#xiaojun fluff

that was it. no name. no logo. no credentials. just a number and the bold assurance that you, too, could have a mark and kitten level romance if you dialed it. you turned the flyer over, half-expecting a price list but the back was blank. which begged the obvious question: who was behind this? why hide it in library books like some sort of underground love-dealer? and did the dream couple have any idea they’d been plastered on what looked like a matchmaking scam poster? probably not. you couldn’t picture them greenlighting anything that used comic sans this shamelessly. you should’ve tossed it in the recycling bin on your way out. you really should’ve. but instead, you slid it into your tote bag, half-hidden between your lab notebook and a pack of highlighters. not because you believed in it. please. you weren’t that naive. but because you were…tired. tired of situationships that fizzled the second things got complicated. tired of being somebody’s “almost” or “practice round.” tired of pretending you didn’t want more when you absolutely did. and maybe, just maybe, whoever the person behind this actually can change things for you? but still. you weren’t going to call…right?

🍯 OCTOBER 12 – THE MATCHMAKER 🍯

a week later, you were two glasses of cheap wine deep in an existential crisis. twenty-something now and still no official boyfriend to your name. not one. sure, there had been situationships and flings. plural. but none that made it out of the trial phase. were your standards really that high? or were you just cursed? your head tipped back against your pillow with a groan, the ceiling spinning ever so slightly. and then, through the pleasant fuzz of tipsiness, a memory surfaced — the flyer. you dug around for it, fingers brushing past pens, lab notes, and gum wrappers until you felt the edge of the paper. you smoothed it out against your thigh and grinned to yourself, the reckless kind that only came out after wine.

“for fun,” you muttered, inserting the numbers into your phone. pure curiosity. a prank on yourself, basically. there was no way this was real and someone was actually going to answer — except. someone did.

“...hello?” a man’s voice, slightly confused, like he wasn’t sure why his phone was ringing in the first place. you blinked, momentarily thrown, “uh. hi. i’m calling about…the matchmaking service?” there was a pause, the kind where you could almost hear the wheels turning on the other end. you stared at your phone, half-convinced you were being scammed, half-ready to laugh yourself to sleep. because apparently, the anonymous “campus matchmaker” wasn’t just real — he was a guy who clearly hadn’t expected anyone to actually call. and then, suddenly, the voice lit up, bright with recognition and far too much enthusiasm for your liking, “oh! wait—yes, that’s me!”

you squinted at your ceiling, lips quirking, “you’re the matchmaker?”

“yes. correct. that’s me.” he cleared his throat, as if rearranging himself into professional mode, “congratulations, you’ve reached the…uh…exclusive love consultant of…” he trailed off for a second, like he was just coming up with everything on the spot, “...of your dreams.”

you burst out laughing, “wow, real smooth. do you have, like, a license for this or are you just freelancing your way through other people’s personal lives?”

“i’m…independent,” he said, which was exactly the kind of answer people gave right before you discovered they were running a pyramid scheme.“independent,” you echoed, fighting a grin, “so…no training? no degree in psychology or relationship counseling? no certification that says you’re not just a scammer with a printer?”

“hey!” he protested, “i’ll have you know my first clients are successfully thriving. one year strong, in fact.” you frowned, brain ticking, “you mean that couple you plastered on the flyer?”

“yes! i’m sure you know who they are…they have me to thank for getting together,” he says, voice smug even through the phone.

“do they even know you used their photo?”

silence. then, sheepishly, “...they might not be aware of that part.”

“you realize they could sue you, right?”

another beat of silence on the other end. then, in a voice that was trying very hard to sound confident again, “okay, look, legalities aside…do you want my help or not?” you snorted, rolling onto your side, phone pressed closer to your ear, “what exactly is your help? are you gonna run a background check on potential boyfriends?”

“background checks aren’t a bad idea,” he muttered, almost to himself. then, louder, “but no. what i do is…i…observe. i get to know you and then i observe how you are with others. and then i…connect the dots. it’s very scientific.”

“scientific,” you repeated flatly, your forensic instincts tingling, “so your whole method is stalking with extra steps?”

“not stalking! more like…active field research.”

you couldn’t help it, you laughed again, warm and tipsy, “this is ridiculous,” you sigh, not even sure why you were still entertaining the idea. “and yet,” he shot back, “you called me. which means you must need me at least a little.” that shut you up for a beat because he wasn’t entirely wrong. your eyes drifted to the flyer again. that stupid, too confident question glaring up at you: DO YOU WANT TO FIND A LOVE LIKE THIS? maybe you were ridiculous too.

“so, what’s your deal? why’d you call?” his voice rang through your room again, breaking you out of your thoughts. you hesitated, staring at your ceiling. the wine was humming warm in your veins and loosening your tongue, “because i’m in my twenties and apparently my standards are so high no one can meet them. or maybe the dating pool is just trash. either way—” you snorted at yourself, “i found your flyer in a library book and took it as a sign so…here we are.” he made a thoughtful noise, “well, the universe does work in mysterious ways.”

you giggled at that, “okay, fine, matchmaker man,” you teased, “what’s the next step? are you going to send me a google form?”

“no forms,” he said, like the idea personally offended him, “we do this face-to-face. again, observation is key. i need to see how you talk, how you move, how you act. it’s a whole algorithm.”

you giggled, “that’s not an algorithm, that’s just you eyeballing me like a weirdo.”

“look,” he said, not letting your comments get to him, voice still as bright as ever, “if you’re serious about this, let’s do a consultation. tomorrow. 6 p.m. in person. you bring yourself, i’ll bring my expertise.”

you raised an eyebrow, “where?” there was a pause, then he rattled off a location that made you sit up. “wait…you want me to meet you in the abandoned basement in the old film wing? that’s basically a crime scene waiting to happen.”

“it’s not a crime scene,” he said, defensive, “it’s quiet, private, great for assessments.”

“it’s sketchy and i’m going to die.”

“it’s convenient and how do i know you’re not the killer?”

you sighed, flopping back onto your bed, “you realize how this sounds, right? you’re asking me to walk into a deserted area to meet a stranger whose real name i don’t even know.”

“please, it’s not that deserted, people make-out in there all the time,” he points out, “–and i told you my name.”

“no, you didn’t.”

“oh,” a beat, “well, i’m xiaojun.”

“okay xiaojun,” you say, “if i get murdered, i’m haunting you.”

“deal,” he said cheerfully, “so we’re on for tomorrow?” you stared at the ceiling again. this was reckless. this was the kind of decision sober you would never make. and yet — “fine.” you said, half-laughing, half-resigned, “tomorrow. if you’re not there with a clipboard and a legitimate plan, i’m leaving.”

“i’ll be there,” he promised. you hung up, dropping your phone onto your pillow and laughing at the ceiling. you were almost sure you’d just agreed to your own murder.

🍯 OCTOBER 13 – THE INVESTIGATION 🍯

you spent the whole day convincing yourself you weren’t going. that the conversation last night was just one huge mistake. a drunk call because you were bored and lonely. it was absurd. meeting a self-appointed love consultant in an abandoned basement was how podcasts started their true-crime episodes. but by 5:50 p.m. you were at the edge of the stairwell that led down to the location. the metal door was half-open, a weak strip of light spilling out. it smelled faintly of dust and photo chemicals, like a ghost of its past. you checked your phone again. you could still text “sorry” and go home. but then, your curiosity, the same reckless streak that had you digging out that flyer last night, bubbled up.

“just five minutes,” you muttered to yourself, “i’ll look, see what kind of freak he is and leave.” you pushed the door open. the stairs groaned under your sneakers as you descended. down here, it was cooler. you half-expected flickering fluorescent lights and ominous dripping pipes. instead, there were old film canisters stacked along the walls, dusty bulletin boards, a couple of forgotten stools — and him. he was leaning against one of the old metal tables, scrolling on his phone. not a hooded creep or a forty-year-old catfisher — just a guy in a worn university sweatshirt and black jeans. his hair fell into his eyes in that art-student way. his jawline looked carved out of spite. you stopped a few steps from the bottom, “xiaojun?”

he looked up — and your stomach dipped. through the phone, he’d sounded awkward and overeager. in person, he looked like the kind of guy you’d normally side-eye at a party because he was too good-looking and exactly your type. he straightened immediately, tucking his phone away, “you came.”

“i almost didn’t,” you crossed your arms, scanning the room like you were cataloguing evidence — one exit, one man, no obvious weapons. “this is exactly where my professors tell us not to go alone.”

he winced a little, “i swear i picked it because it’s quiet. all the study rooms are booked.”

you raised an eyebrow, “uh-huh, and why are you even doing this? what’s in it for you?”

he grinned like he’d been waiting for that question, “first things first,” he said, clapping his hands once, “what’s your name? i mean, you know mine but we never did proper introductions.”

you hesitated for a beat, weighing whether this was still a mistake, then sighed, “y/n, fourth year, forensic science major.”

his brows lifted, amused, “forensic science? that explains a lot.”

“excuse me?”

“the suspicion. the scanning. the way you keep looking at the exit,” he teased, lips twitching, “you’re treating this like a crime scene.”

you tilted your head, “i’m not ruling out that it isn’t one yet.” his laugh came out low and warm, echoing faintly against the concrete walls, not mocking, but edged with something amused, “wow,” he said leaning back on the table, arms folding loosely across his chest, “you really don’t trust people, huh?”

“definitely not ones who invite strangers into abandoned basements,” you say. that earned another small laugh. for a moment, he just looked at you — like he was quietly trying to read your whole story from the way you stood — your arms were crossed, feet angled toward the exit, chin tilted in that stubborn, defiant way. it felt like he was peeling back layers you didn’t know you were wearing.

finally, he sighed, half-grinning, “all right, detective y/n, full disclosure — i’m xiaojun, music major. i’m not a scammer, not recruiting for a cult and i definitely don’t own a white van. i just thought this would be fun. that’s it. plus the extra cash wouldn’t hurt.”

you tilted your head, “you seriously think i’m going to pay for this? you haven’t even proven that it works…you have—what? one successful couple.”

he shrugged, nonchalant, “i never said i just had one successful couple.”

“alright then, what are the names of the others? proof? references?” you asked, tone flat.

his grin flickered, just slightly, “confidential.”

“how convenient.”

“look, if you don’t believe me—”

“oh, i don’t,” you cut in smoothly, “i’m just here to confirm whether i should report you or nominate you for campus clown of the year.”

he blinked, then laughed under his breath, shaking his head, “well, aren’t you as sweet as honey.” you rolled your eyes, lips threatening to curl despite yourself. “fine,” he said, hands raised like a peace sign, “first consultation is free, you can leave whenever you want.”

you huffed, half-annoyed, half-intrigued and maybe a little curious about what he’d say next. “all right, mr. matchmaker,” you muttered, tone still laced with sarcasm, dragging out the stool across from him and sitting down, “impress me.”

his grin widened “with pleasure.” then he reached his phone out from his back pocket, opening his notes app. you raise a brow, watching him, “wow, very professional setup you’ve got there.”

“thank you,” he said, completely serious, thumbs poised over the screen, “so,” he said, “let’s start simple. how many boyfriends have you had?”

“none.”

his fingers hovered over his keyboard, “none?”

you crossed your arms, “none that count. if we’re not talking high school delusions or two week talking stages, then yeah. zero.”

he nodded slowly, thoughtful, “okay, cool. that’s fine…what are you looking for, then?”

“a man,” you said simply.

he chuckled, “good start. what kind of man?”

“a man who’s obsessed with me,” you said without hesitation.

his brows lifted slightly, nodding, like you’d said something perfectly reasonable, “define obsessed.”

“like... does everything i want without me having to say it because he pays attention. maybe gets a little jealous sometimes — not in a toxic way, just enough to prove he cares. a man who reassures me that i’m the one he wants. every day.”

he typed as you spoke, lips twitching. “okay. obsessed but emotionally stable. got it.”

“and he should be taller than me,” you added, “but not so tall that my neck will break looking up at him.”

“reasonable.”

“he has to be smart. someone i can have conversations with. i like them a little nerdy.”

“mhm,” he taps his screen, “that’s a good one.”

“and he should smell good, like cedar…and vanilla.”

he paused, glancing up from his phone, “okay, that one’s oddly specific, but go on.”

“and if he says one thing i don’t like, we’re done.”

his mouth twitched, “you walk away that fast?”

“faster,” you said, “i don’t have time for disappointment. he’s either contributing to the peace i’ve built or he’s gone. simple as that.”

“so basically,” he said, locking his phone and setting it aside, “you want someone who worships you, never messes up, and smells like mr. perfect.”

you smirked, “exactly.”

he smiled faintly, leaning forward on his elbows. “okay then i conclude that—” he said with that maddening confidence back in his eyes, “your standards aren’t impossible. just... selective. you’re the type who tests people to see if they’ll stay.” you stared at him, thrown off by how casually he said it — like he hadn’t just dissected you in one sentence. then he straightened, slipping his phone into his pocket, and said with a grin, “guess we just need to find you a real man.” you frowned, partly defensive, “and what’s a real man supposed to be like?”

he shrugged, like the answer was obvious. “one that can handle you. one who won’t scare off the moment you test him.” and for the first time since you’d met him, you didn’t have a comeback.

🍯 OCTOBER 16 – JUST LIKE HONEY 🍯

it was one of those friday nights when the entire campus felt like it was pulsing to the same bass line. you could hear it from halfway down the block — the riize house was alive, lights bleeding through the windows, the air thick with cheap beer and cologne. you smoothed out your black strapless dress before stepping inside. simple. lethal. heads turned the moment you entered, guys mid-conversation trailing off, girls whispering something under their breath. you weren’t oblivious to it. you just didn’t care. because the momentary hush that followed you wasn’t admiration — it was intimidation. people looked, but no one approached. you spotted xiaojun near the kitchen, half-perched on the counter, red cup in hand, like he owned the place. he was mid-conversation with someone when he glanced up — and promptly lost his train of thought. his hand jerked slightly, sloshing a bit of beer onto his sleeve, “shit–,” he muttered, looking down before flicking right back up at you, eyes widening just a little, “wow.”

you stopped a few steps away, one brow raised, “what?” he blinked, trying to recover, running a hand through his hair like that would somehow reset him, “nothing, just…,” his voice trailed off as he rubbed the back of his neck, “you actually showed up.”

“well, this is still part of your free consultation, isn't?” you said, crossing your arms, voice cutting through the bass-heavy music, “something about observing how i interact with male specimens in a social environment.” he coughed, suddenly finding the rim of his cup very interesting, “right. yeah. something like that.” for someone who’d spent the last two days texting you about his elite matchmaking strategies, he looked like he’d just forgotten every one of them. you smirked, “you okay there, cupid?”

“fine,” he said too quickly, then forced a small, overly casual shrug, feigning nonchalance, “you just, uh…look nice.”

“is that supposed to be a compliment?” you say, lips twitching into a smirk.

“it’s a factual observation,” he said, voice almost steady again. you tilted your head, amused, “factual observation noted.”

he cleared his throat, straightening like he was back in control, “anyway,” he said, gesturing toward the living room, “come on, i want you to meet someone.” you arched a brow, “you’re setting me up…tonight?”

“yep,” his confidence returned, or at least his imitation of it did. “that’s eunseok — third year, business major, part of the riize fraternity, decent gpa, tall but not too tall. statistically speaking, exactly your type.” he nodded toward a guy across the room — clean-cut, charming smile, every detail of him polished to perfection, “he’s the human embodiment of a man,” xiaojun added, too proud of his phrasing as he nudges you along with him. you shot him a look, “you’re kidding.”

“no time like the present,” he said breezily. you sighed but followed anyway, curiosity outweighing your skepticism. and that’s when he led you straight to his friend. xiaojun’s “introduction” was a disaster from the start. his voice cracked halfway through your name, his hand gestures made no sense, and by the time he stepped back, both you and eunseok looked vaguely confused. eunseok, though, recovered fast, frat-boy reflexes kicking in. he smiled, smooth and practiced. “so…this is the girl you’ve been talking about.” xiaojun nodded a little too enthusiastically, like a parent at a recital. eunseok extended his hand. “i can see why. you’re gorgeous.”

you looked at his hand, then back at his face, “thanks, i’m aware.”

his smile wavered but he kept the act up, “confident. i like that.”

it takes every ounce of you not to roll your eyes, “good for you.”

xiaojun made a choking sound behind his drink. eunseok, to his credit, laughed, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “you’re sharp.”

“and you’re predictable.”

“i’ll take that as a challenge.”

“you really shouldn’t.”

his smile tightened, “you don’t make this easy, do you?”

“i’m not supposed to,” you said, voice silk over steel, leaning back against the wall, “if it’s easy then it’s boring. isn’t that what you all say?” eunseok’s eyes flickered, probably trying to decide whether you were flirting or eviscerating him. before he could decide, you added, “you’re trying too hard.”

he blinked, “trying to–?”

“to seem like someone worth talking too.” that was the kill shot. eunseok laughed — that empty, frat-boy charm laugh they do even though nothing is funny. then he muttered something about getting another drink before backing off, his charming mask officially cracked. as soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to xiaojun, who was blinking at you like he’d just witnessed a murder, “what?” you asked, unfazed. he exhaled, “okay, wow. that was—”

“disastrous?”

“educational,” he said, choosing optimism like it was a defense mechanism, “you really don’t mess around.”

“i told you,” you said, swirling your drink, “if i don’t like something, i walk away.”

“yeah, but usually people wait until after the small talk before detonating the interaction.”

“i’m efficient.”

he let out a low laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again, “what did you not like about him anyway?”

“he was trying too hard to act cool,” you shrug.

xiaojun nodded slowly, like he was writing mental notes for a dissertation. “right. okay. round one didn’t go so great, but research takes time.”

“sure,” you said, deadpan, hiding a smirk behind your cup.

“and your first feedback,” he said carefully, “next time, maybe be a little sweeter?”you tilted your head, eyes glinting. “what…like honey?” his grin spread, all boyish and crooked, relief slipping into his voice. “exactly. just like honey.”

🍯 OCTOBER 17 - CONFIDENCE…? 🍯

“alright, honey,” xiaojun starts, clapping his hands together like a coach before a game, “day two, let’s do this.”

you stare at him, deadpan, “what’s with the nickname?” he smirks, leaning against the doorframe of the wayv house, the bass already thumping through the walls, “there’s power in our words.”

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, crossing your arms, “you’re going to keep calling me honey, hoping it manifests me into becoming sweeter?”

“exactly,” he says, grinning. you blink at him, “that’s not how manifestation works.”

“says who?” he shrugs, “sometimes, you just gotta have trust in the universe.” you roll your eyes, fighting a laugh, “and that’s supposed to inspire trust in your clients?”

“please,” he says, mock-offended, “confidence is half of attraction. if you look like you know what you’re doing, people believe you do.”

“so you admit, you don’t actually know what you’re doing?” you tease. he pauses, smirk twitching, “no further questions.” the music inside swells, the kind of party soundtrack that smells like beer, smoke and questionable decisions. you both linger on the porch a second longer, partly because he’s still rambling through his so-called strategy. “alright,” he says finally, straightening up like this is serious business, “tonight’s focus – eye contact.”

you raise a brow, “groundbreaking.”

“and posture,” he adds, unfettered, “you walk into a room like you already own it.”

“i already do that.”

“see?” he points at you like you’ve just proved his point, “perfect. now the next step is—”

“let me guess,” you interrupt, “smile more?”

he lights up, “yes! exactly.” you sigh dramatically, “this is what i get for trusting a man who printed posters in comic sans.”

“it was arial rounded – it’s friendlier,” he defends, pretending to be offended, but you can see the corner of his mouth fighting a smile. “look, honey, you called for my matchmaking service and this is where we start.”

“stop calling me that.”

“can’t. part of the process.” you roll your eyes but follow him inside anyways, the two of you swallowed by flashing lights and the hum of laughter. xiaojun looks far too pleased with himself, weaving through the crowd, pointing out random people and whispering terrible, terrible suggestions in your ear. “try that one,” he nods discreetly toward a guy leaning against the wall, “he’s giving approachable golden retriever energy.”

“xiaojun, he’s wearing a cowboy hat. i already don’t like that.”

“remember what i said before,” he nudges you towards the guy, “small talk first before you blow it up.” you sigh, squaring your shoulders, “fine. i’ll try the cowboy.”

“that’s the spirit," he says, looking proud already. you took a deep breath, mostly for show, then started walking. each step a little too deliberate, too self-aware. xiaojun, of course, trailed behind like a coach about to witness either victory or complete social collapse. the cowboy turned out to be tall, broad-shouldered, with a hat tilted just enough to suggest confidence. he introduced himself as yunho with a smirk on his lips like he’d been waiting for this moment all night. “you new around here?” he drawled, voice deep, the kind of tone that probably worked on half the campus. you blinked, “new?”

“yeah,” he said, tipping his hat, “i would’ve remembered you.” behind you, xiaojun’s whisper came through like the world’s worst earpiece, “flatter him back. guys love that.” you resisted the urge to glance at him before forcing a polite smile at yunho, “you’re…uh, very observant.”

“thanks," he said, grin widening, “it’s a gift.”

“oh god,” you muttered, just loud enough for xiaojun to sigh. yunho leaned a little closer, clearly misinterpreting your silence as shyness, “so…what’s your name, gorgeous?” you gave him your name. he said something about how it was pretty. xiaojun was beaming like a proud parent, whispering again, “okay, now ask him a question. show interest. something flirty but casual.” you inhaled sharply. fine. you could do this “so,” you said, smiling sweetly, “do you always dress like you’re about to lasso someone or is tonight special?”

꒷꒦

later that night, the crowd has thinned just enough for the air to feel breathable again. you and xiaojun have retreated to a quieter corner of the wayv frat’s backyard, string lights flickering above like they’re about to give out. “see?” he says, a little too smugly as he sips from his cup, “you survived cowboy yunho.” you give him a flat look, “barely. he called his hat a personality trait. xiaojun laughs, bright and unbothered, “hey, progress is progress, at least he didn’t walk away with an excuse this time.”

“yeah,” you muttered, “instead he spent twenty minutes telling me about the symbolism of leather.”

“that’s…conversation,” he says, trying to keep a straight face, “next time you can–” before he can finish his sentence, a girl approaches — glossy hair, easy smile and confidence that fills the space before she even speaks. she looks straight at xiaojun, cup in hand, grin sharp and sure.

“hey,” she says, leaning a little closer to be heard over the bass, “you’re xiaojun, right? i’ve seen you around.” you glance at him from the corner of your eye, expecting him to handle it. he’s charming enough, right? all talk about confidence and posture, walking into a room like he owns it. except — he doesn’t say anything. for a second too long. “oh, uh, yeah,” he stammers, “that’s…that’s me.”you take a sip of your drink to hide your smirk. she laughs softly like she finds his awkwardness endearing, “i thought so, you looked familiar. you do theater?”

“no–uh, not really. i mean, sometimes. not–uh, not officially.” you blink. what does that even mean? you’re either in theater or you’re not. but she nods, polite, still smiling, “right. well…i like your shirt.” he looks down like its the first time he’s noticed it, “oh, uh…thanks. it’s…cotton.” you almost choke on your drink. oh my god. how is he, supposed love expert, fumbling a pretty girl this badly? she giggles, mildly entertained and also at a loss for words, “that’s…nice.” the girl just smiles again, as if she’s realized she was carrying this conversation all by herself and gives a little wave before awkwardly drifting off towards the house, leaving him standing there, half-frozen, red cup still halfway to his lips. for a moment, you just watch him. he straightens, clears his throat and glances back at you like nothing happened. “anyway,” he says casually, voice a little too even, “where were we?” you tilt your head, lips twitching, but you say nothing.

he nods once, adjusting his shirt like it’s some kind of reset button, “right. eye contact, posture, confidence.” you hum, pretending to think, “mhm. got it.” he grins, just a bit too smug again — maybe trying to convince himself more than you. “see?” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the crowd, “smoothness is all about timing. gotta know when to say the right thing.” you sip your drink again, fighting the laugh that threatens to slip out. “sure,” you say evenly, “timing.” he flashes you a wink, cocky and oblivious, and turns back toward the crowd like the universe hasn’t just witnessed his catastrophic attempt at flirting. you don’t call him out. not yet. but the smirk tugging at your lips says everything.

🍯 OCTOBER 18 - A FLUKE 🍯

another night, another party. by now, you’d start recognizing the pattern — lights too bright, music too loud, drinks too cheap and xiaojun too confident for someone who’d already had two nights of failed attempts. “honey,” he said, flashing that same grin, as you walked into the dream fraternity house together, “day three, i can feel it. tonight’s the night.”

you gave him a look, “you said that yesterday.” he beamed, unbothered, “don’t doubt the expert.” you didn’t have the heart to tell him the only thing he seemed to be an expert at was public embarrassment. so for the first thirty minutes, you humored his latest “techniques” — something about “strategic proximity” and “anchoring with laughter.” you weren’t sure if he was quoting a psychology textbook or recalling something he read from twitter, but you tried. you really did. you stood near the people he pointed out. you even attempted small talk. until you couldn’t anymore.

“i need a break,” you muttered, setting your cup down. xiaojun nodded, misinterpreting it completely, “perfect. breaks create mystery. build tension. make them miss you.”

you groaned, “i’m literally just going to the bathroom.” he gave a knowing wink, “exactly. absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

you turned away before you could say something you’d regret, shaking your head as you weaved through the crowd. you didn’t even know why you were still here, still entertaining this ridiculous matchmaking experiment that had already proven itself a disaster. maybe it was the boredom. or the cheap beer. or the fact that your love life had been one long string of almosts that never went anywhere. or maybe, maybe, it was because, as stupid as this all was — xiaojun was a fun distraction from your own quiet, lonesome melancholy. he was ridiculous, sure. infuriatingly optimistic. borderline delusional about his “career.” but he made you laugh. he made you feel like things were…possible. you sighed, pushing the thought aside as you slipped down the hallway where it was quieter, a pocket of calm carved out from the chaos of the main room. the music dulled into a muffled thump, replaced by the low hum of voices and the occasional door creak. you could finally hear yourself think. maybe too much. you weren’t even halfway to the bathroom when a familiar voice called out, bright over the noise, “y/n?! hey!” you turned, blinking in surprise — kitten, mark lee’s girlfriend, was heading toward you, hand laced with his.

“hiii,” you said, smiling automatically, you weren’t expecting her to even remember you, “wow, it’s been a while. i haven’t seen you since… first year, right? that intro to film elective?” her eyes lit up with recognition, “yeah, the one with the terrible professor who always showed us his short films.”you laughed, the memory instantly resurfacing, “oh my god, right. he even had a soundtrack for each one.” mark chuckled beside her, glancing between the two of you. unlike kitten, you’d never spoken to him before. but he seemed just as easygoing as people always said he was. then kitten tilted her head, “wait, what are you doing here? i don’t think i’ve ever seen you at one of these before.”

“yeah, no, not really my scene,” you admitted, “im just…uh…here with xiaojun.”

mark’s eyebrows shot up, “xiaojun? like our xiaojun?” you nodded, trying not to react at their shared expression, “yeah. he’s, um—helping me… meet people.”

kitten’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, “helping you meet people? as in—” she leaned in, teasing, “are you guys dating?”

“oh…no,” you said quickly laughing, “nothing like that. he’s just…he said he was trying to set me up with someone.”

“ohhh,” kitten said, exchanging a look with mark. one that already made your stomach twist with suspicion.

“yeah,” you shrugged, “he mentioned he set you two up so i figured he knew what he was doing.”

that’s when it happened — they both burst out laughing. you blinked, “what? why are you laughing?” mark tried to rein it in, but it was hopeless, “oh man—he still says that?” kitten covered her mouth, giggling, “okay, wait, so, funny story. xiaojun didn’t set us up.”

“what?”

“he thought he did,” she said, “but we were already a thing before that party.” mark nodded, smiling in that soft, sheepish way that only made it worse — or better, depending on your level of secondhand embarrassment. “yeah. i get why he thinks he did, though. he introduced us ‘formally’ that night, i guess. but we’d already known each other for years. by then, i was already completely gone for her,” he glanced at his girlfriend, his smile softening. kitten met his eyes, squeezing his hand, her smile all warmth and affection. “he really was,” she said quietly, eyes soft, both of them still smiling like they were in their own little world. looking exactly like they did in the poster. you just stood there, blinking, processing.

so. xiaojun’s one and only “success story.” his proudest case study. his whole career pitch — was a fluke. you bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to laugh, “wow,” you said finally, voice even, “that’s…good to know.”

kitten nodded, still grinning. “he means well, though. he’s just…not the best at reading people sometimes. so maybe don’t take everything he says too seriously.”

