#yangyang x reader

he nearly trips over his own shoes as he rounds the corner. this is getting out of hand. he was supposed to spend his final year quietly, make art, focus on the future — not get chased like a damn k-pop idol. in hindsight, maybe letting all the other dream boys fall in love and leave him to the wolves wasn’t the best move.

“i hate the boys,” renjun mutters under his breath as he darts through a side door of the arts building, “i hate love, i hate romance, i hate–”

theater room. perfect. he ducks inside, scanning the empty black box stage space and slams the door shut behind him. his heart thunders in his chest. he’s breathing like he just finished a marathon. his bangs stick to his forehead. and somewhere behind him, he can still hear them.

“RENJUN I MADE YOU COOKIES WITH YOUR FACE ON THEM!” “RENJUN I’M A LEO, IT’S BASICALLY FATE!”

his heart is pounding in his chest. then — his gaze lands on the ladder. the fly tower. of course. without thinking twice, he scrambles up, gripping each rung like it’s his last hope. he pulls himself onto the upper platform, dodging a few precarious light fixtures and wedges himself behind a stack of heavy wooden boxes labeled musical props — do not touch. the girls barge in moments later.

“WHERE IS HE?!” “CHECK THE SOUND BOOTH!” “I KNOW HE’S HERE, I SMELL HIS COLOGNE!”

renjun covers his mouth, trying not to breathe too loudly as they spread out. he presses himself tighter behind the boxes. heart pounding, brain screaming: this is hell. this is actually hell.

eventually the chorus of voices died down. footsteps retreat. the door slams. silence. renjun lets out a slow, cautious breath. he flops his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, “god,” he mutters to himself, “they just all had to fall in love and leave me out here like some tiny, helpless mouse in the wild,” he rolls his eyes, starts to shift into a more comfortable position — and accidentally kicks a box off the edge.

it crashes down the stage below with a loud BOOM, followed by the sound of props scattering and bouncing across the floor. renjun freezes, eyes wide. “fuck, what else can go wrong?,” he groans, dragging a hand through his hair, hoping that whatever was in there didn’t completely break. but then he looks down. and his heart stops. lying on the stage floor, right next to the box, is a girl — you. your limbs are splayed awkwardly, your head tilted, your body frighteningly still. a slow, dark patch of red is growing beneath your head.

“Y/N?!,” renjun nearly falls off the ladder climbing down. he races to your side, dropping to his knees beside you, “oh my god. oh my god. no. no. no,” he’s shaking your shoulders, eyes wide with panic, “y/n, wake up!—oh my god—fuck—i killed someone—I KILLED SOMEONE—”

but then – you groan. a soft, sluggish sound, followed by the flutter of your lashes. you blink blearily up at him, squinting, “...babe?,” your voice is hoarse, dazed.

renjun freezes, “...what?”

you squint harder, trying to focus on the blurry figure hovering over you, “babe? what happened? why are you crying?”

“i’m not crying,” he snaps. but his eyes are glossy and his hands are still clutching your shoulders like you’re a porcelain doll, “y-you hit your head, okay? i didn’t mean to drop the box, it was–wait, why did you call me babe?!”

you pause. your brows furrow, head pounding, “y-you’re my boyfriend,” you murmur.

renjun swallows thickly. there’s something obviously wrong. he sits back on his heels, heart still trying to recover. because he is not your boyfriend. and you are not his girlfriend. you’re y/n. the girl who shares the same major as him. who sits two chairs ahead of him in painting ii. quiet. talented. soft. nice. oh, and one more thing — you’re his best friend’s girlfriend.

renjun is so screwed.

❤︎

“hold her steady,” the nurse says, briskly swinging open the doors to the campus clinic as renjun stumbles in, half carrying your weight.

“i am holding her steady!,” he snaps, nearly dropping you as your arm slides off his shoulder.

“babe,” you mumble, nuzzling your head against his neck, “stop yelling, please.”

renjun flinches, “oh my god, stop calling me that!” you groan, dazed and limp, like someone unplugged your battery. the nurse ushers you both toward a bed and begins checking your vitals while renjun stands frozen beside you, hands twitching useless at his side.

the next hour is a blur — lots of phone calls, lots of “she needs a scan,” lots of “are you the boyfriend?,” to which renjun starts answering, “i guess????,” out of pure panic. eventually, an ambulance takes you both to the nearest off-campus hospital, where a doctor finally pulls renjun aside while you’re resting in an exam room. dr. ten lee is in his late 20’s, dressed in his navy scrubs, a tiny silver hoop in one ear, sipping a canned iced coffee and scrolling on his tablet. he looks more like a kdrama second lead than a doctor. and he has the kind of calm tone that makes you feel like nothing in the world is actually an emergency. renjun, however, is pacing like a squirrel on red bull, “is she gonna be okay?”

“come on, we need to talk,” dr. lee replies smoothly. he leads renjun into a consultation room, where he taps quickly through your medical chart. and renjun’s heart is pounding in his chest. “vitals are stable. no skull fracture. CT scan is clean. no internal bleeding. just a concussion and some swelling.” he flicks to the next screen, “she’s lucky.” renjun exhales in relief, just barely.

“but,” dr. lee continues, “she’s showing signs of temporary retrograde amnesia.”

renjun blink, “tem–what?”

“it means she doesn’t remember anything leading up to the accident,” he explains.

renjun swallow, “how long will it take for her memory to come back?”

“could be hours. could be days. weeks. it’s impossible to say,” dr. ten leans back in his chair, gaze serious now, “the important thing is not to overwhelm her brain. if you try to force everything back at once, the stress could make the memory loss permanent.” dr. lee flips to another note on the screen, “she’s also restricted from using phones, tablets, or any kind of screen for at least a month. try to avoid bright lights and cognitive overload. that includes social media, messages, anything that might confuse or overstimulate her brain.”

renjun groans, already picturing the storm to come, “great. so she can’t scroll through her camera roll and realize i’m not the guy in half her selfies?”

“what do you mean?,” dr. lee raises a brow, “you’re her boyfriend, aren’t you?”

renjun looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, about that,” renjun says, exasperated, “i’m not.”

dr. lee raises an eyebrow, “then who is?”

“my best friend, yangyang,” renjun mutters, “he’s… he’s out of the country right now. internship in germany. fashion design thing.”

dr. lee sighs, noting it down on his tablet, “okay…so in her case, it looks like she’s confused recent relationships and events.” he rubs his temple, “and the only person she recognizes and trusts right now is not her boyfriend—but a friend.”

“her boyfriend’s best friend,” renjun corrects miserably.

dr. lee gives him a long, unimpressed look. “wonderful.”

renjun runs both hands down his face, “this is insane.”

“look,” dr. lee says carefully, “i can’t legally ask you to impersonate her boyfriend, but… if he isn’t reachable, and you are the only one she feels safe with… just consider what’s best for her, alright?”

renjun nods, “i’ll call him.”

❤︎

renjun paces just outside the consultation room, thumb hovering over yangyang’s name, hitting call. it rings three times before a groggy voice answers, “yo bro…it’s like 3AM over here, what’s up?”

renjun doesn’t waste time, “i dropped a prop box on your girlfriend.”

a pause. “huh?”

“she passed out, we’re in a hospital. she’s okay, kind of, but she has amnesia, yangyang. she woke up and she thinks i’m you.”

there’s an audible shuffling sound on the other end, like yangyang just sat bolt upright, “what the actual fuck?!”

“i know.” renjun pinches the bridge of his nose, “the box hit her head, the doctor said i can’t tell her the truth or her memory might never come back and she’s not allowed to use her phone or see anything on-screen or else it could make it worse…this is a nightmare!”

yangyang lets out a long groan, “jesus…is she okay now?”

“physically, yeah. mentally? she keeps calling me babe,” renjun says, pacing the floor, “you need to come back,” he says firmly, “this is your relationship.”

“renjun…i…can’t,” yangyang exhales, “i’m in berlin. i’ve got fittings in the morning and i’m interning with a major designer. if i leave now, i lose everything and this is the biggest opportunity of my life.”

renjun goes quiet, his jaw tightens, “she’s your girlfriend.”

“we’ve been dating for a month,” yangyang says gently, “it’s new. i do love her, i really do. but this opportunity? it’s my career.”

renjun couldn’t even believe what he was hearing right now. he scoffs, “so what, you’re just asking me to pretend to be you?!”

“no. i’m asking you to take care of her,” yangyang says, “just until she get’s her memory back. keep her calm. keep her safe. protect her. let her remember naturally. i trust you.”

renjun glares at the wall, “i hate you.”

“i owe you one. a huge one,” yangyang sighs.

renjun rolls his eyes, “you owe me your soul.”

“i’ll name my next collection after you.”

“fuck you, yangyang.” but even then, the call ends with renjun muttering, “fine.” because deep down, he knows it’s his fault. and the least he can do is pretend to be your boyfriend.

when renjun opens the door and steps back into your hospital room, you stir instantly. your eyes blink open and a sleepy, relieved smile spreads across your face, “there you are,” you mumble, “i thought you left.” you reach out instinctively, fingers brushing his wrist, “i missed you.”

renjun swallows hard, forcing a smile, “...yeah,” he says, “i missed you too.”

✿ ETHICALLY HORRIFYING ✿

painting ii. on tuesdays is usually renjun’s favorite class. his safe space. it’s quiet. peaceful. nobody talks unless it’s to borrow a brush or complain about color theory. it’s where he gets to zone out, put on his headphones when professor yuta isn’t lecturing, and lose himself in gradients and messy brush strokes — except...today is different. because today, you’re here. it’s been four days since he last saw you. and now you’re sitting right next to him. not two chairs ahead like you usually do. not at your table by the windows where the light hits just right. no. you’re next to him. like you’ve done it a thousand times before. like it’s normal. and it would’ve been fine. renjun might’ve survived it. if it weren’t for the fact that…you have your hand on. his. thigh — not resting casually. not briefly. planted. warm. possessive. yellow-painted nails tapping lazily against his jeans.

renjun hasn’t moved in five minutes. he’s feeling very uncomfortable. he’s afraid if he does move, you’ll do something worse like hug him in the middle of a brushstroke. renjun stares at his canvas like it holds the answers to life. he’s not even registering professor yuta’s passionate speech about emotional color palettes.

you, on the other hand, look delighted. you hum softly as you blend a soft orange into the corner of your canvas, completely at ease. your sleeves are bunched up, hair tied messily back with a clip, and your lips tilt into a shy smile every time you glance at him. occasionally, you lean in to whisper something stupid, so gentle it tickles his ear like “you look really handsome today,” or “i think i’m painting your soul in mine.” they’re the kind of words that would’ve made renjun melt if he were a normal guy in a normal situation with a normal crush. but this is not normal. this is ethically horrifying. and he’s trying not to jump out the window.

very slowly, like diffusing a bomb, he reaches down and lifts your hand off his thigh. you blink at him, confused, a tiny pout forms on your lips, “you don’t like it when i touch you?” you ask, voice so quiet it’s barely above a whisper.

renjun panics. “i-i’m just ticklish,” he blurts, “on the thigh. very medically specific condition. happens to one in five people.”

you frown softly. your eyes search his face, like you’re trying to remember something that slipped just out of reach. it doesn’t work. you come up with nothing, instead you mutter out a soft, “oh, i’m sorry,” your voice dips lower, “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” you shrink slightly into your seat. the sunlight catches in your hair as you bend your head and go back to painting, shoulders a little more tucked in than before. and for a moment, renjun almost feels bad. almost. mostly, he just feels relief. because you shouldn’t be touching him like that. you shouldn’t be looking at him like that. not when your real boyfriend is thousands of miles away and probably checking fabric swatches in berlin. not when he’s the one who dropped a box on your head and ruined everything. he tries to focus on his canvas, tries not to notice the sad look on your face or the way your hand keeps pausing mid-brushstroke. he tells himself he’s doing the right thing.

professor yuta claps his hand together, breaking him out of his thoughts, “alright, wrap it up! same time next week.” everyone starts packing up, chairs scrape, canvases are slid into bags or the back of the room. but you linger. renjun hunches over his supplies, shoving his tubes of paint into his backpack like they personally wronged him. he’s nearly zipped it closed when he hears your soft footsteps.

“junie?” you murmur, standing beside him now. he doesn’t even know where you got that nickname. at the hospital, it was babe. now it’s junie. he turns, heart already bracing for another landmine. you’re hugging your sketchpad to your chest. your eyes are wide and sincere and guilt-ridden.

“i’m really sorry about earlier,” you say softly, lips tugging down. “i didn’t mean to cross a line… i just… i can’t believe i forgot that about you.” before he can say anything — before he can even react — you lean in, gently, and brush your lips against his cheek. a soft kiss, so light it barely touches skin.

“i’ll see you later,” you whisper. and then you’re gone. renjun’s frozen, eyes wide, blood rushing to his face so fast he thinks he might pass out. dead silence hangs for a beat. and then the hushed whispers begin.

“wait.” “wasn’t she dating yangyang?” “are they–together now?” “is this why yangyang is nowhere to be seen??” “is renjun taken?” “THE LAST DREAM BOY?!?!”

renjun bolts. by the time he makes it down the stairs and out of the building, it’s already happened. the whole campus knows. every student has either heard about it, seen it, or is live tweeting the tragedy of renjun’s off-the-market status. and the only person blissfully unaware? you. — still thinking he’s your boyfriend. still completely in the dark about yangyang. and renjun is walking back to the dream house with shaking hands and the weight of the campus gossip on his shoulders. he hates it here.

✿ MR. STEAL YOUR GIRL ✿

the next day, renjun makes the mistake of walking into the dream house kitchen thinking he can just grab a piece of bread and disappear. he’s wrong. disastrously wrong. the moment he steps in, he’s attacked by the sight, and sounds, of love. and worse, public display of affection. the table is packed. every seat filled. every couple tangled up in each other like they’re starring in some low-budget university romance fanfiction. — jaemin’s got one hand on angel’s thigh while she refills his coffee without asking. jeno is feeding bunny bites of pancakes. mark has kitten tucked under his arm, both of them laughing at something on his phone as she sneaks pieces of fruit off his plate. baby is resting her head on chenle’s shoulder as he enthusiastically tells some story with too many sound effects. haechan and princess are sharing a bowl of cereal. cherry’s half asleep on jisung’s shoulder, curled into him while he sips juice one-handed like he’s been doing this his whole life. renjun freezes in the doorway. the smell of syrup. the clinking of mugs. the couples being nauseatingly in sync, “do you guys have to do this every morning?,” he grunts.

jeno looks up, “ohhh, look who finally decided to show his face.”

mark leans back, already smirking, “mr. steal your girl,” he says through a mouthful of toast, “didn’t know you had it in you, dude.”

“what?” renjun frowns, confused.

haechan points his spoon directly at him, “you stole yangyang’s girlfriend.”

“I DID NOT–,” renjun yells, his voice cracking a little. silence falls over the entire table. even the pancake jeno was feeding bunny freezes mid-air in space — it’s the most emotion they’ve ever seen from renjun in the past three years. calm, rational, spreadsheet-using, color-coded schedule renjun. the man who has never once raised his voice at them. ever. renjun takes a breath, shoulders stiff, taking a seat and trying to calm down, “i didn’t steal anyone, okay?”

“bro,” chenle pulls out his phone, “you trended on the campus confession page three separate times last night. there’s a post that literally says, renjun is taken </3 goodbye to my dreams.”

jisung blinks sleepily, still sipping from his straw, his other hand playing with the hem of cherry’s shorts, “wait…aren’t you like…best friends with yangyang?”

renjun groans, dragging a hand down his face, “yes. we are. or were. i don’t know. god.” it was clear as the summer’s day. he was spiraling. and the boys all found it amusing. renjun always had his shit together. always knew what was going to happen tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. you have clearly sent him into a full existential collapse.

“this is so messy,” haechan grins, resting his chin on princess’ shoulder, “i love it.”

jaemin squints at him, trying to suppress a grin, “okay but seriously…what actually happened?”

renjun sighs, grabbing a piece of toast, and starts talking like a man who has accepted his doom, “she hit her head.”

“who hit her?,” jisung asks, eyes wide.

“i did.”

the whole table collectively gasped — “DUDE.”

“not on purpose!,” renjun snaps, glaring, “i dropped a box from the fly tower. it hit her head. it’s not like i threw it at her.”

angel’s brow furrow, “wait–yangyangs girlfriend?…y/n? the nice one? the one that always offers to help people in class?”

renjun winces, “yes.”

angel leans back, jaw dropping, jaemin watched her with a playful gleam in his eyes, “soft, sweet, sunshine girl, y/n?!, you dropped a box on her HEAD?!”

renjun groans, “again, it was an accident.”

“is she okay?,” kitten asks gently, reaching over to pass him the butter like this is a normal conversation.

“physically, yes,” renjun mutters, grabbing the butter, “but she has temporary amnesia. the doctor said no screens and no sudden memory dumps. it could mess her up permanently so now…,” he sighs like he still can’t believe this is his life, “she thinks i’m her boyfriend.”

everyone pauses. then– “OH MY GOD,” haechan howls, “bro, you’re in a k-drama.”

jeno grins, “fake dating but make it amnesia edition.”

“‘i’m not even dating her!,” renjun says, defensive and deranged, “i’m just trying not to kill her again!”

“i cannot believe this is happening to the number one most anti-romantic dude in this room,” jaemin laughs, shaking his head, “the one who once said and i quote feelings are just viruses the brain catches from bad decisions.”

jisung teasingly adds, “didn’t he also say love is a scam invented by capitalism to sell jewelry?”

“yes,” renjun mumbles, “because it is. and now this is my karma.”

chenle’s eyes go wide, remembering something else he read from campus confessions, “wait, i heard she sat next to you in class?” renjun nods wearily, “was she…like…touchy?,” he smirks.

renjun stares into the voice, “her hand was on my thigh for twenty straight minutes while professor yuta was giving a lecture.” the room loses it. chenle literally collapses sideways onto baby, crying from laughter. jaemin is banging the table with his palm. mark starts screaming. haechan’s gasping for air.

“NOT THE THIGH,” baby screams.

“THAT’S GIRLFRIEND TERRITORY,” princess adds.

“she calls me babe or junie,” renjun adds bitterly, “and she looks at me like i invented sunrise,” he shudders.

bunny covers her mouth to hide a smile, “that’s actually kind of sweet though…”

“no, it’s deranged!,” renjun snaps, “i didn’t ask for this!”

chenle laughs, wiping his eyes. “okay, but be honest. is she at least cute?”

“she’s…” renjun pauses. “that’s not the point.”

“which means yes,” jisung says with a grin.

“no!,” renjun yells, “it means i’m not going there! she’s yangyang’s girlfriend!”

cherry tilts her head, “does yangyang know?”

renjun rubs his temples, “i called him the second it happened. said he trusts me and asked me to take care of her.”

angel raises a brow, “so you’re just gonna keep pretending to be her boyfriend until… what? she magically remembers one day and asks why you were letting her flirt with you?”

renjun slams his forehead against the table. “i don’t know, okay?! if i tell her the truth too fast, it might mess her up… i’m in hell.”

“damn,” mark says after a beat. “that’s… actually kind of a lot.”

renjun groans into the table, “tell me about it,” then he lifts his head, glaring at all of them, “this is all your fault by the way.” they look at him with confused expressions, he continues, pointing an accusing finger at each one of them, “if you guys just stayed single, i wouldn’t have had to run into the fly tower to escape from the mob of fangirls you’ve all accumulated!” the whole table bursts into laughter once again.

“okay, but like…,” baby squints, “what happens when she wants to kiss her boyfriend?”

everyone leans in.

“or even better,” chenle smirks, “what happens when she wants to have sex with her boyfriend?”

renjun doesn’t even hesitate. he immediately hurls a piece of bread straight at chenle’s face.

“I’M NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT!”

✿ A WEEK OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS ✿

you wake up early, heart set on one thing: making things right with your boyfriend. at least, you’re pretty sure he’s your boyfriend. you still haven’t remembered everything since the accident, but he hasn’t corrected you so it must be true. right? still, you can tell something’s been bothering him. maybe it’s you. maybe you were too clingy in class two days ago. you didn’t mean to be. you just feel so safe around him. so warm. so familiar. and for some reason, your body moves before your brain even catches up. like it remembers him even if your mind doesn’t. but when he gently pushed your hand off his thigh…it stung. so here you are in your little yellow apron, humming softly in your apartment’s tiny kitchen as you roll spicy rice balls between your palms and press sesame seeds into tiny heart shapes. you even made gochujang glazed chicken, his favorite, you think. you remember cooking it a lot. you don’t know when or where, just that you were always standing in the kitchen with your sleeves rolled up, giggling while someone snuck pieces off the pan when he thought you weren’t looking.

“hey,” you jump a little, turning to see ningning, your roommate, your best friend, standing in the doorway with a heavy frown on her face. she looks tired. and worried. she nods towards the spread on the counter, “you’re making lunch?”

you nod brightly, “mhm, renjun’s favorite!.”

her expression doesn’t change, “spicy rice balls?,” she asks gently, stepping closer, “that’s his favorite?”

you pause, your brows furrow, “...it is…right?”

ningning exhales slowly, rubbing her face like she’s deciding whether to scream or cry, “i don’t think you should do this,” she says quietly.

you blink, “why not?”

“you’re still recovering,” she says, voice even, “you shouldn’t be standing this long. you shouldn’t be stressing over… anything.”

you bite your lip, “but i want to do this. i…i think i made him uncomfortable in class. he hasn’t reached out to me since then. i just want to fix things…show him i’m trying.”

ningning sighs, “y/n…” something in her voice makes your stomach twist.

“is something wrong?” you ask, stepping toward her, “did he say something? is he upset?”

“no, it’s just—” she stops herself. runs a hand through her hair, “you’re not yourself right now. and you’re working so hard to be the perfect girlfriend to someone you don’t even remember.”

you flinch. just slightly, “i’m trying,” you say, softer now.

“i know you are,” she says, gently, “that’s the problem.” you look down at the heart-shaped rice balls. your fingers tremble just a little.

“i feel useless,” you admit, “i don’t remember anything. i can barely recall any of my memories. but when i’m making these…it feels like i know him. even if i don’t.” ningning looks like she wants to say something — badly. but her mouth tightens instead. you give her a small smile, “i just want to make him happy,” you say, “even if i don’t remember why i want to.” and with that, you go back to work, gently placing everything into the bento box, tying it up with a yellow ribbon, and scribbling a tiny note on a post-it with a smiley face and one word: sorry. behind you, ningning leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with an ache in her chest. because she knows the truth. that is yangyang’s favorite food. and renjun is not your boyfriend. but right now, you’re just too sweet and too gentle and too hopeful to stop. so she lets you go.

❤︎

renjun knows something is wrong the moment you approach the bench outside the art building with a giant smile and a lunchbox tied up in a yellow ribbon. he was just planning to eat cafeteria ramen in silence. like a normal, emotionally stable person. but no. there you are. radiating sunshine. practically skipping.

“renjun!,” you call, way too loudly. a few heads turn. renjun shrinks into his flannel.

he clears his throat, trying to sound casual, “uh. hey,”

“i made you lunch!,” you beam, setting the box gently on his lap as you took a seat next to him. renjun stares at it. then stares at you. then back at the box. he’s terrified. you sit beside him eagerly, hands folded under your chin, “open it!”

“i…you didn’t have to do this,” he says.

you pout, “i wanted to…it’s my apology. for being too touchy.” renjun sighs quietly and unties the ribbon. he lifts the lid and nearly blacks out. inside is a lovingly arranged, super aesthetic bento box…filled with spicy kimchi rice balls, gochujang glazed chicken, a small bottle of ghost pepper mayo for dipping, and a note that says sorry :)

“ta-da,” you say, soft and hopeful, “i made your favorites.” you wait for his eyes to light up. for him to smile or laugh or even tease you. you expect warmth. but instead – he freezes. there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes. surprise? confusion? dread?

“...these are not my favorites,” renjun blurts, before he can stop himself. your smile falters. “i–i mean,” he tries to recover, panic rising, “they’re great!...i just…have a very mild spice tolerance. like…negative.”

you look at him, eyes wide and hurt, “oh. i-i’m sorry,” your voice goes soft, “i…forgot again, didn’t i?”

renjun immediately feels like trash, “no, no, hey, it’s no big deal,” he rushes to say, waving his hands, “you went through a lot. you’re still recovering.”

“but i should remember what my boyfriend likes,” you murmur, “i keep messing up.” he doesn’t know what to say to that. because the truth is you do remember what your boyfriend likes. it just isn’t him. every dish screams yangyang’s spice-loving palate. every detail, from the sesame seed heart on the rice to the folded napkin with doodled stars is something yangyang would have loved. and you remembered it all without even knowing. renjun gulps, suddenly feeling way too warm. you sigh, “do you…not want to eat it?”

he glances at the ghost pepper mayo. it’s looking at him like a loaded gun, “…no, no, i’ll eat it,” he says quickly, picking up a rice ball with the delicacy of someone diffusing a bomb. he pops it into his mouth and instantly regrets every decision that’s brought him to his moment. his eyes water. his throat closes. his soul leaves his body. he tries not to make a sound but a tiny squeak escapes.

“oh my god,” you gasp, “junie, are you okay?!”

he nods violently, tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes, “s’great!,” he croaks, “delicious.”

“you’re crying.”

“im just…overwhelmed…by your love,” he wheezes.

you sit there, stunned. “i…i’m so sorry,” you whisper, pulling the lunchbox out of his hands, “i must’ve gotten it wrong again. i really thought…” you trail off, staring down at the food. you feel small. like a child who studied all night and still got the answers wrong. “-i remembered this,” you murmur to yourself more than him, “i remembered you sneaking pieces off the pan when you thought i wasn’t looking. i remembered you saying spicy food makes you feel alive.” he doesn’t reply. and that silence is louder than anything. you set the bento down on the bench between you. your shoulders curl inward a little, a soft sigh leaving your lips, “i keep doing that,” you whisper, “messing things up. forgetting who you are,” your hands twist in your lap, “i’m sorry. i’ll do better. i promise.” you reach over and gently dab the sweat off his temple with a napkin, and you say, in the softest voice, “next time…i’ll make something sweet.” and even though your heart is heavy and the food sits uneaten between you, you still smile like you haven’t just broken your own heart without even knowing why.

❤︎

you find him sitting under the tree by the art building this time, sketchbook in hand, earbuds in, looking all calm and dreamy and boyfriend-coded. it’s cute. you kind of want to kiss his cheek again, but you’re respecting his space. no wandering hands. just soft girlfriend effort. you crouch beside him and whisper, “junie.”

he flinches hard enough to smudge his sketch, “you can’t sneak up on people like that,” he scolds, pulling one earbud out.

you giggle, “sorry, i was too excited.”

he looks up, suspicious, “about what?”

“i remembered something,” you say, eyes sparkling.

his expression shifts immediately, surprise, a flash of something hopeful, “you did?”

“yeah,” you nod eagerly, “it’s small, but…i think it’s real this time.”

he closes his sketchbook, giving you his full attention now. “okay. what is it?”

you take a deep breath, beaming, “you call me your honeypie sugarplum pumpkin.”

there’s a silence. you look so proud of yourself. like you just discovered gravity or cured heartbreak. renjun blinks. then blinks again. “…i what?”

“you know,” you say innocently, “honeypie sugarplum pumpkin.” renjun stares at you like he’s about to have an out-of-body experience. like he’s debating whether to dig a grave under this very tree and roll into it. what kind of unholy care-bear-ass relationship did you and yangyang have?! honeypie? sugarplum?! pumpkin?!?!

you tilt your head, confused. “you don’t call me that?”

absolutely the fuck not. he thinks to himself fighting the urge to throw himself into traffic. “no. i… i definitely do not call you that.”

your face falls just slightly. “oh,” you pause, “so… you just always call me by my name? no nickname?” and you look so soft. so hopeful. so broken. like you’re waiting to hear something warm and sweet and reassuring. the way a real boyfriend would say it. which renjun is not. but now you’re looking at him with your big eyes and your soft voice and— renjun panics.

“no, silly,” he blurts, completely unprepared for this moment, “of course i call you something.”

you perk up. “really?”

he racks his brain. frantically. what sounds boyfriend-y but not embarrassing? what can he stand to say without wanting to vomit? finally, he lands on, “…i call you love.”

I CALL YOU WHAT? WHAT DID I JUST SAY? WHO IS POSSESSING MY BODY?? WHO LET THIS LEAVE MY MOUTH?! GOD?? OUT OF ALL THE NICKNAMES…LOVE?!?!?!?! REALLY???

but you light up like the sun. absolutely beaming. sparkles in your eyes and everything, “well, that’s definitely better,” you say, cheeks glowing, “i like it.” renjun forces a smile. he wants to dissolve into dust and never be seen again.

❤︎

you wait for him outside the art building, hugging the bouquet of red roses to your chest. he always gets out around this time. you want this to be a good surprise. something familiar. something he might remember, even if you don’t. you heard that little voice in your head, a memory of him saying he’s never received flowers before. how his favorite were the red wrapped around your fingers. when renjun finally steps out of the double doors, earbuds in, his gaze drifts over the steps until it lands on you. and then lower. to the flowers. you smile, nervous, “hi.” he slows. cautious. “i, uh–,” you offer the bouquet forward, voice lilting with hesitant hope, “i got you something.”

renjun stares at the roses like they’ve personally offended him. he finally speaks, flat and unimpressed, “you got me roses?”

“i remembered you said–”

“i hate roses.” the words are sharper than you expect. they cut through the soft warmth you’d been building in your chest and it falters, quickly, fully.

“oh.” you swallow, brows knitting, “i got it wrong again?”

renjun exhales like he’s been holding it in since this whole act began, “it’s fine.”

you take a step forward, desperate to fix it, “i can get different ones next time. what do you actually like?” he eyes the tiny notebook in your hand, the one he’s seen you scribbling in for days now. you always hide it before he can read over your shoulder.

“forget it,” he mutters, brushing past you, but you follow him. always one step behind. always trying.

“renjun, come on. i’m trying, okay? you could at least tell me. it’s not like i know everything anymore–,” he stops, turning slowly. you see it then, the look in his eyes — like this is exhausting. like you are exhausting.

“yellow daffodils.” he finally says, clipped, just to finally make you leave. you open the notebook immediately, flipping it open with quick fingers. scribble it down. underlined. renjun watches you write in silence, then asks, “what are you doing?”

“trying to remember,” you murmur. his eyes scan the page before you flip it shut. he catches the words: doesn’t like physical touch, can’t handle spicy food but still tried it for me, doesn’t like to talk when he’s sketching, always has his earbuds in, prefers sitting under the southern magnolia tree, calls me love. and the new addition — he likes yellow daffodils.

something in him buckles. but only for a second. he forces his back into indifference, “you don’t have to do that, you know?”

“what?”

“take notes like i’m a subject,” he says, “like you’ll get some prize if you figure me out.”

your chest tightens, “i’m not trying to win anything. i just want to remember,” you say quietly. he turns his face away. not because he’s mad. but because if he looks at you too long, he might scream. you’re smiling at him like he’s the boy you love. like you trust him. like you chose him. like he’s safe. but he’s not. he’s just the idiot who dropped a box on your head and couldn’t tell you the truth. so now here he is. pretending. performing. and being thanked for it with roses.

“i didn’t ask for this,” he mutters, barely audible. there’s a pause. then, louder, sharp like surrender, “give me the roses.” you blink. startled. he holds out his hand without looking at you. you hand them over wordlessly. renjun walks away, bouquet dangling from one hand like it’s burning him. doesn’t look back. doesn’t say thank you. you stay behind, notebook pressed to your chest, watching him get smaller and smaller. you write one more thing down: hates roses. took them anyway.

❤︎

you hum quietly as you dip the brush into the palette, squinting at renjun’s canvas. he’s been gone for a bit — just ran down the art building’s storage room to grab a new tube of paint — and you thought, maybe this is a good time to help. he was working on this piece all morning. you heard him sigh at least seven times. and you remembered something! not a nickname or a fake memory — a real one. you remembered that he said his favorite way to add warmth to a painting is by lightly blending red into the shadows. you’d overheard him say it once in class. so you thought… just a little touch. a light wash in the bottom corner. you barely brush the crimson into the edge of his painting when his voice slices in, “what are you doing?”

you turn quickly, literally caught red-handed. you look down at the brush, then back at him, “oh! i remembered what you said about red shadows, so i just—"

he exhales. slow. deep. not angry, not loud. just tired, “don’t touch my painting.”

you pause, “i was trying to help.”

“i didn’t ask for help!,” he snaps, setting his supplies down a little too hard on the desk.

you stare at him, chest shrinking, “i thought i was doing something nice,” you murmur. he runs a hand through his hair, muttering something that sounds a lot like why me. there’s an uncomfortable silence after that. you look back down at the canvas — the part you touched is fine. barely noticeable. it didn't ruin anything. he could paint over it in two seconds if he wanted to. but it’s not about that. it’s you. you feel it. you’re too much. too present. too there. renjun doesn’t say it, but you can feel it radiating off of him like secondhand smoke, “…sorry,” you say again, softly.

he nods once. “whatever.” he won’t look at you. you step away from the canvas, folding your arms over your chest. you want to say thank you for letting me paint with you, or i just wanted to be useful, or even you looked tired and i wanted to ease the weight a little. but you say none of that. you just leave the room quietly, brush still stained with red.

he stares at the spot you touched. the red. barely-there, feathered into the corner — warm, grounding, alive. it’s perfect. not too much. not clashing. not overpowering. just…right. the missing piece. the thing he couldn’t figure out. the part that was bothering him all day. the part he was going to repaint completely. you were trying to be thoughtful and he brushed it off again. he’s not used to someone else being in his space. not used to people trying to help him or worry about him or touch things without asking. he’s used to routines. solitude. clean palettes. predictable hours. he’s not used to… girlfriends. or whatever this situation is. he’s not built for it. and you’re so soft, so gentle, so incredibly romantic in a way he never asked for — and he knows it’s not your fault. but god, he’s so tired.

✿ ROMANTIC TRAGEDY ✿

renjun stands in front of your apartment door, clutching a tiny paper bag of apology brownies he remembered yangyang always got for you. he hasn’t slept well in two days. not since you looked at him like that — lips parted, fingers trembling slightly as you whispered “sorry,” and backed away like you'd broken something. even though you hadn’t. not even close.

he sighs and knocks. the door swings open not even two seconds later. ningning stands there. arms crossed. eyes narrowed and full of judgment. renjun doesn’t even get a chance to speak, “you’re lucky i’m not holding a knife right now.”

“hi,” he says tiredly. “good to see you too.”

ningning steps into his space, glaring up at him, “you made her cry, you know.”

renjun’s jaw tightens, “i didn’t mean to.”

“but you did,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

he sighs, brushing a hand through his hair. “look. i feel like shit. i came to apologize, okay?”

ningning crosses her arms tighter, “you should feel like shit. she’s trying so hard, renjun. she wakes up every day thinking she’s in love with you. do you know how insane that is?” he doesn’t answer. she lowers her voice, “she’s scared. she’s confused. she forgets something new every day and thinks it’s her fault. she thinks she’s a bad girlfriend because she doesn’t remember what kind of food and flowers you like and you—” she pokes his chest, “you get annoyed when she adds a little too much red to a painting.”

“i know,” he mutters, “i know i was a dick. i just—” he exhales again. “i’ve never had to take care of anyone before. not like this.”

ningning softens just slightly, but only slightly. “she doesn’t need you to take care of her, renjun,” she says, “she just needs you not to treat her like she’s ruining your life.”

renjun swallows, guilt curling tighter in his chest, “yeah. got it.”

ningning looks at him for another second, long enough to confirm he actually means it, then steps aside, “she’s in her room,” she says. “probably sketching something sad.” he nods, stepping past her slowly, “and if you hurt her again,” she calls out behind him, “i will kill you.” renjun steps into your room, slow and unsure, clutching the now slightly crumpled bag of apology brownies. the space smells like lavender and pencil shavings. light from your desk lamp spills across the floor. you’re sitting there, back facing him, sketchbook in your lap, head tilted as you drag your pencil across the page in soft, thoughtful strokes.

you don’t look up when the door clicks shut. he clears his throat, “hey.”

you pause. glance over your shoulder. your face is unreadable for a second. then you offer a small smile — hesitant, kind, “hi,” you say.

renjun swallows the lump in his throat, “i… uh. i wanted to say i’m sorry.” you fully turn in your chair now, legs crossed under you. you don’t speak, waiting patiently like you’re giving him space to find the right words.

“i was out of line. the other day. with the painting,” he rubs the back of his neck, “you didn’t ruin anything. you actually… made it better. i just…i don’t know. i panicked.”

you blink. then smile again, soft, and somehow still glowing even under the dorm’s bad lighting, “it’s okay,” you say, standing slowly, “you were stressed, i get it.” he nods, grateful for your kindness. you take a step forward, then another — and then, your arms are wrapping around him. light and warm and genuine. he stiffens immediately. arms at his sides. not moving. you don’t miss it. you step back after a second, hurt flickering across your face like a dying candle, “is there… something else going on?”

renjun blinks, “what?”

you tilt your head, “it’s just…” you sigh, “you’re my boyfriend but you can’t even touch me. we don’t kiss. we don’t hold hands. it’s been a week and you treat me like i’m a stranger.” renjun’s brain short-circuits. in the deepest corner of his soul, he curses chenle for joking about this exact moment. that gremlin manifested this. his mouth moves before his brain does, “oh!, it’s cause im doing no nut november!”

you blink. a long, long pause. then, slowly, deadpan, “…it’s august.”

he closes his eyes, “right.”

you stare at him for a few more seconds, “so you’re… doing no nut november...in august.”

“yeah,” he says weakly, “i’m… training early.”

you just blink at him, obviously unconvinced. “you don’t have to lie, you know.”

he groans, dragging a hand over his face. “okay—fine. i just…” he sighs again, searching for another lie, “i want to take things slow. since you’re still recovering and all.”

“that’s… really sweet,” you say, your voice soft and touched. your expression softens. then you smile. not the small one. the beaming one. the kind that hits him like a truck. his brain is screaming — that wasn’t supposed to be sweet. that was survival. that was panic. and god, now you think he’s boyfriend material.

“thank you for telling me,” you say quietly, “now, i understand.” he looks at you, unsure what to do with the guilt crawling down his spine. you’re so gentle with him. so kind. even when he keeps screwing up. even when you’re scared and confused and calling him your boyfriend when he’s not. and that makes it worse somehow. because you trust him. “…do you want to sit down?” you ask, voice softer now, careful. renjun nods before he can stop himself. you sit side by side on your bed, knees nearly touching, the room quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the muffled chaos inside his head. his hands are clenched in his lap. your eyes stay on him — big, wide, full of that misplaced trust again. renjun tries to keep his breathing normal. and then you ask it. the question that breaks the final thread of his internal stability.

“…can i kiss you?”

it knocks the air right out of him, “w-what?”

you smile, soft and almost sad, “just one kiss,” you whisper, “it won’t break me.”

he visibly panics, “that’s— i don’t— maybe we should— you’re still recovering—”

you giggle, “renjun.” his name sounds so dangerous coming out of your mouth like that. sweet and certain and too trusting. you keep talking like you don’t see how badly he’s unraveling, “i’m not gonna break,” you say, tilting your head, “i like kissing you. or… i used to, i think. and i want to try again. please?”

please. that word should be illegal. his jaw tightens. “you don’t even have to kiss me back,” you breathe, leaning in slowly, “just… let me feel it. let me remember something.” he’s not sure when he stopped breathing. you were so close now, lips hovering, waiting. tempting. and he was throwing his moral compass out the window.

“god,” he mutters under his breath, voice barely a whisper, “fine.” and then – he gives in. your lips brush his, soft at first, tentative. testing. but even that gentle contact obstructs his brain. you kiss him slowly, like a memory you’re trying to find. like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you press too hard. and maybe you’re right. he’s hanging on by a thread. your hand rests lightly on his thigh and it takes everything in him not to react. his fingers curl onto the blanket, fists clenched, trying so hard to hold himself back. he doesn’t mean to kiss you back. but your lips part slightly, breath brushing over his mouth and he’s gone. his head tilts. mouths open. and then — your tongues meet. a soft press at first. curious. gentle. then you sigh into him, the sound high and breathy, and his body ignites. your tongue strokes against his, slow, languid, sensual and he groans, low in his throat. his hands fist in the blanket beneath you, trying to ground himself, but it’s no use. you taste like mint gum and something sweeter. every brush of your tongue feels like fire. you’re kissing him deeper now, hungrier, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt. he follows like he’s been summoned.

this is wrong. you’re his best friend’s girlfriend.

his body moves before his brain can stop it. you sink into the mattress, pulling him halfway on top of you. his elbows braced on either side of your head, caging you in, mouth never leaving his. you pull him closer by the front of his shirt, his hips press into yours, the weight of him dizzying. your tongues slide together again — hot, messy, wet. the kiss turns frantic, full of longing, need, remembrance. you moan into his mouth, and the sound drives him wild. his tongue pushes deeper, licking into you, exploring you like he’s been starved. he swallows your noises like he needs them. like they’re oxygen.

this is so wrong. you have temporary amnesia.

but—god, your mouth feels good. he grinds down without meaning to. his body aches. blood rushing south. cock hardening against your thigh. he’s rock hard and panicking but also can’t stop. “renjun,” you gasp against his mouth, and it’s his undoing. the spell shatters. renjun jerks back like he’s been electrocuted. you blink up at him, dazed. lips swollen, eyes wide, chest heaving. confused. beautiful. wrecked. he stares at your mouth, panting, ruined. the gloss of it. the taste of you still in his tongue. his brain is a mess. every cell in his body screaming for him to go back down and finish what you started. but he’s already on his feet, standing so fast he almost stumbles over your lamp.

“you—uh—you should rest!,” he stammers, backing toward the door, nearly tripping over your nightstand, “like—your brain! still healing! i’ll—uh—i’ll come by tomorrow or something—bye!” and he’s out. the door slams shut. he stumbles into the hallway, heart slamming against his ribcage, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon. he barely makes it a few steps before collapsing against your door, breathing hard, like he just escaped a burning building. his lips are swollen. his hands are shaking. his pants are tight. what the fuck just happened? he kissed his best friend’s girlfriend. and he liked it.

❤︎

the door slams behind him. you stay frozen for a second, eyes still on the space where renjun had just been hovering over you. your back presses into the mattress, chest rising and falling gently, lips still parted, still tingling. your fingers lift, slow, hesitant, and brush across your mouth. he kissed you. you kissed him. and it didn’t feel familiar. not the way it should’ve. not the way you were expecting it to. it didn’t feel like coming home. it felt like stumbling into something messy and a little forbidden, even though it shouldn’t be. it felt…new. undeniably new. and god, exciting. your fingers curl slightly at your lips. they still feel warm. a little sore, a little swollen, like they’re still craving more of him. you hadn’t meant to pull him down like that. it just sort of happened. the way he kissed back – cautious at first, but then deeper, more sure. the way he moved like he was losing himself in it. the way his hand gripped the bedsheets. the way his breath hitched when you moaned into his mouth.

he’s a good kisser. like – really good. like he knew exactly how to tilt his head, how to slow down just long enough to make your stomach twist. he kissed you like he didn’t want to want it but couldn’t stop himself. and that made it hotter, somehow. you blink, cheeks burning. was it always like that between us? you try to dig through the fog in your head, waiting for something to click. but it doesn’t. nothing matches. nothing about that kiss felt like a déjà vu. instead, it felt like discovering something for the first time. something you shouldn’t want but do anyway. something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t explain. it didn’t feel like a memory. it felt like chemistry. like maybe…this whole time, the boy you thought was yours has been holding back something you’ve only just gotten a glimpse of. and now you kind of want more.

❤︎

renjun doesnt know how far he’s walked. he’s been wandering around campus aimlessly. it’s nearly sundown now. the sky going that orange-pink color that looks like it should belong in a cheesy romance movie. which feels like an offensive coincidence. he just kissed his best friend’s girlfriend, “god,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, “i’m going to hell.”

he meant to apologize. that’s all he went over there to do. one quick sorry, maybe a hug — not a heated make-out session on your bed. but everything had spiraled out of control the moment you said please. renjun groans again, louder this time. he can still feel your lips. they were soft. too soft. unfairly soft. and worse — he liked kissing you. for a second, longer than a second, he forgot. forgot the memory loss. forgot yangyang. forgot everything but the way you tilted your head, the way you sighed against his mouth, the way your hands tugged on his shirt like you wanted him. which is crazy. because you don’t even know who you are right now. and he definitely knows you’re not his.

