#⪩⪨﹒⟡ 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒄

[dreaming-of-tae]

♡ skz finding out they're dating an idol

How'd They Find Out? How'd They React? How'd They Handle It?

➜ fluff/angst w/ comfort . gn!reader

ch : bangchan . leeknow . changbin . hyunjin . han . felix . seungmin . i.n

warnings : emotional conflict / angst , mild cursing / intensity: (very mild) , romantic themes , mentions of fame/idol industry pressures

[﹒notes] - My first straykids post!! hope you guys enjoy this as I put a lot of time in ✩ as of now my requests are open so if you have any requests feel free to send them in~ These headcanon/stories are written in a more angsty way, because of how serious being an idol is ♡

Bang Chan (방찬)

You and Chan had been dating in private for nearly a year. It wasn’t exactly a secret relationship, but both of you kept it far away from the public eye. You were always vague about your career, describing yourself as “in the entertainment industry” but never elaborating. You always told yourself you’d come clean eventually — once the time was right.

But the truth was, you were an idol preparing to debut with a major company. And when your group finally debuted, everything changed.

The news came out not from you, but through the industry grapevine. JYP staff began murmuring about a new rookie group shaking the charts — and Chan’s ears perked up when he heard your name associated with them.

At first, he thought it was a coincidence. Maybe someone who just had the same name. But then he saw the teaser.

Your face.

Your voice.

Your debut.

He watched the performance in his studio late one night, headphones in, heart pounding. He didn't even realize he was gripping the armrest of his chair until his fingers went numb. It wasn't just that you were an idol. It was the fact that you'd kept it from him — someone who prided himself on being open, trustworthy, and understanding in relationships.

When you finally walked into his studio the next day, it was quiet. Too quiet.

He didn’t yell. Chan never did. But his silence was louder than any shouting could be.

“You debuted,” he said, not looking up from his laptop.

You tried to explain — how scared you were, how much pressure you were under, how much you wanted to tell him but didn’t want to ruin your shot or involve him in any scandal. Your voice cracked, but you kept going.

“I wasn’t hiding you, I was hiding me,” you told him, near tears.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, exhaling slowly.

“You know I’d never be mad at you for chasing your dream,” he said softly. “But... I thought we were in this together. I thought we shared everything.”

That line stung more than anything.

It takes time. Chan isn’t one to hold grudges, but he feels things deeply. He spends days reflecting — not just on your relationship, but on what it meant for you to feel like you couldn’t trust him with something so big.

Eventually, he reaches out, asking to meet. This time, he's warmer, a little more relaxed.

“You looked incredible on stage,” he admits, smiling shyly. “I’m proud of you.”

He apologizes for his coldness, but also asks you to let him in — even when things are messy, complicated, or scary. “We’re idols,” he says. “We know this life isn’t easy. But I want to share it with you.”

From that point on, he’s your biggest supporter — attending shows in secret, leaving notes in your dressing room when he can, and giving you vocal tips late at night.

He doesn’t love that your schedules now clash and your careers are public property, but he accepts it. Because at the end of the day, you’re still you — and he’s still the guy who fell in love with you, long before the world knew your name.

Lee Know (리노)

Minho had always suspected you were “more than you let on.” The way you carried yourself, the way you avoided certain questions, the way your phone always lit up with messages from people labeled only with emojis. You were mysterious — something he found intriguing.

You’d been together quietly for a little over six months, and while Minho wasn’t the kind of guy to push boundaries, he was observant. Very observant.

Then it happened — your group dropped a surprise debut showcase.

And there you were. Center stage. Flawless. Charismatic. An idol.

Minho sat there in his dorm room, your face filling his screen, members buzzing around him, exclaiming “Wait — isn’t that…?”

He didn’t say a word.

Just stared.

And then left the room.

You knew you had to tell him — and you were already on your way over when your phone started buzzing. A message from Minho: “We need to talk.”

When you arrived, his expression was unreadable. Arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting hours.

“So,” he said, voice clipped. “Anything you want to share?”

You tried to explain — the contracts, the company’s PR strategy, your own fears. But Minho’s eyebrows raised.

“Don’t tell me it was all about timing. You had months.”

His voice was sharper than usual. He wasn’t angry in the explosive way — he was angry in the quiet, disappointed way that only someone who’s truly hurt can be.

“I don’t care that you’re an idol,” he finally said. “I care that you didn’t trust me enough to be honest.”

You stood there, feeling like the world had dropped out from under you.

But you didn’t give up. You reached for his hand. “Minho… I didn’t know how. I didn’t want you to think I was using you. Or lying. Or trying to compete. I was scared I’d lose you.”

Something shifted in his expression at that.

Lee Know doesn’t forgive easily — but he does listen.

It takes a long conversation, a lot of silence, and a few sarcastic jabs (“So do I have to call you sunbaenim now?”), but eventually, he lets down the walls again.

Minho is surprisingly vulnerable when you crack through the tough outer shell. He opens up about how he’s always struggled with trust — how hard it is to feel close to people when the industry is full of masks.

“But I want to trust you,” he admits quietly, “so let me.”

From then on, he becomes fiercely protective. He never shows it in dramatic ways, but it’s there — the texts checking in after your late-night schedules, the hand squeeze before a big stage, the teasing messages when you post a killer performance.

He’ll never say “I’m your number one fan” out loud, but he doesn’t have to.

He’s the one watching your fancams at 2 AM when he thinks no one’s looking. The one who subtly retweets your group’s success through fan accounts. The one who learns your choreography just to mockingly dance it in front of you — only to get every step exactly right.

Changbin (창빈)

Dating Changbin had been like finding home. He was warm, goofy, emotionally intelligent, and one of the few idols who knew how to switch off the performance face when the cameras were gone. You met him through a mutual friend, and your relationship bloomed over late-night ramen, playlists, and gym sessions.

He knew you were “in music,” but you always steered the conversation away when it got too close to your career specifics.

You’d rehearsed how to tell him the truth so many times. But your company’s unexpected early debut announcement forced your hand before you were ready. One minute, you were planning your next date with him; the next, your debut stage was trending on Twitter.

He didn’t find out from you.

He found out on Instagram, scrolling through hashtags, when a photo of you in full stage makeup from a press showcase filled his feed. He blinked, confused.

Wait. That was you. Center stage. Surrounded by dancers. Dressed in a designer outfit.

The caption read: [Name], center of [Group Name], the next big thing in K-pop.

He sat in stunned silence, your unopened text from earlier still sitting on his phone screen.

It read: “Can we talk later tonight? Please.”

You showed up to his studio hours later, already anticipating the hurt in his eyes.

He wasn’t angry — not in the explosive sense. But Changbin felt things deeply, and that depth was now tinged with betrayal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly, fingers fiddling with the drawstring on his hoodie. “Was I… just someone to pass time with until you debuted?”

You rushed to explain — how scared you were of being seen as someone using him, how your company warned you not to get involved romantically before debut, how you’d planned to tell him when the timing felt safer.

