— knock once (18+) | byun euijoo
synopsis | you accidentally tune in to your roommate's special livestream... again and again and again.
details | roommate!euijoo x fem!reader, bestie!nicholas, forced proximity, thin walls, mentions of food, descriptions of eating, minor injury (finger cut), hotdogs, 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, perv!ju, panty theft, handjob, dirty talk, praise, cursing, lowercase intended
wc | 7.5k
from the author | euijoo forehead save me. save me euijoo forehead
your package was waiting on the foot of your bed when you got home. the cardboard box was slightly crushed, the corners pushed in and the tape frayed like it had been dragged down a street by a rope. you'd been tracking it closely all week, since the contents cost about half of your paycheck and then some, having paid extra for a warranty. your anticipation had been growing all week not only because of the simple, modern-age dopamine rush of receiving a package but because, maybe, you'd finally get some sleep this weekend. and every day after.
that was if the item inside the box was less damaged than the outside.
"did you fucking sit on it?" you asked as you stomped into the kitchen you shared with your roommate, who was standing at the sink as if he were going to wash the dishes piling up but was, instead, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.
euijoo glanced up at you once, rolling his eyes as he flicked his loose, messy hair out of his eyes. he said, simply, "no, i didn't."
"well, somebody did," you sighed, navigating around him to get the scissors from a drawer, "i'm gonna be pissed if they're broken."
"you're already pissed," he half-laughed, shifting over to put distance between the two of you, like you were contagious with some incurable disease. he watched you, though, intently, as you swiped open what was left of the tape holding the box closed. or, rather, attempted to with the world's dullest scissors and apparently the toughest tape ever made. he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest, "what's in the box, anyway?"
"if you'd have some patience," you grunted, shifting the box on it's side to get a better grip. but the grip wasn't better. in fact, it was worse, and the scissors clattered out of your hand, skidding across the floor and right by his feet. euijoo bent down to pick them up, and you sighed, defeated. he definitely thought you were incompetent. you had given him no reason to believe otherwise in your three months of living together.
"hand it over," he motioned for the box still caged in your arms, "before you cut your fingers off."
and when you handed him the package, he, too, struggled with wedging the blade between the concrete fibers. euijoo attempted an expert move, pinning the box in place between his knees and driving the scissors down the length of it with both hands.
"you're gonna cut your leg off," you winced at the maneuver, a bit prideful that you weren't struggling by any fault of your own. it was painful to watch, and the sight almost made you second-guess any invasive sentiments you had toward him. almost. he was undeniably attractive, tall and slender but broad and so boyish. euijoo carried a certain charm about him, like he was the teacher's favorite in school, like he had sold lemonade on the street corner and made no money because he drank it all before getting his first customer. he also seemed closed off in a way that reversed his charm in many situations; euijoo seemed to be actively fighting his personality off, like a mosquito buzzing in his face. he swatted and swatted. even now, he wanted to laugh at your critique of his technique when yours was far less successful, but he didn't. instead, he doubled down on making it work. you chewed at the inside of your cheek, "don't, like, stab it."
"do you want it open or not?"
"i'd prefer my noise cancelling headphones in one piece," you said, mumbling the next sentence under your breath at a volume you thought only you could hear, "i might finally get some sleep at night."
having a roommate had it’s perks– shared chores, shared rent, shared meals when one of you would make too large of a portion by accident– but it also had its drawbacks. having your particular roommate had one, very significant downside: the shared wall.
you thought living with euijoo would be convenient for the both of you, cheaper than living alone and in a cuter apartment, too, but it had grown to just be convenient for him. you knew him through a mutual friend, nicholas, who had personally recommended euijoo when you mentioned that you were looking for a roommate. according to nico, euijoo was helpful with chores and always paid his half of the rent on time, which was more than your previous roommates did. but you still didn't know him that well, having only been around him a few times in nico's large friend group.
"is there anything i should know about?" you had asked nicholas, just as a precaution before reaching out to euijoo about the apartment, "like, is he a sleepwalker?"