“shit,” renjun breathes, he sits on a bench, pressing his elbows into his knees, head in his hands. every single part of him screams the same thing over and over: tell yangyang — he should. god knows, he should. but he won’t. not yet. because what is he even supposed to say? hey bro, remember when you asked me to take care of your girlfriend while you were in germany? well, funny story, she kissed me. i kissed back. accidentally made out with her. my dick got hard. my bad.

no. no way. he drags a hand through his hair, jaw clenching. yangyang trusted him. asked him to do this. and that’s exactly what he was doing…right? he’s taking care of you. being there when you’re fragile and confused and desperate for connection. the kiss wasn’t planned. it wasn’t romantic. it was—you asked. you insisted. you pulled him down. and maybe he didn’t fight back hard enough but it was only to calm you down. to…help you. that’s it. that’s what he’s telling himself. even if his lips are still tingling. yangyang doesn’t need to know. not yet. maybe not ever. if your memory comes back tomorrow, it’ll be like nothing happened. and if it doesnt…then maybe he’ll come clean. eventually. possibly. probably. maybe not. he sighs. he needs to get it together. he’s never been the messy one. that’s usually haechan. or jaemin when he’s being overly dramatic. renjun’s always been the stable one. the logical one. the one who doesn’t do feelings — and now he’s starring in his own personal romantic tragedy.

✿ HEARTBREAKINGLY KISSED ✿

the dream house always threw the first party of the year. the kind of chaos freshmen tell their hometown friends about. the kind of chaos upperclassmen lived for. by 10PM, the backyard was packed. the dj booth was pulsing with bass-heavy remixes. colored lights strobed across the sweaty crowd. the pool, now set up for the summer heat, in the backyard, glowed under string lights, surrounded by drunk, half-naked students shouting and throwing hands full of water at each other.

renjun stood by the keg, nursing his red solo cup, wondering, not for the first time, why he showed up at all. he told himself he needed to blow off steam. that he deserved to dance, drink, let loose and yet now he’s surrounded by girls still trying to claw at him.

you weren’t sure why your stomach twisted the moment you stepped past the glowing fairy lights strung across the gate. the party was in full swing and yet as chaotic as it all was, something about this felt…familiar. you looked up at ningning beside you, sipping something blue out of a cup and looking around with mild amusement, “are you having fun?,” she said, swaying to the beat.

you nodded slowly, eyes scanning the crowd, “i think i’ve been here before.”

ningning blinked, “yeah? we usually attend the dream parties.” you nod, squinting toward the backyard, scanning for that one familiar face. you hadn’t seen renjun all day and you miss him. you weren’t clingy — you were just…confused. lost. trying your best. he was the only person who felt safe. and tonight, you’d been looking forward to being near him again. maybe a little too much.

“where is he?” you asked softly, more to yourself than anyone else. ningning raised a brow, “you okay?”

you smiled faintly, “i’m fine. it’s just….” she stared at you for a beat, then reached out and gave your hand a soft squeeze, “just go find him, babe. i’ll be over there near the jello shots.” you gave her a grateful look and turned, weaving through the crowd. you spot him in the yard, by the keg, under the neon lights, in conversation with some guy wearing shorts with palm trees on them. he’s in a white shirt and khaki shorts, jaw flexed as he sipped something from a solo cup. and surrounding him were girls. like moths to a flame. you watched them — three, maybe four, clustered around him, laughing too hard, touching his arm, twirling their hair. he barely reacted. but you did. you didn’t even think. jealousy wasn’t a feeling you expected tonight. but the rush of heat behind your ribs said otherwise. you cut through the crowd, marching up to him with a determined smile and a skip in your step. he didn’t see you coming — not until you were already there, sliding an arm around his neck like it belonged there. the girls blinked, faltering.

renjun turned to look at you, blinking, confused, a little drunk, “hey–?” and then you kissed him. right there in front of everyone. you didn’t hold back. you went all in. hand at the nape of his neck. body close. your lips pressing against his like you were claiming something that had always been yours. you weren’t trying to be hot or make a scene. you just needed them to know. he’s taken. he’s yours. renjun tensed, just for a second, and then relaxed slightly into it. his lips didn’t move. didn’t deepen the kiss, but he didn’t push you away either. his hands hovered like he didn’t know what to do with them. when you pulled away, you gave him a soft, satisfied smile, innocent-ish eyes on display, “i was looking for you.”

the girls slowly dispersed, annoyed, muttering something about “oh, so they’re really together” and “ugh, why is he hotter now that he’s taken.”

renjun blinked, mouth slightly open thinking what the fuck just happened as he tried to ground himself again. he gets a good look at you. you’re wearing a yellow checkered dress, short and sweet, enough to compete with the sun. and then slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. not because he liked the kiss — no, definitely not. maybe a little. it was wrong. so wrong. you are still not his girlfriend. but he’d been waiting months for those girls to leave him alone. and all it took was you. maybe being a fake boyfriend isn’t so bad. so he grinned — not the nervous, awkward renjun grin you were used to. no, this one was crooked. playful. almost cocky, “well,” he said, shrugging as he slid an arm around your waist, “guess you found me, love.”

your smile widened. it was the first time he used it. that nickname that made you blush extremely. he took another shot. something to get him through the night. and then he played along. he pulled you with him onto the dance floor. his hands stayed on your waist. when you giggled at the beat drop, he spun you around and pulled you back flush against his chest, your hips grinding exactly where he needs you to. his breath tickled your ear, “you're not a bad dancer,” he mumbled, “didn’t think you’d have rhythm.”

you grinned, looking up at him, “is that a compliment?”

“i’m drunk. it might be.” at some point, you fed him a pineapple. he took it with his teeth, lips brushing your fingers. eyes locked on yours. he didn’t let go of your hand after. you leaned your head on his shoulder. he let you. and he was in trouble. because for the first time in weeks, he was actually having fun. no chasing girls away. no dodging confessions. no rumors. no chaos. just…you. laughing at his jokes, dancing like nobody was watching, sipping his drink when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. you felt good beside him. and renjun felt drunk on more than just the shots he took. he wasn’t even sure what flipped the switch. maybe it was the way your arm curled around his when you leaned into him. or how your dress kept riding up every time you swayed your hips. or how your ass would grind onto him without you realizing. or maybe it was just the way you looked at him — soft, adoring, like he was yours and always had been.

he broke. without thinking, he tugged your hand and pulled you off the dance floor, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the way you giggled in surprise, “where are we going?,” you asked breathlessly, trying to keep up. he didn’t answer. didn’t trust himself to. he should’ve stopped. should’ve let go. but everything felt too hot — the music, the night, the way your fingers tightened around his. his blood was buzzing in his veins, brain fogged with lust and guilt and something else he didn’t want to name. he found the first empty bathroom upstairs, slammed the door shut behind you both, and locked it.

“jun—,” you didn’t finish. because the second the door shut, he was on you. his mouth crashed into yours with no warning. no hesitation. just hunger. a surge of raw, unchecked desire that had been simmering since that afternoon on your bed. your back hit the bathroom counter with a soft thud, but you didn’t notice. all you could feel was him — his body, his mouth, his heat, everywhere at once. the kiss was messy, uncoordinated, desperate. tongue first. like he couldn’t get deep enough, fast enough. your lips parted without thinking, welcoming the slick glide of his tongue, the way he licked into you like he was trying to drink you down. he groaned into your mouth, deep and needy, as your fingers clawed at his shirt, dragging him closer, pulling him in until there was no space left between you. his hips slotted between yours — and then he moved. a slow, deliberate grind. friction. you gasped. the drag of his jeans against your bare thigh. the way his cock pressed hard and hot through his pants, right between your legs. the sensation was blinding. the pressure is perfect. his lips devoured yours again as he rocked forward, slow and firm, grinding himself into the soaked center of your underwear like he couldn’t help it. your hands flew to his waist, anchoring him there, moaning into his mouth as your hips lifted, chasing the friction.

“shit,” he cursed, pulling back just enough to look at you, dazed, flushed, lips glossy with him, “you’re so—,” he didn’t finish. just kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding hotly against yours. one of his hands curled around the back of your neck, holding you steady, while the other slipped down, grabbing the underside of your thigh, hiking it up around his hip. you moaned. loud and unfiltered. and that sound, god, that sweet sound, made him thrust. it wasn’t soft. it was needy. your hips met halfway, grinding into him like your body had always known him. your panties were soaked now, the fabric doing nothing to protect you from the friction of his jeans, the hard line of his cock rutting against you again and again. it wasn’t enough. but it was too much. so much you couldn’t breathe. you broke the kiss with a gasp, head falling back as he leaned in, teeth grazing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. his breath was ragged, hot against your skin.

“renjun—,” you moaned, voice trembling. he ground into you again. harder. you cried out softly, legs tightening around his waist. his hands slid under your dress, fingers digging into your thighs as he rocked you both together, slow and dirty, his cock dragging over your clit through all the layers in just the right way. you were so close. too close. your nails scraped down his back. he kissed you again, stealing every breath, swallowing every sound. the rhythm picked up. friction sharp. focused. his hips bucking against yours, your dress bunched up around your waist, your underwear sticking to you from how wet you were.

“fuck,” he hissed into your mouth, and it was the most broken he’d ever sounded — and then he paused. not because he wanted to but because he had to. his hips stilled, his body shaking with restraining, head bowed against your shoulder, breath ragged, heart pounding. what the fuck was he doing? his hands were on someone else’s girlfriend. he pulled back. you blinked up at him, dazed, lips swollen, confused and breathless, your body still begging for more. you looked too perfect. too innocent. you had no idea this wasn’t real. this wasn’t right. he turned away, cursing under his breath. his reflection looked as wrecked as you felt. sweat at his hairline, red flushed across his cheeks and neck. his hard-on painfully obvious, straining against his zipper.

“renjun?” you asked again, confused, reaching for him. needing him to say something. but he couldn’t look at you. not when you were still spread against the counter. not when you were still panting. still trembling. still his god damn best friend’s girlfriend. he shook his head, pushing your hand away, “w-we should stop,” he whispered each word like it hurt to say, “you should rest.”

you stared at him, confused, hurt, “did i do something wrong?”

“no,” he says, not meeting your eyes, “you didn’t.” but he did. he kept his gaze down as he unlocked the door, then slipped out — heart in his throat, guilt like concrete in his chest. the door clicked shut and for a second, you just stood there. staring. breathing too hard. the mirror reflected a version of you you didn’t quite recognize. lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy from renjun’s fingers, your dress wrinkled from how close he’d pulled you. you looked kissed. thoroughly, heartbreakingly kissed. and then he left you. no explanation. no real goodbye. just that look in his eyes, wild, panicked, and then he was gone. you blinked a few times, the bathroom light suddenly too harsh. the pounding bass from the party below felt distant now, like it was happening on another planet. your heart was still thudding from the kiss. your skin still remembered the heat of his hands, the feel of his length on your core. but all you could think about was his voice. quiet. low. almost guilty. he kissed you like you were oxygen. like he’d die if he didn’t touch you. and then he ran.

something was off — that was the second time now. the second time he’d kissed you, then pulled away like he was drowning in regret. and it hurt. a little more than you wanted to admit. you didn’t understand what you were doing wrong. was it you? were you not good at kissing? did he not want to kiss you? you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to swallow the ugly knot forming in your throat. he didn’t even look at you when he left. and you hated how much that stung. somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice — a quiet, uncertain one — whispered: maybe you’re not the girlfriend you used to be. but that couldn’t be right, right? because he held you like he didn’t want to let go. he kissed you like he needed to. if this wasn’t real, if he didn’t love you…then what the hell were you doing? you turned to the sink and ran your hands under cold water, trying to calm the flush in your cheeks. the party raged downstairs. but inside your chest, things were quieting. still. empty. and for the first time since the accident…you didn’t feel safe. you felt…unwanted.

❤︎

renjun ran into his room, slamming the door shut behind him, locked it, and didn’t waste a second. he didn’t even bother turning on the light. just yanked his pants down with shaking hands, breath shallow, pulse loud in his ears. his cock was so hard. aching. throbbing like it was angry at him. “fuck,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around himself. he stroked once — slow, tight — and his knees almost buckled. it wasn’t just arousal. it was you. the feel of your soaked panties dragging against his jeans. the way you moaned his name like it meant something. the desperate way your hips chased his, grinding into him like you needed more. he fucked his fist harder, faster. teeth clenched. gasping through it. desperate to get it out. the want. the ache. you. just come. just fucking come and it’ll go away. his mind flashed with your lips, your tongue, your dress bunched up around your waist. “god—,” his hips stuttered. his hand kept moving. faster, rougher, like he could punish the feeling out of himself. like if he just emptied himself enough, the guilt would drain with it. and then he came. hard. hot. all over his hand. a sharp breath and his forehead dropping against the door like he could disappear into it. but the want didn’t leave. the guilt didn’t ease. you were still there — in his head, under his skin, on his tongue. and he hated himself for it.

✿ BROODING OR WHATEVER ✿

three days. you hadn’t heard from him since. and it made you sick with overthinking. ningning tried to reassure you, “he’s probably just busy, you know art boys. brooding or whatever,” but the doubt sat heavy in your chest. maybe you pushed him too far. maybe you ruined it. so today, you were going to fix it. you didn’t know how, exactly. but you figured food couldn’t hurt. so you packed a tupperware full of something different this time. something thoughtful. something not spicy. you played it safe – eggs, grilled fish, rice. all neatly arranged. a peace offering. an apology. maybe a please still like me without having to say the words out loud.

you entered painting ii. with your stomach in knots. he was already there. seated at your usual shared table. head down. hair a little messy. he hadn’t noticed you walk in yet. his brush moving slowly across the canvas like he was painting in molasses. the tension in his shoulders was visible even from across the room. you took your seat beside him quietly. he didn’t look up. you stared at your bag for a moment, then slowly opened it and pulled out the container. you set it down gently on the edge of his workspace, careful not to get any oil on the easel or brushes. then you turned to him with a soft, hopeful smile, “hi.”

renjun paused. barely. his hand stopped mid-stroke, hovering above the canvas. then slowly, he glanced sideways at you. his expression was unreadable. you pushed the container toward him, “i made you lunch. it’s not spicy this time. i promise. i did research on like… low-acidity, stomach-friendly, emotionally-neutral foods.” a beat. then another. he blinked. looked down at the food. then back at you. silence. you expected it. this weird, unbearable pause where it felt like the whole room had gone soundless. professor yuta’s voice started at the front, launching into something about color tones and shadow compositions, but it barely registered. renjun looked back at his canvas without a word. something caved in your chest. you blinked, swallowing the ache. still, you whispered, “i just… i wanted to make it for you.”

that finally made him flinch. he didn’t look at you, but his fingers tightened around his brush. after a long moment, he muttered, “i didn’t ask you to.” he didn’t mean it to sound cruel, or maybe he did, but either way, it knocked the air out of your lungs. you nodded once, quietly pulling your sketchbook toward you, flipping to a blank page with trembling fingers. “right,” you said softly, “okay.” and then, like nothing happened, you began to draw. because that’s what you did. that’s what he did. that’s what both of you were supposed to do here. but it didn’t bring you the peace like it usually does.

❤︎

he saw you walk in. of course he did. renjun felt your presence before he even looked up — this soft, quiet breeze of nerves and sweetness that always seemed to follow you. you didn’t say anything at first, just sat down next to him, like his absence hadn’t been loud and cruel and deliberate. and he hated that. he hated how gentle you looked, how hopeful your expression was when you set the container beside his hand like it meant something.

“i made you lunch. it’s not spicy this time. i promise…” you were smiling. all soft, lips pulled tight with nervous energy, voice a little too fast, like you’d practiced this speech in your head a dozen times before saying it out loud. renjun felt the knot form in his stomach before you even finished. god. he couldn’t even look at you for longer than a second. you were trying. you were trying so hard. and he didn’t deserve it. he was the one who kissed you at the party. who let his hands trail up your back and into your hair. who moaned into your mouth like some kind of pathetic, weak—fuck. you didn’t even remember yangyang. you didn’t even know what you were doing. and it made all of it — the kiss, the touch, the look in your eyes — feel like a punishment and a betrayal at the same time. he’d promised to take care of you. not take advantage of you. not kiss you in a bathroom and then disappear like a coward. he wasn’t supposed to notice how warm your smile felt. or how the way you touched the edge of your hair when you were nervous made his chest feel weird. so he stayed silent.

“i just… i wanted to make it for you.” renjun blinked. his grip on the brush tightened. he could’ve said something. anything. he could’ve lied and smiled and said thank you. that the last few days had felt like shit and he regretted running away.

but instead he muttered, “i didn’t ask you to.” he didn’t smile. didn’t dare to look at you. because if he did, he’d break. if he let himself really thank you, if he let even a sliver of affection creep out, it would all come tumbling forward — the kiss in the bathroom, the heat under his skin, the part of him that wanted to make space for you. he couldn’t afford that. not now. not ever. he felt the air shift the moment the words left his mouth. felt the way your shoulders stilled, your throat bobbed with the swallow. the way your fingers trembled slightly as you turned to your sketchbook and said, “right. okay.”

renjun’s jaw tightened. he picked up his brush again and stared at his half-finished painting like it had the answers. like if he focused hard enough on the texture of the clouds or the shadows on the tree line, maybe he wouldn’t feel the weight of your attention pressing into his skin. maybe his guilt wouldn’t taste so much like something sweet. but it did. and he hated that. he hated that soft things — sweet things — were the most dangerous of all. because they made people feel. they made him feel. and feeling things? that was where people got hurt. so he kept quiet. he didn’t look at you after that. couldn’t. but fuck, he felt you. painting like your heart was breaking. like you were trying to keep it together with the brush and the canvas. and he sat there like an idiot with a container full of apology food in front of him, hating himself more than anything else in the world. he keeps hurting you. he knew better. because even though he wanted to pretend he didn’t care — he did. he cared. too much.

❤︎

renjun didn’t mean to open it. he really didn’t. the plastic tupperware just sat there on the edge of the table – a quiet, gentle thing. a peace offering. a reminder. a wound. it sat through the first thirty minutes of class untouched. but he couldn’t stop glancing at it. at the neat little lid. the careful packing. the tiny note scribbled in your tiny handwriting on a yellow sticky tab stuck to the top: no spice this time, i triple checked ♡ — triple checked. god. you probably woke up early to make it. googled things. worried about whether the grilled fish was too salty or if the rice would get hard by noon. worried about what kind of eggs he liked. and despite everything, the guilt, his inner conflict, the distance he kept shoving between you, he slowly reached for it.

you were painting beside him in silence, the tension thick enough to slice through. not once did you look his way again. good. because when he peeled back the lid and the faint aroma hit him, warm, savory, mild, something in his chest cracked. he took a bite. then another. and another. it was simple. safe. balanced. it tasted like someone cared. and renjun wanted to scream. because he didn’t deserve this. not after how he acted. but he ate anyway. every bite, one spoon at a time, and every chew made the guilt worse. you didn’t say anything. didn’t even glance his way. but he knew you noticed. he saw the way your posture loosened just slightly. the way your grip on your brush relaxed. the way the corner of your lip twitched, like you were trying not to smile.

and god help him… it made the food taste even better. he’d tell himself it was just to avoid being wasteful. that it’d be rude not to eat something someone made for you. but deep down, he knew the truth. he wanted it. he wanted something from you again — your softness, your hope, your ridiculous effort. even if he didn’t deserve it. and sitting there, chewing slowly, warmth blooming quietly in his chest, renjun realized the truth he didn’t want to admit: you were breaking him. not with kisses or touches or accidental moans in the dark. but with care. with effort. with food in a box and a note stuck to the lid.

✿ HONEY AND CHAMOMILE TEA ✿

renjun didn’t say a word the entire walk home. you hadn’t spoken either. but something between you had shifted. he didn’t know when it exactly happened. maybe it was when you quietly slid the empty tupperware back into you bag after class, cheeks pink and hopeful again. maybe it was when you smiled, just a little. not because he thanked you, because he didn’t, but because he ate it. he accepted it. and that was enough for you. it messed him up a little. a lot. so now, here he was, hands in his pockets, walking a step behind you under the amber glow of the sunset. his own quiet way of apologizing.

the late summer air clung to his skin. the world smelled like asphalt and flowers and a faint trace of you — something sweet and warm, like jasmine and sugar. you glanced over your shoulder as you reached your apartment, “umm…do you wanna come in for a bit?” your voice was tentative, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask. he should’ve said no. but instead, something in him said, “just for a couple minutes.” you made tea. renjun sat on your carpeted floors, stiff, awkward. your room felt like a place where sunlight liked to stay. he wasn’t sure why he was still here. he’d told himself it would just be a minute. a polite thanks for the food, maybe a nod of peace after what happened in class. but now here he was. sitting on your carpet, hands wrapped around the calcifer mug, you next to him, holding your totoro mug, sipping tea in silence. pretending he wasn’t remembering the last time he was in this room. pretending the ghost of your kiss wasn’t still burned into his mouth. pretending you weren’t slowly, unintentionally, rewriting everything he believed in romance.

“it’s chamomile,” you said, breaking the silence, “it’s supposed to be calming.” he nods. the silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t sharp like before. it felt quieter. sadder. then you offered, softly, “i added honey. i thought you’d like that.” he blinked. of course you did. of course you’d think of that. of course you were still trying. still seeing him even when he tried to push you away. that’s just the kind of person you were. and the worst part was — it worked. the honey, the tea, the quiet effort of it all. it all worked. it made something in him ache. he looked at you. you were sipping again, cheeks a little flushed from the warmth, your lashes fluttering slightly as you blinked down into the mug. so soft. so stupidly sweet. no wonder he’s in love with you, renjun thought bitterly.

you took a sip, fingers curled tightly around your mug, “you know,” you said after a moment, eyes downcast, “i keep trying to remember things like how we met or our first date but my mind is just…blank.” renjun stared at the tea. his throat tightened. you kept going, voice smaller now, “it’s weird. i feel like there’s a version of me that exists and i’m just walking around in the shell of it. and i don’t know how to be that girl again,” you smiled faintly, your eyes a little glassy. it was clear you were pushing the tears away, “but it’s okay, i’ll figure it out. i’m trying.”

renjun turned to look at you. really look at you. at the soft curve of your lashes. the gentle set of your mouth. the quiet strength in the way you kept talking like you weren’t completely alone in this. like he hadn’t made you feel like you were. and something in him cracked again. because this softness, this effort, this fragile hope — you were doing it all for someone who wasn’t even here. for a boy who dropped a message and disappeared. for a best friend who hadn’t checked in once. who had put all the responsibility on renjun. and he was the one sitting here now. drinking your tea. walking you home. hurting you and still being cared for. it wasn’t fair.

you set your mug down gently, “you okay?”

he blinked, startled. his voice came out hoarse, “i just think…” you waited. renjun swallowed hard, “you deserve someone who shows up.”

you looked at him, confused, “what?”

he shook his head, laughing bitterly, “i mean — this. you. sitting here. making tea. apologizing even when you didn’t do anything wrong,” he looked down at the mug, “you’re kind. and sweet. and you try even when it’s hard. and he should be here. not me,” he muttered. you blinked, “who?”

renjun froze. fuck. “nothing,” he said quickly, forcing a smile, “i just meant…i’m not good at this…i should be more present.”

you kept watching him, head tilted a little, “you are here though.” and those words silenced everything in him. because yeah. he was here. even when he shouldn’t be the one to be here. he stared down at his own hands in his lap, letting the silence take over again. you looked at him with that small, tentative smile again, “so,” you said softly, “how long are you gonna keep looking like you’re being held here against your will?”

he blinked. you were teasing him for the first time. but gently. carefully. like you didn’t want to scare him off, “i’m not being held,” he muttered. “i’m just…” he trailed off. shook his head. “never mind.”

you tilted your head slightly, “you’re just…?”

he sighed, leaning back against the bed frame, “just trying to… forget some things.”

“is it the kiss?” you asked so bluntly it nearly knocked the wind out of him. renjun’s eyes snapped to yours, “what?”

“i mean…” you looked away, cheeks flushing, “i know you didn’t want it. here in my room and at the party. i know i kept insisting.” he opened his mouth. closed it again. he didn’t know what to say to that. but then you kept going, voice softer now. guilt sank into his chest like a stone.

“i shouldn’t have kissed you,” you whispered, “i just… i didn’t want those girls near you. i wasn’t thinking. i’m sorry.”

renjun stared at you. at the soft shake of your shoulders. at the way you gripped your mug tighter, curling in on yourself like you wanted to disappear. and all he could think about was how wrong you were. his heart was thudding, uneven and loud in his ears. everything about this moment felt like a soft unraveling. he didn’t know when he moved. just that one second, he was still frozen against the bed frame and the next – he was leaning in.

his voice was barely a breath, “don’t be sorry.” you looked up, eyes wide and blinking, lips parting with the start of another apology that never made it out. because renjun kissed you. soft. sure. his lips brushed over yours like he was learning the shape of them. he could taste the honey from your tea, feel the warmth of your breath against his skin. your hands stayed frozen around the mug for a beat. and then, slowly, you set it down and reached for him. his fingers settled on your back as he leaned in deeper, the kiss growing more certain, more real. you sighed into his mouth and it broke something in him. he didn’t run. not this time. he kissed you like he meant it. because he did. he kissed you even though he shouldn’t. even though you didn’t remember. even though you weren’t his to begin with. but you felt so warm under his hands. so soft against his mouth. he could feel your heartbeat thrumming through your chest, matching his own like some terrible, beautiful rhythm. when he finally pulled back, he was breathing harder than expected. so were you. your eyes opened slowly, glassy and confused, like you weren’t sure what had just happened. he rested his forehead gently against yours. didn’t say anything.

then you whispered, “you kissed me.”

and he nodded, “i did.”

a small, shaky smile crept onto your face, “are you gonna run away now?”

he let out a soft laugh, eyes closing for a second, before shaking his head, “no.” you smiled at him, pulling him in for another sweet kiss. and for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like he was standing at the edge of a mistake. it felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be. even if the rest of the world — and his never ending guilt — would come crashing in tomorrow. right now, it was just this. just the two of you. on your bedroom floor, drinking chamomile tea and sharing soft kisses like they were secrets.

✿ SKETCHES AND SHARED GLANCES ✿

renjun didn’t make a decision out loud. he didn’t confess anything to himself. but something changed after that kiss on your bedroom floor. for the past five days, without every saying why, he started walking you home. every day. no questions. no excuses. most times, you’d reach out first, fingers brushing his like you weren’t sure you were allowed to hold him. sometimes he’d just take your hand, quietly. neither of you said anything about it. about how natural it started to feel. the way your fingers laced through his like they were meant to be there. he was taking care of you. just like he promised. letting you remember naturally. that’s it. so when you turned to him with that sweet smile, asking, “are you coming in?,” he always said yes. without hesitation. without the old voice in his head screaming traitor. just…yes. the routine become second nature. your apartment. the soft lighting of your room. the softness of your carpet. the airconditioner humming. you’d both kick your shoes off and sit across from each other, sketchpads balanced on your knees, a pitcher of iced tea resting between you with your mismatched studio ghibli mugs. soft. comfortable. yours. and every so often, you’d scoot a little closer, peek over at his sketch, lean your head on his shoulder. and renjun would kiss you, quick or lingering, and you’d smile against his mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world. it wasn’t electric. it wasn’t chaotic. it was peaceful. and that terrified him. because peace had never been something he associated with relationships. love was supposed to be dizzying and painful. full of aching and unreciprocated devotion. but this was honey and chamomile. this was pages of sketches and shared glances. this was you tucking your legs underneath you, stealing a sip from his cup without asking, leaning your head on his shoulder while he drew.

he was still cautious. still guilt-ridden. but he kept showing up. because you didn’t interrupt his peace. you didn’t disturb his calm. you contributed to it. some nights, he’d linger longer than he meant to. watch the way your brow furrowed in concentration over a flower sketch. watch the way your hand curled delicately around your pencil like the weight of the world was tucked into its tip, “does this look weird?,” you’d murmur, turning your sketchpad toward him, lips pursed in question. renjun would take it gently, eyes sweeping over the lines you’d drawn. a leaf, slightly off-center. a petal too long, “no,” he’d say. and he meant it, “it’s perfect, love.” and maybe you blushed every time he said that. maybe he did too. he told himself this was temporary. just until you remembered. just until you didn’t need him anymore. but he kept drawing you when you weren’t looking — quick sketches in the corners of his pages. the curve of your shoulder. the way you held your mug. the soft smile you wore when you thought he wasn't paying attention. and those eyes that always looked at him like he held your entire world in his hands. and he thought, for the first time in his life, maybe this little world you two built, quiet and gentle and slow, could be enough. just for now. just for a little while longer.

there were nights when the weight of everything caught up with you. nights when the past slipped through your fingers like sand, and you couldn’t tell what was memory and what was imagination. those nights, the tears would come. you’d try to hide it at first, wiping them away quickly, forcing a smile when he looked up from his sketch. but he always noticed. “hey,” he said gently, voice breaking through the hush “what’s wrong?” and you’d laugh, shaky and bitter, swiping at your face, “i don’t know. i just feel like there’s pieces of me missing and i can’t figure it out.” renjun didn’t speak right away. he just set his sketchpad down and pulled you into him, hands cradling you like you were something fragile. something worth keeping whole. your tears soaked his collar. your fists curled into his shirt. and he kissed every tear away, one by one. “it’s okay. ” he murmured. lips brushing your cheek. your jaw. your temple. “you’ll remember. you’re gonna be okay. i’m right here.” he didn’t tell you that it hurt to say those things. that he didn’t know how long he was going to be here. but you clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to the world. and he let you. he held you.

❤︎

tonight, you were a little touchier than usual. renjun noticed the shift the moment you walked in your apartment, hand in hand, your thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles against the back of his like you didn’t even know you were doing it. you smiled up at him as you always did, soft and a little shy, but there was something else there tonight — a kind of quiet urgency, a magnetic pull that hummed just beneath your skin. he felt it too. it lived in the space between your palms, in the lingering brush of your shoulder against his as you sat beside him on the floor. in the way your thigh brushed against his jeans as you sat closer than usual. and when you reached for your sketchpad, your body leaned fully against his. he turned his head to glance at you, you were already looking at him.

you didn’t say anything. you just kissed him. slow at first. gentle. the same soft sweetness he’d grown addicted to. the kind that made his chest ache in ways he didn’t know how to handle. the kind of ache that only lives in the spaces where love is quietly forming, where need is blooming. your hands tangled in his shirt, your lips parting against his and the kiss deepened. turned hungry, messy, tongue sliding softly against his in a rhythm that didn’t ask for permission. you climbed onto his lap without hesitation, your knees on either side of his hips, the soft cotton of your shorts brushing against his jeans, arms wrapped around his neck, mouth moving against his like you were trying to draw something from him that he was still holding back. he gripped your waist without thinking, pulling you flush against him, like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. the slope of your sides, the soft dip of your lower back, the way your breath hitched when his thumbs brushed just under the edge of your shirt. your lips ghosted over his jaw, then back to his mouth, your breath hot and uneven, your voice even softer, “junie…”

fuck. that nickname did something to him. something dangerous. “i need more,” you whispered, words brushing his lips, “please…”

“love…,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut. he opened his mouth say something, to remind himself that this wasn’t supposed to happen. because this was another lie. the kind of line that couldn’t be blurred with guilt and affection and soft excuses.

you whined at the sound of his nickname for you. he’d only started using it recently — and now it rolled off his tongue like a confession, “i know we’re taking it slow,” you whispered, “and i get it, i really do. but i just…i need you. just your fingers. anything. please.”

and how could he possibly say no to that? to you. the way you begged for him. the way your voice hitched on that last word. like he was the only person in the world who could give you what you needed. he stared up at you, jaw clenched, heart pounding in his throat. there were alarm bells blaring somewhere far away in the back of his mind, warnings written in bold red that screamed she’s not yours. she doesn’t remember. don’t cross this line. this was supposed to be fake. but there’s nothing fake about the way your thighs trembled around his hips. nothing fake about your hands curling into his shirt. nothing fake about the way you said please, like it physically hurt to be this close and still not have him — so he kissed you again. his hands slid up your back, under your shirt, exploring soft skin like it was the only thing that could ground him. he kissed you until he couldn’t breathe. until your moans spilled into his mouth and made his stomach twist with heat. he let his hands dip lower, gripping your thighs, sliding up under your shorts as you whimpered, your hips rolling into his. one hand settled at the curve of your ass, the other trailing along the inside of your thigh, teasing, waiting, until you whimpered again, “junie, please…”

“fuck, love,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, eyes clenched shut, “you’re gonna ruin me.” and still, he gave in. his fingers brushed over your core, barely there, and you gasped into his mouth. you were so warm, so soft, already damp through the thin cotton. his thumb circled you gently through the fabric, “you’re so wet already,” he whispered, his voice wrecked and low, “you want this that bad?”

you nodded against him, trembling, “so bad…”

“yeah?,” he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower, his voice almost reverent, “sweet girl…”

he slid his fingers under the band of your shorts, dragging them down just enough to slip past your panties. you were slick and warm and desperate under his touch, and when he finally slid two fingers between your folds, you moaned so prettily it echoed through every corner of his mind like a sweet melody. he learned the shape of you by feel — the way you gasped when he circled your clit, the way you pushed into his palm when he added more pressure. his fingers explored, teased, stroked until he could feel the way your whole body responded to the smallest motion. you were trying to stay quiet, to stay still, but you couldn’t. and he didn’t want you to.

“is that okay?,” he asked, voice thick with awe, “here?”

you nodded quickly, clutching his shoulders, “more…i need you inside.” he listened. he slipped two fingers inside you and you felt your body seize around them. the way you clenched around his digits drives him insane. you were so tight. and for a dangerous second, he wonders what it would feel like to have you wrapped around him. you whimpered, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. his thumb resumed its gentle strokes against your clit and your whole body rolled against his hand. you whimpered his name, high and broken, “junie…” he swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the hinge of your throat. every nerve in his body was on fire. you looked like a dream above him. cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering, lips parted and trembling. his hand, slick and warm between your thighs, moved a little faster. he could feel you pulsing around his fingers, feel the way your body shiver with each stroke, “feels good, love?”

you nodded quickly. he felt your hand move between your bodies, soft, searching. he stilled just slightly when your fingers brushed the bulge of his jeans. “can i…?,” you asked, eyes wide and pleading. he almost told you no. almost stopped this before the line completely vanished. but then your hand was unbuttoning him, sliding into his boxers, fingers curling gently around him and everything rational in him melted. you watched him the whole time like you were studying him, memorizing the way his chest rose and fell faster. the way he swallowed when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your fingers around him. he was hard. already leaking at the tip.

“fuck,” he gasped, head falling against your bed frame. you stroked him slowly, tenderly, learning the rhythm of his body with each motion. he let a strangled whimper, hips jerking up into your touch instinctively. your hand wrapped around him was too much. too intimate. too good.

“am i doing it right?,” you asked, eyes wide, sincere.

“god, yes,” he breathed, hand still moving inside you, “you’re doing so good, love.”

you kissed his jaw, “want us to come together.”

his voice cracked, whimpering, “y-you’re killing me.” you moaned softly in his neck, hips stuttering, as his fingers pushed deeper, dragging against the spot inside you that made you cry out softly, grinding down harder on his hand, more desperate now. meanwhile, your hand around him grew slick with pre-cum, stroking him with shaky, eager fingers, matching his rhythm, you moaned, face tucked into his neck, “junie…i’m so close…don’t stop…” he didn’t. couldn’t. his fingers never let up. pushing, curling, dragging as your hand tightened around him, the strokes becoming a little sloppier, more desperate. “come with me…please,” and it was over. you shattered around him, gasping, moaning his name into his mouth as your orgasm rushed through you, thighs trembling, body arching against his. he held you through it, fingers never stopping, kissing you through every second of your high. your hand stuttered on him, squeezing, pumping him through his own climax as he spilled hot and messy into your palm, breath caught in his throat, a pretty whine escaping him as he pressed his face into your shoulder. it was messy. hot. intimate. something he could never take back. and he didn’t want to. not in this moment. you both sat there, breathless and still wrapped up in each other, your hand still around him, his fingers still buried in you, bodies humming from the memory of learning each other like it meant something. he looked up at you, your lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes soft and sleepy. you looked like a painting he wished he painted.

❤︎

renjun hadn’t slept. he’d gone home late, fingers still tingling with the feeling of you. the scent of you, warm skin, soft shampoo, the faintest trace of tea and jasmine. it all clung to his skin like a brand. he sat in his bed, back against the headboard, his sketchpad lay open in his lap, a pencil clutched like a lifeline. the page in front of him was a mess of fragments — not real portraits, not real compositions. just pieces of you. remnants of last night in graphite. your mouth, parted, mid-whisper. the curve of your jaw where his fingers had traced. the delicate shape of your hand wrapped around his cock. he squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tight. what the fuck am i doing? he flipped the page and tried again. sketching a quiet outline of your eye, lashes soft, lids lowered like they had been last night when you kissed him slow, sweet, needy. he remembered the weight of your thighs around him. the way you said his name like a prayer. he dropped the pencil. his chest was too tight. his cock was hardening with every second. he couldn’t focus. couldn’t do anything but sit in the wreckage of what he’d done and let it crush him, slowly. because fuck. he crossed the line. no. he obliterated the line. he fingered you. you jacked him off. you’d kissed him like you meant it and he’d kissed you back like he needed it. and worse — it hadn’t felt like a mistake at all at the moment. it felt like the only thing in the world that made sense. and that terrified him. you weren’t his. you were never supposed to be. yangyang has asked him – trusted him – to take care of you. not to touch you. not to kiss you in the dark. not to let you ride out your moans on his hand and call him junie in a voice so soft it made his heart clench. but he let it happen. he wanted it to happen. and the worst part? he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about it. not the way he should have. because it wasn’t just about lust. not really. it was the way you leaned your head on his shoulder when you were tired. the way you always poured a little extra honey into his mug. the way you looked at him like he was someone worth waiting for — worth forgiving. it was the soft silence between your bodies as you sketched side by side on your bedroom floor, knees touching. it was you. he buried his face in his palms, groaning low into the quiet room, “this is so fucked.” then his phone buzzed on the nightstand. he didn’t move at first. just stared at the glow lighting up the screen on his nightstand.

yangyang 🐑: hey dude

yangyang 🐑: sorry i haven’t been able to check up

yangyang 🐑: everything’s so hectic right now

yangyang 🐑: how’s my girlfriend?

renjun can’t help but let out a bitter scoff — my girlfriend. right. the one who doesn’t remember him. the one who kissed someone else. the one who’s falling asleep every night thinking renjun is the one holding her together. because he is. he exhaled slowly. then replied.

renjun 🦊: she’s okay. everything’s fine.

he hit send before he could think too hard. the lie sat heavy on his screen. then he turned his phone face-down again and shoved the sketchpad to the floor, curling into himself under the blankets like it would help. he was losing the war in his head. and a part of him didn’t even want to fight anymore. but reality had sharp edges. because eventually, you would remember. and when that day comes…when yangyang comes back and you look at renjun with clear eyes and whole memory, what would happen then? would you regret this? would you pull away? would you forget the way you whispered please into his mouth? or would you finally realize that the boy who had stayed was never the one you loved in the first place? renjun ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling, chest hollow and heavy. he was falling for you. and there was no safety net anymore.

✿ THE END OF A MOVIE ✿

it’s sunday. renjun showed up at your door with a shy smile and two tickets. “let’s go to the amusement park,” he said simply, “you said you didn’t remember our first date…i thought maybe we could make a new one.” your heart did a little skip at that. you blinked at him, barefoot in your doorway, still in your oversized sleep shirt with your hair a bit of a mess, “wait, like…today?”

renjun nodded, a little unsure, “if you want.” you did. so you went. and that’s how you ended up at the gates of the city’s most colorful amusement park before noon, in a yellow top and denim shorts with renjun beside you in a soft blue button-up, holding your hand like it was habit now. he looked calm, soft in the sun, hair a little windblown. but inside he was spiraling. the other night had crossed a line. a line he couldn’t take back. so today he had to balance the scales. remind himself that he could be gentle. that he could give you something good. something pure. something that didn’t feel like betrayal. you didn’t know any of that, of course. you just knew renjun was here, smiling a little more, holding your hand a little tighter. and it made your chest feel light.

“i don’t like scary rides,” you confessed early on.

renjun smiled, “that’s okay, we’ll stick to the fun ones.” and you did. the ferris wheel, where your legs dangled and the city stretched in pastel shapes below. the carousel, where you clung to the painted horse and laughed when renjun couldn’t stop laughing at you. the teacups, which you both regretted halfway through but couldn’t stop giggling long enough to care. you shared a corndog under the shade of a cartoonishly large umbrella. he wiped mustard off your lip with his thumb, trying not to think too hard about your eyes on him when he did. he won you a moomin plush after four failed tries at the ring toss, finally landing the perfect shot that made the staff sigh and hand over the prize. you squealed, hugging it to your chest, and renjun looked away before the smile on his face could betray how warm you made him feel.

later when he bought a giant swirl of cotton candy, you stuck your tongue out after a bite, “it’s too sweet.”

he tore off a chunk and handed it to you, “not sweeter than you.” you blinked. he realized too late what he said. but you didn’t tease him. you just looked away, shy cheeks tinged pink. and somehow, that made it worse. because he felt something.

he kept calling you love all day. quietly. almost without thinking: “careful, love…this one’s slippery.” “love, the line’s shorter in that ride.” “you good, love?” and every time, you looked up at him with this soft expression like he was home. and for today — renjun let himself pretend.

the last ride of the day was a gentle boat drifting through an animatronic forest. artificial stars twinkled above you in the painted ceiling sky. the animatronic fireflies blinked on and off like tired dreams. everything felt like it was holding its breath. you leaned your head against renjun’s shoulder. your hair smelled like sun and shampoo. the boat was quiet except for the soft hum of violins playing some whimsical tune no one really knew the name of. around you, plastic trees bowed toward plastic owls. it was all fake. but this part right here, the way his heart twisted, it was real.

“this feels like the end of a movie,” you murmured. renjun’s throat tightened. “yeah,” he said, his voice quieter than before, “one of those indie ones where no one ends up together and everyone’s sad.”

you turned, frowning at him, “buzzkill.” he gave a small smile. but it didn’t reach his eyes, “i’m just saying. there’s emotional damage waiting around every corner.”

you stared down at the water, your voice even softer now, “then let’s stay in the boat.” your words landed in his chest heavier than they should have. it didn’t feel like a joke. it felt like you meant it. to stay here in this bubble. in this moment. before things break. before you remember. you looked up at him. and for a second, it was like the world narrowed to just the space between your bodies, and you whispered, “let’s never get off.”

he was still looking at you when you said it. and something in him cracked, quietly, inwardly, like a seam splitting down the middle. you didn’t know what you were asking. you didn’t even know who he really was to you. his voice was almost too soft to hear over the lapping water, “okay, love.” you smiled then. so gentle. so full of trust it nearly made him sick. you laced your fingers with his and rested your joined hands in your lap, and without thinking, he brought them to his lips. kissed your knuckles like it was instinct. like it wasn’t dangerous. like it didn’t feel like the most intimate thing he’d ever done. you didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away. you just squeezed back. and renjun let himself believe, just for a little longer, that this was okay. that he could have this version of you. this almost-love. this almost-honesty. even if it was built on a lie. even if he was only ever meant to be the space in between.

