welcome home, heartbreaker
﹒✶﹒ synopsis: returning after four months from exile is none other than choi yeonjun, the same man with whom you had spent a single night after your boyfriend broke your heart. the same ex-boyfriend who you still can't quite let go of, maybe yeonjuns return will fix that. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: 🔞!!! yeonjun x fem!reader, hueningkai x fem!reader, unlikable characters, mentions of cheating! but not really but it feels like it, homie hopper reader, gossip girl inspired, smut, oral (f!rec), no pullout mention, prob forgot some sorry
⊹₊ ݁ . wc: 11.2k . ݁₊ ⊹
𝜗𝜚 ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: say it right- nelly furtado an: sorry hk i love you i swear im a ningdungie i dont know why i did this to you i love you forgive me. i love gossip girl, its so messy and this series will be very very very messy- but i hope you enjoy this first part ><
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Hello Upper Eastsiders, Gossip Girl here, and I have the biggest news ever. One of my sources just spotted none other than Choi Yeonjun at Grand Central.
Yes, the same Choi Yeonjun who split and supposedly transferred to a state school in California. Back so soon? Or did he ever really leave? Seeing as his bags are neatly waiting right at the edge of a platform leaving Hudson.
Funny… isn't our lonely HK from Hudson? I'm sure he didn't rub off too hard on YJ, or maybe he did… or maybe it was just the girlfriend they shared last fall…oh, or did you all not know that? Because I heard our lonely HK just so happened to have a long-term girlfriend, or I guess ex-girlfriend, the kind of girl you would never see leaving the Choi boys' brownstone, and yet…
But I won't get into that, at least not now, especially when BG has just been seen leaving not one but four parties in the same night. Someone's a busy B, or at least I know he works with one. A little birdy told me that BGs got some competition, a transfer student all the way from Boston. They always said Harvard boys were better, right? Maybe TH will even give you a better deal, but who am I to say? All I do know is that he's certainly good at saving money, hopping from one scholarship to the next, and whose daddy's name signed the transfer? I wonder if it happened to be SBs, seeing as he's the only one I know with a father living all the way out near the Ivy League.
Anyways, until next time, you know you love me,
Xoxo, Gossip Girl
There was something a bit poetic about coming home to an empty house. Or at least that's what Yeonjun told himself when he finally took the elevator up to the penthouse and found it deserted. He had done a lot of self talk to get himself to even get out of the car, and it was all for nothing.
He had made sure his father knew he was on his way back; even his sweet new wife had known, her text invite to dinner like a dagger he couldn't tell was tipped in poison until it was too late. She was good at delivering blows, so unexpected from someone so caring, but Yeonjun had learned a long time ago that sometimes the most rotten fruit still smells sweet.
Somewhere deep down, he knows it hurts him to see the way his childhood home, even one as cold and sterile as this penthouse, was, empty and scrubbed of his childhood antics, burned. Because there was a fist around his stomach, tightening as he looked at all the new art hanging, his mother's Monet taken down and replaced with his father's new wife's new wave art craze painting. Something cheaply made, passed off as expensive, in hopes that the price tag will pull people in.
But even being at his mother's new place all the way out in Hudson hadn’t helped heal whatever he was missing in terms of nostalgia. If anything, it had made that fist close its fingers on him in the first place. Seeing the way she had built her life without him, so content with dropping him off at his father's feet to start her new life, so fast that she had even gotten to pick out cream colored curtains that wouldn't be torn down by his overenthused playtime destruction.
She had been the first one to point fingers at him, I can't watch him alone, I need a nanny, he’s too much! As if she had done enough of the watching in the first place. He wonders just how long her palace in Hudson had been standing, if it had been slowly built as an escape, well before she had done her running; she never did spend much time in the penthouse here.
He hadn't wanted to run like she had, and in the years that she had been gone, he had done nothing but want her back. He thought over long nights that he would have been better with her instead of stuck in this hell of a house on the Upper East Side. But there was something in him that knew he wouldn't force her to take him when she had made it clear she didn't feel like she was enough for him, so he had made the sacrifice to stay. But even in all his dreams of somehow living with his mother, being told he had nowhere else to go but to her felt like a part of him had been ripped clean through with that final stab.
Because in his dreams, she had wanted him desperately, but in reality, pulling up in that blacked out car felt like it was the very last thing she had ever planned for. But he had done wrong; he knew the price he would have to pay for making such a scene in front of so many people. But it was fun to watch Kai break.
If anything, that had been worth it. Even just standing in the foyer, looking at the spot where they had separated the two of them, he could see it. He had never seen Kai angry, not like that, not in the same way that Yeonjun felt every day, just watching Kai. He's sure that's the only time he's ever heard Kai swear, the scrape of his chair like a siren call to all their visitors, drawing in every eye just like yeonjun had wanted.
And the look on his father's face, the disgrace not just directed at Yeonjun but both of them alike, the playing field even for only as long as it took the punishments to be dealt. Kai had been playing sweet for years, Yeonjun had been on his last leg, and enough was enough. He had taken the train ride to Hudson, worked it into his mind that it wouldn't bother him, at least not until he pulled up and found his mother's house just as empty as this one.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake by staying longer than he felt was necessary. Walking around like a ghost in a home he didn’t feel welcome in anymore was enough to drive him to drink. Or at least drinking earlier than he had planned that night. So he grabbed his bag and called his car back around to take him to the only spot he felt closest to comfort.
“You cannot convince me to spend any more time looking at that god awful book.” You had been at the brownstone well over the amount of time you allotted for studying. Most days, soobin was easy to convince to cut the session short, to switch over to a game and play like neither of you had papers due, but not today. Today, he had it in his mind that he needed everything he had ever been assigned to do, done before the weekend.
“I can hardly keep my eyes open,” Beomgyu had groaned, head rolled back on the couch like he had been doing nothing at all besides scrolling on his phone for the last two hours. He had started the study session with the two of you and had given up after one hour. “And I'm starving.”
