jjkk1m

[jjkk1m]

Lips

Yeon Si-eun x Male reader

Word count: 1,405 | Kiss only no smut | <tbh, I'm not sure what I wrote here.. so good luck if you still want to read. Also I'll be doing more Si-eun fic cz I'm obsessed.>

You were suspended for a week after getting in a fight with some punk from another school. When you came back, Su-ho, your best friend, was hanging out with Si-eun, the quiet, top-of-the-class guy while you were gone.

Apparently he fought back against some bully in the class and sent him to the hospital for getting question wrong in a mock test. Wild, right?

You’ve always been kinda curious about him, but this is the first time you’ve even stood this close to him—let alone talked to him.

"I were gone for only a week and you already searched for a new buddy?" You said, plopping down in front of Su-ho's desk—your usual spot.

"Yeah and he's cooler than you." Su-ho said with a shrug.

You kicked Su-ho’s chair lightly, "Wow. Ok rude."

You turned to Si-eun—and your eyes locked.

His eyes were... pretty. Like, unfairly pretty. You realized you’ve been staring too long. Like… too long.

You cleared your throat, shoved your hand forward, and blurt, "Let’s be friends or rivals or—I don’t know, just don’t stab me in the back like Su-ho did."

Si-eun just blinked. "I don’t stab people. Usually." Si-eun takes your hand. His grip was warmer than you expected.

Su-ho immediately broke the moment with a loud, obnoxious laugh. "God, you two are weird already. I love this."

From that day on, you guys hung out together.

---

The air was crisp, your shift finally over, and your back was aching from standing too long. But the city lights looked kind of nice, and your mood was decent. Until you saw him.

Si-eun.

He was across the street, standing under a flickering lamppost, looking like he walked straight out of a drama—hands in his pockets, dark hair tousled, expression unreadable as always. Probably just finished one of those extra courses, he always ditched us for.

He was heading the same way you were, so I figured—why not? You caught up and decided to walk home with him.

You both were chatting about some silly things Su-ho did, and then the punk you beat up a few weeks ago showed up, ready for round two and this time, he brought 4 more with him. Pussy.

The two of you started fighting shoulder-to-shoulder, you took on 3, he handled 2. By the end of it, they were all groaning on the ground, too beat up to stand.

Shit.

This was the first time you’d ever seen him fight.

And damn—he was brutal. He fought like he was built for survival. One of them got taken out with a pen, another blinded with sand he randomly kicked up from the ground, and he literally smashed the last guy with a trash can lid like it was a weapon in a video game.

You just stared at him, wide-eyed, panting.

Yeah. You’re never messing with him. Ever.

You glanced at Si-eun, both of you bruised and bleeding like you just walked off a movie set. His lip was split and blood trailing down his arm from a shallow cut.

Nope. Ain’t no way you’re sending him home like that.

“Come to my place,” you said, already turning toward your building. “I live alone. I’ve got a first aid kit and like… frozen peas or whatever.”

He didn’t argue. Just followed without a word.

---

You’ve already patched up most of his visible wounds—cleaned the scrape on his arm, bandaged his knuckles. He hasn’t flinched once, but you can tell he’s watching you. Quietly. Closely.

Then your eyes landed on the cut just under his bottom lip. Small. Bloody. Kind of stupidly attractive in a messed-up way. You grabbed the ointment.

Si-eun raised a brow. "What now?"

You squeezed a bit onto your thumb, then lean in, hand cupping his jaw lightly as you tilt his face up.

"Hold still," you murmured.

He did.

Your thumb brushed gently over the cut. His skin was warm under your fingers. His lips parted slightly—not in a dramatic way, just instinctively—and you felt it. That moment. That little shift in the air.

Your thumb lingered a second too long. You both noticed. He looked at you. His eyes, usually cold and unreadable, were suddenly softer. Deeper. Your heart went boom-boom-boom like it was trying to escape.

You cleared your throat and snatched your hand back. "There. Now you won’t die of lip infection or whatever," you muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

But Si-eun just stayed there, staring at you. That unreadable look back in his eyes.

The silence sat between you, heavy and weirdly loud. “You wanna drink?” you blurted. “Water. Not like… alcohol. Not that I have alcohol. Unless—okay, shutting up.”

He actually laughed—a soft, surprised sound—and it made your heart do the absolute dumbest little cartwheel. “Water’s fine.”

You handed Si-eun a glass of water. "Thanks" You nodded. Cool. Normal. Chill. Except you were definitely staring at his lips again. STOP THAT.

You both sat on the couch. One cushion apart. Very normal. Totally casual. Your knees almost touched. You pretended not to notice. He probably didn't notice. Right?

He reached out and touched the cut on your cheek—the one you’d totally forgotten about.

“You didn’t clean yours."

You stilled. “It’s fine. Just a scratch.”

But he didn’t pull away. His fingers hovered by your skin, barely touching. His eyes met yours.

“It’s not fine.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “You can clean it."

He nodded once, then stood. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

You pointed toward the bathroom.

And when he disappeared down the hallway, you flopped back on the couch, covered your face with your hands, and let out the most dramatic groan known to mankind.

---

“You’re really gonna patch me up?” you asked, trying not to think about the fact that his knees were between your legs. Chill. Normal. Totally platonic.

Si-eun didn’t even blink. “You did it for me.”

He pulled out some antiseptic and leaned in close, tilting your face just a little with his fingers. “This might sting.”

You flinched a little when the cotton dabbed your cheek. His hand on your jaw steadied you.

“Stay still.”

“Stop being so gentle then,” you mumbled.

His brows lifted. “Would you prefer if I punched you?”

You gave him a look. “Honestly? I wouldn't mind.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept cleaning your cut, then placed a little bandage on it like it was a precious artifact or something. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears.

And then it got quiet again. Too quiet. Too close.

He was looking at you. Again.

And something in you just… froze.

Your heart was racing. Your stomach was doing parkour. His eyes flicked down—just briefly—to your lips. And you knew. Ohhh you knew that he thought about it. Just for a second.

Fuck it, right?

You leaned in, just enough to close that stupidly small gap between you.

Si-eun didn’t pull away.

Your lips brushed his, he froze for half a second, but then kissed you back- like he’d thought about this too. Maybe more than once. Maybe for a while. His hand found the side of your face, warm and grounding, thumb brushing your cheek like he was memorizing it.

You forgot how to breathe.

This wasn’t some messy, desperate movie kiss. This was something deeper. Something earned. It felt like the kind of kiss that came with a secret. Like he’d been waiting to find out if you'd ever be brave enough to do it first.

And you were.

You pulled back, just barely—foreheads close, noses brushing. Si-eun’s eyes opened slowly, his lips barely parted, still tilted toward you like he hadn’t finished yet.

He finally leaned back, just slightly, and ran a hand through his hair like he was trying to ground himself. “So what now?”

You gave a half-smirk. “Well, traditionally, I think you either kiss me again or we pretend it didn’t happen and suffer in silence until one of us combusts.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Option one sounds less exhausting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that you asking for a sequel?”

Instead of answering, he just leaned in again. This kiss was slower. More confident. Like you’d already crossed the line and now it was just a matter of deciding how far you were willing to go.

You didn’t know what this meant yet.

But you knew what it felt like.

And that was enough—for now.

Critique is always accepted and appreciated, it helps me improve. English is not my first language, so pardon me. Thanks for reading (sobs dramatically)

[jjkk1m]

Leehan cake 🍰

boynextdoor

[jjkk1m]

Simp

Previous| Masterlist | Next

[jjkk1m]

★ kitten from a litter,

☆ masterlist!

⟲ synopsis;

sieun is [name]'s precious, and the latter would do anything to protect him. (this is very loose ended btw, i just wanted sieun to be protected by m!reader and have a make-out sesh(ish?) in the bathroom.)

★ "you(-ooh) and i-i, it's more that like (like)

what's after like?" ☆

— SIEUN HAS ALWAYS seemed fragile to [name]. someone he had to protect.

[name] has also believed that sieun was terribly incapable of holding out tasks, of any sort, really. picking a fight, cooking his meals, and even living by himself. naturally, prone to that feeling of protectiveness, [name] had started to push himself into sieun's life.

"eat more, veggies make you taller, you know!"

"c'mon! you can't just study all day, come outside for a little while."

"that's not healthy—"

"if you do that, you'll di—"

"hey! didn't i tell you to—"

"are you my mom?" sieun finally snapped. this was seriously getting out of hand now.

"that's not right!" [name] gasped, whispering right after, "we sleep toget—"

sieun shushed him with a smack, "idiot!"

he turned around, walking away with an angry huff, "i-i'm sorry!"

[name] chased after him, as one does. they made up that day, of course, i'll simply say that [name] is very good with his hands.

anyway.

today was awful, [name] barely got any sleep last night. And while he was snoozing off on his desk, he was harshly awoken by a nudge.

the uncomfortable silence present in the room told him now was not a good time to yell about it. a glance around him told him all he needed to know.

sieun was getting bullied.

oh, how could he let his love be tainted that way?

he got up and strode over to the guy whose name he didn't bother to learn.

"what are you doing?" he bumped shoulders with jeon yeong-bin while walking over to stand protectively in front of sieun.

[name] looked him up and down, and scoffed, "bullying? what are you, eleven?"

yeong-bin took a step back; pestering sieun was easy...as long as [name] wasn't there. or awake.

[name], put simply, was scary. once, he had broken the hand of a guy, back in middle school, because he had smudged bright paint all over sieun.

he had gotten a two-week suspension for that, but then broke the other hand because he came to school to find that no action had been taken against that kid.

his next month was spent at home and about 12 hours of community service.

if you ask him, he'll say it was worth it.

this was also before yeon sieun was dating him or even acknowledged him. the latter part obviously changed after that.

that was also when [name] had started to actively and directly pursue sieun. all the cheesy things, love notes, roses, even a dinner where he had to kidnap sieun because he refused to go the first five times. (no sieuns were harmed in the making of this.)

all in all, everyone and their momma was scared of [name].

yeong-bin did not want a broken hand, or hands, or any other bodily injury, so he retreated and rightfully so.

[name] sure is a menace, but you know what? in yeong-bin's eyes, sieun was too much of a pest to just let him go, and too easy, too. sieun also never would go and whine to [name], meaning he was safe as long as [name] wasn't there to see.

[name] spared one glance at sieun, then dragged his stoic self to a bathroom.

he locked the door, pulling sieun in front of one of the various sinks set up.

sieun stayed staring at [name] through the mirror, while his boyfriend washed the same hands that touched yeong-bin. admittedly, [name] was too late to wake up by the time filth had touched his precious.

[name]'s arms were around sieun, chest to back, leaning his chin on sieun's shoulder. when he was done, he placed a smooch on seiun's cheek, pulling back just slightly with a scowl.

"what?" sieun questioned him, finally turning to face [name].

"you smell like that jerk's cheap cologne." with that [name] pulled sieun into a rough kiss, biting harshly into his lips and grabbing his face.

"hmph...! slower..."

[name] kissed him feverishly, slipping in his tongue and practically eating him until lewd noises echoed in the quiet bathroom. [name] pushed sieun against a wall, his hands wandering and slipping under sieun's cotton shirt. daringly, he brushed his finger against sieun's sensitive nub, pulling out even sweeter noises.

"ah!...mmh..."

sieun coloured deeply, gazing at [name] with a hooded gaze, feeling vulnerable and melting.

they would have gone further, probably, if sieun allowed it, but the school bell ringing made both of them flinch back in shock, finally finding breath and realising the mess on themselves.

sieun, dishelved and nearly shirtless, and the various red smudges across and around [name]'s lips because of the blood on sieun's lips.

[name] looked away, flushed and embarrassed, "i'll...i'll fix you up," he mumbled, reaching over to begin buttoning up sieun's shirt.

"this is your fault."

[name] willingly nodded his head, "...yes."

sieun continued to stare at him, up, down, and around. he slumped against the wall, leaving himself to [name], like he often has grown to do. trusting him completely and utterly.

there was no reason to blame [name] completely, after all, it takes two to tango, but he enjoyed the look on his face. shy, red, and obviously aroused.

"class will st—"'

"come to my house," he snuck a glance up, "later."

"...okay." red ears and a beating heart.

thump.

a sigh and another kiss.

yours only.

[jjkk1m]

When Our Eyes Met

Yeon Si-eun x Male reader (Weak Hero)

Word count 888 | not proof read | nsfw - handjob, fluff

Yeon Si-eun - the boy you caught yourself staring at more often than you’d care to admit since the first day of school, suddenly snapped and knocked out the bully in your class. 

You hadn't noticed it, something was definitely wrong with the way he acted earlier, and it happened so fast. Your best friend, Su-ho came to stop him before he stepped on the bully's face. 

Si-eun started to swing the metal chair, and you grabbed it, halting it's swing before it could hit anyone else. Your heart skipped a beat as you locked eyes with Si-eun, and shit, his gaze-blazing with fury-is so intense yet somehow... it looked so pretty. You definitely wouldn't mind getting hit by him.

Right then, when you were about to say something, the teacher interrupted and the fight was over, leaving you standing there, lost in your own thoughts-trying to make sense of what just happened, and why you couldn’t stop thinking about Si-eun.

Su-ho succeeded in befriending Si-eun, who automatically also became your friend. The three of you started hanging out more, and you even began teaching Si-eun how to take down opponents stronger than him. But there was one thing that always left you weak in the knees-the way he looked at you.

One faithful night, when Su-ho had to take an order, you were left alone with him. It was late, so without thinking, you offered-no, insisted- that Si-eun let you give him a ride home.

You placed your helmet on his head, your hands brushing his hair for just a second, and then hopped onto your motorbike, You were ready to drive him home, just another routine favor-until he climbed behind you.

And then, shit- he was so close. His body pressed against yours, his chest practically sticking to your back as he settled in behind you. You could feel every inch of him, the warmth of his presence sending your heart into overdrive. This wasn’t how you imagined it at all.

You couldn't focus at all, your mind racing as you drove him home. The hum of the engine was drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You kept praying he couldn’t hear it, praying he couldn’t feel the way your body tensed with every inch of space between you two that didn’t exist anymore.

Arriving infront of his apartment, you let out a sigh of relief when he climbed down your bike. But then he turned around, helmet still in hand, and casually said, ‘Come in for a sec. My dad brought back some snacks from his trip. I saved some for you and Su-ho.’

How could you possibly say no to him? Before you even realized it, your feet were already moving, carrying you inside like they had a mind of their own.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, and just like that, you were sitting on his soft couch. You were lost in your own thoughts, your eyes wandering across his home, you didn't notice him sitting down beside you.

You finally noticed him, sitting so close, his presence pulling you back to reality. Your eyes met- again-and that familiar, dangerous flutter hit your chest like a punch. Sensing that you might do something stupid if you stayed any longer, you started to stand up, but before you could, Si-eun grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him.

His soft lips pressing against yours, and hell, you couldn't pull away from him. Everything you've been holding back, it all shattered the moment he kissed you. You kissed him back like it was the only thing that made sense in the world.

You placed your hand on his waist while guiding him down softly onto the arm of the couch, still kissing him. You didn't want to break it. 

Eventually, Si-eun broke the kiss because he had to catch his breath, he looked so messy, his hair disheveled and his hoodie ridden up, thanks to your wandering hands. His chest rose and feel, trying to recover from the kiss.. you just stared, because damn, you did that to him.

You started to kiss Si-eun's neck. You want to do all the way in, but you held yourself back, not wanting to scare him. You felt his cock hard- the same goes for you. Tugging down his zipper while your other hand reached for your own. 

You wrapped your hands around his cock, as you guided his hands to do the same for yours. Grunting and rubbing against each other, you stared into his pretty eyes- the ones that got you weak and even hornier now. 

You both reached the climax soon after. With your foreheads pressed together, you stayed there-panting, quiet, hearts still racing in sync.

Yes you slept over at his house after that, curled up in each other’s arms, your bodies tangled beneath the sheets, and sleeping facing one another.

When morning came, you stirred awake with a hazy mind, half-convinced it was all a dream. But then you saw him. Si-eun, still asleep, hair a little messy, lips parted just slightly, face soft and unguarded in the quiet light of morning.

You closed your eyes with a smile as you pulled him closer, and let yourself drift back to sleep with him in your arms.

I finished watching weak hero class 2 yesterday, and wanted to read a 'x male reader' fic but there's not much of it, so I decided to make it myself at 3am. Enjoy stars!

[jjkk1m]

MLM WHC TWT LINKS

Contains: yeon sieun, ahn suho and geum seongje!

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Bottom or top will be added depending on if i think theyre the top (giving) or the bottom (receiving)

ৎ୭ taking over for you (top..technically? Its frotting idk)

ৎ୭ recording while you fuck him (bottom)

ৎ୭ interrupting his study time (top)

ৎ୭ Not so quiet anymore (bottom)

ৎ୭ waking you up (top? (cause he’s giving))

ৎ୭ loves when you ride him (top)

ৎ୭ he’s real sensitive (bottom technically)

ৎ୭ letting you top him (bottom)

ৎ୭ you’d better not lose (top)

ৎ୭ you owed him (top)

ৎ୭ who knew seongje was a secret slut (you did) (Bottom)

ৎ୭ seongje and his oral fixation (bottom..?)

