WELCOME |˶˙ᵕ˙ )ノ゙
.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃. ݁˖ Ivelle ⋆˙⟡ Ivy ˖ ݁.𓂃. ݁𖥔.───── 18’ she/ her
⟢ Masterlist
⟢ Rules & About
AnasAbdin
Show & Tell
ojovivo

Kaledo Art

roma★
Stranger Things

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Keni
noise dept.

Origami Around

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
occasionally subtle
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Kiana Khansmith
NASA
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Not today Justin
i don't do bad sauce passes
almost home
Cosmic Funnies
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@vi0yyul
WELCOME |˶˙ᵕ˙ )ノ゙
.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃. ݁˖ Ivelle ⋆˙⟡ Ivy ˖ ݁.𓂃. ݁𖥔.───── 18’ she/ her
⟢ Masterlist
⟢ Rules & About
Ohyul kinks
══════════════ headcanon ═════════════
Ohyul x fem!reader
He got a thing pinning you/cornering you. especially if you're smaller than him he loves it when you look up at him with those big eyes.
Really loves to dry humping you making your clothes dirty with his cum, cause eventually he'll take it off later on lol.
What turns him on? whispering closely to his ear feeling your breath againt it, he wont show any reaction if you did that only..his hard bulgen from his pants does.
Im sure he doesn't know how to touch you at first since you're the second woman he talked to (after his mom), He was very gentle to you questioning you if does it feel good.
He's the typa person leaves visible marks on your neck down to your collarbone, red marks on your hips along with your neck and biting your thighs leaving bite marks that makes your clit drenche and he will bury his face into your clit, not wasting a single drop.
He's a patient man, he doesn't do it on public, he'll just find a excuse you two finding a spot that's private or like can cover you two. the sounds? he covers your mouth while filled you with his cum.
He doesn't always bring condom with him, its based on his mood if he wants to do it with protection or raw. if you're not in birth control pills he'll wear a condom, he's easy to talk to.
started this as a normal headcanon and then… yeah:>
mlist ᝰ.ᐟ
He wants you desperately
╰┈➤ 01 | 02
Ohyul × Fem!Reader
angst(?), romance, friends with benefits(?), hurt/ comfort
Warning: emotional tears, sexual tension
Summary: you told him not to fall in love with you. But even when you tried to keep things simple, feelings found their way
⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────‧₊˚⊹
The question sounds too small for him. Too vulnerable. its the kind of thing that feels like it shouldn't come from someone who’s always seems so sure
But right now, there's nothing sure about him
You blink at him, taken aback
He laugh weakly under his breath, swiping at his face with his sleeve
“I just-idon't know what to make of this anymore”
He looks up again, meeting your eyes, voice trembling.
"You said you didn't want me to fall. And now youre saying you didn't think I would. So what was I supposed to do huh? Just pretend I didn't want you at all?"
He shakes his head, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, breathing hard
“Because I tried. God I fucking tried Everytime you’d leave, I’d tell myself its fine that i’d stop thinking about it by morning”
A shaky breath.
"But I didn't. I never did."
He laughs again, but it's a broken sound this time. "And now you're standing here all that, and i don't even know what that means. Does it mean you wanted me too, or-“
You don't let him finish.
The second his voice cracks on “or”, you move. You don't think, don't plan it, your body just reacts.
Your hands find his face, fingers trembling against his neck, and before he can even blink, you kiss him
He doesnt close his eyes
Not at first
His whole body goes still beneath your hands, breath caught, eyes wide open against the press of your lips, like he’s trying to understand it, to make sure its real and not another cruel thing his mind made up in the dark.
Your heartbeat hammers against him, and thats what finally mades it click.
You’re here. You’re kissing him.
And that’s not because you pity him or because you dint know what else to do
It’s because you mean it
He pulls back enough to breathe
Then his forehead drop to yours. His voice come out rough, like its been scraped out of him.
“You want me, yeah?”
You swallow, eyes flicking between his
"I do."
He exhales shakily, the tension in his shoulders loosening just little, but not enough. "Don't-" His voice cracks, and he tries again.
"Don't say that just because I said it first”
You shake your head, your hand curling around his wrist.
"I'm not. I wouldn't."
He pulls in a slow breath through his nose, his brow pressing harder to yours.
“You have no idea what that does to me.”
You manage a faint smile, barely there.
"Maybe I do."
His eyes closed shut for a second before he opens them again, searching your face like he's still trying to find proof.
“I kept thinking," he says, voice low, “if i wanted you this bad there’s no way you could want me back. That it had to be just me”
"It wasn't" you whisper. "It never was”
He closes his eyes again for a moment letting that sink in
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
You smile. “Because I didnt think youd belive me”
He breath out a laugh that shakes halfway through.
“You’re right” he mumbles “I probably wouldn’t have”
“Then it's a good thing I kissed you," you whisper back.
He huffs a small sound, like he wants to smile but cant quite manage it
His hand slides from your cheek to back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair.
"Yeah" he says quietly, voice trembling but sure. “it is”
Despite everything, you can't help the faint smile tugging at your mouth.
"Youre such a crybaby," you whisper.
He freezes for half a second blinking at you Then a disbelleving laugh slips out, a real one this time.
"You're seriously calling me that right now?”
“You are” you say "I've never seen you cry before, I never think you could”
He snorts under his breath, shaking his head.
"Yeah, well," he says, tugging lightly at your wrist “dont get used to it”
Before you could answer, he pulls you down with him. The both of you stumble onto the bed, laughter breaking through the tension like the first crack of sunlight after a storm.
He exhales, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile
"I've never cried like that before," he admits quietly. "Ever”
You hum, your fingers tracing lazy les over the fabric of his shirt.
"Guess there's a first time for everything”
He laughs again, barely there and tucks you closer until your forehead rests against the side or his neck.
"Yeah” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. "Guess there is."
I’m sorry for the delayy. Life got unexpectedly busy, but I’m back noww… temporarily, maybe :>
mlist ᝰ.ᐟ
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Giving him the silent treatment
═════════ headcanon ═════════
Ohyul x fem!reader
fluff, soft ohyul, healthy communication
Warning: -
POV: He noticed you were upset before you even said a word
It happened earlier that evening. You were venting about a long, exhausting day the kind where every little thing goes wrong.