"uh, no, he doesn't sleepwalk," nico had laughed, then, a knowing, low chuckle, "but he's… kind of loud."
you could handle a bit of noise; you'd lived with gamers who shouted well into quiet hours, and your last set of housemates were sorority girls who sounded like they were competing in squealing matches every weekend. there was no possible way euijoo was louder than them— you told nicholas this, and he didn't discourage your decision to reach out to him the next day, offering him the spare room in your prospective flat.
the first night, you thought you had imagined it, the muffled grunts and curses that phased right through the wall separating your room from his. earlier that day, you could hear him on the phone, the way his voice carried right into the open space of the apartment despite the normal volume. you could hear every sharp slide of the plastic hangers on the rack as he organized his wardrobe. every slam of a drawer, every click of the light switch, every whir of the ceiling fan— it was like you were in there with him. but euijoo himself hadn't been loud in the way nicholas described, like a nuisance. he moved confidently, unafraid to bump corners or shuffle things around. for the first ten hours, you were inspired; you could have stood to be less apologetic, live a bit recklessly. but nicholas lived that way, too— confident.
maybe he snored, you had thought as you slipped into your bed. it was the only option left. unless nicholas had been pulling your leg, making you worry over nothing because he knew you would. your eyes fluttered closed, heavy after lifting boxes and unpacking all day. but just as you began to drift off, you heard it. you heard the unmistakable drawl of pleasure, the satisfied sighs and moans and strings of jumbled curses flowing from lips undoubtedly slack, and you knew only one thing for certain:
nicholas was fucking dead.
would it have been so difficult to mention that euijoo was some kind of sex addict? there was no other way to make sense of the sheer number of times a week your new roommate was moaning, alone in his room but talking himself through it like he wasn't. you were no prude, but you started taking a tally of the sleepless nights from how frequent his self-care sessions were. by night five, you'd barely slept a wink in your new apartment.
so, you really did hope that the headphones would be truly noise-cancelling. you craved a night's rest that didn't have a pre-show. but you didn't want to embarrass euijoo at all with your predicament. somehow, his comfortability outweighed your own. surely, it had nothing to do with his sweet, round eyes, dark like turned soil. or his patient smile, which dropped as soon as you let your grievances slip. i might finally get some sleep at night.
because euijoo heard it. he definitely heard it, telling by the way the scissors slipped in his hand and nicked the soft, golden skin of his finger like a thorn. he winced and brought the cut to his lips instinctively, dropping the scissors in the sink behind him. "shit," he muttered into his hand as you stuttered toward him and grabbed the half-opened box from his arms, dropping it to the floor.
"hold on," you urged him, like he had any choice, and began your violent rummaging through a drawer. somewhere, you had bandages. somewhere, you had your shit together, eight full hours of sleep, and a perfectly organized, ready-to-go first aid kit for situations like this, just in case two grown adults fail to open a cardboard box. your fingers combed through miscellaneous papers, pens, and rolls of tape until they landed on the box you were looking for. you sucked your teeth at the sight before you, "you might not like these, but they're all we have."
cartoon hotdogs scrawled in vivid hues of red and yellow, complete with giant eyes and cheeky smiles, decorated each of the bandages. some of them, with stick-figure arms and legs, were playing with various sport objects, kicking balls back and forth or hitting airborne items with rackets. others were surfing or sunbathing or rollerskating. euijoo pulled his finger from his lips, breathing a soft laugh as you struggled to unwrap the bandage. "nice," he noted, softly, a smile unfurling. you held his right wrist with a shaky hand as you stuck the adhesive of the bandage to his finger, curling the hotdog-printed material around until it sat snug right above the bend. his palms were unexpectedly soft, and you wanted to kick yourself for letting your mind wander. you imagined the way they might have felt sliding up the skin of your thigh, long and svelte. you didn't even notice you were holding your breath until you were finished, until you had concealed the small cut in the most obnoxious bandage ever created and finally freed the air from your lungs.
euijoo was holding his breath, too, watching your fingertips dance around his, steady and intentional and completely opposite to the version of you that worked helplessly at the tape securing your package. you released his wrist like it burned to touch, like you'd been caught, and wiped your palms down the front of your pants, "how's that? can you bend it?" he flipped his hand in front of his face, looking at the bandage with amusement, studying every inch of the design. euijoo bent his finger, slowly, wincing in one grand, exaggerated flinch before dissolving into a chuckle, your fist meeting his shoulder in an uncharacteristic shove.
