help you. the same thing happened last time, remember?”
“no… NO!” beomgyu laughs as he yells. wet tears begin to trickle down his cheeks and onto the wooden floor beneath his feet. it was difficult to understand the emotions he was going through in the memory, and adding the disappointment of his brothers’ actions only made them more complex. one look at the mind fairy could confirm just how devastated he truly is.
“you guys promised me! why couldn’t you have learned what to do?!”
out of instinct, kai grips onto his necklace tightly to ground himself by how guilty he feels that none of them could help his brother out properly. taehyun begins to approach beomgyu, but pauses when he backs away slowly, too overwhelmed by the racing thoughts in his head.
“beom…,” your whisper is laced with empathy and emotion, reaching your hand out to grabs his in hopes of him finding solace in your touch.
you felt horrible for what happened, and you definitely tried to console him during your journey in his mind. but once the scenery changed from your home to his, your feet stood frozen in place.
instead of leaning onto you like he has been for the past several weeks, beomgyu very visibly steers clear of your presence, “no! you don’t get to touch me. you don’t get to help me now. not after what your father did. not after you made me do this! this is all your fault!”
the words spit from his mouth were said with pure anger and malice, nothing you have ever seen from him before. they stab into your chest, your heart feeling the physical hurt they brought to you. it was like those statements poked needles within the weak points of your heart.
was this a symptom of your own guilt for being selfish enough to put beomgyu at risk? or were these feelings the extremities to which beomgyu’s power laid? whichever it was, you grip onto kai as you tried to catch your breath from the pain.
silence reaches the group once again, and not too long after, the mind fairy finds himself towards the corner of the living room. he takes deep breaths to calm himself in a way that he knows how. despite being frustrated and upset about what happened, he knows, deep down, that there was no stopping that memory once the setting had changed.
does that mean it hurts any less? hell no.
“don’t listen to him, yn,” taehyun whispers, opting to reassure you while soobin finds his way towards a wall-sliding beomgyu. “he says things he doesn’t mean sometimes, especially when he’s upset. it’s like his emotions bottle up so much that he doesn’t know what else to do besides use words he knows will hurt us.”
“it’s true, though,” you exhale a very long breath that must have been waiting to come out for a while. the pads of your fingers then begin to make their way against your eyes in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain from your chest.
“it really is not. he forgot such a traumatic event and relived it for the first time in so long. none of it even included you,” he states softly, gently grabbing onto your wrists to prevent your rubbing from getting too harsh. “take it easy, okay? you’re pressing too hard. if you need to relieve stress squeeze my hands, yeah? we all agreed to help you, even if it meant getting hurt in the process. beomgyu knew one way or another that something would happen. so take it easy.”
the soft whimper that falls from your lips was hard to control, and just as suggested, you squeeze onto taehyun’s hands in hopes of it preventing you from crying. but without your approval, those tears fall anyway.
it hurt tremendously to see what exactly your father did to innocent people. and to someone like beomgyu? someone so sweet and caring… someone who puts others needs before his? how could your father have done such a thing?
“oh, love…,” taehyun’s lips form into a slight frown when he sees the droplets land onto your cheeks. he then pulls your body close to his chest so that your ear rests right above his beating heart. “whether you like it or not, you’re apart of our family now, okay? and fae know most about family sticking together through everything. it’ll all be alright.”
“family,” your quiet voice repeats, eyes fluttering shut so that you could focus on your breathing to match his.
one gear pressed against the spring, and a slightly larger gear placed next to the already built mechanism is what brings the hands on the pocket watch into motion. only a few have ever been made, but with one look at the mechanism, a young boy knew exactly how to replicate it.
and that went for most things out in the world— dresses made from fine silk and linen, machines used to harvest vegetables form the ground, and even handmade original jewelry.
the little boy was talented and at only twelve, he was smarter than any kid he has come across. he was praised by his classmates and loved by those out on the streets, all but one person.
his father.
“i have told you many times before, yeonjun! get this shit out of my house!”
“but father, i-i’m almost close to finishing it! it’s a gift for mother and i would really love to have more time—.”
the old man grumbles and snatches the fine pocket watch from the boy’s hands, flicking it across the room.
“young boys like you should not be holed up in their rooms,” the father says sternly, clearing the desk further by swiping all the materials onto the ground. “you should be outside getting stronger so you could one day take over the ship.”
“no!” yeonjun screams, fear and frustration in his tiny voice. “i enjoy these things! why don’t you let me do what i want?”
a hard smack lands on the boy’s cheek, the pale skin showing the reddening hand print clear as day. the abuse was enough to silence him, and the father walks away knowing his child won’t disobey him any longer.
as the boy grew older, he followed after his father’s footsteps, making sure everything he did was to please his parent. bringing girls home, getting drunk on random nights, and even building his physique like his father’s— everything was for him.
the process was long and took years to finally achieve what would be the perfect life his father had envisioned, but even then, young yeonjun was not happy.
he continued to work hard enough for his father’s approval. the fabrics and metals of his past hidden away underneath his bed. the blueprints for inventions not yet made locked inside a place in his heart that no one, not even the supposed woman he’s to marry, could have access to.
the wedding was beautiful, no one could deny that. but as he stands in front of his soon-to-be-wife, he notices a soft glimpse of silver-like metal his hands worked hard on to craft from the corner of his eye.
it wasn’t intentional, leaving the poor woman at the make-shift alter in the way he did. but seeing the same pocket watch yeonjun made for his mother when he was a child, in the hands of the same old man who slapped him, all he could do is run.
he ran, and ran. the air so brisk, his lungs could barely breathe. but he continued on. staying any longer where his father was would only bring him pain.
yeonjun devoted his entire life and childhood to his father’s approval, only to be deemed not good enough. he ran like it could erase time, like he could go back in time and reassure his younger self to keep doing what he was passionate about.
the shoes on his feet grow cold with the sea water, his eyes finally lifting to see he’s made it to the beach nearby. it was the same place he used to get pearls from for the jewelry he made, and his legs walk on their own to the same cave he’d sit in collecting them.
“take careful steps, sweetheart,” soobin laughs softly, gripping your arm to prevent you from accidentally slipping against a wet rock.
the two of you had been walking after a weak attempt of getting beomgyu back on his feet. it didn’t work, unfortunately, and the eldest suggested giving the mind fairy some space.
you grab onto soobin tightly while gaining your balance back, “…maybe i deserve to fall.”
“don’t say things like that,” he says bluntly, looking at you with eyes full of concern. “you are not your father, remember?”
“it sure doesn’t feel that way, soobin.”
he had been so worried once you and beomgyu had slipped back into reality. noticing the small shocked, but traumatized look on your face, he knew something deeply wrong had happened.
soobin was usually good at being the one beomgyu could rely on, and found it odd that he wanted nothing to do with his caring older brother. so instead of bickering about who would help beomgyu, soobin took initiative and decided to bring you to a quiet place on the beach.
the walk there was quiet, as one can expect. the both of you talking about the intense moment that occurred not too long ago was out of the question. not that either of you minded though, the silence was somehow comfortable.
all you could hear was footsteps and odi’s small steps following right behind yours.
“the portals we all came from were at different parts of the world, you know,” the fairy walking alongside you explains with a soft, cautious voice as if not to spook you from the thoughts that might be flooding your brain. “i was thinking about that earlier with taehyun.”
“and they all led here,” you reply, kicking a rock from under your feet. “that means my portal was also destined to be here, wasn’t it? i read in the book i saw in the memory that they could be made by nature’s destiny.”
soobin smiles before sitting on the sand right where the tide ends, “tell me more.”
“it was a book my father had that explained the portals. humans can’t see them, but magical creatures can. that’s why i didn’t notice when i passed through one,” you sit right next to him, your hand brushing against his. “the sea looks the same everywhere as it is, it’d be hard to notice a change.”
“maybe something noticeable did change, yn. think about it some more,” he suggests, looking out into the water before shifting towards you. “it could’ve been something small, like temperature drops? or maybe even the current of the water? i doubt it would be physically obvious.”
you sit there for a couple of minutes, hand moving from his to brush against the sand to spell out the word destiny.
in all honesty, you could barely remember that night. your emotional state was all over the place, and you were more so overwhelmed that you couldn’t find your way back to the shore rather than what exactly was going around you.
“i don’t remember much,” you sigh, legs adjusting into a criss-cross formation as you grow more comfortable on the slightly damp sand. “just that i couldn’t see the shore anymore. it also got darker, but maybe it was just clouds going over my head.”
“no… no. you’re not thinking deeply enough about it, darling. close your eyes and try to remember. anything you can remember could possibly help us set the environment for you to get home.”
while having your eyelids shut, you attempt to go back to that day in your small boat in the middle of nowhere.
“it was.. it was night when i left and when i got to this island, but i remember not seeing that rock.” pointing towards the huge boulder a few meters from the shore, you stand up quickly. “it’s like it came out of no where!”
“so suddenly?” the fairy questions.
“definitely,” says you, inspecting the boulder from where you two stood. “the ocean was vast when i was on the boat. nothing, not even other boats could be seen over the horizon.”
soobin begins to stand and then walks towards the rock in question, getting a closer look at the area you shipwrecked in. “there’s nothing different about this area compared to the rest of the shore minus the boulder. but maybe the portal has to be somewhere in this area if it came out of no where.”
following after him with careful steps you dip a hand into the water, “it’s cold.”
“cold? the water is never cold during this time of year,” he frowns with a confused expression then slips his hand into the ocean water to test it’s temperature. not even a few seconds later, his eyes widen and his lips part slightly, “i think i need to talk with taehyun about this.”
it wasn’t easy telling soobin to go on his own to speak with taehyun, but you really didn’t feel comfortable confronting beomgyu just yet. instead, yeonjun offers to show you toward where kai is currently building your boat.
despite reassuring you that things are going smoothly inside the house and that beomgyu is slowly but surely calming down, you did not believe yeonjun one bit. the little time you have spent here has definitely made you aware of each of the boy’s tale-tell signs, and his was quite obvious.
“no, i swear he’s alright, yn,” yeonjun repeats for what feels like the hundredth time as you both walk along the shoreline. “he gets like this sometimes, and we usually help him get out of it. i promise he’ll be okay.”
but with every mention of beomgyu, you begin to feel like maybe things have changed for the worst. there was no stopping him in hurting you now, or at least isolating you from the group— he had every right to make you feel his wrath from the physical and emotional pain of what your father has caused him.
it’s like yeonjun senses your worries, because not too long after he grabs your hand gently in attempt to comfort you, “kai has been working really hard on getting your boat rebuilt.”
“oh…? he hasn’t told me much about it, honestly. is he normally quiet?” you ask with curiosity, hand not leaving yeonjun’s as you approach the younger fairy.
something about physically touching each of the boys has been your go to source of grounding yourself.
“yeah, he normally keeps to himself. sometimes i have to drill things out of him,” he laughs, eyes lighting up. “but other times, he really does open up and talk when the time is right.”
while nodding, your feet stop five feet away from where kai is currently positioning wood planks together, “…hi, hyuka.”
the younger looks up from his work, his expression filled with slight surprise to see you all the way there. the eagerness of his voice, though, doesn’t go unnoticed by you or yeonjun.
“hey, yn! i’ve been trying to hurry on building your boat. it’s been a bit difficult though, finding the right wood on the island is hard. but i know how important it is for you to get home and see your friend.”
“way to mention i’m helping you!” yeonjun pouts, pretending to be hurt. “i’m not as strong as kai can be, so i’m stuck writing down instructions for him while i finish up other projects at the cottage.”
“i see,” smiles you, looking over to inspect the work in front of everyone.
it wasn’t exactly how the boat looked before you set off from town. the wood was slightly more yellow and thicker than how you found it. it was more spacious, and a compartment for food was added.
the small star in the corner of the hull was all you thought you needed to see to cheer you up.
it was unique and special, made just for you. so why do you feel a sense of dread?
note: i’m bacccccckkkkkkkkkkk <3333333 so sorry this has taken 1.5 years but i plan on finishing this by the start of 2026 so expect more from now on!!! tysm for waiting and for reading my story i love u all sm <33
taglist: will be remaking ! pls comment if you’d like to be added
SUMMARY: Being trapped in a loveless marriage with an unfaithful husband has led you to seek validation from others through your scandalous online persona. When an alluringly masked camboy keeps hitting your DMs, you can’t deny the undoubtable attraction you feel for a man you can’t have. And when a new neighbor sporting the same red hair and mole under his eyes moves into the apartment next door, you know you’re screwed. Is it really being unfaithful if your husband’s doing it too?
PAIRING: camboy!yeonjun x housewife!reader
WORD COUNT: 13k
GENRE: smut, angst
WARNINGS: nsfw, mdni, porn with plot, cursing, INFIDELITY, condom use, dacryphilia, mentions of financial abuse/lovebombing from the reader's husband, forced marriage, manipulation, dirty talk, soft(?) dom!yeonjun, big dick, overuse of the term ‘baby’, squirting, masturbation, filming during sex, slightly dubious consent, breeding kink (kind of), if i’m missing stuff feel free to lmk
A/N: Here is my magnum opus. Please follow if you enjoy reading and lmk what you think! I have some things cooking in my noggin for future stories… Anyway, enjoy! (I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING!!!)
–
This is the last time, you swear to yourself, that you would willingly participate in a conversation with the nosy middle-aged aunties in your apartment complex.
"You know you're running out of time," Mrs. Lee lectures. "It'll be good for you to have kids soon while you still have your youth."
Mrs. Park nods knowingly next to her as if her friend spouted something incredibly profound. What was supposed to be a quiet walk to retrieve a package from the mail room had once again turned into a conversation impossible to wiggle out of.
"It's not our place to pry," Mrs. Park chimes in. "Your husband would probably want you to have one sooner rather than later, right? Hell! At his age, he’s old enough to even be your father-"
Mrs. Lee punches her blabbering friend's shoulder lightly in an attempt to shut her up. Mrs. Park rubs her shoulder, flustered but taking the hint.
"Thank you for your wonderful advice," you muster a polite smile, "If that’s all, I'll be heading back up. I hope you two have a good day."
You walk past the two with a small package in hand, turning the corner of the hallway. Being curt with them would be the only way to escape their intrusive grasp. However, you find yourself slowing your steps when you hear bits and pieces of their lowered voices.
"You!" Mrs. Lee grumbles at Mrs. Park. “Why would you mention such a sensitive topic to that poor girl?! I’m sure she sees how big their age gap is! There's no need to bring it up.”
Mrs. Park grumbles.
“That’s the least of her worries when it comes to that husband of hers,” Mrs. Park scoffs. “You know, I heard from the security guy that he’s been coming home late every night, all disheveled with bruises all over his neck..."
You hear Mrs. Lee gasp, and you can’t help it when your grip on the cardboard box tightens.
"No wonder she's looked so out of sorts these days,” Mrs. Lee sighs. “She used to have such a bright personality. Much prettier back then, too…"
You grind your teeth, tempted to walk back and ask the two to continue their conversation in front of you instead. You save yourself the embarrassment and walk towards the elevator.
It’s not like anything they said was a lie. There was no use in getting angry about the truth being spoken out loud; you convince yourself.
-
You sit at the dinner table, watching as the clock strikes midnight. He probably won't come home tonight either, you think to yourself.
Dinner is laid out so meticulously, two perfectly cooked salmon glistening with soy sauce glaze at the center of the table. All done by you to appease a husband who doesn’t even want to be home most of the time.
It’s the third night in a row he's been staying over at his lover's place.
Married life with Kwon Sehoon, a man you met through your parents, was ultimately a passionless one.
Straddled in debt from starting a failed business, your parents had married you off to an older man who was willing to pay a pretty penny for a young and beautiful wife.
You remember that day clearly, with you coming back home from an evening lecture, standing in front of your kneeling parents who begged you to save them from their financial ruin. The parents you once thought were invincible to pain and suffering were groveling right in front of you. So afraid of what the loan sharks would do to your parents, of having to pick up the pieces of their debt if they up and disappeared, you agreed. It seemed like the easy way out.
Sehoon seemed nice enough during your first meeting. He told you almost immediately how he didn’t like women his age.
"Younger women don't drain you like the older ones do," he once said.
You remember feeling flattered at first, not knowing the gravity of his words until you really got to know him.
You got married shortly after completing your degree, and at first, Sehoon was absolutely fixated on you. He doted on you like a pet, showering you with gifts and compliments. He lived quite modestly for someone with an affluent job. His apartment, the one you live in now, was practically empty before you came into his life. He gave you free rein to decorate as you pleased and insisted that you buy anything you wanted with his card.
He asked very little of you in return; all you had to do was be a good wife for him. And as you sit by yourself tonight, pondering his return, you feel like you failed even in that regard. Four years into marriage, you noticed the signs of waning interest trickle into everyday life.
His initial gestures of kindness led you to feel something akin to love towards him, just thankful that he didn’t treat your parents badly, like the loan sharks did. Though now that you look back, your affection seemed more akin to Stockholm Syndrome.
Your parents had promised him a warm and caring stay-at-home wife. At the ripe age of 45, he expected a lot from you– more than you could possibly give in your early 20s. Inexperienced nights of lackluster sex would drive him into fits of annoyance, giving you days of silent treatment when you would reject his advances to explore unsavory kinks in the bedroom.
You always tried to pick up the pieces, changing parts of yourself to match his ideal type of girl. Pleasant, obedient, and doll-like. It never worked.
He started accusing you of using him if you bought too many pastries from a bakery, immediately regulating your credit card use to groceries and household items. He started murmuring insults in hushed tones, knowing full well you could hear him.
Everything you thought he was crumbled within the first year of marriage. Sehoon morphed into someone unrecognizable. You never fathomed being in a situation where a man who wanted you so badly now wanted to act like you never existed. You never thought he could betray you after all the hoops he went through to have your hand in marriage.
You remember that night, just a year ago, when you heard his quiet voice in the bathroom. He was talking to someone over the phone. You couldn’t help but listen by the door that was slightly left ajar. Sehoon had been in such a bad mood at the time, lashing out at you at every chance he got.
"I miss you," he sighs lovingly, and you feel your heart sink. You hadn't heard him talk in such a gentle tone in years. "She's such a prude, you know? Always tenses up when I touch her. She can't even get me hard. I wish I were with you instead."
He cackled as the pit that you've always felt in your stomach when you were with him expanded. Though the affection you had for him had already waned by then, your husband's infidelity still felt like a shot to the chest. You wasted so many years trying to be who he wanted you to be, only for him to toss you to the side like an old toy with no batteries.
You were ashamed to say you followed him once during his escapades, watching across a dark alleyway as he entered a seedy hotel with a young beauty in his arms. Though she looked nothing like you, she reminded you of yourself. She seemed so nervous, so eager to please that treacherous man. All you could feel was pity, unsure if it was more for her or for yourself.
"You know I can't leave her right now, my love," he hummed into the phone, and you couldn’t help but gag. "I took her parents' debt in my name. I'm still paying it off. I feel nothing with her, I promise! Bitch can't even give a proper blowjob. She’s nothing like you."
Disgust seeped through your whole body that night. You couldn't even bear to face him in the bed you shared, tears welling up at the thought of having to be with him for any longer.
Your parents pleaded with you to hold out until the debt was fully repaid, until he no longer had control over them. Sehoon, ever the calculating person he was, wrote a clause stating that if you were to ever ask for a divorce, you would have to pay him back the remaining debt he still owed the loan sharks.
With no job and no escape plan, you had fallen into his trap. Sehoon would be the one to decide whether he ever wanted to set you free.
-
You wait another 30 minutes, packing the leftovers on the table into the refrigerator when he doesn't show up. Your duties as a wife did not and could not stop even after finding out about his affair. Sehoon reported every mistake and any sign of resistance to your parents. He knew the power they held over you, about your unwavering need to appease them. They scold you over the stories they hear from him, and you attempt to right every wrong to mold yourself into what he wanted.
