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Yandere!S.Coups (SVT) | Puzzles
fluff/angst | 0.9k | gn!reader
cw: yandere themes, mentions of kidnapping and possessive behavior
A/N: @k-halloween-week's second day - yanderes!
❧ halloweek masterlist
Seungcheol is losing his mind. Plain and simple.
He messed up. He knows he shouldn’t have punched the wall but… Mistakes happen. Jealousy is a bitch. And you’re looking at him like he’s done it to punish you for something that you’re trying to figure out.
He’s watching you from across the room, fully aware that his face doesn’t help anything and that it must look to you like he’s planning new torturing methods developed just for you or like he’s already choosing a spot where to bury your dead body. It’s not true. Not at all. And through all his anxiety, through his fear, guilt gnaws at him. You’re watching him too, trembling and ready to flinch at the smallest movement. You’re hiding under the table, uninterested in the puzzle he laid out to put together with you.
He’d be willing to compromise - let you get started on your own, do the boring sorting of the pieces, getting started on the borders. He understands how scary this is for you. Seungcheol hopes that by not being a complete stranger, the process would be easier. That you’d understand this is how he shows his love. But you give him nothing. Nothing. You huddle under that damn table and watch him with pure terror in your eyes.
With your last boyfriend, it took four months before you started building a puzzle together on one of your dates at your place.
You’ve been here for six months.
He really tries not to get overtaken by the green eyed monster. Seungcheol knows that would be dangerous to you - and to him, in its own way. The progress you’ve made together was barely there; he doesn’t dare call it insignificant, however, because every little step forward meant the world to him. And while he is understanding… Really? Not even the damn puzzle?
Do you not see that he’s trying?
He takes a slow, deep breath. He tries to make no sound, he doesn’t want to scare you further. Then he gets up, just as slowly, approaching you cautiously like you’re nothing but a scared animal. He sits down on the ground and pushes himself forward like that, hoping that it will seem less threatening than if he was looming over you. You back up against the wall, knees against your chest. Wary, curled tight as possible, expecting aggression.
Seungcheol isn’t perfect. He’s definitely snapped a couple of times. He’s done things he’s not proud of - this whole arrangement above all - but he’d like to believe he’s made up for them. He’s protecting you, that’s the thought behind all that he does. His temper sometimes gets the best of him, that’s all. He would never hurt you in an irreparable way or on a whim. Sometimes it seems like you understand that. So why are you hesitating now, when it was supposed to be such a nice evening.
He wants to treat you well. He loves you. Or he wouldn’t do this. You must understand. Yet it seems, even after all those unanswered why, why, whys you haven’t figured it out.
“Come here,” he speaks to you gently. Always. Unless you anger him. He offers you his hand. You eye him with caution. What choice do you have, however, you can only listen. And perhaps to improve your chances of getting off easy, you do take his hand. He smiles, tries to encourage you to drop the suspicion you hold. Not forever, though that would be nice, only for tonight would be enough.
“Why?” you whisper weakly.
“I just want us to spend some quality time together,” he reassures you, trying to be patient. Trying not to so much as grit his teeth at the uncertain look in your eyes and the way your body tenses up when his thumb strokes the back of your hand.
“Puzzle?” you ask, voice so quiet and fragile. Seungcheol just wants to pull you into his arms and hold you until you understand he’s only trying to keep you safe. You’re uninterested in books, movies, anything that he provides in terms of entertainment you seem to ignore. That’s not healthy.
“Puzzle,” he confirms with the smile that makes his dimples pop. He was told it makes him look cute. Maybe it’ll charm you - only it doesn’t. Obviously. It doesn’t seem to scare you either, though.
You sniffle, looking at the mess of the pieces on the mat on the floor. Looking at him as if you’re asking for permission, you pick one of them up. He feels a tiny hint of pride. You’re doing something with him. You’re doing something. Other than wallowing or crying.