"it's good," he laughed, lightly punching your shoulder, too, "thanks."
the headphones were in perfect condition despite the trauma the cardboard endured in its delivery. euijoo had cut away enough of the tape that all you had to do was pull the lids apart. you ran a few tests, alone and in the temporary silence; the headphones enveloped your entire ears as you tapped on furniture, clapped your hands, and clicked different surfaces together. nothing. there were traces of sound, sharp notes that twinkled above the muted pulse of your heartbeat in your ears like wind chimes. but, for the most part, you couldn't hear anything.
for the most part. you should not have settled for most.
it always started slowly, in a way that, to the untrained ear, sounded like euijoo was suffering from a tummy ache and had been struck by a wave of cramps. he groaned, sighed. you tried not to imagine what he was doing, tried not to stare through the wall like you had x-ray vision. the part of you that respected his privacy squeezed your eyes shut, just in case; the part of you that was human, that couldn't resist your body's natural and completely normal reactions, slipped one cup of the headphones off your ear.
"shit," you could hear him, muffled, "just like that."
it had to be some psychological torture experiment. having a roommate who was inconsiderately loud was bad enough; the fact that he was hot made it all the more unbearable, and you wondered if he was aware of how thin the walls were or if he was arrogant enough to not care. did he know he could get away with it? you predicted the answer was yes.
the truth was that all of nicholas's friends were hot, but most of them were less pompous about it than nicholas, who was visibly conscious of his outward appeal. his wardrobe, his hair— it all screamed i know i'm hot. but you'd never tell him that. euijoo's beauty snuck up on you. when you'd first met, his tall frame seemed to have shrunk behind the cluster of boys, lingering behind the onslaught of personalities that was their friend group. you'd noticed him later, when everything grew quiet at the end of the party nico invited you to following a slightly world-altering breakup. you had only agreed to go because your ex was, unfortunately, your only friend. meeting people seemed like a great idea.
nicholas wanted you to do more than just meet people, though.
"if you ever get lonely," nicholas had started his award-winning pitch over lunch one afternoon, "euijoo's always down for a good time."
you had nearly choked on your water. euijoo seemed like the least likely out of the group to be down for a good time. especially with you, to whom he had said a total of three words. he seemed more reserved than the others; when they jumped to ask you questions, bring you drinks, and drag you to dance, euijoo had sank deeper into the couch or slumped absentmindedly against the wall. he just looked disinterested, but looks could be deceiving.
"i'm good, thanks," you had wiped the water from your mouth on the back of your hand, choking down your embarrassment.
hook-ups weren't really your thing, hence the aforementioned world-altering breakup that stemmed entirely from your inability to let someone go. you craved emotional connection, long-term stability. you couldn't get that from a one night stand. you wanted to know someone, inside and out. you realized a bit too late that the closest you had ever come to real love was your own hand brushing through your hair, massaging lotion into your damp skin every evening and gently swiping lip balm over your lips every morning. and at night, it had been your own hand stuffed down the front of your shorts bringing yourself to orgasm.
you tried to fight your body every night. the guilt started to weigh on you, like you'd been keeping a secret, like you'd totaled his car in a parking lot and left a half-assed note on his windshield. all the while, your frustration bled into something hotter. you could feel it now, the burning between your thighs, so sharp it almost hurt. and so began your nightly routine: hear him, hate him, and then join him. from the comfort of your own bed, of course, with your laptop open next to you like you'd be paying any attention at all to whatever you decided to put on.
"fuck, baby," euijoo's hoarse voice seeped sinfully through the wall, and your legs involuntarily squeezed, desperate for any friction at all. you would have never admitted it, but you kind of liked the way the guilt amplified your arousal, even if you struggled to look him in the eyes every morning. the thrill of being caught almost outweighed the fear of it.
you quickly pulled up your preferred site. preferred was a bit of a stretch as you didn't really visit many others, but this one got the job done. the interface was a bit clunky, so you were immediately met with an onslaught of streams, both pre-recorded and live, catering to any and every fetish and interest; girls in latex or draped in lace, men in costume, or masked bodies roleplaying vigilantes in the shadows— it was all there in one flashing, oversaturated place. if you weren't half-drunk on your roommate's moans, you would have been severely overwhelmed. but instead, you scrolled and scrolled with your brows furrowed, not quite sure what you were looking for. were you even looking for anything? the thrill of watching usually did it for you before any dirty talk could, mixed with the mental image of your roommate across the hall with his cock in his fist.
god, you were fucked.
you clicked one at random. it didn't matter; the throbbing in your panties promised an orgasm before the site's sponsored ads were even finished running. but, quicker than you anticipated, you were met with the live feed of the stream, of the streamer's dimly lit room. you'd never seen this camboy before, even in passing, but you were not disappointed with your impulsive choice.
