Backlash
Le Sserafim’s Huh Yunjin x Male Reader
5k words
You hit send on the last tweet and lean back, grinning at your phone screen.
"y'all really thought yunjin's high notes were good?? lmao the girl sounds like a dying cat. she should stick to looking pretty (barely) and let the real singers handle it"
The replies are already rolling in. Death threats, mostly. A few promises to plant a bomb in your mail. One person saying they're going to cut your brake lines.
The usual.
You scroll through them with satisfaction, occasionally quote-tweeting the most unhinged ones with a skull emoji or a simple "mad cause I'm right huh?"
It's been a good night. You've been at this for hours—Le Sserafim's performance at the awards show was a goldmine. Yunjin's voice cracked during the bridge, Sakura tripped while dancing, and Chaewon sneezed mid-note leading to a beautiful freeze frame. You've picked apart every second of it across multiple threads, each one racking up thousands of interactions.
Your follower count has jumped by three hundred. Your notifications are a never-ending stream of fury.
God, this is so easy.
You screenshot a particularly violent death threat—someone promising to find your address and "gut you like a fish"—and post it with the caption: "damn, lesserafim stans can't take some criticism nowadays"
You finally set your phone down around 2AM, still filled with the joy that comes from successfully pissing off thousands of people with no repercussions. Your mentions are a dumpster fire. Your DMs are full of threats.
You sleep like a baby.
~~~
You wake up to nothing.
No sound, no obvious reason. Just that animal-brain instinct that something is off.
Your room is dark. The only light comes from your phone charging on the nightstand, a faint glow that barely illuminates anything. You blink, disoriented, trying to figure out what woke you—
There's someone in your doorway.
Your heart drops into your stomach.
A figure, standing completely still. Just stanced up in the darkness like something out of a horror movie, silhouetted against the dim hallway light. Tall, slender, and unmoving.
You make a sound. Not words, just a confused grunt, and you're starting to sit up when the figure moves.
Fast.
She launches herself at you, (you barely have time to register it's a she), before the weight hits you, knocking you back down into the mattress. Hands grab your shirt, yank you upward, and then there's a fist connecting with your face.
Pain explodes across your cheek. Your head snaps to the side.
"You piece of shit—"
Another hit. This one catches your jaw and you taste copper, feel your teeth cut into the inside of your mouth. You're still trying to process what the fuck is happening when she hits you again, and this time survival instinct kicks in.
You shove. Hard. Catch her off-balance and she stumbles back off the bed, and in the split second of space you scramble up, hands raised.
The hallway light is just bright enough now that you can see her face.
Holy shit.
"Yunjin??"
"Yeah." She steadies herself, and even in the darkness you can feel the fury radiating off her. "Surprise, asshole."
This isn't real. This can't be real. You're still asleep, having some fucked up nightmare brought on by all those death threats—
She comes at you again and you dodge, barely, feeling her fist whistle past your ear. Your back hits the wall. She's fast, faster than you expected, and she's aiming for your face again but you duck and her knuckles crack against the wall behind you.
She swears—in English, then Korean—and you use the opening to shove past her, trying to get to the door, but she grabs the back of your shirt and yanks. You go down hard, knees hitting the floor, and then she's on top of you, trying to pin you down.
"You fucking—stay still—"
"Get off me you stupid—" You twist, manage to throw her off-balance enough to roll, and suddenly you're the one on top, straddling her, and you grab her wrists to stop her from hitting you again.
She bucks. Hard. Almost throws you off, and you have to use your weight to keep her pinned. But she's strong, core tight from years of dancing, and she's gets a leg up between you and kicks.
You go flying backward, hit your dresser, and the impact knocks the air out of your lungs.
Can’t breathe. Can’t think. Just scramble to your feet as she gets up too, and you’re both standing there in your bedroom, breathing hard, and this is insane. This is fucking insane.
“How did you—”
“Shut up.” She spits blood—you must have gotten her mouth at some point—and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. “You’ve been running your mouth all night. Thought you were safe, huh? Thought you could just say whatever the fuck you wanted?”
“It’s just—it’s just Twitter—”
“Just Twitter?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’ve been doing this for months. Every performance, every interview, every goddamn thing we do, you’re there talking shit. Making up lies. Calling me—”
She comes at you again and this time you’re ready. You catch her arm, use her momentum to swing her around, and she slams into the wall. Not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to stun her for a second.
