yuzu (after dark)

Shoyo Hinata is sweet. He’s always been sweet but with you, he’s positively saccharine. Running up to you to sweep you into hugs after a game, muscular biceps squeezing around your waist, laughing innocently as if your breasts aren’t pressed against his chest. Helping carry the crates full of water bottles back to the bus during away games, positively preening as you praise him for his strength. Offering to teach you how to receive, sliding up against your ass from the back as he corrects your form. 

Hinata is also sweet as he tells you how good you look in your uniform skirt, those pretty sunset-brown eyes fixed on the curve of your exposed thighs as you bend over to retrieve a loose ball on the court. His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he prays he’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your panties.

Tobio Kageyama’s never been one to listen well, except when it comes to you. He’ll do anything you say, whether it’s tidying up the gym or studying so that he isn’t banned from the next away game, just as long as you say his name. You can practically see the shiver run up his spine when it falls from your pretty pink lips, cock hardening painfully in his gym shorts and straining against the thin fabric. He’s positively shameless about it too, begging you to call him by his first name because you’re friends, and that’s what friends call each other, right? 

It’s over for him the moment he hears you call him Tobio– He has to excuse himself to the bathroom to clean up the mess in his boxers. Still, it doesn’t stop him from fisting his sensitive, overstimulated cock right there in the stall, whimpering out loud from the memory the shape of your lips around his name. 

Kei Tsukishima hates being jealous, because it would mean admitting that someone else has something that he really, truly wants. And really, he’s not jealous. He doesn’t even like you! It’s obvious in the way he’ll never look you in the eye when you visit the gym, making up something or other as an excuse when Yamaguchi invites him out to dinner with the two of you. He’ll walk home on his own, thank you very much, but not before doubling back to the clubroom, eyes flickering back and forth surreptitiously as he unlocks the room. 

He knows what you and Tadashi get up to when you think the team’s gone home for the night, up against the shelving and the desks, and he also knows where you swap out your extra pair of panties for when the ones you wear are too ruined by his best friend’s cum to wear home. Digging around in the lockers, he pulls out the freshly-stained garment, still damp from your arousal and Tadashi’s own essence. Too impatient to wait until he gets home, Tsukki presses them harshly against his nose, inhaling the mixture of sweat and yours and his best friend’s love, letting out a deep groan. Thank gods he’s often responsible for the clubroom key after club hours are over. 

Tadashi Yamaguchi isn’t the bright-eyed naive first-year he was when he first came to Karasuno. He’s grown a considerable amount in both brains and brawn, and it shows in the way he runs the team– both visible and invisible. On the court, he’s jovial and supportive, teaching his juniors how to improve their skills and rallying them when game time begins. And off the court, he isn’t opposed to giving the other third-years crumbs of you if it bolster their team spirit. So long as he’s the only one who gets to hear you crying out as he presses you into the mattress, slurping noisily as he eats you out for the third time that night. 

He soothes you with inaudible praises as he spreads your pretty pussy, wrapping his lips tightly around your clit and sucking it into his mouth. The raw little bud must be throbbing so much right now, so just let him soothe it with his tongue even as you cry out “‘s too much, Yama, I’m gonna squirt!” You’re his pretty girl– he knows you can take it. Just give him a couple more minutes between your legs and he’ll be ready for the main course. Then you’ll get to enjoy cockhead giving your pretty cervix kisses right up until the moment he floods your womb. 

Of course, Captain Tadashi is a generous man, so he makes a deal with himself. He’ll snap a picture as his cum leaks out between your thighs and send it to Hinata, Kageyama, and Tsukishima if they make it to nationals this year. 

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

🍯 OCTOBER 12 – THE MATCHMAKER 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do they even know you used their photo?”

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

“you realize they could sue you, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’s sketchy and i’m going to die.”

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

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

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

“no, you didn’t.”

“oh,” a beat, “well, i’m xiaojun.”

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

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

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

🍯 OCTOBER 13 – THE INVESTIGATION 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his grin flickered, just slightly, “confidential.”

“how convenient.”

“look, if you don’t believe me—”

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

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

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

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

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

“none.”

his fingers hovered over his keyboard, “none?”

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

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

“a man,” you said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“reasonable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you smirked, “exactly.”

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

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

🍯 OCTOBER 16 – JUST LIKE HONEY 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and you’re predictable.”

“i’ll take that as a challenge.”

“you really shouldn’t.”

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

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

he blinked, “trying to–?”

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

“disastrous?”

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

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

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

“i’m efficient.”

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 OCTOBER 17 - CONFIDENCE…? 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you raise a brow, “groundbreaking.”

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

“i already do that.”

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

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

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

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

“stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

꒷꒦

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 OCTOBER 18 - A FLUKE 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what?”

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

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

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

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

🍯 OCTOBER 19 - PRACTICE STARTS NOW 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he blinked, “excuse me?”

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

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

“am i wrong?”

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

“now?”

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

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

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

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

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

“oh? i thought you were the expert.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“obviously.”