user byunny's webcam was angled low, tilted meticulously to reveal only what he wanted you, vaguely speaking, to see; in pixelated, dull light, the exposed skin of his chest and stomach glowed subtly, like headlights muted in sheets of rain, and the angle accentuated the toned slopes of his stomach. he was built delicately, sculpted with a gentle hand from his ribs to his hips which jutted, helplessly, into his hand. you felt your cheeks burn as his fingers wrapped tighter around his leaking, angry cock. the tip had been long flushed red, the length of it coated sleek and throbbing. his hips stuttered with every pained stroke from base to tip, his hips lifting to meet his movements in weak, pleasure-driven thrusts. sweat rolled down the soft expanse of his stomach, rolling down the curve of his waist and disappearing into the shadows of the background. of course, you were meant to be watching his dick, perfectly centered and begging for attention, but you found yourself lost in the details; the t-shirt bunched at the top of the screen, held up by his free hand to keep the flexing muscles of his abdomen visible, the swell of his chest as he panted, as his orgasm inched closer, and his hands. they were pretty, knuckles flushed with vigor, and his fingers were long. you followed the precise bend of his wrist to the golden flat of the back of his palm, all the way to his perfectly kept nail beds, all pristine— except for one.
secured neatly around one of his fingers was a bandage. the hotdogs were roller-skating, and they were skating directly up the length of camboy byunny's twitching cock. your breath caught in your throat as the thought did more than cross your mind. no, the thought pummeled through every other idea you could have had, knocking them against the sides of your skull and shattering them into thousands of pieces. deny, deny, deny, you thought, there are reasonable explanations for this. coincidences were real; you'd been in several of them. at the store, sometimes your total was your birthday. last week, a stranger on the sidewalk had been wearing the same shoes as you. certainly, these hotdog bandages were a hot commodity among wound-havers.
but, then, there was no denying it, as you heard, through the ear that was not covered by the headphones, the ear that could hear every sound euijoo made in his room next to yours, "im coming- fuck, im coming."
approximately four seconds later, traveling the bottomless pit of latency that plummeted for miles and still didn't hold a candle to the trench in the bottom of your stomach, the man on your screen arched up into his hand, his hotdog-clad finger wrapped definitively around the base of his cock. he groaned, in a distorted, disorientingly familiar voice, "im coming- fuck, im-"
you slammed your laptop closed.
"so, you really thought he was beating it every night for fun?"
nicholas found humor in everything, somehow. even this, which you delivered in a hushed and frantic tone in the center of your favorite cafe, made him snort so loud that every head turned and looked at you. you wondered if they knew, if just by looking at you they could tell that you watched your roommate jack off online. you wondered even more if they could tell that you liked it. that was the part that scared you— you had imagined that very situation for months, privately theorizing what he might have been doing, whether he was using a toy or rutting his hips into his mattress. but, back then, you had just heard him, and the visual in your brain was blurred, as if to protect his identity from your perverted brain. seeing him felt like a major violation, even if you were one of hundreds of people watching. did they feel like this, too?
"you didn't think to mention that euijoo was…" you lowered your head to the table, catching a clear whiff of your coffee swirling in your cup as you kept your voice hushed but frantic, "a camboy? that didn't seem like vital information when i asked if there was anything i should know?"
"it's not really my place to tell you, hm?" nicholas raised an eyebrow, swirling his cup in his hand. the liquid sloshed faintly in the plastic confines as he relaxed back in the padded seating of the cafe chair, "but i personally put two and two together after four days of sleeping like shit and losing my earplugs in my pillows."
"well, what did you do?" you asked, "like, how did you get him to stop?"
"stop?" nicholas laughed again, like he was wise beyond his years, "he can't just stop, dude, that's his job. you either pretend you don't know, play dumb, or you can ask him to keep it down… every night for the rest of your lease."
you realized then why euijoo needed a new place to stay and none of his previous roommates did. nicholas was chill, of course, and didn't seem too bothered by your current situation, but the other boys had shorter tempers, less patience. the idea of euijoo being kicked out of his previous apartment made you wonder why nicholas was so insistent that he would make an excellent roommate for you. everything he had said was true; euijoo was timely with rent, and he never complained about the chores you divided equally between the two of you. it was only the constant dirty talk after sundown and the wall-shaking moaning that knocked him down a peg. and now the fact that you saw his dick and can't stop thinking about it.
"i'm so screwed," you covered your face with your hands, experiencing, for what honestly felt like the first time, darkness and peace at the same time. until your phone chimed on the table below you. with your hands still pressed firmly over your eyes, you sensed nico's hand reaching across the table to flip your phone toward him. you asked, voice muffled by your palms, "who is it?"