The puzzle piece doesn’t reveal anything - a mess of blue hues. You haven’t seen the box, so you can’t tell where this piece is supposed to go at all. You set it aside. You hate how familiar the action feels. This scene is so absurd you want to throw a fit but you’re too tired. Too numb. Yet your mind wonders what picture the finished product will reveal.
Seungcheol doesn’t give you any clues but hurries to find another blue piece to add to yours. He already knows it’s a pretty picture of the street where he first saw you. You’ll realize once you see it, he thinks. He hopes by then you’ll be slightly more receptive to his affection. He doesn’t hold his breath, though.
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pairing: student! fem reader x student! jeon jungkook
summary: when you finally get your crush’s number, you expect the start of an epic love story— not a random guy making fun of you because he thinks the guy you’ve been obsessed with for the last six months gave you a fake number. Jeon Jungkook, the one who replies, finds it entertaining and helps you chase the guy… at least until he finds out that the person he’s been helping date another guy is you, the girl he’s been obsessed with for the last two years.
genre/warning: this is a smau fic!! with narration included in some chapter but it’s mostly messages/tweets. very unfunny jokes. this is mostly crack/fluff.
authors note: probably my weakest chapter guy im sorry 😔🙏🏼 my laptops screen broke so it’s pretty hard trying to edit from there. i’ll send u guys my bank acc if u wanna help me get it fixed!!<33
words count: +1k words.
chapter index | previous — next.
— chapter three: pervert freak of a man
That day the class felt like it ended way all late afternoon, slowly, reluctantly, like no one quite wanted to be the first to admit it was finally over. Chairs scraped against the floor in uneven rhythms, bags zipped and unzipped, voices rose in small clusters as people stretched, complained, laughed. The professor was still talking— something about next week’s assignment, something no one was really listening to anymore— but the room had already begun to dissolve into movement.
You didn’t move.
You stayed in your seat longer than necessary, your notebook still open in front of you, pen resting against the margin where you had stopped writing ten minutes ago. You could feel it, that nervous, buzzing pressure under your skin, like your body knew before your brain did what you were about to do.
Today, today, today…
You had said it enough times that it had lost meaning, turned into something almost sarcastic. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. But now there was no tomorrow left to hide behind. He was right there. Two rows ahead, slightly to the left. Packing his bag calmly, like he always did. Like a normal person, like someone whose life wasn’t about to change because of a single conversation.
You felt like such a loser it was almost too painful.
Oh, you were so that pervert freak you had as an online friend.
Just stand up.
That was step one. Nothing dramatic, no romantic speeches yet. You didn’t need to overthinking that much.
Just stand up.
You did.
Your chair made a louder noise than you intended, a sharp scrape that made your wince internally. No one really looked, but it felt like everyone did. You slipped your notebook into your bag too quickly, almost dropping it, then zipped it halfway, then all the way, then reopened it just to check something you hadn’t actually forgotten.
Stop.
People were already leaving. If you waited any longer, he’d be gone.
Chan slung his bag over his shoulder and turned slightly, saying something to the guy next to him— one of his friends, smiling, easy, relaxed. Your chest tightened.
Now.
You stepped forward.
It felt ridiculous how normal the distance was. Three steps. That was it. Three steps between doing nothing and doing something.
“Hey,” your voice came out steadier than you expected.
Chan turned. There was a split second, barely anything, but you felt it anyway. That flicker of recognition, the soft shift in his expression before it settled into something warmer.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Hi.”
And just like that, you didn’t die. The world didn’t end. He didn’t look confused or distant or like he had no idea who you were or the way your imagination had give you ideas of how he was probably going to spit on you and call you a stupid girl.
Great. Nice standard you had.
He looked like… Chan. The same as always. Nice. Easy. Normal, hot, cute, smart… Focus.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Hi.”
There was a small pause, not awkward exactly, but open. Waiting. You forced yourself to keep going before you could overthink it.
“So, um— this is kind of random,” you started, a quick, almost self-conscious smile, “but I think I saved your number wrong.”
Chan blinked. “My number?”
“Yeah,” you said, nodding quickly, like saying it faster would make it less embarrassing. “From the fundraiser. I texted you and… it was the wrong person. So I was like— either I imagined that entire conversation or I typed something wrong.”