You should run. You should be running right now, getting the hell out of your apartment, calling the cops—
But you don’t.
“You can’t just break into someone’s house—”
“Watch me.” She pushes off the wall, grabs you by the collar, and this time when she punches you, you feel something in your nose crack.
Blood. Immediate and hot, pouring down your face, and the pain is blinding. You swing wildly, more instinct than aim, and connect with something soft. She makes a sound—hurt or surprised, you can’t tell—and her grip loosens.
You shove her. She stumbles backward, trips over something on your floor, and goes down. You’re on her immediately, pinning her shoulders, and for a second you think you’ve won—
Then she gets her legs up, wraps them around your waist, and flips you.
You land hard on your back, all the air driven out of your lungs again, and then she’s straddling you. Sitting on your stomach, weight pressing down, and when you try to buck her off she leans forward, plants her hands on your chest, and puts all her weight on you.
Can’t move. Can’t breathe properly with her pressing down on your ribs.
“Fucking stay—” She’s breathing hard, hair falling out of its ponytail, and there’s blood on her mouth. Her lip is split. There’s a bruise forming on her cheek where you must have caught her. “Stay down.”
You try to buck again. Can’t. She’s got you pinned completely, thighs tight around your sides, and every time you try to move she just presses down harder.
Both of you are fucked up. Your nose is definitely broken, blood still pouring down your face, and your cheek is swelling where she hit you first. Your ribs ache. Your jaw throbs. There’s blood in your mouth, on your shirt, dripping onto the floor.
She’s not much better. Split lip still bleeding, bruise darkening on her face, and when she shifts her weight you see her wince. You must have gotten her ribs or stomach at some point.
For a long moment you just stare at each other, both trying to catch your breath, and the adrenaline is starting to fade enough that reality is setting in.
Huh Yunjin. From Le Sserafim. Is sitting on top of you. In your bedroom. At three in the morning.
After beating the shit out of you.
“Worth it?” she asks, and her voice is rough. “Was it worth it? All that shit you said?”
You should apologize. Should beg her not to call the cops, not to press charges, should do literally anything except what you actually do.
“I mean,” you say, and you can hear how nasal your voice sounds with your broken nose, “I wasn’t wrong about the high notes.”
Her eyes widen. Then narrow.
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Just saying. The criticism was valid—”
She punches you again. Not hard—she’s tired, you can tell—but enough that your head snaps to the side and fresh pain blooms across your already-fucked face.
“You never learn, do you?” She’s leaning over you now, face close to yours, and you can smell her—sweat and perfume and copper from the blood. “You just can’t shut the fuck up.”
“It’s a personality flaw,” you mutter.
She shifts her weight, adjusting her position, pressing down harder to make sure you stay pinned, and—
Oh.
Oh no.
Your body has apparently decided that this—getting beaten up by a K-pop idol who broke into your apartment—is somehow sexual. Because you’re getting hard. Right now. With her sitting directly on your lap.
Please no. Not now. Not—
She freezes.
Felt it. She definitely felt it.
Her eyes widen, then drop down to where she’s sitting on you. Back up to your face.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“It’s not—” You start, but you’ve got nothing. No excuse. Your body has betrayed you in the most mortifying way possible.
She stares at you for a long moment. Then she shifts her hips deliberately, grinding down once, and the pressure makes you gasp despite yourself.
“Oh my god.” A laugh escapes her, disbelief mixing with something else. “You’re actually hard right now. I just beat the shit out of you and you’re—”
“It’s not on purpose—”
“Doesn’t matter.” She grinds down again, watching your face, and you can’t help the way your hips twitch up involuntarily. “This is what gets you off? Getting your ass kicked?”
“No, I—fuck—” You try to buck her off but it just creates more friction and you both feel it. “It’s just adrenaline or—”
“Adrenaline.” She’s smirking now, despite the split lip, despite the blood. “Sure. That’s why you’re getting harder.”
She's not wrong. You are. And she’s still sitting right on it, can feel every time it twitches, and the humiliation is somehow making it worse.