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

you blinked, surprised, “zero what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what base?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 OCTOBER 24 - THE PROPOSAL 🍯

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

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

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

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

“let’s continue.”

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

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

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

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

you blinked, “teach you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he gave a mock salute, “yes, ma’am.”

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

🍯 OCTOBER 25 - THE FIRST LESSON 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 OCTOBER 27 - OH 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“your hands were full.”

“and you made a joke.”

“i make jokes all the time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blinked, “blocking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blinked. “makes sense?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you squinted, “what do you mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’s invasive!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 OCTOBER 31 – THE TEACHER AND THE PUPIL 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i would hope so,” you said lightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 1 - DEJUN 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you glance up, confused, “what?”

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 4 - ORGANIC ENCOUNTER 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 5 - WINWIN 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 7 - TELL ME MORE 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 8 - NOT YOU 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

꒷꒦

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

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

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

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

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

꒷꒦

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

perfect. your thumbs fly across the keys.

y/n: come over :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 9 – SILENCE 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

y/n: hey

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

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

delivered.

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

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

꒷꒦

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 10 – SHUHUA 🍯

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

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

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

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

shuhua: LMAOOOO

shuhua: guys are dumb when they drink

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 11 - MIRROR 🍯

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

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

winwin: good morning 🐥

winwin: lunch later?

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

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

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

꒷꒦

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

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

꒷꒦

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 14 - FINAL EXAM 🍯

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

“shit–” your voice cracks on impact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he blinks, “what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 15 - THE DOUBLE DATE 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 16 - BREAKFAST 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you laugh too, “exactly.”

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

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

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

🍯 NOVEMBER 17 - WHERE IT ALL STARTED 🍯

dejun 🦖🩷: hi my honey

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

my honey 🐝❤️: don’t tell me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“will you be my girlfriend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍯 DECEMBER 1 - THE STUDENT HAS SURPASSED HIS MASTER 🍯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᥫ᭡. the end.

—

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

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

一

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

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

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

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

there was a place for everyone in the library and it was your favorite place in the entire world.

but right now, as you watch your long-time crush, third year business major, the soccer team’s mvp, jung sungchan, stick his tongue down a random girl’s throat, you can’t help but feel like your safe haven has been tainted.

the grip you had on your pencil tightens as your eyebrows furrowed at the scene that played out, jealousy taking over your features. out of all the places on campus, he had to choose your spot. you have half the mind to report to the librarian. you were already classified as the school’s nerd, why not add snitch to your dictionary?

“what’s that look on your face?,” your best friend’s voice pulled you back to earth, playful, as he plopped down on the seat next to you.

jeno has been fated to be your best friend way before you were even born. with your dad’s being the best of friends, it was written in the stars, whether you liked it or not.

but you liked it, and so did he.

if it wasn’t for jeno, you might have ended up a complete social outcast. thanks to his status and the fact that you were always seen together, people decided you were tolerably weird. you weren’t nose-picking weird or talking to yourself in the hallways weird, just…a little awkward.

and if it wasn’t for you, jeno probably wouldn't have made it into university to begin with. you tutored him in almost every class, every time he struggled with anything school related, he ran to you, from elementary school to university, you were practically his teacher.

they say university is supposed to be the place where you let go of your childhood self and finally grow up. yet here you are now, a third year student and you still haven't quite grown into the lady you were supposed to be. trends went over your head, fashion didn’t interest you and makeup was harder than your architect class. half your wardrobe was made up of high school leftovers, you were still sporting bangs that you had from middle school and you never really saw the point in “fixing yourself up.”

at least, one of you did — jeno somehow made his way into the dream fraternity and somehow earned the title the chill fuckboy. it was odd, seeing people start treating him differently. even odder when you started to see girl’s eyes follow him like he was some kind of lead in a main k-drama and then land on you with a confused gaze. like they couldn’t understand why he was friends with someone like you.

“nothing,” you say quickly, finally tearing your eyes away from sungchan and forcing your attention on the assignment in front of you.

jeno, not satisfied with your answer, followed your earlier gaze, a light chuckle slipping past his lips, “aww, does my little bunny wunny have a crush?,” he cooed, reaching over to pinch your cheek, his trademark eye smile on display.

bunny was the nickname he had given you when you both were eight years old. in some twisted doom, like you were always going to be life’s punching bag, all your baby teeth fell out at the same time, leaving only the two front teeth behind. these days, he throws in a ridiculous wunny at the end just to piss you off.

“shut up jeno,” you scowl, swatting his hand away and adjusting your glasses back into place.

he chuckles, unfazed, before pulling out his own assignments and settling in beside you. a comfortable silence draping over the two of you, easy and familiar.

but your mind was still reeling. you wanted, so badly, to be the girl who was kissing sungchan instead of the nerd he only acknowledged when he needed answers for a test. you wanted to hold his hand, to walk around campus with him, to be the one sitting in the back of the library.

you wanted to be the girl that people wanted to be.

your gaze drifts to your best friend. jeno hadn’t always been this effortlessly put-together, with his hair perfectly styled, clothes fitting him properly, and those annoying sculpted arms that somehow always had a girl clinging to them.

you’re reminded of a different version of him – the times when you had matching glasses, his head way too big for his body, the endless rotation of naruto and pokemon t-shirts he always had on and the way he would stutter every time a pretty girl would even look at his direction.

if he could grow into the handsome, confident man he is now, why couldn’t you?

and then, just like that, a lightbulb flickers on.