Made by: rat6ix

PREV

[jjkk1m]

Tw. dark content, noncon, obsession, toxic, possessiveness, abandonment issues, sloppy blowjob, throat fucking, manipulation, size kink, overstimulation, name calling (cock-sleeve/warmer/bitch), multiple creampies, cunnilingus, slapping (baby slap though), baby-trapping, angst(?), coercion, dead dove do not eat

***

Thinking about being the manager of a yandere!Idol

You found him wandering in the streets, empty eyes and blank expression on his pretty face. If you didn't look hard you might've missed his tall figure. Being a newbie, you were finding it hard to recruit people but as you were about to go home, you caught sight of his attractive yet hopeless face.

The first time you approach him, he was wary and suspicious of you. Naturally so. But you persevere, introducing yourself as an agent recruiting handsome guys like him in the streets for a chance to become a trainee and become an idol.

"Fuck off. Scram."

That was the first words he said. Harsh. But he was all bark and no bite, like a puppy being defensive. After scuffling for a few minutes you managed to give him your card and phone number, convincing him to at least try.

Then a week later, he called and said yes. His voice was low, hesitant—like he didn’t fully believe in what he was doing, but was too tired of the streets to keep saying no.

You met up with him that same evening, in the same place you first found him. He looked cleaner, but still lost. You took him in without question, gave him food, a place to sleep, and most importantly, a reason to wake up.

For the first few days, he barely spoke. He just slept, ate, and stared at the ceiling like he was trying to remember who he was. You didn’t push. You just stayed nearby, gave him space, but made sure he knew, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Weeks turned into months. Slowly, he started coming back to life. You took care of him, through the bad days when he’d lock himself in his room, through the training sessions where he’d collapse from pushing too hard, through the nights he’d wake up in a cold sweat and pretend he was fine.

And you were always there. With water, with snacks, with a shoulder to lean on.

You watched him grow. From that broken boy on the street into someone who sang with soul, danced with fire, and spoke to crowds with a confidence he never had before.

He became an idol. And every time he stood under the lights, every time fans screamed his name, he always looked for you in the crowd.

Because you didn’t just recruit him.

You saved him.

And that’s when it went wrong.

At first, it was subtle. His smiles came more often when you were around, his tone soft and sugary. He’d cling to your side during breaks, crack jokes, brush your hair out of your face with that charming little smirk. You thought maybe he was just grateful, maybe he was trying to show affection in his own awkward way. After all, he’d been through a lot.

But then, it turned into something else.

He started showing up unannounced. Hovering around your office when he had no schedule. Getting visibly annoyed when you spoke too long with other trainees or staff. The sweet words never stopped, but they started feeling… off. Like they were laced with something heavier. Something darker.

The possessiveness crept in like a slow poison. At meetings, he’d glare at anyone who tried to sit next to you. He'd interrupt your conversations, redirect your attention, cut in with sharp remarks masked as jokes.

You tried to keep it professional, gently reminding him of boundaries, of roles, but he didn't like that.

"Why are you always talking to him?"

"Do you really need to be with them all the time?"

"I'm the reason you’re even doing well now, aren't I?"

And you saw it, in the way other staff avoided him, how they started whispering when he walked by. He was getting harder to work with. More demanding. More unpredictable.

But in front of cameras? He was perfect. The golden boy. Smiling, dazzling, every fan’s dream. But behind the scenes… the boy you once saved was slowly becoming someone else. Or maybe this was who he had been all along, buried beneath the brokenness.

And now, you weren’t sure if you had saved him…

Or created something you couldn’t control.

As his fame skyrocketed, managing him became nearly impossible.

He was everywhere, magazine covers, variety shows, drama cameos. His schedule was packed from sunrise to well past midnight, and you were running yourself ragged trying to keep up. But more than the logistics, it was him. His moods became harder to predict. Some days he was gentle, clinging to you like he used to when he was scared. Other days, he’d snap, throw things, or go cold for no reason.

You were still new to the game. Everyone could see you were trying your best, but it wasn’t enough, not for the industry, and definitely not for him.

The company made the call.

“We think it’s best to assign him a senior manager. Someone with more experience managing top-tier idols.”

They dressed it up as a strategic decision. And honestly? You agreed. Things had gotten too messy. Your once-close relationship had turned into something twisted, confusing, and emotionally draining. You told yourself it was for his own good, that maybe distance would help him reset.

“I’ll still be around,” you told him, forcing a smile. “But someone else will be taking care of your day-to-day.”

He stared at you. Didn’t say anything for a long while. Just stared.

Then, softly, too softly, he said, “You’re leaving me.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m just stepping back. This is better for you. For both of us.”

But he didn’t believe you. You could see it in his eyes. Something in him snapped that day, not outwardly, not immediately but you felt it. Like a quiet storm gathering behind the clouds.

You thought giving him space would help him unwind. Hoping he can finally indulge in the fame he had, probably get a secret girlfriend

You didn’t expect it to be the thing that finally made him unravel.

***

After that, you finally left.

Your first real break in years. You cashed your paycheck, packed your bags, and disappeared for a while, far from rehearsals, stress, and the boy you once pulled off the streets. It felt… weird at first. Empty. But you told yourself it was needed. Long overdue.

You didn’t keep in touch. Not because you didn’t want to but because it felt like the cleanest way to let go. Still, everywhere you went, there he was. His face lit up LED billboards with that same smile the one from when he had just debuted. Back when things were simpler. Sweeter.

You’d stop and stare sometimes, stuck between nostalgia and guilt. Wondering where it all went wrong. Was it the fame? The past he never healed from? Or… was it you?

But even through the ache, you hoped he was doing better. Independent. Stable. Happy. He wouldn’t have a hard time finding a girlfriend, not with that face, that charm, and a fanbase that worshipped the ground he walked on.

You were walking home from a quiet dinner one night, city lights buzzing around you, when you passed another ad of him huge and perfect lighting up the side of a building. You paused without meaning to, lost in your head.

That’s when your phone rang.

You didn’t even check the caller ID. Just answered, out of habit.

“…Hello?”

Silence. Then a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

“I missed you.”

You froze.

And then, a shadow stepped up behind you.

A cap pulled low, sunglasses covering most of his face but you knew. You felt it.

He leaned close, his breath warm against your ear.

“You think you’re gonna escape from me?”

Your heart dropped.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, firm, but not violent. Still, it sent your pulse racing. People were around, but no one looked twice. Just a couple under the lights.

“Wait—what are you doing?!” you whispered, trying to pull away.

He smiled, too calm, too practiced.

“Let’s talk. Somewhere quieter.”

***

He didn’t say a word as he dragged you through the maze of streets, only tightening his grip whenever you slowed down. You wanted to pull away, to yell, but something in his silence kept you frozen.

Eventually, he led you into a sleek hotel, one of those high-end discreet places celebrities used when they wanted to disappear. You were too stunned to resist, your mind racing with every step.

The elevator ride was silent.

He pushed the door open, guided you inside, and shut it behind you with a soft click. The curtains were drawn. City lights barely filtered through the fabric.

He finally let go of your wrist and walked ahead, pulling off his cap and tossing it to the couch, glasses following. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, agitated, pacing the room like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I looked for you,” he finally said, voice tight. “Every day.”

You said nothing. He turned to face you.

“Why didn’t you call? Text? Anything?”

“It wasn’t my place anymore,” you answered softly. “We needed space. You needed to grow.”

He laughed bitterly. “Grow into what? A product?”

You flinched.

He stepped closer. “So that’s all it was, huh? A business deal? Get the pretty boy off the streets, polish him up, sell him to the world then cut him off once he gets too hard to manage?”

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “It was never just business. I cared about you. But things got—”

“Complicated?” he snapped. “Yeah. You left when things got complicated.” His voice cracked, the anger just barely covering the hurt underneath. “So your life with me,” he said, slower this time, like each word hurt, “was really just a job?”

You took a step forward, your chest tightening.

“No. It was real. I-I just... you changed.”

“And you didn’t?” he whispered, eyes shining with something fragile anger, betrayal, desperation. “You walked away like I meant nothing.”

"You matter to me—"

“That’s what it felt like. You gave me everything, then took it all back the second I started needing you too much.”

“I didn’t take anything back,” you said, stepping back instinctively. “I was trying to help you. You were becoming... unstable. You needed someone more experienced. I just wanted you to be okay.”

His hands balled into fists.

“Okay? I was only okay when you were there. You made me." His voice rising with desperate anger. In a flash, he grabbed your wrists and dragged you towards the bed, forcing you down onto the plush mattress. Before you could react, he climbed on top of you, straddling your waist and pinning your arms above your head.

"G-Get off me..." you gasped, struggling beneath him. But he was too strong, too determined. His eyes burned into yours, wild and unpredictable.

"No," he growled, one hand still gripping your wrists while the other tugged at his belt. "You don't get to leave me. I won't let you."

He yanked his belt off and tossed it to the side. Then his fingers were at your pants, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. You tried to close your legs, but he forced them open, settling himself between your thighs.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, but he silenced you with a brutal kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you. His cock was hard and insistent against your stomach, and you knew he wouldn't stop.

"Please," you whimpered when he let you catch your breath. But it was a lie and you both knew it. He'd never listened to your pleas before.

"Shut up. Shut up... Shut up."

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he undid his jeans and shoved them down just enough to get his cock out. It bobbed in front of you, angry and hungry and so fucking hard.

"Open," he commanded, his grip on your hair tightening painfully.

You hesitated, your lips pressed firmly together. He cursed and slapped your cheek lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to sting.

"Open your fucking mouth," he snarled.

Tears stung your eyes at the sharp crack against your cheek, but you parted your lips just as he slammed forward, shoving his cock past your teeth and into your mouth. He didn't wait for you to adjust, just started fucking your face with hard, brutal thrusts.

Hurts... He's hurting me...

You choked on his cock, gagging and sputtering as he forced himself deeper and deeper down your throat. Saliva flooded your mouth and spilled out over your lips as he used your mouth like a fuckhole, grunting and groaning above you.

Why is he always... mad at me?

He fucked your face hard and fast, not caring about your comfort, only chasing his own pleasure. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you gagged and choked around him, your throat constricting around his pistoning cock.

He used your mouth ruthlessly, slamming into your throat and pulling out just long enough to catch his breath before plunging back in.

You knew he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied, until he'd emptied his balls down your throat. All you could do was try to breathe through your nose and pray it would be over quickly.

Mine. Mine.

He chanted it desperately under his breath, eyes glazed over with lust and obsession as he continued to viciously fuck your face. His hips slammed against your chin with each brutal thrust, your neck bulging obscenely each time he hilts inside you.

"Gonna...fucking...ruin this...cunt of a mouth..."

He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face, lost in his own manic pursuit of release. He needed this, needed to take back control, to reclaim you. You had left him, abandoned him, but now...now you were his again. His to use, his to ruin.

Always wanted...to fuck this...painted whore mouth...of yours...

He could feel his balls tightening, his climax building from the base of his spine. He was going to come, going to fill your belly with his seed, mark you from the inside out. You were going to choke on his cum, swallow it all, and maybe then you'd understand. Maybe then you'd realize you belonged to him, and him alone.

"Fuck! Take it all, you...cock sleeve!"

His fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back even further as his hips slammed forward one last time. He hilts inside you, his cock pulsing and jerking as he started to come, flooding your throat and mouth with string after string of hot, thick cum.

Manager... Manager. Manager. I fucking love you.

He groaned long and low, his eyes rolling back in his head as he emptied his balls inside you. His cock jerked and spasmed as he pumped load after load of semen directly into your stomach, your throat bulging obscenely.

"Fuck!" he roared, his voice echoing in the room. "Fuck, yes! Take it all, you fucking...cock warmer!"

He held you in place, forcing you to swallow every last drop, his grip on your hair almost painfully tight. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, his softening cock slipping from your abused lips with a wet pop.

He collapsed next to you, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air, your throat sore and raw. Tears and saliva and his own essence coated your face.

"I...I'm sorry," you whimpered, voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to leave you. Please...forgive me..."

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, ah his eyes...they were haunted, desperate. Lost.

"Forgive you?"

He reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, smearing his own cum back into your mouth. You flinched at the taste, but he held you firm.

Forgive you?

His other hand slid down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, to cup your mound possessively. He squeezed, fingers digging into your tender flesh.

"You'd have to do more than that if you want me to forgive you. I won't let you go again. Ever."

H-Huh?

Before you could catch your breath, he yank your hips up and pulls down your pants and panty. You felt the cool air on your exposed ass and pussy.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, trying to crawl away. But he grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, pulling you back onto his still-hard cock. He rubbed the thick head up and down your slit, coating it in a mix of your spit and his own cum.

"Shut up," he snarled, voice ragged with lust and desperation. "Stop fucking fighting me. Stop resisting!"

With one brutal thrust, he slammed forward, spearing your cunt on his throbbing shaft. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your walls clamping down around him like a vice. He was too big, too hard, splitting you open.

Hurts... He's being... cruel.

"Fuck!" he roared, starting to piston in and out of your helpless pussy. "Take it! Take my fucking cock!"

He set a punishing pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Each thrust jolted you forward, your tits swaying beneath you. Tears poured down your face as he used you, brutalized you, his hips slamming against your ass with every stroke.

But then, he slowed. His grip gentled, fingers kneading your ass almost lovingly as he rolled his hips into yours. He leaned down, lips brushing the nape of your neck, breathing raggedly against your skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmured, voice hoarse. "So tight. Like you were made for me..."

He peppered kisses along your shoulder blades, his touch almost tender. You shuddered, confused, not understanding the sudden change. He rocked into you, each thrust measured, deliberate, like he was savoring the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock. Fuck, so fucking perfect.

"Manager... You're mine, ok? No one... No one can touch you but me!"

But just as suddenly, he changed again. His hips started moving faster, harder, the room echoing with the slap of skin and the creak of the mattress. He hooked an arm under your waist, hauling you back onto every stroke, forcing you to take every fucking inch.

"Yes, fuck!" he bellowed, sweat dripping onto your back. "Gonna...fucking ruin this pussy. Gonna make it mine."

He was panting harshly, his rhythm faltering. You could feel him growing even harder inside you, his cock throbbing erratically against your battered walls. You knew he was close, that he was going to come again.

But then he paused, buried deep inside you, cock pulsing urgently. He gripped your hips, fingers sinking into your skin hard enough to bruise.

"Gonna...fucking...knock you up," he growled. "Breed this cunt. Pump you full of my fucking seed."

You shook your head frantically, a strangled cry escaping your lips at the thought. "No! No, please...don't..."

He ignored you, starting to move again, thrusts growing more intense, more desperate. "Yes," he hissed. "Yes, gonna make you...mine. Gonna keep you...swollen with my child..."

His voice rose with each word, until he was nearly screaming. You could feel his cock jerk and twitch, his climax approaching. He was going to do it, going to come inside you, maybe even...

"Take it!" he roared. "Fucking take it, you bitch! Gonna...fucking...breed you!"

He slammed into you with a last, brutal thrust, his cock erupting deep inside your unprotected womb. You screamed as you felt the hot flood of his seed gushing into you, painting your insides with his come. He groaned long and low, body shuddering, emptying himself inside you.

He panted against your neck, sweat-soaked and sated.

"Manager... You won't be able to run away from me now."

You lay still beneath him, tears leaking from your eyes, a sense of dread washing over you.

He rolled you over, cradling you against his chest, your tear-stained face pressed to his sweat-slicked skin. His arms wrapped around you, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

Tilting your chin up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart clench. Gone was the wild, crazed look from before. Now there was only a solemn, almost reverent expression on his handsome face.

"Manager, you're the only one for me," he murmured, voice low and intense. "My heart, my soul... it all belongs to you. Don't leave me again, alright? All the luxuries, all the fame and wealth... it's meaningless without you here with me."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears that still leaked from the corners of your eyes. He leaned in closer, forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling with your own.

You want to refuse. Want to push him away, but you're eyes gets blurry with tears, getting overwhelmed. Why you?

He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your shoulder, your spine, worshipping every inch of your skin like the devoted disciple he claimed to be. Tears leaked from your eyes at the tenderness of his touches, the heartfelt sincerity in his tone.

It's like the old him...

But even as you lost yourself in the gentle glide of his lips, you could feel the desperation radiating off him in waves. This calm, this tenderness...it was a fragile thing.

He's always been such a fragile boy.

His hands roamed your body with a hunger that was almost painful in its intensity. He was trying to memorize you, to burn every dip and curve into his mind.