“I didn’t want you to see me differently,” you whispered.

“I already saw you,” he said. “The real you. That’s why it hurts.”

Changbin spirals a bit. Not dramatically — but internally. He overthinks, questions every moment, replays your interactions, wondering if there were signs he missed. But despite all the confusion and hurt, he doesn’t give up on you.

He just needs time.

You give him space, unsure if he’ll reach back out — but a few days later, he does. He texts you a selfie of him holding up your debut album, captioned: “I still meant it when I said I liked you. That hasn’t changed.”

When you meet again, the air is gentler. You talk — really talk. He admits his insecurities. You show him your practice clips and share how long you’ve dreamed of this.

From that point on, he becomes your unofficial hype man. He studies your choreo so he can do your fanchants, sneaks your songs into his playlists, and even writes a verse about you for a mixtape — cryptic enough not to be obvious, but personal enough that you know.

His love is loud, even if his pain was quiet. And in the end, he never stops believing in you — or the version of you he fell for long before the lights hit your stage.

Hyunjin (현진)

Being with Hyunjin felt like walking through an art museum — every moment was soaked in feeling, beauty, and subtle intensity. He was affectionate, expressive, and deeply attentive. He'd write little poems for you, draw doodles on your hands when you were bored, and always looked at you like you were a masterpiece.

You adored him for that. And it made keeping your secret even harder.

Your debut had been quietly brewing for over a year, and your company was famously strict. Dating wasn’t just frowned upon — it was a career risk. So you said nothing, afraid to jeopardize your shot or his.

But when your group's debut MV dropped and the internet lit up with reactions, it didn’t take long for Hyunjin to put the pieces together. He knew your mannerisms, your eyes, the tilt of your head. He recognized you instantly.

But what crushed him wasn’t that you were an idol.

It was that he had to find out with the rest of the world.

You found him in his apartment the next evening — music off, curtains drawn, sketchbook open but untouched. He looked up when you entered, his eyes unreadable.

“Why didn’t you trust me with this?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You sat beside him, heart thudding, and told him everything — the fears, the company’s threats, the guilt. You confessed how each day that passed without telling him made it harder to come clean. How you hated yourself for not trusting the person who treated you like you hung the stars.

“I wanted to protect what we had,” you said. “But I ended up hurting you.”

He didn’t respond for a long while. Then, slowly, he handed you his sketchbook.

Inside was a drawing of you — in your debut outfit, mid-performance, surrounded by stage lights. But your eyes in the sketch were sad. Lonely.

“I drew this after I saw the video,” he said. “Because I knew you weren’t celebrating.”

Hyunjin is emotional, yes — but he’s also wise beyond his years. He doesn’t push you away. Instead, he leans into his feelings, into the pain, and finds a way to make art out of it.

He asks for honesty moving forward, no matter how difficult. And you promise.

He becomes your quiet anchor — someone who understands the duality of fame and intimacy. He starts leaving notes in your bag before fanmeets, texts you affirmations after live stages, and watches your content with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

Sometimes, it’s hard — when your names are trending for different reasons, when rumors swirl, when the distance grows. But Hyunjin never stops showing up. He creates playlists titled “For When You’re Tired” and draws little comics of your imaginary life if you were just two art students instead of idols.

And though he found out the truth in a way that broke his heart, he still chooses you — every version of you.

The star version of you.

And the person behind both.

Han (한)

Dating Jisung was like living in a comedy-drama series with the most chaotic yet golden-hearted lead. He was silly, loud, unpredictable — but beneath it all, he had the most fragile heart and softest soul. He constantly sought reassurance and was always the first to make you laugh when things got heavy.

You connected through mutual friends at a casual get-together, and from day one, he made it clear how serious he was about you — in his goofy, offbeat way. You’d always deflected questions about your career by saying you were “training in music production” or “working behind the scenes,” and he never pushed you too hard.

Until your debut hit the internet.

Jisung wasn’t scrolling for gossip. He was looking for new music releases when he saw the thumbnail: your name — your face — and a “Debut MV” tag.

He clicked without thinking. Half-curious. Half-worried.

As the video played and your voice rang through his speakers, reality cracked open.

His first reaction? Shock — mouth open, hands paused in midair, eyes wide.

Then came confusion. And then silence.

When you texted him later that day with a simple: “Can we talk? Please.” — he didn’t answer right away.

Not because he was angry.

Because his brain was moving at 200mph, and his heart was dragging behind.

He met you that night outside the dorms — hoodie on, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.

“You’re an idol?” he asked softly. “All this time?”

You explained everything — the contracts, the NDAs, your fear of losing him. The guilt of holding something so big back.

His lip twitched. “You thought I wouldn’t be okay with it? Or… you didn’t trust me enough to try?”

The pain in his voice wasn’t loud. It was wounded, quiet, like a joke that didn’t land.

“I tell you everything,” he added. “Every stupid fear. Every song lyric I write. Every dream. You’ve heard me at my worst.”

He wasn’t yelling. He was disappointed. And that hurt more than if he had screamed.

Jisung needs time to process. He hides in his music — writes endless lyrics about masks, mirrors, and miscommunication. He makes jokes to his members to downplay how confused he feels, but you can tell it sits heavy on his chest.

Then one night, he calls you — just your name, softly.

“Come to the studio.”

When you arrive, he plays you a demo — raw vocals, stripped beat, lyrics that feel like reading his heart on a page.

“You danced in the dark / while I thought we were in the light / I loved you blind / but now I see in black and white…”

You sit in silence when it ends.

“I wrote it the night I found out,” he says. “But it’s not a goodbye song.”

You exhale shakily. “Then what is it?”

“It’s a ‘try again’ song.”

From then on, he’s different — more open about his fears, but also fiercely protective of your dream. He teases you about “idol mode,” helps you brainstorm stage names, even gives you random awards like “Best Outfit Slay” and “Most Likely to Outshine Me.”

He’s scared, yes. But love — real love — makes him brave enough to stay.

Felix (필릭스)

Dating Felix was like basking in warmth. He had that rare kind of energy — grounding, healing, and gentle. You met during a joint industry charity event, and your connection was instant. He was attentive, deeply curious about you, and always made you feel like the most important person in the room.

But from the start, you knew he was honest to a fault. Felix didn’t play games. He gave love openly, and he expected that same vulnerability in return.

Which is why you feared telling him the truth: that you were on the verge of debuting as an idol, that your company had forbidden any public or even private relationships without disclosure, and that you were falling for him faster than you ever expected.

Felix found out through a mutual friend — accidentally.

Someone sent him a message: “Isn’t this your girlfriend?” with a screenshot of a teaser poster.

Your face. Center of a highly anticipated girl group debut.

He stared at it, brows furrowed, phone shaking in his hand.

He didn’t speak to anyone about it. He waited until he could see you.

When you met up, he didn’t waste time. He held up the image on his phone.

“You’re debuting?” he asked, tone heartbreakingly calm.

You nodded, ready for the storm. But it never came.