“oh, don’t worry,” you said, your tone light, playful, “i think i’ve figured that out.” you excused yourself to the bathroom, your lips twitching the entire way there. the hallway seemed brighter now, maybe because you were barely holding in a laugh. you had a secret. your matchmaker wasn’t really a matchmaker at all. and now that you knew that, you weren’t planning to quit his little experiment. no. now you wanted to see just how far the expert could go before realizing his grand love enterprise was built on pure coincidence. this was going to be…fun.

🍯 OCTOBER 19 - PRACTICE STARTS NOW 🍯

you let xiaojun live in his delusion for a little more, humoring his self-appointed role as matchmaker extraordinaire. but when you woke up this morning, you’d already made a decision. if your matchmaker wasn’t really one at all…maybe it was time to test just how much of an expert he really was. so you sent him a text:

y/n: come over. we need to talk.

he showed up twenty minutes later, hair a little messy, hoodie half-zipped, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression somewhere between casual and curious. you opened the door, leaning casually against the frame, dressed in nothing but a loose tank top and a pair of cotton shorts. it wasn’t intentional, you’d just been lounging around before he came but the way he froze in the doorway told you maybe it wasn’t entirely unintentional either. his eyes widened just a fraction, a tiny glitch in his composure, before he cleared his throat and forced a grin.

“hey,” he said, pretending not to notice your lack of clothing, voice steady but a touch higher than usual, “what’s up?” you stepped aside, motioning him in. he kicked his shoes off by the door and followed you into the living room, setting his bag down and looking around before settling awkwardly at the edge of the couch, “okay,” he said, trying to sound businesslike, “what do we need to talk about?”

you crossed your arms, taking a seat from your armchair across from him, “you.” his brows furrowed, “me?” you nodded slowly, “i’ve been thinking about your…matchmaking methods.”

“ahh,” he said, brightening immediately, “constructive feedback. i’m all for that. what’d you think? too advanced for beginners?”

you gave him a flat look, “no, xiaojun. i was wondering if you can actually flirt.” that shut him up. his mouth opened, probably to say something smart, but nothing came out. his confidence faltered for the briefest second before he laughed it off, “of course i can. why would you even–”

you tilted your head, cutting him off, “because i’ve seen you with a woman.”

he blinked, “excuse me?”

“at the party,” you said plainly, “that girl who tried talking to you? you turned into an embarrassing mess.”

“okay, ouch,” he muttered, “that’s harsh.”

“am i wrong?”

he hesitated, “no. but that was…different. i wasn’t trying to flirt.” you raised an eyebrow, “then try now.” his head snapped up, “what?” you gestured to yourself, “flirt with me. show me what all your so-called techniques look like in practice.”

“now?”

“yes. unless the great campus matchmaker’s all talk.”

he huffed a laugh, straightening like he was accepting a dare, “you’re unbelievable.”

“you’re stalling,” you said, smirking, arms crossing, your breasts unintentionally pushing together. his grin flickered — quick, nervous, awkward, “fine,” he said, leaning back, trying to find that cool, unbothered tone again, “you want me to flirt? i’ll flirt.”

“go on, then.” he nodded once then he looked at you, really looked, and you could tell that his little performance faltered the second your eyes met. the silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. you tilted your head, feigning innocence, though your lips curved ever so slightly, “cat got your tongue?”

his throat bobbed, “just…recalibrating my approach.” you raised an eyebrow, amused, “recalibrating, huh? sounds like an excuse to me.”xiaojun let out a breathy laugh, clearly buying time, his hand raking through his hair, “you’re not exactly making this easy,” he muttered.

“oh? i thought you were the expert.”

“i am,” he said quickly. too quickly. then softer, “but…you’re my client, this is unprofessional.”

“technically, i’m not—i haven’t paid you yet,” you leaned forward slightly, elbows on your knees, voice dipping into teasing curiosity, “so, no rules.” you weren’t letting him off the hook so easily, especially after he wasted three of your nights on false pretenses.

“how many girlfriends have you even had, anyway?”

he blinked, caught off guard, “what’s that got to do with anything?”

“just trying to gauge the experience level of my so-called professional,” you said, “because so far, you’re not exactly proving anything.” he straightened a little, pretending to think it over, “i have…enough experience,” he said finally, meeting your eyes with a mock confidence that didn’t quite reach his voice. you tilted your head, watching him squirm, “that doesn’t sound like a number.”

for a moment, the air between you shifted, not heavy, not exactly awkward, but filled with something quieter, something that hummed under the surface. he wasn’t the confident matchmaker, not right now. right now he was just a boy sitting across from you, trying a little too hard to seem unaffected. and maybe, you thought, that was why you hadn’t stopped yet. because watching him try, really try, was far more entertaining than any of his so-called lessons. under your stare, xiaojun’s facade cracked, the grin he’d been wearing faltered and a faint pink crept up the back of his neck. you studied him, waiting. he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, “okay, fine. you want the truth?”

“obviously.”

he groaned under his breath, then looked away, eyes darting anywhere but you, “zero.”

you blinked, surprised, “zero what?”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “girlfriends. i’ve had zero girlfriends, okay?”

you hummed, tilting your head, watching him squirm, “so…” you said, voice dropping slightly, “if you’ve never had a girlfriend—” you leaned forward, “—have you even touched a girl?”

his head snapped up, “what kind of question is that?”

“a valid one,” you teased, lips twitching, “c’mon xiaojun, you can barely even maintain eye contact with me right now.”

xiaojun tried to glare, but the heat rising to his ears ruined the effect, “of course i’ve—” he stopped himself, jaw clenching, then muttered, “that’s none of your business.”

you leaned in closer, smile sharpening, “so that’s a no?” he groaned, slumping back into your couch, muttering something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch. “wow,” you said with a smirk, “the legendary campus matchmaker, who’s never even held a girl properly.”

“hey,” he protested, eyes flashing up to meet yours, “i’ve held someone before.”

“what base?”

his mouth fell open, scandalized, “you’re annoying.” you grinned, rising slowly from your seat and stepping toward him, your voice soft but taunting, “maybe. but if you’re going to call yourself an expert, xiaojun…you might want to prove you’ve got at least some experience.” his breath hitched as you stopped right in front of him, your knees brushing his. then you leaned down, whispering in his ear, “have you even made a girl cum before?” his hands clenched into fists against his knees, throat working as he looked up at you, caught somewhere between awe and panic. you could almost see the wheels turning in his head, trying to calculate the right response, the right move, but coming up completely blank. the confidence he wore like armor was cracking and maybe that’s what you’d been waiting for — the truth behind all his theatrics.

“you’re quiet,” you said softly, stepping back just enough to let him breathe, “what’s wrong, matchmaker?”

xiaojun swallowed, a nervous laugh catching in his throat, “you really like putting people on the spot, huh?”

you tilted your head, “only when they pretend to be something they’re not.” that landed. his expression faltered again, the grin slipping just enough for you to catch the embarrassment flicker behind it. but he didn’t look away this time. he met your gaze and there was something steady there now — not confidence exactly, but something closer to honesty, like he’s finally given up playing the role, “you’re right,” he said quietly, a beat later, “i’m not good at this.”

that admission hung between you, heavier than you expected. it stripped the air of all its noise, leaving only the faint hum of the city outside and the sound of his uneven breathing. you leaned back slightly, studying him, “then why did you play matchmaker? why did you act like you have all the answers?”

he let out a small breath, shoulders slumping, “because i like helping people figure things out…even if i can’t,” he trailed off, then smiled weakly, “it reminds me that love’s real. even if i haven’t…felt it yet.” something in you softened at that. maybe it was the way his voice had gone small, or the sincerity that replaced his usual smirk. whatever it was, it pulled you closer — metaphorically, and then, without realizing it, physically. you found yourself stepping forward again, until your knees brushed his once more. his breath hitched, eyes flickering up to meet yours, and for a long, fragile second, neither of you moved. then you smiled, not sharp this time, not teasing, just small, knowing, “guess even experts need practice sometimes,” you murmured. he laughed, low and nervous, the tension curling between you again like static before a storm, “guess they do,” he said. and though you didn’t say it, both of you knew the game had changed.

“you never answered my question,” you said, voice dropping to a husky murmur that cut through the charged silence like a spark, the tension in the air changing. the power dynamic shifting. xiaojun gulped audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he stared up at you, eyes wide with a mix of trepidation and that lingering spark of curiosity, “what question?” he managed, his words tumbling out in a rush, barely above a whisper. you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear, repeating the words with deliberate slowness, letting them hang heavy in the air, “have you ever made a girl cum?” he started to sweat then. you could see the faint sheen gathering at his temples, his collar suddenly too tight as he shifted in his seat. his hands fidgeted against his thighs, fingers twisting the fabric of his pants and his gaze darted away for a split second before snapping back to yours, trapped, “i…i think so?” the uncertainty laced his voice like a confession, raw and unpolished, his cheeks flushing a deeper red under the dim city lights filtering through the window.

you smirked, the expression curling your lips as you straightened up just enough to tower over him, enjoying the way his body tensed in anticipation, “that’s a no.” the words landed like a gentle slap. he winced, but there was no malice in it — only the truth. peeling back another layer of his facade. you watched him for a moment, the hum of distant traffic underscoring the rapid thump of his pulse you could almost feel echoing between you. his vulnerability was intoxicating, a crack in the armor that invited you to press further, to guide him where his bravado had failed. then it hit you, a sudden clarity lighting up your thoughts like a bulb flickering on in the dark. you reached out, your fingers lightly tracing the line of his jaw, tilting his chin up so he had no choice but to meet your eyes, “okay, matchmaker,” you said, your tone shifting to something more inviting, seductive, “i’ll help you…practice starts now.”

his breath caught sharply, eyes darkening as the implication sank in, the air between you thickening with unspoken possibilities. the city outside faded to a distant murmur, leaving only the two of you in this intimate bubble. you eased yourself down onto the other end of the couch, the cushions dipping slightly under your weight as you turned your body toward him, back rested on the armrest, legs parting just enough to let your knees angle upward, pointing towards the ceiling, your pajama shorts hitching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs and an inch of your ass. you let your posture settle into something relaxed yet inviting, gaze locked on xiaojun's face to watch every flicker of reaction. he coughed, the sound rough and abrupt, breaking the heavy quiet as his eyes widened, “what—what do you mean?” his voice cracked on the words, hands gripping the edge of the cushion like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

you smirked, the expression slow and deliberate, loving the way you held all the power in this moment — the way his nervousness fed into your confidence, making the air between you pulse with heat. you let your fingers trail idly along the hem of your shorts, “if you want to, then you can touch me,” you said, your tone low and steady, parting your legs a little wider. the motion was subtle at first, then more pronounced, drawing his gaze downward to the space between your thighs, where the faint outline of your panties hinted at the warmth waiting there.

“what?” he stammered, his breath hitching as his eyes snapped back to yours, then darted down again, unable to resist. sweat beaded along his hairline and he shifted uncomfortably, his pants tightening visibly at the crotch as arousal warred with his nerves.

“you heard me,” you replied, your voice a soft command, you didn’t move to close your legs, instead letting them stay open, the invitation clear and unapologetic.

xiaojun’s throat worked visibility, swallowing hard, his fingers twitching against his thighs. he looked like he was fighting an internal battle, part of him frozen in place, the other inching toward surrender, “i…i don’t know if i—” he started but the words faltered, his gaze lingering longer this time, tracing the curve of your inner thighs.

you tilted your head, smirk deepening as you watched him, the tension coiling tighter with every second he hesitated. your own pulse quickened, a low throb building between your legs, but you kept your composure, letting the silence stretch, forcing him to fill it with his own desire, “it’s okay to want this,” you murmured, your hand drifting to rest on your knee, fingers brushing the skin there lightly, “—you’ve been talking a big game about love and connection. show me you mean it. touch me, xiaojun. feel what it’s like to make someone feel good.” his eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as he licked his lips, the nervousness in his expression cracking under the weight of temptation. he leaned forward slightly as if testing the waters. the air felt thicker, charged, every breath you took syncing with his, drawing him in like a magnet. you could see the bulge in his pants straining more now, the fabric tenting unmistakably and a soft hum escaped your throat, encouraging without words.

“don’t make me wait,” you whispered, parting your legs just a fraction more, the motion exposing the dampening spot on your shorts, “practice means getting your hands on me.”

that did it. his resolve shattered like glass, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he finally moved, scooting closer across the couch, his body drawn toward yours, the distance between you vanishing inch by inch until his heat radiated from him, eyes fixed on the space between your legs with a mix of awe and desperation. you reached out, taking his hand in yours, his fingers trembling slightly, warm and slightly clammy from nerves, and guided it slowly toward your inner thigh, letting his fingertips brush the soft skin there first.

“start here,” you instructed, sliding his hand higher until his palm rested against the damp fabric of your thin cotton shorts. he gasped at the contact, his fingers flexing instinctively, but he waited for your lead, breath coming in short bursts, “feel how wet i already am? that’s because of you, xiaojun. now take it off and slide one finger — slowly, up and down. get me even wetter.”

“o-okay,” he stammered, voice barely above a whisper, you lifted your hips as he carefully tugged your shorts and panties off then his index finger traced the length of your folds with tentative strokes. the sensation sent a shiver through you, your pussy clenching in anticipation as his touch grew bolder, coating his digit in your slickness. you watched his face, the way his lips parted cheeks flushing deeper as felt the heat radiating from your core.

“that’s it,” you murmured, praising him softly, “good boy, just like that — keep going, rub a little firmer now, circle my clit with your fingertip. feel how it swells under your touch?”

“it’s…so warm,” xiaojun breathed out, eyes glued to where his hand worked between your thighs, his free hand gripping the couch cushion so tightly his knuckles whitened. he circled your clit as directed, the pressure building a delicious ache inside you, a soft moan escaping your lips, encouraging him further. he shifted his hips, a low whimper building in his throat as he watched your pussy lips part slightly, glistening under his touch, “am i…doing it right?”

to pull him deeper into the moment, you grabbed the hem of your tank top and peeled it off over your head, tossing it aside. your breasts spilled free, nipples already peaked from the arousal humming through you. you cupped them in your hands, squeezing gently, thumbs flicking over the stiff peaks as you arched your back slightly. xiaojun’s gaze snapped up immediately, his movements faltering for a second as he stared, utterly transfixed, mouth agape, breath hitching like he’d forgotten how to function. you looked like every single video he touched himself to and it was driving him absolutely insane. meanwhile, the way his eyes darkened, pupils blown wide, made your core throb harder — knowing you had him hooked completely.

“add two fingers now,” you directed, your hips rocking subtly to meet his hand, one palm still kneading your breast, “push them inside me, curl them upward toward my belly. fuck me with them slow and deep.” his middle and index fingers joined, sliding into your tight heat with a wet sound that made him groan, his face inches from your lap now, breath fanning hot against your skin. but his eyes kept darting back to your chest, watching as you rolled your nipples between your fingers, tugging just enough to draw another moan from your throat.

“l-like this?” he asked, voice cracking as he pumped them in and out, curling as you said, hitting that spot that made you dizzy. you gripped his wrist lightly, guiding the rhythm, “yes, just like that — now make it three fingers. stretch me wider, thrust them all in deep.” he obeyed instantly, adding his ring finger, the added girth making you gasp as your walls stretched around him, slick sounds growing louder with each plunge, “god, you’re so tight…i can feel you squeezing,” he muttered, nodding frantically, sweat trickling down his temple as he drove all three digits deeper, his thumb accidentally brushing your clit in the process.

his cock throbbed painfully in his jeans, pre-cum soaking through the fabric in a dark spot and he rutted subtly against the couch edge, chasing friction without thinking. watching you — breasts bouncing slightly with each thrust of his hand, nipples glistening from your own touches, thighs quivering, pushed him to the brink, his balls tightening as arousal coiled low in his gut.

“back to two now,” you commanded breathlessly, the shift making your pussy flutter at the change in pressure, “pull one out and focus — curl those two harder, faster.”

“are you…are you gonna cum?” he asked, his voice thick with desperation, eyes flicking between your heaving chest and the way your pussy gripped his fingers, his pace quickening as he adjusted to two digits again, pumping them with renewed determination.

“i will if you keep going like this,” you replied, locking eyes with him, your hand abandoning your breast to brace against the couch as the pleasure built sharper, “don’t stop — rub my clit in circles while you fuck me — you’re such a good boy, xiaojun, learning so quick — make me cum on your fingers,” praise spilled from your lips like honey, and he doubled his efforts, thumb pressing and swirling over your swollen numb while his two fingers curled and thrusted relentlessly inside you.

“i…i want to make you feel good,” he panted, his voice thick with need, gaze locked on your face as your expression twisted in pleasure, still stealing glances at your exposed tits rising and falling with your ragged breaths. the tension snapped like a rubber band, your orgasm crashing over you in wave.

“fuck, fuck, yes—i’m cumming for you!” you cried out, back arching off the couch as you tightened around him, thighs clamping around his arm, holding him in place as you rode the high, juices dripping down his palm, your breasts jiggling with the force of your shudders.

xiaojun watched in awe and it undid him completely, “oh shit…you’re cumming….on my fingers,” he groaned, a choked moan tearing from his throat as his cock jerked violently in his pants — hot spurts of cum flooding his underwear, soaking through the material. he froze, fingers still buried deep inside you, his face a mask of overwhelmed ecstasy and embarrassment, hips bucking weakly as he emptied himself without a single touch, utterly lost in watching you fall apart.

as the waves of your orgasm ebbed, you slowly released your thighs from around his arm, pussy still fluttering with aftershocks around his buried fingers. you eased them out gently, a trail of your wetness stringing between his hand and your folds, glistening in the dim light of the room. xiaojun’s chest heaved, his face flushed crimson, eyes wide and dazed as he stared at his soaked fingers, then up at you — your breasts still bare and heaving, nipples taut from the intensity. he swallowed hard, voice hoarse and shaky, “i…i didn’t mean to…it just happened, watching you like that…” his gaze dropped to the dark stain spreading across his pants, embarrassment mixing in with the lingering bliss in his expression. he shifted awkwardly, the sticky warmth in his underwear making him wince.

you chuckled softly, a teasing lilt in your voice as you sat up straighter, grabbing your shirt from the floor and putting it back on, “aww, look at you — messy in all the right ways. but hey, mission accomplished on your end too, huh? though next time, maybe we’ll aim for something a little less…contained.” xiaojun’s cheeks burned hotter, but a shy, crooked smile tugged at his lips, handing you back your underwear, “y-yeah? you mean…there’s a next time?” you didn’t answer him. instead you leaned in close, breath warm against his ear, whispering with a playful smirk, “there, now you’ve made one girl cum — properly,” before leaning back, eyes glinting with mischief, “not so bad for a so-called fraud, xiaojun.”

🍯 OCTOBER 24 - THE PROPOSAL 🍯

it’s been four days since xiaojun felt both turned on and humiliated. he never expected you’d call him out on his bullshit. for god’s sake, you weren’t supposed to be better at him. he made those posters for the ones who aren’t getting laid, who doesn’t know how to talk to boys — not the ones who knew exactly what they wanted. but still…you called. you were still desperate enough to call. so now, he’s here, knocking on your door, an idea brewing in his mind. “xiaojun?” you look at him with curious eyes. you haven’t talked since that night on your couch and you weren’t even sure if there was any more you should discuss. he walked in without your permission, pacing on your floor as you shut your door, “oh-kay, come on in.”

“i admit! i’m not a matchmaker or a love expert!,” he blurts out. you looked at him, deadpanned, “yeah, i know, that’s what we concluded last time.”

“but you still called,” he pointed out. you crossed your arms, waiting. “you still called my number on that stupid poster…so you’re not exactly the expert either!”

“i never claimed to be one,” you pointed out.

“let’s continue.”

“what?!,” you snap, eyes wide, “xiaojun, you just said you don’t know what you’re doing! and i’m tired of embarrassing myself with your ‘techniques!’,” you quoted in the air.

“okay then you don’t have to do them,” he says, making you even more confused. “look,” he starts, “i might not know how to flirt but i do have…connections. i know a lot of people and i’ll introduce you to them, you can do your thing, and see which one makes for the best boyfriend.”

you sigh, “and what…you still expect me to pay you for helping me meet people? because i can do that on a dating app…for free.” he stopped pacing, turning toward you with that same mix of frustration and stubborn pride that always preceded his worst ideas, “no,” he said, shaking his head, “not like that. i’m not asking you to pay me anymore.”

you arched an eyebrow, “then what are you asking for?” he hesitated, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw working like he was chewing on the words, “i’ll…i’ll help you find someone. introduce to you people who fit what you’re looking for. but in exchange–” he met your gaze then, steady and a little too intense, “—you teach me.”

you blinked, “teach you?”

he nodded once, “how to be a good lover.”

you let that sit there for a second, staring at him, trying to decide whether he was joking or insane, “...you want me to teach you…how to be a lover?”

“yeah,” he said quickly, defensive, “the perfect one, actually. so when i do meet someone, i won’t screw it up.” you laughed, a small, incredulous sound, “xiaojun, that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said yet. and that’s saying something.”

he threw his hands up, “you said it yourself — i’m a fraud, right? so let me actually learn something. you clearly know what you’re doing,” his eyes flicked to you, the memory of exactly what you’d done to him still written all over his face, “you know how to make people…feel things.”

you raised an eyebrow, enjoying the way his voice faltered around the last two words, “and what? i’m supposed to turn you into some kind of dream boyfriend? fix your technique, your confidence, your sex drive, your—whatever this is?”

“yes.”

you exhaled through a laugh, leaning back against your door, “wow. you’re serious.”

“completely,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “think of it like…a trade. you get your boyfriend. and i get to stop being a walking embarrassment.” the proposal was absurd, yes, but there was something undeniably entertaining about it. watching him try to reclaim his dignity was endearing in the most chaotic way possible. you sighed, crossing your arms. “and how do you propose we even start this lesson plan?”

he looked thoughtful for a moment, like he was trying to piece together a real plan but mostly stalling, “well, i figured you’d know what a perfect boyfriend looks like since you’re looking for one.”

“oh, of course,” you said dryly, “because i’m an expert in perfect relationships.”

he smirked faintly, recovering some of his usual charm, “you’re definitely better at it than i am.”

that earned a laugh from you, “fair.” then, because curiosity was always your downfall, you asked, “alright then, what’s your end goal? you want to learn how to talk to girls? how to please them? how to hold their hand without combusting?”

he gave a sheepish smile, “all of the above?”

you exhaled through your nose, pushing off the door, “fine,” you said, and his head snapped up. “we’ll do it. but—” you held up a finger when he started to speak, “—if you’re asking me to teach you how to be a lover, you do exactly what i say. no arguing. no weird theories. got it?”

his lips curved into a small, crooked grin, “got it.”

you eyed him, still skeptical, “you realize this means i’m in charge now.”

he gave a mock salute, “yes, ma’am.”

you shook your head, amused despite yourself, “don’t call me ma’am.” he chuckled, and for a second, that familiar warmth, the one that made everything between you feel like a dare, sparked back to life, “and this time” you said, crossing your arms with a smirk, “class is going to be very… hands-on.”

🍯 OCTOBER 25 - THE FIRST LESSON 🍯

the bass from the speakers thumped through the crowded wayv house, bodies packed tight in the dim living room, red solo cups sloshing with cheap beer. laughter and shouts cut through the haze of smoke and perfume, the air thick with that party vibe. here you were, with xiaojun, weaving through the crowd, that sheepish grin on his face, his hand brushing yours as he pulled you toward a cluster of guys near the makeshift bar, your skirt flowing with every step.

“this is wooyoung,” xiaojun said, nodding at the handsome, sharp-featured guy with tousled hair and a mysterious smile, his button-up shirt half untucked like he’d just rolled out of a rehearsal. wooyoung extended a hand, his grip firm, eyes locking onto yours with a spark of interest that made your pulse tick. he was charming right off the bat, witty banter about the party’s lame playlist, a quick story about some theater mishap that had everyone chuckling. he leaned in close when he laughed, his cologne subtle and warm and for a minute, you thought maybe xiaojun had actually scored. but then he started name-dropping every indie movie you’d never heard of, his enthusiasms veering into that pretentious territory that grated like nails on chalkboard. another thing you couldn’t stand: people who acted like their taste in movies was better than everyone else’s — boredom settled in fast, your smile turning polite as you nodded along. after a few more exchanged, you excused yourself with a casual wave, leaving wooyoung mid-sentence, his brows furrowing in confusion. xiaojun caught up to you by the kitchen island, his expression a mix of hope and nerves, “so? what’d you think?”

you shrugged, sipping from your cup to hid the smirk, “he’s great, but that whole obscure indie obsession? hard pass. feels like he’s trying too hard to act different.”

xiaojun’s shoulders slumped a fraction, but you didn’t let the moment drag, leaning in, your voice dropped low, teasing, “anyways, let’s focus on something else, like…your first official lesson…are you gonna show me to your room or are we gonna mope around all evening?”

his eyes widened, a flush creeping up his neck as he glanced around the party. the vulnerability from yesterday flickered back, but he nodded quickly, muttering something about upstairs. you followed him through the chaos, hand in his, up the crowded stairs, past doors, until he pushed open one at the end of the hall. his room was a typical frat mess — clothes draped over a chair, a bed shoved against the window with blinds half-drawn, city lights filtering in. the door clicked shut and before he could say a word, you backed him against it, your hands fisting his shirt as you pulled him down into a kiss. his lips met yours tentatively at first and you thought you might also have to give him kissing tips but then something shifted — he angled his head, tongue sliding against yours with a surprising confidence, slow and deep, like he’d been holding back a secret skill. heat pooled low in your belly as his hands settled on your hips, pulling you closer, the kiss turning hungry, breaths mingling in the quiet space.

you broke it just enough to murmur against his mouth, “you’re a surprisingly good kisser, xiaojun. where’d you learn that?” he chuckled breathlessly, fingers tightening on your waist, “you really don’t care about the people in this school, do you?”

you pulled back slightly, arching a brown, your hand trailing down his chest, “what does that have to do with anything?” his gaze dropped, a shy grin tugging at his lips, “i’m a theater kid, been in plays since freshman year, kissing scenes are basically mandatory practice.”

laughter bubbled out of you, light and mocking as you shoved him toward his bed, “makes sense why you’re such a loser when it comes to girls…all stage kisses and no real action.” he stumbled back onto the mattress, eyes darkening with that mix of embarrassment and arousal as you followed, straddling his lap, “hey, not fair,” he protested weakly, stopping himself from touching you.

you noticed, “stop being so afraid to touch me,” you said, guiding his hand up your thighs. he nods, finally allowing his hands to roam free, bunching up your skirt, “good. now kiss me again,” you ordered, crashing your lips back to his. the makeout reignited fast, tongues tangling, your hips grinding down against the growing bulge in his jeans. his breaths came ragged, one hand slowly sliding up to cup your breast through your top, testing. you moaned into his mouth and he continued, thumb circling your nipple until it hardened. but you weren’t here to just make out. pushing him flat on the bed, you slid down his body, lips trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, tasting the salt of his skin until your hands were working his belt open with deliberate slowness. he watched, chest heaving, eyes wide, as you tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock — already hard, tip glistening with pre-cum. you couldn’t help but bite your lip. it twitched under your gaze and you wrapped your fingers around the base, giving a firm stroke that made him hiss.

“lesson time,” you said, voice husky as you leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the head, tasting the saltiness. his hips bucked slightly, a groan escaping him. you took him into your mouth slowly, lips stretching around his thickness, sucking gently as you bobbed down further, hollowing your cheeks. he was hot and heavy on your tongue, pulsing as your worked him deeper. but of course this wasn’t just a regular blowjob. though you couldn’t deny, how much you were getting lost in it. you were observing him. his reactions. and after a minute of nothing from him but quiet grunts you pulled off with a wet pop. you looked up at him, hand pumping his shaft steadily—

“girls like it when you praise them, xiaojun. tell them how good they feel, how pretty they look with your cock in their mouth. makes us wet, makes us want to please you more. and grab our hair — guide us, but not too rough unless we ask. like this—” to demonstrate, you took him back in, sucking harder, your free hand guiding his to your hair. he hesitated for a second, then threaded his fingers through the strands, gripping lightly as you set a rhythm, up and down, tongue swirling around the underside, saliva dripping down your fist.