❤︎

the ride home was quiet. the kind that settles around two people when the day has worn them down in the sweetest way. when there’s nothing left to prove. when words feel unnecessary. you had both shared cotton candy and quick kisses, laughter and linked pinkies, and now the world outside his car’s window blurred into a smear of golden streetlights and fading carnival music still ringing in your ears. renjun kept his eyes on the road but from the corner of his vision, he saw your fingers reach across the console, gently wrapping around his right hand, resting on his thigh. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. your fingers threaded through his like it was instinct. and he let your hand stay in his, palm warm, thumb twitching once when you gave it the smallest squeeze before slowly relaxing. he glanced over just in time to see you lean your temple against the window, lashes resting against your cheeks now, breathing steady and soft. you were asleep. still holding his hand. renjun exhaled, quiet, slow, like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. he turned the music down, low enough to become background hum. he didn’t dare move his hand, not when your fingers were laced with his like that. not when your entire frame had gone soft and trusting beside him. until you shifted. a sudden twitch of your fingers. a quiet noise, something between a gasp and a hiccup. he glanced at you. your brows were furrowed now, soft lips parted like you were about to speak — but didn’t. a wrinkle of confusion pressed between your brows, your lashes fluttered like your dreams were turning sharp. then, you stirred awake, sharp breath sucked through your teeth, sitting up slightly like you'd just surfaced from underwater. renjun straightened immediately, alarmed, voice incredibly soft, his grip on your hand tightening just a little bit with concern, “what happened?”

you blinked at him, disoriented, chest rising and falling as your eyes adjusted to the present. “i think…i think i saw a memory.”

renjun froze. his stomach dropped. he tried to keep his voice even, “what do you mean?”

you leaned forward, letting go of his hand and the car suddenly feels colder without your warmth, “we were at a party, i was in a sparkly dress. it was loud. and there were two of you.”

renjun blinked slowly, “two of me?”

“no— i mean… you were there. and someone else. a boy. you were talking. laughing,” you shook your head, “i couldn’t see his face. it was just shadows and light and the sound of his voice. but i heard a name. you said his name.”

renjun didn’t realize he was holding his breath until your next words knocked it out of him — “yangyang,” you said.

he swallowed. hard. you looked at him. really looked at him, “renjun…who’s yangyang?”

his mouth opened. closed. renjun’s heart thudded so hard he was sure you could hear it. he didn’t answer immediately. he couldn’t. you were staring at him like he had the answer. like you trusted him to give it. and all he could think was: shit. it’s starting. he forced himself to breathe. one second. two. he licked his lips, nodded slowly. “yangyang,” he echoed, carefully, gently, “he’s… my best friend.”

your brows furrowed, “your best friend?”

“yeah,” he said, and it felt like his throat was closing around the words, “we’ve known each other forever. since freshman year.”

you sat with that for a moment, “why haven’t i met him?”

renjun forced a laugh — soft, tired, like the question didn’t stab him right in the gut, “he’s not around right now. he’s, uh…” he cleared his throat, “he’s in europe. got into this really competitive internship for fashion design.”

“oh,” you said, “that sounds… amazing.”

renjun nodded, eyes flicking to the window, trying not to crumble under the weight of your innocent stare. “yeah. it is. he’s talented. always knew what he wanted.”

you stayed quiet for a moment. renjun risked a glance at you. you were still looking at him. still believing him. still not remembering. “it’s weird,” you murmured, more to yourself now, “i don’t know why that name stuck with me. it felt important.” he kept his gaze on the road. you leaned back against the seat slowly, thoughtful, “was i close to him too?”

there was a long pause. one that felt too loud inside the quiet of the car. and then, renjun finally nodded, “yeah,” he said, voice low, “you… you were close.”

you blinked, “close…how?”

he looked out the window, eyes tracing the blur of streetlights against the night, “i don’t think i should be the one to answer that.”

your head tilted, “why not?”

he turned to you then, eyes tired, mouth twitching with something between guilt and grief, “because it’s your memory. and it’s gonna come back when it’s ready. i don’t want to mess with that.” you stared at him, trying to decipher the shadows in his expression. the flicker of something in his tone. but before you could say anything else, he smiled, soft, almost sad, and added, “he mattered to you. that’s all i’ll say.”

you nodded slowly, the words lodging somewhere in your chest like a puzzle piece half-formed, “okay,” you whispered, “thanks for being honest.” he nodded once. his heart shaking. neither of you spoke for the rest of the ride. you just laced your fingers through his again until sleep took you. and renjun — terrified, soft-hearted renjun — sat there, holding back a thousand truths, feeling your words slice through him. his eyes flicked between the road and your sleeping form. the slope of your shoulder. the way your knees were curled toward his direction. the faint crease between your brows that hadn’t quite gone away, even in rest. god. you were beautiful. and he was so, so screwed. he kept driving, more slowly now, like he could prolong this — the moment, the night, the feel of your hand in his — as long as possible. as if time could be tricked into stalling. and somewhere in the stillness, his thumb moved without thinking, brushing once over the back of your knuckles. a silent apology. a promise he couldn’t speak aloud.

✿ MRS. SUH’S FARMSTAY - WELCOME HOME ✿

fifteen minutes passed. the road had thinned out, fewer streetlights now, no traffic, just the soft purr of the engine and the even softer sound of your breathing beside him. your hand was still curled around his. you hadn’t stirred once since you fell asleep. renjun didn’t know what to make of the silence. he should’ve felt peace. instead, it gnawed at him, something tight lodged under his ribs, a thread of guilt wound so tight it was starting to hurt. and still, he didn’t let go of your hand. but then, with no warning — the car jerked. a sudden stutter. the dashboard lights flickered. the engine coughed once, then twice and died. he cursed under his breath, eyes widening as he coasted to the right. the steering wheel stiffened. the soft music cut off. the car came to a slow, rattling stop. you stirred instantly, “mmh?,” you blinked groggily, lifting your head from the window, “what happened?”

renjun let go of your hand carefully and twisted the key in the ignition again. nothing. “we broke down,” he said, jaw clenched, “i don’t know why, it was fine all day.” you sat up straighter, rubbing your eyes. outside the windows, there was nothing but open road behind you, a stretch of farmland on the right and dark hills rising in the distance. you looked around, blinking the sleep from your eyes, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in, “there’s no signal,” he murmured, holding up his phone and squinting at the blank bar of reception.

“where even are we?,” you ask. renjun leaned forward, resting his arms on the wheel as he exhaled, “middle of nowhere, apparently.” but just then, you both saw it — just past the fields on the right, barely lit by the sliver of moonlight peeking though the clouds. a faint flicker in the distance. warm yellow light. a house. you sat up straighter, “wait–look.” renjun followed your gaze, “that—is that a house?”

“i think so. there’s a path,” you said, already opening the door, the night air wrapping around you, “maybe they have a phone or…i don’t know…tools?”

renjun nods, grabbing the flashlight from the glove box, “stay close to me.” the gravel crunched under your feet as you walked hand in hand. the path wound past rustling trees until the house came into full view, an old hanok-style cottage, tucked neatly behind a row of lavender bushes and small wooden sign, hand painted in soft pastel green: mrs. suh’s farmstay – welcome home. you looked at each other, and without a word, renjun knocked. it took a few moments, but the door opened with a soft creak. she was tiny. maybe just over five feet, wrapped in pale pink cardigan and think knitted slippers, her short hair faming her face. her eyes widened when she saw you, then immediately softened into a warm, maternal smile, “oh my goodness,” she gasped, “you poor children! come in, come in…what on earth are you doing out at his hour?” renjun stepped forward politely, “we’re really sorry to bother you ma’am. our car broke down and we saw your lights.”

“well, then it’s a good thing i always leave the porch light on,” she said brightly, ushering you inside. the scent of simmering herbs and ginger filled the air. her home was cozy and cluttered in a way that felt like childhood. “i don’t usually take guests this late,” she said as she bustled into the kitchen, “my son helped me list this place online for weekend retreats. you’re lucky i still keep the guest room ready,” she waved a spoon in your direction, “you can stay here for the night, figure out your car in the morning. have something warm first.” and just like that, two bowls of steaming doenjang-jjigae were set in front of you, along with freshly made rice, kimchi and grilled mackerel. you sat at the little wooden table across from renjun, your cheeks pink from the warmth. “i’ll get you both some clothes to sleep in,” mrs. suh said, disappearing down the hall.

renjun watched you across the table as you lifted your spoon, blowing gently on the soup before tasting it. your shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension of the night ebbing away, “are we still in that indie movie?,” you tease softly, smiling at him. he swallowed hard, then smiled back, even though his chest ached. “yeah. a weird, kinda perfect one.”

moments later, mrs. suh returned with a stack of neatly folded clothes. “these might be a little big, dear,” she said kindly, “but they’re clean and warm. you’ll find towels in the bathroom, and the room at the end of the hall’s yours.” the both of you thanked her, heart swelling with a strange mix of gratitude and disbelief.

✿ I LIKE YOU IN MY SPACE ✿

the guest room was small and simple — faded floral wallpaper, a twin bed pushed against one wall, and an old bookshelf half-filled with yellowing paperbacks. it smelled faintly of cedar and looked untouched, like no one had been in here for years. renjun stepped in behind you, clicking the door shut behind him, “she’s really something, huh?”

“she didn’t even hesitate,” you said, smiling, already dressed in the oversized clothes mrs. suh had given the both of you. renjun nodded slowly, his gaze scanning the room, “it’s like… this place waited for someone to find it.” you turned to him then and he looked at you. really looked. the night was still. you were stranded, out of options, out of time, and yet, something about this place, this strange little miracle tucked between nowhere, made everything feel… suspended.

“so…what do you think? rustic charm? creepy muder house? somewhere in between? maybe her kindness is a trick to lure us in?”

you huffed a laugh, lightly slapping at his chest, “she gave us free stew and oversized shirts, not poison apples, snow white.”

renjun grinned, catching your hand and holding it for a second before letting go, “i’m just saying…nobody’s that nice without a catch.”

“don’t be so skeptical,” you grinned, “not everyone’s out to kill you and stuff you in a freezer.”

“that’s what someone lured into a freezer would say,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes, laughing, soft and free in a way that tugged at something in his chest. he could watch you like this forever. but he shouldn’t. not when he was lying to you every second of every day. then your laughter faded into a yawn and renjun glanced at the bed. “...okay, sleep time,” he said, guiding you towards the bed. you climbed in without protest. the mattress creaked softly under you as you nestled into the pillow. meanwhile, renjun bent down to grab one of the throw blankets from the little rocking chair in the corner, fluffing it out and laying it gently on the floor beside the bed. you watched him quietly for a second, eyes narrowing as you propped yourself up on one elbow, "what are you doing?"

he looked up, sheepish, "getting ready to sleep?"

"on the floor?"

"...yeah?"

you blinked at him. “renjun. you’re literally my boyfriend.”

his ears turned pink, “right, i mean—yeah, but—”you cut him off by lifting the corner of the blanket beside you and patting the space, “get in the bed.”

his brows jumped, “it’s a twin.”

“so? we’ve been closer than this,” you said pointedly. renjun blushed, rubbing the back of his neck, still rooted to the floor like the decision required deep internal debate. you gave him a flat look, daring him to argue further. he huffed a quiet laugh as he slipped beneath the blanket beside you, careful not to move too much. the mattress dipped under his weight and suddenly the smallness of the bed became overwhelmingly obvious. your knees brushed. so did your elbows. his arm was barely a breath away from your waist.

“sorry,” he mumbled, stiff as a board.

“why are you sorry?”

“i don’t know. i just feel like i’m invading your space.”

you turned to face him, eyes soft in the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, “you’re not. i like you in my space.” renjun was staring at you now, his expression unreadable. his hair still a little damp from the shower, and the oversized borrowed shirt made him look smaller somehow. softer. you shifted onto your side, the blanket rustling softly as you curled slightly toward him, your legs brushing his under the covers, “thanks for today,” you murmured. the corner of his mouth lifted into a slow, tired grin, “even if we might be cooked in her oven tomorrow?” you snorted, “you’re never letting that go, huh?”

“she had six rocking chairs in the living room,” he whispered, dramatically. “and not a single phone charger. that’s serial killer energy.”

“she made us stew, junie. stew. and gave us fresh towels.”

“exactly,” he said gravely, “so we’d be clean and tender before she seasons us with herbs and throws us in the dutch oven.”

you laughed again, quietly this time, your fingers brushing his under the blanket, “you’re so annoying.”

“but charming,” he added helpfully.

you hummed. “debatable.”

he let out a quiet puff of a laugh, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle ,“i’m just saying, if we don’t make it out of here tomorrow, at least our last meal was decent.”

“and i got to spend it with you,” you add softly. his heart beating out of his chest. the room fell quiet again, just for a beat. your hand found his under the blanket. he laced his fingers through yours like it was second nature, thumb grazing the back of your hand in slow, absentminded strokes. “you’re warm,” you said quietly.

“you’re cold,” he replied, glancing down at your intertwined hands.

“that’s why you’re here,” you mumbled, closing your eyes, “boyfriend duties.”

“mmm, i didn’t see ‘human space heater’ on the list when i signed up.”

“fine. i’ll revoke your boyfriend card.”

renjun gasped, mock-offended, “you wouldn’t.”

“watch me.”

a pause. then he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, “...i’d fight custody for moomin.” you opened your eyes, blinking up at him, “you monster.”

renjun grinned, “he’d want to be with me. i’m the one who rescued him from the ring toss.” you let out a half-hearted groan and shoved at his shoulder. he caught your hand again, pulled it back under the blanket, and held it to his chest like it belonged there. and maybe it did. you both fell into the quiet again, eyes drifting to the faint moonlight filtering through the old lace curtains, dust dancing in the air like soft snow. the silence wasn’t heavy. it was filled with that peace that always settles between the two of you. but there was also something else. something warmer. something slower. something thick with tension.

“renjun,” you said quietly, almost like testing the sound of his name in this suspended reality you’d both stumbled into. he glanced at you, gaze soft and unreadable again but you didn’t wait for him to second guess anything this time. your hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the corner of his lips as you leaned in and kissed him. it started gentle, familiar, but it didn’t stay that way. renjun inhaled sharply against your mouth, and you kissed him again—deeper, firmer, pulling him in by the front of that oversized shirt until your chest pressed into his. your tongue swept past his lips when he opened for you, and just like that, the slow-burning tension that had been simmering between you all day caught fire. he kissed you back like he couldn’t help it, like it was reflex, instinct, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer, mouths moving together in messy, open-mouthed sync. tongue, teeth, breathless sighs and soft, desperate sounds against each other’s skin. you shifted, climbing over him, knees bracketing his hips as your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, palms splayed against the warm skin of his stomach.

“shit,” renjun whispered into your mouth, voice strained, one hand gripping your thigh like he was already losing control. he let you push him deeper into the mattress, let you kiss him until he was dizzy and dazed beneath you. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan and he responded with a heated kiss that nearly knocked the breath out of you. you could feel how hard he was under you now, could feel the way his body arched up, trying to chase your touch, your mouth, the friction.

“junie,” you whispered, dragging your mouth across his jaw, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. but then he stopped. like he always did. he turned his head, eyes squeezing shut as he gently gripped your hips to still them, “wait,” he breathed out, voice barely a whisper, “just…wait.”

you froze above him, still catching your breath, your fingers trembling slightly where they rested on his chest, “why do you always stop?” you asked, not accusing. just tired of wondering, “do you not…want me?” you say, voice so soft, almost a whisper, afraid of the answer. that made him flinch. he blinked once, sharp and startled, eyes snapping to yours like he couldn’t believe you’d ask that, “don’t,” he said quickly, voice tight, “don’t say that.”

you tilted your head, studying him, “then what is it?” his grip tightened on your hips, just slightly. he sat up a little, chest nearly brushing yours now, the covers tangled around your legs, your bodies still pressed close from the tension that had nearly tipped into something else. “it’s not you,” he said, low and hoarse, “god, it’s not you.”

“then why?”

renjun dragged a hand through his hair, fingers shaking, “because this feels too real,” he finally whispered. the words spilled out like they’d been pressing against the back of his throat all night.

“what does that even mean?”

he looked at you then, his eyes glassy in the dim moonlight. “it means i’m scared,” he admitted quietly, “i’m scared that if i give in— i won’t be able to stop. not just tonight. not tomorrow. i’ll want more, and what if…,” he searched for the words, his fingertips pressing into your back, holding on like he was afraid you might float away if he didn’t, “what if when you remember, you won’t want me like this anymore?”

you blinked, “what?” he looked away, jaw tight, throat working like he was trying to shove the words back down, “when your memories come back,” he said quietly, “what if everything between us fades? what if you look at me and this doesn’t mean anything anymore?”

your heart twisted at how small he sounded. how uncertain. but there was no hesitation in your voice when you reached up and cupped his cheek, bringing his face back to yours, “renjun,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over the delicate skin just beneath his eye, “there’s nothing not real about what i feel for you right now.” his eyes fluttered shut at your words. you didn’t know what your past held. you didn’t know how things were supposed to be. but what you did know, what you felt, was this. him. here. now. “i want you,” you said softly, “all of you. not just tonight. not just until i remember something. i want the boy who drinks tea with me on the carpet. the one who wins me a moomin plushie. the one who holds me when everything is too much. the one who makes me feel… safe.”

renjun’s breath caught. his hand curled into your shirt. you leaned down, pressing your forehead to his, “we can be scared,” you whispered, “you don’t have to protect me from it,” you whispered, “or from you.” his gaze searched yours. raw. wrecked. “don’t overthink,” you told him, lips brushing his, breath warm against his mouth, “just feel.”

and something in him broke. or maybe, finally, something in him let go. his hands lifted to cup your face, thumbs brushed your cheeks, and he kissed you — slow, reverent, like the world might end when your lips met. he didn’t stop this time. no hesitation. no fear. just deep, aching hunger wrapped in tenderness. his tongue slid against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, guiding you back into that warm, dangerous space between want and need.

you moaned softly into his mouth as he shifted beneath you, helping you grind down against the hard line of him, his fingers firm but reverent where they gripped your hips. his voice, a low rasp against your lips, “keep going, love. just like that.”

you gasped, your forehead falling against his as your hips rocked against him again, “renjun…”

“let me feel you,” he whispered, breathless, the tip of his nose brushing yours, “let me remember this.”you reached between your bodies, pulling down the borrowed pajama pants just enough to free him, your own damp underwear tugged off with a soft rustle of fabric. he held his breath as you sank onto him slowly, the stretch sweet and aching and right.

“oh my god…” you whimpered in whispers, your fingers digging into his chest as you took all of him, until he was fully inside you, warm and pulsing. your lips brushed over his as you rocked your hips, slow and smooth, he was so thick it made your head spin, the tight warmth of your body wrapped around him in perfect rhythm

renjun cursed softly under his breath, head tipping back against the pillow as he fought for control, “you feel so good,” he murmured, hands trembling where they held your hips, “so warm—fuck, love—ride me. just like that. slow.” you moved gently, rolling your hips in a rhythm that made his breath stutter, hands pressed to his chest as you rode him with a softness that bordered on reverence. every stroke was deliberate. every shift of your hips slow and sensual, dragging quiet moans from both of you as your bodies stayed pressed close in the warm hush of that tiny, time-frozen room.

you quietly whimpered as you rolled your hips again, the drag of him inside you sending sparks down your spine, “feels so good,” you whispered, voice trembling, lips brushing his jaw as your fingers clutched at his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, “you feel so good, junie.”

“yeah?” he rasped, his voice wrecked and low, his chest rising and falling beneath your palms. you moved like you were savoring every second, your thighs squeezing tighter around him. he slid a hand up your spine, the other gripping your hip to help guide your rhythm, groaning softly into your mouth, “fuck… that’s it,” he whispered, hips bucking slightly to meet your movement, “god, i’ve wanted this. i’ve wanted you like this.”

you leaned in, your forehead pressing to his, sweat starting to bead at your temples, “then take it,” you murmured, kissing him again—filthy, deep, desperate. but he didn’t flip you. didn’t take over. he gave in. you rode him in a rhythm that was pure indulgence—intimate, aching, soaked in tension. the bed creaked faintly beneath you, but it was nothing compared to the sounds you were both holding back. because just one thin wall away, mrs. suh lay asleep, which meant you still had to be careful. quiet. but that didn’t make it any less intense. in fact, it only made it worse. hotter. deeper. more dangerous.

renjun’s head tipped back against the pillow, his mouth parted in a silent gasp, chest heaving. his hands clutched at the sheets before one of them slid up your thigh, then higher, gripping your ass to pull you down harder onto him. his eyes fluttered, then locked on yours, pupils blown wide and desperate. “fuck…” he mouthed, barely audible, voice caught in his throat as his hips instinctively bucked up into you faster, rougher. you leaned down slightly, your hair falling like a curtain around both of you, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “stay quiet, junie…” he whimpered, his nails digging into your skin as you rocked into him faster now, matching his pace. your pussy clenched around him and he nearly choked on his moan, swallowing it back, blinking up at you like he was on the edge of unraveling, “please,” he whispered, barely managing the word, “please, i—” you kissed him, swallowing his next sound as you dragged your hips over him again, your walls fluttering around his cock, eyes rolled back, fingers gripping his shirt tightly.

“god, use me, love,” renjun gasped, tightening his hold on your ass, “just—fuck—use me…” your breath caught at the sound of it, need, pure and raw, pouring out of him like a flood. he was panting now, jaw slack, lips wet from your kiss, and his hands moved without thought—reaching up, sliding beneath the oversized shirt you wore, pushing it up just enough so his palms could cup your tits.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, thumbs brushing over your nipples, watching you ride him like you were made to, “so soft—so fucking warm—” you whined, biting your lip to keep quiet as your pace picked up, more purposeful now, your movements drenched in want. every time your hips met his, it was friction, heat, pleasure. renjun couldn’t stop touching you, hands squeezing your tits, sliding down your waist, then back up again. he was watching you with wide, dazed eyes, his lips parted in a near-silent moan as your hips snapped just right, grinding your clit against the base of him.

“you feel so good inside me,” you whispered, your forehead pressed to his, your breath mingling, “i could do this all night, fuck myself on your cock until the sun comes up.” his whole body shuddered. those vulgar words coming out of your sweet sweet mouth makes him lose all control, “fuck—love, i-i’m not gonna last—” you clenched around him again on purpose and his hand shot up to cover his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, his hips jerking beneath you. you could feel how close he was. but you weren’t done with him yet. you leaned back slightly, hands on his hips for balance as you rode him harder now, body glowing in the faint moonlight. renjun looked up at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever seen. meanwhile, his flushed cheeks, messy hair, and trembling thighs painted the picture of a boy being absolutely wrecked beneath you. and he loved it.

“you’re mine,” he whispered, his hand going up to cup your jaw with slight force, “say it.”

“make me yours, junie, come for me,” you gasped, leaning down again, kissing his lips. and that was it. his hips jerked, breath caught in his throat, eyes snapping shut as he groaned your name, desperate, messy, before pulling you off him just in time. hot thick ropes spilled between you and you didn’t miss a beat, your hand wrapping around his cock immediately, stroking him through it, pumping him slow, firm, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. his cum marking your thighs, your hand, the lower part of his stomach from when his shirt rode up. but you didn’t stop.

“f-fuck–fuck–love,” he whimpered, biting down on his lip, writhing beneath you, cock twitching in your hand, “too much—fuck—it’s too much—”

“shhh,” you murmured, watching his face, how beautifully undone he was. how helpless he looked trying to keep quiet. you brought one hand up, covering his mouth. you didn’t stop. “you can take it. give it to me, junie. all of it.” you kept milking him, fingers slick with cum, slow and steady and he kept breaking for you — thighs shaking, moans muffled behind the hand you slapped over his mouth, whole body trembling, chest heaving, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, lashes damp and fluttering, as you wrung every last drop from him.

your bodies were still pressed together, slick with sweat and heat, heart pounding against his chest. renjun was breathless beneath you, chest heaving, lips slightly parted, eyes hazy with the aftershocks of his orgasm, “shit, love, i came too fast. i couldn’t help it—” he started, brows drawing together. you leaned down, brushing your lips across his cheek, “you were perfect,” you whispered, ready to lay by his side again, but renjun shook his head, eyes dark and gleaming now as he cupped your hips again.

“no,” he murmured, “you think i’m done?” he shook his head, dark eyes focused, gleaming with something deeper—need, devotion, worship—as his hands slid up your sides, fingers brushing beneath the hem of the oversized shirt you wore. his voice dropped low, hungry and reverent, “not done with you yet.” you didn’t resist when he pushed the shirt up slowly, knuckles dragging across your heated skin. he sat up slightly to tug it over your head, lifting it off your arms with care, revealing your bare chest to the cool air. his eyes darkened instantly, his gaze raking over you like he was seeing something holy, “fuck,” he whispered, breath catching, “you’re beautiful.” your cheeks flushed, but before you could respond, he was already kissing down your sternum, slow and wet. then he reached your breasts. his tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive peak of your nipple, the light contact making you arch slightly into him. a soft gasp slipped from your lips as he circled it again, slower this time, letting the flat of his tongue drag across the sensitive bud before pulling it gently between his lips.

“renjun—” you whispered, the heat in your stomach increasing, fingers threading into his hair. he hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. his mouth wrapped fully around your nipple, sucking it with just enough pressure to make your toes curl. his other hand came up to cup the other, thumb brushing over the neglected peak, teasing it in slow, lazy circles. he switched sides then, licking a trail across your chest to give your other breast the same attention— lips sealing around it with a moan so soft, so hungry, it went straight to your center. your hips shifted in his lap, the sensation pulling need from you like a string. renjun looked up at you, lips still wrapped around your nipple, eyes half-lidded and wrecked before he sucked harder. your back arched with a sharp inhale, breath came fast and shallow as he squeezed them gently, thumbs rolling your nipples between his fingers while his lips moved back to your neck, biting and kissing down your collarbone.“you’re so sensitive,” he whispered, voice low and ragged, “makes you squirm… makes you wet, doesn’t it?” you nodded, too breathless to speak, hips instinctively rocking forward. he felt it—the heat between your thighs, the desperation building. and he grinned against your skin, smug and wrecked all at once.

“god, i want to taste you falling apart,” he murmured, voice dark with hunger as his lips brushed down your sternum, tongue tracing a line between your breasts, your heart slammed against your ribs. then, with a low groan, he looked up at you, eyes blown, lips swollen from worshiping every inch of you, and said it. “sit on my face, love. ride my tongue. be my good girl and use me again.” you whimpered before you could stop it, your whole body jolting with want. he was already moving, already guiding you upward with firm hands on your hips, his touch sure, hungry. the firmness in his voice only made it hotter, filthier. his fingers splayed across your thighs as he laid back, pulling you forward, coaxing you up over his chest. your hands gripped the headboard to steady yourself as you gently hovered above him, breath shaky, skin flushed. and then his hands locked around your ass, pulling you down with no hesitation, and buried his face between your thighs with a low, guttural groan that vibrated straight through your core.

“f-fuck—!” you slapped a hand over your mouth instantly, eyes flying open as his tongue devoured you. he licked into you with purpose—slow, deep strokes that curled inside your heat before dragging up again, only to circle your clit with maddening, devastating precision. your entire body twitching with every flick, every moan he fed into your cunt. his breath was hot, mouth greedy, and the noises, his noises, had your stomach tightening in seconds. his moans were soft, desperate, filthy, like he was the one being undone. every motion of his tongue coaxing pleasure from you like he was building it note by note, layer by layer. and fuck, he wasn’t gentle. he licked you like he needed it. like he ached for your taste. his tongue slid deep, slow thrusts inside your pussy before returning to your clit, sucking just enough to make your hips jolt forward, and he groaned again when you ground against his face, like he wanted you to smother him in it. you were losing control, your fingers white-knuckling the headboard, your teeth sinking into the back of your hand to keep quiet, your hips moving on instinct now, riding his tongue, chasing friction, chasing more, “oh my—fuck.”

renjun loved it. loved the way you grind on his face, suffocating him. the way you whimper above him, trying to stay quiet while your whole body begged for release. his eyes fluttered open and met yours through the haze—wild, pleading, lips glistening, his whole face flushed and buried in your cunt. you’d never seen anything so filthy. so beautiful. he pulled you down harder, tongue flicking over your clit in rapid, cruel circles, moaning into you like your pleasure was the only thing keeping him alive. his nose bumped your clit just right as he licked up your arousal in broad, wet strokes over and over until your legs began to tremble. your moan slipped out before you could catch it, sharp and high.

“shhh,” he murmured against your cunt, the vibration making you cry out again.

“i can’t,” you gasped, legs shaking, voice barely a breath, “i—fuck, i’m gonna—” his response was to grip your ass tighter, pulling you harder against his mouth. like he wasn’t just doing this to please you. like he needed it.

“renjun,” you moaned, “i’m—fuck—i’m gonna come—” he growled low in his throat, tongue flicking your clit faster and then he sucked you so hard you shattered. your orgasm tore through you, sharp and overwhelming, body locking up before collapsing into wave after wave of wet, pulsing bliss. you bit down on your hand again, barely muffling your broken cry as your whole body shook, pussy gushing into his mouth.

then you felt it, his hand shifting, sliding from your ass to the heat between your legs. his fingers traced through your slick folds, just once, before—“renjun—!,” you couldn’t stop the scream. renjun smirked against your pussy. two fingers pushed into you in one smooth, practiced thrust, filling you to the knuckle while his tongue stayed locked on your clit. the stretch had your eyes flying open, breath stuck in your throat. he groaned at the way you clenched around him, the vibration from his mouth immediately sending another wave of pleasure ripping through your core. his face was soaked, glistening with your slick, eyes half-lidded and wrecked, but completely focused. he was feeding on you. slurping, moaning, fucking you on his fingers while you straddled his face like you were something holy.

“fuck, junie—” you gasped, voice wrecked as your body started to seize up again for the the third time, tears starting to form in the corner of your eye, “i—i can’t—”

“you can,” he growled into your pussy, voice muffled, feral, his fingers thrusting harder, faster, “be my good girl. and give me one more.” another cry escaped from your lips before you could stop it. the pleasure was too much, too fast, too perfect. it slammed into you before you could even brace for it. you came with a muffled sob, your thighs gave out and your body collapsed over his, twitching and soaked and completely undone. only then did he finally ease his fingers out of you, slow, gentle, kissing your inner thigh like a silent thank you.

renjun wrapped his arms around you again, guiding you down to rest against his chest, your bare body flush against his, slick and trembling. the room was still now, save for the soft whirr of the fan in the corner and the sound of your uneven breaths slowly syncing with his. you lay curled on top of him, spent and boneless, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, his hands lazily stroking up and down your back in slow, soothing sweeps. your thighs still trembled, slick and flushed from how completely he had unraveled you—thrice. and yet, all you could do was melt into the safety of his hold, the warmth of his skin, the way his arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go.

after a long stretch of silence, you finally shifted, raising your head just slightly to look at him. his face was flushed, his lips swollen, chin and jaw glistening with your release. his eyes were hooded and soft now, completely wrecked but so full of affection it made your chest ache. you huffed a quiet, breathless laugh and reached for the oversized shirt he’d tossed to the side earlier, the one you’d both long since forgotten. you sat up just enough to bring the hem to his face, dabbing gently at his chin and lips. he blinked up at you, dazed, “what are you doing?”

“cleaning you up,” you murmured, brushing along his jaw, “i kinda made a mess.” he smiled, tired and boyish, lips quirking up at the corners, “i like it messy.” you rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, “i’d drown in you,” he said shamelessly, eyes never leaving yours, “and i’d say thank you.” you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head, but your fingers softened as you finished wiping him clean. he caught your wrist before you could pull away, pulling the fabric from your hand and tossing it aside again. then he leaned up, slowly, languidly, and kissed you. soft. deep. sweet. you could taste yourself on him. his hand slid into your hair as he pressed your mouth to his, slow and unhurried, like the world outside didn’t exist. like nothing existed except you and him, tucked away in this little cedar-scented room in the middle of nowhere.

when you pulled back, his nose brushed yours, eyes heavy-lidded, voice barely a whisper, “are you okay?”

you nodded, heart swelling at the concern woven into his tone, “better than okay.”

“good,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek, “because if i didn’t make you feel like the only girl in the universe, i’d have to go again and try harder.” you giggled, burying your face in his neck, “please don’t tempt me…we should let mrs. suh get some proper sleep,” you whispered, grinning. he chuckled softly, arms wrapping around you again, “guess we’ll have to save round three for a time when you can scream my name as loud as you want.”

“shut up,” you said, swatting his chest with a smile. he kissed your hair, holding you close. you stayed like that for a long time, limbs tangled, hearts full, smiles slow and sleepy, as the night crept around you and the stillness returned, safe and warm. and just before your eyes slipped closed, you felt him whisper one more thing against your skin: “you’re mine.”

✿ SOMEONE ELSE’S DREAM ✿

the morning sun slipped lazily through the lace curtains, bathing the tiny guest room in a soft, dreamlike glow. dust danced in the light, the air still heavy with cedar and the faint remnants of last night — warmth, want and whispered moans tucked beneath a shared blanket. you stirred, limbs tangled with renjun’s, cheek pressed to his bare chest. he was already awake, eyes heavy and soft, fingers tracing sleepy patterns on the small of your back. “good morning,” he murmured, voice gravelly, thick with sleep, but laced with something gentler. affection. peace. something dangerously close to joy.

“good morning,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and wrecked in a way that made his eyes gleam. he leaned in to kiss your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, “i like waking up like this,” he said, like a secret. like he almost couldn’t believe it was real. you hummed against his skin, smiling as you pulled back to stretch, wincing slightly as the soreness settled into your thighs. renjun caught the wince instantly and let out a guilty little sound, fingers ghosting over your hips, “too much?”

you shook your head with a sleepy laugh, “worth it.” that made his face flush in the prettiest way, pink spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. eventually, the two of you reluctantly got out of bed, redressed in your wrinkled clothes from the day before. renjun kept finding excuses to touch you — brushing your hair out of your eyes, sliding yours shorts up your legs, trailing his fingers down your spine as he kissed your shoulder one last time. you padded out of the room together, footsteps light against the wooden floor, following the smell of something warm and sweet wafting from the kitchen.

mrs. suh stood at the old stovetop, humming softly to herself, her back turned as she flipped something golden-brown in the pan. the table was already set—toast, fruit, a pot of tea, a plate of fried eggs. when she turned and saw you both, her eyes sparkled, “morning, lovebirds,” she said brightly, looking between the two of you, smile growing, “sleep well?” she asked innocently, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her tone. she chuckled with a wink, “next time you want to rock the bed that hard, at least put a pillow behind the headboard,” and with that, she waltzed out of the kitchen with her tea in hand, leaving you and renjun frozen, staring after her like deer caught in the headlights. it took a full ten seconds before either of you moved. then— “oh my god,” you whispered, hiding your face in your hands.

“i want to crawl into the floor and never return,” renjun muttered behind you, dragging a hand over his burning face, “i’ve become everything i swore i’d never be.”

you looked at each other, faces flushed, and burst into laughter at the same time. it was breathless and mortifying and helpless — but real. sweet. a little unhinged. still red, renjun guided you toward the table and pulled you down into his lap before you could even reach the other chair. you gave him a look, “really?”

“what?” he shrugged, “she already knows and do you think i’m letting you sit anywhere else after last night?” he grinned, you rolled your eyes but didn’t move. you melted into him a little, cheek brushing his jaw as he wrapped one arm around your waist, the other grabbing a fork. without hesitation, he speared a piece of toast and smiled softly, “eat your breakfast,” he murmured. so you did. wrapped in his arms. still aching a little. still glowing a lot. surrounded by jam and toast and secondhand embarrassment and something else you weren’t quite ready to name but something that buzzed quietly under your skin, warm and steady. like the beginning of something.

you were still nestled in renjun’s lap, when the front door creaked open and heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. a second later, a tall older man appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping his oil-streaked hands on a rag, a cheerful glint in his eyes beneath a frayed baseball cap. “well, hello,” he said with a grin, glancing between you and renjun, “look at you two. all cozy.” you sat up straighter, cheeks heating again. renjun tensed slightly under you, though his grip on your waist stayed firm. “morning,” the man added, nodding toward the stove, “breakfast smells amazing, hon.”

“of course it does,” mrs. suh, called back from the living room, clearly still eavesdropping with zero shame, “they needed their strength after last night’s... activities.” you groaned, pressing your forehead to renjun’s shoulder. he shook with silent laughter.

“anyway,” the man said, clearly used to his wife’s antics, “i gave your car a look. it was just the battery, got it all charged and ready to go. should be good now.”

your head lifted, “wait—seriously?” he nodded, “try not to break down in the middle of nowhere again, yeah?”

“thank you,” renjun said sincerely, standing up with you still half in his arms before gently helping you to your feet, “really. that means a lot.”

“you two should go before the sun gets too hot,” mrs. suh called again, stepping back into view with her cup of tea, “and try to keep your hands to yourselves this time, or you’ll never make it home.”renjun chuckled, shaking his head, and reached into his back pocket. you blinked in surprise as he pulled out a thick wad of cash from his wallet — more than enough to cover the repairs, food, and probably a month’s worth of groceries. he stepped forward, pressing it gently into mrs. suh’s hand. she looked down at it. then back up at him, “oh no. no, absolutely not.”

“please,” renjun said, firm but warm, “you gave us food. shelter. fixed our car. all without asking why.” he turned toward the door before they could hand it back. you followed him, waving your thanks with a warm, sheepish smile. “drive safely!” mrs. suh called after you, “and don’t forget, you’ve always got a place here if you need it…though preferably with a little less thumping,” she added with a wink. renjun coughed into his sleeve. you nearly tripped over the porch steps. “thank you!,” you called out one last time, clutching his arm as the two of you made your way back to the now-fixed car parked in the gravel driveway. once inside, renjun reached across the center console to lace his fingers with yours, still red in the face but smiling softly. the car rumbled back to life, his hand in yours, moomin sitting in the backseat and the little house behind you fading into the distance. a strange sort of warmth settled over him — like he’d just lived a tiny chapter of someone else’s dream.

❤︎

renjun pulled up slowly in front of your apartment building, the car rumbling to a soft stop. he turned the engine off but made no move to get out. neither did you. for a second, the only sound was the gentle tick of the cooling engine and the muffled hum of city traffic in the distance. you both stepped out of the car. you clutched the moomin plushie to your chest, the same one he’d won you just yesterday, though it felt like weeks had passed since then. the farmhouse. his hands on your waist. his mouth on your skin. renjun felt like someone else in that version of the world, someone bolder and unafraid. but now, with the familiar skyline stretched above you and the buzz of city life leaking through the windows, he felt reality tightening again. you climbed the steps together and he reached to open the door for you when it suddenly swung open from the inside.

ningning stood in the doorway, eyes wide, jaw tight. her hair was slightly messy and her phone was still in her hand, screen glowing. her gaze snapped to you, then to renjun, a sharp breath catching in her throat. “where have you two been?,” she demanded, her voice high, sharp with relief and frustration. her gaze flicked between the two of you, then landed on renjun with a kind of urgency that made your stomach twist, “i’ve been calling you.”

renjun blinked, startled, “sorry—my phone died,” he replied clearing his throat. he lifted a hand sheepishly as if to show the invisible dead device in his pocket, “we broke down on the way home from the theme park and—” but ningning wasn’t listening. her eyes scanned you from head to toe, noting the wrinkled clothes, the slight limp in your step, the exhaustion clouding your features. she opened her mouth, then closed it, like she wanted to say something else. something important. you frowned, sensing the strange stiffness in the air, “ning…? is something wrong?”

her eyes snapped back to yours, “what? no. nothing’s wrong!,” she said too fast. she swallowed, then flicked another glance toward renjun, her voice lowering slightly, like it might slip and betray her, “it’s just—our friend is here.” you tilted your head, confused, “friend?”

“yeah,” ningning said, and you could tell she was choosing her next words very carefully, “our friend… yangyang.” the name hit the air like a dropped plate. behind you, renjun stopped breathing. that name again. the one that felt unfamiliar on your tongue and yet it tugged at something deep in your mind. like it belong to a memory that had gotten lost in the fog. ningning looked between the two of you, her expression unreadable, “he just got in last night. said he was done with his internship and wanted to…surprise you.”

you blinked, unsure how to respond, “me?,” your voice was soft, uncertain. you glanced over at your shoulder at renjun, like maybe he could offer something to fill the gaps, “why would your best friend want to surprise me?”

but renjun wasn’t looking at you. he was looking at ningning. and ningning was looking at him. something passed between them — fast and silent and impossible to decipher. the kind of look that said everything they hadn’t dared speak aloud. his jaw clenched just slightly. his hand at his side trembled. he felt sick. your eyes bounced between the two of them. then ningning laughed awkwardly. too loud. too forced. “i mean—he wanted to surprise renjun! obviously! i just… misspoke.”

you blinked, “oh. that makes more sense,” you smiled up at renjun, totally unaware, “that’s sweet.” and then, still hugging the moomin plush to your chest, you slipped past them into the apartment, kicking off your shoes and humming softly to yourself. behind you, renjun didn’t move. he stood frozen on the doorstep, as if the world had shifted underneath his feet and he wasn’t ready to fall with it. the weight of your trust pressed against his spine like a loaded gun. his pulse roared in his ears. his stomach churned. he’d told himself it was only temporary. that he could take care of you until yangyang came back. that pretending wouldn’t matter. but last night… last night ruined everything. last night made it real.

✿ THE BOY YOU FORGOT ✿

renjun sat rigid on the edge of the couch. across from him, yangyang was slouched in the armchair, legs spread, one hand curled around a cold glass of water he hadn’t touched. his face was calm, casual, but his eyes had been sharp from the moment the two of you walked into the living room. you were nestled beside renjun on the couch, knees tucked under you, body pressed against his side like it was second nature. your head leaned on his shoulder, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. completely at peace. completely unaware. you didn’t notice the way yangyang’s jaw flexed when you reached up and absentmindedly pushed renjun’s hair back from his forehead. or the way ningning kept chewing the inside of her cheek like she was waiting for a bomb to go off. renjun could feel yangyang’s stare burning holes into him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet it. he should’ve told you. he should’ve told you before it ever got this far. you laughed at something ningning said, light and warm, and then leaned closer into his side, your fingers sliding down his arm, twining with his without thinking. his breath caught in his throat. yangyang’s grip on the glass tightened audibly.

“so,” yangyang finally said, tone casual but just slightly too forced, “you two…close now?”

renjung didn’t answer right away. he didn’t trust his voice not to crack. you, on the other hand, you nodded, “yeah,” you said, looking up at renjun, “i mean, he’s my boyfriend.” a sharp inhale cut through the room. yangyang’s fingers tensed around the glass again, this time so hard it looked like it might shatter. renjun’s chest twisted painfully. he didn’t correct you. he couldn’t. one look at your smile and he was back in that tiny farmhouse, morning sunlight bleeding through the curtains. your hand brushing his jaw, half-asleep and glowing, wondering how long he could keep pretending before the world caught up. he wished mr. suh didn’t fix the car so quickly.

yangyang laughed. low. cold. “boyfriend, huh?,” he echoed, gaze sharp and unreadable, “is that what we’re calling it now?” you tilted your head at him, innocent and confused, “you must have been at your internship when we started dating?,” you offered gently, like you were trying not to offend him, “i’m sorry, i’m really bad at remembering things lately.”

renjun noticed the way his best friend’s throat bobbed when he swallowed, jaw clenching before it slackened again. the way his eyes softened just a little. “you’re right,” yangyang said after a moment, shaking his head, “don’t worry about it,” he adds, forcing a smile on his face.

you smiled kindly at him, curling right back into renjun’s side, resting your head on his houlder like it was your rightful palace. you let out a little sigh, “he talks about you a lot,” you added. renjun flinched. that wasn’t true. you didn’t even know who yangyang really was. but he knew you were saying it to be polite. trying to fill the silence.

“thanks,” yangyang muttered, “that’s…good.” silence stretched again. ningning was visibly sweating now. renjun felt like the walls were closing in, the air too tight to breathe. yangyang kept staring at you. but not in anger. not even in confusion. it was heartbreak. renjun could see it clear as day. he didn’t know what hurt more—watching yangyang try to keep it together…or knowing he was the one holding you like you were his. you shifted slightly beside him, sighing tiredly, fingers still tangled with his, your body tucked so naturally into his side it felt cruel. you looked so peaceful. so certain. like your whole world made sense. like the truth wasn’t sitting two feet across from you, trying not to fall apart.

renjun looked up, finally meeting yangyang’s eyes. and yangyang looked right back. it was all there in the silence between them. the betrayal. the guilt. the quiet plea for more time. the shared knowledge that eventually, it would all come crashing down.

you let out a soft yawn, rubbing at your eyes like a sleepy cat before glancing between the three of them, “i think I’ll take a quick nap,” you said, voice sweet and warm. you turned toward renjun, still tucked against his side, and leaned in. your hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing gently along his cheekbone as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. soft. slow. you pulled back with a sleepy smile, completely oblivious to the way yangyang froze, eyes narrowing just a little—like something inside him had broken. rising to your feet, you turned to yangyang and stuck out your hand politely, “it was really nice meeting you, by the way.” yangyang stood up a little too quickly, setting the glass down on the coffee table. his palm met yours – warm, solid, magnetic.