He took a step back, swallowing hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You fumbled for the words — how you feared jeopardizing your career, how you thought if you waited just a little longer, it would be easier.

“But you let me love you,” he said quietly. “Without the truth.”

The pain wasn’t in his words — it was in his eyes.

Felix isn’t someone who gives up easily. But he also doesn’t let himself be treated like an afterthought. He takes a step back — not to punish you, but to center himself.

He talks to Chan. To his sister. He journaled a lot. He tried to understand whether your secrecy was about mistrust, or fear, or something else entirely.

Eventually, he meets with you again — on a quiet rooftop, where he used to go when the trainee life felt too heavy.

“I’ve had my own secrets too,” he says, staring at the skyline. “But I’ve always believed love needs honesty, or it won’t last.”

You nod, tears in your eyes. “I’m ready to be honest. Now. With everything.”

He looks at you then — really looks. And he smiles.

Not his fan-service smile.

But his smile. The one only people he loves get to see.

“You were always a star,” he says. “I guess now the rest of the world gets to see it too.”

From that point on, Felix becomes your safest place. He watches all your stages, encourages your self-care, and finds clever ways to support you publicly without ever exposing your relationship.

He’s proud of you.

And he reminds you every day: that you can shine in the spotlight and still be held in love — safely, quietly, fiercely — when the lights go down.

Seungmin (승민)

Seungmin wasn’t the type to fall easily, but when he did, it was intentional. You’d met him through a friend who worked in radio, and what started as casual banter turned into long coffee shop dates filled with dry humor and quiet companionship.

He liked that you were grounded. You shared thoughts about music, books, even your frustrations with the entertainment industry. But whenever he asked specifics about your work, you deflected — said you were “support staff,” or “still finding your path.” He respected your privacy. He always did.

That is, until your face showed up unexpectedly on a massive LED screen in Hongdae — part of a pre-debut countdown campaign for a new girl group.

It took him a few seconds to register that it was you.

Wearing stage makeup. In costume. Smiling like the whole world was finally seeing the dream you’d been hiding.

That night, you showed up to his apartment without asking. You knew he’d seen it.

He didn’t yell. That wasn’t Seungmin.

He opened the door, stepped aside, and let you in. The silence wasn’t cold — it was focused. You sat across from him on the couch, bracing yourself.

He finally spoke, voice calm but painfully steady: “How long were you going to keep it from me?”

You tried to explain — the non-disclosure, the risk of rumors, the company’s iron grip on trainee relationships. But as you spoke, he stared down at his hands, barely blinking.

“Do you know how many people I’ve pushed away because I didn’t think they could handle my world?” he asked quietly. “I chose you. And you couldn’t even give me the truth.”

It stung. Not because he was angry — but because he wasn’t. He sounded tired.

You reached out to touch his hand, but he gently pulled it back.

“I just need time to think,” he said. “About whether we’ve both been in the same relationship this whole time.”

Seungmin goes quiet for a few days. Not out of malice, but because he doesn’t do emotional decisions impulsively. He talks to his members. He takes long walks. He listens to music without lyrics — classical, instrumental, film scores — trying to find his own voice in the noise.

Eventually, he texts you: “I want to talk. In person.”

When you meet again, he’s still calm — but different. Not guarded. Resolved.

“I’m not angry that you’re an idol,” he says. “I’m proud. I’ve always known there was something special in you.”

He takes your hand.

“But I need honesty. Even when it’s messy. Even when it might hurt.”

You promise — this time without deflection.

From then on, Seungmin becomes your quiet protector. He won’t show it in grand gestures, but in consistent ones — sending you your favorite coffee before music shows, editing your practice videos with helpful notes, reminding you not to lose yourself in the chaos of fame.

He’s still skeptical sometimes — especially when fans speculate, or when your schedules keep you apart. But his love isn’t loud. It’s reliable.

And when he sees you on stage for the first time, he smiles — not because you’re an idol, but because you’re still you. And that’s who he fell for.

I.N (아이엔)

Jeongin had always been playful, gentle, a little shy in interviews — but in real life, he’d grown into someone confident and self-aware. He laughed easily, cared deeply, and had a surprisingly steady presence beneath the youthful energy.

You met him during a vocal workshop and bonded over late-night convenience store runs and shared Spotify playlists. He admired how humble and grounded you were — never knowing that underneath it all, you were hiding a career just weeks away from exploding.

When your debut came, it wasn’t a slow reveal.

It was a bombshell.

You were the surprise center of a new girl group with a viral pre-debut TikTok campaign. Fancams. Headlines. Trending hashtags.

Jeongin was in the dorm, half-laughing with Han over snacks, when Felix’s phone buzzed.

“Wait — isn’t this Y/N?”

And the room went quiet.

He didn’t text you.

He didn’t call.

Instead, he waited — unsure whether to confront you, or wait for you to explain.

You beat him to it, showing up the next evening with a bag of tteokbokki and a soft apology.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

His smile was polite, but distant.

“I guess I never really knew you, huh?” he said, softly.

That broke your heart more than yelling would’ve.

“I didn’t lie,” you said. “I just… hid. Because I thought if you saw the whole picture, you’d treat me like a brand, not a person.”

His expression softened, but he looked down at his hands.

“I didn’t fall for a brand,” he whispered. “I fell for someone who laughed at my dumb jokes, who sang off-key with me at karaoke, who looked me in the eye like I mattered.”

You blinked back tears.

“And you still matter,” you said. “More than any debut. More than any stage.”

Jeongin surprises you.

He’s more mature than people give him credit for. After a few days of reflection, he comes to you — with questions, yes, but also with his heart open.

He asks about your training. About your fears. About your dreams — not your image.

Once he understands it wasn’t about deceit, but about survival, he forgives you. Fully.

And from that moment on, he becomes your safe place. He checks in before every big performance. Sends you goofy voice notes to cheer you up. Hypes you up anonymously online with burner accounts. Leaves little gifts in your locker when your schedules cross paths.

But he also keeps you accountable.

“When we’re together,” he says, “it’s not idol to idol. It’s just you and me. Real. No masks.”

He doesn’t treat you like glass. He treats you like a partner. Equal. Respected.

And when he watches you on stage, he claps the loudest — not because he’s watching an idol rise.

But because he’s watching his person do what they were born to do.

[crying-wolves]

𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 (𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

---𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝒏𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒃𝒐𝒓!𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

---𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈! 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒊-𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒇𝒊𝒄! 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒆, 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔! 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏!

---𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅'𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒃𝒐𝒓, 𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒚, 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅.

---𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝟏𝟖+ !!! 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓! 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅!!!

---𝒄𝒘: 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒌, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 (𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒙, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 (𝒓. 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈) 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝒓. 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈) ), 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒎 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 ��𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝟓 𝒂𝒎

---𝒘𝒄: 𝟐.𝟔𝒌!

---𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 ���𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅!

---𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒐𝒐! 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆! 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆. 𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 '𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆' 𝒃𝒚 𝑨𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒔𝒐 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚. 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆! 𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐! 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒔𝒐 𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒐𝒏. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏! 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔!! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚!! <𝟑

--𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑶𝑹𝑺 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑮𝑶𝑬𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑴𝒀 𝑾𝑯𝑶𝑳𝑬 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑮!!!

There was a quote your husband liked to repeat over and over again whenever he was recounting the more difficult moments of his childhood to you: ‘forget what hurt you, but never forget what it taught you’. 

  Now, as you wash his dried blood off of your forearms and fingertips, you can’t help but wonder about the enlightenment his death might bring to your otherwise unremarkable existence.

  The first lesson bustles around behind your eyebrows, nestles into your brain and makes a home amidst the rest of your racing thoughts: you should’ve used his rifle, because the rusty old fire poker currently protruding from his left eye socket has proven to be an unexpectedly sloppy method.

  Sure, you didn’t plan the events leading up to now, but if you had, things would’ve been a lot easier to take care of.

  You turn the shower knob towards the red circle decal and scrub. It’s almost a mindless task. You think you’re getting so used to scratching the feeling of violence from your body that it doesn’t even phase you anymore. You’re not thinking “getitoffme! getitoffme!” like you used to.

  A gentle knock (first gentle thing that’s sounded through the apartment in ages, you think) rings on the door to the bathroom and you jump. It takes a moment to come back to yourself, but a wave of serenity moves over you when you remember you’re not alone.

  “Come in, Abby”, you almost whisper. Somehow, she hears it, and she’s tiptoeing in like there’s a stranger on the other side. You feel like one, a little.

  A smile when she sees you in the shower. It’s one filled with relief and quiet affection, and you sheepishly grin back when you meet her gaze. Neither of you have ever really known how to act around each other. 

  “Thought you might…uh, want some company after everything”, she speaks, looking like your saving grace. You’re not sure why she’s still here, entertaining the illusion that this is a normal night and that you’ve done nothing of consequence at all. It’s charming. Sweet, in a brilliant, awful sort of way.

  You nod, turning off the shower in the process. When you spin around to face her, she takes it as an opportunity to rake her eyes across your naked form. Feet to forehead. She’s never been shy before when it came to you, so why start now? Especially since the only obstacle ever in the way of you reciprocating her affection is, well, no longer present.

And if she can be as shameless and lustful as she usually is, even under these unique circumstances, then who’s to say you can’t take a page out of her book? You need the distraction, anyways.

  “You’ve still got some…”, you gesture vaguely towards her hands, and she holds her breath. “You know, on your arms…”

  She looks down at the mess of herself and quirks an inquisitive eyebrow. “Yeah, I suppose I do?” and for some reason, you really wanna get your arms around her.

  A final jerk of your head back towards the shower wall seals the deal. Suddenly, you realize that she’s all yours.

“You can wash it off in here, if you want? Just so we don’t get the rest of the bathroom all…gory.”

  A moment goes by and you can tell that she’s astonished by your rare show of courage. She knows exactly why you’re inviting her in there with you, and it’s making her go a little mad. So not very like her sweet little mouse of a next door neighbor, she’s probably screaming in her head. Where did all this chutzpah come from?

  Probably from the same place you got the energy to stick it to your jackass ex-husband. 

  Abby thinks it’s kind of hot. 

  So, she starts to lift up her black cotton T-shirt while walking towards you. And once she’s right in front, your fingers float up to help unbutton her dark green cargo pants. You pull down her checkered boxers, slowly, while holding her enthusiastic stare, and pull away quickly when you think you’ve had enough fun. 

  When you look at her, like, really take in her bare thighs and the bristling veins popping under her arms, and her exquisitely sculpted breasts and the tuft of champagne colored hair covering her sex, a ruined sigh drifts from between your lips and out into the cold, hushful air. 

 You watch her closely as she steps into the small space that now acts as your own personal asylum from the terrors of the rest of your home. You can still feel him close to the both of you. It brings a bitter aftertaste to the otherwise sacred scene you’re attempting to paint yourself into. Abby had always been the escape you needed whenever he got nasty and vicious. She’d pour you a scalding cup of chamomile, drape her fuzziest blanket over your knees, and harp on about her favorite parts of the latest novel she was indulging in. Or, if you were especially shaken up, she’d comfort you with stories about her shifts at the childrens’ hospital she was interning at for the past  couple of years. Every word that came from her mouth in those minutes spent trying to catch your breath on her couch was a delicate interruption, a diversion from the memories of hard slaps and the yelling you endured for nights on end. She never spoke his name when you came over. Whether as a reminder that you were always protected when you were with her, or because it burned her tongue to have to mention such a repulsive thing, you weren’t sure. Still, you were always grateful for the lack of acknowledgement.

  The same security she always offers is present in the shower, now. It shows up in the way she turns it back on for you, making sure the temperature is akin to that of a pleasant embrace. And the manner in which she runs her thumbs over your shoulders, down, down, down to the spots where the blood still stains you. Where you’ve spent the last 10 minutes ferociously scouring your skin, she applies an easy pressure, calmly caressing the blotches away from your soft flesh.

  Carefully, she brings you into her capable arms and presses her cheek into yours.

  You can feel all of her.

  The gradual hardening of her nipples as they smooth between your shoulder blades. Her firm, slippery stomach crushing into your lower back. The encouraging heat radiating from her cunt as she pushes your ass back into her. 

  It’s everythingeverythingeverything, and you still want so much more.

  “Tell me what you need, lovely”, breathes the blonde as she mouths at that delicious spot under your ear. “Anything…I’ll give you anything you want, I promise.

  And, of course, you believe her. There’s absolutely nothing known to man she wouldn’t do if she thought for even half a second it would make you happy. Keep you safe. Could be staying on the phone with you for hours after a brutal shift when all she wants to do is pass out, or helping you hide the body of the man who kept you away from her for years. It’s all the same to her. Hell, if the cops came knocking on your door tomorrow morning and started probing you with millions of questions concerning his whereabouts, she’d eagerly give herself up as the sole culprit.

  There was no way she was letting go of you now. Not when she finally had you all to herself.

  You place a hand on her wrist, and slide her palm up to grab at your chest. A stray thumb strokes your sensitive nipple and you let out a mellow moan that goes straight to Abby’s head. When you crane your neck to lock eyes and brush your own lips against hers, she realizes that the self control she’s shown over the entirety of her friendship with you is desperately close to shattering apart.

  “Please,” you urge her on, eyes sparkling with tears, body shaking at the prospect of being soothed. Trying to collide with her, merge with her. Whatever you can to get closerclosercloser. “Just be gentle with me, baby.”

 Abby nearly weeps with tenderness before cradling you backwards into the shower tiles and kissing you exactly how she wanted to the first time you showed up at her apartment door looking all pained and flustered: kindly, lusciously, without the need to silence your precious little noises of affection and pleasure. She presses into you, fingers trailing up and down the short length of your hips, and you press right back, trying to tangle her tongue around yours, groaning into her mouth with every brush or rub of her knee against your thigh. 