But he doesn't know one thing, you think to yourself as you head to your shared bedroom. You lock the door, just in case.
You pull your phone out and open Twitter without hesitation. Typing away, you draft up a post that reads like every other one of your complaints about your mundane life.
housewifeblues
husband left me home alone again… how can you leave your wife like this, feeling so lonely?
But you know that’s not why 2.4k people follow you.
You peel your shirt off your body, unclasping your bra and positioning yourself under the dim lights of the city outside your window. You let out a deep breath, psyching yourself up for what you’re about to do. You push out and accentuate the curves of your breasts as you arch your back forward.
You snap a few pictures with only the lower half of your face and naked chest visible.
You bite your nails as you hesitate to hit the ‘post’ button. You do it after a few seconds of indecisiveness. It’s not like it’s your first post, so why do you still feel so nervous? To Sehoon, you may be undesirable, but your online persona was worshipped like a goddess by so many.
The attention and validation of those who lusted after you on the internet filled in the hole of loneliness that Sehoon had opened in you.
The noticeable birthmark above your breasts was a point of self-consciousness since the start of your marriage. Sehoon always pushed you to have it removed, stating it was unsightly against your skin. But the thousands of followers who complimented it constantly led you to cancel that appointment. It gave you a sense of pride knowing that you could drown out your husband's harsh words with the positivity of your online fans.
Your followers enjoyed how openly you talked about your miserable marriage, your qualms about being a housewife, and your husband's infidelity. Your posts garnered traction from those who relate to your struggles and those who fetishize them. At some point, you stopped caring what kind of person interacted with your posts. You just wanted to bask in some flattering words for once.
The likes had started to roll in, but at an abnormal pace. Since when was your engagement this high? You see in your notification tab that someone named "yawnszn" retweeted your post almost immediately after you uploaded it.
yawnszn
if he doesn’t want you, i volunteer as tribute
You catch yourself chuckling. Who was this?
Clicking on his profile picture, a page pops up of a bright red-haired man with a mole underneath his right eye, wearing a black face mask. 300k followers? And he was reposting your content? You rub your eyes to check if you were seeing correctly.
Intrigued, you scroll down and you almost drop your phone from the shocking imagery that fills your screen. The pinned video on his feed was of him, stroking his perfectly curved length with such focused concentration. He was thick beyond comprehension, veins so beautifully etched on the underside of his heaviness.
You hesitantly click on the video, cheeks warming at the lewd sounds that start to echo through the bedroom.
"You like that?" he would say in between grunts of pleasure. "I bet you do, huh? Bet you wanna make a mess all over me."
His brows were furrowed, glistening chest heaving as he resisted the urge to buck his hips up into his large hands. If only you could see him with that stupid mask off.
The stranger was methodical with his strokes, slowing his relentless pace when he teetered too close to his high. He was edging himself into a stronger and more drawn-out climax, rolling his head back onto his chair as Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
Though his eyes were covered by wispy bangs, you could feel their intensity through the screen. The way he squinted and scrunched his nose in pleasure, staring daggers into the camera. He could tell you to lick the bottom of his shoe and you would probably do it.
Wait–
what?
You exit the app in a hurry, attempting to calm yourself. You were having very bad thoughts, ones you never even felt with your own husband. It wasn't right to think these things about another man, you tell yourself, as your thighs clench together from where you sat on your bed.
When Sehoon surprisingly comes home at 4 a.m., with his back turned towards you on the bed, you pretend to sleep. You replay the video of yawnszn in your head over and over again. You can't help but feel pathetic to feel so hot and heavy over a man retweeting you while your husband still reeks of another woman.
As Sehoon snores loudly next to you, you find yourself typing another post.
housewifeblues
he’s home with hickies on his neck... why does he even bother coming back?
It’s almost instant, the masked man’s reply. You bring a hand to your mouth to stifle a gasp.
yawnszn
let’s make it even. i can leave some on your pretty neck, too
You suppress a giggle that threatens to leave your lips. You stare back and forth between Sehoon’s hunched back and your phone to this masked man’s profile. There’s no harm in flattery, is there?
–
It's like an addiction, scrolling through his page on your burner account. You don't even follow him back on your main, but you can't help but refresh for more content. He posts daily, with livestreams every Friday. You tune in when Sehoon isn't around, which is almost all the time. Guilt is etched into your heart whenever you see his notifications, despite your husband's own infidelity not affecting his own psyche.
"Such fucking sluts," Yeonjun would scold his chat with his red hair pushed seductively away from his forehead. He plunges a plush fleshlight roughly down his pulsing cock. "You wish this were you riding me, huh? Too fucking bad."
The urge to touch yourself worsens after each livestream, but you hold out. You couldn't let yourself stoop to Sehoon's level. It’s not like you enjoyed posting photos with racy captions, you promise! It’s just a hobby, one that elicited flirty responses from a man you were very attracted to. You admit, maybe some photos were posted for him. He just didn’t know it.
During a livestream, you remember him talking about his love for doggy style. The next day, you miraculously posted a photo of your face planted on a pillow with your underwear-clad body arched eagerly with your ass in the sky.
housewifeblues
never been fucked in this position.
You swear it isn’t just for him specifically, even when you can’t wipe the stupid grin off your face at his comment the next day.
yawnszn
i think you need to take the picture at a better angle from behind… need help with that?
Even as you squirm in the shower and in the bed at the thought of a red-haired man plowing into you, you vowed to not be tempted to interact with him on your main account.
You were better than that, you convinced yourself. Better than Sehoon.
---
You're in the bed this time, lacy pink bra in full display on your phone’s camera. Your nipples are peaking through, and you lay your hand atop your chest to emphasize their shape. Tonight, you wanted to tease your followers.
yawnszn’s constant interactions with your page fueled you to post more frequently. You found different angles and poses, anything that would let you stay relevant (and always on yawnszn’s feed). At some point, you noticed his likes and retweets were filled with only you.
It made your heart flutter at the thought of him being just as obsessed with you as you were with him.
And even better, it was a Friday. You chuckle to yourself as you lie on your stomach, clicking on his profile like clockwork. His room looked emptier than usual, with boxes piled up in the corner. The red-haired man's toned body finally comes into frame, gleaming with sweat from the warm lighting of his floor lamp. He looked like he had just finished working out.
"Wow," he stares at the chat, voice muffled by his mask. "Must be real fucking horny to join so early."
You let out a chuckle. It felt like he was actually talking to you.
"Some new names in here," he says as he sinks into his chair, carefully unzipping his jeans. His abdomen glistened with sweat, white briefs peeking through his unzipped jeans. He reads comment after comment, palming his bulge almost mindlessly.
You groan in frustration, wishing he were quicker at taking his stupid pants off. You feel almost compelled to comment just that– and so you did.
You
you’re teasing us…
His eyes scan the screen, and you can tell he seems genuinely shocked by something despite his masked expression.
"Well, look who it is," he laughs darkly as he starts to grip his clothed member more roughly. "Thanks for tuning in, housewifeblues. I didn't take you for such an eager viewer, pretty girl."
Your blood turns cold. Did he just say your username? But that couldn't be possible. You were on your burner account. Unless-
You scroll up to your comment, clearly showing the profile picture of half of your face and cleavage as the commenter. Burying your face into your pillow to let out a scream of sheer humiliation, you kick your feet in the air.
This can't be real.
"I'm flattered," yawnszn continues, not knowing the stages of grief you were going through. "I've been thinking about those pretty tits all day."
He pulls out his throbbing cock. It looked painful, you thought. His fingers traced over his angry tip, red and beating like it ached for release.
You swallow, mouth watering at the view. His head was leaned back now, stroking himself languidly as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip. You clench your pillow.
"Why don't we have some fun together, hm?" he asks teasingly, his hand pumping with half the force he usually uses. "I bet I could make you feel so good, baby. We can make your useless ass husband watch if you want."
You let out a small whimper, scanning over the comments from equally shocked viewers.
"god I'd pay good money to see you two fuck"
"me next?"
“is this ur kink?”
"stop talking about another bitch!!!"
He chuckles, reading the last one.
"My jealous babies," he teases, tugging his hair back with his unoccupied hand and showing his beautiful forehead. "There’s plenty of me to go around."
A wave of possessiveness washes over you, suddenly conscious that this wasn't just for you. He was selling his fantasy to all the viewers who watched him. There was no affection there, only the delusions of your touch-starved self. You feel a sudden pang of guilt in your chest. You wanted this stranger so badly, but you couldn’t have him. You're married. And it wasn't up to anyone else but Sehoon to change that.
"I'd fuck you on every surface I could get you on," he sighs out so sensually, pumping himself in a steady rhythm. "Have you begging for my cock until you're dependent on it."
Though tears well in your eyes from the mix of humiliation and regret, you rest your head on the pillow and grind against your mattress to the sounds of his arousal.
"And you'd thank me each time I give it to you, wouldn’t you?" he laughs dryly. "Because that's all you want, right? Want me deep down in your throat. In your pussy. You'd even let me fuck your ass too, huh, baby?"
The comments flood in with crazed sentences, and you are no better.
You whimper at the vulgarity of his words, back arched against absolutely nothing. You wish he were positioned right behind you with those long fingers of his curling inside your deepest parts, coaxing your climax out of you. You’re almost tempted to slide a hand up your shirt, until you hear a familiar jangling of keys.
Quickly standing up, you exit that God forsaken app. Smoothing out your clothes, you prepare yourself to be ignored by Sehoon once again. He moves past you to walk to the bathroom, no greeting exchanged whatsoever. Your cheeks warm with frustration.
"Dinner is in the fridge," you say plainly. You sit back down on the bed, grabbing the phone to make sure his livestream was no longer playing. A few minutes pass, and you mindlessly stare at the wall as you hear your husband grumbling and mumbling in the bathroom. A notification pops up on your phone.
yawnszn has sent you a private message.
You feel the acceleration of your pulse almost immediately and check it against your better judgment.
yawnszn
come back, baby. i wasn't done with you yet. was putting on that show just for you ;)
You cover your mouth to stifle a scream, but immediately straighten your posture and harden your expression when Sehoon comes out of the bathroom. He reeks of cigarette smoke and cheap motel sheets.
“Would it hurt you to smile once in a while?" he sneers. “Look so fucking creepy all the time.”
You muster up a small grin, one that doesn't meet the eyes. All he does is sigh.
"Can't even follow simple instructions," he grumbles, slamming the door behind him. "Just leeching off me like a fucking parasite..."
You purse your lips. Sehoon always knew which words would hurt you the most, like he practices them in the mirror before he throws them at you. At one point, you wanted to be good for him. Wanted to show him that you could be the respectable wife he always wanted you to be.
So, how the hell did it end up like this?
What were you doing, squealing like a teenage girl over some camboy on the internet? You shake your head rapidly, quickly deleting the message yawnszn sent. You didn't even get a chance to put your phone back on your lap when you heard another buzz.
It's him again.
yawnszn
i wanna show you how a real man could make you feel. won't you let me?
And though you wanted nothing more, you leave him on ‘seen’.
--
An entire week goes by, and it was another Friday you couldn’t help but anticipate. You tried to stop viewing his page, you really did. But when the nights got cold and loneliness seeped through your bones, you couldn’t help but reread the messages yawnszn would boldly send you.
Today, you vowed not to think about that red-haired devil.
As you walk past the boxes stacked in the hallway, you make your way towards the unit right next to your apartment with Sehoon. A new neighbor was moving in. From sandwiches to tea cookies, you had spent your entire day making treats for the new addition to the ever-so-nosy apartment complex. With a cautious knock at the door, you stand in front of the unit with a basket of your handmade foods.
Sehoon had conditioned you to be a good neighbor, never wanting Mr. Do's family on the second floor to look better than him after they gave everyone in the building a bottle of whiskey for New Year's. He forced you to greet new tenants and make cards for everyone's birthdays so he could soak in the compliments of having such a loving and kind wife. Meanwhile, he never even bothered to learn the names of the people on your floor.
He always assumed with your "immense amount of free time as a housewife" that all of these responsibilities would be handled by you. You roll your eyes at the thought. He couldn't even bother to take showers to get rid of his mistress's rancid scent. Did he really think people in this apartment thought he was a good husband?
You almost knock again until your new neighbor finally opens the door. He's tall, wearing a tight-fitting black hoodie. It wasn't zipped up fully, and his naked chest was slightly visible underneath. Was he wearing nothing under?
You look up and tense at the sight. Red hair and black face mask. Mole under his right eye. You blink rapidly, almost as if his face would morph if you did it fast enough. It can't be… But who else could fit his description much better? This had to be yawnszn.
“Hello?” he greets, confused. His voice sends shivers down your spine. Was it wrong to assume that every strikingly red-haired man with fierce eyes and wearing a mask was your online crush?
"Hi," you say, stomping down the stutter that wanted to come out. "I'm [Y/N], your next-door neighbor. My husband and I wanted to welcome you to the building with some treats."
He looks past the top of your head as if searching for someone behind you.
"Where is this husband?" he asks in a teasing manner. You bite back a frown. Wasn't it a little inappropriate to ask these things?
"He's at work," you say plainly.
"I'll only give my thanks to you then," he replies, resting his body on the doorframe. You feel electricity course through your veins as he brushes your hand softly, taking the basket from your tightened grip.
"I would love to repay you," he says, leaning his head toward your flustered face. You shy away from his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable that you're wearing a V-neck shirt as he looks down at you. You sense a flash of emotion in his gaze, quickly replaced by a gentle stare.
Did he know it was you?
No, that’s ridiculous, you thought to yourself. How could he even tell?
"No need," you reply, embarrassingly quickly as you take a step back. "We don't expect anything in return."
"I insist," he says slyly. "Once I'm all settled in, I'll come see you."
He looks around the hallway again before bringing his masked mouth to your ear.
“Hopefully, when he’s not home.”
You freeze at his words as he closes the door with a small wave and a mischievous glint in his eyes. As soon as you rush to your apartment, you cross-examine his profile picture with the memory you had of your neighbor’s features. He didn’t even tell you his name! You scream into your living room cushion. You shake your head.
Nothing will come out of this, you try to convince yourself. He was just being friendly.
You stand up, ready to busy yourself with chores around the house to distract yourself from the feeling of dread forming in the pit of your stomach. He said he was stopping by, and you couldn't tell whether the funny feeling in your stomach was butterflies or something far more sinister… You touch your ear from where you felt his warm breath. Perhaps desire?
--
Later that day, you wait anxiously for his stream to start. Your back was against the headboard of your bed, twiddling your fingers from anticipation. Triple-checking, you made sure you were on your burner account this time. You click the notification as soon as it comes, and his empty room comes into view.
You stiffen at the new format, not at all like his old set-up. In fact, the walls and floor were the exact same shade as your own room. You groan, looking at the wall that faced your new neighbor’s place. That guy was definitely yawnszn.
His masked figure is already naked, save for the white towel draped around his waist and his signature black mask.
"Moved into my new place," he says to the chat. "Like my new room?"
He scans the comments and sighs in disappointment.
"Did I scare my baby away?" Your eyes widen. Was he looking for your username?
You can tell he's pouting through the mask, and you can't help but smile. Fuck. Why was this man so irresistibly hot and annoyingly cute at the same time?
"I don’t wanna do solo streams anymore, guys," he whines, his bulge already evident through the thin towel. You wonder how he's able to get hard so quickly.
"Wanna show y'all a different side of me," he sighs, dropping his towel to reveal the growing heaviness underneath. "Show you I'm not just all talk."
You clench your thighs, tensing when his large palm finds his towering length. He was always so vocal during his sessions, and even now, as he has barely just started, he was a mumbling mess. He’s seated now, clenched eyes in full view as he strokes himself in drawn-out movements.
Your eyes widen. You can hear him, but not just on video. His sounds reverberated through the wall. It's like you’re in the room with him as he's hunched over, drowning in his own pleasure.
"Don't be jealous when I bring someone in, okay?" he teases the chat that’s filled with comments of disapproval. "Just think it's you that I'll be fucking. Imagine how I’d cum inside a real pussy. How I’d shove it all back in. Doesn’t that sound nice? Making that pussy full of me."
You bite your lip at the thought, clenching the sheets beneath you as you hear his dirty whispers from the wall.
You didn’t want that, you thought to yourself darkly. You didn’t want to see him, moaning and talking so filthy like this, with anyone. You couldn’t bear it. You were already suffering at the thought of your husband fucking his much younger mistress, you couldn’t lose yawnszn too. He was the only sense of freedom you felt in your dull, repeating life.
As crazy as you felt, you sat up to press your ear against the wall to hear him better. Your fingers dangerously ghost over your pajama shorts.
"Wanna have sex so bad, baby," he whines out. "Won't you let me?"
You let out a squeak. You can't take your eyes off his perfectly sculpted body, nor could you take your ear off the wall that separated the two of you in real life. You feel like a sick, deranged pervert. Your twisted desires are egging you on as your hand trails down your stomach and into your underwear. Your fingers run up your slit, already so wet from just watching him.
"I'd have you on your fucking knees," he sighs out, letting out that grunting sound he does when he's nearing his climax. "Take you from behind. You'd have to beg me to get off of you. I'd be in that pussy every day, every fucking night."
Your eyes roll back at the thought. Your pace quickens with his, drawing rapid circles on your swollen bud. You're grinding down against your own fingers, searching for something that you knew only this intoxicating stranger could give you. In some way, the fact that you are masturbating next to your oppressive husband’s pillow made everything feel that much more erotic. He doesn’t need to know how another man makes you feel.
"Gonna cum," his nose scrunches. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
As white, hot liquid spurts out of his beautiful cock, you let out a silent scream as you come undone yourself. With your right hand sticky with your climax, you feel tears well up in your eyes. What the fuck were you doing?
–
The next day, you see your mysteriously masked neighbor in the halls. It was instinct to give a small smile, tensing as he approached your cowering figure.
“Do you need help with that?” he asks. You blink back your confusion as he gestures at your fistful of groceries. You completely forgot you were holding them the moment you saw him.
“N-no,” you reply a little too quickly. “I’m almost at my door.”
He chuckles. He attempts to grab one of the heavy-looking ones from you, but you dodge him just in time. The red-haired man had no idea what you did last night because of him. You felt dirty just being in his presence.
“I’m happy to help, you know?” he insists. “You don’t have to carry that all by yourself.”
Your grip on the groceries tightens. In all the years you were married to Sehoon, he never offered to help you with anything once. If it had nothing to do with finances or working, the rest was handled by you. It was sad to feel so happy hearing such minuscule gestures of kindness come from your neighbor of all people.
“I’ll let you know if I ever need it,” you smile at him, genuinely. To your surprise, he ruffles you on the head affectionately. He leans down, his face at the same level as yours.
“I’m Yeonjun,” he whispers as if he were saying a deep, dark secret. “I forgot to tell you yesterday.”
His name. He finally told you his name. How beautiful it sounds on those unseen lips.
His eyes meet yours, and for a second, you just want to lean in and kiss him through that stupid mask. But he stands up straight, towering over you once again.
“Don’t be a stranger, [Y/N],” he says teasingly, walking away with his hands shoved down his jean pockets. Your heart flutters, and your attempts to push down the butterflies in your stomach were thwarted once again.
–
It’s like you see him everywhere now. From the convenience store down the street to the garden rooftop of your apartment complex. Yeonjun seemed to permeate every part of your existence, offline and online. Though he was probably unaware of how often you were posting in your underwear just to get a flirtatious response from him in your comments, you swore he was flustering you on purpose.
The way he would casually help you out of carrying heavy packages from your hands when you’d see him in the apartment lobby, or how he would casually talk about missing “housewifeblues” at the start of each stream. He was driving you crazy.