“yeah,” he managed, voice tight and barely above a whisper, “you too.” you gave him one last smile, “have fun catching up,” you said, and then disappeared into your room with a quiet click of the door. silence falls like a guillotine. the air is thick with the weight of the truth. renjun doesn’t move. yangyang stayed standing, shoulders tense, breathing shallow, staring at the shut door like it would open again and give him another second to hold onto something that had already slipped through his fingers.

“renjun,” he said, voice flat, empty, “what the fuck are you doing?”

renjun doesn’t flinch. he turns his head slowly to face him, dark eyes steady, like he’d been waiting for this moment. “you told me to take care of her,” renjun says bitterly.

yangyang lets out a hollow laugh, the kind that has no humor in it, “yeah? i told you to take care of her — not make her your fucking girlfriend.”

renjun’s mouth tightens. he drags a hand through his hair, the frustration finally cracking through the surface, “what did you want me to do, huh? dump all her memories on her like a fucking bomb and hope she miraculously remembers you? risk her breaking again? risk her not even recognizing you at all?”

“so instead you just let her fall for you?,” yangyang snaps, “you let her kiss you in front of me. like i don’t even exist?”

renjun stands now. quietly. slowly. but there’s a storm in his eyes. “you do exist,” he grits out, “every fucking day. i see you in every room she walks into. i hear your name every time ningning looks at me like she wants to scream. you think this was easy? you think i asked for this?”

yangyang’s face twists, voice sharper now, “then why didn’t you back off?!, why didn’t you tell her the truth?”

“because she was scared!,” rejun fires back. his voice finally rising, “because she looked at me like i was the only thing in the world that made sense and i—,” he cuts himself off, breath catching, “i couldn’t be the one to take that from her.”

“so you just… kept pretending?” yangyang says, quieter now.

renjun swallows hard, staring at the floor, “at first it was pretending but i—i don’t know when pretending stopped and wanting started.”

yangyang steps forward, anger laced with something softer, grief. “she’s mine.”

renjun looks up, eyes rimmed red, voice cracking, “then where the hell were you?” the words hit like a slap. yangyang stares. his lips part, but no sound comes out.

“i told you to come home,” renjun says again, quieter this time.

“you know i couldn’t do that,” yangyang finally says, hollow.

“yeah?” renjun’s voice is ice, “well, you can’t fucking blame me for this, can you?”

the silence is deadly. both of them staring each other down. then, “okay—enough,” ningning sighs, stepping between them. she’s breathing hard, like she’s been holding it in this whole time, “we’re not doing this here.” both boys freeze. ningning glares at each of them like she’s daring them to say another word, “she’s right there,” she says, pointing at your door. her voice is shaking now, “she’s sleeping in the next room and if she hears even a fraction of this—if you ruin the only bit of peace she’s had in weeks—i swear to god you both aren’t making it out of here alive.” renjun turns away first. jaw clenched, chest heaving. yangyang still looks like he’s trying to breathe through the wreckage. ningning sighs, rubbing at her temples, “you two can tear each other apart later. but not here. not while she’s still in the dark.”

❤︎

the soft click of the door locking behind you had barely echoed before your knees buckled. you sank slowly, back pressed against the wood, fingers trembling as they clutched your chest, right where your heart was starting to split wide open. because the moment you walked into the living room and your eyes met his — yangyang. every memory hit you like a wave, crashing and cruel and familiar. you knew him. not in passing. not in the way you’d pretend to know someone because they smiled kindly at you in a hallway. no. you knew him. like laughter shared across sticky arcade machines and the way he used to steal your fries. like his hoodie sleeves always too long and his cologne smelling like orange peels and mint gum. like your first kiss, messy and breathless, right in front of your apartment door. it had all come back to you in a blink. like a dam bursting open. like drowning and breathing all at once.

you told them you were tired. and you were. exhausted from pretending you didn’t feel the shift in the air the second he looked at you like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. from trying not to notice the way renjun froze beside you. you curled into yourself against the door, palms clutching your head. everything hurt.

you heard renjun. his voice breaking as he defended himself. as he defended you — “you told me to take care of her.” “she looked at me like i was the only thing in the world that made sense.” “i didn’t know when pretending stopped and wanting started.”

you heard yangyang — “she’s mine.” “why didn’t you tell her the truth the second she woke up?”

and god, you wished you hadn’t heard any of it. because suddenly, it wasn’t just your memories that hurt. it was the now — renjun’s touch. his quiet smiles. the way his hand always found yours. the way he looked at you like you were a wish he’d never thought he could ask for. all of it. built on borrowed time. on borrowed identity. and the worst part? your heart didn’t know who to break for. the boy you forgot. or the boy you’d just started to remember. you let out a sound, quiet and strangled. a sob that stayed caught in your throat. you curled tighter into yourself, head bowed, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. because now, the truth sat heavy in your chest. too loud to ignore. too soft to scream. and all you could do was hold it, and cry. alone. on the other side of the door.

✿ I’M HER BOYFRIEND ✿

the sky outside had dimmed. renjun stood outside your door, guilt settling like lead in his stomach. his fingers hovered over the wood, hesitating. you hadn’t come out. not even once. he knocked gently, once. twice. “hey,” he called out trying to sound light. normal. “i’m heading out now. i…just wanted to say goodnight.” no answer. his chest tightening. “are you still asleep?,” he tried again, forcing a small chuckle. still nothing. something cold slithered up his spine. “...i’m coming in, okay?” his hand curled around the doorknob and turned it. he pushed it open. and froze. you were on the floor. curled up. pale. still. too still. for a split second, he thought you were just sleeping. but then he saw the tear stains on your cheek, the way your arm was twisted beneath you uncomfortably. the way your lips were slightly parted.

“y/n?,” his voice cracked. he rushed to your side, dropping to his knees, hands trembling as he touched your shoulder, “y/n—hey—wake up,” his voice pitched higher with panic, shaking you lightly, “hey. come on. please wake up–”

nothing. not even a stir. “y/n!” he shouted now, louder, frantic. he scooped you in his arms, hands framing your face, slapping your cheeks gently. your head lolled slightly, unresponsive. his blood ran cold. “YANGYANG!” he screamed, voice breaking. “NINGNING!” the sound of a chair scraping back. footsteps thundering. doors slamming. yangyang was the first one through the door, followed by ningning. both froze when they saw you on the floor.

“oh my god,” ningning gasped, already pulling out her phone, “i’m calling an ambulance.” yangyang was at your other side in seconds, eyes wide, panic all over his face, “what happened?! what the fuck—”

“i don’t know!” renjun choked out, tears streaming down his face. “she’s fucking burning up,” yangyang said suddenly, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“tell them to hurry!” renjun barked at ningning. he turned back to you, clutching your face like it was the only thing tethering him to earth, “you’re okay,” he whispered, voice shaking, “you’re gonna be okay. you’re strong. you’re okay—please be okay.”the room blurred around him. sirens were already in the distance. someone was shouting instructions. yangyang was holding your other hand now. ningning was crying into the phone. but all renjun could see was you — still. unmoving. crumpled on the floor with tear-streaked cheeks and lips that had kissed him like nothing was wrong.

in what felt like a blink, paramedics swarmed into the room. they assessed you quickly, lifting your limp body onto a stretcher, securing the oxygen mask over your nose and mouth. the room blurred for renjun. he couldn’t hear what they were saying. couldn’t breathe. a paramedic turned to the group, “one person can ride in the back. who's coming with her?” there was a beat of silence. and then yangyang stepped forward. firm. immediate. certain. “i am,” he said. “i’m her boyfriend.”

the words hit renjun like a punch to the chest. everything stilled. he didn’t move. couldn’t. all he could do was watch. watch yangyang walk beside the stretcher. watch his hand slip into yours. watch them wheel you away as if he hadn’t just spent the last few weeks living inside your smile. as if he hadn’t spent last night learning your body like it was the only truth he had left. ningning touched his shoulder gently, “come on,” she said quietly, “we’ll take your car.” he blinked, nodding numbly, forcing his feet to move. down the stairs. out the door. into the passenger seat. the last glimpse he caught of you was the ambulance doors closing. and yangyang climbing in without looking back.

❤︎

the sterile white light overhead hummed faintly. the office was quiet, except for the occasional tap of dr. lee’s tablet. renjun sat stiffly in the chair opposite the deks, hands wrung tightly in his lap. yangyang in th other, arms crossed, posture rigid. dr. lee glanced up from your chart, glancing at the two boys, back and forth, “she’s okay.”

renjun exhaled shakily, head bowing slightly. yangyang didn’t move. “what happened to her?,” he asked, voice rough around the edges.

dr. lee leaned forward slightly, “it was a collapse, likely due to an emotional overload. she must’ve experienced a sudden resurgence of memories — it overwhelmed her nervous system. add exhaustion and stress, and her body just… gave out.”

yangyang’s eyes widened, “so…she remembers?”

dr. lee nodded, “some, yes. enough to trigger the episode. only she know’s how much she actually remembers. but there’s no sign of brain injury and her vitals are stabilizing.”

renjun finally let out a shaky breath, “thank god.” but his relief was short-lived. cecause then dr. lee turned to yangyang, “so…you’re the real boyfriend?” yangyang nodded without hesitation. and renjun almost laughed. of course. he looked away. jaw clenched so tight it hurt. of course he is. never mind the fact that renjun had been the one by your side this time. holding your hand. walking you home. kissing you. none of it mattered now.

dr. lee looked between the two of them, sensing the weight in the room but not daring to address it, “she’s resting now. one visitor at a time, but i suggest letting her sleep a while longer. her body needs it.”

renjun’s hands clenched around the edge of the chair, “can i–” then he stopped. corrected himself, “can we stay nearby? just in the waiting room?”

dr. lee offered a smile, “of course, nurses will let you know when she wakes.” as he stood to leave, yangyang remained still, eyes locked on a framed certificate on the wall like he couldn’t bear to look anywhere else. dr. lee gave them both a polite nod and exited quietly. the silence that followed was dense and cold.

renjun stood slowly, but yangyang spoke before he could take a step, “this is your fault,” he muttered. voice low. accusatory. renjun froze. yangyang turned to face him now, jaw tight, “you had all this time and you let her live a fucking lie.”

renjun turned, anger sparking in his chest, “i was trying to protect her.”

“from what?”

“from this!,” renjun exploded, “from waking up in a hospital bed with a head full of broken pieces!”

yangyang shook his head, bitter, “she should’ve had the truth, renjun. not some made-up romance with a guy she doesn’t even belong to.”

that cut too deep. renjun swallowed, “i didn’t mean for her to fall for me.”

yangyang looked away, something wounded flickering in his eyes, “but she did,” he said. “and now…we don’t know who she’s going to choose.” neither of them said anything more. because that, more than anything, was the truth no one could argue. and it was going to break someone’s heart.

✿ THE BOY WHO NEVER SHOULD’VE STAYED ✿

renjun sat with his head in his hands, elbows braced against his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him answers he didn’t already hate. the waiting room was too bright. too quiet. time moved in slow, torturous beats. he hadn’t spoken much since last night. neither had ningning. and yangyang… he paced. sometimes sat. mostly stared at the wall like if he blinked too long, he might lose you again. renjun didn’t blame him. but that didn’t make it hurt any less. his mind wouldn’t stop spinning. replaying everything — every time you looked at him like he was yours. the way you’d giggle with your whole body like joy couldn’t be contained in something so small. the way you whispered his name in the dark, tired and soft and full of trust, not knowing it wasn’t really his to keep. the way you’d pull him in like you needed him to breathe. he should’ve stopped it. should’ve told you the truth. but he didn’t. he let it happen. he let himself love you. he let himself pretend. and in pretending…he rewrote himself into your story. scribbled over yangyang’s name with his own fingers. skipped whole chapters just to hold your hand a little longer.

“excuse me,” the nurse stepped into the room, clipboard in hand. her voice was too calm, too casual for the storm brewing in renjun’s chest. “she’s awake.” three heads snapped up. renjun’s stomach twisted, “she’s asking for yangyang.”

“i’m yangyang,” yangyang said, already halfway down the hall. the nurse blinked, polite but firm. yangyang didn’t hesitate. didn’t even look back. renjun didn’t stop him. didn’t fight. didn’t speak. didn’t breathe. just watched as his best friend walked toward your room. walked toward the life that was always meant to be his. and in that moment, renjun felt the floor fall out from under him.

❤︎

the door creaked softly. you blinked against the sterile morning light filtering in through the hospital blinds, the thin sheet crinkling beneath your fingers as you shifted. your body felt heaver than it should. full of things you didn’t know how to carry. full of moments that weren’t yours a week ago but now lived inside you like they’d always been there. and then…he stepped in. familiar. striking. yangyang. his name whispered through your bloodstream like deja vu — soft, electric, bittersweet. it echoed in your chest before your brain could fully form the syllables. his eyes locked with yours. and for a moment, the world held its breath. he didn’t smile. neither did you. because how could you? how do you smile at someone who lived inside your forgotten memories? at someone who kissed you at an arcade, who spun you barefoot around the kitchen floor with the refrigerator light illuminating your steps, who packed picnic lunches and played you songs on his guitar just to make you laugh. how do you smile at someone who was supposed to be yours when all you could feel was someone else?

“i…,” you started, voice quiet, “...so, you’re my boyfriend?” his eyes softened at the sound of your voice, but there was something else there too. guilt. grief. exhaustion. the kind of weariness that comes from regret.

“i was,” he said carefully, walking a little closer, “i mean — i am. if you still want me to be.” you searched his face. and the memories came again. so many memories. the dream party where you first met last year during new years eve. renjun’s laugh somewhere in your ear as he introduced you to his best friend, the boy in front of you. yangyang’s flirtatious smirk. his terrible dance moves. his endless texts. the six months of pining and tension until you finally made it official in july. the way he used to call you “mine” like it was the most natural thing in the world. you remembered the way you fell for him slowly but surely.

but along with them, layered over like film over light, came others. renjun. renjun who became your safe place when everything else felt like a blur. who sat on your carpeted floors for hours, sketching together until the sun set and the moon took over. who held your hand and let you cry on his shoulder when the night would get too heavy. renjun who looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. who kissed you like nothing existed outside the space between your bodies. renjun, who stayed even when he didn’t need to. you didn’t fall into renjun. you just were in his arms, like you’d always belonged there.

your breath caught. the boy in front of you was the one you once loved. but the boy who was beside you when everything fell apart? he’s the one who made you feel safe. you didn’t know what to say. didn’t know what to feel. “i remember both of you,” you whispered finally, the confession trembling in your throat, “i remember everything now.” yangyang’s jaw clenched — a flicker of pain crossing his features before he masked it. you swallowed hard. “tell me the truth,” you said, your voice barely audible, “why didn’t you come back for me?”

he looked away. then back, “i– it was my career,” he answered, honest in a way that twisted something deep inside you, “it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“so instead you asked him to take care of me?,” you asked. he nods. you bit your lip. renjun had taken care of you. too well. because now, lying in a hospital bed, whole again, you weren’t sure which pain hurt worse — remembering the boy who left. or loving the boy who never should’ve stayed. yangyang stood at the foot of your bed like he didn’t know whether to move closer or vanish altogether. and you couldn’t even look away. because you knew him. you knew every inch of that face, every curve of that voice, every history-soaked shadow in his eyes. you remembered. and yet…you didn’t feel like the same girl who used to run into his arms at the end of every hard day. that girl didn’t know the quiet comfort of renjun’s presence. that girl had never fallen asleep to the sound of pencil scratches and soft humming. that girl had never been kissed like a secret worth keeping. but you did. you were her. and someone else entirely.

“i never wanted to choose,” yangyang said finally, breaking the silence, his voice low and rough around the edges, “you have to know that. i thought…i thought i was doing what was best. for both of us.” he took a tentative step closer. one hand lifting slightly, hesitating, then lowering again, “i didn’t know it would be this long,” he added, barely more than a whisper, “i didn’t know you’d forget.”

your eyes stung. you didn’t want to cry. you didn’t know who you’d be crying for. “but you did choose,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the trembling in your chest. “and it wasn’t me you chose.” not cruel. just honest. he flinched, something shifted in his expression, like the words hit deeper than he expected. and for a moment, neither of you said anything. then he reached for your hand. slowly. gently. carefully curling his fingers around yours, like he was holding something fragile. like if he gripped too tightly, it might all disappear again. his palm was warm, familiar, but also…strange. like a memory that didn’t quite fit in the present.

you didn’t pull away. but you didn’t hold on, either. “you don’t owe me anything,” he said quietly, thumb brushing once over your knuckles, “i know that. but i still love you and i’m willing to forget all of this if you are. i just want us to be happy.” your breath hitched. your heart splintered — not with joy, not with relief. but with confusion. because wasn’t that what you wanted too? to be happy? but what if your happiness came from the wrong person? what if the boy who left still held pieces of your heart, but the boy who stayed… put them back together?

“i missed you every day,” yangyang said, voice cracking like glass under pressure. “every single day. and i hated myself for not being here. i still do.” you swallowed. your mouth opened and no words came out. just silence. just ache. you looked at yangyang. at the boy you once loved. maybe still loved. maybe not. and whispered, “i need to talk to him.” his expression faltered — eyes glassy, smile broken, jaw clenched like he was holding back a dozen emotions at once. but still… he nodded. he didn’t argue. didn’t beg. just let go of your hand slowly. like he already knew…that even if he still had your past, someone else might have your heart.

he stood there a moment longer, just breathing. just watching you. and then he turned and walked out of the room. you didn’t even hear the door close. your chest tightened. hope fluttered weakly in your throat as you glanced up, expecting to meet his eyes — the ones that had been at your side when no one else was. but it wasn’t renjun. it was ningning. she stepped inside quietly, her expression already apologetic as she made her way to the chair beside your hospital bed. “where’s renjun?,” you asked, head tilted, voice softer now, smaller, “is he still here?”

ningning hesitated. and that was all it took. that one beat of hesitation, and your stomach sank, “he’s…” she exhaled, sitting down slowly. “he’s gone.”

your breath hitched, “gone?”

“he left right after yangyang entered earlier,” she said, “just said he wasn’t needed anymore.” a hollow settled into your chest. like something was missing. like something had been ripped out before you had a chance to hold it — gone. gone like he’d never meant to stay. gone like you were nothing but a responsibility. a burden he’d finally been released from.

“he didn’t even say goodbye?” you whispered, barely able to breath around it. ningning reached for your hand, gave it the softest squeeze, “i think that was his goodbye.”

and just like that — something inside you cracked. you took a slow breath. then another. but the air felt sharp in your lungs. because you took that silence as an answer. as a decision. he left without a word. no goodbye. no explanation. no hesitation. just… gone. he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. that whatever he’d said or done in those blurry days, while you were lost, wasn’t real. that maybe it had all been an act. a sense of duty. a lie wrapped in tenderness. and somehow, that hurt more than remembering. because remembering at least gave you back pieces of yourself. but this felt like losing someone you didn’t even realize you’d started to love.

❤︎

the road stretched out in front of him, long and empty, edged with trees that blurred past the windows. he had to get away before he made it harder. before he made you hesitate. this was always the plan. always the ending. he’d never let himself imagine more than this. he’d never let himself picture what it would feel like to stay, really stay — not just as a placeholder, a borrowed title in a borrowed life, but as someone who belonged beside you. because that was never his role. he was the in-between. the soft landing. the temporary. the lie wrapped in warmth and kindness because the truth would’ve hurt too much. and now the story was catching up to itself. the real narrative was back in motion. you remembered the boy who came before. the one who had the right to call you his. the one who was meant to be there when you woke up.

renjun had done what he had to do. you were okay. whole again. breathing and alive in ways that made his chest ache with something too big to name. he gripped the wheel tighter, jaw clenched, heart folding in on itself. you didn’t need him anymore. you didn’t need someone to take care of you, to lie, to blur the lines between love and survival. and he wasn’t going to stay just to make you choose. he wouldn’t put that weight on you. he refused to be selfish. even if he still needed you. even if his whole body felt hollow, each mile a quiet kind of devastation. he glanced at the passenger seat. empty. but he could still see you there. sleeping, head tilted towards the window, fingers laced with his, too trusting, too soft, too his in ways he didn’t have the right to claim. he blinked hard. shook the image from his head. forced himself to keep driving. don’t turn around. don’t be weak. you’re with yangyang now. always was with yangyang. this is the truth. this is the ending he had no right to rewrite. because renjun was just the bookmark. just the quiet pause between chapters. just the space that held you until you remembered where you left off. and now that you had…he let the silence fill the car. let it press down on him like gravity. he didn’t look back. even if every part of him was screaming for one last goodbye. even if your name was still echoing through his chest. even if he loved you. silently. hopelessly. always.

✿ ONE LAST KISS - SIX DAYS LATER ✿

the whispers started small. a few murmurs in the hallways. a passing comment in class: “she’s back with yangyang?” “but wasn’t she with renjun like last week” “god, that poor guy” “how the hell did she get two best friends?”

renjun didn’t want to hear any of it. didn’t want to see the pity in his classmates eyes or the way people talked about you like you’re a scandal, not a person. he knew how this would go. knew how people chose sides. knew he’d already lost before he even understood the game. so he stopped going out. he skipped classes. skipped practice. skipped the parties and all the things that once made his tiny world feel manageable. he locked himself in his room like it could keep the pain out. like the walls would protect him from the stupid, aching vulnerability he’d let fester too long.

at first, the boys gave him space. renjun was always a little closed off, a little quiet, they were used to that. but as the days passed and the light behind his door stayed off longer and longer, concern began to grow — jaemin knocked first. no response. chenle left a plate of food outside his door and returned hours later to find it untouched. haechan said he was being dramatic. that he’d snap out of it. but even haechan’s voice lowered when he whispered later, “this isn’t him. not like this.” and inside that room, renjun let it all rot. he lay on the floor sometimes, not even bother with the bed, the carpet rough beneath his cheek, eyes trained on the cracks in his ceiling like they held answers. his phone buzzed with notifications, but he ignored them all. except for the one that finally made his stomach drop — a picture. posted by someone from the art department. a candid of you and yangyang walking together on campus. he had his arm slung over your shoulder, and you were smiling.

renjun stared at it for a long time. he zoomed in on your face. just your face. you looked… happy. radiant, even. he stared until the image blurred, then blinked away the tears that shouldn’t have been there. not for someone who was never his. with a bitter laugh, he reached for the bottle beside him and poured another shot. the alcohol burned, but not as much as the ache in his chest. “what the fuck am i doing,” he muttered to no one, pressing the cool glass against his temple. “what happened to not believing in this shit?” love. feelings. whatever this was. he thought he was smarter than this. he shouldn’t be wrecked over a crush. destroyed over something as fleeting as affection. but now look at him. alone. drunk. pathetic. another shot. he tried to remind himself that you didn’t do anything wrong. that you didn’t owe him anything. that all of this — the soft nights, the stolen glances, the aching silence — was born from misunderstanding and coincidence and a brain injury. nothing more. but his heart didn’t care about logic. his heart was too busy remembering the way you smiled at him when you thought he was yours. now you smiled at yangyang like that. and renjun couldn’t compete with a memory that was real. a memory where he didn’t even belong. he slumped back against the wall, bottle cradled against his chest, and let the darkness wash over him. he didn’t cry. but there was something about the way he sat there — silent, still, haunted — that felt even sadder than tears. he didn’t sleep that night. didn’t try to. didn’t want to. because the moment he closed his eyes, he saw you. smiling at someone else.

❤︎

you tried. you really did. tried to make it feel the way it used to. the way it should feel. you held yangyang’s hand walking across campus. let him kiss your forehead before class. let him curl around you on the couch while a movie plays in the background. you told yourself to lean into familiarity. that this is where you were supposed to be. this was your life before the accident. before the fog. but it didn’t feel like before. not after renjun. not after soft-spoken confessions whispered in the dark. not after arms that held you when the insecurities came. not after the warmth of someone who looked at you like you were more than a memory, more than obligation.

every time you kissed yangyang, you thought of renjun. every time you laced your fingers with his, you missed the way renjun’s thumb brushed your knuckles absentmindedly, like it was second nature. every time you laughed with yangyang, your smile faltered, too aware of how the echo no longer reached your chest the same way it used to. and he noticed. yangyang wasn’t stupid. he was patient. but not blind. so one quiet evening, when the world slowed and the sunset cast long, tired shadows across your apartment floor, he finally spoke. you were sitting on the edge of the bed. he stood by your dresser, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense, his expression unreadable.

“i’m not going to ask you again to love me the way you used to,” he said quietly.

you blinked up at him, “yangyang…” his eyes dropped to the floor, then lifted again, tired but honest, “it’s him, isn’t?”

you opened your mouth. closed it. tried to find a softer answer. one that didn’t hurt so much. one that didn’t ruin everything. but none of the lies would come out. so instead, your voice cracked around the painful truth.

“...it’s always been him.”

yangyang nodded, slowly. like he already knew. like he’d known for a long time. and that broke you even more. you covered your face with both hands, ashamed, voice trembling, “even the night we met…i remember now…renjun was there. i went to that party to talk to him.”

yangyang sat down beside you, silent, listening, taking it all in for the first time. you continued, your voice unraveling, “i had a crush on him. a stupid, silent, quiet crush. and i think…i think that’s why my brain made me believe he was my boyfriend after the accident. maybe it wasn’t about memory at all. maybe it was just what i always wanted deep down. and i didn’t even realize it.” tears slipped down your cheeks, “i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“i know,” yangyang whispered, “i know you didn’t.”

you turned to look at him, guilt clawing at your chest, “you were so good to me. we had our happy moments and i did love you. i tried so hard to go back to how we were.”

“i know you did.” he swallowed hard, then looked away, “but it shouldn’t feel like trying.” a heavy silence settled between you. then gently, yangyang reached over and took your hand — not the way lovers do, not with possession, but with the tenderness of letting go.

“i love you,” he said softly, “but i think…we’re not what each other needs anymore.” you nodded, eyes burning. yangyang gave your hand one final squeeze, then let go. and in that quiet room, under the wright of truth, something unspoken passed between you — not anger, not blame, but the quiet mourning of something that almost made it. the silence lingered, stretching between you like the space between two pages in a book that would never quite close properly. he sat beside you for a while. like maybe if you stayed quiet long enough, the moment wouldn’t hurt so much. you glanced at him through tear-blurred lashes. he still looked like home — familiar, steady, kind. but your heart didn’t reach for him the way it used to. and he knew it. he’d felt it in the way you’d flinched slightly when his arm brushes yours. in how your smile wilted a little too fast when he kissed your cheek. in how your gaze always drifted, unconsciously, to the door. like you wre waiting for someone who wasn’t him.

“can i—” he hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. “can i ask you for something?” you turned to him, nodding gently, afraid to speak. he offered the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “one last kiss. just… goodbye. that’s all.”

you felt your breath hitch, your chest splintering under the weight of that simple request. and then, slowly, you nodded again. yangyang leaned in, careful, reverent, like he was touching a memory for the last time. his lips brushed against yours — soft, familiar, aching. there was no spark. no pull. just warmth and sadness and the final thread of something once beautiful unspooling quietly between you. when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment longer, just breathing. “i don’t regret loving you,” he whispered, voice thick. “and i hope he makes you feel everything i couldn’t.”

your throat tightened, tears slipping down your cheeks freely now, “you were everything good. you know that, right?” yangyang nodded, “so were you.”

he stood slowly, giving you one last look — not full of resentment or regret, but of quiet acceptance, “all i want,” he said, voice hoarse, “is for you to be happy.” and then he left. no slammed doors. no shouting. just the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway — and with him, the final chapter of the life you thought you were supposed to want.

✿ YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND’S GIRLFRIEND ✿

the next day is tuesday. the door to painting ii. creaked open with the familiar groan of rusted hinges, and the moment you stepped in, the scent of turpentine and oil paints hit your nose like memory. you weren’t expecting him to be there. but of course, he was. renjun sat near the back, slouched in the seat he always claimed, third row from the windows, right beneath the flickering ceiling light. his hair was longer than before, a little unkempt, dyed color fading slightly at the tips. he had dark circles under his eyes. his flannel was wrinkled. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. your heart clenched at the sight. it was the first time you’d seen him in a week. a week since he disappeared. a week since you remembered everything. a week since he walked out of your life without a word. you stood in the doorway a second too long, unsure whether to walk in or walk out and pretend you forgot your schedule. pretend you hadn’t just spent the last six days pretending to be someone you weren’t for someone who wasn’t him. but then he lifted his head. just slightly. his eyes found yours. he didn’t look away. neither did you. and somehow… you knew where you were meant to be — not beside him. not avoiding him altogether. but two seats ahead. within reach, but not too close. where you always belonged. you walked down the aisle with your sketchpad clutched to your chest, footsteps echoing louder than they should have. you felt every pair of eyes flick between you and him as you passed. you ignored them. you sat down. the room buzzed with voices and the scrape of easels being dragged across the floor. but the two of you sat still, stiff, pretending not to feel the ache in your ribcages, the way your hearts were pounding with every breath. the air between you felt thick with everything unsaid. the hours crawled by. professor yuta’s voice droned on in the background, and you painted because it gave your hands something to do. you didn’t dare look back at him. but you could feel him. like gravity. like weight. and he didn’t look at you either. but he was listening for you. every shuffle of your brush. every inhale. every sigh.

eventually, the class began to thin out. people packed up, filed out, left in pairs. the usual chatter echoed down the hall, fading away with every swing of the door. and then it was quiet. you didn’t notice at first. you were still pretending not to feel anything. still pretending your brush strokes were more important than the heartbreak lining every breath. but then the silence became too loud to ignore. you glanced up. everyone was gone. except for you. and him. renjun hadn’t moved. he sat hunched over his notebook, not drawing, not writing, just… sitting. like maybe if he stayed still enough, the pain would forget he existed. it was strange, how after all the chaos, the gossip, the tears — you found yourselves here again. just the two of you in a quiet room, like the universe was waiting for someone to break first. you stood up slowly, the chair scraping the floor. the sound made renjun flinch, barely noticeable — but you caught it. you walked back, your footsteps soft this time. stopping by his side. he didn’t look at you. but he didn’t leave either. you offered a weak, crooked smile. trying to be light. trying to pretend you weren’t scared of breaking.

“you haven’t fought me for custody over moomin.”

it was meant to be teasing. playful. normal. but your voice cracked halfway through the sentence. and it just sounded sad. renjun finally looked up. his eyes met yours, and in them was every emotion you tried not to name—hurt, guilt, longing, exhaustion. he looks older. he looks tired. he looks like he’d missed you. your smile trembled. he opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. he swallowed hard. his throat worked around silence.

then finally, voice hoarse and quiet, “he’s happier in your arms.”

he looked back down after he said it like he hadn’t meant to let the words slip. you didn’t speak for a second. your eyes stung “he’s happiest when you’re there,” you reply. renjun stopped breathing. it wasn’t about moomin. you both knew that. it was about everything you hadn’t said. everything you were too scared to say, even now. but maybe this was your only chance. so you sat beside him, folding your arms over the edge of the table so you could look at him without needing to stand taller, without needed to be braver than you were. “renjun,” you said softly and he flinched at the way you said his name. gentle. familiar. like you still meant it.

“i woke up and you were just…gone,” you whispered.

he finally looked at you again. the weight in his eyes made your chest tighten. “i thought it would be easier,” he said, the words dragging, “i thought if i wasn’t there, you could just go back to him. like it was supposed to be. you wouldn’t have to feel confused.”

you shook your head, eyes glassy, “you think that’s what i wanted? that you leaving without a word would make anything easier?”

he pressed his lips together, “i didn’t want to make you choose.”

“you didn’t let me choose.”

that silenced him. a quiet breath passed between you. you looked down at your hands, voice trembling, raw, “i took it as a sign. that you wanted nothing to do with me. that i meant nothing to you.”

“you mean everything to me,” renjun said, almost instantly. almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. but this time, he didn’t take it back. “you mean everything. that’s the problem.”

you looked at him again, tears threatening to spill, “why is that a problem?”

“because you’re not mine,” he said, voice cracking, “because i fell in love with you, and i’m not allowed to.”’

“says who?,” you ask, there’s a slight teasing to your voice but renjun wasn’t in the mood to joke around.

“y/n,” he said, firm, pained, “you’re my best friend’s girlfriend.”

“was,” you corrected quietly. his head turned towards you, “what?”

“i was your best friend’s girlfriend,” you say. he blinked. you watched the words sink in slowly, like they didn’t quite land at first. his lips parted, but nothing came out. he looked stunned, dazed, almost. “we broke up,” you said gently. renjun’s brow creased, “why?”

you turn to him fully. the truth sat on the edge of your lips, aching to be known, “because someone else stole my heart,” you whispered, “and i’m still waiting for him to give it back.”

there was a beat of silence. his breath hitched, like you’d knocked the wind out of him. his eyes found yours, wide and glassy, and in them you saw it all — the fear, the longing, the love he’d tried so hard to bury. then, barely above a breath, he said, “i don’t think he’s giving it back.”

you tried to hold it together, but the smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. trembling with emotion, with disbelief that this moment was real, “no?”

he shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t believe you were really here saying these things to him. “finders, keepers.” and then — he kissed you. he leaned in with a kind or urgency that wasn’t rushed, just full of everything he hadn’t let himself feel. one hand came up to cup your cheek, careful but sure, like he didn’t want you to flinch away. and when his lips met yours, it was soft. so soft. gentle. all-consuming. like the ache inside you had finally found its match and settled. like something wounded had been wrapped in warmth and given the space to heal.

you leaned into him, breath trembling as your hand slid up to the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric like you were scared he’d vanish again. but he didn’t. he stayed. he kissed you like he’d never meant to leave in the first place. his mouth moved like he was still trying to apologize — for the lies, the silence, the goodbye he thought would protect you. and you kissed him back with the same trembling desperation. when you finally pulled apart, you didn’t go far. your foreheads touched. noses brushing, breaths mingling. it was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. it was full of every unsaid thing you finally understood now. renjun’s voices cracked as he whispered, “i’m sorry. for lying to you. for not stopping it. for taking advantage of you.”

you shook your head, your hands moving to either side of his face. your thumb brushed away the tear slipping from the corner of his eye, “i told you what i wanted,” you said, your voice soft, steady, “i wanted the boy who stayed and drank tea beside me. the one who held me through the pain. the one who kept trying until he won me the prize. the one who makes me feel safe even when the world doesn’t.” your gaze held his, voice breaking on the next words, “that is you. no one else.”

renjun’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like the weight of your words was too much to bear. when he opened them again, he looked at you like you were something sacred. something he didn’t know if he deserved — but something he’d never stop trying to. and this time, when he kissed you again, it wasn’t out of apology. it was out of love.

✿ WHAT HAPPENED TO TAKING IT SLOW? ✿

the walk home was quiet. but not the kind of quiet that felt empty or strained. it was peaceful, the kind that only came with him. the air between you buzzed gently, renjun walked beside you, his hand enveloping yours as he absentmindedly rubbed gentle circles on your skin. you didn’t talk much, but you didn’t need to. there was something grounding in the silence. like the storm had passed and you were finally catching your breath in the calm that followed. and it felt right. him and you. here, together. when you reached your apartment, you turned to him with a soft smile, “you coming in? for tea?”

his lips quirked faintly, like they always did when you asked. like it was a question with only one answer, “yeah,” he murmured, “of course.” you unlocked the door, stepping into the familiar warmth of your home. the lights were low, the world quiet outside your windows and everything about it — the air, the space, him, made your chest ache in the best way. you slipped off your shoes and padded toward the kitchen, speaking over your shoulder as your reached for the kettle. you turned towards the fridge, ready to pull out the honey you know he loves but you never made it that far — one arm wrapped firm around your waist, the other already cradling your jaw as he turned you, pressed you against the wall before you could blink. his lips crashed into yours, hot and urgent, and all the air rushed from your lungs.

“renjun–,” you gasped, between kisses, trying to catch up to the storm that was him. he kissed you harder, hungrier, like he was finally letting the pleasure consume him after denying the craving for too damn long. his tongue slid against yours, mouth opening wider as a groan rumbled low in his throat. his body crushed yours, solid and commanding, pressing you into the wall like he needed to feel every inch of you. your knees went weak, his hands steadied you, one slide down to your ass and grabbed a handful, squeezing hard like it was his and his alone. somewhere in between breathless whimpers and fevered kisses, you dared a teasing smile, “what happened to taking it slow?”

renjun pulled back just enough to look you in the eye and the expression he wore made your breath catch. eyes blown black, jaw clenched, that pretty mouth slick and swollen from kissing you like it hurt him to stop. “fuck that,” he said, voice rough and low, like gravel and heat all rolled into one, “i’ve been patient long enough.” then, without hesitation, he picked you up. your legs instantly wrapping around his waist with a sharp gasp. his mouth claimed yours again as he walked through the hall like a man on a mission. the door slammed shut behind him with a loud thud. he didn’t stop. not to talk. not to undress you gently. he threw you onto the bed like he owned it — like he owned you. and god, maybe he did.

you scrambled back on instinct, heart pounding, but he was already on you with an edge you hadn’t seen before, eyes drinking you in like he couldn’t decide where to start. the hunger in them a sharp, burning thing. “do you have any idea,” he muttered, dragging your shirt over your head in one swift, rough pull, leaving you in your white lacy bra, “how long i’ve been holding back?” his mouth was on you before you could answer, teeth grazing your collarbone before soothing it with his tongue, slow and sinful. you whimpered, arching into him, already shaking with want. “i see you in my sleep,” he growled into your skin, “think about you every fucking night.”

your shorts were gone before you even realized he’d unbuttoned them, dragged them down your legs at a torturous pace just to hear you whimper. he palmed your thigh, then slid his hand between your legs, over the soaked fabric of your panties. he was dominant, commanding, like every part of him had been waiting to ruin you in the most perfect way. and, it turned you on more than you could stand. “dripping for me already?,” he asked, dark amusement threading through his voice, thumb rubbing slow, delicious circles over the wet spot. “look at you, love. so fucking needy.” he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice soft but cruel, “this–,” he pressed harder, making you whine, hips bucking up to his touch “–is mine.”

then your panties were gone too, tossed somewhere on your floor. he didn’t even bother with his clothes. he just shoved your thighs open and dropped between them like he’d been waiting years to do it. the first lick was devastating. hot. slow. deep. from your entrance all the way to your clit. he moaned into you, a filthy, reverent sound that vibrated straight through your core. his tongue moved with skill, flicking and circling your clit, then flattening against your folds in relentless, wet pressure. your back arched clean off the mattress.“renjun–fuck–please,” you sobbed, fingers twisting in his hair. he didn’t stop. didn’t even slow. he sucked your clit into his mouth with a ferocity that made you cry out. you were shaking, legs trembling, fingers clawing at the sheets and he just kept going. his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you open and down, forcing you to take it. no escape. no mercy. he grunted into you like a man possessed, grinding his hips into the mattress like he was the one being touched, cock straining visibly through his jeans. the sight made your walls clench around nothing. you couldn’t even speak anymore. just broken moans, whimpers, gasps. he’d eaten you out before, but not like this. this was punishment, worship, completely in his hands. he growled against your clit and it made your vision white out. “you taste like fucking heaven,” he muttered when he finally pulled back, mouth shiny, chin slick. his chest was heaving. his eyes met yours – wilde and completely gone for you, “sweeter than fucking honey. better than anything i’ve ever had.”

you couldn’t even respond. just writhed beneath him, completely lost in the pleasure, still gasping, legs trembling. he didn’t give you a break, “i’m never running away again,” he said softly, a moment of sweetness before he dove back in. this time, he hooked two fingers inside you without warning, curling them just the right way while his mouth latched back onto your sensitive bud. the combination made you scream — loud, raw, involuntary. he moaned with satisfaction. you shattered. once. then again. and again. overstimulation crashing over you in brutal, beautiful waves as he worked you through every aftershock until your legs were shutting closed around his head and your voice broke into gasps.

“too much–renjun–please–” he finally pulled back, fingers slipping out slowly, dragging your slick down your thigh. he kissed your inner thigh sweetly, then your hipbone, then up your trembling stomach.

“shhh,” he soothed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, even though it did nothing to clean the mess, “my sweet girl, you can take it. you’re mine. you were made to come for me.” and you believed it. because in that moment, wrecked and trembling, soaked in your own arousal, staring up at him as he loomed over you with that sweet little smirk and ruin in his eyes, it didn’t feel like anything else could be true. his lips ghosted up your stomach, slow now, his fingers quickly unhooking your bra with a gentle flick, you didn’t even notice it coming off until he captured one nipple between his lips, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. your back arched like you’d been shocked.

“fuck,” you gasped, hands flying to his hair again, nails sinking into his scalp as he tongued your nipple, flicking over the sensitive peak in tight, merciless circles. he hummed against you like he liked the way your body jolted, the way your chest heaved under him. he popped off with a wet sound, only to take the other one between his fingers, rolling it slowly, almost too slowly, then pinching just hard enough to make your hips jerk.

“sensitive already?,” he murmured, dark and amused, his breath hot against your skin, “but you’re still so fucking responsive.” he dragged his tongue across your chest, from one breast to the other, before closing his lips around your other nipple and sucking harder this time, until your thighs clenched around his waist and your moans grew wrecked and breathless. you were squirming, trying to pull away from the unbearable sharpness of his mouth and fingers, but his hands gripped your hips, pinning you to the mattress. “gonna show you what it should’ve always felt like,” he growled. his free hand slid up your ribs, slow and deliberate, until it reached your other breast. he palmed it, squeezed it, his thumb brushing your nipple, featherlight at first, then dragging down and flicking it roughly. you gasped, whole body arching, breath catching on the edge of a sob.

“you sound so pretty when you whimper,” he whispered, letting your nipple slip from his lips, now swollen and wet. he blew hot air over it and you shivered violently. both of his hands came up now, thumbs and fingers teasing, tugging, kneading your tits like he was obsessed with them. with you. you were panting. eyes glassy. hips grinding up into nothing because you didn’t know what else to do. and then he slapped one breast lightly, watching it bounce with hooded eyes before his hand smoothed over it, soothing, then squeezing again with a quiet groan. you were shaking under him all over again, your core pulsing with need, arousal dripping down your thighs even though he hadn’t touched you there in minutes. your whole chest was flushed, shining with his spit, nipples red and swollen and hypersensitive — and he looked addicted. he kissed the valley between your breasts, then your jaw, finally reaching your mouth again. when he kissed you this time, you tasted yourself on his tongue, whole body on the edge again.

“you’re gonna come again just from this, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, hand sliding down your body like he already knew the answer. his hand dipped lower, between your legs again, and when his fingers brushed your soaked slit, you sobbed, already trembling. he chuckled darkly, pressing two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep, “god, you’re soaked.” he bit your bottom lip. you couldn’t speak. couldn’t breathe. all you could do was moan — every part of you aching for him.

“say it,” he whispered, his fingers thrusting slow but deep, thumb circling your clit again as he dragged his tongue over your nipple one more time, “tell me you’re mine.”

you bit your lips, already trembling from the anticipation, “i’m yours, renjun.”

he leaned down and kissed you — soft and sweet and when he pulled away, his voice dropped to something deeper. rougher. the edge of restraint completely gone. “i’m done holding back.” he didn’t ask permission. didn’t warn you. he just stood up, yanked his shirt off, shoved his jeans down and let his cock spring free — flushed and hard, thick and leaking at the tip, his breath ragged as he stared down at you like he’d waited his entire life for this. he climbed back onto the bed. grabbing your thighs and yanking you down the mattress toward him. you gasped at the sudden manhandling, arms scrambling for anything to hold onto. then he grabbed your legs and folded you. bent you in half beneath him, knees pressed up by your chest, your dripping pussy spread wide for him, trembling and ready, “fuck, look at you,” he growled, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your folds, “so wet for me. so fucking perfect. i should’ve done this the first night.”