“Your turn to cover dinner,” Soobin had muttered, kicking out at Bemogyu's leg with his own while he stretched, “im done for the night, I don't even wanna get up,” he had slouched enough to slip out over his work on the coffee table, hair spilling like ink over his notes, glasses pushed off as soon as you had closed your book and called enough.
“And i need to head out, if im stuck here too long i start to wrinkle like a raisin from the boy air,” you waved your hand around at the space, less taken care of than the last time you had come over to study, “next friday we work at my place, i actually have a maid who cleans up before guests come over,”
“Yeah, yeah, it could be worse. I picked up all the laundry.” Soobin gestures around the place, the living room covered in their books and work, sure to be left there until next Friday or when it was needed for a class. Behind the couch, a pool table sat with more collected randomness, a forgotten glass or two, Beomgyu’s sweater half hanging on the edge, ready to fall to the floor, mail they had collected but not opened, and shoes kicked around like they had been playing games with them.
“Either way, it's still a mess in here; the two of you combined could afford a cleaning crew once a week.” You shoved your things into your bag, standing and stretching out the kinks in your legs from sitting for so long.
“Doubtful,” Beomgyu shrugged, finally stretching out fully the way he wanted, not that you had stood up. “I like to spend my inheritance on practical things like takeout.”
You rolled your eyes, although it was mostly for show; you could appreciate someone who could utter the word inheritance without feeling like they had to feel ashamed or secretive about it. It was the most common income the Upper East Side shared. The three of you could live off only one of your trust funds until you died; there was no reason to beat around that bush. There was nothing more that you hated than a rich man playing poor; lazy was another thing.
“Okay, I'll see you guys tomorrow. I need a long bath,” although you knew who was waiting for you back at your apartment. Your doorman had sent you the text about a visitor only a few minutes ago, but you hadn't wanted to seem like you would be running back to him just because he had come over like he said he would. That didn't keep the idea of leaving right away from your mind, though.
“Oh, so you're not leaving because Kai's at your place, but because you want to bathe?” Soobin arched a brow at you like he knew he would catch you.
Your flush was instantaneous. “No,” the only word you could get out from between your lying lips.
“Yeah, right,” Beomgyu chuckled, “you stay for dinner most days, unless…” he drew the word out like he was singing a note, “the boyfriend happens to pop up in your bed.”
“He is not my boyfriend.” You don't even try to deny the truth of his words, but you will deny that. Kai had broken up with you; he had made it clear enough that you had sobbed those words over and over again right there on that very couch Beomgyu lay sprawled now. Throwing your bag over your shoulder and pulling the door open, you smiled, “Dinners on me next week, promise.”
Beomgyu had been looking back at you, his relaxed state a comfort you wished you felt, until he shot up, his teasing turned to confusion, “Yeonjun?”
The name was like a glass of wine pouring down the front of your dress, your body running cold like you had heard the cry of a ghost in your empty room. And there behind you, he stood, his cold stare working over your body like the last time he had seen you he hadn't had his hands all over you, tracing over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of your desperation so he could sink his teeth in for a kill shot. “Yeonjun-”
“So it was your car that pulled in right after mine left.” You watched the way his brow rose, like he was leading you into a trap with nothing but an observation. But you were stuck, emotions roaring to life that you had thought you had suppressed deep enough to alchemize. “You should probably go, don't wanna leave the boyfriend waiting.”
And there was the one thing that could make you run, not to Huening but away from Yeonjun. You could feel words bubbling up, “He’s not-” but you caught them, grinding your jaw, and trying to find the reigns of your emotions before they became so loose you had no hope of pulling them back in, “always a pleasure,” your fake nice like a balm easily placed to smooth your features, you turned on your heel back to the boys left startled just as you, “bye,”
Yeonjun stepped aside just enough to let you past, his bags sitting on the first step from the porch, his initials branded into the leather as neatly as they must have been in your mind, YJ. he left just enough room so that you would have to brush against him, like a reminder that he had done this before, given you space, touched you.
You had to keep yourself from running to the car, the door already held open by your driver, before you tossed your bag in and didn't look back. Your mind was racing the whole elevator ride up to your apartment, teeth worrying over your lip as if that would keep your mind from jumping to that first kiss you shared with him. As if you hadn't fought yourself every night not to think about the way he had made you feel.
He was the only thing on your mind, not the boy waiting for you the second you opened your front door. At least not until his lips were on yours, his mouth drawing you back to reality. “You left me waiting,” the words mixed in with a pout when he pulled away, the two of you pressed against your front door, your bag fallen to the floor.
“You didn't text me that you would be over; how was I supposed to know?” You watched the way he poked his tongue to his cheek, like he was ready to avoid the topic, as if you didn't already know how he was playing the game.
The two of you had been broken up for four months, the cold turkey, no contact, written into the agreement, and neither of you wanted to be the one to wave the white flag. But Kai had been the first one to show up here at your place only two weeks after he had dumped you. Hair dripping from the rain, knocking on your door like a boy lost and looking for direction.
You had let him in, and you didn't even fight when he took his key back from the hook he had left it on that day he had broken up with you. And since then, he had shown up periodically, always for sex, and never with a courtesy call; he let your doorman do the work of notifying you about a visitor, while he sat back on your sofa and waited for you to run right to him.
Because it never failed to bring you back, like a bell had been rung, and your feet moved without help. Both of you knew what you had; he acted like a boyfriend with bad communication. Showing up at parties wearing matching outfits, spending the night watching each other from across the room like you weren't going back to your suite to have him undress you, like he wasn't the one on your mind, like a song you just couldn't shake from your head as much as you tried.
Beomgyu had warned you that the game would only end in heartache, that Kai had found it easy to leave you the first time, and a second was on the horizon with the way he kept you hidden. The word had only cleared the lines you had found so blurry before; he was hiding you, from whom was another question you didn't care to answer, not when you at least had him like this.