For a second, he just looked at you. Then his expression shifted to surprise, then realization, and then a soft laugh.
“Oh shit— wait.” He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “I might’ve given you the wrong one.”
You paused. “You did?”
“Yeah— yeah, actually.” He let out another small laugh, a little apologetic this time. “I changed my number like… literally two weeks ago. Me and my friend both did because we got our phones stolen in a party. I think I mixed them up because we just have one different number.” He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe it himself. “That’s on me, sorry.”
You stared at him for half a second, processing.
So he hadn’t ignored you. He hadn’t given you a fake number. He hadn’t…
“Oh,” you said, and then you laughed too, softer, lighter. “Okay. That makes me feel a lot better.”
“Yeah?” he smiled. “You thought I just ghosted you immediately?”
“I mean—” you shrugged, trying to play it off, “it wouldn’t have been my best moment.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “No, yeah, that would’ve been kind of rude.”
“Just a little.”
There was another small pause, but this one felt different, asier and more comfortable, like something had settled into place.
Chan adjusted the strap of his bag, then nodded toward you. “You know what? I think it’s better if ai saved your number.”
You blinked. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
He was asking for your number. Your number.
Holy shit.
He pulled out his phone and handed it to you. You typed a little too fast, your fingers suddenly clumsy again, and held it up. Chan stepped a bit closer, not too close, but enough that you could see the details you always noticed from a distance. The way his hair fell slightly into his eyes, the faint crease at the corner when he smiled.
“There you go,” you said, handing him the phone gently to his hand. “My number.”
You watched as he typed your name, your heart beating louder again for no reason you could explain. It was such a small thing. Stupid, even. But it felt… important.
He put his phone back to his pocket. “Saved.”.
“Thanks,” you said, weirdly. You didn’t what you were thanking him for but the word had jut left your lips like something you needed to say.
“No, thank you for actually saying something,” he replied, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Otherwise I would’ve just been waiting.”
You looked a little confused. “Waiting?”
“For your text,” he said simply, like it was obvious. Then, with a quick shrug, “But I guess now I don’t have to, so that’s good.”
It was said lightly, very casual, but it landed somewhere deeper than that.
You felt it hit your chest before you could stop it. “Oh,” you said, softer this time.
Chan tilted his head slightly, like he was studying your reaction, but not in a way that felt uncomfortable. Just… attentive.
“Yeah,” he added, almost teasing, “I was starting to think you changed your mind.”
“I didn’t,” you said immediately, a little too fast, then caught yourself. “I mean—I just, yeah, you know... The number thing.”
“Right,” he nodded, amused. “Blame the number.”
“Exactly.”
You two smiled.
Someone behind Chan called his name, one of his friends waving him over toward the door. He glanced back briefly, then returned his attention to you. “I should go, but—” he lifted his phone slightly, “I’ll text you.”
You nodded, trying to keep your expression normal, neutral, not insane. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoed, like it meant something more.
And then he was gone, pulled back into the flow of people leaving the classroom, his voice blending into the noise again, his presence dissolving into movement and distance.
You stood there for a second.
Just a second.
Then—
“Oh my god!”
It came out under your breath, barely audible, but it was there. Real. You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile like an idiot in the middle of the classroom. He was waiting.
What did that even mean? Nothing. It could mean nothing. It probably meant nothing. But also… He was waiting.
You grabbed your bag and practically walked out of the room on autopilot, your steps quicker than usual, lighter. Everything felt slightly off, like the world had shifted just enough to notice.
Oh, you had game.
Well… kind of…
The hallway was crowded, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing, the usual chaos of people leaving class. You barely registered any of it. Your hand was already halfway to your phone, thumb hovering over the screen to text your friend about the news. You needed to tell them. Immediately.
You turned the corner too quickly. And walked straight into someone.
“Holy shi—”
The impact wasn’t hard, just enough to knock you off balance for a second. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself as your bag slipped on your shoulder. The guy in front of you steadied you instinctively, his hand brushing your arm for a brief moment before letting go immediately like your skin had burned him.
