hi! I'm alive, and I'm letting you guys know I am working on some stuff! My exams end at the middle of this month so while I cry over biology psychology and calculus, I am also juggling my neverending anxiety and the fact that my distant family chose the worst possible moment to visit me !! In the ASS CRACK of my exams! Unfortunately I am Asian and I need to "keep good relations with everyone" as per what my father said
That being said, there are works! Namely the poolboy Wooyoung and Idol seonghwa, which will be in the form of bullet points because fuckall.
Another thing I'm considering doing is a fanfic for someone in nct dream, probably jeno or haechan. However with my main demographic being atinies and carats, I'm not sure how this will land because I am only an occasional listener of nct dream.
On the good side, I did manage to land some bts tickets! And by me I mean my friend woke up at 5 am to go to war on ticketing while I snore comfortably in my bed, but she managed to secure good seats. Bit upset we got day 1 instead of day 2 or 3 though.
If you're still here or coming across this, let me know how your day went! I'd love to communicate with people (I am connection starved).
I hope this isnt like weird to ask but do you think you’ll ever write a part 2 for the five of hearts fic? Hwwhhwhwh its been a favorite of my since you posted it!!
Hi! Thanks for the love and no it's not a weird question ^^
For five of hearts I think I'm gonna rewrite it actually, mostly because the plot was all over the place and my writing was ass (that's being generous it was dumpster fire). I have a lot on my plate rn (exams, projects, real life things, and also 2 other things in the works). BUT five of hearts is the fic i REALLY want to rewrite actually and make a full version maybe (??). But no promises and idk when it will happen because I have 3 drafts that's half done already and I promised more ateez content and to be honest I'm not really into seventeen these days so I'm trying to find the spark.
Regardless, thank you for shooting an ask! I'm considering rewriting it entirely but I'm not sure I can give a definite answer, sorry. Hope you have a good day though 🩷
pairing: fake bf! renjun x best friend’s gf! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 48k+
synopsis -> renjun, the fuckboy by association, couldn’t give less of a fuck about romantic relationships. he’s perfectly fine with being single. loves it actually. when he accidentally drops a box on your head and you wake up with amnesia, he’s forced to finally take care of a person other than his own self. what’s worse? you think he’s your boyfriend.
warnings -> guaranteeing a love story that will edge you, pet name unlocked: love, temporary retrograde amnesia, lying, mean renjun, a lot of inner guilt and inner dialogue, renjun saying what the fuck am i doing? like a million times, too many y/n’s in one room pt. 3, an emotional fight between two best friends, +18, crude humor, language, frat parties, drinking, edging!!!!, descriptive make out scenes, lots of tongue, dry-humping, masturbation (m), fingering, handjob, mutual-masturbation, there’s only one bed, anal penetration, face-sitting, rough sex, folding reader in half, renjun loves pussy. a switch who makes the prettiest noises!!!!, candy-play, overstimulation!!, nipple-play, both don’t realize how loud they are in bed and how much they torture the people around them. brief mentions of: hospitals, blood, injury to the head, passing out, pegging, use of the word: slut.
an -> it’s here! the 7th and final installment of the loverboy series is bittersweetly yours! now playing taylor swift’s august and loml and betty. this was the hardest one to write ngl. i tried to give you guys everything you asked for! some of it didn’t make it though. important things to note -> 1) renjun is the fuckboy by association. he doesn’t care about falling in love. scoffs at romantic relationships. sick of the boys shoving it in his face. prefers being alone. 2) all of the boys, are happily in love! 3) this takes place approximately around 8 months after jisung’s story! have fun reading, i’ll be waiting for your reactions. with love, c.
✿ AUGUST 07 – I KILLED SOMEONE ✿
renjun is running — fast. hard. every step knocks the breath out of him. it’s the first week of a new semester. a new year. senior year. the final year for some. and he’s already fighting for his life — he’s the last remaining dream boy yet to be taken. the final bachelor. the lone survivor. and every girl on campus knows it. he doesn’t even know where he’s going anymore. he just needs to go. needs to escape. the screams are getting louder.
“RENJUN! I HAVE YOUR COFFEE ORDER MEMORIZED!” “RENJUN! PICK ME, CHOOSE ME, LOVE ME! “RENJUN! I WROTE YOU A SONG!”
he nearly trips over his own shoes as he rounds the corner. this is getting out of hand. he was supposed to spend his final year quietly, make art, focus on the future — not get chased like a damn k-pop idol. in hindsight, maybe letting all the other dream boys fall in love and leave him to the wolves wasn’t the best move.
“i hate the boys,” renjun mutters under his breath as he darts through a side door of the arts building, “i hate love, i hate romance, i hate–”
theater room. perfect. he ducks inside, scanning the empty black box stage space and slams the door shut behind him. his heart thunders in his chest. he’s breathing like he just finished a marathon. his bangs stick to his forehead. and somewhere behind him, he can still hear them.
“RENJUN I MADE YOU COOKIES WITH YOUR FACE ON THEM!” “RENJUN I’M A LEO, IT’S BASICALLY FATE!”
his heart is pounding in his chest. then — his gaze lands on the ladder. the fly tower. of course. without thinking twice, he scrambles up, gripping each rung like it’s his last hope. he pulls himself onto the upper platform, dodging a few precarious light fixtures and wedges himself behind a stack of heavy wooden boxes labeled musical props — do not touch. the girls barge in moments later.
“WHERE IS HE?!” “CHECK THE SOUND BOOTH!” “I KNOW HE’S HERE, I SMELL HIS COLOGNE!”
renjun covers his mouth, trying not to breathe too loudly as they spread out. he presses himself tighter behind the boxes. heart pounding, brain screaming: this is hell. this is actually hell.
eventually the chorus of voices died down. footsteps retreat. the door slams. silence. renjun lets out a slow, cautious breath. he flops his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, “god,” he mutters to himself, “they just all had to fall in love and leave me out here like some tiny, helpless mouse in the wild,” he rolls his eyes, starts to shift into a more comfortable position — and accidentally kicks a box off the edge.
it crashes down the stage below with a loud BOOM, followed by the sound of props scattering and bouncing across the floor. renjun freezes, eyes wide. “fuck, what else can go wrong?,” he groans, dragging a hand through his hair, hoping that whatever was in there didn’t completely break. but then he looks down. and his heart stops. lying on the stage floor, right next to the box, is a girl — you. your limbs are splayed awkwardly, your head tilted, your body frighteningly still. a slow, dark patch of red is growing beneath your head.
“Y/N?!,” renjun nearly falls off the ladder climbing down. he races to your side, dropping to his knees beside you, “oh my god. oh my god. no. no. no,” he’s shaking your shoulders, eyes wide with panic, “y/n, wake up!—oh my god—fuck—i killed someone—I KILLED SOMEONE—”
but then – you groan. a soft, sluggish sound, followed by the flutter of your lashes. you blink blearily up at him, squinting, “...babe?,” your voice is hoarse, dazed.
renjun freezes, “...what?”
you squint harder, trying to focus on the blurry figure hovering over you, “babe? what happened? why are you crying?”
“i’m not crying,” he snaps. but his eyes are glossy and his hands are still clutching your shoulders like you’re a porcelain doll, “y-you hit your head, okay? i didn’t mean to drop the box, it was–wait, why did you call me babe?!”
you pause. your brows furrow, head pounding, “y-you’re my boyfriend,” you murmur.
renjun swallows thickly. there’s something obviously wrong. he sits back on his heels, heart still trying to recover. because he is not your boyfriend. and you are not his girlfriend. you’re y/n. the girl who shares the same major as him. who sits two chairs ahead of him in painting ii. quiet. talented. soft. nice. oh, and one more thing — you’re his best friend’s girlfriend.
renjun is so screwed.
❤︎
“hold her steady,” the nurse says, briskly swinging open the doors to the campus clinic as renjun stumbles in, half carrying your weight.
“i am holding her steady!,” he snaps, nearly dropping you as your arm slides off his shoulder.
“babe,” you mumble, nuzzling your head against his neck, “stop yelling, please.”
renjun flinches, “oh my god, stop calling me that!” you groan, dazed and limp, like someone unplugged your battery. the nurse ushers you both toward a bed and begins checking your vitals while renjun stands frozen beside you, hands twitching useless at his side.
the next hour is a blur — lots of phone calls, lots of “she needs a scan,” lots of “are you the boyfriend?,” to which renjun starts answering, “i guess????,” out of pure panic. eventually, an ambulance takes you both to the nearest off-campus hospital, where a doctor finally pulls renjun aside while you’re resting in an exam room. dr. ten lee is in his late 20’s, dressed in his navy scrubs, a tiny silver hoop in one ear, sipping a canned iced coffee and scrolling on his tablet. he looks more like a kdrama second lead than a doctor. and he has the kind of calm tone that makes you feel like nothing in the world is actually an emergency. renjun, however, is pacing like a squirrel on red bull, “is she gonna be okay?”
“come on, we need to talk,” dr. lee replies smoothly. he leads renjun into a consultation room, where he taps quickly through your medical chart. and renjun’s heart is pounding in his chest. “vitals are stable. no skull fracture. CT scan is clean. no internal bleeding. just a concussion and some swelling.” he flicks to the next screen, “she’s lucky.” renjun exhales in relief, just barely.
“but,” dr. lee continues, “she’s showing signs of temporary retrograde amnesia.”
renjun blink, “tem–what?”
“it means she doesn’t remember anything leading up to the accident,” he explains.
renjun swallow, “how long will it take for her memory to come back?”
“could be hours. could be days. weeks. it’s impossible to say,” dr. ten leans back in his chair, gaze serious now, “the important thing is not to overwhelm her brain. if you try to force everything back at once, the stress could make the memory loss permanent.” dr. lee flips to another note on the screen, “she’s also restricted from using phones, tablets, or any kind of screen for at least a month. try to avoid bright lights and cognitive overload. that includes social media, messages, anything that might confuse or overstimulate her brain.”
renjun groans, already picturing the storm to come, “great. so she can’t scroll through her camera roll and realize i’m not the guy in half her selfies?”
“what do you mean?,” dr. lee raises a brow, “you’re her boyfriend, aren’t you?”
renjun looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, about that,” renjun says, exasperated, “i’m not.”
dr. lee raises an eyebrow, “then who is?”
“my best friend, yangyang,” renjun mutters, “he’s… he’s out of the country right now. internship in germany. fashion design thing.”
dr. lee sighs, noting it down on his tablet, “okay…so in her case, it looks like she’s confused recent relationships and events.” he rubs his temple, “and the only person she recognizes and trusts right now is not her boyfriend—but a friend.”
“her boyfriend’s best friend,” renjun corrects miserably.
dr. lee gives him a long, unimpressed look. “wonderful.”
renjun runs both hands down his face, “this is insane.”
“look,” dr. lee says carefully, “i can’t legally ask you to impersonate her boyfriend, but… if he isn’t reachable, and you are the only one she feels safe with… just consider what’s best for her, alright?”
renjun nods, “i’ll call him.”
❤︎
renjun paces just outside the consultation room, thumb hovering over yangyang’s name, hitting call. it rings three times before a groggy voice answers, “yo bro…it’s like 3AM over here, what’s up?”
renjun doesn’t waste time, “i dropped a prop box on your girlfriend.”
a pause. “huh?”
“she passed out, we’re in a hospital. she’s okay, kind of, but she has amnesia, yangyang. she woke up and she thinks i’m you.”
there’s an audible shuffling sound on the other end, like yangyang just sat bolt upright, “what the actual fuck?!”
“i know.” renjun pinches the bridge of his nose, “the box hit her head, the doctor said i can’t tell her the truth or her memory might never come back and she’s not allowed to use her phone or see anything on-screen or else it could make it worse…this is a nightmare!”
yangyang lets out a long groan, “jesus…is she okay now?”
“physically, yeah. mentally? she keeps calling me babe,” renjun says, pacing the floor, “you need to come back,” he says firmly, “this is your relationship.”
“renjun…i…can’t,” yangyang exhales, “i’m in berlin. i’ve got fittings in the morning and i’m interning with a major designer. if i leave now, i lose everything and this is the biggest opportunity of my life.”
renjun goes quiet, his jaw tightens, “she’s your girlfriend.”
“we’ve been dating for a month,” yangyang says gently, “it’s new. i do love her, i really do. but this opportunity? it’s my career.”
renjun couldn’t even believe what he was hearing right now. he scoffs, “so what, you’re just asking me to pretend to be you?!”
“no. i’m asking you to take care of her,” yangyang says, “just until she get’s her memory back. keep her calm. keep her safe. protect her. let her remember naturally. i trust you.”
renjun glares at the wall, “i hate you.”
“i owe you one. a huge one,” yangyang sighs.
renjun rolls his eyes, “you owe me your soul.”
“i’ll name my next collection after you.”
“fuck you, yangyang.” but even then, the call ends with renjun muttering, “fine.” because deep down, he knows it’s his fault. and the least he can do is pretend to be your boyfriend.
when renjun opens the door and steps back into your hospital room, you stir instantly. your eyes blink open and a sleepy, relieved smile spreads across your face, “there you are,” you mumble, “i thought you left.” you reach out instinctively, fingers brushing his wrist, “i missed you.”
renjun swallows hard, forcing a smile, “...yeah,” he says, “i missed you too.”
✿ ETHICALLY HORRIFYING ✿
painting ii. on tuesdays is usually renjun’s favorite class. his safe space. it’s quiet. peaceful. nobody talks unless it’s to borrow a brush or complain about color theory. it’s where he gets to zone out, put on his headphones when professor yuta isn’t lecturing, and lose himself in gradients and messy brush strokes — except...today is different. because today, you’re here. it’s been four days since he last saw you. and now you’re sitting right next to him. not two chairs ahead like you usually do. not at your table by the windows where the light hits just right. no. you’re next to him. like you’ve done it a thousand times before. like it’s normal. and it would’ve been fine. renjun might’ve survived it. if it weren’t for the fact that…you have your hand on. his. thigh — not resting casually. not briefly. planted. warm. possessive. yellow-painted nails tapping lazily against his jeans.
renjun hasn’t moved in five minutes. he’s feeling very uncomfortable. he’s afraid if he does move, you’ll do something worse like hug him in the middle of a brushstroke. renjun stares at his canvas like it holds the answers to life. he’s not even registering professor yuta’s passionate speech about emotional color palettes.
you, on the other hand, look delighted. you hum softly as you blend a soft orange into the corner of your canvas, completely at ease. your sleeves are bunched up, hair tied messily back with a clip, and your lips tilt into a shy smile every time you glance at him. occasionally, you lean in to whisper something stupid, so gentle it tickles his ear like “you look really handsome today,” or “i think i’m painting your soul in mine.” they’re the kind of words that would’ve made renjun melt if he were a normal guy in a normal situation with a normal crush. but this is not normal. this is ethically horrifying. and he’s trying not to jump out the window.
very slowly, like diffusing a bomb, he reaches down and lifts your hand off his thigh. you blink at him, confused, a tiny pout forms on your lips, “you don’t like it when i touch you?” you ask, voice so quiet it’s barely above a whisper.
renjun panics. “i-i’m just ticklish,” he blurts, “on the thigh. very medically specific condition. happens to one in five people.”
you frown softly. your eyes search his face, like you’re trying to remember something that slipped just out of reach. it doesn’t work. you come up with nothing, instead you mutter out a soft, “oh, i’m sorry,” your voice dips lower, “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” you shrink slightly into your seat. the sunlight catches in your hair as you bend your head and go back to painting, shoulders a little more tucked in than before. and for a moment, renjun almost feels bad. almost. mostly, he just feels relief. because you shouldn’t be touching him like that. you shouldn’t be looking at him like that. not when your real boyfriend is thousands of miles away and probably checking fabric swatches in berlin. not when he’s the one who dropped a box on your head and ruined everything. he tries to focus on his canvas, tries not to notice the sad look on your face or the way your hand keeps pausing mid-brushstroke. he tells himself he’s doing the right thing.
professor yuta claps his hand together, breaking him out of his thoughts, “alright, wrap it up! same time next week.” everyone starts packing up, chairs scrape, canvases are slid into bags or the back of the room. but you linger. renjun hunches over his supplies, shoving his tubes of paint into his backpack like they personally wronged him. he’s nearly zipped it closed when he hears your soft footsteps.
“junie?” you murmur, standing beside him now. he doesn’t even know where you got that nickname. at the hospital, it was babe. now it’s junie. he turns, heart already bracing for another landmine. you’re hugging your sketchpad to your chest. your eyes are wide and sincere and guilt-ridden.
“i’m really sorry about earlier,” you say softly, lips tugging down. “i didn’t mean to cross a line… i just… i can’t believe i forgot that about you.” before he can say anything — before he can even react — you lean in, gently, and brush your lips against his cheek. a soft kiss, so light it barely touches skin.
“i’ll see you later,” you whisper. and then you’re gone. renjun’s frozen, eyes wide, blood rushing to his face so fast he thinks he might pass out. dead silence hangs for a beat. and then the hushed whispers begin.
“wait.” “wasn’t she dating yangyang?” “are they–together now?” “is this why yangyang is nowhere to be seen??” “is renjun taken?” “THE LAST DREAM BOY?!?!”
renjun bolts. by the time he makes it down the stairs and out of the building, it’s already happened. the whole campus knows. every student has either heard about it, seen it, or is live tweeting the tragedy of renjun’s off-the-market status. and the only person blissfully unaware? you. — still thinking he’s your boyfriend. still completely in the dark about yangyang. and renjun is walking back to the dream house with shaking hands and the weight of the campus gossip on his shoulders. he hates it here.
✿ MR. STEAL YOUR GIRL ✿
the next day, renjun makes the mistake of walking into the dream house kitchen thinking he can just grab a piece of bread and disappear. he’s wrong. disastrously wrong. the moment he steps in, he’s attacked by the sight, and sounds, of love. and worse, public display of affection. the table is packed. every seat filled. every couple tangled up in each other like they’re starring in some low-budget university romance fanfiction. — jaemin’s got one hand on angel’s thigh while she refills his coffee without asking. jeno is feeding bunny bites of pancakes. mark has kitten tucked under his arm, both of them laughing at something on his phone as she sneaks pieces of fruit off his plate. baby is resting her head on chenle’s shoulder as he enthusiastically tells some story with too many sound effects. haechan and princess are sharing a bowl of cereal. cherry’s half asleep on jisung’s shoulder, curled into him while he sips juice one-handed like he’s been doing this his whole life. renjun freezes in the doorway. the smell of syrup. the clinking of mugs. the couples being nauseatingly in sync, “do you guys have to do this every morning?,” he grunts.
jeno looks up, “ohhh, look who finally decided to show his face.”
mark leans back, already smirking, “mr. steal your girl,” he says through a mouthful of toast, “didn’t know you had it in you, dude.”
“what?” renjun frowns, confused.
haechan points his spoon directly at him, “you stole yangyang’s girlfriend.”
“I DID NOT–,” renjun yells, his voice cracking a little. silence falls over the entire table. even the pancake jeno was feeding bunny freezes mid-air in space — it’s the most emotion they’ve ever seen from renjun in the past three years. calm, rational, spreadsheet-using, color-coded schedule renjun. the man who has never once raised his voice at them. ever. renjun takes a breath, shoulders stiff, taking a seat and trying to calm down, “i didn’t steal anyone, okay?”
“bro,” chenle pulls out his phone, “you trended on the campus confession page three separate times last night. there’s a post that literally says, renjun is taken </3 goodbye to my dreams.”
jisung blinks sleepily, still sipping from his straw, his other hand playing with the hem of cherry’s shorts, “wait…aren’t you like…best friends with yangyang?”
renjun groans, dragging a hand down his face, “yes. we are. or were. i don’t know. god.” it was clear as the summer’s day. he was spiraling. and the boys all found it amusing. renjun always had his shit together. always knew what was going to happen tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. you have clearly sent him into a full existential collapse.
“this is so messy,” haechan grins, resting his chin on princess’ shoulder, “i love it.”
jaemin squints at him, trying to suppress a grin, “okay but seriously…what actually happened?”
renjun sighs, grabbing a piece of toast, and starts talking like a man who has accepted his doom, “she hit her head.”
“who hit her?,” jisung asks, eyes wide.
“i did.”
the whole table collectively gasped — “DUDE.”
“not on purpose!,” renjun snaps, glaring, “i dropped a box from the fly tower. it hit her head. it’s not like i threw it at her.”
angel’s brow furrow, “wait–yangyangs girlfriend?…y/n? the nice one? the one that always offers to help people in class?”
renjun winces, “yes.”
angel leans back, jaw dropping, jaemin watched her with a playful gleam in his eyes, “soft, sweet, sunshine girl, y/n?!, you dropped a box on her HEAD?!”
renjun groans, “again, it was an accident.”
“is she okay?,” kitten asks gently, reaching over to pass him the butter like this is a normal conversation.
“physically, yes,” renjun mutters, grabbing the butter, “but she has temporary amnesia. the doctor said no screens and no sudden memory dumps. it could mess her up permanently so now…,” he sighs like he still can’t believe this is his life, “she thinks i’m her boyfriend.”
everyone pauses. then– “OH MY GOD,” haechan howls, “bro, you’re in a k-drama.”
jeno grins, “fake dating but make it amnesia edition.”
“‘i’m not even dating her!,” renjun says, defensive and deranged, “i’m just trying not to kill her again!”
“i cannot believe this is happening to the number one most anti-romantic dude in this room,” jaemin laughs, shaking his head, “the one who once said and i quote feelings are just viruses the brain catches from bad decisions.”
jisung teasingly adds, “didn’t he also say love is a scam invented by capitalism to sell jewelry?”
“yes,” renjun mumbles, “because it is. and now this is my karma.”
chenle’s eyes go wide, remembering something else he read from campus confessions, “wait, i heard she sat next to you in class?” renjun nods wearily, “was she…like…touchy?,” he smirks.
renjun stares into the voice, “her hand was on my thigh for twenty straight minutes while professor yuta was giving a lecture.” the room loses it. chenle literally collapses sideways onto baby, crying from laughter. jaemin is banging the table with his palm. mark starts screaming. haechan’s gasping for air.
“NOT THE THIGH,” baby screams.
“THAT’S GIRLFRIEND TERRITORY,” princess adds.
“she calls me babe or junie,” renjun adds bitterly, “and she looks at me like i invented sunrise,” he shudders.
bunny covers her mouth to hide a smile, “that’s actually kind of sweet though…”
“no, it’s deranged!,” renjun snaps, “i didn’t ask for this!”
chenle laughs, wiping his eyes. “okay, but be honest. is she at least cute?”
“she’s…” renjun pauses. “that’s not the point.”
“which means yes,” jisung says with a grin.
“no!,” renjun yells, “it means i’m not going there! she’s yangyang’s girlfriend!”
cherry tilts her head, “does yangyang know?”
renjun rubs his temples, “i called him the second it happened. said he trusts me and asked me to take care of her.”
angel raises a brow, “so you’re just gonna keep pretending to be her boyfriend until… what? she magically remembers one day and asks why you were letting her flirt with you?”
renjun slams his forehead against the table. “i don’t know, okay?! if i tell her the truth too fast, it might mess her up… i’m in hell.”
“damn,” mark says after a beat. “that’s… actually kind of a lot.”
renjun groans into the table, “tell me about it,” then he lifts his head, glaring at all of them, “this is all your fault by the way.” they look at him with confused expressions, he continues, pointing an accusing finger at each one of them, “if you guys just stayed single, i wouldn’t have had to run into the fly tower to escape from the mob of fangirls you’ve all accumulated!” the whole table bursts into laughter once again.
“okay, but like…,” baby squints, “what happens when she wants to kiss her boyfriend?”
everyone leans in.
“or even better,” chenle smirks, “what happens when she wants to have sex with her boyfriend?”
renjun doesn’t even hesitate. he immediately hurls a piece of bread straight at chenle’s face.
“I’M NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT!”
✿ A WEEK OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS ✿
you wake up early, heart set on one thing: making things right with your boyfriend. at least, you’re pretty sure he’s your boyfriend. you still haven’t remembered everything since the accident, but he hasn’t corrected you so it must be true. right? still, you can tell something’s been bothering him. maybe it’s you. maybe you were too clingy in class two days ago. you didn’t mean to be. you just feel so safe around him. so warm. so familiar. and for some reason, your body moves before your brain even catches up. like it remembers him even if your mind doesn’t. but when he gently pushed your hand off his thigh…it stung. so here you are in your little yellow apron, humming softly in your apartment’s tiny kitchen as you roll spicy rice balls between your palms and press sesame seeds into tiny heart shapes. you even made gochujang glazed chicken, his favorite, you think. you remember cooking it a lot. you don’t know when or where, just that you were always standing in the kitchen with your sleeves rolled up, giggling while someone snuck pieces off the pan when he thought you weren’t looking.
“hey,” you jump a little, turning to see ningning, your roommate, your best friend, standing in the doorway with a heavy frown on her face. she looks tired. and worried. she nods towards the spread on the counter, “you’re making lunch?”
you nod brightly, “mhm, renjun’s favorite!.”
her expression doesn’t change, “spicy rice balls?,” she asks gently, stepping closer, “that’s his favorite?”
you pause, your brows furrow, “...it is…right?”
ningning exhales slowly, rubbing her face like she’s deciding whether to scream or cry, “i don’t think you should do this,” she says quietly.
you blink, “why not?”
“you’re still recovering,” she says, voice even, “you shouldn’t be standing this long. you shouldn’t be stressing over… anything.”
you bite your lip, “but i want to do this. i…i think i made him uncomfortable in class. he hasn’t reached out to me since then. i just want to fix things…show him i’m trying.”
ningning sighs, “y/n…” something in her voice makes your stomach twist.
“is something wrong?” you ask, stepping toward her, “did he say something? is he upset?”
“no, it’s just—” she stops herself. runs a hand through her hair, “you’re not yourself right now. and you’re working so hard to be the perfect girlfriend to someone you don’t even remember.”
you flinch. just slightly, “i’m trying,” you say, softer now.
“i know you are,” she says, gently, “that’s the problem.” you look down at the heart-shaped rice balls. your fingers tremble just a little.
“i feel useless,” you admit, “i don’t remember anything. i can barely recall any of my memories. but when i’m making these…it feels like i know him. even if i don’t.” ningning looks like she wants to say something — badly. but her mouth tightens instead. you give her a small smile, “i just want to make him happy,” you say, “even if i don’t remember why i want to.” and with that, you go back to work, gently placing everything into the bento box, tying it up with a yellow ribbon, and scribbling a tiny note on a post-it with a smiley face and one word: sorry. behind you, ningning leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with an ache in her chest. because she knows the truth. that is yangyang’s favorite food. and renjun is not your boyfriend. but right now, you’re just too sweet and too gentle and too hopeful to stop. so she lets you go.
❤︎
renjun knows something is wrong the moment you approach the bench outside the art building with a giant smile and a lunchbox tied up in a yellow ribbon. he was just planning to eat cafeteria ramen in silence. like a normal, emotionally stable person. but no. there you are. radiating sunshine. practically skipping.
“renjun!,” you call, way too loudly. a few heads turn. renjun shrinks into his flannel.
he clears his throat, trying to sound casual, “uh. hey,”
“i made you lunch!,” you beam, setting the box gently on his lap as you took a seat next to him. renjun stares at it. then stares at you. then back at the box. he’s terrified. you sit beside him eagerly, hands folded under your chin, “open it!”
“i…you didn’t have to do this,” he says.
you pout, “i wanted to…it’s my apology. for being too touchy.” renjun sighs quietly and unties the ribbon. he lifts the lid and nearly blacks out. inside is a lovingly arranged, super aesthetic bento box…filled with spicy kimchi rice balls, gochujang glazed chicken, a small bottle of ghost pepper mayo for dipping, and a note that says sorry :)
“ta-da,” you say, soft and hopeful, “i made your favorites.” you wait for his eyes to light up. for him to smile or laugh or even tease you. you expect warmth. but instead – he freezes. there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes. surprise? confusion? dread?
“...these are not my favorites,” renjun blurts, before he can stop himself. your smile falters. “i–i mean,” he tries to recover, panic rising, “they’re great!...i just…have a very mild spice tolerance. like…negative.”
you look at him, eyes wide and hurt, “oh. i-i’m sorry,” your voice goes soft, “i…forgot again, didn’t i?”
renjun immediately feels like trash, “no, no, hey, it’s no big deal,” he rushes to say, waving his hands, “you went through a lot. you’re still recovering.”
“but i should remember what my boyfriend likes,” you murmur, “i keep messing up.” he doesn’t know what to say to that. because the truth is you do remember what your boyfriend likes. it just isn’t him. every dish screams yangyang’s spice-loving palate. every detail, from the sesame seed heart on the rice to the folded napkin with doodled stars is something yangyang would have loved. and you remembered it all without even knowing. renjun gulps, suddenly feeling way too warm. you sigh, “do you…not want to eat it?”
he glances at the ghost pepper mayo. it’s looking at him like a loaded gun, “…no, no, i’ll eat it,” he says quickly, picking up a rice ball with the delicacy of someone diffusing a bomb. he pops it into his mouth and instantly regrets every decision that’s brought him to his moment. his eyes water. his throat closes. his soul leaves his body. he tries not to make a sound but a tiny squeak escapes.
“oh my god,” you gasp, “junie, are you okay?!”
he nods violently, tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes, “s’great!,” he croaks, “delicious.”
“you’re crying.”
“im just…overwhelmed…by your love,” he wheezes.
you sit there, stunned. “i…i’m so sorry,” you whisper, pulling the lunchbox out of his hands, “i must’ve gotten it wrong again. i really thought…” you trail off, staring down at the food. you feel small. like a child who studied all night and still got the answers wrong. “-i remembered this,” you murmur to yourself more than him, “i remembered you sneaking pieces off the pan when you thought i wasn’t looking. i remembered you saying spicy food makes you feel alive.” he doesn’t reply. and that silence is louder than anything. you set the bento down on the bench between you. your shoulders curl inward a little, a soft sigh leaving your lips, “i keep doing that,” you whisper, “messing things up. forgetting who you are,” your hands twist in your lap, “i’m sorry. i’ll do better. i promise.” you reach over and gently dab the sweat off his temple with a napkin, and you say, in the softest voice, “next time…i’ll make something sweet.” and even though your heart is heavy and the food sits uneaten between you, you still smile like you haven’t just broken your own heart without even knowing why.
❤︎
you find him sitting under the tree by the art building this time, sketchbook in hand, earbuds in, looking all calm and dreamy and boyfriend-coded. it’s cute. you kind of want to kiss his cheek again, but you’re respecting his space. no wandering hands. just soft girlfriend effort. you crouch beside him and whisper, “junie.”
he flinches hard enough to smudge his sketch, “you can’t sneak up on people like that,” he scolds, pulling one earbud out.
you giggle, “sorry, i was too excited.”
he looks up, suspicious, “about what?”
“i remembered something,” you say, eyes sparkling.
his expression shifts immediately, surprise, a flash of something hopeful, “you did?”
“yeah,” you nod eagerly, “it’s small, but…i think it’s real this time.”
he closes his sketchbook, giving you his full attention now. “okay. what is it?”
you take a deep breath, beaming, “you call me your honeypie sugarplum pumpkin.”
there’s a silence. you look so proud of yourself. like you just discovered gravity or cured heartbreak. renjun blinks. then blinks again. “…i what?”
“you know,” you say innocently, “honeypie sugarplum pumpkin.” renjun stares at you like he’s about to have an out-of-body experience. like he’s debating whether to dig a grave under this very tree and roll into it. what kind of unholy care-bear-ass relationship did you and yangyang have?! honeypie? sugarplum?! pumpkin?!?!
you tilt your head, confused. “you don’t call me that?”
absolutely the fuck not. he thinks to himself fighting the urge to throw himself into traffic. “no. i… i definitely do not call you that.”
your face falls just slightly. “oh,” you pause, “so… you just always call me by my name? no nickname?” and you look so soft. so hopeful. so broken. like you’re waiting to hear something warm and sweet and reassuring. the way a real boyfriend would say it. which renjun is not. but now you’re looking at him with your big eyes and your soft voice and— renjun panics.
“no, silly,” he blurts, completely unprepared for this moment, “of course i call you something.”
you perk up. “really?”
he racks his brain. frantically. what sounds boyfriend-y but not embarrassing? what can he stand to say without wanting to vomit? finally, he lands on, “…i call you love.”
I CALL YOU WHAT? WHAT DID I JUST SAY? WHO IS POSSESSING MY BODY?? WHO LET THIS LEAVE MY MOUTH?! GOD?? OUT OF ALL THE NICKNAMES…LOVE?!?!?!?! REALLY???
but you light up like the sun. absolutely beaming. sparkles in your eyes and everything, “well, that’s definitely better,” you say, cheeks glowing, “i like it.” renjun forces a smile. he wants to dissolve into dust and never be seen again.
❤︎
you wait for him outside the art building, hugging the bouquet of red roses to your chest. he always gets out around this time. you want this to be a good surprise. something familiar. something he might remember, even if you don’t. you heard that little voice in your head, a memory of him saying he’s never received flowers before. how his favorite were the red wrapped around your fingers. when renjun finally steps out of the double doors, earbuds in, his gaze drifts over the steps until it lands on you. and then lower. to the flowers. you smile, nervous, “hi.” he slows. cautious. “i, uh–,” you offer the bouquet forward, voice lilting with hesitant hope, “i got you something.”
renjun stares at the roses like they’ve personally offended him. he finally speaks, flat and unimpressed, “you got me roses?”
“i remembered you said–”
“i hate roses.” the words are sharper than you expect. they cut through the soft warmth you’d been building in your chest and it falters, quickly, fully.
“oh.” you swallow, brows knitting, “i got it wrong again?”
renjun exhales like he’s been holding it in since this whole act began, “it’s fine.”
you take a step forward, desperate to fix it, “i can get different ones next time. what do you actually like?” he eyes the tiny notebook in your hand, the one he’s seen you scribbling in for days now. you always hide it before he can read over your shoulder.
“forget it,” he mutters, brushing past you, but you follow him. always one step behind. always trying.
“renjun, come on. i’m trying, okay? you could at least tell me. it’s not like i know everything anymore–,” he stops, turning slowly. you see it then, the look in his eyes — like this is exhausting. like you are exhausting.
“yellow daffodils.” he finally says, clipped, just to finally make you leave. you open the notebook immediately, flipping it open with quick fingers. scribble it down. underlined. renjun watches you write in silence, then asks, “what are you doing?”
“trying to remember,” you murmur. his eyes scan the page before you flip it shut. he catches the words: doesn’t like physical touch, can’t handle spicy food but still tried it for me, doesn’t like to talk when he’s sketching, always has his earbuds in, prefers sitting under the southern magnolia tree, calls me love. and the new addition — he likes yellow daffodils.
something in him buckles. but only for a second. he forces his back into indifference, “you don’t have to do that, you know?”
“what?”
“take notes like i’m a subject,” he says, “like you’ll get some prize if you figure me out.”
your chest tightens, “i’m not trying to win anything. i just want to remember,” you say quietly. he turns his face away. not because he’s mad. but because if he looks at you too long, he might scream. you’re smiling at him like he’s the boy you love. like you trust him. like you chose him. like he’s safe. but he’s not. he’s just the idiot who dropped a box on your head and couldn’t tell you the truth. so now here he is. pretending. performing. and being thanked for it with roses.
“i didn’t ask for this,” he mutters, barely audible. there’s a pause. then, louder, sharp like surrender, “give me the roses.” you blink. startled. he holds out his hand without looking at you. you hand them over wordlessly. renjun walks away, bouquet dangling from one hand like it’s burning him. doesn’t look back. doesn’t say thank you. you stay behind, notebook pressed to your chest, watching him get smaller and smaller. you write one more thing down: hates roses. took them anyway.
❤︎
you hum quietly as you dip the brush into the palette, squinting at renjun’s canvas. he’s been gone for a bit — just ran down the art building’s storage room to grab a new tube of paint — and you thought, maybe this is a good time to help. he was working on this piece all morning. you heard him sigh at least seven times. and you remembered something! not a nickname or a fake memory — a real one. you remembered that he said his favorite way to add warmth to a painting is by lightly blending red into the shadows. you’d overheard him say it once in class. so you thought… just a little touch. a light wash in the bottom corner. you barely brush the crimson into the edge of his painting when his voice slices in, “what are you doing?”
you turn quickly, literally caught red-handed. you look down at the brush, then back at him, “oh! i remembered what you said about red shadows, so i just—"
he exhales. slow. deep. not angry, not loud. just tired, “don’t touch my painting.”
you pause, “i was trying to help.”
“i didn’t ask for help!,” he snaps, setting his supplies down a little too hard on the desk.
you stare at him, chest shrinking, “i thought i was doing something nice,” you murmur. he runs a hand through his hair, muttering something that sounds a lot like why me. there’s an uncomfortable silence after that. you look back down at the canvas — the part you touched is fine. barely noticeable. it didn't ruin anything. he could paint over it in two seconds if he wanted to. but it’s not about that. it’s you. you feel it. you’re too much. too present. too there. renjun doesn’t say it, but you can feel it radiating off of him like secondhand smoke, “…sorry,” you say again, softly.
he nods once. “whatever.” he won’t look at you. you step away from the canvas, folding your arms over your chest. you want to say thank you for letting me paint with you, or i just wanted to be useful, or even you looked tired and i wanted to ease the weight a little. but you say none of that. you just leave the room quietly, brush still stained with red.
he stares at the spot you touched. the red. barely-there, feathered into the corner — warm, grounding, alive. it’s perfect. not too much. not clashing. not overpowering. just…right. the missing piece. the thing he couldn’t figure out. the part that was bothering him all day. the part he was going to repaint completely. you were trying to be thoughtful and he brushed it off again. he’s not used to someone else being in his space. not used to people trying to help him or worry about him or touch things without asking. he’s used to routines. solitude. clean palettes. predictable hours. he’s not used to… girlfriends. or whatever this situation is. he’s not built for it. and you’re so soft, so gentle, so incredibly romantic in a way he never asked for — and he knows it’s not your fault. but god, he’s so tired.
✿ ROMANTIC TRAGEDY ✿
renjun stands in front of your apartment door, clutching a tiny paper bag of apology brownies he remembered yangyang always got for you. he hasn’t slept well in two days. not since you looked at him like that — lips parted, fingers trembling slightly as you whispered “sorry,” and backed away like you'd broken something. even though you hadn’t. not even close.
he sighs and knocks. the door swings open not even two seconds later. ningning stands there. arms crossed. eyes narrowed and full of judgment. renjun doesn’t even get a chance to speak, “you’re lucky i’m not holding a knife right now.”
“hi,” he says tiredly. “good to see you too.”
ningning steps into his space, glaring up at him, “you made her cry, you know.”
renjun’s jaw tightens, “i didn’t mean to.”
“but you did,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
he sighs, brushing a hand through his hair. “look. i feel like shit. i came to apologize, okay?”
ningning crosses her arms tighter, “you should feel like shit. she’s trying so hard, renjun. she wakes up every day thinking she’s in love with you. do you know how insane that is?” he doesn’t answer. she lowers her voice, “she’s scared. she’s confused. she forgets something new every day and thinks it’s her fault. she thinks she’s a bad girlfriend because she doesn’t remember what kind of food and flowers you like and you—” she pokes his chest, “you get annoyed when she adds a little too much red to a painting.”
“i know,” he mutters, “i know i was a dick. i just—” he exhales again. “i’ve never had to take care of anyone before. not like this.”
ningning softens just slightly, but only slightly. “she doesn’t need you to take care of her, renjun,” she says, “she just needs you not to treat her like she’s ruining your life.”
renjun swallows, guilt curling tighter in his chest, “yeah. got it.”
ningning looks at him for another second, long enough to confirm he actually means it, then steps aside, “she’s in her room,” she says. “probably sketching something sad.” he nods, stepping past her slowly, “and if you hurt her again,” she calls out behind him, “i will kill you.” renjun steps into your room, slow and unsure, clutching the now slightly crumpled bag of apology brownies. the space smells like lavender and pencil shavings. light from your desk lamp spills across the floor. you’re sitting there, back facing him, sketchbook in your lap, head tilted as you drag your pencil across the page in soft, thoughtful strokes.
you don’t look up when the door clicks shut. he clears his throat, “hey.”
you pause. glance over your shoulder. your face is unreadable for a second. then you offer a small smile — hesitant, kind, “hi,” you say.
renjun swallows the lump in his throat, “i… uh. i wanted to say i’m sorry.” you fully turn in your chair now, legs crossed under you. you don’t speak, waiting patiently like you’re giving him space to find the right words.
“i was out of line. the other day. with the painting,” he rubs the back of his neck, “you didn’t ruin anything. you actually… made it better. i just…i don’t know. i panicked.”
you blink. then smile again, soft, and somehow still glowing even under the dorm’s bad lighting, “it’s okay,” you say, standing slowly, “you were stressed, i get it.” he nods, grateful for your kindness. you take a step forward, then another — and then, your arms are wrapping around him. light and warm and genuine. he stiffens immediately. arms at his sides. not moving. you don’t miss it. you step back after a second, hurt flickering across your face like a dying candle, “is there… something else going on?”
renjun blinks, “what?”
you tilt your head, “it’s just…” you sigh, “you’re my boyfriend but you can’t even touch me. we don’t kiss. we don’t hold hands. it’s been a week and you treat me like i’m a stranger.” renjun’s brain short-circuits. in the deepest corner of his soul, he curses chenle for joking about this exact moment. that gremlin manifested this. his mouth moves before his brain does, “oh!, it’s cause im doing no nut november!”
you blink. a long, long pause. then, slowly, deadpan, “…it’s august.”
he closes his eyes, “right.”
you stare at him for a few more seconds, “so you’re… doing no nut november...in august.”
“yeah,” he says weakly, “i’m… training early.”
you just blink at him, obviously unconvinced. “you don’t have to lie, you know.”
he groans, dragging a hand over his face. “okay—fine. i just…” he sighs again, searching for another lie, “i want to take things slow. since you’re still recovering and all.”
“that’s… really sweet,” you say, your voice soft and touched. your expression softens. then you smile. not the small one. the beaming one. the kind that hits him like a truck. his brain is screaming — that wasn’t supposed to be sweet. that was survival. that was panic. and god, now you think he’s boyfriend material.
“thank you for telling me,” you say quietly, “now, i understand.” he looks at you, unsure what to do with the guilt crawling down his spine. you’re so gentle with him. so kind. even when he keeps screwing up. even when you’re scared and confused and calling him your boyfriend when he’s not. and that makes it worse somehow. because you trust him. “…do you want to sit down?” you ask, voice softer now, careful. renjun nods before he can stop himself. you sit side by side on your bed, knees nearly touching, the room quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the muffled chaos inside his head. his hands are clenched in his lap. your eyes stay on him — big, wide, full of that misplaced trust again. renjun tries to keep his breathing normal. and then you ask it. the question that breaks the final thread of his internal stability.
“…can i kiss you?”
it knocks the air right out of him, “w-what?”
you smile, soft and almost sad, “just one kiss,” you whisper, “it won’t break me.”
he visibly panics, “that’s— i don’t— maybe we should— you’re still recovering—”
you giggle, “renjun.” his name sounds so dangerous coming out of your mouth like that. sweet and certain and too trusting. you keep talking like you don’t see how badly he’s unraveling, “i’m not gonna break,” you say, tilting your head, “i like kissing you. or… i used to, i think. and i want to try again. please?”
please. that word should be illegal. his jaw tightens. “you don’t even have to kiss me back,” you breathe, leaning in slowly, “just… let me feel it. let me remember something.” he’s not sure when he stopped breathing. you were so close now, lips hovering, waiting. tempting. and he was throwing his moral compass out the window.
“god,” he mutters under his breath, voice barely a whisper, “fine.” and then – he gives in. your lips brush his, soft at first, tentative. testing. but even that gentle contact obstructs his brain. you kiss him slowly, like a memory you’re trying to find. like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you press too hard. and maybe you’re right. he’s hanging on by a thread. your hand rests lightly on his thigh and it takes everything in him not to react. his fingers curl onto the blanket, fists clenched, trying so hard to hold himself back. he doesn’t mean to kiss you back. but your lips part slightly, breath brushing over his mouth and he’s gone. his head tilts. mouths open. and then — your tongues meet. a soft press at first. curious. gentle. then you sigh into him, the sound high and breathy, and his body ignites. your tongue strokes against his, slow, languid, sensual and he groans, low in his throat. his hands fist in the blanket beneath you, trying to ground himself, but it’s no use. you taste like mint gum and something sweeter. every brush of your tongue feels like fire. you’re kissing him deeper now, hungrier, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt. he follows like he’s been summoned.
this is wrong. you’re his best friend’s girlfriend.
his body moves before his brain can stop it. you sink into the mattress, pulling him halfway on top of you. his elbows braced on either side of your head, caging you in, mouth never leaving his. you pull him closer by the front of his shirt, his hips press into yours, the weight of him dizzying. your tongues slide together again — hot, messy, wet. the kiss turns frantic, full of longing, need, remembrance. you moan into his mouth, and the sound drives him wild. his tongue pushes deeper, licking into you, exploring you like he’s been starved. he swallows your noises like he needs them. like they’re oxygen.
this is so wrong. you have temporary amnesia.
but—god, your mouth feels good. he grinds down without meaning to. his body aches. blood rushing south. cock hardening against your thigh. he’s rock hard and panicking but also can’t stop. “renjun,” you gasp against his mouth, and it’s his undoing. the spell shatters. renjun jerks back like he’s been electrocuted. you blink up at him, dazed. lips swollen, eyes wide, chest heaving. confused. beautiful. wrecked. he stares at your mouth, panting, ruined. the gloss of it. the taste of you still in his tongue. his brain is a mess. every cell in his body screaming for him to go back down and finish what you started. but he’s already on his feet, standing so fast he almost stumbles over your lamp.
“you—uh—you should rest!,” he stammers, backing toward the door, nearly tripping over your nightstand, “like—your brain! still healing! i’ll—uh—i’ll come by tomorrow or something—bye!” and he’s out. the door slams shut. he stumbles into the hallway, heart slamming against his ribcage, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon. he barely makes it a few steps before collapsing against your door, breathing hard, like he just escaped a burning building. his lips are swollen. his hands are shaking. his pants are tight. what the fuck just happened? he kissed his best friend’s girlfriend. and he liked it.