He hitched your leg up over his hip, opening you to him. You could feel his cock, already hard and ready again, nudging against your thigh, making you freeze.

He... He's still ready?

He was insatiable, this man. He would never be satisfied, would never have enough of you.

His eyes were wild again, pupils blown wide with renewed lust. He notched himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pushing demandingly at your folds.

"Feel this, Manager?" he whispered hotly, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. "Feel what you do to me? How much I just want to... Fuck you, need you..."

"I-I'm still sore... Please, I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that and just let me in your cunt, ok?"

He surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You cried out, back arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders. He was so deep, so hard, stretching you in ways that made you see stars. He's deeper this time?

"Wah... Your cunt still so tight, you're squeezing me dry~"

He started to move, hips rolling into yours with a force that shook the headboard. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs, left you gasping and mewling beneath him. He was lost in the heat of you, in the way your cunt gripped him.

"Tell me you need it, Manager," he urged, his cock slamming home and stilling, pulsing urgently inside you. "Tell me you want this... want me... as much as I need and want you!"

He pumped harder, faster, chasing his pleasure, his release. The room filled with the crude slap of skin against skin, with your choked cries and his grunts. He was going to come again, you could feel it in the erratic jerk of his hips, in the way his cock pulsed and throbbed inside you.

"Fuck!" he roared, slamming into you one last time. "Fuck, Manager, fuck!"

"N-no! Don't do it inside again!"

You bit your lips, muffling your ecstasy as you felt the hot rush of his come flooding your womb, your own orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your vision swam, your body shaking with the force of it.

He's gonna come inside... I'll get pregnant at this rate...

And then, with a long, guttural groan, he was coming again. His cock erupted like a fountain, pumping spurt after spurt of his hot cum deep into your hungry womb. The sensation was too much... too intense... and you felt yourself plummeting into oblivion, the darkness claiming you as his release seemed to go on and on.

The last thing you heard as you drifted off was his ragged voice, panting your name like a prayer.

"Manager... Manager... Manager! I love you! I love you! I fucking love you!"

***

You stared up at the ceiling, the memories of the past playing out like a movie reel in your mind. You could see him there, a young and nervous pop sensation, gripping your hands tightly as you offered him words of encouragement and support.

"You've got this," you had said, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. "Go out there and give them the performance of a lifetime. They're waiting for you."

"Okay," he nodded, squaring his shoulders with newfound determination. "Okay, Manager. I can do this. With you by my side, I can do anything."

He stepped out onto the stage. The crowd had gone wild, their screams and cheers a tangible force that seemed to lift him up and carry him forward. He had shone under the hot lights, his voice ringing out clear and strong, his movements confident and sure.

And you had watched from the wings, your heart swelling with pride and love as you beheld the man you had helped to create. He was more than just your client, more than just your star - he was your greatest achievement, your crowning glory. You had taken a scared and scrawny boy and molded him into a god among men, a king among the elite.

But now, as you lay there in the dim light of the bedroom, you could feel the weight of that responsibility crushing down on you. It was your fault, after all, that he had become this twisted and broken creature, this monster who would dare to touch you without your consent, to hold you against your will.

His arms tightened around you, crushing you against his chest, his breath hot and heavy against the back of your neck. He was saying all the right things, murmuring all the right words, but you could feel the dark intent behind them. The gentleness was a lie, a mask he wore to hide the cruelty that lurked beneath.

"Shh, it's alright," he cooed, his lips brushing your ear. "Don't cry, I'm here now. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

But you didn't want him here. You didn't want his comfort or his affection or his twisted version of love. You wanted him to let you go, to release you from the nightmare that had become your life. You wanted to be free of him, to run until you couldn't run anymore, to disappear and never be found again.

But you knew it was impossible. He would never let you go, would never allow you to leave him. He needed you too much, depended on you for his every breath and his every heartbeat. And as long as you remained by his side, as long as you stayed in his life… he would never stop hunting you, never stop pursuing you until he had claimed you completely.

It was a bitter realization, a cruel twist of fate that left you feeling hollow and empty inside. You had once believed that you could save him, that your love and your guidance could be enough to keep the darkness at bay. But now… now you knew the truth. You knew that you had been the one to nurture the seeds of his madness, to feed the flames of his obsession until it had grown into an all-consuming inferno.

And so you lay there, trapped in his embrace, tears leaking down your face as you prayed silently for a miracle, for some way out of this nightmare. But deep down, you knew that there would be no miracle, no divine intervention to come rescue you from the man you had once called your star.

You had been his manager, his guide, his friend… and his downfall. And now, you would bear the consequences of your choice for the rest of your days.

With a sob catching in your throat, you closed your eyes and surrendered to the darkness, praying that when you opened them again… you would be somewhere, anywhere else. But far away from here, and far away from him.

Though, you only have yourself to blame.

You were the one who scouted him after all~

Stupid manager.

[jjkk1m]

Group Participation!

Group project for a class where everyone hates each other, but they somehow fall in love with you???

Yandere! m Academic Rival! x gn! Reader x Yandere! m Nerd!

Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI! Tw. Noncon, Yandere, Dubcon, Oral, Voyeurism, semi-public sex, recording

1.7k words

When you got your assigned partners for the assignment, you actually considered just dropping out entirely. The two names on the paper were of the two people that had made your academic career an absolute nightmare.

Yandere Academic Rival is pissed that he has to work with you for once.

It’s not like you guys are nearly on the same level, so Elias just knows he’s going to have to be on your ass to make sure that you’re not going to manage to fuck this up for everyone. His normal opportunity to try and show you up has been dashed, and now he’s passive aggressively adding notes on to literally anything you write.

“I just feel like this is taking too much space. We can cut down on the word count much more if we remove this part.”

“Dude, that's literally just our hypothesis”

“As I said. You should let me write this part. It will be much better.”

He’s so set on taking over bits of your project, but then he whines about how much he has to do. He spends hours nitpicking everything your group does, but he seems to love focusing on you in particular.

“Come on. You should at least come with me to dinner. I’m staying here after hours to try and fix your mistakes."

“What the- no one asked you to do that???”

“Well, we might as well punch in the failing grade ourselves if I don’t. Sit down. You’re not going anywhere until I can thoroughly check what you’re up to.”

Yandere Nerd isn’t much better.

You had hoped that Marcus would tamper down on his creepiness now that there was someone else present when you interacted with him, but you had no such luck. 

He’s a lot more brazen in his advances now. His hand tries to worm its way between your clenched thighs under the table, prodding at your crotch with a mischievous grin like you weren’t sweating bullets. He likes to insert your nudes into the shared draft at ungodly hours at night, making you constantly have to be on the lookout to remove it before Elias would see.

Now, Marcus is smart. Smarter than both you and Elias. Getting him on this project was a guaranteed first class mark in the bag, but it was a goddamn headache making him do anything. You literally had to get on your hands and knees to beg him to do his paragraph on the introduction page. He took a photo, grinned, and finished it flawlessly in less than an hour. You shuddered to think what he would ask of you next.

It wasn’t just him, either. You had been doing your best to manage them both, but it was getting out of hand. Not to mention, but Elias was getting more and more needy.

“You’re working with me today. Not him.” He would scoff in disdain, grabbing your wrist and tugging you off to crowd you against some cafe booth while he tried to get you to drink a coffee you could barely afford. It was hard to keep up with his insults when Marcus would be firing off texts saying “Bby where r u? :(“ followed by a photo of his weeping cockhead. For whatever reason, your so-called rival kept wanting to dig through your phone to see what could possibly be taking up so much of your time. You had to appease him by sneaking off together to the bathroom so you could suck him off so he would drop it.

“God you’re so filthy. I bet you would do this for anyone, wouldn’t you?” He’d hiss between moans. As much as he acted like he was above you, he couldn’t stop the whimpers pouring from his lips as he came down your throat. He couldn’t stop the little admission of love when he thought you were too busy swallowing, either. 

Your days were filled with a delicate balance of trying to finish your work, corralling the two of them into actually making progress, and staving off their demands for more and more time with you by trying to make them cum in random spots around campus. A hand job here, and thigh job there, and you were nearly finished with this stupid ass assignment. You’d done a pretty damn good job stopping them from finding out about each other too. Their whispered threats about what would happen if they caught you with anyone else rang cold in your ears every time they tried to ask for more.

It all came crashing down when Elias snapped one day. You were sitting in a study room that had been booked so you could actually try and edit this damn thing properly and just be done. Your fingers flew across your keyboard, the noise filling the otherwise silent space between you. You didn’t notice when he stopped, but you did notice when he was suddenly right next to you, his shadow looming over the words on screen. You paused, sweat forming on the back of your neck.

It was a blur after that. His hands were tugging at your clothes, bending you over the desk as papers and pens scattered to the ground. “You’re so fucking annoying,” he panted in you ear as his hips snapped against yours. The sound of skin on skin replaced the ambience of a productive workflow, and you were left scrambling and stifling your moans. 

“Always going around, looking at me like I mean nothing. You think you're better than me? You think you don't need me?” He was rambling, his hand on the back of your throat as he held you in place. He was angry, but there was a desperation to his words. It was like he needed you to affirm his words, to tell him everything he'd been hoping that would tumble from your lips for weeks at this point. You were no stranger to getting pounded at this point, but there was an urgency to the way you tried to plead with him to stop. 

“N-ngh~! Elias you gotta hah, y-you gotta stop. Marcus is on his-” He shut you up with a kiss, his lips sliding against yours as he cradled your face.

“Shut the fuck up,” he demanded, his voice ragged as he squeezed your neck in slight warning. “Don't mention that asshole. You're… you're always with him. Do you like him more than me? Tell me. Tell me right now or I'll make it so you can't sit for a whole week,” he demanded, and you could practically hear the insecurity dripping from his tongue. He didn't even give you time to answer. He just shoved you against the table again, your chest flush with the wooden surface. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see your face down phone lighting up. The vibrating notifications were sporadic at first, but the longer you didn't answer, the more frequent they became. Your stifled pleas for mercy were only met with grunts, and it wasn’t before long before your toes were curling and a heat in your belly grew more and more prevalent. But before you or Elias could finish, the door opened. 

Marcus just stood there for a moment, a genuinely shocked look on his face. You could have sworn Elias smiled, like it was some kind of victory to show how you were on the brink of orgasm to the guy he’d been quietly jealous of this entire time. But then, Marcus just grinned. It wasn’t genuine. You knew him well enough to know that.

“Oh? What do we have here?” 

You’d never known his voice to be that smooth, that controlled. Marcus locked the door behind him, his face unreadable as he walked in and pulled out his phone. Elias moved to cover you now that he was done showing off, but the other man put out his hand to stop him silently. You trembled beneath him.

“Oh please, there’s no need to stop for me,” he smirked, practically shoving his screen in your so-called rival’s face to show off a video of you sobbing and moaning while stuffed full of a cock that was certainly not the one currently inside of you right now. “ I’ve already seen it all,” he practically sneered. Elias��s grip tightened painful on your hip, and you panted as you craned your head to see his expression. He went pale before his face flashed with fury.

“You fucking asshole-!”

“Please, like you’re not doing the same thing right now. I should’ve known to keep them on a tighter leash,” Marcus sighed and brushed his hair back as he fixed his glasses and approached the other side of the table you were currently bent over. He wordlessly undid his belt and pants, his dick slapping you across the face as he fisted your hair far harsher than he normally would. You barely got a word in, trying to argue for your innocence before you were choking on his length. You coughed loudly, but they ignored your struggling to stay locked on each other. 

“There’s no point in arguing,” Yandere Nerd’s voice was sharp and cold as his hands worked your head. “We might as well work together until we can figure out how to deal with this,” he sighed, frustration simmering under the surface.

Elias looked genuinely taken aback, but he gritted his teeth as he started up the effort of fucking into you once again. Your eyes widened as you tried to get out of being fucked from both ends. Every time you tried to moan or cry out, Marcus’s tip could shove deep into your throat, causing you to gag. Your toes curled, and your back arched as you spasmed. 

“Fuck you,” he snapped between groans, his breath hitching as he switched between lovingly stroking your lower back and nearly breaking the table. “Fine. We’ll have to keep them in line. I didn’t know they’d be running around getting fucked like some low class- ngh!” He cut off his rambling as he leaned in and suddenly started pressing kisses and bites to your shoulders.

“Maybe a- shit yeah breath baby. Maybe a tracker for good measure,” Marcus suggested between snarls. “We can split the costs.”

Your stomach sank as they started to discuss the logistics about how to keep you quiet and pliant between the two of you while they kept thrusting into you like you weren’t even there. You sobbed, the sound muffled pitifully. Who knew that, this whole time, they’d actually been able to work together just fine?

[jjkk1m]

[jjkk1m]

Love in Enemy Colors

Title: “Love in Enemy Colors”: Mafia AU - Enhypen fanfiction x Criminal Minds fanfiction

Pairing: Sunghoon x Reader Male ( FBI )

Genre: Romantic angst | Undercover betrayal | Slow-burn passion | Mafia x FBI | Emotional hurt/comfort

Warnings: Explicit romantic/sexual undertones, Betrayal & emotional angst, Swearing, Heavy emotional content

Summary: An FBI agent ( you ) goes undercover to take down Korea’s most dangerous crime syndicate — but falling in love with its cold, beautiful leader, Park Sunghoon, changes everything. When the truth comes out, betrayal and love collide… and he must choose between duty and the man who made him feel alive.

It began in a room full of smoke and silence.

You stood alone in the corner of the Jeonghwa syndicate’s private lounge — your first night fully embedded, breathing the air of men who'd slit throats before breakfast and smile over champagne after. You were dressed like one of them. Spoke like one of them. You looked the part.

But inside?

Your heart was pacing. Your mind was taking photos of exits, pressure points, gun bulges under tailored suits.

Then he walked in.

Park Sunghoon.

The youngest leader the Korean underworld had ever seen. Beautiful in a way that didn’t seem fair — eyes too soft for the weight he carried, hands too elegant to hold the blood they had. The room quieted for him. They always did.

He didn’t look at anyone.

Except you.

His gaze brushed past every other man like water. But when it met yours — it stopped.

He tilted his head.

And you forgot, for one second, who you were pretending to be.

——

You told the FBI you’d play the long game. Weeks, maybe months. Infiltrate, gather intel, pull out before they suspected anything.

But you stayed.

Because Sunghoon started drawing you closer like gravity.

Not in grand gestures — in little cracks. A barely-there smile when you quoted literature over a drink. The pause in his voice when he said your name, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to own it or protect it.

You started spending your nights in his penthouse — under the guise of security, of course.

But sometimes, at 2 a.m., you'd wake up to the sound of the piano. Sunghoon, alone in the dark, fingers whispering secrets over ivory keys.

You’d watch him from the doorway — this man who had the power to break cities — and think, God, I’m already his.

——

It was slow. The way it happened.

The way you touched him.

The way he touched you back.

A shoulder brushing. A hand over yours when you reached for the same file. A kiss that didn’t ask permission — just happened one night when he stepped too close, and neither of you stepped away.

That first kiss was soft. Hesitant.

But the second? The third?

They weren’t soft at all.

They were hands in hair. Teeth on lips. Breaths stolen.

They were Sunghoon saying your name like he was confessing something ancient.

They were you gripping his back like you could hold the truth inside your skin.

They were nights where the world disappeared — only two bodies, desperate, greedy, and slow. Where he memorized every sound you made. Where you kissed him like you knew it was going to end in ruin.

And even knowing that — you kissed him again.

——

He trusted you.

And that was the part that hurt most.

Because one night, he curled against your chest — face tucked under your chin, a little drunk on wine and you — and whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt safe before you.”

You held him tighter.

And lied through your teeth when you said, “Me too.”

——

Back in Quantico, your comms had gone silent for 39 days.

“Agent Y/N has likely been compromised,” Hotch said, face unreadable.

“He’s too good for that,” Morgan argued.

But Reid was quiet. Looking down. Already grieving.

Garcia cried at her desk when she saw the black status next to your name.

“Killed in action,” the file would read.

But you weren’t dead.

You were in Park Sunghoon’s arms, whispering lies and promises against his neck, only one of which was true:

“I’m yours.”

——

You should’ve told him.

You should’ve said, I’m not who you think I am.

But you didn’t.

Because you wanted one more day.

One more night where he looked at you like you were his, not a weapon buried in his heart.

So you waited.

——

He found out one night — not from you, but from a name whispered by a dying traitor.

"Y/N… FBI…"

You heard the gunshot before you saw his face.

He came to you soaked in rain, fury in his veins, betrayal in his eyes.

“Tell me it’s not true.”

Your heart stopped. “Hoon…”

“Tell me it’s not true!” he roared.

You didn’t. Couldn’t.

He stared at you like he’d been stabbed. You wanted to touch him, explain, fall on your knees if you had to.

“I was,” you whispered. “I was FBI.”

His lip curled. “So I was a target.”

“No. You were the mistake I never wanted to end.”