Right in the middle of explaining the final straw, his phone buzzed.
Without thinking, he glanced at the screen, thumbed a quick reply, and muttered, "Sorry, what? I missed that last part."
He didn’t mean anything by it, but after the day you'd had, it felt like a total brush off.
You went quiet
Ohyul isn't the kind of man who needs a neon sign to tell him something's wrong
The second your voice trailed off and your gaze hit the floor, he knew. His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing as the wheels began to turn
"You good?"
You hummed something noncommittal and kept folding laundry. He watched you for a beat longer. "You're not good."
He wasn't about to let it sit
Setting his glass of water down, he crossed the room with that deliberate, steady pace he has when he’s made up his mind
Without asking, he took the shirt from your hands, folded it, and set it on the pile "C'mon. Couch. Now."
When you didn't move, he gestured toward it again, his tone soft but leaving no room for argument "We're not doing the silent thing, babe. Talk to me."
"It's fine," you tried to brush it off.
He shook his head, leaning against the counter to meet your level. "If it was fine, you wouldn't be avoiding my eyes." He reached up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his voice dropping an octave. "I don't care if it's small. If it bothered you, I want to know."
You finally muttered that it felt like he wasn't really listening when you were opening up.
He didn't interrupt. He didn't even sigh. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, letting you finish completely before he spoke
When you were done, he nodded once"Okay. I get it. And you're right." He stepped closer, the sheer warmth of him helping you relax instantly.
"Babe, I wasn't trying to tune you out. My members texted me about a flight mix up, and I panicked for a second. But that could've waited. You were more important. You are more important."
His thumb brushed over your hip as he looked you dead in the eye. "I'm sorry. You had my attention, and I gave it to something else. That's on me."
He didn't just leave it at words He took your hand, led you to the couch, and tucked you into his side before you could even protest.
One arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders while his other hand took yours, resting it on his thigh like it belonged there
"Alright," he murmured, tilting his head to catch your eyes. "Start from the top. I want to hear it all. No phone, no TV, no interruptions."
As you started talking again, he didn't just nod along, he reacted. There were little hums when he was listening closely, soft chuckles at the ridiculous parts, and a low "that's messed up" when you hit the frustrating bits.
His eyes never left yours for long. halfway through, he squeezed your knee gently, a silent reminder that he was right there with you.
When you finally finished, he kissed your temple, lingering for a moment longer than usual. "Thank you for telling me, even when you were mad at me. I'll do better. Next time, I'll make sure you feel heard the first time around"
He pulled back just far enough to meet your gaze and offered a faint smirk. "Also, you're terrible at the silent treatment. You love me too much."
You swatted his chest, but your smile was already giving you away. He just grinned, looking like a man who knew he’d won.
I hate writing things I can’t have 🧎♀️➡️
mlistᝰ.ᐟ
credit for divider!: @suupersonic , @cursed-carmine
your touch starved boyfriend
═════════ headcanon ═════════
Ohyul x fem!reader
fluff, needy Ohyul, clingy behavior
Warning: making out, neck kisses, suggestive(kinda?)
POV: Ohyul doesn't need words to tell you he's had a long day, he needs your skin against his
Ohyul’s the type where you can feel when he's gone too long without touching you, his presence is heavier.
He stands too close in the kitchen, follows you from room to room, leans in the doorway with his arms crossed but keeps brushing his knuckles against your arm whenever you pass.
When he really needs you, it's not words first, it's his body finding yours
He'll wrap his arms around your waist from behind, bury his face against your neck, and hum this low, almost frustrated sound into your skin.
"Missed you." mumbled so soft you nearly miss it.
His kisses when he's touch-starved? Messy.
Hungry. Like he's trying to drink the air right out of your lungs
He pulls you in by your back, tilts his head just enough to deepen it, and doesn't let you pull away until he's satisfied, which is never after just one.
He's got this habit of holding the back of your neck when you kiss, warm and steady, thumb rubbing absent circles into your skin like he's grounding himself
Neck kisses? Loves giving them. He doesn't just peck, he kisses, warm breath and slow presses of his mouth, sometimes dragging his teeth gently over your skin just to feel you shiver.
The little smirk after is entirely intentional
When he's in cling mode, he's tactile in ways that feel casual but are desperate, palm on your thigh under the table, an arm slung over your shoulders even if it's awkward, arms around your waist early in the morning as you make breakfast.
After a long day, he comes home and drops everything just to crowd you up against the nearest wall or counter.
He's not even trying to be sexy, he just needs you close now. big hands holding your hips like hes afraid youll vanish.
In bed, when he's touch starved, it's not about anything fast.
He sprawls half on top of you, tucking his face into your collarbone and letting out a sigh that's way too heavy for a man his size.
He'll stay like that until your shirt is damp from his breathin
He's shameless about it too, will straight up pull you into his lap mid conversation, arms wrapped tight around your waist, and keep talking to whoever else is in the room like nothing's unusual.
The longer he goes without your touch, the more he seeks it without asking, his hands drift to your face when you're talking, thumb tracing over your cheekbone, fingers brushing along your jaw like he's trying to memorize the shape of you.
He doesn't just hug, he engulfs.
Whole body pressed to yours, arms locked around you, chin hooked over your shoulder.
It's warm and heavy and absolutely impossible to move away from until he decides to let go
Sometimes, when you're doing something else and ignoring him, he'll just hook an arm around your waist, haul you into his lap, and mutter,
"Needed you," like that explains everything.
And it kind of does.
my nose is bleeding just from imagining him being this needy…anyway hope you guys enjoying thiss
mlist ᝰ.ᐟ
credit for divider!: @cursed-carmine
He wants you desperately
╰┈➤ 01 | 02
Ohyul × Fem!Reader
angst(?), romance, friends with benefits(?), hurt/comfort
Warning: emotional tears, sexual tension
Summary: you told him not to fall in love with you. But even when you tried to keep things simple, feelings found their way
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"Don't fall in love with me."
You told him that night, your eyes locked on his. He knew you were serious. He had never seen you look at him like that like your eyes were explaining the consequences without a single word.