❤︎
the door slams behind him. you stay frozen for a second, eyes still on the space where renjun had just been hovering over you. your back presses into the mattress, chest rising and falling gently, lips still parted, still tingling. your fingers lift, slow, hesitant, and brush across your mouth. he kissed you. you kissed him. and it didn’t feel familiar. not the way it should’ve. not the way you were expecting it to. it didn’t feel like coming home. it felt like stumbling into something messy and a little forbidden, even though it shouldn’t be. it felt…new. undeniably new. and god, exciting. your fingers curl slightly at your lips. they still feel warm. a little sore, a little swollen, like they’re still craving more of him. you hadn’t meant to pull him down like that. it just sort of happened. the way he kissed back – cautious at first, but then deeper, more sure. the way he moved like he was losing himself in it. the way his hand gripped the bedsheets. the way his breath hitched when you moaned into his mouth.
he’s a good kisser. like – really good. like he knew exactly how to tilt his head, how to slow down just long enough to make your stomach twist. he kissed you like he didn’t want to want it but couldn’t stop himself. and that made it hotter, somehow. you blink, cheeks burning. was it always like that between us? you try to dig through the fog in your head, waiting for something to click. but it doesn’t. nothing matches. nothing about that kiss felt like a déjà vu. instead, it felt like discovering something for the first time. something you shouldn’t want but do anyway. something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t explain. it didn’t feel like a memory. it felt like chemistry. like maybe…this whole time, the boy you thought was yours has been holding back something you’ve only just gotten a glimpse of. and now you kind of want more.
❤︎
renjun doesnt know how far he’s walked. he’s been wandering around campus aimlessly. it’s nearly sundown now. the sky going that orange-pink color that looks like it should belong in a cheesy romance movie. which feels like an offensive coincidence. he just kissed his best friend’s girlfriend, “god,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, “i’m going to hell.”
he meant to apologize. that’s all he went over there to do. one quick sorry, maybe a hug — not a heated make-out session on your bed. but everything had spiraled out of control the moment you said please. renjun groans again, louder this time. he can still feel your lips. they were soft. too soft. unfairly soft. and worse — he liked kissing you. for a second, longer than a second, he forgot. forgot the memory loss. forgot yangyang. forgot everything but the way you tilted your head, the way you sighed against his mouth, the way your hands tugged on his shirt like you wanted him. which is crazy. because you don’t even know who you are right now. and he definitely knows you’re not his.
“shit,” renjun breathes, he sits on a bench, pressing his elbows into his knees, head in his hands. every single part of him screams the same thing over and over: tell yangyang — he should. god knows, he should. but he won’t. not yet. because what is he even supposed to say? hey bro, remember when you asked me to take care of your girlfriend while you were in germany? well, funny story, she kissed me. i kissed back. accidentally made out with her. my dick got hard. my bad.
no. no way. he drags a hand through his hair, jaw clenching. yangyang trusted him. asked him to do this. and that’s exactly what he was doing…right? he’s taking care of you. being there when you’re fragile and confused and desperate for connection. the kiss wasn’t planned. it wasn’t romantic. it was—you asked. you insisted. you pulled him down. and maybe he didn’t fight back hard enough but it was only to calm you down. to…help you. that’s it. that’s what he’s telling himself. even if his lips are still tingling. yangyang doesn’t need to know. not yet. maybe not ever. if your memory comes back tomorrow, it’ll be like nothing happened. and if it doesnt…then maybe he’ll come clean. eventually. possibly. probably. maybe not. he sighs. he needs to get it together. he’s never been the messy one. that’s usually haechan. or jaemin when he’s being overly dramatic. renjun’s always been the stable one. the logical one. the one who doesn’t do feelings — and now he’s starring in his own personal romantic tragedy.
✿ HEARTBREAKINGLY KISSED ✿
the dream house always threw the first party of the year. the kind of chaos freshmen tell their hometown friends about. the kind of chaos upperclassmen lived for. by 10PM, the backyard was packed. the dj booth was pulsing with bass-heavy remixes. colored lights strobed across the sweaty crowd. the pool, now set up for the summer heat, in the backyard, glowed under string lights, surrounded by drunk, half-naked students shouting and throwing hands full of water at each other.
renjun stood by the keg, nursing his red solo cup, wondering, not for the first time, why he showed up at all. he told himself he needed to blow off steam. that he deserved to dance, drink, let loose and yet now he’s surrounded by girls still trying to claw at him.
you weren’t sure why your stomach twisted the moment you stepped past the glowing fairy lights strung across the gate. the party was in full swing and yet as chaotic as it all was, something about this felt…familiar. you looked up at ningning beside you, sipping something blue out of a cup and looking around with mild amusement, “are you having fun?,” she said, swaying to the beat.
you nodded slowly, eyes scanning the crowd, “i think i’ve been here before.”
ningning blinked, “yeah? we usually attend the dream parties.” you nod, squinting toward the backyard, scanning for that one familiar face. you hadn’t seen renjun all day and you miss him. you weren’t clingy — you were just…confused. lost. trying your best. he was the only person who felt safe. and tonight, you’d been looking forward to being near him again. maybe a little too much.
“where is he?” you asked softly, more to yourself than anyone else. ningning raised a brow, “you okay?”
you smiled faintly, “i’m fine. it’s just….” she stared at you for a beat, then reached out and gave your hand a soft squeeze, “just go find him, babe. i’ll be over there near the jello shots.” you gave her a grateful look and turned, weaving through the crowd. you spot him in the yard, by the keg, under the neon lights, in conversation with some guy wearing shorts with palm trees on them. he’s in a white shirt and khaki shorts, jaw flexed as he sipped something from a solo cup. and surrounding him were girls. like moths to a flame. you watched them — three, maybe four, clustered around him, laughing too hard, touching his arm, twirling their hair. he barely reacted. but you did. you didn’t even think. jealousy wasn’t a feeling you expected tonight. but the rush of heat behind your ribs said otherwise. you cut through the crowd, marching up to him with a determined smile and a skip in your step. he didn’t see you coming — not until you were already there, sliding an arm around his neck like it belonged there. the girls blinked, faltering.
renjun turned to look at you, blinking, confused, a little drunk, “hey–?” and then you kissed him. right there in front of everyone. you didn’t hold back. you went all in. hand at the nape of his neck. body close. your lips pressing against his like you were claiming something that had always been yours. you weren’t trying to be hot or make a scene. you just needed them to know. he’s taken. he’s yours. renjun tensed, just for a second, and then relaxed slightly into it. his lips didn’t move. didn’t deepen the kiss, but he didn’t push you away either. his hands hovered like he didn’t know what to do with them. when you pulled away, you gave him a soft, satisfied smile, innocent-ish eyes on display, “i was looking for you.”
the girls slowly dispersed, annoyed, muttering something about “oh, so they’re really together” and “ugh, why is he hotter now that he’s taken.”
renjun blinked, mouth slightly open thinking what the fuck just happened as he tried to ground himself again. he gets a good look at you. you’re wearing a yellow checkered dress, short and sweet, enough to compete with the sun. and then slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. not because he liked the kiss — no, definitely not. maybe a little. it was wrong. so wrong. you are still not his girlfriend. but he’d been waiting months for those girls to leave him alone. and all it took was you. maybe being a fake boyfriend isn’t so bad. so he grinned — not the nervous, awkward renjun grin you were used to. no, this one was crooked. playful. almost cocky, “well,” he said, shrugging as he slid an arm around your waist, “guess you found me, love.”
your smile widened. it was the first time he used it. that nickname that made you blush extremely. he took another shot. something to get him through the night. and then he played along. he pulled you with him onto the dance floor. his hands stayed on your waist. when you giggled at the beat drop, he spun you around and pulled you back flush against his chest, your hips grinding exactly where he needs you to. his breath tickled your ear, “you're not a bad dancer,” he mumbled, “didn’t think you’d have rhythm.”
you grinned, looking up at him, “is that a compliment?”
“i’m drunk. it might be.” at some point, you fed him a pineapple. he took it with his teeth, lips brushing your fingers. eyes locked on yours. he didn’t let go of your hand after. you leaned your head on his shoulder. he let you. and he was in trouble. because for the first time in weeks, he was actually having fun. no chasing girls away. no dodging confessions. no rumors. no chaos. just…you. laughing at his jokes, dancing like nobody was watching, sipping his drink when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. you felt good beside him. and renjun felt drunk on more than just the shots he took. he wasn’t even sure what flipped the switch. maybe it was the way your arm curled around his when you leaned into him. or how your dress kept riding up every time you swayed your hips. or how your ass would grind onto him without you realizing. or maybe it was just the way you looked at him — soft, adoring, like he was yours and always had been.
he broke. without thinking, he tugged your hand and pulled you off the dance floor, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the way you giggled in surprise, “where are we going?,” you asked breathlessly, trying to keep up. he didn’t answer. didn’t trust himself to. he should’ve stopped. should’ve let go. but everything felt too hot — the music, the night, the way your fingers tightened around his. his blood was buzzing in his veins, brain fogged with lust and guilt and something else he didn’t want to name. he found the first empty bathroom upstairs, slammed the door shut behind you both, and locked it.
“jun—,” you didn’t finish. because the second the door shut, he was on you. his mouth crashed into yours with no warning. no hesitation. just hunger. a surge of raw, unchecked desire that had been simmering since that afternoon on your bed. your back hit the bathroom counter with a soft thud, but you didn’t notice. all you could feel was him — his body, his mouth, his heat, everywhere at once. the kiss was messy, uncoordinated, desperate. tongue first. like he couldn’t get deep enough, fast enough. your lips parted without thinking, welcoming the slick glide of his tongue, the way he licked into you like he was trying to drink you down. he groaned into your mouth, deep and needy, as your fingers clawed at his shirt, dragging him closer, pulling him in until there was no space left between you. his hips slotted between yours — and then he moved. a slow, deliberate grind. friction. you gasped. the drag of his jeans against your bare thigh. the way his cock pressed hard and hot through his pants, right between your legs. the sensation was blinding. the pressure is perfect. his lips devoured yours again as he rocked forward, slow and firm, grinding himself into the soaked center of your underwear like he couldn’t help it. your hands flew to his waist, anchoring him there, moaning into his mouth as your hips lifted, chasing the friction.
“shit,” he cursed, pulling back just enough to look at you, dazed, flushed, lips glossy with him, “you’re so—,” he didn’t finish. just kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding hotly against yours. one of his hands curled around the back of your neck, holding you steady, while the other slipped down, grabbing the underside of your thigh, hiking it up around his hip. you moaned. loud and unfiltered. and that sound, god, that sweet sound, made him thrust. it wasn’t soft. it was needy. your hips met halfway, grinding into him like your body had always known him. your panties were soaked now, the fabric doing nothing to protect you from the friction of his jeans, the hard line of his cock rutting against you again and again. it wasn’t enough. but it was too much. so much you couldn’t breathe. you broke the kiss with a gasp, head falling back as he leaned in, teeth grazing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. his breath was ragged, hot against your skin.
“renjun—,” you moaned, voice trembling. he ground into you again. harder. you cried out softly, legs tightening around his waist. his hands slid under your dress, fingers digging into your thighs as he rocked you both together, slow and dirty, his cock dragging over your clit through all the layers in just the right way. you were so close. too close. your nails scraped down his back. he kissed you again, stealing every breath, swallowing every sound. the rhythm picked up. friction sharp. focused. his hips bucking against yours, your dress bunched up around your waist, your underwear sticking to you from how wet you were.
“fuck,” he hissed into your mouth, and it was the most broken he’d ever sounded — and then he paused. not because he wanted to but because he had to. his hips stilled, his body shaking with restraining, head bowed against your shoulder, breath ragged, heart pounding. what the fuck was he doing? his hands were on someone else’s girlfriend. he pulled back. you blinked up at him, dazed, lips swollen, confused and breathless, your body still begging for more. you looked too perfect. too innocent. you had no idea this wasn’t real. this wasn’t right. he turned away, cursing under his breath. his reflection looked as wrecked as you felt. sweat at his hairline, red flushed across his cheeks and neck. his hard-on painfully obvious, straining against his zipper.
“renjun?” you asked again, confused, reaching for him. needing him to say something. but he couldn’t look at you. not when you were still spread against the counter. not when you were still panting. still trembling. still his god damn best friend’s girlfriend. he shook his head, pushing your hand away, “w-we should stop,” he whispered each word like it hurt to say, “you should rest.”
you stared at him, confused, hurt, “did i do something wrong?”
“no,” he says, not meeting your eyes, “you didn’t.” but he did. he kept his gaze down as he unlocked the door, then slipped out — heart in his throat, guilt like concrete in his chest. the door clicked shut and for a second, you just stood there. staring. breathing too hard. the mirror reflected a version of you you didn’t quite recognize. lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy from renjun’s fingers, your dress wrinkled from how close he’d pulled you. you looked kissed. thoroughly, heartbreakingly kissed. and then he left you. no explanation. no real goodbye. just that look in his eyes, wild, panicked, and then he was gone. you blinked a few times, the bathroom light suddenly too harsh. the pounding bass from the party below felt distant now, like it was happening on another planet. your heart was still thudding from the kiss. your skin still remembered the heat of his hands, the feel of his length on your core. but all you could think about was his voice. quiet. low. almost guilty. he kissed you like you were oxygen. like he’d die if he didn’t touch you. and then he ran.
something was off — that was the second time now. the second time he’d kissed you, then pulled away like he was drowning in regret. and it hurt. a little more than you wanted to admit. you didn’t understand what you were doing wrong. was it you? were you not good at kissing? did he not want to kiss you? you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to swallow the ugly knot forming in your throat. he didn’t even look at you when he left. and you hated how much that stung. somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice — a quiet, uncertain one — whispered: maybe you’re not the girlfriend you used to be. but that couldn’t be right, right? because he held you like he didn’t want to let go. he kissed you like he needed to. if this wasn’t real, if he didn’t love you…then what the hell were you doing? you turned to the sink and ran your hands under cold water, trying to calm the flush in your cheeks. the party raged downstairs. but inside your chest, things were quieting. still. empty. and for the first time since the accident…you didn’t feel safe. you felt…unwanted.
❤︎
renjun ran into his room, slamming the door shut behind him, locked it, and didn’t waste a second. he didn’t even bother turning on the light. just yanked his pants down with shaking hands, breath shallow, pulse loud in his ears. his cock was so hard. aching. throbbing like it was angry at him. “fuck,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around himself. he stroked once — slow, tight — and his knees almost buckled. it wasn’t just arousal. it was you. the feel of your soaked panties dragging against his jeans. the way you moaned his name like it meant something. the desperate way your hips chased his, grinding into him like you needed more. he fucked his fist harder, faster. teeth clenched. gasping through it. desperate to get it out. the want. the ache. you. just come. just fucking come and it’ll go away. his mind flashed with your lips, your tongue, your dress bunched up around your waist. “god—,” his hips stuttered. his hand kept moving. faster, rougher, like he could punish the feeling out of himself. like if he just emptied himself enough, the guilt would drain with it. and then he came. hard. hot. all over his hand. a sharp breath and his forehead dropping against the door like he could disappear into it. but the want didn’t leave. the guilt didn’t ease. you were still there — in his head, under his skin, on his tongue. and he hated himself for it.
✿ BROODING OR WHATEVER ✿
three days. you hadn’t heard from him since. and it made you sick with overthinking. ningning tried to reassure you, “he’s probably just busy, you know art boys. brooding or whatever,” but the doubt sat heavy in your chest. maybe you pushed him too far. maybe you ruined it. so today, you were going to fix it. you didn’t know how, exactly. but you figured food couldn’t hurt. so you packed a tupperware full of something different this time. something thoughtful. something not spicy. you played it safe – eggs, grilled fish, rice. all neatly arranged. a peace offering. an apology. maybe a please still like me without having to say the words out loud.
you entered painting ii. with your stomach in knots. he was already there. seated at your usual shared table. head down. hair a little messy. he hadn’t noticed you walk in yet. his brush moving slowly across the canvas like he was painting in molasses. the tension in his shoulders was visible even from across the room. you took your seat beside him quietly. he didn’t look up. you stared at your bag for a moment, then slowly opened it and pulled out the container. you set it down gently on the edge of his workspace, careful not to get any oil on the easel or brushes. then you turned to him with a soft, hopeful smile, “hi.”
renjun paused. barely. his hand stopped mid-stroke, hovering above the canvas. then slowly, he glanced sideways at you. his expression was unreadable. you pushed the container toward him, “i made you lunch. it’s not spicy this time. i promise. i did research on like… low-acidity, stomach-friendly, emotionally-neutral foods.” a beat. then another. he blinked. looked down at the food. then back at you. silence. you expected it. this weird, unbearable pause where it felt like the whole room had gone soundless. professor yuta’s voice started at the front, launching into something about color tones and shadow compositions, but it barely registered. renjun looked back at his canvas without a word. something caved in your chest. you blinked, swallowing the ache. still, you whispered, “i just… i wanted to make it for you.”
that finally made him flinch. he didn’t look at you, but his fingers tightened around his brush. after a long moment, he muttered, “i didn’t ask you to.” he didn’t mean it to sound cruel, or maybe he did, but either way, it knocked the air out of your lungs. you nodded once, quietly pulling your sketchbook toward you, flipping to a blank page with trembling fingers. “right,” you said softly, “okay.” and then, like nothing happened, you began to draw. because that’s what you did. that’s what he did. that’s what both of you were supposed to do here. but it didn’t bring you the peace like it usually does.
❤︎
he saw you walk in. of course he did. renjun felt your presence before he even looked up — this soft, quiet breeze of nerves and sweetness that always seemed to follow you. you didn’t say anything at first, just sat down next to him, like his absence hadn’t been loud and cruel and deliberate. and he hated that. he hated how gentle you looked, how hopeful your expression was when you set the container beside his hand like it meant something.
“i made you lunch. it’s not spicy this time. i promise…” you were smiling. all soft, lips pulled tight with nervous energy, voice a little too fast, like you’d practiced this speech in your head a dozen times before saying it out loud. renjun felt the knot form in his stomach before you even finished. god. he couldn’t even look at you for longer than a second. you were trying. you were trying so hard. and he didn’t deserve it. he was the one who kissed you at the party. who let his hands trail up your back and into your hair. who moaned into your mouth like some kind of pathetic, weak—fuck. you didn’t even remember yangyang. you didn’t even know what you were doing. and it made all of it — the kiss, the touch, the look in your eyes — feel like a punishment and a betrayal at the same time. he’d promised to take care of you. not take advantage of you. not kiss you in a bathroom and then disappear like a coward. he wasn’t supposed to notice how warm your smile felt. or how the way you touched the edge of your hair when you were nervous made his chest feel weird. so he stayed silent.
“i just… i wanted to make it for you.” renjun blinked. his grip on the brush tightened. he could’ve said something. anything. he could’ve lied and smiled and said thank you. that the last few days had felt like shit and he regretted running away.
but instead he muttered, “i didn’t ask you to.” he didn’t smile. didn’t dare to look at you. because if he did, he’d break. if he let himself really thank you, if he let even a sliver of affection creep out, it would all come tumbling forward — the kiss in the bathroom, the heat under his skin, the part of him that wanted to make space for you. he couldn’t afford that. not now. not ever. he felt the air shift the moment the words left his mouth. felt the way your shoulders stilled, your throat bobbed with the swallow. the way your fingers trembled slightly as you turned to your sketchbook and said, “right. okay.”
renjun’s jaw tightened. he picked up his brush again and stared at his half-finished painting like it had the answers. like if he focused hard enough on the texture of the clouds or the shadows on the tree line, maybe he wouldn’t feel the weight of your attention pressing into his skin. maybe his guilt wouldn’t taste so much like something sweet. but it did. and he hated that. he hated that soft things — sweet things — were the most dangerous of all. because they made people feel. they made him feel. and feeling things? that was where people got hurt. so he kept quiet. he didn’t look at you after that. couldn’t. but fuck, he felt you. painting like your heart was breaking. like you were trying to keep it together with the brush and the canvas. and he sat there like an idiot with a container full of apology food in front of him, hating himself more than anything else in the world. he keeps hurting you. he knew better. because even though he wanted to pretend he didn’t care — he did. he cared. too much.
❤︎
renjun didn’t mean to open it. he really didn’t. the plastic tupperware just sat there on the edge of the table – a quiet, gentle thing. a peace offering. a reminder. a wound. it sat through the first thirty minutes of class untouched. but he couldn’t stop glancing at it. at the neat little lid. the careful packing. the tiny note scribbled in your tiny handwriting on a yellow sticky tab stuck to the top: no spice this time, i triple checked ♡ — triple checked. god. you probably woke up early to make it. googled things. worried about whether the grilled fish was too salty or if the rice would get hard by noon. worried about what kind of eggs he liked. and despite everything, the guilt, his inner conflict, the distance he kept shoving between you, he slowly reached for it.
you were painting beside him in silence, the tension thick enough to slice through. not once did you look his way again. good. because when he peeled back the lid and the faint aroma hit him, warm, savory, mild, something in his chest cracked. he took a bite. then another. and another. it was simple. safe. balanced. it tasted like someone cared. and renjun wanted to scream. because he didn’t deserve this. not after how he acted. but he ate anyway. every bite, one spoon at a time, and every chew made the guilt worse. you didn’t say anything. didn’t even glance his way. but he knew you noticed. he saw the way your posture loosened just slightly. the way your grip on your brush relaxed. the way the corner of your lip twitched, like you were trying not to smile.
and god help him… it made the food taste even better. he’d tell himself it was just to avoid being wasteful. that it’d be rude not to eat something someone made for you. but deep down, he knew the truth. he wanted it. he wanted something from you again — your softness, your hope, your ridiculous effort. even if he didn’t deserve it. and sitting there, chewing slowly, warmth blooming quietly in his chest, renjun realized the truth he didn’t want to admit: you were breaking him. not with kisses or touches or accidental moans in the dark. but with care. with effort. with food in a box and a note stuck to the lid.
✿ HONEY AND CHAMOMILE TEA ✿
renjun didn’t say a word the entire walk home. you hadn’t spoken either. but something between you had shifted. he didn’t know when it exactly happened. maybe it was when you quietly slid the empty tupperware back into you bag after class, cheeks pink and hopeful again. maybe it was when you smiled, just a little. not because he thanked you, because he didn’t, but because he ate it. he accepted it. and that was enough for you. it messed him up a little. a lot. so now, here he was, hands in his pockets, walking a step behind you under the amber glow of the sunset. his own quiet way of apologizing.
the late summer air clung to his skin. the world smelled like asphalt and flowers and a faint trace of you — something sweet and warm, like jasmine and sugar. you glanced over your shoulder as you reached your apartment, “umm…do you wanna come in for a bit?” your voice was tentative, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask. he should’ve said no. but instead, something in him said, “just for a couple minutes.” you made tea. renjun sat on your carpeted floors, stiff, awkward. your room felt like a place where sunlight liked to stay. he wasn’t sure why he was still here. he’d told himself it would just be a minute. a polite thanks for the food, maybe a nod of peace after what happened in class. but now here he was. sitting on your carpet, hands wrapped around the calcifer mug, you next to him, holding your totoro mug, sipping tea in silence. pretending he wasn’t remembering the last time he was in this room. pretending the ghost of your kiss wasn’t still burned into his mouth. pretending you weren’t slowly, unintentionally, rewriting everything he believed in romance.
“it’s chamomile,” you said, breaking the silence, “it’s supposed to be calming.” he nods. the silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t sharp like before. it felt quieter. sadder. then you offered, softly, “i added honey. i thought you’d like that.” he blinked. of course you did. of course you’d think of that. of course you were still trying. still seeing him even when he tried to push you away. that’s just the kind of person you were. and the worst part was — it worked. the honey, the tea, the quiet effort of it all. it all worked. it made something in him ache. he looked at you. you were sipping again, cheeks a little flushed from the warmth, your lashes fluttering slightly as you blinked down into the mug. so soft. so stupidly sweet. no wonder he’s in love with you, renjun thought bitterly.
you took a sip, fingers curled tightly around your mug, “you know,” you said after a moment, eyes downcast, “i keep trying to remember things like how we met or our first date but my mind is just…blank.” renjun stared at the tea. his throat tightened. you kept going, voice smaller now, “it’s weird. i feel like there’s a version of me that exists and i’m just walking around in the shell of it. and i don’t know how to be that girl again,” you smiled faintly, your eyes a little glassy. it was clear you were pushing the tears away, “but it’s okay, i’ll figure it out. i’m trying.”
renjun turned to look at you. really look at you. at the soft curve of your lashes. the gentle set of your mouth. the quiet strength in the way you kept talking like you weren’t completely alone in this. like he hadn’t made you feel like you were. and something in him cracked again. because this softness, this effort, this fragile hope — you were doing it all for someone who wasn’t even here. for a boy who dropped a message and disappeared. for a best friend who hadn’t checked in once. who had put all the responsibility on renjun. and he was the one sitting here now. drinking your tea. walking you home. hurting you and still being cared for. it wasn’t fair.
you set your mug down gently, “you okay?”
he blinked, startled. his voice came out hoarse, “i just think…” you waited. renjun swallowed hard, “you deserve someone who shows up.”
you looked at him, confused, “what?”
he shook his head, laughing bitterly, “i mean — this. you. sitting here. making tea. apologizing even when you didn’t do anything wrong,” he looked down at the mug, “you’re kind. and sweet. and you try even when it’s hard. and he should be here. not me,” he muttered. you blinked, “who?”
renjun froze. fuck. “nothing,” he said quickly, forcing a smile, “i just meant…i’m not good at this…i should be more present.”
you kept watching him, head tilted a little, “you are here though.” and those words silenced everything in him. because yeah. he was here. even when he shouldn’t be the one to be here. he stared down at his own hands in his lap, letting the silence take over again. you looked at him with that small, tentative smile again, “so,” you said softly, “how long are you gonna keep looking like you’re being held here against your will?”
he blinked. you were teasing him for the first time. but gently. carefully. like you didn’t want to scare him off, “i’m not being held,” he muttered. “i’m just…” he trailed off. shook his head. “never mind.”
you tilted your head slightly, “you’re just…?”
he sighed, leaning back against the bed frame, “just trying to… forget some things.”
“is it the kiss?” you asked so bluntly it nearly knocked the wind out of him. renjun’s eyes snapped to yours, “what?”
“i mean…” you looked away, cheeks flushing, “i know you didn’t want it. here in my room and at the party. i know i kept insisting.” he opened his mouth. closed it again. he didn’t know what to say to that. but then you kept going, voice softer now. guilt sank into his chest like a stone.
“i shouldn’t have kissed you,” you whispered, “i just… i didn’t want those girls near you. i wasn’t thinking. i’m sorry.”
renjun stared at you. at the soft shake of your shoulders. at the way you gripped your mug tighter, curling in on yourself like you wanted to disappear. and all he could think about was how wrong you were. his heart was thudding, uneven and loud in his ears. everything about this moment felt like a soft unraveling. he didn’t know when he moved. just that one second, he was still frozen against the bed frame and the next – he was leaning in.
his voice was barely a breath, “don’t be sorry.” you looked up, eyes wide and blinking, lips parting with the start of another apology that never made it out. because renjun kissed you. soft. sure. his lips brushed over yours like he was learning the shape of them. he could taste the honey from your tea, feel the warmth of your breath against his skin. your hands stayed frozen around the mug for a beat. and then, slowly, you set it down and reached for him. his fingers settled on your back as he leaned in deeper, the kiss growing more certain, more real. you sighed into his mouth and it broke something in him. he didn’t run. not this time. he kissed you like he meant it. because he did. he kissed you even though he shouldn’t. even though you didn’t remember. even though you weren’t his to begin with. but you felt so warm under his hands. so soft against his mouth. he could feel your heartbeat thrumming through your chest, matching his own like some terrible, beautiful rhythm. when he finally pulled back, he was breathing harder than expected. so were you. your eyes opened slowly, glassy and confused, like you weren’t sure what had just happened. he rested his forehead gently against yours. didn’t say anything.
then you whispered, “you kissed me.”
and he nodded, “i did.”
a small, shaky smile crept onto your face, “are you gonna run away now?”
he let out a soft laugh, eyes closing for a second, before shaking his head, “no.” you smiled at him, pulling him in for another sweet kiss. and for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like he was standing at the edge of a mistake. it felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be. even if the rest of the world — and his never ending guilt — would come crashing in tomorrow. right now, it was just this. just the two of you. on your bedroom floor, drinking chamomile tea and sharing soft kisses like they were secrets.
✿ SKETCHES AND SHARED GLANCES ✿
renjun didn’t make a decision out loud. he didn’t confess anything to himself. but something changed after that kiss on your bedroom floor. for the past five days, without every saying why, he started walking you home. every day. no questions. no excuses. most times, you’d reach out first, fingers brushing his like you weren’t sure you were allowed to hold him. sometimes he’d just take your hand, quietly. neither of you said anything about it. about how natural it started to feel. the way your fingers laced through his like they were meant to be there. he was taking care of you. just like he promised. letting you remember naturally. that’s it. so when you turned to him with that sweet smile, asking, “are you coming in?,” he always said yes. without hesitation. without the old voice in his head screaming traitor. just…yes. the routine become second nature. your apartment. the soft lighting of your room. the softness of your carpet. the airconditioner humming. you’d both kick your shoes off and sit across from each other, sketchpads balanced on your knees, a pitcher of iced tea resting between you with your mismatched studio ghibli mugs. soft. comfortable. yours. and every so often, you’d scoot a little closer, peek over at his sketch, lean your head on his shoulder. and renjun would kiss you, quick or lingering, and you’d smile against his mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world. it wasn’t electric. it wasn’t chaotic. it was peaceful. and that terrified him. because peace had never been something he associated with relationships. love was supposed to be dizzying and painful. full of aching and unreciprocated devotion. but this was honey and chamomile. this was pages of sketches and shared glances. this was you tucking your legs underneath you, stealing a sip from his cup without asking, leaning your head on his shoulder while he drew.
he was still cautious. still guilt-ridden. but he kept showing up. because you didn’t interrupt his peace. you didn’t disturb his calm. you contributed to it. some nights, he’d linger longer than he meant to. watch the way your brow furrowed in concentration over a flower sketch. watch the way your hand curled delicately around your pencil like the weight of the world was tucked into its tip, “does this look weird?,” you’d murmur, turning your sketchpad toward him, lips pursed in question. renjun would take it gently, eyes sweeping over the lines you’d drawn. a leaf, slightly off-center. a petal too long, “no,” he’d say. and he meant it, “it’s perfect, love.” and maybe you blushed every time he said that. maybe he did too. he told himself this was temporary. just until you remembered. just until you didn’t need him anymore. but he kept drawing you when you weren’t looking — quick sketches in the corners of his pages. the curve of your shoulder. the way you held your mug. the soft smile you wore when you thought he wasn't paying attention. and those eyes that always looked at him like he held your entire world in his hands. and he thought, for the first time in his life, maybe this little world you two built, quiet and gentle and slow, could be enough. just for now. just for a little while longer.
there were nights when the weight of everything caught up with you. nights when the past slipped through your fingers like sand, and you couldn’t tell what was memory and what was imagination. those nights, the tears would come. you’d try to hide it at first, wiping them away quickly, forcing a smile when he looked up from his sketch. but he always noticed. “hey,” he said gently, voice breaking through the hush “what’s wrong?” and you’d laugh, shaky and bitter, swiping at your face, “i don’t know. i just feel like there’s pieces of me missing and i can’t figure it out.” renjun didn’t speak right away. he just set his sketchpad down and pulled you into him, hands cradling you like you were something fragile. something worth keeping whole. your tears soaked his collar. your fists curled into his shirt. and he kissed every tear away, one by one. “it’s okay. ” he murmured. lips brushing your cheek. your jaw. your temple. “you’ll remember. you’re gonna be okay. i’m right here.” he didn’t tell you that it hurt to say those things. that he didn’t know how long he was going to be here. but you clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to the world. and he let you. he held you.
❤︎
tonight, you were a little touchier than usual. renjun noticed the shift the moment you walked in your apartment, hand in hand, your thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles against the back of his like you didn’t even know you were doing it. you smiled up at him as you always did, soft and a little shy, but there was something else there tonight — a kind of quiet urgency, a magnetic pull that hummed just beneath your skin. he felt it too. it lived in the space between your palms, in the lingering brush of your shoulder against his as you sat beside him on the floor. in the way your thigh brushed against his jeans as you sat closer than usual. and when you reached for your sketchpad, your body leaned fully against his. he turned his head to glance at you, you were already looking at him.
you didn’t say anything. you just kissed him. slow at first. gentle. the same soft sweetness he’d grown addicted to. the kind that made his chest ache in ways he didn’t know how to handle. the kind of ache that only lives in the spaces where love is quietly forming, where need is blooming. your hands tangled in his shirt, your lips parting against his and the kiss deepened. turned hungry, messy, tongue sliding softly against his in a rhythm that didn’t ask for permission. you climbed onto his lap without hesitation, your knees on either side of his hips, the soft cotton of your shorts brushing against his jeans, arms wrapped around his neck, mouth moving against his like you were trying to draw something from him that he was still holding back. he gripped your waist without thinking, pulling you flush against him, like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. the slope of your sides, the soft dip of your lower back, the way your breath hitched when his thumbs brushed just under the edge of your shirt. your lips ghosted over his jaw, then back to his mouth, your breath hot and uneven, your voice even softer, “junie…”
fuck. that nickname did something to him. something dangerous. “i need more,” you whispered, words brushing his lips, “please…”
“love…,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut. he opened his mouth say something, to remind himself that this wasn’t supposed to happen. because this was another lie. the kind of line that couldn’t be blurred with guilt and affection and soft excuses.
you whined at the sound of his nickname for you. he’d only started using it recently — and now it rolled off his tongue like a confession, “i know we’re taking it slow,” you whispered, “and i get it, i really do. but i just…i need you. just your fingers. anything. please.”
and how could he possibly say no to that? to you. the way you begged for him. the way your voice hitched on that last word. like he was the only person in the world who could give you what you needed. he stared up at you, jaw clenched, heart pounding in his throat. there were alarm bells blaring somewhere far away in the back of his mind, warnings written in bold red that screamed she’s not yours. she doesn’t remember. don’t cross this line. this was supposed to be fake. but there’s nothing fake about the way your thighs trembled around his hips. nothing fake about your hands curling into his shirt. nothing fake about the way you said please, like it physically hurt to be this close and still not have him — so he kissed you again. his hands slid up your back, under your shirt, exploring soft skin like it was the only thing that could ground him. he kissed you until he couldn’t breathe. until your moans spilled into his mouth and made his stomach twist with heat. he let his hands dip lower, gripping your thighs, sliding up under your shorts as you whimpered, your hips rolling into his. one hand settled at the curve of your ass, the other trailing along the inside of your thigh, teasing, waiting, until you whimpered again, “junie, please…”
“fuck, love,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, eyes clenched shut, “you’re gonna ruin me.” and still, he gave in. his fingers brushed over your core, barely there, and you gasped into his mouth. you were so warm, so soft, already damp through the thin cotton. his thumb circled you gently through the fabric, “you’re so wet already,” he whispered, his voice wrecked and low, “you want this that bad?”
you nodded against him, trembling, “so bad…”
“yeah?,” he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower, his voice almost reverent, “sweet girl…”
he slid his fingers under the band of your shorts, dragging them down just enough to slip past your panties. you were slick and warm and desperate under his touch, and when he finally slid two fingers between your folds, you moaned so prettily it echoed through every corner of his mind like a sweet melody. he learned the shape of you by feel — the way you gasped when he circled your clit, the way you pushed into his palm when he added more pressure. his fingers explored, teased, stroked until he could feel the way your whole body responded to the smallest motion. you were trying to stay quiet, to stay still, but you couldn’t. and he didn’t want you to.
“is that okay?,” he asked, voice thick with awe, “here?”
you nodded quickly, clutching his shoulders, “more…i need you inside.” he listened. he slipped two fingers inside you and you felt your body seize around them. the way you clenched around his digits drives him insane. you were so tight. and for a dangerous second, he wonders what it would feel like to have you wrapped around him. you whimpered, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. his thumb resumed its gentle strokes against your clit and your whole body rolled against his hand. you whimpered his name, high and broken, “junie…” he swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the hinge of your throat. every nerve in his body was on fire. you looked like a dream above him. cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering, lips parted and trembling. his hand, slick and warm between your thighs, moved a little faster. he could feel you pulsing around his fingers, feel the way your body shiver with each stroke, “feels good, love?”
you nodded quickly. he felt your hand move between your bodies, soft, searching. he stilled just slightly when your fingers brushed the bulge of his jeans. “can i…?,” you asked, eyes wide and pleading. he almost told you no. almost stopped this before the line completely vanished. but then your hand was unbuttoning him, sliding into his boxers, fingers curling gently around him and everything rational in him melted. you watched him the whole time like you were studying him, memorizing the way his chest rose and fell faster. the way he swallowed when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your fingers around him. he was hard. already leaking at the tip.
“fuck,” he gasped, head falling against your bed frame. you stroked him slowly, tenderly, learning the rhythm of his body with each motion. he let a strangled whimper, hips jerking up into your touch instinctively. your hand wrapped around him was too much. too intimate. too good.
“am i doing it right?,” you asked, eyes wide, sincere.
“god, yes,” he breathed, hand still moving inside you, “you’re doing so good, love.”
you kissed his jaw, “want us to come together.”
his voice cracked, whimpering, “y-you’re killing me.” you moaned softly in his neck, hips stuttering, as his fingers pushed deeper, dragging against the spot inside you that made you cry out softly, grinding down harder on his hand, more desperate now. meanwhile, your hand around him grew slick with pre-cum, stroking him with shaky, eager fingers, matching his rhythm, you moaned, face tucked into his neck, “junie…i’m so close…don’t stop…” he didn’t. couldn’t. his fingers never let up. pushing, curling, dragging as your hand tightened around him, the strokes becoming a little sloppier, more desperate. “come with me…please,” and it was over. you shattered around him, gasping, moaning his name into his mouth as your orgasm rushed through you, thighs trembling, body arching against his. he held you through it, fingers never stopping, kissing you through every second of your high. your hand stuttered on him, squeezing, pumping him through his own climax as he spilled hot and messy into your palm, breath caught in his throat, a pretty whine escaping him as he pressed his face into your shoulder. it was messy. hot. intimate. something he could never take back. and he didn’t want to. not in this moment. you both sat there, breathless and still wrapped up in each other, your hand still around him, his fingers still buried in you, bodies humming from the memory of learning each other like it meant something. he looked up at you, your lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes soft and sleepy. you looked like a painting he wished he painted.
❤︎
renjun hadn’t slept. he’d gone home late, fingers still tingling with the feeling of you. the scent of you, warm skin, soft shampoo, the faintest trace of tea and jasmine. it all clung to his skin like a brand. he sat in his bed, back against the headboard, his sketchpad lay open in his lap, a pencil clutched like a lifeline. the page in front of him was a mess of fragments — not real portraits, not real compositions. just pieces of you. remnants of last night in graphite. your mouth, parted, mid-whisper. the curve of your jaw where his fingers had traced. the delicate shape of your hand wrapped around his cock. he squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tight. what the fuck am i doing? he flipped the page and tried again. sketching a quiet outline of your eye, lashes soft, lids lowered like they had been last night when you kissed him slow, sweet, needy. he remembered the weight of your thighs around him. the way you said his name like a prayer. he dropped the pencil. his chest was too tight. his cock was hardening with every second. he couldn’t focus. couldn’t do anything but sit in the wreckage of what he’d done and let it crush him, slowly. because fuck. he crossed the line. no. he obliterated the line. he fingered you. you jacked him off. you’d kissed him like you meant it and he’d kissed you back like he needed it. and worse — it hadn’t felt like a mistake at all at the moment. it felt like the only thing in the world that made sense. and that terrified him. you weren’t his. you were never supposed to be. yangyang has asked him – trusted him – to take care of you. not to touch you. not to kiss you in the dark. not to let you ride out your moans on his hand and call him junie in a voice so soft it made his heart clench. but he let it happen. he wanted it to happen. and the worst part? he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about it. not the way he should have. because it wasn’t just about lust. not really. it was the way you leaned your head on his shoulder when you were tired. the way you always poured a little extra honey into his mug. the way you looked at him like he was someone worth waiting for — worth forgiving. it was the soft silence between your bodies as you sketched side by side on your bedroom floor, knees touching. it was you. he buried his face in his palms, groaning low into the quiet room, “this is so fucked.” then his phone buzzed on the nightstand. he didn’t move at first. just stared at the glow lighting up the screen on his nightstand.
yangyang 🐑: hey dude
yangyang 🐑: sorry i haven’t been able to check up
yangyang 🐑: everything’s so hectic right now
yangyang 🐑: how’s my girlfriend?
renjun can’t help but let out a bitter scoff — my girlfriend. right. the one who doesn’t remember him. the one who kissed someone else. the one who’s falling asleep every night thinking renjun is the one holding her together. because he is. he exhaled slowly. then replied.
renjun 🦊: she’s okay. everything’s fine.
he hit send before he could think too hard. the lie sat heavy on his screen. then he turned his phone face-down again and shoved the sketchpad to the floor, curling into himself under the blankets like it would help. he was losing the war in his head. and a part of him didn’t even want to fight anymore. but reality had sharp edges. because eventually, you would remember. and when that day comes…when yangyang comes back and you look at renjun with clear eyes and whole memory, what would happen then? would you regret this? would you pull away? would you forget the way you whispered please into his mouth? or would you finally realize that the boy who had stayed was never the one you loved in the first place? renjun ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling, chest hollow and heavy. he was falling for you. and there was no safety net anymore.
✿ THE END OF A MOVIE ✿
it’s sunday. renjun showed up at your door with a shy smile and two tickets. “let’s go to the amusement park,” he said simply, “you said you didn’t remember our first date…i thought maybe we could make a new one.” your heart did a little skip at that. you blinked at him, barefoot in your doorway, still in your oversized sleep shirt with your hair a bit of a mess, “wait, like…today?”
renjun nodded, a little unsure, “if you want.” you did. so you went. and that’s how you ended up at the gates of the city’s most colorful amusement park before noon, in a yellow top and denim shorts with renjun beside you in a soft blue button-up, holding your hand like it was habit now. he looked calm, soft in the sun, hair a little windblown. but inside he was spiraling. the other night had crossed a line. a line he couldn’t take back. so today he had to balance the scales. remind himself that he could be gentle. that he could give you something good. something pure. something that didn’t feel like betrayal. you didn’t know any of that, of course. you just knew renjun was here, smiling a little more, holding your hand a little tighter. and it made your chest feel light.
“i don’t like scary rides,” you confessed early on.
renjun smiled, “that’s okay, we’ll stick to the fun ones.” and you did. the ferris wheel, where your legs dangled and the city stretched in pastel shapes below. the carousel, where you clung to the painted horse and laughed when renjun couldn’t stop laughing at you. the teacups, which you both regretted halfway through but couldn’t stop giggling long enough to care. you shared a corndog under the shade of a cartoonishly large umbrella. he wiped mustard off your lip with his thumb, trying not to think too hard about your eyes on him when he did. he won you a moomin plush after four failed tries at the ring toss, finally landing the perfect shot that made the staff sigh and hand over the prize. you squealed, hugging it to your chest, and renjun looked away before the smile on his face could betray how warm you made him feel.
later when he bought a giant swirl of cotton candy, you stuck your tongue out after a bite, “it’s too sweet.”
he tore off a chunk and handed it to you, “not sweeter than you.” you blinked. he realized too late what he said. but you didn’t tease him. you just looked away, shy cheeks tinged pink. and somehow, that made it worse. because he felt something.
he kept calling you love all day. quietly. almost without thinking: “careful, love…this one’s slippery.” “love, the line’s shorter in that ride.” “you good, love?” and every time, you looked up at him with this soft expression like he was home. and for today — renjun let himself pretend.
the last ride of the day was a gentle boat drifting through an animatronic forest. artificial stars twinkled above you in the painted ceiling sky. the animatronic fireflies blinked on and off like tired dreams. everything felt like it was holding its breath. you leaned your head against renjun’s shoulder. your hair smelled like sun and shampoo. the boat was quiet except for the soft hum of violins playing some whimsical tune no one really knew the name of. around you, plastic trees bowed toward plastic owls. it was all fake. but this part right here, the way his heart twisted, it was real.
“this feels like the end of a movie,” you murmured. renjun’s throat tightened. “yeah,” he said, his voice quieter than before, “one of those indie ones where no one ends up together and everyone’s sad.”
you turned, frowning at him, “buzzkill.” he gave a small smile. but it didn’t reach his eyes, “i’m just saying. there’s emotional damage waiting around every corner.”
you stared down at the water, your voice even softer now, “then let’s stay in the boat.” your words landed in his chest heavier than they should have. it didn’t feel like a joke. it felt like you meant it. to stay here in this bubble. in this moment. before things break. before you remember. you looked up at him. and for a second, it was like the world narrowed to just the space between your bodies, and you whispered, “let’s never get off.”
he was still looking at you when you said it. and something in him cracked, quietly, inwardly, like a seam splitting down the middle. you didn’t know what you were asking. you didn’t even know who he really was to you. his voice was almost too soft to hear over the lapping water, “okay, love.” you smiled then. so gentle. so full of trust it nearly made him sick. you laced your fingers with his and rested your joined hands in your lap, and without thinking, he brought them to his lips. kissed your knuckles like it was instinct. like it wasn’t dangerous. like it didn’t feel like the most intimate thing he’d ever done. you didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away. you just squeezed back. and renjun let himself believe, just for a little longer, that this was okay. that he could have this version of you. this almost-love. this almost-honesty. even if it was built on a lie. even if he was only ever meant to be the space in between.