He was silent. Then deadly soft: “You were supposed to ruin me. Instead… I gave you everything.”

You stepped forward. “And I threw it all away — for you. I haven’t reported in. I’ve been gone for months. I’m dead to them. I chose you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he said coldly.

But when you turned to leave, his voice cracked.

“…Don’t go.”

You looked back.

Sunghoon was trembling. Hands balled into fists. He looked like a man torn in half.

“You lied to me,” he whispered.

“I did.”

“You broke me.”

“I did.”

“…Then why,” his voice broke completely, “does my heart still want you?”

You walked back to him — slow, deliberate.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “But I’m still yours. If you’ll have me.”

His mouth crashed into yours, fierce and unrelenting.

“I don’t forgive you,” he said between kisses.

“I don’t care.”

“But I still love you.”

You smiled through your tears. “Me too.”

——

From that moment, you were no longer FBI.

You were his.

His second-in-command. His confidant. His lover.

Together, you reshaped the empire. Under your guidance, Sunghoon became even more feared — and more precise. The organization expanded, but the chaos lessened. It became strategic. Clean. Powerful.

Nobody dared challenge Seongpa again.

——

One night — year later — after a successful negotiation with a rival syndicate, you lay tangled in silk sheets, Sunghoon’s hand on your bare chest, tracing lazy circles.

“I should kill you for what you did,” he murmured.

“Maybe.”

“But I’d rather spend the rest of my life punishing you in other ways.”

You chuckled, turning to kiss his jaw. “Still angry?”

“Always,” he smirked. “But I’d rather be angry with you… than empty without you.”

He reached into the nightstand, pulled out a small box, and handed it to you without ceremony.

Inside: a ring. Simple. Black. Beautiful.

Your throat closed.

“I know it’s not traditional,” he said softly. “But I want the world to know you’re mine. Officially.”

You looked up at him — at the man you were supposed to destroy.

“I already was,” you whispered. “Since the day you kissed me.”

He smiled. For once — not a smirk, not a calculated grin — just a man, in love.

And you kissed him like it was the beginning of your life.

Because it was.

——

Somewhere in Quantico, Garcia got an anonymous email. A single message. No attachments.

"Stop looking. I’m exactly where I want to be."

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she quietly deleted the file.

————

My main masterlist

[jjkk1m]

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.No one Noticed, Right?.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

⋆---––——––---⋆

✴︎Perv! Soft Yandere/Stalker x Reader Pt. 2

✶Part 1. / Part 3. (Coming soon)

TW: AFAB reader, college, public, masturbation, sexual relationships, light mention of some fetishes, use of sex toys, both protagonists are of legal age. This one-shot contains smut, sexual content in public, mention of behaviors like stalking, and more. If you don't like this type of content, please avoid reading it. It is briefly mentioned that reader has hair(?) I don’t know if that counts as a tw but just a heads up, you never know-

English is not my first language, I’m doing my best with the little bit of knowledge that I have, so, please excuse my grammar mistakes, also, if you would like to leave a correction or any recommendations, I’m willing to hear it, without wasting more of your time, please enjoy.

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⋆---––——––---⋆

(Just as the previous part this is a translation of one of my old one-shots from Wattpad I wrote when I was like 15 years old, this is probably pretty poorly written but since the part one gained some love, I decided to post the second part too and if it is not a complete failure, maybe i’ll post the little epilogue I have about what professor Alessandro did when he was left alone in the classroom)

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Eight days had passed since that fortuitous encounter between Rayan and his lover on the train, just eight days since they both decided to formalize their relationship.

The beautiful and somewhat strange relationship seemed to be going better than expected, as they not only shared their love but now also spent a large part of their days together, all thanks to Ryan's decision to transfer to her classes to spend more time together.

The affection that both had for each other was something extremely evident to everyone, and their relationship was not something they tried to hide, or at least, that Ryan's idolatry and excessive attachment tried to disguise. For the entire school, it was a great surprise to see the pretty ____ with such a strange boy, and even more so to see how his volatile attitude and eccentric tendencies seemed not to bother her. To everyone, they were a peculiar, very affectionate and tender couple, although no one suspected that behind those two tender faces hid much more than just affection.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾Wednesday 10:30 am☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Classes proceeded normally like any other day, the classrooms were filled with not-so-enthusiastic teenagers and bitter teachers who desperately longed to be freed from the routine.

Inside one of the many classrooms, there was a cute boy with dark hair, who had the last desk as his seat, right at the back of the classroom. In front of him was a beautiful young woman with h/c hair that fell over her back and desk as she leaned on it, hiding her flushed face, heavy breathing and silent moans.

A small thread of saliva ran down the girl's lower lip as she bit it in a barely useful attempt to control the lascivious sounds that threatened to escape from her mouth. All while being observed by the causer of these reactions, the cute and apparently not-so-innocent raven haired boy sitting behind her, her now boyfriend Ryan.

That little perverted bastard had subdued her in the bathroom during the first hour of classes, something she undoubtedly enjoyed. However, she never imagined that when the bell for the change of lessons rang, the boy would suddenly put a tiny vibrator inside her. She wouldn't have time to take it out, knowing that if she missed the first lessons again, or even arrived late, it would mean a big problem for her attendance record and, consequently, her grades. On top of that, the "funny" Ryan had stolen her panties again, so now the small vibrator inside her was not her only problem.

She was worried, but she ignored it and ran to her next class. However, all of this had taken a toll on her, something she didn't realize until she set foot in the classroom and instantly felt the small button inside her begin to vibrate slowly but very pleasurably. That's when she finally realized that the vibrator Ryan had put inside her had a remote control and that the one who has it was none other than the pervert who called himself her "boyfriend."

The warm and wet sensation caused by her excitement dripping down to her thighs and caressing her sensible skin was something mind-blowing, both for her and for the fascinated boy who admired the scene with full attention while feeling himself growing more and more on his pants, longing to trace the same path as those warm drops.

"Miss, you seem very comfortable back there. Why don't you stop 'sleeping' on your desk and come to the front to solve the problem on the board? I heard you didn't attend the first hour of classes. Wasn't your education interesting enough to care about it? Let's hope my class meets your expectations then. Now, please come to the front, no excuses."

The gruff and annoyed tone of the math teacher, Alessandro, made the girl react and curse inwardly. What was the damn obsession of Professor Alessandro with always passing her to the front? Couldn't today be the exception?

The suffering of having to solve a problem in front of the entire class in such a situation clouded the senses of the poor girl who didn't notice the marked tone of anger, frustration, and jealousy in her sexy professor's voice. She also couldn't know that he had noticed her situation for a while and that, despite the frustration he felt about it, he was more than willing to enjoy the good views her favorite student provided. And why not? Make her suffer a little, since he couldn't fuck her on his desk right now as he has been wanting to do for months. At least he could keep a good mental image that he would surely make use of in the solitude of the math classroom during recess.

The resigned girl, with no other option, stood up from her seat and slowly walked to the front of the class, feeling her legs tremble with ecstasy and her fluids bathing her inner thighs more than before if that was even possible.

Ryan undoubtedly wanted to take advantage of the situation and patiently waited for her to be at her peak of concentration between holding back the pleasure and trying to solve the problem in front of her. And that's when he saw the perfect moment to increase the speed of that small button that lay inside his girlfriend, delighting in the way she struggled to maintain her composure and how her classmates looked strangely at her as she twisted and trembled slightly, unable to even imagine what was really happening.

From the back of the classroom, her perverted boyfriend was playing with the speeds of that sex toy while using his other hand to masturbate his hard and hot member discreetly while watching his cute girlfriend fall apart in front of the entire class, imagining himself kneeling in front of his girl's pussy, slowly licking each drop of fluids that ran down her thighs, both being watched by the entire class as a pair of perverts, seeing how Ryan licked every drop off of her till he reached her clit where he would eagerly lick and suck till his heart content, delighting in her fluids and the sweet taste of her release.

Motivated by such a fantasy and feeling close to his climax, he began to play with the speeds of the small object until he achieved an irregular back-and-forth motion so pleasurable that it was about to bring her to orgasm, she was at her limit when suddenly a small white object fell just to the right of the girl, an eraser.

"You know? As you seem a bit off, I'll let you pass the problem this time and return to your seat." The professor Alessandro expressed, causing a great sense of relief in the girl, which vanished seconds later when she heard his next words, "however, before you sit down, please hand me my eraser, as it is right next to you."

Immediately, her body froze as she realized that by doing so, her vagina would be completely exposed to her professor, as she would be in a position where her femininity would be fully in front of her desk, giving him a perfect view not only of her pantyless pussy but also of the small vibrator inside her, how it twisted in her entrails, and the way her fluids ran down it.

"Can I know what you're waiting for, miss? Lifting a small eraser isn't that difficult. I would appreciate it if you hurried up, as you are delaying my class. Otherwise, I will be forced to put a report in your conduct book for being rebellious."

Resigned to this, the somewhat indecisive girl took a few steps towards the eraser and slowly leaned down to pick it up, feeling the cold air on her now completely exposed vagina as her skirt had risen, giving her sexy professor a perfect view who genuinely enjoyed it too much.

Finally, there, with her pussy completely exposed to her math professor she could hear the bell that announced recess, causing all the students, except Ryan, to leave the classroom immediately and giving her a little bit of relief knowing that at least her classmates wouldn’t be there to see what was about to happen.

The sensations of pleasure finally managed to dominate the girl's body and allowing her to feel the spasms of the impending orgasm. Noticing this, Professor Alessandro spoke with a firm and authoritative voice, "Haven't you heard the bell, young Ryan? Please leave. You shouldn't be here."

To this, Ryan tried to object, "Excuse me, professor, but I'm waiting for-" The professor's voice interrupted the boy's sentence.

"As you can see, Miss ____ is a bit indisposed right now. Please do me the favor of not bothering her and leaving NOW. It is MY responsibility as an adult to watch over her for a couple of minutes to make sure she is okay. Now, please leave. Being here during recess is enough audacity to earn a good report."

To this, Ryan, resigned, had to leave the classroom against his will, eager to see what might happen inside, completely forgetting that he had never turned off the small vibrator and that it was still moving inside the girl at its maximum speed.

Meanwhile, inside the classroom, an excited girl was on her knees on the floor, propped up on her two hands while raising her exposed vagina in a lascivious "doggy style" position due to the pleasure she felt at that moment, until, unable to contain herself any longer, she felt the pleasure inside her release in an intense and explosive orgasm that bathed the floor and her legs with her fluids. She had just had a squirt in the middle of the math classroom, and even worse, her sexy math professor was leaning against the board admiring the view while slowly caressing his thick, hard member over his tight black pants.

The girl, still with her pussy fully exposed, began to regain consciousness and immediately felt a pair of fingers superficially caressing her pussy, bathing in her fluids to then rudely enter her vagina to find the small toy that was still vibrating inside her and pull it out with a single tug.

Meanwhile, Alessandro enjoyed the view his little and beloved favorite student gave him. He delighted in her fucked expression while licking his fingers and the small sex toy, taking the time to savor the fluids of the perverted and tight entrance of his student.

When there was finally no trace of the recent orgasm on his fingers or the toy, he brutally reinserted the pink button into the girl's vagina, and then, unable to resist thanks to the view this gave him, covered by that tiny and sexy uniform skirt, he finished with a hard, strong, and noisy spank that landed on the fat and delicious ass of his little student.

"You and that little bastard Ryan won't have to worry about my subject for the rest of the year. Your fat ass and your wet pussy overflowing in front of me have just made both of you get a perfect 10 in my subject, although I hate the idea that that brat has what belongs to me ever since I saw you, desired you, and loved you at the beginning of the year in my first class in this institute. I’ll admit that thanks to him I had a very good show and a small taste of paradise. Now get out of here before I can't control myself anymore and fuck you right now on my desk until your tight pussy is dripping with my cum. Besides, I have to clean up the mess you left on the floor before the next class."

The girl, unable to believe what had just happened and still a bit dazed by the recent orgasm, did not hesitate for a second to get up from the floor, take her backpack, and run embarrassed out of the classroom, where she found Ryan waiting for her just a few meters from the door. Apparently, he hadn't been able to hear anything that happened inside, but he waited for her as every day to go home together, only today with the nerves of the possibility of having gotten into trouble.

Immediately, the girl dragged him to the bathroom, and after a big scolding for his "joke" with the vibrator, she recounted in detail everything that happened inside the classroom, causing huge jealousy and anger in Ryan, who would probably find a way to get even with that bold professor later on. And at the same time, he felt relieved to know that they wouldn't be punished. Although that experience should have served to scare him and make him rethink, it only provoked excitement in him at the idea of public sex, thus giving him more desire to try something similar again.

⋆---––——––---⋆

Omg😭 I’m sorry for making you read this guys, after taking a look at it I realized it is like ten times worse than I remembered it being, honestly, I felt a lot of cringe at the younger me cause back then I really thought I was eating with this one-shots💀

[jjkk1m]

‿︵‿୨Smile for the camera୧‿︵‿

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

> Perv! Soft Yandere Stalker x Reader

Part 2. / Part 3. (Coming soon)

> TW: This one-shot contains explicit sexual content, including public settings, voyeurism, and obsessive behavior. All characters involved are 22 years old or older. If this kind of content makes you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading further.

> English is not my first language, I’m doing my best with the little bit of knowledge that I have, so, please excuse my grammar mistakes, also, if you would like to leave a correction or any recommendations, I’m willing to hear it, without wasting more of your time, please enjoy.

Pt. 1 / More coming soon (maybe)

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

(I wanted to upload something but I haven’t found the inspiration to write something worthy so I thought “why not just translate one of my old one-shots from my book on Wattpad?” So I did it, please be kind and have in mind that I wrote this when I was like 15 years old, I was younger, dumber, sillier, and pretty hormonal, like any other 15 years old girl with unsupervised access to internet and things like Wattpad and AO3, specially the ones on Wattpad and I mean It, the dirtier things that I have ever read were made by teenagers on that hellish app, but whatever, you get the point, enough with my ramble, please enjoy)

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

Wednesday, 6:30 p.m.

The train was packed—mostly with tired office workers heading home after a long day. A few university students sat here and there.

I had managed to grab a seat, miraculously, in the exact spot I took every afternoon for the past two years. Why that seat? Because she always sat right across from it.

And today, just like always, she was there.

The suffocating heat in the train couldn’t compare to the burning in my body when I saw her. Sitting right in front of me, the girl I’d been in love with since I first met her in art class—on my first day of university. She was 22, same as me. I still remember how she lent me her eraser. Her shy smile. Her soft, pure kindness.

I still have that eraser. I know I should’ve given it back… but her presence, the reminder of her lingered on it. I couldn’t help myself. I had to keep it.

But that wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I needed more.

So, I started following her. Casually at first, then more deliberately. I observed her when I had the chance—her expressions, her gentle ways, her kindness toward others. Every day, I fell more in love. Every new detail I discovered about her only deepened my obsession.

Eventually, I began taking pictures of her when she wasn’t looking. Different places, angles, times of day… but always with her as the subject. Over the weeks, my room’s walls ran out of space to hold them all.

And even that stopped being enough.

I began stealing things from her—nothing valuable, at least not to her. But to me? Her pink pillow soaked with her intoxicating scent. Her warm, delicate lingerie—always in pairs, because one was never enough, why settle when you can be greedy and have the full set?

For months, I admired her from afar. I never had the courage to speak to her. She was perfect, and I was nothing. I couldn’t just walk up to her and start a conversation.

Watching her… that was the only way I could be near her.

So I learned her routine. Her interests. Her dreams. Her passions. Without her realizing it, I became part of her world.

Which brings me to the present. She was sitting across from me on the train, just like every other evening.

The gentle movement of the train made strands of her hair fall across her blushing cheeks. Just watching her like that sent my mind spinning, imagining countless scenarios where I was the reason for that flustered expression—my hands on her skin, my whispers in her ear. The thought alone sent electricity through me.

And then it happened.

Uncomfortable with the way she was sitting, she shifted in her seat and crossed one leg over the other. Her already short university skirt rode up, revealing her deliciously thick thighs, the base of her round, firm ass… and finally, those cute pastel pink panties.

I could feel the blood rush to my face. My heart pounded. My thoughts drowned in the thousands of filthy things I wanted to do to her right then and there.

But then, she stood up.

She walked off the train. And only then did I realize I had lost track of time. More than 20 minutes had passed while I was lost in my fantasies. The train was already at our stop.

I hurried off the train, cursing myself for not using that moment to snap a photo… a perfect, once-in-a-lifetime image she had unknowingly gifted me.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

Thursday, 6:25 p.m.

One day had passed since I had the luck of witnessing my beloved’s pastel panties on that same train.

Now, here I was again, waiting.

Being late on a Thursday, the station was nearly empty—just a couple of girls with shopping bags, my beloved… and me.

After five minutes, the train finally arrived. The doors opened, letting in its four only passengers that night.