“So here’s what’s going to happen.” She leans back, hands still planted on your chest, and the shift in angle presses her directly against you. “You’ve been running your mouth for months. Talking shit, acting tough behind a screen.”
“That’s not—”
“Shut up.” She presses down harder and your breath catches. “You’re going to shut the fuck up for once and let me talk.”
You close your mouth.
“Good boy.” The words are mocking, but there’s an edge to them now. “You wanted my attention so bad? You’ve got it. But I’m in charge now.”
Your heart is pounding. You can’t tell if it’s fear or something else.
“Here’s the deal.” She shifts her weight again, a slow roll of her hips that has you biting back a sound. “I came here to beat some sense into you. Clearly that didn’t work, since you still can’t shut up.”
“I mean, the high notes really were—”
She puts her hand over your mouth. Presses down.
“Stop. Talking.” Her other hand slides down your chest, over your stomach, and stops at the waistband of your sweatpants. “Since violence didn’t teach you a lesson, let’s try something else.”
Your eyes widen.
“What, scared now?” She’s not smiling, but there’s something sharp in her expression. “You talk so much shit online. Let’s see if you can back it up in person.”
She takes her hand off your mouth.
“This is insane, you broke into my fucking ho—"
“And you spent months harassing me online.” Her fingers slip under your waistband. Not moving yet, just resting there. “So we’re both doing insane shit tonight. Difference is, I’m the one on top.”
You should be protesting. Should be pushing her off, getting away, anything but lying here while she—
Her hand wraps around your cock.
“Fuck—” The word escapes before you can stop it.
“See? You can say something other than criticism.” She strokes once, slow, and your hips jerk up despite yourself. “Hard as fuck too. This really does it for you, huh?”
“It’s not—” But you can’t finish the sentence because she’s stroking you properly now, hand moving in steady pumps, and it’s been so long since anyone else’s hand—
“Not what?” She tilts her head, watching your face with that same intense focus she had while hitting you. “Not turning you on? Because your cock is saying different.”
You bite your lip, trying not to react, but she sees it. Sees the way your breath is coming faster, the way you can’t quite control your hips, and she laughs.
“This is perfect.” She lets go—you actually make a disappointed sound—and sits up properly. “You know what? I came here pissed. Wanted to make you hurt.”
She reaches down, grabs the hem of her shirt.
“But this?” She pulls it over her head, tosses it aside. Black sports bra underneath, and even bruised and bloody she’s—fuck. “This is better.”
You’re staring. Can’t help it. Her abs are visible even in the dim light, definition from years of training, and there’s a bruise forming on her ribs where you must have gotten her. Somehow that makes it hotter, proof of the fight, proof this is real, not just some weird wet-dream—
“Eyes up here.” She snaps her fingers. You meet her gaze. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to fuck you. You’re going to take it. And maybe—maybe—if you’re good, if you shut the fuck up for once, I’ll let you cum.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can.” She reaches for your sweatpants, starts pulling them down. You lift your hips automatically and she notices, smirks. “See? You want this.”
She’s not wrong.
Your cock springs free when she gets your pants down to your thighs, and the way she looks at it—assessing, considering—makes you throb.
“Not bad,” she says, like she’s commenting on the weather. Then her hand is back on you, stroking firm and steady, and you can’t stop the groan that escapes.
“That’s better.” She shifts forward, still straddling you but positioned differently now, and uses her free hand to push up her own shorts. No panties underneath. You catch a glimpse—she’s already wet.
“Like what you see?” She’s watching you watch her, and when she runs a finger through her folds, coating it in wetness, you actually whimper. “Yeah. You do.”
She brings that finger to your mouth.
“Open.”
You do. She slides her finger between your lips and the taste hits your tongue—salt and something sweet and undeniably her. You close your lips around it automatically, sucking, and her eyes darken a little.
“Fuck,” she mutters. “Okay. Okay, here’s—”
She pulls her finger out, positions herself properly over you, and—
“Wait—” You manage to get out. “Are we really—”
“Damn fucking right we are.” She’s already lining you up, tip pressed right against her entrance. “I’m not stopping now.”
“This is a stupid—”
“So is harassing someone online until they break into your house.” She sinks down.
Just the tip at first. The heat of her is overwhelming, tight and wet and perfect, and you both make sounds—her a sharp inhale, you something closer to a whine.