"I mean it, Ohyul. I won't fall in love with you, so don't."
It wasn't like you needed to say it. He had already been planning to restrain himself, to stay on the other side of that line.
After all, being something was better than being nothing with you.He was a simple man. He'd take what he could get.
"Sure."
Plain. Simple. Easy enough to swallow.
You looked at him a moment too long, like you didn't believe him, like you already knew he was lying through his teeth.
But then you smiled, almost tired and that was that.You never talked about it again. It just happened
Whatever this was
You saw each other when it was convenient, when time allowed it. Sometimes, he'd find himself walking to your place without deciding to, hands buried in his pockets, rehearsing excuses that neither of you really needed.
You weren't dating
You weren't nothing either.
It existed in that strange middle ground without labels, most especially without promises.The kind of thing that thrived in the dark and wilted in daylight.
You were his hidden treasure. He was your dirty secret. Well, that's what he told himself.
You'd sit on his couch, legs over his lap, scrolling through your phone, talking about everything except what you were actually doing.
He'd pretend not to care when your phone buzzed with someone else's name. You'd pretend not to notice that he only ever kissed you when the lights were off.
It was easy and that was the problem.
He told himself it didn't mean anything: the way you always left a little later each time, the way you started wearing his hoodies home, the hair tie he found in his jacket pocket that he didn't throw away.
He even wore it on his wrist, laughing at how pathetic he felt.
You didn't ask him to stay. He never did.
But sometimes, he'd wake in the middle of the night and realize he hadn't left yet, that morning light was already bleeding into the room, that you were breathing softly beside him and he'd wonder when the hell he started memorizing the sound of it.
That's what you were. Something he couldn't name, something that didn't fit anywhere.
Friends, maybe.
Except friends didn't do this. And lovers, that word didn't belong to you. It felt too much, too definite.
So you both pretended it was fine.
That it was all just fun, temporary, harmless. He told himself he could handle it.
Now he sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, your scent lingering on the covers more you than him. He stared for a while. You were cozied up, face half-buried in the pillow, one eye peeking out from under the blanket.
He told himself he was just watching. That there was nothing more to it. But the way his chest felt said otherwise.
He wondered when the line started to blur. Maybe it was the night you asked if he ever got tired of pretending not to care.
"Why would I?" he said.
"It's easier” You hummed, unconvinced.
"You make everything sound so simple."He shrugged, because that's all he ever knew to do.
But he thought about it later. Thought about it too much. The way you said it. The way you poked at him like you already knew what was underneath, but were kind enough not to rip it open.
He remembers another time, weeks later, maybe months. He's not sure anymore, when you asked him if he ever thought about love.
He'd scoffed. "What about it?"
You grinned at him "Just wondering if you're still allergic to it."
He rolled his eyes, but something about the way you said still made his throat tighten.
You said it like you never believed there was a time when he wasn't. He didn't answer you that night
He just kissed you instead.
It was easier than admitting he didn't know what the hell he felt about anything anymore.
Now, sitting here, he thinks maybe that was the first time it started to slip. When the pretending stopped feeling natural
When being near you stopped feeling like a choice
He runs a hand over his face and sighs quietly. You stir, but you don't wake.
It's strange how you can spend months convincing yourself you don't want something, and then one night, in the middle of nothing special, it hits you that you already have.
The way you fit so comfortably in his space, and the thought comes uninvited
When did I start wanting you this bad?
He doesn't have the answer. He doubts he ever will.He sits there for a long time, bare shoulders slumped right, he's still shirtless.
If he thought hard enough, he could still feel your skin against his. He tries to convince himself it's just exhaustion making his head feel too full.
The room smells like detergent and your shampoo, with a faint trace of rain drifting in through the open window. Everything feels heavy with you.
So why won't he have it any other way?
You could slip out of his life the same way you slip out of his bed. That thought lands harder than he expects.
It's stupid, really.
You were never his to lose.
The whole arrangement was built on that. He agreed to it. He even liked the logic of it No one gets hurt. No one owes anyone anything.
And yet here he is, sitting in the dark, feeling like he's already losing something that was never his.He stares at the curve of your shoulder under the blanket.
You look peaceful.
Safe
The kind of safe that has nothing to do with him.
His thoughts are a mess
They keep looping how you laugh at texts that aren't his, how you talk about other people like the world is still wide open for you, and how he can't even say your name sometimes without feeling like it costs him something.
Someone else could have you.
The idea makes his chest twist.
Someone else could make you laugh without wondering if it's allowed. Someone else could call you theirs.
He presses the heel of his palm against his eye, hard enough to see spots. It doesn't help.
He wants to tell himself it's just jealousy, something small and ugly that'll fade if he ignores it long enough.But the more he blinks, the worse it gets. He hates that. He hates that you did this to him without even trying.
He hates that he let you
You shift in your sleep, mumbling something he can't quite catch, and he freezes.
He's half-afraid you'll wake up, half-hoping you will
Maybe if you did, he could hide behind another kiss, another joke, another round of pretending it's all the same.
But you don't wake. You just breathe.
And he sits there, eyes burning, watching the rise and fall of your chest like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.
You could walk away tomorrow.
You could find someone who doesn't hesitate, someone who doesn't make things complicated just by existing.
And what would he do? What could he do?
Nothing.
He isn't your boyfriend. He isn't anything you'd have to miss. Just a name you scroll past when you want to feel less alone for a few hours.
He sits there until his eyes ache from staring at the dark, and his mind drifts.
It lands, for whatever reason, on that one afternoon in your kitchen. The one that was supposed to be nothing just killing time before things blurred into what they always did.
Before you warmed each other again.There was flour on your hands. You'd laughed when he told you that you were terrible at measuring.
You said, "Then you do it," and handed him the spoon.
He rolled his eyes, of course.
That's what he did when he didn't want you to know he was enjoying himself.
But then you leaned close, eyes crinkled with that stupid grin, and before he could make some dry comment, you pressed a quick kiss to his nose.
It was so small it barely counted as anything
A blink and miss it kind of thing
You just laughed and turned back to the counter, still talking about how bad the dough looked. But for a second, just a second, it was quiet.
And that moment felt like his.