As usual, my princess took her regular seat, and I sat across from her, separated by only a few feet. The atmosphere was silent, except for the occasional giggle of the two girls sitting a few rows away, and the soft hum of the train.

About seven minutes into the ride—our trip usually takes around 45 minutes—the two girls stood up and exited at the first and only stop before our final destination.

Now it was just her and me. Alone in the carriage.

She sat there, distracted, staring out the window. So beautiful. So perfect—just like the first day I saw her.

I didn’t waste time. Discreetly, I pulled out my camera trying to pretend that I was just checking some old photos on it instead of taking new ones. This was my chance to capture her beauty once more.

Photo after photo, I clicked away with fascination. Her serene expression as she watched the passing scenery. Her cute face as she yawned. The way she tucked strands of hair behind her ear. How she slowly turned… more… and more…

Until her eyes locked onto the lens.

Directly.

She saw me.

My heart stopped. My soul left my body. She had caught me—staring. Filming.

She knew.

I expected her to scream. To call me a pervert—which, of course, I am.

But the idea of her pulling away from me, rejecting me, pushing me out of her world… that was unbearable. The thought alone made my skin crawl.

A thousand worst-case scenarios raced through my mind.

And then… she looked away.

Just slightly. Her cheeks turned a soft red from the awkwardness.

She wasn’t angry. Not really. She was… embarrassed?

My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Then she did something that nearly broke me.

Still sitting there, alone with me, she slowly spread her legs, giving me a perfect view of her delicate white lace panties—already beginning to dampen from the tension in the air.

“T-this is what you wanted, right?” she whispered.

“A couple weeks ago, I noticed you were following me… always taking pictures in secret. I didn’t think much of it at first. But today… seeing you do it so naturally—it made me think maybe you actually want those photos, right, Ryan?”

Ryan.

She said my name.

She remembered me.

And there she was, opening herself up to me—completely alone in a train car—for me.

I lifted my camera immediately and began snapping photos of her dampening panties. My erection pressed against my pants, aching with desire. I couldn’t look away.

Seeing that I had taken several shots, she shifted again.

This time, she gripped the waistband of her panties and pulled slightly, making the fabric press tightly into her already wet pussy. It drove me insane.

I couldn’t stop myself. My hand moved to my hard cock, still hidden by my pants, stroking it through the fabric as I kept taking photos with my other hand.

Watching this, her arousal only intensified. She reached for her blouse, unbuttoning it slowly. Her bra slipped free, and then she removed it completely, revealing her bare breasts. Next, she slid off her panties, revealing the dripping wetness of her arousal trickling down her thighs and pooling onto the seat below her.

She left her skirt on, as well as her white thigh-high socks that hugged her legs tightly, making them look irresistibly sexy.

Guided by desire, she began touching herself, her fingers gliding over her soaked folds. I sat there, mesmerized, stroking my cock now fully exposed, watching every movement she made. Every flick of her fingers, every moan, every expression of pleasure… it was all for me.

I grabbed my camera and began recording.

Her soft gasps and moans, the wet sounds of her fingers, the gentle bounce of her breasts as she breathed—it all drove me mad. My hand moved faster over my cock, slick with precum, the other holding the camera steady, capturing every second.

She was close.

She whispered my name between moans. And then—she cried out, her orgasm shaking her body, squirting across her hand, the floor, and the seat beneath her.

Only seconds later, I came too, groaning her name as my cum spilled onto the train floor.

I shut off the recording, overwhelmed.

I couldn’t help it anymore.

I set the camera beside my bag and moved toward her.

She lay there, her head resting against the window, eyes closed, breathing hard. Her legs still open. Her pussy still wet.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, holding her thighs so she couldn’t close them. Then, slowly, I brought my mouth to her sex. I licked her lips gently, tasting her.

With both hands, I parted her open and began eating her out, tongue exploring every inch of her soaked cunt. Her juices mixed with my saliva, dripping down my chin and neck. She reached for my hair and pulled me in deeper, urging me to keep going.

Soft flicks, teasing nibbles, long licks—until her body started to tremble again. She screamed my name, her second orgasm rushing over her.

I sucked her clit hard, intensifying her pleasure. She squeezed my head between her thighs, grinding into my face. I loved it.

My hands reached up to her ass, grabbing her and pushing her further into my mouth. I wanted all of her.

And then it happened—I came again.

Without even touching myself. Just tasting her, hearing her cry my name, feeling her climax against my face—I came. Hard.

Exhausted, I gently bit her thigh and rested my head against it, trying to catch my breath.

I whispered between gasps, “I love you. I love you so much. Please… be my girlfriend.”

Her hand moved through my hair, lovingly, and she whispered back:

“I love you too, Ryan. I’ve loved you since I first caught you watching me months ago. I’ll be your girlfriend… but—can you move? We’ll be at the station soon, and I’d like to get off the train wearing my panties and blouse.”

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

Since that day, Ryan keeps his “special” camera in a small altar inside his closet—his room still covered with thousands of photos of his beloved. Even now, three months into their relationship, he would rather die than get rid of them.

Next to the camera sits a delicate pair of white lace panties—the same ones his now girlfriend wore the day they finally shared their love on the train.

Apparently, her wish to step off the train fully dressed didn’t quite go as planned… thanks to a certain obsessive pervert.

And if only the poor girl knew—

that wasn’t going to be the last time.

Not with Ryan’s twisted, devoted mind…

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

(Hope that wasn’t too cringey to read, also, back then I wrote a second part of this, kinda similar but with a different scenario and an extra character, which also happens to have its own short, so, If this post gains some attention maybe I’ll post those two too.)

[jjkk1m]

can you write about sub yan cumming too fast and having to overstimulating himself for us ☺️

sub!yan, dom!reader, overstimulation, whining, crying, teasing, masturbation

“I-It hic! It h-hurts, [name]!” Your yandere looks at you with glazed, glassy eyes, tears forming in the corners and falling as he pumps his dick fast.

“But darling, this is your punishment for cumming too fast. You caused this for yourself.”

He lets out a cry as he runs his own thumb over the tip, the pleasure making him shiver and for pre cum to leak out even more. There’s a small puddle of it underneath his dick and it slowly grows larger every time he cums.

You giggle at the lewd sight of his spread legs and how he’s watching your every move, wanting you to get closer and touch him any where.

“F-Fuck [name].” He lets out a desperate whimper. How many times has he cummed now? Three? Four? Your yandere doesn’t know, the pleasure and pain fogging his mind and making it hard to think. All he knows is that he’s close again and although it hurts, he doesn’t want to stop. His hand on his dick speeds up as the pleasure overwhelms him again.

“I-I’m close ah! Please l-let me cum, p-please?”

Grinning at just how pathetic he looks, you nod, wanting to see him fall apart again just from his own hand.

He sees you nod and lets out a cry as he cums, cum shooting out his spent dick and onto his already stained chest and thighs. He looks absolutely lewd like this but he looks so pretty at the same time.

Seeing his hand slow down, you only shake your head at him and he whines, knowing the words you’ll say next.

“Did I say stop darling? You’re not done till I say you’re done baby.”

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[jjkk1m]

DEDICATED

Pairing - yan!fanboy!yoo kihyun x male!idol!reader Warnings - yandere, obsessive love, abusive relationship dynamics, stalking, etc. Word Count - 4.4k

A life like yours never really slowed down. As a solo artist you had to do just as much as any idol group did but with all the weight and pressure to be perfect on your shoulders alone. The best way to describe it was stressful, and even that didn't fully cover it. Needless to say, as thrilled as you were to give back to your fans, you were exhausted.

But that doesn't mean you wouldn't continue to be stretched as thin as possible.

There you were, sat down at the backside of a long white table, sharpies lined up next to you and ready for use. Another fan-signing event to be added under your belt of hundreds.

It didn't take long for things to get started. Your manager giving you the signal to start the speech that you made each time you did something like this. It was basic formalities, a greeting and brief explanation of how things would be working before exclaiming how excited you were to meet them all. Que the cheers and things were officially underway.

The first few fans approached the table, eyes wide with awe, clutching posters and albums like sacred relics. You gave them each a few seconds longer than the staff might’ve liked. You’d always hated the rushed feeling, the conveyor belt of gratitude. These were the people who kept you going, who memorized your lyrics, who saw you through a screen and still believed they knew you.

You smiled, just like always. Bright, genuine, at least, that’s how it had to look. Years of practice had taught you how to tuck the fatigue behind your eyes, how to keep the tremble out of your voice no matter how little sleep you got the night before. You waved at the crowd, your fingers aching slightly as you lifted your hand. Another fan, another signature, another carefully curated conversation under the watchful eyes of your management team.

A young girl stepped up, probably no older than sixteen, hands shaking as she passed you a handwritten letter. Her eyes brimmed with tears before she even spoke. "You helped me through so much," she whispered. "Your music… it saved me"

You blinked, the smile still on your face, but something behind your ribs twisted. It always hit a little too close, hearing that. Because they didn’t know how often you needed saving too.

You thanked her softly, fingers brushing hers as you took the letter and set it gently beside you. You made eye contact, just for a moment longer than usual. Just enough to make her feel seen. And then the staff gently ushered her along.

Another fan. Another moment.

And still, the line stretched on.

The monotony of it all was starting to get to you. It always did. The same thing over and over again made it hard to be genuine, not that you had started off the night that sincere to begin with, but it made you feel guilty. They spent all this money, took time out of their day, and waited in this huge line just for what felt like a half-assed interaction on your part.

Slowly but surely the line started winding down. A bit of a boost of energy sparked through your veins as you could finally spot the end of the crowd. End was in sight, as bad as that sounds.

But then you saw him.

He stood out. Not in any obvious way. He wasn’t waving or crying or clutching your latest album to his chest. In fact, he barely moved at all. Just stood there, calm and stiff in the middle of a group of excited fans, like he was waiting in a grocery line instead of one to meet his favorite artist.

He had on a plain black hoodie, the hood pulled low over his forehead, and his hands were tucked in his pockets. His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes didn’t blink nearly enough. You weren’t even sure he had blinked since you first noticed him.

For some reason, he made your skin prickle.

It was subtle, easy to write off, maybe you were just tired. Maybe the fluorescent lighting was finally starting to mess with your head. But still, your fingers tightened slightly around the sharpie in your hand as the line inched forward, fan by fan, bringing him closer.

When he finally stepped up, it was quiet. No squeal of excitement, no wide eyes. Just a simple nod as he slid a photo across the table toward you. Not the usual glossy promotional one, though.

It was a candid.

A picture of you, off-stage. No makeup. Phone in hand. Walking out of a side door to one of your recent hotels.

Your heart skipped a beat. You kept your face neutral. You tried to think back, questioning if you had seen any paparazzi around in that moment. Everything came back blank in the face of this stranger.

“Where… did you get this?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light as you looked back up at him. He had a soft face framed by wispy brown locks. He could have been an idol himself with his visuals. But for some reason something about his appearance felt off. Maybe it was how his dark brown eyes were so well trained on yours, or how his hair was just slightly disheveled. Something was wrong.

He smiled then. Just a small one. Just enough.

“Found it online. You looked nice.” He was lying. He had to be. Sure, there was no way to know every single photo of you that was out there with the thousands in circulation. But something was screaming at you that what he said wasn't true.

You stared at the image for a second longer before your manager subtly cleared his throat from a few steps away. You were taking too long again. You gave a mechanical laugh, pretending it was some kind of inside joke you didn’t get. Signed the photo quickly, even though your hands were suddenly clammy.

He didn’t move to take it back. Staring through you.

Your manager began to approach, tired of waiting for you to end things yourself. Before you could be reprimanded you lifted the photo up to him. It was his turn to graze his fingertips against yours. The touch sent shivers up your spine and left goosebumps in it's wake.

“I’ll see you again,” he said quietly, like it was a promise. And then he walked off, disappearing into the thinning crowd like smoke.

Your manager leaned in behind you, his voice low. “Everything okay?”

You nodded, too fast.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just tired.”

But your eyes flicked back to the crowd.

And this time, you weren’t sure the exhaustion was the only thing gnawing at your nerves.

-

You were on tour now. City to city, stage to stage, hotel to hotel. Everything blurred together into one endless stream of flashing lights, screaming crowds, and late-night rehearsals. You hadn’t really been home in weeks, not that "home" ever felt real anymore. Just a place where your things lived while you chased everything else.

You didn’t think about him often.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But sometimes, when the hallway lights in a hotel flickered, or when your driver took just a little too long to show up, his face would creep into the back of your mind. The soft smile. The calm stare. The way he said he’d see you again.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Just another weird fan interaction. You’d had plenty before.

But this one lingered.

It was after your third show in Osaka when things started to feel wrong.

You were alone backstage, sipping from a water bottle and trying to work the ache out of your legs. The staff had filtered out, busy packing up or getting ahead of tomorrow’s logistics. For once, you had a rare sliver of quiet.

Then your phone buzzed.

A message.

Unknown number:

You looked beautiful in the blue today. That color suits you more than the stylists realize.

Your stomach dropped. You were wearing blue. A flowy, cropped stage top they’d picked just hours ago. You hadn’t posted yet. No one had.

You didn’t reply. Just locked the screen and tossed the phone facedown on the table.

Breathe.

It was probably someone on staff. A stylist maybe. A dancer playing a weird joke. You told yourself a dozen lies in under five seconds. None of them stuck.

The next day, another message.

You sing like you’re sad. Are you sad? I’d know if you were.

This time, it came with a photo.

A blurry one. Taken from the side of the building. A view only someone standing outside would’ve had. It showed your dressing room window with the lights still on.

You were in it.

Barely. A silhouette. But undeniably you.

Your manager saw your face after the receiving the message. You didn’t even have to say anything. He took your phone gently from your hands and told you he’d handle it. Tight-lipped. Serious.

But even as he left the room, muttering something about “security” and “private investigators,” you weren’t sure it would matter.

Because somehow, in the back of your mind, you knew it wasn’t over.

You knew he meant it now, when he said he’d see you again.

And this time, he might not bother waiting in line.

-

You hadn’t blocked the number.

Not yet, anyway.

He watched the read receipt light up on his burner screen. A soft thrill curled through him, not excitement. No, this was something deeper. Satisfaction, maybe. The kind that bloomed when everything was going exactly the way he wanted it to.

You were rattled. He could tell.

He’d seen it on your face after the show. The way you’d scanned the crowd just a little more urgently. Your smile faltered for half a second too long when a fan in the front row held up a handmade sign. You were beginning to understand.

You had to.

He hadn’t meant to scare you, not really. It was just that you didn’t see him. Not at first. Not the way he saw you.

He’d been watching you long before that fan-signing event. Long before the music videos and the world tours. Back when you were still posting blurry phone videos of your songs in your childhood bedroom. When you were real. Before they polished you into something glossy and untouchable.

He liked you better back then. But it was okay. He could fix it. He could bring you back.

The security around you was better now. Your manager barely left your side. The hotel staff were tighter-lipped, the entrances locked, your schedule more obscured. But it didn’t matter.

He always found a way.

-

You told yourself to breathe.

The messages had stopped, at least for now, but the feeling they left hadn’t gone anywhere. You couldn’t shake the sensation that you were constantly being watched, like a pair of eyes had latched onto your skin and refused to look away.

You started checking the locks. Triple-checking, really. You no longer opened the curtains in your hotel rooms. You stopped taking the side exits your staff once used to sneak you out quietly, the photo being a stark reminder it wasn't as private as you thought. It felt like being hunted.

But what scared you most was the silence.

It had been two weeks since the last message.

And it was somehow worse than when they were coming regularly.

Your manager had reported it all. The label beefed up your security, switched hotels last minute, started escorting you out of soundchecks like you were the president of a country. But it didn’t feel like enough.

Not when you started finding flowers.

The first one had been in your dressing room. A single white tulip in a plain glass bottle, no note. No one saw anyone bring it in, not even the interns.

The second was left outside your hotel door.

Now, it was becoming a pattern.

You didn’t know whether to scream or stay quiet. Maybe if you said nothing, it would go away. Or maybe that’s what he wanted.

You were starting to feel sick.

-

You’d been warned not to go out alone.

But you were tired. Tired of handlers, of drivers, of being followed by security like a child with scissors in his hands. And besides, it was late. The streets were quiet. You’d only stepped out to get air, to remind yourself you were still a real person in a real world and not just a product wrapped in glitter and vinyl.

You pulled your hoodie low over your brow, mask up, earbuds in but with no music playing. just a buffer. Enough to make people think you weren’t paying attention.

You were.

You always were now.

The alley behind the cafe was dim, washed in the kind of orange glow that made everything look sleepy and surreal. It was the kind of hidden spot you used to sneak off to before the debut, back when anonymity came easy and no one looked at you like you were more than a name.

You didn’t hear him approach.

But when you turned, he was already there. Leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting for hours. Same hoodie. Same eyes. Same quiet, terrifying calm.

Your heart didn’t race. It dropped. Just sank into your stomach like a stone.