“renjun–please—” he slammed into you in one thrust. your body jolting up the bed, the force of him knocking the air clean from your lungs. he didn’t give you a second to adjust, just pulled out halfway, then slammed back in again, harder.

“mine,” he grunted through clenched teeth, hips slamming into yours, “you’re mine.” he folded you deeper as he pounded into you, rough and hungry, draggingg moans and gasps out of your throat every time he bottomed out. your hands clawed at his arms, his shoulders, anything to ground you as he fucked into you like a man making up for lost time.

“wanted this for so fucking long,” he gritted out, sweat beading at his temples, hair falling into his eyes, “every time i walked away. every time i told myself to wait.” he thrusted harder, deeper, his cock hitting that sweet, devastating spot inside you again and again until tears blurred your vision. his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you wide open for him, using your body like he owned it.

“never again,” he growled, leaning down until his chest pressed against your bent legs, forehead nearly touching yours, “you’re not getting rid of me now. i’m in you. i’m not leaving.” you sobbed, overwhelmed, from the stretch, the pressure, the filthy words, the way his cock dragged perfectly against your walls with every punishing thrust.

“fucking—so tight,” he snarled, biting down on your shoulder just enough to leave a mark. “squeezing me like you were made for me. you are, aren’t you?”

“y-yes,” you choked out, nails digging into his back, “only you, renjun—” that broke him. he snapped his hips forward, burying himself balls-deep inside you over and over, every thrust driving more wrecked moans from your throat. the bed shook. the headboard slammed against the wall. your body bounced beneath him, moans rising in pitch as the coil inside you tightened fast — dangerously fast.

“come on, love,” he groaned, one hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, fast circles, “come on my cock. let me feel it. let me have you.”

“renjun—oh fuck, i—” you shattered. came with a cry so raw and desperate it sounded like you’d been torn open, your whole body spasming under him as your orgasm hit like a wave. he kept fucking you through it even as your walls clamped around him like a vice. he was buried deep, grinding into you slowly like he couldn’t bear to let go, hips stuttering as the pressure built fast in his gut.

and then, with a strained growl, he pulled out, “f-fuck—” he hissed, gripping the base of his cock, stroking it hard and fast. his other hand stayed locked around your thigh, holding you spread and folded open beneath him, pussy dripping and raw from the way he’d just ruined you. his breath was ragged, his body tight with tension — and then he came. thick, hot spurts of cum spilled from the head of his cock, landing messily across your stomach, your hips, streaking your inner thighs. one shot high and painted your breasts, glistening across your already spit-slick nipples.

renjun groaned deep in his throat, hand slowing as the last spurts pulsed out of him. he was panting — flushed and wild-eyed as he looked down at you. at your wrecked body. at his cum covering every inch of your soft skin. “look at my cum marking you,” he breathed, voice dripping with awe and filth. he leaned in closer, rubbing the tip of his cock through the mess on your stomach, dragging it up your body, over your navel, over your breasts, like he couldn’t get enough of the sight. “i fucking painted you,” he muttered, more to himself than you, “so pretty like this. all covered in me. mine.” he hovered over you, his cock slapping your lips, “open,” he said, gentle but firm. you obeyed without hesitation. as he slipped his member inside your mouth, watching you clean off your shared arousal, with blown pupils, and groaned again, cock twitching even though he’d just come. you could taste your mixed juices, licking him clean.

“so perfect,” he whispered, pulling out and leaning down to press a soft, reverent kiss to your jaw, “i could do this forever. keep you messy and all mine.” he kissed your temple, his hand still trailing your skin — gentle now, though the possessiveness in his gaze hadn't faded. “you look like a painting,” he murmured. every inch of you claimed. used. worshipped.

renjun collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. his cheeks were flushed, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, lips swollen. for a long moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing, heavy and tangled between the sweat and the sheets and the wreckage of everything you both had been holding back for so long. but you weren’t done. because something had shifted in you, too — something dark and delicious unfurling beneath the surface. he looked at you with that dazed, post-orgasm softness — but your sweet smile had vanished, replaced by something sharper. playful. predatory.

you straddled him slow, deliberate, hips sinking over his thighs while your fingers wrapped around his cock, still twitching, still sensitive and soaked. he hissed. “love—” his voice cracked, eyes flying open when you gave him a gentle stroke. his whole body jolted. “f-fuck, love—wait. give me like ten minutes.”

you just cocked your head and smiled, mean and slow, “ten minutes?,” you echoed, dragging your fingers lightly down his chest, “junie, you didn’t give me ten seconds when you had me folded in half.” you hummed thoughtfully, thumb pressing just beneath the head as you pumped him once. his whole body flinched, “you deserve to be punished.”

renjun’s lips parted instantly, a breathless moan slipping out as his hips jerked away, instinctively trying to escape your touch. but you caught him — your hand locking around the base of his cock, holding him there, unmoving. his stomach flexed under the pressure, “for what?” he whimpered, voice breaking like he already knew.

you leaned down, lips brushing his ear, “for being so mean to me…” you pouted innocently, “…for all those times you edged me…” your hand began to move again, slow, tight strokes with a cruel twist at the tip. he choked on a moan, muscles spasming beneath you, arms trembling where they lay limp at his sides, “—just to leave me on my own,” you continued, voice a sultry threat in his ear, “so fucking needy for you. so desperate. and you’d just leave me there, aching.” renjun groaned, hips lifting into your hand as his cock twitched to life, the look on his face caught between overstimulated terror and pure, unfiltered need. your hand moved faster now, relentless. ruthless. you knew exactly what you were doing — exactly how to ruin him. renjun cursed under his breath, hands clutching at the sheets, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm as he tried to breathe through the stimulation. you gave him no mercy.

you cooed, mockingly, “aww, junie, is it too much?” your eyes sparkled as your hand twisted at the head again, making him twitch. “because this?” you leaned close, kissed the underside of his jaw, “this is barely a taste of how bad you’ve been.”

“shit—fuck—” he gasped, body straining under you, legs tensed like he didn’t know if he should run or beg. and then — slap. you flicked his cock with a sharp smack that made his back arch violently off the bed. “fuck!” he yelped, voice high and wrecked, “love—please—!”

you cooed sweetly, pressing gentle kisses along his jaw as your hand didn’t let up, “can’t take it?” you mocked, voice syrupy with amusement, “thought you were the one in charge tonight?” his head fell back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded and glassy, mouth hanging open with helpless gasps. he was trembling. falling apart in your hands. you sat up, palm pressing flat over his chest to keep him pinned down, your fingers still stroking him with obscene rhythm. he was a mess — whimpering, twitching, begging under his breath. every part of him shook with tension. submission. “that’s it,” you whispered, licking your lips as you leaned close again, “make it up to me.”

“g-gonna—” he choked out, voice cracking, hips stuttering under your palm. “love—shit—i’m gonna come again—”

“do it,” you purred, stroking him even harder now, merciless and fast, “come for me, junie. cry for me while you do.” and with a loud, broken moan, his cock jerked in your hand, spilling thick, hot release across his stomach, your fingers, your thighs. he sobbed through it, hips bucking helplessly, body twitching with overstimulation. his jaw went slack, head thrown back, chest heaving like he’d been dragged through it. and you just smiled again, slow, indulgent, before lazily bringing your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean one by one like you had all the time in the world to destroy him again.

you weren’t finished. your other hand dipped lower, between his legs, fingers cupping his balls with a slow, deliberate squeeze. he whimpered at the touch, whole body jerking weakly, overstimulated and twitching. you rolled them in your palm, gentle but firm, just the way that made his voice pitch into something ragged and helpless. “god,” you whispered, kissing along his throat, “you’re such a mess.” and then — lower. bolder. your fingers slid further down, teasing over his perineum in soft, slow circles that made him shudder. his legs shifted, hips twitching from the unfamiliar touch, breath catching in his throat. before he could ask, before he could even process, you dragged your slick fingers over the tight ring of muscle at his entrance. his whole body tensed. his breath stopped. and then — a moan. low. vulnerable. accidental.

his eyes flew open, locking onto yours — wide and wild and full of something that wasn’t quite fear but shock. curiosity. need. you raised an eyebrow, your voice a soft purr, “do you like that?” he swallowed hard, lips parted. his answer was a shaky, honest nod. he’d never let anyone this far before. never trusted anyone with his body like this. never trusted anyone this much. and now he’s let you inside him, in ways more than one.

your smile softened just slightly, a flicker of real affection breaking through the dominant haze, “good boy,” you whispered. encouraged, you circled his rim again, slower this time, and gently pressed the tip of your finger in. just barely. just enough to feel him tighten around it. renjun gasped, loud, shocked, hips jerking upward as his hands clutched desperately around your wrist. you leaned over him, kissed his cheek, murmuring, “relax, let me make you feel good.”

your finger slipped in further, your other hand stroking his cock slowly, coaxing him through the overwhelming sensation. your touch was careful but deliberate, curling just slightly, teasing the sensitive spot deep within. the reaction was instant. renjun let out a strangled, broken moan, high and wrecked, his entire body spasming beneath you as his hips lifted like he couldn’t help it. his thighs were trembling. chest rising and falling with shallow gasps. he was wrecked, ruined, eyes locked on yours. desperate. shaking. bare and open beneath you. utterly yours.

your finger grazed that tender bundle of nerves inside him. renjun’s mouth dropped open, eyes fluttering shut as a guttural, broken sound spilled from his throat — somewhere between a sob and a moan. his thighs trembled around your hips, and you could feel him tightening all over again, like his body didn’t know whether to run or surrender. like his mind couldn’t accept that was going to come from this. you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, murmuring, “feels good, doesn’t it?” and he nodded, frantic, needy, breath catching every time your finger moved inside him just right. your other hand never stopped pumping his cock, slow and deliberate, squeezing him gently every time he pulsed in your palm.

“s-shit—love—” he whimpered, voice cracking with desperation, “why does this feel so good—fuck—i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” you whispered softly, placing a careful kiss on his tip, “you’re taking it so well, junie. letting me play with you. letting me break you open. you're so fucking pretty like this.” he moaned again, hands finally flying up to clutch at your hair like he needed to anchor himself to you. he was flushed everywhere, pink-cheeked, sweat-slicked, his eyes glassy and pleading.

“i wanna make you come like this,” you breathed against the head of his cock, sucking his tip, curling your finger again and feeling the way his body clenched around you, so hot and tight, “wanna feel you fall apart just from my finger.” renjun gasped sharply, back arching, legs falling further open — a wordless answer. you pressed in just a little deeper. stroked him a little faster.

“that’s it, junie,” you cooed, watching him unravel, “you’re doing so well.”

his hips were bucking now, shallow and helpless, caught between the overstimulation and the impossible pleasure. his voice was hoarse when he begged, barely more than a whisper, “please—please, love—don’t stop—”

“i won’t,” you promised, smiling, “not until you give me everything.” and he did. moments later, with a loud, choked cry, his body convulsed again — hot release spilling over your fist. his cock twitching violently in your grip as his thighs locked around your hips. you kept your finger inside him, working him through it, stroking him gently, lovingly, even as his body trembled and seized beneath you. he sobbed through it. beautiful and broken and breathless. you leaned over him again, kissed his temple, whispered, “good boy. that’s my good boy.” his eyes fluttered open, red-rimmed and wet, and the look he gave you was pure devotion.

❤︎

you both lay tangled in the sheets, bodies still trembling from everything that just happened. renjun’s chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his damp hair stuck to his forehead, face flushed and dazed like he just stumbled out of a dream. your fingers lazily traced circles on his chest, the silence thick with intimacy and exhaustion. for a moment, neither of you spoke, too caught up in the aftermath, too drunk on each other.

“...did you just–?,” he started, voice hoarse and a little incredulous. his eyes flicked to you.

you bit your bottom lip, smirking, “put a finger up your butt?,” you asked far too casually, “yes. yes, i did.”

renjun let out a sound that was somewhere between an embarrassed groan and a laugh, covering his face with one hand. “jesus christ.”

“you liked it,” you teased, grinning against his shoulder.

he peeked at you from behind his fingers, cheeks now fully pink at this new discovery, “i didn’t not like it.”

“oh?” you turned toward him, propping yourself up on an elbow, “big words for someone who moaned like a porn star.”

he shoved you lightly, eyes wide, “i did not—”

“you did,” you sing-songed, kissing the side of his neck as he tried to hide his face again. “sounded like a soprano in a church choir. i was expecting hallelujahs.” renjun groaned into the pillow, “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.” you laughed softly and kissed his temple. “you’re just emotionally fragile after being fingered for the first time.” he paused, groaning again. but this time it sounded more like a laugh, “you’re so annoying,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it. only fondness. you were quiet for a second, then tilted your head, suddenly curious, “do you… wanna try more stuff like that? like…pegging?” renjun made a choked noise and turned to stare at you like you’d just offered to set him on fire, “you’re bringing that up now? while i’m still trying to process what happened?”

you smiled innocently, “i’m just asking, you seemed pretty into it.” he buried his face in your chest this time, grumbling something incoherent. then, muffled, “…maybe in the future.” you grinned, threading your fingers through his hair, “look at you. such a brave little explorer.”

he lifted his head to glare at you, eyes narrowed, “say one more thing and you’re banned from my ass forever.” you raised an eyebrow. “liar.” the two of you broke into helpless laughter, warm and breathless, the kind that only came after being stripped completely bare with someone — desire, fears, fantasies, all out in the open.

then your eyes landed on something just past his shoulder, a little plush figure slumped in the corner of your dresser, watching with a blank, wide-eyed stare. you froze. “…oh my god,” you whispered, horrified. “moomin saw everything.” renjun blinked, then looked where you were staring — and absolutely lost it. “STOP—” he laughed, clutching his stomach. “not moomin’s innocent little eyes!”

“he’s traumatized!” you said, half-laughing, half-mortified. “we committed war crimes in front of him…we need to burn him. or at least turn him around!” renjun was howling with laughter now, curled into you, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “you’re never gonna look at him the same again.”

you buried your face into the curve of his neck, giggling into his skin. comfortable silence passing for a beat. “but seriously, i’m sorry if i overwhelmed you,” you murmured, voice a little quieter now, a little more unsure, “i got kind of… carried away.”

renjun shook his head instantly, arms tightening around your waist, “you seriously need to stop apologizing,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, he paused, trying to find the right words. “i’ve never trusted someone that much before. or even felt that safe to do that.” you lifted your head, and he met your eyes. his was glassy, almost shy, but full of something achingly sincere, “you didn’t overwhelm me. you just… broke me open a little,” he added with a crooked smile.

you smiled, teasing gently, “only a little?” he laughed under his breath, brushing your hair back from your face. “okay. a lot.”

he exhaled a slow, dazed breath and muttered, “i really didn’t expect this from little sweet you.” you raised a brow, glancing down at him, “oh yeah?” he tilted his head to look up at you, a lazy, crooked smirk pulling at his lips. “i thought you were gonna maybe kiss me real nice and then pat my head or something. not—” he gestured vaguely toward his thoroughly wrecked, boneless self, “—all of that.”

you grinned, voice syrupy sweet. “well, that’s because you always ran away before it got fun.” he groaned dramatically, flopping back into the pillows like he’d been mortally wounded, “god, don’t remind me.”

you giggled, leaning in to kiss him, slow, open-mouthed, nothing frantic or needy, just a quiet exchange of breath and emotion. when you pulled back, you whispered, “i love you.”

renjun looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. like hearing those words would never stop making his chest ache, “say it again.”

“i love you,” you repeated, softer this time. his smile trembled, eyes darting across your face like he was trying to absorb it all, your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the shine of affection that hadn't left your eyes once.

he melted instantly, arms curling around you like home. “i hope you know you’re stuck with me now,” he murmured against your skin, “and i love you more.”

you hummed happily, arms tightening around him. “say it again.”

“i love you. i love you. i love you.” he said, peppering your face with kisses.

you nuzzled into his neck, “one more time.”

he laughed, pure and quiet, brushing his nose along your temple. “you’re greedy.”

“only for you.”

he kissed your forehead, “i love you,” he whispered again and he kept saying it, over and over, until the words wrapped around both your bodies like a second blanket, warm and infinite and real.

✿ PANCAKES, NINGNING & MY GIRLFRIEND ✿

you took a bite of the pancake and blinked, surprised, “…wait. these are actually good.”

renjun gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “actually good? of course it is. i made it.” you snorted, grinning as you plucked a strawberry from your plate. you turned slightly on his lap, legs draped over his thighs as he held you steady by the waist. he opened his mouth obediently, biting down on the fruit with a pleased little hum, eyes flicking up to meet yours. the. he sliced a bite of pancake with his fork and bringing it to your lips.

you leaned in, letting the syrupy sweetness melt on your tongue, “mmm. still can’t believe you could make this.”

he pinched your thigh gently, making you giggle. you shifted slightly on his lap to get comfortable and paused, fingers absentmindedly brushing through his hair as you tilted your head, “your roots are showing.”

“yeah,” he sighed, “i’ve been meaning to get it done again.” you tapped your chin playfully, “can i pick the next color?” he gave you a slow, suspicious look, “depends. what are you thinking?” you smiled innocently, looping your arms around his neck. “pink.”

renjun groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back, “why did i ask.”

“come on,” you laughed, peppering kisses along his jaw. “soft, dreamy pink. you would look so cute.”

“i’d look like a bottle of strawberry milk.”

“exactly,” you beamed, “delicious.” he groaned again, but this time it melted into a chuckle, arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. “fine. you can have your pink fantasy.”

you kissed him sweetly, “you love me.”

he rolled his eyes yet kissed you back just as sweet, “yeah. i really do.”

you were just settling back into renjun’s lap again, feeding him the pancake, when ningning’s door creaked open behind you. this time, her hair was a tangled mess, her face scrunched into a look of profound betrayal. she didn’t say anything at first. just stood there. in a hoodie three sizes too big. blinking. processing. you, perched on renjun’s lap, syrup-smudged plates on the counter, kisses still fresh on both your faces. “i knew i wasn’t hallucinating those sounds last night,” she muttered darkly, rubbing her temples. “i woke up thinking i was dying, only to realize it was just you two clapping cheeks down the hall.” you froze with your fork halfway to your mouth. renjun choked on the bite you'd just fed him. ningning pointed at you like she was calling out a crime, “i live here! this is my home! not a fucking pornhub set!” you burst into laughter, nearly falling off renjun’s lap. “i was wearing noise-canceling headphones and I still heard it,” ningning went on, flopping dramatically into a kitchen chair like she’d lived through a war. “like. full surround sound. dolby atmos. spatial audio.”

renjun groaned, “i want to die.”

“i want to die more!” she snapped, “i heard your boyfriend moan like a porn star, and i cannot un-hear that, thank you very much!”

renjun made a choked noise, somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and immediately buried his face in your shoulder. but you caught it: the tiniest, giddy smile tugging at his lips. you blinked. he was blushing. ningning was still ranting, but all you could focus on was renjun, whose ears were turning red, whose shoulders shook a little from silent laughter, whose hand reached blindly for your thigh like he needed grounding. because she said boyfriend. and he liked it. really liked it.

“you’re smiling,” you whispered, nudging him with your elbow. “i’m not,” he said, muffled behind your skin. “you are,” you teased, leaning close. “because she said boyfriend.” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face, grinning now in full. “shut up.”

“my boyfriend,” you repeated, deliberately softer this time, and he gave you a look that was equal parts exasperated and lovesick.

ningning groaned. “oh my god, i’m still here! don’t make it worse!!!” you turn your attention back to her, wheezing into your iced tea. “i’m traumatized,” ningning added, deadpan. “i’m gonna need an exorcism.”

“you’re so dramatic,” you finally managed, wiping tears from your eyes. she grabbed her water bottle, pointing at the both of you. “if you have sex in my kitchen, i will commit arson.” then she turned and shuffled away, muttering about sage and bleach and lost innocence. you and renjun stared at each other for a beat, stunned into silence—then burst into fresh laughter, collapsing into each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. and maybe it was. after all. you are his girlfriend now.

✿ PINK SUITS YOU ✿

the next day, you stood barefoot in your tiny bathroom, plastic gloves already snapped on, a bottle of bubblegum-pink box dye you bought at the nearest store in one hand and a towel draped dramatically over renjun’s shoulders like he was about to get a five-star spa treatment instead of a chaotic dye job from his slightly-too-excited girlfriend. he sat on the edge of the tub, legs splayed lazily, arms crossed as he eyed you through the mirror with that mix of love and mild apprehension he reserved exclusively for when you said things like “let’s bleach your head at home!”

“this is a bad idea,” he muttered, even as he tilted his head obligingly forward so you could section his hair.

“you agreed,” you sang back, grinning as you combed through his roots.

“i was full of pancakes and post-sex serotonin,” he deadpanned. “my decision-making was compromised.”

you laughed, nudging his head with the comb, “too late now, junie. you’re gonna be the prettiest strawberry at the farmer’s market.”

he snorted, “as long as i don’t end up bald.”

“don’t jinx it,” you whispered ominously, and he gave you a withering look through the mirror that only made you giggle harder. the dye squelched as you started massaging it into his scalp, careful and focused despite the teasing. your tongue peeked out slightly in concentration, and renjun watched you from beneath his lashes, soft-eyed and quiet now, lips tugging into a smile he didn’t bother hiding. soon, his dark roots were hidden beneath thick streaks of bright pink. the color looked ridiculous and so fun already — vibrant and loud and everything renjun usually wasn’t, which made it even better.

“you’re gonna look like a k-pop idol,” you said cheerfully.

“better than looking like someone who got attacked by strawberry yogurt.”

you gasped, offended, “take that back.”

he smirked, “make me.”

you leaned down, gloves still slick with dye, and kissed the top of his forehead anyway, “too cute to fight,” you mumbled.

renjun just hummed, hand reaching up to lightly squeeze your thigh as you worked, “you’re cute.” the moment stretched, soft and warm. the smell of hair dye filled the room, your fingers threading through his hair gently as you coated every strand, and his knees kept brushing against yours like he couldn’t help but be near you. he let you squish the plastic cap over his head while laughing softly, and when you stood back to admire your work — dye-streaked cheeks, stained shirt, and all — he opened his arms with a crooked grin.

“come here, you little chaotic ball of sunshine,” you quip a brow but sat in his lap on the edge of the tub anyway, arms looping lazily around his neck, his hands finding your waist like they always did. and as the pink set in, you stayed there, warm, tangled together in the tiny bathroom, laughing into each other’s mouths like time didn’t matter at all. when the timer beeped, renjun sat on a tiny plastic stool inside the bathroom, his head tipped under the sink, your bare hands carefully massaging his scalp under the gentle stream of lukewarm water. the bright pink dye ran in swirls down the drain like melted candy. “not gonna lie,” he mumbled, eyes closed, “this feels kinda nice.”

you smiled, using your fingers to gently detangle his hair. “told you i’d give you the full salon treatment.”

“mhm,” he hummed, voice gone soft with sleepiness, “can i tip you with kisses?”

you leaned down, placing a soft peck on his lips, “stop distracting me.” you ran your fingers through his hair one last time, feeling the strands squeaky clean beneath your touch. the pink peeked through the rinse water now, soft and vibrant, a sweet pastel bloom against his pale skin.

“okay,” you said gently, reaching for the towel, “moment of truth.” he blinked up at you, hair wet and clinging to his forehead. you wrapped the towel around his head and rubbed lightly, then turned him around to face the mirror with a breathless little smile. renjun looked up slowly like already knew he was about to be roasted for eternity if it looked ridiculous. but the moment his eyes landed on his reflection, he froze.

“oh my god,” he whispered. your heart jumped, “what?” he turned to look at you, eyes wide, and glowing, “i look so cute.”

you burst into giggles, bubbling up beside him, “you do! you look like a strawberry milk prince!”

“a hot strawberry milk prince,” he corrected.

“absolutely. the hottest.” he reached for you with, wrapping his arms around you, kissing you sweetly, “thank you.”

you brushed a strand of hair away from his face, “you really like it?” he nodded, nuzzling into your neck with a sleepy smile. you softened. “you’re gonna get so many compliments.”

“i only care about yours.” you rolled your eyes but your cheeks were already pinker than his hair. “sap.”

renjun smirked, “you picked the color. you brought this monster to life.” you kissed his forehead, letting the damp settle between you as you held him close in the quiet aftermath of the chaos, “pink suits you,” you whispered.

“being yours suits me more,” he murmured back, barely above a breath. words that he never thought he’d ever say a month ago. words that old him would’ve scoffed or faked gagged at. but there, in that tiny steamed-up bathroom, with your arms around him and his heart so wide open for you, everything just felt warm and whole.

✿ SOFT FOR ONE PERSON ONLY ENERGY ✿

it was friday night, and the dream fraternity house was already pulsing with music, bass thrumming under your shoes as you stepped in, fingers interlaced with renjun’s. his newly dyed bubblegum-pink hair caught in the glow of the overhead lights, impossibly soft and bright, paired with a white shirt he stole from your closet, a little cropped on the waist. he looked effortlessly hot (and lowkey breedable). you matched him in a white summer dress and a pastel pink cardigan, your own version of his new hue. you looked like you were made to be beside him — the two of you hadn’t been apart at all. he stayed the past two nights, sleeping in your bed, stealing your shirts, making iced tea the way you liked it. you both blew off classes without shame, too wrapped up in stolen kisses and lazy sketches and sleepy mornings. so tonight, walking into the party hand-in-hand, with renjun radiating soft for one person only energy, felt like debuting a brand-new era.

but — first thing’s first on the party checklist: renjun had to find yangyang. he owed him that much. after everything. it didn’t feel right to walk around with you in his arm, grinning and in love, without first facing the person he betrayed. the person he hurt. he quickly spotted yangyang by the back patio, red solo cup in hand, mid-laugh with the wayv frat boys — hendery and xiaojun. renjun gave your hand a squeeze, “i’ll be right back,” he said softly. you nodded, teasing, “go make peace with your ex-boyfriend.” renjun snorted, brushing a kiss to your forehead before slipping through the crowd.

as renjun approached, yangyang’s gaze flicked over — and predictably, the first thing out of his mouth was, “dude. the pink?” renjun blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

yangyang gave a lopsided smile, “it looks nice. makes you look… weirdly happy.”

renjun relaxed a little. “yeah, well. y/n picked it.”

“of course she did,” yangyang said, amused.

a pause. then renjun asked, quieter, “can we talk?”yangyang didn’t even sigh. he just nodded and stepped off to the side with him. it wasn’t tense, just… careful. like they were both balancing something fragile between them. renjun began, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “i should’ve told you sooner. but it all happened so fast and next thing i know–”

“you love her,” yangyang said simply, “i know. i saw it all that night we took her to the hospital.”

renjun nodded, “yeah.”

“i already forgave you,” yangyang said, with a small, resigned smile, “i just needed a couple days to process and the let the sting wear off. besides, you were right. i wasn’t there. i should’ve seen it coming, really. it just makes sense that the two people i love most would fall in love with each other.”

renjun swallowed hard, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“yeah,” yangyang said softly, “but it did. and maybe it was supposed to happen exactly like this.”

there was a pause, full of memory, affection, and things left unsaid. yangyang took a sip from his cup, “anyway,” he added, more casually now, “the internship called me. i got the job.”

renjun’s eyes widened. “you’re kidding—?”

yangyang grinned, this time genuinely. “nope. full-time offer. i leave right after graduation next year.”

“so really,” yangyang went on, nudging renjun’s shoulder lightly, “it worked out for everyone. i got my future, and you got her. she was always yours, anyway. i was just keeping her heart warm till you were ready.”

“what do you mean?,” he asks, curious.

yangyang grinned again, “you’ll have to ask her about it.”

renjun’s throat went tight. “yang…”

“don’t get sappy on me now, loverboy,” yangyang warned, laughing a little. “go. be gross together. and tell her i said thanks for finally getting you to change your hair. i’ve been begging for a new color since sophomore year.”

renjun snorted, “thanks.” then, after a beat, quieter, sincere, “we’re still best friends, right?”

yangyang nodded once, smile beaming, “as long as you don’t mess this up.”

renjun met his eyes, “i won’t,” he promised. “i’d rather die.”

yangyang gave him one last look, fond, final, then clapped a hand to his back and turned, heading back into the house. as he passed, he caught your eye from across the room. you both shared a smile. quiet, full of understanding. renjun stood still for a moment, taking a breath — and then made his way back to you. you looked up at him, brow raised. “everything okay?”

“yeah,” he said, smiling softly as he reached for your hand. “better than okay.” you laced your fingers with his, and the two of you stepped into the party, hearts lighter and unburdened, glowing pink under the lights.

the reaction was immediate. jaemin spotted him first, doing a visible double-take over his cup before bursting into laughter, “oh my god. your hair is my favorite color.” angel, snug under his arm, gasped with delight, “you actually let her dye it?”

renjun rolled his eyes but didn’t move away from you, “not let. she bullied me into it.” you rolled your eyes, smiling innocently, “please, it didn’t take much convincing.”

jeno came up next, bunny trailing behind him, and smirked like he’d just uncovered classified information, “we thought you were dead or kidnapped. turns out you’ve just been—” he eyed the way renjun was standing next to you, soft-eyed and relaxed, your hand in his like it belonged there “—domesticated.”

bunny gasped dramatically, “who are you and what have you done to our cold-hearted, ‘i-work-alone’ renjunnie?”

“you even skipped classes,” haechan added, coming out of nowhere, arm slung around princess’s shoulder’s, “voluntarily.”

chenle and baby appeared behind him, both blinking like they’d stepped into an alternate universe. “and he’s smiling,” chenle said flatly, pushing his face towards renjun and tapping the inner corner of his lips, like it was the most shocking development of all.

renjun shoved him away, a palm to his friend’s big head, “you’re all so annoying,” he muttered, pink already blooming on his cheeks to match his hair. he tugged you closer like a shield, his arm slipping around your waist.

kitten nudged mark, “he’s in love. renjun’s in love.”

“i feel like crying,” mark whispered dramatically, eyes shining with fake emotion.

jisung stumbled over with cherry, mouth already open, “i thought the pink hair was a prank,” he said in awe.

“it looks so good!” cherry beamed, then looked up at her own boyfriend. “what do you think about going red?” jisung rolled his eyes, playfully pushing her off him.

jaemin grinned at you, “congrats on being the only person alive who could turn renjun into a loverboy. he’s been fighting feelings for years.” renjun groaned, trying not to look like he was enjoying this attention too much. he wasn’t exactly used to being the one everyone was teasing, but the way his fingers curled possessively around your waist and the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips said he didn’t mind it, “say one more thing and i’m dying my hair neon green next,” he warned.

“okay, one more thing,” haechan shot back, winking. renjun flipped him off with one hand, the other still securely wrapped around you. you giggled into his shoulder, nose brushing against the soft cotton of his (your) shirt, and he turned to you with that smile, that rare, slow, real one. then —right there in the middle of the chaos, he leaned down and kissed you. it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t a performance. just a gentle, steady press of his lips to yours. sweet, and soft, like there was nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing. you melted into it, smiling against his mouth. it was so easy, like kissing you was something he was always meant to do. and then—“ughhhhhh! get a room!,” jaemin groaned, clutching angel like he was physically ill, “we came here to party, not to witness a romcom finale!”

“please,” jeno added, dramatically shielding bunny’s eyes, “there are innocent people present.”

mark pretended to gag, “our eyes. our poor, innocent eyes.”

even chenle was whining, “someone spray them with cold water or something.”

“i’m gonna throw up,” haechan gags, “like im literally going to throw up.”

you pulled away from the kiss, breathless and laughing, as renjun flipped them all off with the laziest middle finger in history, still holding you close, “cry about it.”

“you’ve changed man,” jisung accused, squinting at him.

“yeah,” renjun said easily, eyes on you. “isn’t it great?” they all groaned in unison, the kind of theatrical exasperation only longtime friends could get away with. but beneath all the fake gags and teasing, no one missed the way they were all smiling.

❤︎

the party slowly melted around you. the guys drifted off with their girlfriends, leaving you and renjun, alone in the soft golden haze of fairy lights and pulsing music. the dj had shifted to something slower, sweeter. you swayed together. his hands on your hips, yours wrapped lazily around his neck, foreheads brushing every so often as you moved in your own little bubble. his eyes never left yours, soft and searching, like he was trying to memorize everything about this moment. then he leaned in close, breath brushing your cheek as he murmured, “yangyang said you were always meant to be mine? what did he mean?”

you stilled slightly in his arms, pulse skipping before letting out a breathy laugh, “you really don’t know?”

he blinked, brows furrowing. “know what?”

“that i’ve had a quiet crush on you for ages,” you confessed, eyes darting to his lips before settling back on his gaze. “since painting i. in junior year, basically…that night on new year’s? i was gonna finally make a move. walked right up to you in that ridiculous sparkly dress, only for you to smile and introduce me to yangyang like it was some kind of matchmaking party.”

renjun froze. “no way.”

“i swear,” you laughed, cheeks heating. “i went home that night and told ningning i was going to delete my entire personality.”

he stared at you, stunned into silence for a beat—then his lips parted in slow, incredulous awe. “you liked me?”

“still do,” you teased softly. he blinked once. twice. then a grin broke across his face, dazed and delighted, almost like he couldn’t believe his luck. his hands tightened on your waist, tugging you closer until your chests were flush.

“you should’ve said something.”

“i was trying to!” you laughed. “you just kept being oblivious and pretty and you set me up with your best friend.”

he laughed at the cruel hands of fate. “god, i want to go back and shake myself,” he whispered, “i could’ve had you sooner.”

you smiled against him, nose brushing his. “you have me now.” and when you kissed him, it hits him all over again. he’s in love. not in a slow, creeping way like he'd feared for months. but in a crashing, undeniable kind of way that left no room for doubt or retreat. it felt like blinking and finding color again after too long in grayscale. he was never supposed to be this guy. the one smiling into a slow dance. the one openly cuddled up at a party. the one everyone teased for looking so stupidly, obviously in love. but here he was — renjun smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek, “i used to think love was all just chemicals and hormones. temporary. predictable. something people convinced themselves into.” you watched him quietly, eyes soft, “but you…” he huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “you feel like forever.”

your lips parted in surprise before a smile overtook your face, “that was so cheesy,” you whispered, voice cracking from emotion.

“shut up,” he muttered, burying his face in your neck, “i’m new at this.” you laughed, hugging him tighter, your fingers curling at the nape of his neck. and renjun let himself close his eyes and breathe you in, swaying with you under the lights, in no rush to ever let go. because for once, the escape artist, the skeptic, the anti-romantic, the boy who once flinched at the idea of belonging to anyone, was exactly where he wanted to be. hopelessly, completely, and terrifyingly in love.

✿ BONUS SCENE: I NEED TO GO PRAY ✿

the living room is a cozy chaos of pillows and blankets strewn everywhere. popcorn bowls are half-empty, soda cans roll lazily on the coffee table, and the t.v. flickers with the opening credits of some action movie the boys chose. everyone’s paired up, some on the couch, some on the floor, cuddled under blankets, others sprawled across each other like overgrown golden retrievers. you’re tucked into renjun’s side on the armchair he claimed for the two of you the second you walked in. but just as the plot thickens on screen — “pause it!” angel calls out, sitting up. without needing to be told twice, jaemin leans over and hits the remote. the screen freezes.

“girl talk,” bunny declares, already pulling you up by the wrist. “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” kitten chants, hopping up with baby, princess, and cherry on her heels. you blink as you're swept into the tide of giggling girls, eyes shocked as they dragged you halfway through the hallway before realizing renjun is still trailing after you like a loyal duckling, phone in hand, already claiming his usual spot by the kitchen counter. bunny catches him mid-step, palm flat on his chest, “nuh uh. out.”

renjun stares down at her hand, bewildered, “what? why? this is my spot.” he gestures vaguely at the counter stool like it belongs to him by law.

“yeah,” princess snorts, crossing her arms. “but your girlfriend’s here now.”

“you’ve been voted out,” cherry sing-songs.

“but—” he protests, eyes darting from from one girl to the next, “i’m your emotional support renjun! i’m the guy perspective!” baby gives him a gentle push toward the hallway. renjun stumbles back a step, sulking like a kicked puppy. “traitors. every single one of you.” the girls collectively giggle.

back in the living room, the guys erupt into laughter as renjun trudges back out. jaemin is the first to clap him on the back. “ahhh, welcome to the dark side, loverboy.”

“tough break, man,” jeno smirks.

“bet it was easier being single now, huh?” chenle teases, tossing a pillow at him.

“this sucks,” renjun grumbles, “i don’t even like you guys,” he mutters under his breath, collapsing dramatically on the couch.

in the kitchen, meanwhile, the girls are already deep in discussion, whispers and gasps flying like confetti. “okay, so,” angel starts, elbowing you, “how is it having the resident grump as a boyfriend?” that sends everyone into a wave of laughter, even you, who roll your eyes affectionately.“he’s not a grump!” you defend, half-hearted.

princess smirks, opening a chip bag, “i bet even when he flirts it sounds like a critique.”

“actually,” you murmur, a little too quietly.

bunny leans forward. “wait. wait.” she points at you with wide eyes. “no way. i cannot even imagine renjun being freaky.” the room erupts. “RIGHT?!” cherry giggles. you try to hold back your smile. but your lips twitch, and suddenly, all heads whip toward you.

“oh my god.” baby sits up straight, gasping, “wait. WAIT.”

“noooo.” kitten’s jaw drops, her voice going an octave higher. “you’re smiling like he’s not vanilla.” you unwrap one of the lollipops, innocently looking at them, trying to hide your smile. “SHE’S SMILING LIKE SHE’S SEEN GOD,” princess yells, shoving your leg.

“you’re gonna have to hold my hand through this,” cherry says, fanning herself, “you’re telling me renjun—buttoned-up, pretentious, art-boy renjun—is into freaky shit?” she whispers the last part. you shrug, trying to be cool, but the heat rising in your cheeks gives you away completely. “define freaky,” you mumble.

“babe, if you have to define it, you’ve already said too much,” angel deadpans, cracking everyone up again. “so what is it?” baby leans in like she’s about to hear the world’s juiciest gossip. “handcuffs?…dirty talk?… choking?….slapping?…..anal?—” you choke on your spit, coughing into your sleeve while all the girls scream in delight. then all hell breaks loose.

“OH MY GOD—THAT WAS A CHOKE.” princess slaps the counter. “SHE CHOKED.”

“that wasn’t a no!” kitten screams.

“that wasn’t even a maybe!” angel yells, eyes huge.

“THAT WAS A GUILTY CHOKE,” cherry points, practically vibrating with excitement.

you’re waving your hands, still coughing, face tomato-red, “i—no—wait—guys—”

“I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET JENO TO DO THAT FOR MONTHS,” bunny wails, dramatically collapsing onto baby’s shoulder.

“SAME!” baby cries out, throwing her head back. “and renjun beat him to it?! renjun?!”

“that man literally scolded me for talking during a gallery tour!” angel fans herself with a paper towel. “…holy shit. quiet men are dangerous.”

“girl. spill,” kitten demands, eyes huge. “what exactly are you doing to that man?” you're flustered, beet-red, covering your face with both hand, “nope. nope. i’m taking this to the grave.”

“oh, come on,” princess whines, nudging you with her elbow. “it’s not like we’re gonna judge you. or him. it’s girl talk. safe space. no judgment.” you groan, defeated, cheeks on fire, and mutter, “…it was my finger, okay?” the kitchen goes silent. like, dead silent. you look up slowly to see every single girl staring at you like you just walked in wearing a crown.

“…in his butt?” bunny finally whispers. you nod slowly, and it’s like lighting a firecracker in a tin can.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” angel screams.

“you did it?!” baby cries, grabbing you by the wrist like you’re moses parting the red sea. “WHATS the secret?!?!”

“HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THERE?” cherry demands, “do you just—like—surprise attack? or do you schedule it in his planner?”

“did he say yes? voluntarily?!” bunny looks personally offended.

“i mean,” you smirk, finally relaxing, “he tensed a little at first, but then he moaned and looked at me like i unlocked the fucking universe, so—" chaos. screaming. kitten throws a paper towel roll across the room. angel is lying face-down on the counter muttering “how, how, HOW.” baby’s googling psychological manipulation tips to get boyfriend to try ass stuff. cherry is pacing, “i literally offered jisung a full body massage and a PS5 and he said, and i quote, i don't like anything near my exit only zone.”

“mark,” kitten hisses, “won’t even let me touch his lower back without jumping like i tasered him.”

“jaemin said if i try anything he’s calling the police,” angel mumbles, holding her head in her hands.

you shrug with exaggerated innocence, “renjun’s an artist. he’s open to new experiences.”

“I’M SO JEALOUS,” princess yells. “I THOUGHT WE WERE ALL LIVING IN THE SAME WORLD.”

“YOU’RE LIVING IN THE FUTURE,” cherry groans, “I’M STUCK IN THE DARK AGES OF ‘babe, that’s gay.’” you’re wiping tears of laughter from your eyes now, half-guilty, half-proud.

“i swear to god,” baby mutters, pulling out her phone, “i’m texting chenle right now.”

“what are you gonna say?” bunny wheezes.

“step up your game or renjun’s stealing your crown.”everyone loses it again. and back in the living room, the boys all glance toward the kitchen at the sudden, repeated shrieks.

“nah. that’s insane,” jeno finally breathes. “you let her in… the back door?” renjun just nods once. regal. unbothered. enlightened. “but—but why?” jaemin sputters, scandalized. “you know the exit’s not an entrance, right?”

“it can be both if you believe in yourself,” renjun replies dryly. chenle groans and claps his hand over his face, “bro, we’re freaky, but that’s a different tax bracket.”

“i let bunny do whatever she wants,” jeno mutters, shaking his head, “but the minute she even glances below the equator i’m outta there.” mark’s ears are so red they match the bowl of spicy chips he’s nervously nibbling, “kitten joked about it once and i told her my soul would leave my body if she tried.”jaemin raises a hand like he’s in court, “angel has tried to trick me into it during head. the second i felt her hand get adventurous, i almost hit a backflip off the bed.”

haechan, leaning over with a grin, “and yet, our sweet little renjun…doesn’t let anyone touch him…”

“…actually took a finger in,” jisung whispers, finishing his sentence, face full of awe. “and didn’t even protest?!” chenle says dramatically. the boys all groan and laugh, half-impressed, half-horrified. then chenle’s phone buzzes in his pocket — “oh no.”

“what? what?!” mark leans over, trying to peek. chenle holds the phone out, screen up, and they all crowd around. it’s a message from his girlfriend. just one line.

my baby 😎🎀: so….renjun let her do it.

a beat of silence. “NOOOO!” jaemin howls. “IT’S STARTED,” jeno gasps. “THE GIRLS ARE FORMING A MOVEMENT—” mark wails into a couch pillow. chenle drops his head back with a dramatic groan, pointing at the villain of the hour, “renjun, you traitor. you absolute menace,” he glares at him, “how am i supposed to turn her down now without sounding like an insecure little bitch?!”

renjun rolls his eyes, “just stop being an insecure little bitch then?”

jisung’s eyes widen. “wait. can you turn her down now?”

“i—” chenle blinks, “i’m so fucked.”

mark’s already texting kitten:

mark 🕷️♥️: hey just so you know i’m not into butt stuff like renjun okay???

chenle groans, eyes still glued to his phone, “oh god. she’s typing again.” jisung folds his arms, deadly serious, “we have to stop this before it spreads.” chenle, whispering like he’s in a horror movie, “i think she just sent me a lube emoji.”

“nope. not getting anywhere near my butt,” mark says immediately, standing firm.

“speak for yourself,” haechan shrugs, “if renjun can do it, i think i can too.” everyone turns — “WHAT?”

“don’t act surprised,” haechan says smoothly, “i moan when princess scratches behind my ears. you think a finger’s gonna kill me?”

the living room erupts. “oh please,” renjun finally cuts in, rolling his eyes, “all of you are nasty behind closed doors. don’t act like a finger is too much now.”

a beat. “okay but… did you like it like it?” chenle asks carefully. renjun leans back. shrugs, “i mean, i can see the appeal.”

jeno lets out a scream. “i’m throwing myself out the window,” jaemin declares.