“fuck,” he breathed, voice strained, “that feels…you’re so good at this. god, your mouth–”

“better,” you mumbled around him, popping off again to instruct, “but don’t force it, say my name, or just be louder with your groans, or something like ‘you’re making me feel so good. suck it just like that.’ try it.”

he nods, hand tightening in your hair, guiding you back down as he rasped, “—feels so good honey, just like that—shit—keep going, please,” the praise rumbled from him, tentative at first but gaining heat, his lips lifting to meet your mouth. you hummed around him in approval, the vibration drawing a whimper from him and took him deeper, throat relaxing to swallow around his length.

“and when you grab hair,” you continued after another teasing suck, your words muffled as you stroked him, “pull a little if she’s into it. shows you want it. practice on me.”

he obeyed, fingers tugging your hair just enough to send a thrill through you, his voice rougher now, “y-you look so fucking hot right now…with my cock down your throat—don’t stop—f-feels amazing,” he thrusts shallowly and you let him, gagging softly as you deepthroated him, nose brushing his pelvis. saliva slicked your chin, the room filling with wet sounds and his mounting moans.

you kept the lesson going, pulling back to swirl your tongue around the head while pumping him fast, “good boy, see? girls love hearing how they’re driving you crazy. makes us grind against nothing just thinking about it. now tell me im the best while i make you cum.”

his grip firmed, eyes locked on yours, wild and desperate, “y-youre the best—fuck, i’m close. your mouth is perfect—gonna cum if you keep—” the words broke into a groan as you sucked hard, taking him all one last time. he shattered, hips jerking as hot spurts filled your mouth, cum spilling over your tongue. you swallowed around him, milking every drop until he slumped back, panting, hand loosening in your hair.

wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you crawled up beside him, smirking at his dazed expression, “now, do you want to see what you did to me?” he turned his head, swallowing hard, his chest still rising and falling in uneven breaths, eyes still glazed from his release, “please…can i touch you again? make you cum again?”

a grin spread across your lips, slow and wicked as your arched a brow at his eagerness, “well, aren’t you an ace student after all?” he flushed but didn’t look away, his hand reaching out to rest on your hip, thumb brushing the hem of your skirt, “i just want to make sure i learned something from last time. please? i want to feel you like that again.”

you shifted closer, letting your thigh drape over his, the heat between your legs pulsing, “you want to finger me again? prove you paid attention?”

his eyes lit up with that eager nervousness and he nodded, sitting up a bit as your rolled on your back, “okay, show me what you got,” your fingers moved to the buttons of your cute button-up top, slowly undoing them one by one, the soft fabric parting to reveal the swell of your breasts, lace bra peeking through until you shrugged it open completely, leaving you in your skirt. the cool air hits your skin, nipples hardening instantly as you let the top fall aside, exposing yourself to his heated gaze.

his hand slid up your inner thigh, pushing your skirt higher, fingers finding your panties already damp, “god, you’re so wet already,” he murmured, voice husky, before hooking the fabric aside, exposing your slick folds. he exhaled sharply at the sight then pressed two fingers against your entrance, sliding them in slow, testing the wetness that coated him immediately.

“that’s it,” you moaned at the initial stretch, voice high and approving as you spread your legs wider, giving him full access. there was no step by step guide this time. his touch was surer than before, curling those fingers just right, stroking that spot inside that made your hips lift off the bed. he pumped steadily, thumb finding your clit and circling it with gentle pressure, drawing a soft moan from your throat. he glanced up, lips parting, “can i…can i suck on your nipples too? i want to taste you everywhere.”

you nodded, threading your fingers through his hair to guide him down, “go ahead, i’m all yours.”

something about that made his cock twitch again but before he could focus on the affect those words had on him, he dipped his head, mouth latching onto one nipple, tongue flicking over the hard peak before he sucked, pulling it between his lips with a wet pull that sent sparks straight to your core, “like this?” he whispered against your skin, breath hot as his fingers kept working inside you, thrusting deeper now, the squelch of your arousal filling the room as he switched to the other breast, teeth grazing lightly before soothing with broad licks.

“fuck, yes—just like that,” you praised, arching into his mouth, your free hand gripping the sheets. he hummed against your skin, the vibration adding to the building heat, his pace quickening as he felt your walls clench around his digits, “so good xiaojun—feels amazing—keep sucking, harder, please—”

please. he likes that. he likes that a lot. he groaned, drawing your nipple in deeper, fingers scissoring inside you, stretching and rubbing until your thighs trembled. the pressure coiled tight in your belly, breaths coming in gasps as he alternated between your breasts, saliva glistening on your skin from his eager mouth, “so hot like this,” he gasped, “pussy dripping all over my hand—so perfect—i’m gonna make you cum so hard,” he promised, thrusts growing firmer, thumb pressing your clit in firm circles.

“oh–fuck–” your words drowned out as you completely shattered under his hands, back arching as the orgasm ripped through you. hard. your pussy pulsed around his fingers, juices soaking his palm as you cried out, waves of pleasure taking over. he didn’t stop, riding out with slow strokes and soft sucks until you slumped back, panting, pulling him up for a messy kiss.

“you’re getting the hang of it,” you whispered against his lips.

“so i did okay?” he asked breathlessly, eyes searching yours, a shy smile tugging at his mouth as he licked his lips.

“yes,” you murmured, voice husky with satisfaction as you cupped his face, thumbs brushing his flushed cheeks, “you did more than okay.” his eyes widened slightly, that shy smile blooming into something brighter and more confident.

🍯 OCTOBER 27 - OH 🍯

the library is your place — the one corner of campus where nobody bothers you, nobody stares, nobody tries to flirt with you while drunk on cheap beer. it smells like books, highlighters and the quiet whir of brain cells dying from overstudying. you were halfway down the aisle labeled forensics/psychology/crime, balancing a stack of case files against your hip when you spotted him. you almost pretended not to see him but xiaojun turned that exact moment and the two of you froze like a scene from a low-budget movie. he blinked first, “...oh,” he said, voice echoing too loudly for the silence around you, “hi.”

you raised an eyebrow, “hi,” then, because you never expected to see him here, “what are you doing here?”

“studying,” he said simply. you stared at him. he stared back. his hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. he had sheet music tucked under one arm and pencil tucked behind his ear. “you?” he asked.

“research,” you held up your books – bloodstain patterns, offender profiling, a neatly tabbed courtroom forensics binder. the usual. “you know, light reading.”

he grinned at that — that wide, bright, boyish grin he couldn’t hold back even if he tried, “of course, nothing says relaxing like,” he walked over to you, reading the title of the book on the top of your stack, “high-impact trauma analysis,” he grinned.

you rolled your eyes, “are you making fun of me?”

“never,” he said but his mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh, then, “it’s cute.”

you opened your mouth to say something, you weren’t sure what, but he moved before you did, reaching out and sliding your entire stack of books out of your arms and into his like he’d been planning it all along. not clumsy. not flustered. just smooth — in this effortless, unthinking way that made your brain short-circuit. you blinked, “what are you doing?”

“being chivalrous,” he said, already adjusting the stack against his chest, “obviously.” you stared at him as he turned, walking towards an open table. he didn’t ask if you should sit together. he just assumed. and somehow —it didn’t bother you at all. by the time you caught up, he’d already set your books down gently. you dropped into the chair across from him, studying him over the rim of your binder. because something was…different. he wasn’t flustered. he wasn’t shy. he wasn’t tripping over his own charm like he usually did. he was just…natural. he tapped the corner of your top book with his finger, “so, what’s today’s murder?”

you narrowed your eyes, “you really want to know?”

“yep,” he said cheerfully, “i’m invested.” he pulled out one of the books, and you watched him flip a page. the sunlight from the window hit him at an angle, dust particles drifting lazily around his head like a halo he absolutely didn’t deserve. but he looked warm. grounded. settled.

you squinted at him, confused, “are you…using one of your flirting techniques with me right now? ”

he didn’t even look up, “huh? no. why?”

you paused. that…was not the answer you’d expected. “because,” you said slowly, leaning forward, “you’re being…smooth.”

he blinked once. twice, “i’m literally sitting.”

“yeah,” you said, frowning slightly, “but you grabbed my books.”

“your hands were full.”

“and you made a joke.”

“i make jokes all the time.”

you stared harder. he stared back, more confused than ever. then the realization hit you — quiet but certain. he wasn’t performing. he wasn’t trying to impress you or anyone around. he wasn’t deploying one of his so-called matchmaking techniques. this was just…him. xiaojun. comfortable. at ease. unguarded. around you. your breath stilled for half a second. oh.

he tilted his head innocently, “did i do something wrong?”

you felt your lips twitch, softer than you intended, “no. no, you didn’t.”

he relaxed, tapping his pencil lightly against the table, “good. i thought maybe i overstepped a boundary or something.”

you shook your head. because for the first time, you saw it clearly — when he’s not pretending to be the campus matchmaker or scrambling under the weight of your teasing — he’s actually…charming. effortlessly. and he doesn’t even know it. you opened your binder, pretending to read, though you weren’t absorbing a single word, “just…keep doing what you’re doing.”

“what am i doing?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

you glanced up at him — the easy grin, the bright eyes, the relaxed posture, “being comfortable,” you said before you could stop yourself.

his grin softened. “yeah,” he said quietly, nudging your foot under the table without looking up, “i am.” and somehow, that felt bigger than anything he’d said before.

the comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a warm blanket, soft and steady, wrapping itself around the table. it wasn’t awkward — it was familiar, almost intimate, the kind of silence born only from people who feel safe around each other. you could see his shoulders relax, your knees brushing just barely under the desk.

“okay,” he declared suddenly, breaking the small pocket of quiet that had formed between you. he leaned closer and tapped a giant blood-spatter diagram inside your book, his nose scrunching as he studied the droplets, “i need you to walk me through… whatever the hell this is.”

you raised an eyebrow, already amused. “blood distribution velocity.”

he blinked at you, “cool. what?” you slid the book toward you and flipped it open with the kind of practiced familiarity that only comes from having done it a thousand times before. it landed perfectly on a page full of arrows, impact labels, and meticulously drawn droplets. xiaojun scooted closer without hesitation, forearms on the table, chin propped on one hand like a kid being read a bedtime story he was unexpectedly invested in. “explain,” he said simply.

you tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the spark of excitement out of your voice, “fine,” you murmured, tapping the page, “low impact is basically passive drips, like from a wound. medium is from force—blunt objects, movement, impact. and high velocity…” you paused long enough to watch his face, “that’s usually from gunshots.” he let out a quiet, awed “whoa,” eyes widening in a way that should not have been as endearing as it was. but it was. his fascination had a softness to it, like he wasn’t asking for the sake of asking. he was actually interested.

then he straightened, pointing at one of the diagrams. “this one looks… pretty?”

you stared at him, “…that’s arterial spray.”

“okay, not pretty,” he corrected immediately, holding up a hand, “but like—interesting pretty.”

despite yourself, you laughed — a soft, startled sound you weren’t planning to let out. his head snapped up instantly at the sound, pride blooming across his face like you’d handed him a trophy. he grinned, flipping to the next page with the bright curiosity of someone digging through secrets, “okay, what’s this?”

“it’s scene reconstruction,” you leaned in, close enough to feel the ghost of his warmth, “the arrows show direction, movement, struggle—”

“oh,” he said, and there it was again, the spark in his eyes, the way they lit up when something clicked, “so it’s kind of like blocking.”

you blinked, “blocking?”

“movement on stage,” he explained, immediately switching into animated theatre-kid mode, hands tracing invisible paths in the air, “like how you figure out where everyone was, where they went, how they interacted. same thing. you’re mapping behavior.”

you stared at him, surprised he’d managed to connect the two so quickly, and correctly, “…yeah,” you admitted, slowly, impressed despite yourself, “exactly like that.”

he beamed at you, absolutely pleased with himself for bridging the worlds of forensic science and musical theater in under ten seconds. it should’ve been ridiculous. it wasn’t. it just felt strangely natural. “see?” he nudged your book with his knuckle, “we’re both detectives.”

“no,” you said, “i’m a detective. you’re a drama queen with a metronome.”

he gasped, a hand flying to his chest, “i’ll have you know I’m the backbone of the performing arts program.”

“you keep proving my point.” you realized you were smiling — genuinely, softly, without thinking. he flipped to another page, pretending to examine a diagram of cast-off patterns like he understood half of what he was looking at. after a moment, you asked, almost casually, “so why music anyway?”

he didn’t hesitate. didn’t get shy. didn’t puff himself up like he was giving some dramatic monologue. he just looked at you, soft and matter-of-fact, and said, “it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

you blinked. “makes sense?”

“yeah.” he shrugged lightly, the pencil behind his ear bobbing with the movement, “everything else feels like noise. music doesn’t.”

you paused, caught off guard by the ease of it — how he said it like he wasn’t revealing anything big, like it was the simplest truth in the universe. “it’s like…” he continued, tapping lightly on the table to some rhythm only he knew, “when i’m singing or, you know, trying to survive music theory without crying, it feels like my brain finally lines up. like it knows what to do. like—” he searched for the word, eyebrows knitting, “like i belong there.” you didn’t expect that answer. or the way it warmed something low in your stomach. not because it was emotional. but because it was honest in the most casual way — the kind that slips out when someone isn’t trying to impress you. he glanced back at his music sheet, “everything else is messy and confusing. but music? it just…makes sense.”

you watched him for a second. the sunlight catching on the side of his face. the relaxed curve of his shoulders. the way he didn’t seem embarrassed about saying something real. and for once, you didn’t tease him. you just said, “yeah. i can see that.”

he smiled — not big, not dramatic, but small and lopsided, the kind of smile that crept in when he didn’t know he was doing it. and that smile, that quiet little thing, made something flip in your stomach. you hadn’t realized it but the comfort between you had been growing slowly until it was easy. just like this.

he was flipping through your binder again, humming absentmindedly, when he stopped and squinted at a highlighted case summary in the margins, “oh my god,” he whispered, leaning closer, “please tell me this isn’t real.” you glanced over. the cheese theft case. he read it out loud under his breath, eyes widening, “a 63 year old man has been arrested after stealing 300,000 euros worth of cheddar,” he looked up at you like he’d witnessed a religious vision, “why did he need that much?” you smirked, finding his curiosity amusing, then he leaned in again, excitement bubbling. “okay, serious question—if you were gonna steal something weird, what would it be?”

“i would never!” you say almost incredulously, but the slight tremble in your voice gave you away.

xiaojun grinned, “ohhhh, you totally would,” he said. “but i already know what you’d steal.”

you squinted, “what do you mean—”

“you’d probably rob victoria’s secret,” he declared proudly, “and take all their lace bras.”

your jaw dropped. completely. like a cartoon character, “what— why— WHAT DO YOU MEAN—”

he shrugged, unbearably casual, and leaned his chin into his palm, “you somehow always have the nicest pairs on.”

your entire body short-circuited, “I— whAT–”

he tilted his head, smirking like he’d found his new favorite sport, “you think i haven’t noticed?”

your face went hot. very hot. “oh my god, xiaojun” you whispered, “shut up

“what?” he asked innocently. too innocently. “it’’s a compliment.”

“it’s invasive!”

“it’s observational,” he corrected, “i take our lessons very seriously.”

you refused to combust alone. so you snapped back, “yeah? well, you’d probably rob calvin klein.”

his mouth fell open — then curved upward, slow, warm, and unmistakably flustered, “okay,” he admitted, laughing under his breath, “they do have the most comfortable underwear.” and that’s all it took for the two of you to dissolve — the laughter coming too quickly, too loudly, spilling out in little bursts you tried and failed to smother behind your hands. every time you met each other’s eyes, it only made it worse. the blush on your cheeks matched the one burning across his, both of you hiding behind jokes you weren’t doing a great job delivering. his grin widened, soft and boyish. “what do you say,” he whispered, leaning in too close for a library, “we partner up and actually plan this heist?”

you pushed his face away immediately, “stop—!”

he pretended to reel backward. “ow—! that’s assault—!”

you tried to muffle your laugh. he tried to muffle his. neither of you succeeded. and then— “SHHHHHH!” it came from a stressed girl three tables over, her eyes bloodshot, her coffee shaking in her hand like she’d reached her limit. you and xiaojun froze. faces red. mouths pressed shut. both of you trying desperately not to burst out laughing again. you kicked him under the table. he bit his lip, eyes shining. it was ridiculous. just stupid, silly fun. but in that small, dusty corner of the library, with your laughter still caught in your throats, it felt like something warm and effortless had wrapped around the two of you. and even as you tried to compose yourselves, both of you sitting up straighter, forcing your faces neutral, pretending to read — you could feel it. the quiet between you wasn’t quiet at all. it was alive. buzzing. shared. and neither of you could stop smiling.

🍯 OCTOBER 31 – THE TEACHER AND THE PUPIL 🍯

the dream fraternity never did anything halfway, but halloween was a different beast entirely. and seeming this was the last the frat will ever throw, they really went all out. the house looked like it had thrown up fake cobwebs, orange string lights and questionable fog machine effects. the bass thumped so hard from inside that you could feel it in your ribs before you even reached the door. people spilled onto the lawn dressed as everything from toy story characters to cancellable serial killers to whatever last-minute pinterest idea they could pull together in an hour.

you adjusted your glasses, thin, wire-framed, perched low on your nose, and smoothed down the front of your white button-up. it wasn’t really helping. the shirt was already a lost cause. one button undone too many, your red lacy bra coming into view, the black pencil skirt hugging your hips, riding up just a little every time you moved, red heels that clicked against the sidewalk and a slim pen tucked behind your ear, each detail enough to make your choice of costume obvious — sexy teacher. it was easy. it was funny. but the real punchline was that only one person at this party was going to understand the double meaning. you stepped inside, greeted by a wave of heat, sweat, cheap cologne and alcohol. someone in a werewolf mask howled near the kitchen, a girl in wings almost smacked you, the living room was already shoulder to shoulder, a mess of plastic cups and fake blood and half screamed lyrics. you didn’t even get a chance to adjust your eyes to the dim lighting before someone shouted your name over the music. you turned. and there he was — xiaojun was leaning against a wall near the base of the stairs, dressed in a black bodycon. his costume was….surprisingly good. tight. showed off his body without actually showing anything. he had a half-mask pushed up onto his hair. you couldn’t even lie — he looked good. really good.

meanwhile, as soon as xiaojun’s eyes landed on you, he forgot everything else. his eyes traveled from your heels up to the glasses that sat on your nose. his brain visibly loading. he blinked once. twice. his hand tightened around his cup like it was a lifeline. “oh,” he said, way too late. you raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile, “use your words, venom.”

“you’re–” he gestured vaguely at all of you, “you’re…this should be illegal.” he still hadn’t stopped staring.

you pushed your glasses up with one finger, enjoying this a little too much, “what, you’ve never seen a teacher before?”

his mouth opened, then closed again. his throat bobbed. you could practically see the gears in his head turning. teacher. lesson. pupil. yeah. he got the joke. he dragged his gaze away with visible effort, forcing himself to look at literally anything else, “okay,” he said, suddenly remembering how to be a person, “okay. right. uhm. we’re here for a reason.”

“i would hope so,” you said lightly.

“i have someone new for you tonight,” he reminded himself more than you, “you know. my job. matchmaker. that whole thing,” he straightened, running a hand through his hair. you gave a skeptical little hum. he ignored it, or tried to, “come on,” he gestured for you to follow, weaving through the crowd, “he’s somewhere in the kitchen. i told him about you already and he’s—” he didn’t get to finish. you caught his wrist. he stopped instantly, turning back. his eyes flickered briefly to where your fingers wrapped around his skin, then back to your face.

“i don’t want to meet anyone tonight,” you said.

confusion creased his brow, “why not? he’s nice. and hot and—” you gave him a look. he shut up. you pushed your glasses up again, letting your gaze sweep over the chaos around you — masks, fake names, painted faces, people dressed as everything they weren’t.

“it’s halloween,” you said simply, “it’s literally the one holiday where no one is honest about who they are.” he blinked, following your line of sight. a mouse playing beer pong. a barbie grinding on a guy in a ghostface mask. a surgeon taking shots — he nodded slowly, “okay,” he concede, “thats fair.”

you shrugged, “if everyone’s lying anyway, what’s the point?”

he chewed on the inside of his cheek, letting that sit for a second. then he looked back at you, “so,” he said, tone shifting into something lighter, “what do you want to do instead?”

you pretended to think about it, tilting your head, letting the music and the lights and the sheer heat of the room blur into one buzzing background. then you met his eyes, the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at your mouth. “let’s just have fun,” you said, “no matchmaking. just you and me.” his heart skipped a beat. but you weren’t done. “and then…” you stepped a little closer, leaning in just enough that he could smell your perfume over the haze of beer and sweat, your words slipping out just for him, “maybe you can show me how venom uses that tongue of his.” he choked. actually choked. his hand spasmed around his cup. his ears went red. the half-mask nearly slipped off his head. for a full two seconds he just stared at you like you’d physically knocked the wind out of him. you only smiled, adjusting your glasses, entirely pleased with yourself.

the party only got louder, hotter and more chaotic as the night went on. people were dancing everywhere — on tables, on counters, on each other. but the moment you and xiaojun melted into the crowd together, none if mattered. he hovered close at first, protective in a way he didn’t even seem aware of — guiding you through bodies with a gentle hand on your lower back, staying just behind your shoulders like he could steer the party away from you if he tried hard enough. then a song you liked came on and you tugged him deeper into the center of the living room where the lights were more neon than functional and the bodies were packed close enough that breathing felt optional. you didn’t dance delicately. you weren’t trying to impress anyone. you were having fun. and xiaojun….he was trying so hard not to stare at you that it became the only thing he did. your hips rolled. your skirt slid up a little higher. your glasses slipped down again, framing the lazy smirk you sent him over your shoulder.

at some point, someone handed you shots — neon green, questionably glowing, definitely dangerous. you knocked yours back without blinking. xiaojun watched first, impressed, then matched you like he was afraid to fall behind. the burn hit you both at the same time. you were laughing. he was laughing. faces close, breath warm. and then suddenly he wasn’t laughing at all — he was looking at you. really looking. hair messed up from the crowd. mask hanging from his elbow, eyes dark with something he had very much stopped pretending not to feel. you lifted your hand, fingers landing on his chest. he inhaled sharply and one second later — his mouth was on yours. it wasn’t careful. it wasn’t planned. it wasn’t shy. it was hungry. electric. the kind of kiss that made the rest of the party dissolve into pure background noise. his hands cupped your jaw, your fingers slid into his hair, someone bumped into the two of you and neither of you even flinched. his lips moved against yours hungrily. you dragged him closer, and he groaned softly — a low, surprised sound you felt straight down your spine. you barely heard yourself say his name.

“fuck this party,” he murmured against your mouth, breath ragged, lips brushing yours with each word, “can we just—can we please skip to the lesson?”

you pulled back just enough to smirk. your lipstick was smudged. his pupils were blown. “i thought you’d never ask,” that was when you grabbed his wrist. no hesitation. no second-guessing. he didn’t even ask where you were going — he just followed, the same way he always followed your lead when things got intense. the crowd parted as you pulled him through the house, past the kegs and the dancers and the smoke-filled kitchen where someone had burned a tray of fake spider cookies. out the front door. down the steps. across the lawn. away from the noise.

the walk to your apartment felt like a blur, the bass from the frat house party still echoing in your ears as you and xiaojun burst through your front door, lips locked in a frantic, sloppy kiss. his hands were everywhere — gripping your hips, sliding up your back under your shirt, pulling you so tight against him that you could feel every inch of his hardening cock pressing into your stomach. you kicked the door shut behind you, the lock clicking forgotten in the haze of heat as you stumbled through the living room, his sneakers hitting the wall with a thud, your heels clattering to the floor. neither of you broke apart long enough to care about the mess. you pushed him toward your bedroom, tongues locked, breaths coming in hot pants, fingers tangled in his hair, yanking just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth. the bed loomed in the dim light from the streetlamp outside, sheets rumpled from your hurried morning. you shoved him backward onto the mattress, following him down in a tangle of limbs, straddling his waist as you ground against the bulge under his costume. his hands roamed your thighs, pushing your skirt higher, thumbs brushing the edge of your panties. your fingers unzipped his costume, bunching it down to his waist as your fingers trailed over his bare chest.

but as he shifted under you, trying to pull you closer, he winced, “oW,” he muttered, breaking the kiss with a hiss. you looked at him, confused, his hand fumbling under a blanket to fish out the mystery object. he held it up, blinking in the low light — real handcuffs, the cold silver metal glinting, linked by a sturdy chain. his eyes went wide, snapping to yours as he sat up slightly, still half-pinned beneath you, “why do you have these?” he asked, voice thick with surprise, gulping audibly. his cheeks flushed deeper, gaze flicking from the cuffs to your face, “…were you gonna use these on me?”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound low and teasing as you plucked the handcuffs from his fingers, dangling them playfully, “i think you’re forgetting i’m a forensics major…we actually need to know how to use those. for evidence handling and all that.”

he let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck but his eyes lingered on the metal, a spark of curiosity mixing with the lust, “so…you’re not gonna use them on me?”

you raised an eyebrow, leaning in close enough that your lips brushed his ear, your body still pressed against his erection. the heat between your legs throbbed at the thought and you let your free hand trail down his chest, nails scraping lightly, “i don’t know…do you want me to?”

xiaojun’s breath hitched, his cock twitching under you as he searched your face, that eager nervousness from before bubbling up again. he swallowed hard, nodding slowly, voice barely above a whisper, “yeah…maybe. show me?”

you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tightening around the cuffs, “are you sure? once they’re on, i’m not going easy on you.”

he nodded again, quicker this time, his eyes locked on yours with a mix of excitement and surrender, “yes. i’m sure.”

“okay, come here then,” you said, your voice dropping to a commanding purr. you shifted off him, guiding him further up the bed until his back hit the pillows, his arms stretching toward the sturdy metal frame of the headboard. he scooted obediently, watching you with wide eyes as you straddled him. grabbing his wrists, you clicked the first cuff around his right wrist, the sharp snap making him jolt, then threaded the chain through the slats of the bed frame before securing the other. the metal held tight, pinning his hands above his head, leaving him exposed and immobile. he tugged lightly, testing the hold, his chest rising and falling faster. you leaned over him, your breasts brushing his exposed chest through your top and traced a finger down his jaw, you hummed in satisfaction, “i guess this will make the lesson better—now you can only use this,” you tapped his lips softly, “—and your tongue to make me cum.”

a deep groan rumbled from his throat at your words, his hips shifting restlessly, cock straining against the bottom half of his costume. his eyes darkened with need, flicking down to where your skirt rose around your hips. “what do you say, xiaojun? you ready to learn how to eat a girl out properly?” you asked, your tone laced with challenge.

he nodded eagerly, completely under your touch now, his voice hoarse, “yes…please, teach me.” you smirked, deciding to draw it out, teasing him with every move. slowly, you stood on the bed beside him, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your skirt and sliding it down your hips inch by inch, letting the fabric pool at your feet. his gaze followed hungrily, locked on the bare skin of your thighs, then higher to the damp spot of your panties. he strained against the cuffs, arm flexing uselessly, a frustrated whine escaping his lips as he realized how impossible it was to touch you — to grab, to pull you closer.

“frustrating, isn’t?,l” you murmured, stepping out of the skirt and trailing a hand over your stomach, dipping lower to press against your clothed pussy. all he could do was watch, transfixed, his cock visibly throbbing under the bodycon still bunched at his hips. you hooked your fingers into the sides of your panties, peeling them down agonizingly slow, the lace dragging over your skin until they joined the skirt on the floor. your pussy glistened in the low light, slick and ready as xiaojun’s breath came in shallow pants, his body arching toward instinctively.

“lesson two,” you announced, climbing back onto the bed and positioning yourself over his chest first, knees on either side of his ribs. you crawled up deliberately, letting your wet folds brush his skin, marking him with your arousal. his eyes were glued to you, mouth parted, tongue flicking out in anticipation. finally, you hovered just above his face, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from your core.