“Fuck, you’re—” She adjusts her angle, sinks down another inch. “—bigger than you look.”
“Is that a compliment or—”
She drops all the way down.
The sensation of being completely inside her hits you both. She gasps, head falling back, and you can’t breathe, can’t think, can only feel how tight she is, how wet, how she’s clenching around you like her body is trying to pull you deeper even though there’s nowhere left to go.
“Oh fuck,” she breathes. “Okay. Okay, this is—”
She lifts her hips. Drops back down. Finds a rhythm.
You’re inside Yunjin.
That thought keeps trying to surface through the haze of sensation, but she doesn’t give you time to process it. She starts riding you immediately, no warm-up, just lifts her hips and drops back down in a rhythm that’s confident and deliberate.
“Fuck—” You grab her hips instinctively and she slaps your hands away.
“No touching.” She pins your wrists above your head with one hand. Stronger than she looks, and you’re still weak from the fight. “You don’t get to touch until you earn it.”
“That’s not—ah—” She clenches around you mid-sentence and your words dissolve into a groan.
“What was that?” She’s smirking, bouncing on your cock with steady rolls of her hips. “Couldn’t hear you over all that moaning.”
“I wasn’t—” But she does it again, drops down hard and grinds, and yeah, you’re definitely moaning.
“That’s what I thought.” She releases your wrists but the warning is clear. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
You grip the sheets instead, knuckles white, because watching her ride you is going to make you cum embarrassingly fast. Her tits bouncing in that sports bra with each drop, abs flexing as she moves, the way her face is flushed despite the cool confidence in her voice—
“Still think my performances are shit?” She punctuates the question with a hard drop that has your cock hitting deep. “Still think I can’t deliver?”
“That’s—that’s not the same—”
“Not what?” Another bounce. The wet sound of her pussy taking your cock fills the room. “Not the same as singing? You’re right. This is better.”
She’s soaking wet. You can feel it dripping down your balls, coating your thighs, and the slick sounds are obscene. Each time she drops down there’s a squelch that should be embarrassing but just makes you harder.
“God, you’re so wet,” you manage.
“Yeah, and?” She doesn’t slow down. “Beating your ass got me worked up. This is just—fuck—convenient.”
“Convenient,” you repeat, and even now you can’t help yourself. “Sure. That’s why you’re riding me like you’re trying to break my—”
She slams down hard enough that your back arches off the floor.
“Like what?” Her voice is dangerous. “Finish that sentence.”
You don’t. Can’t. She’s clenching around you rhythmically now, and combined with the riding it’s too much.
“That’s what I thought.” She leans forward, hands on your chest, and the angle change makes you hit even deeper. “You’re all talk. Can’t back it up.”
That pisses you off more than it should.
“I’m not the one who—” You grab her hips despite the warning, pull her down as you thrust up, and she gasps. “—who broke into someone’s house because of mean tweets.”
“You—” She tries to slap your hands away but you hold on, matching her rhythm with your own thrusts. “Let go—”
“Make me.”
Wrong thing to say. She immediately adjusts, plants her feet flat on the floor, and starts really riding you—hard, fast drops that have your cock slamming into her, and you can’t hold on. Can’t do anything but grip her hips and take it.
“Fuck—oh fuck—” Your voice breaks.
“Yeah, not so talkative now, are you?” But her voice is breathy too. She’s getting close, you can feel it in how she’s tightening, how her rhythm is getting erratic. “Gonna cum already? That fast?”
“No—” Lie. You’re absolutely about to cum. Your balls are tight, pressure building at the base of your spine, and every time she drops down on you it gets worse.
“You are.” She grinds down, circles her hips, and you can feel every inch of her wrapped around you. “I can feel it. Your cock is throbbing.”
“So is your pussy,” you shoot back, and her eyes flash.
“Shut—ah—shut up—”
“That the best you got?” You don’t know why you’re still talking. Some self-destructive part of your brain that won’t let you just take it. “Thought idols had stamina. You’re already—fuck—”
She cuts you off by riding you harder. Faster. Her thighs are shaking with the effort but she doesn’t stop, just keeps bouncing on your cock with wet slaps that echo in the room.