❤︎
the ride home was quiet. the kind that settles around two people when the day has worn them down in the sweetest way. when there’s nothing left to prove. when words feel unnecessary. you had both shared cotton candy and quick kisses, laughter and linked pinkies, and now the world outside his car’s window blurred into a smear of golden streetlights and fading carnival music still ringing in your ears. renjun kept his eyes on the road but from the corner of his vision, he saw your fingers reach across the console, gently wrapping around his right hand, resting on his thigh. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. your fingers threaded through his like it was instinct. and he let your hand stay in his, palm warm, thumb twitching once when you gave it the smallest squeeze before slowly relaxing. he glanced over just in time to see you lean your temple against the window, lashes resting against your cheeks now, breathing steady and soft. you were asleep. still holding his hand. renjun exhaled, quiet, slow, like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. he turned the music down, low enough to become background hum. he didn’t dare move his hand, not when your fingers were laced with his like that. not when your entire frame had gone soft and trusting beside him. until you shifted. a sudden twitch of your fingers. a quiet noise, something between a gasp and a hiccup. he glanced at you. your brows were furrowed now, soft lips parted like you were about to speak — but didn’t. a wrinkle of confusion pressed between your brows, your lashes fluttered like your dreams were turning sharp. then, you stirred awake, sharp breath sucked through your teeth, sitting up slightly like you'd just surfaced from underwater. renjun straightened immediately, alarmed, voice incredibly soft, his grip on your hand tightening just a little bit with concern, “what happened?”
you blinked at him, disoriented, chest rising and falling as your eyes adjusted to the present. “i think…i think i saw a memory.”
renjun froze. his stomach dropped. he tried to keep his voice even, “what do you mean?”
you leaned forward, letting go of his hand and the car suddenly feels colder without your warmth, “we were at a party, i was in a sparkly dress. it was loud. and there were two of you.”
renjun blinked slowly, “two of me?”
“no— i mean… you were there. and someone else. a boy. you were talking. laughing,” you shook your head, “i couldn’t see his face. it was just shadows and light and the sound of his voice. but i heard a name. you said his name.”
renjun didn’t realize he was holding his breath until your next words knocked it out of him — “yangyang,” you said.
he swallowed. hard. you looked at him. really looked at him, “renjun…who’s yangyang?”
his mouth opened. closed. renjun’s heart thudded so hard he was sure you could hear it. he didn’t answer immediately. he couldn’t. you were staring at him like he had the answer. like you trusted him to give it. and all he could think was: shit. it’s starting. he forced himself to breathe. one second. two. he licked his lips, nodded slowly. “yangyang,” he echoed, carefully, gently, “he’s… my best friend.”
your brows furrowed, “your best friend?”
“yeah,” he said, and it felt like his throat was closing around the words, “we’ve known each other forever. since freshman year.”
you sat with that for a moment, “why haven’t i met him?”
renjun forced a laugh — soft, tired, like the question didn’t stab him right in the gut, “he’s not around right now. he’s, uh…” he cleared his throat, “he’s in europe. got into this really competitive internship for fashion design.”
“oh,” you said, “that sounds… amazing.”
renjun nodded, eyes flicking to the window, trying not to crumble under the weight of your innocent stare. “yeah. it is. he’s talented. always knew what he wanted.”
you stayed quiet for a moment. renjun risked a glance at you. you were still looking at him. still believing him. still not remembering. “it’s weird,” you murmured, more to yourself now, “i don’t know why that name stuck with me. it felt important.” he kept his gaze on the road. you leaned back against the seat slowly, thoughtful, “was i close to him too?”
there was a long pause. one that felt too loud inside the quiet of the car. and then, renjun finally nodded, “yeah,” he said, voice low, “you… you were close.”
you blinked, “close…how?”
he looked out the window, eyes tracing the blur of streetlights against the night, “i don’t think i should be the one to answer that.”
your head tilted, “why not?”
he turned to you then, eyes tired, mouth twitching with something between guilt and grief, “because it’s your memory. and it’s gonna come back when it’s ready. i don’t want to mess with that.” you stared at him, trying to decipher the shadows in his expression. the flicker of something in his tone. but before you could say anything else, he smiled, soft, almost sad, and added, “he mattered to you. that’s all i’ll say.”
you nodded slowly, the words lodging somewhere in your chest like a puzzle piece half-formed, “okay,” you whispered, “thanks for being honest.” he nodded once. his heart shaking. neither of you spoke for the rest of the ride. you just laced your fingers through his again until sleep took you. and renjun — terrified, soft-hearted renjun — sat there, holding back a thousand truths, feeling your words slice through him. his eyes flicked between the road and your sleeping form. the slope of your shoulder. the way your knees were curled toward his direction. the faint crease between your brows that hadn’t quite gone away, even in rest. god. you were beautiful. and he was so, so screwed. he kept driving, more slowly now, like he could prolong this — the moment, the night, the feel of your hand in his — as long as possible. as if time could be tricked into stalling. and somewhere in the stillness, his thumb moved without thinking, brushing once over the back of your knuckles. a silent apology. a promise he couldn’t speak aloud.
✿ MRS. SUH’S FARMSTAY - WELCOME HOME ✿
fifteen minutes passed. the road had thinned out, fewer streetlights now, no traffic, just the soft purr of the engine and the even softer sound of your breathing beside him. your hand was still curled around his. you hadn’t stirred once since you fell asleep. renjun didn’t know what to make of the silence. he should’ve felt peace. instead, it gnawed at him, something tight lodged under his ribs, a thread of guilt wound so tight it was starting to hurt. and still, he didn’t let go of your hand. but then, with no warning — the car jerked. a sudden stutter. the dashboard lights flickered. the engine coughed once, then twice and died. he cursed under his breath, eyes widening as he coasted to the right. the steering wheel stiffened. the soft music cut off. the car came to a slow, rattling stop. you stirred instantly, “mmh?,” you blinked groggily, lifting your head from the window, “what happened?”
renjun let go of your hand carefully and twisted the key in the ignition again. nothing. “we broke down,” he said, jaw clenched, “i don’t know why, it was fine all day.” you sat up straighter, rubbing your eyes. outside the windows, there was nothing but open road behind you, a stretch of farmland on the right and dark hills rising in the distance. you looked around, blinking the sleep from your eyes, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in, “there’s no signal,” he murmured, holding up his phone and squinting at the blank bar of reception.
“where even are we?,” you ask. renjun leaned forward, resting his arms on the wheel as he exhaled, “middle of nowhere, apparently.” but just then, you both saw it — just past the fields on the right, barely lit by the sliver of moonlight peeking though the clouds. a faint flicker in the distance. warm yellow light. a house. you sat up straighter, “wait–look.” renjun followed your gaze, “that—is that a house?”
“i think so. there’s a path,” you said, already opening the door, the night air wrapping around you, “maybe they have a phone or…i don’t know…tools?”
renjun nods, grabbing the flashlight from the glove box, “stay close to me.” the gravel crunched under your feet as you walked hand in hand. the path wound past rustling trees until the house came into full view, an old hanok-style cottage, tucked neatly behind a row of lavender bushes and small wooden sign, hand painted in soft pastel green: mrs. suh’s farmstay – welcome home. you looked at each other, and without a word, renjun knocked. it took a few moments, but the door opened with a soft creak. she was tiny. maybe just over five feet, wrapped in pale pink cardigan and think knitted slippers, her short hair faming her face. her eyes widened when she saw you, then immediately softened into a warm, maternal smile, “oh my goodness,” she gasped, “you poor children! come in, come in…what on earth are you doing out at his hour?” renjun stepped forward politely, “we’re really sorry to bother you ma’am. our car broke down and we saw your lights.”
“well, then it’s a good thing i always leave the porch light on,” she said brightly, ushering you inside. the scent of simmering herbs and ginger filled the air. her home was cozy and cluttered in a way that felt like childhood. “i don’t usually take guests this late,” she said as she bustled into the kitchen, “my son helped me list this place online for weekend retreats. you’re lucky i still keep the guest room ready,” she waved a spoon in your direction, “you can stay here for the night, figure out your car in the morning. have something warm first.” and just like that, two bowls of steaming doenjang-jjigae were set in front of you, along with freshly made rice, kimchi and grilled mackerel. you sat at the little wooden table across from renjun, your cheeks pink from the warmth. “i’ll get you both some clothes to sleep in,” mrs. suh said, disappearing down the hall.
renjun watched you across the table as you lifted your spoon, blowing gently on the soup before tasting it. your shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension of the night ebbing away, “are we still in that indie movie?,” you tease softly, smiling at him. he swallowed hard, then smiled back, even though his chest ached. “yeah. a weird, kinda perfect one.”
moments later, mrs. suh returned with a stack of neatly folded clothes. “these might be a little big, dear,” she said kindly, “but they’re clean and warm. you’ll find towels in the bathroom, and the room at the end of the hall’s yours.” the both of you thanked her, heart swelling with a strange mix of gratitude and disbelief.
✿ I LIKE YOU IN MY SPACE ✿
the guest room was small and simple — faded floral wallpaper, a twin bed pushed against one wall, and an old bookshelf half-filled with yellowing paperbacks. it smelled faintly of cedar and looked untouched, like no one had been in here for years. renjun stepped in behind you, clicking the door shut behind him, “she’s really something, huh?”
“she didn’t even hesitate,” you said, smiling, already dressed in the oversized clothes mrs. suh had given the both of you. renjun nodded slowly, his gaze scanning the room, “it’s like… this place waited for someone to find it.” you turned to him then and he looked at you. really looked. the night was still. you were stranded, out of options, out of time, and yet, something about this place, this strange little miracle tucked between nowhere, made everything feel… suspended.
“so…what do you think? rustic charm? creepy muder house? somewhere in between? maybe her kindness is a trick to lure us in?”
you huffed a laugh, lightly slapping at his chest, “she gave us free stew and oversized shirts, not poison apples, snow white.”
renjun grinned, catching your hand and holding it for a second before letting go, “i’m just saying…nobody’s that nice without a catch.”
“don’t be so skeptical,” you grinned, “not everyone’s out to kill you and stuff you in a freezer.”
“that’s what someone lured into a freezer would say,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes, laughing, soft and free in a way that tugged at something in his chest. he could watch you like this forever. but he shouldn’t. not when he was lying to you every second of every day. then your laughter faded into a yawn and renjun glanced at the bed. “...okay, sleep time,” he said, guiding you towards the bed. you climbed in without protest. the mattress creaked softly under you as you nestled into the pillow. meanwhile, renjun bent down to grab one of the throw blankets from the little rocking chair in the corner, fluffing it out and laying it gently on the floor beside the bed. you watched him quietly for a second, eyes narrowing as you propped yourself up on one elbow, "what are you doing?"
he looked up, sheepish, "getting ready to sleep?"
"on the floor?"
"...yeah?"
you blinked at him. “renjun. you’re literally my boyfriend.”
his ears turned pink, “right, i mean—yeah, but—”you cut him off by lifting the corner of the blanket beside you and patting the space, “get in the bed.”
his brows jumped, “it’s a twin.”
“so? we’ve been closer than this,” you said pointedly. renjun blushed, rubbing the back of his neck, still rooted to the floor like the decision required deep internal debate. you gave him a flat look, daring him to argue further. he huffed a quiet laugh as he slipped beneath the blanket beside you, careful not to move too much. the mattress dipped under his weight and suddenly the smallness of the bed became overwhelmingly obvious. your knees brushed. so did your elbows. his arm was barely a breath away from your waist.
“sorry,” he mumbled, stiff as a board.
“why are you sorry?”
“i don’t know. i just feel like i’m invading your space.”
you turned to face him, eyes soft in the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, “you’re not. i like you in my space.” renjun was staring at you now, his expression unreadable. his hair still a little damp from the shower, and the oversized borrowed shirt made him look smaller somehow. softer. you shifted onto your side, the blanket rustling softly as you curled slightly toward him, your legs brushing his under the covers, “thanks for today,” you murmured. the corner of his mouth lifted into a slow, tired grin, “even if we might be cooked in her oven tomorrow?” you snorted, “you’re never letting that go, huh?”
“she had six rocking chairs in the living room,” he whispered, dramatically. “and not a single phone charger. that’s serial killer energy.”
“she made us stew, junie. stew. and gave us fresh towels.”
“exactly,” he said gravely, “so we’d be clean and tender before she seasons us with herbs and throws us in the dutch oven.”
you laughed again, quietly this time, your fingers brushing his under the blanket, “you’re so annoying.”
“but charming,” he added helpfully.
you hummed. “debatable.”
he let out a quiet puff of a laugh, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle ,“i’m just saying, if we don’t make it out of here tomorrow, at least our last meal was decent.”
“and i got to spend it with you,” you add softly. his heart beating out of his chest. the room fell quiet again, just for a beat. your hand found his under the blanket. he laced his fingers through yours like it was second nature, thumb grazing the back of your hand in slow, absentminded strokes. “you’re warm,” you said quietly.
“you’re cold,” he replied, glancing down at your intertwined hands.
“that’s why you’re here,” you mumbled, closing your eyes, “boyfriend duties.”
“mmm, i didn’t see ‘human space heater’ on the list when i signed up.”
“fine. i’ll revoke your boyfriend card.”
renjun gasped, mock-offended, “you wouldn’t.”
“watch me.”
a pause. then he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, “...i’d fight custody for moomin.” you opened your eyes, blinking up at him, “you monster.”
renjun grinned, “he’d want to be with me. i’m the one who rescued him from the ring toss.” you let out a half-hearted groan and shoved at his shoulder. he caught your hand again, pulled it back under the blanket, and held it to his chest like it belonged there. and maybe it did. you both fell into the quiet again, eyes drifting to the faint moonlight filtering through the old lace curtains, dust dancing in the air like soft snow. the silence wasn’t heavy. it was filled with that peace that always settles between the two of you. but there was also something else. something warmer. something slower. something thick with tension.
“renjun,” you said quietly, almost like testing the sound of his name in this suspended reality you’d both stumbled into. he glanced at you, gaze soft and unreadable again but you didn’t wait for him to second guess anything this time. your hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the corner of his lips as you leaned in and kissed him. it started gentle, familiar, but it didn’t stay that way. renjun inhaled sharply against your mouth, and you kissed him again—deeper, firmer, pulling him in by the front of that oversized shirt until your chest pressed into his. your tongue swept past his lips when he opened for you, and just like that, the slow-burning tension that had been simmering between you all day caught fire. he kissed you back like he couldn’t help it, like it was reflex, instinct, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer, mouths moving together in messy, open-mouthed sync. tongue, teeth, breathless sighs and soft, desperate sounds against each other’s skin. you shifted, climbing over him, knees bracketing his hips as your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, palms splayed against the warm skin of his stomach.
“shit,” renjun whispered into your mouth, voice strained, one hand gripping your thigh like he was already losing control. he let you push him deeper into the mattress, let you kiss him until he was dizzy and dazed beneath you. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan and he responded with a heated kiss that nearly knocked the breath out of you. you could feel how hard he was under you now, could feel the way his body arched up, trying to chase your touch, your mouth, the friction.
“junie,” you whispered, dragging your mouth across his jaw, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. but then he stopped. like he always did. he turned his head, eyes squeezing shut as he gently gripped your hips to still them, “wait,” he breathed out, voice barely a whisper, “just…wait.”
you froze above him, still catching your breath, your fingers trembling slightly where they rested on his chest, “why do you always stop?” you asked, not accusing. just tired of wondering, “do you not…want me?” you say, voice so soft, almost a whisper, afraid of the answer. that made him flinch. he blinked once, sharp and startled, eyes snapping to yours like he couldn’t believe you’d ask that, “don’t,” he said quickly, voice tight, “don’t say that.”
you tilted your head, studying him, “then what is it?” his grip tightened on your hips, just slightly. he sat up a little, chest nearly brushing yours now, the covers tangled around your legs, your bodies still pressed close from the tension that had nearly tipped into something else. “it’s not you,” he said, low and hoarse, “god, it’s not you.”
“then why?”
renjun dragged a hand through his hair, fingers shaking, “because this feels too real,” he finally whispered. the words spilled out like they’d been pressing against the back of his throat all night.
“what does that even mean?”
he looked at you then, his eyes glassy in the dim moonlight. “it means i’m scared,” he admitted quietly, “i’m scared that if i give in— i won’t be able to stop. not just tonight. not tomorrow. i’ll want more, and what if…,” he searched for the words, his fingertips pressing into your back, holding on like he was afraid you might float away if he didn’t, “what if when you remember, you won’t want me like this anymore?”
you blinked, “what?” he looked away, jaw tight, throat working like he was trying to shove the words back down, “when your memories come back,” he said quietly, “what if everything between us fades? what if you look at me and this doesn’t mean anything anymore?”
your heart twisted at how small he sounded. how uncertain. but there was no hesitation in your voice when you reached up and cupped his cheek, bringing his face back to yours, “renjun,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over the delicate skin just beneath his eye, “there’s nothing not real about what i feel for you right now.” his eyes fluttered shut at your words. you didn’t know what your past held. you didn’t know how things were supposed to be. but what you did know, what you felt, was this. him. here. now. “i want you,” you said softly, “all of you. not just tonight. not just until i remember something. i want the boy who drinks tea with me on the carpet. the one who wins me a moomin plushie. the one who holds me when everything is too much. the one who makes me feel… safe.”
renjun’s breath caught. his hand curled into your shirt. you leaned down, pressing your forehead to his, “we can be scared,” you whispered, “you don’t have to protect me from it,” you whispered, “or from you.” his gaze searched yours. raw. wrecked. “don’t overthink,” you told him, lips brushing his, breath warm against his mouth, “just feel.”
and something in him broke. or maybe, finally, something in him let go. his hands lifted to cup your face, thumbs brushed your cheeks, and he kissed you — slow, reverent, like the world might end when your lips met. he didn’t stop this time. no hesitation. no fear. just deep, aching hunger wrapped in tenderness. his tongue slid against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, guiding you back into that warm, dangerous space between want and need.
you moaned softly into his mouth as he shifted beneath you, helping you grind down against the hard line of him, his fingers firm but reverent where they gripped your hips. his voice, a low rasp against your lips, “keep going, love. just like that.”
you gasped, your forehead falling against his as your hips rocked against him again, “renjun…”
“let me feel you,” he whispered, breathless, the tip of his nose brushing yours, “let me remember this.”you reached between your bodies, pulling down the borrowed pajama pants just enough to free him, your own damp underwear tugged off with a soft rustle of fabric. he held his breath as you sank onto him slowly, the stretch sweet and aching and right.
“oh my god…” you whimpered in whispers, your fingers digging into his chest as you took all of him, until he was fully inside you, warm and pulsing. your lips brushed over his as you rocked your hips, slow and smooth, he was so thick it made your head spin, the tight warmth of your body wrapped around him in perfect rhythm
renjun cursed softly under his breath, head tipping back against the pillow as he fought for control, “you feel so good,” he murmured, hands trembling where they held your hips, “so warm—fuck, love—ride me. just like that. slow.” you moved gently, rolling your hips in a rhythm that made his breath stutter, hands pressed to his chest as you rode him with a softness that bordered on reverence. every stroke was deliberate. every shift of your hips slow and sensual, dragging quiet moans from both of you as your bodies stayed pressed close in the warm hush of that tiny, time-frozen room.
you quietly whimpered as you rolled your hips again, the drag of him inside you sending sparks down your spine, “feels so good,” you whispered, voice trembling, lips brushing his jaw as your fingers clutched at his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, “you feel so good, junie.”
“yeah?” he rasped, his voice wrecked and low, his chest rising and falling beneath your palms. you moved like you were savoring every second, your thighs squeezing tighter around him. he slid a hand up your spine, the other gripping your hip to help guide your rhythm, groaning softly into your mouth, “fuck… that’s it,” he whispered, hips bucking slightly to meet your movement, “god, i’ve wanted this. i’ve wanted you like this.”
you leaned in, your forehead pressing to his, sweat starting to bead at your temples, “then take it,” you murmured, kissing him again—filthy, deep, desperate. but he didn’t flip you. didn’t take over. he gave in. you rode him in a rhythm that was pure indulgence—intimate, aching, soaked in tension. the bed creaked faintly beneath you, but it was nothing compared to the sounds you were both holding back. because just one thin wall away, mrs. suh lay asleep, which meant you still had to be careful. quiet. but that didn’t make it any less intense. in fact, it only made it worse. hotter. deeper. more dangerous.
renjun’s head tipped back against the pillow, his mouth parted in a silent gasp, chest heaving. his hands clutched at the sheets before one of them slid up your thigh, then higher, gripping your ass to pull you down harder onto him. his eyes fluttered, then locked on yours, pupils blown wide and desperate. “fuck…” he mouthed, barely audible, voice caught in his throat as his hips instinctively bucked up into you faster, rougher. you leaned down slightly, your hair falling like a curtain around both of you, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “stay quiet, junie…” he whimpered, his nails digging into your skin as you rocked into him faster now, matching his pace. your pussy clenched around him and he nearly choked on his moan, swallowing it back, blinking up at you like he was on the edge of unraveling, “please,” he whispered, barely managing the word, “please, i—” you kissed him, swallowing his next sound as you dragged your hips over him again, your walls fluttering around his cock, eyes rolled back, fingers gripping his shirt tightly.
“god, use me, love,” renjun gasped, tightening his hold on your ass, “just—fuck—use me…” your breath caught at the sound of it, need, pure and raw, pouring out of him like a flood. he was panting now, jaw slack, lips wet from your kiss, and his hands moved without thought—reaching up, sliding beneath the oversized shirt you wore, pushing it up just enough so his palms could cup your tits.
“fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, thumbs brushing over your nipples, watching you ride him like you were made to, “so soft—so fucking warm—” you whined, biting your lip to keep quiet as your pace picked up, more purposeful now, your movements drenched in want. every time your hips met his, it was friction, heat, pleasure. renjun couldn’t stop touching you, hands squeezing your tits, sliding down your waist, then back up again. he was watching you with wide, dazed eyes, his lips parted in a near-silent moan as your hips snapped just right, grinding your clit against the base of him.
“you feel so good inside me,” you whispered, your forehead pressed to his, your breath mingling, “i could do this all night, fuck myself on your cock until the sun comes up.” his whole body shuddered. those vulgar words coming out of your sweet sweet mouth makes him lose all control, “fuck—love, i-i’m not gonna last—” you clenched around him again on purpose and his hand shot up to cover his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, his hips jerking beneath you. you could feel how close he was. but you weren’t done with him yet. you leaned back slightly, hands on his hips for balance as you rode him harder now, body glowing in the faint moonlight. renjun looked up at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever seen. meanwhile, his flushed cheeks, messy hair, and trembling thighs painted the picture of a boy being absolutely wrecked beneath you. and he loved it.
“you’re mine,” he whispered, his hand going up to cup your jaw with slight force, “say it.”
“make me yours, junie, come for me,” you gasped, leaning down again, kissing his lips. and that was it. his hips jerked, breath caught in his throat, eyes snapping shut as he groaned your name, desperate, messy, before pulling you off him just in time. hot thick ropes spilled between you and you didn’t miss a beat, your hand wrapping around his cock immediately, stroking him through it, pumping him slow, firm, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. his cum marking your thighs, your hand, the lower part of his stomach from when his shirt rode up. but you didn’t stop.
“f-fuck–fuck–love,” he whimpered, biting down on his lip, writhing beneath you, cock twitching in your hand, “too much—fuck—it’s too much—”
“shhh,” you murmured, watching his face, how beautifully undone he was. how helpless he looked trying to keep quiet. you brought one hand up, covering his mouth. you didn’t stop. “you can take it. give it to me, junie. all of it.” you kept milking him, fingers slick with cum, slow and steady and he kept breaking for you — thighs shaking, moans muffled behind the hand you slapped over his mouth, whole body trembling, chest heaving, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, lashes damp and fluttering, as you wrung every last drop from him.
your bodies were still pressed together, slick with sweat and heat, heart pounding against his chest. renjun was breathless beneath you, chest heaving, lips slightly parted, eyes hazy with the aftershocks of his orgasm, “shit, love, i came too fast. i couldn’t help it—” he started, brows drawing together. you leaned down, brushing your lips across his cheek, “you were perfect,” you whispered, ready to lay by his side again, but renjun shook his head, eyes dark and gleaming now as he cupped your hips again.
“no,” he murmured, “you think i’m done?” he shook his head, dark eyes focused, gleaming with something deeper—need, devotion, worship—as his hands slid up your sides, fingers brushing beneath the hem of the oversized shirt you wore. his voice dropped low, hungry and reverent, “not done with you yet.” you didn’t resist when he pushed the shirt up slowly, knuckles dragging across your heated skin. he sat up slightly to tug it over your head, lifting it off your arms with care, revealing your bare chest to the cool air. his eyes darkened instantly, his gaze raking over you like he was seeing something holy, “fuck,” he whispered, breath catching, “you’re beautiful.” your cheeks flushed, but before you could respond, he was already kissing down your sternum, slow and wet. then he reached your breasts. his tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive peak of your nipple, the light contact making you arch slightly into him. a soft gasp slipped from your lips as he circled it again, slower this time, letting the flat of his tongue drag across the sensitive bud before pulling it gently between his lips.
“renjun—” you whispered, the heat in your stomach increasing, fingers threading into his hair. he hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. his mouth wrapped fully around your nipple, sucking it with just enough pressure to make your toes curl. his other hand came up to cup the other, thumb brushing over the neglected peak, teasing it in slow, lazy circles. he switched sides then, licking a trail across your chest to give your other breast the same attention— lips sealing around it with a moan so soft, so hungry, it went straight to your center. your hips shifted in his lap, the sensation pulling need from you like a string. renjun looked up at you, lips still wrapped around your nipple, eyes half-lidded and wrecked before he sucked harder. your back arched with a sharp inhale, breath came fast and shallow as he squeezed them gently, thumbs rolling your nipples between his fingers while his lips moved back to your neck, biting and kissing down your collarbone.“you’re so sensitive,” he whispered, voice low and ragged, “makes you squirm… makes you wet, doesn’t it?” you nodded, too breathless to speak, hips instinctively rocking forward. he felt it—the heat between your thighs, the desperation building. and he grinned against your skin, smug and wrecked all at once.
“god, i want to taste you falling apart,” he murmured, voice dark with hunger as his lips brushed down your sternum, tongue tracing a line between your breasts, your heart slammed against your ribs. then, with a low groan, he looked up at you, eyes blown, lips swollen from worshiping every inch of you, and said it. “sit on my face, love. ride my tongue. be my good girl and use me again.” you whimpered before you could stop it, your whole body jolting with want. he was already moving, already guiding you upward with firm hands on your hips, his touch sure, hungry. the firmness in his voice only made it hotter, filthier. his fingers splayed across your thighs as he laid back, pulling you forward, coaxing you up over his chest. your hands gripped the headboard to steady yourself as you gently hovered above him, breath shaky, skin flushed. and then his hands locked around your ass, pulling you down with no hesitation, and buried his face between your thighs with a low, guttural groan that vibrated straight through your core.
“f-fuck—!” you slapped a hand over your mouth instantly, eyes flying open as his tongue devoured you. he licked into you with purpose—slow, deep strokes that curled inside your heat before dragging up again, only to circle your clit with maddening, devastating precision. your entire body twitching with every flick, every moan he fed into your cunt. his breath was hot, mouth greedy, and the noises, his noises, had your stomach tightening in seconds. his moans were soft, desperate, filthy, like he was the one being undone. every motion of his tongue coaxing pleasure from you like he was building it note by note, layer by layer. and fuck, he wasn’t gentle. he licked you like he needed it. like he ached for your taste. his tongue slid deep, slow thrusts inside your pussy before returning to your clit, sucking just enough to make your hips jolt forward, and he groaned again when you ground against his face, like he wanted you to smother him in it. you were losing control, your fingers white-knuckling the headboard, your teeth sinking into the back of your hand to keep quiet, your hips moving on instinct now, riding his tongue, chasing friction, chasing more, “oh my—fuck.”
renjun loved it. loved the way you grind on his face, suffocating him. the way you whimper above him, trying to stay quiet while your whole body begged for release. his eyes fluttered open and met yours through the haze—wild, pleading, lips glistening, his whole face flushed and buried in your cunt. you’d never seen anything so filthy. so beautiful. he pulled you down harder, tongue flicking over your clit in rapid, cruel circles, moaning into you like your pleasure was the only thing keeping him alive. his nose bumped your clit just right as he licked up your arousal in broad, wet strokes over and over until your legs began to tremble. your moan slipped out before you could catch it, sharp and high.
“shhh,” he murmured against your cunt, the vibration making you cry out again.
“i can’t,” you gasped, legs shaking, voice barely a breath, “i—fuck, i’m gonna—” his response was to grip your ass tighter, pulling you harder against his mouth. like he wasn’t just doing this to please you. like he needed it.
“renjun,” you moaned, “i’m—fuck—i’m gonna come—” he growled low in his throat, tongue flicking your clit faster and then he sucked you so hard you shattered. your orgasm tore through you, sharp and overwhelming, body locking up before collapsing into wave after wave of wet, pulsing bliss. you bit down on your hand again, barely muffling your broken cry as your whole body shook, pussy gushing into his mouth.
then you felt it, his hand shifting, sliding from your ass to the heat between your legs. his fingers traced through your slick folds, just once, before—“renjun—!,” you couldn’t stop the scream. renjun smirked against your pussy. two fingers pushed into you in one smooth, practiced thrust, filling you to the knuckle while his tongue stayed locked on your clit. the stretch had your eyes flying open, breath stuck in your throat. he groaned at the way you clenched around him, the vibration from his mouth immediately sending another wave of pleasure ripping through your core. his face was soaked, glistening with your slick, eyes half-lidded and wrecked, but completely focused. he was feeding on you. slurping, moaning, fucking you on his fingers while you straddled his face like you were something holy.
“fuck, junie—” you gasped, voice wrecked as your body started to seize up again for the the third time, tears starting to form in the corner of your eye, “i—i can’t—”
“you can,” he growled into your pussy, voice muffled, feral, his fingers thrusting harder, faster, “be my good girl. and give me one more.” another cry escaped from your lips before you could stop it. the pleasure was too much, too fast, too perfect. it slammed into you before you could even brace for it. you came with a muffled sob, your thighs gave out and your body collapsed over his, twitching and soaked and completely undone. only then did he finally ease his fingers out of you, slow, gentle, kissing your inner thigh like a silent thank you.
renjun wrapped his arms around you again, guiding you down to rest against his chest, your bare body flush against his, slick and trembling. the room was still now, save for the soft whirr of the fan in the corner and the sound of your uneven breaths slowly syncing with his. you lay curled on top of him, spent and boneless, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, his hands lazily stroking up and down your back in slow, soothing sweeps. your thighs still trembled, slick and flushed from how completely he had unraveled you—thrice. and yet, all you could do was melt into the safety of his hold, the warmth of his skin, the way his arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go.
after a long stretch of silence, you finally shifted, raising your head just slightly to look at him. his face was flushed, his lips swollen, chin and jaw glistening with your release. his eyes were hooded and soft now, completely wrecked but so full of affection it made your chest ache. you huffed a quiet, breathless laugh and reached for the oversized shirt he’d tossed to the side earlier, the one you’d both long since forgotten. you sat up just enough to bring the hem to his face, dabbing gently at his chin and lips. he blinked up at you, dazed, “what are you doing?”
“cleaning you up,” you murmured, brushing along his jaw, “i kinda made a mess.” he smiled, tired and boyish, lips quirking up at the corners, “i like it messy.” you rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, “i’d drown in you,” he said shamelessly, eyes never leaving yours, “and i’d say thank you.” you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head, but your fingers softened as you finished wiping him clean. he caught your wrist before you could pull away, pulling the fabric from your hand and tossing it aside again. then he leaned up, slowly, languidly, and kissed you. soft. deep. sweet. you could taste yourself on him. his hand slid into your hair as he pressed your mouth to his, slow and unhurried, like the world outside didn’t exist. like nothing existed except you and him, tucked away in this little cedar-scented room in the middle of nowhere.
when you pulled back, his nose brushed yours, eyes heavy-lidded, voice barely a whisper, “are you okay?”
you nodded, heart swelling at the concern woven into his tone, “better than okay.”
“good,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek, “because if i didn’t make you feel like the only girl in the universe, i’d have to go again and try harder.” you giggled, burying your face in his neck, “please don’t tempt me…we should let mrs. suh get some proper sleep,” you whispered, grinning. he chuckled softly, arms wrapping around you again, “guess we’ll have to save round three for a time when you can scream my name as loud as you want.”
“shut up,” you said, swatting his chest with a smile. he kissed your hair, holding you close. you stayed like that for a long time, limbs tangled, hearts full, smiles slow and sleepy, as the night crept around you and the stillness returned, safe and warm. and just before your eyes slipped closed, you felt him whisper one more thing against your skin: “you’re mine.”
✿ SOMEONE ELSE’S DREAM ✿
the morning sun slipped lazily through the lace curtains, bathing the tiny guest room in a soft, dreamlike glow. dust danced in the light, the air still heavy with cedar and the faint remnants of last night — warmth, want and whispered moans tucked beneath a shared blanket. you stirred, limbs tangled with renjun’s, cheek pressed to his bare chest. he was already awake, eyes heavy and soft, fingers tracing sleepy patterns on the small of your back. “good morning,” he murmured, voice gravelly, thick with sleep, but laced with something gentler. affection. peace. something dangerously close to joy.
“good morning,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and wrecked in a way that made his eyes gleam. he leaned in to kiss your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, “i like waking up like this,” he said, like a secret. like he almost couldn’t believe it was real. you hummed against his skin, smiling as you pulled back to stretch, wincing slightly as the soreness settled into your thighs. renjun caught the wince instantly and let out a guilty little sound, fingers ghosting over your hips, “too much?”
you shook your head with a sleepy laugh, “worth it.” that made his face flush in the prettiest way, pink spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. eventually, the two of you reluctantly got out of bed, redressed in your wrinkled clothes from the day before. renjun kept finding excuses to touch you — brushing your hair out of your eyes, sliding yours shorts up your legs, trailing his fingers down your spine as he kissed your shoulder one last time. you padded out of the room together, footsteps light against the wooden floor, following the smell of something warm and sweet wafting from the kitchen.
mrs. suh stood at the old stovetop, humming softly to herself, her back turned as she flipped something golden-brown in the pan. the table was already set—toast, fruit, a pot of tea, a plate of fried eggs. when she turned and saw you both, her eyes sparkled, “morning, lovebirds,” she said brightly, looking between the two of you, smile growing, “sleep well?” she asked innocently, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her tone. she chuckled with a wink, “next time you want to rock the bed that hard, at least put a pillow behind the headboard,” and with that, she waltzed out of the kitchen with her tea in hand, leaving you and renjun frozen, staring after her like deer caught in the headlights. it took a full ten seconds before either of you moved. then— “oh my god,” you whispered, hiding your face in your hands.
“i want to crawl into the floor and never return,” renjun muttered behind you, dragging a hand over his burning face, “i’ve become everything i swore i’d never be.”
you looked at each other, faces flushed, and burst into laughter at the same time. it was breathless and mortifying and helpless — but real. sweet. a little unhinged. still red, renjun guided you toward the table and pulled you down into his lap before you could even reach the other chair. you gave him a look, “really?”
“what?” he shrugged, “she already knows and do you think i’m letting you sit anywhere else after last night?” he grinned, you rolled your eyes but didn’t move. you melted into him a little, cheek brushing his jaw as he wrapped one arm around your waist, the other grabbing a fork. without hesitation, he speared a piece of toast and smiled softly, “eat your breakfast,” he murmured. so you did. wrapped in his arms. still aching a little. still glowing a lot. surrounded by jam and toast and secondhand embarrassment and something else you weren’t quite ready to name but something that buzzed quietly under your skin, warm and steady. like the beginning of something.
you were still nestled in renjun’s lap, when the front door creaked open and heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. a second later, a tall older man appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping his oil-streaked hands on a rag, a cheerful glint in his eyes beneath a frayed baseball cap. “well, hello,” he said with a grin, glancing between you and renjun, “look at you two. all cozy.” you sat up straighter, cheeks heating again. renjun tensed slightly under you, though his grip on your waist stayed firm. “morning,” the man added, nodding toward the stove, “breakfast smells amazing, hon.”
“of course it does,” mrs. suh, called back from the living room, clearly still eavesdropping with zero shame, “they needed their strength after last night’s... activities.” you groaned, pressing your forehead to renjun’s shoulder. he shook with silent laughter.
“anyway,” the man said, clearly used to his wife’s antics, “i gave your car a look. it was just the battery, got it all charged and ready to go. should be good now.”
your head lifted, “wait—seriously?” he nodded, “try not to break down in the middle of nowhere again, yeah?”
“thank you,” renjun said sincerely, standing up with you still half in his arms before gently helping you to your feet, “really. that means a lot.”
“you two should go before the sun gets too hot,” mrs. suh called again, stepping back into view with her cup of tea, “and try to keep your hands to yourselves this time, or you’ll never make it home.”renjun chuckled, shaking his head, and reached into his back pocket. you blinked in surprise as he pulled out a thick wad of cash from his wallet — more than enough to cover the repairs, food, and probably a month’s worth of groceries. he stepped forward, pressing it gently into mrs. suh’s hand. she looked down at it. then back up at him, “oh no. no, absolutely not.”
“please,” renjun said, firm but warm, “you gave us food. shelter. fixed our car. all without asking why.” he turned toward the door before they could hand it back. you followed him, waving your thanks with a warm, sheepish smile. “drive safely!” mrs. suh called after you, “and don’t forget, you’ve always got a place here if you need it…though preferably with a little less thumping,” she added with a wink. renjun coughed into his sleeve. you nearly tripped over the porch steps. “thank you!,” you called out one last time, clutching his arm as the two of you made your way back to the now-fixed car parked in the gravel driveway. once inside, renjun reached across the center console to lace his fingers with yours, still red in the face but smiling softly. the car rumbled back to life, his hand in yours, moomin sitting in the backseat and the little house behind you fading into the distance. a strange sort of warmth settled over him — like he’d just lived a tiny chapter of someone else’s dream.
❤︎
renjun pulled up slowly in front of your apartment building, the car rumbling to a soft stop. he turned the engine off but made no move to get out. neither did you. for a second, the only sound was the gentle tick of the cooling engine and the muffled hum of city traffic in the distance. you both stepped out of the car. you clutched the moomin plushie to your chest, the same one he’d won you just yesterday, though it felt like weeks had passed since then. the farmhouse. his hands on your waist. his mouth on your skin. renjun felt like someone else in that version of the world, someone bolder and unafraid. but now, with the familiar skyline stretched above you and the buzz of city life leaking through the windows, he felt reality tightening again. you climbed the steps together and he reached to open the door for you when it suddenly swung open from the inside.
ningning stood in the doorway, eyes wide, jaw tight. her hair was slightly messy and her phone was still in her hand, screen glowing. her gaze snapped to you, then to renjun, a sharp breath catching in her throat. “where have you two been?,” she demanded, her voice high, sharp with relief and frustration. her gaze flicked between the two of you, then landed on renjun with a kind of urgency that made your stomach twist, “i’ve been calling you.”
renjun blinked, startled, “sorry—my phone died,” he replied clearing his throat. he lifted a hand sheepishly as if to show the invisible dead device in his pocket, “we broke down on the way home from the theme park and—” but ningning wasn’t listening. her eyes scanned you from head to toe, noting the wrinkled clothes, the slight limp in your step, the exhaustion clouding your features. she opened her mouth, then closed it, like she wanted to say something else. something important. you frowned, sensing the strange stiffness in the air, “ning…? is something wrong?”
her eyes snapped back to yours, “what? no. nothing’s wrong!,” she said too fast. she swallowed, then flicked another glance toward renjun, her voice lowering slightly, like it might slip and betray her, “it’s just—our friend is here.” you tilted your head, confused, “friend?”
“yeah,” ningning said, and you could tell she was choosing her next words very carefully, “our friend… yangyang.” the name hit the air like a dropped plate. behind you, renjun stopped breathing. that name again. the one that felt unfamiliar on your tongue and yet it tugged at something deep in your mind. like it belong to a memory that had gotten lost in the fog. ningning looked between the two of you, her expression unreadable, “he just got in last night. said he was done with his internship and wanted to…surprise you.”
you blinked, unsure how to respond, “me?,” your voice was soft, uncertain. you glanced over at your shoulder at renjun, like maybe he could offer something to fill the gaps, “why would your best friend want to surprise me?”
but renjun wasn’t looking at you. he was looking at ningning. and ningning was looking at him. something passed between them — fast and silent and impossible to decipher. the kind of look that said everything they hadn’t dared speak aloud. his jaw clenched just slightly. his hand at his side trembled. he felt sick. your eyes bounced between the two of them. then ningning laughed awkwardly. too loud. too forced. “i mean—he wanted to surprise renjun! obviously! i just… misspoke.”
you blinked, “oh. that makes more sense,” you smiled up at renjun, totally unaware, “that’s sweet.” and then, still hugging the moomin plush to your chest, you slipped past them into the apartment, kicking off your shoes and humming softly to yourself. behind you, renjun didn’t move. he stood frozen on the doorstep, as if the world had shifted underneath his feet and he wasn’t ready to fall with it. the weight of your trust pressed against his spine like a loaded gun. his pulse roared in his ears. his stomach churned. he’d told himself it was only temporary. that he could take care of you until yangyang came back. that pretending wouldn’t matter. but last night… last night ruined everything. last night made it real.
✿ THE BOY YOU FORGOT ✿
renjun sat rigid on the edge of the couch. across from him, yangyang was slouched in the armchair, legs spread, one hand curled around a cold glass of water he hadn’t touched. his face was calm, casual, but his eyes had been sharp from the moment the two of you walked into the living room. you were nestled beside renjun on the couch, knees tucked under you, body pressed against his side like it was second nature. your head leaned on his shoulder, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. completely at peace. completely unaware. you didn’t notice the way yangyang’s jaw flexed when you reached up and absentmindedly pushed renjun’s hair back from his forehead. or the way ningning kept chewing the inside of her cheek like she was waiting for a bomb to go off. renjun could feel yangyang’s stare burning holes into him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet it. he should’ve told you. he should’ve told you before it ever got this far. you laughed at something ningning said, light and warm, and then leaned closer into his side, your fingers sliding down his arm, twining with his without thinking. his breath caught in his throat. yangyang’s grip on the glass tightened audibly.
“so,” yangyang finally said, tone casual but just slightly too forced, “you two…close now?”
renjung didn’t answer right away. he didn’t trust his voice not to crack. you, on the other hand, you nodded, “yeah,” you said, looking up at renjun, “i mean, he’s my boyfriend.” a sharp inhale cut through the room. yangyang’s fingers tensed around the glass again, this time so hard it looked like it might shatter. renjun’s chest twisted painfully. he didn’t correct you. he couldn’t. one look at your smile and he was back in that tiny farmhouse, morning sunlight bleeding through the curtains. your hand brushing his jaw, half-asleep and glowing, wondering how long he could keep pretending before the world caught up. he wished mr. suh didn’t fix the car so quickly.
yangyang laughed. low. cold. “boyfriend, huh?,” he echoed, gaze sharp and unreadable, “is that what we’re calling it now?” you tilted your head at him, innocent and confused, “you must have been at your internship when we started dating?,” you offered gently, like you were trying not to offend him, “i’m sorry, i’m really bad at remembering things lately.”
renjun noticed the way his best friend’s throat bobbed when he swallowed, jaw clenching before it slackened again. the way his eyes softened just a little. “you’re right,” yangyang said after a moment, shaking his head, “don’t worry about it,” he adds, forcing a smile on his face.
you smiled kindly at him, curling right back into renjun’s side, resting your head on his houlder like it was your rightful palace. you let out a little sigh, “he talks about you a lot,” you added. renjun flinched. that wasn’t true. you didn’t even know who yangyang really was. but he knew you were saying it to be polite. trying to fill the silence.
“thanks,” yangyang muttered, “that’s…good.” silence stretched again. ningning was visibly sweating now. renjun felt like the walls were closing in, the air too tight to breathe. yangyang kept staring at you. but not in anger. not even in confusion. it was heartbreak. renjun could see it clear as day. he didn’t know what hurt more—watching yangyang try to keep it together…or knowing he was the one holding you like you were his. you shifted slightly beside him, sighing tiredly, fingers still tangled with his, your body tucked so naturally into his side it felt cruel. you looked so peaceful. so certain. like your whole world made sense. like the truth wasn’t sitting two feet across from you, trying not to fall apart.
renjun looked up, finally meeting yangyang’s eyes. and yangyang looked right back. it was all there in the silence between them. the betrayal. the guilt. the quiet plea for more time. the shared knowledge that eventually, it would all come crashing down.
you let out a soft yawn, rubbing at your eyes like a sleepy cat before glancing between the three of them, “i think I’ll take a quick nap,” you said, voice sweet and warm. you turned toward renjun, still tucked against his side, and leaned in. your hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing gently along his cheekbone as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. soft. slow. you pulled back with a sleepy smile, completely oblivious to the way yangyang froze, eyes narrowing just a little—like something inside him had broken. rising to your feet, you turned to yangyang and stuck out your hand politely, “it was really nice meeting you, by the way.” yangyang stood up a little too quickly, setting the glass down on the coffee table. his palm met yours – warm, solid, magnetic.
“yeah,” he managed, voice tight and barely above a whisper, “you too.” you gave him one last smile, “have fun catching up,” you said, and then disappeared into your room with a quiet click of the door. silence falls like a guillotine. the air is thick with the weight of the truth. renjun doesn’t move. yangyang stayed standing, shoulders tense, breathing shallow, staring at the shut door like it would open again and give him another second to hold onto something that had already slipped through his fingers.
“renjun,” he said, voice flat, empty, “what the fuck are you doing?”
renjun doesn’t flinch. he turns his head slowly to face him, dark eyes steady, like he’d been waiting for this moment. “you told me to take care of her,” renjun says bitterly.
yangyang lets out a hollow laugh, the kind that has no humor in it, “yeah? i told you to take care of her — not make her your fucking girlfriend.”
renjun’s mouth tightens. he drags a hand through his hair, the frustration finally cracking through the surface, “what did you want me to do, huh? dump all her memories on her like a fucking bomb and hope she miraculously remembers you? risk her breaking again? risk her not even recognizing you at all?”
“so instead you just let her fall for you?,” yangyang snaps, “you let her kiss you in front of me. like i don’t even exist?”
renjun stands now. quietly. slowly. but there’s a storm in his eyes. “you do exist,” he grits out, “every fucking day. i see you in every room she walks into. i hear your name every time ningning looks at me like she wants to scream. you think this was easy? you think i asked for this?”
yangyang’s face twists, voice sharper now, “then why didn’t you back off?!, why didn’t you tell her the truth?”