You weren’t an idiot; you knew his intentions. And though you keep your interactions as polite as possible, you find out a little too much about the man you’ve been lusting over for the past few weeks.
Yeonjun tells you he doesn’t have many friends. He moved back home recently after doing university abroad and working there for a bit. He’s close with his mother and talks to her over the phone every day. He volunteers at pet sanctuaries over the weekends and wants to get a cat of his own someday. But when you pry, asking him how he’s able to afford the high rent your husband was paying for this swanky apartment complex at such a young age, he avoids answering completely. Simply says “I work a remote job,” but you know better.
You know how he posts on OnlyFans daily, subscriptions increasing after every sensual stream where he gets paid thousands a night to pleasure himself on camera.
It’s one of those days when you run into him in the hallway. You’re wearing a tank top and yoga pants, and you just finished an at-home workout routine while you waited for your laundry to finish drying. You were exiting your place to make a quick run to the grocery store to prepare dinner for the night.
Yeonjun was walking back to his apartment, eyes scanning you as you gave him a weak greeting.
“Heading out?” he asks in a low tone, hands in his pockets. You nod, growing nervous at his intense gaze. He’s eyeing you over now, and you don’t notice how he hyperfixates on a certain area of your chest.
“My husband wants me to cook pasta tonight, and I forgot some ingredients,” you lie through your teeth, always feeling an urge to mention Sehoon in Yeonjun’s presence. Like you had to remind yourself that you still have one.
“Can’t he pick them up for you?” he asks inquisitively. You let out a small laugh at the suggestion.
“Dinner should be done before a husband gets home from work,” you say, as if it were routine. It’s what your mom would tell you. It’s what Sehoon would tell you. So why did you feel so small when Yeonjun looked at you with such pity in his eyes?
“If I were him,” he steps forward, brushing a stray hair from your flushed face. “I wouldn’t let my pretty wife cook all by myself.”
Your breath hitches as he looks at you. What you would give to have him. What would you do to keep that same expression on your face at all times? It wasn’t fair, you thought to yourself, that you should be subjected to a life of dissatisfaction when the one who could cure it was so near.
“Are you free tomorrow?” he asks, the feeling of his hand still lingering by your ear.
“I always am,” you softly reply. And to that, he smiles.
You couldn’t look away, even as he walked away.
“I’ll see you soon then.”
–
You hear the doorbell ring. Today was your deep cleaning day. You already washed the dishes, watered all the plants, and got dinner started. It was also the day after yesterday, which meant Yeonjun was coming over.
You open the door a little too eagerly. It was a little pathetic, you admit to yourself, how much you wanted to see him.
His livestream after your conversation yesterday was intense, more so than usual. He propped his phone on his bathroom counter, stroking himself in the shower. You searched for his moans in your walls, imagining his hands on you like they were just hours prior. You ached to hear him, addicted to the way he sounded since the last time you watched him live and heard him through the walls.
Shaking your head to prevent yourself from getting carried away by your thoughts, you finally open the door.
It was him, red hair and all.
"Hey," your masked neighbor greets you with a bag in his hand. "I brought some cake. I finally got around to finishing everything in the welcome basket. They were all so delicious, thank you."
"You shouldn't have," you say politely, holding back your giddiness. "My husband’s at work right now, but I'll save some for him later."
He holds the bag up to you, and you take it from him cautiously, careful not to touch him. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your fingers quiver.
"Oh?" he looks past you at the empty apartment. "It's already dinner time, though?"
You smile sadly.
"He's not actually home that often," you say, trying to push down the bitterness in your voice. “He gets busy.”
You can't tell from his mask whether he feels sorry for you, but his eyes do seem rather intense.
"Shall we eat the cake together then?" he suggests. "I like sweet things."
Your heartbeat quickens. The only man who has ever set foot in your apartment was Sehoon and your father. It felt wrong to invite him in, but it felt even more wrong to say no to him. And so you take a step back as an invitation for this stranger (who isn't really a stranger) into your tidy space.
He's sitting next to you on the couch, a healthy distance away from you. He slices the cake evenly between you two, handing you the small plastic fork that came with the bakery.
"It's so rare for neighbors to greet each other these days," he commends you. "When you showed up at my door, I thought I was in a movie.”
“It’s just common courtesy,” you reply. “I’ve done it for everyone who’s moved into the complex.”
He chuckles.
“If I had known I'd be moving in next to someone so kind and beautiful, I would have signed my lease sooner."
You smile at his compliment, warmth seeping into your cheeks. You take a bite out of the cake. Strawberry shortcake. Your favorite. You notice that familiar gaze of his as it lingers on you. His foxy eyes scan you up and down slowly, and you'd never felt more exposed in your life despite being fully clothed.
"What a waste of a husband," he starts, leaning into you slowly, "to neglect you."
You freeze under his fiery gaze. His voice sounded different, unlike his playful teasing in the hallways. No, this was not Yeonjun. This was the camboy who moans out dirty words through unrelenting thrusts into his hand, biting back at viewers who command him to take it slow.
The fork falls from your mouth and onto your lap as he inches closer.
"You deserve a better man," he says closely in your ear. "Someone who doesn’t leave you lonely."
You hold a shaky hand against his chest, preventing him from getting closer.
“What do you mean?”
He’s grinning underneath the mask.
"[Y/N]," he draws your name out teasingly. "You're on a naughty part of Twitter, aren't you?"
You bring your hand down in an attempt to seem normal, but your nervous lip biting fails to make you look even remotely convincing.
"I have no idea what you're-"
"Don't worry," he interrupts, laying his arm around the couch behind you. "I'm not planning to dox you or anything."
He digs his phone out of his pocket with his other hand and shows you a sight you're already so familiar with: his Twitter profile.
"Look," he says, carelessly scrolling through his lewd content right in front of you like it was normal. "I know you know who I am. Like how I know who ‘housewifeblues' is.”
No, you tell yourself. This can’t be happening.
"Listen, Yeonjun," you start carefully. "I don't know what you're talking about or who you think I am, but I don't feel comfortable continuing this conversation with you."
You can sense a smirk behind that damn mask of his.
"You know you don't do a very good job of hiding who you are," he chides. “Not very quiet when you’re touching yourself either.”
Your eyes widen, and he lets out a muffled laugh.
"I didn't even have to see your beauty mark to know it was you, baby,” he continues lazily. “The way you looked when I mentioned your husband the first time I met you was enough for me to know. Reminded me about all the times you complained about him with those pretty pictures of yours."
His eyes fixated on your beauty mark and back up to your face, revelling in the way you nipped at your bottom lip anxiously.
"You don’t understand,” he whispers, his hand ghosting over your cheek. “How often I imagine it’s your hands on me when I go live.”
"Oh," you purse your lips, attempting to prevent noises of pleasure from coming out of your mouth.
"What's wrong?" he gazes into you. "Cat got your tongue?"
Yeonjun’s large hand hovers over your breasts, and you unknowingly arch your back toward him like it was instinct. When he sees nothing but lust clouding your vision, he takes a mound in his palm and massages you gently. You gasp at the feeling. It's been ages since you've been touched like this.
He kneads with both hands this time, intently watching your face for any signs of discomfort. But all he could see were your furrowed brows in pure ecstasy. He scoots closer to you, dragging his fingers across your abdomen as he lifts your shirt. Yeonjun's gaze darkens, your bare tits heavy in his hands. He massages, circling your nipples. They’re stiff from the cool air and his prodding fingers. Your head rolls back, moans coming out in meek bursts.
"I h-have a husband," you stutter out in between moans. It comes out like you’re reminding yourself more than to remind him. Yeonjun’s back rests on the couch, dragging you so that your spine is against his chest. He continues the push and pull of his eager hands on your breasts as you sit between his legs.
"According to you," he starts, burying his masked face into your cheek, directly whispering into your ear. "He's already cheating, isn't he? Is it fair that he gets to have all the fun?"
You rest your head back onto his shoulder as he continues to tease you, pulling at your erect nipples harshly and then soothing them with his soft thumbs.
It’s like he’s debating something in those furrowed brows of his, and when you roll your hips back into his, it feels like something snapped. Yeonjun pulls his mask down in one swift motion, and you almost moan out loud at the sight of his gorgeous face.
His features are simultaneously sharp and soft, his lips so full and so kissable. No wonder he kept his face hidden; he was too dangerous for the internet to see. Everyone would fall in love. He'd be swarmed on the streets. Wars would be waged over him.
"I wanna fuck you so bad," he says, his gaze following your parted mouth. His face hovers over yours, and you shut your eyes in anticipation. It's almost soft the way his lips meet yours, slowly molding you to follow his rhythm. He pushes his tongue into your mouth gently, prodding so deeply that your saliva mixes with his. He grinds up into you from behind, the tent of his pants meeting the curve of your ass at a perfect angle.
You kiss him back with an equal amount of fervor. You push yourself against him harder, eliciting a stifled moan from him.
Images of Sehoon flash in your mind, but are immediately erased as Yeonjun grounds your hips into his. He pulls down your pants hurriedly, his mouth never leaving yours. You spread yourself wide for him. You knew for the first time in your life what you wanted. He runs his finger through the wet spot of your lacy lilac underwear, latching his index finger to do small circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves just above your slit. His tongue clashing with yours as you attempt to stifle the low moans coming out of your throat.
He parts from your lips slowly, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you. He looks down to where he's touching you, a shit-eating grin on his gorgeous face. So that’s how he smiles, you think to yourself, lost in the feeling of his fingers on the soft material of your cloth-covered clit.
His pace is slow and methodical, leaving you conflicted on whether you should grind down on his twitching cock or buck your hips into his coaxing ministrations. It's not enough for you, but you'll take anything he can give.
"You're so wet already, baby," he croons. "Your underwear is soaked."
You whine when Yeonjun stops his movements suddenly, searching for friction by thrusting up into his still palm. You whine in relief when he pushes your panties to the side, running a teasing finger up and down your bare slit.
"Fuck," he looks over your shoulder and past your chest, to get a better look at the effect he has on you. He inserts his middle finger in, your folds practically engulfing him with a loud squelch. In and out, it disappears into you with fervor and stretches you out so deliciously. Everything about him was so long, you couldn’t imagine what his dick would feel like.
"You swallowed my finger so well, baby. Think you can fit another?"
You nod, breathing so heavy you can't find it in yourself to quell your anticipation.
"Yes," you practically plead. Yeonjun chuckles.
"Lift your hips up," he directs you, planting another open-mouthed kiss on your lips as you follow him mindlessly. "I'm gonna take these panties off you, okay?"
You nod again, your feet high in the air so your godforsaken underwear could finally be removed. He pumps his finger, now slow and controlled. When he feels you loosen up a bit, he inserts his index finger in too, with slightly more resistance from your tightness. You groan, from both pain and pleasure. His hands were so big. So veiny. The way he curled his fingers up to reach a spot you never knew you had in you. Fuck, you felt so full already.
You don't know how it happens or how you got there, but you're on your back as Yeonjun hovers over you, pistoning his fingers in and out at a faster pace. His palm is grinding down on your mound, hitting every right spot as his fingers scissor into you. His tongue finds yours again, battling for dominance to distract you from the dull ache of being stretched out. He inserts a third finger in, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You’re not sure your body could take it, but you would. For him. His fingers, so thick and relentless, buried deeper inside your aching folds.
"I feel weird," you say as a bubbling and fiery sensation starts at your toes. You’re a muttering mess. "Never... felt.. this… good…"
Yeonjun chuckles, purposefully removing his fingers inside of you slowly, preventing you from reaching that elusive high you didn’t know you were chasing. Your hips meet the sky, mourning the loss of his touch. He traces featherlight kisses down your body, his face now directly in front of your pretty cunt.
"Your husband's never made you feel like this, baby?" he says, giving a few teasing kisses on your inner thigh.
"N-no," you cry out loud. "H-he's never even gone down there."
He stops his lapping to look up at you.
"He's never eaten you out?" he scoffs. "What a fucking loser."
Yeonjun dips his head between your legs and drags his tongue along your wet folds in one long stroke. He laps at you like a dog, addicted to your nectar on his lips.
“Oh my god, Yeonjun-”
Your toes curl as he buries his tongue in you. He pumps it in and out of you as his hands grip your ass so tightly, you start to think you’d bruise from it. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. The fiery sensation building inside you returns almost immediately.
He peppers kisses on your mound, his mouth finding its new target. He sucked your clit hard, tongue circling your bundle of nerves until your stomach starts to tighten. Yeonjun lifts your hips up, pushing his face deeper into your folds. You clench around nothing, whining at both the pleasure and the loss of his tongue fucking into you. As if he read your mind, Yeonjun’s fingers find their way back to your folds. Teasing the entrance, you push yourself up into him, burying his digits deep in you as he continues his attack on your clit. Yeonjun licks and prods like a man starved of food, relishing in the messiness coating his chin and the addicting melody of your moans.
Your hips stutter as you feel the waves crash down on you.
"Ahhh," you whine. Your body writhed underneath him, fingers clawing the couch armrest above your head.
You plant your heels onto the couch with shaky legs, and you cry out again. You feel something, whatever it is, building inside you. Your moans come out in panicked bursts until you start to see white, your juices spraying all over Yeonjun's face. He groans at the feeling, still burying his face into you. He lets you ride out your high as you grind languidly onto his nose. It takes him years until he pulls away, chuckling at your fucked out face and splayed out hair.
"You squirt, baby?" he teases, getting back on his knees to tower over your lying figure on the couch. "To think you couldn't get more perfect."
You shake your head, chest heaving up and down.
"I didn’t know I could do that," you confess. Yeonjun laughs in response, a little distracted. He pulls his hair back away from his face, his forehead glistening against your warm living room light. You want to kiss those pouty lips of his again. Your eyes travel downwards, to his strained gray sweatpants. Though you couldn’t see it, you knew. He was bigger, much bigger in real life.
“He doesn’t know what to do with you,” he mutters to himself, his thumb finding your lips. “Can’t get you wet like I do, huh?”
You nod mindlessly, taking his thumb into your mouth as he pushes your tongue down with it.
“Probably fake your orgasms with him, hm?” His eye contact never broke away from your hooded lids. “Don’t ever need to pretend with me, baby. I can make you feel good.”
You barely notice it at first, but Yeonjun pulled his phone out. It’s quiet as he takes his thumb off of you to open the camera app. You stare silently as he props up his phone using the cake box he brought, sitting all neglected on the coffee table.
You say nothing, pursing your lips as you watch him put his face mask, soaked in your fluids, back on. He adjusts the camera. You look away in panic when he hits the red button to record a video.
“Don’t get my face,” you say hurriedly. You wonder why that’s the first thing you say. Not “stop”, not a refusal. Some part of you wanted this, craved it so badly your legs widened for him again. He chuckles, glad that you don’t seem displeased with him.
"Don't worry, baby," Yeonjun says as he strokes your hair affectionately. “I'll pixelize it."
He unzips his hoodie, the same one he wore the day you first met him, revealing his toned body underneath. He did not take it off, letting it hang from his body like an accessory. You couldn't take your eyes off Yeonjun and the way his chest gleamed with sweat.
"Fuck," he says breathlessly as he looks down at you, masked and still so hot. "I need to be inside you."
He pulls his pants down, and you bite your lip as a reflex. His cock was so pretty, standing tall as it slapped against his stomach. So big and so girthy, tip so vexingly red like in his videos. You've never taken anything his size ever.
"You want a taste?" he asks teasingly, slowly stroking himself up and down at the sight of you. You nod, but you don't know why. You hated giving blowjobs. The smell, the taste. You were even open about it on your account.
But here you are, climbing over Yeonjun as he lies down on the couch your husband always sleeps on when a soccer match is on. Your doe eyes were level with his pulsating length, mouth salivating in anticipation. Inhaling him, it was nothing like Sehoon's mustiness. He smelled clean, like fresh laundry.
"Need my help?" he teases. "Want to make me feel good?"
You nod. "Yes, please."
The voice you hear coming out of you doesn't feel like your own. Your eyes shift to the phone, shuttering at the lewd sight of you in between his naked thighs. What did Yeonjun turn you into?
His hand holds your head, wrapping your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He pushes your face down gently, closer to his cock. You take the hint and hold him in your hand, tightening your grip. You drag your tongue on the underside of his heaviness, and he lets out a hiss that makes you clench around nothing.
"Take it into your mouth," he commanded softly, propping you onto his shoulders to watch you more intently. "Use your tongue. No teeth. And stroke what you can't take, baby."
You listen to him without hesitation. Mouth enveloping his tip, you swirl your tongue around it. The further your head bobs down, the more confidence you gain as you hear Yeonjun curse under his breath. His hand gently guides you down deeper as you swallow around his throbbing length. You pump him up and down from his base, using your dripping saliva as lube. Yeonjun’s whines permeate the room, just like in his videos. Pride swells up in your chest to know that it was you who made him feel this good. He’s never had a video with anyone else. You were the first.
You want to make him feel even better, make him feel like how you did just minutes before. You take your hand off him and lower your mouth further down his length. You work your way up and down his cock to ease the stretch of him as he thrusts up into your mouth listlessly.
"So good," he says through muffled moans. "Fuck-"
Before you can bottom out, Yeonjun pulls you up haphazardly. Your mouth came off him with a small ‘pop’ that had you smiling slyly. His eyes are glazed over, dragging you up by your shoulders.
"Need to taste you again," he says through bated breaths, pushing you down where he was lying mere seconds ago. “Need this pussy all over my tongue.”
"Did I do good?" you ask, lips shimmering with his fluids, as he positions his face above your folds once more. He smiles up at you.
"Don’t ask dumb questions, baby," he says, lowering his mask down to plant a kiss right above your clit. “Was gonna cum all over that pretty face of yours from how good it fucking felt.”
Your thighs hide his face from view, hiding the brutal pace of his tongue on your wet cunt from the camera’s view. Yeonjun did not hold back, so different from earlier. His mouth was relentless on your clit, planting French kisses on it like his tongue was searching for something underneath. He grabs the plushness of your thighs, forcing you to wrap them around his face. Scared of suffocating him, you try to pull away, but Yeonjun keeps your legs locked in place with an unyielding grip.
Your eyes are blurry with tears from the sensitivity, eyes meeting the phone as you watch yourself get devoured so messily. You grasp at his red hair, pulling him away, but to no avail. You need him so bad it’s starting to hurt.
"Wanna cum with you inside me, please," you beg, already feeling that familiar coil in your stomach. "No more..."
He lifts his head up with a languid lick up your slit. Yeonjun licks his lips, his mouth and chin drenched in your fluids. He laughs as he looks up into your face, so eager and needy for him. Fuck, where were you all his life?
"You think you're ready, baby?" he asks, freeing himself from the cage of your supple legs that he willingly trapped himself in. He pulls his mask back on before crawling back up to you. His cock ghosts over the area below your belly button, guiding it down lower with his right hand.
“Think you can take all of me?”
He aligns his length atop your entrance, stroking it along your wet outer folds. He taps his angry, hot tip against your clit, and it’s enough to make you whine. Your tears threaten to spill over.
"Please," you cry out. "I want it so bad."
"Want what?" he teases.
"I can’t," you whine as you try to avoid his intense gaze. He laughs darkly.
“I need to hear you say it,” Yeonjun smirks. “How else am I supposed to know what you’re asking for?”
Your face contorts into a silent scream when you feel his rawness slowly sink into you. He holds it there, thrusting only the tip into you.
“I need you inside me,” you whine. “Please, I need you to fill me up with your cock and fuck me.”
Yeonjun smirks.
“That’s all you had to say.”
He digs out a condom from his hoodie's pocket. He rips the packet open with his mouth and hands it to you, chuckling at your confusion.
"Put it on me," he coaxes.