"the devil himself," nicholas said with a smirk, flipping the phone back toward you as you slid your hands away from your face to read the text on your lockscreen. from euijoo, a simple question: can i move your clothes out of the dryer? nicholas sipped at his coffee as he studied the way your brows furrowed, as if the question required more than a yes or no. "he's like a housewife," he sighed, almost reminiscing, "does he cook for you?"
"if i say yes, will you take him back? sounds like you really miss him," you teased, half-joking as you typed back a hurried response of 'yes,' when you actually wanted to just tell him to burn everything and forget you ever lived there, that you were moving across the country, maybe even booking a spot on the next moon landing. and then you wondered if 'yes' seemed too enthusiastic. like, yes, please look through all my clothes! so you tacked on a quick apology for a final response of 'yes, sorry.' perfect. not too excited and equally regretful.
next to your other texts, the current conversation stood out because that's what it was— a conversation. your previous messages were brief and dry, ritualistic at best, letting each other know in as few words as possible that rent was on the counter or that there were leftovers in the fridge. it was strange to receive a text asking for permission to do something as mundane as moving laundry from the dryer, which you were positive you'd done before and just left his clean clothes in a heap on the couch. it was even stranger to see your phone light up again, this time with a third text in the chain. 'don't be sorry,' it read. you visibly gulped, stomach tied in an uneasy knot. had euijoo been cloned and replaced?
nicholas downed the last of his coffee as you stared into the blinding light of your screen. he stood up, clapped one sympathetic hand on your shoulder, and said, "no, thanks," he tossed his empty cup in the trash bin by the cafe exit, "i really like my beauty sleep."
when you returned to your apartment, euijoo had made himself lunch. he stood in front of the sink, hovering over the basin where the dirty dishes once sat in stacks to catch the crumbs of his sandwich, of which there were plenty. he probably wouldn't have noticed your presence if you didn't drop your keys on the counter, the sound of the metal clanging drawing his chin over his shoulder, drawing his eyes to yours. instead of greeting you, he nodded his head toward the stove.
another sandwich, untouched and resting neatly on a napkin.
you eyed it, suspiciously.
"do you not like turkey?" euijoo asked, cheeks stuffed full of bread.
he watched as you crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between you and the sandwich and, thus, you and euijoo. you lifted the top slice of bread, examining the layers of toppings. it actually looked delicious, which surprised you less than you anticipated. "turkey's good," you gave him a small, hesitant smile, "thanks."
euijoo hummed in reponse, gaze transfixed on the shrinking space between your mouth and your lunch. he watched your lips part, watched the bread rest on the plush flesh of them as you bit into the corner of the crust. as you swallowed the first bite, he asked, "so how'd you, uh, sleep? with your new toy?"
you would have dropped the sandwich if you weren't so hyper aware of his eyes on you, of his presence so close but so far, just within arms reach. the short answer was that you didn't; the long answer was that, every time you closed your eyes, you replayed the subtle tensing and flexing of his stomach as he drove himself to orgasm, the clenching of damp honeyed skin in the dim light of his room. you slammed your laptop shut before you actually saw him tip fully over the edge, but your brain filled in the gaps until sunrise. in fact, your brain was still filling in the gaps, even standing right next to him.
"great," you lied, rotating the sandwich in your hand, looking for the next best bite. lunch and small talk. euijoo had definitely been cloned and replaced. "yeah, they were totally worth the money."
"good," he nodded, watching as you took another bite. crumbs fell like fresh snow, dusting the front of your shirt, coating the fabric pulled taut by the swell of your chest. he inhaled deeply, releasing the breath as an airy laugh, "just curious since, you know, i have a personal investment," he wiggled his bandaged finger in the space between you, just in case you might have successfully repressed the image of his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the bandage stark against the flushed underside.
you laughed, too. it felt like that was all you could do. "right," you said, pushing through the heaviness in your chest, at the creeping feeling that he knew that you knew.
the two of you ate the rest of your sandwiches in silence.
that night, your clothes were folded neatly on the foot of your bed, sorted by color. this, of course, incited a new wave of daydreams, this time of the domestic variety; you pictured euijoo, laundry piled high in his arms, making the trek from the dryer to your bedroom— thinking about him in your bedroom— tucking your shirts under his chin, pairing your socks, and lining up the seams of your jeans. when he asked to move your clothes, you expected to find them in a messy pile on your bed. instead, you returned to find pristine stacks and a turkey sandwich. nicholas's voice spun in your head: he's like a housewife; does he cook for you?