“You...” you said. Useless, but it was the only thing your mouth could form.

He didn’t smile at first. Just stared at you for a second too long. Then, slowly, there it was. That same unnerving softness tugging at his mouth like he knew something you didn’t.

“I told you I’d see you again,” he murmured, like it was a reunion and not a confrontation.

-

There you were.

Up close again. Real again.

You looked even better without the lights on you, tired, yes, a little gaunt around the edges, but real. Not airbrushed. Not scripted. The way you were meant to be.

You hadn’t run. You could’ve. Could’ve screamed, could’ve called for help. But you didn’t.

“You’re not safe,” he started softly. “They don’t keep you safe like they say they do.”

You flinched. Barely. But he saw it.

Good.

“Every time I see you,” he continued, stepping closer, “you look less like you. They’ve hollowed you out. You know it too.” He didn't miss they way you twitched at the movement.

You tensed like you were ready to swing, but didn’t. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

And maybe you hated this. Maybe you hated him.

But you were still listening.

That was all he needed.

He pulled something from his pocket, not a knife, not a weapon like you probably thought. But a photo.

You, smiling. Off-stage. A candid. From years ago.

He held it out gently.

“I just want you back,” he whispered. “The real you. The one they’re trying to erase.”

-

You stared at the photo, barely able to process it.

It was you. Long before the fame. It was a shot from your university campus, one you didn’t even remember being taken. You looked young. Stupidly happy.

You took a step back. Your throat was dry.

“You’ve been watching me since then?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. The silence confirmed everything.

And in that moment, you realized it wasn’t just obsession. It wasn’t even about your music. He had made you his.

Years ago.

Before you ever even knew to be afraid.

The photo shook slightly in his hands.

You hadn’t even noticed you were trembling until then, until the streetlamp flickered above and cast his face in a warped, golden hue. He was still holding the picture like it was fragile. Like you were fragile.

Your voice came out low, raw, still utterly lost despite it all becoming more clear. “You’ve been following me… since before I debuted?”

He nodded. Not ashamed. Not proud. Just honest.

“I’ve always loved you.”

Your chest tightened, like the words hit some pressure point you didn’t even know existed.

“That’s not love,” you said. “You don’t know me.”

“I do.” His voice was soft. Too soft. “More than anyone else ever will.”

You took a step back, but he mirrored it, forward, slow, careful, like he was approaching a scared animal. Not to trap it. Not to hurt it.

To hold it.

“I watched you grow. Not just the stages. The in-betweens. The lonely parts. I know when your smile is real and when it’s the one they taught you to wear. I know how your voice cracks just a little when you're close to tears but you sing through it anyway.”

“Stop—” Your voice broke. “You think that’s love? That’s not love, you're obsessed”

He didn’t flinch at your words. “Maybe. But what I feel when I see you… it’s more real than anything I’ve had in my life.”

-

You hated him.

He could see it in your eyes, how they darted to the alley entrance, how your shoulders tensed like you were waiting to bolt. But you were still here. Still listening.

That meant something.

It had to.

“Do you know how hard it is to watch someone you love burn themselves out for people who will never really care?” he whispered. “They only love the pieces of you they can touch. The image. The voice. But I see all of you.”

You didn’t respond.

The silence between you stretched, thick and fragile like a thread about to snap.

So he stepped closer, almost within reach now, the photo still trembling between his fingers.

“I’m not trying to hurt you. I just… I wanted to remind you of who you were before they turned you into someone you don’t even recognize.”

He lifted the photo, holding it between you like an offering. “You were happy then. I want that for you. I want to protect you from all of this.”

His hand hovered, fingers itching to touch your sleeve.

“I know it’s wrong the way I’ve done this. But please… let me in. Even just a little. I’m not your enemy.”

-

His words hit like a knife made of velvet. They were soft. They sounded beautiful. Almost convincing.

And that’s what made it so terrifying.

Because for half a second, just one, something inside you wanted to believe him. To believe someone loved the version of you that no one else remembered. The one that came before the stages and the cameras. The one even you were starting to forget.

But then the image of your dressing room window came to mind, the messages, the flowers, the silence. You couldn’t ignore what it all really was.

You took a careful breath.

“I want you to leave me alone.”

His eyes changed.

Not rage. Not even sadness. Just heartbreak. Cracked and quiet and suddenly very, very human.

He stepped back, just once. Just enough that the space between you felt like something more than air. The photo was still in his hand, but now it trembled for a different reason. “You don’t mean that,” he said, but it came out small. Shaken. “Not really” You held his gaze. Forced yourself to stay steady even as your pulse pounded like a drumline in your ears.

“I do,” you said. “Whatever you think this is… it’s not real. You don’t know me. You know about me. There’s a difference.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

The streetlamps buzzed faintly overhead, the only sound between you besides the shallow hitch of his breath. “I know you’re scared,” he said finally, voice brittle around the edges. “But if you could just see it from my side, if you just let me—”

“I don’t want to see it,” you cut in, sharper now. “I don’t want you watching me. Following me. Sending messages. Leaving things. Stop”

His expression fractured. A twitch at the corner of his mouth, the flicker of something too fast to catch behind his eyes. The soft exterior didn’t vanish completely, but it cracked like porcelain, letting something colder seep through.

Then he took a step forward. You instinctively shifted back. But he didn’t stop.

“You don’t mean that,” he said again, firmer this time. “You’re just tired. You’ve been under too much pressure for too long. I understand. I really do.”

Your pulse thundered. “Stop. Don’t come closer.”

He froze, hands half-raised like he was trying to show he wasn’t a threat. But his eyes didn’t match the gesture. They were locked on yours with laser focus. Unshakable. Unhinged.

“I know you’re scared,” he said, voice low, coaxing. “But that fear? It’s because you’ve been lied to. Conditioned to think that love looks like distance. Cold contracts and PR smiles and fake security. I’m not like them.”

“You don’t know me,” you snapped, the fear leaking into your voice now, a sharp edge of desperation.

“I do,” he insisted, his voice rising, losing its composure. “I know the way your eyes linger on the crowd after a show because you’re afraid no one really sees you. I know the exact moment your voice almost cracked during that acoustic set in Seoul because you hadn’t slept the night before. I watched the interview where you smiled too hard because your manager was just off camera glaring at you.”

Each example made your skin crawl. How much had he seen? How long had he been watching?

“You shouldn’t know that,” you whispered.

He stepped closer.

“I had to. No one else was paying attention. Not really. Not the way I do. You think they love you? Those fans? They just want pieces of you. The songs. The selfies. The illusion.” His voice dropped, low and intimate. “But I want you whole.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. You could feel your back nearly brushing the brick behind you now. No more steps to take.

“You need help,” you said quietly. “Real help.”

He smiled at that. Not amused. Not kind.

Pitying.

“No. You do.” Another step. The air between you charged, electric with something you couldn’t name. “I’ve been patient,” he murmured. “I gave you time. I let you go back to your little tours, your schedule, your fake world. But I see it in your eyes, you’re breaking. Every day, a little more.”

You flinched when his hand lifted, slow, like he was reaching for your face, but you turned your head, pressing your back to the wall of the alleyway you were now trapped in. Still, his fingers hovered just inches away. Close enough to feel the warmth of his skin.

“I could fix it,” he whispered. “I could fix you. If you’d just let me.”

“Don’t touch me.”

Something twisted further in his expression. His hand dropped, but he didn’t back away.

“You say that now,” he said, more to himself than to you. “But someday soon, when everything crashes down, when you realize they never really loved you, you’ll remember this. Me. And you’ll know I was the only one who ever saw the real you.” You tried to push past him, but he stepped in front again, blocking you. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quickly. “But I can’t let you keep living like this. You're drowning. And no one else is reaching in to pull you out.”

“You are not saving me!” you snapped, louder now, panic blooming in your chest.

His jaw clenched.

And for the first time, the softness shattered completely.

“That’s the problem,” he hissed, eyes darkening. “You don’t know what’s good for you.” The alley around you felt smaller now. The walls taller. The shadows thicker. You were trapped between a man who thought he loved you and the version of yourself he’d invented in his head. And somehow, that felt more dangerous than any stranger with a weapon.

Because he didn’t want to destroy you. He wanted to keep you.

You had to do something. Anything to keep him calm. To buy time. To make him think you weren’t going to bolt the second you had a chance.

So you forced your voice to steady and said the first thing that came to mind. “What’s your name?”

That made him pause.

His brows twitched, confusion flickering through his features like you’d just handed him a puzzle with the final piece missing. Then, slowly, it melted into something like awe. And for a moment, he almost looked bashful. You didn’t respond to his expression. Just stared, heart pounding in your throat.

“…Kihyun,” he said finally. “My name is Kihyun.”

You nodded, trying to keep your breathing even. “Okay. Kihyun. You’re not just some nameless person in the crowd now. I see you.”

His eyes widened slightly, like that meant more to him than it should’ve. Like you’d just said I love you instead of please don’t hurt me.

And that’s when he reached out.

Slowly. Like he didn’t want to startle you. Like he wanted this to feel mutual.

He brushed your wrist.

You tried not to flinch, but his fingers wrapped around you gently, holding your arm with just enough pressure to let you know he could grip harder if he wanted to.

His thumb traced the inside of your wrist. Slowly. Reverently.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly. You were. You hadn’t even realized how bad it had gotten. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” Kihyun whispered, taking another step in. “I know it’s scary. Change always is. But this? Us? This is inevitable.” He leaned in, just a little closer. His voice dropped to something tender.

“The way you say my name...” His voice sounded like he was breathless. His hand slid from your wrist to your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’ve imagined what your skin would feel like a thousand times,” he said quietly. “But this, it’s even better.”

You could feel the heat of his body now, far too close. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was anchoring. Like he was holding something precious. Like letting go would be a mistake he couldn’t afford.

Your breath hitched as he tilted his head.

“And now you know mine,” he whispered. “Now it’s real.” His free hand lifted toward your cheek.

And you had a choice to make, push him away and risk escalation or let him think you were still listening. Still reachable. Still his. You had never experienced what fight or flight felt like before, but now, the aching feeling of escape allowed you to know which you would choose instinctively.

You had to get away from this lunatic

[jjkk1m]

⋆˚꩜｡ ALL-ENCOMPASSING

unfortunate souls: roommate!"yunho" x m!reader

synopsis: looks like your roommate got home earlier than expected.

before you dive in! 7.3k, plot (?) with porn, bottom!reader, afab!reader (no outright words, i.e. pussy, cunt, dick, cock, etc, but soooooooo many horrific similes/innuendos), roommate!yunho, basically something mimics/impersonates yunho to be able to toy with you (it's just curious, but still creepy), dubcon, fairly graphic depictions of body horror (on "yunho's" part), monsterfucking, tentacles, hallucinations, lots of staring/eye descriptions, horror elements, death mentions (nobody dies), horror with a side of eroticism, cunnilingus, background mingi, kinda home invasion???, implied (really heavy-handedly) stalking, one (1) "(name)" mention, it/he for The Creature™, one (1) "good boy" mention, once again emphasizing how fucked all my literary devices are, almost friends to lovers???, heavily implied yunho's jerked off to reader at Least once, minimal dialogue

I PROOFREAD IT LAMAOOO (if theres anything left no there isnt). tense prolly flopping all over the place. sooooooo fucking glad this is done lmao. hopefully it makes sense bc i too started hallucinating halfway thru this!!!! if i forgot any important warnings, just lemme know!!! gonna be cross-posting this to ao3 in a bit.

can you tell i started watching the summer hikaru died

you’re parched. like, crawling through the dessert in search of an oasis type-thirst.

it’s around 1am, friday night (or, saturday morning?) you've been mindlessly scrolling since you hopped into bed, nothing to do tomorrow, no reason to call it quits, all the time to kill.

the darkness of night allowed a coolness to drape itself across your room, but you still had the hum of your overhead fan to comfort you. a thin bedsheet just barely covers your exposed legs (but your feet were tucked in, like the simple action alone would protect you from any threat).

normally, in heat like this, you’d have a cup of water waiting for you on your nightstand (hours old, lukewarm, still full to the brim from when you first poured it). the nightstand is, however, woefully empty — the cup you’d used just last night currently sitting in the kitchen sink, awaiting its well-deserved wash. you groan aloud.

you have a bad habit of completely missing your body’s internal cues. you’ll be alerted to your desire for a drink in the middle of scrolling, tell yourself you’re going to go grab something to fulfill that desire in a bit, and wind up actually getting up hours later (quietly wondering why your stomach hurts as much as it does).

you sit up slowly, shucking off your thin sheet. you inch off your oh-so comfy mattress, your phone now tucked safely beneath your pillow.

the only thing illuminating your bedroom was your tv, playing a show you’ve seen enough times for it to be background noise. the corners of your room were dipped in just enough shadow to allow your mind to wander. the closer you got to the door, the more you could make out the shapes of piled clothes and inconveniently placed decor. you touch the rim of your overfilled hamper (which had looked awfully like a crouched human figure from your bed) just to sooth yourself further. you’ve gotta do laundry soon.

your hand wraps around the door knob.

your brain likes to play this sick little joke on you every time you entertain leaving your room at night. your door opens to the hallway, unassuming, an oddly warm site in the morning; your roommate already up, his door left ajar, letting bright sunlight pour out from his room and spill onto the hardwood floor.

you don’t know what’s worse: the stare of the shut doors, or when the one to the bathroom is left open just enough — to invite the possibility, an abyssal maw gaping at you. you know it’s only like that because your dearest roommate forgot to shut it.

you’ve known your roommate for a while now. the first time you saw him was in your gen-ed biology course all the way back in freshman year. he walked in right as the class was supposed to start, your first thought centered around how handsome he was.

you must’ve been staring, because he locked eyes with you and began moving in your direction. petrified, you swiveled to face the whiteboard ahead, immediately regretting how that must’ve looked to him.

you watched him sit besides you from the corner of your eye, shuffling to place his bag on the floor. out of courtesy, and hoping to repair any potential grief, you glanced his way. your head tilted just slightly to meet his eyes, a smile already aimed your way.

fuck, this guy’s tall, was your second thought.

jeong yunho (you soon learned from your professor calling out the roster, later followed by yunho’s more phonetically-accurate introduction directly to you), became your semester-long lab partner by way of proximity. he was easy to talk to, a welcome respite for all the changes that came with entering your first year. he’d wave at you when you passed him in the hall, always side by side with an equally tall friend of his sporting colorful hair.

your partnership led to after-class meetups for group work, which led to exchanging numbers, which led to actually hanging out outside of class. you both ended up dorming together (at his request) in your second year, keeping the tradition of rooming together past graduation, now in an apartment.

your hand wavers. the doorknob gently rattles. the sound makes you freeze.

you suck in your lip, a knee-jerk reaction. you twist the knob further, wincing from how audible it all is, brass bumping against the rosette.

you pull the door into your chest, head curling around it. the hand not glued to the knob rests on the wood, your entire body slipping past the threshold of your doorway by the skin of your gritted teeth.

you peek into the abyss.

the bathroom door makes eye contact with you.

you swipe your leg in front of the motion-activated light your lovely roommate had gotten from his parents’ house, all but crawling past the bedroom door. the dim, pale-yellow light laps at the bottom of the bathroom door. shadows stretch across the ceiling.

you sigh like you’re breaching water.

in a not-so subtle rush you move past the hallway of doors and into the kitchen, somehow managing to shove your feet into your house slippers along the way.

your fingers flick the lightswitch as you wade in the doorway, trying not to glance at every little shadow, every little odd shape.

you welcome the overhead light like a lover.

you move more freely beneath the warm, yellow-ish hue the kitchen’s now bathed in. you take a few moments to stare into the kitchen sink, three of your dishes piled up on one another in the corner, including the infamous cup. it’s your turn to wash the dishes.

you squint harshly at the two extra dishes you're certain weren’t from you.

you roll your eyes — you’re gonna beat his ass in the morning.

your hand wraps around the handle to the refrigerator, staring at the green numbers glowing on the microwave besides it as you pull.