And god, wasn't he so pretty like this? His hair just about hanging in his eyes, his stare down the slope of his nose, his lips just parted like he was ready to lean back into you for more than just a simple kiss.
It was so easy to get caught right back up in the webbing of him, your eyes jumping between the beauty marks on his skin, your mind thinking back to every time you had lain in bed with him, kissing each mole like following the breadcrumbs to his heart. You didn't have time to stop yourself from thinking about how he must have woven that web with your love, used it against you because he knew just how much you couldn't resist the nostalgia-tinted moment.
You would let him use you; you couldn't deny that you were using him right back, couldn't deny that you enjoyed it just as much as he did. And you should have stopped him right there when your mind kept flicking back to Yeonjun, how your mind couldn't even help itself from imagining him kissing down your neck instead of Kai.
It was the same mess you had found yourself in four months ago, that day bleeding into every moment you spent with Yeonjun on your mind. Because when Kai had come to find you, the disappointment stung sharper than if he had wielded his words as a whip. Because his silence had been as deafening as a shotgun, his clothes rumpled and his eyes as soft as the blade he felt you had stabbed right into his back. Is it true? It had been the only question he needed to ask; you couldn't even play dumb, not when you could still feel Yeonjun's hands all over you, once comforting and now heavy.
You wondered when the shame had lifted from your shoulders, if it was after the first night you had seen Kai waiting in your bed, or if it was after the first time that you imagined it was Yeonjun kissing between your legs instead of Kai. But you would never admit that had happened, not to anyone, and it had been only one time until now. Until Yeonjun had walked back into your life dressed in Dior and smelling like a cologne you had sworn didn't make your heart beat faster than it should. He was back just as swiftly as he had gone, poisoning the well of your heart with nothing more than a look.
Because now, as Kai walked you backward to your couch, peeling your clothes away and humming against your skin, you fought everything in you not to think about the way Yeonjun had scanned your body with eyes like fingers tipped with appreciation. He had enjoyed watching you get flustered over him, logging the information away like a slim sheet of blackmail ready to be delivered whenever he wanted.
He must have known how it would affect you. Don't wanna leave the boyfriend waiting, the words a knife hanging on a string far too frayed to be waiting over your head.
“Look at me,” the words said between Kai’s fervent kisses, his nose brushing yours as he pressed his hips closer to you. Your soft gasp caught in his mouth when you felt just how needy he was. “Tell me you missed me.”
Curling your fingers into his hair, you whisper the words he wants to hear, “I missed you.” The truth hidden between the lines, melting into your moan when he finally pushes into you, eyes locked on yours like he wasn't playing at disguising a quick fuck as lovemaking. Because as soon as he's done, his kisses feel like compensation, and you're not even hurt, not when he leaves, and not when you're left alone sitting half-dressed with a post sex glow you're quick to scrub away with a shower.
You loved Kai; it was written into everything you knew about yourself, and sleeping with Yeonjun had not changed that. And somewhere deep down, you wonder if you had only done it to hurt Kai as badly as he had hurt you. Because it burned to think about the way he had left you, buried under the weight of your crumbling relationship, so easily taken out by a few words, it's not you. Like he had printed out a list of cliches and was ticking them off the list.
“I love you. I won't ever stop loving you. I just think we need time to explore other options, other avenues. We're going to college and we won't have time to see each other as often, and I'll need to focus more on the Choi Foundation.”
He had left you as if your feelings had been nothing but ordinary, blacked out from his past with nothing but a few words and a pursed smile. Your tears were burning on your cheeks while you sat there and begged him not to leave you. And he had still gotten up and walked out of your life.
Only not for long, because he had come back, even when you had found comfort in the one person you knew would hurt him the most to find solace in.
Your mind moved on its own, hands picking out clothes you thought he would like, spraying on your best, most expensive perfume, the one you wore that night when he buried his face into your neck and groaned like he had found heaven. You hadn't been searching for him; if you had, it would have made things worse. The two of you stumbled into the start of that night without thinking, but tonight you told your driver exactly the bar you knew he loved best and didn't think twice about how bad you might look in the morning light.
Kai had broken up with you, told you to explore, and yet neither of you had after Yeonjun left without a word. For nearly four months, you had still been claimed by Kai, even if you went around telling everyone he wasn't your boyfriend.
Stepping out into the warm city air, you didn't think twice about caring when you most definitely should have. You wondered if Kai had known Yeonjun was coming back, if he had planned to visit you one last time before he walked back into the picture to solidify his claim on you in whatever way he could.
You almost turned around, the doorman holding open a gateway to chaos, and you stepped right through. Not because you wanted to hurt Kai, but because you wanted to understand what had ignited in you that night you spent with Yeonjun. Because just like now, he had been the only one in the room, leaning over the bar with a glass of something stronger than you felt.
He had changed into a suit, like he was ready to face a meeting at his father's foundation, to shake hands with everyone and promise to be a good boy from now on. And yet he was here, hair hanging in his eyes, and jaw working out the problem in his mind faster than the drink could quell the sound in his head.
Because he hadn't found the courage to go back to the penthouse, even when he knew they would all be home. Dropping everything off in his room at the brownstone and leaving with only a few words with Beomgyu and Soobin. It had been much like when he had gone the first time four months ago. That shameful text from Soobin like a line drawn in the sand of their friendship. Next time you leave a courtesy call would work as a goodbye.
He had wanted to say what had happened, wondered if they would have known more about what happened because they were closer to you and Kai. Wondered if you had felt shame and talked about him like he was some mistake you couldn’t scrub out and instead chose to ignore. But even if he had missed his friends in some half-hidden way, he didn't want to stick around for the questioning, not when the empty house had been a spoon to his insides, and seeing you had been like the final hollowing scoop.
So he came here, back to the same bar stool he and found throughout high school and that first year of college and every day in between. It was one of the only bars in the city that he knew his father would never walk into, and the alcohol was cheap to him when it didn't cost more than a grand per pour.