Bit by bit, she moves down the expanse of your neck and breasts, leaving the sweetest bites and bruises she can muster without being too rough. She gives each of them a tiny peck, reveling in the dulcet squeaks that sound from you as she watches the darling expressions on your face. The scrunch of your nose when she licks around, just missing your taut nipple. The pretty ‘O’ shape your lips make when she squeezes lightly at your neck. She almost forgets her promise to you to go slow, the desire to just fuck you open onto her thick fingers rattling around inside of her head. But she can be patient. And you’re being so damn good for her, she couldn’t bear to overwhelm you.

  “So perfect for me, angel. You look so pretty like this”, she raves, and falls carefully down to her knees. Dragging her lips up your plush thighs, she chuckles softly at your twitching and quivering.

  “Gonna be a good girl and let me taste your sweet pussy, lovely?” Abby looks up at you with a hooded gaze. She’s absolutely ravenous. You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you with that kind of hunger in their eyes. 

But you’ve missed it so fucking much.

She gives you a small smirk when you nod back at her ardently. “Such a good, good baby…”

  You almost seize up when you feel her soft tongue lick across your folds. The breathy moan that loosens from your chest is followed by a hundred “fuck, ah!”’s when she circles your clit slowly with her wet muscle. You start to grind down into her mouth, trying to chase the satisfaction she’s just introduced to you, but she grips your hips tightly and pushes your hips against the wall.

  “No no no, sweet girl. We’re taking this slow, remember?” She looks at you teasingly, almost daring you to change your mind. 

 You almost curse yourself for your past actions. Swallowing down, you try to regain your composure and slow your heart rate back down. You nod back and reach a hand to lovingly push some of her honey-blonde locks out of her face. She kisses the inside of your wrist, then lifts your leg up onto her shoulder.

  “Gonna make you feel so good, angel.” She licks and kisses lovingly at your cunt in an instant, closing your clit into her warm mouth and sucking hard. You buck uncontrollably into her face, a chorus of curses leaving your lips before you can think to stop them.

“Please, oh- Abby, ah- please keep-!” you pant, pushing your hands back into her hair, gripping desperately for some kind of grounding to keep you tethered to her forever. She groans into your pussy after a particularly hard tug from your hand, and pushes her thumb to rub around your puckering hole while she gawks up at your wild movements.

  “Not gonna stop, baby–fuck! Not until you cum for me.” She continues the slow rubs and nips at your clit, and you’re so distracted by the building sensation in your belly that you’re almost caught off guard by the slow push of her middle finger into your greedy cunt.

 You’re almost positive that she’s trying to make you see lights behind your eyes and if you’re being honest, she’s pretty goddamn close.

She fucks into you so fucking slowly, you almost want to bang your head against the tile. “More, baby, please…” you cry out to her, frantic, aching, but she simply litters your cunt with kisses and keeps her pace. Your whines don’t seem to reach her and your hand moves to flick at your nipple to bring yourself closer to the edge. When she sees your frenzied behavior, she feels the sudden need to bask in the beauty that is having you, here, all hers, forever all hers, falling apart after only a few minutes.

  “Poor, poor baby...” She starts, nestling her ring finger next to her middle one, fucking into fasterfasterfaster.

  “Look at me, that’s right. Look into my eyes.” When you meet them, they’re so much darker than you’re used to seeing them. As if clouded with fervor and craving, and a longing that she’s been keeping inside of her for far, far too long.

  “He’s never gonna fucking touch you again, you hear me? I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that, baby.” Her fingers are practically vibrating inside of your tight core, and you can barely think about everything she’s telling you. You hear her grunt as she pushes a third finger inside, and can only let out a high-pitched squeal when you feel her move her other thumb to rub sloppy circles around your clit.

  “You’re gonna cum for me, sweet girl, and when you do, you’re gonna be all mine. You got that? You can have me whenever you need me, baby. Don’t have to beg. Don’t have to do anything for it, okay? It’s all yours. It’s always gonna be all yours.” You feel a single tear slip down your cheek, you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer, the red-hot feeling in your stomach growing bigger and bigger.

  “Need you to cum for me, now, babydoll. Make a mess all over my fingers. Show me how bad you need it.”

You’re pretty sure you hear it. The fast snap of the band and the thrill of your pleasure washing over you like the warmest, fuzziest blanket you’ve ever been wrapped up in. You can hear the heavy moans leaving your lips, but it’s like you’re watching yourself from above. Succumbing to the pleasure, bathing in the candied touch of the sweet, sweet Abby Anderson.

She kisses you all over afterwards. Tells you how good you were for her. Holds you like you might crumble into pieces, and, you suppose, you might. But you know it wouldn’t take her long to put you back together again. 

There are fleeting thoughts in your mind (after the two of you had finished actually showering and erasing any traces of all that had transpired only hours earlier) about the weight of the things that happened, Abby’s devotion to you, and how uncertain you are about everything that might go on next. You find it hard to worry too much, however, what with Abby holding you in her loving arms and kissing the back of your neck anytime she feels you stirring while you try to get to sleep. You think a lot about good and evil, about the fact that you feel absolutely no guilt for how it all turned out.

Again, you don’t believe it matters that much now. 

You’re safe, in this placid moment, being held by a woman who would kill for you.

And you would readily, happily, immediately do just the same.

𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆, 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕!! 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒖 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒐 𝑺𝑶 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!!! <𝟑 <𝟑 <𝟑

dividers by @cafekitsune !

[luvv4j4ybe11]

𝑷𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒂’𝒔 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒘’2024

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒆, @aperiraa, 𝒘𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎! 𝑩𝒄 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆😤

𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑰𝑪𝑰𝑷𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑮𝑼𝑰𝑫𝑬��𝑰𝑵𝑬𝑺~

✩ 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 18+ 𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆/𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒔. 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒙𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆𝒕𝒚, 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚. 𝑵𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔🩷

✩ 𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆!! 𝑺𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔/𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒔/𝒆𝒕𝒄 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔.

✩ 𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔, 𝒘𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 ’𝑨𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒓:𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏’ 𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒚𝒔,(@pandoraslxna 𝒂𝒏𝒅 @neteyamswillow) ’𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑷𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒂’ 𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔,(@eywaite 𝒂𝒏𝒅 @tallulah477 ). 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒑 𝒊𝒕!! 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒏, 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏<3

✩ 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕!! 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 100% 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒌, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒐 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒕.

✩ 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒊𝒄, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈.

✩ 𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚, 𝒕𝒂𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 @aperiraa 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒂’𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔!! 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒕𝒂𝒈 ‘#Pandora’sGlow’ 𝒂𝒏𝒅 ’#Pandora’sGlow2024’ 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔🫶🏽

༄❤︎︎𝑶𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕, 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒏!! 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕��𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆, 𝒊𝒕'𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂 𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅-𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕.❤︎︎༄

𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶~

✩ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 ‘𝑷𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒂’𝒔 𝑮𝒍𝒐𝒘’ 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒚 1𝒔𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒂𝒚. 𝑺𝒐 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒚𝒉𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒂𝒍𝒍, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 ’𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏’ 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆🫶🏽

✩ 𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒆, 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒆𝒕𝒄 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅!! 𝑰𝒕’𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒘𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐🥰 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔🩷

✩ 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉😏, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒔😚𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌/𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔🪬🔮

𝑪𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 “𝑷𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒂’𝒔 𝑮𝒍𝒐𝒘“ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕!!