“because she was scared!,” rejun fires back. his voice finally rising, “because she looked at me like i was the only thing in the world that made sense and i—,” he cuts himself off, breath catching, “i couldn’t be the one to take that from her.”
“so you just… kept pretending?” yangyang says, quieter now.
renjun swallows hard, staring at the floor, “at first it was pretending but i—i don’t know when pretending stopped and wanting started.”
renjun looks up, eyes rimmed red, voice cracking, “then where the hell were you?” the words hit like a slap. yangyang stares. his lips part, but no sound comes out.
“i told you to come home,” renjun says again, quieter this time.
“you know i couldn’t do that,” yangyang finally says, hollow.
“yeah?” renjun’s voice is ice, “well, you can’t fucking blame me for this, can you?”
the silence is deadly. both of them staring each other down. then, “okay—enough,” ningning sighs, stepping between them. she’s breathing hard, like she’s been holding it in this whole time, “we’re not doing this here.” both boys freeze. ningning glares at each of them like she’s daring them to say another word, “she’s right there,” she says, pointing at your door. her voice is shaking now, “she’s sleeping in the next room and if she hears even a fraction of this—if you ruin the only bit of peace she’s had in weeks—i swear to god you both aren’t making it out of here alive.” renjun turns away first. jaw clenched, chest heaving. yangyang still looks like he’s trying to breathe through the wreckage. ningning sighs, rubbing at her temples, “you two can tear each other apart later. but not here. not while she’s still in the dark.”
❤︎
the soft click of the door locking behind you had barely echoed before your knees buckled. you sank slowly, back pressed against the wood, fingers trembling as they clutched your chest, right where your heart was starting to split wide open. because the moment you walked into the living room and your eyes met his — yangyang. every memory hit you like a wave, crashing and cruel and familiar. you knew him. not in passing. not in the way you’d pretend to know someone because they smiled kindly at you in a hallway. no. you knew him. like laughter shared across sticky arcade machines and the way he used to steal your fries. like his hoodie sleeves always too long and his cologne smelling like orange peels and mint gum. like your first kiss, messy and breathless, right in front of your apartment door. it had all come back to you in a blink. like a dam bursting open. like drowning and breathing all at once.
you told them you were tired. and you were. exhausted from pretending you didn’t feel the shift in the air the second he looked at you like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. from trying not to notice the way renjun froze beside you. you curled into yourself against the door, palms clutching your head. everything hurt.
you heard renjun. his voice breaking as he defended himself. as he defended you — “you told me to take care of her.” “she looked at me like i was the only thing in the world that made sense.” “i didn’t know when pretending stopped and wanting started.”
you heard yangyang — “she’s mine.” “why didn’t you tell her the truth the second she woke up?”
and god, you wished you hadn’t heard any of it. because suddenly, it wasn’t just your memories that hurt. it was the now — renjun’s touch. his quiet smiles. the way his hand always found yours. the way he looked at you like you were a wish he’d never thought he could ask for. all of it. built on borrowed time. on borrowed identity. and the worst part? your heart didn’t know who to break for. the boy you forgot. or the boy you’d just started to remember. you let out a sound, quiet and strangled. a sob that stayed caught in your throat. you curled tighter into yourself, head bowed, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. because now, the truth sat heavy in your chest. too loud to ignore. too soft to scream. and all you could do was hold it, and cry. alone. on the other side of the door.
✿ I’M HER BOYFRIEND ✿
the sky outside had dimmed. renjun stood outside your door, guilt settling like lead in his stomach. his fingers hovered over the wood, hesitating. you hadn’t come out. not even once. he knocked gently, once. twice. “hey,” he called out trying to sound light. normal. “i’m heading out now. i…just wanted to say goodnight.” no answer. his chest tightening. “are you still asleep?,” he tried again, forcing a small chuckle. still nothing. something cold slithered up his spine. “...i’m coming in, okay?” his hand curled around the doorknob and turned it. he pushed it open. and froze. you were on the floor. curled up. pale. still. too still. for a split second, he thought you were just sleeping. but then he saw the tear stains on your cheek, the way your arm was twisted beneath you uncomfortably. the way your lips were slightly parted.
“y/n?,” his voice cracked. he rushed to your side, dropping to his knees, hands trembling as he touched your shoulder, “y/n—hey—wake up,” his voice pitched higher with panic, shaking you lightly, “hey. come on. please wake up–”
nothing. not even a stir. “y/n!” he shouted now, louder, frantic. he scooped you in his arms, hands framing your face, slapping your cheeks gently. your head lolled slightly, unresponsive. his blood ran cold. “YANGYANG!” he screamed, voice breaking. “NINGNING!” the sound of a chair scraping back. footsteps thundering. doors slamming. yangyang was the first one through the door, followed by ningning. both froze when they saw you on the floor.
“oh my god,” ningning gasped, already pulling out her phone, “i’m calling an ambulance.” yangyang was at your other side in seconds, eyes wide, panic all over his face, “what happened?! what the fuck—”
“i don’t know!” renjun choked out, tears streaming down his face. “she’s fucking burning up,” yangyang said suddenly, pressing a hand to your forehead.
“tell them to hurry!” renjun barked at ningning. he turned back to you, clutching your face like it was the only thing tethering him to earth, “you’re okay,” he whispered, voice shaking, “you’re gonna be okay. you’re strong. you’re okay—please be okay.”the room blurred around him. sirens were already in the distance. someone was shouting instructions. yangyang was holding your other hand now. ningning was crying into the phone. but all renjun could see was you — still. unmoving. crumpled on the floor with tear-streaked cheeks and lips that had kissed him like nothing was wrong.
in what felt like a blink, paramedics swarmed into the room. they assessed you quickly, lifting your limp body onto a stretcher, securing the oxygen mask over your nose and mouth. the room blurred for renjun. he couldn’t hear what they were saying. couldn’t breathe. a paramedic turned to the group, “one person can ride in the back. who's coming with her?” there was a beat of silence. and then yangyang stepped forward. firm. immediate. certain. “i am,” he said. “i’m her boyfriend.”
the words hit renjun like a punch to the chest. everything stilled. he didn’t move. couldn’t. all he could do was watch. watch yangyang walk beside the stretcher. watch his hand slip into yours. watch them wheel you away as if he hadn’t just spent the last few weeks living inside your smile. as if he hadn’t spent last night learning your body like it was the only truth he had left. ningning touched his shoulder gently, “come on,” she said quietly, “we’ll take your car.” he blinked, nodding numbly, forcing his feet to move. down the stairs. out the door. into the passenger seat. the last glimpse he caught of you was the ambulance doors closing. and yangyang climbing in without looking back.
❤︎
the sterile white light overhead hummed faintly. the office was quiet, except for the occasional tap of dr. lee’s tablet. renjun sat stiffly in the chair opposite the deks, hands wrung tightly in his lap. yangyang in th other, arms crossed, posture rigid. dr. lee glanced up from your chart, glancing at the two boys, back and forth, “she’s okay.”
renjun exhaled shakily, head bowing slightly. yangyang didn’t move. “what happened to her?,” he asked, voice rough around the edges.
dr. lee leaned forward slightly, “it was a collapse, likely due to an emotional overload. she must’ve experienced a sudden resurgence of memories — it overwhelmed her nervous system. add exhaustion and stress, and her body just… gave out.”
yangyang’s eyes widened, “so…she remembers?”
dr. lee nodded, “some, yes. enough to trigger the episode. only she know’s how much she actually remembers. but there’s no sign of brain injury and her vitals are stabilizing.”
renjun finally let out a shaky breath, “thank god.” but his relief was short-lived. cecause then dr. lee turned to yangyang, “so…you’re the real boyfriend?” yangyang nodded without hesitation. and renjun almost laughed. of course. he looked away. jaw clenched so tight it hurt. of course he is. never mind the fact that renjun had been the one by your side this time. holding your hand. walking you home. kissing you. none of it mattered now.
dr. lee looked between the two of them, sensing the weight in the room but not daring to address it, “she’s resting now. one visitor at a time, but i suggest letting her sleep a while longer. her body needs it.”
renjun’s hands clenched around the edge of the chair, “can i–” then he stopped. corrected himself, “can we stay nearby? just in the waiting room?”
dr. lee offered a smile, “of course, nurses will let you know when she wakes.” as he stood to leave, yangyang remained still, eyes locked on a framed certificate on the wall like he couldn’t bear to look anywhere else. dr. lee gave them both a polite nod and exited quietly. the silence that followed was dense and cold.
renjun stood slowly, but yangyang spoke before he could take a step, “this is your fault,” he muttered. voice low. accusatory. renjun froze. yangyang turned to face him now, jaw tight, “you had all this time and you let her live a fucking lie.”
renjun turned, anger sparking in his chest, “i was trying to protect her.”
“from what?”
“from this!,” renjun exploded, “from waking up in a hospital bed with a head full of broken pieces!”
yangyang shook his head, bitter, “she should’ve had the truth, renjun. not some made-up romance with a guy she doesn’t even belong to.”
that cut too deep. renjun swallowed, “i didn’t mean for her to fall for me.”
yangyang looked away, something wounded flickering in his eyes, “but she did,” he said. “and now…we don’t know who she’s going to choose.” neither of them said anything more. because that, more than anything, was the truth no one could argue. and it was going to break someone’s heart.
✿ THE BOY WHO NEVER SHOULD’VE STAYED ✿
renjun sat with his head in his hands, elbows braced against his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him answers he didn’t already hate. the waiting room was too bright. too quiet. time moved in slow, torturous beats. he hadn’t spoken much since last night. neither had ningning. and yangyang… he paced. sometimes sat. mostly stared at the wall like if he blinked too long, he might lose you again. renjun didn’t blame him. but that didn’t make it hurt any less. his mind wouldn’t stop spinning. replaying everything — every time you looked at him like he was yours. the way you’d giggle with your whole body like joy couldn’t be contained in something so small. the way you whispered his name in the dark, tired and soft and full of trust, not knowing it wasn’t really his to keep. the way you’d pull him in like you needed him to breathe. he should’ve stopped it. should’ve told you the truth. but he didn’t. he let it happen. he let himself love you. he let himself pretend. and in pretending…he rewrote himself into your story. scribbled over yangyang’s name with his own fingers. skipped whole chapters just to hold your hand a little longer.
“excuse me,” the nurse stepped into the room, clipboard in hand. her voice was too calm, too casual for the storm brewing in renjun’s chest. “she’s awake.” three heads snapped up. renjun’s stomach twisted, “she’s asking for yangyang.”
“i’m yangyang,” yangyang said, already halfway down the hall. the nurse blinked, polite but firm. yangyang didn’t hesitate. didn’t even look back. renjun didn’t stop him. didn’t fight. didn’t speak. didn’t breathe. just watched as his best friend walked toward your room. walked toward the life that was always meant to be his. and in that moment, renjun felt the floor fall out from under him.
❤︎
the door creaked softly. you blinked against the sterile morning light filtering in through the hospital blinds, the thin sheet crinkling beneath your fingers as you shifted. your body felt heaver than it should. full of things you didn’t know how to carry. full of moments that weren’t yours a week ago but now lived inside you like they’d always been there. and then…he stepped in. familiar. striking. yangyang. his name whispered through your bloodstream like deja vu — soft, electric, bittersweet. it echoed in your chest before your brain could fully form the syllables. his eyes locked with yours. and for a moment, the world held its breath. he didn’t smile. neither did you. because how could you? how do you smile at someone who lived inside your forgotten memories? at someone who kissed you at an arcade, who spun you barefoot around the kitchen floor with the refrigerator light illuminating your steps, who packed picnic lunches and played you songs on his guitar just to make you laugh. how do you smile at someone who was supposed to be yours when all you could feel was someone else?
“i…,” you started, voice quiet, “...so, you’re my boyfriend?” his eyes softened at the sound of your voice, but there was something else there too. guilt. grief. exhaustion. the kind of weariness that comes from regret.
“i was,” he said carefully, walking a little closer, “i mean — i am. if you still want me to be.” you searched his face. and the memories came again. so many memories. the dream party where you first met last year during new years eve. renjun’s laugh somewhere in your ear as he introduced you to his best friend, the boy in front of you. yangyang’s flirtatious smirk. his terrible dance moves. his endless texts. the six months of pining and tension until you finally made it official in july. the way he used to call you “mine” like it was the most natural thing in the world. you remembered the way you fell for him slowly but surely.
but along with them, layered over like film over light, came others. renjun. renjun who became your safe place when everything else felt like a blur. who sat on your carpeted floors for hours, sketching together until the sun set and the moon took over. who held your hand and let you cry on his shoulder when the night would get too heavy. renjun who looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. who kissed you like nothing existed outside the space between your bodies. renjun, who stayed even when he didn’t need to. you didn’t fall into renjun. you just were in his arms, like you’d always belonged there.
your breath caught. the boy in front of you was the one you once loved. but the boy who was beside you when everything fell apart? he’s the one who made you feel safe. you didn’t know what to say. didn’t know what to feel. “i remember both of you,” you whispered finally, the confession trembling in your throat, “i remember everything now.” yangyang’s jaw clenched — a flicker of pain crossing his features before he masked it. you swallowed hard. “tell me the truth,” you said, your voice barely audible, “why didn’t you come back for me?”
he looked away. then back, “i– it was my career,” he answered, honest in a way that twisted something deep inside you, “it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“so instead you asked him to take care of me?,” you asked. he nods. you bit your lip. renjun had taken care of you. too well. because now, lying in a hospital bed, whole again, you weren’t sure which pain hurt worse — remembering the boy who left. or loving the boy who never should’ve stayed. yangyang stood at the foot of your bed like he didn’t know whether to move closer or vanish altogether. and you couldn’t even look away. because you knew him. you knew every inch of that face, every curve of that voice, every history-soaked shadow in his eyes. you remembered. and yet…you didn’t feel like the same girl who used to run into his arms at the end of every hard day. that girl didn’t know the quiet comfort of renjun’s presence. that girl had never fallen asleep to the sound of pencil scratches and soft humming. that girl had never been kissed like a secret worth keeping. but you did. you were her. and someone else entirely.
“i never wanted to choose,” yangyang said finally, breaking the silence, his voice low and rough around the edges, “you have to know that. i thought…i thought i was doing what was best. for both of us.” he took a tentative step closer. one hand lifting slightly, hesitating, then lowering again, “i didn’t know it would be this long,” he added, barely more than a whisper, “i didn’t know you’d forget.”
your eyes stung. you didn’t want to cry. you didn’t know who you’d be crying for. “but you did choose,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the trembling in your chest. “and it wasn’t me you chose.” not cruel. just honest. he flinched, something shifted in his expression, like the words hit deeper than he expected. and for a moment, neither of you said anything. then he reached for your hand. slowly. gently. carefully curling his fingers around yours, like he was holding something fragile. like if he gripped too tightly, it might all disappear again. his palm was warm, familiar, but also…strange. like a memory that didn’t quite fit in the present.
you didn’t pull away. but you didn’t hold on, either. “you don’t owe me anything,” he said quietly, thumb brushing once over your knuckles, “i know that. but i still love you and i’m willing to forget all of this if you are. i just want us to be happy.” your breath hitched. your heart splintered — not with joy, not with relief. but with confusion. because wasn’t that what you wanted too? to be happy? but what if your happiness came from the wrong person? what if the boy who left still held pieces of your heart, but the boy who stayed… put them back together?
“i missed you every day,” yangyang said, voice cracking like glass under pressure. “every single day. and i hated myself for not being here. i still do.” you swallowed. your mouth opened and no words came out. just silence. just ache. you looked at yangyang. at the boy you once loved. maybe still loved. maybe not. and whispered, “i need to talk to him.” his expression faltered — eyes glassy, smile broken, jaw clenched like he was holding back a dozen emotions at once. but still… he nodded. he didn’t argue. didn’t beg. just let go of your hand slowly. like he already knew…that even if he still had your past, someone else might have your heart.
he stood there a moment longer, just breathing. just watching you. and then he turned and walked out of the room. you didn’t even hear the door close. your chest tightened. hope fluttered weakly in your throat as you glanced up, expecting to meet his eyes — the ones that had been at your side when no one else was. but it wasn’t renjun. it was ningning. she stepped inside quietly, her expression already apologetic as she made her way to the chair beside your hospital bed. “where’s renjun?,” you asked, head tilted, voice softer now, smaller, “is he still here?”
ningning hesitated. and that was all it took. that one beat of hesitation, and your stomach sank, “he’s…” she exhaled, sitting down slowly. “he’s gone.”
your breath hitched, “gone?”
“he left right after yangyang entered earlier,” she said, “just said he wasn’t needed anymore.” a hollow settled into your chest. like something was missing. like something had been ripped out before you had a chance to hold it — gone. gone like he’d never meant to stay. gone like you were nothing but a responsibility. a burden he’d finally been released from.
“he didn’t even say goodbye?” you whispered, barely able to breath around it. ningning reached for your hand, gave it the softest squeeze, “i think that was his goodbye.”
and just like that — something inside you cracked. you took a slow breath. then another. but the air felt sharp in your lungs. because you took that silence as an answer. as a decision. he left without a word. no goodbye. no explanation. no hesitation. just… gone. he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. that whatever he’d said or done in those blurry days, while you were lost, wasn’t real. that maybe it had all been an act. a sense of duty. a lie wrapped in tenderness. and somehow, that hurt more than remembering. because remembering at least gave you back pieces of yourself. but this felt like losing someone you didn’t even realize you’d started to love.
❤︎
the road stretched out in front of him, long and empty, edged with trees that blurred past the windows. he had to get away before he made it harder. before he made you hesitate. this was always the plan. always the ending. he’d never let himself imagine more than this. he’d never let himself picture what it would feel like to stay, really stay — not just as a placeholder, a borrowed title in a borrowed life, but as someone who belonged beside you. because that was never his role. he was the in-between. the soft landing. the temporary. the lie wrapped in warmth and kindness because the truth would’ve hurt too much. and now the story was catching up to itself. the real narrative was back in motion. you remembered the boy who came before. the one who had the right to call you his. the one who was meant to be there when you woke up.
renjun had done what he had to do. you were okay. whole again. breathing and alive in ways that made his chest ache with something too big to name. he gripped the wheel tighter, jaw clenched, heart folding in on itself. you didn’t need him anymore. you didn’t need someone to take care of you, to lie, to blur the lines between love and survival. and he wasn’t going to stay just to make you choose. he wouldn’t put that weight on you. he refused to be selfish. even if he still needed you. even if his whole body felt hollow, each mile a quiet kind of devastation. he glanced at the passenger seat. empty. but he could still see you there. sleeping, head tilted towards the window, fingers laced with his, too trusting, too soft, too his in ways he didn’t have the right to claim. he blinked hard. shook the image from his head. forced himself to keep driving. don’t turn around. don’t be weak. you’re with yangyang now. always was with yangyang. this is the truth. this is the ending he had no right to rewrite. because renjun was just the bookmark. just the quiet pause between chapters. just the space that held you until you remembered where you left off. and now that you had…he let the silence fill the car. let it press down on him like gravity. he didn’t look back. even if every part of him was screaming for one last goodbye. even if your name was still echoing through his chest. even if he loved you. silently. hopelessly. always.
✿ ONE LAST KISS - SIX DAYS LATER ✿
the whispers started small. a few murmurs in the hallways. a passing comment in class: “she’s back with yangyang?” “but wasn’t she with renjun like last week” “god, that poor guy” “how the hell did she get two best friends?”
renjun didn’t want to hear any of it. didn’t want to see the pity in his classmates eyes or the way people talked about you like you’re a scandal, not a person. he knew how this would go. knew how people chose sides. knew he’d already lost before he even understood the game. so he stopped going out. he skipped classes. skipped practice. skipped the parties and all the things that once made his tiny world feel manageable. he locked himself in his room like it could keep the pain out. like the walls would protect him from the stupid, aching vulnerability he’d let fester too long.
at first, the boys gave him space. renjun was always a little closed off, a little quiet, they were used to that. but as the days passed and the light behind his door stayed off longer and longer, concern began to grow — jaemin knocked first. no response. chenle left a plate of food outside his door and returned hours later to find it untouched. haechan said he was being dramatic. that he’d snap out of it. but even haechan’s voice lowered when he whispered later, “this isn’t him. not like this.” and inside that room, renjun let it all rot. he lay on the floor sometimes, not even bother with the bed, the carpet rough beneath his cheek, eyes trained on the cracks in his ceiling like they held answers. his phone buzzed with notifications, but he ignored them all. except for the one that finally made his stomach drop — a picture. posted by someone from the art department. a candid of you and yangyang walking together on campus. he had his arm slung over your shoulder, and you were smiling.
renjun stared at it for a long time. he zoomed in on your face. just your face. you looked… happy. radiant, even. he stared until the image blurred, then blinked away the tears that shouldn’t have been there. not for someone who was never his. with a bitter laugh, he reached for the bottle beside him and poured another shot. the alcohol burned, but not as much as the ache in his chest. “what the fuck am i doing,” he muttered to no one, pressing the cool glass against his temple. “what happened to not believing in this shit?” love. feelings. whatever this was. he thought he was smarter than this. he shouldn’t be wrecked over a crush. destroyed over something as fleeting as affection. but now look at him. alone. drunk. pathetic. another shot. he tried to remind himself that you didn’t do anything wrong. that you didn’t owe him anything. that all of this — the soft nights, the stolen glances, the aching silence — was born from misunderstanding and coincidence and a brain injury. nothing more. but his heart didn’t care about logic. his heart was too busy remembering the way you smiled at him when you thought he was yours. now you smiled at yangyang like that. and renjun couldn’t compete with a memory that was real. a memory where he didn’t even belong. he slumped back against the wall, bottle cradled against his chest, and let the darkness wash over him. he didn’t cry. but there was something about the way he sat there — silent, still, haunted — that felt even sadder than tears. he didn’t sleep that night. didn’t try to. didn’t want to. because the moment he closed his eyes, he saw you. smiling at someone else.
❤︎
you tried. you really did. tried to make it feel the way it used to. the way it should feel. you held yangyang’s hand walking across campus. let him kiss your forehead before class. let him curl around you on the couch while a movie plays in the background. you told yourself to lean into familiarity. that this is where you were supposed to be. this was your life before the accident. before the fog. but it didn’t feel like before. not after renjun. not after soft-spoken confessions whispered in the dark. not after arms that held you when the insecurities came. not after the warmth of someone who looked at you like you were more than a memory, more than obligation.
every time you kissed yangyang, you thought of renjun. every time you laced your fingers with his, you missed the way renjun’s thumb brushed your knuckles absentmindedly, like it was second nature. every time you laughed with yangyang, your smile faltered, too aware of how the echo no longer reached your chest the same way it used to. and he noticed. yangyang wasn’t stupid. he was patient. but not blind. so one quiet evening, when the world slowed and the sunset cast long, tired shadows across your apartment floor, he finally spoke. you were sitting on the edge of the bed. he stood by your dresser, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense, his expression unreadable.
“i’m not going to ask you again to love me the way you used to,” he said quietly.
you blinked up at him, “yangyang…” his eyes dropped to the floor, then lifted again, tired but honest, “it’s him, isn’t?”
you opened your mouth. closed it. tried to find a softer answer. one that didn’t hurt so much. one that didn’t ruin everything. but none of the lies would come out. so instead, your voice cracked around the painful truth.
“...it’s always been him.”
yangyang nodded, slowly. like he already knew. like he’d known for a long time. and that broke you even more. you covered your face with both hands, ashamed, voice trembling, “even the night we met…i remember now…renjun was there. i went to that party to talk to him.”
yangyang sat down beside you, silent, listening, taking it all in for the first time. you continued, your voice unraveling, “i had a crush on him. a stupid, silent, quiet crush. and i think…i think that’s why my brain made me believe he was my boyfriend after the accident. maybe it wasn’t about memory at all. maybe it was just what i always wanted deep down. and i didn’t even realize it.” tears slipped down your cheeks, “i didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“i know,” yangyang whispered, “i know you didn’t.”
you turned to look at him, guilt clawing at your chest, “you were so good to me. we had our happy moments and i did love you. i tried so hard to go back to how we were.”
“i know you did.” he swallowed hard, then looked away, “but it shouldn’t feel like trying.” a heavy silence settled between you. then gently, yangyang reached over and took your hand — not the way lovers do, not with possession, but with the tenderness of letting go.
“i love you,” he said softly, “but i think…we’re not what each other needs anymore.” you nodded, eyes burning. yangyang gave your hand one final squeeze, then let go. and in that quiet room, under the wright of truth, something unspoken passed between you — not anger, not blame, but the quiet mourning of something that almost made it. the silence lingered, stretching between you like the space between two pages in a book that would never quite close properly. he sat beside you for a while. like maybe if you stayed quiet long enough, the moment wouldn’t hurt so much. you glanced at him through tear-blurred lashes. he still looked like home — familiar, steady, kind. but your heart didn’t reach for him the way it used to. and he knew it. he’d felt it in the way you’d flinched slightly when his arm brushes yours. in how your smile wilted a little too fast when he kissed your cheek. in how your gaze always drifted, unconsciously, to the door. like you wre waiting for someone who wasn’t him.
“can i—” he hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. “can i ask you for something?” you turned to him, nodding gently, afraid to speak. he offered the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “one last kiss. just… goodbye. that’s all.”
you felt your breath hitch, your chest splintering under the weight of that simple request. and then, slowly, you nodded again. yangyang leaned in, careful, reverent, like he was touching a memory for the last time. his lips brushed against yours — soft, familiar, aching. there was no spark. no pull. just warmth and sadness and the final thread of something once beautiful unspooling quietly between you. when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment longer, just breathing. “i don’t regret loving you,” he whispered, voice thick. “and i hope he makes you feel everything i couldn’t.”
your throat tightened, tears slipping down your cheeks freely now, “you were everything good. you know that, right?” yangyang nodded, “so were you.”
he stood slowly, giving you one last look — not full of resentment or regret, but of quiet acceptance, “all i want,” he said, voice hoarse, “is for you to be happy.” and then he left. no slammed doors. no shouting. just the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway — and with him, the final chapter of the life you thought you were supposed to want.
✿ YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND’S GIRLFRIEND ✿
the next day is tuesday. the door to painting ii. creaked open with the familiar groan of rusted hinges, and the moment you stepped in, the scent of turpentine and oil paints hit your nose like memory. you weren’t expecting him to be there. but of course, he was. renjun sat near the back, slouched in the seat he always claimed, third row from the windows, right beneath the flickering ceiling light. his hair was longer than before, a little unkempt, dyed color fading slightly at the tips. he had dark circles under his eyes. his flannel was wrinkled. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. your heart clenched at the sight. it was the first time you’d seen him in a week. a week since he disappeared. a week since you remembered everything. a week since he walked out of your life without a word. you stood in the doorway a second too long, unsure whether to walk in or walk out and pretend you forgot your schedule. pretend you hadn’t just spent the last six days pretending to be someone you weren’t for someone who wasn’t him. but then he lifted his head. just slightly. his eyes found yours. he didn’t look away. neither did you. and somehow… you knew where you were meant to be — not beside him. not avoiding him altogether. but two seats ahead. within reach, but not too close. where you always belonged. you walked down the aisle with your sketchpad clutched to your chest, footsteps echoing louder than they should have. you felt every pair of eyes flick between you and him as you passed. you ignored them. you sat down. the room buzzed with voices and the scrape of easels being dragged across the floor. but the two of you sat still, stiff, pretending not to feel the ache in your ribcages, the way your hearts were pounding with every breath. the air between you felt thick with everything unsaid. the hours crawled by. professor yuta’s voice droned on in the background, and you painted because it gave your hands something to do. you didn’t dare look back at him. but you could feel him. like gravity. like weight. and he didn’t look at you either. but he was listening for you. every shuffle of your brush. every inhale. every sigh.
eventually, the class began to thin out. people packed up, filed out, left in pairs. the usual chatter echoed down the hall, fading away with every swing of the door. and then it was quiet. you didn’t notice at first. you were still pretending not to feel anything. still pretending your brush strokes were more important than the heartbreak lining every breath. but then the silence became too loud to ignore. you glanced up. everyone was gone. except for you. and him. renjun hadn’t moved. he sat hunched over his notebook, not drawing, not writing, just… sitting. like maybe if he stayed still enough, the pain would forget he existed. it was strange, how after all the chaos, the gossip, the tears — you found yourselves here again. just the two of you in a quiet room, like the universe was waiting for someone to break first. you stood up slowly, the chair scraping the floor. the sound made renjun flinch, barely noticeable — but you caught it. you walked back, your footsteps soft this time. stopping by his side. he didn’t look at you. but he didn’t leave either. you offered a weak, crooked smile. trying to be light. trying to pretend you weren’t scared of breaking.
“you haven’t fought me for custody over moomin.”
it was meant to be teasing. playful. normal. but your voice cracked halfway through the sentence. and it just sounded sad. renjun finally looked up. his eyes met yours, and in them was every emotion you tried not to name—hurt, guilt, longing, exhaustion. he looks older. he looks tired. he looks like he’d missed you. your smile trembled. he opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. he swallowed hard. his throat worked around silence.
then finally, voice hoarse and quiet, “he’s happier in your arms.”
he looked back down after he said it like he hadn’t meant to let the words slip. you didn’t speak for a second. your eyes stung “he’s happiest when you’re there,” you reply. renjun stopped breathing. it wasn’t about moomin. you both knew that. it was about everything you hadn’t said. everything you were too scared to say, even now. but maybe this was your only chance. so you sat beside him, folding your arms over the edge of the table so you could look at him without needing to stand taller, without needed to be braver than you were. “renjun,” you said softly and he flinched at the way you said his name. gentle. familiar. like you still meant it.
“i woke up and you were just…gone,” you whispered.
he finally looked at you again. the weight in his eyes made your chest tighten. “i thought it would be easier,” he said, the words dragging, “i thought if i wasn’t there, you could just go back to him. like it was supposed to be. you wouldn’t have to feel confused.”
you shook your head, eyes glassy, “you think that’s what i wanted? that you leaving without a word would make anything easier?”
he pressed his lips together, “i didn’t want to make you choose.”
“you didn’t let me choose.”
that silenced him. a quiet breath passed between you. you looked down at your hands, voice trembling, raw, “i took it as a sign. that you wanted nothing to do with me. that i meant nothing to you.”
“you mean everything to me,” renjun said, almost instantly. almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. but this time, he didn’t take it back. “you mean everything. that’s the problem.”
you looked at him again, tears threatening to spill, “why is that a problem?”
“because you’re not mine,” he said, voice cracking, “because i fell in love with you, and i’m not allowed to.”’
“says who?,” you ask, there’s a slight teasing to your voice but renjun wasn’t in the mood to joke around.
“y/n,” he said, firm, pained, “you’re my best friend’s girlfriend.”
“was,” you corrected quietly. his head turned towards you, “what?”
“i was your best friend’s girlfriend,” you say. he blinked. you watched the words sink in slowly, like they didn’t quite land at first. his lips parted, but nothing came out. he looked stunned, dazed, almost. “we broke up,” you said gently. renjun’s brow creased, “why?”
you turn to him fully. the truth sat on the edge of your lips, aching to be known, “because someone else stole my heart,” you whispered, “and i’m still waiting for him to give it back.”
there was a beat of silence. his breath hitched, like you’d knocked the wind out of him. his eyes found yours, wide and glassy, and in them you saw it all — the fear, the longing, the love he’d tried so hard to bury. then, barely above a breath, he said, “i don’t think he’s giving it back.”
you tried to hold it together, but the smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. trembling with emotion, with disbelief that this moment was real, “no?”
he shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t believe you were really here saying these things to him. “finders, keepers.” and then — he kissed you. he leaned in with a kind or urgency that wasn’t rushed, just full of everything he hadn’t let himself feel. one hand came up to cup your cheek, careful but sure, like he didn’t want you to flinch away. and when his lips met yours, it was soft. so soft. gentle. all-consuming. like the ache inside you had finally found its match and settled. like something wounded had been wrapped in warmth and given the space to heal.
you leaned into him, breath trembling as your hand slid up to the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric like you were scared he’d vanish again. but he didn’t. he stayed. he kissed you like he’d never meant to leave in the first place. his mouth moved like he was still trying to apologize — for the lies, the silence, the goodbye he thought would protect you. and you kissed him back with the same trembling desperation. when you finally pulled apart, you didn’t go far. your foreheads touched. noses brushing, breaths mingling. it was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. it was full of every unsaid thing you finally understood now. renjun’s voices cracked as he whispered, “i’m sorry. for lying to you. for not stopping it. for taking advantage of you.”
you shook your head, your hands moving to either side of his face. your thumb brushed away the tear slipping from the corner of his eye, “i told you what i wanted,” you said, your voice soft, steady, “i wanted the boy who stayed and drank tea beside me. the one who held me through the pain. the one who kept trying until he won me the prize. the one who makes me feel safe even when the world doesn’t.” your gaze held his, voice breaking on the next words, “that is you. no one else.”
renjun’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like the weight of your words was too much to bear. when he opened them again, he looked at you like you were something sacred. something he didn’t know if he deserved — but something he’d never stop trying to. and this time, when he kissed you again, it wasn’t out of apology. it was out of love.
✿ WHAT HAPPENED TO TAKING IT SLOW? ✿
the walk home was quiet. but not the kind of quiet that felt empty or strained. it was peaceful, the kind that only came with him. the air between you buzzed gently, renjun walked beside you, his hand enveloping yours as he absentmindedly rubbed gentle circles on your skin. you didn’t talk much, but you didn’t need to. there was something grounding in the silence. like the storm had passed and you were finally catching your breath in the calm that followed. and it felt right. him and you. here, together. when you reached your apartment, you turned to him with a soft smile, “you coming in? for tea?”
his lips quirked faintly, like they always did when you asked. like it was a question with only one answer, “yeah,” he murmured, “of course.” you unlocked the door, stepping into the familiar warmth of your home. the lights were low, the world quiet outside your windows and everything about it — the air, the space, him, made your chest ache in the best way. you slipped off your shoes and padded toward the kitchen, speaking over your shoulder as your reached for the kettle. you turned towards the fridge, ready to pull out the honey you know he loves but you never made it that far — one arm wrapped firm around your waist, the other already cradling your jaw as he turned you, pressed you against the wall before you could blink. his lips crashed into yours, hot and urgent, and all the air rushed from your lungs.
“renjun–,” you gasped, between kisses, trying to catch up to the storm that was him. he kissed you harder, hungrier, like he was finally letting the pleasure consume him after denying the craving for too damn long. his tongue slid against yours, mouth opening wider as a groan rumbled low in his throat. his body crushed yours, solid and commanding, pressing you into the wall like he needed to feel every inch of you. your knees went weak, his hands steadied you, one slide down to your ass and grabbed a handful, squeezing hard like it was his and his alone. somewhere in between breathless whimpers and fevered kisses, you dared a teasing smile, “what happened to taking it slow?”
renjun pulled back just enough to look you in the eye and the expression he wore made your breath catch. eyes blown black, jaw clenched, that pretty mouth slick and swollen from kissing you like it hurt him to stop. “fuck that,” he said, voice rough and low, like gravel and heat all rolled into one, “i’ve been patient long enough.” then, without hesitation, he picked you up. your legs instantly wrapping around his waist with a sharp gasp. his mouth claimed yours again as he walked through the hall like a man on a mission. the door slammed shut behind him with a loud thud. he didn’t stop. not to talk. not to undress you gently. he threw you onto the bed like he owned it — like he owned you. and god, maybe he did.
you scrambled back on instinct, heart pounding, but he was already on you with an edge you hadn’t seen before, eyes drinking you in like he couldn’t decide where to start. the hunger in them a sharp, burning thing. “do you have any idea,” he muttered, dragging your shirt over your head in one swift, rough pull, leaving you in your white lacy bra, “how long i’ve been holding back?” his mouth was on you before you could answer, teeth grazing your collarbone before soothing it with his tongue, slow and sinful. you whimpered, arching into him, already shaking with want. “i see you in my sleep,” he growled into your skin, “think about you every fucking night.”
your shorts were gone before you even realized he’d unbuttoned them, dragged them down your legs at a torturous pace just to hear you whimper. he palmed your thigh, then slid his hand between your legs, over the soaked fabric of your panties. he was dominant, commanding, like every part of him had been waiting to ruin you in the most perfect way. and, it turned you on more than you could stand. “dripping for me already?,” he asked, dark amusement threading through his voice, thumb rubbing slow, delicious circles over the wet spot. “look at you, love. so fucking needy.” he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice soft but cruel, “this–,” he pressed harder, making you whine, hips bucking up to his touch “–is mine.”
then your panties were gone too, tossed somewhere on your floor. he didn’t even bother with his clothes. he just shoved your thighs open and dropped between them like he’d been waiting years to do it. the first lick was devastating. hot. slow. deep. from your entrance all the way to your clit. he moaned into you, a filthy, reverent sound that vibrated straight through your core. his tongue moved with skill, flicking and circling your clit, then flattening against your folds in relentless, wet pressure. your back arched clean off the mattress.“renjun–fuck–please,” you sobbed, fingers twisting in his hair. he didn’t stop. didn’t even slow. he sucked your clit into his mouth with a ferocity that made you cry out. you were shaking, legs trembling, fingers clawing at the sheets and he just kept going. his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you open and down, forcing you to take it. no escape. no mercy. he grunted into you like a man possessed, grinding his hips into the mattress like he was the one being touched, cock straining visibly through his jeans. the sight made your walls clench around nothing. you couldn’t even speak anymore. just broken moans, whimpers, gasps. he’d eaten you out before, but not like this. this was punishment, worship, completely in his hands. he growled against your clit and it made your vision white out. “you taste like fucking heaven,” he muttered when he finally pulled back, mouth shiny, chin slick. his chest was heaving. his eyes met yours – wilde and completely gone for you, “sweeter than fucking honey. better than anything i’ve ever had.”
you couldn’t even respond. just writhed beneath him, completely lost in the pleasure, still gasping, legs trembling. he didn’t give you a break, “i’m never running away again,” he said softly, a moment of sweetness before he dove back in. this time, he hooked two fingers inside you without warning, curling them just the right way while his mouth latched back onto your sensitive bud. the combination made you scream — loud, raw, involuntary. he moaned with satisfaction. you shattered. once. then again. and again. overstimulation crashing over you in brutal, beautiful waves as he worked you through every aftershock until your legs were shutting closed around his head and your voice broke into gasps.
“too much–renjun–please–” he finally pulled back, fingers slipping out slowly, dragging your slick down your thigh. he kissed your inner thigh sweetly, then your hipbone, then up your trembling stomach.
“shhh,” he soothed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, even though it did nothing to clean the mess, “my sweet girl, you can take it. you’re mine. you were made to come for me.” and you believed it. because in that moment, wrecked and trembling, soaked in your own arousal, staring up at him as he loomed over you with that sweet little smirk and ruin in his eyes, it didn’t feel like anything else could be true. his lips ghosted up your stomach, slow now, his fingers quickly unhooking your bra with a gentle flick, you didn’t even notice it coming off until he captured one nipple between his lips, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. your back arched like you’d been shocked.
“fuck,” you gasped, hands flying to his hair again, nails sinking into his scalp as he tongued your nipple, flicking over the sensitive peak in tight, merciless circles. he hummed against you like he liked the way your body jolted, the way your chest heaved under him. he popped off with a wet sound, only to take the other one between his fingers, rolling it slowly, almost too slowly, then pinching just hard enough to make your hips jerk.
“sensitive already?,” he murmured, dark and amused, his breath hot against your skin, “but you’re still so fucking responsive.” he dragged his tongue across your chest, from one breast to the other, before closing his lips around your other nipple and sucking harder this time, until your thighs clenched around his waist and your moans grew wrecked and breathless. you were squirming, trying to pull away from the unbearable sharpness of his mouth and fingers, but his hands gripped your hips, pinning you to the mattress. “gonna show you what it should’ve always felt like,” he growled. his free hand slid up your ribs, slow and deliberate, until it reached your other breast. he palmed it, squeezed it, his thumb brushing your nipple, featherlight at first, then dragging down and flicking it roughly. you gasped, whole body arching, breath catching on the edge of a sob.
“you sound so pretty when you whimper,” he whispered, letting your nipple slip from his lips, now swollen and wet. he blew hot air over it and you shivered violently. both of his hands came up now, thumbs and fingers teasing, tugging, kneading your tits like he was obsessed with them. with you. you were panting. eyes glassy. hips grinding up into nothing because you didn’t know what else to do. and then he slapped one breast lightly, watching it bounce with hooded eyes before his hand smoothed over it, soothing, then squeezing again with a quiet groan. you were shaking under him all over again, your core pulsing with need, arousal dripping down your thighs even though he hadn’t touched you there in minutes. your whole chest was flushed, shining with his spit, nipples red and swollen and hypersensitive — and he looked addicted. he kissed the valley between your breasts, then your jaw, finally reaching your mouth again. when he kissed you this time, you tasted yourself on his tongue, whole body on the edge again.
“you’re gonna come again just from this, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, hand sliding down your body like he already knew the answer. his hand dipped lower, between your legs again, and when his fingers brushed your soaked slit, you sobbed, already trembling. he chuckled darkly, pressing two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep, “god, you’re soaked.” he bit your bottom lip. you couldn’t speak. couldn’t breathe. all you could do was moan — every part of you aching for him.
“say it,” he whispered, his fingers thrusting slow but deep, thumb circling your clit again as he dragged his tongue over your nipple one more time, “tell me you’re mine.”
you bit your lips, already trembling from the anticipation, “i’m yours, renjun.”
he leaned down and kissed you — soft and sweet and when he pulled away, his voice dropped to something deeper. rougher. the edge of restraint completely gone. “i’m done holding back.” he didn’t ask permission. didn’t warn you. he just stood up, yanked his shirt off, shoved his jeans down and let his cock spring free — flushed and hard, thick and leaking at the tip, his breath ragged as he stared down at you like he’d waited his entire life for this. he climbed back onto the bed. grabbing your thighs and yanking you down the mattress toward him. you gasped at the sudden manhandling, arms scrambling for anything to hold onto. then he grabbed your legs and folded you. bent you in half beneath him, knees pressed up by your chest, your dripping pussy spread wide for him, trembling and ready, “fuck, look at you,” he growled, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your folds, “so wet for me. so fucking perfect. i should’ve done this the first night.”
“renjun–please—” he slammed into you in one thrust. your body jolting up the bed, the force of him knocking the air clean from your lungs. he didn’t give you a second to adjust, just pulled out halfway, then slammed back in again, harder.
“mine,” he grunted through clenched teeth, hips slamming into yours, “you’re mine.” he folded you deeper as he pounded into you, rough and hungry, draggingg moans and gasps out of your throat every time he bottomed out. your hands clawed at his arms, his shoulders, anything to ground you as he fucked into you like a man making up for lost time.
“wanted this for so fucking long,” he gritted out, sweat beading at his temples, hair falling into his eyes, “every time i walked away. every time i told myself to wait.” he thrusted harder, deeper, his cock hitting that sweet, devastating spot inside you again and again until tears blurred your vision. his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you wide open for him, using your body like he owned it.
“never again,” he growled, leaning down until his chest pressed against your bent legs, forehead nearly touching yours, “you’re not getting rid of me now. i’m in you. i’m not leaving.” you sobbed, overwhelmed, from the stretch, the pressure, the filthy words, the way his cock dragged perfectly against your walls with every punishing thrust.
“fucking—so tight,” he snarled, biting down on your shoulder just enough to leave a mark. “squeezing me like you were made for me. you are, aren’t you?”
“y-yes,” you choked out, nails digging into his back, “only you, renjun—” that broke him. he snapped his hips forward, burying himself balls-deep inside you over and over, every thrust driving more wrecked moans from your throat. the bed shook. the headboard slammed against the wall. your body bounced beneath him, moans rising in pitch as the coil inside you tightened fast — dangerously fast.
“come on, love,” he groaned, one hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, fast circles, “come on my cock. let me feel it. let me have you.”
“renjun—oh fuck, i—” you shattered. came with a cry so raw and desperate it sounded like you’d been torn open, your whole body spasming under him as your orgasm hit like a wave. he kept fucking you through it even as your walls clamped around him like a vice. he was buried deep, grinding into you slowly like he couldn’t bear to let go, hips stuttering as the pressure built fast in his gut.
and then, with a strained growl, he pulled out, “f-fuck—” he hissed, gripping the base of his cock, stroking it hard and fast. his other hand stayed locked around your thigh, holding you spread and folded open beneath him, pussy dripping and raw from the way he’d just ruined you. his breath was ragged, his body tight with tension — and then he came. thick, hot spurts of cum spilled from the head of his cock, landing messily across your stomach, your hips, streaking your inner thighs. one shot high and painted your breasts, glistening across your already spit-slick nipples.
renjun groaned deep in his throat, hand slowing as the last spurts pulsed out of him. he was panting — flushed and wild-eyed as he looked down at you. at your wrecked body. at his cum covering every inch of your soft skin. “look at my cum marking you,” he breathed, voice dripping with awe and filth. he leaned in closer, rubbing the tip of his cock through the mess on your stomach, dragging it up your body, over your navel, over your breasts, like he couldn’t get enough of the sight. “i fucking painted you,” he muttered, more to himself than you, “so pretty like this. all covered in me. mine.” he hovered over you, his cock slapping your lips, “open,” he said, gentle but firm. you obeyed without hesitation. as he slipped his member inside your mouth, watching you clean off your shared arousal, with blown pupils, and groaned again, cock twitching even though he’d just come. you could taste your mixed juices, licking him clean.