Like something that belonged to him alone He hadn't realized how much he'd held onto it until now.
The memory plays over and over that flash of warmth, that sound of you laughing, that tiny, ridiculous kiss and suddenly the weight in his chest feels unbearable.
He blinks, and his vision goes blurry
At first, he thinks it's just the light. But then it happens again, a hot sting, a small, shaky exhale that slips out before he can stop it.
It's pathetic. He knows it is.
Crying over something that was never his to begin with.
But the more he tries to swallow it down, the worse it gets.
His throat tightens, the air feels too thick His hands come up, elbows on his knees, head bowing until his hair falls forward.
He sniffles as quietly as he can, like he's afraid the sound will wake you. It hurts all over. His chest feels like it's collapsing in slow motion.Every breath catches halfway, stuck between wanting to let go and wanting to hold it all in.
He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, annoyed at himself, but the tears don't stop right away. They slide down anyway, one after another, soaking into his palms, catching on his jaw.
It's ridiculous. He's ridiculous. He'd promised himself this wouldn't happen.
He promised you
And still, here he is, shirtless, in the dark, crying over someone who told him not to fall
But that moment, aside from all the others he keeps safe in his heart, comes back to remind him these are all he has.
"Ohyul?"
His head jerks up.
You're sitting now, hair messy, one hand clutching the blanket to your chest, eyes still hazy from sleep.
He doesn't answer. He can't.
You blink at him, confused, a little concerned. The room's too dim to see much, but it's enough.
You notice the way his shoulders shake once, the way he quickly wipes at his face like he can erase the evidence.
"What're you—"
He cuts you off without meaning to.
"Go back to sleep."
It comes out croaked, his voice cracking from silently crying. You tilt your head, still trying to make sense of him.
"Were you crying?"
He laughs under his breath.
Ugly, he thinks.
"No." Another sniffle betrays him, and his jaw tightens.
"It's nothing."
You study him for a moment longer. Then you sigh and shift closer, the mattress dipping under your weight. You don't ask again. You just reach out, fingers brushing the back of his arms
He flinches at the contact, almost imperceptibly, then stills.
You whisper, "Hey" like it's the only word that makes sense right now.
And he hates it, the kindness in your voice, the way it almost feels like you care
Because he knows you do, just not the way he wants. He swallows hard, eyes still burning.
"It's fine," he mutters again. "Really."
You don't press. You just sit there with him, your hand still on his arm.
It shouldn't make him want to cry more but it does. Because this tiny bit of softness is the closest he'll ever get to what he wants from you. He turns his head away, wipes at his eyes again, forces a small breath out through his nose.
"Sorry," he mumbles, voice breaking halfway. "Didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't."
There's silence after that. Just you staring at his back. Then, out of nowhere, you speak. "Is it something I did?"
He freezes at your question.
His breath catches, shaky. For a second, he almost laughs but the sound never makes it out.He drops his gaze again, eyes burning, hands trembling where they rest against his knees.
He presses his palms into his face, elbows digging into his thighs, like he can hide there.Like if he stays still enough, maybe you'll stop asking.Because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?
That it's not what you did, it's what you didn't.It's the way you never stay long enough after. The way you never let it be more than what it is.
It's the way you smile like nothing ever touches you, the way he keeps hoping you'll look at him and mean it.
His chest tightens until it hurts.
Another small sound slips out of him, a broken exhale that shakes all the way through.
He hates that you can hear it. He hates that he can't stop.
You move before he can even think.
Blanket forgotten, you're on your knees beside him, reachina out like instinct
"Ohyul?"
Your voice is laced with something he's never heard from you before, something dangerously close to worry, panic.
He still doesn't look up.
Just shakes his head, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes like that'll stop anything from leaking out.
"Don't," he manages, voice barely there. "Just-don’t"
But it's too late. You're already there, your hands hovering, unsure where to touch. He's never looked this small before. Not him. Not Kwon Ohyul
You whisper his name again, softer this time.
"Hey. Look at me."
He doesn't. His shoulders curl inward, another muffled sniffle betraying him. He doesn't. His shoulders curl inward, another muffled sniffle betraying him.
It's a slow unraveling, painful to watch.
You reach out finally, fingers brushing through his hair, down the back of his neck.
He goes rigid, breathing all uneven, and for a moment you think he might actually pull away.
But he doesn't.
He just lets out a shaky breath and keeps his head down, palms still hiding half his face.
He's never cried like this, not in front of anyone. And maybe that's what scares you most.
You whisper again, barely audible,
"Ohyul, what's wrong?"
He laughs under his breath.
"Everything," he says. It's almost a whisper.
"Everything's wrong"
You blink, unsure if you even heard him right.
"What-"
He lifts his head then, finally, there you see his red eyes. He looks at you like it hurts.
"We should stop"
Your breath catches. "Stop?"
He nods once, like he's forcing it out before he can take it back.
"This. Us. Whatever this is. We should quit it."
It's quiet for a second too long. You stare at him, not sure what to say, not sure if he even means it.
"Did I-" you start, "did I do something wrong?"
That sets something off in him. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head, jaw clenched so tight it trembles.
"No, you didn't do anything," he snaps, then his voice cracks again, softer this time "That's the fucking problem."
You don't move. You just look at him, at the mess of him, and wait.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing at his face again like he can scrub the words back down his throat.
But they keep spilling out.
"You didn't do anything wrong. You just-"
He stops, searching for the words. "You're fine. You always are. You walk out of here like nothing happened and I just sit here-"
He laughs again, though it's humourless.
"I sit here like an idiot, thinking about you until it hurts."
You open your mouth, but he keeps going-words tumbling out faster, desperate, like he's been holding them back for too long. "You said not to fall. You made it sound so simple. And I thought just keep it easy, keep it light. That's it."
He shakes his head, running a trembling hand through his hair "But it's not easy anymore. I can't turn it off. You don't even know what you're doing to me."
His voice drops, eyes locking onto yours "I want you, okay? I want you so bad it's disgusting"
It's like the air leaves the room.
He lets out a shaky laugh, the kind that sounds like he's on the verge of breaking again "You're all I fucking think about. Even when you're not here. Especially when you're not here."