Most people he knew wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this, the cheapest bar in the Upper East Side, and yet here you are sliding yourself into the seat next to him.
You smelled like he remembered, the wave of that comforting aroma like a drug he had gotten a good deal on. He wondered if it was more intoxicating because he knew he shouldn't have you, not when you had so clearly been Kai’s for years. But it didn't stop him from craving you, not when doing bad things felt so good.
“You never told me goodbye.” You didn't look at him, only at the bar and the rows of liquor you turned your nose up at. He had seen you drunk off of a few cheap $150 glasses of wine here before, back when drinking felt wrong because you shouldn't have been doing it and he had been a bad influence in your life well before Kai was in the picture.
He could see you back then, giggling with him and Beomgyu, face flushed and lips grinning on the edge of your glass. How you let him carry you out without complaint, so long as your parents didn't catch you when he helped you back up to your penthouse room. That was a month before Kai had walked into his life, into yours. Maybe it was inevitable that he ended up in your bed, or at least that's what helped him sleep at night.
“We slept together once, don't play like you're my girlfriend, I'm pretty sure the boyfriend role is taken already,” he said it to hurt you, the sting of it tasting bitter in his mouth, but you didn't care because you remembered that night, not just the sex, but the way he had held you in a way Kai never had and you don’t think he ever could.
Because when you walked into the brownstone, a mess of watery words and panic. Your life had felt like it was ending, like you had all your eggs in the basket of your relationship, and Kai had tossed it into the Hudson River with a smile on his face. And there Yeonjun had been, sitting at his home bar, leaning over the counter with a finger of scotch and creased brows at your entrance.
He hadn't even taken the time to tease you as he usually would; you had cried before, over a ripped dress, a missed invitation, an embarrassing moment, but this felt like an evisceration, and you were spilling out before him like you'd never been whole again. Yeonjun hadn't played pretend. He had stood up and looked like it hurt him to see you that way, pulled you into the circle of his arms, and held you like that would pick up the pieces of you, and it had, even if it was a newly messy amalgamation of yourself.
He had let you talk, listened to every tear-stained word, thumb rubbing away your sadness, a tissue passed like it was second nature. Your bereft words like a blade to your relationship with Kai, already left mangled from the way he had tossed it into the shredder in the corner of his office in the Choi Foundation building. I thought he loved me.
He does. How could anyone not? And he had said it stripped back of anything at all, like it had scrubbed him raw to say it. You don't want to marry into my family, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to marry into his. Maybe he's keeping you from that.
If he loved me, he wouldn't care. The conversation had tipped your perception of everything. And maybe you shouldn't have leaned into him, not at that moment when you were only just being pulled from the water, but you couldn't help it, not when he had said those words like they came from somewhere deep down from the recesses of his soul.
How could anyone not? Because it had been the same words that made Yeonjun realize his feelings for you. Repressed and silenced for longer than he should have let them stay. He had pushed you away when you tried to kiss him; he knew what it meant, knew how it would all end in flames the second it came out that you had been here in his house, kissing him, crying to him.
We can’t. He had tried to convince himself that he couldn’t convince you, and yet when he said it, he thought back to the two of you drunk in a bar you shouldn’t have been in, how you had melted into him all those years ago, your lips so close to his ear when he carried you out. You know you’re the prettiest boy I know? But if I fell in love with you, it would be because you're a good man, not because I wanna kiss your stupid pretty boy face. You had smelled sweet like wine, and his teenage boy heart had thumped to a beat he had never felt before.
He had carried that feeling for years, and never said a thing, didn't even acknowledge the way he felt, not until that moment when you leaned in a second time and he said fuck it to everything that would go wrong. He’d have you if not for himself right then, but for his teenage self who had craved you for a whole month until he watched your eyes light up with hearts over a boy he had never seen coming, and he decided it was easier to bury axes instead of swing them.
And Yeonjun had you like no one ever had before. Laid you out on his bed and gave you his all in a way that you couldn't even be ashamed about when Kai stood there on your doorstep dripping in rain, asking you over again Is it true? You couldn't lie, not because you wanted to but because what you and Yeonjun had done was the realest facet of yourself that you had ever shown anyone, and you don't think you could have lied even if you tried.
“I was your friend first, even before him.” You didn't want to say Kai's name aloud, not here alone with Yeonjun, not when Kai had just had his hands on you, and all you could imagine was Yeonjun touching you. “And I know what it must mean to come home today.”
The word burned into Yeonjun's skin. Home, it had been a house, empty and set up like a set for a play he no longer had a role in. Because someone prettier and shinier had moved in while he was gone, well before he had even left. So he shook his head, done with the thoughts, done with thinking about Kai and his sweet act passed down from his mother, who bought bad art and had even worse taste in men.
“Sure,” his brows jumped, his glass cold in his hand when he tossed it back, swallowing the bitter drink like a welcome reprieve, or like the pill he knew would be shoved into his mouth the second it came to light what he was about to ask you. So he stood, shrugging on his suit jacket and not even bothering with buttoning it, and just before he turned all the way around, he muttered, “Need a ride?”
Because after everyone, the empty houses, and waiting rooms, you had been the only one to look at him and care for his return, past a stupid gossip sight.
And maybe you should have said no, but why else had you even gone to the bar without ordering a drink in the first place? You knew him and you knew yourself, and some days the lines blurred on who you knew better. So you stood, leaving your inhibitions behind you when you climbed into his blacked-out car, your address muttered without a beat from him like he had reason to memorize it.
You didn't even bother buckling up, not when the two of you were on each other the second the door was shut behind him. His body hot under your hands, his lips tasting of low-grade liquor and what was supposed to be regret but wasn't anything near it.
He was kissing you like he had found exactly what he had always been looking for, not like he was staking a claim on you just for the sake of semantics. Because he had been thinking of you every night since he left, picturing the way your mouth had shaped around the sound of your pleasure, wishing to feel you under his palms so he could sink his fingers into your skin and keep you there against him until he couldn't breathe.