“use your tongue — flat and wide at first, lick from my entrance up to my clit,” you instructed, lowering yourself onto his waiting mouth. he obeyed instantly, his tongue pressing broad and slow against your pussy, lapping at your juices with desperate enthusiasm, the flat drag of his tongue sent shivers up your spine, coating him in your wetness as he traced from your dripping entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top. the cuffs rattled as he tried to reach for your hips but he couldn’t, forcing him to focus entirely on the task, his mouth working harder to compensate. you rocked against him slowly a first, savoring the way his tongue flattened against your folds, exploring every inch.

“that’s it — long, slow licks. taste me,” you encouraged, your voice breathy. he hummed in response, the vibration buzzing through your clit, making your thighs clench around his head. his tongue delved deeper, pushing into your entrance to scoop out more of your arousal, then sliding up again, firmer this time, pressing right against your clit on the upstroke.

“now swirl around my clit — circle it with the tip,” you directed, grinding down a little harder. xiaojun learns quickly, his tongue flicking and circling the swollen nub, light at first, then with more pressure as you moaned in approval. you felt his hot breath panting against your skin, his nose bumping your clit occasionally as he licked deeper, fucking his tongue in and out of your pussy in shallow thrusts.

the pleasure was building steadily, a warm coil tightening in your core. you shifted your weight, bouncing lightly on his face to chase the sensation, “suck it—pull my clit into your mouth and suck,” you gasped, and he did, sealing around the sensitive flesh, sucking gently at first, then harder. the wet suction pulled a cry from your throat, your hips rolling forward to smear more slick across his lips and chin. he groaned into you, the sound muffled by your pussy, sending fresh jolts of pleasure radiating through you. you bounced more insistently now, lifting and dropping onto his mouth, a hand fisted in his hair, forcing his tongue deeper with each descent. his licks grew sloppier, more frantic as he tried to keep up.

he could barely breathe but he couldn’t care at this point. he was focused on pleasing you — lapping at your entrance, sucking at your clit, thrusting his tongue inside over and over. the cuffs clinked with your movements, a reminder of his helplessnes, which only made you grind harder, circling your hips to rub your folds over his entire face, “fuck—yes, i’m so close,” you moaned. you rode his face relentlessly, bouncing up and down, your thighs quivering as the pressure mounted. sweat beaded on your skin, mixing with the slickness between your legs and xiaojun devoured you like he was starving, his own muffled moans vibrating through your core.

the orgasm crashed over you without warning, pussy clenching around nothing as waves of ecstasy pulsed from your clit. you ground down hard one final time, holding his face buried against you, his tongue still flicking weakly as you trembled through the aftershocks. your juices flooded his mouth and he swallowed greedily, licking every drop he could reach even as you lifted slightly, catching your breath. looking down, you notice his face glistening — cheeks shiny with your cum, lips swollen and red, eyes hazy with lust and submission. he licked his lips, tugging at the cuffs again, voice rough and wrecked, “was that…good?”

you smiled, stroking his damp cheek, your body still humming, “very good…and do you know what good boys get?”

xiaojun licked his lips again, tasting the remnants of your release, his eyes locked on yours. he shook his head slowly, a small “no” escaping in a breathy whisper, his chest heaving as he waited, cuffed hands flexing against the bed frame. you smirked, leaning down to brush your lips against his forehead, then his nose, teasing lightly, “—a reward.” his breath hitched, pupils dilating as you shifted lower. you pulled off the suit bunched at his waist, finally freeing his hips, his cock springing out, thick and hard, veins pulsing, the tip already leaking pre-cum all from watching you. you left him like that — the costume shoved down to his thighs, wrists still locked above his head, body fully exposed and vulnerable.

climbing back up, you straddled his hips, your wet pussy brushing his bare skin as you captured his mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. your tounge in his, tasting yourself on him, salty and sweet, while your hand slowly trailed down between your bodies, wrapping around his cock, gripping the hot shaft firmly. he moaned into the kiss, hips bucking up instinctively but you held him down with your weight, stroking him slow at first — base to tip, thumb circling the slick head to spread the pre-cum. the kiss turned messy, teeth nipping his lower lip as you pumped faster, your fist sliding over the hard length, feeling it throb in your palm. xiaojun’s breaths came in ragged gasps against your mouth, his body arching, muscles straining against the restraints. he was so turned on, so pent up from eating you out that it didn’t take long — barely a minute of your hand twisting around him, squeezing just right, before he shattered. his cock pulsed hard in your grip, hot spurts of cum shooting across his stomach, some hitting your wrist as he cried out into the kiss, body shuddering violently. you slowed your strokes, milking every last drop from him, breaking the kiss to watch his face contort in bliss, then relax in heavy pants.

“hmmm, that wouldn’t do,” you murmured, voice laced with mock disappointment, though your eyes sparkled with amusement.

“what?” he rasped, blinking up at you, still dazed, his cock softening slightly in your hand but twitching at your voice.

you leaned in close, your free hand tracing patterns in the cum on his abs, “cumming that fast is hot and all but you better make sure you have more in you.” his eyes widened, a flush creeping up his neck, surprise mixing with fresh arousal. he tugged at the cuffs again, a soft whine building in his throat, but before he could respond, you flashed him a playful smirk. your lips started their descent — kissing his jaw, sucking lightly at his neck, then trailing wet open-mouthed kisses down his chest, tongue flicking over a nipple to make him gasp before continuing lower, over the ridges of his abs, lapping up a streak of his own cum, the salty taste making you hum in approval.

finally, you reached his cock, already semi-hard and glistening with remnants of his release. you gave the tip a slow, deliberate lick, flat tongue dragging from base to head, swirling around the sensitive slit, “come on, xiaojun, we just started,” you teased, voice low and sultry.

he groaned deeply, head falling back against the pillow, hips jerking up toward your mouth despite himself. but with your kitten licks — soft, teasing flicks along the underside, tracing the vein, lapping at the head like it was the sweetest treat — he was already stirring, blood rushing back, his cock thickening under your tongue, hardening anew as you worked him back to full erection. you hummed in approval, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your breath hot on his skin, eyes locking with his desperate gaze, “what do you want, xiaojun?” you asked, voice husky, your hand loosley stroking the base, “my mouth…or my tits?”

he swallowed hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, the cuffs clinking as he shifted. his mind raced — he pictured burying his face in your breasts, sucking onto your nipples, the warmth and softness giving him a moment to catch his breath, to steady himself after that quick release. “your tits,” he breathed out, voice thick with need, hoping you’d lean in and give him time to slow the building fire in his groin.

“excellent choice,” you grinned wickedly, rising up on your knees, your fingers unbuttoning the rest of your polo. in one fluid motion, you shrugged it off your shoulders, tossing it to the floor, then reached back to unhook your bra. the straps slid down your shoulders and you let it fall, exposing your full breasts, nipples already hard and begging for attention.

“god, please,” he whined, eyes widening, fixed on the vision of you, a soft whine escaping his throat as he tugged at the restraints, harder this time, wanting so badly to touch you — but you had other plans. leaning forward, you pressed your breasts together, creating a tight, warm valley of flesh. his cock, still slick from your licks and his earlier cum, throbbed visibily. you guided the sensitive head between your tits, sliding in slowly, the heat of your skin squeezing him,

“oh fuck,” xiaojun moaned immediately, his hips jerking up involuntarily, the new friction on his oversensitive cock sending shocks through him. the cuffs rattled loudly against the bed frame as he strained, fingers curling into fists, desperate to reach down and touch, to hold your breasts himself, “ahh—please, i…” you started moving, pressing your tits tighter around him, lifting and lowering your body to fuck him with your breasts, up and down, the slick slide of his cock between your soft mounds, the head peeking out at the top with each thrust, brushing your chin.

“that’s it, xiaojun, feel how good my tits fuck you,” you purred, watching his face twist into a mixture of pleasure and pain, “you wanted them so bad—now take it.” he whined high and needy, head thrashing side to side on the pillow, the overstimulation making his thighs tremble under the bunched costume.

“nngh—fuck—too much, its…oh god,” he gasped, another moan ripping from him as you picked up the pace, your breasts bouncing slightly with the motion. the rattle of the handcuffs grew frantic, metal biting into his wrists as he pulled hard, aching to free his hands, to grab the sheets, your hips, your hair, anything to keep him grounded from this teasing torment, “let me touch you…please, i need—ahh!”

“not yet,” you teased, spitting down onto his cockhead for more lubrication, “you look so hot like this. keep whining like that and i’ll give you what you want.”

his moans turned into breathless whimpers, body arching off the bed, completely at your mercy as you worked him toward another peak. the pressure built fast, his cock throbbing wildly, hips bucking up to meet your rhythm, “fuck—i’m gonna…ahh, please,” he whined, voice breaking, body tensing as the orgasm hit him again — hot ropes of cum shot from his cock, splattering across your tits, coating the soft curves and dripping down your cleavage in thick white streaks. he gasped and shuddered, the release making his thighs quake, “oh fuck—god—yes…” he moaned sofly, spent and trembling, eyes half-lidded in bliss.

you slowed your movements, letting his cock soften between your breasts, admiring the mess he’d made. smirking, you released the pressure and leaned forward, bringing your cum-covered tits up to his face, “look at what you did. now be my good boy and clean it up—lick every drop.”

xiaojun was too far gone to hesitate, his mind hazy with pleasure. without a word, he leaned in as much as the restraints allowed, lips parting to suck on your nipple, tongue lapping at his own cum. he didn’t care. didn’t question — just devoured it greedily, switching to the other breasts, sucking hard on the hardened peak. soft hums escaped him, content and obedient. you let him have this moment, his mouth working over your tits as a quick breather, the warmth of his sucks sending tingles through you.

“look at you, my ace student,” you praised, threading your fingers through his hair gently, holding him close, “sucking so eagerly, cleaning up your mess like you should. you’re doing so well for me.” he moaned around your nipples, the praise making him nuzzle deeper, his breathing steadying as he savored the brief calm, completely lost in the act. you pulled back slightly after a few more minutes of letting him calm down, his tongue still lazily swirling your hardened nipples. his breaths came in soft pants against your skin, body limp and glistening with sweat under the dim bedroom light. the handcuffs rattled faintly as he shifted, utterly spent but still tethered to the bed frame.

you traced a finger along his jaw, tilting his chin up to meet your eyes, “xiaojun,” you murmured, voice low and coaxing, “can you handle one more? just one more round for me?” he opened his mouth, but no words came out — only a weak, breathless whimper, his eyes glassy and unfocused from the overload. his cock twitched faintly against his thigh, sensitive yet half-hard again from sucking your tits. you can tell he’s tired. but he asked for this…didn’t he? to help him build his stamina up.

you pout playfully, leaning in closer, lips brush his ear, “please xiaojunnie,” you whispered, drawing out the nickname with a sultry lilt, “i really want to suck you off. let me make you feel good one more time.”

the nickname hit him like a spark, his body jolting subtly, a fresh flush creeping up his neck. his eyes widened as he swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room, “o-okay,” he managed shakily, voice cracking on the word, barely above a whisper. you smiled wide, rewarding with with a gentle open-mouthed kiss, “you’re taking everything so well—i’m so proud of you,” your hand slid down his chest, wrapping around his cock once more, giving it a slow, firm stroke to coax it back to full hardness. he gasped, hips twitching upward into your grip, but you released him just as quickly, sliding down the bed.

positioning yourself between his spread legs, you gripped the base of his shaft, tongue flicking out to lap at the tip, then you took him in, lips sealing around his flushed head as you sucked hard, hollowing your cheeks while your hand pumped the rest of his length — xiaojun’s whines filled the room immediately, high pitched and desperate, his head falling back against the pilow, “ahh—fuck, too fast…oh—,” he cried out, voice breaking into sobs as overstimulation clawed at him. tears welled in his eyes, spilling over as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass. his legs trembled, instinctively trying to close around you for some relief, thighs quivering as he fought the intensity. but you wouldn’t allow it — shifting your weight, you swung one leg over his thigh, sitting firmly on it to pin him open. the pressure of your pussy against his muscle grounded you both, your wetness smearing across his skin as you grind down once, experimentally.

he bucked beneath you, the whines turning into full cries, “please—it’s so nngh—sensitive…” you hummed around his cock, the vibration making him arch off the bed, ignoring his pleas as you kept your mouth working relentlessly. the sounds he made were intoxicating, raw and broken, fueling your own arousal. you couldn’t hold back anymore — lifting your hips just enough, you started rutting against his thigh in earnest, sliding your slick folds back and forth over the firm muscle. the friction sent sparks through your clit, your breaths coming faster as you rode him like that, mouth never leaving his cock.

xiaojun’s eyes locked onto you, wide through his tears, “holy shit, honey,” he swore breathlessly, voice wrecked, “that’s—fuck—the hottest thing i’ve ever seen, you—,” his words cut off in a strangled moan as you deepthroated him, nose brushing his pelvis. the combination pushed him over the edge faster than before — his third orgasm ripping through him with brutal force, cock pulsing hard in your mouth, cum flooding out in thick spurts that you swallowed greedily, not stopping, milking every drop with tight sucks. his sobs tapered into ragged please, his body shuddering beneath, “stop! please!, i can’t…too much—please—” he begged, voice horse and completely broken now, tears spilling from the corner of his eyes, hands tugging weakly at the cuffs. you knew he’s reached his limit. you eased off immediately, releasing his cock from your mouth with a soft pop, lips glistening as you lifted your head, finally letting him catch his breath. sliding up his body, you reached for the key on the nightstand, fingers carefully unlocking the cuffs. the metal clicked open and you rubbed his wrists gently, massaging the faint red marks left behind. then you brushed away the tears streaking his cheeks with your thumbs, your touch tender now.

“hey, talk to me,” you say softly, pulling him back to earth, “are you okay?”

he blinked up at you, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, a small, dazed smile tugging at his lips, “i’m fine,” he murmured, voice still shaky but genuine, “it was just…new. really intense, but good. really good.”

you smiled softly, an eyebrow raised, “you really haven’t explored have you?,” you ask. not teasing. just genuinely curious.

he smiled sheepishly, “uhm—i’m kind of a virgin.”

your jaw dropped at the revelation, “what do you mean kind of?”

his cheeks flushed, “well, i don’t think my first time counts since i kinda…came as soon as i stuck it in?”

“oh my god,” you giggled, then realization struck you, your eyes going wide in shock, “—and you let me handcuff you?!”

he laughed, light, almost disbelieving, cutting through the heavy air, as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down to his chest, “i mean—it was fun.”

you smiled against his skin, nuzzling into the warmth of him, but lifted your head to check again, “you sure you’re okay? no regrets?”

he met your gaze, his expression softening into something vulnerable then he cupped your chin with gentle fingers, “it was perfect. thank you—but…”

“but what?” you prompted, curiosity sparking as you traced his jawline. he hesitated for a beat, then surged forward with surprising strength. rolling you both over in one smooth motion — now, you were beneath him, his body pinning yours lightly to the mattress, eyes dark with renewed intent, “i think i still need practice,” he said, voice low and determined, a playful glint in his gaze as he kicked off his costume completely and settled between your thighs. you let out a surprised laugh, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, but there was no real protest in you. this was the point after all — teaching him, guiding him, letting him use your body without the mess of labels or expectations. just raw, hands-on lessons.

“alright, xiaojun,” you breathed, spreading your legs wider to give him access, “show me what you’ve learned so far.” he nodded, eyes focused and eager, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your inner thigh. his lips were warm, tentative at first, trailing higher until his breath ghosted over your folds. you were already slick from earlier, your pussy aching for attention and when his tongue finally darted out to trace your slit, you shivered. he licked experimentally, remembering your words from earlier, flat and broad, tasing you with a hum that vibrated against your skin.

“that feels good,” you encouraged, fingers threading through his hair without pulling. his mouth latched gently onto the swollen nub, tongue flicking in slow, deliberate circles, taking note of every one your reactions. the sensation built steadily, sparks of heat coiling in your core as he grew more confident, sucking soflty before dipping lower to tongue-fuck you. his hands gripped your thighs, holding them open as he alternated between lapping at your entrance and teasing your clit, learning the rhythm that made your hips buck.

“fuck, yes—just like that,” you moaned, back arching off the bed. he was getting better with each pass, his inexperience giving way to instinct and soon you were panting, chasing the edge he was so carefully building. but he didn’t rush — instead, he slowed when you got close, pulling back to kiss your thighs, letting the tension simmer before diving back in.

“xiaojun… don’t stop,” you gasped, thighs trembling around his head. he groaned against you, the sound muffled as he sucked harder on your clit, one finger sliding inside your pussy to curl against that spot he knew all too well now. and just like that, you shattered — waves of pleasure crashing over as you came hard, walls clenching around his finger, juices flooding his mouth. he didn’t pull away, licking you through it until you were whimpering from the overstimulation.

you coaxed xiaojun’s mouth away from your pussy for good. he lifted his head, lips glistening with your arousal, his own breaths coming in heavy pants that matched the ragged rhythm of yours. sweat clung to his skin, his hair tousled from your earlier grip and his eyes, dark and satisfied, locked onto yours with a mix of pride and lingering hunger, “was that…okay?” he asked, voice rough. you reached down, fingers threading through his damp strands to guide him up your body, pulling him up for a messy kiss, “you seriously need to stop asking that,” you murmured, voice hoarse from the moans he’d drawn out of you. he collapsed half on top of you, lazily kissing you back, his weight a comforting press against your side as your arms wrapped around his shoulder. your chests heaved in unison, the air thick with the scent of sex and exertion, both of you utterly spent.

you continued kissing until the exhaustion settled over you like a warm blanket, lips moving sluggishly against yours, soft and unhurried, tongues brushing in lazy strokes that carried the faint taste of your releases. your hands roamed idly over his back, tracing the lines of muscle still humming with residual tension, while his fingers tangled gently in your hair, holding you close without demand. the world narrowed to the warmth of his body draped over yours, breaths mingling in the quiet space between kisses that grew slower, deeper, until your eyelids fluttered shut. sleep claimed you both just like that — entwined and sated, lips grazing in feather light contact as dreams pulled you under.

🍯 NOVEMBER 1 - DEJUN 🍯

you stir awake in the tangled sheets of your bed, the faint light of morning filtering through the curtains of your bedroom. you reached to the other side of the bed out of instinct — cold. empty. not surprising. expected. stretching with a yawn, you swing your legs over the edge, muscles protesting a little, but you ignored it as you threw on an oversized shirt and padded barefoot into your living room, fully prepared to find your apartment as solitary as it always was. but then, as you stepped outside, something hit you. scent. warm, rich unmistakable — eggs. bacon. coffee. you froze. that…couldn’t be right. your brows furrow in confusion. he’s still here? you walked the rest of the way into the kitchen, fully intending to prove your senses wrong. except they weren’t. there he was — his back to you, shirtless in just his boxers from the night before, flipping strips of crispy bacon with a focused tilt of his head. the sight of his lean muscles shifting under his skin sends a lazy spark through you but its the domestic normalcy that catches you off guard.

“what are you still doing here?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest.

he glances over his shoulder, a small grin breaking across his face, his hair tousled from sleep, “thought you’d be hungry…because i sure am,” his voice carrying that raspy tone that morning brings. right on cue, your stomach lets out a traitorous rumble, loud enough to echo in the quiet space. heat creeps up your cheeks, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. he chuckles, low and genuine, turning back to the pan as you both share that easy, knowing look. no tension. just a comfortable ripple in the air. without speaking, you moved to grab plates from the cupboard, setting them on the tiny dining table squeezed into the corner of your kitchen, just enough for two. while he plates the scrambled eggs and bacon, you prepare the forks and napkins, the routine unfolding naturally. surprisingly, it’s not awkward at all. if anything, it feels…right.

when everything’s ready, you both settle across from each other at the table, knees almost brushing under the surface. you didn’t comment when he put noticeably more food on your plate. he pretended not to notice you noticing. the first bites are heaven, the eggs creamy and the bacon perfectly crisp and conversation flows as naturally as the coffee you pour from the pot he started.

“so, about last night,” you say between mouthfuls, smirking, “you handled those handcuffs like a pro. didn’t think you’d last that long without tapping out.”

he laughs, a flush coloring his cheeks as he ducks his head but his eyes meet yours with a playful glint, “yeah, well, you were a tough teacher. nearly broke me…but in a good way,” he wiggles his eyebrows, popping an egg into his mouth and you both dissolve into light laughter.

“i can’t belive you’re technically still a virgin,” you said around a mouthful of bacon.

xiaojun froze. fork in midair. shoulders tense. ears turning pink. he almost forgot he admitted that last night. he went quiet. really quiet. the clink of your fork against the plate seemed louder in the sudden hush and you watched as his gaze dropped to his half-eaten food, the easy banter evaporating like mist. when he finally spoke, his voice was small, honest in a way you weren’t used to from him, “i…yeah…i guess i am,” a deeper blush crept up his neck, staining his cheeks as he set his fork down, fingers twisting in his lap under the table. he looked up at you through his lashes, vulnerability cracking through his usual shy charm, “it’s just…i’m too scared, you know?”

you tilted your head, curiosity softening your expression as you swallowed your bite. “scared, why?” you asked gently, no teasing edge this time, inviting him to open up without pressure.

he let out a shaky breath, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes flicking away before settling back on yours, “well, after my first time,” he muttered, “i finished basically the second i—,” he cut himself off, face going scarlet, “the girl was really mad…told me i was the worst sex she’s ever had and…i was really embarrassed,” he said quietly, thumb rubbing the edge of the table, “like…humiliating embarrassed. and i don’t know,” he shrugged helplessly, “i just didn’t really want to embarrass myself again after that.” his words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered, and you can see the weight of that old embarrassment still clinging to him like a shadow. the fork in your hand pauses midway to your mouth, you set it down gently, leaning forward just enough to close the small distance across the table. your eyes soften, meeting his with a warmth that cuts through the vulnerability he laid out.

you smile, soft and reassuring, reaching across to give his hand a quick squeeze before pulling back, “xiaojun, you have no idea how many men have done that,” you say, your voice light but sincere, easing the tension like a gentle touch, “the fact that you even care enough to feel embarrassed already makes you ten times better…and besides,” you shrug, a grin growing on your features, “she missed out on possibly the best orgasms of her life,” you wink at him, the gesture playful, letting the implication sink in.

he blinks, his blush deepening for a beat before a surprised laugh bubbles out of him, breaking the quiet like sunlight through clouds. his shoulders relax, the helpless shrug from moments ago melting into a genuine, relieved grin as he shakes his head, “that’s all thanks to you,” he says, his voice warmer now, eyes crinkling at the corners with that shy affection you’ve come to recognize.

you shake your head no, picking up your fork again but keeping your gaze on him, steady and encouraging, “please, i just guide you. you’re the one doing all the hard work.” the words come out playfully, but there’s truth in them, an acknowledgment of his growth and his willingness to learn. he ducks his head again but this time it’s with a softer blush, the kind that shows flattery rather than shame. the conversation shifts back to lighter ground as you both resume eating.

and as you ease into a comfortable silence, xiaojun sets his fork down and looks at you with a softer expression, “dejun,” he says quietly, testing the word like it’s a secret he’s been holding.

you glance up, confused, “what?”

he smiles shyly, his cheeks tinting pink, “you can call me dejun—that’s my real name.” a warm smile spreads across your face, touched by the vulnerability in his voice. you hold his gaze, the kitchen falling into a gentle quiet where the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside and your shared breaths. it’s a simple moment, but it feels intimate, like peeling back another layer of him.

then, before you can process what he was doing, dejun leans across the tiny table, his fingers brushing your lip in a quick, unexpected move, plucking a crumb right off and popping it into his mouth. your eyes go wide, a smirk tugging at your lips as surprise bubbles into amusement, “dejun! that’s gross!” you say, half-laughing, half-scandalized, leaning back in your chair.

he chuckles, low and playful, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before looking at you with a mischievous look, “gross? come on, i was literally eating you out last night. how’s a little crumb worse than that?” heat floods your cheeks at his blunt words, the memory flashing hot and vivid but you can’t let him with that easily. you reach over and smack his arm lightly, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen, trying to play it cool even as your blush creeps up, “shut up, you perv,” you mutter, averting your eyes to your plate but the smile you can’t hide gives you away. he just laughes harder, rubbing the spot you hit like it stung, his gaze warm and teasing as the morning stretches on in easy, charged comfort.

🍯 NOVEMBER 4 - ORGANIC ENCOUNTER 🍯

three days have slipped by since that lazy morning with dejun. you’ve been dodging his texts about lessons and vague promises of setting you up with someone perfect — a part of you not ready to dive back into the chaos. but your fridge is a wasteland now, thanks to his enthusiastic breakfast raid, so here you are in the fluorescent-lit aisles of the grocery store a couple miles away from the university, basket hooked over your arm. you’re reaching for a carton of large eggs, mind wandering to how dejun’s shy smile lit up when you called him by his real name, when your elbow clips the edge of the shelf. the carton tumbles from your grip, cracking open mid-air and splattering it’s contents right onto the man standing just a step away — yolk and shell fragments streak down his crisp white shirt, the mess dripping onto his jeans in trails.

“oh shit—i’m so sorry!” the words tumble as you spin around, heat rushing to your face. he’s tall, easily towering over you with broad shoulders that fill out his frame just right, dark hair tousled in that effortlessly handsome way. and then there’s his scent — cedar and vanilla, warm and inviting, cutting through the sterile smell like a cozy invitation. his face breaks into the prettiest smile, eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement instead of annoyance.

he laughs, a low, easy sound that eases the knot in your stomach, “no worries, accidents happen,” he brushes a bit of eggshell off his sleeve, glancing down at the stain without a hint of irritation, voice smooth and steady.

“but i ruined your shirt,” you protest, already fumbling for your wallet in your bag. guilt twists in your gut, “at least let me buy you a new one. there’s a store right across the street.”

his smile widens, that charming curve making your pulse skip. he shakes his head, stepping a fraction closer to pluck a stray eggshell from your sleeve in a casual, disarming move. up close, his eyes are a deep, warm brown — pretty.

“really, it’s fine. this old thing was due for a wash anyway.”

you bit your lip, insisting despite the flush creeping up your neck, “come on, i can’t just leave you like this. it’s the least i can do.”

he tilts his head, considering you for a beat, then lets out another soft chuckle, “alright if you insist on making it up to me…how about you let me take you out instead? dinner, my treat. call it even.”

your eyebrows lift in surprise, a spark of intrigue flickering through the embarrassment. he’s direct but not pushy, that smile holding steady like he knows exactly how to turn a mishap into something promising, “a date? just like that?”

“just like that,” he confirms with a soft smile, extending a hand, “i’m winwin, by the way.”

you take his hand, his grip firm and warm, the contact lingering a second longer than necessary, “y/n…and yeah, dinner sounds good.”

and as you both grab a couple of paper towels from the end of the aisle to clean up the mess, the store’s overhead lights casting a soft glow on his profile, you can’t help but wonder if this is one of those “the universe works in mysterious ways,” dejun’s been promising all along.

🍯 NOVEMBER 5 - WINWIN 🍯

the next evening arrives with a soft autumn chill in the air, the kind that makes you grateful for the light sweater you threw on over your simple black dress. you meet winwin outside a cozy italian bistro a little outside of town. he’s already there, leaning against the brick wall with his hands in the pocket of his dress pants, looking effortlessly put together in a black button-down that hugs his shoulders just right. no flashy accessories, no over the top gestures — he simply straightens when he spots you, that same easy smile from the grocery store lighting his face.