“Sorry, I—” he stopped himself suddenly.
His voice was low, quick. Not annoyed, not particularly warm either just… flat.
You looked up. For a split second, your eyes met.
He was sharp-looking, in a way that wasn’t soft or inviting. Dark eyes, unreadable expression, like he had already moved on from the interaction before it finished happening. There was something about him that felt… distant. Closed off.
And then, just as quickly, he looked away. No smile, no second glance. Nothing. He stepped past you and kept walking.
You turned slightly, watching him go for half a second, your brows pulling together.
“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, adjusting your bag. “Rude.”
You shook your head and kept walking.
Whatever.
Your phone buzzed in your hand. And you froze when you saw the message.
A new message from Chan.
Your heart did something stupid. And just like that, the hallway, the guy, everything else faded out completely.
you distract your gamer boyfriend mid-match until he completely falls apart.
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 2.9k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, heavy overstimulation, crying, spit as lube, multiple orgasms in a row, semi-public (mic is on), handjob, blowjob, begging, yunho is a trembling & whimpering mess, cum swallowing, grinding, body convulsions, hypersensitivity.
you're sprawled across the bed, chin propped on your palm, watching the back of yunho's head with an expression that's slowly curdling from patience into something sharper.
he's been at it for three hours.
three hours of him hunched over his gaming chair, headset clamped over his ears, fingers dancing across his keyboard like you don't even exist in the same room. the occasional curse slips out — "oh, that's bullshit" — or a sharp laugh when one of his friends says something stupid; you can hear them through the back of yunho’s headset, tinny and distant, a whole world you've been locked out of since eight pm.
and it's almost eleven now.
you've tried everything; you brought him a snack an hour ago — you set it on his desk, let your fingers trail across his shoulders, but yunho only mumbled "thanks, baby," without even looking away from his damn monitor. you'd stood behind him for a solid minute, watching the back of his neck, the way his muscles shifted under his loose t-shirt.
nothing, not even a glance.
you tried sitting on the bed and just... existing, prettily so. you're in one of yunho’s hoodies and nothing else, legs bare, socks with cute little hearts on them. usually that's enough to make him drop everything, usually he'd be on you within seconds, all long limbs and eager hands.
but valorant has your boyfriend in a chokehold tonight, and frankly, you're tired of competing with a video game.
so you wait, you watch, and you plan.
yunho's got this thing he always does when he's focused — his tongue pokes out just slightly, wetting his lower lip, and his eyebrows pinch together. he's so so beautiful like this, all sharp concentration, but you want him beautiful in a different way; you want him wrecked.
you slide off the bed quietly, padding across the carpet until you're right behind his chair. he doesn't notice. of course he doesn't notice; his friends are yelling something about a rotate, and yunho's voice is all clipped efficiency:
"i'm anchoring, i'm anchoring, just push—"
you drop your hands onto his shoulders.
yunho startles, just a little.
"oh—hey, baby. one sec," his eyes never leave the screen.
you don't say anythin, you simply start kneading the tension out of his trapezius muscles, slowly and cautiously. yunho’s shoulders are tight as rocks under your palms, and you feel him exhale as your thumbs dig into a knot.
"that's nice," he murmurs. "feels good."
you lean down, mouth brushing the shell of his ear.
"yeah?"
yunho shivers; you feel it travel down his spine, but his hands keep moving on the keyboard, and his brown eyes stay fixed on that glowing rectangle of chaos.
you could cry from frustration, but instead, you get creative.
your hands slide down from yunho’s shoulders, over his chest, dragging slow across his pectorals; you can feel his heartbeat under your palm — steady, but picking up just a little.
your fingers find the hem of his t-shirt and slip underneath, skating across the warm skin of his stomach.
yunho's breath hitches.
"babe, i'm in the middle of—"
"i know," you say sweetly against his ear. "you're doing so so good, yun."
his stomach tenses under your touch.
you slowly trace the lines of his abdominals, feather-light, watching yunho’s grip tighten on his mouse. his character on screen does something jerky — misses a shot, probably, and one of his friends groans over comms.