So when you climbed on top of him, head just nearly hitting the roof of the car until you bent down to kiss him, he watched the way his fingers dimpled your thighs, your dress riding up around your waist, and he moaned at the smell of your perfume that you picked out just for him. His teeth scraping down the side of your pulse like a promise that one of these days he would finally have you in a way that would ruin everyone else for you.
And maybe he already had.
Because you were grinding into him, sloppy with your kissing, whimpering into his mouth with every drag of your hips as he found the same trail of kisses that he had that first night. Peppering his lips down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, as if he was determined to leave every part of your skin touched by him and him alone.
“What about your boyfriend?” and even that title couldn't make you feel ashamed because Kai had made it perfectly clear to you that you weren't together.
“He's not my boyfriend.” And it was the only thing you needed to say before Yeonjun dug his hands into your waist, guiding your hips to the pace he wanted, but he's sure even if you had said anything else, he would have continued without shame, not when you both wanted each other this bad.
You tugged on his hair, long and overgrown in the back from his months away, mewling when he muttered, “are you going to finish from a little grinding before we even make it to your place where i can properly fuck you?” and it was the small grin on his pink kissed lips that made you press your face into his shoulder, sinking your hips as close as you could get them to the bulge in his fitted dress pants.
“No, don't hide, let me see how desperate you are for me,” and you hated yourself, not because of what you were doing but because you knew how tomorrow he still wouldn't be yours. You let your head roll back, his grin digging into your stomach, aiding your building orgasm. Your nails scratched along his scalp, his lashes fluttering as if you made him feel as good as he was making you feel.
“I missed you.” The words slipped out when you were looking for anything else to say. Because even if he didn't know what you had said to Kai, you did, and you wondered how severe the burn would be for Kai to find out that Yeonjun, of all people, didn't have to beg to hear you say it. “Not just because of this.”
Yeonjun couldn't stand to hear you say it, his mouth pulling you back in to shut you up, because if it was real, he didn't want you to know just how badly he needed to hear it. Because he had missed you, missed you like you had been his all along, missed you until it ached, and not because of the sex. Although it was a bonus because, as much as he wanted to ruin you for other men, he only wanted to because you had ruined everyone else for him. Every thought was of you as he fucked into his hand, your name on his lips like a sin.
Now was no different, not when he watched the way you came, his name and yours mixed together like a call and response, your body trembling deliciously in his hands, and he was greedy to eat up every sound you made. “And I hardly even put a finger on you,” his grin too sinful to be playful.
“Shut up,” but there was no room for embarrassment, not when the car was pulling to the valet line of your building and you were already sliding off of him and fixing your dress with the limited space you had, catching your breath. You couldn't help yourself from smiling because he was looking at you like he was having fun, not just for pretend, but the kind of fun the two of you had when it was the past and you hadn't messed everything up in a single night.
Yeonjun pulled himself from the car, holding his hand out for you, hand onto your waist, letting you lead him up the stairs like he had never been there before. The two of you standing side by side in the elevator, looking ahead, giving each other enough space to say no, to think back on the consequences. It was the worst silence, heavy with sexual tension and understanding that whatever this was going to be would be seen as a mistake, not by you but by Kai, possibly by beomgyu and soobin, by Yeonjun's family.
But when the door closed behind you, the lock twisted your heart jumping to your throat because he was pushing you right where Kai had. “I want absolutely all of you just like I had you that night,” he leaned in, lips ghosting over yours as he said it.
“You always were greedy.” You know he had always been everything but; he hadn't learned greed until he had the one thing he should have never gotten close to. This, here and now, was greed; it was desperation masked as want instead of need. You knew that better than anyone; you felt it in the way he pressed his body against yours, in the way he took you to your room and laid you out on your bed.
He's been here before, sat at the foot of your bed after a dinner party while you talked over nonsense, his eyes watching you like it was nothing. But that had been back when it was nothing. Now it was different; now his touch felt like sparks on your skin, his eyes like a match to gasoline.
And you felt the burn race up your spine when he fell to his knees at the edge of your bed, your dress slipping right back up around your waist as it had in the car, your panties, sticky with your wetness, picked out for him and him alone. He had dreamed of looking up at you again from this position, of watching the way you fell apart for him like it was the first time you had ever been properly touched.
You're gasping, fingers twisting in the duvet as his lips brush the inside of your knee, his hands sliding up the back of your calves while he creates a trail of kisses along your inner thigh, his hair brushing your sensitive skin, making you want to close your legs around his head. Like he can sense the intention he is quick to hold your legs in place, spreading you just enough to fit himself in the space he's created. “So noisy.” His grin pressed right against your skin, teeth scratching along the trail he had created leading up to the spot you needed him painfully.
“You're teasing me.” It's a whine, the kind you would never let anyone hear, not when you feel like it could be used against you. But Yeonjun stored it away, holding it close to him as he reached up and finally pressed a finger to your clothed clit, your body jumping from the pressure.
“God, I forgot just how wet you get.” He slid his fingers down the mess you had made, searching for the source and addicted to watching the way your hips rolled forward, looking for more. “Tell me, how often did you think about me when you touched yourself?”
You whimper in response, face heating just as well as the rest of you. You almost can't look at him, not when his line of questioning is turning you inside out, his stare a seamripper sliding along you to complete your undoing. “Shut up. You're close enough to the edge of the bed that his breath fans over your center like a warning when he laughs.
“Often?” With his free hand, he lifts your leg to his shoulder, spreading you just slightly wider. With his teasing finger, he slips it under the fabric of your panties, running his knuckle down the seam of you like a caress along your cheek. “Because you were on my mind almost every night,” he leaned in closer, lips just barely brushing over your clit, “I dreamed about tasting you again, teasing you just like this so I could hear that little sound you try to hide.”