Your husband never ever used a condom, always assuming that you'd be okay with having unprotected sex and bearing his child. For the first time in your life, you wished a condom wasn't in the picture. You wanted to throw it to the other side of the room and beg him to fuck you raw and full. That you would be happy to carry his child and leave your husband for good.
But you push those twisted fantasies to the deep recesses of your mind and take the stretchy material in your hand anyway. He watches as you hesitantly run the condom down his pulsing length. You're slow and deliberate, like you’re waiting for him to change his mind and fuck you without it. All he does is smile, stroking your hair out of your face.
“Good girl.”
Yeonjun positions himself behind you in a sitting position, your legs draped over his thighs to give the camera a good view of your puffy folds. He lifts you up high as he grips the back of your knees from behind, rubbing his tip up and down your slit to pick more of your juices up.
“Look at you,” he whispers into your ear. “So fucking needy. Dripped all over my face, but all you wanted was this cock, huh?” You nod, mindlessly, whimpering in pathetic agreement.
Slowly, he impales you onto him.
You roll your head back onto his shoulder, biting down on his neck to distract yourself from the pain. Despite all the foreplay, you were still not used to his size. He was just too thick, still too large for you to take in. When you see his tip disappear into your folds, your tears start to fall down your face. It hurt, but you couldn’t have him pull away. You needed him right where he was. Inch by inch, you suction him in until-
"Shit," Yeonjun moans as the base of his cock hits your entrance. Fully engulfed in your folds, he steadies his breathing. You were so warm, so fucking irresistible in the way you clench around him in waves. He waits a few seconds until he starts to lift you up again. His hands are holding you from underneath your thighs, and with his support, you drop yourself back down on him. You cry out from the pressure you feel in your stomach. You can feel him against it, the small bulge visible underneath your belly button. He's hitting the deepest parts of you.
"Your pussy was made for me. So fucking tight.”
Yeonjun’s grip on you is tensing so suddenly. He bends you forward, so that your hands are on his knees as he pistons up into you. You can’t help but stare at the screen, moaning as you watch him push into you from behind.
"Oh my god," you cry out as he pulls your hips down against him. His length grinds against a spongy spot inside of you, and when he realizes he’s hit it from the way your mouth morphs into a silent O-shape, he smirks. What started as slow, cautious thrusts suddenly turned into a brutal and unforgiving pace of his monstrous cock within the deepest parts of your pussy. Yeonjun hit your G-spot again and again and again, his thrusts deep and unwavering.
"Look at how you’re letting me fuck you dumb," he groans out, grabbing your tits from behind as they bounce mercilessly in front of the camera. "So fucking wet for me."
You fall so forward that you're grabbing onto the coffee table now as Yeonjun stands up, while unrelenting in his thrusts into you. He kicks back the couch slightly, propping a leg up on it to have a better angle to fuck you. He pushes you down, having your back arched perfectly for the camera, as his thrusts quicken.
“Ngh— Ah— I can’t—”
You try to quiet your moans, afraid of who might hear. Afraid of who might come into the living room to see you getting railed so hard and so desperately by someone who isn't… Wait, who was he again?
"Taking me so well," Yeonjun grunts, pulling you away from your thoughts. "Like a fucking bitch in heat."
He slaps you hard on the ass, grabbing it right after, like you’d disappear if he didn’t. You squeal at the impact, shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you.
“P-please, Yeo-” He stuffs his fingers in your mouth, preventing you from saying his name. You forget what this was, you forget that he was recording.
“Shut the fuck up and take it like a good girl,” he snarls.
“Wha-”
Pushing you off him, Yeonjun throws you onto the couch. You let yourself be manhandled by him, reaching out for his shoulders desperately, wanting so desperately for his dick to find its way back inside you.
“You like when I’m mean, huh?” Yeonjun laughs as your mouth holds open at the absence of his fingers. “Like when I break you, hm?”
Inserting himself back in your wetness, Yeonjun holds you against the couch in a mating press. His eyes gaze intensely into yours.
"Let me hear you, baby," Yeonjun coaxes, his thrusts slow and shallow just to hear you whine. "Let them know who this pussy belongs to.”
You whimper, grinding up against him. You're desperate for him to be rough again, to put you in your place. To have your mind only clouded with thoughts of him and his cock only. God, he made a mess of you.
“Or am I not doing enough to hear you scream?” he pouts underneath his mask, clearly enjoying your desperation. “Maybe I should go harder…so I can hear you better."
He laughs, and you don't even have a chance to reply as Yeonjun pushes into you with a force so guttural that you feel his tip hit the entrance of your cervix.
Like he predicted, you screamed at the painful ecstasy of being filled to the absolute brim.
“Fuck–”
He continues his pace hard and fast, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your nails are clawing at his back, his head buried deep in your neck. His own moans rival yours.
“Yes, baby. Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this pussy for so long–”
You don't realize the cry you let out when he hits that inner spot again. He thrusts, grinding against it again and again and again until you start seeing stars.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” you breathe out. “I’m–”
“Louder, baby,” Yeonjun coaxes. “Need to hear you.”
Your mind breaks as the world comes undone around you. Your moans have devolved into ear-piercing whines, tears running down your face in pure ecstasy.
Your climax hits you in droves as he continues to fuck you through it. He did not stop.
"I'm sensitive," you cry out in between your unintelligible babbling. "Please..."
Yeonjun shushes you, bringing your head close to his chest. You're practically sobbing now, pleasure overriding every other emotion in your body. Even the one nagging you about what Sehoon would think of you right now. About what your parents would think of their precious daughter.
"It's okay," he whispers soothingly as he continues to slowly thrust into you. "You can do it again, right? Just give me one more, baby."
Your face is contorted into a million different expressions as he adjusts to pick up his pace. It never stopped feeling good, but it was too much for your body to handle. Were you ever supposed to feel this much pleasure in your lifetime?
"I'm so close," he whines, his masked face buried deep in your neck. The noises your bodies produce are sinful. Squelches and slapping of bare skin echo throughout the living room. Your tits bouncing against his chest, your nipples rubbing against his. You can feel his breath quicken, and you tighten the grip of your folds to push him towards it. You want to see it, want to see how he comes undone from someone other than himself.
Yeonjun’s thrusts become erratic, and his hold on your ass intensifies. You wanted to see it bruise the next day. He brings his left hand to your clit, and you yelp at the sudden intensity. His thumb circles you softly, so different from the brutal pace of his cock. The different sensations have you moaning into his neck.
“I can’t. It’s too much, it’s too much, it’s–”
“Shh,” Yeonjun pushes out through his own whines. “Need you to cum with me, need to feel it.”
You never knew you could want someone so bad, to be so lustful over another. The way his brows contort, so focused on bringing both of you to your peaks. You wish you could kiss him, but his mask brings out a different desire inside of you.
You might be the only viewer of his to have seen him without it. A wave of pride consumes you; the thought of other people watching him fills you with rage mixed with lust.
You feel the dam of your floodgates come undone once again as you clench around at the thought. Wouldn’t it be so nice to have him all to yourself? No husband to worry about, no viewers to get jealous over. Just him and you, fucking every damn moment of your lives.
Your tears of hot pleasure surge once again, and he groans at the sight of you so fucked out by him.
“So fucking perfect,” he groans.
Your tightness propels him to grind into you harshly, the couch scratching the floor with his movements. One final thrust has him cumming hard into the condom, fully bottomed out inside you.
“Fuck-” Yeonjun moans as he buries his hair in the crook of your neck.
You milk him of his climax, your body grinding into his to soothe his comedown. What you would do to rip the stupid condom off him and let his cum trickle out of you and down your thigh. You think you’d be willing to actually be a mother if it meant that Yeonjun could fuck you raw.
He sighs as he rides out both your highs with small, steady thrusts. Shaking from oversensitivity, you stop his movement to pull him in closer.
Yeonjun collapses on top of you, not noticing the phone lying flat on its back from the impact of his roughness. You sigh out contentedly, petting his fiery hair.
'So this is what real sex feels like,' you think to yourself.
You felt like you were drifting on a cloud, with a man so beautiful lying on your chest. He scans your face, and a sudden wave of anxiety washes over you. Before you could push him off, Yeonjun removes his mask to plant a soft kiss on your flushed lips.
“He’s lucky to have you,” Yeonjun says with a sad smile, stroking your cheek. “Don’t ever let him think it’s the other way around.”
-
"Sorry for staying so late," Yeonjun apologizes, his plate fully cleaned out. "Your cooking is amazing."
You smile. He wasn’t wearing his mask anymore, as it sits in your laundry hamper desperately waiting for a wash. You couldn’t get over how glaringly beautiful he is. What did he do in a past life to be blessed with such features?
“It’s not all me,” you say, standing up from the dining table. “I had a great assistant.”
Yeonjun smirks.
“Cutting vegetables is the easy part,” he chimed in. “The fact you can season stuff perfectly without measurements is insane, [Y/N]. If he doesn’t come home to eat your dinners, I will gladly take them off his hands.”
You stand up, take the dishes, and put them in the sink. The guilt crept into the back of your mind. What were you doing letting this man fuck you in your home and help you cook dinner with you after?
This was not right. This is not the person you wanted to become. You can’t let this happen again.
‘I am married,’ you tell yourself over and over again. What would people think if they knew?
"Look, [Y/N]," Yeonjun stands up, making his way behind you. He dangles his phone in front of your face. The thumbnail of a pixelized girl and a masked man fucking on a pristinely white couch, one eerily similar to the one in your living room.
He uploaded the video. Without telling you.
"Yeonjun-" you gasp, your eyes widened with shock.
"Before you say anything," he starts. "I promise your face isn’t visible. But people may or may not have already picked up that it’s you– or at least the online version of you.”
56,000 likes and 5.4k retweets. You start to feel dizzy. Too many people have seen your body react in ways you hadn't even known it could until today. Although your face was pixelated, everything else was you. The way your toes curled when he fucked you with his tongue. The way your mouth wrapped around his big, veiny cock so willingly. The way you bounced on his dick, legs wide open just for him.
You felt your body turn cold at the thought of your husband finding out, of seeing you so intimate with another man. Would he tell your parents? Would you have to waste the years you spent with him by having to pay him back?
"You're at 20k followers now," Yeonjun continues, not noticing the inner turmoil you were going through. "I uploaded the full video on OnlyFans and we really raked it in. I'll send you the money we earned next week. So far we've made this much already."
Your eyes widen. Your whole body freezes when he turns the screen over to you. The amount of 0s had you doing a double-take.
"Like just from one hour?"
Yeonjun nods.
“More than usual for me, too.”
You weren't allowed to have a job. Sehoon said it would make him look bad to have a wife who works. You could never put your hard-earned degree to use, could never get some extra money to spend on yourself. He gave you nothing to work with. The money that Yeonjun showed you will be the first time you've had any type of income on your own since you got married.
"You like that, huh?" Yeonjun says teasingly, wrapping a hand around your waist from behind. He nuzzles his neck into your shoulder. "I'm sure you'll be living a good life in no time with what we're earning."
“What do you mean?” you ask cautiously. You can feel his face nearing yours.
“You know what I mean,” he starts slowly.
He brings his other hand to wrap around your neck, applying a soft pressure.
"I can satisfy your cravings," Yeonjun whispers darkly. "Make you forget all about that piece of shit.”
His hands trap you against the counter.
“Should we make more videos together, baby?" He draws out his pet name for you, and it almost makes you want to pounce on him.
Without your consent, he uploaded a video of you two having sex for the whole internet to see.
You should say no. Every part of you is telling you to say no, but you don't want to.
You don’t think you could live without his cock inside of you at least one more time. His attentiveness, his care for you… You wanted it all. Was it so wrong to be selfish?
"It's not cheating," Yeonjun assures you, filling in your silence. "We'd just be business partners after all."
He licks the back of your ear, coaxing you to look at him. His eyes are wide with expectation, so out of character for his usually hooded gaze.
“I won’t push your boundaries again,” Yeonjun insists. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
How could you say no to him with his fluffy hair and seductive eyes? He had you the moment he stepped through those doors. Hesitantly, you nod.
"Okay," you say shyly under his gaze. "Let's do it."
Yeonjun smiles through the mask. In swift movements, he reaches around you and underneath you to stuff his hand in your pants.
"You look good in this apron," Yeonjun whispers, pushing his sweats down with urgency. "Let's film another one right now."
pairing: gamer!yeonjun x gamer!reader, non idol au
genre: slowburn romance, friends to lovers, gaming AU, light humor
summary: in which two competitive gamers don’t realize they’ve been falling for each other both online and in real life while constantly driving each other absolutely insane.
w/c: 12.1k
warnings!!!: they’re stupid and oblivious to each other’s feelings, lots of playful bickering, occasional petty arguments, minor misunderstandings, gaming rage moments.
a/n: this one took a while for literally no reason, but an author i love liked my last post so i had motivation to hurry this up
i completely restarted this fic halfway through so i made it more of a short one to keep my sanity, not my personal fav
The group chat was already blowing up by the time I got home from work. Beomgyu was spamming GIFs of a raccoon holding bread, which usually meant one of two things: either he’d found a new meme to obsess over, or he was trying to bait people into asking what we were doing tonight.
Beomgyu: ok so listen up losers
Beomgyu: my place. 7pm. snacks provided if you don’t mind me eating 70% of them
Beomgyu: also someone new is coming. don’t be weird.
I read that last part twice. Someone new. Which meant the usual line-up—Beomgyu, Taehyun, Soobin, maybe Hueningkai if he didn’t bail to play something online—was about to be thrown off balance.
I tossed my bag on the couch and replied:
Me: define “someone new”
Beomgyu: you’ll see 😏
That stupid smirking emoji was all I got.
By the time I got to Beomgyu’s place later, the front door was already open, a faint thrum of music and chatter drifting out. His apartment always smelled faintly like kettle corn, probably because he actually ate it for dinner more often than was socially acceptable.
I stepped inside and found him sprawled across the couch like he owned it—because, well, he did—feet propped on the coffee table, hair a little too perfect for someone who claimed to “just wake up like this.”
“You’re late,” he said, grinning like a cat who’d caught something.
“I’m literally on time.”
“Yeah, but everyone else is early, so in my mind, you’re late.”
I rolled my eyes and glanced toward the kitchen. Taehyun was there, looking like he’d been recruited into snack duty against his will, slicing fruit with unnecessary precision. Soobin was already flipping through Beomgyu’s game stack like he was curating a museum exhibit.
And then—there he was. The new guy.
Leaning casually against the counter, he had that kind of presence you notice before you even realize you’re noticing. Dark hair pushed back like he’d run his fingers through it too many times, the easy posture of someone who didn’t feel the need to fill silences. His smile came quick when Soobin said something, but the moment his gaze flicked over to me, it shifted—less warm, more assessing.
Beomgyu noticed the way I froze and pounced. “Oh, right. This is Yeonjun. He’s… new.”
“Wow, great intro,” Yeonjun said dryly, pushing off the counter to offer a lazy little wave. “Nice to meet you…?”
I gave him my name, and he repeated it slowly like he was trying it on for size. There was something faintly mocking about it—not enough to call him out on, but enough to make me narrow my eyes a fraction.
“You two are going to get along great,” Beomgyu announced, which was apparently the universe’s way of cursing me.
It started small—the sarcasm.
During charades, I mimed a bow and arrow, aiming directly at Taehyun, and Yeonjun guessed, “Mediocre aim?” with a straight face.
When we argued over which game to put on next, he leaned over the couch just enough to say, “Do you always pick the boring option, or is tonight special?”
And when I finally snapped back with, “Do you always talk this much, or is it just to hear yourself?” he actually laughed—like I’d just told him a good joke instead of an insult.
Worse, everyone else seemed charmed by him. Soobin kept chuckling at his comments, Beomgyu was egging him on, and even Taehyun smirked once or twice. It was like I was the only one immune—or maybe the only one allergic.
By the end of the night, I’d decided two things:
Yeonjun was the human equivalent of clicking the wrong button in a menu and ending up somewhere you didn’t want to be.
I could absolutely never be friends with him.
But even as I left, I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye—leaning in to tell Beomgyu something, grinning like he knew exactly what I’d been thinking all night.
Which, obviously, he didn’t.
…Right?
I wasn’t expecting to run into him again so soon.
It had only been a week since Beomgyu’s place—since I’d met Yeonjun and firmly placed him in the mental folder labeled People I Can Tolerate in Group Settings Only. That folder had a strict rule: no contact outside of group events.
But fate clearly had other plans.
It was Friday night, and Beomgyu had rallied a last-minute dinner at a small Korean place down the street. I’d shown up assuming it would be the usual crew, maybe a couple of extras. Instead, the moment I stepped inside, my eyes landed on him.
Yeonjun was already seated at the far end of the table, leaned back in his chair like he owned it, chatting with Soobin. He looked up just in time to catch my hesitation at the door, and the faintest smirk tugged at his mouth.
“Wow, twice in one week,” he said as I slid into the empty chair across from him. “Starting to think you’re following me.”
“Trust me,” I replied, reaching for the menu, “if I were following you, I’d be making worse life choices than I already am.”
Beomgyu choked on his water. Soobin just shook his head with a grin.
It should have ended there—quick jab, mutual eye-roll—but Yeonjun had that look. The one that said he was already gearing up for round two.
Over the course of dinner, he found ways to comment on everything—my food choices (“That’s the least exciting thing on the menu”), the way I held my chopsticks (“Functional, but boring”), even the fact that I ordered sparkling water instead of soda (“Pretentious and fancy, impressive combo”).
I matched him hit for hit, of course. It became a kind of unspoken challenge—how far could we push before the others told us to shut up?
Apparently, very far.
That night, after coming home and kicking off my shoes, I did what I always did to unwind: logged onto my PC.
The familiar glow of my dual monitors lit up the room. I checked my friends list—there it was, the little green dot next to yawnzzn.
Me: you on for ranked or are you gonna chicken out again?
yawnzzn: bold of you to assume i’d play with someone who throws every other match
Me: ONE bad game and suddenly i’m a liability??
yawnzzn: that’s not sudden. that’s statistical accuracy.
I laughed—actually laughed out loud. No one else could get away with that kind of trash talk.
We queued into a match, settling into the rhythm we’d built over months. He’d cover angles without needing to be asked, toss out callouts in that laid-back tone that somehow still made me listen. I’d back him up without hesitation, even when the smarter play was to bail.
It wasn’t just skill—it was trust.
Between rounds, we drifted into the usual venting.
“So there’s this guy,” I started, fingers flying over the buy menu.
There was a pause before he asked, “So why not just ignore him?”
I snorted. “Because he’s in my friend group now. Can’t exactly pretend he doesn’t exist.”
“Huh,” he said, drawing the word out. “I’ve got someone like that too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Always has a comeback for everything. I swear, they live to argue with me.”
“Sounds like a nightmare.”
Another pause. “Or maybe the highlight of my week. Hard to tell.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just focused on the next round.
By the time we logged off, it was past midnight. I sat there for a moment, headset still warm against my ears, thinking about how strange it was—how easy it was to talk to yawnzzn online, how exhausting it was to talk to Yeonjun in person.
Two completely different people.
And I was perfectly fine keeping it that way.
If there was one thing I’d learned in the past month, it was this: Yeonjun turned everything into a competition.
It didn’t matter if it was a video game, a board game, or seeing who could drink their bubble tea fastest—he needed to win. And if he didn’t, he needed an excuse.
Which is how I ended up watching him sulk in a café because Beomgyu had beaten him to the corner booth.
The group had decided to meet up after work for “coffee and vibes,” which translated to an excuse for Beomgyu to get caffeine at 8 p.m. and for the rest of us to people-watch from the window seats.
I got there just in time to see Yeonjun stand in the middle of the café, eyeing the booth like it was a finish line, only for Beomgyu to slide into it with a smug grin.
“Unfair advantage,” Yeonjun muttered as I walked past.