“Still talking?” She’s panting now, sweat dripping down her neck, her stomach. “Let’s see—see if you can talk with your mouth full.”
She leans down and kisses you.
It’s not romantic. Still tastes like copper from both your split lips, mixing with spit, and it’s more teeth than anything else. But it shuts you up effectively, and she takes advantage—speeds up even more, chasing her own orgasm while kissing you hard enough to bruise.
You’re not going to last. Can’t last. The pressure is too much, building and building, and your thighs are tensing, hips trying to thrust up but she’s got you pinned with her weight.
“Don’t you dare,” she mutters against your mouth, like she can feel how close you are. “Don’t you fucking—”
Too late.
Your orgasm hits and it’s overwhelming, starts at the base of your spine and explodes outward. Your cock pulses inside her, once, twice, pumping cum deep into her tight pussy, and you’re groaning into her mouth, hands gripping her hips so hard you’re definitely leaving bruises.
She doesn’t stop moving. Keeps riding you through it, rolling her hips to milk every pulse, every spurt, and you can feel it—feel yourself emptying into her, so much cum that it’s already leaking out around your cock, dripping down your balls.
“There it is,” she mutters, breaking the kiss. “Fucking finally.”
But she’s still going. Still bouncing on your cock even as it starts to soften, oversensitive and almost painful, because she hasn’t finished yet. Her hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding her clit, and she rubs quick circles while your cum squelches out with each movement.
“Wait—too much—” You’re squirming now, the overstimulation making your nerves scream, but she doesn’t stop.
“Deal with it.” She sits up properly, really working her clit now. “Not done yet—fuck—almost—”
You grab her thighs—fuck the rules at this point—and help, pulling her down each time even though it hurts, and the wet sounds are even louder now. Your cum mixed with her wetness, coating everything, making a mess on your stomach, the floor.
“Fuck, look at you,” you manage, voice wrecked. “Taking my cum and still—still—”
“Shut up, I’m close—” Her fingers move faster, more desperate. “Shut up, shut up—”
She cums with her head thrown back, a sharp gasp that turns into a moan, and her pussy clamps down so tight on your sensitive cock that you actually whimper. You feel her pulsing, clenching rhythmically, and more wetness floods out—hers mixing with yours, running down your thighs in warm rivulets.
Her whole body shudders through it. Thighs trembling on either side of you, abs clenching, and she’s making these small desperate sounds that she probably doesn’t realize she’s making.
When she finally stops moving, you’re both gasping for air. Again.
---
She collapses forward onto your chest, and you can feel your cum leaking out of her, dripping down onto your stomach in warm streaks. Neither of you move for a long moment, just breathing hard, and you can see everything from this angle—her pussy still stretched around your softening cock, the creamy white mess where you're connected, how her thighs are shaking.
"You came so much," she mutters, and you can hear the disbelief in her voice.
"Yeah, well—" You shift slightly and more leaks out. "Your fault."
She lifts her head to glare at you, and even fucked out and messy she's gorgeous. Sweaty hair stuck to her forehead, lips swollen from kissing, that bruise on her cheek somehow making her hotter.
"My fault? You're the one who—"
"Who got broken into and assaulted?" You can't help yourself. "Yeah. Terrible person, that's me."
Her eyes narrow. "You're still talking shit."
"It's what I do."
She tries to slap you. You catch her wrist, and suddenly you're wrestling again—weaker this time, exhausted and slippery with sweat and cum, but she's trying to pin you and you're not letting her.
You get a leg up, use the leverage to flip her.
She yelps as her back hits the floor, and then you're on top of her, pinning her wrists, and the position change makes your cock slip out completely. More cum spills out of her pussy, thick and white against her thighs, and you can't stop staring at it.
"My turn," you say.
"You can't even—you already came—"
She's right. You're soft, spent, but watching her underneath you like this—hair spread out on the floor, tits heaving as she catches her breath, your cum literally leaking out of her pussy—your body is apparently capable of rallying faster than expected.
"Give me a minute," you mutter, and you lean down to kiss her neck, her collarbone, working your way down.
"What are you—"
You kiss her tits through the sports bra, then lower, down her stomach. She's so sweaty you can taste salt on her skin, and there are bruises forming where you grabbed her earlier.