"yunho, what the hell was that?"
"nothing," he says, voice slightly strained. "misclick."
you smile, and your hands drift lower, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his gray joggers; they're soft, slightly worn, and they hang low on his hips, and it’s so fucking hot—
"baby," his voice has a warning edge now, but it's shaky. "can this wait? we're in overtime."
you don't answer, you simply slip one of your hand under the waistband, palm flattening against his lower belly, fingers trailing through the fine hair below his navel.
yunho is already half-hard; you can feel it, the way his cock twitches against your questing fingers, the way his hips push forward just a little, involuntarily.
"oh," you breathe. "someone's distracted."
yunho's jaw clenches. his character is standing still in a corner of the map, and his teammates are yelling at him.
"yunho! move! they're pushing A!"
your boyfriend forces his hands to move. you watch his fingers fumble on the keyboard, and something hot curls low in your belly. he's trying so hard to focus. it's adorable.
your hand dips lower, wrapping around his half-hard length through his boxers. he's warm, already leaking a little, and you stroke him once — slow, measured, from base to tip.
yunho makes a sound. it's barely a whimper, swallowed down fast, but you hear it, and your body responds instantly, a rush of heat spreading through your core.
"shh," you whisper. "don't want your friends to hear, do you?"
he shakes his head, a tiny, frantic movement. his ears are now completely red; you can see the flush creeping down his neck, disappearing under his t-shirt collar, and he's gripping his mouse so hard his knuckles are white.
you pull your hand out of his joggers, just for a moment, and yunho makes a confused, almost wounded noise — but then you're hooking your fingers into the waistband and tugging down just enough to free him.
yunho’s cock springs up, flushed and already leaking, the tip shiny and pink. he's not fully hard yet but he's close, and god, you love this part, you love watching him get there.
you spit into your palm, and you hear yunho's breath catch as you wrap your hand around him again, slick and warm.
"oh," yunho breathes. "oh—fuck."
"language," you tease, but your voice is lower now, rougher.
you start stroking him properly, slow and firm, twisting your wrist at the top the way you know he likes, and yunho's hips naturally buck into your hand.
his character is still standing in that corner, and someone on his team is screaming about a spike.
"yunho, what the fuck are you doing?"
"i—" his voice cracks. "i got—someone's at the door, hold on—"
he's lying, and it's terrible. you're both aware of how terrible it is, but you don't call him out, you just keep stroking him, steady and unrelenting, and watch him fall apart in real time.
yunho’s thighs are trembling; you can feel it through the fabric of his joggers, the way his muscles keep twitching, fighting the urge to just shove back from the desk and drag you onto his lap. but he doesn't. he stays in his chair, hands still on keyboard and mouse, because he's stubborn and competitive and he really wanted to win this game.
well… too bad for him.
you speed up just a little, and your thumb swipes over yunho’s slit, spreading the slickness there, and your boyfriend makes a sound that's almost a sob.
"baby, please," he whispers, just loud enough for you to hear.
"please what?" you ask innocently, still stroking, still watching the way his stomach is clenching and unclenching.
yunho doesn't answer, because he can't.
one of his friends is yelling something about a flank, and yunho forces his character to move, running him across the map in a straight line that makes no tactical sense. he's not even trying anymore, he's just going through the motions, and you can feel how close he is — the way his cock is throbbing in your hand, the way his breath is coming in short, sharp pants.
"you're gonna cum," you murmur. "aren't you, baby?"
yunho nods frantically.
his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and his eyes are glassy, staring at the screen without really seeing it.
"not yet," you decide, and you let go.
yunho actually chokes; it was a desperate, punched-out sound that he tries to turn into a cough.
"what—why—"
"i want to taste you."
you don't wait for permission, you simply drop to your knees behind yunho’s chair, nudging his thighs apart with your shoulders, and then you're leaning in, your mouth closing over the head of your boyfriend’s cock. yunho tastes like salt and skin, that familiar warmth that makes your mouth water.
you swirl your tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that's beaded just there, and yunho's whole body convulses.