whatever guilt you carried that first night dwindled over the following weeks into a hollow pang in the back of your throat, the echo of a faucet dripping in a silent and empty house. you felt fully consumed by him; euijoo was a dark cloud, rumbling thunder in the middle of the night. you had accidentally trained yourself to get turned on by your frustration, so every time you slipped into bed and placed your headphones over your ears, your core fluttered. your stomach twisted into one singular knot that only grew more complicated the longer you fended off the invasive mental images of euijoo relaxing into his pillows, almost parallel to you physically. each of you lay propped up, laptop angled toward you, your own hands unraveling that knot in synchronized rhythm.
it was nearly every night for you, too, now. you even made an account on the site to skip the ads, just so you didn't miss a single second of his stream. it amused you to see other viewers in his live chat thirsting over him, and it made you proud in a fucked up way that you knew the truth, that you knew what color his toothbrush was, that he jumped every time the toaster went ding! and that he checked over both shoulders after to make sure that no one saw. for two weeks, you tuned into his streams. for two weeks, you had let yourself succumb to the building desire you'd pushed down until you were full, spilling over. and tonight, you would do it again.
you slipped your headphones over your ears, using them now to keep your laptop's noise in rather than to keep euijoo's noise out. the shame stirred in your chest, barely noticeable but still there, as you pulled up his page and waited. you could hear him in the kitchen, filling a glass with water and slamming the cabinet a bit too harshly for the hour. but you didn't expect any less from him. the floor creaked with every step he took to his room, the hinge squeaking as he opened and closed the door behind him. you could hear him opening drawers and pushing them closed. he flipped his light switch off, and you kicked yourself at the way your heart began to thrum in your chest, how quickly your finger clicked to refresh the page.
and when user byunny finally went live, you felt every part of your body that had once been aflame run cold, the wet of your veins shattering like icicles tossed upon packed snow. you were sure you gasped out loud, mouth hanging open, at the sight before you. euijoo's streams were usually slow, starting with a teasing, casual segment that showcased the growing bulge in whatever pants he had decided to wear. sometimes, they were sweatpants; sometimes, they were printed pajamas; always, they looked damn good on him. tonight, however, there was no teasing, no slow-paced stroking or conversation. tonight, there was no clothing at all except the brightly colored panties crumpled in his fist.
"what the fuck," you mumbled to yourself, leaning in closer to the screen to examine the baby blue fabric, stark against the angry red tip of his cock. the friction was audible, layered beneath his desperate panting. it seemed like all you could do was mutter the phrase over and over to yourself as your poor, confused body decided whether to be pissed. you couldn't deny the warmth that pooled between your legs, just as you couldn't deny the burn in your cheeks as you realized he was broadcasting your underwear to all of his viewers. the heat everywhere amplified as you thought about him rummaging through your drawers, picking through pair after pair in search of those specifically. or did he get them from your laundry, which he so graciously offered to move and then fold, unprompted?
surely, it was all coincidence. it had to be a gimmick, an easy way to satisfy another viewer's request. you'd seen him try all kinds of weird things in just the short time you'd been watching. one viewer asked him to hold a spoon while he jacked off and scoop up his cum with it after. another asked him to narrate every action and voice every thought he had, and the next night wanted him silent. every wish was fulfilled without any argument, any question; his obedience was one of his favored traits among his viewers. so, it made sense to think that someone asked him to get off with a pair of underwear, and it made sense that he had snuck a pair of yours to do so. it didn't have to mean anything.
"wish this was your pussy instead of your panties- fuck," euijoo groaned, twisting the material tighter between his palm and his skin. your mouth was somehow drier than sand, throat closing despite the drool that threatened to spill from the corners of your mouth at the way the thick vein on the underside of his cock gleamed in the harsh light from his screen. the angle was the same every time, highlighting the curve of his waist around the contracting muscles of his stomach. he choked out a desperate sound, "wish it was you- wish i was, fuck, grinding my cock against your ass until i couldn't take it anymore."