“hey, you made it,” he says, voice warm and unhurried, like he’s been looking forward to this without making a big deal of it. he holds the door open for you. he suggests a table by the window, away from the busier spots and pulls your chair out, making sure you’re okay before he takes his own seat across from you. the perfect gentleman. the menu is straightforward and he doesn’t launch into some rehearsed spiel about the best dishes or try to impress with wine knowledge. instead, he asks what you’re in the mood for, genuinely listening when you say you’re craving something simple like carbonara.

as the waiter takes your orders, pasta for you, a grilled chicken for him, the conversation flows without effort. he’s not peppering you with questions or steering everything back to himself – it’s balanced. a real exchange. you learned he graduated from the same university with a degree in literature and now he works at the public library in the neighboring town, curating events and helping with community reads, “it’s quiet most days,” he says, taking a sip out of his red wine, “gives me time to get lost in books or plan the occasional hour for kids. nothing glamorous but it suits me.”

there’s no bravado in his words, just quiet contentment. he recommends his favorite novels and you find yourself sharing bits about your major. he listens intently, nodding at the right moments, his eyes steady on yours without that intense stare that screams, “i’m trying to charm you.” it’s gentle, the way he leans in slightly when you describe a particularly gruesome lab demo, chuckling softly at your delivery.

the food arrives, and he doesn’t hover or comment on your bites. instead, he shares a story about a library patron who returned a book with a note inside, confessing it changed how they saw their own life – nothing boastful, just observation that lingers, making you see the appeal in his steady world. he’s kind in the little things — refilling your glass when it’s low, suggesting you try a bite of his salad if the dressing intrigues you, all without drawing attention to it. no forced compliments on your outfit or hair but when you laugh at his dry humour about a disastrous book club debate, his smile deepens. dessert is a shared slice of chocolate cake, spoons dipping in turns as the conversation drifts to lighter topics – favorite movies, color, food. time slips by unnoticed, the bistro emptying around you until the waiter politely clears the table. he insist on covering the bill with a casual, “my treat, remember?” and you don’t argue, stepping out into the cool night air together.

the walk to your bus stop is unhurried, streetlights casting long shadows on the sidewalk. he matches your pace, hands in his pockets again, the cedar-vanilla scent faint but comforting in the breeze, “i had a good time tonight,” he says simply, stopping at the curb where your bus will pull up, “we should do it again sometime.” before you can respond, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek — brief, warm, leaving a subtle tingle in its wake, “text me when you get home safe,” he adds, stepping back with that same pretty smile. the bus arrives right on time as you settle into a seat, watching him wave from the stop and you can’t shake the feeling that this might be exactly what you’re looking for.

🍯 NOVEMBER 7 - TELL ME MORE 🍯

two days slip by in a blur of notification lighting up your phone screen, each one from winwin pulling a smile from you without even trying. his texts are steady — nothing overwhelming, just thoughtful check-ins about your day, a shared meme, or a casual thinking about that cake we split. it’s easy, like breathing, and you find yourself replying faster than usual, the conversation weaving through your classes and late-night study sessions.

but tonight, the glow of your phone fades to the background as dejun sprawls on your couch, his body warm and insistent against yours. the apartment is quiet, just the hum of the city outside and the soft rustle of clothes as you straddle his lap, lips locked in a deep, hungry kiss. his hands roam up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your thin tank top, while your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth. the taste of him, mint and something faintly sweet, fills your senses, and heat pools low in your belly as his tongue slides against yours. he breaks the kiss first, nipping at your lower lip before pulling back slightly, his breath hot against your skin, “so,” he murmurs, voice rough with want, eyes dark as they flick over your flushed face, “i have another guy for you tomorrow night. this one’s got that quiet intensity you like, graphic design major, tall, smells good. you’ll love him.”

you pause, your hands stilling on his shoulders as you catch your breath. the words hang there, and before you can stop yourself, you lean in to kiss him again, soft and lingering, buying a second to gather your thoughts. when you pull away, you meet his gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips, “actually…i met someone recently.”

his eyes widen, a mix of shock and excitement flashing across his face as he freezes beneath you. his hands grip your hips a little tighter, holding you in place, “wait, what? like, for real?…spill,” there’s a spark in his voice, genuine curiosity laced with something else. but he doesn’t push you off — instead, he ducks his head to press open mouthed kisses along your neck, tongue flicking out to taste your skin. you tilt your head to give him better access, a soft sigh escaping as his lips trail down to your collarbone, sucking lightly at the spot that makes your pulse jump.

“yeah,” you continue, voice breathy but steady, fingers threading through his hair, “ran into him at the grocery store – total accident, eggs everywhere. his name’s winwin.” dejun hums low in his throat, the vibration rumbling against your skin as he listens, his mouth working a slow path back up to your jaw, “mhm,” he murmurs, the sound muffled against you, encouraging without interrupting.

“took me out the next night,” you go on, words punctuated by the wet slide of his tongue along your throat, “italian place in the next town. it was…perfect, honestly. no games, no trying too hard. he went to our school, works at the library, reads to kids sometimes—” dejun’s hands slide under your tank top now, palms flat against your bare back, pulling you closer as his lips find the hollow of your collarbone again, teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“sounds solid,” he says softly, another “mhm,” vibrating against you, but there’s a subtle tension in his grip, like he’s hanging on every word. you shift in his lap, feeling the hard press of his cock through his sweats against your core and it makes your words come out a little huskier, “he is. gentle, you know? listens without making it about him. we talked about books, my forensics stuff—he didn’t glaze over anything—,” dejun’s response is a deeper hum, his mouth trailing lower, nipping at the strap of your tank top before he suddenly shifts, easing you back against the couch cushions. “—and at the end, he walked me to the bus stop, kissed my cheek, promised we’d meet again.”

in one smooth motion, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs together and tossing them aside without a second glance. he’s not shy tonight — no hesitation, no fumbling like those early lessons. his eyes lock on yours for a beat, dark and intense, before he settles between your thighs, spreading them wide with his shoulders. the cool air hits your exposed pussy, already slick from making out, and you bite your lips as he leans in, breath ghosting over your folds.

“keep going,” he says, voice low and commanding, lips brushing your inner thigh, “tell me more about this perfect guy.”

you swallow, trying to focus as his tongue flicks out, tracing a slow line up your folds, “he’s just…put together. life seems easy for him—” the words falter as he flattens his tongue against your clit, lapping firmly and you gasp, hips twitching. his hands pin your thighs down, keeping you open and he dives in deeper, mouth sealing over your pussy with a wet, messy suck that makes your toes curl.

“yeah?” he mumbles against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core, “sounds like a dream.” — but there’s an edge to his tone now, a hint of something sharper as his tongue circles your entrance, pushing inside briefly before dragging back up to your clit.

you try to continue, voice shaky, “he texts me all the time now–nonstop, but not clingy. just…nice.”

dejun’s response is a growl, low and possessive, and suddenly his pace changes. he devours you harder tongue thrusting into your pussy with quick, insistent strokes while his lips sucks at at your folds, sloppy and unrelenting. he eats you out like he’s starving, nose bumping your clit with every plunge. the wet sounds fill the room, his mouth working you over without mercy, teeth grazing your sensitive skin just enough to make you jolt.

“fuck, dejun—” your words cut off into a moan, hands fisting the couch cushions as pleasure coils tight in your belly. you can’t talk anymore, not with him like this — tongue lashing your clit in rapid flicks, then sucking it between his lips with a pull that has your back arching. he knows exactly what he’s doing now, all those lessons paying off in the way he pins you down, refusing to let up even as your thighs tremble around his head. moans spill from you, high and needy, as he pushes you closer, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you steady. the unknown jealousy simmering under his actions, fueling the intensity until you’re nothing but gasps and whines, lost in the heat of his mouth claiming every inch of you. then — his fingers join in, two of them sliding inside you without warning, thick and insistent, curling right against that spot. he pumps them in and out, fast and deep, the wet squelch of your arousal echoing as his thumb circles your swollen clit in rough, tight strokes.

“oh god, dejun—yes, right there,” you gasp, thighs quivering around his head, your hands clutching at his hair to hold him in place. he doesn’t let up, fingers thrusting harder, twisting to stretch you wider while his tongue laps at your folds, tasting every drop. pleasure crashed over you in waves, pussy clenching around his digits as you come undone, crying out his name in a broken sob, body shaking as your release flooded through you, soaking his hand and chin as you ride the high, walls pulsing greedily. he slows his movements gradually, drawing out your orgasm with gentle sucks and strokes until you’re panting and boneless against the couch. pulling his fingers free with a slick pop, he looks up at you, lips glistening, a smug glint in his eyes.

“fuck, you’ve gotten really good at that,” you breathe, voice husky with aftershocks, reaching down to cup his jaw in praise. he just smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before grabbing your waist and hauling you up. in a swift tug, he flips your positions, settling you on his lap, your bare pussy pressing directly against the rigid length of his cock straining through his grey sweats, the fabric already damp from your wetness and the heat of him sears into you as he grips your hips, grinding you down hard against him.

all thoughts of winwin vanish — erased by the friction sparking between you, your body instinctively rolling to chase more. you dry hump like that, lost in the raw sensation, your slick folds sliding over the thick bulge, his sweats teasing your sensitive clit with every drag. dejun’s hands roam everywhere, one sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, yanking your head down for a bruising kiss, tongue in your mouth, tasting of you. he breaks away to suck on your neck, leaving blooming red marks, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, you could’ve sworn he whispered, “mine,” but you were too caught up in him to process.

he hooked a finger into the neckline of your tank top, yanking it down roughly, your breasts spilling free, nipples hard and aching and he wastes no time — latching onto one with a hungry suck, tongue swirling around the peak while his teeth grace it with just a shy of pain. he switches to the other, giving it the same attention, leaving wet trails and fresh hickeys across the soft flesh, claiming every inch. you’re a moaning mess on top of him, whimpers spilling out as you grind your wet pussy harder against his clothed cock, the outline of his tip nudging your entrance through the barrier. the pressure builds again, fast and filthy, your hips circling desperately while his mouth marks you up, hands bruising your thighs to guide your rhythm. he thrusts up to meet you, groaning into your skin, the tension between you electric and consuming.

“dejun…fuck–you feel so hard,” you moans, nails digging into his shoulders as you chase the building heat, your pussy aching to be filled but reveling in the tease.

he groans in your chest, mouth popping off your nipple with a wet smack, leaving it red, “yeah? you like riding my dick like this, honey?” his voice is rough, edged with that possessive hunger, hands clamping tighter on your ass to pull you down harder, forcing you to feel every ridge of him through the barrier.

“god, yes—don’t stop” you whimper, head falling back as pleasure coils low in your belly again, your breasts heaving with each bounce. his lips return to your skin, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up to your collarbone before capturing your mouth in a messy clash of tongues. you kiss him back fiercely, hips stuttering as the pressure mounts.

dejun breaks the kiss to nip at your jaw, breath ragged, “you’re so wet, soaking right through my sweats…all for me, right honey?” his fingers bruise your hips, guiding you in a punishing rhythm, the wet slide of your pussy over his clothed length growing sloppier, more desperate. the possessiveness in his tone sends a thrill through you, making you clench around nothing.

“just you–fuck, dejun, only you make me this desperate,” you gasp, grinding down, his cock nudging your cilt hard, sparks exploding behind your eyes. your moans turn into whines, body trembling as you bounce faster, the couch creaking under the force. his mouth latches back onto your breast, sucking deep while his tongue flicks the peak, teeth grazing just enough to sting.

“that’s it, honey—cum on me again,” he murmurs against your skin, voice muffled but so natural, so commanding, his hips bucking up to meet your every drop. the friction is relentless now, your swollen clit throbbing against the rough weave, his shaft pulsing hotly beneath. you feel him swell even more, the telltale twitch signaling he’s close and it pushes you right to the edge.

“oh shit—dejun—i’m gonna…gonna cum,” you cry out, your rhythm faltering as your second orgasm rips through you, pussy spasming against his cock, juices flooding out to drench his sweats completely, body shuddering in his grip as you ride it out with frantic grinds. watching you unravel tips him over,

“fuck…i’m cumming,” he grunts, head thrown back. his cock jerks wildly under you, hot spurts of cum leaking through his underwear, soaking through to slick your folds even more. he thrusts up, erratically, groaning low and broken, hands holding you flush against him as he empties himself, the warmth seeping between you in messy pulses. you both collapse in each other, panting and spent, your foreheads pressed to his chest while aftershocks ripple through. his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close in the sticky aftermath.

🍯 NOVEMBER 8 - NOT YOU 🍯

the bass from the speakers thumps through the riize fraternity house, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat and that unmistakable college party haze of hormones and bad decisions. you arrive with dejun, his arm brushing yours as you push through the front door, the crowd already filled with energy. he’s dressed sharper tonight — fitted shirt hugging his frame, hair styled just right and there’s a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before, a quiet determination you’ve helped nurture over stolen nights and whispered instructions. you find a quieter spot near the edge of the living room and turn to him with a teasing smile, “alright, lover boy,” you say, nudging his shoulder, “time to put those skills to the test…show me if all our lessons are sticking.”

he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, but there’s no hesitation this time, just a nod of agreement, “yeah, i think i’m ready…that girl from before, she’s here somewhere. wish me luck?”

you raise your cup in a mock toast, “luck’s for amateurs, you’ve got this. i’ll be watching from over there,” you point to a spot across the room and he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before slipping away. your eyes track him as he makes his way to the kitchen counter, spotting her right away. last time, he was all nerves, stumbling over words and avoiding her gaze. but tonight? dejun’s different. he leans in casually, posture open and confident, holding her eyes without a flicker of doubt. his smile draws her out and soon she’s giggling, her fingers grazing his arm as they talk.

a sharp twinge hits your chest, reminding you of the way his hands feel on your skin, but you push it aside, focusing on the pride bubbling up instead. this is what you wanted — to see him step out on his own, carrying the pieces he’s learned from you.

he catches your gaze then, across the sea of swaying bodies, his expression lighting up with that boyish triumph. he flashes a quick thumbs-up, all assurance and shared secret, before she tugs at his sleeve, pulling him somewhere more private. the moment he’s swallowed by the crowd, out of sight amid the grinding hips and flashing lights, you set your cup down on a nearby table. no lingering. you turn on your heel and head for the door, the cool night air hitting your face as you step outside — that mix of satisfaction and something deeper, sharper, chasing you into the dark.

꒷꒦

the door to the bathroom clicked shut behind xiaojun, the muffled thump of bass from the party fading into a dull hum. the girl, shuhua, whose name he learned just moments ago, pressed him against the wall, her lips crashing into his with eager insistence. confidence surged through him like a drug, all those late-night sessions with you clearly paying off. his hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer and she responded with a soft moan, fingers tangling in his shirt as she deepened the kiss.

it was easy. too easy. his body moved on autopilot, tongue slipping past her teeth, tasting the faint bitterness of her drink mixed with lip gloss. she arched into him, grinding her hips forward and he mirrored the motion, hands roaming up her back. the room spun a little from the alcohol buzzing in his veins — but there was no fire. no spark igniting in his gut. just mechanical rhythm, like reciting lines from a script he’d rehearsed a hundred times. she broke the kiss first, trailing her mouth down his jaw, nipping at his neck while her hands fumbled with his belt. he tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded but his mind drifted — this should feel electric. heart pounding, skin flushing hot, every nerve alight. instead, it was flat, like kissing one of his theater actors. no rush of blood to his cock, no desperate ache building low in his belly. nothing like the way his pulse hammered when you were the one in his arms, your voice whispering commands that made his whole world narrow to your touch.

her fingers hooked into his waistband, tugging his pants down in one swift pull, the fabric pooling at his thighs. cool air hit his skin and she dropped to her knees, eyes locked on his with that hungry gleam. her hand reached for his dick, soft and unmoving against his leg and something snapped inside him — this wasn’t right. it wasn’t your scent filling his lungs. it wasn’t your nails digging into his shoulder. it wasn’t your laugh echoing in his ears. and maybe this is the worst moment ever to come to this realization. but he can’t help it. the universe truly does work in mysterious ways. and he knows it with every fiber of his being — he liked you.

fuck. he liked you more than the word like could ever mean. he had fallen. hard and fast. tangled up in every lesson, every stolen glance, every smile, every laugh, every time you’d pushed him to the edge only to pull him back. this girl on her knees? she was just a test he didn’t want to pass.

“wait,” xiaojun said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. his hand caught her wrist gently but firmly, stopping her inches away. she froze, looking up with confusion twisting her features, “i…i can’t do this. i’m sorry.” her eyebrows narrowed, cheeks flushing red from embarrassment and anger. she yanked her hand back, standing up so fast, “what the hell? you drag me in here, get me all worked up and now you bail?! what’s your problem?!” he zipped up quickly, heat creeping up his neck as he avoided her glare, “it’s not you. i just….realized i don’t want this. not tonight.” she scoffed, smoothing her hair with jerky motions, ego bruised and voice sharp, “yeah, right. save it for someone who cares,” she stormed past him, slamming the door open and disappearing into the hallway, leaving the echo of her footsteps fading. xiaojun slumped against the wall, running a hand through his hair, the realization settling heavy in his chest — all he could think about was how badly he needed to find you.

꒷꒦

the fraternity party’s relentless pulse fades into the night as you make your way home. dejun’s laughter rings in your ears, bright and triumphant as he leans into that girl, his hand resting low on her back, fingers splayed possessively. it’s what you taught him to do, after all — claim space, exude confidence. but watching it play out twists something vicious in your chest, a hot surge of ownership you have no right to feel. he’s your project, your eager pupil, not your anything. you don’t linger for the fallout, clearing your head just enough to pull out your phone. winwin’s earlier messages glow on the screen: thinking about you. free tonight?

perfect. your thumbs fly across the keys.

y/n: come over :)

you hit send before doubt can creep in, walking back to your apartment. in a haze of streetlights, your mind replays dejun’s easy charm, the way his eyes had sought yours earlier, sparkling with that happy pride. by the time you unlock your door, the jealousy simmers low, a dull ache you plan to drown out.

winwin arrives, his knock soft and polite, a stark contrast to the chaos you left behind. he steps inside with that signature dimple smile. he’s the definition of a nice guy — tall, handsome, with a gentle charm that checks every box you once scribbled down. he has kind eyes that listen, hands that touch without demand, a steady presence that promises reliability. no grand gestures. just him, with a bottle of red wine and the words, “figured we could unwind,” he says, voice warm as he sets it on the coffee table. you grab two glasses as you settle on the couch, legs tucked under you, winwin pouring two generous measures. the first sip warms your throat, tart notes blooming on your tongue and as always, the conversation flows easy — his stories from the library, your complaints about classes, laughter punctuating the quiet stretches. its innocent and comfortable. the kind of evening that builds without pressure. he sits close but not too close, knees brushing occasionally, sending a subtle spark up your leg. another glass empties, then another, the room growing hazy around the edges, inhibitions loosening like the fabric of your skirt riding up your thighs.

the wine hits harder than expected, cheeks flushing as you lean into him, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch. his fingers trace idle patterns on your shoulder, light and exploratory and you turn, meeting his gaze. those kind eyes hold a question, patient, waiting for your lead. you close the distance, lips brushing his in a tentative kiss — soft at first, testing. but the alcohol makes you bolder, tongue slipping past to taste the wine on him. he responds with a low hum, hand cupping your jaw, deepening it slowly, no rush, just the gentle slide of mouths exploring. this is new. the first time hands wander beyond polite touches. it should be exciting. but it’s not. you blame it on the wine.

you shift, straddling his lap, the couch creaking under the movement as his palms settle on your hips, thumbs circling the expose skin above your waistband. the kiss breaks for air, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling hot and quick, “you sure?” he murmurs, voice roughened by desire but still laced with that inherent care, eyes searching yours for any hesitation. you nod, heart pounding, tugging at his shirt, the buttons giving way to reveal his chest. his skin is warm under your fingers, muscles tensing as you traced down to his belt. he helps, lifting his hips to shove his pants and boxers down, cock springing free. clothes come off in a lazy scramble, your top discarded, bra following, breasts spilling out to his eager mouth, hands slipping under your skirt to hook into your panties, pulling them off and stroking through your slick folds with careful pressure. the wine buzzes in your veins, blurring edges, making his touches feel amplified. he slides a finger inside you, then two, thrusting in a steady rhythm that has your walls clenching, hips bucking to chase more. but even as pleasure coils tight, your mind can’t help but drift — winwin’s precision is flawless, hitting spots with practiced ease, yet it lacks the raw unpredictability that dejun brings, that eager stumbles that turn into fervent discovery. winwin embodies everything you thought you wanted — attentive, respectful, the perfect partner who pauses to whisper, “you like that?,” his voice a soothing rumble. and yet, as his fingers curl deeper, thumb pressing your clit, you realize with a quiet jolt that those boxes don’t matter anymore. the height, the scent, the intelligence — they’re just lines on paper, fading against the vivid pull of someone else — dejun’s chaos, his unpolished fire, crowds your mind, making this perfection feel like a polite cage.

the orgasm sneaks up. winwin doesn’t stop, working you through it with gentle pumps. then he eases you back onto the couch, grabbing a condom from his wallet and wrapping himself up before positioning himself between your legs. your skirt hikes up fully as he lines his cock at your entrance, asking for your permission one last time. you wrap your legs around his waist in response, pulling him in and he sinks into you slowly. his hands brace on either side of your head, body hovering close as he starts thrusting — deep, measured strokes that grind against your sensitive spot. it’s intimate like this, face to face, his kind eyes locked on yours, breaths syncing with each push. you clutch his shoulders, nails digging as he picks up pace, hips snapping forward to bury himself fully. his mouth finds your neck while the other kneads your breast. the angle hits just right, his groans low and controlled, “you’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your ear, ever the gentleman even in the heat, praises slipping out between thrusts.

eventually, it tips you over, walls fluttering tight around his length as you cum again. he follows seconds later. you both laugh breathlessly, the sound light but hollow in your ears, wine glasses forgotten on the table. he holds you there a moment longer, softening inside before pulling out gently, tossing the condom in your trashcan, then shifts to lie beside you. he grabs his white button up, slipping you into it, the two of you shifting to lounge side by side. it’s cozy, effortless, the kind of night that should soothe. the kind of man that should have the butterflies erupting in your stomach. but everything feels distant, irrelevant — dejun’s on your mind. his messy enthusiasm eclipsing this flawless night, stirring a longing you can’t ignore. your eyelids grow heavy around 2:30a.m., the satisfaction feeling surface-level, overshadowed by the ghost of another man’s grin.

the knock jolts you awake, three firm taps echoing through the quiet apartment, sharp enough to scatter your drowsiness. winwin mumbles something incoherent, rubbing his eyes as you untangle from him. you pad to the door on bare feet, peeking through the peephole — dejun stands in the hallway’s harsh glow, jacket rumpled, hair tousled like he’s been pacing. his face is a mask of restraint but his eyes betray the storm, dark and searching. you ease the door open a crack, blocking the interior view, your heart thudding as you become very aware of winwin’s polo grazing your skin. the flush from your release still warms your cheeks and dejun clocks it instantly. his gaze rakes over you — the loose fabric, the tousled hair, the subtle scent of sex lingering. he knows the signs. hurt flickered in his expression, one he quickly buries.

“dejun?” your voice is hushed, threaded with concern and surprise. you lean into the frame, arms folding across your chest, which only draws the shirt tighter, “what are you doing here? it’s the middle of the night.” he rocks on his heels, hands jammed in his pockets, the faint buzz of the overhead lights underscoring the tension. sweat beads on his temple, breaths shallow, whatever drove him here — it’s urgent, unraveling him.

before he could answer, winwin’s voice drifts from the couch, warm and casual, “babe? you good out there?” the endearment lands like a slap, dejun’s posture going rigid. your pulse spikes, heat flooding your face from the exposure. you twist slightly, calling back lightly, “yeah, just a second — it’s just a friend!” then you step into the hall fully, shutting the door with a soft click that seals the divide.

“babe, huh?” dejun asks, trying his best to hide the jealousy in his tone, “i’m guessing it’s going really well?”

you force out a smile, “its…new,” you shrug, “but what about you? you seem…wrecked. what happened after i left?”

his eyes hold yours and for a split second, the facade crumbles, jealousy raw and exposed, mirroring your own from the party. he can smell the man on you, the strong cedar blending with your arousal. but he inhales sharply, forcing a grin that’s all teeth, no warmth, the staged smile cracking under the strain, “nothing bad. just…the party wrapped up and i nailed the flirting. she was all over it. laughed at my jokes, touched my arm. felt good, y’know? like i finally got it right.”

pride swells in you despite the undercurrent, a real smile breaking through as you step closer, “that’s awesome. tell me more….are you gonna see her again?”

he laughs but it’s strained. his gaze dipping to the polo’s neckline where it slips, revealing a hint of your collarbone. pretending doesn’t suit him — he tries to hide the effort in his clenched jaw, the subtle flex of his hands like he aches to pull you close. for an actor, this role is torture. he shakes his head, grin faltering, “i don’t know—maybe—but …it’s late and you’re obviously…busy. we can talk about it tomorrow. get back inside before you freeze,” he forces a smile, nodding towards your door.

guilt twists in your gut and you’re not even sure why. technically, you didn’t do anything wrong. you didn’t owe anyone any explanations, especially not the boy in front of you. but on instinct, before he could turn away to leave, you grasp his wrist, his skin feverish against yours, pulse racing under your fingers. it’s gentle, inviting, your eyes pleading, “wait. you came all this way — spill now. i want to hear it.”

he stills at your touch, his thumb grazing your knuckles in a fleeting stroke, stare intense enough to pin you. vulnerability surges through him, maybe he’ll confess the jealousy, the party’s hollow victory, how your absence gutted him. but instead, he withdraws slowly, that brittle smile reforming like a shield, “nah, it’s not that exciting. let’s talk tomorrow,” his tone stays level but the edge cuts, eyes tracing your throat where faint marks from winwins mouth was starting to show.

you didn’t want him to go. you’d rather spend the night listening to him talk than go back into your apartment. but instead you release him, nodding with a feigned ease, “okay. but text me first thing and you better not leave out any details.”

“promise,” he says softly, sending you one last smile before retreating, posture deflating as he turns. his footsteps recede down the corridor, swallowed by the building’s hum. you linger at the door, fingers on the knob, an empty pang settling deep. shaking it off. you reenter your apartment, winwin lounges on the couch, arms outstretched, his smile welcoming as you curl into him, cheeks into his chest, “everything okay?” he murmurs, hand stroking your hair with that innate kindness, ready to support without question. “yeah” you lie, nestling closer. winwin’s heartbeat is steady, comforting but as his touch roams idly, unease festers. the conversations were great, the sex was fine, orgasms delivered — but it was all bland. a checklist without fire. winwin’s perfection, his nice-guy reliability, once your ideal…now highlights the void. you don’t care about the boxes anymore. someone else is invading your thoughts, his imperfect sparks igniting what this safe harbor can’t.

🍯 NOVEMBER 9 – SILENCE 🍯

winwin leaves a little past noon. he stands in your doorway with his shoes tied and his hair still damp from the shower he took in your bathroom — your bathroom, your space, your morning light spilling over his shoulders like he belongs there. he doesn’t. not really. but he fits in clean, undemanding lines. he fits the way a perfectly drawn blueprint fits a building that hasn’t been built yet. predictable. safe. good on paper. he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, a gentle brush of lips that should make your heart flutter. it doesn’t.

“i had a good time,” he says, smiling that warm calm smile. you nod, polite, warm enough to not raise questions, cold enough to feel wrong in your own skin, “me too. text me when you get home.”

he gives your hand one last squeeze, then steps into the hallway. as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, the apartment deflates into heavy, suffocating silence. and your chest feels like its been scooped hollow. you try not to look at your phone. you fail. still no message from dejun. you inhale sharply through your nose and lock your phone with more force than necessary. you turn on the t.v., curl up on your couch and pretend the hollow ache in your ribs is something else entirely.

by 3p.m. you tell yourself you’re grabbing your phone to check the time. you know that’s a lie. the huge clock above you’re t.v. mocking you. and yet, your thumb unlocks the screen. still nothing. you stare for a moment too long, waiting for the notification banner that never appears. not even a ghost vibration. not even a stupid meme. you lock your phone, tossing it onto the couch like it was the one who offended you. you refuse to be that girl – the one who waits around for a boy to text her. so you busy yourself instead. you try to clean the kitchen. you try to run laundry. you try to find a show on neftlix. it lasts twenty minutes before the nervous tug in your chest grows unbearable. you pick up your phone again. still nothing. your jaw tightens. fine. whatever. you’re not chasing after a man.

but he said “promise.” he said it with a small, earnest smile, like he meant it. and the fact that he didn’t follow through gnaws at you in slow, patient bites. you sit cross-legged on the couch, thumb hovering over the keyboard while your heart beats too loudly in your ears, finally losing. you type something simple, a little comedic.

y/n: hey

y/n: where was the tea i was promised?

you stare at it for three full minutes before hitting send.

delivered.

the little status taunts you as you wait. five minutes. ten. thirty. the message stays exactly as it is. no read. no bubble. no reply. your stomach sinks. a stupid, ridiculous reaction. you know better. you’ve always known better. so you throw your phone aside and fold your arms as if physical stubbornness can override emotional hurt. it doesn’t. hours crawl by, the golden hour turning to blue. you cook dinner with his name in the back of your head. you shower wondering why it’s too quiet. your brain keeps circling the same thought like a moth drawn to dying flame — why isn’t he here?

you try to tell yourself it’s nothing. he’s busy. he forgot. he got distracted. except…he doesn’t forget things you ask him. he doesn’t get distracted when it comes to you. you’ve seen how he looks at you — sharp, attentive, always tuned in. so now….the silence feels intentional. you swallow hard, throat tightening around a truth you don’t want to name – this hurts. more than it should. more than you’re willing to admit to anyone, especially yourself. you sit on the edge of your bed later that night, the glow of your phone screen the only light in the room. still delivered. still unanswered. “fine,” you whisper into the dark, “let him disappear. i’m over it.”