“so perfect,” he whispered, pulling out and leaning down to press a soft, reverent kiss to your jaw, “i could do this forever. keep you messy and all mine.” he kissed your temple, his hand still trailing your skin — gentle now, though the possessiveness in his gaze hadn't faded. “you look like a painting,” he murmured. every inch of you claimed. used. worshipped.
renjun collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. his cheeks were flushed, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, lips swollen. for a long moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing, heavy and tangled between the sweat and the sheets and the wreckage of everything you both had been holding back for so long. but you weren’t done. because something had shifted in you, too — something dark and delicious unfurling beneath the surface. he looked at you with that dazed, post-orgasm softness — but your sweet smile had vanished, replaced by something sharper. playful. predatory.
you straddled him slow, deliberate, hips sinking over his thighs while your fingers wrapped around his cock, still twitching, still sensitive and soaked. he hissed. “love—” his voice cracked, eyes flying open when you gave him a gentle stroke. his whole body jolted. “f-fuck, love—wait. give me like ten minutes.”
you just cocked your head and smiled, mean and slow, “ten minutes?,” you echoed, dragging your fingers lightly down his chest, “junie, you didn’t give me ten seconds when you had me folded in half.” you hummed thoughtfully, thumb pressing just beneath the head as you pumped him once. his whole body flinched, “you deserve to be punished.”
renjun’s lips parted instantly, a breathless moan slipping out as his hips jerked away, instinctively trying to escape your touch. but you caught him — your hand locking around the base of his cock, holding him there, unmoving. his stomach flexed under the pressure, “for what?” he whimpered, voice breaking like he already knew.
you leaned down, lips brushing his ear, “for being so mean to me…” you pouted innocently, “…for all those times you edged me…” your hand began to move again, slow, tight strokes with a cruel twist at the tip. he choked on a moan, muscles spasming beneath you, arms trembling where they lay limp at his sides, “—just to leave me on my own,” you continued, voice a sultry threat in his ear, “so fucking needy for you. so desperate. and you’d just leave me there, aching.” renjun groaned, hips lifting into your hand as his cock twitched to life, the look on his face caught between overstimulated terror and pure, unfiltered need. your hand moved faster now, relentless. ruthless. you knew exactly what you were doing — exactly how to ruin him. renjun cursed under his breath, hands clutching at the sheets, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm as he tried to breathe through the stimulation. you gave him no mercy.
you cooed, mockingly, “aww, junie, is it too much?” your eyes sparkled as your hand twisted at the head again, making him twitch. “because this?” you leaned close, kissed the underside of his jaw, “this is barely a taste of how bad you’ve been.”
“shit—fuck—” he gasped, body straining under you, legs tensed like he didn’t know if he should run or beg. and then — slap. you flicked his cock with a sharp smack that made his back arch violently off the bed. “fuck!” he yelped, voice high and wrecked, “love—please—!”
you cooed sweetly, pressing gentle kisses along his jaw as your hand didn’t let up, “can’t take it?” you mocked, voice syrupy with amusement, “thought you were the one in charge tonight?” his head fell back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded and glassy, mouth hanging open with helpless gasps. he was trembling. falling apart in your hands. you sat up, palm pressing flat over his chest to keep him pinned down, your fingers still stroking him with obscene rhythm. he was a mess — whimpering, twitching, begging under his breath. every part of him shook with tension. submission. “that’s it,” you whispered, licking your lips as you leaned close again, “make it up to me.”
“g-gonna—” he choked out, voice cracking, hips stuttering under your palm. “love—shit—i’m gonna come again—”
“do it,” you purred, stroking him even harder now, merciless and fast, “come for me, junie. cry for me while you do.” and with a loud, broken moan, his cock jerked in your hand, spilling thick, hot release across his stomach, your fingers, your thighs. he sobbed through it, hips bucking helplessly, body twitching with overstimulation. his jaw went slack, head thrown back, chest heaving like he’d been dragged through it. and you just smiled again, slow, indulgent, before lazily bringing your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean one by one like you had all the time in the world to destroy him again.
you weren’t finished. your other hand dipped lower, between his legs, fingers cupping his balls with a slow, deliberate squeeze. he whimpered at the touch, whole body jerking weakly, overstimulated and twitching. you rolled them in your palm, gentle but firm, just the way that made his voice pitch into something ragged and helpless. “god,” you whispered, kissing along his throat, “you’re such a mess.” and then — lower. bolder. your fingers slid further down, teasing over his perineum in soft, slow circles that made him shudder. his legs shifted, hips twitching from the unfamiliar touch, breath catching in his throat. before he could ask, before he could even process, you dragged your slick fingers over the tight ring of muscle at his entrance. his whole body tensed. his breath stopped. and then — a moan. low. vulnerable. accidental.
his eyes flew open, locking onto yours — wide and wild and full of something that wasn’t quite fear but shock. curiosity. need. you raised an eyebrow, your voice a soft purr, “do you like that?” he swallowed hard, lips parted. his answer was a shaky, honest nod. he’d never let anyone this far before. never trusted anyone with his body like this. never trusted anyone this much. and now he’s let you inside him, in ways more than one.
your smile softened just slightly, a flicker of real affection breaking through the dominant haze, “good boy,” you whispered. encouraged, you circled his rim again, slower this time, and gently pressed the tip of your finger in. just barely. just enough to feel him tighten around it. renjun gasped, loud, shocked, hips jerking upward as his hands clutched desperately around your wrist. you leaned over him, kissed his cheek, murmuring, “relax, let me make you feel good.”
your finger slipped in further, your other hand stroking his cock slowly, coaxing him through the overwhelming sensation. your touch was careful but deliberate, curling just slightly, teasing the sensitive spot deep within. the reaction was instant. renjun let out a strangled, broken moan, high and wrecked, his entire body spasming beneath you as his hips lifted like he couldn’t help it. his thighs were trembling. chest rising and falling with shallow gasps. he was wrecked, ruined, eyes locked on yours. desperate. shaking. bare and open beneath you. utterly yours.
your finger grazed that tender bundle of nerves inside him. renjun’s mouth dropped open, eyes fluttering shut as a guttural, broken sound spilled from his throat — somewhere between a sob and a moan. his thighs trembled around your hips, and you could feel him tightening all over again, like his body didn’t know whether to run or surrender. like his mind couldn’t accept that was going to come from this. you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, murmuring, “feels good, doesn’t it?” and he nodded, frantic, needy, breath catching every time your finger moved inside him just right. your other hand never stopped pumping his cock, slow and deliberate, squeezing him gently every time he pulsed in your palm.
“s-shit—love—” he whimpered, voice cracking with desperation, “why does this feel so good—fuck—i can’t—”
“yes, you can,” you whispered softly, placing a careful kiss on his tip, “you’re taking it so well, junie. letting me play with you. letting me break you open. you're so fucking pretty like this.” he moaned again, hands finally flying up to clutch at your hair like he needed to anchor himself to you. he was flushed everywhere, pink-cheeked, sweat-slicked, his eyes glassy and pleading.
“i wanna make you come like this,” you breathed against the head of his cock, sucking his tip, curling your finger again and feeling the way his body clenched around you, so hot and tight, “wanna feel you fall apart just from my finger.” renjun gasped sharply, back arching, legs falling further open — a wordless answer. you pressed in just a little deeper. stroked him a little faster.
“that’s it, junie,” you cooed, watching him unravel, “you’re doing so well.”
his hips were bucking now, shallow and helpless, caught between the overstimulation and the impossible pleasure. his voice was hoarse when he begged, barely more than a whisper, “please—please, love—don’t stop—”
“i won’t,” you promised, smiling, “not until you give me everything.” and he did. moments later, with a loud, choked cry, his body convulsed again — hot release spilling over your fist. his cock twitching violently in your grip as his thighs locked around your hips. you kept your finger inside him, working him through it, stroking him gently, lovingly, even as his body trembled and seized beneath you. he sobbed through it. beautiful and broken and breathless. you leaned over him again, kissed his temple, whispered, “good boy. that’s my good boy.” his eyes fluttered open, red-rimmed and wet, and the look he gave you was pure devotion.
❤︎
you both lay tangled in the sheets, bodies still trembling from everything that just happened. renjun’s chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his damp hair stuck to his forehead, face flushed and dazed like he just stumbled out of a dream. your fingers lazily traced circles on his chest, the silence thick with intimacy and exhaustion. for a moment, neither of you spoke, too caught up in the aftermath, too drunk on each other.
“...did you just–?,” he started, voice hoarse and a little incredulous. his eyes flicked to you.
you bit your bottom lip, smirking, “put a finger up your butt?,” you asked far too casually, “yes. yes, i did.”
renjun let out a sound that was somewhere between an embarrassed groan and a laugh, covering his face with one hand. “jesus christ.”
“you liked it,” you teased, grinning against his shoulder.
he peeked at you from behind his fingers, cheeks now fully pink at this new discovery, “i didn’t not like it.”
“oh?” you turned toward him, propping yourself up on an elbow, “big words for someone who moaned like a porn star.”
he shoved you lightly, eyes wide, “i did not—”
“you did,” you sing-songed, kissing the side of his neck as he tried to hide his face again. “sounded like a soprano in a church choir. i was expecting hallelujahs.” renjun groaned into the pillow, “i hate you.”
“no, you don’t.” you laughed softly and kissed his temple. “you’re just emotionally fragile after being fingered for the first time.” he paused, groaning again. but this time it sounded more like a laugh, “you’re so annoying,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it. only fondness. you were quiet for a second, then tilted your head, suddenly curious, “do you… wanna try more stuff like that? like…pegging?” renjun made a choked noise and turned to stare at you like you’d just offered to set him on fire, “you’re bringing that up now? while i’m still trying to process what happened?”
you smiled innocently, “i’m just asking, you seemed pretty into it.” he buried his face in your chest this time, grumbling something incoherent. then, muffled, “…maybe in the future.” you grinned, threading your fingers through his hair, “look at you. such a brave little explorer.”
he lifted his head to glare at you, eyes narrowed, “say one more thing and you’re banned from my ass forever.” you raised an eyebrow. “liar.” the two of you broke into helpless laughter, warm and breathless, the kind that only came after being stripped completely bare with someone — desire, fears, fantasies, all out in the open.
then your eyes landed on something just past his shoulder, a little plush figure slumped in the corner of your dresser, watching with a blank, wide-eyed stare. you froze. “…oh my god,” you whispered, horrified. “moomin saw everything.” renjun blinked, then looked where you were staring — and absolutely lost it. “STOP—” he laughed, clutching his stomach. “not moomin’s innocent little eyes!”
“he’s traumatized!” you said, half-laughing, half-mortified. “we committed war crimes in front of him…we need to burn him. or at least turn him around!” renjun was howling with laughter now, curled into you, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “you’re never gonna look at him the same again.”
you buried your face into the curve of his neck, giggling into his skin. comfortable silence passing for a beat. “but seriously, i’m sorry if i overwhelmed you,” you murmured, voice a little quieter now, a little more unsure, “i got kind of… carried away.”
renjun shook his head instantly, arms tightening around your waist, “you seriously need to stop apologizing,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, he paused, trying to find the right words. “i’ve never trusted someone that much before. or even felt that safe to do that.” you lifted your head, and he met your eyes. his was glassy, almost shy, but full of something achingly sincere, “you didn’t overwhelm me. you just… broke me open a little,” he added with a crooked smile.
you smiled, teasing gently, “only a little?” he laughed under his breath, brushing your hair back from your face. “okay. a lot.”
he exhaled a slow, dazed breath and muttered, “i really didn’t expect this from little sweet you.” you raised a brow, glancing down at him, “oh yeah?” he tilted his head to look up at you, a lazy, crooked smirk pulling at his lips. “i thought you were gonna maybe kiss me real nice and then pat my head or something. not—” he gestured vaguely toward his thoroughly wrecked, boneless self, “—all of that.”
you grinned, voice syrupy sweet. “well, that’s because you always ran away before it got fun.” he groaned dramatically, flopping back into the pillows like he’d been mortally wounded, “god, don’t remind me.”
you giggled, leaning in to kiss him, slow, open-mouthed, nothing frantic or needy, just a quiet exchange of breath and emotion. when you pulled back, you whispered, “i love you.”
renjun looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. like hearing those words would never stop making his chest ache, “say it again.”
“i love you,” you repeated, softer this time. his smile trembled, eyes darting across your face like he was trying to absorb it all, your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the shine of affection that hadn't left your eyes once.
he melted instantly, arms curling around you like home. “i hope you know you’re stuck with me now,” he murmured against your skin, “and i love you more.”
you hummed happily, arms tightening around him. “say it again.”
“i love you. i love you. i love you.” he said, peppering your face with kisses.
you nuzzled into his neck, “one more time.”
he laughed, pure and quiet, brushing his nose along your temple. “you’re greedy.”
“only for you.”
he kissed your forehead, “i love you,” he whispered again and he kept saying it, over and over, until the words wrapped around both your bodies like a second blanket, warm and infinite and real.
✿ PANCAKES, NINGNING & MY GIRLFRIEND ✿
you took a bite of the pancake and blinked, surprised, “…wait. these are actually good.”
renjun gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “actually good? of course it is. i made it.” you snorted, grinning as you plucked a strawberry from your plate. you turned slightly on his lap, legs draped over his thighs as he held you steady by the waist. he opened his mouth obediently, biting down on the fruit with a pleased little hum, eyes flicking up to meet yours. the. he sliced a bite of pancake with his fork and bringing it to your lips.
you leaned in, letting the syrupy sweetness melt on your tongue, “mmm. still can’t believe you could make this.”
he pinched your thigh gently, making you giggle. you shifted slightly on his lap to get comfortable and paused, fingers absentmindedly brushing through his hair as you tilted your head, “your roots are showing.”
“yeah,” he sighed, “i’ve been meaning to get it done again.” you tapped your chin playfully, “can i pick the next color?” he gave you a slow, suspicious look, “depends. what are you thinking?” you smiled innocently, looping your arms around his neck. “pink.”
renjun groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back, “why did i ask.”
“come on,” you laughed, peppering kisses along his jaw. “soft, dreamy pink. you would look so cute.”
“i’d look like a bottle of strawberry milk.”
“exactly,” you beamed, “delicious.” he groaned again, but this time it melted into a chuckle, arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. “fine. you can have your pink fantasy.”
you kissed him sweetly, “you love me.”
he rolled his eyes yet kissed you back just as sweet, “yeah. i really do.”
you were just settling back into renjun’s lap again, feeding him the pancake, when ningning’s door creaked open behind you. this time, her hair was a tangled mess, her face scrunched into a look of profound betrayal. she didn’t say anything at first. just stood there. in a hoodie three sizes too big. blinking. processing. you, perched on renjun’s lap, syrup-smudged plates on the counter, kisses still fresh on both your faces. “i knew i wasn’t hallucinating those sounds last night,” she muttered darkly, rubbing her temples. “i woke up thinking i was dying, only to realize it was just you two clapping cheeks down the hall.” you froze with your fork halfway to your mouth. renjun choked on the bite you'd just fed him. ningning pointed at you like she was calling out a crime, “i live here! this is my home! not a fucking pornhub set!” you burst into laughter, nearly falling off renjun’s lap. “i was wearing noise-canceling headphones and I still heard it,” ningning went on, flopping dramatically into a kitchen chair like she’d lived through a war. “like. full surround sound. dolby atmos. spatial audio.”
renjun groaned, “i want to die.”
“i want to die more!” she snapped, “i heard your boyfriend moan like a porn star, and i cannot un-hear that, thank you very much!”
renjun made a choked noise, somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and immediately buried his face in your shoulder. but you caught it: the tiniest, giddy smile tugging at his lips. you blinked. he was blushing. ningning was still ranting, but all you could focus on was renjun, whose ears were turning red, whose shoulders shook a little from silent laughter, whose hand reached blindly for your thigh like he needed grounding. because she said boyfriend. and he liked it. really liked it.
“you’re smiling,” you whispered, nudging him with your elbow. “i’m not,” he said, muffled behind your skin. “you are,” you teased, leaning close. “because she said boyfriend.” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face, grinning now in full. “shut up.”
“my boyfriend,” you repeated, deliberately softer this time, and he gave you a look that was equal parts exasperated and lovesick.
ningning groaned. “oh my god, i’m still here! don’t make it worse!!!” you turn your attention back to her, wheezing into your iced tea. “i’m traumatized,” ningning added, deadpan. “i’m gonna need an exorcism.”
“you’re so dramatic,” you finally managed, wiping tears from your eyes. she grabbed her water bottle, pointing at the both of you. “if you have sex in my kitchen, i will commit arson.” then she turned and shuffled away, muttering about sage and bleach and lost innocence. you and renjun stared at each other for a beat, stunned into silence—then burst into fresh laughter, collapsing into each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. and maybe it was. after all. you are his girlfriend now.
✿ PINK SUITS YOU ✿
the next day, you stood barefoot in your tiny bathroom, plastic gloves already snapped on, a bottle of bubblegum-pink box dye you bought at the nearest store in one hand and a towel draped dramatically over renjun’s shoulders like he was about to get a five-star spa treatment instead of a chaotic dye job from his slightly-too-excited girlfriend. he sat on the edge of the tub, legs splayed lazily, arms crossed as he eyed you through the mirror with that mix of love and mild apprehension he reserved exclusively for when you said things like “let’s bleach your head at home!”
“this is a bad idea,” he muttered, even as he tilted his head obligingly forward so you could section his hair.
“you agreed,” you sang back, grinning as you combed through his roots.
“i was full of pancakes and post-sex serotonin,” he deadpanned. “my decision-making was compromised.”
you laughed, nudging his head with the comb, “too late now, junie. you’re gonna be the prettiest strawberry at the farmer’s market.”
he snorted, “as long as i don’t end up bald.”
“don’t jinx it,” you whispered ominously, and he gave you a withering look through the mirror that only made you giggle harder. the dye squelched as you started massaging it into his scalp, careful and focused despite the teasing. your tongue peeked out slightly in concentration, and renjun watched you from beneath his lashes, soft-eyed and quiet now, lips tugging into a smile he didn’t bother hiding. soon, his dark roots were hidden beneath thick streaks of bright pink. the color looked ridiculous and so fun already — vibrant and loud and everything renjun usually wasn’t, which made it even better.
“you’re gonna look like a k-pop idol,” you said cheerfully.
“better than looking like someone who got attacked by strawberry yogurt.”
you gasped, offended, “take that back.”
he smirked, “make me.”
you leaned down, gloves still slick with dye, and kissed the top of his forehead anyway, “too cute to fight,” you mumbled.
renjun just hummed, hand reaching up to lightly squeeze your thigh as you worked, “you’re cute.” the moment stretched, soft and warm. the smell of hair dye filled the room, your fingers threading through his hair gently as you coated every strand, and his knees kept brushing against yours like he couldn’t help but be near you. he let you squish the plastic cap over his head while laughing softly, and when you stood back to admire your work — dye-streaked cheeks, stained shirt, and all — he opened his arms with a crooked grin.
“come here, you little chaotic ball of sunshine,” you quip a brow but sat in his lap on the edge of the tub anyway, arms looping lazily around his neck, his hands finding your waist like they always did. and as the pink set in, you stayed there, warm, tangled together in the tiny bathroom, laughing into each other’s mouths like time didn’t matter at all. when the timer beeped, renjun sat on a tiny plastic stool inside the bathroom, his head tipped under the sink, your bare hands carefully massaging his scalp under the gentle stream of lukewarm water. the bright pink dye ran in swirls down the drain like melted candy. “not gonna lie,” he mumbled, eyes closed, “this feels kinda nice.”
you smiled, using your fingers to gently detangle his hair. “told you i’d give you the full salon treatment.”
“mhm,” he hummed, voice gone soft with sleepiness, “can i tip you with kisses?”
you leaned down, placing a soft peck on his lips, “stop distracting me.” you ran your fingers through his hair one last time, feeling the strands squeaky clean beneath your touch. the pink peeked through the rinse water now, soft and vibrant, a sweet pastel bloom against his pale skin.
“okay,” you said gently, reaching for the towel, “moment of truth.” he blinked up at you, hair wet and clinging to his forehead. you wrapped the towel around his head and rubbed lightly, then turned him around to face the mirror with a breathless little smile. renjun looked up slowly like already knew he was about to be roasted for eternity if it looked ridiculous. but the moment his eyes landed on his reflection, he froze.
“oh my god,” he whispered. your heart jumped, “what?” he turned to look at you, eyes wide, and glowing, “i look so cute.”
you burst into giggles, bubbling up beside him, “you do! you look like a strawberry milk prince!”
“a hot strawberry milk prince,” he corrected.
“absolutely. the hottest.” he reached for you with, wrapping his arms around you, kissing you sweetly, “thank you.”
you brushed a strand of hair away from his face, “you really like it?” he nodded, nuzzling into your neck with a sleepy smile. you softened. “you’re gonna get so many compliments.”
“i only care about yours.” you rolled your eyes but your cheeks were already pinker than his hair. “sap.”
renjun smirked, “you picked the color. you brought this monster to life.” you kissed his forehead, letting the damp settle between you as you held him close in the quiet aftermath of the chaos, “pink suits you,” you whispered.
“being yours suits me more,” he murmured back, barely above a breath. words that he never thought he’d ever say a month ago. words that old him would’ve scoffed or faked gagged at. but there, in that tiny steamed-up bathroom, with your arms around him and his heart so wide open for you, everything just felt warm and whole.
✿ SOFT FOR ONE PERSON ONLY ENERGY ✿
it was friday night, and the dream fraternity house was already pulsing with music, bass thrumming under your shoes as you stepped in, fingers interlaced with renjun’s. his newly dyed bubblegum-pink hair caught in the glow of the overhead lights, impossibly soft and bright, paired with a white shirt he stole from your closet, a little cropped on the waist. he looked effortlessly hot (and lowkey breedable). you matched him in a white summer dress and a pastel pink cardigan, your own version of his new hue. you looked like you were made to be beside him — the two of you hadn’t been apart at all. he stayed the past two nights, sleeping in your bed, stealing your shirts, making iced tea the way you liked it. you both blew off classes without shame, too wrapped up in stolen kisses and lazy sketches and sleepy mornings. so tonight, walking into the party hand-in-hand, with renjun radiating soft for one person only energy, felt like debuting a brand-new era.
but — first thing’s first on the party checklist: renjun had to find yangyang. he owed him that much. after everything. it didn’t feel right to walk around with you in his arm, grinning and in love, without first facing the person he betrayed. the person he hurt. he quickly spotted yangyang by the back patio, red solo cup in hand, mid-laugh with the wayv frat boys — hendery and xiaojun. renjun gave your hand a squeeze, “i’ll be right back,” he said softly. you nodded, teasing, “go make peace with your ex-boyfriend.” renjun snorted, brushing a kiss to your forehead before slipping through the crowd.
as renjun approached, yangyang’s gaze flicked over — and predictably, the first thing out of his mouth was, “dude. the pink?” renjun blinked, caught off guard. “what?”
yangyang gave a lopsided smile, “it looks nice. makes you look… weirdly happy.”
renjun relaxed a little. “yeah, well. y/n picked it.”
“of course she did,” yangyang said, amused.
a pause. then renjun asked, quieter, “can we talk?”yangyang didn’t even sigh. he just nodded and stepped off to the side with him. it wasn’t tense, just… careful. like they were both balancing something fragile between them. renjun began, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “i should’ve told you sooner. but it all happened so fast and next thing i know–”
“you love her,” yangyang said simply, “i know. i saw it all that night we took her to the hospital.”
renjun nodded, “yeah.”
“i already forgave you,” yangyang said, with a small, resigned smile, “i just needed a couple days to process and the let the sting wear off. besides, you were right. i wasn’t there. i should’ve seen it coming, really. it just makes sense that the two people i love most would fall in love with each other.”
renjun swallowed hard, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“yeah,” yangyang said softly, “but it did. and maybe it was supposed to happen exactly like this.”
there was a pause, full of memory, affection, and things left unsaid. yangyang took a sip from his cup, “anyway,” he added, more casually now, “the internship called me. i got the job.”
renjun’s eyes widened. “you’re kidding—?”
yangyang grinned, this time genuinely. “nope. full-time offer. i leave right after graduation next year.”
“so really,” yangyang went on, nudging renjun’s shoulder lightly, “it worked out for everyone. i got my future, and you got her. she was always yours, anyway. i was just keeping her heart warm till you were ready.”
“what do you mean?,” he asks, curious.
yangyang grinned again, “you’ll have to ask her about it.”
renjun’s throat went tight. “yang…”
“don’t get sappy on me now, loverboy,” yangyang warned, laughing a little. “go. be gross together. and tell her i said thanks for finally getting you to change your hair. i’ve been begging for a new color since sophomore year.”
renjun snorted, “thanks.” then, after a beat, quieter, sincere, “we’re still best friends, right?”
yangyang nodded once, smile beaming, “as long as you don’t mess this up.”
renjun met his eyes, “i won’t,” he promised. “i’d rather die.”
yangyang gave him one last look, fond, final, then clapped a hand to his back and turned, heading back into the house. as he passed, he caught your eye from across the room. you both shared a smile. quiet, full of understanding. renjun stood still for a moment, taking a breath — and then made his way back to you. you looked up at him, brow raised. “everything okay?”
“yeah,” he said, smiling softly as he reached for your hand. “better than okay.” you laced your fingers with his, and the two of you stepped into the party, hearts lighter and unburdened, glowing pink under the lights.
the reaction was immediate. jaemin spotted him first, doing a visible double-take over his cup before bursting into laughter, “oh my god. your hair is my favorite color.” angel, snug under his arm, gasped with delight, “you actually let her dye it?”
renjun rolled his eyes but didn’t move away from you, “not let. she bullied me into it.” you rolled your eyes, smiling innocently, “please, it didn’t take much convincing.”
jeno came up next, bunny trailing behind him, and smirked like he’d just uncovered classified information, “we thought you were dead or kidnapped. turns out you’ve just been—” he eyed the way renjun was standing next to you, soft-eyed and relaxed, your hand in his like it belonged there “—domesticated.”
bunny gasped dramatically, “who are you and what have you done to our cold-hearted, ‘i-work-alone’ renjunnie?”
“you even skipped classes,” haechan added, coming out of nowhere, arm slung around princess’s shoulder’s, “voluntarily.”
chenle and baby appeared behind him, both blinking like they’d stepped into an alternate universe. “and he’s smiling,” chenle said flatly, pushing his face towards renjun and tapping the inner corner of his lips, like it was the most shocking development of all.
renjun shoved him away, a palm to his friend’s big head, “you’re all so annoying,” he muttered, pink already blooming on his cheeks to match his hair. he tugged you closer like a shield, his arm slipping around your waist.
kitten nudged mark, “he’s in love. renjun’s in love.”
“i feel like crying,” mark whispered dramatically, eyes shining with fake emotion.
jisung stumbled over with cherry, mouth already open, “i thought the pink hair was a prank,” he said in awe.
“it looks so good!” cherry beamed, then looked up at her own boyfriend. “what do you think about going red?” jisung rolled his eyes, playfully pushing her off him.
jaemin grinned at you, “congrats on being the only person alive who could turn renjun into a loverboy. he’s been fighting feelings for years.” renjun groaned, trying not to look like he was enjoying this attention too much. he wasn’t exactly used to being the one everyone was teasing, but the way his fingers curled possessively around your waist and the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips said he didn’t mind it, “say one more thing and i’m dying my hair neon green next,” he warned.
“okay, one more thing,” haechan shot back, winking. renjun flipped him off with one hand, the other still securely wrapped around you. you giggled into his shoulder, nose brushing against the soft cotton of his (your) shirt, and he turned to you with that smile, that rare, slow, real one. then —right there in the middle of the chaos, he leaned down and kissed you. it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t a performance. just a gentle, steady press of his lips to yours. sweet, and soft, like there was nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing. you melted into it, smiling against his mouth. it was so easy, like kissing you was something he was always meant to do. and then—“ughhhhhh! get a room!,” jaemin groaned, clutching angel like he was physically ill, “we came here to party, not to witness a romcom finale!”
“please,” jeno added, dramatically shielding bunny’s eyes, “there are innocent people present.”
mark pretended to gag, “our eyes. our poor, innocent eyes.”
even chenle was whining, “someone spray them with cold water or something.”
“i’m gonna throw up,” haechan gags, “like im literally going to throw up.”
you pulled away from the kiss, breathless and laughing, as renjun flipped them all off with the laziest middle finger in history, still holding you close, “cry about it.”
“you’ve changed man,” jisung accused, squinting at him.
“yeah,” renjun said easily, eyes on you. “isn’t it great?” they all groaned in unison, the kind of theatrical exasperation only longtime friends could get away with. but beneath all the fake gags and teasing, no one missed the way they were all smiling.
❤︎
the party slowly melted around you. the guys drifted off with their girlfriends, leaving you and renjun, alone in the soft golden haze of fairy lights and pulsing music. the dj had shifted to something slower, sweeter. you swayed together. his hands on your hips, yours wrapped lazily around his neck, foreheads brushing every so often as you moved in your own little bubble. his eyes never left yours, soft and searching, like he was trying to memorize everything about this moment. then he leaned in close, breath brushing your cheek as he murmured, “yangyang said you were always meant to be mine? what did he mean?”
you stilled slightly in his arms, pulse skipping before letting out a breathy laugh, “you really don’t know?”
he blinked, brows furrowing. “know what?”
“that i’ve had a quiet crush on you for ages,” you confessed, eyes darting to his lips before settling back on his gaze. “since painting i. in junior year, basically…that night on new year’s? i was gonna finally make a move. walked right up to you in that ridiculous sparkly dress, only for you to smile and introduce me to yangyang like it was some kind of matchmaking party.”
renjun froze. “no way.”
“i swear,” you laughed, cheeks heating. “i went home that night and told ningning i was going to delete my entire personality.”
he stared at you, stunned into silence for a beat—then his lips parted in slow, incredulous awe. “you liked me?”
“still do,” you teased softly. he blinked once. twice. then a grin broke across his face, dazed and delighted, almost like he couldn’t believe his luck. his hands tightened on your waist, tugging you closer until your chests were flush.
“you should’ve said something.”
“i was trying to!” you laughed. “you just kept being oblivious and pretty and you set me up with your best friend.”
he laughed at the cruel hands of fate. “god, i want to go back and shake myself,” he whispered, “i could’ve had you sooner.”
you smiled against him, nose brushing his. “you have me now.” and when you kissed him, it hits him all over again. he’s in love. not in a slow, creeping way like he'd feared for months. but in a crashing, undeniable kind of way that left no room for doubt or retreat. it felt like blinking and finding color again after too long in grayscale. he was never supposed to be this guy. the one smiling into a slow dance. the one openly cuddled up at a party. the one everyone teased for looking so stupidly, obviously in love. but here he was — renjun smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek, “i used to think love was all just chemicals and hormones. temporary. predictable. something people convinced themselves into.” you watched him quietly, eyes soft, “but you…” he huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “you feel like forever.”
your lips parted in surprise before a smile overtook your face, “that was so cheesy,” you whispered, voice cracking from emotion.
“shut up,” he muttered, burying his face in your neck, “i’m new at this.” you laughed, hugging him tighter, your fingers curling at the nape of his neck. and renjun let himself close his eyes and breathe you in, swaying with you under the lights, in no rush to ever let go. because for once, the escape artist, the skeptic, the anti-romantic, the boy who once flinched at the idea of belonging to anyone, was exactly where he wanted to be. hopelessly, completely, and terrifyingly in love.
✿ BONUS SCENE: I NEED TO GO PRAY ✿
the living room is a cozy chaos of pillows and blankets strewn everywhere. popcorn bowls are half-empty, soda cans roll lazily on the coffee table, and the t.v. flickers with the opening credits of some action movie the boys chose. everyone’s paired up, some on the couch, some on the floor, cuddled under blankets, others sprawled across each other like overgrown golden retrievers. you’re tucked into renjun’s side on the armchair he claimed for the two of you the second you walked in. but just as the plot thickens on screen — “pause it!” angel calls out, sitting up. without needing to be told twice, jaemin leans over and hits the remote. the screen freezes.
“girl talk,” bunny declares, already pulling you up by the wrist. “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” kitten chants, hopping up with baby, princess, and cherry on her heels. you blink as you're swept into the tide of giggling girls, eyes shocked as they dragged you halfway through the hallway before realizing renjun is still trailing after you like a loyal duckling, phone in hand, already claiming his usual spot by the kitchen counter. bunny catches him mid-step, palm flat on his chest, “nuh uh. out.”
renjun stares down at her hand, bewildered, “what? why? this is my spot.” he gestures vaguely at the counter stool like it belongs to him by law.
“yeah,” princess snorts, crossing her arms. “but your girlfriend’s here now.”
“you’ve been voted out,” cherry sing-songs.
“but—” he protests, eyes darting from from one girl to the next, “i’m your emotional support renjun! i’m the guy perspective!” baby gives him a gentle push toward the hallway. renjun stumbles back a step, sulking like a kicked puppy. “traitors. every single one of you.” the girls collectively giggle.
back in the living room, the guys erupt into laughter as renjun trudges back out. jaemin is the first to clap him on the back. “ahhh, welcome to the dark side, loverboy.”
“tough break, man,” jeno smirks.
“bet it was easier being single now, huh?” chenle teases, tossing a pillow at him.
“this sucks,” renjun grumbles, “i don’t even like you guys,” he mutters under his breath, collapsing dramatically on the couch.
in the kitchen, meanwhile, the girls are already deep in discussion, whispers and gasps flying like confetti. “okay, so,” angel starts, elbowing you, “how is it having the resident grump as a boyfriend?” that sends everyone into a wave of laughter, even you, who roll your eyes affectionately.“he’s not a grump!” you defend, half-hearted.
princess smirks, opening a chip bag, “i bet even when he flirts it sounds like a critique.”
“actually,” you murmur, a little too quietly.
bunny leans forward. “wait. wait.” she points at you with wide eyes. “no way. i cannot even imagine renjun being freaky.” the room erupts. “RIGHT?!” cherry giggles. you try to hold back your smile. but your lips twitch, and suddenly, all heads whip toward you.
“oh my god.” baby sits up straight, gasping, “wait. WAIT.”
“noooo.” kitten’s jaw drops, her voice going an octave higher. “you’re smiling like he’s not vanilla.” you unwrap one of the lollipops, innocently looking at them, trying to hide your smile. “SHE’S SMILING LIKE SHE’S SEEN GOD,” princess yells, shoving your leg.
“you’re gonna have to hold my hand through this,” cherry says, fanning herself, “you’re telling me renjun—buttoned-up, pretentious, art-boy renjun—is into freaky shit?” she whispers the last part. you shrug, trying to be cool, but the heat rising in your cheeks gives you away completely. “define freaky,” you mumble.
“babe, if you have to define it, you’ve already said too much,” angel deadpans, cracking everyone up again. “so what is it?” baby leans in like she’s about to hear the world’s juiciest gossip. “handcuffs?…dirty talk?… choking?….slapping?…..anal?—” you choke on your spit, coughing into your sleeve while all the girls scream in delight. then all hell breaks loose.
“OH MY GOD—THAT WAS A CHOKE.” princess slaps the counter. “SHE CHOKED.”
“that wasn’t a no!” kitten screams.
“that wasn’t even a maybe!” angel yells, eyes huge.
“THAT WAS A GUILTY CHOKE,” cherry points, practically vibrating with excitement.
you’re waving your hands, still coughing, face tomato-red, “i—no—wait—guys—”
“I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET JENO TO DO THAT FOR MONTHS,” bunny wails, dramatically collapsing onto baby’s shoulder.
“SAME!” baby cries out, throwing her head back. “and renjun beat him to it?! renjun?!”
“that man literally scolded me for talking during a gallery tour!” angel fans herself with a paper towel. “…holy shit. quiet men are dangerous.”
“girl. spill,” kitten demands, eyes huge. “what exactly are you doing to that man?” you're flustered, beet-red, covering your face with both hand, “nope. nope. i’m taking this to the grave.”
“oh, come on,” princess whines, nudging you with her elbow. “it’s not like we’re gonna judge you. or him. it’s girl talk. safe space. no judgment.” you groan, defeated, cheeks on fire, and mutter, “…it was my finger, okay?” the kitchen goes silent. like, dead silent. you look up slowly to see every single girl staring at you like you just walked in wearing a crown.
“…in his butt?” bunny finally whispers. you nod slowly, and it’s like lighting a firecracker in a tin can.
“WHAT THE FUCK,” angel screams.
“you did it?!” baby cries, grabbing you by the wrist like you’re moses parting the red sea. “WHATS the secret?!?!”
“HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THERE?” cherry demands, “do you just—like—surprise attack? or do you schedule it in his planner?”
“did he say yes? voluntarily?!” bunny looks personally offended.
“i mean,” you smirk, finally relaxing, “he tensed a little at first, but then he moaned and looked at me like i unlocked the fucking universe, so—" chaos. screaming. kitten throws a paper towel roll across the room. angel is lying face-down on the counter muttering “how, how, HOW.” baby’s googling psychological manipulation tips to get boyfriend to try ass stuff. cherry is pacing, “i literally offered jisung a full body massage and a PS5 and he said, and i quote, i don't like anything near my exit only zone.”
“mark,” kitten hisses, “won’t even let me touch his lower back without jumping like i tasered him.”
“jaemin said if i try anything he’s calling the police,” angel mumbles, holding her head in her hands.
you shrug with exaggerated innocence, “renjun’s an artist. he’s open to new experiences.”
“I’M SO JEALOUS,” princess yells. “I THOUGHT WE WERE ALL LIVING IN THE SAME WORLD.”
“YOU’RE LIVING IN THE FUTURE,” cherry groans, “I’M STUCK IN THE DARK AGES OF ‘babe, that’s gay.’” you’re wiping tears of laughter from your eyes now, half-guilty, half-proud.
“i swear to god,” baby mutters, pulling out her phone, “i’m texting chenle right now.”
“what are you gonna say?” bunny wheezes.
“step up your game or renjun’s stealing your crown.”everyone loses it again. and back in the living room, the boys all glance toward the kitchen at the sudden, repeated shrieks.
“nah. that’s insane,” jeno finally breathes. “you let her in… the back door?” renjun just nods once. regal. unbothered. enlightened. “but—but why?” jaemin sputters, scandalized. “you know the exit’s not an entrance, right?”
“it can be both if you believe in yourself,” renjun replies dryly. chenle groans and claps his hand over his face, “bro, we’re freaky, but that’s a different tax bracket.”
“i let bunny do whatever she wants,” jeno mutters, shaking his head, “but the minute she even glances below the equator i’m outta there.” mark’s ears are so red they match the bowl of spicy chips he’s nervously nibbling, “kitten joked about it once and i told her my soul would leave my body if she tried.”jaemin raises a hand like he’s in court, “angel has tried to trick me into it during head. the second i felt her hand get adventurous, i almost hit a backflip off the bed.”
haechan, leaning over with a grin, “and yet, our sweet little renjun…doesn’t let anyone touch him…”
“…actually took a finger in,” jisung whispers, finishing his sentence, face full of awe. “and didn’t even protest?!” chenle says dramatically. the boys all groan and laugh, half-impressed, half-horrified. then chenle’s phone buzzes in his pocket — “oh no.”
“what? what?!” mark leans over, trying to peek. chenle holds the phone out, screen up, and they all crowd around. it’s a message from his girlfriend. just one line.
my baby 😎🎀: so….renjun let her do it.
a beat of silence. “NOOOO!” jaemin howls. “IT’S STARTED,” jeno gasps. “THE GIRLS ARE FORMING A MOVEMENT—” mark wails into a couch pillow. chenle drops his head back with a dramatic groan, pointing at the villain of the hour, “renjun, you traitor. you absolute menace,” he glares at him, “how am i supposed to turn her down now without sounding like an insecure little bitch?!”
renjun rolls his eyes, “just stop being an insecure little bitch then?”
jisung’s eyes widen. “wait. can you turn her down now?”
“i—” chenle blinks, “i’m so fucked.”
mark’s already texting kitten:
mark 🕷️♥️: hey just so you know i’m not into butt stuff like renjun okay???
chenle groans, eyes still glued to his phone, “oh god. she’s typing again.” jisung folds his arms, deadly serious, “we have to stop this before it spreads.” chenle, whispering like he’s in a horror movie, “i think she just sent me a lube emoji.”
“nope. not getting anywhere near my butt,” mark says immediately, standing firm.
“speak for yourself,” haechan shrugs, “if renjun can do it, i think i can too.” everyone turns — “WHAT?”
“don’t act surprised,” haechan says smoothly, “i moan when princess scratches behind my ears. you think a finger’s gonna kill me?”
the living room erupts. “oh please,” renjun finally cuts in, rolling his eyes, “all of you are nasty behind closed doors. don’t act like a finger is too much now.”
a beat. “okay but… did you like it like it?” chenle asks carefully. renjun leans back. shrugs, “i mean, i can see the appeal.”
jeno lets out a scream. “i’m throwing myself out the window,” jaemin declares.
“i need to go pray,” mark says, looking genuinely afraid. there’s another howl of laughter from the kitchen. chenle is laying face-down on the floor. jeno’s stress-eating popcorn one kernel at a time. jaemin is half-listening with an expression of morbid curiosity, haechan is enjoying every second, while jisung has gone disturbingly still, staring at the ceiling like he's dissociating. but renjun’s not smiling anymore. because he knows exactly what happens in girl talk. it doesn’t just stop at “oh, he’s tried a finger in the butt.” it goes in extreme detail. what position. what face he made. how he sounded like. every detail laid out for the girls to blush over. he used to be in the inner circle. and right now he’s realizing how much it sucks to be outside of it. another round of screaming erupts from the kitchen. renjun shoots up, “alright. that’s enough.” the boys all go silent, watching in awe-slash-fear as renjun storms off toward the kitchen.
“oh no,” jaemin mutters.
“he’s doing it,” jisung whispers. “he’s going in.” but renjun doesn’t hesitate. he throws open the kitchen door with the confidence of someone who’s already heard too much, “okay,” he says flatly, stepping inside. “you’ve had your fun. my turn.” every single girl freezes. you’re sitting in a kitchen chair, lips wrapped innocently around a strawberry lollipop like you didn’t just start a girl group revolution. your cheeks are still pink. the rest of the girls are in various states of chaos. renjun’s eyes lock on you. he sees the lollipop. your smirk. something in him snaps. without a word, he walks over, grabs your wrist, and pulls you up like you weigh nothing. the lollipop stays in your mouth as you blink up at him, blinking wide-eyed and sweet as sin.
“upstairs. now.” you barely have time to be shocked before you’re being pulled toward the hallway.
“OH MY GOD—HE’S TAKING HER.”
“THAT MAN IS ABOUT TO REPAINT THE CEILING,” angel yells.
“WE HAVE CREATED A MONSTER,” bunny screams, tossing a kitchen towel in mourning.
“FREAKY RENJUN IS REAL?!?!?,” baby shrieks.
from the hallway, renjun glances back over his shoulder, eyes dark and focused on you, “don’t talk about me like i’m not going to hear it.”
❤︎
the second the door closed, renjun’s gaze dropped to the lollipop still tucked between your lips. his jaw ticked. you sat at the edge of his bed, raised an eyebrow, smug, slow-sucking on it just to be a brat. “something wrong?”
he stepped closer, grabbed your chin roughly, and forced you to meet his eyes. “you think i didn’t hear what you told the girls?”
your mouth popped off the lollipop with a soft, wet sound. “it was just girl talk.”
his fingers tightened, “you really think i’m okay with them knowing what you did to me?” his tone dripped venom, but his pupils were blown wide, “you like making me look weak?”
you smirked, licking the candy again with a slow drag of your tongue, “you didn’t seem weak when you were under me.”
that was it. renjun snatched the lollipop out of your hand, glaring, “you wanna act like that?” and with no warning, he flipped you over, raising your ass up, shoving you on his mattress and yanking your shorts down. the sudden aggression knocked the breath out of you, but the heat pooled instantly.
he held the lollipop up between two fingers, “open.”
you blinked, “what?”
“your legs.” they already were, but the way he said it made you tremble.
“wider.” you obeyed. then, without missing a beat, he dragged the sticky candy down your ass. swirling at your asshole. loving the way you clenched. for a second you think he might insert the lollipop there. a little payback for what you did. you tensed immediately. but then he traveled lower. until the sticky, sweet tip grazed your already-throbbing clit. you jolted.
“oh—”
he chuckled darkly. the lollipop slipped lower, gliding between your folds. he dragged it lazily, watching your reaction with a cruel sort of satisfaction.
“renjun—”
“you think i appreciate the boys knowing i let you do that to me?” he hissed, pressing it in just the tiniest bit, the slick pop teasing your entrance, “that i let you fuck me and then brag about it?”
your breath hitched, hips twitching, “i wasn’t bragging—”
“yes, you were.” then he shoved the lollipop inside you. your gasp was sharp and desperate, the initial stretch making you grip his sheets. the candy was cold compared to your heat, sticky, obscene. renjun didn’t give you a second to process. he worked it in and out slowly, rhythmically, watching your face twist and your thighs quake.
“bet you feel real smart now,” he sneered, lips brushing your ear as his other hand clutched your hair, “telling them how i moaned for you. how i let you finger me.”
you whimpered, “i didn’t mean—” he pulled the lollipop out slowly, wet and glistening. then he turned you over, making sure you saw him suck on your-arousal-filled treat. your mouth dropped open, the sight of him incredibly turning you on.
he hummed around the candy, lips wrapping around it deliberately, eyes still locked on yours. “mmm,” he said, voice like sin. “sweet.” he murmured, deliberately loud, deliberately cruel, eyes glinting with something sharp and unrelenting.
he twirled the lollipop slowly between his fingers, dipping it through your folds again, then held it up to your mouth. “suck.”
you hesitated, lips parted, chest heaving. he raised an eyebrow, voice dropping, “oh, now you want to act shy?” he cupped your jaw, forcing you to open. you took it in your mouth, trembling. the taste of yourself hit your tongue, and you blushed hard, moaning softly around the stick.
his eyes darkened. “slut.” he muttered, voice low and deadly, “you like that, don’t you?” you nodded, too far gone to lie. heat pulsed between your thighs. but the second you reached out for him, desperate for his touch. desperate for more. he pulled back. “nuh-uh,” he chuckled, “you don’t get to have me that easily.”
your protest died in your throat when he dropped to his knees between your legs, grabbing your thighs like he owned them, and dragging you to the edge. he spread you open and stared like you were something to devour — but refused to touch. “you really thought i was just gonna fuck this pussy like nothing happened?” he sneered. “after you went around bragging about what i let you do?”
“i wasn’t—” he shoved the lollipop in again, thrusting it in and out. rough. fast. your hips jerked. “fuck—!”