was he talking about you? few other explanations held up when you looked at the facts. he was fucking your panties— who else would he be talking about? an idea flickered, arrived in a flash and left even quicker: you would knock, once, on the wall. you would knock, once, on the same wall that drove you to insanity because of just how thin it really was. realistically, he probably could have heard the blankets rustling as you lifted your arm. he could have heard the grinding of your bones in your hand as you balled your fingers into a fist. he most definitely heard the solid, singular knock that reverberated, first, through your room. it was absolute, like the final placement of an empty mug on a coaster. in your headphones, you heard the knock again, about four seconds later. if nothing else, he would take it as a noise complaint, but the way his hand slowed, the way he inhaled like it hurt, told you that euijoo took the knock exactly as you intended— an answer.
euijoo released his breath as a dry, low chuckle. "are you watching, princess?" he asked, "i kind of thought you might be, but i wasn't sure." his voice was deeper than usual, rough like pavement, and it went straight through you. the pet name, the suspicion, the way he knew what you were up to the whole time and didn't change a thing about his routine. it was shameless, confident. euijoo adjusted the panties around him, flattening the soft cotton against the length of him and letting the lace trim decorate the top of his hand. "i hope you dont mind that i borrowed these. they peek out of the top of your jeans sometimes and drive me fucking crazy." he slid his hand up and down, slowly, bunching the material with every stroke, "do you do that on purpose? knock once for yes."
to everyone else, it had to have appeared scripted. perverted roommate gets caught by other, equally perverted roommate. it was all so real, all so shocking to you; were you that oblivious? had you been too distracted by how loud and hot he was to notice that he was distracted by you, too? how many times had euijoo watched you scurry from the shower to your room, peering through the crack in his door as you held your towel up with one hand? you'd done several things to try for his attention, of course, like wearing low-cut tops when your friends went out together, sitting next to him in the backseat and asking him so, so sweetly to buckle your seatbelt for you. but none of that seemed to affect him as much as the cheap, blue panties that sat just a bit too high for your jeans. you squeezed your thighs closer together, picturing his eyes lingering on your hips every time you bent over, rummaging through the fridge for a drink or untying your shoes.
you knocked once.
"fuck, i knew it," euijoo stifled a groan, "knew you weren't as innocent as you seemed. you wouldn't be watching me if that were the case, would you?" you could hear the smirk in his voice, "wouldn't be touching yourself to me, either— timing your orgasms with mine. too fucking sweet." your chest would surely be bruised from how hard your heart was beating, leaping forward and bouncing back off your ribs in erratic jolts. euijoo whispered, like it was a secret, only meant for you, "i can hear you, too. did you know that, doll? knock."
this time, you knocked twice for no. you were nowhere near as loud as he was, even going so far as to stuff your mouth with your shirt to ensure that you were more than silent. when he heard your knocks, he squeezed his long, slender fingers around the base of his cock, jerking his hips up involuntarily.
euijoo grunted, then hummed, "mhm, i can hear every pretty little sigh, every delicious moan. like music, baby. better than fucking music. to know im helping you feel good, so good you cant even look at me the next day— fuck." he gulped down any restraint he might have had, preparing to take a leap that would either result in you in his bed or him looking for a new place to live. "i wish you were here right now, fisting my cock for me," he said, "want you to make me come, baby. would you like that, too? i'm sure my friends here wouldn't mind."
the next knock wasn't on his wall but on his door, just as you pushed it open with a shaking hand. you weren't sure what came over you, what posessed your body and carried you from your bed to his room. the version of you that texted euijoo four months ago, offering him the spare room, would have never imagined that you'd have ended up here. as the door swung open, you took your first look at his bedroom. the door was always closed, even when he was out of the apartment, taunting you like a locked chest packed full of antique treasures and baubles. even in the dim lighting, his walls were charming, decorated with posters and photos. his shelves were lined with collectibles and keepsakes. every inch of space was uniquely him, aside from the corner of the room captured by the webcam on his laptop, which was undistinguishable from any other white wall and bed with plain sheets in the world. the only thing that stood out was euijoo himself, propped up on pillows to achieve that perfect angle you'd grown so fond of.
this angle was better.
this angle, peering down at him from your place in the doorway, revealed everything you'd been deprived of through the screen. his hair was disheveled, beads of sweat bunching the ends of his bangs into jagged points that stuck out every which way against the flushed skin of his forehead. his shirt had been discarded and left in a crumpled heap on the floor next to his bed, leaving his shoulders and neck to be carved by the harsh shadows from the computer's artificial lighting. the sheen on his chest traveled all the way to the top of his hips, where he was still stroking himself in slow, languid motions, as though he were trying really hard to drag this whole situation out.