"oh my god," he gasps. "oh my god, oh my god—"
"quiet," you remind him, pulling off just enough to speak. "mic."
yunho slaps a hand over his own mouth, and his pretty eyes are huge, panicked and desperate all at once, and you don't give him time to recover; you take him deeper, sinking down until he hits the back of your throat, and you hear the muffled sound of his scream behind his palm.
his hand flies off the keyboard. his character is running into a wall now, and one of his friends is saying something like:
"yunho, are you okay? your character's just—"
but yunho doesn't answer. hell, he can't.
you're bobbing your head now, setting a rhythm that's relentless, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock to stroke what your mouth can't reach. you're messy about it; spit is dripping down your chin, down his length, and you don't care at all. you just want to make him fall apart.
and he completely is.
yunho’s thighs are shaking violently, his hips jerking up into your mouth even though he's clearly trying to stay still. his hand is still clamped over his mouth, but the sounds are escaping anyway — whimpers, high and desperate, barely muffled by his palm. his other hand is still on his mouse, but he's not moving it; he's just gripping it like a lifeline, knuckles white, his whole arm trembling.
you pull off with a wet sound, just to watch him, just to see the way his chest is heaving, the way his eyes are screwed shut, tears clinging to his lashes.
"look at me," you say.
he does. yunho’s eyes open, and they're so blown out you can barely see the brown. his lips are wet and parted, and there's a tear already tracking down his cheek.
"so pretty," you tell him. "you're doing so well."
he shakes his head frantically.
"i can't—i'm gonna—"
"i know."
you take him back in your mouth before he can finish, and this time you don't hold back; you suck him like you mean it, hard and fast, your throat working around him, and you feel the exact moment he breaks.
yunho cums with a strangled cry, muffled by his own hand, his whole body arching up out of the chair. his release hits the back of your throat, hot and thick, and you swallow it down without stopping, without slowing, even as his hips are jerking and his thighs are trembling and he's making these broken, keening sounds that you know his friends can probably hear.
but you don't stop.
yunho's hand drops from his mouth.
"wait—wait, please, i just—"
but you keep going.
your tongue drags slow and flat over the head, and the noise yunho makes isn't human; it's a raw, punched-out gasp that cracks in the middle, and his whole body seizes — not just a flinch, but a real convulsion, spine bowing forward, shoulders hunching, his hips snapping back like he's trying to escape. but the chair traps him. there's nowhere to go.
"s’too much," yunho wheezes.
his hands fly down to your head, but his fingers don't push you, they just tangle in your hair, gripping hard, knuckles pressed against your scalp.
"s’too much, baby, please—"
you ignore him, and you suck gently, just the tip, and yunho’s thighs slam together around your ears; you have to push them apart again with your forearms, and you feel the muscles there jumping, spasming, completely out of his control.
"i can't—" his voice breaks into a real sob, wet and loud, and you hear one of his friends on the mic go quiet for a second.
"yunho? dude, you okay?"
you've taken him deeper again, and his hips are twitching in these short, jerky little thrusts that he's clearly not deciding to do. his body is just doing things now. his stomach keeps clenching and unclenching under his shirt, and you watch a bead of sweat roll down his temple, catching in his eyebrow.
you pull off to breathe, and the sound yunho makes is almost angry, and so so so desperate.
"please," he gets out. "please, it's so much—it's so much—"
your hand wraps around him again, loose and wet, and you don't move it, you just hold him, feel how hard he's trembling.
"i'm gonna die," yunho whispers, and his voice is tiny.
you laugh softly and lean back in, and this time you don't even take him all the way; you just mouth at the side of his shaft, lips dragging over the sensitive skin, and yunho jerks so hard his elbow knocks his water bottle off the desk. it hits the floor with a loud thunk, but neither of you look at it.
you can feel him softening a little, his body trying to retreat from the overstimulation, but you don't let up.
no, instead, you lick a slow stripe from the base of his cock to tip, and yunho’s breath hitches into a rhythm that's not breathing anymore — it's just gasping, open-mouthed and wet, his chest heaving like he's been running.