“you don’t learn, do you?” he twisted it slowly inside you, the hard candy pressing against sensitive walls, catching every nerve ending. “you act like you can do whatever you want just because i let you inside me once.”
your head fell back, nails digging into his sheets, “junie, please—”
“no.” he pulled the candy out with an audible pop, then shoved it back in hard. “you don’t get to ask me for anything.” your legs shook, your body lit up, and every time you got close, every time the pressure mounted, he pulled it out again.
you whimpered, shaking. “please, i’m— i can’t—”
“can’t what?” he mocked, rubbing the sticky, wet candy over your clit now, small circles that made your stomach coil tight. “can’t stop being a brat? can’t stop running your mouth?” you sobbed out a breath, hips lifting, not answering. he pulled away again, “then you don’t get to come.”
you whined his name. he leaned forward, his mouth right at your ear, voice low and wicked. “say it.”
you moaned, wrecked. “say what?”
“say you’re sorry for making me look weak.” silence stretched. you hesitated — prideful, needy, ruined.
he laughed coldly. “that’s what i thought.” then he licked you, just one slow, teasing stripe of his tongue, and backed away again. he kept teetering you on the edge. you almost cried. “say it.”
you whimpered, “i’m sorry!— i’m sorry!, i shouldn’t have.”
“shouldn’t have what?”
“told them.”
he smiled darkly, cruelly satisfied. “that’s better.” and then, like a reward, he pushed the lollipop back inside you, this time curling his tongue around your clit while the candy fucked you fast, deep, deliberate. you shattered in seconds. body tense, thighs clamping around his head, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
when you finally stopped shaking and opened your eyes again, renjun was sucking on the ruined lollipop — your slick and cum still shining on his mouth. watching you. possessive, smug, dark-eyed and dangerous. he let the stick fall from his mouth, finally discared then leaned over you, slowly, bracing one hand beside your head, “next time,” he said, face hovering above yours, voice like smoke, “you keep your mouth shut unless it’s for me.” then, without breaking eye contact, he reached down and unzipped his jeans. the sound alone made your breath catch. he gripped your thighs again, bruising, commanding and spread you wide. you whimpered, helpless, as he lined himself up with your still-sensitive entrance. “don’t tense,” he warned, voice a razor, "scream my name, love. let them know what i do to you.”
❤︎
downstairs in the living room, the movie had long since faded into background noise. but the headboard thumping upstairs? that was front and center. a rhythm so steady and relentless it could've been mistaken for construction—if not for the sharp, unmistakable “renjun!” that followed. everyone froze. again. louder.
“oh my god,” angel muttered, eyes wide.
baby’s jaw dropped. “holy shit. the movie ended and they’re still going?!”
kitten glanced at the paused credits, “it’s been, like…forty minutes.”
“i can’t believe renjunnie is making all that happen,” bunny whispered, scandalized. the headboard thumped again. louder this time.
jisung was frozen, slack-jawed, staring at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him, “bro, that is not the renjun i know.” cherry snickered beside him, “the quiet ones are always the loudest.” he looked at her with a raised brow, like how do you know that. she leaned in, smirking, like it was a secret, “sungie, you can be louder than them combined.” jisung choked.
haechan looked half horrified, half impressed. “did he tell her to scream like that? that was like—performance-level vocal work.” princess burst into laugher, “i bet we could be louder.” haechan sends her a devilish grin, “oh, now that’s a challenge.”
jeno, still as stunned as bunny, whispered, “i can’t unhear any of this.”
meanwhile, chenle blinked slowly, like he’d seen a ghost. he clicks his tongue, looking at baby with horrified eyes, “you girls got her in so much trouble.”
mark shook his head, a light grin on his face as he teases kitten, “yeah. she’s never gonna join your precious girl talk session again.” but the girls just sat there with the most satisfied, smug, secret little smiles on their faces. like this was exactly what they had planned all along.
angel smirked, “please. she’ll be thanking us tomorrow.” jaemin chuckled beside her, squeezing her shoulder, “you’re all evil. proud of you.”
𓏲 the end.
—
18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content
bonus: loverboy links 2 (these were the hardest ones to find)
—
an: and this is 7/7! my goodness. i cannot believe i actually finished a series!!!!. when i first started this, i genuinely didn’t think i’d get this far. these all started out as little synopsis i wrote down one day cause i was bored and wanted to challenge myself. i didn’t think so many of you would love it as much as i do. i’m feeling so emotional omygod not me crying as i type this out. BUT first thing, i want to say this isn’t over yet! i do have bonus scenes that i want to write out. i also threw away the idea that this was the finale because holy shit, ya’ll don’t understand how much pressure that gave me. instead, i just decided to focus on renjun’s story without thinking about how this is the end. AND the nickname! only one of you guys suggested it so i’m sure it’s not what a lot of you were expecting. i was going back and forth between love and sweetheart for the longest time but then i got stuck on the concept of renjun, the most annoyed by love, ending up calling his girl, love. it just made sense to me. i hope you liked renjun and love! she’s definitely the sweetest girl out of all 7 (and i hope you finally believe me now when i say she’s not angel). thank you so so so much for reading this story! and for those who have read all seven, i am so grateful for your time. your support. your love. looking forward to your reviews!
likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎
🍊if you enjoyed this series and would like to show extra love and support, my ko-fi is open! <3
coffee shop date Joshua! Would meet you at the train station, flowers in hand and a bright smile on his face. A clear nervous energy radiating between the two of you but it just added to the fun of the evening as he passed the bouquet to you. "Pretty flowers for a pretty girl" he said, the line was absolutely cheesy but it still made you blush.
coffee shop date Joshua! would be an absolute gentleman through the entire evening. He would hold the door open for you, pull your chair out and even get refills for your water and coffee when you ran out before you had to ask. "I got it, don't worry" he says and it's all done with that charming, knee weakening smile on his face.
coffee shop date Joshua! Would blush to his ears the second you saw that it was an open mic night at the cafe you two were at and you suggested he played something on the guitar. "I couldn't, I don't have anything prepared" he would insist, but you are relentless and he is already a sucker for your smile and doe eyes so of course he caves and heads up to the stage with a bashful smile.
coffee shop date Joshua! He would easily start to perform a cover of a love song he knows by heart, eyes fixed on yours the whole time because of course he wants to sing just for you. Your cheeks start to heat because you realize, this may be more than just a coffee shop date after all.
coffee shop date Joshua! Of course walks you back to the train station after the date starts to wind down, but you're not quite ready for the night to end. "Would you want to come back to my place?" Nerves still evident in your voice as you reach your hand out to his, fingers only just brushing at first.
coffee shop date Joshua! His smile could rival the stars in the sky with how bright it is, as his hand fully reaches for yours. "Yeah of course, going to your place sounds like fun" his fingers intertwine with yours and squeeze as you both walk into the station.
coffee shop date Joshua! His sweet facade cracks nearly as soon as the door to your apartment closes. He pulls you close to his chest into a demanding and heated kiss, fingers threading up into your hair to tug your head to give him a better angle for a deeper kiss.
coffee shop date Joshua! Kisses you all the way back to the bedroom, lips feverish and dominant as he kisses down your neck. Guiding your steps with his other hand on your lower back until your knees hit the bed. "This okay sweet girl?" His gentle demeanor breaking through for just a moment, you nod before he presses you down onto the bed.
coffee shop date Joshua! Pounds you into the mattress from behind, his fingers grip into your hips to help give him leverage. His big cock pushing your gummy walls open over and over with each thrust, he leans over you pressing his chest to your back nipping your ear "gripping me so tight baby, taking me so good" he says hotly in your ear.
coffee shop date Joshua! Cleans you up soft and gentle, "are you sore? Do you need anything?" He asks pressing featherlight kisses over your cheeks and neck, small ones on lips that leave you craving more. He pulls you to his chest ending the night just as sweet as it began, your eyes fluttering closed as you drift asleep.
content . . 𝜗𝜚 boyfriend!dream x fem!reader, pretty much what's on the title, breeding kink and (a lot of) mentions of babies
skye's notes .: i'm sorry for being so late anon :( but it's here! | requested
Mark | hit it raw
This man secretly harbors a breeding kink, even though the thought makes him nervous. You assure him it’s safe—you’re both careful, and your IUD is in place. When you sweetly ask him to go raw and fill you completely, he can’t resist. The moment he’s inside, feeling your warmth and tightness, something snaps, turning him into a beast. His control slips, and he pounds into you with wild abandon, driven by primal instincts and the dangerous thrill of the fantasy, pushing deep with a hunger that consumes him entirely. The only thing in his mind is to make you the mother of his child.
Renjun | protected
He’s cautious, knowing the stakes—too young, too soon for a baby—but it takes immense restraint when your body trembles under his touch, when you gush for him, and when your soft moans flood his senses. Listening to friends, especially Jeno, share stories of raw pleasure only stirs his imagination more. Still, he keeps his resolve. But temptation lingers. Just once—just this once—he thinks, surrendering to the intoxicating heat of the moment, hoping it won’t be the risk that finally breaks him.
Jeno | hit it raw
Jeno needs you entirely—body, mind, and soul. The way your pussy molds perfectly around him has ruined him for anything else; he craves you constantly. His high sex drive means filling you daily is as vital as breathing. You are his addiction, his necessity. If you ever suggest using a condom, the man might actually break down in tears—completely undone by the idea of losing the raw, intimate connection he treasures so deeply.
Haechan | hit it raw
From the moment you asked him to go without a condom, it awakened something in Hyeok—an unrestrained joy he could hardly contain. Since that day, stopping wasn’t an option. The sight of his release spilling from you, a visual reminder of the raw intimacy between you, ignites a primal, almost obsessive need in him. The idea that he could get you pregnant, even accidentally, feeds a quiet longing. And you? The thought of ever going back to protection feels impossible—you crave the fullness only he can give, again and again.
Jaemin | hit it raw
In the early days of your relationship, maybe there were condoms involved—maybe. But those didn’t last long. Jaemin’s obsession with seeing his release dripping out of you, his undeniable breeding kink, put an end to that. Suggesting condoms now would earn you a pointed glare at best. You trust him enough to go without, and the temptation to stop taking your pills grows stronger with every fantasy of starting a family together. But if he knew your thoughts, you’d never walk straight again—he’d make sure of it.
Chenle | hit it raw
The idea of you carrying his baby fuels his desire like nothing else—an intoxicating, feral obsession that drives Chenle to claim you with unrelenting intensity. Every thrust is filled with purpose, as though your futures depend on it, and you revel in his possessive hunger. You can’t resist the allure of his love and fixation, surrendering to his fervent need until you’re begging for more, lost in the ecstasy of his touch and the fevered promise that one day, he’ll finally give you everything you crave.
Jisung | protected
He’s too cautious to admit how badly he craves it—taking you raw, feeling every inch of you wrapped around him without barriers. The thought haunts his mind, even if the risk terrifies him. He knows if he got you pregnant before 25, you’d never let him live it down. But that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing: you, filled to the brim with his release, begging for more, utterly vulnerable under his touch. He trusts your pill, but maybe, just maybe, this time you’d finally say yes. Just once—could he ask?
did you enjoy your reading? why don’t reblog, like or leave a comment? this way i know you liked what i wrote and surely will keep up with the good content! 𖹭 masterlist
٠࣪⭑ prostitute!seonghwa x afab!reader
٠࣪⭑ synopsis ╰┈➤ where seonghwa develops an infatuation with a woman who repeatedly refuses his services; takes place in late feudal era japan
٠࣪⭑ word count╰┈➤ 13.8k
٠࣪⭑ cw ╰┈➤ smut (mdni!), [semi]-public sex, p-in-v, unprotected sex, fingering, cheirophilia, dacryphilia, obsessive hwa if you squint, dom hwa, begging, overstimulation, cum swallowing, dirty talk, praise, edging, pet name usage (pretty bird)
٠࣪⭑ terms to know before reading:
getas > traditional shoes worn in feudal era japan
yukata > casual form of kimono, worn by commoners in this context
shogun > military rulers
zataku > low dining tables; the type of tables you have to be on your knees to eat at
٠࣪⭑ a/n ╰┈➤ i tried to research proper clothing/other cultural aspects. please let me know if anything is inaccurate!
“Come back again tomorrow.”
The sudden slump in your shoulders was followed by your defeated groan. Your gaze trailed down to the merchant across from you; her frown spread across her wrinkled face as she saw the bamboo woven basket rested firmly in your grip. You heard her sigh before she spoke apologetically.
“A man came by and purchased the last bunch of the night. Right before you appeared,” her head dipped and glanced down at the absent goods from her stand.
“That is why I’m still here. If it weren’t for my worn out bones, I’d be returning home by now,” she chuckled, “I can’t move as fast as I used to.”
You stared down at your empty basket, the sudden wave of disappointment evident on your face. All of the effort needed for sneaking out of your estate and disobeying your curfew to search for a late night snack because of the strict diets your family put you through was now just a waste. You sighed; maybe this is a sign from the universe to stop sneaking out at night, the thought crossed your mind. The defeated look you carried on your face glanced up at the older merchant.
“I understand…” You bowed your head down before you began to walk away, giving the merchant one last solemn look. The farther you walked, the more your stomach craved yakitori: the yakitori that was sold for a price so low that it was almost offensive, and the yakitori that tasted better than any course that was fed to you to maintain your figure. This yakitori was a staple in your diet that preceded any sleep that your parents assumed you were getting.
Walking home with an empty stomach and an empty basket could almost be as bad as your sneaking habits being discovered by your father. Normally when you snuck out, you would be loaded with sweet and savory goods that you couldn’t get anywhere else. The yakitori from Mrs. Ogura was the cherry on top that made the late night runs so special. Except tonight was unique, where it seemed that a crowd before you had already swept the goods before you could even make it.
As you continued the disappointing trek home, you fell upon a fork in the road. Two pathways that lead you home were presented. The quiet lane, as you called it, was the path you normally took. It was a path that cut through residential buildings for commoners and other vendors. Except this time, the quiet lane was far from quiet; a crowd had gathered around to witness what appeared to be a dispute between two men. You glanced over to the other path; it gave a shorter journey back home and less people to potentially recognize you and your status. Normally it would be an easy decision on where you should go, but this shorter path was home to the Red Light District, a place you had no business being in. You watched older men stumble into brothels and soaphouses while there were women who drew customers in with just a quick glance and wink. You glanced at the quiet lane, now showing no signs of deescalation, and then glanced back at the Red Light District. As if your shoulders couldn’t slump any deeper, you sighed and walked away from the quiet lane.
Keep your head down, don’t make eye contact with anyone, you repeated those affirmations in your head as your eyes were glued onto the uneven, maroon pavement. It’ll be easy to avoid confrontation with people here since it’s not like these workers force you into prostitution. That is what you kept telling yourself at least; you could feel stares burning onto your passing slumped figure. You were moving as fast as your getas could muster, but the uphill road seemed to have not seen renovation in decades.
The tension in your body withered slowly as the hike continued. You heard a few whistles and calls, but none of them were directed to you. One by one, the clients that were once walking the same road as you were beginning to thin out and disperse into buildings. You were now alone, or so you thought. Your head was lifted up from the ground and continued to walk the trail that appeared to be coming to an end. What you didn’t see was one last stare from afar burning onto you.
“Care to join me, pretty bird?”
Those words echoed through the empty road. You nearly halted in your tracks, turning your attention to the source of that echo. This was different from the other interactions you had heard previously; you were sure this time that this voice was directed at you.
Your eyes finally fell on a man standing near a dimly lit alleyway; his feathery, long, ebony hued hair encaged his face as he leaned on the corner of the building. The dark gaze he held on you peered through the wisps of his hair and the vibrantly colored fan he kept over most of his face. You drew your head away from the man and continued your stride back home. You had already made the mistake of looking at him, being temporarily entranced by his alluring gaze, so it was best not to answer him. You may not have heard him speaking again, but you felt his eyes back on you once more.
The walk out of the district was over soon; you still had over ten minutes left of your journey to complete before you finally reached your estate. However, the man you had encountered had lingered in your mind far longer than you liked to admit. Perhaps it was because you were intrigued by the idea of a man doing work like that, or perhaps it was because of the gaze he held with you and how you were ashamed to admit that it made your heart pause in the moment. He was quite the opulent man, the thought crossed your mind. You shook your head at the thought; you weren’t the type of person to engage in such activity with a random. Especially with someone with status such as yours. How would your family deal with you if they found out that their royal bloodline could have been potentially tainted by a district worker?
The rest of the walk home was silent; you successfully managed to return to your room without anyone alerted of your presence. The thoughts you once had about the man you encountered were then pushed away as your empty stomach begged you for the food you had failed to acquire. It was then that you remembered that the next day you had promised your cousin that you would go shopping for jewels with her. Maybe then I can find a food vendor, you pondered to yourself as you felt your eyes drift into slumber.
Growing up with Hime made your childhood more bearable; Hime wasn’t like a best friend, but she was someone who served a valuable purpose to you. Unlike the other women of your class rank and your other cousins, Hime was someone who never seemed to be facetious even if it was just around you. No glaring after everything you said, no snickering behind your back, just a girl who wanted to share her life with you.
And that is what today was.
Your voyages at night greatly differed from your day appearances. Expensive kimonos, extravagant eye makeup, and neatly tied hair went to cheap yukatas you secretly purchased and loosely tied strands of hair shielding your eyes. In the bright and early afternoon, the same street vendors you visited at night were making sales to common folk and the wealthy. You walked alongside your cousin as she went on and on about some topic that you couldn’t quite remember at the moment. Revisiting the same road you were once at last night made you think about the prostitute you encountered. His sharp, striking eyes making eye contact with you failed to escape your head.
“Are you even listening to me, y/n?”
The sound of Hime’s voice cut through your thoughts like a blade.
“Ah- I apologize,” your startled voice stammered as you quickly turned your head over to her.
Hime glanced over to you with a slight frown. “If I’m boring you out, just tell me…”
“No no, there’s no need for that- I mean, you’re fine. I was just distracted by something…” You trailed off. Hime sighed as you both stopped at a jewelry vendor.
Hime continued as she examined the various ear pieces displayed in front of you both, “What were you distracted by? Better be more interesting than me rejecting Hikaru for the fifth time…” She began to briefly speak with the merchant as she waited for you to explain. You couldn’t tell her that you’ve been sneaking out almost every night to get food, and you certainly couldn’t talk to her about the alluring prostitute you encountered last night.
You cleared your throat, “Just… thinking about what’s for dinner tonight…” Thankfully, Hime was too invested into the jewelry she was examining for her to even question the validity of what you said.
“Mhm…oh, yes! I think blue suits my skin tone quite well too!” Hime looked over to you and spoke, “You said you’re thinking about dinner? Would you care to join me tonight? I believe the menu tonight is being prepared by a foreign chef. I believe he is from an empire in the west. You might enjoy it!”
“Actually, I’d quite enjoy that. I’ll be returning home with you then,” the idea of eating western cuisine, something you didn’t do often, enticed you. You spoke with a faint grin in anticipation.
Hime had continued to speak to you about Hikaru, the man who had been trying for months to get her attention, while you assessed which jewel aesthetically complemented her the best. You had managed to get the man out of your head now, likely only because your cousin put another man into your head to think about.
You glanced around the market place to assess the scene; commoners were the majority of the crowd present. Many families, adolescents, and lone figures were seen either selling their goods or purchasing others. You didn’t get much time to observe people since you were either cooped up in your estate or avoiding attention from others in your nightly escapades. Watching people in their most authentic state wasn’t an activity you got to practice very often; whether it would be within your family or at the various events you are required to attend, frequently you notice people putting on their best mask to appeal to others. However, with common folk, you could appreciate seeing them interact without thinking they are putting on a performance for others to believe.
Your gaze was beginning to return back to Hime until you caught the gaze of someone in the crowd. A man. A man was briefly watching you until he turned around and engaged with a vendor. His back was facing you now, but you felt an uncomfortable familiarity with him. You couldn’t recall the exact image of his face, but the vague glimpse you caught of his eyes were enough to send a shiver down your spine. Observing his back, you saw the grey striped yukata he wore with his black hair falling on his shoulders. It can’t be him, you thought to yourself as you watched him idly.
You couldn’t even break your gaze off of him. He didn’t pose a threat to you or anyone in the area, so why are you worrying so hard?
“y/n~”
“y/n.”
“y/n!”
The sound of Hime calling out your name once more shook you back into reality. You flinched and glanced back down to her, muttering a quick apology.
“Is everything okay?” Her eyebrows furrowed up as her frown deepened. “You seem a little absent today…”
“I’m sorry, I just got distracted by a vendor over there. Uh, we should visit that one next!” The excuse you made up was enough to convince Hime, which was enough for you. You waited for a few more minutes so she could purchase her jewelry, checking your back every now and then to see if the man had looked over at you again. But yet, he was standing still, conversing with the same merchant.
It probably wasn’t him then, you sighed as you began to walk with Hime to search for another vendor. As you made your way down the street, you made conversation with her once again while your eyes scanned the crowd. When you passed him, your gaze made its way back to him for the final time. There he was, idly stationed, bargaining what seemed to be a yukata with the vendor. You sighed, perhaps this was all nothing, you managed to calm yourself down as you continued to walk with your oblivious cousin. Even if it was him, he would have never recognized me with this look, you assured yourself.
What you failed to realize, was that same burning stare from earlier came back to look at you one final time.
The marketplace had called back to you just a few nights later. This time, you had made sure to sneak out earlier, so you could obtain Mrs. Ogura’s yakitori, among other goods from other vendors, before it ran out. The usual twenty minute walk was condensed with your enthusiasm and energy.
Once you had set foot onto the main street, you bounced from vendor to vendor to acquire all of the treats you had daydreamed about since the last late night journey. Though you had arrived at the busiest time of the night, you had managed to gather all of the treats your mouth had been salivating for. Even the fresh yakitori, which you were now eating as you made your way back home, was readily available for you to enjoy.
With the yakitori skewers in one hand and your woven basket in the other, you walked down the main road, more joyfully than usual, to prepare your journey home. It wasn’t until you ran upon the fork in the road once more. The quiet lane, the path you usually took to go home, was occupied by samurai policing the street. The halt in your steps came as quickly as the disappointment; walking down a road occupied by samurai was dangerous for you, the niece of a powerful shogun in the region. It appears that the altercation that took place many nights ago had prompted samurai presence in the area. You stared down the quiet lane before you groaned to yourself, spinning on the heel of your feet and making your way towards the district.
If the uphill road and the cheap, stiff getas you were wearing didn’t exist, perhaps you would’ve gotten home quicker. The street had gathered more clients than the previous night which made navigating up the road more challenging than it already had been. You struggled to keep your head held down due to you still feasting on the fresh yakitoris. You were down to your last skewer, making your way through most of the district. The drunk men on the street that stumbled their way into soaphouses were thinning out, leaving just you alone on the street - or so you had thought.
“I’ve missed you, pretty bird.”
The sound of the familiar, delicate voice of him. The unmistakable voice you had heard days ago. The sound of his voice did not startle you much despite the shiver it caused; if that, the sound made you walk at a quicker pace. It seemed to have been working, until you heard his strides follow behind you.
“Those cheap clothes don’t fool me.”
“I know who you are.”
The simplicity of his statement made you halt. You whipped your head back to face the prostitute, who now dropped his fan from his face. In the eyes, he resembled the same man you witnessed watching you briefly at the market. Of course that was the same man, your thoughts raced across your head. Your secret identity had been figured out so easily, by a man you’ve never talked to at that.
All that could be heard in the street was your uneven breathing and the panic settling in. It seemed to be apparent to the man, as he slowly stepped closer to you, still maintaining his distance.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” The question slipped off his tongue like silk. The gaze his eyes carried was striking, but still held a level of softness to it that almost made you want to give up your guard around him. The softness in his eyes completely contrasted the faint, but mischievous grin he kept on his face. You stared at him and contemplated your next action. Lying was stupid; he was so sure of himself that it would take physical evidence for you to prove otherwise. Either way, his gaze almost seemed hypnotizing, like every action you did under his watch was under his command.
“Never fear, pretty bird. I mean no harm to you…” He took one gentle step closer to you with the same expression plastered on his face.
“Then how could I possibly be of service to you? I’m not interested in what you’re selling.” You managed to tell him, taking a small step back. “In fact, I was just on my way home.” You watched him cock his head to the left, intrigued by your resistance.
“You surely don’t act like it. There's got to be a reason we have met for the third time this week.”
You gulped. As you were choosing what words to speak next, he had already beat you to it.
“You don’t think I don’t see the way you look at me?” A step closer. “Or that I see you’re starting to frequent this side of the city,” you avoided his stare on you as you felt your figure being scanned.
“It’s…it’s complicated,” you took a pause. “And frankly, none of your business.”
And with that, you spun on your heels and began to walk away, hoping that would’ve been the last encounter you had with him. As you walked, you heard more footsteps behind you. This time, they seemed to grow heavier, like he was trying to catch up quickly.
“If you’re worried about me exposing your little secret, don’t,” he started suddenly, his tone coming across as more serious.
“I’m not concerned with that.”
You paused in your tracks again and turned around to face him. There he was with that smirk gone off of his face, showing a glimpse of vulnerability and empathy from a man you had just met. However, with his next statement, that vulnerability would be gone.
“However, I won’t lie and say it doesn’t intrigue me at all,” he eyed you up and down once more, his sly smirk returning fuller.
“I told you I’m not interested. I’m not sure why you’re still so stuck on me. Don’t you have other clients to attend to?” You took another step back which was followed by a subsequent step forward from the man. You didn’t feel fear around him, but rather you felt uncertainty brewing in your stomach. Uncertainty was brewed from your unfamiliarity with him and a secret, dwelling feeling that you couldn’t describe.
Silence fell upon the man for a second before he smirked down at you. A step closer he took, staying nearly an arm’s distance away.
“It’s not uncommon for me to do services with wealthy men and women alike. But you…” you’ve never seen a stare so soft yet so intense. Perhaps it was the way he paused his sentence to read your face like an open book. Perhaps it was the way the mystery behind this man was almost enticing.
“I’ve never met someone so resistant, yet so willing,” a silence fell upon you and him. You could feel your eyebrows furrow at the ridiculousness of his statement. Of course he was being delusional, you were everything but willing. Who did this guy think he was? Or perhaps you felt called out and read thoroughly. Regardless, the scoff you let out shortly after made him raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t flatter yourself too much. I’m only down here so I don’t get caught in those street patrols,” you nudged your head over to the direction of the quiet lane with the man’s head also following.
“Ah, you’re only visiting me because of that…” disappointedly he sighed before you opened his eyes back to you, a smirk returning to his face.
“But, still doesn’t explain why you’re still here talking to me. You could’ve just…left, yes?” You didn’t even have to look at him to see the smug expression he so pridefully carried.
And with the final furrow of your eyebrow, you spun around again and stormed off away from him with a groan under your breath. This time, you didn’t hear him follow you, nor did you hear a call back to you.
“You’re delusional,” you told him one final time, already taking off.
What he couldn’t see was the rosy blush that crept up to your face or the brisk biting of your bottom lip. What you couldn’t see, however, was his menacing smirk growing heavier on his walk back down to his alley.
You contemplated never sneaking out again; the quiet lane was occupied by samurai forces each night you went out, no matter what time of the day. Mrs. Ogura had told you that the altercation a few nights ago was between a now wanted man and an officer. If you couldn’t walk down the quiet lane then, you certainly couldn’t walk down now. Of course, this meant that your interactions with the man were almost inevitable. With every time you wanted to go get extra food so you didn’t fall asleep hungry, there was another appearance of him; or so, you assumed.
On your third interaction with him, you had told yourself to walk past him and to not give him the attention he wanted. In fact, you had rehearsed it in your head several times with each rehearsal resulting in you getting the last word.
Except when you actually walked past him again, you found yourself in the same predicament as before: stopped in the middle of the road and arguing with him. In the end, he got the last word. The last thing you remembered before you once again stormed off was the stupid, sly grin he always carried and his eyes piercing directly into you.
That night, his eyes were all you thought about; you had never seen eyes like his before. A stare down like his made it increasingly uncomfortable for you to sleep at night. It was almost like he saw through you entirely. Such as the things inside of you that you were too scared to admit. But of course, you weren’t craving to see him again, you thought. It’s normal to think about someone at night when they keep finding you, right?
And so the inevitable happened that night: he appeared in your dreams. Of course, it was normal to briefly imagine being suggestive scenarios with a sex worker you kept seeing on accident. Especially if he keeps insinuating such, what else could you do about that? Of course images of him hovered above you with his hair sticking to the sweat coating your face flashed in this dream, no, this nightmare that occurred. Of course, auditory hallucinations of him telling you how much of a good girl you were occurred. And of course, imagines of him completely nude and having you encased in his arms occurred. This was completely normal for you to imagine, of course, because he had been harassing you for some days now. It had nothing to do with any feeling you potentially held towards him, at least that is what you kept telling yourself.
Yet, despite everything, the following night, you went out again. Most of the vendors ran out of food and Mrs. Ogura ran out of her yakitori once again. However, you couldn’t recall feeling as upset as you did nearly a week ago. Annoyed and hungry? Yes, but it was probably because you didn’t feel like going outside that night. Yet, there you were, walking down the district path once more.
You had walked down the path, almost reaching the end, until you paused your steps. The street was desolate and almost bleak. Turning around, you had seen only some older men stammering around and some women through the windows of the buildings. Instinctively, you had made your way down the road, glancing down every alleyway that you passed. It didn’t take long for you to finally reach the alley that the man usually resided in. In the middle of the road you then stood, aimlessly looking for that man. Naturally, you grew accustomed to his usual harassment and pestering. It wasn’t that you missed it, you were just thrown off by the lack of his voice and the absent feeling of being watched.
Your eyes then fell on a window above you. Inside the dimly lit room, a silhouette was vaguely visible. Despite that, you knew exactly what you were looking at: the silhouette of a man, the man, through the window. Vaguely, you could make out him putting his yukata back on his bare body and his hair flown down and resting on his shoulders. On the ground, a woman emerges from the building with her hair tangled and her own yukata being loose, as if she was just putting it back on.
When the woman walked away from you, your eyes trailed back up to the window. Unexpectedly, your eyes met his face, the man in the window. Despite the lack of light present outside and inside the building, you knew it was the same man from before. The man that had always tried to get your attention. You spun on your heels and resumed your trek home before you could meet his eyes or before he could have the chance to come outside to meet you.
The rest of the walk home, a gut wrenching feeling resided within you. Suddenly, in that moment, you wished that Mrs. Ogura didn’t run out of yakitoris so that your usual night run wasn’t completely useless. The idea that your interactions with the man made somewhat of a positive impact on your night was simply untrue. You weren’t disappointed seeing him do his job as a prostitute with another person. You obviously knew how he made his money, that was never a secret to you; so why did your body react the way that it did? You were so sure that your gut wrenching feeling only lingered for so long because you had an empty stomach. Of course, it was your fault for not coming out earlier to grab the skewers.
That night, you remained restless. It was because you were hungry, you thought. You continued to blame yourself for not visiting Mrs. Ogura earlier. You knew better than to sneak out nearly thirty minutes after your usual time. This has been the second time you returned home with an empty basket, yet, this feeling, this hunger, was far worse than the first.
For the next few days, you were content with falling asleep hungry. You didn’t sneak out as much as you did in the week prior. You convinced yourself that talking with that man again was bad for you, as everything he did, or didn’t do drove you insane. Perhaps it was time to acknowledge you began to enjoy his company, which was dangerous. You weren’t sexually attracted to him, no, you were just developing a platonic bond with him, which is normal for someone as isolated from the world as you.
It wasn’t until this night, where the idea of falling asleep hungry was unbearable. Having such a strict diet like yours was finally getting to you. Your sleep prolonged throughout the day and you were getting exhausted much quicker. You found yourself back at the market street again, standing in front of Mrs. Ogura’s stand, with another empty basket. Not even a yakitori from her; once again, you were too late.
The walk up the district path was humiliating for you, even if no one else there was paying attention to you. The growl of your stomach combined with your tiredness made you come to an executive decision. Despite the risks, you decided to eat out in a restaurant, a place guaranteed to have food. You knew a place that was nearby; however, it was quicker to reach there by walking through the district.
Towards the end of the path, you came to realize that the man was nowhere to be found. Saves myself from the embarrassment, you thought as the memories of you nearly encountering him naked after a session with a client came into your head. However, you couldn’t help but feel an unsettling feeling fester in your stomach, like this was all an unfortunate thing. Nonsense, you thought to yourself, you should be glad that you’re alone right now.
It was almost like you had spoken too soon.
“Long time, no see, pretty bird.”
The familiar whisper brushed up against your ear from behind. Suddenly, you were hyperaware of your surroundings; the man had been walking behind you, attempting to catch up to you just so he could mess with you by whispering up against your ear. You would never admit it, but his attempt in making you flustered worked. Though, you wouldn’t have to verbally admit anything, because the cover of your mouth with your free hand and your surprised face being red following your sharp turn to face him was already enough to make him tease you.
“Awe, did I scare you?” His voice was sweet and comforting, yet it carried an underlying vexatious tone.
“Wha- what are you doing?!” You stuttered, dropping your hand from your mouth. You felt your tense shoulders drop finally, a sigh escaping your mouth.
You finally caught a look at his face. He looked like he wasn’t currently working as all of his excess makeup was absent from his eyes. The colorful yukatas he once championed were replaced with the dull, cheap yukatas that the general population wore. His hair encased his dark, olive-toned face, just like in the first time you met him. The same sly look on his face was still present; you just knew he enjoyed the sight of you flustered at any given moment, and that bothered you.
“I’m not working today. If anything, I was preparing to go home. But then, I saw you turn on this road.” He stepped closer to you, placing his hand on your shoulder. “If you missed me so badly, you should’ve said something earlier…” You immediately brushed his hand off of your shoulder and sneered at him.
“It’s not about you, I was just searching for food at the market down there…”
“I see then. Is that what you do every time I see you?” He gave a quick glance down at your empty basket.
“Doesn’t seem to be successful everytime.”
You heard him chuckle at you; your eyes rolled at his teasing before you spun around and began to walk without him. Expectedly, you heard him catch up to you, now walking with you side by side.
“Are you returning home now?” You heard the curiosity in his voice. You decided to not answer him, hoping he would finally leave after he gets bored of you. You continued the walk uphill with the man lingering with you. You could feel his gaze scan all over you again, perhaps trying to read you. You kept your head low, so you wouldn’t have to give him that satisfaction of him seeing you submissive and nervous because of him.
“If you don’t respond, I’ll just follow you back to your estate. I don’t think your family will enjoy you bringing home a pro-”
“I’ll give you whatever you want if you promise you’ll leave me alone after!” You, normally timid and a pushover, finally snapped. It was like he knew exactly how to get under your skin, and you hated that. You paused in the middle of the road and stared up at him. Watching down at you, you saw his smirk widen at your outburst. It was like he found enjoyment in nearly everything you did, even if it was you showing genuine distaste for him.
“Anything, you say?” The suggestive tone in his voice indicated something far from what you were considering. With your face flushed an even darker maroon, you responded.
“I’m not going to ask for one of your services!” You scolded him. “I was considering taking you out to dinner… only because I’m getting ready to go eat dinner myself!”
The only thing you heard after that was the deep, almost sinister sounding, chuckle emerging from his voice. You glanced up at him, witnessing the most amusement you’ve ever seen on his face thus far.
“Lead the way then, pretty bird.”
In all of your years of being royalty, never have you used your notoriety or wealth to get something you wanted. If anything, you found that it was only degenerates who did such a thing. You’ve witnessed it done by family members, normally to escape small legal disputes they accidentally found themselves in. You vowed to yourself to never engage in activity such as that, under any circumstance.
That was until you found yourself slamming a large sum of cash on the zataku in a restaurant's private room. The host quickly took the money from you and left you alone with the man. As the door slid shut, you immediately felt a sense of guilt.
“You’re serious about not being caught with me, aren’t you?” The man's voice almost seemed to linger with shame as he stared at you from across the table. The room wasn’t so small that it was suffocating, but the room felt smaller knowing that the man you sat across from hasn’t seemed to leave your mind since your first meeting.
Returning his eye contact meant that you suddenly felt bad for making him feel that way. Yes, you paid excessive cash so you, a person with much notoriety, wouldn’t be caught with him. However, despite how badly he bothered you, you didn’t want to make him feel like he was at fault here. He was likely trying to tease you once again, but you couldn’t shake the guilt that you felt in you.
“It’s not because of you, it’s because of me,” you paused for a moment, debating on what words you should choose next.
“I-I can’t be caught with anyone who isn’t family or below me in status. It’s not in my control,” you bowed your head slightly, almost as if you were apologizing.
A silence fell upon the table until you heard him pouring oolong tea into both of your cups. You knew he was staring at you again. Was it out of frustration? Was he sad? Actually, why did you care? Of course it’s only because you’re just an empathetic person. It would be more concerning if you didn’t show any concern or care for his feelings.
Hesitantly, you brought up your gaze from your lap and brought it to his face. This was the first time you had seen him so calm and peaceful, like he wasn’t the same man who found pleasure from driving you insane. The tea cup slid across the table and landed in front of you which was followed by his signature chuckle.
“Relax, pretty bird, I was just teasing…” The trail off in voice, the weak smile he tried to portray, the solemn sip he took from his cup; he appeared much differently now. You didn’t believe that he truly felt unaffected by all of this, but you decided to drop it for now, muttering a small thank you instead.
The next minute was spent in silence, with the exception of the sound of the both of you drinking or attempting to cool down the tea. You snuck glances up at him, trying to gauge what he was currently thinking, or what if he was planning to strike up a conversation with you. Surprisingly, he seemed to be occupying his own business, stirring his tea occasionally.
“Is there something the pretty bird wants to know?” He didn’t move his contact from the tea cup, but you knew he had caught you staring at him. Your throat cleared, as if his question caught you off guard.
“Well…I guess I have one- or two, actually,” you paused.
“Maybe three…”
You heard his laugh echo in the confined space, like his normal demeanor returned back to him. His hands dropped to rest on his lap, leaning in closer to the table. Was his yukata always this loose? The black cotton fabric was vaguely draped over his chest. You ashamedly took a glance down at his exposed, bare chest; his breast muscles contracted with every breath he took under his olive skin glistening in the overhead lantern. Fuck, he’s no different than the dream, you ashamedly thought to yourself. With every breath, the hem of the cotton teased you, like it wanted you to reach out and strip him bare.
A silent curse in your head was issued by you immediately after explicitly imagining that perverse thought about him. You returned his eye contact and prayed that he didn’t catch you fantasizing about his body. Even if you wanted to continue, his voice cut through your thoughts.
“Seonghwa.”
Your eyebrow raised instinctively, not expecting him to blurt out something so random.
“I-excuse me?”
“You were wondering what my name was, I’m assuming? If you weren't, at least now you know my name.”
The way he delivered his response was cocky and arrogant; but, he read your mind like it was his. In your head, he had always been referred to as “The Man” or “that one prostitute that won’t leave me alone”. However, you wanted to give him the respect he required, such as knowing his name.
“...yes. You’re right,” you took a pause to process his name. “Seonghwa”, you unintentionally repeated under your breath.
Your eyes met his again, “You’re not from around here, are you? I’ve never heard that name before.”
“I’m from Korea. I’ve been here since my early adolescence. I hardly remember the language anymore,” he spoke after he took a meek sip of his tea. Your eyes caught his grip on the cup; with every muscle contraction, his veins in his hand bulged. It was distracting. You didn’t know what had gotten into you. For the 2nd time tonight, you were ogling at his body while he was doing mundane tasks. You silently cursed yourself again, drawing your eyes away from his hands.
“I like it when you say my name, y/n.”
If you were drinking your tea, which you almost thought of doing to wash down your dirty thoughts, you would’ve nearly choked on it. Normally, you would’ve just rolled your eyes at his suggestive comments, but ever since you saw him through that window, dressing his nude body, and when you had that dream about him, you weren’t acting like yourself. Perhaps you were just going through a biological phase of some sort, something you couldn’t explain.
Even though he knew your name for quite some time, as it was public knowledge, hearing him say your name for the first time gave you an odd sense of comfort. Apparently, he had felt the same way when you said his name. You had tried to ignore his comment, and you tried to show that you weren’t flustered by it, even if the color of your face and your tense posture showed otherwise.
“Uh-anyways, I also wanted to ask, why are you protecting my identity? You do understand, that there are people who would be joyful to know that a family member of a shogun is roaming the Red-light district, right?” A pause.
“Some people find great pleasure in tearing someone with so much power down.”
There was a silence amongst you two again. The smirk on his face having faded and being replaced with a hesitant lip bite, like he was preparing to share something vulnerable or grave. Putting down his cup, he started.
“Ah, that is a valid question to ask,” he kept his eyes trained on you, not in a sly or suggestive manner, but like he was debating on opening up to you. You maintained eye contact, but inside, you wondered if you had asked him a question that had required him to share more than he wanted. Or worse, he was contemplating on actually exposing you.
“I apologize, you don’t have to answer th-”
“Many people place their own assumptions about me because of what I do.”
His voice suddenly interrupted yours, his serious tone making a return. When he wasn’t behaving mischievously and giving you that delinquent smirk, his permissive gaze that he always carried became more evident. You gave him a small nod, waiting for him to continue.
“I also assume that many people place judgement and assumptions on you as well,” he glanced up at you, searching for confirmation to his claim.
“Yes, you would be right.”
He continued, “I don’t want to be treated differently because of my status or my job, and I also assume you wouldn’t want to be either, right?” You gave him another nod.
“It is as simple as that,” he leaned in closer over the table, making it harder for you to avoid his eye contact.
“You may act otherwise towards me, but I can feel that you’re not a part of the crowd who looks down on me. You don’t think I’m an annoying pest; but, you do think I am an annoying human,” in typical Seonghwa fashion, he couldn’t finish a serious statement without delivering a joke, even if it was just to humor himself. Surprisingly for him, showing in eyebrows, this got a brief chuckle from you as well, which eased some of the preexisting tension in you.
“You may irritate me, but I don’t despise you with all my being. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here right now,” you spoke honestly, still maintaining your guard. It seemed that Seonghwa found your statement humorous, with him only responding with a laugh.
The rim of your tea cup returned to your lips as you thought about the last question you had planned to ask him. Initially, you had felt comfortable with the idea of you interrogating him about odd behavior: Why did he flirt so intensively, even when he wasn’t working? Why you, out of everyone he could’ve asked? You were afraid to open Pandora’s Box, nervous about what the answer could be.
You need to be honest with yourself. You were growing attached to Seonghwa; not the same platonic attachment you described earlier, but rather something more, something greater that you couldn’t describe. Or a feeling you were too afraid to describe.
Worst of all, you couldn’t tell if he reciprocated. Which is why you hesitated to ask him your final question. You wanted him, and after days of verbally denying it, you were too scared to even speak up and mention it. Besides, you were so sure that he had encountered people like this before. People that developed an attachment towards a worker giving them the services they are being paid to do. Except, you aren’t his customer, you’re just a woman he occasionally pesters with when he gets the chance.
You were probably the only one who was dreaming and fantasizing about the other. After all, you both had just finished a vulnerable conversation about empathy and trust. He would think you’re disgusting for having such perverse thoughts about him still. Your eyebrows furrowed just a tinge, bringing your lips back to your tea. Seonghwa must have noticed your off behavior, because he had spoken up.
“Is there a third question from me that you wanted to ask? I know you mentioned something about that,” unwavering, he held the gaze that you previously broke with him. You couldn’t tell if he was completely oblivious to your demeanor or if he was just teasing you again, which drove you insane.
Before you could even answer or make up an excuse, the door to the private room opened. Bowls of noodle soups, platters of meat, and cups of rice were dispersed on your table. You thanked the worker, mentally, for coming with the food at the right time. There remained a silence between the both of you as you both watched the plates of food compile on the table. It wasn’t long until the worker had left, leaving you, Seonghwa, and the aroma of the food lingering.
Without paying any mind to his question, you unravelled your chopsticks and began eating the bowl in front of you. In your peripheral, you had watched Seonghwa slowly reach for his own bowl before he began to eat, like he wanted to say something else to you. For a moment, you had been glad to enjoy your meal and avoid the uncomfortable question you had wanted to ask him for the past week.
But you forgot that “uncomfortable questions” don’t exist with Seonghwa.
“The last question you had for me? Were you going to mention anything about that?” He questioned you again after eating a generous portion of his food.
“Ah- no, it…left my mind. Can’t remember,” you were a horrible liar, and Seonghwa seemed to have learned that just now. The burning stare came back and burned holes into your bowed head. You tried your best to behave like there was no issue that was vexing you, but Seonghwa wasn’t stupid. He could pick up on these things, likely better than you could.
“I think you’re lying to me, pretty bird.”
That damned nickname came back in his vocabulary. You were initially able to just shake off that name like it didn’t mean anything. But with your recent acceptance of your feelings towards Seonghwa, a name as simple as pretty bird suddenly carried weight. Suddenly, you understood the power he had over you, and you didn’t like that.
You continued to eat your food, nearing the end of your noodle soup. You figured that if you had just continued to play dumb, then maybe, just maybe, there was a slim chance of Seonghwa giving up on interrogating you. Or, if you were super lucky, he could believe you completely, which you doubted. Regardless, you’d rather take that risk than open up.
“I really don’t remember, I got distracted by the food coming here…haha,” your little pretend joke barely made Seonghwa’s lips budge. Instead, the stare in his eyes narrowed in on you intensely. There was a brief silence, the aroma of the food vaguely masking the tension in the air, before you heard Seonghwa’s sigh breaking the silence.
“Is that so?”
You nodded your head, continuing to eat your food.
He paused.
“I suppose I should speak more about myself then. Maybe the question will come back in that pretty head of yours.”
Another pause; this time with you. You tried not to let your nerves show; even the most basic of compliments could suddenly make you go weak, and that was dangerous. So you resumed your eating, hoping the conversation continued smoothly.
You didn’t know how wrong you could be.
He took a breath.
“I saw you looking at me through the window.”
You halted your body, a small gasp vaguely escaping you. You didn’t have to look at him to know that his devilish smirk returned to his face. It was laced all in his speech; you had no reason to look back up at him to check if you were right. You paused before you placed your bowl down on the table, keeping your head bowed. While you were frantically searching for the right response, with your clammy palms and your quickened heart beat.
“I suppose you didn’t know that I was watching you too, did you?” Of course this would happen. It was dark outside that night, and the room he was in was even darker. You could only interpret his silhouette, not his face or any other details. But of course, it would’ve been easier for him to see you in the maroon red lights that highlighted the entire street.
You wanted to come up with an excuse, but they were all so pathetic and lackluster. He didn’t believe you then, and he surely wouldn’t believe you now. You were just going to have to admit that you were ogling his body after pretending to hate his attention for so long.