“What, being faster?” I said, settling into the seat opposite Beomgyu.
“Being willing to commit to an undignified sprint,” he shot back, dropping into the chair beside me. “I could’ve won if I wanted to look ridiculous.”
“You already do,” I said, and Beomgyu nearly spat out his drink.
From there, the afternoon devolved into our usual brand of chaos. Soobin tried to teach Hueningkai how to fold paper cranes, which resulted in a mangled origami zoo. Beomgyu argued with the barista about whether oat milk was “a scam” while sipping his oat milk latte.
Yeonjun, naturally, challenged me to a latte art contest.
“You don’t even work here,” I pointed out as he grabbed the milk frother.
“Details,” he said, already pouring.
Five minutes later, we were presenting our drinks to Soobin for judgment. Mine looked vaguely like a heart. His… might’ve been a cat? Or a cloud?
“Mine’s obviously better,” he declared before Soobin could even speak.
“It’s objectively not.”
“Subjectivity is what makes art beautiful.”
I groaned. “You’ll argue about anything, won’t you?”
He grinned like I’d given him a compliment.
That night, after a full day of coffee-fueled banter, I logged on to find yawnzzn already in voice chat.
yawnzzn: was about to play solo. you saved me from that misery.
Me: you’re welcome. now invite me before i change my mind.
We queued up, falling into the easy pattern we always did. He sent me a ridiculous meme mid-match—a picture of a cat in a hoodie with the caption “ready to commit crimes.” I countered with a late-night playlist link I’d been curating for weeks.
yawnzzn: why is this playlist actually good?? i was ready to roast you.
Me: because i have taste. unlike you.
yawnzzn: says the person who picked that cursed weapon skin last week.
The banter was familiar, comfortable in a way my in-person arguments with Yeonjun never were. Online, the back-and-forth felt like a shared joke. In person, it felt like a tug-of-war neither of us was willing to drop.
By the time we wrapped up our matches, it was close to 2 a.m., and I was smiling at my screen like an idiot.
If I’d been paying closer attention, maybe I would’ve noticed the overlap—the way Yeonjun always had to win at everything, the way yawnzzn teased me in that same confident, cocky rhythm.
But I didn’t.
Not yet.
Beomgyu had texted the group chat at 10 a.m. with the kind of enthusiasm normally reserved for holidays and free pizza.
Beomgyu: GAME NIGHT AT MINE. mandatory attendance.
Beomgyu: losers bring snacks.
Soobin: define “losers”
Beomgyu: you’ll know when you are one.
I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the “mandatory” part, but the promise of snacks—and the knowledge that Beomgyu’s version of “mandatory” usually involved dramatic follow-up texts until you caved—was enough to get me there.
By the time I arrived, his apartment looked like someone had raided a board game café. Stacks of games were piled on the coffee table, card decks splayed out like crime scene evidence.
Yeonjun was there, of course, sprawled on the floor like he owned the place, sorting through a box of trivia cards.
“Finally,” he said without looking up. “We can start now that the competition has arrived.”
I raised a brow. “You’re assuming I’m competition?”
“Bold, isn’t it?” he said with a grin.
Beomgyu, acting as self-appointed referee, announced that we’d be playing in teams. Naturally, he paired me and Yeonjun on opposite sides.
Round one: Pictionary. He drew something that vaguely resembled a dinosaur, and his team guessed it instantly. When it was my turn, I went for “airplane,” but Yeonjun kept shouting “banana” just to throw my team off.
Round two: trivia. He nailed a question about obscure 80s music just to gloat. I scored on a question about geography, and he loudly insisted it was “a fluke.”
Round three: Jenga. The air was tense enough to cut with a butter knife.
He went for a risky middle block, wiggling it free with all the care of a bomb defusal. I took the next turn and deliberately picked a block near the top—unstable, but doable. He immediately accused me of “cowardly” play.
“It’s called strategy,” I shot back.
“It’s called boring,” he countered, leaning forward so we were practically nose-to-nose over the Jenga tower.
The game inevitably ended with Beomgyu bumping the table “accidentally” and sending the blocks crashing. Yeonjun declared victory anyway.
Hours later, after the chaos wound down, I went home with the lingering adrenaline of competition still buzzing in my veins.
Logging onto my PC felt almost like muscle memory at that point.
Me: you on?
yawnzzn: always. queue?
We jumped into a ranked match, but it went south fast—one bad push, two unlucky picks, and suddenly we were staring at the defeat screen.
Me: ugh. i’m trash tonight
yawnzzn: nah. your team’s trash. you’re fine.
Me: i was the team.
yawnzzn: exactly why i’m saying it wasn’t your fault.
It wasn’t like him to be so direct. Usually he’d tease me out of a bad mood with sarcastic jokes or ridiculous memes. But this time, the words hit different—like he was, in some weird way, protective.
Me: wow. soft side unlocked.
yawnzzn: don’t tell anyone. i have a reputation to uphold.
I grinned at my monitor, suddenly less annoyed about losing.
If I’d been paying attention, I might’ve noticed that the rush I got from bickering with Yeonjun and the warmth I felt talking to yawnzzn weren’t so different after all.
But, again—I wasn’t.
The thing about Yeonjun was that he never shut up.
The man could turn ordering lunch into a verbal sparring match if given the opportunity.
Which is why it threw me completely when, for once, he didn’t make it about himself.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and Beomgyu had roped me into helping him return some camera equipment he’d borrowed for “a project” (read: an overly ambitious vlog idea he’d abandoned halfway through). We’d met at the rental shop downtown, only to discover that Beomgyu had “accidentally” double-booked himself and had to leave early.
“Yeonjun’s nearby,” he said casually, shoving the box into my arms. “He can help you carry this back to the car.”
I blinked. “Why would I—”
But Beomgyu was already gone, sprinting across the street like the devil was chasing him.
A minute later, Yeonjun appeared, hands in his pockets, expression somewhere between amused and reluctant.
“Guess I’m your backup muscle,” he said.
“You don’t exactly scream ‘muscle,’” I replied, shifting the box.
“Wow. You wound me. Here, give me that before you drop it on your foot.”
I hesitated, but he just reached out and took the box from me like it weighed nothing. We walked in silence for a block, which was so uncharacteristic of him I almost checked if he was sick.
Halfway to the car, the strap of my tote bag slipped off my shoulder, and before I could hitch it back up, he’d already caught it and slid it into place.
“You’re going to give yourself a back spasm carrying stuff like that,” he said, almost absently, like it wasn’t worth making a joke out of.
“Thanks… I guess.”
“No problem.”
And that was it. No sarcastic follow-up. No sly smirk. Just—help.
That night, I logged on as usual. yawnzzn was already in the lobby.
Me: let’s just play casual tonight. my brain’s fried.
yawnzzn: long day?
Me: yeah. errands, heavy stuff. shoulders hurt now lol.
yawnzzn: you’re gonna wreck your back if you don’t start letting people help you carry stuff.
I froze for a second, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
It was… uncanny. Almost word-for-word what Yeonjun had said earlier.
Me: what are you, my chiropractor?
yawnzzn: just saying. you should let someone take care of you once in a while.
It left a strange warmth in my chest, the kind that lingered long after we’d logged off.
I told myself it was just a coincidence.
And I believed that.
Mostly.
The first time it happened, I didn’t think much of it.
Yeonjun was halfway through telling a story at Beomgyu’s apartment—something about a failed attempt to assemble a flat-pack shelf—when he wrapped it up with, “Anyway, moral of the story? Never trust anything with more than five screws. That’s how they get you.”
The words barely registered until they did.
Because a week ago, yawnzzn had said exactly that while we were loading into a match.
I could picture it perfectly: me complaining about IKEA furniture mid-queue, him laughing and going, “Never trust anything with more than five screws. That’s how they get you.” Same cadence. Same slight pause before “that’s how they get you.”
For a second, I stared at him like maybe the pixels on my monitor had somehow leaked into real life. But then Beomgyu started laughing, and Yeonjun was grinning at his own story, and I told myself it was nothing. People recycled lines all the time.
Still… weird.
That night, I logged on expecting the usual trash talk.
Me: you ditched me last night
yawnzzn: couldn’t help it. had a group hangout thing.
Me: …what kind of group hangout
yawnzzn: you know. food. people. questionable decisions.
The timing made my fingers pause on the keys.
Because last night was the same night Beomgyu had mentioned Yeonjun couldn’t make it to the usual café run.
Because he’d been “busy.”
I almost typed something—what city do you live in?, maybe, or how many people were there?—but it felt weird to pry. So I let it go.
For now.
The second coincidence happened a few days later, during another group meet-up.
We were at a little bowling alley that smelled faintly of fried food and childhood birthdays. I was up against Yeonjun in the current round, which meant neither of us was taking it seriously—he was trying to distract me by making faces from behind the ball return, and I was deliberately aiming for the bumpers to watch him cringe.
Between turns, Soobin asked something about his week. Yeonjun launched into a mini-rant about a player in one of his games who’d run straight into enemy fire without listening to his callouts.
“Some people,” he said, “should come with a warning label. Like, ‘Cannot be trusted with decision-making.’”
And my stomach did that weird flip again, because just two nights ago, yawnzzn had said the exact same thing about one of our random teammates.
Later that night, we queued up together online, and I couldn’t help myself.
Me: so how often do you hang out with your group?
yawnzzn: depends. sometimes a couple times a week. sometimes not for a while.
Me: do they know you game this much?
yawnzzn: nah. don’t think they’d care tho.
It was vague. Too vague.
But I wasn’t ready to connect the dots.
Not yet.
If there was a thread tying these moments together, it was still loose, still easy to ignore. But it was there, wrapping tighter with every little overlap.
And I had no idea how tangled it was about to get.
It started the second I sat down.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Beomgyu said, leaning back in his chair like he was the host of some daytime talk show.
“She was only five minutes late,” Soobin pointed out.
“Five minutes too long,” Yeonjun added, already smirking. “I was about to send a search party.”
I rolled my eyes and set my drink down, refusing to give them the satisfaction. “Sorry to interrupt your Very Important Discussion About… what even is this?”
“Pizza toppings,” Taehyun said. “Which, apparently, is a war zone.”
“It’s not a war zone,” Beomgyu protested, “it’s just that Yeonjun’s taste buds are wrong.”
Yeonjun gasped, hand to his chest. “You take that back right now.”
By the time I’d even opened my menu, they were all laughing, and I was already regretting coming. Not because I didn’t like them—far from it—but because once the group teasing started, it was like trying to swim upstream in a river made entirely of sarcasm.
The real trouble started when the conversation shifted from toppings to relationships.
“Honestly,” Soobin said, “you two bicker like you’ve been married for ten years.”
I froze. “Who’s ‘you two’?”
“You and Yeonjun,” Beomgyu said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Yeonjun didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t drag me into this.”
“You literally started it!” I said.
“See?” Taehyun grinned. “Married couple energy.”
And that was it—fifteen solid minutes of mock wedding vows, bad nicknames, and Soobin pretending to officiate our “ceremony” using a breadstick as a microphone.
I wanted to be annoyed. I really did. But Yeonjun kept laughing at everything they said, and I hated how easy it was to laugh with him.
Later that night, I queued up with yawnzzn.
Me: you’re late
yawnzzn: only five minutes
Me: five minutes too long
The pause before his reply was almost suspicious.
yawnzzn: wow. already starting with the married couple banter?
I just stared at the screen for a second, because the overlap was so blatant it was almost funny.
Almost.
Me: what is WITH you tonight
yawnzzn: just saying. we fight, we play, we win. sounds pretty domestic to me.
And the thing was… he said it with the exact same rhythm Yeonjun had used earlier at the restaurant.
I didn’t connect the dots. Not out loud. Not even to myself.
But the thread pulled tighter.
And I couldn’t help wondering how many more “coincidences” it would take before it snapped.
The night air was cool enough that my breath clouded slightly in the streetlights. Beomgyu had offered to call me a rideshare, but I’d waved him off. It wasn’t late, and Yeonjun was already walking in my direction.
We fell into step without talking, the sounds of the city filling the gap—traffic, muffled music from a bar across the street, the quiet rhythm of our footsteps.
“Your friends are insane,” I said finally.
He smirked without looking at me. “Takes one to know one.”
I shot him a glare, but it only made his grin widen. It was easier to roll my eyes than to give him the satisfaction of a comeback.
We stopped at a crossing, the red light painting everything in a strange glow.
“You did well tonight,” he said suddenly.
I blinked. “At… what? Surviving a table full of chaos?”
He tilted his head. “Holding your ground.”
It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but there was something in his voice—something almost familiar—that made me pause. I couldn’t place it, but it had the same teasing undertone I’d heard so many times before. Just… somewhere else.
When the light changed, we kept walking, and he slipped his hands into his pockets.
“You know,” he added casually, “you get that same face in game. When you’re about to prove someone wrong.”
I slowed my steps before I could stop myself. “In… game?”
He glanced over like it was nothing. “Board games, card games… whatever.” He shrugged, but there was the tiniest flicker in his eyes before he looked ahead again, like he’d caught himself mid-sentence.
The thing was—he’d said in game exactly the way yawnzzn always did. Same tone. Same timing.
And even though I told myself it was a coincidence, I couldn’t shake the way it sounded lodged in my brain.
When I got home, I logged on without thinking.
Me: you on?
yawnzzn: you survived dinner with the chaos crew then?
I stared at the message. The phrasing wasn’t exact, but it was close enough to make my stomach tighten.
Me: how do you know about that?
yawnzzn: you told me yesterday, remember? you said “pray for me”
I racked my brain. Maybe I had. Maybe I hadn’t. It was easy to lose track of conversations with him—they blurred into each other like threads in the same knot.
Me: right. forgot.
yawnzzn: you were fine though. i could tell.
I didn’t reply for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Because “I could tell” was something Yeonjun had said to me just twenty minutes ago, standing under a red light in the middle of an empty street.
It started the way most bad ideas do—quietly. Not with some grand decision, not with an “I’m going to figure this out” moment, but with a restless itch I couldn’t stop scratching.
By morning, the itch had taken shape: I needed to know.
I told myself it was harmless. Just… curiosity. If I noticed patterns between Yeonjun and yawnzzn, well, that didn’t mean anything. People could have similar humour, similar habits. Coincidences existed.
But coincidences didn’t make your stomach flip when someone used the exact same inflection for the exact same word.
The plan, if you could even call it that, was simple. I wasn’t going to interrogate him. I’d just… tilt conversations in a certain direction and see what slipped through.
Subtle. Low effort. Completely deniable.
And if it felt a little like setting bait, well, nobody needed to know that part.
That afternoon, I found myself sitting across from Yeonjun in the corner of a coffee shop, both of us killing time before Beomgyu was free. He was halfway through telling a story about a mutual friend’s disastrous haircut when I saw an opening.
“So,” I said, trying to sound casual, “you ever play games online?”
He didn’t even look up from his drink. “Sure.”
“What kind?” I asked, keeping my tone light, like it was idle conversation.
“Whatever’s fun. Party games, shooters, co-op stuff…” His eyes flicked to mine. “Why?”
“No reason. Just curious.” I leaned back in my chair, sipping slowly.
He went back to his story, but I was barely listening. The way he’d said whatever’s fun was almost identical to something yawnzzn had typed to me just last week.
Relax, I told myself. It’s two words. You’re reaching.
Later, when we were walking toward the bus stop, I tested something smaller.
“So if you win, what’s your victory dance?”
Yeonjun shot me a look like I’d grown an extra head. “My what?”
“You know. Your little routine. Everyone’s got one. Even the quiet players.”
He smirked faintly. “Guess you’ll have to see it to believe it.”
I laughed like it was a joke, but my mind caught on the phrasing—nearly word-for-word what yawnzzn had said when I’d once accused him of being smug in victory.
Back home, I logged on.
Me: do you have a victory dance?
yawnzzn: guess you’ll have to see it to believe it ;)
My fingers stilled on the keyboard.
It wasn’t proof. It wasn’t even suspicious unless you were looking for it. But I was looking.
And now I couldn’t stop.
I told myself it was just a normal day.
Nothing strategic. No plans. No schemes.
If I so happened to notice certain overlaps between Yeonjun and yawnzzn, that was purely coincidental. And if my brain filed them away in neat little mental folders, well—that was just how brains worked. Totally natural. Definitely not suspicious.
We were supposed to meet at the corner store because Yeonjun wanted “movie snacks” even though we hadn’t actually decided on a movie yet. I spotted him loitering outside, hood pulled up and hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was trying to look inconspicuous but failing spectacularly.
“You look like you’re about to ask me if I want to buy a stolen watch,” I said as I walked up.
He smirked. “Only if you’re interested.”
The automatic door whooshed open, letting out that faint cold air smell of cheap air conditioning and too many bags of crisps.
We wandered the aisles, talking about everything and nothing. He had Opinions about popcorn flavours (“Caramel is a betrayal to real popcorn”), and I pretended to defend sweet popcorn just to watch him get riled up.
Every so often, I’d throw out something yawnzzn had said in voice chat—changing the context slightly so it sounded like a random thought—and watch his reaction.
Most of the time, he didn’t flinch. Once, though, I mentioned a very particular phrase—something about “chaos being an art form”—and he laughed in exactly the same timing yawnzzn had.
It was… interesting.
Not proof. But interesting.
When we left the store, the sky had that flat, grey look like it couldn’t decide if it was going to rain or not. We walked without much urgency, our bags bumping against our legs.
“You know,” Yeonjun said suddenly, “if this movie’s bad, it’s your fault.”
“Why mine?” I asked.
“Because you picked it.”
“I didn’t!”
“Well,” he said, grinning sideways at me, “you look like you did.”
Back at my place, we didn’t end up watching the movie straight away. We sprawled on the floor with snacks between us, talking in that lazy, meandering way where the conversation kept looping back to old topics and splintering into new ones.
At some point, he teased me about being terrible at first-person shooters.
“That’s slander,” I said, tossing a pretzel at him.
“It’s not slander if it’s true.”
The part of my brain that was meant to be off-duty wondered how he would know that.
We finally put the movie on, but by then I was more interested in his commentary than the plot. He had that rare ability to make a throwaway observation sound like the funniest thing you’d ever hear.
And maybe—just maybe—the same rhythm in his delivery as someone else I’d spent far too many late nights laughing with.
But like I said… just a normal day.
Almost nothing.
By the time Saturday rolled around, I’d talked myself in and out of ten different theories.
Every coincidence I’d noticed—phrases, habits, timing—felt huge when I replayed them in my head. But the second I said them out loud, even just to myself, they sounded ridiculous.
So I decided not to think about it.
Which, of course, meant I thought about it the entire walk to the station.
Yeonjun turned up fashionably late, as if his life depended on annoying me. He jogged over from across the street, hair flopping, hoodie half-zipped.
“You’re late,” I said, arms folded.
“You’re early,” he shot back, still catching his breath. Then, with a sly grin: “Guess that means you were excited to see me.”
I gave him a flat look. “Excited to reconsider my life choices, maybe.”
“Admit it,” he said, falling into step beside me, “I’m the highlight of your week.”
I snorted. “You’re the highlight of my patience.”
We drifted through the streets without a plan, Yeonjun insisting we “just see where the universe takes us.” Which meant stopping every three minutes because something caught his attention—a music shop, a puppy in the window of a pet store, the smell of fresh bread wafting out of a bakery.
“You can’t keep getting distracted like this,” I said as he doubled back again. “You have the attention span of a—”
“—genius?”
“—goldfish.”
“Goldfish are underrated,” he said seriously, like he’d been waiting his whole life to defend them. “They live longer than people think. They’re survivors.”
I stared at him. “You’re actually insane.”
We ended up at a bubble tea place, tucked between two neon-lit clothing shops. Yeonjun insisted on ordering for both of us, ignoring every protest I made.