꒷꒦

meanwhile on the other side of campus, dejun doesn’t get up right away. he lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, replaying last night in a loop so painful it borders on masochistic. the way he knocked desperately on your apartment door. the way winwin’s voice punched him right in the gut. the way his own heart had stopped, just for a second, before he forced himself to smile.

he swallows the memory like a pill too large to choke down. his phone buzzes beside him. your message. he sees the preview. his chest tightens. he doesn’t open it. he can’t stand the idea of reading your words while your necks till carries traces of winwin’s mouth. he can’t stand the thought of wanting you while imagining you curled into someone else’s chest. he knows he’s pathetic. he knows he’s avoiding the truth like a coward. he tells himself he’s protecting his heart. he tells himself he’s resetting boundaries. he tell himself anything except the truth — he’s terrified. he wants you too much. and it’s already too late.

🍯 NOVEMBER 10 – SHUHUA 🍯

dejun wakes up hating himself a little. hating the silence between you even more. so he picks the most avoidant solution imaginable — he texts shuhua. the girl he rejected. the girl he left flustered and embarrassed.

xiaojun: uh hey, this is xiaojun, i got your number from hendery

xiaojun: about the other night…i’m really sorry, i think the tequila was messing with me 😅

he stares at the ridiculous message. it’s a terrible excuse. he knows it. he hates himself for sending it. but he needs something to fill the void. he needs noise. chaos. distraction. anything except the hollow ache under his ribs. and shuhua responds almost instantly.

shuhua: LMAOOOO

shuhua: guys are dumb when they drink

shuhua: i’ll forgive you if you take me out for coffee later ;)

a normal person would decline. a rational person would decline. xiaojun is neither of those things right now. so he says sure. because it’s easier than facing the weight of what he actually wants.

he sits across from shuhua at the campus’ cafe. she’s bright, bold, funny. she tilts her head when she listens. she touches his wrist when she laughs. it should be easy. it should be everything he has always wanted. he tells himself: she’s into you. she likes you. it could be something. that should have been enough. except for one glaring truth — every time she smiles, he’s painfully aware it’s not your smile. he stirs his coffee until the ice melts into nothing. he thinks about texting you. he doesn’t.

🍯 NOVEMBER 11 - MIRROR 🍯

you wake with the dull ache of someone who didn’t really sleep. your phone is under your pillow. you don’t need to check it to know there were no new messages. at least, not from the person you wanted. and yet you still check — delivered. still. your stomach twists, not sharply this time, but the slow churn of something you refuse to label disappointment. fine. whatever. you told yourself you were over it. you told yourself he didn’t matter. he didn’t owe you anything. it’s not like you guys were actually friends. and maybe the lies sound truer the more often you repeat them. so you pull yourself out of bed and you move on with your day.

somewhere around 10 a.m. your phone buzzes — not the name you want.

winwin: good morning 🐥

winwin: lunch later?

your throat tightens inconveniently. you owe him nothing. you owe him something. you don’t know. but you do know this — he’s actually into you. so you say yes.

winwin takes you somewhere quiet, tucked between a flower shop and a stationary store. he orders for both of you, remembering your favorite drink without hesitation. he’s perfect, like always. he talks gently about his morning, about a stray cat he’s been feeding, about a book he thinks you might like. and you try. try so hard to be present. you nod. you smile. you laugh when you’re supposed to. but your chest feels too tight. winwin notices, of course he does.

“are you okay?,” he asks, brows softening and you hate how close you come to saying no. you hate how badly you want to spill everything into someone’s hands just to stop holding it alone. you settle on a lie that feels thin, “just tired.” he accepts it. he doesn’t push. his hand brushes yours — slow, comforting, careful and you let it stay. you let him reach for you. you let yourself lean an inch closer. you let yourself pretend, for a few minutes, that this could be enough. but your heart is quiet in your chest like it’s missing a beat it shouldn’t be missing.

꒷꒦

back in campus, xiaojun sits across from shuhua in the same cafe from yesterday. she’s dressed cutely, lip gloss on, hair pinned back, smile bright in a way that should work on him. and he’s trying, god, he’s trying, to let it mean something. he nods when she talks, he laughs when she nudges him, he lets her fingers brush his when she leans across the table to show him a photo.

on the outside, he looks normal. better, even. confident. on the inside? he’s miserable. he keeps hearing your voice. keeps replaying your message. keeps thinking of you with someone else. he forces another smile that feels wrong on his face. shuhua doesn’t notice. or maybe she chooses not to.

꒷꒦

winwin pays the bill before you even notice the waiter coming. he helps you with your coat. he walks you to the bus stop with your hands tucked into his pockets as he cast soft glances your way. you tell yourself it’s nice. you tell yourself you’re lucky. you tell yourself this is everything you used to want. you tell yourself so many things. but when he hugs you goodbye, your heart doesn’t lurch, your breath doesn’t catch, your skin doesn’t spark. it’s all pleasant, soft, safe — and heartbreakingly…empty.

when you step inside your apartment again, you check your phone. not because you’re waiting. just because. at least that’s what you’ve convinced yourself to think. still delivered. still unread. still no dejun. your throat tightens, “right,” you whisper to the quiet room, “it really doesn’t matter.” but your chest disagrees.

🍯 NOVEMBER 14 - FINAL EXAM 🍯

you don’t even see him coming. one second you’re walking down the aisle of the library, balancing a stack of returns against your chest, tote bag slipping down your arm and the next — you round the corner and collide with someone hard enough that the breath is knocked out of you. your shoulder hits solid warmth. his grip brushes your elbow as he instinctively tries to steady you. but it’s too late. the books go flying, scattering across the carpet in a chaotic tumble of paper and color, thumping loud enough that a student two tables over looks up sharply.

“shit–” your voice cracks on impact.

“oh fuck–sorry–” another voice answers, low, familiar, startled. you freeze. no. it can’t be. you crouch automatically, reaching for the nearest book. he does too. your hands collide, fingers brushing, your skin remembering him before your brain does — the warmth, the shiver, the electric little pause. you snatch your hand back, he does the same, almost like touching you burned. neither of you look up. your pulse is ridiculous and fluttering too fast, too high in your throat. you stack the books back into your tote with shaking hands, not daring to look at him, too focused on the mess, on the frantic need to do something with your hands. he picks up the last book slowly, almost reluctantly, like the moment represents something neither of you are ready to acknowledge. then he holds it out for you take, fingers grazing again.

finally, painfully, you both straighten to standing and then you look up — dejun. he goes still. you go still. the air between you shifts like one wrong move might shatter the entire week of silence into pieces you can’t sweep away. his eyes widen for a millisecond before he forces them into something neutral. he clears his throat once, too softly, “oh. hey.”

you swallow, “hey.” then the silence drops between you — thick, awkward, heavy with everything unsaid. you hug the book to your chest as if it might steady your pulse. he shoves his hands into his pockets like he doesn’t trust them not to reach out for you.

he forces a breathy laugh, “sorry about the…uh,” he gestures to the floor, to the chaos. he still doesn’t leave, but you sense it, the shift in his weight, the subtle lean of his body like he’s preparing to bolt at the first opening. except — you don’t let him. before he can retreat, you step a half foot closer.

“are you avoiding me?” your voice isn’t harsh or accusing, just tired and soft, the question has been sitting in your ribs for days.

he shakes his head immediately, too quickly, “i’m not.” you raise a brow. he tries again. “i’m not avoiding you, it’s just—” he hesitates. you watch the words gather on his tongue, watch him struggle to choose the least painful lie. then, finally, “well…remember the girl i was flirting with at the party?"

your stomach tightens, “i wouldn’t know,” you reply, tone even but sharpened at the edges, “you never came back to tell me how it went.”

the jab lands. you see it. you feel it. his expression falters for the first time. but instead of telling the truth, instead of saying i panicked, i only left because i saw you with him, you have no idea how badly i wanted to talk to you, to tell you — he reaches for a mask instead. a small, humorless laugh, “uh….yeah. well….everything went great.”

you feel it physically, a pinprick in your chest, “great,” you echo quietly.

he looks away, guilt flickering over his features before he drowns it, “yeah, i’ve been seeing her this week…which is why i haven’t been able to reply.”

the world goes very still. it’s a lie. you know it. he knows it. how hard is it to reply to a text message? we’re on our phones every second of the damn day. but he says it anyway and the words settle between you like alcohol on a fresh wound. you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing it hurt, so you breathe once, slow and deliberate and you say, “so…that’s it?”

he blinks, “what?”

your throat tightens but you keep your tone steady, except for the thin thread of sadness woven through it, “you finally have enough confidence to chat a girl up…to know how to be a good lover,” you say, eyes flicking to his, “and we just…never have to speak anymore?”

the reaction is immediate. his face collapses, just slightly, just enough, like you punched the air out of him. regret floods his eyes. and something else he’s terrified to name. he opens his mouth. no sound comes out. he tries again, “i just….i figured since you’re with winwin now and i have someone, maybe it’s best we stop?...our relationship isn’t exactly…appropriate.”

your chest twists, “i thought we were friends?” you whisper more to yourself than him but he hears it anyway. you hide the flicker of pain behind a soft shrug, “but no…you’re right.” the words hang there, cold and quiet. and then you double your mask, slipping into the familiar armor of humor. you force a light laugh, “well…this feels very anticlimactic…thought we’d be celebrating this day or something.” he forces one too, uneasy, thin. you keep going because if you don’t keep talking, you might actually feel something. “you know…i still need to test if what you’re saying is true. a teacher should make sure their student is actually good before completely letting go.”

his brows tighten, “i…don’t think another lesson is a good idea.”

you snort softly, “not a lesson,” you tilt your head, eyes narrowing with a teasing glint that hides the hurt underneath, “your final exam.”

his breath catches. you smile, wide sharp, too bright, “and anyway…you’re still my matchmaker, aren’t you? shouldn’t you at least see if i got the perfect match?”

he blinks, confused, “what….like, a double date?”

the idea lands between you. not gently. not cleanly. it drops like something fragile and dangerous, a glass ornament hitting the floor in slow motion. ridiculous. painful. dejun’s brows knit, confusion flickering his face, but underneath the hesitation, the defensiveness, the lie he told about shuhua, there’s something else trembling at the edges of his expression. fear. curiosity. want. all tangled together. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, starting at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking or if this is another test he’s destined to fail.

you shrug, casual, practiced, pretending your heart isn’t beating straight through your ribs, “yeah, exactly.” you watch the words sink in. you see the moment he realizes what you’re really saying — if you’re so sure we don’t matter, prove it. if you want to play lovers with someone else, do it in front of me. if we’re nothing, why does this hurt?

his throat bobs as he swallows. his fingers curl deeper into his pockets. he looks down at the floor for a breath, maybe two. when he lifts his gaze again, his eyes are guarded, warm in that complicated, wounded way when someone’s trying to pretend something isn’t tearing them open from the inside, “you’re serious?”

you nod, letting your smile grow sharp around the edges, “you said it yourself. you have someone now. i have someone now,” you tilt your head, “seems like the logical next step, right? the big finale.”

he flinches, so subtly, but enough that the air shifts again. and then something inside him settles. like he decides if this is the game you want to play, then he’ll play it. even if it kills him. even if it’s already killing him, “...okay.” the word is small. delicate. dangerous. “okay,” he says again, firmer this time, “a double date.”

your breath catches. and for a moment, just a moment, you both stand there in the quiet aisle of the library, surrounded by half-organized books and the ghost of the last five days, staring at each other like you’ve made a terrible mistake neither of you can undo. because the truth hangs between you, unspoken and too loud — this won’t fix anything. it won’t make the week of silence disappear. it won’t make the ache smaller. if anything, it will magnify it. rip it open. stretch it thin. force you both to look at the parts of yourselves you’ve been running from. and yet — dejun nods once. you nod back. and just like that, the double date is born. slow. messy. doomed.

🍯 NOVEMBER 15 - THE DOUBLE DATE 🍯

the restaurant’s ambient glow casted soft shadows across the table, the air thick with the scent of garlic and red wine. you’d been trading stories and laughs, but the undercurrent of tension simmered just beneath, your hand occasionally brushing winwin’s thigh under the table to emphasize your point about how “perfect” it all was.

across from you, dejun had been flawless — leaning in close to shuhua, his voice low and teasing as he complimented her laugh, her dress, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about cosmetology. every move screamed the lessons you’d poured into him — confidence, subtle touches, that magnetic pull that made her hang on his words.

shuhua took a bite of her dessert, a flaky pastry that crumbled slightly, leaving a tiny speck on her lower lip. she didn’t notice but dejun did. his gaze softened, and without hesitation, he reached across, his thumb gently brushing the crumb away. his touch lingered a second too long, intimate and tender, his eyes locking with hers as she blinked in surprise, then smiled, her cheeks flushing, “there,” he murmured, voice gently. your fork paused mid-air, a sharp pang twisting in your chest. the casual affection, the way his fingers had grazed her skin — it hit like a punch to your gut. pride in his progress warred with something raw and jealous, your boasts about winwin suddenly tasting like ash. you couldn’t sit there another second, watching him unravel everything you’d taught him on someone else.

“i need the bathroom,” you said abruptly, sliding out of the booth with a tight smile. winwin’s hands fell away from your shoulder, concern flickering in his eyes but you waved it off, “be right back.”

the hallway to the restrooms was dimly lit, the murmur of the dining room fading behind you. you pushed open the door to the single-occupancy bathroom, stepping inside and reaching for the lock — but before you could turn it, the door swung wider. dejun slipped in behind you, his presence filling the small space like a storm. he shut the door with a decisive click, locking it, his back against it as if to barricade the world outside.

you whirled around, heart slamming against your ribs, “what the hell, xiaojun? get out.”

he didn’t move, his chest heaving, eyes wild and desperate. nothing like the smooth charmer at the table. his hair was slightly mussed from running a hand through it and he looked every bit the mess you’d glimpsed in those vulnerable moments in between your lessons.

“i can’t do this,” he rasped, voice breaking on the words, his hands clenching at his sides like he was fighting to reach for you. your eyes widened, shock rippling though you, “what?”

he stepped closer, the confined space forcing you back against the sink, his body heat radiating off him in waves, “if you touch his thigh one more time, i’m gonna crash out. i swear, i can’t watch it.” his words tumbled out, raw and jagged, his gaze dropping to your lips, then back up, pleading.

“why?” you demanded, your voice barely above a whisper, pulse thundering in your ears.

“because!” he threw his hands up, frustrating etching lines on his face, his composure shattering bit by bit.

“because what?” you crossed your arms, stepping into his space, challenging him. you were tired of the ignoring, the ghosting, the silence that had left you chasing shadows. you needed it straight. you wanted to hear it out loud.

he laughed, a bitter, choked sound that didn’t reach his eyes, his hands finally moving to grip the edge of the sink on either side of you, caging you in without touching, “because i’m in love with you.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and electric. shock froze you, your breath caught, eyes searching his face for the lie, the joke. you’d braced for “like”, maybe a confession of a silly crush born from your tangled nights….but “love”?

you quirked a brow, skepticism sharpening your tone even as your heart raced, “don’t say things you don’t mean.”

dejun’s chuckle came again, darker this time, laced with self-loathing as he leaned in closer, “i can’t stop thinking about you. every second. kissing someone else feels wrong. seeing you with him makes me want to set myself on fire just to feel something that hurts less than this ache,” his voice cracked, eyes glistening with unshed tears, no more masks, just raw, aching need, “if this isn’t love, then what the hell is it? tell me, because i don’t know how to make it stop.”

the weight of his confession pressed against you, the air in the bathroom thick and humid, mirroring the storm raging inside. your back was still against the sink, his hands gripping the edges, but now his fingers loosened, one hand lifting slowly to cup your jaw gently, thumb brushing across your lower lip, soft and tentative, tracing the curve as if memorizing it.

“what is it, huh, honey?” he murmured, voice low and coaxing, his breath warm against your skin.

you held his gaze, refusing to melt under his touch, your chest rising and falling with the effort to keep your walls up, “you can’t call me that,” you said firmly, voice steady despite the tremor in your core, “not after you spent a week ignoring me then acting like everything’s perfect between you and her. i waited for you, xiaojun. i sat there like an idiot, checking my phone, wondering what the hell i did wrong.”

his expression crumpled, fading into something raw and remorseful. his thumb stilled on your lip, eyes desperately searching yours, “i’m sorry,” he whispered, the words cracking as he leaned in closer, “i’m so sorry. that night, the way you looked — i couldn’t handle it. it ripped me apart, thinking you were moving on…that i’d lost my chance before i even had one.” you didn’t answer. still processing it all. but then he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again, his hand still cradling your face, “tell me…do you like him? really like him?”

the question hung between you, vulnerable and piercing, each second of silence pinching his heart. your heart twisted — winwin was nice, steady, everything you’d thought you wanted. but here, trapped in this tiny space with dejun’s heat surrounding you, the truth clawed its way out. “he’s nice,” you admitted, your voice softening against your will, “perfect. even. but it doesn’t feel right. not like—”

you didn’t finish. couldn’t finish. because he caught the unspoken words, his eyes darkening with a mix of relief and hunger and before you could continue, his mouth crashed onto yours, desperate and claiming, lips moving with a fervor that stole your breath. you kissed him back just as fiercely, tongues tangling in a messy, heated dance, your hands fisting in his shirt as you poured all the frustration and longing into it. he tasted like the wine from dinner and something uniquely him.

his free hand slid down your body, bunching up the fabric of your skirt, fingers brazing the bare skin of your thighs before pushing your panties aside. the touch was electric, sending a jolt straight to your core, “not like this,” he finished for you against your lips, voice husky as he broke the kiss just long enough to nip at your bottom lip.

“dejun,” you breathed, half-protest, half-inviation, but your body betrayed you, arching into his touch as his fingers found your slick folds.

“tell me you don’t want this,” he whispered, capturing your mouth again in a slower, deeper kiss while his middle finger circled your entrance, teasing the heat there, “tell me to stop and i will…but god, i’ve missed touching you like this,” he pushed in slowly, one finger curling inside you, stroking that sensitive spot that made your knees buckle. you gasped into his mouth, the sound muffled as you kissed him harder, your hips bucking against his hand. he added a second finger, thrusting deeper, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm, deliberate circles that had you clenching around him. breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips to your ear, breath hot and ragged, “does he touch you like this?” he murmured, voice laced with jealousy and need, his fingers pumping faster, the wet sounds echoing obscenely in the small room as he claimed you with every stroke, “does he make you this wet, honey? make you forget everything else?”

your head fell back against the mirror, a moan slipping out as pleasure coiled tight in your belly but you pulled him back for another kiss, swallowing his groans as your tongues battled for dominance, “no,” you admitted between kisses, nails digging into his shoulders, “no one touches me like you do.”

he stilled for a heartbeat, his fingers buried deep inside you, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that pinned you in place. then slowly, he withdrew them, just enough to tease your entrance again, thumb circling your clit with agonizing precision, “then say it,” he demanded, voice rough and commanding, leaning in to capture your lips in a possessive kiss that left you breathless, thrusting his fingers back in hard, curling them against that spot that made your stars burst behind your eyelids, “say you’re mine. admit it, honey — tell me you’re all mine and no one else’s.”

you whimpered into his mouth, the words tumbling out as your body surrendered to the building pressure, “i’m yours,” you gasped, breaking the kiss to meet his gaze, the admission raw and freeding, “fuck, dejun, i’m yours.”

a triumphant groan rumbled from his chest and he rewarded you by pumping his fingers faster, scissoring them to stretch you wider, his thumb pressing relentless on your clit, “all mine,” he growled against your lips, sealing the words with another deep kiss, the pressure building until your thighs trembled, breaths coming in short, desperate pants mingled with the slick slide of your lips. all you could feel was him — his touch, his kisses, the raw confessions tangled with filthy praise, “that’s it, honey, grind on my fingers. fuck, you’re perfect — come for me, please….i need it,” and with a final curl of his fingers, you shattered, walls fluttering around his digits, your cry muffled against his mouth. he held you through it, slowing his movements but not stopping, drawing out every aftershock until you sagged against him.

he withdrew his fingers gently, bringing them to his lips to suck them clean, eyes locked on yours with unfiltered adoration. the afterglow lingered like a haze, your body humming from the release, breaths syncing in the quiet aftermath. dejun’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear. for a moment, neither of you spoke, just the soft rhythm of breathing filling the small space. his fingers traced lazy patters on your back, gentle and reassuring, as if anchoring you both to this fragile peace. you pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes — soft now, stripped of the earlier desperation, filled instead with a quiet hope, “we should get back,” you murmured. he nodded but his hand lingered on your waist, helping you smooth down your skirt with careful touches, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. you returned the favor, straightening his collar, brushing your fingers over the faint flush on his cheeks, wiping away a smudge of your lipstick from his lips with your thumb. it was intimate, these small acts, a silent promise woven into the mundane.

as you turned toward the door, his hand caught your wrist, fingers warm and firm, stopping you in your tracks, “you’ll end it with him, right?” his voice was low, vulnerable, eyes searching yours for the certainty he craved.

you scoffed lightly, an amused curve to your lips despite the weight of the question, “what do you think?” without waiting for his reply, you tugged him down, capturing his mouth in one last kiss — slow and deep, pouring all the unspoken assurances into it. his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache, his hand cupping your face as if savoring every second. when you finally broke away, the bathroom felt smaller, the air charged but resolved. you slipped out first, heart pounding as you made your way back to the table, dejun following a beat later to avoid suspicion. the restaurant's hum enveloped you again, the clink of glasses and murmur of conversations, a stark contrast to the intensity you'd left behind. winwin and shuhua were deep in discussion, heads bent close over some shared story, laughter bubbling between them—completely oblivious to the storm that had just passed. you slid into your seat beside winwin, the fabric of your skirt settling as you forced a casual expression.

he turned to you immediately, brow furrowing just a touch, “hey, what took so long? everything okay?” his concern was genuine, warm as always, but it twisted something inside you. you met his gaze, the apology already shining in your eyes —soft, regretful, a silent prelude to what was coming, “yeah…there was a long line,” you glanced at dejun one last time before leaning in closer, voice dropping, “can we talk outside? just you and me?”

winwin's smile faltered slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features, but he nodded without hesitation, ever the steady one, “of course. lead the way.”

the cool night air brushed against your skin as you stepped outside the restaurant with winwin, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft thud. the street was quieter here, away from the lively hum inside, lit by the warm glow of string lights draped over the entrance. you leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed loosely, searching for the right words while winwin stood facing you, his posture relaxed but attentive, hands tucked into his pockets. he tilted his head slightly, that gentle concern still in his eyes. “what's going on? you look like you've got something heavy on your mind.”

you took a breath, “winwin, i... i need to be honest with you,” the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. he nodded, urging you to go on. there’s never an easy way to end things. never an easy way to reject someone. so you just hit him with honesty.

“tonight…seeing xiaojun—it's made everything clear. i know this might be coming out of nowhere but i realized i have feelings for him….and i can't ignore them anymore — this, us... it's not fair to you. i thought maybe it could work, but it doesn't feel right.” you kept your voice steady, omitting the raw intensity of the bathroom, the confessions and touches that still lingered on your skin like a secret.

winwin's expression softened, no trace of anger or surprise twisting his features — just understanding, the kind that came so naturally to him. he nodded slowly, exhaling as if he'd sensed it coming, “i appreciate you telling me now, before things went further. really, thank you for that. it means a lot that you're being upfront,” his tone was sincere, laced with that unwavering kindness, like he was more concerned about your honesty than his own disappointment.

you stared at him, a wave of awe washing over you. how could someone handle this with such grace? “you're too nice, winwin. seriously. any girl would be so lucky to have you.”

he smiled then, a small, bittersweet curve of his lips, but you caught the flicker of pain in his eyes, the subtle shadow that dimmed the warmth for just a moment, “it's just not my time, i guess,” he said softly, shrugging as if to brush it off, though the words carried a quiet weight.

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, the apology slipping out, heavy with regret for the hurt you knew you were causing, even if he hid it well.

“no need,” he shook his head gently, “well, i’ll just head back in, pay for our dinner, and be on my way.”

but that didn't sit right with you — the idea of him footing the bill after everything felt like one more layer of unfairness. you reached out, touching his arm lightly, “no, please. let it be on me. i still owe you for ruining your shirt that first time we met, remember?”

a soft laugh escaped him, light and genuine, easing the tension between you for a brief second, “okay. thank you. i wish you the best—truly. it was nice to meet you,” then he extended his hand, and you shook it, his grip firm and warm, a final gesture of respect before he turned and walked away, his figure fading into the night with that same unhurried poise.

meanwhile, back at the table, xiaojun sat across from shuhua, the remnants of their untouched meal growing cold between them. the restaurant's ambient chatter filled the air, but the space around them felt thick with unspoken tension. he shifted in his seat, rubbing his palms against his thighs before finally meeting her eyes, “shuhua, i need to explain something,” he started, his voice low and steady, though his fingers drummed nervously on the tablecloth. she looked at him with a raised eyebrow and he took it as a sign to continue,

“that night at the party...when i left you like that? it wasn't random. i realized i had feelings for someone else,” he glanced at you from the window, shuhua following his line of vision, “and those feelings hit me hard…they never really went away, they've been here, building up, and tonight...i,” then he glanced back at her. he could almost see the puzzle piecing together in her brain, “i couldn't pretend anymore.'

shuhua's fork clattered against her plate, her eyes narrowing as the words sank in. her face flushed, a mix of betrayal and anger twisting her features, “you were the one who reached out to me,” her voice rose, sharp enough to draw a few glances from nearby tables, “you were the one who asked me out on this date.”

xiaojun winced, leaning forward, “i’m sorry. i thought i could move on, but—” before he could finish, shuhua's hand shot out, the slap landing across his cheek with a resounding crack that silenced their corner of the room. his head snapped to the side, the sting blooming hot and immediate. she stood abruptly, chair scraping back, her chest heaving, “you're a dick, xiaojun. you could’ve just left me alone. don’t ever contact me again.” then she stormed toward the exit, heels clicking furiously against the floor.

as you pushed through the door back into the restaurant, shuhua’s glare locked onto you like a laser — pure venom, accusatory and raw — before she shoved past and disappeared into the night. you spotted dejun at the counter, handing over his card to the cashier, his back to you. the red handprint on his cheek stood out starkly under the warm lighting, already starting to swell. he turned as the receipt printed, catching your eye with a rueful half-smile.

“i’m guessing she didn't take that very well,” you said, stepping closer, your gaze flicking to the mark.

he chuckled softly, “no, she didn't. how was winwin?'

you shrugged, the weight of the conversation outside still lingering but lighter now, “he was….nice. the usual.” without thinking, you reached for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his, “come on, let's ice that thing.” he squeezed your hand back, his smile widening into something genuine and relieved. you headed out of the restaurant together, the cool evening breeze greeting you as you stepped into the street, faces lit with matching grins that chased away the night's earlier shadows.

🍯 NOVEMBER 15 - I DON’T WANT TO RUSH 🍯

the door to your apartment clicks shut behind you, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing softly in the quiet space, dejun still holding the ice pack that you bought at the convenience store across the restaurant against his cheek. he kicks off his shoes haphazardly by the entryway, strides to your kitchen counter, and tossed it down your sink with a faint thud, the chill forgotten as his eyes lock onto yours.

in two quick steps, he's closing the distance, hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. his lips crash into yours, warm and insistent, tasting faintly of the mint he'd popped on the walk over, “i missed you,” he murmurs against your mouth, the words sweet and laced with that raw honesty you've come to crave. you smirk into the kiss, your hand rising to cup his cheek, still tender from the slap. your thumb brushes over the fading red mark, gentle but teasing.