He chuckled when you bit your lip, finger running up and down so slow you might just die from the teasing. You're trembling the second that he finally presses his lips fully against your clit, head rolling back, even when he just kisses you over your panties. You should feel pathetic, the sounds coming from you are enough to make it seem so, legs threatening to close around his ears while he hums like he's just found salvation.
“Yeonjun,” he had heard you say his name over the years in so many different ways, in a mix of annoyance and demand, but like this, dripping with need, was his favorite. He was letting his spit build up, letting it mix with your wetness until there was no dry spot left. His teeth dragged across your clit until he went right back to sucking you through the fabric, finger just teasing your entrance like a warning you didn't stop to read.
Hearing him groan from only pleasuring you was worth any price you had to pay down the line. The vibrations of the sounds raced up your spine, licked down your legs, and you couldn’t stop the second orgasm cresting even if you had wanted to. Shamelessly, you're grinding against his face, one hand falling to his hair to pull him any closer. And when he finally shoves his fingers into you, it's only a few thrusts before you're falling over the edge of something you won't even find yourself coming back from.
He lets you ride out your high, and you didn't even care if he suffocated, not when it felt too good to let go. And when he was finally up, he wasted no time in slipping your panties right down your legs, not caring where they landed.
That night had been a lot like this, Yeonjun guiding you out of your clothes, every brush of his calloused fingers lingering, testing the waters of your limits. He had made you unbutton his shirt, watched you carefully move up onto your knees on the bed, sliding your hands down his chest until you got to the waistband of his slacks. He had offered up a space for your denial, a spot to turn away and never speak about the moment again.
But you had untucked his shirt, nimbly working down the seam of buttons, and unbuckling his belt, all while he brushed your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real. He didn't drop your gaze when you had wrapped your hand around him, his soft gasp breaking you in two, your grin digging into his patience.
“You like to watch me fall apart for you, huh?” he had to bite the words out, teeth grinding to hold his moan back when you rolled your thumb over his tip.
For years, you had watched the way Yeonjun had built walls around himself. Pushed every brink into place and made sure nothing could send them tumbling down around him, but all it had taken wasn't only pushing your hand into his pants but caring. Because in the morning, you wouldn't push him away like this was just sex, but you knew he wouldn't stay.
“Maybe,” you wanted to see how far he would let you get before he took over, and it wasn't far because he pushed you back until you were pressed to the bed, his body climbing over yours. Gasping at the feeling of his hands pushing up your legs, folding you in half like you were nothing but something to manhandle into place.
You reached out for his shoulders, finding something to ground yourself against when feeling seemingly exposed, all while being fully pressed into the mattress. “I should hate how much I want you,” and if it had been anyone else it would have felt like a backhanded comment, something to stew over when they were done and gone. But from Yeonjun, the one who dug his heels into the sand and stood by the line of his beliefs even when the tide came in and washed it away, it felt like a love confession.
“Don’t.” It was pathetic to beg, to demand even an ounce of selfishness from him, and yet you couldn't help yourself, not when he was this close to you, not when the feel of his cock slipping between your folds turned every word into a plea. “I might want you so much more.”
And it was having you that would ruin him, rip him apart, and leave him out for the wolves. He hadn't known it that night, but he knew it now, and still he took. You couldn't even get a sound out when he finally pushed in, every slow inch creating a mind-numbing stretch that left you breathless. The back of your knees find the perfect spot in the crook of his elbows, while his fingers twist into the duvet, grounding himself as much as he could when all he wanted to do was be as flush to you as possible.
But like this, just hovering over your face, he could catch every expression you made while he slowly built up his pace. It was half the fun for him, watching the way he undid you. Your mouth so easily kissed, he wanted to swallow every sound you made. “We shouldn't be doing this,” as if the thought had just come to him, as if he knew nothing could pull him away the second he felt how warm you were, how easily pliable you were when you melted under his touch.
“Don’t stop.” Your brows crinkling together as you tugged him closer to you, fingers threading into the hair at the back of his neck, his moan of your name falling onto your tongue, rattling in the back of your throat. “Please don't."
“I can’t,” he sank his hips deeper, angled just right so the pane of his groin rubbed deliciously slow against your clit, each grind of his cock making you quiver under him. He was hitting you so deep you couldn't think anymore, every sound passing from somewhere deep within yourself that you didn't know existed. “I don't think I could ever stop.”
He didn't even care about the pace anymore, applying pressure behind each drag of his hips, his throaty groans echoing in your room as he chased some high that would collapse the foundation of him. And it's exactly what it felt like when he began to tip over the edge of his sanity, because you were scratching at him, trying to find a grip as your toes curled and your back arched, the two of you falling off the ledge together in a desperate flurry of whines and half-finished open mouthed kisses.
It was the kind of feeling you didn't come back from, that lingered right on the surface of the night. And when Yeonjun starts to kiss down your neck, nuzzling his face behind your ear, you can't help but melt into his hold. Your mewls fading as he starts to slow his final thrusts, pushing his hips flush against yours as he lets his weight lay against you like a comforting blanket.
He knows he should go, knows that he shouldn't have been here, but for a moment he lets himself pretend that it would be okay to spend the night, that if anyone found out they wouldn't look at him the way his father had that night, how Kai had looked at him. And like you could read his mind, you whispered it, “Don't go.” Like you knew, his next instinct was to run.
And even if you both know it was a lie for him to act as if he wasn't thinking about it, he kissed over the mark he had made against your pulse, your perfume mixing with the scent of him. “I won't.”
But in the morning, after sharing the bed, his arms having been wrapped around you while you curled into his chest, he pulled himself away. Standing at your vanity, he buttoned his shirt up while you watched. Naked with the sheet around you, you sat there and didn't say a thing as he dressed.
Yeonjun didn't know where he was going to go. He had missed the call from his father. A single ring as if it was all it took to get hold of him, as if any more effort would show favoritism. They had planned a dinner around his return, or so the voicemail had said. Come or don’t, just leave the drama at your mother's.