You freeze, wide-eyed, heart hammering against your ribs.
He swallows, throat tight, tears clinging to his lashes "And I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend it's just sex when every time you touch me, it feels like I'm losing my mind."
He exhales hard "That's what's wrong."
And for the first time, you don't have a single word
He drags the back of his hand across his face, smearing the tears that haven't even finished falling.It doesn't help, his eyes stay red, raw, too honest.
Another sniff.
Another shaky breath.
He's trying to pull himself back together, but nothing sticks. Then he pushes up from the bed.
You watch him bend down, grabbing his shirt from the floor. He shakes it out with another quiet sniff, wiping at his eyes before pulling it on halfway, doesn't even straighten it.
He just needs his hands busy, but everything looks wrong on him.
You sit there, staring at his back. The air between you feels tight, waiting.
Then you finally speak"Then what, huh?"
He stills.
You stand, bare feet on the floor, anger and confusion bubbling up with something colder underneath.
"Ohyul”
You step forward. "You're just gonna end it, and then what?"
He doesn't turn around.
Just stands there, shirt hanging off one shoulder.
You push again, voice sharper, faster "You think that'll fix it? That you'll stop feeling like this if you walk out right now?"
Nothing.
He doesn't move. Doesn't answer.
And somehow that hurts more.
"So what, stop seeing me and then what? You move on? You forget about me?"
That's the real question. You're asking if he can. Slowly, he turns his head over his shoulder and the look in his eyes hits you like a punch. "Do you really think I could?"
You can't answer.
Not when he looks like that.
He turns away again.
"I'm giving you an out." He says it finally. The words sound scraped raw.
You blink.
"What?"
"This—" He gestures between the two of you, hand shaking. "This is your chance. To find someone who'll do what you asked. Someone who won't fucking fall."
You open your mouth, but he keeps going.
"Because I did." His voice breaks hard on the last word "I fucking did."
The confession splits the silence open. He drags a hand down his face, eyes squeezing shut like he can't stand the sound of himself.
"I want you to the bone," he whispers "It's pathetic."
You step forward, but he shakes his head, small, sharp like he can't let you get close, not when he's like this.
"I want you so bad it's embarrassing," he says, breath hitching."It's all I think about. You. Every damn day." He lets out a humorless laugh. "You told me not to fall, and I did anyway. So just-take the out, okay? Just go."
His voice wavers, but the words still hit. "Before I make it worse. Before I make you hate me for it."
You stare at him, throat tight, heart pounding so loud it swallows everything else.
He swallows too, wiping at his face again even though the tears keep falling, slow and quiet.
"Just go," he repeats.
This time it comes out a whisper, like he's begging you to end this for him, to make it stop hurting.
You cross the space between you before you even realize you're moving.
He doesn't notice until your hand fists the front of his shirt.
He startles, eyes jerking up red-rimmed, wet, shattered.
"Do you know why I said that, huh?" Your voice cracks halfway through, but you don't let go. You've got him by the fabric.
He stares at you, still trying to breathe through the mess of everything. 'What?"
You step closer.
He can feel the heat of you now, your hand trembling against his chest.
"Do you even know why I told you not to fall?"
He doesn't answer. He just waits, afraid of whatever comes next.
You swallow hard, forcing the truth out. "Because I thought you wouldn't."
His eyes flicker confusion, then something deeper.
"You weren't supposed to." Your voice shakes.
"I just— I was trying to protect myself, okay? I didn't want to be the one who fell first."
He opens his mouth, but you keep talking, faster now.
"I thought if I said it first. If I set the rules then it wouldn't hurt as much when you didn't feel the same." Your fingers tighten in his shirt.
"Because you weren't supposed to. You're you, Ohyul, Careful. Detached. Impossible to read. And I-" You let out a weak, bitter laugh.
"I would've taken anything. Even this. Just having you near, even if it wasn't really mine."
You finally look straight at him."Being close to you like that, even if it meant nothing... was better than not having you at all."
He just stares at you eyes wide, wet, wrecked like your words are something he's trying to hold but keep slipping through his fingers.
He doesn't move.
Doesn't speak.
Just watches you, memorizing everything, your lashes still damp, your shaking hands,the raw honesty trembling in your voice.
Then, out of nowhere, he exhales a broken sound.
"Fuck"
It's hoarse and it fractures something in both of you.
He drags a hand through his hair, head dropping forward like the weight of your words finally hit him.
His chest jerks once, twice, a stifled sob threatening to break loose.
"Fuck" he whispers again, shakier.
You think that's it.
You think he's going to shut down, shut you out, slip back behind the walls you've watched him hide in a hundred times.
You brace yourself for distance. For retreat. For him running from the pain.
But then he moves.
He reaches out and grabs your wrist. You stumble a little when he turns back toward the bed.His hand trembles, fingers clutching your skin like it's the only thing keeping him steady.
He doesn't look at you as he sits on the edge of the mattress, pulling you with him. You don't even think he realizes he's done it.He reaches out and grabs your wrist like his body moved on instinct, needing you close while his mind scrambles to catch up.
You end up standing between his knees, his hand still wrapped around your wrist.
Neither of you says a word.
He leans forward, elbows on his thighs, head buried in his hands.
Small, choked noises slip out of him, barely audible. And all you can do is watch.
He's never been stupid.
Not with people, at least.
He could always read someone's boredom, their lies, the silent cues that told him when to speak or stay quiet He read people like textbooks, never missing a detail.
But with you. Somewhere along the way, he got stupid.
Because none of it makes sense anymore. The signs, the rules, the words, they all broke the second you existed near him.
When he finally lifts his head, lashes clumped with tears, he looks at you like he's searching for something to hold onto.
"Does that mean you want me too?"
this been sitting in my draft for a while now, thank you for readingg. I love hearing what you guys think!
mlist ᝰ.ᐟ
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Secret Relationship
╰┈➤ 01 | 02 | 03
non-idol!Ohyul x Fem!reader
angst, hurt/comfort, musician AU, romance
Warning: emotional, relationship issues, gaslighting (light), arguments, relationships breakdown
Summary: you were his greatest inspiration,but you were never worth the risk of being seen
⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────‧₊˚⊹
“You do know, Ohyul. You just didn't want to say it out loud.”