“I- I apologize for that. I shouldn’t have invaded your priva-”
“Oh, pretty bird, I’m not asking you to apologize.”
A pause.
“Look at me, I want to see your face.”
You hesitated to show him your face, but you complied. Your face rose up slowly, finally reaching eye contact with Seonghwa. His stare was intense. And it made you uncomfortable. But you liked it; in fact, you didn’t feel any inclination to look away from him. Like you were hypnotized, and you couldn’t do a single thing about it. Your palms, however, stayed glued to your lap, hoping he didn’t notice.
Seonghwa enjoyed watching you crumble over a simple order he gave. You could see it in his posture, how he leaned forward, resting his jaw in his hand. Or how he carried that damned cocky grin you hated even greater on his face. He had gotten you to behave like a walking ball of nerves after having you act so resistant to him a week ago; and God, was he getting a high off of it.
“Does anything I'm saying ring any bells for you yet?”
You shook your head. Another lie.
He continued, “You probably think that you’re hard to read. That I don’t understand what your true, most pure intentions are with me.”
He looked you up and down, feeling a sense of control over you and the conversation. You, unfortunately, couldn’t feel the same; he was unravelling you piece by piece, exposing every aspect about you that you had tried to keep hidden.
“You probably think that I don’t see you eyeing my body up and down. Or that I don’t see how all of the sudden, your demeanor changed around me. Acting so shy and timid around me”
You felt his eyes zoom in on each one of your features, “I love it when the words I say make you squirm on your lap like that. Or how red I can make your face without even having to touch you.”
You hadn’t even realized that all of your seemingly small behavior shifts were that noticeable by him. He saw every change in you. Almost on instinct, your legs uncomfortably shifted together again. Fuck, the way he read you made you damp, yearning for him. You maintained eye contact with him as you spoke up.
“So what’s your point?” Your meek voice attempted to taunt him. You watched the color of his face blush pink near his eyes, followed by him biting his own lip like he was holding back a maniacal smirk.
“I want you to ask me the last question you had for me. I want to know if I guessed right.”
He patiently waited for you to finally reveal what you had wanted to ask him all dinner, his finger tapping on the zataku at a steady rhythm. Whether it was because of his taunting voice, his exposed chest, his eyes holding the most graceful, yet most daunting stare, or the veins in his hands bulging, you were starting to lose your self control.
You figured you had nothing to lose at this point. Lying was pointless when he already knew nearly everything about you already. Yet, the fear that lingered within you made you excited, like you wanted to be perceived as a permissive, naive woman who was oblivious to her effect on him. You were so far gone, but you couldn’t care much anymore.
“Why me?” You began, “What makes me different from your regular customers that would make you want to come eat dinner with me?”
Finally, the weight of pretending had been released from you. You watched Seonghwa’s smirk progressively grow into a menacing chuckle. This was the question he was looking for, you were sure of it.
“Why you?” his tone dimmed, washing over the devilish look on his face.
“You’re difficult.”
You bite your lip, as if you were begging him to continue. Seeming like he heard your thoughts, you watched him pause his statement before he sat up and, to your surprise, walked over to you. He slowly knelt down beside you while you remained still.
“You want my attention. Even if you don’t act like it. I always know.”
“Because it’s written all over your face.”
A pause.
“You know, it’s not common for me to crave someone's attention so badly. I want your attention too, pretty bird.”
The palm of his hand raised from his side and hovered over your cheek.
“May I?”
Hesitantly, your full body shifted to face him, giving him permission to touch you. His cool palm, softly landed on your cheek with the heat from your flushed face warming his hands instantly. He leaned in, the opposite hand being placed firmly on the table beside you. He scanned you thoroughly, his eyes raking up and down your body several times. The only thing heard in the room now was the subtle panting above you.
“Pretty bird…do I really need to explain to you why I want to fuck you?” The breathless tone in his voice escaped him, like he was pleading to you, needing you.
With every inch he closed between you two, you retreated, eventually landing your back against the wall. He had had you cornered now, his free hand off from the table and firmly rested beside your head on the wall. The desperation in his face was a stark contrast to the persona he initially played into. The maroon cheeks, the burning stare onto your lips, and the slight tremble in his voice; his true feelings and intentions were manifest.
His thumb dragged along your face before landing on the center of your lips, circling the bottom of your lip sensually. He continued, “I think about you when I’m with my clients. Fuck, I do it all the time. Especially on the nights when you come down the district.”
His knee slowly pushed your legs apart, “Stop me if you don’t want this”, his mouth dropped down to whisper into your ear, earning you a softly pressed kiss below your ear. He returned to look down at your face, staring at you intently while his knee continued to travel up your inner thighs. He stopped his knee at your entrance, letting it hover.
This was wrong, you thought to yourself. Anyone could hear us. Or walk in.
Despite your concerns, all you could focus on was Seonghwa’s body towering over you with his yukata drawn loose at his chest. Your eyes flickered up and down, from his eyes down back to his chest, and back again. He had barely touched you, but he already had your legs trembling and your breath shaky. When your eyes finally decided to keep eye contact with him, you instinctively bit your lip and his thumb that was lazily drawing circles. The soft hitch caught in his voice didn’t last long before he hesitantly inserted his thumb into your mouth.
“Are you sure you want to do this here?” You could hear the self-control in him failing with every passing moment. He began to retract his finger from your mouth to give you a chance to respond, but your hand flew up to his arm to stop him; the muscle was flexed underneath your hands. You gently sucked on his finger and lathered it with your tongue, and with this action he understood your answer.
Before you could blink, his thumb deepened into your mouth. The grip you had on his arm tightened, earning a soft moan from you. Your other hand rose up and rested on his bare clavicle. The sly smirk he once wore now returned. He watched your face as his finger in your mouth played with your salivating tongue.
“That night when I caught those pretty eyes of yours staring at me through the window,” he released his finger from your mouth slowly, letting the salvia that soaked his thumb drip on the floor beside you, “The same eyes you’re giving me right now,” you watched his face zoom in closer to your, feeling the desire in his breath against your mouth. He popped his soaked thumb in his mouth to taste you before this hand returned to cradle your face.
He continued: “I want those eyes on me while I touch you, okay? Can you do that for me, pretty bird?” He stared into you before he glanced back down at your lips. You muttered a quick yes under your breath, your head nodding at a desperate speed.
Before you could even say anything else, he inched away from you and pulled you down by your legs. You yelped as you fell on your back and onto the padded floor. Your legs wrapped over his shoulders, his hands aiding the process. The yukata that once modestly covered your body was now pooled at your hips.
As Seonghwa’s gaze dragged over your bare legs, with his hands delicately running across your thighs and up to your ankles. The warmth that radiated from his palms sent shivers down your entire body. You watched him through half-lidded eyes as his hands massaged your legs, going down to your inner thigh. The only thing heard in the room was the soft whimpering you had tried to suppress from outside ears.
“You’re already getting this noisy for me. I didn’t know you could be so responsive,” his finger trailed down your thigh once more before he reached the pooled yukata that vaguely covered your wet entrance. The further his finger travelled, the more your body throbbed for his touch. His hand reached higher and leisurely undid the tied yukata around your waist. All you could do was watch as he teased you so slowly, knowing you were craving for him to touch and please you already, your impatient shifting apparent throughout.
“I bet you’re already so ready for me. Shall I check?” He pressed a soft kiss to your calf before he zoomed in onto your inner thighs. His hand brushed away the loose cloth away from your heat, exposing your wet, throbbing core.
He took his fingers and pressed them against you, rubbing circles across the lips. Your legs squirmed over his shoulders, a moan echoing in the room with the sound of your slick being played. He licked his own lips as he watched you struggle against his gentle touch.
“Shh…shh…don’t be too loud,” his assuring, velvet voice spoke out to you as he slowed his pace down, “bite down on something for me,” he used his free hand to bring the collar of your yukata up to your mouth. Eagerly, you took the cloth into your mouth, both of your hands gripping the cloth with your teeth.
Almost instantly, he quickened the pace of his fingers circling your labia. His free hand trailed down from your collar and slid underneath the cotton. His hands made their way to your breasts, giving a generous squeeze to the cup. He had complete control over your body, while all you could do was lay on your back and let him fondle you. The whimpers in your voice had gotten louder when you rolled your hips to the rhythm of his slick fingers.
“You’re doing so good. Being such an obedient girl for me,” his voice purred. He teased a finger in between your folds, maintaining eye contact with you.
“Mmpfh- Seonghwa, I need you,” you released your teeth from the cloth momentarily to beg, “Please, please just make me cum.” The speed of the tip of his finger quickened gradually as you continued to squirm and whimper under his touch.
Seonghwa, who was getting off at the sight of you obediently and pathetically submitting to him, freed a moan from his lips. He dragged the hand on your breasts over to your nipples, the fingers lazily fondling the soft tissue.
His mischievous grin returned, “You better keep those pretty eyes on me at all times then. Okay?” His finger titillatingly flicked your clit faster as he waited for a verbal response from you. It was evil; just a few days ago you were so confident that he was just a bothersome man who developed an unreciprocated infatuation with you. Now, he had you moaning on the floor and teasing you.
“Please- Seonghwa, I’m being good for you,” you had no shame in your begging; your eyes glistened with tears as his finger continued to play with your clit.
“Awe, my pretty bird wants me to do more?” Perhaps it was the tears in your eyes that prompted him to stop teasing you and finally begin to stick his middle finger knuckle deep inside you. Your teeth clamped back down on your clothes as he started to stroke your pussy.
The damp noises of his finger fucking you in the room could almost make Seonghwa salivate like a dog; there you were, hair sprawled out on the padded floor, your yukata dishelved and loosely hanging onto you, and the sight of tears falling down the sides of your face because of his fingers stimulating your body. His smile was maniacal. This is exactly how he wanted you, after all of those days he yearned over your attention.
“You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now,” he pumped another finger into you as he quickened the pace of his strokes while his other hand on your breast roughly massaged with him occasionally pinching your nipple.
Your legs stiffened around his shoulders as you maintained eye contact with Seonghwa through your glossy eyes. You stuffed more fabric into your mouth to muffle the volume of your moans that increasingly grew louder with each of his strokes. Despite the eye contact you tried to maintain, your tears were clouding your vision. Your vision was only worsened when Seonghwa added a third finger; the tremble of your legs was felt by the both of you.
“Ah ah, I don’t want you to cum just yet,” you didn’t need your vision to know that his maniacal grin returned on his face. He stilled all three of his fingers deep in you while his free hand reached up to your face, his finger tenderly wiping away stray tears.
“Please, Seonghwa, please, I’m so close-” he interrupted your pleading with his finger trailing down your face, landing over your lips.
“But y/n, you must not understand how beautiful you look under me right now. I just want to keep you like this forever…” he spoke in such a gentle purr. If it wasn’t for you nearly being folded in half with him knuckle-deep into you, you’d be swooned and serenaded by the soft-spoken tone in his voice.
“Do you really want me to make you cum?” He asked teasingly, his fingers moving away from your mouth and back down to your body. You rapidly, desperately nodded; but Seonghwa shook his head.
“Use your words, pretty bird. I want to hear what you want,” His effect on you made you look so pathetic, but you didn’t even care; this was exactly what you had dreamed about with him.
“Please, make me cum, Seonghwa…” You softly plead spoken under your breath, your imploring eyes searching his proud ones for any hint of approval. His eyebrow raised, as if he wasn’t fully convinced yet.
“Seonghwa…please,” He eventually chuckled at your final plea, his hand on your chest making its way back to your nipple.
“Since you used your words, I’ll make those lips sing,” Seonghwa didn’t give you time to respond; his fingers immediately began to pump in you quicker than before. The soft massages on your breasts turned into his hand kneading them. What once was a room only filled with sounds of your pussy being pumped by his fingers was now a room filled with sounds of your moaning croaking out from between your lips.
Seonghwa had noticed that your yukata that you had bit down on to keep quiet was absent from your mouth, “Come on, pretty bird, don’t be too loud,” despite his warning, it seemed that he had been aroused by the idea of you being loud when you’re supposed to be quiet for him; the louder you got, the harder and faster he went.
Your legs trembled on his shoulders, and your back arched from the ground; Seonghwa didn’t need you to tell him what you were about to do. Every twitch and shake in your body told him that you were about to cum.
“That’s right, cum on me,” Seonghwa’s delicate voice assured you. With your orgasm vibrating into the cloth in your mouth, you finished on him. You threw your head back onto the padded floor, feeling your trembling legs being pampered with kisses that felt like silk against skin.
“You did amazing,” Seonghwa carefully placed your legs down on the floor before he crawled above you, resting himself on top of your stomach with his legs straddling your body. On one hand, his fingers were dripping in your cum; with his free hand, he took your chin and turned your head back so he could continue observing you.
His soft, yet proud gaze scanned your entire face; your face was wetted by your tears and your hair was sticking to the tears that trickled down your neck. His clean hand wiped a free tear from your face again before it returned back down to your mouth, his thumb brushing against.
“Open wide for me,” you obeyed his command, watching his grin grow as your lips parted further. Without any warning, his cum-soiled fingers plunged into your mouth. Your tongue lathered his fingers as Seonghwa leaned down over you. The warmth of his breath was felt with every inch he closed between you. Beside your head, his other hand was planted on the ground, closing you in once again.
Your eyes locked with his before Seonghwa’s stare fell down to your lips, “Let me taste you,” Seonghwa removed his fingers from your tongue, letting his lips connect with yours gently. You melted into the kiss, your hands rising to cup his silk-like face. You couldn’t get enough of the sweet flavor that exuded from his lips; along with the soft texture of his lips on yours, you were disappointed to feel him pull back from the kiss, even if it was just to observe you once again.
“You taste so good, pretty bird,” his head dipped into the crook of your neck, deliberately placing wet kisses under your jaw, travelling down to your collarbone. His hands reached back down to your yukata, slipping through the fabric once more.
“I wish I could eat you right now, but I need to finish up quickly,” he rose up from your neck and pressed another kiss on your lips, this time slower, deeper. Every inch of skin on your bare abdomen was being massaged by the graceful touch of his palms. With every moan from you that he felt through the kiss, and with every touch felt by your hands entangled in his hair, the hungrier the kiss became.
His hand trailed down your body again before it reached your labia. His fingers began circling over the region again; the present sound of the wet lips echoing in the room almost made Seonghwa weak, his moan vaguely being heard.
“You’re still ready for me. That’s good,” he broke the kiss as he sat back up, looking down at you while his hands undid the cloth wrapped around him. He let his yukata hang freely open, his cock springing out.
The precum oozed from him, running down his length in anticipation. God, you couldn’t get your eyes off of his curve, and he loved that. You cursed under your breath, your salivating mouth unable to form phrases. He then came back down to kiss you softly on the nose, before trailing the kisses back down to your neck. All the while, his tip was knocking at your entrance door. You felt it grazing your folds, increasingly teasing you as he continued to suck on your neck.
“Ngh, Se-Seonghwa…” your fragile voice managed to escape, “I need more than your tip.” Your hands that pushed the yukata from off his shoulders begged him to do more to you.
“Ah ah, you’re being too eager. I need you to ask for it nicer,” his head rose to your ear, whispering his command gently. He leaned away from you, cocking his eyebrow up smugly as he saw the desperation in your eyes. His cock remained at your folds with every twitch causing you to throb harder.
“Please, Seonghwa. Please just fuck me again,” you laid there begging pathetically and so desperate for him. Yet, he didn’t move at all. He just stood over you, his bare chest on full display, watching you beg.
As if he was testing you, his cock teasingly inched into you, earning him a desperate, but sinful sound leaving your quivering lips. You knew that he enjoyed watching you squirm around on the ground at his will; with every whimper he heard and with every desperate look he saw in your eyes, you could feel the remote throbbing of his member inside you, like the lust he had for you traversed through the veins that ran up and down his length.
He stared down at you for a moment more, like he was enjoying the effect he continued to have on you. Then suddenly, his hands placed themselves on either side of your hips while his body was perched over yours.
“Fuck, I can’t resist you,” was the last thing that muttered from his mouth before his cock disappeared into your cunt. The suddenness almost caught you off guard. You almost disobeyed him and screamed his name, however, you managed to bite down hard on your lips with your pathetic whimpers replacing what would’ve been a sinful scream.
His cock rested inside of you momentarily, allowing you to regain some composure. His hands, with a gentle yet firm grip, lifted your hips from the ground slightly. The warm air that filled the room crashed against your lifted lower back. Seonghwa panted like a dog in anticipation at the sight of his cock stuffed into your pussy. With the smirk of a deviant, he gave you one last knowing glance down at you.
“Remember to be quiet”
Following the order he gave in his rough, aroused voice, he started his thrusts slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. Despite the slow tempo, he made sure to fill you up with as much of his cock as possible. You were doing well with managing him and remaining quiet, outside of a few whimpers that hummed in between your lips. Seonghwa knew this too; he was greedy, and he wanted to push you to your limits. He kept a malevolent smirk on his face that only grew more as his thrusts continued, like he was thinking of all of the fun he could have from witnessing you pathetically try to handle him without making a noise.
His gentle grip no longer, he continued to thrust into you at a noticeably faster rate. The sound of his skin slapping against your pussy, the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing from your body, and the sight of his long hair sticking to his temples was nearly enough to make you cum already. The tears you let out before returned to cry out in the sheer pain you experienced from biting down on your tongue so hard just so you couldn’t scream his name.
But damn, did it feel titillating
Your hands fell down to your breast, stimulating the feeling of him sucking on your nipples earlier. You knew it would make it harder for you to control your volume, but you loved the danger. And so did Seonghwa.
Your quivering legs on either side of him, your tight folds clenching around his length, and his flushed face that traded with the smugness he carried earlier; this was exactly what Seonghwa wanted to experience with you. No more nights of him imagining you as his clients. Just the real you, half naked on the floor with his throbbing length fucking you.
Just as he anticipated, your moans managed to slip through your lips; it grew harder for you to control your volume.
“S-Se-Seonghwa,” you whined shakily, “Can’t stay q-quiet”.
He abruptly stopped, keeping himself inside you. He looked tauntingly disappointed in you. Of course, he knew this would happen. His body slightly leaned over yours, with his facial features becoming condescending and the grip on your hips softening.
He sighed, “Ah ah, pretty bird. I won’t let you finish until you stay quiet,” one of his hands left your hips and teasingly drew down to your folds, letting his ring finger fondle with them while he rested inside you. Even the slight tease with his fingers was enough to force you to bite down on your clothing.
Your teary, desperate eyes met his. The vague smile on his face showed you that he was enjoying every second of your squirming and whining. Seonghwa watched you struggle to silently keep eye contact with him despite the fondling not ceasing. He just watched you, once again, pathetically try not to whine at his touch.
“You’re so beautiful like this, being obedient to me.”
The endless teasing didn’t stop even when he noticed your precum developing a small pool around him. In fact, it made him continue with another finger. The pain in your tongue and teeth resurfaced again as you bit down harder on your yukata.
A considerable amount of time passed as he continued the slow fondling. Your legs were still tensely still around his body, but the room became quieter. You continued to lay there silently in agony, anticipating for him to continue pleasuring you. His sudden chuckle left you in relief as his hand retreated back to your hip.
“You’re a good listener. Perhaps I shall award you for your good behavior,” he gradually restarted his thrust into you as he continued the praise.
“You’re doing so good, pretty bird,” he repeated his assortment of praises as he gradually pounded you. Your teeth clenched down fiercely on your finger wrapped in the yukata that was once in your mouth while your eyes began to swell in tears once again. The sound of skin contact was louder than before; surely, someone had to have heard such a sinful sound coming from their room.
Regardless, you both knew he was on the verge of cumming. The usual smugness of Seonghwa’s face on his thrown back head was replaced with his mouth agape. The sweat that resided on his temples were now dripping down his olive skin. His bare chest glistened under the lights. The hair that rested on his broad shoulders were stuck to the sweat that emitted from his neck. With the arch of your back and your trembling legs on either side of him, you knew you didn’t have much longer left.
“Open your mouth,” he moaned desperately, his cock twitching in you. Both of you were losing composure; the more Seonghwa softly moaned, the tighter the already tense grip on your hip became. Finally, he whipped out his cock as soon as the cum oozed out of him and slapped the tip on your lips. Simultaneously, your orgasm vibrated throughout the room, allowing his cum to trickle down your throat.
You swallowed his fluid before you both laid down on the padded floor, hefty breathing from both of your half naked bodies. He laid on top of you, still like a lifeless body. You both kept each other’s sweaty bodies wrapped in each other's arms. After basking in the comfort of each other's embrace, Seonghwa elevated himself above you, either hand on each side of your head. He glanced down at you, wiping away the tears that ran down your face.
There was a peaceful silence that lingered amongst the room until he muttered, “You did better than I expected. I’m pleasantly surprised you managed to stay so quiet,” you rolled your eyes at his claim, brushing more tears off.
“Oh please, you think too low of me,” you gave him a grin, “I’m not that stubborn.”
Seonghwa inched away from your face and adjusted his head down at your sore folds. His tongue gently cleaned them, unsurprisingly making you squirm in pleasure. Before he rose from in between your legs, he gave the lips a final graze of his tongue as he retreated back to your face. He pressed his lips to yours, letting you taste yourself once more. Both of your lips tiredly and sloppily meshed together, with your hands returning back to entangle his hair, and his hands cradling either side of your flushed face. Seonghwa finally pulled away, his tired, yet euphoric, gaze studying the gratified expression you held.
“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” he jokingly pondered, “In fact, you gave yourself up to me quite quickly. Earlier, you had almost convinced me that you really didn’t want anything to do with me.”
You groaned, pushing his face away from yours in playful irritation. Sitting up from where you laid, you fixed up your yukata, tying it around you once more. Your hands vaguely ran through your hair in its attempt to fix it.
“One day I’ll have to tame that stubbornness in you,” Seonghwa stood up to adjust his clothes, back now facing towards you. The muscles you had just memorized with your hand were now concealed by his yukata.
You briefly paused; one day? He believes there will be another time after this? I mean, of course you wanted that as well. It was just that you were just assuming that what took place during dinner was just a one time thing. Your heart skipped a beat before you shook your head, discontinuing your wishful thinking.
When he noticed your lack of response, he turned his body and knelt down beside you. The vulnerable look on his face made a reappearance; your eyes avoided his face, but you knew that his eyes were glued on your solemn expression as you raked your hands through your tangled hair.
“That is, if you want there to be a next time?” he paused, “I would like for you to come visit me again, in a less public area, that is,” his hand reached up to a loose strand of hair hovered over your face before it halted, like he was asking for permission before touching you again.
“I-...well,” you turned your head to face him. It was evident from his furrowed eyebrows and slight frown that he looked disappointed at the possibility of not seeing you again.
“Yes, I would actually like for there to be a next time,” the hesitation was noticeable in your voice initially until you scanned his face for a positive reaction. It didn’t take long until Seonghwa’s hand finally brushed the hair from your face.
“Good,” Seonghwa looked you up and down with his free thumb dragging across your lower lip once more, “Are you sure that’s what you want? You hesitated to answer,” His thumb slowed down against lips before Seonghwa turned his attention back to your eyes.
“I just wasn’t entirely sure if you wanted this again. I’m glad you do, but I just didn’t expect you to want it this much,” you embarrassingly confessed to him. You heard him chuckle, his thumb suddenly beginning to soothe your lower lip once more. The hair that hovered around Seonghwa’s face tickled your cheeks as he leaned in.
“y/n,” he began, “I wanted, needed, your attention for a reason,” Seonghwa’s lips connected with yours in a passionate exchange before he pulled away, his breath being felt on your face.
“You’re quite the intriguing person. And there is still so much about you that I crave to learn about.”
That sentence alone was enough to convince you. Maybe someone of royalty shouldn’t develop an infatuation with a person of a different class, but there was an excitement you had from sneaking out at night. A mutual fixation forming between the both of you, a sex worker and royalty, who were equally forbidden from developing any form of relationship with each other, was a dangerous game that you both were willing to play.
“Then, shall I visit you in a few nights-”
“Tomorrow.”
His voice interrupted yours suddenly. For a moment, a flicker of seriousness displayed on his face before the gentle yet menacing smile you were used to seeing grew. His hand trailed down your sleeve slowly before landing on your thigh.
“I would like to see you again tomorrow, if your schedule allows it,” he gave your leg a gentle squeeze as he patiently awaited your response. You initially were thrown off by the sudden request from him, so you stilled yourself on the floor without emitting a single sound except for a giggle.
“Well then, I better see you at your alley again,” you promised him with a smirk on your face. Seonghwa stared back at you before he chuckled. He stood up from where he was sitting, towering over your frame.
A hand from his side reached down to your head, tilting your head up to view him. The malevolence in his tone seemed to have run away. The gentle, unassuming expression returned to his face like nothing had happened. As if he didn’t just make you swallow his own cum. He allowed himself to check out your disheveled appearance, admiring his work he did on you. He finally locked eyes with yours one final time before he last spoke:
“Next time, I’ll make sure to make that voice sing louder, pretty bird.”
٠࣪⭑ a/n ╰┈➤ Lordddd this done took me so long to write lol im so sorry (╥﹏╥). I've been dealing with college exams this past week so I hope I didn't write horrible here.... anyways, the ateez drabbles should be out as well, so go read that as well! Hope you all enjoyed, lmk if there are any mistakes!! ₍^. .^₎⟆
I have so much drafts I haven't finished haha. In my block it's more like I spit out ideas and get them out quickly before I lose it, so far I have roommate seonghwa, scuba diver san, toxic idol (halfway done), pool boy (probably for Wooyoung), surfer Joshua, Baker scoups (I THOUGHT THIS WAS SOOOO FUNNY), rival seungkwan, but the one I'm currently very excited about is a prompt from Halloween of last year. It's mainly centered around san, but follows the members too. It's the most complete one actually since I was planning on releasing it on Halloween but never found the ability to complete it. It's more like slight thriller and it's an escape room + meet cute theme. I think I'll be releasing it first since it's the only other fluff aside from surfer Joshua and I'm taking a break from writing smut. If I don't end up posting it well you know I can't keep my promises.
summary: you and wooyoung are stuck at work overnight. bored out of your mind, you decide to ask him about his tattoos. [18+]
content: jung wooyoung x afab! reader; (borderline) smut. cw: nsfw, mdni !! lots of sexual tension, making out, dry humping, begging, teasing, hair pulling, hints at wooyoung being a masochist, suggests that wooyoung is older than you, mentions of breeding, oral (f receiving), marking and more…
word count: 2.5k [drabble– not proofread, not edited]
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⠀. 𐧺 ⠀ ˚⠀ ⣴⠟⠉⠉⠛⢦ ⣴⠟⠉⠉⠛⢦⠀ ֺ ࣭ ಣ𓈒ֵ۫ ˚
“how many do you have?”
“mhm… about four more?”
it was two in the morning and you were still in the office. well, you weren’t alone– your colleague, jung wooyoung was there.
why were you two there? well, there was an overnight program happening with big names in your hotel. you two were there to make sure nothing went wrong. you were one of the newer hires, only having been on the team for about four months. wooyoung, however, had been on the team for around three years.
you didn’t really know the man well. this was probably the first time you both were having a full fledged conversation. before this, it had been brief, non-personal small talk. were you insanely attracted to him despite this? yes– painfully so.
wooyoung was extremely handsome. sleek, fox-like eyes, sharp jaw, structured frame, and warm, buttery voice. he was grounded and responsible when needed, but also had a mischievous side to him. you respected him as a colleague, but also found it hard not to stare. he simply oozed sex appeal– sue you for wanting to look at an attractive man.
“really?” you arched an eyebrow. “ten tattoos in total?” he nodded, an amused grin on his face.
“don’t believe me?”
you grinned back. “no, i believe you,” you glanced at his septum piercing, licking your lips unconsciously. you had always found the piercing extremely attractive on him. the plethora of earrings didn’t help your case. there was just something about the combination of tattoos and piercings on him that did it for you. “it’s not very hard to believe.”
he arched an eyebrow. “then why the disbelief?” you let out a soft chuckle.
“just… wondering why i’ve never seen them i suppose,” you shrugged. “i know you have one on the back of your bicep, but that's all i’ve seen.”
he hummed. “you’ve seen that one?”
“not fully. it peaks out of your sleeve sometimes,” you spun in your chair. “but only the bottom part of it is visible.”
he nodded, rolling his sleeve up. “this is an ode to my brother,” he said, angling his arm to let you see it better. there were two chrysanthemum flowers intertwined, the line work thin and flowy, the shading light and wispy. it was a simple, yet beautiful.
“this is such a thoughtful tattoo,” you noted, admiring it thoroughly. “very beautiful.”
wooyoung smiled. “thanks. this is the only one i have that is visible with my clothes on right now.”
that piqued your interest. “oh?”
he shot you his usual grin. “yeah, the rest of them are on my legs and thigh,” he crossed his legs, long pants covering them. the bottom of his pants hiked up just enough that you could see a tiny bit of the tattoo on his left leg. it was as if he were teasing you, giving you a sneak peak of what you’d always wanted to see. your breath hitched slightly.
you leaned back into your chair, trying to restrain your thoughts and remain professional. “i really should get a tattoo too,” you mumbled, not noticing the way wooyoung’s gaze trailed down your body slowly. “do you mind?” you gestured to his legs.
“no, not at all,” he grinned. “let me change out of this uniform first,” he huffed, grabbing his basketball shorts and heading into the office store room. “no peeking!”
the mischievousness in his voice made you chuckle. “no promises!” you teased back, relishing in the shocked gasp he let out, his feigned astonishment making you giggle.
the seconds felt like hours, but when the door clicked open again, your head spun around quickly. wooyoung walked back over, your gaze quickly trailing down to his legs. your breath caught in your throat at the sight of his tattoos.
his right thigh had four tattoos on them. they were small, sort of like patchwork tattoos, but all in black. they weren’t fully coloured in, the use of pointillism elevating the tattoo entirely (in your opinion). you couldn’t even see the two on top fully due to his shorts covering them.
on the other end, his entire left leg was covered in a singular tattoo. it was flowy, sort of what a gust of wind would look like. or maybe the ocean currents was a better comparison. it wrapped around his thigh, slowly trailing down to his knee, before gradually settling at the base of his ankle.
you stared.
in fact, you stared shamelessly, dignity slowly leaving your body. you’d never checked someone out so upfront and shamelessly before– let alone someone you worked with. wow,” you finally managed to croak out. “these are really nice.”
wooyoung’s smile was genuine. “thanks,” he sat back down, fingers tracing down his tattoo. “this huge piece is newer. i got this done like four months ago.”
your arm instinctively reached out, fingertips gently grazing over the tattoo. it was instinctual– you didn’t even register what you had done until after you had done it. you retreated immediately.
“oh my god,” you gasped. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to do that,” you held onto your wrist, gently rubbing your pulse point as your heart raced. maybe you did have some shame left after all.
“hey, hey,” his voice was soft and gentle. his fingers slowly wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer to him. “it’s okay. don’t panic, it’s okay,” his voice was oddly soothing. he lowered your hand back onto his leg, your breath hitching as you touched his tattoo again. “it’s fine, you can touch.”
curse your filthy mind.
your fingers began to trace down his tattoo, drifting left and right just as it did. “this is amazing artistry,” you murmured. he nodded in agreement, but didn’t reply. you could feel wooyoung’s strong gaze centered on you, which sent shivers down your spine.
there was tension in the air and it was thickening with every second that passed, and yet, you both did not act on it. the longer your hand was on his thigh, the thinner your patience and his self-restraint got. it was tantalising.
you glanced up at him, noting the way he was biting his bottom lip. deciding to test the waters, you moved a little closer. “can i move my hand up even more?” where on earth this boldness came from, you weren’t sure. but the look of wooyoung’s face was all the more rewarding than the shame that began to build in your chest.
he grinned, eyes glazed. he was still biting his bottom lip, and god, did he look sexy as hell. “sure.”
you surprised yourself by having the restraint to not dig your fingernails into his flesh. the urge to leave a reminder that you had touched him flooded your mind. you opted to instead focus on the feeling of his soft skin, dragging your fingers tips across the black ink.
“did it hurt?” you whispered.
“yeah.”
“how much?”
you glanced up at wooyoung whose gaze had darkened. your breath hitched as your fingers stilled. “it felt better than i thought it would,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. the hunger in the pit of your stomach grew, nearing the brink of insatiability. “you can go higher, but only if you want.”
this was an illusion of choice– he wanted you to touch him more.
emboldened by his statement, you didn’t hesitate and allowed your fingers to drift further up. it was wooyoung’s turn for his breath to hitch. your smile widened as your fingers continued to trace the pattern on his thigh. “does this feel okay?” you asked, feigning innocence.
wooyoung let out a soft grunt. “yeah, it’s fine,” he grimaced, nails digging into the arm of his chair. your fingers continued to trace circles on his inner thigh. “you can keep going.”
you hummed. “should i?” you wondered aloud, attempting to tease the man even more. your index finger moved further up, now nearing the top of his inner thigh. “how does this feel, wooyoung?”
he lets out a shaky breath, shuddering slightly. “good,” he doesn’t elaborate. you smiled, slowly tracing circles on his inner thigh. his breathing picked up, skin now warm to the touch.
your eyes flickered to his, and you were pleasantly surprised to find him looking straight at you. his puffy lips were slightly parted, cheeks a flushed red. the tension could not be ignored anymore. you both felt it– and god, did you crave more.
inhaling a sharp breath, your fingers continued to move higher up his thigh. “do you like how i’m touching you?” you grinned when he squirmed.
“fuck,” wooyoung gulped back a whine that threatened to escape. “yeah– yeah i do. your fingers feel good.”
“do you want more?”
his gaze wavered. your fingers had settled right above his now hardened arousal. your eyes flickered between his eyes and erection. “we can stop now, walk away, and pretend nothing ever happened. pretend nothing ever happened,” you muttered the last sentence under your breath, perhaps trying to convince yourself that you may have the slightest chance of actually forgetting all this (it was impossible).
wooyoung shook his head. “there’s no going back from this,” he gasped when your finger accidentally brushed a little too low. “we can’t go back.”
“so what do we do?”
the silence engulfed the two of you. it was palpable, deafening, and heavy. just for a moment, all you could hear was his ragged breathing. his eyes were sharp, focused and on you. it felt like he was staring right through you, straight into your soul. you shuddered with an exhale.
his gaze flickered down to your lips. your body reacted quickly, a warmth pulsing in your stomach, heat pooling between your legs.
this was wrong. he was your colleague. you worked together. not only that, he was in a position of authority over you. you took instructions from him. he was older than you, and you’ve never been attracted to an older man. but he was so fucking hot.
the dark hair, mischievous eyes, the tattoos, the piercings– fuck, that damn smile. he took your breath away. he was gorgeous and you wanted more. you wanted to touch him, feel him, tease him. your imagination drove you wild.
now you knew that you had the same effect on him. and god, did that make your stomach churn in all the right ways.
you were now dangerously close to the man. his body heat warmed you up, like a warm fire on a chill, snowy night. it wasn’t stuffy or uncomfortable– it was pleasant, and you craved it more than ever.
“we shouldn’t,” you whispered, hand now fully settled on his thigh. “we shouldn’t.”
were you telling him that, or was it more of a reminder to yourself? you didn’t know. you couldn’t tell.
“we shouldn’t,” he repeated, yet still leaned in closer. his breath ghosted your skin, like a torturous reminder of how you weren’t supposed to even be this close. “but is it really wrong?” he asked, your eyes snapping back up to his. “is it really wrong for us to…” that wicked grin on his face turns you on more than it should.
“do you want this?”
his voice echoed in your head. you gulped. your logic knew the right answer, but your heart knew the true answer. the conflict was internal, and wooyoung could see it in your eyes. “don’t think. just feel,” he whispered, craning his head to press soft, feathery kisses down your neck. you inhaled a sharp breath, trying your best to not squirm in your seat.
you gasped when he lips moulded against a sensitive patch of skin. “wooyoung,” you breathed his name out like a desperate prayer. you felt your resolve crumble, its unstable foundation finally collapsing. “yes, god, wooyoung, i want this,” you whined into his ear, feeling his smile against your skin. “i need you.”
“fuck it.”
wooyoung moved quickly, lips finding yours instantly. you returned his energy, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his messy black locks. it was messy, hungry, desperate, and delicious all at once.
it was hot, heavy, passionate. your body melded against his perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle finally finding their way to each other.
“fuck, you feel better than i thought you would,” his breath was hot against your skin. “been thinking about you f’so long.”
“yeah?” you asked, moaning as he began to grind against you. “you imagine me like this a lot, baby?”
he hummed, tracing kissing along your jaw. “all the time,” he confessed, tightening his grip around your waist. “wanted you since i first laid eyes on you. wanted to fuck you every time you smiled so pretty at me,” he groaned.
he tugged you closer, forcing you to sit on his lap as you continued to make out. this new angle allowed wooyoung to hit spots he wasn’t able to before, making you gasp as he rocked his hips roughly.
“yeah? you like that, baby? you like it when i grind against you like this?” he teased as you whined against his mouth.
“yes, yes, fuck, baby,” you cried out, tugging his hair with a particular hard yank. the whimper he let out was delicious as he quickened his pace. “oh my god, wooyoung!”
he let out a deep grunt before stopping abruptly. he spun his chair around, aggressively sweeping all the items on his desk off. your confusion was momentary as he quickly lifted you onto his desk before pulling his shirt over his head.
“wooyoung, are you insane?” you hissed, cheeks flushed and warm. “here? on your desk? at two in the morning?”
he chuckled, leaning down to cage you between his arms. your gaze landed back on his tattoos, taking in the gorgeous sight of his bare muscles.
“you can’t tell me you’ve never imagined this, baby,” he whispered into your ear, fingers slowly moving down from your shoulder. “you can’t tell me you’ve never imagined me fucking you right here in this office,” his fingers now traveled along the waistband of your pants. “you can’t tell me you don’t want me to fuck you right here, right now,” his fingers dipped into your pants, inching closer and closer to your clothed heat. “so?” you stared into his eyes, breath ragged and warm. “what do you want me to do now, baby?”
you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck to yank him closer. caught off guard, wooyoung stumbled closer, a shocked look on his face.
“you’re gonna put that fucking mouth to work, jung wooyoung,” your voice deepened, gaze filled with lust. “and after that, you’re gonna fuck me on your desk till you’re breeding me full of your cum. do you understand me?”
his shock wore off in mere seconds, replaced with his signature cocky smirk. he slowly dropped to his knees, hands moving to pus your thighs apart, nestling his head against them. his tongue darted out, wetting his lips as your fingers tangled themselves in his hair once again, yanking him forward as he moaned.
I really like your pervy!svt drabble I can't help to think that (if he didn't get caught—he thought) cheol would getting braver and do that again in sober..... till the point that he get impatient and purposely trying to make her wake up (she is) 😶
I see what you're putting down, and let me add on!
- anon is referring to this btw -
Warnings: mdni, 18+, non/con, dub/con, perv! Seungcheol, depraved! Seungcheol, best friend! Seungcheol, unknown feelings, touching the reader w/o her knowledge, somno., dry humping, lots of cum, masturbation (m.), dark! Love, mentally unwell! Seungcheol, delulu! Seungcheol, harbored feelings, toxic! Love, perv! reader?!, pet names, dirty talk, praise, riding, hint at big cheol, hint at a size kink, but you gotta squint, etc.
wc: 2.3k+
shout out to my pretty beta: @woncheolisms, she knows this was supposed to be a small reply that turned into a full one
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
When Seungcheol wakes up hours later, his head is pounding, and the sunlight streaming through the blinds makes him groan despairingly for all of it to go away.
He's trying to remember what day it is, and why he woke up, but the answer reveals itself when your bathroom door slams shut and all his memories come back.
The bar, the stumble to your place, how he finds you asleep, and how he decides to join you in bed.
His cock twitches, and his eyes fly open as he rolls off his stomach and onto his side, looking down at the bed for it to tell him it was just a dream.
But then he sees it. The faint blob of a stain on your bedsheets is his dried cum. A shiver runs down his spine, and his body remembers your sweet pussy, slick and wet, while he drunkenly humped you like a pathetic dog.
The little whines you made while sleeping echo in his head, and his cock swells as the memories replay in his mind. He remembers the way his cock fit snugly between your puffy folds, the way the thick tip of his cock nudged into your clit until he came.
When he hears the shower turn on, he moves.
His face is flushed all the way down to his chest as he scrambles to take your bedsheets off. He knows your apartment like it was his own. And by the time you're stepping out of the shower, your bedsheets are running in the washer while new ones are already placed onto your bed.
-
You find Seungcheol, his head lying down on your kitchen counter, still wearing last night's clothes. You're freshly showered, already in new clothes for the day, when you slide him a water bottle with an amused grin.
"Regretting your choices?"
Seungcheol's heart leaps up into his throat, and he snaps his head up, face red as you look at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Wh-why do you say that?" He knew it was too good to be true; you had probably woken up and knew what he had done.
But then you laugh, and he freezes, dumbstruck. "Aren't you hungover?"
And all the air leaves his lungs.
-
Two weeks have passed since the night he crossed a line, and neither one of you speaks up about it. You must not know, and Seungcheol isn't saying anything.
Instead, the memories haunt him. And because he's depraved and in love with you, he thinks about it a lot.
When he's home alone and his eyes close, he remembers everything. When he's showering after going to the gym, his mind wanders straight to how you sounded in your sleep and how you would sound if you were awake and knew what he'd like to do to you.
Would you enjoy the way his cock stretches your puffy folds as he drags his shaft along your wet slit? Would you become louder each time his tip smooches your clit in greeting? Would it become too much for you, like it was for him, and would you beg him to slip his cock inside then?
He imagines you moving your leg over his, spreading your thighs open, and allowing him to notch his cock to your slippery entrance. And he imagines the way you would sound when he splits you open, stretching you to his weeping cock as he fisted his cock in the shower for the second time this morning.
Seungcheol has his eyes squeezed closed, his fist tugging on his cock in desperation as his other hand presses into the cold tiled wall of the shower. The shower head has a rain of water cascading down his back, but he doesn't even notice the water is beginning to lose its heat as his hips buck into his hand erratically, too far gone in the little scenario he plays in his head as he bites his bottom lip to hold in the wrecked groans that try to slip from his lips.
When he cums, his whole body shudders, his cock splurting rope after rope of his milky, hot cum onto the wall as he gasps for air. He watches as the wads of gooey seed drip down the tiled wall and join the remnants of his first orgasm as he blinks dazedly, trying to catch his breath.
He decides right then that he needs to try again and that he needs to feel you while he's sober, even if it means risking getting caught.
-
The opportunity presented itself a week later when you called him on Wednesday. He's walking home when your personal ringtone plays from his pocket, and he's immediately answering.
He listens as you instantly go off, buzzing about how everyone in the world hates you just because you went to the grocery store and they didn't have your favorite flavor of turtle chips in stock. It makes Sungcheol grin stupidly as you yap his ear off. You launch into five different stories that you end up forgetting about the first one you started with, but now Seungcheol knows that your work also hates you, and it's been a horrible week.
And that's when you demand a sleepover on Friday. You tell him to come over, that you two will watch some movies and eat take-out, and life will be worth living again. Your words. Not his.
And Seungcheol would never deny you.
That's how he ends up in your bed again. You two are in the exact same position as you two were three weeks ago. He's got his chest to your back, his arm around your waist, and you're both watching the movie on your laptop as he tries to not focus on the way your ass fits perfectly against his pelvis.
You last maybe two and a half movies before your breathing slows down, and your body softens even more into his own.
And Seungcheol knows he's depraved because it makes his heart rate race as he realizes you're asleep. His hands shake, his body feeling jittery as you start making those same noises again. A soft sigh, a little whimper, your hips pushing back and making his cock swell as the movie continues to play in the background.
He knows it's wrong. He knows he's crossing a line, that he's already crossed a line, but he also likes to think you were secretly wanting this too. I mean, you were only wearing one of the t-shirts you stole from him years ago and short shorts that clung to you like a second skin. He could see the outline of your pretty pussy, and it made his head fuzzy to know what he was going to do.
And he does it slowly. It's hard to pay attention to your breathing as he listens to the movie while carefully slipping his sweatpants lower. His cock is heavy, dropping down from the weight of all his blood running south as precum dribbles from his fat tip. He lets go of the breath he didn't realize he held, and his hand reaches for his cock, smearing the sticky precum down his shaft and guiding it between your thighs.
His body is basically half-draped over yours, his cock snuggling perfectly between your thighs as he braces his hand on your hip and his other hand on the bed. And the first drag of his cock along your slit makes his jaw drop. It's even better sober, feeling your shorts get sticky with his precum as he rocks his hips nice n' slow.
Seungcheol's fingers hold your hip a little tighter, his movements increasing in pace as he feels your shorts dampen more. The head of his cock bumps into your pretty clit as he huffs little puffs of air to try and stay quiet. His head spins from how good it feels, and he can only wish that he could take your shorts off without waking you up.
He wants to feel your pussy raw, to feel your arousal coat his cock while he smears his own precum all over your wet folds.
The thought makes him groan, a deep and low sound building from his chest and making his hips snap forward roughly. His mind is too far gone to realize your own mouth is open, your fingers clutching onto the bedsheet as he ruts his cock between your thighs like the perverted man he is.
He doesn't know that you've been dreaming about this for three weeks. He doesn't know that you were awake when he had come into your bed drunk, his loud entrance through your front door waking you up as he stumbled through your kitchen like a fool. You had known it was him from his slurred curses and happy sigh when he caught you "asleep" in bed. And you knew it was him when he slipped into your bed and wrapped around you like you two were more than friends.
You were awake when he had slipped his cock into your panties, and you were awake when he then used your panties to keep him pressed against your drooling cunt. It had made your cheeks flush, your mouth parting as he rutted against you until he came and left your panties sticky with some wads of his cum.
You had to lie there, listening to his pants and groans as he fixed himself up enough to go to sleep with you in his arms. But it had left you throbbing, your mind racing, and your pussy aching for relief that you weren't able to give it until you took your shower the following morning. You didn't know how to confront him, to tell him you knew, and you were left to remember how good it felt to have him do that to you.
And so you had waited.