“well, no one told you to go disappearing,” you say, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your voice light but pointed, “by the way,” you smile, warm eyes locked on his whispering a soft, “i love you, too.”

his grin spreads wide, lighting up his face like the city lights filtering through the window, “you don't have to say it just because i said it.”

you shake your head no, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, “you're right. i can’t stop thinking about you either. another guy's touch felt wrong—i just wanted to keep being with you, talking to you… even if I was left on delivered,” you tease.

he chuckles, the sound low and rumbling in his chest, vibrating against you, “i’'m never doing that again. that was the worst week of my life.” your laughter bubbles up, free and genuine, and he seizes the moment, leaning in to kiss you softly. his lips move slow, savoring, sending warmth pooling low in your belly. it’s tender, this exchange, no rush, just the two of you breathing each other in, the earlier chaos of the night melting away.

but the sweetness doesn't stay soft for long. his hands slide up your sides, thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts through your shirt, and you arch into him with a soft sigh. you back toward the hallway, lips locked, never breaking the connection as he follows, his body pressing you onward. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly to angle his head deeper, and he groans into your mouth, the sound hungry.

your bedroom door swings open. dejun’s mouth is on yours before you can catch your breath, his kisses turning languid, exploratory, lips brushing, tongues teasing without hurry. you melt into him, hands sliding under his shirt to feel the warm planes of his back, pulling him closer as you both ease toward your bed. he guides you down onto the mattress, his body following, settling between your legs with a careful weight that pins you just enough to spark heat, hips pressing forward in a slow, deliberate grind against your core. the rough denim of his jeans drags over your panties, the friction immediate and teasing, sending sparks up your spine. you gasp into his mouth, legs parting wider and he rocks again, harder this time, his cock straining through the fabric. it’s torturous, the barrier keeping everything just out of reach, building that ache deep in your belly as his movements stay unhurried, syncing with the deepening of your kiss.

he breaks off the kiss to trail kisses from your mouth to your jaw, nipping softly at the skin there, then down the column of your throat, deliberate and slow, his breath fanning hot over your pulse as he sucks a mark, making you arch into the grind of his hips. the pressure builds with every roll — his bulge catching your clit, making your thighs tremble as you soak through your underwear.

“honey, i really, really need you,” he whispers against your collarbone, voice rough with unspoken want, his hands framing your hips to hold you steady while he humps forward again, the motion pulling a low whine from your throat.

you tilt your head to meet his eyes, fingers threading through his hair, “you have me, dejun.” but his gaze is distant, stormy with something deeper than lust, vulnerability flickering in the way his brows furrow. he presses another kiss to the hollow of your throat, lips lingering as if drawing strength from you, all while his hips circles yours in a lazy rhythm, denim scraping deliciously against your swollen folds.

“are you scared?” you ask softly, your thumb stroking his cheek, even as you lift your hips to meet his next thrust, your bodies finding a shared pace that has sweat beading on his forehead.

he pauses, mouth hovering over the swell of your breast, exhaling shakily, “what if i can’t satisfy you?”

“you don’t have to worry about that,” you murmur, cupping his face to pull him up for a gentle kiss, reassuring him with the press of your lips, “we can take it at your pace.” his eyes soften, but the doubt lingers.

“why not?” his voice cracks just a little, eyes searching yours as he hovers above you, body tense with restraint.

“because it’s you,” you say simply, your hands slipping down to tug at his shirt, urging it up and over his head. he lets you, tossing it aside, and then his fingers are at the hem of your top, lifting it slowly, exposing inch by inch of your skin to the cool air, leaving you in your bra. he stares for a moment, breath hitching, before leaning down to kiss the exposed curve of your shoulder, then your arm, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. his hands follow, palms gliding over your sides. he hooks his fingers into your bra straps, sliding them down your shoulders with agonizing slowness, his lips mapping every newly bared spot. when he reaches around to unclasp the bra, it falls away. he doesn’t rush. instead, he cups one breast in his hand, thumb circling your nipple until hardened under his touch. his mouth follows, tongue flicking out to lap at the peak, soft and teasing at first, then closing his lips around it to suck gently.

you gasp, fingers lightly gripping his hair as pleasure sparks through you, slow building like a simmer, amplified by the persistent drag of his jeans against your soaked panties. he switches sides, giving the other nipple the same attention, licking flat and broad then pinching lightly between his fingers while he sucks, drawing out whimpers you can’t hold back. his free hand roams lower, sliding up your skirt and cupping a cheek.

“let’s get this off,” he murmurs against your skin, voice husky, as his hands work your skirt and underwear down your legs, leaving you bare. his clothed cock presses directly against your pussy, and he rocks forward once, experimentally, the rough denim scrapes deliciously over your slick folds, his cock throbbing through the fabric, so close yet still held back by that last barrier. you reach up, cupping his face in both hands, thumbs brushing the sharp line of his jaw to ground him, to pull him back from the edge of his doubts.

“dejun,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady, eyes locking onto his stormy ones, “it doesn’t have to be perfect. it just has to be us. right here, like this.”

his breath hitches, he swallows hard, forehead creasing over as he searches your face, “but…i’ve only done this once. and it was nothing. quick, awkward, i didn’t even know what i was doing. what if i’m still that guy? what if i mess this up for you?” his voice cracks on the last word.

you shake your head gently, fingers trailing down to his neck, feeling the rapid flutter of his pulse, “hey, stop. that one time doesn’t define you. this is different. you’re different with me.” his eyes flutter shut briefly, and you continue trying to reassure him, “we can stop if you want but first tell me what you’re feeling.”

he exhales shakily, leaning down to press his lips to your collarbone, kissing the skin there softly before murmuring against it, “scared. excited. like my heart’s gonna burst if i don’t get this right,” his hand slides up your side, palm warm and tentative as he cups your breast again, thumb circling the nipple he’d been sucking earlier, now red and sensitive from his attention, a soft moan slipping from your lips.

“you’re already getting it right,” you breath, your hand covering his on your breast, guiding him to squeeze a little firmer, “feel how wet i am? that’s because of you, dejun. the way you’re taking your time, touching me like you can’t get enough.”

“really?” he asks, voice small, almost boyish, as he lifts his head to meet your gaze again, “i keep thinking about how you helped me before, all those tips…but this doesn’t feel like practice. it feels…real.”

you smile up at him, pulling him down for a slow kiss, tongues sliding lazily as your legs wrap tighter around his waist, “that’s because this isn’t practice,” you murmur when you break apart, nipping at his lower lip, “it’s just us figuring it out together. no tips. no lessons. just what feels good. what do you want right now?”

he hesitates, cheeks flushing deeper as he grinds down, the wet patch on his jeans darkening with your arousal, “i want to feel you,” he says, voice rough and low, eyes darkening with need, “all of you.”

“then let’s start by taking this off,” you smile softly, your fingers unbuttoning his jeans. he lifts his hips to help, shoving the denim down his thighs along with his boxers in one hurried motion. his cock springs free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening with pre-cum, bobbing against his stomach as he kicks the clothes aside. the sight of him fully exposed like this — vulnerable, eager, his chest rising and falling rapidly, makes your core clench with anticipation. you glance up at him, hand hovering near his length but not quite touching yet, “do you have a condom?”

dejun nods softly, his face turning an even deeper shade of red as he fumbles for his wallet tucked in the back pocket of his jeans now on the floor, pulling out a foil packet with trembling fingers, “yeah, i…here,” he hands it over, avoiding your eyes for second, then muttered, “i have no idea if that’s still good.”

you laugh lightly, the sound easing some of the tension in his shoulders as you turn the packet over, checking the expiration date, “you’re good,” you assure him, tearing it open, “there’s still a month left,” you smirk, making him chuckle in response.

“can i put it on for you?” you ask. he nods in response and you rolled the condom onto his shaft, gripping him firmly and sliding the latex down inch by inch, feeling the heat of him pulse under your palm. he hisses sharply at the contact, hips jerking forward involuntarily, his hands fisting the sheets on either side of you.

“fuck,” he breathes, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before locking onto yours again, wide with a mix of nerves and desire. you guide him toward you then, positioning his body between your spread thighs, one hand on his hip to steady him while the other wraps around his covered cock, aligning the tip with your entrance. your pussy is soaked, slicked from all the grinding and his head nudges against your folds, parting them slightly. you look up at him for one last confirmation, searching his face — his brows furrowed, lips parted, that raw vulnerability shining through.

“just push in when you’re ready,” you whisper, your voice gentle but encouraging, thumb stroking soothing circles on his hip.

dejun swallows hard, nodding as he braces one arm beside your head, the other hand reaching down to grip your thigh, holding it open wider, “okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than you, his breath hitching as he shifts forward. his tip presses in slowly, stretching your walls with a delicious burn and you both moan at the feeling of him sinking into your tight heat for the first time, inch by inch. his eyes flutter shut, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, filling you completely.

“oh, god,” he pants, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder, body trembling above you, “you feel….so good. so warm around me. is this…am i hurting you?”

you shake your head, wrapping your arms around his back, nails lightly scraping down his spine to pull him closer, “no, dejun, it feels amazing. just…stay still for a second. let us both feel it.” your pussy flutters around him instinctively, drawing another hiss from his lips, and he buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as if grounding himself.

after a beat, he lifts his head, searching your eyes again, his own filled with that boyish uncertainty mixed with growing confidence, “what now? do i….move? tell me how it feels for you. i don’t want to rush.”

“move when it feels right,” you reply softly, rocking your hips up just a little to test the waters, the motion making his cock slide deeper before pulling back slightly. he mirrors it tentatively, a shallow thrust that has you moaning low in your throat, your pussy clenching around him in response, “like that — slow at first. yeah, just like that. god, you fill me up so well.”

his thrusts gain a subtle rhythm, each one drawing out shared breaths and soft sounds, “does it feel good for you, too?” he asks between pants.

“it feels really good,” you assure him, meeting his next thrust with your own, the slap of skin growing wetter as your arousal coats him, “you’re doing so good, dejun. keep talking to me — tell me what you’re thinking.”

he groans, pace quickening just a fraction, his free hand intertwining with yours as he guides it by your head, squeezing as he drives in deeper, “i’m thinking…i never want this to end. the way you squeeze me…it’s like you're pulling me in. fuck, i can feel every inch of you gripping me—am i going too fast?”

“no, keep going,” you gasp, legs locking around his waist to urge him on, the coil in your belly tightening with each push. he rolled his hips experimentally, the head of his cock nudging different spots inside you until suddenly, on one upward tilt, he hit that perfect angle. it grazes your g-spot, sending a jolt of pleasure ripping through your core, stealing your breath, back arching off the bed as a gasp escapes you.

“oh fuck, dejun—right there,” you manage, voice breaking, and he freezes for a split second, realization dawning on his face before he does it again, deliberately angling his hips to hit that same spot. his tempo picks up, steady, pulling out almost to the tip then thrusting in deep, grinding against that sensitive spot with each pass. the slap of his hips against yours grows louder, wetter, your pussy sucking him in greedily and he groans low, sweat beading on his forehead as he watches your face twist in ecstasy.

“you’re so tight,” he pants, his free hand sliding down to your hip, fingers digging in as he holds you steady for his thrusts, “i can feel you clenching around me,” his pace quickens just a notch, that angle making your breaths come in short, desperate bursts. he’s finding it now, the tempo that syncs with your body’s responses — the way your walls grip him tighter when he hits deep, the soft whimpers you let out that spur him on.

but his rhythm falters slightly, thrusts turning erratic as his own pleasure builds, face contorting with the effort to hold back, “i’m not gonna last long,” he confesses, voice raw and pleading, eyes locked on yours with that vulnerable intensity, “please, please come with me. i want to feel you clench around me when you do.”

“okay,” you manage to whisper in between soft moans, nodding quickly, your hand slipping down between your bodies without hesitation. your fingers find your clit, swollen and slick from everything and you start rubbing firm circles, the added pressure making your pussy tighten even more around his pounding cock, pushing you closer fast, heat coiling tight in your belly.

dejun watches, mesmerized, his thrusts slowing to a deep grind as his gaze drops to where your hand moves, then flicks back to your face, “that’s…so hot,” he breathes, hips jerking forward despite himself, chasing the sight of you touching yourself for him. his cock throbs inside you, the condom doing little to hide how close he is but he grits how teeth, forcing himself to hold on, matching your pace. the pressure builds unbearably, your circles quickening as his cock fills you over and over, the angle stealing breath after breath until you’re gasping, body trembling beneath him, “dejun—i’m close, don’t stop,” you urge and he nods frantically, sweat dripping from his brows onto your chest as he drives in deeper. his hand comes down to cover yours briefly, pressing it firmer against your clit and it hits you — the orgasm crashing through you like a wave, your pussy spasming hard around his cock, milking him with rhythmic squeezes as you cry out his name, “dejun—fuck, yes!,” your vision blurs, thighs shaking, eyes rolling back.

that does it for him — “oh, god, fuck—” he groans loud, hips stuttering as he thrusts once, twice more, then stills, cock pulsing as he comes hard inside the condom, filling it with spurts, his knuckles gripping the sheets white. he gasps, collapsing forward on his elbows to avoid crushing you, his face buried in your neck as aftershocks ripple through both of you. he stays there, panting against your skin, his softening cock still twitching inside your fluttering walls, the intimacy of the shared release wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

after a long moment, he lifts his head, eyes soft and sated, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and whispering, “i love you.” you whisper it back, soft but certain, sealing it with a soft kiss.

your body is still humming with the echoes of release, muscles loose and warm as dejun’s weight presses against you. he shifts slightly, propping himself up one elbow to look at you, a shy smile tugging at his lips, “now i understand why every guy i know is pussy whipped for their girlfriends,” he jokes, thumb brushing your jawline in a feather-light tough. you laugh, the sound light and bubbling up from your chest, easing the last remnants of tension between you. he chuckles too, the vibration rumbling through his body into yours, his free hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. the moment feels easy, playful, like the vulnerability from before has melted into something shared and sweet.

slowly, he eases back, pulling out. the condom clinging to his spent cock. you reach down, fingers gentle as you grasp him, rolling the warm latex off him carefully, “careful there,” he murmurs, voice husky and low, a hint of amusement in his tone as he watches your hand work, “don’t want to make a mess.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” you smile up at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before tossing it into the trash bin beside your nightstand. he watches you with that same soft gaze, a faint blush creeping back up on his neck. you grab a tissue from your nightstand, wiping him down with unhurried strokes along his length and thighs. he sighs contentedly, grabbing another tissue and returning the care by dabbing gently between your legs, his touch light and attentive, drawing a quiet hum from your lips. once done, he discards the tissues, pulling the rumpled sheets over both of you and drawing you close against his side. you curl into him, head resting on his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you as his arm drapes around your shoulders, fingers idly tracing circles on your skin. the room quiets, wrapped in the warmth of each other and sleep tugs you under together, limbs entwined in peaceful surrender.

🍯 NOVEMBER 16 - BREAKFAST 🍯

sunlight filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the rumpled sheets as you stir awake. the bed feels too empty beside you, dejun’s side cool and untouched, but the sweet, buttery scent of pancakes wafts from the kitchen, pulling a sleepy smile to your lips. no confusion this time — just a quiet certainty that he’s still here.

you slip out of bed, pulling on his oversized shirt that hangs loose over your thighs, the fabric soft against your skin. then you pad down the short hallway, the aroma growing stronger. there he is — standing at the counter, humming a soft tune under his breath, as he plates a stack of golden pancakes, drizzling syrup with careful focus. without a word, you step up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a gentle back hug, your cheeks pressing against the warmth of his shoulder blade. he pauses, his body relaxing into your hold and tilts his head just enough to press a kiss to your temple, “good morning,” he whispers, voice bright with a tender edge that makes your chest flutter. you sigh in content, nuzzling closer, “you know, as much as i love breakfast in the morning, i would really like to wake up with you next to me.”

he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through him and sets the spatula down before turning in your embrace. his arms slide around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hands splaying warm across your lower back, “i’ll keep that in mind,” he murmurs, eyes crinkling with a shy smile that still holds a hint of last night’s vulnerability. then he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s soft and slow, unhurried like the morning itself. his mouth moves against yours with a gentle pressure, tasting faintly of coffee and you melt into it, your fingers curling around his neck.

the kiss deepens naturally, tongues brushing together lazily, the lingering tension from the night before sparking back to life — a low hum of need that neither of you has fully shaken. dejun’s hands tighten on your hips, drawing you nearer until you’re pressed between the counter and his body, the heat of him seeping through the thin layers of clothing. you tilt your head, parting your lips wider as the kiss grows hungrier, breaths mingling in soft gasps. the pancakes sit forgotten on the plate as the makeout session builds, bodies shifting cloer, the air between you thickening with that electric pull. you arch into him, one leg hooking around his thigh to pull him closer, feeling the hard line of his cock straining against his boxers, grinding subtly against your core through the thin barrier of his shirt on your skin. his hands cups your ass, squeezing firmly and a low whine rumbles from your chest into his, the air growing thick with the scent of arousal.

but then dejun pulls back abruptly, his breath coming in short pants, forehead resting against yours as he squeezes his eyes shut, “honey, wait,” he murmurs, voice strained, like he’s fighting every instinct to keep going. you blink up at him, concern flickering though the haze of want, “is everything okay?”

he opens his eyes, that shy smile breaking through, cheeks flushing a soft pink as he rubrics the back of his neck, “i just…don’t have another condom.” a laugh bubbles out of you, light and surprised, easing the tension just enough to make him chuckle too, though his gaze drops to your lips, “i swear i’ll go buy three boxers right after breakfast,” he adds, his tone turning silly, brows waggling in mock seriousness.

you laugh harder, shaking your head, “you’re a freak, dejun.”

he quirks a brow, leaning in closer, his hands still firm on your waist, “it’s not my fault my girl’s beautiful and i’m obsessed with her.”

you slap his chest playfully, rolling your eyes even as a smile tugs at your lips, warmth spreading through you at his words, “god, i forgot you’re a hopeless romantic.”

he laughs, the sound bright and genuine, pulling you tighter, “too much?”

you shake your head no, biting you lip, “no…i like it.”

the words make his heart flutter before crashing his mouth against yours again, smiling into the kiss, the heat surging back tenfold. then it turned demanding, teeth nipping at your lower lip as his hand slips higher under the shirt. you break away first this time, gasping for air, your hands on his shoulders to create some space, “okay, okay…we should probably eat.”

“we will,” he replies, stealing another quick kiss, his lips lingering, “but i want something else right now.”

you raise a brow, smirking, “you’re not hitting it raw, dejun. i’m too scared of teenage pregnancy.”

he bursts out laughing, head tipping back, the sound filling the kitchen, “honey…we’re in our twenties.”

you laugh too, “exactly.”

his expression shifts, playful heat darkening his eyes as he steps closer, voice dropping low, “we don’t need condoms for what i want to do,” he winks and before you can reply, his hands grip your thighs, hoisting you up onto the cool granite of the kitchen counter with effortless strength. the shirt rides up, exposing your bare pussy to the air and he’s spreading your thighs wide with firm hands.

dejun’s gaze locks on your folds, already slick and glistening and he licks his lips, a hungry groan escaping him, “fuck, look at you,” he breathes, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then higher, his breath hot against your clit. his tongue flicks out tentatively at first, tracing the length of your slit from the entrance to your clit, lapping up your wetness with a slow, deliberate stroke that makes your hips buck. you thread your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly as he dives deeper, mouth sealing over your pussy. his tongue circles your clit firmly, sucking gently, the pleasure coiling tight in your core. you moan, head falling back against the cabinet. dejun’s hands hold your thighs open, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he eats you out like he’s starved. he hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine and one hand slides up to pinch your nipple through the shirt, rolling it between his fingers. your breaths come in sharp gasps, pussy clenching around nothing as he works you higher, tongue flicking faster, relentless, “dejun…oh god,” you whimper, grinding against his face, chasing the edge, your grip on his head tightening. he doesn’t let up, nose bumping your clit as his tongue continues to fuck you with quick, deep thrusts while his thumb takes over rubbing circles on your swollen nub. the pressure builds unbearably, your thighs trembling around his head and with a cry, your orgasm crashes through you — hard and fast, walls fluttering as waves of pleasure rip from your core, juices flooding his mouth. dejun laps it all up greedily, moaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, drawing out your climax until you’re shuddering, oversensitive and spent.

finally, he pulls back, lips shiny with your release, chin glistening as he looks up at you with those dark, satisfied eyes. he rises slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning in to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you notice his hard cock pressing insistently against your thigh, your hands trailing down his abs to his member — then pulling away, you smirk at him, hand wrapping around him, “the pancakes can wait a little longer.”

🍯 NOVEMBER 17 - WHERE IT ALL STARTED 🍯

dejun 🦖🩷: hi my honey

dejun 🦖🩷: meet me at the abandoned film wing tonight…8pm?

my honey 🐝❤️: don’t tell me

my honey 🐝❤️: was this all an elaborate plan for my murder?

dejun 🦖🩷: guess you’ll just have to find out ;)

the day drags on with classes and errands but anticipation simmers under your skin and by evening, you slip into a simple skirt and top as you make your way to the old film building. the last time you were here, it was all dust and shadows, the air chill and forgotten. you push open the creaky door, bracing for the same emptiness — but warmth greets you instead, flickering candlelight dances across the walls, casting soft glows on stacked books and scattered petals.

dejun stands by the table in the center, dressed in a black button-up that hugs his shoulders, holding a bouquet that's half flowers, half books. mystery and crime novels mixed with vibrant blooms. you step closer, a laugh escaping as you recognize the titles.

“what’s all this?” you ask, your voice echoing softly in the transformed space.

“thought we could go back to where it all started,” he says, his eyes locking on yours with pure adoration, voice low and sincere. he steps forward, offering the bouquet, “and i want to ask you something.”

you grab the bouquet from him, a flicker of confusion in your eyes, “what is it?”

“will you be my girlfriend?”

the words hit you like a like a quiet thunder, simple yet profound — you’ve never heard them directed at you before, not like this, wrapped in candlelight and intention. awe blooms in your chest and you tilt your head, hiding the smile begging to burst free, “i thought i already was?”

“yeah,” he murmurs, closing the distance to pull you gently against him, a smile on his lips, his hands settling on your waist, “you are…but i wanted to ask you properly.”

you lean in, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss, smiling into the warmth of it, the faint scent of his cologne, now your favorite scent, mixing with the wax from the candles, “i would love to be your girlfriend.”

“good,” he breathes, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss. he grabs the bouquet, placing them on the table as he pulls you closer. your hands roam up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt and he groans softly, nipping at your bottom lip.

but you pull back just enough, breath ragged, eyes gleaming, “were you able to buy condoms?”

he laughs, the sound rich and amused, fishing into his pocket for his wallet. he slides the foil packet between two fingers, holding it up like a card, “fresh from the store.”

“good,” you smirk, yanking him back by his collar for a deeper kiss, all teeth and tongue, body arching into his. dejun’s hands grip your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the cool silver table, the metal smooth under your skirt as it hikes up. he steps between your legs, kissing down your neck, sucking marks into your skin while his fingers work the buttons of your top open, exposing your bra. you shrug it off and he unhooks the clasp with a flick, mouth descending to suck on your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardening peak as you gasp, threading fingers through his hair.

your hands fumble with his belt, unzipping his pants to free his cock, already hardening and throbbing in your palm. you stroke him firmly, thumb circling the slick head and he hisses against your breast, hips bucking, “fuck, honey,” he mutters, pulling back to shove your skirt higher. he rips open the condom packet, rolling it on with steady hands, confidence in every motion, then he tugs your panties to the side, aligning his tip at your entrance, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

he pushes in, slow at first, both of your moaning at the stretch, “god, you’re so wet for me already,” he groans, bottoming out, “feels even better than last time.”

you wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him faster, “dejun, move—please, i need you deeper,” you whine, nails scraping his back as he starts thrusting, measured and deep, savoring the drag of your heat around him. he's less nervous now, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's powerful, unrelenting, the table creaking under the force, “like this? tell me how it feels,” he pants, voice rough, leaning down to capture your mouth in a messy kiss, swallowing your gasps.

“so good—fuck, right there, don’t stop,” you moan into his lips, rocking against him, your clit rubbing against his base with every thurst, the heat building sharp and fast, “you’re hitting it perfect, dejun — harder.”

he obliges, pace quickening, hands bracing tightly on your hips, eyes locked on yours, dark with lust but softened by adoration, “you’re mine now, all mine — say it,” he demands between grunts.

“yours, dejun—only yours,” you cry out, the words pushing you closer. he reaches between you, fingers finding your clit to rub tight circles and you buck wildly, “fuck—i’m close, so close.”

“cum for me, honey,” he growls, thrusts turning erratic, the wet slap of skin echoing in the candlelit room as you clench around him impossibly tight, thighs trembling, juices soaking his cock, “that’s it, fuck—good girl, so beautiful when you come.” he follows seconds later, groaning your name as he buries deep, cock twitching with release, filling the condom. he gasps, riding it out with shallow thrusts, prolonging the bliss until you’re both spent, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.

“my girlfriend,” he whispers, voice husky, wrapping you in his arms as the candles flicker on, the night wrapping around you.

🍯 DECEMBER 1 - THE STUDENT HAS SURPASSED HIS MASTER 🍯

two weeks have slipped by in a blur of shared glances, late-night confession, and the kind of closeness that feels like home. dejun's gotten under your skin in the best way — he notices the flicker of doubt in your eyes before you even voice it, pulling you close with a quiet “we'll figure it out” that makes staying feel natural, not forced. you’ve both been navigating this relationship like it's a new language, stumbling sometimes but always circling back to each other, stronger for it.

you're sprawled on the living room floor, textbooks splayed around you like a battlefield, highlighters scattered amid the chaos of final exam prep. dejun's been holed up in your bedroom for the last hour, probably scrolling on his phone or napping, as he usually does after his own classes. but then the door creaks open, and he bursts in with that boyish energy that always pulls a smile from you, “honey… guess what i found,” he says, voice laced with mischief.

you don't look up right away, pen scratching across your notebook as you murmur, “what?”

“this,” he dangles the silver handcuffs from his fingers, the metal glinting in the light.

you glance up then, a teasing smile curving your lips, “oh… forgot i had those.”

he smirks, sauntering toward you with purpose, his eyes darkening with intent, “you should take a break… all that studying can't be good for your mind,” dropping down behind you on the couch, his thighs bracketing your sides as he leans in, lips brushing feather-light kisses along your shoulders, exposed by your loose tank top.

“hmmm, and what should i do during my break?' you tease, tilting your head to give him better access, a shiver racing down your spine at the warmth of his mouth.

“hmmm,” he hums against your skin, nipping gently before his hand captures yours. the cool click of the cuff locks around your wrist, sending a thrill straight to your core, “i think we should have some fun.”

you watch him, a small smile playing on your face, that familiar tingle blooming low in your stomach as he shifts to kneel in front of you, “yeah?”

“yeah,” he echoes, voice dropping husky as he guides your cuffed hand behind your back, securing the other wrist with a decisive snap. the position arches your chest slightly, your arms pinned behind you, leaving you exposed and eager under his gaze. he pauses, searching your eyes for that spark of consent. you lean in first, capturing his lips in a soft kiss that quickly turns heated — all tongue and tasting like the faint mint from his gum. you moan quietly into his mouth, pressing closer, the restraint heightening every sensation.

dejun breaks the kiss with a groan, his hands roaming your sides, thumbs grazing your breasts through your top, “god, you look so fucking hot like this,” he murmurs, voice rough with want. his fingers bunch the fabric of your tank top upward, twisting it just enough to expose your breasts without pulling it off — the cuffs making that impossible.

you're trapped between his solid body and the body of the couch behind you, pressing into your spine as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin. he captures one nipple between his lips, sucking firmly while his tongue swirls the hardened peak, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh in a way that sends jolts straight to your core.

“fuck, so perfect,” he growls, switching to the other side, pinching the wet one with his fingers to keep the sting alive. his mouth works relentlessly, alternating between deep sucks that pull your nipple taut and light flicks of his tongue that make your thighs clench. you can only arch into his touch, your breaths coming in sharp gasps as heat pools low in your belly.