When he slid the cup across the table to me, I frowned. “What is this?”
“Limited edition flavour. Trust me.”
“That’s what you said about the chips.”
“And you loved them.”
“I tolerated them.”
He leaned forward, smug. “You finished them.”
The conversation wandered easily, like it always did—jumping from gossip to dumb hypotheticals to Yeonjun mocking the way I bent my straw. He had this way of making every tiny thing sound like the most important joke in the world.
Still, my brain wouldn’t shut up. Every little comment sparked the same quiet thought: Does he remind me of someone? Or am I just reaching?
So I tried something small, something harmless.
“Do you ever play games?” I asked, keeping my tone as casual as possible.
Yeonjun raised a brow. “Games?”
“Like… online stuff.” I shrugged, pretending I wasn’t watching his face too closely. “I dunno. You just seem like you’d be competitive.”
He smirked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I can already picture you raging at strangers.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Not true. I’m very calm.”
I gave him a pointed look.
“…Okay, maybe not calm,” he admitted. “But fun. You’d want me on your team.”
It was a perfectly normal answer. No flicker of recognition, no weird pause. Just Yeonjun being Yeonjun.
And yet, a corner of me filed it away anyway.
By the time we left, the sky was deep navy, streetlights buzzing overhead. We walked side by side through the crowd, Yeonjun humming something under his breath. It was half-tune, half nonsense—like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.
I couldn’t place it, but it tugged at something familiar.
Not proof.
Not even close.
Just one more thing to tuck into the growing, tangled list in the back of my mind.
If there was one thing I should’ve learned by now, it was that hanging out with TXT as a group always ended in chaos.
They never did anything halfway. If someone suggested a game, it wasn’t just a game. It became a full production, complete with rules that made no sense, forfeits no one wanted, and an audience of four other boys ready to mock you into oblivion.
So when Beomgyu shouted, “Truth or dare!” in the middle of our supposedly normal movie night, I should have known the evening was doomed.
The movie was abandoned within minutes, popcorn bowls shoved aside. We were all squished around Soobin’s ridiculously large living room rug — cushions scattered, blankets everywhere, the half-empty soda bottles already threatening to topple over.
Beomgyu was practically vibrating with excitement as he shuffled a deck of cards. “We’re gonna mix it up. No boring spin-the-bottle version. Cards decide your fate.”
“That sounds fake,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“It’s innovation,” he corrected with mock solemnity. “Pick a card, any card. Red means truth, black means dare. Simple. Elegant. Foolproof.”
“Idiotic,” Taehyun muttered, but he didn’t move to stop him.
Yeonjun was lounging to my right, one knee bent, one arm slung over the back of the couch like he owned the place. He caught my eye and smirked, as if silently agreeing with me that this was about to get ridiculous.
And he was right. It got ridiculous fast.
Soobin drew first and was immediately dared to rap the chorus of a song in a baby voice. (Which, horrifyingly, he did with zero hesitation.) Taehyun was forced to text the third person in his contacts “I believe in you.” Beomgyu got stuck with a truth and had to admit which person he’d let cut his hair (he refused to answer, which earned him a chorus of boos).
By the time the deck circled to me, my stomach already hurt from laughing. I reached forward, pulled a card, flipped it — red.
“Truth,” Beomgyu declared. “Let’s see… oh! If you had to date one person in this room, who would it be?”
The whole room erupted in noise — groans, whistles, fake gasps.
I choked. “Excuse me?!”
“That’s not even creative,” Taehyun deadpanned.
Beomgyu ignored him. “Answer. The people demand answers.”
I shot him a glare, trying to play it off, though my pulse jumped stupidly in my throat. “I’d date literally anyone who wasn’t you.”
The room howled. Beomgyu clutched his chest like I’d stabbed him. “Cold-blooded betrayal!”
“Truth fulfilled,” I said, tossing the card back into the pile like that ended it.
Except Yeonjun was still smirking beside me. His eyes lingered just a second too long, amusement dancing there like he knew something I didn’t.
It made me want to hit him. Or maybe just look back too long. Which was worse.
The game spiraled on until it was his turn. Yeonjun pulled a card, flipped it, black.
“Dare,” Beomgyu crowed, already scheming. His gaze darted between me and Yeonjun and then lit up with evil satisfaction. “Perfect. You have to—”
“Whatever it is, no,” Yeonjun cut in immediately.
“No backing out!” Beomgyu wagged the card at him. “The dare is… hold hands with her for one full round.”
The room went loud again. Groans, whistles, Kai cackling.
I nearly choked. “That’s so middle school.”
“Then it should be easy,” Beomgyu shot back, clearly delighted.
Yeonjun gave him a look sharp enough to kill. But he didn’t refuse.
Instead, he turned to me, one eyebrow raised like, Well? You in or not?
And before I could overthink it, his hand slipped into mine.
It was supposed to be stupid. Just a dare. Just a joke.
But the second his fingers brushed against mine, everything inside me stuttered. His hand was warm, solid, his palm fitting against mine too naturally. He didn’t grip tight, just enough so it counted — his thumb resting lightly near the edge of my knuckles.
It should have been nothing. It wasn’t nothing.
The game went on — questions, dares, shouting — but I couldn’t focus. Not when every nerve in my arm felt wired straight to where his hand touched mine.
And then I made the mistake of glancing up at him.
Yeonjun was already looking at me. Not smirking this time. Just watching, eyes a little darker than usual, like he’d noticed the silence between us stretched longer than it should.
I looked away too fast. My laugh came out awkward, too high.
Dangerous. That’s what it felt like. Not holding hands, not the dare — the way the air seemed to hum like we’d crossed some invisible line we weren’t supposed to.
When the round finally ended, he let go like nothing happened. Easy, casual. Like he didn’t notice my pulse had been sprinting the entire time.
But when Beomgyu groaned “boring,” I swore Yeonjun’s lips twitched — just enough to look like a secret only he knew.
That night, when I logged on, “yawnzzn” was already waiting in the lobby.
yawnzzn: took u long enough
you: sorry. got stuck playing stupid games irl
yawnzzn: truth or dare?? lol
I froze at the keyboard.
you: …how did you know that
yawnzzn: everyone plays that when they’re bored. it’s universal.
you: fair.
There was a pause. Then:
yawnzzn: bet someone dared u to kiss a guy huh
you: ?? why would you guess that
yawnzzn: idk. sounds like something ur friends would do.
you: well no. it was dumber than that.
yawnzzn: oh. so u did touch someone.
I blinked. That… sounded almost pointed.
you: …jealous much?
yawnzzn: LMAO shut up. i just don’t want u getting distracted when we’re mid match.
Smooth cover. Too smooth.
But the way my chest tightened at the thought — no, that was dangerous too.
Beomgyu was insufferable when he was bored.
That was something you’d learned within about three minutes of knowing him, but the truth was, his brand of chaos was… contagious. The problem, of course, was that you were usually the victim.
“Do you ever,” Beomgyu drawled dramatically from his place sprawled upside-down across the couch, legs dangling over the back, hair brushing the floor, “do anything other than game?”
You were sitting on the rug across from him, nursing a can of soda you’d opened mostly as a distraction.
“I don’t game that much,” you muttered, already on the defensive.
Beomgyu perked up instantly, like you’d thrown him bait on purpose. “Don’t game that much?” he echoed in a scandalized gasp, sitting up just to emphasize his point. “You were literally on last night until two in the morning.”
You stiffened. “How do you even know that?”
“Because Yeonjun told me,” he said smugly, pointing at the man in question without even turning to look.
Yeonjun, across the room, was fiddling with something on his phone. He didn’t even glance up, though his jaw shifted ever so slightly like he might’ve been suppressing a reaction.
“He’s lying,” you said quickly, narrowing your eyes at Beomgyu.
But Beomgyu only grinned wider, flopping back onto the couch. “Sure, sure. Totally lying. It’s not like you and your mysterious internet boyfriend keep everyone awake with your screaming matches.”
You choked. “Internet—he’s not—”
“Sure, sure.” Beomgyu’s tone was sing-song, cruelly delighted. “So what’s his name again? Yanzy? Yawn-yawn? Whatever. Romantic.”
Your face burned so hot you were convinced the soda in your hand might start to steam.
“First of all, he’s just a friend,” you snapped, “and second of all, you can’t even get his username right, so—”
“Mmhm,” Beomgyu hummed, satisfied with your fluster. He looked smug, lounging like he’d just accomplished some great act of service for mankind. “Just saying, you ditch us a lot for him. Don’t think we don’t notice.”
It was supposed to be lighthearted, you knew that. But Beomgyu had a way of needling right where it stung.
You tried to laugh it off, waving a hand dismissively, but you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Yeonjun — still by the wall, still pretending to scroll his phone — had gone unusually quiet. Normally, he’d be all over this conversation, quick with the teasing, ready to make fun of you until you threatened his life. But now? Nothing.
It made something in your chest shift uncomfortably.
That night, headset snug over your ears, you logged on.
The second the familiar lobby music filled your headphones, your mood lifted. “You’re late,” yawnzzn’s voice cut through, as sharp and casual as always.
“You’re always late,” you shot back, smiling despite yourself.
“Yeah, but when I’m late, it’s personality. When you’re late, it’s negligence.”
You groaned loudly. “I should block you.”
“Bold of you to assume you could survive one night without me.” His tone was flippant, teasing — the same as always — and yet, you couldn’t help but notice the way it lingered in your head, softer around the edges.
The match loaded. You settled into the rhythm easily, your laughter filling the room as his snark ricocheted off yours. Everything was normal until —
“So,” yawnzzn said idly, after a lull in the chaos of battle, “do your friends tease you a lot?”
The question threw you. It wasn’t the words themselves — he often asked things in the middle of matches, always random, always out of nowhere — but the way he said it. Like he already knew the answer. Like it mattered.
You blinked, adjusting your headset. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—” A pause. Gunfire on his end. A low laugh when he scored a hit. “Like, in real life. Your friends. Do they always mess with you about… stuff?”
You hesitated. The memory of Beomgyu’s taunts from earlier flashed in your mind.
“…Sometimes,” you admitted carefully. “Why?”
“No reason.” His tone was too breezy, too practiced, like he was deliberately covering something up. “Just curious.”
You frowned at your screen, even though he couldn’t see you. “…That’s a weird thing to ask.”
“Everything I say is weird.” He tried to laugh it off. But you caught it — the faintest shift in his voice, lower, tighter. Something not said.
And for the rest of the match, the banter never quite fell back into its usual rhythm.
The night had started like any other. Your screen glowed in the dim room, headset snug, voice low as you called plays back and forth with yawnzzn. The rhythm was easy, familiar. Like muscle memory by now.
He moved when you moved, covered when you pushed, slipped into your gaps like he was built to be there. And that voice—steady, measured, never rushed—pulled you in deeper every round.
“Left side’s weak,” you murmured, leaning closer to the monitor.
“On it,” he said smoothly. Always so calm, like he was never really worried.
The buzz of your phone against your desk cut in suddenly, shoving you out of the flow. Beomgyu’s name lit the screen. You groaned, tugging one earcup off.
“Hold,” you told yawnzzn, thumb already swiping to answer.
“Don’t take too long,” he teased, that slight lilt in his tone curling around you like it always did.
You tried not to react, bringing the phone to your ear. “What, Beomgyu?”
“No greeting? No ‘hello, bestie, how are you?’” he fired back immediately, loud as ever. “I was literally just calling to ask if you ate the last of the—”
His words cut off. A door creaked open in the background of his call.
And then—
“Cover mid,” another voice said.
At the exact same time, the exact same words came through your headset.
Your stomach dropped.
Yeonjun’s voice.
Through your phone, muffled behind Beomgyu.
Through your headset, clear and close as yawnzzn.
Identical. Perfectly overlapped.
Your pulse thudded so loud you barely noticed the slip until it was too late. You muttered, almost to yourself, “No way.”
And again, you heard it twice.
Out of your own mouth into the mic.
And echoing faintly through Beomgyu’s phone.
Both Yeonjun and Beomgyu had to have heard it.
The silence that followed was crushing. Your mouse went slack in your hand. Your own voice looped back in your head, overlapping just like his had. Your secret—that fragile wall between gaming nights and real life—had just cracked wide open.
On the other end of the call, Beomgyu’s confusion broke through. “...hello? Why’d you both just get quiet?”
Neither you nor yawnzzn said a word.
Beomgyu laughed nervously, the sound thin. “Okay, what is this? Why are both of you suddenly silent? That’s—” He paused, and you could practically hear the wheels turning. Then his tone shifted, realization dawning sharp in his voice. “...wait.”
The single word was heavier than anything else.
You sat frozen in your chair, headset still pressed against your ear, phone still clutched tight, your heart caught somewhere between denial and the truth you couldn’t unhear.
The next few days were… weird.
You couldn’t tell if it was the weather or just the lingering heaviness of the last call, but everything seemed sharper, smaller somehow. Even your apartment felt crowded with the echo of a voice that had once been just a voice.
You hadn’t logged on that evening. Not after the phone incident, not after hearing his voice exactly overlap with yawnzzn’s. You didn’t want to see him, not really, not knowing if he felt the same weird shock, the same fluttering panic that had made your chest feel like it was on fire.
It wasn’t just avoidance. It was survival. You couldn’t deal with him hovering in your thoughts and in your headset.
Text messages went unanswered. Calls went ignored. Even Beomgyu — the instigator himself — had backed off slightly, probably realizing that some walls shouldn’t be crossed lightly.
Or so you thought.
When you finally saw Yeonjun, it was in passing. The group had gone to grab coffee at the usual place, TXT and a few mutual friends scattered in laughter and banter, and there he was, standing by the counter with a cup in his hands, pretending to scroll on his phone.
You almost turned on your heel. Almost.
But something stopped you — the way he froze for a microsecond when he spotted you, the sharp inhale you could almost feel across the table. You looked away immediately, pretending to check something in your bag, heart pounding.
He didn’t approach. You didn’t approach. Not yet.
The tension was ridiculous. But TXT had already noticed.
“Wow,” Beomgyu said loudly, nudging Taehyun, his grin impossible to ignore. “You two are practically ignoring each other. It’s like watching a rom-com unfold, and I didn’t even pay for the ticket.”
“Yeah, seriously,” Taehyun added, smirking as he leaned back. “Do you need me to grab a notebook and diagram your avoidance patterns?”
You buried your face in your hands, mortified. Even Soobin’s eyebrows were raised in amusement, and Hueningkai was snickering into his drink.
Yeonjun, on the other side of the table, looked like he’d been caught mid-breath. He was careful, deliberate, not looking directly at you, but you could feel the weight of his eyes anyway. Every so often, your peripheral vision caught him glancing in your direction, then quickly darting away.
It was maddening.
For the first day, you told yourself it was fine. Just a few awkward glances, a little embarrassment, nothing more. But every time TXT made some offhand joke — and they always made offhand jokes — your stomach dropped.
“Do you two need a mediator?” Beomgyu asked one morning over breakfast. You choked on your cereal. He laughed. “Come on, it’s fine. We’re just checking if you’re gonna murder each other before breakfast. You know, for stats.”
You wanted to disappear under the table. Yeonjun’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, his lips pressed in a thin line. He didn’t laugh, didn’t defend himself. But the tension radiating from him was almost louder than Beomgyu’s teasing.
That night, your apartment felt smaller than usual. You logged on eventually — slowly, hesitantly, fingers hovering over the keys. You didn’t want to game, not really, but your routine was hard to shake.
“Yawnzzn?” you typed almost automatically, then froze.
The cursor blinked back at you. Empty. Silent.
You closed the chat without hitting enter.
And that was the rhythm of the next few days:
Avoiding his eyes when in the same room.
Ignoring chat notifications from him, even though part of you wanted to answer.
Watching TXT smirk knowingly whenever you were all together.
It wasn’t just him. You weren’t sure what was worse — the idea that he was probably thinking the same thing, or the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about him at all.
The mental gymnastics alone exhausted you. You caught yourself imagining his voice overlapping with yawnzzn’s every time your phone buzzed or a message pinged. You would close your eyes and see his expression, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile that had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with how tangled your thoughts had become.
Meanwhile, TXT — of course — refused to let it go. Every message, every comment, every joke was a subtle jab at the elephant in the room.
“Careful when you two are in the same room,” Beomgyu teased one evening. “Wouldn’t want anyone to faint from the tension.”
You flushed violently, your chair scraping against the floor as you muttered something incoherent.
Yeonjun, seated across from you, didn’t meet your gaze. But the faint flicker in his eyes betrayed the same conflicted mess you were feeling — embarrassment, curiosity, regret, and maybe something else that neither of you were ready to name yet.
By the end of the week, it was clear. You and Yeonjun were navigating a delicate dance. Avoiding, skirting, tiptoeing around the obvious, while the group watched like an audience that already knew the script.
And in that charged silence, in the small moments of shared spaces and fleeting glances, you realized just how deeply tangled your lives had become — online and offline — even without saying a word.
The cursor blinked at you on the login screen, mocking you with its steady, rhythmic pulse. You hesitated, hand hovering over the mouse. It had been days since the call, and yet here you were, back at your desk, logging in. You weren’t sure if it was curiosity, stubbornness, or just the comforting routine of the game, but the truth was simple: you wanted to play.
“Yawnzzn?” you typed cautiously, fingers trembling slightly.
Seconds stretched into minutes. The little green dot didn’t appear next to his name. Not yet.
Then: Connected.
Your chest tightened as his icon blinked online. He didn’t say anything at first — just the familiar presence through your headset, the hum of the system and the soft static of his microphone.
You took a deep breath and joined the match.
The game began, just like before. Quick trades, rotations, covering each other’s blind spots. But it was different now. The rhythm that had once been easy and effortless felt layered with something heavier, more deliberate. Every command he gave carried a subtle edge, every callout felt sharper than usual. You realized with a start that even your own responses were tighter, more careful.
“Left flank’s clear,” you said, voice steadier than you felt.
“Moving up,” he replied. There was a brief pause, almost imperceptible, but it lingered — just long enough for your pulse to spike.
You caught yourself glancing at the screen, half-expecting to see his avatar frozen in some exaggerated motion. You knew he couldn’t see you. He had to be focused on the game. And yet… you kept catching yourself imagining the curve of his lips, the tilt of his head.
He didn’t look at you, and you didn’t look at him, but the tension stretched taut between you like an invisible string.
Beomgyu’s occasional pings in the chat broke the rhythm. “Teamwork’s looking good, but somebody’s holding back, huh?” he typed, clearly aware of the underlying vibe.
You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sudden heat rising to your face. It wasn’t just Beomgyu’s teasing — it was the way yawnzzn responded. He didn’t answer the joke. Not outright. But the slight shift in tone, the faint pause before he moved in-game, felt… pointed. As if he was aware, and careful, and maybe testing the waters.
The match went on, but you noticed everything. Every small delay in his calls. Every subtle inflection in his voice. Every time you missed a shot, you felt the weight of his attention, the unspoken judgment or perhaps something softer — something almost protective.
When you finally landed in a quiet moment in-game, you muttered something under your breath.
“Guess I’m lucky you’ve got my back,” you said, almost joking, but your own voice sounded foreign to you.
A pause. Then, through your headset: “Of course. Wouldn’t let you get stuck.”
Your heart skipped a beat, just a small one, but enough. Because it wasn’t just the words — it was the familiarity, the care, the rhythm that hadn’t existed before. And though you knew he couldn’t see it, you pictured him tilting his head, brow furrowed, voice soft but steady.
Minutes stretched, the game pressing on, but each move between you was heavier now. Your teamwork hadn’t faltered, but the subtle awareness — the almost-weight of each glance, each tone, each pause — hung in the air like static electricity.