You were trying to figure out what you should say, if he even remembered what happened. Was he just too drunk? He didn't say anything when you finally spoke to him in the morning, and he never said anything for the following two weeks. It left you pent-up, frustrated, and a little crazy. You needed to know, and your excuse for a sleepover seemed like the only way you could see the truth.
You never actually fell asleep during the third film. You just waited.
And as Seungcheol's movements picked up, so did your little noises. The friction of your shorts and his cock was making your cunt gush another wave of arousal, your hole fluttering as his grunts became more wrecked. "Feel s'good, Baby."
Seungcheol's quiet confession had your last bit of sanity breaking, your needy whimper hiccuping as you called out his name. And it was Seungcheol's turn to drop his jaw in shock, his hips stuttering as you reached back for him. "Need you inside, fuck, please- Cheolie."
You were awake?
You were awake.
"Oh fuck-" Seungcheol grabbed his cock, squeezing tightly to stop himself from cumming too suddenly as he rolled onto his back. He watched with wide eyes when you turned around to face him, your cheeks flushed, your lips parted as you stared at him with hooded eyes. "Wait- I can- I'm so-" He stumbled through his words, trying to find them, but you couldn't care less.
He watches you slip your sleep shorts off, revealing that you weren't wearing any panties, and his cock twitches from the knowledge that only those sleep shorts had separated him from you. "I don't care. I need you inside me." You were already crawling over his lap, your tongue wetting your lips as you straddled his hips. He had worked you up too much, and you were as desperate for him as he was for you.
"You-" Seungcheol's jaw slacks open even wider as you ignore him and reach for his cock yourself. And his eyes roll back when you angle it just right, notching it to your sopping pussy before you slowly begin to sink down onto his length with a relieved sigh.
"Oh! You're so big, Cheol - fuck!" Your pussy drools, gripping his shaft tightly as your thighs quiver in exertion. You're only halfway when you stop, your hands pressing onto his chest as you struggle to take him all at once.
And it seems your compliment and the way you look, trying to impale yourself with his cock, gets him moving again. His hands grab your waist, his feet planting onto the bed as he meets your hazy eyes with a lovesick grin.
His mind is still racing, but he doesn't hesitate to start guiding you up and down his thick cock. He moves you up a few inches and then pulls you down further, his mouth salivating as your gummy walls flutter around him. "Yeah? But you'll take it all, won't you? Said you needed me inside, right?"
He works you open until you're seated to the hilt, tufts of his hair at his base tickling your puffy clit as he makes you roll your hips back and forth, slowly. His cock is stirring inside your pussy, stretching you open, until you're moving on your own mindlessly. You're getting cockdrunk by the second, stuffed to the brim with him as you lean up and then smack your hips down to take him all the way again.
It makes both of you delirious, the way you pick up the pace, bouncing on his cock with a similar lovesick grin.
Seungcheol thinks you were made for him.
You know it's true.
But both of your minds go blank the moment your hips tilt, and his tip is smooching your G-spot with a slobbery kiss of his precum. It has your eyes rolling back, your tongue lolling out lewdly as you suddenly orgasm with a mewl. And Seungcheol knows the night has only begun.
drop pool cleaner make idol au for ot8 (will be in hcs format instead)
Voting ended onApr 4
idol au: dubcon, slight stalking, parasocial relationship that goes both ways? nda au. inspired by when me and my friend were going to ateez concert I was like damn we look so good they better give us an nda right away (joke. We were far as shit from the stage and every atiny we saw is fine as hell. also me and my friend were 18 and 19 it would be weird asl if these men in their mid to late twenties were to be into us, just saying ). Also reminiscing my days as a pirate King era Stan (I was 12 can you believe it).
pool boy au: also inspired by an enhypen fic I can't find (I think it's with sunghoon?) rich girl reader. Country club? Reader is innocent and low-key dumb and tries to flirt but fails miserably but still got that dick.
I have both half done already they've been rotting in my half done works for months when I tried to get back into writing and these are some ideas that I had. The rest is a lost cause (can you all believe I had scuba diving instructor san I was insane). Might tweak the plot again though, I just need you guys to like pick which one you want to see more idol wooyoung or idol hwa. My friend likes the idol au better so I'm gonna just put this out there.
For those who want ot8 idol au I propose this chart (reader is a content creator that the members watch devotedly). I can't say much about poolboy au bc its literally in the name that's it.
* brief sexual content towards the end, implied use of aphrodisiac.
minors are not allowed to interact with this post.
thinking of wizard!jeonghan who owns an antique, mystifyingly magical menagerie notorious for its wicked contraptions and objects.
well, wicked is too much of a stretch, far too far-fetched. you'd admit, as a mage with a bounty on your head, the extensive catalogue of objects bewilders you to no end. lined in shelves, a jarring variety of dried, pickled carcasses and gnarly limbs submerged in liquid placed in tightly sealed jars glows with a grotesque hue of green. then, roosts dotting the lofty ceiling where birds with garish feathers and airborne animals alike rest. on the sun-bleached, bricked wall adjacent to the cluttered counter, crystal blades are mounted with metal inscribed with something you'd assume are textbook spells. maneuvering farther into the trove of jewelry; a pair of earrings hewn from shrapnel, spectacles from emerald and smoky quartz, a sapphire ring, an amber tiara depicting a basilisk. jeonghan would go on about how these belittled "good-for-nothing" artifacts wield magic that transcends technology.
amidst the seven-year long string of onslaughts imposed by the apocryphal legitimacy of the current successor to the ill-fated kingdom, jeonghan's spellbound menagerie stands far from the cordons' leer, offering an unusual sense of refuge. strangely enough, in a world where magic is regarded as bane to manmade technology, the menagerie remains snuggled in the kingdom's border in all its unassuming glory. had it not been for the building's juxtaposing (in the most relieving way imaginable) barren exterior, it would've been eradicated.
there is something so profoundly unhinged about jeonghan's love for contraptions in pursuit of a society where magic and technology coexist. for example, he used an opalized marine cephalopod that he somehow dug out after an ill attempt at extracting a kraken's blood as the carapace of his own set of cartridges. this opalized cephalopod is worth twenty-three gold coins for one! he'd flaunt his excavation.
what's so special about this invention of his? you'd ask. he answered as he twiddles and inspects his creation, saying that this would be advantageous for his own escapades. you jab at his remark, the lilt in your voice drifting dangerously close to concern. you knew he had been practicing to wield a gun. you then shift your gaze to the cartridge held between his bony fingers, admiring the pearly sheen it emits under the cantaloupe sun.
knowing jeonghan, you feel a pinch of rue when those words toppled down his lips.
those around him knows—knew he was a wizardry whiz. infliction spells, combat magic, space manipulation; he was a wicked young man and a wicked wizard at that.
as formidably regarded he is, only a few knew of his cowardice and penchant for vanity. brushing his overwrought trait aside, had it not been for the self-imposed parasitic curse that has been gradually draining him and his magic, he wouldn't be stupefied into the menagerie's drudgery.
on one particular day, he nudged you to try his first bottle of potion. with your senses heightened, you charily ask what ingredients he stirred in. rose-petal-speckled water, molten rose quartz, a pinch of fairy dust, and a wisp of his own hair. knowing your prowess in potion-making, he also jots down the exact measurements to assure that he's not trying to poison you even though he can do exactly that at any given moment. then in your periphery, you catch a plume of rose-colored smoke from the bottom of his cauldron.
yeah, this might be your last supper.
after glugging it down in one sharp breath, you notice that it tastes like peach-flavored liqueur. then the fragrant scent of roses prickle your tongue. with those gentle eyes glinting with something far more amusing than just expectation, jeonghan coaxes an answer from you.
you taste the remnants of fairydust with a smack of your lips.
"it's sweet, a little peachy, rosy" you said promptly, swilling the now empty bottle.
the wizard whose shoulder is pressed against yours begins fiddling with his fingers. the emerald ring he wears on his index finger glistens with each facet twisting and turning along the silver band.
"do you feel anything? any increase in body temperature? do you feel faint?"
naturally, you panic a little.
you don't feel an itch, a change. "uh, am i supposed to... feel something?"
jeonghan sucks on his bottom lip with his teeth, dragging a hand along the curls on his nape. "technically, it is supposed to take effect within a minute after the subject drinks it."
you wince at his words, which implicitly but clearly states that the potion didn't work.
with a dejected sigh, he takes the empty bottle from your clutch.
you find yourself a little grateful that the potion didn't react, knowing that whatever honeyed hypothesis he writes down with his quill, it's sure bound to be a hell of an "experiment".
by nightfall, you're still certain that the potion flunked.
by daylight, you're adorned with crimson, purplish imprints in ungodly crevices of your body, a pounding pulse in your head, a parched throat, and the raven-haired wizard between your thighs, licking the fluttering flesh until your treacly nectar coats his kiss-swollen lips.
→ pairing: yunho x gn reader. teeth rotting fluff. insomnia. reader feels guilty asking for things.
WC: 1.7K
→ song recc: i cant sleep — kim samuel tmt —stray kids (I love yellow wood era) UN village — baekhyun ungodly hours — chloexhalle
so I'm fucking stupid this was meant to be an ask anonie I'm so sorry I accidentally posted a just 'hi' and like wtf there's still the ask in my ask section but it couldn't answer and when I did post it said oops try again anon I'm so sorry if you're seeing this (I hope you are) I have your fic
anonie thank you for the kind words if you're reading (i hope you are) have a good day I'll shut up now here you go:
You can't sleep.
You've spent fourty minutes tossing and turning in the sheets, rustling the fabric to find a perfect sleeping position yet none prevails. Shutting your eyes, counting from one to a hundred, imagining peaceful sceneries, nothing helps. The ache in your chest hammers gently like a forgotten chore, and you hate it.
It's hell. You need to wake early the next morning yet here you are arguing with sleep itself, you're expecting a grumpy version of yourself tomorrow bitching about. How fun. So, you decide to consult your ever loving boyfriend.
"Hnrhg?" Yunho lets out a gurgle, thick from sleep as you ringed his line. Feeling guilty for pulling him away from the embrace of slumber, you wince slightly
"Sorry" you whisper, "I can't sleep again, Yu" you sigh, fiddling with your own fingers as you sit up in bed. There's a hum and yawn from the end of the line and Yunho's groggy 'just woke up' voice fills your ears
"Don't be, I told you already didn't I? If you can't sleep just call me"
"Yeah. And that's what I did. Now what, Yunho?" You could mentally see him diverting his eyeballs to the side, something he does often when he's thinking. "I don't know, haven't thought that far.
There's a warm silence between the both of you, not awkward. It feels like taking a breather when drinking warm tea together, it's never awkward with Yunho. "Do you want me to talk about my day?" He asks and you hum in response. "You don't have to reply, and it's best if you fall asleep halfway through. I'll just end the call when you're asleep" he hums back at you, still thinking of what to talk about.
"Oh, yeah. We found a new vending machine today. I think it's newly installed, there's more variety of drinks in comparison to the old one, but the vending machine turned out to be a bill stealer from the very start." Yunho yaps "Woo tried to grab some kind of soda drink but the machine refused to accept his cash for the first few times, and when it did there was no drink. We had to shake the machine several times for it to finally give the drink. What a workout."
A soft huff leaves you, barely there, but he hears it anyway. “There it is,” he murmurs, pleased. “Knew you were listening." You lay in bed, blanked pulled all the way to your chest, arms crossed above your stomach as you stare at the ceiling above. Your phone lays beside you on the pillow, speakers spilling with Yunho's voice. He talked about the stray cat he found in an alley and shared his lunch with, he talked about his friends, about the grandma who complimented his smile, and the weather and how it's perfect for a barbeque.
Usually, or on the occasions that you do a.) can't sleep and b.) decided to call Yunho instead of suffering alone by scrolling through YouTube for sleep documentaries, listening to him talk was enough to make you doze off. Sometimes you'd be able to make out a "goodnight, my love" before the line goes silent, when your eyes and body are too tired to move and your mind is in a limbo between staying awake and falling into slumber.
This time however is different.
You still can't fall asleep, and you feel bad for telling Yunho that you are still in fact wide awake.
"—and that's how my day went" he finally wraps up after twenty minutes of rambling, you're glad he could make it this far having a conversation that's equivalent to talking to a wall "are you still awake?"
You contemplated not answering, Yunho must be tired after a long day and you cruelly pulled him away from the sweet embrace of sleep to entertain you. So you don't say a word.
"I know you're still awake" Yunho's voice fills the room after a short silence "you can't fool me, your breathing pattern is slightly different when you're asleep"
"Fuck." You exhale, so much for pretending "I'm sorry Yu, i just can't fall asleep. Sorry for waking you up, you can just go back to bed, I'll deal with this alo—"
"Do you want me to sing for you?"
"Sorry?"
"You've always liked it when I sang for you."
A beat.
Then another.
The beat drops. This would be funnier if it was set in a story where the location is a club or a rave.
Neither of you say anything.
"Sure, I guess?" You managed to swallow the lump in your throat to sound back a reply, "Good, let me go through my playlist real quick to find a good song... Ah! Here we go"
The background instrumental plays, and it's a song that Yunho used to hum to during times when you both weren't talking, just a comfortable and respectful silence between the both of you. You never said it, but this is your favorite. Whenever he starts humming this song, you instinctively perk up. You can hear soft rustling in the background as his honeyed voice fills the space of your room, maybe he's tossing and turning in bed? Could be. Might be that he's trying to find a comfortable position.
There’s another soft rustle from the other end of the line, more fabric shifting, something moving and then Yunho’s voice settles back in. It’s quieter now, softer.
Warm in a way that reminds you of those throat candies people take when they’re sick; gingery, a little sweet, something that melts slowly and leaves behind a gentle warmth. The kind that soothes without you noticing, that washes down the uneasiness sitting in your chest until it’s gone before you can even think about it.
You sink further into your pillow, eyes half-lidded.
There’s a faint sound in the backgrounda door opening, then closing. You assume he’s just getting some water. He hums lightly before switching songs. This one, you recognise it immediately. Another favourite of yours, of course. You don’t say anything, but something in you softens all the same.
He keeps singing.
One song turns into another, then another, his voice never wavering, just as gentle, just as steady. Like he’s not even trying, like it comes naturally to him. By the third, maybe fourth song, your body feels heavier, your limbs sinking into the mattress, your blanket pulled snug up to your chin. Sleep feels close, but not quite there.
“…you still there?” he asks quietly when the song fades.You hum in response, barely audible. “I knew it,” he mutters softly, and you can practically hear the small smile in his voice. “Open your door.”
Your eyes flutter open. “…what?”
“I’m outside, dumdum. Open the door.”
For a second, you don’t move. Because there’s no way.
There’s no way he’d actually come.
But then your heart starts picking up, a quiet thud-thud against your ribs as you sit up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. You had a feeling he might.
Or maybe you just hoped he would.
Still, you didn’t want to ask. He’s tired. He has his own day to deal with. You didn’t want to be too much. So this feels almost too good to be real.
You pad quietly to the door, fingers hesitating just slightly over the handle before you finally pull it open.
And there he is.
Standing there like it’s the most normal thing in the world.Jacket thrown on, hair a little messy, eyes crinkled into soft crescents as he smiles at you.
“Hi,” he says, like he didn’t just show up in the middle of the night. Something in your chest gives way. He opens his arms without another word.
And you don’t even think before stepping into them.The moment you do, everything melts.The restlessness. The tension. The frustration that had been sitting with you all nightit all slips away as his arms wrap around you, warm and steady and real.
“I got you,” he murmurs into your hair.
You nod against him, fingers clutching lightly at his jacket.
The door clicks shut behind you, and you barely remember walking back to your bed.
All you really register is Yunho’s hand warm around yours, guiding you gently, like you might disappear if he lets go. “C’mere,” he murmurs, already pulling the blanket back for you.
You sit first, then crawl under the covers, the sheets still holding a bit of your earlier restlessness but it fades quickly the moment he slips in beside you. He doesn’t hesitate. Never does. One arm wraps around your waist, the other finding its place behind your head, pulling you closer until you’re tucked neatly against his chest.
“Better?” he asks softly.
You nod, pressing your face into his shirt. It smells like him; clean, familiar, something that settles your mind almost instantly.“Yeah,” you mumble. “Way better.”
“Good.”His voice is quieter now. Sleepier.
But he stays awake, for you. His fingers find your hair not long after, gently threading through the strands, slow and absentminded. He doesn’t rush it, just soft strokes, over and over, like he’s memorised the motion.
You melt completely like a popsicle on a summer's day Your body sinks into his, tension unraveling piece by piece under his touch. “There we go…” he whispers, more to himself than to you. His thumb brushes lightly against your scalp, then back through your hair again, careful and steady. It’s rhythmic. Comforting.
You let out a quiet sigh, the kind that comes from somewhere deep in your chest. Your breathing starts to slow down, becoming even.
“Still awake?” he murmurs after a while.
“Mm… barely,” you mumble, words already slurring. He lets out the softest chuckle,
his hand never stops moving. Even when his own breathing starts to grow heavier.
Even when his voice fades into silence.
You feel his chin rest lightly on the top of your head, his hold on you loosening just slightly as sleep begins to take him too.
But his fingers they’re still in your hair. Still moving. Slower now, sleepier. But there.
Like he’s holding onto you even in his dreams.
And somewhere in between his warmth, his steady breathing, and the gentle pull of his touch, sleep finally takes you. No restlessness. No ache.Just warmth. Just him.
Looks like you’ll sleep just fine tonight.
end
written at 2 am bc your bitch also has insomnia haha not really I've written this across the span of two days but both at ungodly hours of the night
SYNOPSIS your psychology lecturer sucks, and nothing is helping so you seek help from a student who happened to take the subiect last semester and scored a whopping 95 on the subject. Said student is also your cousin's highschool friend. What could possibly go wrong.
WARNINGS unprotected sex m&f (when have I ever written protected sex), he cums inside multiple sex positions, m and f receiving fingering, san lives in a studio dorm I feel like that should be a warning, there's a scene where he pulls her to one edge of the bed and fucks her throat while fingering her which takes inspo from an enha fic but I forgot what it is I'll link when I find it (eventually). cnc if that counts cus she tries to push him off and says stop but he keeps going. san has a minor bulge kink. I have calc midterm why am I doing this
GENRE smut. minor fluff almost pwp
PAIRING san x fem bodied+presenting reader, reader is referred to as 'she'
WORD COUNT 6.7k (omg)
A/N wrote parts of this while my friends were playing repo on discord I'm so sad I couldn't join my laptop is mac uggghh. Anyway consider this my intro to working on more members of ateez I plan to write for each member once before disappearing again but don't take my word for it. Set in summer because I can and summer is a #stateofmind TECHNICALLY I am one foot in autumn but why should I conform with the rest of the world I'm the one writing this fic if I say it's summer it is summer. inspired from what im currently studying in psych rn everyone says it's ez af and I needed a wam booster cus im cooked. also idk for other countries but here in some student dorms are sometimes color or theme coded this takes inspo from a student dorm I used to live in I hate student dorms I lived in one for 6 months and I got depressed I tried my best describing it. ill stop fucking talking now enjoy this shitshow
one.
You decided to take a psychology subject this semester. Why not, right? It’s supposed to be a chill, easy elective. Light reading, maybe a little “how do you feel about that?” energy. That's what everyone told you. “You could pass this psych subject with both eyes closed and let God take the wheel!” Was what one of your friends said and you were like okay, bet.
Your lecturer is an asshole. Not just any asshole either, he’s the kind that makes you believe Sigmund Freud has risen from the grave just to personally ruin your GPA. You’re supposed to be critiquing Freud. Debunking him. Questioning his theories. Instead, this man stands there, reading off slides like they personally wronged him, and somehow manages to twist every single point into “and this is why Freud was actually right.”
The lecture hall is silent, not because people are learning.But because everyone is collectively thinking: why is he like this.
“He’s so fucking weird,” you rant, flopping dramatically onto Wooyoung’s bed like a Victorian woman with consumption. Wooyoung doesn’t even look up at first. He’s halfway through a juice box like a five-year-old, laptop balanced on his knee as he scrolls through his module.
“If it’s that bad,” he hums, finally glancing at you, “I’ve got a friend who took that psych subject last semester.” You narrow your eyes. “If you say you, I’m dropping out.” He ignores you, “High school friend. Got like… a 95 or something.”
You sit up immediately. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Remember San? The guy I introduced you to during orientation?” You do remember Choi San. Unfortunately. Because nothing about that man screams “psychology major.”
He looks like he invests in crypto for fun. Hoodies, varsity jackets, and now because it’s summer, collared polos that make him look like he’s about to discuss property investments over brunch at a country club. Add in the slightly slicked-back hair and those stupidly attractive “professor glasses” Wooyoung won’t shut up about? Yeah. If anything, he looks like the type to say “trust me, bro” before losing your life savings.
But annoyingly, he’s actually good at teaching.
Like, actually good. Patient. Clear. Explains things without making you feel like a complete idiot. Which is impressive, considering you have the attention span of a drunk raccoon in a nightclub.
two.
Every Thursday at 3pm, without fail, you show up at his student dorm. The sun is brutal, like “if I step outside any longer I might legally evaporate” levels of heat and the pavement looks one degree away from melting into soup. His building is… depressing. You take note of that the first time you visited, looking up from Google maps and thinking to yourself “is this a minimalist prison?”. A soulless, overpriced shoebox where the entire personality is “neutral tones” and “minimalist’s wet dream”
You text him and wait near the front entrance, he opens the door. You step inside. And then; awkward silence.
The elevator ride up is always quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just… weirdly formal. Like you’re both pretending this is a professional tutoring session and not whatever this is.
His room is small. Entryway, wardrobe on the left, bathroom on the right. Tiny kitchen with two stovetops that look like they’ve never experienced joy, a desk, a bed, and a window overlooking the university park. There's his things scattered around, which does help make it feel more alive, but that's about it.
You take the plush chair on his desk, and he takes the plastic one.
Week one.
You are the picture of academic validation; Notes. Questions. Engagement. You prepared, You revised beforehand so he wouldn’t think you’re dumb. You’re nodding like you understand everything. You’re saying things like “that’s interesting” unironically.
You are a liar, but at least you are a convincing one.
Week two?
Forty minutes in, your phone comes out, subtly. Like you think you’re slick.
San notices, of course he does. His friend (your cousin) has the same habit of finding whatever view is the nearest more interesting, tongue in cheek, before fiddling with his fingers whenever he finds something annoying or uninteresting. But you’re still answering everything correctly, so he just lets it go.
You’re also dressed for the heat, henley top, a few buttons undone, short skirt, because the weather decided to cosplay the sun. San, mid-explanation, pauses for half a second. His Adam’s apple bobs, and he looks away. Mouth agape for a second but shut the second he regained composure so you wouldn't think he's a creep.
Then he continues, like nothing happened. You pretend you didn’t notice, of course. But as it turns out.
You both pretend a lot of things.
Week three?
He realises something. You are, unfortunately, the same breed of menace as Wooyoung.
Which explains everything, actually. When he talks, you nod. Then slowly, your hand drifts to your phone. At first, he’s offended. You can tell. He pauses more, and his jaw tightens. But over time, he just exhales and resigned to continuing his ramble.
“...as long as you’re listening,” he mutters once while flipping through his notebook
You are listening, surprisingly. He is good at explaining.
You’re just also on TikTok, scrolling through videos. You are a multitasker, after all.
three.
“So, neutral stimulation essentially—” He stops mid-sentence for the first time, his jaw clenches before inhaling slowly like he’s trying very hard not to commit a crime.
You, completely oblivious, stretch in your chair. Arms up, back arching slightly.
Your shirt rides up just a bit, just enough to expose some of the skin of your stomach.
San immediately turns his head, and the window suddenly becomes the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. You drop your arms, glance at him, and smirk. “Lose your train of thought, professor?”
He doesn’t even look at you, murmuring as he flips through his notes from last semester “Don’t call me that.”
“Oh?” you tilt your head, sweet and insufferable. “But the glasses—”
“Continue reading page 42.”
“Wow,” you lean back, crossing your legs slowly, deliberately. “Authoritative.”
Silence.
“You’re failing this subject.”
You grin at him, the same grin that Wooyoung has. Physically it's different, but it radiated the same amount of mischief and playfulness.
“Not with you teaching me” you purr at him.
He mentally rolls his eyes at you.
Tonight he's on classical and operant conditioning. You know this because he said classical and operant conditioning twenty minutes ago and you said okay and opened TikTok.
"The unconditioned stimulus," San is saying, somewhere to your left, "produces an unconditioned response without any learning. So Pavlov's dogs salivated at food before any conditioning occurred. Are you following."
"Mhm," you say, to your phone
"So," San says, and something in his voice has shifted, just slightly, just enough that some animal part of your brain lifts its head “let's say you're crossing a road, you press on the pedestrian button. Do you think that counts as classical or operant conditioning?” He turns to you, your eyes are still glued to whatever interesting video your friends are sending you as you hum, “operant. You receive reward or feedback from an action.”
“That's correct,” San says, "if every single time you wear a short skirt," a beat, "and I get hard, is that a voluntary or involuntary response?”
You hum again, trying to think. But then your brain rewinds and tries to register his words, and your thumb stops scrolling.
You look up, and San is looking at you with an expression you have never seen on him before. His eyes that's usually warm, usually easy, the eyes of someone Wooyoung described once as annoyingly likeable, are sharp. Dark at the edges. His notes are still spread in front of him and his pen is still in his hand and his jaw is tight in a way that makes something in your stomach drop several floors
"Hold on," you say. "Wait."
"You've been teasing me," he says, simply. Not an accusation. Just a fact he's decided to present. "For three weeks."
"I haven't—"
His eyes drop to the skirt, comes back up.
You have been. You know you have been. You are not going to say that.
"San"
"Voluntary or involuntary" he says. "Answer the question."
Your mouth opens. Your psych knowledge, what little has survived three weeks of looking at him instead of his notes, scrambles for purchase. “Involuntary” you say, because the skirt was before the.. because the response would be… because…
"Good," he says, and the word lands differently than you expected, low and warm and doing something to your pulse that you would like to not examine right now "so if I talk to you like this" his voice drops, just slightly, just enough, "and you get wet"
Your face goes hot.
"That's an involuntary response," he continues, calm, clinical, San, who has been Wooyoung's friend since high school and is now looking at you like you're something he's been patient about "isn't it, dove." The dove goes directly into your sternum and stays there.
"That's—" you start "Unconditioned," he says. "Means you can't help it. Means it's not your fault." He tilts his head, just slightly. "You're already wet, aren't you."
You are not going to answer that.
The answer is yes, you are not going to say yes. You are better than a dog during mating season.
He nuzzles against you and something in him just snaps. Three weeks. Three weeks of short skirts and tiktok and that mouth and the way you tilt your head when you're actually listening which is always, annoyingly, always three weeks of being patient and good and sitting in the plastic chair out of courtesy while you get the comfortable one and explaining conditioning theory while you cross and uncross your legs like you're doing it on purpose.
Three weeks of blue balls in his own dorm room on a Thursday at 3pm like clockwork and he is done. “ your pupils dilated when I moved closer. That's not something you can fake, dove." San’s eyes are like laser beams staring into yours, and you have to pretend that you're not intimidated.
“I have no idea what you're talking about” you say, you try leaning backwards even more if that's even possible, because your back is already against his chair and it's getting suffocating. “You've been conditioning me too” San says gently “every Thursday you always wear these..short skirts and slightly unbuttoned henley tops” his eyes flickered down to your slightly exposed chest “did you think I wouldn't notice the pattern, dove?”
You decided to bring Wooyoung into the conversation as a last resort, somewhat of a ‘hail Mary'. “What will Wooyoung think about this?” Your voice comes out small and raw, your throat feels as dry as a desert and suddenly the afternoon sun shining through his window feels too much.
San actually pauses at this, he considers it.
"Wooyoung," San says, thoughtfully, "would say you've been asking for this for three weeks." A beat. "He knows you.". "Same mouth," San says, almost fond, sliding his hand up your thigh, "same deflection tactics. Doesn't work on me either.”
The position he's got you in is embarrassing.
He's kneeling in front of you, kneeling between your legs that are placed on top of his broad shoulders. His fingers are playing with the hem of your skirt, this is probably the most awkward and tense lead up to sex you've ever had if it wasn't for the pounding in your chest. He presses his face against your mound and breathes it in. "San I don't think this is appropriate—"
That voice, that voice that is all Wooyoung, sassy and deflecting and nervous underneath, and something behind his eyes makes a decision that his patience has been vetoing for twenty one days. His hands find your underwear and he pulls them down fast, none of the gentle peeling he'd planned, just off, gone, your ankles and then the floor and then he looks at you and exhales through his nose hard like a man who has been waiting a long time and is now very close and cannot be reasonable about it
He open mouth and kisses you hard, not soft, not polite, lips and tongue and heat all at once, messy and immediate, his hands pushing your thighs apart when they try to close and holding them there with a grip that means no, stay, and you gasp so loud it bounces off the walls of his small neutral-coloured dorm room.
San licks into you rough and thorough, not slowly, not academically; hungry, is the word, three weeks worth of hunger and his tongue working through you fast and deliberate and the sounds he's making are low and continuous and genuine and nothing like the patient tutor, nothing like country club polo shirt san, nothing like anything she's seen from him before surfaces. Chin soaked. Eyes absolutely wrecked. Jaw tight.
"I was right," he says, and his voice has dropped into something rough and frayed at the edges, "involuntary response." He pushes your thighs wider and looks at you and his chest is heaving slightly "you're wet." Thumb parting your labia, proving his point, watching your face twitch "you've been wet, haven't you."
"San—"
"How long," he says. Not asking gently. His grip on the meat of your thighs tightens. "How long have you been sitting in that chair like that"
"I don't know what you're—"
"Dove," he says, and the word comes out low and sharp and nothing like when he said it before, "I have your underwear on my floor. We are past the part where you pretend.”
"Three weeks," he says, and something in his jaw is doing the thing, the tight furious fond thing, "of that skirt and that mouth and you sitting in my chair crossing your legs every five minutes—" he ducks down and licks into you hard and fast and you cry out and your hand flies into his hair and grips and he groans against your cunt, as if saying yes, there, before he finally surfaces again immediately, breathing rough. "You've been doing this on purpose."
You open your mouth to say something.
"Don't," he says. His eyes are dark and his mouth is slick and he has never once in three weeks of Thursdays looked like this, the gentle hunk is somewhere else entirely, this is what was underneath the polo shirt the whole time "don't tell me you weren't." His hands shove your thighs wide and he goes back down and this time he doesn't surface, just stays, tongue working into her rough and relentless, no warmup no mercy no academic pace, just three weeks of patience cashing out all at once and the sounds coming out of you are embarrassingly immediate and loud and you’re grinding against his face before she means to and he groans like that's exactly what he wanted, like he's been wanting her to stop being polite about it. His fingers push in without warning. two, immediately, rough and deep and you gasp so hard you choke on it, your back arches clean off the chair and his tongue doesn't stop, won't stop, is working at your clit fast and relentless while his fingers curl and drive and find the thing that makes your thighs shake around his head. God, he loves it when you squeeze his head with your legs. He's always wanted those thighs wrapped around his face.
"San, San that's too—" He doesn't stop. His fingers pump into you rough slick and loud, the wet sounds obscene in the small room, and he makes a low hungry noise against your clit that vibrates through your entire body and the grip in his hair tightens. He surfaces one more time. Breathing wrecked. Hair destroyed from your hands. Eyes dark and satisfied and still sharp. "You want this," he says, rough, his fingers still moving inside you. watching your face fall apart, "say it."
"Three weeks, dove," his fingers curl, "say it."
"I want it " it comes out broken and small and honest and he smiles. "Good girl," he says, finally, warm underneath all the rough, and pulls you off the chair and onto the bed in one motion, "was that so hard?"
You don't give an answer because his fingers are still inside and your brain has stopped providing useful output and somewhere on the floor the psych notes and your underwear are keeping each other company and it's thursday at 5 pm. The sun is giving the dull room a golden glow.
Wooyoung is never finding out about this.
He's got one hand on your waist, guiding your head towards the edge of his bed. Your head is almost tipping back off the mattress until the world inverts and you're looking at the wall upside down, the ceiling and the underside of his desk, and San who's still got that slight flush on his cheek. Everything is making you slightly dizzy and warm in a way that's wrong in the absolute best way.
Your clothes are still half on, skirt shoved up, shirt slightly pushed down so San could see your bra. He considers taking the entire thing off but hormones said no and he'll take what he can get. You're a mess, general evidence of someone who got relocated mid sex, you make a noise of protest about the position but San places a hand on your sternum gently as a warning. From this angle he's just a shape above you. Dark eyes looking down at her inverted face, jaw tight, hair slightly messed from your hands, and he looks big, from here, the perspective doing something to the gentle hunk image that makes your stomach swoop hard
You hear his zipper.
"Three weeks," he says, conversationally, from above you, "of sitting in my chair." You feel him, the blunt warm press of him against your lips, and your mouth opens automatically, conditioned response, you think deliriously, unconditioned response, whatever, you don't care.
"open wider, dove." He taps on your lower lips. You open wider.
He pushes in slow from above and gravity does the rest and the angle is.. the angle is everything, the stretch of your throat, the depth he reaches without trying, and you gag immediately and he makes a low sound that is definitely not an apology
"There she is," he says, fond and rough simultaneously, his hand coming to rest on your throat, not pressing, just feeling, feeling himself there, and the intimacy of that makes your eyes prick "been wanting to see this for weeks." His hips start to move. Shallow at first, just enough to feel the flutter of your throat around him, and simultaneously his other hand finds you still slightly wet and pushes in two fingers, immediate, curling and the sound you make around him is muffled and desperate and your hips jolt up as an involuntary response. "Stay still," he says, and he sounds wrecked already, voice low and tight, "you're going to take both."
You try. You cannot stay still. His fingers are working into your gummy walls rough and deep and his hips are rolling forward. You're upside down and dizzy and full from both ends and the blood is rushing to your head and everything feels static and warmth.
"So good," he breathes above and you can hear it in his voice, the crack in it, the three weeks worth of wanting underneath the composed psych tutor "you're so good, look at you" his fingers curl and you gag around him, he hisses sharply "taking it like you were made for it". Yout hands find his thighs from below, the only anchor you have. “Mean girl," he says, low and fond and rough, hips pushing deeper, fingers pumping fast and slick "three weeks of that skirt" you gag. "and that mouth" his fingers curl. "and now look at you." You can't look at anything. The room is sideways and warm and his hand on your throat feels every sound you try to make before it gets past his cock and your eyes are streaming from the position and the fullness and the fingers working into you without mercy
"Involuntary response," he says, somewhere above you, strained and quiet and almost gentle "see. Your body always knew." His thumb finds your clit and presses, your muffled cry vibrates around him and his rhythm stutters. "Gonna be good for me from now on," he breathes, and it lands somewhere soft and permanent, fond underneath all the rough "aren't you, dove."
You squeeze his thighs. He takes it as the yes it is.
He finishes with his head tipped back and his hand braced on the mattress edge and a sound that isn't a word, just air leaving him rough and involuntary, his hips pressed forward and his fingers buried and your throat working around him milking every last bit of it down. He stays there for a moment, catching himself. The room is loud with both of you breathing, then he pulls out slow and you cough immediately, turning your head, gasping, the sudden absence of him leaving your throat raw and your lungs grateful and your whole upside down world spinning. he gets his hands under your head before it can drop, careful now, guiding you back up to horizontal and then sitting you upright on the edge of the mattress and crouching in front of you, hands on your knees, watching your face with those sharp warm eyes gone soft at the edges.
"Look at me," he says, quietly. Tutor San is back, checking for feedback. You look at him. Streaming eyes, wrecked throat, hair absolutely destroyed, and you meet his gaze and don't tap, don't pull back, just breathe and blink and hold his eyes, and he reads you the way he reads everything, thoroughly, and something in his shoulders drops half an inch.
Then his eyes go down.
His fingers are still slick. His hand, the one that had been inside you, and the bedsheets beneath where you'd been are wet. he goes very still for a moment looking at the evidence of what you did somewhere between the third finger and the ceiling, while you were crying and muffled and shaking. He groans. Low and genuine and a little devastated about it.
"You came," he says. Not an accusation. Just awe, slightly. Like you've done something to him personally. Your face goes hot. You say nothing.
"All over my fingers," he continues, and his voice has done the thing again, the rough fond thing, and his jaw shifts "and my sheets." He looks up at you. "Dove."
"I didn't mean to." You say, sounding somewhat normal for someone who just got their throat destroyed. He pushes you back toward the headboard.Not roughly but with the particular energy of someone who has just been handed new information and intends to do something with it immediately, guiding you up the mattress until your back meets the headboard and you're against it and he's kneeling over you and his hands find your legs. One goes up. One stays down. The split is immediate and exposing and your whole body protests the stretch and you grab his shoulder
"San, wait. I'm still—"
"I know," he says, and lines himself up, and you can feel the thick blunt head of him and you're shaking, you've been shaking for ten minutes, your thighs are trembling and your throat is raw and you are not prepared. He pushes in whole. One go. Slow but complete and entirely without mercy, seating himself fully while you're still adjusting to the split of your own legs, and the scream that comes out of you is immediate and loud and his hand claps over your mouth fast, dorm building, is the distant thought, neighbors. The scream goes into his palm and he feels it and his jaw does the tight thing and his eyes close briefly like he needs a second.
You're full. Impossibly, completely full, the stretch of him in the split position deeper than anything, kissing parts of you that have never been introduced to anyone, and it hurts, the good kind, the kind that lives right next door to more and shares a wall. He opens his eyes and looks at you. Hand still over your mouth. Your eyes are streaming again, fresh tears, and you're shaking underneath him and gripping his arm hard enough to leave marks
"Oops," he says.
You stare at him.
"Should've been more gentle," San says, and his voice is wrecked and his jaw is tight and he is buried to the hilt inside you and he is smiling, just slightly, just the corner of his mouth, the gentle hunk smile, the country club smile, worn by a man who is currently doing the opposite of gentle and is not sorry about it in any capacity.
You bite his palm.
He tips his hips forward just slightly and you make a muffled sound against his hand and stop biting. "There," he says, soft, fond, wrecked, his forehead dropping toward yours, "there she is." His free hand finds your hip and grips. "Hold on." He starts to move, your breath is knocked out of your lungs.
four.
The view outside his window has always been your favourite. Overlooking a park near University and slightly covered by a tree, right now the view is indifferent to whatever just happened as the sunlight seeps through. San’s sun-kissed skin looks more golden as he's thrusting on top of you, courtesy of the warm ball of fire thousands of kilometres away. He starts slow. That's almost kind of him. Deep and rolling, the split position is already devastating on its own, and you're trying to breathe through it, trying to find the rhythm, your hands in the sheets and your eyes at the ceiling and your whole body doing the recalibration it needs to do when someone is that deep. Then he makes a sound. Low and involuntary. And stops being slow.
"Fuck—"
He shifts. One fluid motion, hoisting himself upright from braced over you to sitting, changing the entire geometry of it, your leg still up, perpendicular, his hands finding purchase, and the new angle makes the world tilt and you make a sound that isn't a word because he's deeper, somehow deeper than before, deeper than you thought the position allowed. He looks down at your stomach.
Goes very still for exactly one second.
"San—"
He presses his right hand flat against your lower abdomen. Palm down. Feeling. And then his hips pull back and drive forward and his hand feels it and his jaw drops open slightly and he makes the most wrecked sound you have heard from him all afternoon
"Oh," he says, soft and devastated, "oh that's—"
His hips snap forward again and he watches his own hand, watches the slight shift beneath it, and his expression does something that has no business being as attractive as it is, dark eyes wide and jaw loose and chest heaving and he looks like someone who has just made a discovery he wasn't prepared for and intends to repeat the experiment indefinitely. The tears come back immediately. Different this time, not from the throat, not from the fingers, just from the sheer overwhelming fullness of him at this angle, kissing your cervix on every stroke, his right hand pressing down and feeling himself move inside you and his left hand finding your face. Not covering your mouth this time. Just cupping your cheek. Tilting your face up toward his. Catching the tears with his thumb while his hips work into you rough and relentless and his right hand stays pressed flat on your stomach watching.
You cry into his palm and he lets you.
"Look at that," he breathes, eyes still down, hips snapping forward, you feel the bulge shift under his hand and sob "look at—" another thrust, "you're taking all of me—" his voice cracks on it "feel that?" You feel it. You feel it everywhere. You feel it in your spine and behind your eyes and in the specific place where coherent thought used to live. "San, San it's too much!"
"It's not," he says, and his left thumb wipes your cheek gently while his right hand presses down firmly on the next thrust and you cry out and your back arches and your hands scrabble for something to hold onto and find his knee, grip it hard and he looks at your hand on his knee and then back at your face and something in his expression cracks clean open Fond. Devastatingly, helplessly fond. Underneath all the rough and the jaw and the right hand monitoring the bulge like a researcher who has found his life's work. just fond. "Doing so well," he says, quiet, almost to himself, hips rolling forward deep and slow for just a moment, giving you a breath, his left hand stroking your cheek while his right hand just rests, warm and present "taking it so well, dove."
You make a sound against his palm that has no dignity left in it whatsoever. "Yeah," San says softly, and his hips snap back to rough, and his right hand presses down, and he watches with those dark wrecked eyes as the evidence of him moves beneath his palm and his head tips back for just a second, jaw tight, the sight of it doing something to him that three weeks of thursdays have clearly been building to. "Mine," he says, at the ceiling, rough and quiet and certain, his right hand pressing down and his left hand cradling your face while you cry and take it.
The university park is outside the window. The psych notes are on the floor. Your underwear is somewhere near the desk. and you are never going to be able to sit in that plush chair again without thinking about how your psychology tutor rearranged your guts on this very date.
"No more," you're saying, and you mean it, you think you mean it, "please San, I can't no more" He tips you into missionary like he's rearranging pillows. One hand on your hip, one on your thigh, and you go over easy because your body has stopped taking instructions from your mouth, which he knows, which is maybe why he doesn't answer you just settles between your thighs and looks down at you, wrecked and tear-streaked and shaking, and his chest is heaving and his hair is destroyed and his polo shirt is somewhere on the floor and he looks unhinged, is the thing, the composed patient tutor has left the building entirely and what's left is this jaw tight, eyes dark, breathing rough, a man who has completely lost the plot and is not looking for it.
"San please I'm serious" your whines fall deaf on his ears. He pushes back in. The sound you make rolls up from somewhere deep and involuntary and your eyes go wide and your hands fly to his chest and he catches your wrists, pins them above your head in one hand, and bottoms out and stays there, fully seated, looking down at your stomach. He goes very still.
His free hand moves to your lower abdomen. Presses flat. Slow. Deliberate. Feeling.
He pulls back slightly and pushes in and watches his hand and the sound he makes is not sane. "Shit" low and wrecked and wondering, "shit, I'm—" he thrusts again and his hand feels it and his jaw drops "I'm in so deep, baby"
You're drooling. You realize this distantly. The position and the crying and the overwhelming fullness and his hand on your stomach has shorted something out and your mouth is just open, tears and spit, every refined thing about you completely dissolved, you are drooling on your own chin and your eyes are doing the thing where they're not focusing on anything in particular and you can't bring them back.
He looks at your face and laughs. Not a mean laugh, or not only a mean laugh. It's genuine, delighted, slightly unhinged, the laugh of a man who got a 95 in psychology and spent three weeks being patient and is now watching his carefully maintained study partner drool on herself on his mattress and finding it the funniest most devastating thing he's ever seen.
"Look at you," he breathes, still laughing, jaw tight and eyes crinkling and nothing about this is composed anymore "look at your face" he thrusts rough and watches your eyes roll and laughs again, softer, rougher, the laugh turning into something else at the edges. "where'd your mouth go, dove, hm?" Another thrust. "All that attitude" thrust "three weeks of that smart mouth". His hand presses down on the bulge. You drool more. Your eyes go completely. "Pathetic," he says, and he sounds fond about it, devastatingly fond, like pathetic is the best thing he's ever seen, his hand covers your mouth now, palm flat, catching the drool and the muffled broken sounds you're making and he feels you against his palm, every sob, every whine, every attempt at please and no more that has no real weight behind it.
He presses down on your stomach with his other hand and thrusts hard and watches the bulge move under his palm and his laugh dies into something low and reverent and barely human. "Fuck," he breathes, "fuck, that's—" pressing down, thrusting in, watching his jaw is working like he's biting down on something, teeth catching his lower lip, the expression of a man doing long division to stay functional. "so deep inside you baby, you feel that?"
You feel it. Your eyes are somewhere in the back of your head. You are drooling into his palm and making sounds that would embarrass you if embarrassment was something you still had access to.
"Ruined," he says, rough and laughing and wrecked, his hips snapping forward and his hand pressing down, watching your stomach, watching your face, watching your rolled eyes and your open mouth and the complete and total wreckage of the girl who showed up at his door with her short skirt, tiktok videos and her smart mouth every thursday.
"I ruined you." Not a question. Just awed. Delighted. Then he laughs again, quieter now, the mad fond laugh of someone who didn't expect this to happen and cannot believe it has. "three weeks and I completely ruined you" He presses down hard on the bulge and holds and drives in and your muffled scream goes into his palm and he watches your eyes roll back with the expression of a man who has won something and intends to collect. "Smart girl," he murmurs, soft, his thumb stroking your cheek even now, even through all of it, the gentleness underneath the rough that has always been there "my smart girl, where'd she go, hm?"
You’re gone. completely gone. drooling into his hand on a Thursday afternoon with psych notes on the floor and definitely not coming back for a while. San laughs again, low and quiet and completely mad about it. "There she is," he says. Another laughter rip from his chest, cold and unforgiving but still has the undertones of the sweet and patient San you know.
You have a feeling that this will go on till the golden hour passes and the evening hues taken on the room, and you’re proven correct as San turns you over. You let out a yelp of disagreement, but it is quickly muffled by a pillow. You could feel his looming presence behind you as he prepares himself again.
HOLY SHIT MY ROLE MODEL LIKED MY STUPID ASS FIC FIRST MULLOEY NOW MAHO6ANY???? MY INSPIRATION(S)???? THE PEOPLE I LEARN HOW TO WRITE SMUT FROM?? IM GONNA TUMBLE WHEEEEEEEE
Anywho seasonal depression hits again and when I'm depressed I have to do create something or else I'm convinced that I don't have a place in this world stay tuned folks