1:13am.

yunho had announced his departure a few hours ago, his usual for a friday night. he’d invited you, like he always did — cheek pressed against your doorframe with a pout on his face. and you had whined about not having enough time to get ready for something like a hangout. 

he scoffed out a laugh, stupid grin plastered across his plush face.

opening the refrigerator invites a cooler, brighter glow. you mindlessly search for a water bottle, not wanting to deal with the ruckus of the ice machine at this hour.

it wasn’t abnormal for yunho to be out this late. when you were with him, you’d both usually come home even later. clubbing, movies, arcades, just fucking around at a playground in the asscrack of night—whatever the group felt like.

if you didn’t tag along, he’d usually text with an update: 

‘leave door unlocked, too drunk 4 keys’

‘can u throw my leftovers in the microwave? b there in a bit’

‘bought u smth :) b home in a bit’

sometimes, if he was too drunk, he’d end up crashing at mingi’s place. but even then, either he, mingi, or whoever else was out with him texted you to let you know.

there was one time, however, they all had blacked out at mingi’s place, without a single text. left you (reasonably) worried until the following morning, where mingi had texted you a picture (through yunho’s phone—he’d lost his own apparently) of yunho’s head cushioned by mingi’s dog’s bed: ‘sorry. drank wayyyyy too much. yunho’s okay tho lol’.

you unbury your head from the fridge, empty-handed. ice machine it is.

the door swings closed, suctioning itself shut, granting you one final blast of cool air. you eye the sink again, debating washing your cup or grabbing a fresh one.

absentmindedly, your eyes drift towards the living room.

the kitchen light is dim, dim enough that it just narrowly reaches the living room. the blub’s a bit old, but neither you or yunho’s changed it since it’s almost the perfect amount of late-night light required to see but also not blind someone freshly woken up.

the combined living room-kitchen area stretches far enough that the tv is nearly swallowed in darkness. it just barely reflects the kitchen light, and you can just about make out your blurry shadow in the mirror of its black screen.

the backs of the cushions take most of the light for themselves, creating shapes for your brain to morph and play with.

from where you stand, one of the cushions mimics the back of someone’s head.

the recognition causes you to stare at it for longer than you want to. just to make sure. to confirm. it’s a cushion. it’s a couch cushion.

you turn away, deciding you actually do not feel that comforted by the dimness of the kitchen light, how willingly it invites the shadows to billow and grow all around you. you’ll have to ask yunho to change it in the morning (because you're sure as hell not doing that).

your hand touches the ribbed knob of the cabinet, eyes not following the motion. suddenly hyperaware that you’re standing directly in front of the deep, unlit hallway. the night light has long since deactivated, leaving you and the abyssal gullet of your apartment to stare at one another. the opening back into the hallway frames the door to yunho’s room like a geometric pattern, like a block fitting into hole specifically made for it.

yunho’s room is open. so wide you can’t see the door.

you freeze. you didn’t remember his door being open when you briskly ran past earlier, then again it’s not like you were particularly focused on the doors on your way to the kitchen (the exact opposite, in fact).

you can’t see the door. the room is so dark you can’t see the open door. vantablack. the kitchen light doesn’t even graze the carpet.

had he left his room open in his haste to leave? wasn’t completely out of the question, but it was uncharacteristic. yunho didn’t think you were untrustworthy or anything, but he normally left it closed when he was out of the house. you did the same. basic unspoken boundaries.

had he been home and you didn’t realize? maybe he was dropped off, left to clamor to his bedroom, and was now sprawled across his bed, passed out and dirtying up the bedsheets with his outside clothes (bar clothes no less). probably didn’t bother shutting the bedroom door, too tired to do so.

would he have remembered to lock the front door?

pushing aside your paranoia, you turn in the direction of the front door, situated between the dual living room-kitchen area. just to be safe. to make sure.

you lock eyes with yunho’s tall frame in the darkness of the living room.

you jump. so hard your hand somehow ends up jerking upwards and you knock into the open cabinet door, only enough to leave a dull ache. you let out an undignified noise, one you immediately try to hide behind an equally loud curse.

“f-fuck—! don’t fucking do that, dude.”

you don’t even look at yunho for a full 5 seconds, busy regaining your composure (and healing your pride). when you look up, he hasn’t moved, still enshrouded.

“hello.”

the greeting comes out flat. there’s an emphasis on the two syllables, like he’s pronouncing the word for the first time.

he’s far enough that you can’t see his mouth moving when he speaks, or what kind of face he’s making, or if he’s holding his breath in an attempt to maintain the prank. that’s probably the point, though. asshole. “you’re fucking hilarious, dude.”

yunho remains standing right where the kitchen light can’t reach. the black turtleneck and pants he’s wearing almost make him blend in, save for his pale face and hands, standing out like painted porcelain on black fabric.

“hello.” he croaks, the inflection shaky, dragging out the syllable — still doing a voice.

“yeah, yeah,” you shoo at him, turning your back. you’d never admit it, but you’re spooked enough to hesitate when you look away. “did mingi drop you off? he didn’t even stop to say hi?”

with yunho present, you feel less on-edge about the volume of the ice machine (even if you’re still annoyed he scared you). you mindlessly fiddle with the cups, trying to further distract yunho from how badly he’d got you. he doesn’t reply, and you don’t really think anything of it. assuming the alcohol’s really kicking in or something, and when you turn back he’s going to be clutching his forehead. that’s what he gets.

you finally select a cup, bracing your weight on the countertop. the back of your palm touches your hip, and you push yourself up on your toes. 

as discreetly as you can, you turn back, still moving to grab your cup.

yunho’s still standing there. you don’t think he’s moved an inch. jerk.

you press further into the countertop, one foot just off the floor.

there’s something to your right.

when you turn to face it, all you see is the hallway.

you face the cabinet again, and it’s back.

something in the corner of your eye, and you think it’s the the door to yunho’s bedroom laughing at you. like a black censor-box in the edge of your vision. long. lithe. dark. it’s presence virtually feels physical. like it’s pressing into your back as you reach.

the longer you try to focus on it, the more you can make out another color. pale white. a darker splotch in the center. red. almost pinkish.

a mouth. wide and gaping.

you turn. it’s still the hallway.

when you face the cabinet it’s closer.

you consider if it’s possible for yunho to still be fucking with you. 

you reach in and grab the first cup that knocks into your knuckles. you glance back at yunho to sate the nagging feeling. he’s still there.

you choke. you don’t mean to. “b— bad news: i think we gotta change the blub now.” your gaze flickers between your steadily filling cup, and the doorway to the void.

yunho doesn’t respond. your grip on the cup falters and you debate throwing it at him.

“yunho, please, we get it. i literally shit my pants when i saw you, you win.”

frustrated, and frankly panicked, you turn.

you lock eyes with yunho’s broad chest.

yunho was always tall, you knew that. you knew since the day you met him. taller than most, taller than you.

but you were never below his chest.

yunho leers over you like a skyscraper, and all you can see is black. the inky black of his turtleneck. the same inky black in his bedroom, all encompassing. the black he casts over your eyes, sucking in all the light from that dim bulb.

you’re staring into his sternum, heartbeat thrumming in your ears, devolving into the droning of mosquitoes. swarming, swallowing you. swallowing bile in your throat. your blood’s pumping so loud you miss the fact that yunho’s chest fails to rise. or fall. or move at all. silent, still, looming, staring.

you trail your eyes up his body, taking way too long to reach his face. you cross over the end of black cloth. the longer you linger, the less you can make out where his skin begins and the fabric ends. you can’t see a single fold in the cotton.

the room is silent, save for the sound of you breathing.

in the corner of your eye, you see his finger twitch.

you attempt to whisper — his name, a plea, a simple sound, anything. it dies in the back of your throat when you make eye contact with him.

deep and dark. inky black. vacuous, but wide. wide with something bordering on hunger. swallowing, all encompassing, consuming. pinks an extra harsh red, embroidering his too-bright-white sclera. his bangs reach just above his eyelid, curling over his eyebrows, making the white of his face impossible to not notice, glaring at you.

you want so badly to look away. look at anything but him. at it. at the thing pretending to be your roommate, wearing his skin like a coat — cold, so cold.

you start to cry, not knowing what else to do, your head dipping down, hiccuping into your shoulder. yunho, the thing boxing you against the kitchen counter flinches, the movement detectable just out of the corner of your eye. you can’t look at it, you can’t.

it croaks, a strangled sound. soft, testing. you shake harder. "you- you're not f-funny..."

it doesn't respond. it doesn't even blink.

"please," you plead in disbelief, turning away.

you can't even hear it breathing. it's not moving.

“d-did you hurt him?” the words tumble out of you, not thinking, just reacting. a sob wracks your body as you finish, crumbling at the insinuation.

“...hurt him?” it repeats, hushed, like an echo. it inches closer, yunho’s nose grazing the invisible hairs on your cheek. you let out a wet whimper.

“there,” it starts once more, and you vaguely feel a huff of air hit your skin. “be there in a bit.”

you open your eyes.

the creature sniffs at your skin like a dog, nose close to being buried in the crook of your neck. deep, concentrated breaths, like there’s a note of something on your baggy shirt it’s trying to place. two long arms cage you in place, shoulders stopping just above your head, repeating the same thing, intonation wobbly: “in a bit, in a bit.”

the thing cranes further, and you duck on instinct.

it snarls.

“look,” it demands, dipping its body near serpentine to be able to slot it’s head into your pulse, oddly damp hair nuzzled against your own sweating skin. “look at me.”

“wh—,”

as fast as the mood seemed to shift, paper-white hands seize your arms, an ice-cold shock to your system. the thing unhinges yunho’s jaw, and your heart sinks to your feet. you stare into deep fuschia, all wrong, unfamiliar divots and shapes — his teeth unfurl like a snake’s fangs, gradual, making alarm bells ring in your ears. it looks like it could go on forever, impossibly large for it’s mostly human-sized head. you shimmy in its cold hands, barely budging. the fingers feel like they sink deeper into your skin. you wail.

you’re going to die. all because of a stupid fucking glass of water. you’re going to die and this distortion of your roommate, your dear friend’s face is the last thing you’re going to see. 

and your yunho’s going to find your bloodied body. if there’s anything left of you.

you squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.

a low rumble thrums deep from the base of the creature’s abdomen, reverberating up and vibrating your own bones.

distant, like an echo, you hear something — a dragged out sound, like the start of a word. it gets louder, and you can only assume that’s because you’re fully engulfed by the maw of this monster.

in a dragged-out voice, unfamiliar, not yunho’s, not any voice that could exist naturally—you catch the word: “kkkkiiissssss.”

your cognitive functions seem to kick back into gear at that very second.

“ki—?! w-wait, wait, wait—!” you scream, cringing into yourself, feeling a string of what you assume is saliva drip onto the crown of your head, “that’s not— this isn’t a kiss—!”

there’s an agonizing 10 seconds that pass before you open your eyes again. it takes those whole 10 seconds to realize you don’t feel the warm breath anymore.

the thing with yunho’s face looks a lot more like yunho now (the facsimile of a human). it bores holes into your skull, and you don’t have to crane your neck to meet its stare: it’s graciously bent uncomfortably to your height, bird-like. blank eyes stare at you with mimicked intention. you cannot detect a thing from them, not even your own reflection. they try and follow the erratic dancing of your own.

just then, you feel something. like a faint exhale against your ankle. then a chill. cold fingers wrapping themselves around the base of your leg — inching up, up, up. crawling like bugs.

when you look down, you don’t find fingers. swirling, black whisps. upon first noticing them, they were faded, like a dark fog. the more you stare, the darker they become; going opaque before your eyes like an octopus shifting colors. misty turns solid in a matter of seconds, a purposeful, pressing weight as they curl up your leg, surprisingly dry, smooth. they stop just below your knee, suddenly drawing your attention to the fact that you're wearing shorts as pajama bottoms.

the word ‘tentacle’ flashes in your mind, and you’re only a teensy bit humiliated by the gasp you have to suck back.

“show me,” the creature says, the loudest you’ve heard it all night, yanking back your attention. it leans in uncomfortably close, it’s empty eyes blurring into one horrific shape.

“you mean—kiss?” you yell, in utter disbelief. its whole body perks at the word, head rising like a snake locking onto prey, standing at (what you hope is) its full height. the thing you thought was yunho’s turtleneck (was he even wearing a turtleneck when he left?) break into little scales — puffing out like feathers, his hair doing something similar.

you’re so dehydrated you’re fucking hallucinating. that’s the only way to explain this.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. it echoes mindlessly, a bit louder: “fucking me…”

its hands are still keeping you in place. it doesn’t blink. just endlessly stares. expectant.

does this thing really expect you to—?

a tentacle ghosts across your thigh, your legs pressing together on contact.

fuck. fucking shit.

“okay, fine,” ican’tfuckingbelievei’mdoingthis—, “just one. got it?”

it nods.

this is fucking crazy. i am fucking crazy.

you clear your throat, “can you, like… come closer?”

for a full two seconds, it doesn't move. you cannot even begin to guess what it’s thinking. not that you’d want to know.

it cranes down, and you’re presented with yunho’s face.

you’re just beginning to register the feeling of sweat gathering beneath your arms.

you lean in, eyes closed before you come careening down. it does not follow.

yunho’s cupid’s bow was one of your favorite parts of his face. you’d imagined what it’d feel like against your own lips before. absentmindedly, while he rambled on about his day, while he ate fast food you picked up for the both of you to share. soft, gentle, pleasant.

you shouldn't have been surprised by the coolness of these ones.

a peck is what you granted the thing with yunho’s lips. simple, quick, easy to separate yourself from. your eyes remained shut the entire time.

you wouldn’t be surprised if you caught its disappointed gaze, callous even, judgemental. you wouldn’t even blame it.

you jump when you open them back up.

yunho’s face is a mere inches away from yours, even though you’re positive there was at least a foot of space you had to cross to even plant the kiss in the first place. you have no idea how you didn’t feel its breath on you, but the longer you sit there, scared shitless, the more you realize you can’t feel it breathing at all (does it even have lungs?) it’s vacuous eyes are somehow wider than before, darting across your features like it’s trying to comprehend the slew of tingling, buzzing sensations caused by your shared contact.

yunho’s eyelids flutter. “more.”

you assumed the thing in front of you has had zero contact with humans before. you assume the closest its ever gotten to another living, breathing human was probably when it lurked just out of sight—vents no one ever cared to clean, the dark corners of houses filled with slumbering bodies, unmoving in the backseat of a quiet car. listening, watching, studying. parroting phrases its heard uttered in secret whispers meant only for a single pair of ears; mimicking expressions its only experienced through voyeuristic eyes.

apart of you wonders how much of yunho its seen. did it know the shape of his stomach as he lay vulnerable in bed? did it see the way water cascaded down the slope of his back as he rinsed suds off his body? did it know the constellation of freckles across his bare skin?

did its interest in you have anything to do with its potential intimate knowledge of your roommate?

there’s a faint numbness growing around your tailbone from how hard you’re pressing into the countertop. yunho looms over you once again, this time slowly careening down like a tall concrete building. you could vaguely hear the sound of bricks crackling, grinding against each other. the frostbitten fingers have moved from your shorts to beneath your shirt. a tendril toys with the hair leading down your navel, weaving through it like its a dog’s coat of fur. others tickle up your stomach, climbing threatening fast. you shudder, unabashed, incapable of holding it back.

“more,” yunho’s voice whispers against your skin, with more urgency. distorted, like a scratched record. you try not to think of where it got that from.

you’re vaguely fully aware this thing could probably do whatever it wanted with you and then dump your bloodless carcass in the nearest dumpster without a care. you still are unsure if you’re going to end up finding yunho’s skinned corpse somewhere in the apartment, if this is some mold-spore-induced mirage, or if you’re just having a wicked ass dream. you should probably be thinking of some smart way to kill this handsome-face-stealing motherfucker. of some grand escape plan.

once again, your galaxy brain kicks in.

“l-let’s make a deal,” you squeak, hand darting down to swat at the tentacles nuzzling into the waistband of your underwear.

“i’ll, uh… give you a kiss for every question of mine you answer. got it?” i can’t fucking believe i’m doing this.

the tentacles seem to like that deal—they vibrate against your skin, whole body purring in agreement. the turtleneck-skin-feathers puff out in what you assume is a good sign.

“can we first, just—move?”

yunho’s head turns like an owl—too smooth, unnatural.

you gesture over to the living room, the shadows the least of your worries.

the thing with yunho’s face follows your hand as it moves, having to fully look at the couch to understand your request. it turns back to you, releasing you from the cage of its spidery arms. its eyes do not leave your face as you make your way to the couch, going slow, like its sensitive to sudden movements (and, frankly, you’re not about to take that chance).

you sit, and you see it standing in the kitchen, fully facing you. you’re about to beckon it over, when it begins slithering over to the living room. there’s no other way to describe the movement—its legs don’t budge, inching over to you like its on wheels. you blink, barely a second of nothingness, and its suddenly sitting in front of you. white, knuckled flesh sits politely atop jet black legs. they hang off the cushions and disappear into the floor like mist.

you forgot how much taller this “yunho” is. 

“where is my roommate? the one you’re copying?”

as soon as the words come out of your mouth, you regret it. they felt blunt, accusatory. dangerous.

yunho’s face goes blank, and you immediately envision this thing chomping down on you. how your spine being severed in one swift bite would feel (would you feel it?).

then, it speaks—stiff, like text-to-speech, in a voice hardly resembling yunho’s: “sorry for the late text. babysat three drunk idiots. be there in a bit. don’t wait up. gn.” it reads out ‘G-N’, nearly robotic, but mouth moving as animatedly as any regular human. you try not to visibly flinch in front of it.

whenever the nightly hangout involved drinking, there was a “schedule” to determine who the designated driver was. you didn’t remember the last time it was yunho, so you assumed this text was sent by him sometime tonight. you chose to believe he was alive, and arriving soon.

you wondered absentmindedly if “yunho” would stick around to introduce itself.

it visibly perked after reciting the message, eyes round, flicking down to your mouth. heat rises to your cheeks, like your high school crush was sitting in front of you. this is so fucked up.

you furrow your brows, “you know, you could, like… also do some of the work.”

it quirks its head.