He shakes his head, a little too quickly. "That's not what I-"
"It is." you interrupt
Your voice is flat, the cold exhaustion of someone who has simply run out of things to give . "You want to keep writing songs about me, but not enough to stop losing me. And that's fine. At least now we both know."
"Don't twist it like that." he says, and it's almost a plea. His voice cracks, a jagged sound in the quiet room. "That's not what I meant."
You let out a tired laugh, shaking your head. It’s a sound that makes his chest ache, a hollow, bitter thing
"You never mean it, Ohyul. That's the problem. You never mean to hurt me, but you do it anyway, because it's always the music first. It's always the members, the fans, the image."
He steps closer, desperate now, the air between you thick with everything he hasn't said.
"It's not just that. It's-it's everything I've been working for, everything we-"
You stop him with a look
A look that feels like a door closing.
"No. Everything you've been working for."
That one lands. You see it hit him, the color draining from his face.
You have always loved how expressive his eyes were, now it seems to bite you, the raw, bleeding vulnerability in them looking like a wound.
You sigh
"You already made your choice, Ohyul. You've been making it every night you went on stage and let them think you were theirs. Every time you came home too tired to remember I was still here. Every time you chose a lyric over a conversation."
He opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out. And maybe that's the cruelest part.
The fact that he can write entire songs about love, but right now, he doesn't have a single word left for you.
The silence is deafening, a heavy, suffocating weight.
"So don't tell me you don't know. You do. You always did.”
He's staring at you like you've just taken something sacred out of him, something he didn't realize he'd already lost until the space where it used to be started screaming.
You nod once, almost to yourself
"I'm going to sleep." you mumble, quieter than before, sounding smaller than he’s ever seen you.
"You should too."
It's late when he finally walks into the room. The fight's over, but its remnants are still in the air.
You're already asleep. Or maybe you're just pretending, holding your breath so he won't hear how unsteady it is.
Either way, you don't move when the door creaks open
He stands there for a while, his hands buried in the pockets of his sweats, his shoulders slumped under the weight of a success that suddenly feels very lonely.
The same hands that once wrote songs for you, the very hands that used to find their place on your skin without hesitation, as if they belonged there.
Now they don't know where to go
They feel like strangers to his own body
He walks over quietly, the floorboards barely creaking under his weight, and he sits on the edge of the bed.
The mattress shifts, a slow tilt that feels like the world sliding away
You're facing the other way, slightly toward the window, looking for a moon that isn't there
He studies you for a long moment
The rise and fall of your shoulders
The way your hair spills across the pillow, messy from the way you always run your hand through it when you're upset.
It’s a map of your pain, and he’s the one who drew it.
There's a small crease between your brows, even now, like your body hasn't figured out how to stop being hurt yet.
He reaches out before he can stop himself.
Fingers brushing through your hair gently, like touching something holy, something he’s terrified he’s already desecrated.
He used to know exactly how to do this, how to run his fingers through your strands without waking you, how to trace your temple just right so you'd lean into him even in your sleep, seeking his warmth like a habit.
Now he's afraid even this might break the quiet, afraid that if you wake up, you’ll look at him and see a stranger.
"I'm sorry." he whispers, though he's not sure you can hear him.
Maybe it's better if you don't.
He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, his fingertips trembling, a visible tremor he can’t suppress.
"You were right." he breathes, the words catching in his throat. "You've always been right."
He leans down, close enough to feel the warmth of your breath against his lips and then he presses a kiss to your hairline.
Then another, a little lower, lingering as if he could breathe his regret into your skin.
Then one against your temple, like he's trying to memorize the scent of you before it fades.
Another at the corner of your forehead.
By the fifth, his throat tightens, the pressure behind his eyes becoming unbearable.
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, his eyes tracing the face that's lived in every lyric he's ever written, the face he’s commodified for the sake of a melody.
You look peaceful now, and that hurts more than anything, that you are only at peace when he isn't a part of your consciousness.
He realizes, somewhere between the eighth and ninth kiss, that this is what losing you actually feels like.
Not slamming doors or raised voices.
Not the grand drama of a bridge in a song.
Just quiet
Just him, finally understanding what it means to want something you've already broken beyond repair.
He whispers your name once, barely audible."I'll fix it" he says.
Though it sounds more like a promise to himself than to you, a desperate lie to keep the darkness at bay. "I swear, I'll fix it." You don't stir.
You don't reach back
And he doesn't know if he's relieved or devastated by that.
So he sits there a little longer in the cold, pressing one last kiss against your shoulder, a goodbye he isn't ready to say before whispering
"I never wanted the songs to end like this."
andd that's that. thank you for reading and lemme know what you thinkk :>
mlist ᝰ.ᐟ
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Secret Relationship
╰┈➤ 01 | 02 | 03
non-idol!Ohyul x Fem!reader
angst, hurt/comfort, musician AU, romance
Warning: emotional, relationship issues, gaslighting (light), arguments, relationships breakdown
Summary: you were his greatest inspiration, but you were never worth the risk of being seen
⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────‧₊˚⊹
"You can't keep asking me to understand, Ohyul."
You don't mean to sound angry.
Or maybe you do, it’s hard to tell now, when your throat is tight and your words come out a little too fast, a little too cracked.
You’re not sure when your voice learned to shake like this around him. It had always been easy to speak to him, but right now, that seems impossible.
He looks up from where he is unlacing his boots by the door, still wearing the same hoodie from rehearsal with his sleeves rolled halfway to his elbows.
There is sweat clinging to his collarbone, this version of him that always comes home late, worn out but alive and yours.
But something in your chest twists
Because lately, he doesn't really come home anymore.
He just arrives
He drops his things off, falls asleep beside you, and leaves before the morning light even comes.
"Understand what?" he asks, like you haven't had this conversation before. Like the words don't already live in the crevices of your relationship.
You almost laugh. "You, your schedule, your manager, your image—" You pause, shaking your head. "Everything, Ohyul. I keep trying to understand everything while you give me almost nothing."
His brows furrow.
He sits back against the counter. "You know how this works. You know how busy things are right now. We're about to go on tour."