[dreaming-of-tae]

♡ yandere!straykids

➜ 1/2/3 . gn!reader

ch : bangchan . leeknow . changbin . hyunjin . han . felix . seungmin . i.n

warnings :

[﹒notes] - I've been craving more yandere!straykids posts recently, and suffering due to the lack of there of... so I decided to make it myself! Also this is super inspired by "Super Psycho Love" By Simon Curtis, if you haven't listened to it- I'd recommend it! It's prob my fav song to write to.

Bang Chan (방찬)

The illusion of safety was his most potent weapon.

Bang Chan was warm. That was how it always began. He wore the kind of smile that made you feel seen, important. His eyes were soft, filled with a kind of compassion that pulled people in. He was the type to check if you’d eaten, send goodnight texts, and remember small details you didn’t even know you’d shared. You felt lucky. Blessed.

And then it started.

It was subtle at first—Chan’s protectiveness. A comment about how your friend always called too late. A suggestion to quit that night job because he “worried about you walking alone.” You brushed it off as care.

But you didn’t know Chan had cameras installed. You didn’t see the moment he sat in the dark, watching you sleep from the feed on his laptop. His hand clenched around a mug as you laughed on the phone with a coworker he didn't approve of. He told himself it was for your safety. The world was dangerous. People were liars. But he wasn’t.

He was the one who stayed. Who listened.

When you tried to pull away, things unraveled quickly. Your phone wouldn't connect to Wi-Fi anymore. Apps kept crashing. Your location mysteriously disappeared from friends’ phones. And Chan? He showed up at your door minutes after any attempt to leave, saying he “just had a feeling something was wrong.”

You realized then: he always knew where you were. Always.

“You don’t understand,” he’d whisper, voice trembling with emotion. “I’m doing this for us. The world doesn’t deserve you. They’ll ruin you.”

His apartment became your world. He made it cozy—blankets, books, your favorite snacks stocked weekly. He played your favorite music as he cooked. He smiled so lovingly it made you doubt your fear. But the locks were on the outside. And your phone, when returned, had no SIM card.

He kissed your forehead every night like a savior, his fingers stroking your hair as he whispered, “You’re safe now. With me.”

Was it safety? Or a cage painted gold?

Chan didn’t hurt you—not directly. But you weren’t free. He made himself your everything, until you couldn’t remember who you were without him.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

Lee Know (리노)

Lee Know was colder—aloof, distant, unknowable. He didn’t smile often, didn’t speak unless he had to. But when he looked at you, really looked at you, it was as if no one else in the world existed. You were a secret he kept tucked behind sharp eyes and a sharper tongue.

He never said he loved you. Not with words.

Instead, it was in the silence that stretched between you as he fixed your collar. In the way he stood between you and strangers. In how he watched—never touched, never demanded, just observed.

You thought it was harmless.

Until the night your ex showed up, drunk and yelling. He vanished the next day. The police found the man’s car parked at the edge of a bridge. Suicide, they said.

You knew better.

Minho didn’t deny it. He just looked at you and said, “Now you don’t have to be scared anymore.”

You weren’t scared of your ex.

You were scared of him.

Still, he didn’t force affection. No kisses, no touches—unless you initiated. That was the trap. He gave you the illusion of choice. But he was always there, just behind the curtain, watching.

When you talked to someone too long, their tires slashed. A coworker got transferred mysteriously. Your parents started receiving anonymous emails filled with half-truths and veiled threats, until they begged you to cut contact "for everyone's safety."

You confronted Minho, tears in your eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t raise his voice.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, brushing lint from your sleeve. “I’m fixing what’s broken. I’m removing distractions. I’m making room for us.”

“You can’t control my life.”

His eyes finally met yours. Cold. Flat. Unapologetic.

“I already do.”

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned away and returned to feeding his cats. That was Minho’s cruelty—effortless, surgical. He didn’t need chains. You were already bound by fear, isolation, and the quiet terror that he would never let you go. Not ever.

And if he couldn't have you—truly have you—he’d destroy everything else. Every friend. Every plan. Every part of your life not attached to him.

He would either be your everything.

Or nothing would remain.

Changbin (창빈)

Changbin had always been intense. From the moment you met him, you felt the power in his presence—his voice, the way his eyes focused on you when you spoke, the way his shoulders tensed when someone looked at you the wrong way. He wasn’t the type to let things go. And when it came to you, he couldn’t ever let go.

He cared about you deeply. You knew that. He would do anything for you, always asking how your day was, offering his help, pulling you into tight, protective embraces. But underneath all of that was something darker—something that began to emerge once he realized you were everything he had ever needed.

It started slowly. One day, you noticed that you had missed a few texts. Changbin asked you if everything was okay, voice dripping with concern. "You didn't answer my messages for hours. Are you mad at me? Did something happen?" His gaze was unsettling, demanding a response—your response.

It was just a coincidence, you thought. But over time, the small incidents piled up. Your friends started to act... differently around you. They'd whisper when Changbin wasn’t around, give you strange looks, and avoid hanging out as much. It didn’t take long to realize that Changbin had been intervening in subtle ways. A rumor here, a misplaced message there, and soon, your social life dwindled to nothing.

One night, you tried to leave his apartment. You’d had enough. The control, the surveillance, the way he would watch you like a hawk when you spoke to anyone else—it was too much. But as soon as you reached the door, Changbin’s voice echoed from behind you, low, full of danger.

“Where are you going?”

You froze, your hand hovering over the handle, heart racing. You didn’t have an answer.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t let you go. You don’t understand. I can’t live without you. Don’t you get it?”

He walked toward you slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. You tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. Changbin’s hands were on your shoulders, pulling you to him with surprising strength. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “I love you too much to let you ruin yourself. You’re mine. And no one else is going to take you from me.”

You had seen the violent side of Changbin before—his temper in moments of frustration, his rough, passionate outbursts when things didn’t go his way—but this... this was something else. The hunger in his eyes, the desperation in his voice—it was terrifying. He was breaking apart in front of you, and you realized then that he wasn’t going to let you leave. Ever.

Changbin didn’t hurt you—not physically. But the emotional manipulation was suffocating. Every day, you’d wake up to him checking your phone, asking about your plans, demanding to know who you were talking to. He’d track your every movement with precision, claiming he just wanted to protect you.

“You don't know how dangerous the world is," he'd say. "I’ll keep you safe. I'll never let anything happen to you. We’re meant to be together.”

And little by little, you found yourself drawn in, caught in the web of his affection and his threats. You weren’t sure anymore if you loved him—or if you were just too scared to leave.