“i need to go pray,” mark says, looking genuinely afraid. there’s another howl of laughter from the kitchen. chenle is laying face-down on the floor. jeno’s stress-eating popcorn one kernel at a time. jaemin is half-listening with an expression of morbid curiosity, haechan is enjoying every second, while jisung has gone disturbingly still, staring at the ceiling like he's dissociating. but renjun’s not smiling anymore. because he knows exactly what happens in girl talk. it doesn’t just stop at “oh, he’s tried a finger in the butt.” it goes in extreme detail. what position. what face he made. how he sounded like. every detail laid out for the girls to blush over. he used to be in the inner circle. and right now he’s realizing how much it sucks to be outside of it. another round of screaming erupts from the kitchen. renjun shoots up, “alright. that’s enough.” the boys all go silent, watching in awe-slash-fear as renjun storms off toward the kitchen.

“oh no,” jaemin mutters.

“he’s doing it,” jisung whispers. “he’s going in.” but renjun doesn’t hesitate. he throws open the kitchen door with the confidence of someone who’s already heard too much, “okay,” he says flatly, stepping inside. “you’ve had your fun. my turn.” every single girl freezes. you’re sitting in a kitchen chair, lips wrapped innocently around a strawberry lollipop like you didn’t just start a girl group revolution. your cheeks are still pink. the rest of the girls are in various states of chaos. renjun’s eyes lock on you. he sees the lollipop. your smirk. something in him snaps. without a word, he walks over, grabs your wrist, and pulls you up like you weigh nothing. the lollipop stays in your mouth as you blink up at him, blinking wide-eyed and sweet as sin.

“upstairs. now.” you barely have time to be shocked before you’re being pulled toward the hallway.

“OH MY GOD—HE’S TAKING HER.”

“THAT MAN IS ABOUT TO REPAINT THE CEILING,” angel yells.

“WE HAVE CREATED A MONSTER,” bunny screams, tossing a kitchen towel in mourning.

“FREAKY RENJUN IS REAL?!?!?,” baby shrieks.

from the hallway, renjun glances back over his shoulder, eyes dark and focused on you, “don’t talk about me like i’m not going to hear it.”

❤︎

the second the door closed, renjun’s gaze dropped to the lollipop still tucked between your lips. his jaw ticked. you sat at the edge of his bed, raised an eyebrow, smug, slow-sucking on it just to be a brat. “something wrong?”

he stepped closer, grabbed your chin roughly, and forced you to meet his eyes. “you think i didn’t hear what you told the girls?”

your mouth popped off the lollipop with a soft, wet sound. “it was just girl talk.”

his fingers tightened, “you really think i’m okay with them knowing what you did to me?” his tone dripped venom, but his pupils were blown wide, “you like making me look weak?”

you smirked, licking the candy again with a slow drag of your tongue, “you didn’t seem weak when you were under me.”

that was it. renjun snatched the lollipop out of your hand, glaring, “you wanna act like that?” and with no warning, he flipped you over, raising your ass up, shoving you on his mattress and yanking your shorts down. the sudden aggression knocked the breath out of you, but the heat pooled instantly.

he held the lollipop up between two fingers, “open.”

you blinked, “what?”

“your legs.” they already were, but the way he said it made you tremble.

“wider.” you obeyed. then, without missing a beat, he dragged the sticky candy down your ass. swirling at your asshole. loving the way you clenched. for a second you think he might insert the lollipop there. a little payback for what you did. you tensed immediately. but then he traveled lower. until the sticky, sweet tip grazed your already-throbbing clit. you jolted.

“oh—”

he chuckled darkly. the lollipop slipped lower, gliding between your folds. he dragged it lazily, watching your reaction with a cruel sort of satisfaction.

“renjun—”

“you think i appreciate the boys knowing i let you do that to me?” he hissed, pressing it in just the tiniest bit, the slick pop teasing your entrance, “that i let you fuck me and then brag about it?”

your breath hitched, hips twitching, “i wasn’t bragging—”

“yes, you were.” then he shoved the lollipop inside you. your gasp was sharp and desperate, the initial stretch making you grip his sheets. the candy was cold compared to your heat, sticky, obscene. renjun didn’t give you a second to process. he worked it in and out slowly, rhythmically, watching your face twist and your thighs quake.

“bet you feel real smart now,” he sneered, lips brushing your ear as his other hand clutched your hair, “telling them how i moaned for you. how i let you finger me.”

you whimpered, “i didn’t mean—” he pulled the lollipop out slowly, wet and glistening. then he turned you over, making sure you saw him suck on your-arousal-filled treat. your mouth dropped open, the sight of him incredibly turning you on.

he hummed around the candy, lips wrapping around it deliberately, eyes still locked on yours. “mmm,” he said, voice like sin. “sweet.” he murmured, deliberately loud, deliberately cruel, eyes glinting with something sharp and unrelenting.

he twirled the lollipop slowly between his fingers, dipping it through your folds again, then held it up to your mouth. “suck.”

you hesitated, lips parted, chest heaving. he raised an eyebrow, voice dropping, “oh, now you want to act shy?” he cupped your jaw, forcing you to open. you took it in your mouth, trembling. the taste of yourself hit your tongue, and you blushed hard, moaning softly around the stick.

his eyes darkened. “slut.” he muttered, voice low and deadly, “you like that, don’t you?” you nodded, too far gone to lie. heat pulsed between your thighs. but the second you reached out for him, desperate for his touch. desperate for more. he pulled back. “nuh-uh,” he chuckled, “you don’t get to have me that easily.”

your protest died in your throat when he dropped to his knees between your legs, grabbing your thighs like he owned them, and dragging you to the edge. he spread you open and stared like you were something to devour — but refused to touch. “you really thought i was just gonna fuck this pussy like nothing happened?” he sneered. “after you went around bragging about what i let you do?”

“i wasn’t—” he shoved the lollipop in again, thrusting it in and out. rough. fast. your hips jerked. “fuck—!”

“you don’t learn, do you?” he twisted it slowly inside you, the hard candy pressing against sensitive walls, catching every nerve ending. “you act like you can do whatever you want just because i let you inside me once.”

your head fell back, nails digging into his sheets, “junie, please—”

“no.” he pulled the candy out with an audible pop, then shoved it back in hard. “you don’t get to ask me for anything.” your legs shook, your body lit up, and every time you got close, every time the pressure mounted, he pulled it out again.

you whimpered, shaking. “please, i’m— i can’t—”

“can’t what?” he mocked, rubbing the sticky, wet candy over your clit now, small circles that made your stomach coil tight. “can’t stop being a brat? can’t stop running your mouth?” you sobbed out a breath, hips lifting, not answering. he pulled away again, “then you don’t get to come.”

you whined his name. he leaned forward, his mouth right at your ear, voice low and wicked. “say it.”

you moaned, wrecked. “say what?”

“say you’re sorry for making me look weak.” silence stretched. you hesitated — prideful, needy, ruined.

he laughed coldly. “that’s what i thought.” then he licked you, just one slow, teasing stripe of his tongue, and backed away again. he kept teetering you on the edge. you almost cried. “say it.”

you whimpered, “i’m sorry!— i’m sorry!, i shouldn’t have.”

“shouldn’t have what?”

“told them.”

he smiled darkly, cruelly satisfied. “that’s better.” and then, like a reward, he pushed the lollipop back inside you, this time curling his tongue around your clit while the candy fucked you fast, deep, deliberate. you shattered in seconds. body tense, thighs clamping around his head, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

when you finally stopped shaking and opened your eyes again, renjun was sucking on the ruined lollipop — your slick and cum still shining on his mouth. watching you. possessive, smug, dark-eyed and dangerous. he let the stick fall from his mouth, finally discared then leaned over you, slowly, bracing one hand beside your head, “next time,” he said, face hovering above yours, voice like smoke, “you keep your mouth shut unless it’s for me.” then, without breaking eye contact, he reached down and unzipped his jeans. the sound alone made your breath catch. he gripped your thighs again, bruising, commanding and spread you wide. you whimpered, helpless, as he lined himself up with your still-sensitive entrance. “don’t tense,” he warned, voice a razor, "scream my name, love. let them know what i do to you.”

❤︎

downstairs in the living room, the movie had long since faded into background noise. but the headboard thumping upstairs? that was front and center. a rhythm so steady and relentless it could've been mistaken for construction—if not for the sharp, unmistakable “renjun!” that followed. everyone froze. again. louder.

“oh my god,” angel muttered, eyes wide.

baby’s jaw dropped. “holy shit. the movie ended and they’re still going?!”

kitten glanced at the paused credits, “it’s been, like…forty minutes.”

“i can’t believe renjunnie is making all that happen,” bunny whispered, scandalized. the headboard thumped again. louder this time.

jisung was frozen, slack-jawed, staring at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him, “bro, that is not the renjun i know.” cherry snickered beside him, “the quiet ones are always the loudest.” he looked at her with a raised brow, like how do you know that. she leaned in, smirking, like it was a secret, “sungie, you can be louder than them combined.” jisung choked.

haechan looked half horrified, half impressed. “did he tell her to scream like that? that was like—performance-level vocal work.” princess burst into laugher, “i bet we could be louder.” haechan sends her a devilish grin, “oh, now that’s a challenge.”

jeno, still as stunned as bunny, whispered, “i can’t unhear any of this.”

meanwhile, chenle blinked slowly, like he’d seen a ghost. he clicks his tongue, looking at baby with horrified eyes, “you girls got her in so much trouble.”

mark shook his head, a light grin on his face as he teases kitten, “yeah. she’s never gonna join your precious girl talk session again.” but the girls just sat there with the most satisfied, smug, secret little smiles on their faces. like this was exactly what they had planned all along.

angel smirked, “please. she’ll be thanking us tomorrow.” jaemin chuckled beside her, squeezing her shoulder, “you’re all evil. proud of you.”

𓏲 the end.

—

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

bonus: loverboy links 2 (these were the hardest ones to find)

—

an: and this is 7/7! my goodness. i cannot believe i actually finished a series!!!!. when i first started this, i genuinely didn’t think i’d get this far. these all started out as little synopsis i wrote down one day cause i was bored and wanted to challenge myself. i didn’t think so many of you would love it as much as i do. i’m feeling so emotional omygod not me crying as i type this out. BUT first thing, i want to say this isn’t over yet! i do have bonus scenes that i want to write out. i also threw away the idea that this was the finale because holy shit, ya’ll don’t understand how much pressure that gave me. instead, i just decided to focus on renjun’s story without thinking about how this is the end. AND the nickname! only one of you guys suggested it so i’m sure it’s not what a lot of you were expecting. i was going back and forth between love and sweetheart for the longest time but then i got stuck on the concept of renjun, the most annoyed by love, ending up calling his girl, love. it just made sense to me. i hope you liked renjun and love! she’s definitely the sweetest girl out of all 7 (and i hope you finally believe me now when i say she’s not angel). thank you so so so much for reading this story! and for those who have read all seven, i am so grateful for your time. your support. your love. looking forward to your reviews!

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

🍊if you enjoyed this series and would like to show extra love and support, my ko-fi is open! <3

JOHNNY: dominant. size kink. orgasm control. johnny’s biggest thrill comes from knowing he’s too much for you. too long, too thick, too deep. but still watching you take every inch like you were made for it. he teases you until you’re begging, smirking as your legs twitch and hips squirm under the weight of his palm. nothing makes him hornier than hearing you gasp when he first presses in, the way you whimper out his name in disbelief at how full you feel. he’ll coo in your ear, chuckling softly as he says, “you can handle it, baby. you always do.” he doesn’t move until you ask him to, and even then, he’s slow. dragging it out, making you beg for each thrust. he has a habit of overstimulating you without mercy. one orgasm isn’t enough. not for him. he needs to see how many times he can push you over the edge before you’re crying into the sheets. his favorite thing is holding you down after you’ve already come, just to keep fucking you with that same smooth rhythm, his fingers stroking over your overstimulated clit while he keeps whispering how good you’re doing for him. he uses pet names like they’re part of his rhythm. “good girl. just like that. give me another.” and he always gets it. eventually.

TAEYONG: dom-leaning switch. rope bondage. mirror sex. taeyong is all about control. but he’s delicate with it. he loves beautiful restraints: thick red rope across your thighs, wrists tied softly behind your back, the intricate knots resting gently against your skin like decoration. he takes his time, sometimes longer tying you up than actually fucking you, and murmurs about how pretty you look like this. he wants your trust. the way you surrender to him is what makes his cock twitch, not just the act itself. every inch of your body is his to explore when you’re like this, and he doesn’t waste the opportunity. he’ll edge you, overstimulate you, all while running soft fingers across the silk-tight ropes like he’s playing an instrument. he’s obsessed with seeing you. taeyong fucks you in front of mirrors as often as he fucks you on the bed. his hand fits perfectly around your jaw, tilting your face toward the reflection while he presses into you from behind. he whispers into your ear, asking what you see, forcing you to look at the way your body trembles every time he thrusts deep. his voice is quiet, but strict. “don’t look away.” the way your eyes flutter under his command has him groaning against your neck, fucking you harder just to keep that ruined expression in your reflection a little longer.

YUTA: degradation. hair pulling. breeding kink. yuta doesn’t fuck you like you’re fragile. he wants your makeup smudged, your voice gone from screaming his name, your legs shaking from how rough he gets when you beg for more. he’s vocal, sharp-tongued, and merciless. his dirty talk leans toward degradation, but never in a way that feels hollow. he calls you names because he knows it gets you wet. his hand is constantly in your hair, tugging your head back so he can spit in your mouth and tell you how much of a mess you are. “look at yourself. crying already? pathetic.” he says it with a smile, because he knows you love it. the breeding kink is constant, primal. he presses you into the mattress, body heavy over yours, murmuring about how good your pussy would look dripping with his cum. he doesn’t pull out. ever. not unless you beg for it. even then, he pretends he’s going to finish inside you just to watch your face twist in panic-pleasure. when he’s close, he wraps your legs around his waist, thrusts hard and deep, and groans about how tight you get when he says he’s going to fill you up. “that’s what you want, isn’t it? fuck. greedy little slut.” it’s filthy. it’s possessive. it’s addictive.

TEN: exhibitionism. mirror kink. shibari. ten likes being seen. he performs even in private. he ties you up and fucks you in front of a full-length mirror, hands on your thighs, eyes on your reflection. he loves the symmetry of it. the way your body trembles under his, the sounds you make, the glossy heat in your eyes. “watch us,” he whispers. “look how good we are together.” he gets off on your reactions. on how messy he can make you. on how desperate your moans sound bouncing off the mirror, ricocheting through the room. his love for rope isn’t just about restraint. it’s about art. he takes his time with the knots, lacing them across your chest and thighs like you’re his canvas. it’s ritualistic, almost reverent. he makes you pose for him after, still tied up, naked and exposed. sometimes he doesn’t even fuck you right away. he just watches you squirm, blush, twitch under his gaze. “you don’t even know how hot you look like this, do you?” when he finally takes you, it’s with all the buildup of a practiced routine. like he’s waited his whole life to ruin you in this exact way, at this exact angle, while you cry out in front of your own reflection.

DOYOUNG: sub-leaning switch. praise kink. overstimulation. doyoung is the type who blushes at praise but still begs for it. he thrives when you’re on top, hands pressed against his chest, hips rolling while you ride him slowly. he’s sensitive, vocal, and gets overwhelmed easily. but that’s part of the appeal. you can ruin him with soft whispers and a vibrator. he’ll hold your hips, mouth open in shock every time you move faster, moaning your name like he’s about to fall apart. when you kiss him and call him your good boy, he completely melts beneath you, clinging to your body as he fucks up into you with trembling desperation. he doesn’t know when to stop. if you push him past his limit, again and again he’ll cry for it. overstimulation is his favorite form of torture. you can make him come once, wait a few minutes, then wrap your lips around him again until he’s sobbing and shaking and whimpering about how it’s too much. his voice breaks in the prettiest ways. “please- fuck, i can’t- it’s too- too good, please.” you can drag another orgasm out of him just by stroking him slow while he cries. the more you praise him, the harder he comes.

KUN: service dom. impact play. soft control. kun doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t need to. his control is quiet, gentle, unwavering. he ties your wrists with velvet ribbons, kisses each one, and tells you to breathe through it. he touches you like he’s sculpting something out of you, coaxing your pleasure out with patience and precision. he loves making you come with his hands. thick fingers curling just right, knuckles slick, wrist steady. he watches your face the whole time, moaning softly when you arch into him, whispering things like “that’s it, baby. you’re doing so well. let go for me.” but there’s a rough edge under all that sweetness. when you beg for more, when you need it harder. he delivers. he likes spanking. his palm cracks against your ass, sharp and deliberate, followed by his fingers soothing the sting. “you can take it. i’ve got you.” he’ll press kisses to your shoulder blades while pushing your face into the mattress, fucking you slow but deep, each thrust punctuated by a soft command. kun doesn’t fuck to dominate. he fucks to protect, to possess, to worship you with discipline. and when it’s over, he unties you with shaking hands, holds you in his lap, and murmurs about how beautiful you looked falling apart for him.

JAEHYUN: exhibitionism. mirror sex. choking. jaehyun doesn’t mind being watched. in fact, he likes it. he has no problem dragging you into the nearest empty room during an event, lifting your dress and bending you over the counter while he keeps one hand in your mouth and the other down your panties. he’s rough but quiet, eyes flicking toward the door every time someone walks by outside. it makes his cock twitch. the thrill of getting caught, of being inside you with your moans muffled into his shoulder, is a drug he can’t quit. he’s obsessed with mirrors. jaehyun pulls you into hotel bathrooms, sits you on the counter, and fucks you while making you watch. his hand curls around your throat, thumb resting gently against your pulse while he groans about how pretty you look like this. “look. eyes on the mirror. don’t hide from me.” his grip tightens just enough to make you lightheaded, just enough to make your legs tremble around him. his voice gets lower, more breathless, the closer he gets. and when you finally meet his eyes in the glass, he loses it completely.

WINWIN: power bottom. size kink. temperature play. winwin is quiet, but he’s not submissive. he lets you take the lead, sure, but it’s an illusion. he’s in control without needing to say it. when he lies back on the bed, legs spread, cock flushed and hard between his thighs, he doesn’t ask you to ride him. he waits. confident you’ll give in. and when you do, when you sink down on him and he stretches you open inch by inch, he smiles. slow, smug, lazy. “you needed it that bad, huh?” he doesn’t move at first. lets you fuck yourself on him while he watches, barely lifting a finger, until the urge to take over becomes too much. he likes temperature play. dragging an ice  cube down your chest while you’re tied up. warming his hands under your shirt and sliding them between your legs until you whimper. the contrast makes him hard. he likes watching you flinch, gasp, beg for more. and when he finally fucks you properly. hips snapping up to meet yours, hands gripping your waist, voice low in your ear. it’s with all the power he’s been holding back. you’re never really in charge. you just think you are until he flips the script and leaves you shaking in his lap.

JUNGWOO: sub-leaning switch. service kink. begging. jungwoo is eager. not just to please you, but to be told exactly how to please you. he’s the type to kneel between your legs, wide eyes glancing up for approval, lips parted like he’s ready to worship. when you touch him. run your fingers through his hair, press his face where you need him. he moans so sweetly you almost forget how filthy it is. he eats you out like he’s starving. tongue slow, patient, reverent. it’s not just about making you come. it’s about making you feel adored, like your pleasure is sacred and his only purpose is to serve. he’ll beg, softly at first-“please let me taste you, please let me make you feel good.”but the longer you tease him, the more desperate he gets. his voice breaks when you make him wait. when he’s tied to the bed, cock leaking and untouched, watching you take care of yourself instead, he practically cries for it. “i’ll do anything, anything you want, please-” and when you finally ride him, he thanks you. breathless and trembling, he holds your waist like it’s all he has left, whispering how perfect you feel and how lucky he is to be yours. he wants to be used. he wants to be ruined. he wants to be good for you.

XIAOJUN: praise kink. possessiveness. dirty talk. xiaojun fucks like he loves you and owns you at the same time. he praises you constantly. soft at first. “you’re doing so well,” “look at how perfect you take me”. but as he gets rougher, the praise turns desperate. “that’s right. take it. take all of it. fuck, you’re made for this.” he moans against your neck, his voice raw and open, hips moving in deep, full thrusts that leave you breathless. he makes you feel so wanted it’s dizzying. like you’re the only body he’s ever needed. but he gets jealous. possessive. if he sees someone else touching you, even innocently, he drags you back home and fucks you like he’s reclaiming something. his hands are firm on your hips, fingers digging in, his rhythm punishing but still filled with affection. “no one else gets to see you like this,” he says, thrusting harder, watching your face crumble beneath him. “say it. say you’re mine.” and you always do. because under all that filth is devotion. and when he kisses you after. sweaty, breathless, still inside you. it feels like you’ve been marked in more ways than one.

HENDERY:  roleplay. brat tamer. fear play (consensual). hendery’s playful in the most dangerous way. he’s the kind of guy who’ll start something in public. his hand on your thigh under the table, pressing against your panties with a smirk. and act innocent when you squirm. he’s into roleplay. likes scenarios where he pretends to be someone else. someone in charge. someone who caught you doing something bad and needs to teach you a lesson. he ties you up in character, calls you names with a twisted grin, fucks you deep while whispering the dirtiest things you’ve ever heard. it’s a game. but he plays to win. he’s interested in pushing boundaries. consensual fear play. the edge of danger, the illusion of something darker, the kind of sex that makes your heart race not just from pleasure but from the thrill of it. he’ll pin you down, growl threats you know he won’t follow through on, keep your wrists bound while he grinds against you slow and cruel. “you should’ve thought twice before teasing me.” and when it’s over, he always brings you back. soft kisses, warm blankets, a trembling apology that doesn’t really need to be said. because he knows how to take care of you. even when he’s being a monster.

MARK: dom. breeding kink. emotional degradation + praise. mark’s dominance doesn’t come from experience. it comes from instinct. from the way he reads your body. from how desperate you are, and how good it feels to finally give in when he takes control. he’s gentle with his words, rough with his hips, one hand gripping your waist while the other slides up to choke you soft. his favorite position is you on your back with your legs pinned to your chest. he likes being close. watching your face when he fucks you slow, then watching it fall apart when he starts pounding into you without mercy. and when you whimper that it’s too much, he only presses deeper. “you said you could take it. so take it.” mark’s a little twisted when he’s deep in it. he degrades you like he’s in love with you. voice shaking, forehead pressed to yours, cock throbbing inside. “look at you. can’t even think straight, huh? just want me to fill you up and fuck it out of you?” he has a breeding kink he’s shy about until you’re under him, whining and begging to be stuffed full. then he breaks. his thrusts get messier. his breath stutters. “gonna come in you. gonna ruin you.” and when he finally finishes, hips locked tight, he holds you there like he needs to stay inside. like his come in you means you’re his now. his voice shakes. his hands tremble. but the way he fills you? that’s deliberate.

RENJUN: possessive dom. dacryphilia. overstimulation. renjun likes control, but not in the way that screams for attention. it’s subtle. deliberate, precise. he reads you too well. the tilt of your head, the hitch in your breath, the tremble in your thighs when you’re trying to hold it. it turns him on to know he’s the only one who can push you there. he’s the type to have your legs locked around his waist, whispering in your ear about how no one else will ever fuck you this good. he doesn't raise his voice. he doesn’t have to. his words are sharp enough. his hips are relentless. and he likes it best when you’re crying for him. it’s not sadistic. he doesn’t want to hurt you. he wants to see you overwhelmed. body overstimulated, head spinning, tears clinging to your lashes while he kisses them away. “pretty when you cry,” he murmurs, voice breathless as he grinds deeper. he keeps going until your body can’t take it anymore. even then, he doesn’t stop. not until you’re sobbing into his neck and begging for mercy between orgasms. it’s not about being mean. it’s about being unforgettable. he’ll ruin you with a hand around your throat and a mouth full of praise. soft, sweet, and just cruel enough to keep you coming back.

JENO: primal dom. bondage. manhandling. jeno has the kind of strength that makes your breath catch. it’s not just physical, though the way he can throw you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing does something to you. it’s in how confidently he uses his body, how steady his grip is on your waist, how easily he pins your wrists above your head with one hand while the other trails down your thigh. he likes watching you struggle a little, like a caught thing. it makes him feral. especially when you act like you can handle it. he gets off on pushing your limits, both physically and mentally. just to see that moment when the fight leaves you, and all that’s left is need. he’s into restraints. leather cuffs, belts, thick rope tied quick and tight. he binds you because he wants your full attention. wants you squirming, helpless, panting into the pillow while he takes his time. every thrust is deliberate. every word is low and growled against your neck. “stay still. i didn’t say you could move.” if you act out, he’ll flip you onto your stomach and make you beg for forgiveness with your face in the sheets. his hands are everywhere. controlling, bruising, possessive. he marks what’s his and leaves you trembling for hours after.

HAECHAN: switch (dom-leaning). overstimulation. cockwarming. haechan doesn’t dominate with brute force. he does it with attitude. with a sharp tongue, a hand fisted in your hair, and the type of cocky smirk that tells you he’s already won. he’ll tease you until you’re shaking. hold you down and grind against you for what feels like hours, whispering shit like, “is this what you wanted? you’re so easy, it’s pathetic.” and the worst part is, you are. he makes you needy. makes you cling to him, beg for more, cry from how much he gives and how much he withholds. overstimulation is a game to him. you can’t come without permission, but once he gives it, he doesn’t stop. “again. you’re not done yet. not until you’re ruined.” but when he switches, it’s dangerous in a different way. he crawls into your lap and rides you slow, cockwarmingly slow, whining through gritted teeth while refusing to speed up. “you wanna come so bad, huh?” he gaslights you mid-thrust, calling you desperate even as he’s the one clenching down and crying from the pressure. he’s a brat when he bottoms. mouthy, teasing, bold. but always gives in eventually. especially if you break him the way he breaks you: slow, relentless, full of praise and punishment. no matter what role he’s in, he stays in control. he’s not just here to fuck. he’s here to fuck you up.

YANGYANG: switch. thigh riding. overstimulation. yangyang is greedy. greedy for your body, greedy for your attention, greedy for the way you fall apart when he keeps going after you’ve already come twice. he’s a switch in the truest sense. confident on top, cocky and in control, but absolutely down to be used if you take the lead. he’ll let you ride his thigh, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other traces circles over your clit. he grins when you gasp. “keep going. don’t stop until you come.” he loves watching you get off on him, loves how messy you get when you lose control. he’ll make you do it again. and again. until you can barely speak. he overstimulates you like it’s second nature. he won’t stop even when you start crying, not unless you say the word. “you’re okay,” he coos, even as his fingers keep pumping. “you can take it.” and he doesn’t ask you to make it pretty. he likes the tears, the broken sounds, the way your legs shake when he pushes one more orgasm out of you. his voice stays calm. smug. gentle. he makes it impossible to tell whether he’s being sweet or cruel. maybe both. either way, he’s not done until you are.

JAEMIN: corruption kink. praise and filth. aftercare obsession. jaemin gets off on making you fall apart. especially if you’ve never done this before. or if you’ve done it before, but never like this. he wants to hear you say it. how much better he is, how no one’s ever fucked you like he does. the idea of corrupting you makes him feral. he’s the kind of guy who’ll walk you through your first orgasm with soft praise and degrading filth in the same breath. “you feel that, baby? that’s your body begging for me. so sweet, so wet, so fucking perfect. no one else gets to see you like this.” and the more wrecked you look beneath him, the more obsessed he gets. he’s tender with his aftercare in a way that makes you ache. it’s almost jarring, how filthy his mouth is when he’s fucking you and how gently he wraps a blanket around your shoulders after. he brushes your hair back, wipes your tears away, kisses your fingers while you try to come down. “you did so good. i’m proud of you.” if he makes you cry during sex. overstimulation, rough words, the overwhelming feeling of being completely undone. he’ll cradle your face afterward like he’s never going to let go. the contradiction is addicting. you crave it before you even realize you do.

CHENLE: bratty switch. voyeurism. phone sex kink. chenle is cocky, loud, and doesn’t care who hears. if anything, he wants people to. he gets off on the idea that someone could catch him with his hand between your legs in a public place. bathroom stalls, the back of the van, against the wall of a dressing room with your moans muffled into his shirt. he doesn’t need full-on sex to get off. he just needs you to look at him the way you do when you're about to fall apart. he’ll whisper shit in your ear while you’re trying to keep a straight face in front of others. “you’re shaking. they can see that, you know.” he’s got a phone sex kink he doesn’t even try to hide. he calls you at night when he’s hard and whiny and too far away to do anything about it. “i can’t sleep. talk to me. tell me what you’re wearing.” his bratty energy comes out when he’s frustrated. when you tease him or hang up early or leave him hard on purpose. but he crumbles fast. if you moan his name and say you need him, he’s already rutting into his fist and gasping for breath. “fuck, i miss your pussy. i’d fuck you so good right now. i’d make you scream.” he’s a tease, but he breaks easily under the right touch.

JISUNG: obedient sub. hand kink. power exchange. jisung is all nerves and flushed cheeks at first, but he wants to give in. he’s just scared of getting it wrong. if you talk him through it. kiss his temple, tell him he’s doing well. he turns to mush in your hands. he follows orders with wide eyes and shaky breaths. “like this?” “am i doing okay?” he doesn’t want to take control. he wants you to take it from him. he’s most comfortable when he’s on his knees, hands behind his back, waiting for your next command. and when you praise him? he gets hard instantly. he has a hand kink he doesn’t understand but can’t deny. he stares when you touch him. trails your fingers down his chest, stroke his cock with slow, open-palmed movements, trace your thumb over his lips. it’s hypnotizing to him. you holding his jaw when he’s sucking you off. you gripping his hair when he moans too loud. you wrapping your fingers around his throat while he whimpers for more. he wants to be used. wants to make you feel good. and when he does? he’s glowing with pride, practically begging you to let him do it again.

SION: soft dom. oral fixation. possessive praise. sion wants to make you feel taken care of. physically, emotionally, and sexually. he has an oral fixation that’s more about intimacy than control. his lips find their way to your neck, your collarbone, your thighs, and finally between your legs like it’s instinct. he eats pussy like it’s a language he was born fluent in, like he’s worshiping something sacred. there’s no rush. he kisses your clit before he licks it. breathes in your scent with a low groan. and when your fingers tangle in his hair and you tell him not to stop, he moans into you like he’s the one coming. he’s a dom, but a gentle one. his possessiveness shows in how he speaks to you. soft, firm, with a hand around your waist and his voice warm in your ear. “mine. all mine. say it.” he’ll stroke your cheek, slide inside you slow, and tell you how good you’re doing with every thrust. even when he’s fucking you hard, his praise is constant. it’s obsessive in a way that feels safe. like he’d never let anyone else see you like this, touch you like this. when you fall apart for him, trembling under the weight of his body and his words, he kisses you through it. “so pretty when you break for me. you’re perfect. you’re mine.”

YUSHI: brat. teasing. light impact play. yushi knows exactly how hot he is, and he uses it to drive you insane. he’s mouthy, smug, always testing your patience. it’s a game to him. he’ll push your buttons with a cocky smile, roll his eyes when you get serious, and whine about your rules even as he breaks them. but the moment you pin him down, and tell him to stop? he folds. “i was just playing,” he says, but his voice is breathless, and his cock is hard, and he’s already spreading his legs wider. he wants to be punished. he just doesn’t want to admit it first. he thrives off teasing. if you take it slow. drag your fingers along his thighs, hover just above his dick, whisper filth in his ear. he’ll start squirming, fists clenching in the sheets. he begs with attitude, voice full of whines and curses. “fuck, just touch me already. what are you waiting for?” and when you finally give in, and ride him without mercy, his whole act shatters. he moans for it. cries for it. and when you ask him who owns him, he answers fast, no hesitation. “you. fuck, it’s you. only you.”

JAEHEE: quiet dom. restraint kink. voyeurism. jaehee is dangerous in the quietest way. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t need to. his dominance is calm, measured, almost clinical. he ties your hands behind your back and kisses your forehead before leaving the room. makes you wait on your knees, naked and aching, until he comes back and decides you’ve earned his touch. and when he touches you, it’s slow. focused. a single fingertip over your nipple, down your stomach, between your thighs. he learns your body like a study. not just what makes you cum, but what makes you beg. he has a voyeur streak he doesn’t talk about often. he loves watching you touch yourself while he sits back in a chair, legs spread, arms crossed, commanding every movement. “two fingers. no cuming yet.” he watches your body twitch and your breathing hitch with sharp, hungry eyes. if you disobey, he makes you do it again. and again. until you’re wrung out and ruined. when he finally fucks you, it’s possessive, purposeful, deep. “no one sees you like this but me,” he says, voice low as he wraps a hand around your throat and fucks you slow. “and no one ever will.”

RIKU: switch. overstimulation. praise + begging. riku might look quiet, but when he gets control, he’s unrelenting. he knows how to read your body. knows exactly when to slow down and when to ruin you. he’ll straddle your hips, pin your wrists gently above your head, and thrust deep and slow until you’re trembling under him. then he starts talking. “you feel that?” he asks, eyes locked on yours, voice low and dangerous. “you’re clenching like you want more. beg for it.” he loves the push and pull of control. when you try to take over, only for him to flip the script, hold you down, and fuck the fight right out of you. but riku breaks just as beautifully. if you edge him, ride him slow, kiss his throat and tell him how good he’s being. he starts falling apart. “please, please, don’t stop, i’m close..” he can’t handle your praise. his hips twitch when you call him perfect. his fingers dig into your waist when you say you own him like this. he’s vocal. messy. the kind of switch who wants to ruin and be ruined in the same night. whether he’s making you come over and over until you’re crying, or gasping through his third orgasm with tears in his eyes. he’s at his best when you’re both wrecked together.

Liu Yangyang was your best friend. Not the casual kind who lent you notes once a semester and waved in lecture halls, but the kind who knew you liked strawberry milk in your coffee even though you claimed you hated sweet drinks.

The kind who showed up to your apartment at 2 a.m. with greasy fries and a Powerade because he “had a feeling.” The kind you secretly, shamefully, maybe just a little bit—wanted to fuck.

But Yangyang? He saw you as just a friend. Just a girl who wore baggy hoodies and stole his socks, who cursed too much and watched horror movies like they were lullabies. He didn’t know the version of you that other people paid to see.

At least, that’s what you thought.

You were a camgirl.

Not because you wanted to be forever—but because tuition was murder, your scholarship only covered so much, and frankly? You were good at it.

A few hours a week. Lingerie. Sometimes toys. Always a mask. Always a fake name. Never in person. You were careful.

And Yangyang? He was never supposed to know.

“Dude,” he groaned, flopping back on your dorm bed, legs dangling off the edge. “If Professor Jin assigns one more group project, I swear I’m gonna commit a crime.”

You didn’t look up from your laptop, fingers dancing over your keyboard. “You mean like not showing up to half your lectures already?”

“Low blow.” He kicked your thigh lightly with his socked foot. “You love me.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah. You bringing your ass to film club later?”

He shrugged. “Only if you promise to actually pay attention this time. Last week you were glued to your phone.”

You stilled for a second.

Last week’s stream. You had just finished a pretty intense session—your most generous subscriber, P1nDown, had sent a massive tip. You’d thanked him with a custom video. The rush afterward was addictive. You couldn’t stop checking for his next message.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Sorry. Just had stuff.”

Yangyang tilted his head at you like he was trying to read behind your words. He was always good at that—getting too close, asking too little, and seeing too much.

The problem with secrets was that they lived everywhere: in the way you avoided his gaze when a notification popped up on your phone, in the way you kept a second folder on your laptop labeled “Taxes” that definitely wasn’t about taxes.

You had a system. You were careful.

Until you weren’t.

It happened on a Tuesday. The air was heavy with pre-storm heat, your dorm Wi-Fi was shot, and you had an econ assignment due by midnight.

You didn’t think twice when you texted Yangyang.

you home?
need to borrow ur laptop, mine’s dead.
i’ll bring iced coffee?

Yangyang💕: only if it’s that trash vanilla almond shit you get
Yangyang💕: door’s open

You snorted and headed to his place. His dorm was across campus in the international student housing building—cleaner, nicer, quieter. Typical.

He wasn’t home when you got there. You let yourself in, dropped the coffee on his desk, and booted up his laptop.

That was your first mistake.

The tab was already open when the browser loaded.

It wasn’t porn—not exactly. It was a paused video. Full screen.

Your video.

You blinked, brain buffering.

It was you—wearing the navy lace teddy you’d bought for your two-month streaming anniversary. Knees parted. Lips parted. Fingers wet. Eyes half-lidded under your crystal-studded mask. The words “Thanks for the love, P1nDown 💋” were scrawled in text across the bottom.

And in the top-right corner?

The account name was logged in.

L.Yang99

Your stomach dropped.

No. No way. No fucking way.

You slammed the laptop shut like it had burned you. Your chest felt tight, ears ringing.

Yangyang… was your top subscriber?

He came back ten minutes later, earbuds in, hoodie damp with sweat.

“Hey, did it load okay? Wi-Fi was—"

“You’re P1nDown.”

He froze mid-step. Slowly, he took his earbuds out.

“…What?”

You stood, heart racing, pointing at the laptop like it was a crime scene. “Don’t lie. Your tab was open. My video. Your account. Logged in. I saw everything.”

Yangyang went still. Then exhaled a long, shaky breath.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah.”

Silence.

“You knew it was me,” you whispered.

“I figured it out a while ago.” He looked at you then, eyes dark, unreadable. “Didn’t mean to find it. I was just scrolling and… I saw the mole on your inner thigh.”

Your breath hitched.

He’d noticed that?

“You shouldn’t have—”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have watched. But I couldn’t stop.”

You swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He gave a humorless laugh. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, by the way, I jerk off to your streams every other night and tip you more than my rent’? That’s not exactly best friend behavior.”

Your face flushed. The words should’ve made you angry. Ashamed. But part of you—the part that had fantasized about Yangyang’s hand between your thighs, about him seeing that side of you—lit up like a fucking firecracker.

“You’re my best friend,” you said, throat dry. “This could ruin everything.”

He stepped closer. “Yeah. Or maybe it changes everything.”

You didn’t speak for a long time.

Just stared at Yangyang like he was a stranger wearing your best friend’s face. Your throat was dry, stomach twisted, but your thighs were clenched tight and warm in a way that made you furious at yourself.

This was wrong. He was Yangyang—the boy who used to spoon-feed you ramen when you were too hungover to move. The boy who held your hand through every mental breakdown. The boy who, for the last six months, had been your highest paying subscriber—without you knowing.

And now, he was just standing there. Looking at you like he’d seen you naked a hundred times.

Because he had.

“You saw everything,” you murmured.

“You’ve been seeing everything.”

Yangyang looked wrecked—flushed, eyes glassy, tongue darting out nervously across his bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

“And you still came over like nothing happened? Let me crash at your place? Let me sit on your bed when you—when you’ve watched me—?”

“I didn’t do it to be creepy,” he cut in, voice strained.

“It wasn’t some plan. I didn’t even know it was you at first. But once I did, I just— I couldn’t stop.”

You backed away a step, pulse erratic.

“So you just kept watching. Tipping. Getting off to me. While pretending to be my best friend.”

“Don’t say it like that.” He stepped toward you, hands open.

“It wasn’t pretending. I’m still your best friend. I just…” He exhaled shakily.

“You were so confident. On camera. It didn’t feel like you were just performing. It felt real. Like you wanted it.”

You did. You do.

But admitting that felt like throwing a match into a pool of gasoline.

“I don’t show my face,” you muttered. “You weren’t supposed to know. That wasn’t you I was performing for.”

“I didn’t care. I still don’t.” His voice dropped.

“I just wanted to see you. All of you. Even the parts you think you have to hide.”

Your skin burned. Your heart pounded. But something deep and hot and twisted inside of you ached at those words.

This was Yangyang. He was the only person you’d ever trusted with your ugly. With your midnight breakdowns and your shame and your softness. You never imagined he’d want the other part of you too.

But maybe he had all along.

“You’ve tipped me over two grand,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Yangyang laughed weakly. “Yeah. I might’ve had to ask Xiaojun for rent last month.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

He nodded.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

Yangyang stepped closer again, and this time you didn’t move.

“I liked making you feel good,” he said.

“Even if you didn’t know it was me. I liked knowing I could do that for you. That I was your favorite.”

Your breath hitched. “You were my favorite.”

“I still want to be.”

The air between you snapped like a live wire.

He reached out slowly, hand brushing your jaw. You didn’t pull away. Your eyes searched his—unsure, trembling, but needy.

“I’ve wanted you for months,” he whispered. “Every time you moaned someone’s name on camera, I pretended it was mine. Every time you said ‘good boy,’ I imagined it was me you were teasing. Touching.”

Your knees buckled.

“Yangyang…”

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” His thumb grazed your cheek. “But if you don’t—tell me what you do when you know I’m watching.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

You didn’t kiss him. You didn’t take your clothes off. You didn’t let things go further than they should.

But you let him stay.

On the floor beside your bed, blanket over his shoulders, eyes locked on you like he could read every filthy thing you’d ever streamed—and still wanted more.

The next few days were weird.

Not bad weird. Just hot and slow and buzzing with tension that you didn’t know how to handle.

Yangyang came over to your place more. He brought snacks. Teased you.

Caught your eye when you leaned too far forward in a low-cut shirt.

You caught his eyes lingering too long when you stretched in your shorts. He never pushed, but the air between you was never innocent again.

He never brought up your streams. Never asked when your next one was. But one night, you checked your page, and your private inbox lit up.

P1nDown:
if you’re going live tonight
can i request something special?

You:
what kind of special?

P1nDown:
just want to hear you say my name
once
just once

You stared at the screen for a long time.

Then typed:

You:
only if you ask nicely.

You didn’t say it on the stream.

You thought about it. Played with the idea. Even put on the red lace bodysuit—the one that always made you feel like a weapon.

But when the tip came in—$500, and the caption “Please, baby. Say it for me.”—you only smiled at the camera and whispered, “Not yet.”

You were going to make him earn it.

You didn’t mean to tease him.

Okay. Maybe you did.

Just a little.

The night you wore the red lace on stream, Yangyang didn’t speak to you for a full day.

You didn’t blame him. You were his best friend—his favorite streamer—and you’d stared directly into the lens, lips parted and plush with gloss, and whispered, “Not yet.”

He knew it was for him. And you knew what that did to him.

The silence only lasted until the next night, when he showed up at your door with a bottle of soju and a six-pack of mango sparkling water like nothing had happened.

“Movie night?” he asked, eyes dark.

You nodded. “Movie night.”

But neither of you made it to the end of the movie.

You were sitting on your bed, laptop on your lap, one foot tucked under you. Yangyang was next to you, scrolling on his phone, his body angled slightly toward yours. Close enough that your knees brushed when you laughed. Close enough that your whole body was on alert.

It was suffocating. This weird electric buzz in the air that never left anymore.

When the movie ended, the silence lingered. Heavy. Heated.

You cleared your throat. “I have a stream tomorrow.”

Yangyang’s head snapped up. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “Haven’t done one since… you know.”

His lips quirked. “Since you found out I’ve been jerking off to you?”

Your face flamed. “Yangyang.”

“What?” he leaned in slightly, gaze

locked to yours. “You asked.”

You licked your lips. “You could’ve just pretended you hadn’t seen it.”

“I didn’t want to pretend.”

A pause.

“Do you still…watch?” you asked.

His eyes darkened. “Every time.”

Your breath caught.

“Do you…” You couldn’t believe you were saying this. “Do you touch yourself to me?”

The corner of his mouth curled up, slow and devastating.

“Do you want the truth?”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He leaned forward, and this time, there was no space left between you. Just heat. Just tension. Just the past year of him pretending and you hiding and all of it boiling over.

“I’ve come to your voice more times than I can count,” Yangyang whispered. “To the sound of you begging, moaning, teasing. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

You whimpered. Literally whimpered.

“And you know what the worst part is?” he said, voice ragged. “It still wasn’t enough.”

Your body moved on instinct. You dropped the laptop to the floor, barely heard it hit the carpet, and grabbed his hoodie, fisting it in your hands.

He didn’t wait.

Yangyang crashed into you like a storm—mouth hot, hands possessive, tongue sliding into your mouth with months of pent-up hunger. You moaned into the kiss, your back hitting the mattress as he pushed you down and slotted himself between your thighs.

“Fuck,” he gasped against your lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“You should’ve said my name on stream.”

Your laugh broke on a moan as he kissed down your neck, hands already slipping under your shirt. He tugged it off, eyes darkening at the sight of your bralette.