By the end of the match, victory came as usual. But the thrill of the win was muted, replaced by something else: the awareness that everything had changed. You could feel it in your chest, the lingering tension that neither of you would name yet.
After logging off, you leaned back in your chair, eyes on the ceiling. The game had ended, but the unspoken words, the stolen glances, the weight of what had shifted in the days since the reveal — it all pressed down, thick and almost suffocating.
The group's teasing had been relentless, but now it felt like the smallest part of the tension. The real pressure was in knowing he was there, in your life, both in-game and in the silence between you, and that everything you’d carefully managed had been thrown off balance by one impossible, undeniable truth.
And somehow, even in the quiet aftermath, you knew it was only the beginning.
It should have been a simple weekend plan: a team challenge at a local escape room, just a bit of fun, a little friendly competition. At least, that was how Beomgyu had pitched it. But the moment you walked inside, the air felt different—thicker, heavier, charged.
You weren’t imagining it. Yeonjun was here, in the same space, and everything from the past week—the call, the teasing, the heavy silence—had condensed into this single, awkward moment.
“Team A, come on,” Beomgyu said with a grin, motioning you and Yeonjun forward.
The words hit like a punch. Your eyes flicked toward him, just for a brief second. His gaze met yours and then shifted away quickly, a flicker of that familiar smirk barely noticeable before disappearing. He didn’t say anything, not aloud. But there was a tension radiating off him that made your stomach twist.
The other players scattered to their own corners, leaving you two to tackle the challenge together. The room was small, with clues tucked into corners, locks that required two hands, and puzzles that couldn’t be solved alone.
You ended up standing uncomfortably close. Not by choice—there simply wasn’t room to avoid it.
“Right,” Beomgyu called from the doorway. “One hour. Don’t screw it up.”
The world shrank immediately to the space between you and Yeonjun.
The first puzzle was straightforward enough, a simple code sequence. But solving it meant leaning over the same notepad, your shoulders brushing. It was subtle, but enough to make your pulse spike. He didn’t flinch. In fact, he leaned just slightly closer, enough that the accidental contact lingered too long.
“This is ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath.
“Agreed,” he said softly, casual, like he hadn’t just felt the spark of contact either.
Next came a puzzle with a series of locks requiring synchronized actions. Hands grazed repeatedly, fingers lingering over the same button, and every time it happened, your heart stuttered. You caught yourself glancing at him, and somehow, he was already watching you. Not in a predatory way — something else: curious, deliberate, aware.
“You missed the last symbol,” he said quietly, just a statement, not a criticism, but your stomach sank at the tone.
“I… thought I had it,” you muttered, shifting to avoid another brush.
He leaned in slightly, close enough that the space between you felt charged. “You’re fine. We’ve got this,” he said. Just three simple words, but they carried weight. Care, attention, unspoken acknowledgment of everything between you: the overlap, the teasing, the online games.
As the puzzles grew harder, more intricate, you slipped into your familiar in-game rhythm—reacting instinctively to each other’s moves, anticipating each other, covering each other without thinking. And yet, every motion, every glance, every brush of fingers carried weight, made your chest tight with awareness.
The final puzzle required standing on either side of a large box, pressing buttons simultaneously. Your hands hovered over the controls, brushing once again. You froze. For a split second, nothing existed except the two of you, the warmth of proximity, the faint electricity in the air.
Instinctively, you pulled your hand back. “We… we need to focus,” you muttered, embarrassed.
“Right,” he said, calm, steady, but there was a subtle undertone, something unspoken that neither of you would name yet. The tension remained, palpable and unbroken.
By the time the timer ran out and Beomgyu returned, triumphant, the puzzles were solved. You and Yeonjun had worked seamlessly, perfectly in sync, yet the charged energy between you hadn’t dissipated.
As you left the escape room, walking side by side only because the keys had ended up in your hands, you felt it: the quiet awareness of each other’s presence, heavier than before, electric, and impossibly complicated.
This was just the beginning.
It was late, later than you usually stayed up, but something about tonight pulled you toward the glow of your monitor. You’d logged on almost automatically, the familiar hum of the headset and the click of keys grounding you in routine.
And there he was: yawnzzn, online, waiting.
You hesitated, fingers hovering over the chat. A week had passed since the Gyu Call Incident, and though you’d seen him in person since, every interaction had been carefully neutral, deliberately casual. But now, alone in your room, the unspoken tension came rushing back.
He moved with that same effortless synchronicity you’d come to rely on. Even across the screen, there was a rhythm between you two that felt alive, instinctive. Covering, backing up, calling out positions—small gestures that had once been just functional now carried a weight you couldn’t ignore.
“Careful with that angle,” he murmured, voice low and calm, but something under it vibrated differently tonight.
You swallowed, fingers tightening around the mouse. “Yeah… thanks.”
There was a pause. A beat long enough that your heart thumped loudly. You glanced at the side of your screen, half-expecting him to break into one of his usual teasing comments—but he didn’t. He was waiting. Watching, maybe, in his own way.
“You know,” he began slowly, almost hesitant, “I’ve always… liked how you figure things out. Even when it’s messy.”
Your stomach twisted. Liked how I figure things out? That could have been about the game, could have been innocent. But the tone, the pause, the softness behind the words… it made the simple compliment feel charged, impossible to ignore.
“Uh… thanks,” you replied, voice small, awkward. “I… I like playing with you too.”
Another beat of silence. Longer this time. He didn’t say anything, but the faint sound of his breathing, calm yet deliberate, filled the headset. You imagined him leaning back slightly, shoulders relaxed but tense, the way he always did when he was focused but letting a small piece of himself show.
The next round of the game started, but it wasn’t the same. Every call, every reaction, every coordination between you was laced with awareness. You were hyper-conscious of his presence—not just the voice through the headset, but the person behind it.
At one point, you misstepped, taking a route that left you exposed. He immediately adjusted, blocking, guiding, covering. “Hey, stay with me,” he said quietly. Not as a command, not as a joke, but as something softer, something tethered to the small confessions neither of you had spoken aloud.
Your chest tightened. “I… I am,” you whispered, almost to yourself, but enough for him to hear.
And somehow, even though he didn’t respond with words, you could feel him leaning in closer in the rhythm of his play. Every movement, every pause, every subtle direction carried unspoken acknowledgment.
For a moment, you considered saying it—the thing you hadn’t dared to name—but the words caught in your throat. There was a warmth in the silence, in the shared space, that made you both ache and hesitate.
The match ended. You sat back, fingers slack on the keyboard, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the monitor. The room felt too quiet, too small, filled with the weight of all the words that hadn’t been said.
And then, faintly, almost in unison, both of you muttered:
“Good game.”
Simple. Casual. But the way it hung between you was electric, heavy, and full of things neither of you were ready to face.
You logged off a few minutes later, but the lingering tension didn’t fade. You could still feel him, still hear the soft undertone of everything unspoken, and you knew with a certainty that made your chest tighten: this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
It started small. A trivial thing, something neither of you would have noticed in the past: a misplaced note, a delayed reply, a tone that seemed sharper than necessary. But after the tension of the past weeks—the Gyu Call Incident, the escape room, the late-night gaming—the tiniest spark ignited a wildfire. You were meeting up with the group again, everyone gathered for another casual hangout. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the easy rhythm of friends who knew each other well. And there he was, leaning against the counter, casually sipping his drink, completely unaware—or pretending to be—that the quiet storm brewing between the two of you had been building. Beomgyu, as usual, didn’t help. “Wow, you guys are still giving each other the silent treatment? I thought this was old news.” He grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. You felt your jaw clench. “Not everything’s funny,” you muttered, voice low but sharp enough to carry across the table. Yeonjun’s gaze flicked toward you, and in that fraction of a second, the world narrowed. His expression was unreadable, controlled, but there was a tension in the set of his shoulders, the slight twitch of his hand, the way he swallowed. “I wasn’t laughing,” he said quietly, tone clipped, edge sharp. “I don’t know why you’re making it worse.” “Well maybe if you didn’t make everything about games or your stupid jokes, it wouldn’t be so bad!” You shot back, louder than intended, heat rising to your cheeks. And there it was. The fuse had been lit. The conversation spiraled, small irritations piling up into a tower of frustration neither of you could contain. Every word, every gesture was loaded, a subtle jab wrapped in anger, a sharp glance tucked into your body language. You realized, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t playful banter anymore. “You’re impossible!” you finally shouted, throwing your hands up. “Do you even notice anything that’s going on besides yourself?” For a heartbeat, the room went still. Even Beomgyu paused mid-grin, sensing the shift. Yeonjun’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I notice more than you think,” he shot back, voice low and firm, but there was a tremor beneath it that betrayed his restraint. You both stopped, chests heaving, glaring, and for a moment it felt like time had slowed. This wasn’t about a game, or a joke, or even the silly teasing—it was the culmination of every touch, every glance, every half-word, every online rhythm that had woven itself between you both without being named. Taehyun, who had been quietly observing, finally stepped in. He came around the table, placing a hand firmly on your shoulder. “Stop it. Both of you,” he said, voice surprisingly authoritative. “You’re being idiots. And I don’t mean in the fun way.” His words hung heavy. You felt your anger ebb slightly, replaced by embarrassment and exhaustion. Yeonjun, too, ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes briefly, letting out a sharp exhale. “Seriously,” Taehyun continued, addressing both of you, “you’re acting like this over… what? Nothing. You’re friends. Stop pretending otherwise. You both need a break from each other, or you’re going to make this impossible.” For the first time that night, you both went silent. The heat of the argument lingered, but the intensity shifted into something heavier, unspoken. As the group carried on with lighter conversation around you, the tension remained, tucked into the corners of the room. Every glance toward Yeonjun made your stomach twist; you could feel him doing the same, neither of you ready to cross the line again, but unable to ignore the pull between you. Walking home later, your steps were uneven, thoughts chaotic. You replayed every word, every inflection, every subtle moment since the reveal. And somewhere deep down, beneath the frustration and embarrassment, you realized something undeniable: this fight hadn’t been about anger alone. It had been about everything neither of you were ready to say out loud.
Epilogue
The night was impossibly quiet, the city around you muted as though holding its breath. You hadn’t expected anyone to come over — not tonight, not after everything. But when your doorbell rang, your heart skipped, and you realized almost immediately who it had to be.
Yeonjun. Standing there, silhouetted by the porch light, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was a hesitation in his stance that made your chest tighten, a subtle shift in his usual confident posture.
“Can I… come in?” His voice was softer than usual, hesitant in a way that made the space between you feel heavier.
You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in. The apartment smelled faintly of the tea you’d left simmering, of the blankets tossed over the couch, but somehow it all faded beneath the tension filling the space. You could feel him, even before seeing him fully, the energy between you humming like an electric current.
He leaned against the doorframe, posture loose but controlled, a silent storm coiled under the surface. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet only broken by the faint hum of the city seeping through the windows and the subtle creak of the floorboards as he shifted his weight.
Finally, he moved, taking a careful step closer, eyes never leaving yours. “I… need to tell you something,” he said, voice low and unsteady, as if forcing himself to speak the words he’d carried for weeks.
Your pulse stuttered. “Yeah?”
“I’ve… liked you,” he said, words tumbling out in an odd mix of rush and pause, “both online and in person. Even before… everything.”
Your stomach lurched. “You… what?”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated at how hard it was to get the words out. “I’ve liked you for a while. I didn’t know how to say it, didn’t know how to handle it. I—”
You laughed softly, the sound nervous and a little breathless, the tension between you cracking just enough to let a sliver of relief in. “You’re ridiculous. You’ve been dropping hints in every stupid way imaginable.”
He exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and exasperation. “I know. I’m… I’m terrible at this,” he admitted, and the words were raw enough to make your heart ache.
You stepped closer, drawn by the magnetic pull that had been building for weeks, months, longer than either of you had admitted. “I… I like you too,” you whispered. “And not just online.”
His eyes widened for a heartbeat, a flicker of disbelief and hope crossing his features, before he closed the space between you. His hand brushed yours, tentative at first, then firmer, fingers intertwining. You felt the weight of everything—the teasing, the tension, the stolen moments online, the accidental touches, the almost-confessions—press into the warmth of that one connection.
And then he leaned in, lips brushing yours softly, hesitantly, testing. You responded instinctively, the years of banter, rivalry, and quiet connection pouring into the kiss. It was messy, imperfect, desperate in the way that truth often is, but it was real.
A pause, breathless and electric, before he whispered against your lips, “Finally.”
You chuckled, breathless, pressing your forehead to his. “Yeah. Finally.”
For a few moments, the world fell away. The quiet city, the distant hum of traffic, the anticipation, all of it vanished into the soft weight of each other’s presence. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips, grounding you, anchoring the storm of emotions swirling inside.
And then, as if the universe had been waiting for the right moment, the door burst open.
“SO YOU FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT!” Beomgyu’s voice rang through the apartment, followed by laughter and the unmistakable smell of pizza.
Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering, cheeks burning. Yeonjun groaned, face in his hands, muttering something about “never ending.”
You laughed, breathless, leaning against him, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you close. “Guess we’re not alone,” he murmured.
“Nope,” you replied, letting the warmth of him settle in, the city outside, the chaos of friends behind you, and the messy, perfect reality of the moment wrap around both of you.
Even as the group continued their chaotic celebration around the apartment, the moment between the two of you lingered, quiet and grounding, a soft promise that this was finally real.
And as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, whispering, “We’re finally… us,” you realized, with a warmth that spread from your chest to your fingertips, that everything that had led to this—the teasing, the games, the long weeks of unspoken feelings—had been worth it.
It was messy. It was complicated. It was perfect.
And somehow, everything felt like it was only just beginning.
☪Submission for the Hot Like Hell from @lapydiaries, prompt chosen: "The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies; it comes from those you trust the most."
☪Pairing: Boyfriend! Choi Yeonjun x Girlfriend! Reader (f)
☪Genre: angst, smut, dark
☪Au: non idol, supernatural, inspired by Ghost Girl by Txt Yeonjun trailer, semi inspired by the six sense
☪Trope: established relationship, toxic relationship, on again off again
☪Word Count: 4,981
☪Warnings: pot smoking, cannabis references (munchies, shotgunning) toxic relationship, physical abuse, cheating, betrayal, murder, dying, outer body experience, stabbing with an object, decaying smell
☪Kinks: penetrative sex with no protection, tit sucking, cunninglingus, fingering (both holes), public sex, mentions of blow jobs, mentions of thigh fucking, mutual masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism
☪Summary: you love yeonjun. You hate yeonjun. You’re bored of yeonjun. You want what’s best for him. There’s truly no end to what you’ll endure to be with him… he says he wants to live and die with you… but do you?
☪Betas: @anyamaris
☪Author's Note: this was a bit of an exploratory piece, please be cautious of the warnings and if it has known triggers of yours, perhaps avoid. this is in no way a romanization of toxic relationships that lead down the wrong path. this is simply me diving into the minds of two fucked up individuals and exploring their dynamic! thanks go to anya & @pars-ley for letting me blab about this and help me with the idea!
☪Divider thanks to @cursed-carmine
The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies; it comes from those you trust the most.
You stare up at Yeonjun in horror, hand clasped against your face where you were bleeding.
Yeonjun looks absolutely devastated, his eyebrows furrowing as he reaches out a hand to you; the same ringed hand that he had hit you with.
You shrink away from his touch immediately. “Don’t touch me.”
Yeonjun lets his hand fall down to his side. “Why would you say something like that to me?”
You shuffle backwards, determined to put some space between you two. “Because it’s true, Yeonjun.”
“It’s not true. You love me. I love you. We’re supposed to be together forever,” Yeonjun insists.
☪☪☪A few hours later~
You lay listlessly as Yeonjun rocks into you. He’s moaning like a cat in heat but you’re bored. He didn’t even bother to offer for you guys to move to the bed. He just started pushing up your shirt and sucking on your tits and murmuring about being horny again. The joint he had been smoking is still in his lips, having gone out without him sucking down on the wet paper.
“Come on, why do you want him back, he cheated on you?” You mutter under your breath at the late night/early morning confession show.
Yeonjun grabs your chin and turns your head back towards you. “Come on, Babe, don’t watch tv while I’m fucking you.”
“I’m bored, Yeonjun,” You groan, pushing at his shoulder.
Yeonjun runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “What do you mean, you’re bored? I’m inside of you!”
“Barely,” You scoff.
As you speak, Yeonjun pops out of you clumsily and he curses. “Barely?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you kidding me?”
“Look at you!” You raise your voice. You use your forefinger and thumb to flick at his cockhead.
Yeonjun flinches at the insult and pain. “H-he-hey!” He stutters.
With a loud noise of annoyance, you huff and get off the couch, looking for your shorts. “Ridiculous. I’m leaving.”
“Wait a fucking minute!” Yeonjun protests,stumbling off the couch, his pants and underwear at mid-thigh hindering his movement.
“No,” You snap.
Where the fuck had you put your keys? Your phone? The moment gives Yeonjun his chance to grab your wrist and yank you hard to his chest.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Yeonjun snarls.
You meet his gaze with a dead stare. “Are you going to stop me?”
“Yes,” Yeonjun says resolutely. He captures his tongue between his lips and eyes skimming over your hip bone that your shorts are not covering.
You turn your head away. “We should break up.”
“No, Babe, not today,” Yeonjun dismisses your suggestion.
He begins to nuzzle your shoulder. “I’ll do better. You won’t be bored, I promise.”
The heel of your hand hits his shoulder, causing his body to tilt backwards. “Why do I always have to tell you I’m bored before you do better. Seriously, Yeonjun, let’s break up. I’m tired of this.”
Yeonjun shakes his head and starts to slowly kiss up your neck. “Not today. Maybe tomorrow.”
One of his hands finds the drawstring of your shorts and starts to pull at the ties. Once your shorts are gaping enough for him, he sucks on his middle and ring finger and then finds your fluttering hole. You keen at him pushing into you, nipples pebbling immediately.
Yeonjun grins triumphantly, watching as his hand moves under your shorts. “There’s a good girl, does that feel good, stuffed by my fingers?”
You push at his shoulders again, albeit weaker than the first time. “You didn’t even play with my clit!”
Yeonjun drops to his haunches, tugging your shorts down. They fall to your feet with gravity’s help. His tongue is immediately pressed to your clit, fingers working diligently inside of you. Your hands tangle in his hair.
“Wanna squirt on my face today? Bet I can get you to do it,” Yeonjun challenges.
The way the pads of his fingers are tapping that spot inside of you lets you know he’s dead serious. “No, I don’t want to squirt--YEONJUN--!” You feel your boyfriend’s other free hand touch your asshole.
“I’ll make you feel good everywhere, pretty,” Yeonjun mumbles into your cunt.
Yeonjun’s tongue flicks over your clit just right and then you come undone, squeezing all the fingers in all of your holes. You cry out, panting and leaning forward.
Yeonjun stands up, a smirk on his lips. “Come to bed. I’ll fuck you to sleep.”
He offers you his hand and you slap it.
“No. I’m leaving, Yeonjun.”
The smirk slowly dies and the ember of anger burns in his pupils. “Will you stop that?”
“I fucked Soobin last night.”
Yeonjun looks completely bewildered. He wipes his face with his hand tiredly. “Listen, can we not do this tonight, please? I just made you come. I care. Let’s just go to bed. I won’t fuck you like a lazy asshole, I’ll make sure you come before me. How about that?”
“Didn’t you hear me?” You raise your voice, starting to shout.
“You say this shit all the time to provoke me. It’s not working tonight,” Yeonjun shook his head.
You stand your ground. “I fucked Soobin in the bathroom at the club. I rode him until he came inside me. I didn’t even use a condom. It was so fucking exhilarating. You didn’t even realize it, did you? Yeonjun! We’re breaking up.”
Yeonjun points a finger at you. “Shut the hell up. You’re lying.”