But he had already been on the way up to your apartment, and he didn't think he could stomach niceties when the only nice person he knew was waiting behind him and swallowing the silence he let you sit in. Leaving drama behind had been the last thing he had done because he had made his bed in your home and done the one thing that had gotten him kicked out of his house four months ago.
And he didn't even regret it. Even less? He didn't feel the need to hide it. He had dipped himself in the shame of wanting you at that table, and there was no scrubbing himself clean when you had made it all the way down to his bones. He shouldn't be there, but he was shameless in his actions now. “Come out with me tonight.”
“Out…like with our friends?” And there he sees the panic in you. The fine ripple of worry settles over the waters of your image, and he catches it like the stone that must have done the revealing. He looks at you from the mirror, looks at the spot on your neck where he kept finding his lips.
You knew the conversation would pick itself up at some point. It was no coincidence that he had walked out of your life only a second after making his presence so blinding you couldn't look back at the moments he had been in the background without aching. And it was impossible for you to hide the way it made you feel to think about bringing everyone in on your relationship status with anyone after Kai had left you.
Soobin and Beomgyu knew. They had been the only ones you could sit and drink your sorrows away when you believed Kai was never going to forgive you, the only ones you cried to when Yeonjun didn't return your calls, and it felt like you had lost both of them completely. But you had stopped talking about it, stopped bringing it up, swept it under the rug, and instead of walking over it, you moved house and left that damn rug behind you.
But they knew, and you didn't want to go back to remembering that they had seen you like that. No matter how close you had been after years of friendship, it felt like a scarlet letter that you wanted to rip to shreds from anyone's mind. And it wasn't Yeonjun. It had never been about being with Yeonjun or being with Kai; it had been the betrayal of the action itself, and you're reminded all anew when Yeonjun asks, “Scared my brother will find out?”
He let the accusation hang in the air, watched the way it turned over in your mind as he muttered, “Find out again, I mean.”
You wondered if it hurt him to say it. He gave nothing away on his face, not when he adjusted the cuffs, fastening the links with a care he had spent the night bestowing on you. “It's just all very sudden.” You curled your hand into the sheet covering your body, needing something to feel as if you weren't dropping all your cards down at the table for every player's view. “I want you to come back. I'll be here. I meant it when I said I missed you, past all the sex.”
But he could read between the lines. You missed him, but not enough to forget about what people thought, not like he had.
“Sure,” and it was all you needed to hear to know he was hurt, even if he didn't know it himself.
Yeonjun had played the game of hiding for as long as it had taken to see the smug look on Kai's face when his father complimented him for not being so sloppy. But the guilt had been eating at Yeonjun the second he had left the brownstone after you did. It must have been the same way you felt now, only you wouldn't have picked up the first bottle of champagne you saw, wouldn't have drunk until you didn't care who heard about his transgression. He didn't mind being sloppy when it had hurt him to see Kai winning at something he never knew he would have competition for. He had one card to play that night, something that would have hurt Kai just as deeply as it had hurt Yeonjun seeing his father pick someone else over blood.
You know…your girl sounds just as sweet as I had always imagined.
For only a second, everything had been still, as if Kai was running over the words, once, twice, trying to find the sense in them. Picking over the title he had attached to you, even without him thinking, the final nail in the coffin of his confession, your girl, because even if he had known you longer, Kai had tattooed your name next to his on every tree, every mind, and every moment moving forward, even post breakup.
Kai's brows had scrunched, eyes going cold when Yeonjun's lips dipped in a sneer, a challenge laced into every champagne influenced syllable. “No-” his mouth had been set, teeth grinding as he watched Yeonjun's smile deepened, and he couldn't stop himself from tackling him to the ground.
The room had burst into a flurry of sound, the bottle in Yeonjun's hand had fallen to the floor right before he did. Kai climbed on top of him and got in one good hit. It had been the first time Yeonjun had felt his lip split so seamlessly under someone's knuckle, his mouth filling with blood, his teeth a mess of it when Kai grabbed the collar of his shirt and shook him. “Tell me it's a fucking lie-”
Yeonjun had laughed from the shock of it, drunk and high off the adrenaline of the moment, champagne soaking into his hair. It felt freeing to get it off his chest in any way he could but he knew it was wrong, knew he was twisting your sacred moment into the shape of a blade and wielding it without mercy as he muttered, “she begged me.” and he didn't know if the blood or the confession felt more bitter on his tongue.
Kai had pulled back to hit him again, his red knuckles right in the line of sight, when his father pulled them apart. The destruction was cut short, but everlasting, because when he had been pulled into his father's study like a child ready for reprimand. Kai had been given a pass, and Yeonjun had been sent to his mother.
He had not regretted the moment. He wished he could have changed what he had said, but he did not regret the truth. You had begged, you had sounded sweet, but Kai didn't need to know that, and when he was passed a train ticket that next morning, his only regret was not telling you he was sorry.
And yet he still couldn't bring himself to apologize now. Instead, he grabbed your door handle and, without turning to you, he muttered, "I missed you too,” because it was the only thing he could say without it being half dipped in a lie.
It shouldn't have made you feel so good, shouldn't have made you smile when you got dressed, and yet it did. And while you stood upstairs in your apartment, blissfully unaware that the two stepbrothers were crossing paths in your lobby, you felt happy. While Kai felt his old wound, still half healing on his back, ripping open anew, that knife placed right between his shoulder blades. And all Yeonjun did was smile.
“Hi brother.” The two of them walked so close they almost knocked shoulders, but Kai stopped himself, dead in his tracks at the name. He had sat across from Yeonjun for more than half of his life. He had done everything he could to fit into the space offered to him. But Yeonjun had taken to attacking instead of waving white flags over battlefields made by parents who cared little about them.