"hi, pretty," euijoo smiled, and you could see it now, so sweet, so different from the lewd scene before you, "come here. dont be shy."
you crossed the room, timidly, and closed the distance between you, swallowing your nerves like two tough, chalky pills. he tracked your every move with heavy-lidded, dark eyes. the air was thick, hot; it felt like swimming, like being boiled alive. euijoo's skin was hot, too, as you approached him on the bed and his left hand reached out to brush your arm, to coax you closer. your knees hit the side of the mattress, slightly shaking the camera, which your eyes refused to leave. you could see your shadow cast over him, suddenly aware that there was still an audience, that just because you closed your laptop to come finish the job, the hundreds of other people didn't. in fact, they tuned in, closer, more intently. you were part of the show, now, and it made your throat feel impossibly drier.
"don't worry about them," euijoo reassured you, drawing soft circles on the skin of your upper arm, "pretend they're not there. just you and me, yeah?" you wished it could have been. so badly, you wanted to be alone with him, to have this moment all to yourself. this was as good as it was going to get, at least for now.
you nodded and repeated, "just you and me," as you crawled up into his bed, your knees sinking into the plush material of the mattress. your heart sank, too, all the way to the bottom of your stomach where it pumped all the blood directly to your core.
"there you go," euijoo praised, and you visibly relaxed, "i'm all yours, baby. touch me however you want, but you know how i like it."
and then you were touching him, your hand replacing his around the base of his throbbing cock, discarding the panties altogether. you'd done nothing but touch your underwear for weeks. you wanted to feel him. euijoo hissed as the cool skin of your fingers settled on him, setting him ablaze with a scorching sensitivity. the first real contact of skin on skin, of your palm dragging aching swipes down his twitching cock. his hips lifted as your thumb smeared the pearly beads of his arousal with every stroke. your touch was gentle, but your pace was not.
"fuck, just like that," he sighed, leaning back, hands threading into the loose sheets, "feels so good."
slowly, his persona began to crumble, chipping away more and more with every jerk of your wrist, until he was putty beneath you. until he was a perfect puddle, bucking up helplessly into your hand. it felt, for a second, like it really was just the two of you. until you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the screen, and your attention flickered from watching the blissful crease in his brow deepen and smooth to the frantic, desperate motion of your hand, blurred by the stream's lag. it melted the two of you into one, a muddled and pixelated form identified as human only by the sounds euijoo was unable to hold back the closer you brought him to the edge. whines, whimpers— all softer, more raw, than the exaggerated moans and grunts he put on for the sake of his audience.
with your hand wrapped around him, he sounded like he was yours.
"i'm close," euijoo blindly pawed at the fabric of your shorts, the inner seam undoubtedly soaked, "i was close before you even started, close just thinking about you."
there was something still a little unnerving about speaking, if not because of the hundreds of viewers then because you didn't want to slip up and say something wrong, something stupid. you were distracted by the possibility of saying his name, of giving away his identity by accident and ruining everything. so, you settled for eye contact, for dragging your nails down his side and watching as the subtle red welts followed in their wake. you settled for a quiet intimacy as his plush lips fell open and you shared the same breath.
all euijoo could manage was a rushed warning, a choked, "coming-" before his hips rolled one final time into your hand, his release spurting out and over in hot streams. a constant pulse of pleasure racked through his body as you worked him, slowly, milking every last drop until he was whining, doing everything he could to not chant your name like a prayer.
you'd have taken this over a turkey sandwich any day.
your hand, covered in his cum, stilled at the base of his still twitching, sensitive cock. euijoo, with his chest still heaving, reached over and gently wiped the back of your palm with familiar soft, blue fabric. that same gentleness you'd used in the kitchen weeks ago, when he had cut his finger helping you open your package and you'd smoothed the bandage over his skin, was staring right back at you, cheeks flushed and forehead sticky with sweat.
you were panting, too, like you'd done anything but ruin the underwear you were currently wearing. everything happened so fast, so suddenly that it felt like a dream, like you were sleepwalking. it was the same dream you'd drank herbal teas and massaged pressure points to avoid having every night, the one where you and euijoo ended up in a puddle of sweat. only you were awake, now, fully drunk on the scent of him, the sound of him.
and the look of him, just like the audience, which you were now acutely aware of as euijoo carefully wiped away the last of his release from your skin.
euijoo motioned vaguely toward the laptop with a nod, a confident and aimless tip of his head, "end it," he said and, with an arrogant, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his bitten lips, added "unless you want them to watch me fuck you senseless."
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