Yeonjun moves towards the bedroom but you walk in front of him, holding your arms out. “It’s true. His dick is really long and kinda pretty. It’s not like yours at all. It felt so good to have something different inside of me.”
You hear it before you feel it. The large crack echoes through your ears. You’re surprised when you’re on the ground. Of course you wanted to provoke him but you never expected Yeonjun to hit you. He was a lazy lay sometimes, and had a temper, but he would never…
The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies; it comes from those you trust the most.
You stare up at Yeonjun in horror, hand clasped against your face where you are bleeding.
Yeonjun looks absolutely devastated, his eyebrows furrowing as he reaches out a hand to you; the same ringed hand that he had hit you with.
You shrink away from his touch immediately. “Don’t touch me.”
Yeonjun lets his hand fall down to his side. “Why would you say something like that to me?”
You shuffle backwards, determined to put some space between you two. “Because it’s true, Yeonjun.”
“It’s not true. You love me. I love you. We’re supposed to be together forever,” Yeonjun insists.
☪☪☪Two Weeks Later~
You’re bored again. You lay on the bed upside down. Some murder podcast is playing. You’ve heard it before. You’re more distracted by the scratching noise from the couch.
Yeonjun is sketching from the couch, sitting on the top of the couch cushions, feet childishly dangling and hitting the back of the couch.
“Yeonjun, I’m bored,” you whine.
“I'm almost done, I promise,” Yeonjun cajoles.
You can’t see anything from your angle right now so you can’t confirm or deny it. Yeonjun had taken back up sketching after your argument when he hit you. He said he was going to funnel his anger productively. His anger management classes were actually working.
“That’s it, I can’t do it anymore,” You declare.
Abruptly, you raise your body and leave the bedroom.
“Awe, come on, Babe!” Yeonjun protests. “I almost had it!”
His hand shoots out to grab your wrist to stop you from circumventing the couch but you jump out of his reach. The two of you share a long look before Yeonjun takes the same hand and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry.”
You nod slowly and continue to go around the couch and sit on it. “Am I ever going to see any of these sketches?” You demand.
“My councilor says it’s better that I do them without expecting anyone to see them. That way I’m not performing. She says that’s half the problem with our relationship.”
You roll your eyes. “She’s not my therapist.”
“No,” Yeonjun agrees in a low tone. “She’s not.”
He closes his sketchbook and curls it up, stuffing it between the arm of the couch and the cushion. He sits on the other side of the couch, keeping a careful, safe distance between you two.
“What did you want to do?” You can feel the hesitant eyes Yeonjun is sending your way.
If this was just another day in your relationship, Yeonjun would offer to roll a joint and melt into the couch. But that almost always led to you two having sex and that wasn’t happening as of late. You kinda didn't know who Yeonjun was without his physical affection.
You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know…”
“Do you want to try… to go outside?” Yeonjun offers.
You send him a look of incredulity. Yeonjun stuffs his hands in his pockets and sinks further into the couch. “I dunno, the therapist says we go stir crazy sometimes. That fresh air and a walk might do us some good. Might be a good way to funnel our energy since we’re re-learning our boundaries.”
You snort. “Meaning you can’t fuck me.”
Yeonjun jumps up. “No, that’s not what that means.” He stops and frowns. “Well, kinda. She says I was always trying to fuck you because I thought that connected us.”
“So how are we supposed to connect now?” You ask snottily.
Yeonjun hops up and starts toeing on his shoes. “Let’s go outside. We gotta at least try it.”
You stand up and sigh. “I guess.”
Yeonjun is out the door and holding it open, watching you like a hawk. You step out the door and shoot him a questioning look back. “What?”
Yeonjun watches as you walk down the hall and your foot hovers over the first stair. He shakes his head and smiles instead. “Nothing. You look cute.”
You sigh gustily and roll your eyes again. “Still not going to fuck me today, Yeonjun.”
“That’s not why I said that!” Yeonjun protests as he follows you down the stairs.
“Uh huh,” You reply tonelessly.
“Seriously!” Yeonjun insists. “I'm just looking at you. It’s got nothing to do with wanting to fuck you.”
“Whatever, let's go!” You throw your hands to show that Yeonjun should pass you. You didn’t trust him behind you anymore.
Yeonjun keeps his hands in his pockets and walks past you. The two of you don’t talk much once you leave your apartment building. You both amble, staring at this or that. The sun is down and the city isn’t as bustling as it normally is. You wish that it would be loud with beeping cars and other people. It felt like a ghost town right now.
“Hey,” Yeonjun breaks the quiet. “There’s the alleyway where we first met.”
You let out a loud noise of frustration. If Yeonjun was trying to change, he was failing. “That’s not the place we met. That’s the first place we fucked.”
Yeonjun’s eyes shoot at the alleyway and back at you as you stride past him. “No! I remember flirting there.”
“Yeah, cuz you were trying to get it in,” You argue.
“I was always trying to get it in you, Babe, seriously, but I’m changed now. I’m respecting your boundaries. We aren’t treating sex like it’s casual anymore. One step at a time, right?”
☪☪☪Two years ago~
“Seriously, that guy has been eye fucking you for a while now,” One of your friend giggles.
You take a sip of your drink and do not turn your head to look at the guy down the bar. “I don’t care. I just want to dance. I told you that. I’m not looking to hook up with anyone. That’s your goal tonight.”
“Well, I’m going to go hit on him then, if you won’t take him.”
“Whatever,” You grunt.
You shot back the rest of your drink and then made your way back to the middle of the dance floor. You just wanted to be surrounded by nameless people and sway your body to loud music. You really didn’t have a purpose other than not being bored.
You had your way for a moment or two, until a voice broke your precious bubble.
“Hey.”
“Not interested,” You respond without a moment’s thought.
“Yeah, cool, I’m not either.”
“Then why are we talking?” You demand.
“Cuz we’re the only two people here that just want to dance.”
You don’t pause in dancing but you do turn around. The guy who is talking to you is shimmying his shoulders. You send him a skeptical look. He shrugs and starts the swim.
You close your eyes and go back to swaying to the music. The music changes, a slower rhythm that has your hips moving. That’s when you feel a gentle touch on your hips. When you open your eyes, you see Dancing Guy has moved closer.
“Since we’re both dancing, mind if we dance together?” He poses.
“Only if you’re good,” You respond.
He rolls his body as you twist your hips and he’s actually on rhythm. Okay, he gets points.
“What’s your name? When I tell my girlfriends about you, it’s really annoying just calling you Dancing Guy,” You say.
Dancing Guy smiles. He’s not showing teeth yet, but it’s a gentle, happy smile. “Yeonjun.”
The two of you don’t speak again after you exchange names. You dance until you don’t have any more energy. Yeonjun buys you a closed bottle of water and tips his own head back as he drinks half of his and pours the rest over his head. When it splashes some people behind you, it makes you giggle.
“You’re crazy,” You shake your head.
Yeonjun shrugs one shoulder. “Sometimes. Think you can handle a little crazy in your life?”
Your heart skips a beat. “I dunno, think you can?”
You shake your bottle at him, drenching his clothes and run out of the club. Well, you run towards the smoking door out the back. By the time Yeonjun finds you, you’re already leaning against the brick wall, hauling a draw from a joint.
He’s full of smiles and laughter and it makes your heart expand. You take a long toke of the joint and let the smoke spiral upwards as you let it out after holding it in. You offer Yeonjun the joint and he shakes his head.
“Oh no, if I smoke, I’m not fit for public consumption,” Yeonjun declines.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You scoff.
Yeonjun leans one shoulder, turning towards you. “I always get horny when I smoke.”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Then smoke.”
Yeonjun inhales deeply from your offered joint and then tosses it to the ground. You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already gripping your head and turning his head to shotgun with you. You inhale and breathe out evenly.
Yeonjun looks down at you, his eyes hooded. “Public consumption sounds good right about now, huh?”
You smirk and grab the hem of your skirt. You flash him, showing that you do not have any panties on. You didn’t plan on hooking up but you always enjoy the thrill of knowing you’ve got no underwear on when you’re in public.
“Told you I was crazy,” You inform him primly.
“Oh, Babe,” Yeonjun moans. “You gotta let me slurp from your cunt. I’ll get more drunk than any alcohol ever could.”
“You’re going to eat me out?” You say skeptically.
“I get the munchies when I’m high, what can I say?”
You both break out into giggles at the absolute ridiculousness of what Yeonjun just said.
“Fine, let's see what you got, Dancing Guy.”
What you had not expected was for Yeonjun to drop to his knees and bury his face in your cunt. His tongue is extended into your hole and his nose is nudging your clit so deliciously that you can’t help but grab his head with both your hands and push him further into your pussy. You’re so greedy to catch that high that when you get it, it’s a bit of a disappointment as you whine with your release.
“Oh, I like you,” Yeonjun says in a raspy voice, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
You take some time to fix your skirt, ignoring the ache coming from your still-clenching hole. “I should go back in. My friends might be looking for me. Don’t want them to think that I’ve been murdered or something.”
You watch wordlessly as Yeonjun adjusts himself in his tight pants. He’s clearly pressing painfully against the zipper but he doesn’t mention it.
“I’ll see you here again?” Yeonjun wonders.
You shrug your shoulders. “Maybe. Probably. I owe you now.”
And so began your on again off again, casual fuck buddies situation with Yeonjun. If you just both happened to be at the same club, you’d blow him or he’d fuck your thighs. Never any penetration for the longest time. You’re not exactly sure why, really, but it became your thing.
Until it wasn’t.
☪☪☪ Current time, the next day~
Today's harder for Yeonjun. In your peripherals, you see his hand twitching. It's like his body doesn't know what to do without a joint.
“Hey,” you call out to him from your side of the couch. “You should draw.”
Yeonjun wrinkles his nose. “I don't feel like it.”
“Yeonjun,” you say his name with a heavy sigh. “You gotta do something.”
“I know!” Yeonjun whines and sighs heavily himself.
You feel your heartstrings being pulled. Despite your obvious ‘off’ status currently, there's a reason there's always an ‘on’. You're pretty sure you love Yeonjun. So you decide you're going to help him.
“Do you need some inspiration?” You ask. A seemingly innocent question.
Yeonjun looks deep in thought. “I could throw on that one show… what are you doing?” His eyes follow as you strip off your tank top.
“Giving you inspiration,” You chirp.
Next, you shimmy out of your shorts and Yeonjun’s eyes only grow wider. You two had not been intimate since ‘the incident’.
“But the doc says--oh god.” Yeonjun bites down on his lip as you pull the cups down on your bralette and begin to massage your breasts. “Babe.”
“Where’s your sketchbook, Junnie?” You coo. “Even if I never see it, it'll be hot if you had a sketch of me. Like that couple from the Titanic movie.”
Yeonjun scrambles off the couch to go find his discarded notebook and a pencil. Your eyes feel heavy as you tweak your nipples. A thrill runs through you. You haven’t felt this excited since you had fucked Soobin in the bathroom at the club.
Yeonjun hops onto the arm of the couch, his feet planted on the cushions, and he starts sketching furiously. You're kinda into the sound as your hands begin to wander down your body.
Yeonjun’s a bit slack-jawed, pencil loose in his hands as he watches your hands arrive between your thighs. He leans forward when you simply pull your underwear to the side and your pussy is on display for him.
“You can look but you can't touch, understood, Junnie?” You purr as you stroke your wet folds.
Yeonjun licks his lips. “I…understand.”
“You're still going to draw me, right?” You mentally nudge him.
Yeonjun closes his mouth and starts to draw adamantly. Sometimes his eyes stay longer on your body than they do the page, and he has to drastically do some erasing, but mostly he is keeping up.
Meanwhile, you’re enjoying the attention. Lately, you’re not sure if it’s because Yeonjun has felt some distance because of the cheating, but he seems to ignore you. Especially in public. It’s not made you angry but you’ve been noting the increase as of late. Perhaps he was just trying to respect his boundaries, in the same way he tried not to touch you. Maybe he didn’t say anything because otherwise he’d be spewing toxicity. Either way, it was nice to have his eyes solely on you.
You close your eyes and get into the rhythm of things. Playing with your nipple with one hand and pushing a finger into your hole with the other. You moan gratuitously but it's not even for show. It feels good to just feel good. You feel as if it’s been ages since you’ve had some positivity since ‘the incident’.
“Oh god, you’re killing me,” Yeonjun moans. His breath hitches and that makes you open your eyes again.
Yeonjun is nursing quite the hard-on underneath his shorts. He sends you sympathetic eyes, begging without his mouth to join you. His notebook is haphazardly hanging from his other hand.
“Look but no touching,” You remind him.
Yeonjun’s ass slides down the arm of the couch until it hits the couch and he eagerly begins to push his shorts and underwear down in one swoop. His cock is already leaking precum. You can see the vein that runs along the underside of his cock; one you’ve had a habit of tracing when you gave him a blowjob. Your mouth fills with saliva at the thought but you push it away. Right now it was about your pleasure.
You push another finger into your hole and Yeonjun begins to stroke himself.
“Remember the first time we finally did it,” Yeonjun speaks with a choked gasp. “Fuck, this reminds me of that.”
☪☪☪a year ago~
You giggle as Yeonjun closes his door behind you with his foot, not willing to take his hands off your body.
“Finally I’ve got you right where I want you,” Yeonjun says in a husky voice.
“You’ve had me in the palm of your hand for months, Junnie,” You mock-sigh.
“I’m not gonna fuck you in the bathroom at the club. Or in the alleyway for that matter!” Yeonjun protests.
“Oh but fucking my thighs in the bathroom or me giving you a blowjob in the alleyway is okay?” You laugh under your breath.
Yeonjun’s eyebrows furrow and he presses his forehead to yours. “This is different.”
“Mhmm,” You hum, sounding like you’re not convinced.
Yeonjun twirls you both, past his living room, past the couch and into the bedroom. “Our first time should be in a bed. That’ll be a better memory.”
“Bold you should assume that you’ll be a memory to me?” You tease.
The way that Yeonjun looks at you, as if you are the centre of his universe, both terrifies you and warms up your heart. “You're more than just a memory to me.”
You roll your eyes. “Sure, Yeonjun.”
“Hey,” Yeonjun says gruffly. “I think I kind of love you.”
You laugh, waiting for Yeonjun to join in with you but when he doesn’t, your laughter fades away. “What?”
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Yeonjun kisses the swell of your shoulder. “I don’t flirt with others anymore.” He kisses your neck next. “I want to be with just you.” Yeonjun’s eyes meet yours in a silent question.
You laugh softly that evolves into soft sobs. “You love me? But--”
Yeonjun gently presses his lips to yours. It's just a simple touch but somehow conveys all the love that Yeonjun feels for you in that moment. “No ‘but’. I love you.”
You’re both crazy, so you insist that Yeonjun doesn’t touch you as you undress and touch yourself so that you can get ready for your precious moment. By the time you tell Yeonjun you’re wet and ready, the man practically tears his clothes off in order to fuck you. You expect him to bend you in half and pound into you but he spends hours inside of you, rubbing his hips against yours, and kissing you. For him it was all about the connection that you had made him work for.
☪☪☪Current day
The two of you are panting on your respective sides of the couch, both having come separately. You feel something inside of you heal; something that had been broken since the incident. This felt more like the old days, the golden days. You felt less like a ghost of yourself now.
You pull your clothes on and eagerly jump off the couch. “Let’s go out for ice cream!”
Yeonjun’s eyes grow wide with worry. He stuffs himself back into his shorts. “What?”
“Treat me to some ice cream,” You smile conspiratorially. “Maybe we can go find that alleyway and go recreate your first blowjob.”
Yeonjun runs a worried hand through his hair. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Your heart aches. “Why? Am I damaged goods to you now?”
“Babe, no.” Yeonjun gives you big puppy eyes. “We’re supposed to be taking it slow, remember? We can’t slip back into bad habits.”
Your hurt bubbles up in your chest. And like any time you’ve ever felt this way, you do what you do best: you lash out.
“You don’t want to be seen in public with me now? I was good enough a few days ago but now it’s different. Are you seeing someone else? I thought we were working on us?”
Yeonjun throws his hands up in defense. “Calm down, Babe, you know that’s not what I’m saying.”
“What do I care? You’re probably going to lure me back and then break my heart the way I cheated on you with Soobin!” You shout.
Yeonjun’s eyes flash with a warning sign of his temper. “You’re doing it again.”
“I’m going out without you.” You decide and turn on your heel towards the door to leave the apartment.
“Babe, don’t storm out in the middle of a fight. You know that’s not healthy!” Yeonjun whines.
“I’m leaving. Like I should have left weeks ago. This is ridiculous,” You huff.
“Babe, stop.”
The next scene happens in slow motion to your brain. Yeonjun makes a grab for your arm. His hand passes through your body. You both stand there shocked.
And then it hits you.
The incident.
Yeonjun hit you.
No, Yeonjun had done more than that.
He had killed you.
☪☪☪Two weeks ago
The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies; it comes from those you trust the most.
You stare up at Yeonjun in horror, hand clasped against your face where you were bleeding.
Yeonjun looks absolutely devastated, his eyebrows furrowing as he reaches out a hand to you; the same ringed hand that he had hit you with.
You shrink away from his touch immediately. “Don’t touch me.”
Yeonjun lets his hand fall down to his side. “Why would you say something like that to me?”
You shuffle backwards, determined to put some space between you two. “Because it’s true, Yeonjun.”
“It’s not true. You love me. I love you. We’re supposed to be together forever,” Yeonjun insists.
“We’re horrible for each other! I would never want to spend an eternity with you!” You shake your head.
Yeonjun pulls a spare pencil from his shirt pocket and gets a crazed look in his eyes. “I just want to be with you.”
“You want to own me, that’s what you want,” You whimper, tears streaking down your face.
“I just wanna stay with you,” Yeonjun insists. “Is that so hard to ask for?” The grip on the pencil gets tighter as he looms over you.
“Well I don’t want to stay with you!” You scream back, feeling fear curl in your chest.
“I just want to live and die with you.” One errant tear falls down Yeonjun’s face and then he stabs the pencil into your eye.
You have an outer body experience, feeling yourself detach from your body. You watch as Yeonjun sobs over your body. He falls to his knees, gathering you to his chest and he whispers, “You can be my ghost girl.”
You don’t know what was supposed to happen to you. Perhaps you were going to hell. Or perhaps your energy would be absorbed back into the world. But with Yeonjun’s wish, and the way he killed you as a means of not letting you escape, you were stuck in limbo. One of the dead stuck in the world of the living.
☪☪☪Current day
“I’m…dead…” You whisper in disbelief to yourself.
All the days you remained in the apartment. All the times you had avoided physical touch with Yeonjun. It wasn’t because you had been depressed or healing or none of that shit. You were a ghost trapped in the place of your death.
“Where’s my body, Yeonjun?”
Yeonjun’s hand is slow to descend now that his secret is out.
“WHERE IS MY BODY, YEONJUN?” You shout.
Yeonjun winces. “I wrapped you up in the bed sheets. I didn’t know what to do with you.”
You stand as close to Yeonjun as you dared. “Where.”
Yeonjun raises his finger to a room your ghost self had forgotten: his art room.
You rush to the closed door and open it to find madness. The room is covered in red and black paintings and drawings. All of them are you. In the center of the back wall is a beautiful acrylic painting, that’s clearly your ghost form. And there’s your body like Yeonjun said. Wrapped up in bedsheets, looking like a modern day mummy. No wonder you never realized you were dead--it’s not like you could have smelled your decaying body.
“You’ll never leave me now,” Yeonjun says from behind you.
“You’ve condemned me, Yeonjun. How could you do this to me?” You cry.
Yeonjun smiles at you, part soft part crazed. “We’re both fucked up. We’re both crazy. This is how we’re meant to be. Together. Forever.