“You're no brother of mine. Last I checked, brothers don't sleep with each other's girlfriends.” he had been taller than Yeonjun for only a few years now, but it never took back the feeling of being looked down on. Like Yeonjun had walked them into a corner, and all Kai had to fight with were fists he had only just learned to swing.
“Funny, last I checked, you were the favorite son, and you and your girlfriend were broken up.” he could still feel the weight of the tension in his father's study, the way the walls had felt suffocating enough to drown out the sound of the party still going on outside the doors.
‘We broke up an hour ago-’ ‘hours ago, I'm not that quick, some of us like to take our time-’ it had been the end of the conversation where his father was concerned. The rules set down that night clarified just how deep Yeonjun had been pushed out.
‘I've had enough of you. Tonight is your first and only warning. Pull some middle school stunt like this again, and you lose your spot on the board at the foundation. That goes for your shares in the company and any assets already written into my will. The whole of it will go to Kai. Anything more and I'll pull your trust fund, and you can lie in the bed you find so easy to make. I'm sending you to your mothers. Maybe there you will learn just how lucky it is to have a spot here in my house.’
“An hour broken up, four months, ten years, brothers don't do that.” And Yeonjun couldn't fight back, not when he didn't care anymore. If they were brothers, in marriage, or blood, it didn't matter because his father had picked, and it hadn’t been Yeonjun.
“Fine, then we are not brothers, and she's fair game. Get over yourself.” It's the last thing Yeonjun says before he leaves, his car waiting right out front and warm enough to melt the icy glare Kai leaves him with before he makes it up to your apartment.
You knew the storm was coming eventually, felt the brewing of it the second you had stumbled upon Yeonjun’s return, but you had believed you had time before having to face Kai again. At least a day or even just enough time to put concealer on the spot Yeonjun had made on your neck because it was the first thing Kai had seen upon his entrance.
“Again? You cheated on me again?” You had only just sat down on your couch, phone in hand to put in an order for your breakfast to be delivered.
Four months ago, you had been a wreck, stumbling over your words and wondering if you would ever find forgiveness in his eyes again. But now, when sadness had turned to denial and then fresh anger, you snapped back instead of in half.
You huffed a laugh. “Need I remind you that you were the one to call it quits? How many times have you told me verbatim that we are not together?” Because it had ruined you to be reminded again and again, made you ashamed enough to make it a mantra that you repeated so that it finally got through to you. “That we ‘need time to explore other options, other avenues,’ or am I misremembering the conversation?”
“You know this is different. This is Yeonjun, my brother-”
“Your stepbrother, whom you haven't known as long as I have.” You stand, not letting him feel as if he's winning just because he's so tall standing over you. “You left me, not the other way around. You told me last month we’re not exclusive.”
“That's not the point. That was never the point. He's doing this to get back at me, I know he is, and I care too much about you-”
“Care about me?” you laugh, let the sound wash over him like a slap, “if you cared about me, you wouldn't be using me, stringing me along like I don't know the second you go off to school you're leaving me for some other girl who doesn't know the difference between runway and the rack,”
Kai purses his lips, stopping himself from saying anything else when you both know what was happening between you two. He had danced around the conversation all summer, planned to keep the footwork clean until his gap year was over. He knew what he was doing, told himself it was okay because he loves you, but even love couldn't take back this transgression that both of you found yourself committing.
Using you in any way in the name of love was still use. And he loved you, more than anyone, because you were his first, and his only love. Even looking at you now, your anger written over your features like a flashing warning for him to back down, he couldn't stop himself from picturing the girl he had stuttered a love confession to while still trying to fumble through the innocence of childhood.
You had looked up at him like you did now, your eyes softer, still round with new wonder over every brush of his finger on your cheek. He mimicked the motion, finding the space he had swept with his thumb so many times before he kissed you that your lashes still fluttered, even in your anger. Because it was instinct what you had together, natural, and full of affection that wouldn't wash away with one fight, not even one like this. “Just don't love him like you love me, okay?”
He breathed the last word out, and every rough edge you had put out on display for him softened into something you always found yourself falling back into. “You can't say things like that, not anymore.” You knew yourself, knew if he stayed any longer, talked to you any sweeter, you would lose connection to the girl you had been when he had opened the door only moments ago. And he knew that because he knew you better than anyone else, even Yeonjun, even more than yourself.
“Can't I? They say you can't love someone like you do the first time, and he will never have you like that.” You want to tell yourself to snap out of it, to not follow the pattern of his beauty marks up to his eyes, and dream about nights where he held you and promised rings and caradles and love like no other. But he was leaning in, pressing his nose to your cheek and just barely kissing you against skin you had sworn would stay thick against attacks as painfully obvious as this one was. His hands, one on your hip and the other right at your neck, blocking out the sight of Yeonjun's claim.
But you couldn't help yourself; you leaned into him, hands sliding up against the fabric of his shirt as he ghosted his lips over your ear and muttered, “So go on, fuck him, explore that avenue, but we both know you will always come back to me.”
And you shouldn't kiss him, shouldn't let him use his hand at the back of your neck to tilt your head into the perfect position to stake a claim on you, but you do. You let him lie you back on the couch, let him slot his thigh right between your legs, and you whimper into his mouth when you grind yourself on him. All before he pulls himself away, leaving you reaching out for him.
“I actually have to go, but think of me when you take care of yourself, okay?”
Good morning, Upper Eastsiders. Gossip Girl here, and it seems there's been a bit of a family reunion.
Someone's come home from exile and found themselves already tangled in a game of house, and it seems he's not the only one playing dirty.
But a little word of advice for our lonely HK, don’t you know? If you have to tell her not to love someone else, you’ve already lost.
Happy homecoming, YJ. Make sure you watch the way that door swings. Sometimes I hear it hits just as hard on the way in as it does on the way out.
Anyways, it looks like we have a budding love triangle, and the edges only seem to be getting sharper. And I promise this is only the beginning.
You know you love me,
xoxo, Gossip Girl
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