"one more," you say against his skin.
"i can't," he gets out, but his voice cracks on the vowel. "i can't, i literally cannot—"
you take him back in your mouth, just the head, and you suck.
it's not hard, it's almost gentle, but it's too much for him now, and you feel it the second his body gives up fighting. his whole frame goes rigid first — every muscle locked, his hands fisting in your hair hard enough to sting — and then he shatters.
it's not a normal orgasm; there's barely anything left, just a weak pulse, a few drops of fluid that you taste more than feel, but yunho’s body doesn't care.
he convulses like he's having a seizure, hips bucking off the chair, back arching so hard his shoulder blades press together. his mouth falls open in a silent scream, no air left to power it, and then the sound comes after — a raw, guttural cry that tears out of his throat and doesn't stop.
yunho’s legs kick out; one of his feet catches the desk leg, and the whole thing rattles.
his mouse skitters off the pad, his keyboard clacks as his chest slams into it, and he's still shaking, still convulsing, little aftershocks rippling through his thighs and his stomach and his hands, which are still twisted in your hair, holding on like you're the only solid thing in the room.
you stay where you are, mouth soft around his cock, but you’re not moving, you’re simply waiting.
it takes a long time for the spasms to slow down.
yunho’s breathing is all over the place — three short inhales, one long shuddering exhale, then nothing, then a gasp like he forgot how to breath. his long fingers loosen in your hair one by one, and his hand falls limp against the side of your face, palm sweaty and trembling.
you pull off slowly, carefully, and yunho’s whole body flinches at the loss of contact.
"hey," you whisper. "baby, you're okay."
he's not okay.
yunho’s is wrecked — tears and snot and spit all smeared together, his lips chapped and bitten raw. his eyes are half-closed, unfocused, the pupils still blown wide, and there's a wet patch on his shirt collar from where he's been crying.
you sit back on your heels and just look at him.
he's still shaking; little tremors, constant, running through his shoulders and his hands. yunho’s chest is hitching with these tiny, involuntary sobs that he doesn't seem to be aware of anymore. his character is dead on the screen — you notice distantly that his team lost, that the defeat screen is glowing on the monitor — but neither of you care.
finally, finally, you stand up.
you reach out and brush the damp hair off yunho’s forehead, and he flinches at your touch, too sensitive, still. but then he leans into it, just a little, his eyes flutter closed.
"baby," you say softly.
"you're mean," he whispers, his voice is completely destroyed, raw and cracked.
yunho just lies there, breathing in shaky hitches, while you stand up and grab a towel from the bathroom to clean him up. you're gentle this time, wiping away the mess, and he hisses when you brush against his cock but doesn't pull away.
you're tucking him back into his joggers when you hear it; a small, tinny voice from his headset.
"uh... yunho? dude, your mic is still on."
yunho's eyes snap open, and all the blood drains from his pretty face, then rushes back twice as fast, turning him crimson from his chest to his hairline.
"oh my god," he whispers.
you bite your lip to keep from laughing, you really do.
"oh my god," yunho says again, louder this time.
and you can hear his friends in the headset — someone is wheezing, someone else is saying; "i'm never letting him live this down," and the third person just keeps repeating "i heard everything, everything, i need therapy—"
yunho rips the headset off and throws it onto the desk, and he buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, and you can't tell if he's crying or laughing or both.
"i'm never playing with them again," yunho says, muffled. "i'm moving to a new country. i'm changing my name."
you climb into his lap, ignoring his weak little protest, and wrap your arms around his neck. yunho still trembling, still so so so oversensitive, but he holds you back, completely burying his face in your shoulder.
"you lost your game," you say, pressing a kiss to his temple.
"i don't care about the fucking game."
you grin. "good. because i want round two."
yunho groans, but his hips twitch against yours, and you feel him start to stir again, and you know he's definitely going to let you ruin him all over again.
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