When you reach her thighs, you can see the mess up close. Your cum dripping out of her swollen pussy, coating her inner thighs, and without thinking you lean in and lick a stripe up her thigh, tasting yourself mixed with her.
"Oh my god—" Her hips jerk. "What the fuck—"
"Cleaning up my mess," you say, and do it again on the other thigh.
"That's—you're—" She can't seem to finish a sentence, just watches as you lick your own cum off her skin, and her pussy clenches, pushing out more.
By the time you've cleaned her thighs, you're half-hard again. And she notices.
"Seriously?" She props herself up on her elbows to look at you. "Already?"
"Told you to give me a minute." You grab her hips, flip her over onto her stomach. "Hands and knees."
"Bossy now?" But she gets up, positions herself on all fours, and the view—fuck. Her ass in the air, pussy swollen and used and still leaking your cum, and when she looks back at you over her shoulder there's a challenge in her eyes.
"You gonna just stare or—"
You line yourself up and push back in.
She's so wet from the cum and her own arousal that you slide in easily despite being only half-hard, and the sight of your cock disappearing into her used pussy makes you throb. You can see everything from this angle—how stretched she is, the white ring of cum forming at the base as you bottom out, the way her ass looks pressed against your hips.
"Fuck—" She drops her head down, elbows on the floor. "So full—still so full of your cum—"
"Yeah?" You pull out slowly, watching your cock emerge coated in white, then push back in. "You like that? Like being full of my cum?"
"Shut up—" But her pussy clenches around you.
You start moving properly, finding a rhythm, and it's messy. Each thrust makes wet squelching sounds, cum being pushed deeper or forced out to drip down her thighs, and your hands are gripping her ass, fingers digging into the muscle.
"This what you wanted?" You're breathing hard, exhausted but can't stop. "Wanted to put me in my place?"
"You're still—ah—still talking—"
"Yeah, and you're still taking my cock." You slap her ass—not hard, you're both too tired for that—but enough to make it jiggle, to leave a red print. "So who really won here?"
She laughs, breathless and surprised. "You're unbelievable."
"You broke into my house."
"You harassed me for months."
"You're riding my dick anyway."
"Fuck you."
"You are," you point out, and thrust harder to emphasize it.
She moans, loud and unrestrained now, and you can see her face turned to the side, eyes closed, mouth open. She's close again—you can feel it in how she's tightening, how her back is arching to take you deeper.
"Touch yourself," you tell her. "Make yourself cum on my cock."
She does, hand sliding between her legs to rub her clit, and the added pressure makes her pussy clench even tighter around you.
"Fuck—fuck, I'm gonna—"
"Do it." You're close too, somehow, despite having just came. "Cum for me."
She does. Her whole body goes rigid, a sharp cry escaping her, and you feel her pussy spasm around your cock, trying to milk you even though there's probably nothing left. You keep thrusting through it, drawing it out, watching her fall apart.
You don't cum again—can't, you're completely spent—but you keep going until she's pushing back at you weakly, oversensitive.
When you pull out, the sight is obscene. Her pussy is gaping slightly, cum pouring out in thick streams, coating everything, and her legs are shaking so bad she collapses flat on the floor.
You collapse next to her. Neither of you move for a long moment.
"Okay," she says finally, voice hoarse. "Okay, that was—"
"Yeah."
She sits up slowly, wincing, and you watch as she tries to find her clothes. Her shorts are soaked through with cum and sweat, but she pulls them on anyway, then her shirt.
"I'm gonna feel this for days," she mutters.
"Good."
She looks at you, and despite everything—the fight, the mess, the insanity of it all—she's almost smiling.
"If you keep tweeting," she says, heading for the door, "I'm coming back."
"Promise?"
She doesn't answer. Just leaves, and you hear your front door close.
You lie there on your bedroom floor, covered in sweat and cum and completely destroyed, and grab your phone.
847 notifications.
You open Twitter, look at your drafts, and close the app.
Maybe you'll give it a rest for tonight.
Then again… you are free tomorrow.
~~~
Uhhh… long time no see! Sorry for going M.I.A on y’all I had another project to work on plus… well… life I guess. I hope y’all liked this one, thank you to @starconstruction for the original idea <3