“This the one you wore in the birthday stream?” he asked.

You flushed. “Yeah.”

“I came so hard to that video.” He licked a stripe between your breasts. “Still do.”

“Yangyang—”

“Say it again,” he growled. “Say my name like that.”

You did.

And he lost it.

His mouth moved lower. Hands under your waistband, dragging your shorts down in one smooth motion. You gasped when his tongue traced your hipbone.

“I always wondered what you tasted like,” he murmured. “Thought about it every time you opened your legs on cam. Wondered if you got wet just for the camera—or if you were already dripping before you hit record.”

“I’m always wet,” you whispered.

“Thinking about who’s watching.”

“You mean me.”

You bit your lip, nodding. “I didn’t know. But maybe part of me hoped it was.”

He growled low in his throat. “Fuck. You’re evil.”

Then he kissed your inner thigh. Your stomach. The crease of your hip.

“Yangyang—”

“I want to taste you,” he said. “But I want to hear you first.”

You blinked. “What?”

He sat back, legs sprawled, hoodie riding up just enough to tease the waistband of his boxers.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he said. “Like you would on stream. Like you do when you think about me.”

You should’ve hesitated. But you didn’t.

You spread your legs, fingers dipping between your folds, and started slow. Deliberate. The way you always did for your top-paying subscriber—who, as it turned out, had always been this close.

Yangyang watched with wide, dark eyes. One hand down his pants, gripping himself hard.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re even prettier like this in real life.”

You whined as your fingers circled your clit, thighs trembling already.

“Did you ever think about me?” he asked, voice low. “When you streamed? Did you ever think about what it’d be like if Iwas the one tipping you? Watching you?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Always.”

That was all it took.

Yangyang was on you in seconds, lips on your throat, hand replacing yours between your legs. He slid two fingers into you, fucking you slow and deep while your mouth fell open.

“You’re so wet for me,” he groaned. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”

“Yes—please, please—”

He yanked off his hoodie and pants in record time, eyes locked to yours the whole time.

And when he finally sank into you?

It was everything.

It was soft moans and whispered names and the sound of his hips hitting yours.

It was him biting down on your shoulder, whimpering, “You feel so fucking good.”

It was you wrapping your legs around him and crying out, “Don’t stop—Yangyang, please—”

And when you came?

You didn’t hold back.

You said his name.

Over and over and over.

Just like he’d always wanted.

“You’re still wet.”

Yangyang’s voice was low, right against your ear, as his fingers brushed the inside of your thigh under the table.

“Yang—someone might see—”

“I want them to.”

You squeezed your thighs together, pulse pounding.

You were in the library.

At the back corner table where you and Yangyang usually studied, hidden behind stacks of textbooks and his laptop. You were trying to write an essay while he claimed to be “editing photos” for his class—which clearly translated to “see how wrecked I can get you without anyone noticing.”

You wore a skirt. That was your first mistake.

No panties. Your second.

Letting him come with you today, even after he whispered “You’re not allowed to cum again until I say so” last night—your third.

His fingers grazed the slick heat between your legs again, slow and deliberate.

“You were moaning so pretty for me last night,” he murmured. “Now look at you. Dripping in a fucking library.”

You bit down on your pencil.

“If someone comes back here—”

“Then you better keep quiet.” His fingers

slid deeper, just shy of slipping inside.

“Be a good girl.”

Your hips bucked instinctively, and Yangyang grinned.

“You like being edged like this, huh?” he whispered. “Been thinking about it all day, haven’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He moved his fingers faster, but still shallow. Not enough to satisfy, just enough to torment.

“Bet your subscribers would love to see this,” he said. “You all spread out at a library desk, stuffed full of my fingers, trying not to cry.”

“Yangyang—”

“You’d put on a good show, wouldn’t you?” His lips brushed your temple. “Let them tip while you beg to cum. But I’d be the only one who actually gets to touch you.”

Your walls clenched hard.

He leaned in close, voice like velvet and venom.

“Say it.”

You whined under your breath. “Say what?”

“Say you’re mine.”

You turned to look at him—flushed, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

“I’m yours.”

And then—only then—did he let you cum.

Later that night, you were back at your place. Still sore. Still dizzy from the orgasm he wrung out of you with two fingers and a threat.

You didn’t plan to stream.

But something burned inside you.

A need to push the line. To play again.

To see if he’d crack.

So you went live.

Red lace. Lights low. Fingers already glistening.

It was supposed to be short. Just a teaser stream. Something to keep the top tippers active. But then someone new joined.

"S!nner773". You’d never seen the username before.

He tipped $300 within five minutes.

Then $200 more.

“Tell me how wet you are, baby. Want to hear you moan.”

You smirked and kept going—figuring Yangyang was probably watching silently like he always did, getting off knowing only he had actually been inside you.

But then your private inbox pinged.

From P1nDown—Yangyang’s account.

P1nDown:
log off.

You blinked.

Another tip from S!nner773 rolled in:

“Spread it wider, babygirl.”

Then Yangyang messaged again:

P1nDown:
now.

Your heart slammed in your chest.

You hesitated. Just one second too long.

And the next thing you saw was your door swinging open.

Yangyang walked in—chest heaving, jaw tight, eyes locked on your still-streaming body on your laptop screen.

“You ignored me.”

You scrambled to pause the stream, heart in your throat.

“Yangyang—what are you doing—?”

He slammed the laptop shut.

“You’re mine. You said you were mine.”

“I—I was just putting on a show, I didn’t even respond to the messages—”

“You let someone else talk to you like that. Tip you like that.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Wetness already pooling again between your thighs.

“I’m not mad you streamed,” he said. “I’m mad you didn’t tell them who you belong to.”

“Yangyang…”

“Get on the bed.”

You froze. “What?”

“You wanna act like a toy for strangers?” His voice dropped. “Fine. But I’m the only one who gets to play with you.”

Your legs moved before your brain caught up.

Yangyang stalked toward you, dragging his hoodie off. “Tonight, you don’t cum until I say so. Again.”

You whimpered.

And then—he made you show him everything.

Made you keep the red lace on. Made you read the anonymous tips aloud while he edged you again and again. Held your wrists above your head while he fucked you open with his mouth, his hands, his cock—and all the filthy words he never dared say before.

“You gonna moan his name, baby?” he hissed. “Or mine?”

“Yours,” you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“Yours—Yangyang, please—”

“Then don’t ever let anyone else think they can touch you again.”

He didn’t let you cum for nearly an hour.

And when he finally did?

You moaned.

And he didn’t even care if the neighbors heard.

Calcharo

Calcharo's hair is a long story. In many ways. You are mesmerized by them. And that's why you don't miss a chance to play with them in your spare time.

Yes, it's risky. It's dangerous. You have already come terrifyingly close to death many times.

But does that mean it's worth stopping? No, definitely not. This feeling is worth dying for.

Dip your hands into a coats of his hair. Run them from the very top to the very bottom. Feel how each strand pleasantly wash over and tickle your body.

And your movements are always flowing, because his hair in some magical way never gets tangled to any degree.

Oh dear. You can do it again and again and never stop.

And your favorite activity, despite everything, is doing Calcharo braids. Often one. Extremely long and thick. In which a few shorter sticking out strands fit nicely into a whole hairstyle. Which, when swung properly, is like a weapon. Capable of dealing good damage. Leaving red painful marks. Of course, Calcharo doesn't walk around in braids. Certainly not in public. He has his dignity. So he's quick to undo them. But when you are in privacy (previously in your hotel room, after in your secluded cabin) he lets himself wear them. Especially at night. It's quite a convenient option. And Calcharo knows it gives you a great joy…

Touching his hair for the first time wasn't easy. Depending on whether you did it during phase when Calcharo had a hidden crush on you or when he was keeping his emotions under control and showing off his lack of interest

In the first case, Calcharo looked at you as dear in the headliness. Truly frustrated. With a beautiful bright blush on his cheeks. For the first time in your life you saw something like that. And you probably got shot by cupid's arrow at that moment.

In the second situation… well… Calcharo also at first looked at you a little puzzled. However, his expression quickly turned murderous. You swallowed your saliva heavily. You finally understood what all his victims felt just before they died. In the blink of an eye, you felt a strong grip on your wrist, and your whole life flashed before your eyes.

Good thing Calcharo had a weak spot for you…

-Hey, Calcharo? Who is that creature that keeps showing up at your side to give you a high-five after the fight is over?

Man suddenly stopped in a half step and looked at you with suspicion.

But he could see right through you.

-Don't tell me that you are jealous.

You didn't respond. Your gaze fell to the ground.

Calcharo laughed loudly at that, not hiding his contempt.

-Oh Jué, you are. You really are.

Your sweetest moments are your kisses, which you always tenderly lay on his forehead.

Whether it is when you part your ways. Or when he returns exhausted after a hard mission, and you welcome him home with open arms. You assure him that everything is going to be fine. Wrapping his wounded body in love and endless warmth.

Calcharo can pretend he doesn't like it. He may shy away and pull out of your embrace. Act cold and tough. But in reality, when he slips away from crowds and gets left alone with his problems, he really needs someone's support.

And your kisses cause a pleasant tingling on his Tacet Mark.

Nothing gets on your nerves and troubles you more than Calcharo's constant overclocking. You don't care about what he does. You know it's his way of living. And before you stepped into this relationship you had to come to terms with how he is. Because if you started to like him the way he was at first, then why should he now change his whole self under your pressure.

You knew what you were getting into.

But dear Jué. Calcharo really could watch himself at least a little more.

After all, the state he's getting himself into could really threaten his life. And this isn't about another deep wound that can be patched up, given medicine and waited to heal. At some point, Calcharo might just lose himself.

And nothing would break your heart more than losing your loved one and watching him no longer be himself. Just a monster that has taken over his body.

That's why you always try to be there for him when he crosses the safe line. When you see him tremble. When his body is changing. When he loses touch with reality. When battle screams turns into whines of pain.

Whether it happens accidentally. At night when his emotions are cumulating. During a fight when he uses too much power. Or even when you are far away and medical team informs you of his critical condition. You show up immediately next to his side.

You start talking to him, firmly, profoundly. In order to break through the wall around him as efficiently as possible. When he begins to recognize you and you can already tell that he won't harm you, you grab him by shoulders. Calcharo flinches but you persistently try to make eye contact. Till you see that one small glimpse in the back of his black-filled eyes. A frightened, lost Calcharo seeking help and understanding in a world that has rejected him. Once you know he's there you hug him tightly, assuring him that everything will be okay. You squeeze and wait. Wait till your Calcharo comes back to you.

Witnesses don't understand why you don't get torn apart after first seconds of trying to contact someone in these phase of greatest rage. They can't understand how strong feelings can fight other equally powerful emotions. Nevertheless, they savor these moments and always make the same sound of relief.

Brant

Maybe at first glance Brant doesn't look like house husband material. But in reality… He is a definition of those words in his own unique way.

You know how in some cultures future housewives are taught how to peel fruit, specially decorate and serve them? Apparently, this can portray own skills and a talent for good housekeeping. But at the same time, it's a small and beautiful gesture to spoil your partner with.

Well, maybe in Brant's case his habits aren't a results of a family tradition. Still one can't underestimate their importance.

When you spend leisurely moments together on your ship. When wind blows your hair and sea air pleasantly teases your nostrils. When you sit cross-legged on a big wooden barrel chatting with the rest of a crew and Brant leans against a side.

There comes a time for a little snack!

Almost out of nowhere, like a rabbit out of a hat, Brant suddenly digs out a juicy tangerine, which was previously stored in his pocket. First he neatly peels it, and after that he proceeds to consume it. Paying no attention to the rest, only occasionally adding a few words from himself to a whole conversation. However, he couldn't forget about you. Every now and then, he scoops a better-looking piece onto a top of his freshly polished dagger and nonchalantly slides it towards you.

You don't even have to turn in his direction. With trust, you naturally open your mouth and catch the fruit, allowing yourself to be fed.

It is always important to Brant for his partner to be well cared for, full and satisfied. It's a small goal that he has set in the back of his mind, and he always feels itchy and frustrated when things turn out otherwise. Please let him take care of you-

It has been for long known how important to a ship's captain his hat is. It is his pride and glory. It not only symbolizes power and authority, but also status. It allows for the most important member to stand out from the rest of a crew. Its a proof of all the previous achievements and hard work that led to this position. It's just like a medal. Helps to add confidence, charisma. Solidify one's identity. It's definitely something that every captain, despite his utmost love, devotion and appreciation towards his crew, doesn't share. And that's not a subject for any discussion.

Well, unless it's about you.

It's not like you asked for it. You never even dared to suggest it.

You know what comes with the weight of wearing a captain's hat and how important a seemingly ordinary piece of clothing can be to its owners.

Nevertheless, one day, as you were quietly sitting on a ship's stern. Far from people's bustle. With your eyes closed and ears open for a rustling of moving containers in a distance, you suddenly felt a gentle weight on your head.

You carefully pushed your eyelids open and looked to the side. Behind your back a figure of your partner appeared. He stood proudly, with his hands resting on his hips and a smile wide from ear to ear.

-Looks good on you, my dear~

And that was just the beginning. From then on, when he is exhausted, goes for a break and you take a steering wheel, he passes his hat to you. Brant always puts it on by himself and delicately fixes it, while brushing back strands of your messy hair so hat lies in the best possible position. And highlights your best features.

Or when he wants to show you off, whether in front of a crew or newly arrived guests. He hands you his hat, throws his arm around your shoulders and, pushing out his chest, proclaims:

-That's my man~

It's extremely intimidating. But at the same time it causes a strange warmth inside.

After all, he may be a ruler of seas and oceans. But you are a ruler of his heart.

He's a little playful. Don't tell me he isn't. Brant can't resist teasing you at least a bit.

When you're out of reach, separated by a crew.

When he's standing on top, right behind a steering wheel, and you're watching him from below while helping clean up on deck.

When he's performing on stage, and you're sitting in a front row as his biggest admirer.

When he's sprawled out with his feet on a table and a glass of whiskey in his hand, negotiating a merchandise payment with some shady types. And you're leaning against walls of a bar, working as his best bodyguard.

When he dances in the night at the festival, in a blaze of colorful lights, right in the center, surrounded by heated bodies of strangers. And you closely mirror his actions, making sure that no other hand taints his skin.

He catches eye contact with you.

Keeping you in mind in every situation. Wanting to show his closeness even while being distant.

He lifts one corner of his mouth up and winks at you with amusement.

Your heart starts to beat faster, even if you respond with a snort and a look of pure pity. With this one simple gesture, Brant really proves that he has you completely wrapped around his finger.

YangYang

In the mornings, you get woken up by a strange tickling sensation around your nose. The itch lasts so long and is so persistent that you awaken with a loud sneeze. And with you, your girlfriend.

In the dark, not yet fully familiar with reality, you search for the cause of your unwanted wake-up call. In your field of vision appears a object, almost pulled straight out of a cartoon.

A small white feather.

Cute, fluffy. But not alone.

There was a whole bunch of them, and their source was your chosen one's luscious black hair.

You wince slightly at this sight. But Yangyang's panicked face immediately gets you melted. Your grimace turns into a smile, with which you hastily place a sweet kiss on her forehead.

-Go back to sleep, little one.

You move away and slowly reposition yourself to your previous pose, eager to regain as much as possible of remaining half an hour of your sleep.

-I'm-m- sorry!

Almost with tears in her eyes she hurriedly apologizes, turning in your direction. As if she knew from an experience that it was her fault.

However, you calm her down instantly, almost cracking up laughing at the whole situation. Without a second thought, you lock her in a tight hug and snuggle her head into your chest as firmly as possible.

Your friends often find you in one particular position.

Yangyang sitting comfortably on her bent knees and you spread out with your head on her thighs.

Smiling, daydreaming, completely carefree.

Yangyang is lovingly brushing through your hair while massaging your temples, that are sore from an overload of thoughts.

In her soft voice, she whispers sweet nothing into your ear.

Assuring you that everything will be fine. That you have nothing to worry about. That you are the best. Strong, smart, funny. That you can handle anything.

She appreciates you and successively builds your confidence.

Such moments happen not only when you are waiting for someone in the city, relaxing on a couch in your apartment or spending an evening in camp, at a rest stop during another of your longer missions. Many times these situations occurs on the wide grasslands of Huanglong. Where you go on picnics as part of your shared dates. Warm rays of sunshine rubbing your faces, pleasant blows of wind carrying scent of wildflowers and wisps of mature grain roughly tickling your bodies.

Fountains. Cursed places. You always avoid them with a wide berth. Or at least try, even if with poor results.

Just joking, you only pretend to do so. In fact, what happens when you approach them really melts your heart away. Because yes, in the end you always stop by them. One little person doesn't let you get past them.

-Oh look! A fountain!

Overexcited Yangyang jumps up on a spot, hurriedly grabs your hand and runs towards a monumental stone decoration.

-Do you have a coin? -she asks even more thrilled, turns towards you and looks with an awaiting gaze.

Her tone evidently rushes you.

Amused, with a laugh and head that shakes from side to side with a pity, you reach into your pocket digging for a golden trinket.

-Faster faster! - Yangyang grabs you by a forearm and pulls.

She always acts as if this pile of stones, that joyfully splashes aruond with water, were about to escape you.

Truly adorable.

You finally reach your goal and hand her a coin, from the change of recent purchases, which you try to stockpile for such occasions.

Overjoyed, Yangyang grasps the small treasure with her fingers of both hands. Tilts her head down slightly, brings the shiny little thing to her forehead and makes a wish in a whisper.

Then with a sweeping motion, she tosses a penny and watches as it dives to the bottom of a fountain with a cheerful plop, joining the rest of its family, from all corners of world.

Yanyang intertwines her hands with you again. She smiles pleased and truly satisfied with herself.

And what does she wish for? Well, there is only one thing in the world that she really cares about. For you to be healthy and for your relationship to continue like this without any interruption. In happiness and unity. Nothing has to change, because it's already perfect.

not sure if you know but yesterday this profile had its first year anniversary~

2024 means:

10 wuwa posts

7 hsr posts

2 genshin posts

he felt hot. needy. it had been a while since he was this alone—and just the thought of it turned him on even more.

his fingers slowly traced the growing bulge between his thighs while his right hand worked the mouse with precision, scrolling through adult sites, searching for the video that would finally ease the burning tension in his gut.

he freed his erection with a simple pull—pants pushed down to his hips, shirt hiked up just enough.

he started slow, stroking his length up and down. small, breathy moans escaped his lips. he didn’t even bother muting the video; he wanted to hear the actress’ high-pitched whimpers fill the room. leaning back into his chair, he picked up the pace. all he could focus on was the girl’s bouncing breasts and the filthy wet sound of skin slapping against skin as she was pounded from behind.

it felt too good.

he did this almost every night, but tonight... tonight felt different. something about the loneliness, the silence—it made everything more intense.

the video ended, but yangyang wasn’t done. not even close. he clicked through the suggested videos, impatient, and chose another.

his head tipped back as he groaned, completely lost in the heat, the lust curling tight in his stomach, the climax building slowly—deliciously.

he was so close.

until a notification blinked on his screen.

it was a message from you.

“do you have the photos yet?”

ah. the photos.

yangyang had helped you with a photoshoot for your instagram feed a few days ago. nothing serious—just a few soft shots, sweet poses, and since he had a professional camera, it made sense to ask him. all he had to do was connect the camera, transfer the files, do a light edit, and send them over.

like the multitasker he was, he left the video playing, stood up, still hard and hanging, and rummaged through the desk drawer for the camera. with quick hands, he plugged it in. one hand editing your photos, the other wrapped tightly around his cock, pumping with more urgency now. wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through him, curses and moans slipping past his lips.

the filthy background noise filled the room—moans, wet smacks, filthy talk.

but his eyes?

his eyes were on you.

on the screen, your soft smile, the way you posed so innocently.

then—another message popped up.

“i’m like three minutes away from your house, lol. gonna stop by to see the pics.”

but yangyang didn’t read it.

lust had swallowed his mind whole. he kept editing. kept jerking. faster. harder. he was almost there, his release right on the edge of his tongue. breath shaky. fingers quick.

until the door burst open.

“hey, yang—!”

white lines shot across his stomach.

his body jerked, muscles tense, panting hard. he turned his head.

and there you were.

frozen.

a hand still on the doorknob, face lit up by the room light, smiling... for half a second.

then the smile vanished.

your eyes dropped. to his cock, still wrapped in his hand. then up—to the screen.

your photo.

from the shoot he took just days ago.

a sharp “SORRY!!” and the slam of the door brought him crashing back to reality.

he sat there, chest rising and falling, his face burning red. a deep crimson shadow spread across his cheeks.

but—fuck. instead of going soft, his cock throbbed even harder. shame only made it worse. the embarrassment turned him on.

he cursed under his breath, yanked his boxers and pants up, slammed a key to mute the sounds, grabbed a tissue, and wiped off the mess on his abdomen.

“y-y/n! w-wait!” he called, fumbling with his clothes, rushing out after you.

there you were—back turned, stiff, humiliated.

and fuck, seeing you like that? it only made him harder.

being caught jerking off?

embarrassing.

but being caught by you?

something else entirely.

you turned, face flushed red. he didn’t know what to say. how the hell was he supposed to explain he was editing your photos while jerking off—but not because of them?

“l-listen, what just happened—it's a misunderstanding. i mean, yeah, i was editing your photos. but i swear i wasn’t doing it because—”

“oh, really? you’re such a pervert! you were jerking off to my pictures!”

“n-no!! it’s not like that—” he stammered, the bulge in his pants making it hard to even think clearly. “i was doing... other stuff,” he emphasized awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

and of course—you had heard the filthy sounds echoing from his room.

“so you weren’t touching yourself because of me?” your voice—soft, tinged with disappointment—cut deeper than a slap.

“n-no... no, i wasn’t…”

“why not?” you said, voice quiet, hurt, maybe even angry.

his eyes widened. what the hell were you saying?

he stared, hoping he hadn’t just imagined it.

but no—you really had said it.

“c-can i… would it be wrong if i asked to see it?” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. your face turned, avoiding his eyes, your own burning with embarrassment.

“w-what…?”

you crossed your arms with a pout, refusing to say it again. yangyang’s eyes slowly traveled down your body. you were wearing a black off-shoulder long sleeve top that subtly hinted at your cleavage, a short gray denim skirt, and soft white ankle socks. on your feet, kun’s indoor slippers looked comically out of place with the rest of your outfit—but somehow, they added to the charm.

"can you... show me how you do it?" your voice was soft, hesitant.

a curved, wicked smile spread across yangyang’s lips.

"oh no… you’re really perverted. you want to watch your friend touch himself, huh?"

"you did it first!" you snapped back, cheeks burning. "touching yourself to my pictures like it was nothing—"

yangyang chuckled and sat back down on his swivel chair, while you stayed frozen in the middle of the bed, sitting on your knees. he turned the chair to face you, spreading his legs a bit before slowly pulling his pants back down. he lifted his shirt and held the hem with his teeth to keep it from falling.

that move alone made your breath hitch. the way his toned stomach glistened—maybe from earlier—was almost too much to take in.

"i need to get in the mood first… you don’t mind, do you?" he asked with a teasing tone.

you blinked, not understanding what he meant at first—until he turned slightly and played a video on full screen. a blonde girl in seductive lingerie moved sensually on a bed, soon joined by a man whose hands roamed all over her.

"yeah... that’s better," he whispered, but his eyes never left you. even with the explicit video playing, it was clear the thing turning him on most was sitting right in front of him.

he freed himself again, his length thick and veiny, flushed a deep red. you swallowed hard, eyes glued to him.

"y/n, you really are a pervert..." he murmured in a deeper tone as his hand began to move slowly, deliberately. the moans from the video filled the room, mixing with the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"i-i’m not..." you whispered, thighs pressing together to ease the growing ache between your legs.

"do you like what you see? because i definitely like what i’m seeing," he said, his voice low and almost dangerous. something warm and wet was starting to pool beneath your panties, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

your skin broke out in goosebumps when you heard the soft grunts escaping his mouth. his head tilted back slightly, one hand holding up his shirt, the other working between his thighs, faster now.

your bra rubbed against your sensitive nipples, making everything worse. your body felt flushed, hot under your skin, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the room temperature or the way yangyang was looking at you—like he was losing himself in you.

"let me see you, y/n…" he murmured, voice full of need. "touch yourself for me too."

his words felt like a command you couldn’t disobey.

you pulled up your skirt, rolling it up to your waist, you discovered your panties, pastel pink ones, small, with lace and cute little bows.

"fuck..." he groaned the moment he saw you. his hand moved faster, his breathing heavier. "touch yourself. i want to watch you too."

he could see the darker spot forming in the center of your underwear—a clear sign of how turned on you were. your fingers moved gently over the fabric, and you gasped softly at the contact. even the lightest stroke was enough to make you feel weak.

your fingers caressed your sensitive area over the fabric. you gasped at the electric sensation — just the simple touch was enough to make your legs tremble and desire surge through your body.

you kept stroking yourself through the cloth, this time with more intention. spreading your legs a little, you caught a glimpse of yourself in that position — and just the sight sent a jolt of heat straight to yangyang’s length.

“take off your panties, sweetheart.”

you slid your panties aside just enough to reveal your swollen, glistening folds. “god...” yangyang whispered, completely mesmerized. this moment was more intense than any of his fantasies — and his fantasies were wild, as expected from someone so deliciously perverted.

with two fingers, you traced your core from top to bottom, drawing out soft moans of pleasure. when the fabric started to get in the way, you slipped the panties off in one swift motion — a motion yangyang watched breathlessly, swallowing hard as his eyes drank in every second.

now your legs were open, completely exposed before him. your fingers moved frenetically over your clit, already swollen and throbbing, pulsing under every stroke — desperate for your touch, aching for his. you slid lower, teasing your entrance before pushing a finger in, and a loud moan tore from your lips, raw and involuntary.

yangyang mirrored your pace, eyes narrowing with fierce desire. he was close, too close — but he wanted to wait for you. he wanted to fall with you, at the exact same moment.

“put another one in, love. i want to see you with two fingers inside,” he begged, voice cracking with lust.

and because his wishes were commands, you slid in a second finger. your body trembled from the stretch, the overwhelming sensation forcing out helpless moans, as if no one else existed in the world but you and him. it felt too good — the situation, the build-up, the way yangyang was right in front of you, stroking his cock with his jaw clenched, the very sight of it enough to make your mouth water. you needed more. more of him, more of this.

the knot in your stomach twisted tighter. you quickened your rhythm, fingers slick, desperate, chasing the high that had been building endlessly. you wanted to fall over the edge. to unravel. to feel something more.

“y-yanggie... a-ah!!! i'm gonna come—i'm gonna explode, god!” you moaned, body arching as the wet, obscene sounds filled the room. chop, chop. every squelch echoing your pleasure, feeding his hunger. beneath you, a slick pool of arousal formed — a sight that drove yangyang insane.

“let's finish together, baby—let's come together, fuck, yes,” he groaned, increasing his pace despite the ache in his wrist. the pleasure of cumming with you was stronger than the pain. everything around him blurred, adrenaline rushing wild through his veins. and as you clenched your lip between your teeth, trying to hold on just a second longer, he swore he saw the most erotic vision of his life.

your fingers reached as deep as they could go, and in that moment, it felt like you'd touched heaven. a wave of heat flooded your face, your mouth parted, a thin trail of saliva slipping from the corner of your lips. then, without warning, you released — a stream of wetness bursting out of you, your climax crashing through your body, marked by a loud, broken moan that sounded like music to his ears.

he came too, spraying his cum high into the air, staining his pants in the process. but he didn’t care. nothing else mattered. as you collapsed back, breathless and undone, your body trembled with aftershocks — tingling, overstimulated, electric. it had been... perfect. the sight of your best friend touching himself for you, eyes fixed on every movement. and you, touching yourself for him, all the while wishing it was yangyang's fingers inside you instead.

yangyang couldn’t look away. he watched as your juices continued to drip from your pussy, the sight making his mouth water. the hunger hit him hard.

he dove between your legs without a word, burying his face in your soaked heat. his hands grabbed your thighs, pulling you closer as his tongue slid up your slit, slow and deliberate — hot and hungry. each stroke of his tongue made your body twitch, breath catching in your throat, and you could only gasp, still sensitive, still open for him.

“a-ah!!! y-yanggie—!!!” you cried out, overwhelmed by the sensation. it felt so good — too good — but at the same time, incredibly embarrassing. “i-it's dirty there!” you moaned, face flushed deep red from the shame. you instinctively tried to pull away, but his strength was greater than yours. he held you down with ease, his low grunt sending chills down your spine as he leaned in again, so close that even his breath kissed your sensitive center.

“you taste and smell amazing, i still can’t believe you’ve been hiding this part of yourself, y/n…” he murmured against your skin.

his tongue moved deliberately now — gliding over your outer lips, circling your clit, teasing every inch of you. the touches were soft, wet, and slow… extracting the sweetest moans from your mouth. you tried to stifle them with your hands, but he noticed. he noticed everything.

“don’t hide your pretty voice, y/n. i want to hear you,” he growled, voice low and rough. “fuck, i want to hear you scream.”

he looked up at you then — eyes dark, mouth glistening, shamelessly buried between your thighs. the sight alone made your core clench, your heart pound harder. you were so turned on it was dizzying, yet too shy to say it aloud. when his nose grazed your clit, you let out a squeal you didn’t even recognize as your own.

he kept devouring you for minutes that felt like eternity, and somewhere in between your cries, your moans turned into whispers of how good it felt. any traces of embarrassment had melted away. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him closer, voice barely audible.

“yang…”

“yes, baby?” he murmured, looking up at you with glistening lips and hungry eyes, waiting.

“…i want to suck you,” you whispered, turning your face away in shyness.

he let out a low chuckle, the sound wicked and full of mischief. “you want what? say it clearly, love.”

yangyang was enjoying every second — savoring your flustered expression, your trembling voice. he knew how to ruin you, how to make you squirm with embarrassment… and you felt it, that creeping self-consciousness wrapping around you again, even as desire burned hotter inside.

“i want to suck your cock,” you said — no hesitation, no shame. your voice rang out firm, clear, hungry.

yangyang’s breath hitched, eyes widening at the sudden shift in you — bold, dominant, devastatingly seductive. he felt his cock twitch, throbbing painfully hard at the sight of your confidence, your desire no longer hidden behind flushed cheeks or shy glances.

you pushed him gently back onto the chair, guiding him with soft hands until he sat. then with your hands you leaned on his thighs to make space between them in a very sensual way, facing him, your movements slow and deliberate. your ass remained raised, skirt bunched around your waist, your pussy still glistening and dripping — an open invitation, even as your attention turned entirely to him now.

you slid down between his legs, nestling there like you belonged, hands gliding up his thighs with featherlight touches. his cock stood proud, flushed and wet at the tip, and your fingers traced along his shaft with reverence — worshipful, but teasing.

yangyang swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of the chair. the way you looked up at him while stroking him gently… fuck. like he was something sacred, something you'd been dying to taste.

“i want to be good for you, yanggie…” you whispered, voice soaked in lust, in devotion, in something so tender it nearly undid him.

he groaned, one hand reaching to brush your hair back behind your ear, his fingers shaking slightly from anticipation. “you already are, baby… you are so good…”

your tongue flicked out, teasing his tip, collecting the precum before dragging a slow, wet line down the underside of his cock. he let out a low moan, hips bucking slightly, but you pinned him with a firm look — not yet.

you kissed along the base, lips soft and hot against his skin, taking your time, your fingers still stroking him in rhythm. then, with a sinful smile, you wrapped your lips around the head and began to take him in, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact.

“fuck, fuck— y/n…” he hissed, his voice breathless, wrecked. you hummed around him, pleased by the reaction, by the way his thighs tensed and how he gripped your hair just a little tighter.

you wanted to ruin him. you wanted to taste every drop, every sound, every trembling breath that left his mouth.

just as your lips wrapped around him, slow and warm, yangyang reached for the edge of the desk with one hand — the other moved to quietly disconnect the camera, his eyes never leaving you. then, with calm precision, he switched it to video mode, and pressed record.

he had to capture this — you, in all your beauty, in all your power. the way your eyes looked up at him, so hungry and soft at once. the way your lips moved with intention. it was art.

“god… you look so perfect like this,” he murmured, almost reverent, his voice hoarse and low, like the words were being pulled straight from his chest.

you felt your cheeks warm, a wicked little smile tugging at your lips even as you kept him deep in your mouth. you pulled back slowly, your tongue teasing his tip, your hand continuing the rhythm below. then, with a playful glance at the camera in his hand, you adjusted a loose strand of hair behind your ear, tilted your chin slightly — just enough to show your best angle — and asked, sweetly:

“do i look pretty, yanggie?”

your voice was soft, laced with mischief, and your eyes sparkled with the kind of confidence only you could carry mid-act.

he groaned like your words alone could finish him.

“you look... like sin,” he whispered. “like a dream. my dream.”

your lips curled in satisfaction, but you didn’t stop. you dove back in — lips, tongue, hands — working in harmony, now with the knowledge that he was watching you twice: in real time, and through the screen.

you made sure to keep the rhythm steady, purposeful, your movements fluid and mesmerizing. every now and then, you stole a glance at the camera, letting him see your pride, your power. you were putting on a show, but it was real — this was real.

and god, he was falling for you all over again with every second.

his breathing grew heavier, chest rising and falling as your rhythm became more intense, more focused. you felt it — the way his hips twitched slightly, the soft curses spilling from his lips, his hand tightening around the phone.

“shit, baby— i’m close,” he groaned, voice cracking at the edge of control. “i'm gonna—”

but you pulled back just enough to speak, voice sultry and breathless.

“no… not yet,” you whispered, licking your lips. “i want you to finish inside me.”

his eyes widened, the rawness of your words shooting through him like lightning.

“you sure?” he asked, barely managing the question, his voice all gravel and want.

you nodded, already rising, turning around with a confidence that left him breathless — your skirt still bunched at your waist, your skin glowing in the dim light, your body moving like a dream. slowly, you guided him back inside you, straddling him in reverse cowgirl, your movements fluid and steady, your hands gripping the arms of the chair for balance.

yangyang’s jaw dropped open as you began to move, your back arched, hips rolling — a rhythm both powerful and sensual. he adjusted the camera in his hand, angling it to capture everything: the way you rode him with control, the curve of your spine, the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again.

“fuck… you’re unreal,” he moaned, the camera shaking slightly in his hand from the way his body trembled. “you feel so good, baby—”

you looked over your shoulder, lips parted, breath heavy, hair a little wild.

“i want you to remember this. every time you watch that video…” you said in a voice barely audible over the rhythm of your bodies, “i want you to remember how i chose this. how i chose you.”

and then you moved faster, your moans turning into whimpers, your body clenching with pleasure. he gripped your waist with his free hand, losing himself in the feeling, the sight, the sound of you falling apart on top of him.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck—” he growled.

“do it,” you whispered. “inside me, yanggie… i want all of you.”

just when you thought you were both about to finish together, yangyang surprised you — his hands gripped your waist and with one fluid movement, he pulled you off him and lifted you effortlessly into his arms. you gasped, startled, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he walked toward the bed.

“not like this,” he murmured against your ear, breath warm, voice hoarse. “i want to see all of you… when we finish.”

he laid you down gently at the edge of the bed, the softness of the sheets contrasting with the fire between your bodies. without letting go of the moment, he tossed the camera aside — it landed somewhere out of sight, still recording, but forgotten. right now, all that existed was you and him.

his eyes never left yours as he aligned himself again, the tension between you snapping like a drawn bow. your hands reached for him, your body arched in invitation. the pace this time was deeper, slower, more intimate — like he was memorizing the way your bodies met, the way your breaths tangled in the space between kisses and gasps.

you whispered his name like a prayer, your nails digging gently into his back, and he answered with soft moans and words you could barely catch — praises, desires, promises tangled in the haze of pleasure.

your legs tightened around him, urging him closer, deeper.

“i’m right there,” he breathed, eyes searching your face. “with you. just hold on…”

you nodded, lost in him — in the feeling, in the heat, in the connection that pulsed stronger than anything else.

and then the moment hit — not just the physical rush, but something bigger, something that made your whole body shiver. your hands clutched at him, your voice trembled, and as he followed right after you, everything around you blurred, melted, disappeared.

for a few moments, there was nothing but silence, breathless and glowing.

he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms without a word. your heart still raced, but it was softer now, steady in his embrace.

as you both got dressed slowly, still catching your breath and feeling the lingering sensitivity, yangyang bent down to pick up the camera from the floor. when he lifted it, he noticed the small red light still blinking.

“it’s still recording,” he said with a soft laugh, shaking his head with a mischievous smile. “guess it caught more than i expected.”

you giggled too, hiding your face with your hands, caught somewhere between embarrassment and excitement. he glanced at the screen for a second before turning to you with that teasing look in his eyes.

“do you want a copy?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “i can send it to you… along with your edited photos, of course.”

you bit your lip, amused, and nodded. “what if we upload it?” you teased, winking at him.

yangyang fell silent for a moment, clearly surprised. a light blush crept onto his cheeks, but his smile returned just as quickly.

“only if we keep recording more,” he whispered, stepping closer, his voice low and tempting. “so you can build a full collection… upload whatever you want.”

You lifted your brows, expecting him to finish the story about how one manages to kill a cactus, but he just stared.

“What’s wrong with you?” you finally asked.

“H-hi,” he said instead of replying, with a nervous yet cheerful tone, contrary to the one you had heard earlier. “I’m Yangyang.”

You frowned. You had met a few weirdos on campus, so you assumed he was just one of them. Still, you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, offering your hand for him to shake.

His eyes lit up and he grabbed your hand, but he immediately pulled back with a …moan?

“Fuck, bad idea,” he murmured, standing up and getting away from you like you had just burnt him.

Fairly enough, your hand felt incredibly hot after he touched it and a comforting warmth was now expanding in your chest.

“Bad idea,” he repeated, grabbing his backpack and running towards the door. “Nice to meet you, Y/N!” he yelled before disappearing. 

Yangyang was euphoric like never before. As he ran home he felt the cold wind hit his reddened cheeks and the still-fresh memory of your citrus scent mixed with the ocean breeze so perfectly he found himself with his arms wide open and inhaling deeply. It smelled like happiness. Holy shit, your scent should definitely be called liquid happiness and sold in tiny expensive bottles. But then other people would get to smell you.

A low growl resonated in his chest and he stopped dead in his tracks, placing his palm on his chest to feel the vibrations. 

Was he being possessive?

Wow, so the others weren’t exaggerating when they said imprinting made you unreasonably jealous and clingy. ‘Wolf instinct’ they called it.

He resumed his way home, now feeling the fatigue and pain that everyone told him about when entering an unscheduled rut due to imprinting, which he also mistakenly thought was an exaggeration. 

“Skipping class already?” Ten asked, unimpressed, as soon as Yangyang opened the front door.

“Yes, but it's an emergency,” Yangyang said, out of breath and dragging his feet to come in.

“What’s wrong?” Ten asked with a concerned tone this time.

“My dick’s about to explode.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m so serious,” Yangyan groaned, barely making it to the sofa and flopping on it. “Imprinting better be fucking worth it because this hurts.”

“Imprinting?” Ten repeated incredulously. “You imprinted?!”

The younger nodded tiredly. “She’s so hot, hyung. Everyone’s gonna be so jealous.”

Ten squealed excitedly. “How did you meet?”

“We 're in the same botany class and…fuck, I really need to be her partner for the project.”

“Wait, botany class with Professor Lawson?”

“Yeah, why?” 

“I know the guy,” Ten said with a smirk. “I’ll have a word with him. I’m sure he won’t mind helping you out.”

“Oh, thank god. Thank you so much,” Yangyang murmured weakly.

“Tell me more about her! What’s she like?”

“Well, we established that she's the hottest woman on Earth. She also has beautiful eyes that look so cute when annoyed.”

“You annoyed her already?”

“And her voice is so addictive,” Yangyang continued, ignoring the question. “And she has this super delicious scent…” he groaned, not noticing that his hand was going down to his trousers.

“Yangyang, do that in your room! Have some shame!” Ten exclaimed, forcing him to stand up and pushing him to the stairs. “Go upstairs and I’ll bring suppressants in a minute.”

Surprisingly, Yangyang was obedient this time, forcing himself to make an effort to go to his room. He usually took suppressants before he could even experience a pre-rut, so he didn’t remember the last time he felt this tired and needy. He took the pills Ten gave him and took off his pants, knowing very well that no pill would be too effective now that he had met you and that he had to take care of himself the old-fashioned way.

Honestly? He was happy to do it if he got to think about you to cum.

“Hhmmm…” he bit his lip and arched his back when his fingers—the same ones that had touched your skin earlier— finally circled his cock.

He remembered how soft your hand was. How would it feel if it was your hand touching him instead of his?

He chuckled. Your hand probably wouldn’t be able to grasp all of him. You would have to use both.

“Yeah, Y/N,” he whispered, closing his eyes and imagining he had you there with him. “It’s okay, just g-go slow, hm?”

In his vision, you stubbornly tried to grab him more firmly and jerk him faster. In reality, he tugged at his cock until reaching the desired speed. “Ooohh, you like it that much? Mhmm? You can have it, Y/N, g-go ahead…”

He ran his thumb over the tip a few times, imagining it was your pretty tongue teasing him. “Oooooh yes, baby, that’s my girl, right there…”

He quickened the pace, occasionally teasing the tip again. He was so close already and he had barely touched himself.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered letting out a breathy laugh, thrusting into his fist. “Fuuuck I’m so lucky.”

Would you let him cum on your face? Would you close your eyes or keep them open and meet his gaze?

“Y/N–Oh!” His eyes screwed shut and he tossed his head back. His mouth opened in a silent scream and his toes curled when his orgasm hit and cum covered his fist and lower belly…and it kept coming out. “Ooooh, what the f-fuck, whatthefuck, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…” he babbled out incoherently, tossing at the neverending pleasure. 

When he finally stopped coming, he opened his eyes slowly and looked at the ceiling in astonishment.

What the fuck was that? Was every orgasm going to feel like this from now on? What would happen when he finally got to do it with you?

He couldn’t wait to figure it out.

You, on the other hand, thought you wouldn’t see Yangyang again, assuming he had dropped the class. So you were more than surprised when he showed up next week, standing in front of you and clearing his throat to catch your attention.

“Oh, it’s you,” you sighed. 

“We’re together,” he mumbled, showing you a piece of paper with your name on it.

Great. Not only was there a lunatic in your class, but you were stuck with him as a partner for a project.

“Why didn’t you drop the class?” you asked honestly. “You said you didn’t like plants.”

“I don’t hate plants,” he shrugged, sitting next to you. “They just die on me.”

You glared at him in disbelief. “You do know your grade depends on your ability to keep plants alive, don’t you?”

“Are you good with plants?” he asked back.

“Yes,” you hissed. “Unlike you, I want to be in this class.”

“Then you can teach me,” he shrugged.

“Or better yet,” you offered. “I’ll do everything and write your name on the report. Just don’t get on my way.”

“Mr. Lawson!” Yangyang called for the professor, raising his hand. “Y/N doesn’t want to follow the rules–”

“He’s kidding!” you yelled quickly, grabbing Yangyang’s arm and hitting his back.

He groaned and then laughed like he enjoyed this type of attention coming from you.

“Yangyang, I won’t risk my grade for you.”

He smirked lazily. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He shrugged.”Yeah, we just have to learn to work together.”

“I don’t know if you can’t tell, but I already dislike you,” you said.

He shrugged again. “I kinda like you though.”

You blushed immediately, not expecting such words to come out of his mouth.

“J-just promise me you’ll carry your weight and maybe we can try to be friends or something.”

“Friends,” he savored the word. “Sounds good.”

You opened your book, ready to end the conversation there and concentrate on the class when you remembered something.

“Why did you run off like that? That time when we shook hands?” you asked, turning to look at him and freezing in place when his eyes met yours. They looked hungry, and predatory, unlike before. How did he keep changing his aura like that?

“Something urgent came up,” he said, still holding you captive with his gaze.

“What was a bad idea?” you asked.

“Hmm?”

“You said ‘bad idea’ before you ran away.”

His eyes hardened and then he looked at your lips, but he didn’t reply. 

The warm sensation came back, but this time traveled down your chest to your stomach and then went even lower.

You crossed your legs quickly and saw him smirk. Could he know what you were feeling?