“i mean, like— meet me halfway,” you start, but it just repeats after you: “halfway.” 

“like lean in w-with me.”

it seems to get it that time, adjusting its body so that it bends in that odd, avian way; swooping downward. you follow, repositioning yourself, scooting closer to it on the couch. your hands fall somewhere on the couch, inches away from its cold body.

you close the gap, eyes closing more gradually this time. you watch it do the same, staring into the curve of yunho's upper lip. you struggle to maintain your composure at the image of your hot roommate leaning in for a kiss.

the initial peck was too brief to gather anything meaningful from. his lips are surprisingly soft, yet bitterly cold. when your eyes finally shut, yunho presses into you. heavy, needy. the tentacles return, crawling with great efficiency, slithering flat against the tops of your thighs before sliding into the legs of your shorts.

“a-ah, wait—,” you stutter, arm jutting to ground yourself in its top, forgetting its lack of real clothing. your fingers slot themselves in the faux-fabric; soft to the touch, parting for you, almost molding itself to you like liquid.

through your gasp, it invites itself into your mouth, tongue laving against your own. it’s hot, a stark difference to the lifeless chill of its exterior layer. it pokes and prods into your mouth with the dexterity and thoroughness of a sterile, latex-clad finger. exploring you, like it’d never felt something like it.

the appendage fills your mouth like rushing water, drowning you. hot breaths fan across your face, heating the parts where both your skin meet. your hands find their way to its chest, not yet pushing (entertaining it, relishing in the unadulterated desire). there is no thumping beneath your sprawled fingers, its chest doesn’t expand. you have no fucking idea how this creature works.

finally getting ahold of yourself, you shove the creature. it pulls back without a care, easy like you hadn’t used all your might just to get it off you. its thick tongue slips out of your mouth like a stray lock of hair, intruding, crude in its sound, in the sensation of it leaving you (empty).

you aren’t looking at him once its retreated. your face is engulfed in flames.

“kiss. kissing. i didn’t say anything about that.” the tentacles haven’t breached further than the space between your skin and shorts.

yunho’s eyes are lidded, trained on your mouth. you furrow your brows.

“how long have you been watching him?”

the thing with yunho’s face seems genuinely taken aback by the question, whole body straightening. it’s your turn to stare, watching its body thin before your eyes: a negative reaction, you assumed.

the thing opens yunho’s mouth, the voice nothing like your roommate’s.

“since you came. to the apartment.”

you should’ve expected something like that. didn’t make it any less shocking, a wave of nausea bubbling in the base of your stomach, the whole room becoming stuffier.

you and yunho had toured the apartment almost a year ago.

your mind flashes through what you remember of that day: completely ordinary, not a single ‘get-the-fuck-out’ vibe the entire tour. the woman selling you the space was friendly, a little older. the previous residents were around your age, moved out because they found some place cheaper, nothing crazy.

you can’t imagine where he could’ve been hiding for a whole year.

“watching. watched him,” the thing with yunho’s face says, a smile in its voice but no smile conveyed on his face. it inches closer. “saw. listened.”

“want. want to feel,” its body rises once more, hovering just above you, “warm.”

you’re so shocked you don’t even lean in at first. it keeps repeating the word, speaking between kisses. eyes lidded, fixated on where your mouths continually meet. it seems to have graciously remembered your earlier comment, however, because its tongue stays inside his mouth.

“warm,” it pants (inexplicable heat), and timidly licks your bottom lip. spoke too soon.

your eyes flicker downwards, caught once more on the curve of yunho’s mouth. its tentacles are pensive, held back, still in your pants. you gulp.

it’s been doing… well, hasn’t it?

“fucking fine. fine,” you repeat the word a few more times for personal reassurance. “don’t fucking— choke me.”

it’s already pushing into your mouth, unblinking.

its tongue laps against your own, tasting it, surveying it. it’s endlessly infatuated with the rivets and bumps along the top, angling its head in an attempt to deepen your connection. your eyes flutter closed, hands still on its chest, nails scraping along the plates.

the tentacles, which had momentarily stopped in their exploration, are revived for the third time tonight. warmth, you hear echoing as they nudge right into the crotch of your underwear, punching a ruined sound out of you and into the thing’s prying maw.

all of the creature pulls back, tentacles and tongue retreating altogether (did you do something wrong?)

yunho looks at you. glances across your flushed face, then downwards. a new target.

you sputter. “h-hold on—!"

“warm,” it says, again, as it instead leads its cold, pale, large hand down, down, down until its pressing directly on your crotch through your shorts. shorts you’re realizing are way too fucking short and thin right about now.

you mewl, collapsing into its chest, hands balled into fists. you rut into its fingers, no other fathomable response, not when its fingers dig into you. you suck your bottom lip between your teeth.

its movements still, and you nearly beg.

yunho’s face dips downwards, gaze still locked onto your wavering one. you feel the all too familiar hot pant against your clothed core, eyes blowing wide.

it corrects itself, flat of its deft tongue pressing into you with intention, voice eerily familiar: “so fucking warm.”

you moan. wholeheartedly, pushing back into the muscle. “in. inside. holy shit—”

he obliges, having stalked enough couples to know to peel your bottoms off of you.

his tongue explores your lower extremities the same way it did the interior of your mouth; prodding with interest, seeking out specific sounds, specific textures, tastes. carefully, joyfully spelunking.

his tongue first works its way as deep as it can, just to see, fulfilling a deep-seated curiosity. once that’s sated, it returns to the opening, lapping at you like a dog drinking water.

in the midst of his grand tour of your insides, you are besides yourself.

you haven’t peered over at the clock, but you’re more than sure it’s way too late for you to be moaning as loud as you are. you fight to keep your voice down, throwing your face to the side, snuffing yourself out in the cushions, biting down on your lip to the point you taste copper, similarly taking fistfuls of yunho’s hair to one part ground yourself and ground him further into your sex.

yunho whines like he’s in pain, coming back up in what you assume is a gasp for air, before tending to the bundle of nerves at the surface; tongue wrapping around it impossibly, savoring the way you yelp. “o-oh my fu—fucking god…!”

“my roomie. my hot fucking roommate, fuck,” yunho mutters into you, like its a secret, just for his ears, like you were never supposed to hear it. pressed into your wetness, the words reverberating against you, making you pant and kick your leg out like you’re in agony.

“please, please, please—!” you don’t even know what you’re begging for. brows high and drawn together. thighs trapping yunho’s head.

just as you feel the dam start to splinter, he relents. you heave like he’d been suffocating you.

yunho’s legs sit on either side of you, caging you in, leering over you—and you let him, gazing up into his empty eyes. doll-like. glassy sheen. imitation of the real thing. you’re laid out on the couch like a flayed rabbit, insides bared. ready for consumption.

paths across your body that you could not see; filled with flowing, oozing liquids. red hot, full of life. pale finger grazing the loudest one, chasing the throb below, the warmth. you might as well have been lying back on an operating table, cold, metal scalpel replacing his digit.

you swallow, staring up at the amalgamation of your roommate. he stares back.

you once again feel that breath against your thighs, growing into thickness that flops itself onto you. it wriggles, and you peer down to watch the tendrils worm along your body with intention. they sit right in the valley of your thighs, just shy of your core.

one decides to touch; strokes right over the seam of you, careful, gentle in a way that forces you to watch.

he’s pried you apart in no time, chasing the heat. it’s initial shape is similar to that of his tongue; thinner at the tip, thickening the longer it goes (tentacle! your brain yells like alarm bells, unhelpful).

the major difference (aside from the fact that it’s pitch black in color) is the fact that it grows, pulses when it does. alien. and you swear he picks the biggest, thickest size to start.

“so warm,” he repeats, as the appendage begins a slow pace, fucking in and out of you. testing the depth, filling you to the brim for maximum contact. “so warm around me.”

your eyes are screwed shut, and all you can hear is yunho. your yunho.

he moans, caught in the back of his throat, suppressed. “sucking me in. tight just for me.”

you swear you hear him curse under his breath.

your back arches off the couch, hiding your open expression in a stray pillow. one of your legs is trapped between his large body and the cushion, bent and attempting to pull as far away from your body as possible, granting him more access.

you feel pressure against the base of your stomach, flat, like a palm. he angles himself, thrusts deep enough that it bulges against his hand. you keen, that very same leg collapsing into his side.

another tendril joins the onslaught, dipping in, side-to-side with the other. they work together, thickening and thinning accordingly. one bottoming out, the other falling back. you feel mind-numbingly stretched, bordering on overflowing.

a gust of air hits your sides, and soon you’re surrounded. hands tickle along your sides, pressing in to feel your ribcage flat against their bony knuckles, to feel the rise and fall of your chest. fingers wrap around your waist, grabbing, touching, prodding.

a distinct, wet sound fills the air. in time with his length hitting pressure points in your body that make your entire being twitch, nerves alight. your body’s wracked with broken sobs, pointless begging further filling the room.

you feel yunho’s breath on your cheek, soon his mouth. puckered, then open; tasting a stray tear.

“good boy. so good for me. all for me.”

you pulse. fluttering around him, completely out of your mind. “yu— yunho…!”

your hands dart upwards, flying to wrap around his neck, to pull him flush to your beating heart. encompass him in your body heat. your fingers dig into his scalp, threading through the wet locks of hair, like clawing through wet earth.

you see him. yunho. feel the damp press of his forehead against yours, eyes shut, concentrating on the sensation of you wrapped around him. consuming him. his hair hangs low in your face, tickling your eyelashes. they flutter shut, and you can’t help but laugh: soft, airy, against his mouth.

he opens his eyes. swirling brown, brimming with warmth, life, love. he gazes at you through his lashes, blinking with the reverence of a worshipper, bowed at your feet. lips curled into a smile. warm. so warm.

time slows all around you just to savor him, your yunho.

he opens his mouth.

“(name).”

your eyes shoot open.

it stares, like it’s been doing, all it knows to do. look. watch. stare. copy. mimic. mirror. replicate. nothing solely its.

vacuous eyes. empty. emotionless. looming. towering. all you can see is black. the inky black of your roommate’s empty bedroom. all encompassing. sucking all the light from the room, filling your whole vision with nothingness.

you cum around his cold tendrils with a shout of your roommate’s name, legs clamping down around the thing with yunho’s face. your claws rake along its back, leaving evidence of their journey for mere seconds, before the plates shift back into place; mimicry of fabric, black abyss.

you go limp, sweat cooling across your body. cold. it remains hovering above you, surveying your heaving body.

the tentacles don’t still in their movement until an entire minute afterward. it slithers out of your insides with a quiet schlick, the thing regarding your remnants with intrigue.

the last thing you see before succumbing to the heaviness sitting atop your bones are yunho’s dead eyes watching you do so.

***

when you come to, you see a flash of color. a dark splotch. red. almost pinkish.

you swing your fist right into your roommate’s unsuspecting face, shrill screaming the entire time. your body flails like a fish out of water, punching the air, punching in the direction of the tall man who is now shushing you like a wailing baby, open hands trying desperately to grab onto the two weapons (your fists) you’re swinging around so violently.

“hu—! hey, hey, hey!” yunho cries, voice way too tender for someone who just got their shit lowkey rocked. “it’s me! it’s yunho! i’m sorry i’m so late, please don’t fucking kill me!”

he manages to grab one of your wrists just as you stop shrieking.

“quick— say something you’ve never said before.”

“wh—?”

you raise your free fist up in a warning.

“uhh…? you’re so smart and clever…?”

you blink, taking a full 10 seconds to comprehend anything, busy taking him in. he’s wearing a plain black shirt, showing off the pale, pinkish skin draped over his collarbones. his hair’s flat, dark and curtaining cheeks dusted a shade of rouge. he’s blinking at you, eyes flitting between your crazed ones and your open mouth.

you decide to hit him anyway.

“dick.”

“is that a request?” yunho laughs, laughs, like something’s funny (how dare he!). like you hadn’t just experienced hell in the hours he’d been gone.

you look around the living room, searching, interrogating every corner with only a hint of panic.

yunho picks at your oversized shirt, currently dangling off your shoulder. “you’re sweating buckets. should i turn up the ac?”

your gaze returns to him. yunho. your yunho. the real thing. living, breathing, flushed pink, fingers still playing with the fabric of your top.

his eyes are dark in the dimly lit room, gold of the kitchen light just barely reflected in the all encompassing umber.

you clamp down on the hand scrutinizing your soaked shirt, thumbing over his veins, skimming the underside just to feel the warmth.

“i’m coming with you next time,” you say, dead serious. “and you’re not leaving my sight.”

“oh, you missed me?” yunho sings, poking into your side with his other hand. you hiss at him, body dipping away like he’d stabbed you.

yes. i was so scared. “um, projecting much?”

yunho laughs, and it lights up the entire room.

i PROMMY the next one is so so so so so much more normal. holy shit.

FRANKENTHRASH © 2025

[jjkk1m]

Older boyfriend Price who is absolutely DISTRAUGHT over the fact that you don’t care about marriage because you think he’s over it.

Note: mentions of past friends w benefits relationship

Masterlist

“What the fuck do you mean by you don’t want to?” If Price had been any louder, anyone outside his car would’ve been able to hear him.

It had been a few months into your relationship with Price after almost a year of being friends with benefits. You weren’t sure how your arrangement changed over time but you were glad to be with him as he valued you a lot.

“I mean, think about it. You’re like, what? 40-“

“I’m 37, love”

“Right, yeah, I just think that it doesn’t really matter as long as we’re having fun together. Honestly, I thought you’d agree,” you said before taking a bite out of your burger.

Price could only watch you in shock. Sure, your relationship started on the basis of sexual benefits but when he did think of the future all he thought of was you. Even if you were a generation younger than him, he had never felt such synergy with anyone before. It was a connection of a lifetime - emotional and sexual.

“So you don’t give a shit about marriage because you think I don’t care about it.”

“Kind of. If I’m gonna get married I need my partner to be on board too, don’t you think?” He sighed at your reply. You looked up at him, confused and cheeks full with your dinner as you grabbed the plastic cup of coke.

His heart swelled at the sight. It was like looking at an innocent chipmunk. To think that the same face looked fucked out an hour ago awed him but he couldn’t let himself get distracted by your unintentional seduction.

He grabbed your drink and put it back in the cupholder. You were about to whine but he grabbed your face and pulled you close, noses almost touching.

“You—“ peck “—are the most wonderful thing to happen to me and I’ll be damned if I don’t tie you down with me in the future.”

Your face heated up. You had swallowed your food not too long ago but your mouth felt like it had gone dry.

With your face in his hands he continued. “I’ll have a rock on your pretty little finger before you know it.” He left a longer peck on your lips this time and pulled away.

What you didn’t know was that he already had a ring for you. It was stored away in a hidden drawer in his desk, waiting to be worn by you.

In fact, he had brought it just a month into your relationship. He wasn’t religious but he knew that a person like you was the blessing of a lifetime.

[jjkk1m]

Think about those free food offers for couples but you don't have one. But then you see the big broad shoulders, uninterested in everything but quite not subtle about his stare/glare on you.

You don't hesitate to drag him along, it's a deal so good—plus he's so big, if he didn't want to join then there was no force moving him an inch.

You learn his name. Simon Riley. Lieutenant.

It sits right for him, though you'd think his name was ghost the way he haunted one corner outside the food place.

Simon isn't so much of the bad, grunty guy he pretends to be. Along with the free food you devoured, Simon ordered more.

And comes his classic old man sigh when you couldn't eat the ‘right’ way. His fingers working neatly to feed you those large boneless chunks greasy in aroma.

Then all of a sudden a thick, country throat speaks over, and you look up to find Simon still with his thumb hovering over your mouth. “Good lord, lad, ya' snuggling with birdie over here, yeah?”

“Captain?” Simon rasps. Like a deer caught in headlight.

“Hullo pretty lady, hope lad ain't boring you up, innit' so bright?”

“John!”

Captain John's partner slaps at his shoulder with sweet fondness.

You don't know what to say, Simon would clear the ‘clear’ misunderstanding happening here right now.

But Simon only greets John's partner, talks minimal as John and his partner join the table along. Sometimes smiling under his breath at narration of certain grand times during deployment.

In the end, you are invited to join along barbeque next Friday with Simon.

He tells you to come. Even if it's fake.

On the Friday night, you're invited to beach picnic by Kyle, where Simon builds you a big castle and you sit on his shoulders to water fight with Kyle and his girlfriend.

Then somewhere, and again, and again.

Until fake becomes the realest love of your life.