Changbin was your protector. Your everything.

And now you were his prisoner.

Hyunjin (현진)

Hyunjin was beautiful. Everyone knew that. His striking features, his flawless skin, his flawless grace—it was impossible not to admire him. But it wasn’t just his looks that made you fall. It was his presence. The way he made you feel important, as if no one else in the room mattered. His attention was magnetic. His praise made you glow.

But like all things too perfect, there was a hidden cost.

From the start, Hyunjin made it clear how much he adored you. The little compliments. The soft touches. He would always ask how your day went, his eyes gleaming with interest, his voice smooth like velvet. At first, you thought it was sweet, even charming. But the more you got to know him, the more you realized that his attention wasn’t just affection—it was possessiveness in disguise.

At first, it seemed harmless. He asked for your schedule, just wanting to “make sure we had time to hang out.” He’d memorize every little detail about your likes, dislikes, even your habits. If you mentioned something you needed to buy, he’d get it for you, the next day, without fail. But then, he started to control the details of your life, too.

“You’re not going to that party,” he said one night, his tone more final than you’d ever heard. “There are too many people. They’ll want to take you from me.”

You protested, but his grip on your wrist was firm, and his eyes—those eyes—looked at you with a cold certainty. He didn’t see a partner. He saw something that belonged to him. And if you didn’t understand that, he was more than willing to remind you.

Every time you interacted with someone else, whether it was a friend, a coworker, or even a stranger, Hyunjin made it clear just how much it hurt him. He’d give you the silent treatment for days, his eyes clouded with jealousy, until you apologized, acknowledged him, and begged him to forgive you.

The breaking point came when you tried to leave him for good.

You had gathered your things, ready to move out. You couldn’t take it anymore. The watching. The whispering. The quiet threats veiled as “concerns” for your well-being. Hyunjin wouldn’t let you leave, though.

He showed up at your door, his face unreadable. “You think you can leave me?” he asked, his voice eerily calm.

You turned to face him, heart pounding. “You’re crazy. This isn’t love. This is control. I can’t live like this.”

Hyunjin stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. His gaze was icy. “You don’t understand. I’m perfect for you. No one else will love you like I do. No one will appreciate you like I do.”

You backed away, but there was nowhere to go. Hyunjin’s hand reached out to stop you. “You can’t leave me. You don’t get to leave me. I’ve given you everything. And in return, you owe me your love. Your loyalty.”

His voice softened as he moved closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “I’ll do anything for you. I’ll keep you safe. But if you try to leave... I won’t let you.”

In that moment, you knew there was no escape. His love was all-consuming, a beautiful prison wrapped in the facade of perfection. He wanted you, and there was no room for anyone else.

Hyunjin smiled, and you felt the world close in. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not now. Not ever.

Han (한)

Han’s charm was impossible to ignore. His laughter was contagious, and his smile lit up every room. He was kind, soft-spoken, and had an uncanny ability to make you feel like the most important person in his world. It was the way he listened—really listened to you. The way he remembered the smallest details and wove them into casual conversations, making you feel like you were his everything.

At first, you were drawn to his warmth. Han wasn’t the type to push boundaries or demand your time; instead, he made you want to spend it with him. But there was something about him—something that felt too consuming, too deep, like he needed you more than you realized.

The first red flag appeared when he started to show up everywhere. At first, it was sweet. He’d “accidentally” run into you at a coffee shop you liked or at a park you often walked through. But then it became routine.

You would walk to work, and there he was, leaning against a lamppost, a smile playing on his lips. "Fancy meeting you here," he’d say, but his eyes always lingered just a little too long on you.

His texts were frequent, almost constant. At first, you thought it was cute—he was just excited to hear from you. But when your responses slowed down, he started to grow anxious. The messages turned from casual to desperate.

“Where are you? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Please text me back, I miss you.”

One night, when you were out with friends, Han showed up unannounced. His eyes, usually soft and inviting, were now dark, intense. He didn’t smile when he saw you. Instead, there was a coldness, a look that made your stomach drop.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out tonight?” Han’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, like he was trying to control the anger simmering beneath the surface.

Before you could respond, he pulled you aside, away from your friends, his grip tight on your wrist. “I don’t like it when you’re with other people. You belong with me, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could feel the weight of his words suffocating you.

You tried to shake him off, but his fingers were like chains, and his eyes… they were no longer the playful, kind eyes you remembered. They were filled with possessiveness, dark and heavy. “I’ve been so patient,” Han continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “but you don’t understand. I need you. More than anything. No one else can have you. You’re mine.”

The way he said it—it wasn’t a request, it wasn’t a plea. It was a declaration.

That night, you tried to leave. You couldn’t stand the way he controlled every part of your life, how he knew where you were at all times, how he would show up uninvited, his presence always hanging over you.

But Han wouldn’t let you go.

He found ways to manipulate your reality. The next day, you went to check your phone and found it full of missed calls and messages. There was no way he could have known where you were, what you’d done, but it felt as though he was always one step ahead. Every time you tried to step away, every time you tried to create space, he filled it.

Han’s obsession was like a song you couldn’t escape—repeating over and over in your mind, his words lingering in every thought. “You’re mine,” he would say with a smile, the same smile that once made you feel safe, now twisted with control.

He didn’t hurt you. No. He didn’t need to. His love was the hurt. His constant surveillance, his suffocating affection—it was all meant to keep you close. And as the days passed, you found yourself wondering if there was any escape from him. After all, Han had given you everything, hadn’t he?

He would never let you go.

And somehow, that made you feel both terrified and… trapped.

Felix (필릭스)

Felix had always been the bright, charming one. His voice, so sweet and sincere, made everything feel light and effortless. He was a breath of fresh air, and his affection for you felt so genuine that it was hard to believe anyone could be more loving or caring.

When you first met Felix, it was like a whirlwind of laughter and warmth. He showered you with attention, always wanting to be by your side, asking about your day, your dreams, your worries. He seemed perfect—too perfect.

But perfection always hides something darker.

As time passed, Felix’s affection started to feel overwhelming. He never wanted you to be far away, never wanted you to spend time with anyone but him. At first, you didn’t think much of it. He was just loving, right? He just wanted to be close to you.

But when you went out with friends, you could see the way his smile would falter when he saw you laughing with someone else. His eyes, once warm and inviting, would flash with something darker, something possessive. You chalked it up to jealousy, but when he confronted you about it, you realized just how much it controlled him.

“I don’t want anyone else near you,” Felix confessed one night, his voice trembling with a mix of passion and fear. “I can’t stand it. It’s like they’re taking you away from me.”

It was then you realized—Felix wasn’t just in love with you. He was obsessed with you.

The more you distanced yourself, the more he clung to you. He knew where you were at all times. You could never make plans without him knowing. If you tried to leave, he would show up, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please don’t go. You’re the only one I need. Don’t make me lose you.”