“What was a bad idea?” you repeated, a little unsure you wanted to know the answer this time, but right then the professor started talking and you quickly looked to the front, focusing on the class.

“Shaking your hand,” Yangyang’s voice whispered, right next to your ear, giving you goosebumps and making you sit up straight, tense.

“Why was shaking my hand a bad idea?” you asked nervously, still not daring to look at him.

“Mine was sweaty,” he said unexpectedly, trying not to laugh when you turned to look at him with an annoyed expression. God he was going to have so much fun with you. “It’s really embarrassing.”

“Your hand wasn’t sweaty,” you countered.

“You didn’t feel it because I took it back fast enough. I’m a very considerate guy as you can see.”

“I think you’re just annoying,” you said, deciding he was not worth your attention and concentrating on the class again.

“Deal with it. I’m your new friend,” he said casually, opening his book.

“I never said–”

“No takebacks.”

“But I–” “Shh, bestie. I’m trying to pay attention to the class,” he nagged you. “I’m not risking my grade for you, Y/N.”

You scoffed, irritated. You assumed he would be a handful, but as time went by you discovered that he wasn’t as terrible as you thought. He was surprisingly diligent; taking detailed notes, asking relevant questions (some of which you wished you had thought of yourself), and even correcting you when you made a mistake (much to your disdain). 

You had no idea how he managed to pay attention when he was looking at you the entire time. At first, you thought you were imagining things, but he made it very obvious, sometimes not even bothering to look away when you caught him staring. He often stared at your neck and chest, biting his lip so hard you thought he would draw blood, other times he would stare at your crossed legs as if he knew that you were fighting your arousal due to his intense gaze, but most of the time he stared at your face, clenching his fist like he was fighting the urge to caress your cheeks. 

You got the most piercing glares when you wore something a bit more revealing. 

It was a regular summer day when you decided to wear the prettiest floral dress you owned. The fabric was light and fresh, not too tight but it hugged your curves nicely. Most importantly, you felt both pretty and comfortable.

“You’re here?” Yangyang asked casually without looking up from his phone as you placed your bag next to your seat. 

You had sat next to each other for at least a couple of months now, and you were working on the final project together which meant you also met often outside of the class. Sometimes you went for food or ice cream after hours of writing a report and you genuinely had a good time whenever you hung out. You could confidently say that you were somewhat friends by now. 

You hummed and sat down. “How was your weekend?”

“Eh, nothing interesting,” he shrugged, scrolling down. “Have you seen this video–” he finally looked up to show you something on his phone but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw you.

“What video?” you asked.

“What are you wearing?” he asked back.

“A dress?” 

“Why?”

You roll your eyes. “I never question your fashion choices, do I? Plus, I think it’s pretty,” you said, grabbing the hem to pull it down and cover your legs a bit more since the dress had rolled up when you sat down. “What’s wrong with it?”

No sound came out of his lips but he mouthed a very clear ‘fuck’, as he tried to decide if he should focus on your legs or your clavicle.

You blushed and muttered a ‘whatever’, deciding to ignore him for the rest of the class for your own sanity. The last thing you needed was him checking you out and feeding your fantasies that you had unwillingly conjured along with developing a huge inconvenient crush on him. 

You had tried to deny your feelings for weeks, but after the first month, you couldn’t help thinking of him when you pleasured yourself, wondering what he would feel like inside of you. Finding out he was a werewolf only made you even hornier, having heard about how intense sex with one could be. 

You also wondered what he would sound like, if he would go slow like the tease he is or fast and rough to hear you scream.

 Maybe the latter because he seemed to like eliciting sounds from you. You could tell by how often he annoyed you, scared you, and even tickled you until he got some type of vocal reaction from you. 

He would often call you cute when any of those scenarios happened and then his hands would linger a little too long before you slapped his arm and he laughed.

Your crush had intensified by the time you had your midterms and you got an A+ for the report you wrote together. He gave you a high five before impulsively pulling you in for a hug.

And god, he was so warm, and his chest was firmer than you thought and his hands felt just perfect on your waist.

“You did amazing,” he purred right next to your ear, causing you to let out an unexpected whimper.

You both tensed at the sound. You had never been more embarrassed but then you felt his grip tighten and his heartbeat accelerating on his chest pressed against yours.

“Oh, fuck me…” he groaned, nosing your neck.

Your eyes rolled back and you wanted to tell him that you would gladly do so until you heard someone clearing their throat. 

Professor Lawson was not enjoying the show.

You quickly pulled away from each other and never spoke about it again. But Yangyang was always staring, sitting too close, grazing…

Right now, his shorts allowed for his bare legs to gently rub yours and it was making you imagine things that weren’t appropriate for the place and time. The fact that his breathing sounded slightly agitated didn’t help and neither did having him manspreading to feel your touch better so shamelessly.

You gulped before deciding to be bold for once and spread your legs slightly too, pressing your thigh closer to his. 

He inhaled sharply.

He decided to be bold too by slowly dragging one of his hands under the table and gently patting your outer thigh with his fingertips.

You gasped and he retrieved his hand immediately, but you grabbed his wrist, feeling his quickened pulse where your fingers were.

This was a bad idea and you knew it. You were in public, in the middle of class, yet you found yourself shakily placing his hand where it was again not daring to look at him but hoping he would get the hint.

He kept his eyes on the whiteboard, but his fingers drew small patterns on your skin, making you wetter than before. 

You gathered some more courage to place your hand on his thigh, wanting to do the same for him, but as soon as you made contact with the hot skin exposed by his shorts he moaned loud enough for the people on the desks around you to look at you. 

You quickly took your hand away and he did the same. You still didn’t make eye contact and you knew this would be another one of the so many not-so-friendly moments you shared that would never be spoken about again.

Once the class was over, and even though you were mortified, you cleared your throat to speak.

“Uh, we need to talk about–”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to!” he quickly said with wide eyes, fearing a rejection before he even had the chance to confess.

“No, we absolutely have to–”

“How about you take your time to think about it–”

“Yangyang,” you deadpanned. “It’s about the project.”

“Oh,” he let out a relieved sigh. “What about it?”

“Remember I told you I’m going to visit my family for two weeks?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I can’t take our plant with me.”

“Oh…OH?” Yangyang’s eyes widened when he realized what that meant. While he was quite good at the theoretical part, he was still terrified of killing the plant so you were the one to take care of it all the time. If you were away then that meant he had no choice but to take the plant with him.

“You’ll be okay, right?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I’m terrified,” he admitted.

“It’s only for two weeks,” you reminded him. “You are more than capable of taking care of our baby during that time.”

He blushed hard when you called the plant ‘our baby’ and smiled like an idiot thinking of this being the first of many things you would share. And then he nodded, telling himself that it would be fine as he walked with you to your dorm to receive the project you both had worked on so hard for months.

The Scarlet Sugar Plum was a beautiful plant and, if properly nourished, its leaves could be used as an ingredient to make a Love Potion, which Yangyang was sure was a sign that you were meant to be.

He placed the pot near the window in his room, smiling dreamily. 

Our baby…

But a week later he was glaring at said plant with a sour expression. He didn’t get it. He gave it plenty of sunlight and water so why did it look so weak and dry? The before colorful leaves were turning brown and some of them had fallen, and he feared it soon would be nothing but a bent stem.

You were going to kill him.

Worse: you were going to be disappointed in him.

You were going to hate him and never want to talk to him again and he wouldn’t get to properly confess and he would die alone without his mate and–

Fuck…There had to be something he could do…

Maybe he could buy a new plant? 

No, you would notice immediately that it wasn’t the same one.

Then…he had heard some classmates talk about this potion that would make a plant grow bigger and stronger. The problem was that it wasn’t legal because the side effects could vary and end up making a plant poisonous. 

Was he willing to break the law so you wouldn’t hate him?

…Yes.

You suspected nothing when you texted him asking for a picture of the plant and saw that it looked healthy and strong, even with an extra flower.

“Told you you could do it!” you exclaimed happily when he called you later to catch up. 

“Just hurry up and come get your baby,”  he complained.

“Our baby,” you corrected him. “She’s your project too.”

“I was talking about me,” he replied and you could hear the teasing in his voice. “I’m your baby.”

“You behave like one,” you laughed.

 “No but seriously, hurry up. She misses you.”

“She misses me or you miss me?” you teased.

“I miss you,” he said with no hesitation. 

You blushed, not knowing what to answer for a second and then you paid attention to his breathing. It sounded agitated.

“Are you okay?” you asked. “You sound a little out of breath.”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “It’s just really fucking hot today.”

“Turn the AC on. Don’t be stingy!” you joked as a way to distract yourself from how hot his little groans sounded.

“It’s on!” he complained. “Maybe the problem is me. Am I in rut? Why am I in rut?! it’s not time yet…” he rambled on.

You bit your lip. Yeah, there were times when he had no filter around you, but this was the first time he spoke so openly about his rut.

“Oh, when is it supposed t-to happen, then?” you asked casually, hoping he wouldn’t notice your stutter.

“At least in one more month,” he breathed out. “Fuck, being a werewolf sucks sometimes…”

“It’s kinda cool,” you admitted.

“What’s cool about it?”

“Well, you have a better sense of smell, don’t you?”

“That’s both a blessing and a curse,” he chuckled weakly.

“Why’s that? Because of odors?”

“Because some people smell too fucking good,” he sighed. “Make it hard to control myself.” “O-oh,” you gulped. “Like who?”

“I think you know who, bestie,” he purred, making you shiver.

What was going on?

Was he this direct because of his rut?

You breathed shakily. “W-well, you are also faster and stronger than us humans. That’s pretty cool.”

“Hmm, yeah it can be cool,” he admitted. “I could catch you easily if you tried to run away…”

You gasped and he hummed. You heard some movement too.

“W-why would I run away?” you laughed nervously, feeling your panties sticking to your pussy.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t…” you breathed out.

He moaned loudly and you heard the sound of a zipper.

“Yangyang,” you rubbed your thighs together needily. “I think I should hang up.”

“No, fuck!” he groaned. “S-stay a little longer, hm? Talk to me.”

“A-about what?”

“Anything,” he breathed out and for a second you could hear a wet sound that made it very obvious he was touching himself. “W-what else is c-cool about werewolves?”

“You have a g-great sense of t-taste,” you said, very consciously sliding your hand into your shorts to feel your wetness over your panties.

Oh god. Were you really doing this?

“Yeah, f-fuck,” he moaned and the fapping sound became faster. “Taste so fucking good,” he sighed dreamily. 

“What tastes good?” you asked, grazing over your clit.

“You–shit!”

“You d-don’t know that…”

“I’m sure,” he replied between moans. “Someone w-who smells so delicious has t-to taste good…”

“Fuck…” you breathed out, rubbing your clit slowly.

“Wanna know what else is cool?” he panted. “Our body temperature is higher…haaa… so m-my tongue is hot as fuck–Mmm…Wanna feel it, bestie?”

Your eyes rolled back and you moaned shamelessly.

“Oooh, yes t-that’s it, imagine it, baby,” he urged you, making you clench at the nickname. “Feel so fucking good, yeah?”

“So g-good,” you panted, rubbing faster and hearing him moaning your name.

“Have you ever seen a knot?” he asked between groans. He couldn’t see you shaking your head but he continued, assuming your answer was no. “N-nothing could make you feel as f-full, ah…filling you up j-just right–fuck…Would ruin you for any other man…”

“Please…” you begged, almost tasting your climax.

“Fuck you so good,” he spoke with slurred words. “Bet y-you’d take it all, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you muttered, arching your back.

“Ah, haa…Y/N you’re d-doing amazing– oh god…”

“Yangyang!”

“FUCK! Yes, s-say my name j-just like that,” he whines, very obviously fucking his fist and panting desperately as he heard you murmur his name again and again like a mantra. “Oooh fuck, take my knot–”

You didn’t even try to hide the embarrassing moan that came out of your mouth when you had the most powerful orgasm of your life.

While talking to a friend on the phone.

And moaning his name.

You were coming down from your high when you heard him laugh breathlessly.

“So fucking good…” he murmured.

Oh god, you had had phone sex with Yangyang.

“Uh, so, I hope your rut goes well,” you said awkwardly.

“It would if you were here,” he said, still daydreaming.

“Haha,” you laughed nervously. “You’ll find someone to bang next time!”

“Huh?”

“I heard Cassie has the hots for you!”

“B-but…just now…we–”

“Hey, happy to help, bestie!” you interrupted him. “But next time you’ll do that with someone you like.”

He groaned. “Y/N, what–”

“Gotta go! Take care of our project!” you faked a cheerful tone and hung up, turning your phone off and throwing it away nervously to then proceed to scream into your pillow.

Now he knew for sure.

He knew you had a crush on him.

Fuck, you were so embarrassed. He was horny because of his rut, but you had no excuse to moan his name like that. You probably sounded pathetic begging for him.

Maybe he wouldn’t care? Yeah, maybe he was thankful that you helped him out and you would continue being friends. All you had to do was not address it, just like all the other moments of tension you kept sharing and then pretending that never happened.

It would be fine.

Everything was fine.

You kept repeating that to yourself to calm your nerves when you stood in front of Yangyang’s house a few days later. 

It was an old-fashioned house but it was huge, which made sense considering he told you he lived with his pack. 

“I’ll get it!” you heard Yangyang’s voice scream from the other side of the door after you rang the bell. “Why are y’all just standing here? Go away!”

There was a moment of silence. And then you thought you heard him say ‘Fine, but act normal.’

The door swung open and Yangyang welcomed you with his characteristic smile.

“Hey!” he greeted, giving you a friendly hug.

You sighed, relieved. Nothing had changed. He wasn’t awkward around you.

“Hey, you!” you smiled until you noticed at least a dozen eyes on you. A group of men, who you assumed were his packmates, were looking at you with big smiles on their faces.

“Oh, hello!” you said nervously.

They replied cheerfully. Too cheerfully. And Yangyang quickly grabbed your arm and pulled you up the stairs with him.

“Ignore them,” he told you once you entered his room and he closed the door. “They don’t know how to act around girls.”

You snorted. “Oh, so I’m a girl to you now?”

He frowned. “You’ve always been?”

“We’re friends,” you reminded him, deciding to do damage control just in case. “We’re basically bros. You don’t see me as a girl and I don’t see you as a boy.”

He gave you an unreadable look but before he could answer you reached for the plant.

“Oh my god! She grew so much!”

“Yeah…” Yangyang agreed.

“You did a great job! You didn’t need to be afraid, see?”

He bit his lip nervously.

“Normally they don’t grow more than one flower a month, you know?” you babbled out. 

“U-huh…”

“And the leaves normally wouldn’t be this shade of green until winter!”

“Uh…yep…”

“And the scent is normally not this sugary…” your voice became a murmur.

You turned to look at him and he looked away.

“Did you do anything special?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I followed the instructions.”

You looked at the plant, taking a deep inhale at its scent, and then looked back at him. “Yangyang.”

“It’s healthy, isn’t it?” he asked defensively.

“But it isn’t normal.”

“Guess I discovered my natural talent.”

“Yangyang,” you warned him. The air was starting to feel hot and it was irritating you.

“Maybe I’m not as hopeless as you think.”

“I never said you were hopeless.”

“But you imply it!” he brushed his hair with his fingers, frustrated. He was flushed and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.

“I didn’t–,” you groaned. “I just want to make sure!” you said, feeling slightly suffocated by the sweet scent of the plant.

“I…fuck! I’m sorry, okay? I fucked up!” he admitted, sitting on the bed.

“What did you do?” you asked, fanning yourself with your palm.

“I cheated,” he said defeatedly.

“How?”

“I used Gloom Dust Potion.”

“What?! Where did you get that?”

“The black market, of course,” he grumbled.

“How could you be so careless!” you yelled.

“But I wasn’t! That’s what makes this so frustrating,” he yelled back. “I measured the water, I made sure the room had the right temperature I even set alarms to check on her in the middle of the fucking night! I did everything and it still whithered and I don’t know why I’m such a useless man but I really tried my best because I wanted to give you an A+ and I wanted you to be proud of me and now you hate me–”

“Woah, hold on! I don’t hate you!” you said quickly.

He covered his face with his palms and you kneeled in front of him. “Hey, Yangyang, look at me,” you told him. 

He didn’t reply. 

“Please?” you asked softly.

Hesitantly he uncovered his face and gave you a shameful and sad look. He really had tried his best and he felt terrible about it not working out.

“I don’t hate you,” you repeated.

“Are you sure?” he asked with a small voice.

“Very sure,” you said, cupping his face with your palm.

He let out a soft moan, leaning into your touch.

That’s when you noticed that he was burning up.

“Yangyang, are you okay?” you asked.

“Sorry about the project,” he mumbled, nosing your palm.

“Forget about it. I think you have a fever,” you said, about to retreat your hand and go call for help but he grabbed your wrist and brought you closer again.

“I’m so sorry,” he slurred.

“It’s fine,” you said.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m not, okay?”

“You’re so good to me…” he whispered.

You frowned. “Yangyang, I’ll go get one of your pack brothers.”

“Did you use this hand?” his question caught you off-guard.

“What?”

“When you touched yourself,” he clarified, scenting your wrist. “That night on the phone.”

You blushed furiously.

“W-what?” you repeated dumbly.

He brought your fingers to his mouth and licked them. It was true that his tongue was hotter than that of a human.

“Yeah, I bet it was this one–fuck…” he moaned.

Your knees wobbled. 

“Yangyang,” you gasped. “Let go. You have a fever.”

“But your skin is hot too,” he mumbled before sucking your index and middle finger into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, feeling your head spinning. He was right. You felt incredibly hot and not only that. Your pussy was throbbing and your nipples had hardened under your shirt way before Yangyang had started acting weird.

You were too irritated to notice before but both you and Yangyang got turned on incredibly fast as soon as you entered the room. 

“W-wait oh, no,” you spoke again, pulling away from him and hearing him whine. “I know what’s happening,” you said, making your way to the plant.

Yangyang followed your every move with his eyes like he was hypnotized.

You got closer to one of the flowers and inhaled deeply, only to feel more sticky wetness accumulate between your legs. 

You groaned.

“Yangyang, we need to get out of this room,” you said, going back to him and trying to make him stand up.

“Why?” he asked, not budging.

“The potion intensifies the properties of plants. Ours is used to emulate the feeling of a crush…the feeling of liking someone, right?”

“Right,” he said, trying to process your words.

“Because of the potion, instead of just a crush, you get something bigger. Lust. Desire,” you deduced. 

His eyes widened. “I turned our plant into a fucking aphrodisiac!? So that’s why I’ve been so horny this past week?”

“It’s not your fault,” you say quickly, pulling his arm. “You didn’t know this would happen.”

“Wait,” he said, standing up and towering over you. “Does it mean you’re turned on too?”

You blushed even harder if it was possible. “Yeah, well, that’s what aphrodisiacs do…”

He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Fuck…you’re right. I can smell it…”

You cleared your throat awkwardly. “Yeah, well…Anyways, let’s get out of here.”

“No way, they will see my hard-on and I’m never going to live it down!” he groaned.

You fought your eyes from looking down. “That’s not important right now!”

“And they’ll smell you,” he added, making you halt. “My entire pack will know you came out of my room aroused.”

You muttered a hushed curse and sat down on his bed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated timidly, sitting beside you.

“Stop apologizing,” you sighed. “We can still pass the class with what we have done so far.”

He didn’t say anything, staring at his lap.

“Hey,” you said, reaching for his hand. “I promise. I’m not mad. We’re still friends, okay?”

He gave you a weak smile and his thumb caressed your hand. 

“Now we only need to think of a way to get out of here without being seen,” you said, looking at the window.

“You’re not jumping out the window,” he deadpanned. “This is the third floor.”

You sighed, flopping on the bed with him following, lying down next to you.

 “The other option is going out when we’re not turned on anymore,” you said.

His hand squeezed yours involuntarily. 

“Oh,” he said. “Maybe it will wear off after…ya know…”

It took you a few seconds to understand what he was proposing.

“You’re suggesting we get off while the other is in the room?” you turned to look at him.

“I w-won’t look,” he promised.

You licked your lips.

“I won’t look either…”

His eyes widened and his ears turned red. 

“R-really? Are we gonna….oh my god…” he squirmed a little as he felt his member twitch.

“I mean…it wouldn’t be t-that different from that time…on the phone…” you whispered.

He groaned.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t have a better idea,” you breathed out.

You stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds.

“Okay,” he whispered, letting go of your hand. “I’ll turn around,” he informed you, turning to his side with his back towards you.

You took a deep breath in and did the same.

You could feel each other's heartbeats when you were back to back.

“Ready?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah…”

You moved first, slowly sliding your hand into your pants. Your breath caught in your throat when you touched your pulsating clit and then you let out a shaky breath when your index teased it.

You heard him sigh and felt him move slightly. He tried to be quiet when his hand touched his dick, but when he heard the wet sounds of your hand caressing your folds he moaned.

You thrust a finger inside and a whimper escaped you. Yangyang groaned and you heard him whisper what sounded like ‘yes…’

He wasn’t being shy and you were able to hear and feel exactly what he was doing even without looking. 

Another finger entered you and you got lost in your fantasy, imagining it was him doing this to you as you heard his groans.

“Faster,” you accidentally said out loud and were about to apologize, mortified, but you felt him moving his hand faster as he moaned your name.

And you ended up matching his rhythm. 

You weren’t sure if it made a difference if you were looking or not. You were touching yourselves in the same room, back to back, at the same speed and very obviously thinking about each other.

“Are you close?” his question was directed to you, not caring about pretending anymore. “Y/N,” he called your name clearly when you didn’t reply. “Please tell me you’re close…”

“Y-yeah…” you replied shyly and he inhaled sharply.

“Touch your clit,” he instructed after a broken moan. “I’m touching my tip too.”

You whined, using your other hand to draw circles on your clit and your orgasm washed over you. You came with a sob and your body tensed while he murmured profanities and grunted behind you.

“Fuck…” you murmured when you were able to see straight again, still feeling your pussy clenching.

“Fuck…” he agreed, trembling slightly.

“I think it didn’t work…” you admitted.

“Yeah,” he agreed again, and you could feel that he was still palming himself. “I’m still hard as fuck…”

“What do we do?” you whined, tiredly.

“Let’s keep going,” he proposed with no hesitation, still moving his hand behind you. “One more should do…”

“Or…” you trailed off.

“Or?”

“We could…touch each other?” you spoke barely above a whisper but he heard you loud and clear because he turned around and sat up quickly.

“What?!” he asked.

You groaned, embarrassed. “Forget it, it was dumb…”

“No, no, it’s not dumb,” he cooed, patting your back.

You shook your head.

“Y/N, please,” he sighed. “I heard you the first time, but I want to be sure I got it right. You want to touch me?”

You still refused to reply or look at him.

“Because…I would like to touch you…” he confessed quietly. “I would like that a lot…”

Slowly you sat up and made eye contact with him. Your cheeks were burning just like the rest of your body, due to arousal and embarrassment. 

“Really?” you asked equally quietly.

“Really,” he said. “So what’s the plan?”

You took a deep breath in before speaking again.

“We can help each other,” you bargained, trying not to lose focus as you watched a drop of sweat travel down his neck. “We’re friends, after all. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Yangyang gulped.

“Yeah, we’re just friends,” he spoke shakily. “Just two friends affected by a dumb plant.”

“Exactly,” you nodded, breathing heavily. “It’s normal to be horny. It’s the plant. It’s not because we like each other.”

“Totally. It’s not like I imprinted on you when we first met or something,” he mumbled, fixated on the way your lips moved.

“…What?”

“What?”

“Did you just say you imprinted on me?” you frowned.

He averted his gaze, clearing his throat. “I said it’s not like I did,” he replied. “Meaning I didn’t.”

“Okay,” you conceded, sitting closer, “then it should be fine, right?”

“I think it would be more than fine,” he assured you, though he sounded strained, not fine at all. He closed his eyes when he felt your fingertips on his jaw.

 “What do you wanna do?”

“Is there anything you’re not comfortable with?” you asked.

 “Anything you wanna do’s okay,” he said, locking eyes with you.

You lowered your hand so it was now on his neck. “Anything?” you purred, applying only a little bit of pressure and watching in awe how he rolled his eyes and groaned.

“A-anything…” he repeated.

“But what do you want to do?” you asked, allowing your hand to go lower, using your nails to tease him over the material of his shirt sticking to his chest.

“Y/N…”

“Is there nothing you wanna do to me?” you teased, lifting his shirt a little and placing your palm on his lower belly. You were also looking for reassurance. You would feel like a loser if you were thirsting over your friend when he hadn’t fantasized about you once.

“I–I don’t know,” he lied. If only you knew all the things he wanted to do to you.

“Hm…I guess you don’t want this enough,” you sighed, starting to withdraw your hand but he quickly grabbed it and placed it right on his crotch. “Y-yangyang?!”

Instead of replying, he forced your hand on him harder with a strangled moan and you felt something hard twitching right against your palm before even more wetness spread on the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Oh, my god, Yangyang…” you whispered in disbelief, gently pulling your hand away to inspect the sticky substance on it. “Just like that?”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “I…uh…I’ve been exposed to the plant for too long, I guess…Sorry…”

“Are you feeling better–Oh!” you gasped when he suddenly pulled you on top of him.

“Are you kidding me?” he groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck while hugging your waist. “I just came in my pants, feeling the warmth of your hand while looking at you– I’ve never been hornier!”

How he admitted to it so openly made you blush. “Should we do more, then?”

You felt him nod. And before you could ask what was next, the muscle of his thigh flexed under you, causing you to let out a surprised gasp. He tensed at the sound, holding his breath and waiting patiently for your next move. Only when you moved your hips and he heard you moan weakly did he dare to exhale.

“Y/N, are you–? Oh god, oh god…” he breathed out against the sensitive skin of your neck, in utter disbelief because there was no way the woman of his dreams was riding his thigh. 

“Is this okay?” you asked nervously, slowing your hips down just in case you were doing something he wasn’t comfortable with, but he whined, holding your hips and guiding them to move again.

“It’s so okay,” he quickly assured you. “Use my thigh all you want…”

“J-just once, okay?” you told him, but you were actually trying to convince yourself.

He didn’t reply, too busy bouncing you on his leg and getting lost in your little sounds.

“Hmm?” he asked absentmindedly, placing a wet kiss on your collarbone.

“I s-said this is– Yangyang!” you grabbed onto his shoulders for support and arched your back, feeling like you were about to explode.

“Yeah?” he breathed out, nibbling on your earlobe.

“I’m cumming–” you barely managed to whisper.

“Do it,” he urged you, helping you move faster, “do it, do it, c’mon, it’s gonna feel really good, baby, c’mon–,” he stopped mid-sentence and his eyes widened when he finally witnessed the beauty of having you cum right in front of his eyes. He had imagined it plenty of times, but he could never picture it right; he had no idea your voice could get this high-pitched, that your pupils would dilate this much, that you would feel this hot and wet on top of him…God, all his fantasies were wrong, so wrong, they could never do you justice. He had to memorize every single detail and never get off to anything else.

You were still coming down from your high when you felt a pair of warm lips on yours, soft and gentle. Yangyang was kissing you. Your platonic friend who stole your fries and called you a bro.

With a sudden yelp, you pushed yourself off him, standing up.

“What?!” he asked.“What’s wrong?”

“You kissed me!”

“...Yeah, and?”

“You can’t do that!” you exclaimed.

“You said we should help each other out!” he reminded you.

“Yes, but as friends,” you explained like it was obvious. “Kissing is too…intimate for friends.”

Yangyang stared at you with wide incredulous eyes. “Kissing is too intimate but humping my leg isn’t?”

“Yangyang, you don’t just kiss anyone!”

“You don’t fuck yourself on just anyone’s thigh either!”

“Right, but–,” you sighed and decided to come out clean. “I worry that if I kiss you I could end up feeling a bit confused.”

He looked up at you and listened attentively. “Confused how?”

“Like,” you tried to organize your thoughts while your body was burning up and a hot guy with a raging boner in front of you. “What if I like it?”

He stared at you, waiting for an explanation of how that would be a problem, scoffing when you didn’t elaborate. “God forbid you have a good time in a consensual sexual experience,” he mocked. 

“I mean, what if I like it too much?” you clarified.

“What does that even mean?” he groaned, accommodating his hard-on and trying to understand the words coming from your mouth.

You were starting to get frustrated too. How could you explain properly that you were scared of falling even more for him while you were clenching at the view?

“Just no kissing, okay?” 

He frowned and looked at your lips, mulling it over. He didn’t understand, nor did he like it, but he agreed regardless. “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” he finally said. “Anything else is off limits?”

“Do you have a condom?”

He shook his head.

“Then we should probably avoid penetration,” you said. “I’m not on the pill or anything like that so…”

“Right,” he gulped. “Let’s be careful. Anything else?”

You tried hard to think of more things, but your brain was foggy and everything was too hot, too suffocating.

Yangyang was feeling it too and he didn’t have the patience to wait for your entire list of forbidden things. “Y/N, my dick hurts,” he spoke with difficulty, pressing his palm on his crotch to relieve the discomfort. “Just tell me!”

You gulped and pressed your thighs together. “I uh…can’t come up with anything right n-now…thinking is h-hard…”

“Y/N, please,” he whimpered between elaborate breaths.

“How about you name something and I tell you if it’s okay or not?” you proposed. It should be easier this way.

“Can I fuck your tits?” he asked immediately.

You gasped and felt yourself get wetter at the suggestion. Yes, you told him to say what he wanted, and you knew he was blunt, but he had never been this blunt.

“What? Too intimate for you?” he asked half-seriously, half-mockingly.

“N-no, it’s…it’s fine,” you replied. “But how do we do it?” you asked nervously.

“Lie down,” he instructed with no hesitation, like he had thought about this too many times. 

You complied and got back on the bed, nervously lying down and waiting to see what he would do next. 

He slowly climbed on top of you and you felt your heart beat so hard and fast you worried it would break through your ribcage and escape your body. Yangyang was on top of you. Sweating, desperate for you, and his eyes looked at you with something you could have easily confused with love in a different situation. 

With shaky hands he grabbed the hem of your shirt and started pushing it up, pausing when his fingertips touched the lace of your bra. He held his breath and his eyes met yours silently asking ‘Is this okay?’ and continuing when you bit your lip and nodded.

He barely grazed over your covered breasts when he finished wrinkling the fabric of your shirt near your neck and his dick twitched excitedly and the view of your hardened nipples under the thin material of your bralette.

“Y/N…” he whispered just to savor your name, humping your stomach in an almost unperceivable way. “Can I?”

“Just do it,” you whined, maybe wanting this more than him.

He nervously placed his hands on top of your breasts and let out a needy moan when he finally felt your softness and warmth in his palms. “M-maybe I’ll cum like this,” he commented. And he was totally serious because he was leaking again.

“No!” you said too quickly. “You said you’d fuck them,” you whined, arching your back and pushing your tits further into his touch, making him squeeze harder.

“Yeah? Want that?” he asked breathily, delighted at how quickly you nodded. “Shit, okay, okay…” he said, letting go of your chest and standing up to step out of his pants and boxers.

You used the opportunity to quickly take off your shirt and bra, too eager to be used and very pleased to see him freeze when he looked back at you and saw you half undressed. His jaw hung open and he just couldn’t look away. After all this time stealing glances at your clavicle and fighting his boner every time you hugged and he felt your boobs against his chest, you were willingly showing them to him. And he was about to fuck them.

“F-fuck…” he breathed out, straddling your chest. “Can I really?”

“Yangyang,” you whined, hitting his arm. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“One more?” he asked hopefully.

You rolled your eyes, but you were getting impatient enough to humor him. “Will you fuck my tits or not, Yangyang?”

He groaned, grabbing his base firmly to stop what wanted to come out. He took a deep breath in and positioned his member between your breasts, letting out a shaky breath when it slid on your skin, trapped between your boobs as you pushed them together.

“Shit, Yangyang…” you gulped when the tip of his cock got a little too close to your chin. “You’re kinda…”

“What?” he half-moans, sliding back and forward slowly.

“Big,” you whisper in disbelief.

He snorts, continuing the slow rhythm of his hips. “Perks of being a werewolf,” he shrugged. “This is average…”

“No way,” you laugh too, gasping when he pinched one of your nipples playfully.

“I swear,” he said half-laughing, half moaning as he accelerated his movements slightly. Everything felt so relaxed and fun with Yangyang. 

So natural.

“Mm…Bet you would fill me up so good…” you commented absentmindedly, actively daydreaming at this point.

He halted, looking at you with wide eyes. “What did you just say?!”

“That you…would fill me up good?” you repeated, blinking up at him.

Oh, so he heard you well. 

“Y/N, are you trying to kill me?” he asked.

“It was just a thought,” you mumbled.

“...Are you thinking about it right now?”

“Can you blame me?” you asked back. Of course you were. How could you think about anything else in this situation?

He groaned, thrusting hard. “Yeah? Do you imagine me inside of you moving like this?”

A soft moan escaped your mouth and you nodded, feeling droplets of hot precum land on your chest.

“Fuuck…it’s a shame we can’t,” he honestly lamented, rutting faster. “I really wanna…”

“Yangyang,” you called his name, your hands leaving the sides of your boobs to reach for his hands. “Yangyang, wait.”

He whined, looking at you in panic. What if you changed your mind and wanted nothing to do with him? He would cry. He would cry all night.

You pushed him lightly, making him stand up next to the bed as you sat up, and oh my god he really was about to cry because it looked like this was the end, until…

“Hold them,” you instructed, placing his hands where yours were before, on each side of your breasts. “Push them together, okay?” 

He nodded. Anything you said as long as you didn’t actually make him stop. He shuddered when one of your hands caressed his hip bone, and then he noticed where your other hand was going…all the way down your stomach.

“Oh god,” he gasped, finally understanding the new position with him standing in front of you and you sitting on his bed, touching yourself. He bent his knees slightly to slide his cock back where he wanted and his eyes rolled back when he pressed your breasts together so tight that his tip released a tiny stream of white liquid. “ I love your tits so much,” he blurted out, resuming his chase for pleasure.

“Is that why you’re always staring at them?” you teased, tapping your clit.

“Y-you knew?” he asked nervously. Fear flooded his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Instead, he thrust up faster, moaning uncontrollably.

“You d-don’t even try to hide it,” you reply, moving your fingers faster.

“I didn’t mean to stare,” he whined. “They’re just pretty.”

“Yeah?”

“Y-yeah, so pretty–Oh!” he moaned loudly when he felt something hot and wet touching his tip. You had opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, meeting his dick when he thrust up. “Y/N, fuck, fuck, are you for real?!”

You licked around the tip messily and that was all the answer he needed, he threw his head back and rutted against your soft skin once, twice–

“Oooh…Nngh….shit…” he moaned, letting go of your breasts and trying to focus his gaze as he looked down and saw you wrapping your lips around his tip, sucking softly. “You’re so fucking hot…”

When the taste of his cum invaded your tastebuds you felt another orgasm hit you and you moaned around him, while your thighs shook.

“I love you.”

You let go of his dick and looked up at him. His eyes met yours as he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What did you say?” you croaked.

He seemed to snap out of it, blinking and pulling his hand back, taking a step back as well. “Nothing,” he said quickly.

You tilted your head. You heard him say he loved you. It was his voice…

“Are you sure?”

“Yep,” he said, looking away awkwardly.

… Maybe the plant had hallucinatory effects too?

The tingling sensation in your center told you it wasn’t enough, and that immediately made you go back to solving the issue of why you both were half undressed in the first place. “Yangyang, I think I need more…”

“Oh, thank god. I’m still hard,” he sighed, kneeling in front of you and leaning in for a kiss before he quickly stopped himself, remembering the limits you had set. “Sorry, I forgot.”

You licked your lips and looked at his face. He wasn’t as red as before, and you also weren’t feeling as feverish as before. “I think it’s wearing down though. Maybe we just need one more.”

He nodded. “We can just rub one off quickly.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, lowkey hoping he meant you would do it to each other and not to yourselves.

“Or…” he hesitated.

“Yes?” you asked eagerly.

“We could– uh… I could…” he gulped, losing his confidence as his mind was getting clearer. “I dunno how to explain but, can I try something?”

“Sure,” you breathed out.

“Can you take your pants off?” he asked timidly, surprised when you did it immediately.

“Now what?”

His chest rose and fell heavily. He pushed you back until you were on your back on the bed again and he positioned himself between your legs pressing your bodies together and groaning at the wetness of your panties now sticking to his dick too.

“Oh, yes,” you moaned, arching your back and pushing your hips closer to his. “Best idea you’ve ever had–”

“No, I meant–wait,” he interrupted you and stilled your hips. He lifted the hem of your panties right where your inner thigh met your center, just enough for him to slide his dick under them and rest it directly on your wetness.

You gasped, grabbing his arm quickly. “Yangyang!”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he assured you. “I won’t put it in,” he explained, placing one of his hands on top of where his dick was nested, pressing down but leaving enough space for him to thrust his hips. He did it once, showing you how the little trap he had made with your panties and his hand allowed his cock to slide against your clit deliciously. “Like t-this…okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Y-yes, yes–Oh!”

He sighed in relief, sliding against you more earnestly. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you admitted, opening your legs wider for him. “Wish you were inside though–” you blurted out.

His cock twitched and he groaned, snapping his hips harder. “Yeah? I d-don’t think friends do that haa…ah…”

You shook your head, moving your hips to match his rhythm. “They don’t,” you breathed out.

“I don’t think they do anything we’ve done in the past hour either,” he continued.

Again, you shook your head. “B-but it feels so good…”

“Yeah? You like your friend’s cock rubbing your pussy?”

You were about to reply when Yangyang’s harsh thrusts got a little out of control and you felt something poke your entrance just enough to have you clenching around it. You moaned and he quickly pulled away.

“S-sorry, it slipped,” he said anxiously. “W-we can stop–”

“Again,” you begged, trying to pull him back on top of you.

“Y/N, we can’t–”

“Just a little,” you bargained.

He stared at you, dumbfounded, and then shook his head, as if he was trying to wake himself up. “We’re not w-wearing protection and–”

“Just the tip,” you insisted.

He groaned. “Y/N–”

“Please?”

You stared into each other's eyes, knowing damn well that you were not thinking clearly, but not caring at this point. Silently, he grabbed his dick and placed it right where you wanted it, pushing just enough for you to engulf his tip and have both of you moaning wantonly.

“This is a t-terrible idea,” he mumbled, pulling out and pushing back inside, driving himself (and you) crazy. It wasn’t enough, yet it was so good.

“It’s okay–ah!” you tried to excuse your poor choices. “We’re j-just ooh…helping each other out–AH!”

“Uhuh,” he nodded, building up his rhythm and switching between thrusting the tip in and sliding against your clit. 

“Fuuuuck– You’ll be ascended to best f-friend for this, Yangyang–”

“Oh, hell nah. Fuck that.”

Just like that, Yangyang’s lips were on yours again. This time very on purpose.

“Y-yangyang w-wait,” you whined, though you were responding to his kiss too actively, sucking on his bottom lip eagerly. “Told you it’s gonna b-be confusing if we–oh!”

“Drop the act, Y/N,” he said between kisses. “Are you telling me you see me as a friend after all this?”

You whimpered. Was it that obvious?

“We’re not fucking friends,” he panted. “You’re not gonna push me deeper into the friendzone when your pussy is trying to suck me in like this.”

“B-but you said–”

“I lied, okay?” he confessed. “Yeah, I imprinted on you. No, I don’t wanna be just friends. And yeah, I know kissing you will make things even more confusing,” he admitted, rubbing and pressing his cock on your clit harder to have your eyes roll back as he continued kissing you. “I want to confuse the fuck out of you until you think you like me back. I don’t give a fuck if it’s unfair. I like you too much–no. I love you –oooh, fuck, fuck,Y/N!”

Your heart skipped a beat at the confession and a dumb smile formed on your lips and then he moaned and grabbed both your hands, positioning them around the base of his cock and holding them there as something started to grow.

“Oh my god…,” you sat up with difficulty staring in disbelief. “Is that your knot?”

He nodded wordlessly, applying pressure on your hands to signal you to squeeze there, hard. When you did he closed his eyes, his body tensed as he spilled spurts of cum on your center, smearing it all over your folds.

You kept squeezing and massaging the inflated base as he whimpered and thrust his hips up weakly. Finally, cum stopped coming out and he sighed.

You didn’t even have time to worry about your still pending orgasm, too preoccupied with processing his earnest confession, and by the time you reacted, he had already crawled down and taken your panties off.

“Shit,” he mumbled. “I made a mess…” caressing your labia and ironically making the sticky mess worse. “Lemme clean it,” were his last words before he slid his tongue between your folds.

Your hands quickly grabbed onto him, pulling his hair to get him closer to where you needed him the most. “Yes, Yangyang, please–”

“What the fuck you taste amazing,” he mumbled against your center, licking incessantly. 

“That’s your own c-cum,” you laughed, interrupted by a moan when he tried to talk while still attached to your  pussy.

“Mixed with yours,” his words were muffled as he moved his lips and tongue lazily to collect as much wetness as he could. “So good together…”

“Yangyang,” you spoke shakily, pulling harder to get him to your clit which he seemed to be avoiding on purpose. “N-not there, here…”

He kept lazily lapping at your inner labia, ignoring your instructions. “I’m helping you clean, like a good friend.”

“No, no, no, please make me cum,” you begged shamelessly. Your climax was so close you could taste it but he was playing with you.

“I dunno,” he detached himself from you and rested his face on his palms, locking eyes with you. “Making you cum with my mouth is too intimate for me…”

“You fucking–AH!” your complaint was cut short when he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue just once, making you squirm desperately. “Yangyang, come on!”

“But what if you get confused?” he teased, swirling his tongue around your clit slowly.

“P-please, please, please, oh!” you sobbed when he stopped again.

“You sound confused, Y/N,” he cooed, kissing your inner thigh. “ Wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Fuck our friendship!” you finally yelled. “I like you. I like you so much. Kiss me, eat me out, fuck me as much as you want, please just do something…Oooh!”

He finally shoved his face between your legs and engulfed your clit with his lips, sucking, allowing you to guide his head however you wanted. He hummed in delight at your confession, determined to make you cum harder than ever to reward your honesty.

“Yes, yes, yes, Yangyang, don’t stop, please, right there ah, ah, ah!” you beg, thrusting your hips up.

You felt him chuckle and it was enough for you to reach your orgasm with a silent scream, arching your back and shaking while he lapped your juices eagerly.

And then you felt a sharp pain in your inner thigh.

“AH! What the fuck, Yangyang!” you exclaimed, sitting up rapidly and catching him with his teeth sunk into your soft skin. 

His eyes widened at your reprimand, and he switched to licking the wound in a comforting manner.

“Why did you bite me?!”

“Got carried away. Sorry…”

Well, at least he didn’t cum inside you, just like you had agreed on. But you hadn’t considered that you two may end up tied up together in other ways.

“Yangyang…does it mean we are–?”

He looked at your panicked eyes and then back at his mark on your body.

“Maybe? I…I don’t know?” he said nervously. “Normally we bite our mates on their neck or somewhere around that area.”

“Then this one probably doesn’t count, right? We aren’t bonded or anything,” you lied to yourself. You knew it made zero sense that a mating bite only worked in a specific area of your body, but you were in no condition to process that you were bonded for life after your not-so-platonic crush ate you out in a house full of werewolves.

He caressed the wounded area lovingly. Something that felt weirdly like electricity traveled from his fingertip which was in contact with your skin all over his body, making him shudder and inhale sharply. He was 89% sure you were bonded, but he ignored his instinct to give you the answer you wanted. 

“I guess it doesn’t work if it’s not on your neck.Maybe.”

“Okay, cool,” you sighed, letting your body finally relax now that the horniness was gone.

“Cool,” he echoed, biting his lip nervously. “So uhh…Wanna grab something to eat?”

“That pizza place down the street?” you suggested tiredly.

“Sure,” he said, standing up and grabbing his pants. He said the next part carefully. “It’s a date.”

You smiled to yourself, trying not to laugh at his nervousness. “Yeah, it’s a date.”

Yangyang could have died a happy man right there and then. He got dressed quickly and helped you sit up and get dressed too. He looked at your exhausted face and he found it endearing, especially with how it lit up after he gave you a soft peck.

You both would deal with the failed botany project later and the fact that everyone in the house probably knew what you did.