"I know." You swallow. "I've known every time you've said that. Every tour, every release, every fan meet. I've known because I was there before any of that even existed."
You almost smile, but it fades before it reaches your lips.
"I was there, Ohyul. I've been there since it was just you and a handful of people who didn't even know your name."
His jaw slacks. There is guilt behind his eyes, but he doesn't speak.
You cross your arms, holding onto yourself because he sure as hell won't.
"You used to hold my hand after every gig. You'd look at me like I was the reason you wanted to get onstage in the first place. Now—" Your voice cracks, "—now I have to watch you flirt with girls from the audience because your manager says it's good for engagement."
"That's not fair," he says quietly. "You know it's just fanservice. You know what it means."
"Do I?" You let out a breath that sounds too much like a laugh. "Because I can't tell the difference anymore. You smile at them like you used to smile at me."
His head snaps up, like he can't believe you would even suggest that. "Don't make this about them. This is about us, right? About how you're tired of hiding."
You don't deny it
You can't
Because you're so damn tired
Tired of sneaking out of venues separately, tired of pretending to be just another fan when you show up backstage.
"I'm tired of pretending I don't exist in your life," you whisper. "I'm tired of people thinking you're single, that you're available, that you can throw your arm around someone onstage and it doesn't mean anything. I'm tired of watching you build a life that doesn't have room for me."
He runs a hand through his hair, obvious frustration written all over his face. "You think I want it like this? You think it's easy for me? If the fans find out, it could ruin everything. The label, the band, the image, we've worked too hard for this."
We. You almost flinch at the word. It used to mean him and you. Now it means him and everyone else.
"You've worked too hard," you correct softly. "I just stood beside you."
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Just silence again.
The silence that says there's no version of this where either of you wins.
You take a breath, staring at him, really looking.
He's older now, and every dream you once watched him chase is now somewhere behind his tired eyes.
He's everything he wanted to become. And you? You're the ghost in his story, the constant that doesn't fit the new narrative.
"You keep saying it's for the band." you scoff, though it doesn't really sound like mockery. "But when does it start being for us again?"
He doesn't answer.
Maybe he doesn't know
Maybe he stopped counting when the lights got brighter and the fans got louder.
You think about the nights you spent counting tips from bar gigs, about the way he used to write your initials on napkins while the others packed up their instruments. About how he'd tell you, every single time, 'we'll make it someday.' You just never thought 'making it' would mean losing him.
“I feel like I'm losing you even when you're right in front of me."
He steps closer, but not too close. "I'm doing everything I can to keep this together. The band, the fans, the label, if I mess this up, it's not just me that goes down. It's everyone. I can't just say, 'Hey, this is my girlfriend, by the way,' and expect everything to stay the same."
You blink up at him, and for a second, the word 'girlfriend' feels foreign.
Like something that belongs to a time before all of this.
"So what am I supposed to do then?" you ask, quieter now, but trembling underneath. "Sit here while you play the perfect bachelor for the world to love? Pretend that I'm not the one waiting for you to come home at three in the morning? You don't even tell people I exist, Ohyul. Do you know what that feels like?"
He winces
You can see the guilt in his eyes before he looks away
"I can't control what people think," he mutters, but his voice sounds smaller now. "You know how they get. If the label thinks I'm—"
"Attached?" you cut him off. "Human?"
He goes silent again, as if he wants to say something but can't figure out how to do so without breaking something in your relationship.
He exhales, a habit that used to make you smile, back when it meant he was nervous, not frustrated.
You're realizing how much you both have changed.
"It's not just about me," he says finally. "It's about you, too."
You blink, torn between disbelief and exhaustion. "Me?"
"Yeah." he insists. "I'm doing all this for us, for you. So you don't have to worry about whether we'll have a place to live or if I'll even get another gig. I'm finally making something out of this, and I want you to be proud of me."
You stare at him, because it's the same argument every time, just wrapped in different words. It hurts the same anyway.
"What part of this is for me, Ohyul?" You ask, and your voice shakes, but you don't stop. "The part where I have to hide when your fans see? The part where your fans call you theirs, and you smile because it's good for the numbers? Or maybe it's the part where I have to pretend I don't exist just so your label doesn't get nervous."
"That's not fair," he says, but his voice falters. "You think I like coming home to someone who looks at me like I'm half here, half gone?"
"Then be here," you snap, stepping closer. "Be here, Ohyul! You keep saying you're doing this for us, but I don't see 'us' anywhere in your life anymore. It's all cameras and rehearsals and fucking fanservice. When do I get you?"
He looks at you then, mouth parting like he's about to say something that might fix this, but all that comes out is, "You have me."
You almost laugh. "No, I don't. Not really. I get the parts left over after everyone else takes what they want."
He flinches. For a moment, you wish you could take it back. Then you remember how long those words have been sitting in your throat.
"I'm trying to keep everything together." he says again. "I'm trying to make sure that when this is all over, we still have something left."
"And how long until 'over,' Ohyul?" you whisper. "Another year? Two? Until you're tired of pretending I don't exist? Or until you've convinced yourself I never did?"
He opens his mouth, nothing comes out. You step back, shaking your head slowly. "You talk about us like we're a 'someday' thing. Like we're a reward waiting at the end of your career. But I'm a person standing beside you now."
That stops him
His throat works for a response, but nothing forms.
You can see it, the part of him that wants to reach out. But his hand stays static.
Maybe he knows touching you now would only make it worse.
And when he finally speaks again, his voice is barely there.
"If I could choose, I'd pick you every time."
You breathe out a laugh that doesn't sound like one at all. "If?"
If
Like it's a question
You see it in his face, how the fight starts to bleed out of him.
His mouth opens, but you don't give him time to fill the space with apologies that won't mean anything tonight.
"You shouldn't have to choose." you say.
You aren't angry anymore, not even hurt, just tired. "That's the point, Ohyul. You shouldn't have to choose. But you keep talking like it's one or the other. Like loving me and chasing what you love can't exist in the same world."
He takes a half step toward you. "That's not what I meant—"
"I know." you interrupt. "You never do."
There's a moment where he just stops.
That's when you realize the argument is over, not because you've come to an understanding, but because there's nothing left to understand.