One day, when you were alone at home, you saw him standing outside your window, his face pressed against the glass, his eyes unblinking. His presence made your heart race with anxiety, but his face, filled with an eerie calmness, told you everything. Felix didn’t just want you in his life—he needed you. And if you weren’t with him, he would find a way to make sure you were.

The phone calls grew incessant, the messages more frantic. If you didn’t reply immediately, he would send more, until your screen was flooded with them.

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be this way… but I can’t help it. I need you. Please. I love you.”

And then the “accidents” started. Your car breaking down. A flat tire when you were on your way to meet someone. Every time you tried to do something without him, something went wrong. And Felix? He would show up, as if by coincidence, to “help.”

“You know I’ll always be there for you,” he’d say, brushing his hair out of his eyes as if nothing had happened.

But you knew. He was manipulating you, controlling you, ensuring that no matter where you went, no matter who you tried to talk to, you’d always come back to him.

Felix loved you. And that love? It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t gentle—it was suffocating. He would never let you go, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to anymore. His love had twisted into something darker, and now you were trapped in it.

Felix’s smile never wavered, his hands never let go. “I’m the only one who can love you like this,” he’d whisper, his voice low, and you realized... he was right.

Seungmin (승민)

Seungmin had always been the calm one. His voice, soft and melodic, was a contrast to the louder personalities around him. He was dependable, steady, and always there when you needed him, like the quiet rain that softly nurtures the earth without ever demanding attention. At first, it was his gentleness that drew you in—the way he would always ask how your day was, his concern never overbearing but deeply felt.

But beneath his calm demeanor, there was a growing hunger.

The first time Seungmin’s obsession showed itself was subtle. He started showing up at your favorite places. You’d mention in passing that you liked a certain café, and the next time you went there, Seungmin was already sitting at a table, waiting for you with a warm smile, as if he’d been there for hours. It felt sweet, at first—he was just thinking of you. But soon, the appearances became more frequent. You’d be walking home from work, and there he was, leaning against a lamppost, his gaze immediately seeking yours as soon as you turned the corner.

You tried to brush it off as coincidence, but it became clear that Seungmin was always there.

He’d know where you were, even when you hadn’t told him. "I was just thinking of you," he’d say, smiling with a slight edge to his voice. You didn’t know why, but there was something unsettling about how perfect his timing was. The way he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time.

One evening, when you tried to spend time with friends, you felt a sudden pang of unease when you noticed Seungmin in the distance, standing by the door, watching. His eyes were locked onto you, not with the warmth you were used to, but with something darker—a hint of desperation. You excused yourself to take a break, but when you stepped outside, Seungmin was already there, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed tightly.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were going out tonight?" he asked, his voice eerily calm, but the tightness around his mouth made it clear that he wasn’t asking out of concern—he was demanding an answer.

You tried to explain, but his expression didn’t soften. He wasn’t angry, but there was something unnerving in his stillness.

"You don’t need to see them. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve always had me, haven’t you?" He took a step toward you, the distance between you closing with each heartbeat. "I’ll always be here. They won’t care about you the way I do. You don’t need them. You only need me."

There was an unsettling finality in his words. A quiet, obsessive certainty.

After that, things began to escalate. Seungmin started showing up at your apartment uninvited, his face always masked with a smile, as if everything was fine. But his eyes—those eyes that used to be so warm—were now cold and calculating, always watching, always waiting for the right moment to slip in closer.

His love was suffocating. It wasn’t loving. It was possessive, controlling, and manipulative. He would check your phone when you weren’t around, “accidentally” showing up to events you hadn’t mentioned, and always made sure you couldn’t spend time with anyone else. You were his.

"Don’t you trust me?" Seungmin asked one night, sitting on your couch as you tried to keep your distance. His voice was soft, but his eyes, wide and unblinking, made it clear he wasn’t leaving until you gave him the answer he wanted. “I know what’s best for you. They don’t understand you like I do.”

When you tried to get away, he’d insist, his tone low and gentle, "I’m just trying to protect you. The world is too dangerous. You can��t trust anyone but me."

And the worst part? You believed him.

There was no escaping Seungmin. He wouldn’t let you leave, wouldn’t let you breathe without him hovering. His devotion became your prison, and now, you weren’t sure if you ever wanted to leave. You couldn’t. Not with him watching you like that.

I.N (아이엔)

Jeongin had always been sweet, almost childlike in his approach to life. His soft voice and bright eyes were a balm to anyone feeling the weight of the world. He was the one who laughed easily, who made the effort to check on everyone around him, and who always seemed to put others first. You’d seen him around, always with that warm smile and the promise of kindness.

But as you got closer, you began to notice something else beneath that sweetness. Something more dangerous.

At first, Jeongin’s interest in you was innocent—almost too innocent. He’d ask how you were doing, how your day had been, always wanting to be the one to cheer you up when you were down. He’d bring you your favorite snacks, surprise you with small gifts, and always make sure you knew he was thinking of you.

But it wasn’t just kindness anymore. It was dependence.

One evening, you mentioned wanting to take a weekend trip, to get away from everything for a bit. The moment the words left your lips, you saw Jeongin’s face fall, his eyes dimming for the first time. It was a subtle shift, but it was there. He tried to hide it with a smile, but you could see the hurt in his eyes, the way his fingers gripped his phone a little too tightly as he nodded.

“Maybe I could go with you?” he asked, voice soft, almost pleading.

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. It seemed innocent enough, but the more you tried to back out of the idea, the more persistent he became. It was the first time you saw him truly need something.

The next day, you tried to cancel the trip. But when you opened your door, Jeongin was standing there, looking at you with those wide, innocent eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be too forward,” he said softly, his hands twisting nervously. “But I… I just don’t want to be apart from you. I can’t be.”

His voice was a whisper, but it carried an unspoken weight.

“I just want to be with you. Please. We can have fun together. It’ll be just you and me.”

You knew something was wrong when you saw the obsessive look in his eyes. The way he was clinging to you, how he never wanted to let go, how every word he said felt more like a demand than a request. But you couldn’t find the strength to push him away.

He began to manipulate you in small ways. If you tried to hang out with someone else, you’d find yourself receiving messages from Jeongin, sometimes hourly, always filled with things like:

“I miss you.” “Are you with someone else?” “I was thinking of you. I hope you’re not too busy for me.”

It became impossible to escape. Jeongin’s presence was always there, a constant. He was in your thoughts, in your texts, in every part of your day. And the more you tried to distance yourself, the more he would show up, acting innocent, acting like the boy who just wanted to be with you.

“Don’t you love me?” he asked one night, his voice cracking as he stood in front of you, his eyes wide with pleading desperation. "I can’t live without you."

He wasn’t asking for your love. He was demanding it. Needing it.

The world around you faded as Jeongin slowly, gently, began to consume you. His obsession was wrapped in the guise of affection, wrapped in smiles and kindness—but it was clear now. His love wasn’t a gift. It was a trap.

He wouldn’t let you go. He couldn’t.

And you realized with a sinking heart that you didn’t know if you ever wanted to escape, either.

[dreaming-of-tae]

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