“dejun—” you whimper, voice breaking as the sharp tug of his teeth makes your hips buck involuntarily. the way he’s fixated on your chest, like nothing else exists, has your skin flushing hot, every nerve ending alive and begging for more.

he rolls the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting gently at first, then harder, matching the rhythm of his sucking on the other, “love how they perk up for me,” he whispers, his voice vibrating against your chest, sending fresh sparks through you.

you gasp sharply, back bowing off the couch, “that—feels so good,” you manage, your words tumbling out in a rush, the ache between your legs growing insistent but untouched. his eyes flick up to meet yours, dark with hunger and he hums in approval before pulling back just to blow a cool stream of air over the slick, peaked bud, “you’re getting so worked up already,” he murmurs, his fingers now circling the base of your breast, squeezing to push the sensitive bud deeper into his mouth. he sucks harder, alternating with soft bites that make you whine, your thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the building throb.

“please…don’t stop,” you beg, your voice husky, the cuffs digging into your wrists as you strain against them, desperate to touch him, to hold his head closer. the helplessness amping up the intensity, every swirl of his tongue feeling like it’s stoking a fire low in your gut.

“not stopping until you fall apart for me,” he promises, his tone rough and commanding, “wanna make you cum just like this,” he switches sides again, drawing a cry from your lips, tongue flattening to lap broad strokes before pinching it between his teeth and tugging lightly. the pull sends a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your breaths ragged, body trembling as the coil tightens slowly.

“dejun…i’m close,” you confess, your cheeks burning with the admission. he doubles down, one hand squeezing your breast while the other tweaks and rolls the free one in tight circles, “i know, honey…i can feel you shaking,” he rasps, nipping harder now, the edge of pain blending seamlessly with pleasure. your muscles tense, breaths hitching as the pressure mounts, making your pussy clench with need, “i’m—fuck—dejun,” you pant, head falling back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut, every pull and pinch echoing deep inside, coiling together until your body seizes, a small orgasm ripping through you.

dejun doesn’t let up right away, easing his mouth into softer licks as he watches you tremble through the aftershocks, his eyes dark and satisfied when he finally pulls back, “we’re just getting started,” he murmurs, voice low and edged with promise.

before you can catch your breath from the lingering pulses in your chest, his hands grip your waist, lifting you effortlessly off the floor and tossing you onto your back on the couch. the sudden shift makes your head spin, the cuffs clinking as your bound arms hit the fabric behind you, leaving you splayed out and exposed. he kneels between your legs, confidence radiating from him after all the time spent mapping your body — the lessons turning into instinct, his touches no longer hesitant but sure and demanding.

“so fucking pretty,” he says, smirking as his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, finally yanking them down your thighs in one smooth pull. the cool air hits your slick pussy, making you gasp, but the handcuffs keep your hands pinned uselessly, forcing you to submit to whatever he wants next. he tosses the clothes aside, spreading your knees wide with his palms, his gaze fixed on your glistening folds, swollen and sensitive from the earlier tease.

“dejun... stop teasing—please,” you breathe, your voice a mix of plea and anticipation, hips twitching as you try to get closer to him.

he chuckles darkly, one hand sliding up your inner thigh, thumb brushing the edge of your folds just to watch you jolt, “please what, honey? you want my fingers inside you? stretching this wet pussy?” his middle finger traces your entrance, gathering your arousal, teasing.

“yes…please, please fuck me with your fingers,” you whine, begging. he hums in approval before pushing in slowly, the intrusion easy with how soaked you are. you moan at the fullness, walls fluttering around the single digit as he crooks it upward, pressing against that spot that makes your toes curl.

“yes—fuck, just like that,” you whimper, your bound hands fisting the couch fabric, knuckles whitening as you arch into his touch. the sensitivity from your last release makes every slide feel amplified, sparks igniting low in your belly already. he adds a second finger without warning, thrusting them deep and curling them relentlessly, his palm grinding against your clit with each pump. the wet sounds of your pussy taking him in fill the room, obscene and rhythmic, his pace building steady but insistent.

“so tight, clenching like you can't get enough,” he growls, free hand pinning your hip down to keep you from bucking too wildly. he scissors his fingers inside you, stretching your walls, thumb now circling your clit in firm, deliberate strokes that has your thighs quivering.

“oh god, dejun—” you cry out, head thrashing against the cushions, the pressure coiling fast and fierce in your core. your pussy grips his fingers greedily, juices coating his hand as he fucks you harder, the sensitivity turning every thrust into a edge-of-overload sensation.

“cum on my fingers, show me how sensitive you are for me,” he demands, leaning down to nip at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. he twists his wrist, fingers dragging along your front wall with precision, thumb pressing harder on your clit, rubbing side to side now to push you right to the brink.

the build is lightning-quick, your body betraying you with how primed it is, muscles tensing as the orgasm barrels toward you, “i’m—fuck, i’m cumming,” you gasp, voice breaking into a sob as it hits, pussy spasming wildly around his thrusting fingers, a fresh gush of slick flooding out. your hands claw at the couch, back bowing off the surface as waves crash through you, leaving you panting and limp, walls still twitching in the aftermath.

dejun slows his movements, drawing out the pulses with gentle pumps until you're whimpering from the overstimulation, then finally withdraws his fingers with a wet pop, holding them up to show you how drenched they are, “good girl,” he praises, eyes locked on yours, a possessive glint in them as he licks his fingers clean, savoring your taste. his gaze drops back to your spread thighs, where your pussy still glistens with the fresh slick from your release.

he shifts lower, hooking his arms under your knees to hold you open, his breath ghosting over your sensitive folds, “just gonna clean you up, honey,” he murmurs, voice rough but casual, like it's no big deal. his tongue flicks out, flat and warm, lapping a slow stripe up your slit from entrance to clit, gathering the mess he made with his fingers.

you shudder at the contact, the overstimulation hitting like a spark, your walls clenching emptily, a whine slipping from your lips, “dejun—fuck, it's too much right now,” you gasp, your bound hands twisting in the couch cushions again, trying to anchor yourself as his tongue delves deeper, swirling gently around your entrance to suck up every drop. he hums against you, the vibration sending jolts through your core, but he keeps it light, no pressure, just thorough laps that trace your lips and dip inside shallowly.

“can't help it — you taste too good,” he says between licks, his nose brushing your clit as he works, eyes flicking up to watch your face contort. he doesn't push for more, just cleans methodically, tongue curling to scoop out the lingering wetness — but your body's too raw, every pass igniting nerves that haven't settled. the heat builds unbidden, coiling tight in your belly despite his intent, your hips twitching involuntarily toward his mouth.

“oh god, wait—i'm gonna…” you trail off into a moan, the words dissolving as the third orgasm sneaks up, ferocious and unforgiving. it rips through you without mercy, your pussy spasming hard, thighs clamping down around your boyfriend’s head like a vice, trapping him against your pulsing core. your jaw goes slack, a silent cry escaping as your eyes roll back, vision blurring white-hot, the pleasure bordering on pain from the sensitivity. dejun's eyes widen, clearly amused, his hands gripping your thighs to steady you, but he doesn't pull away — instead, he laps through it, tongue pressing flat against your clit to ride the waves, drawing out the contractions until you're a trembling mess. fresh slick coats his chin, your walls fluttering wildly as he prolongs it, humming low to feel you quiver. “that's it, let it go,” he breathes against you, voice muffled but encouraging, until the intensity peaks too high.

you can't take it. legs squeezing shut completely, “stop—please, dejun—give me a second,” you beg, voice hoarse and broken, body limp as the aftershocks fade into exhaustion. he pulls back with a wet pop, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, that smug smirk curling his lips as he crawls up your body, hovering over you.

“that was fun,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief and satisfaction, leaning down to kiss you softly. it’s a reprieve, a chance to catch your breath as his weight presses you deeper into the cushions, his hands framing your face. the kiss intensifies gradually, his teeth grazing your lower lip, pulling a soft moan from you that he swallows greedily, tongues tangling, wet and insistent, the faint salt of your earlier release lingering on his tongue.

minutes stretch as he kisses you like time's endless — lazy swirls of his tongue against yours, nips at your jaw, sucking faint marks into the sensitive skin of your neck until your hips start twitching upward instinctively, seeking contact. the air grows thick, charged, your breaths mingling hot and fast. he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours with that possessive hunger, “you ready to take me again?” he whispers, voice rough, lips brushing your ear.

you nod frantically, the plea escaping before you can stop it, “yes, please—need you to fuck me, dejun.”

his smirk widens, feral and triumphant, “begging so prettily for my cock,” he whispers, softly tapping your bottom lip, and in one fluid motion, he flips you fully onto your stomach, yanking your hips up high so you're arched and exposed, ass lifted, face pressed into the cushions. the cuffs still keeping your hands locked behind you, forcing your shoulders down and your body into total submission — no leverage, no escape, just open and waiting for him. your knees spread on the couch, thighs quivering, pussy dripping and clenching at the cool air.

you hear the crinkle of foil behind you — he's quick now, rolling the condom over his thick length with a low hiss, “look at this—dripping for me already,” he says, his hand sliding up your spine to grip your shoulder, thumb pressing into the tense muscle. he lines up, his tip pressing against your soaked entrance, then shoves in deep, stretching you wide in one forceful push that forces a sharp cry from your throat.

“fuck—always so fucking tight,” he groans, the sound raw as your walls grip him, still tender from before. he draws back and rams forward again, building a brutal pace immediately, hips crashing against your ass with loud smacks, the angle spearing him straight into that sensitive bundle inside you. pleasure surges fast, overwhelming, your bound arms jerking uselessly behind you, the metal digging in as you rock with his thrusts.

“dejun—just like that—harder,” you whimper, voice breaking, the intensity blurring your vision. the cuffs amps everything — the way he controls your body, pounding relentlessly, owning you completely. tears well up, streaking your cheeks, but the bliss coils tighter, pushing you toward the brink.

“such a dirty girl, you can’t get enough can’t you?” he demands, one hand tangling in your hair to tug your head back slightly, the other clamping your hip to hold you in place as he drives deeper.

“no—need you—please,” you sob out, the words fracturing as the pressure peaks. he shoves you back down the couch and you can’t help but clench your teeth as your pussy clamps down, spasming wildly. then it hits — a violent release, squirting hard around his pistoning cock, hot fluid gushing out with every thrust, soaking his groin and the couch beneath.

dejun doesn't falter. it’s not the first time he’s made you squirt like this. he lands a slap on your ass, loud and red, while he keeps fucking you through it, groans turning guttural as the slick mess eases his slides, making each stroke wetter, sloppier, “fuck, yes—squirt on my dick, honey, drench me,” he rasps, pace unyielding, chasing his own high. he continues pounding into you, hard and fast, his grip on your hips strong and unrelenting

but the overstimulation crashes in fast — the sharp friction shifts from ecstasy to burn, your nerves fraying as he continues to thrust harshly into the sensitivity. and all you could feel is pain.

“dejun… i-i can’t, it hurts,” you manage between thrusts, voice small and cracking, sniffles breaking through the haze, your hands trying to push him away as best as you could in this situation, as pain overrides the pleasure, your body trembling not just from release but from the edge of too much.

he stops as the words hit his ears, your voice soft, small — not your usual tone. and he knows immediately that something’s wrong. his hands freeze on your skin and carefully, he pulls out, the drag slow and mindful, a soft curse escaping him, “shit, honey—sorry, i got carried away,” he says, voice laced with regret as he turns you over onto your back, the cuffs clinking softly now. he pulls you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest, one hand wiping sweat-damp hair from your face, thumb stroking your cheek, wiping the tears away. his cock throbs hard against your thigh, ignored, his focus all on you, “what hurts? tell me”

“can you remove the cuffs?” you whisper, wincing at the throb in your wrists.

he nods immediately, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before slipping off the couch “yeah, hold on.” he darts into the bedroom, returning with the key in seconds, kneeling to unlock the metal around your wrists. as they fall away, he sees the red welts dug into your skin, his expression twisting, “fuck, honey, i’m so sorry,” he murmurs, lifting your hands to his lips, placing soft, lingering kisses over the marks, his touch feather-light.

you shake your head, managing a small smile despite the ache, “dejun, it’s okay—you stopped right away.” you watch him handle you like fragile porcelain, his eyes soft with concern, “we should probably have a safe word, though,” you tease lightly, voice steadying.

he chuckles ruefully, still massaging your wrists with gentle circles, “yeah, that would’ve been smart. red to stop, maybe? whatever you want.”

your gaze drops, noticing his erection straining, flushed and untouched, “you’re still hard.”

he smiles, warm but dismissive, continuing to rub soothing patterns into your skin, “don’t worry about it—i’ll take care of it later.”

“no…come here,” you say, tugging him closer as you settle back comfortably on the couch.

“honey, no—we don’t have to,” he protests softly, hovering uncertainly, his length twitching with need but his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

“i want to,” you insist, reaching up to cup his face.

“you sure?” his voice is tender, laced with care.

you nod, pulling him down into a slow kiss, lips brushing soft and unhurried, “just…go slow.”

he exhales, melting into the kiss, his body lowering over yours with deliberate gentleness before guiding himself to your entrance, pressing in, watching your face the whole time, pausing if you tense, “tell me if it's too much,” he whispers, voice thick with affection as he bottoms out, holding still to let you adjust.

“perfect,” you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist, hands now free to trace his back, nails grazing lightly. he starts moving, shallow rocks of his hips, each one measured and deep, grinding against you without rush. his mouth finds yours again, kisses turning languid, tongues sliding together in a rhythm that matches his thrusts — soft, loving, building warmth rather than fire.

“i love how you feel around me,” he murmurs against your skin, lips trailing to your neck, sucking gently. you arch into him, meeting each slow push, the fullness tender now, pleasure blooming like sunlight, wrapping you both in quiet intimacy.

“feels so good,” you whisper, eyes locked on his, the words pulling a soft groan from him as he dips to kiss your collarbone, your shoulder, everywhere he can reach. his pace stays even, unhurried glides that let you feel every ridge, every pulse, drawing out sighs and quiet moans. the couch creaks faintly under you, but it's background to the way he watches you, like you're the only thing in his world — his free hand stroking your thigh, encouraging without demanding.

“i love you,” he says, voice hushed and full of emotion, forehead pressing to yours as he angles to brush that spot inside, gentle pressure making stars flicker softly behind your eyes. the build is gradual, a warm tide rising, your bodies syncing in fluid harmony. when you clench around him, he hums approval, kissing you deeper, swallowing your gasps.

“cum with me,” you plead softly, and he nods, thrusts turning just a fraction firmer but still so careful, his breath hitching as your release washes over you — soft waves, not shattering, just pure, enveloping bliss that pulls him under too. he spills with a quiet moan, burying his face in your neck, holding you close as you both tremble through it, hearts pounding in unison. he doesn't pull away right after — instead, he stays nestled inside, arms wrapping around you fully, peppering your face with tiny kisses.

dejun lingers inside you for a while, his body a warm, protective shield as your shared breaths slow to a synchronized rhythm. he presses his forehead to yours, eyes holding a tenderness that makes your heart swell. slowly, he eases out, careful not to hurt you, discarding the condom with a quick, discreet motion before returning fully to your side.

“come on, let's get you somewhere more comfortable,” he whispers, voice soft and reassuring. with effortless strength, he scoops you up bridal-style, cradling your body against his chest as he rises from the couch. your head rests on his shoulder, his heartbeat steady under your ear, lulling you into deeper relaxation. he carries you down the short hallway to the bedroom, each step gentle, pushing the door open with his elbow and lowering you onto the bed, the mattress dipping softly under your weight.

he slides in beside you, pulling the duvet over both of you, his body curving protectively around yours. his fingers trace soothing circles on your back, chasing away any lingering tension. gently, he takes your hands in his, turning them over to inspect your wrists once more. the faint red marks from the cuffs catch the dim light, and he frowns slightly, rubbing his thumb over them with care, “how are these feeling now? does it still hurt?”

you shake your head, a small smile forming as you meet his concerned gaze. he nods, satisfied, then leans in closer, “do you need anything?”

“just this,” you reply softly, your voice barely above a whisper “just you.”

his expression softens, eyes warming with affection. he pulls you tighter against him, lips brushing your temple in a soft kiss. you sigh contentedly, nestling into his chest, the world fading to just this quiet intimacy — safe, loved, and perfectly at peace.

ᥫ᭡. the end.

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

dejun x honey coded links: #1. #2. #3. #4. #5. #6. #7. #8. #9. #10. #11. #12. #13. #14. #15.

一

an: the second of the wayv trio is finally done!!!! 2 down 1 more to go! i surprisingly did not hit the 1000 character limit THANK GOD…maybe that’s my reward for finally finishing. dejun and honey is probably the most touchy couple we’ve had in this series so far like damn they just don’t stop 😭😭 but i hope you loved them! not too much angst on this one because dejun is just peak yearner! peak down bad! peak loverboy! also i had to sneak in winwin there, we can’t do this series WITHOUT MY wayv bias! and what’s better than combining both of my wayv biases together? ehehe. i hope you enjoy the links! they’re prettyyy spicy 🫦🫦 before i go, A HUGE shoutout to my friend, @yujisabs for pulling me out of the major writers block i was in. thank you <333 and thank you to everyone who read this!!!! i luv all of u :3

ᥫ᭡. likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated.

ᥫ᭡. if you enjoy this series and would like to show extra love and support. my ko-fi is open <3

ᥫ᭡. love tags: @mangoescrazy @bamjjwi @jungwooie @erireadsstuff @rjreins @poemzcheng @jungwooismysavior @alexameliamg @neo-moa @dkkyeom @leleszn @rex-ie @generalpuppycloud @mots/g @chenleverse @kjOne @ninety-nite-99 @xxxnrigi @idkwiexist @pankuya @amazinggraxia @jaeminiwrld @ni-ki-starnetwork @drunkhee @severeanxietyissues @peonyjoo @multifandom2515 @yeosayang @dongyoungknows @aegryo @malaysianctfan @booskies @ingridbirdman @vantxx95 @andluv @fancypeacepersona @heartsforsunwoo @222lOW @9yuldaengi @cowboyuyu @zarastrawberry @boxofinvisiblethoughts @jwikyo @horanghyuck @combinatoright-blog @emmy-l-r @karleereadssmut @asahisimpnation @httpsxnox

nct masterlist

For the past two weeks, you’d been quietly collecting fairy lights, old pillows, and his favourite snacks. You borrowed a portable speaker from your neighbour. You even got his friends, his family back home, and every other person he held dear to his heart, to send short video birthday messages that you stitched into a montage and tucked away on your laptop.

The plan was perfect.

A backyard picnic. Just after sunset. Fairy lights strung up in the trees. A cosy blanket fort under the stars. Takeout from that little noodle place he loved. Just the two of you, soft music, and your heartfelt surprise video for after dessert as the cherry on top.

You even laid everything out an hour before he got home — candles lit, lights glowing, food still warm. You stood back and smiled, the kind of smile that comes from knowing you’re about to make someone really happy.

And then.

It started raining.

Not a soft drizzle. Not even a gentle mist.

But a sudden, absolutely drenching, movie-scene-level downpour.

You stood frozen for a beat, blinking in disbelief as large raindrops splashed onto the setup you'd spent hours preparing.

“No. No no no no!”

You scrambled, trying to cover the food, yanking pillows off the ground, grabbing the laptop — but it was too late. The lights flickered and died. The noodles turned into soup. And a gust of wind knocked the speaker off the table. You even slipped on the wet grass, trying to save a cushion, and landed on your butt with a very ungraceful thud.

It was over in five minutes.

You were soaked. Everything was soaked. And all you could do was sit there, laptop clutched to your chest, water dripping from your nose, as the dream birthday plan dissolved around you.

Which is exactly when Xiaojun walked through the back gate.

He paused when he saw you.

You looked up at him helplessly from the soggy ground. “...Hi.”

He blinked. “Why are you sitting in a puddle?”

“I was trying to be romantic.”

He stared for a moment longer — and then burst out laughing.

Not a mocking laugh. Or a teasing one.

A bright, full-belly, Xiaojun laugh — the kind that made his eyes disappear and his shoulders shake.

You let out a groan and covered your face. “I ruined it.”

“No, no—baby, wait.” He walked over, kneeling beside you in the mud without a second thought. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

You looked at him, genuinely distressed. “I had this whole thing planned. Fairy lights, your favourite noodles, a video message from everyone. I was gonna surprise you and make this your best birthday ever.”

He smiled softly, brushing wet hair away from your face. “You are my best birthday ever.”

You narrowed your eyes and scrunched up your nose. “That’s so cheesy.”

He shrugged with a light chuckle. “It’s true.”

You sighed, slumping against him. “This was supposed to be perfect.”

“It is,” he said, wrapping his arms around you, not caring that his clothes were getting soaked too. “You did all of this for me. That’s already perfect.”

You felt your chest loosen a little. Rain still pattered around you, softening now into something more manageable. The fairy lights blinked faintly, one or two flickering back to life. The moment wasn’t what you had planned — but somehow, sitting in Xiaojun’s arms, drenched and laughing through your disappointment — it felt… right.

“Okay,” he said, pulling you up to your feet. “New plan, baby. Let's go for plan B.”

“What’s plan B?”

He grinned. “Blankets. Instant noodles. Your laptop. And the couch.”

Twenty minutes later, the two of you were curled up in the living room under a pile of mismatched blankets. You wore one of his hoodies, and he wore your fuzzy socks because he claimed his toes were “emotionally cold.” The air smelled like soy sauce and toasted sesame from the emergency noodle cups you dug out of the pantry.

You set the laptop on the coffee table and gave him a shy glance. “Wanna watch the video, at least?”

He nodded, scooting closer. “Hit me with the feels.”

You pressed play and leaned into his chest.

One by one, the screen lit up with familiar faces — friends and family from different time zones, sending love and cheesy jokes. Kun sang him “Happy Birthday” opera-style. Yangyang showed off a questionable birthday dance. Hendery even made a fake infomercial about “The Wonders of Xiaojun.”

Xiaojun laughed so hard he wheezed, clutching your hand like he’d fall apart if he didn’t.

When the screen faded to black and the laughter died down, you glanced at him. And his eyes were glassy.

“Hey,” you said softly, nudging him. “You okay?”

He turned to you, expression gentle, voice quiet. “I love you.”

You smile.

“That wasn’t part of the video,” you teased. "But I love you too."

“I know,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I just… I didn’t know it was possible to feel this seen and loved. Even when everything went sideways. Maybe especially because it went sideways.”

You rested your head gently on his shoulder, your heart completely filled with love for him.

“Next year,” you said, “I’m bubble-wrapping everything and building a waterproof tent.”

He laughed again, kissing the top of your head. “Or we just do this again. You, me, noodles, and a thunderstorm.”

You let out a contented sigh, a lazy smile spreading across your lips.

“Plan B turned out better than Plan A.”

He nodded, holding you tighter.

“Because Plan B was you… and you’re what I’d choose every time. for every birthday and in every lifetime."

there were bad days. and then there was today. the kind of day that seemed designed to wear you down from the first second: alarm that didn’t go off, senseless rush, packed transportation, cold messages at work, words that pierced like thorns, and silences that were far too loud. everything weighed on you. even your own thoughts felt like they wanted to tear you apart from the inside.

by the time you got home, you just wanted to cry— but you didn’t even have the energy for that. the only thing you did was let your things fall in the nearest corner and sit on the edge of the bed, staring into nothing, feeling the air heavier than ever. like even breathing took effort.

a few minutes later, you heard keys turning. then the soft sound of the door closing. and that familiar sigh. xiaojun. "baby?" his voice floated down the hallway, sweet and careful, as if he could already feel the energy in the air "i’m home…" you didn’t answer. you knew that if you spoke, you might break into a thousand pieces. and you didn’t want to break. not again.

he walked into the room and saw you: your slumped posture, your empty gaze. your hands clasped together like you were trying to hold yourself together. he walked over silently and knelt down in front of you. he didn’t say anything at first. he just raised his hand and ran it through your hair with a softness that hurt.

"what happened today, love?" —he asked at last, his voice barely a whisper. you shook your head weakly. you couldn’t explain it. it was everything and nothing at the same time. a buildup of things you didn’t know how to name.

he understood. "it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything" —he said with a sad but steady smile— "today was shit, huh?" you could only nod, feeling your eyes sting with tears that refused to fall. "it’s okay" —he repeated, taking your hand— "the day’s not over. and i’m here. i’ll take care of you. i promise."

he calmly led you to the bathroom without letting go. he put on soft instrumental music, filled the tub with warm water, and added a bath bomb that fizzed into a soothing scent of lavender and vanilla. he rolled up his sleeves and helped you get in, no rush, no pressure. like every movement was a quiet attempt to ease your pain.

"relax," he said, sitting beside the tub. "i’ll take care of everything." he picked up a soft sponge and began washing your back, your shoulders, your arms, with almost sacred care. his fingers pressed gently into the places he knew you held tension. he kissed your forehead from time to time, not saying much—just reminding you you were safe.

after the bath, he dried you with a warm towel he’d heated beforehand. without asking, he found that oversized gray shirt of his you loved—the one that smelled entirely like him—and dressed you slowly, lovingly. he combed your hair with his fingers, patiently working through every knot.

and then… skincare. "if you don’t feel like doing it, i’ll do it for you," he smiled, holding your toner bottle. "you’re my canvas tonight." he sat in front of you, focused, applying toner, serum, light cream. his hands were warm and soft, his touch gentle like you were something fragile. he finished with a small towel to pat your face dry.

"there we go…" he whispered "everything ugly stayed outside. in here, it’s just you. and me."

he turned on a soft lamp, dimmed the room, and placed the humidifier on the nightstand. steam began to rise slowly, filling the room with a calming scent of jasmine and eucalyptus. a gentle haze that made the world feel a little lighter.

he got into bed with you, pulling the covers over both of you. he laid beside you, not pressuring you to speak, not asking for anything. he simply reached out, pulled you close, and you rested your head on his chest—right where his heart beat. steady. firm. calm.

but even so… you couldn’t sleep. your body was exhausted, but your mind wouldn’t stop. thoughts spinning like a broken carousel, anxiety pricking like invisible needles. the world still buzzing inside you.

and xiaojun felt it. without saying a word, he took your hand in his. moved a little closer. and started to sing.

at first, just barely—a soft hum, almost to himself. a quiet, melancholy, sweet melody. his voice, the one you’d heard so many times on stages or recordings, was now just for you. in that room. in that moment.

his other hand reached up to your hair, stroking your scalp in slow, soothing circles. like he could calm your mind with just his touch. and it worked. little by little. thought by thought.

after a while, xiaojun’s voice dropped to a murmur. against your forehead, he whispered: "if i could live inside your dreams… i’d make sure you never had a nightmare again."

something cracked inside you. but this time, it didn’t hurt. this time, it felt like releasing the weight at last. like trusting.

just when the silence began to feel comforting—like another blanket covering you both—xiaojun spoke again, his voice still gentle from the lullaby: "sometimes i wish i could step into your mind… not to read it, not to understand everything—just to tidy things up. turn off the noise. erase the thoughts that hurt. leave only the beautiful ones." his tone wasn’t dramatic. it was real. sincere. almost fragile. "sometimes i feel like i’m not doing enough. like i can’t take your pain away, i can only sit with it from the outside" —he continued, brushing his knuckles against your cheek— "but even if that’s all i can do, i’ll keep doing it. every day. until breathing doesn’t hurt."

his words didn’t ask for anything. they didn’t expect answers. they only offered a shelter, no strings attached. and that, in the middle of everything that hurt, was more than you even knew how to ask for.

you snuggled closer into his chest, like you wanted to melt into him. like that spot was the only safe place in the whole world. "thank you…" —you whispered, your voice small and hoarse, like it had been hiding all day— "for staying. for not letting go." xiaojun kissed the top of your head, his warm breath against your skin. "i’ll never let go," he said, like it was the easiest promise in the world. "even when you can’t speak. even when you feel like you don’t deserve to be held. i’ll still be here. because you do deserve it. because you’re the person i love most in this world, and you don’t need to do anything to keep that."

and that’s when you broke. a little more. not from sadness. not from fear. you broke from peace. from relief. from being seen without needing to explain a thing.

you cried silently. not falling apart—just letting the pressure go. and he, without saying a word, simply held you. until the knot inside you slowly came undone. your breathing synced with his. you inhaled when he inhaled. you exhaled when he exhaled. and at some point, between his warmth, his scent, his voice… you began to fall asleep.