Just two people standing in the aftermath of what used to feel invincibl
"I don't want to keep doing this." you say. "I don't want to keep being mad at you. Or at your job. Or the people who love you for something they'll never really know. I just—" You pause, the words loose in your throat. "I just don't have the energy to keep waiting for you to come back home to me."
His face twists, something between pain and panic. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're giving up."
"I'm not giving up," you correct. "I'm just tired, Ohyul. I'm so tired."
It's almost pathetic, the way the word comes out. Like it's coming back to haunt you.
All those times you were dressed in every missed dinner, every concert you watched from the back of the crowd while pretending you didn't know the person on stage.
You turn away, walking past him toward the hallway.
"Wait." His voice cracks. "Don't just walk away like that."
You close your eyes
His hand feels cold, the same hand that used to hold yours on train rides home, when he still smelled like cheap guitar polish, when music was a dream and you were part of it.
Now he smells like stage lights and hotel rooms and a version of himself you barely get to touch.
"Don't make it sound like I'm the one walking away." you say. "You've been leaving long before this."
He flinches like you slapped him. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" You turn back to face him. He shakes his head, like the words are tangled. "I'm trying, okay? I know I'm shit at showing it, but I'm trying. Every time I step on stage, every time I smile for them, it's—"
"—for me?" You interrupt, the question is cruel enough to cut. "What part of this is for me, Ohyul? The part where you pretend you're single? The part where I have to read fan tweets about how perfect you'd be for someone else? The part where I can't even stand next to you in public?"
His mouth opens, then closes, like he's searching for an answer. "It's not like that—"
You laugh. "Then tell me what it's like."
He runs a hand through his hair
The facade is gone, no more stage charm, no rehearsed words.
Just him
"It's like I'm scared," he admits, his voice cracking. "Scared that if they find out, everything we built will fall apart. That I'll lose everything, you, the music, the fans—"
"You can't lose me any more than you already have," you say quietly.
That does it
He takes a step forward, closing the space between you because he doesn't know what else to do.
"Please don't go to sleep like this." he says softly. "Don't shut me out. Not tonight."
You look up at him. "Then tell me what to do, Ohyul. Tell me how to stay when you're never really here."
He doesn't answer. He just stares before he finally pulls you in.
It feels desperate
You feel him shaking, feel his heartbeat against yours like it's trying to apologize to you directly. You want to pull away.
You should
But he smells like every version of him you've ever loved the boy with a guitar, the man who sang to crowded rooms, the dreamer who once told you, 'we'll make it together.'
"I don't know how to fix this," he says, his voice muffled in your shirt. "But I don't want to lose you."
You stand there, stiff in his arms, his heartbeat crashing into you like it's begging you to understand.
But you don't.
Not anymore.
You press your palms against his chest, just enough to make space between you. Enough to feel air between your bodies again.
His arms stay around you a moment too long, like he thinks if he just holds on tighter, he can pretend you didn't pull away.
"Don't," you whisper
He freezes
You've never told him 'don't' before. Not when he's this close, and trembling, and trying.
You look at him, the way his lips part in disbelief, his eyes wide and glossy under the light of the living room.
You can tell he thinks you're bluffing. That this is just another loop of the same argument you've been stuck in for months.
You break, he promises, you forgive, and the cycle spins again.
But your voice doesn't shake when you say, "I can't keep letting 'I don't know' be enough."
He blinks, like you just spoke a language he doesn't understand. "What—"
"I deserve more than that, Ohyul."
You take a shaky breath, your hands still against his chest.
"You say you don't want to lose me, but that's all you ever say. You don't do anything to keep me. You write songs about me, you sing about love, about wanting someone who believes in you and I do, I always did, but none of it means anything if I'm the only one who has to stay quiet about it."
He opens his mouth, but you cut him off
"Do you even hear yourself? You tell the world to 'love loud’ to 'chase what makes you feel alive,' and yet you hide the one thing that you claim makes you feel alive. How does that make sense?"
He looks wrecked. "I thought I was protecting you," he whispers.
"By pretending I don't exist?"
His throat bobs as he swallows the lump that's been sitting there since you first said 'I'm tired.'
The quiet stays between you, and for the first time, it's not angry.
It's more like grieving
You can almost hear the ghosts of every argument before this one, every late night fight that ended with you nuzzled into him, too weak to say no, too hopeful to leave.
You've never refused his touch before, and he knows it.
"Do you want to keep writing songs about me, Ohyul?"
He looks startled by the question. "Of course I do," he says immediately, like it's the easiest thing in the world. "I do, baby."
You nod slowly, and he almost relaxes, as if that small nod was enough to patch up the cracks.
But then
"Do you want to write songs about how you lost me?"
The silence that follows doesn't just fill the room, it devours it.
He stops breathing for a second
Literally, physically stops
Maybe he knows that if he touches you now, he'll feel the absence before it even happens.
"Don't—" his voice cracks, barely holding together. "Don't say things like that."
You stare at him for a long moment. "Then that's your answer to 'I don't know.'"
Might have to write a part 2 for this one…let me know what you think! Thank you for reading :>
mlist ᝰ.ᐟ
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MASTERLIST
Ohyul
ᝰ.ᐟ Angst
Secret Relationship 01 | 02 | 03
you were his greatest inspiration, but you were never worth the risk of being seen
He wants you desperately 01 | 02
you told him not to fall in love with you. But even when you tried to keep things simple, feelings found their way
ᝰ.ᐟ Headcanon
Your touch starved boyfriend
Ohyul doesn't need words to tell you he's had a long day, he needs your skin against his
Giving him the silent treatment
He noticed you were upset before you even said a word
Ohyul kinks
Rules & About
──.➜ hello helloo! I’m here to share my love for Ohyul (dw i love all of them) ! i hope you find something you enjoyy :>
Request Open!
Focusing on: Ohyul
Requests: always happy to write for other Lngshot members as well!
Format: all fics are written for x female reader
──.➜ What i write: angst, headcanons, fluff, and potentially smut
──.➜ What i won’t write: rape, pedophilia, incest, or any gross/extreme kinks
──.➜ i love hearing your ideas, but if i don’t reply to your request, it’s simply because i can't write it or have chosen not to. thank you for understanding!