“...neno,” you call out to him, sweetly.

jeno eyes you with immediate suspicion, you only use that nickname when you want something from him, “what?,” he asks, an eyebrow raised.

“we’re best friends, right?,” you ask, innocently blinking up at him.

“is the sky blue???,” he shoots back, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. you ignore it, too caught up in the plan buzzing in your head.

“so, as my best friend, you’d do anything for me, right?,” you press, excitement coursing through.

he narrows his eyes, “that depends on what you’re about to ask from me,” he says, looking at you with a mixture of suspicion and mild horror.

“make me hot,” you say, dead serious.

jeno chokes on absolutely nothing, eyes going wide as the words hit him, “what?!.” he hisses, half-whisper, half-scream, as if you just confessed to a felony. a few heads turned your way and you can’t help but blush under the sudden attention.

“you’re so dramatic!,” you whisper, shrinking behind your books. all your previous confidence, going down the drain as you finally realized what you just asked him to do.

jeno charmingly waves, muttering his apologies until the curious stares faded and the library’s usual hush returned.

“y/n,” he said, suddenly serious, gaze locked on you, “what do you mean by ‘make you hot’?” his entire focus on you.

you sigh, heat crawling up your neck, “nevermind, jeno, it’s nothing,” you say, grabbing the nearest book, hoping to bury this conversation along with your pride.

before you could turn a page, jeno snatches it away from you, “hey, no secrets between us remember,” he said, gently but firmly.

you stared at the table, lips pressed into a thin line, weighing the embarrassment against the aching truth in your chest, “i just meant…help me be desirable, i’m tired of being a nerd, jeno. i just want someone to look at me and think i’m pretty,” you admit, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“i think you’re pretty, bunny,” he says quietly.

you groaned, immediately burying your face in your hands. this was too embarrassing. you felt like you were fishing for compliments.

“ugh, you’re only saying that because you’re my best friend and our dads will literally kill you if you don’t,” you say, voice muffled by the table below you.

jeno chuckles lightly beside you, “i’m not just saying that.”

you sit back up slowly, looking him dead in the eye, “jeno, i’ve never been asked out, never held hands with someone, hell, i’ve never even kissed anyone,” you reason, head plopping back into your chair.

“—that’s not true!, you’ve kissed me,” he points out earning an eye roll from you.

“jeno we were 14 and i kissed you like how i would kiss my mom,” you say, “it doesn’t count,” you shut your eyes, silently begging the universe to erase this entire moment from existence.

but your words lingered in jeno’s head – the quiet desperation in your voice, the way your eyes had pleaded without meaning to and before he could even think twice, his mouth moved on its own.

“i’ll see what i can do,” he said. your eyes flew open, locking onto his with a sparkle that transferred over to his own.

“thank you, neno,” you grinned, ruffling his hair with a smirk, excitement bubbling through you.

he groaned in protest, batting your hands away but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

a second later, his phone flashes on his side. one glance at the screen and he was already gathering his things, “gotta go, lia texted,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

you nodded, smiling up at him, “have fun, don’t get pregnant,” you teased.

he chuckled, messing your hair up on his way out, “no promises,” he winked, making your face scrunch up in disgust. the image of your best friend having sex was not appealing at all.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

after spending a couple of hours buried in his current situationship’s legs, jeno finally made his way back to the dream house.

the conversation you had in the library constantly playing in his mind as he quickly barges into jaemin’s room, “dude-i oh…sorry!,” his eyes widen, apologizing as he redirects his stare at the ceiling, but doesn’t make an effort to leave.

jaemin scrambles to wrap the blanket around his girlfriend, who is currently face down, ass up with his dick still inside her, “dude!, get out!?,” he yells furiously, throwing a pillow at him.

“i need to ask you something,” jeno says, making jaemin groan, “can you ask me later?, im busy,” he grunts, his girlfriend still clenching tightly around him.

“oh…yeah, sorry…hi angel,” jeno mutters out, a playful smile on his lips before leaving and locking the door behind him, hearing an embarrassed, muffled, “hi jeno,” from jaemin’s girlfriend, on his way out.

“learn to lock the door!,” he laughed from the other side, the sound of skin slapping resuming as he made his way down the living room.

for the past few hours, your words had been playing on a loop in his head. he wasn’t sure where to start or how to go about helping you. not because he didn’t want to but because he’d never realized you needed that kind of help.

sure, he noticed that there were never any boys around, other than him, but he thought you preferred it that way. always scowling in disgust when a guy tries to get near you or even breathe the same air as you.

and besides the fact that he wanted to repay you for always helping him without asking for anything in return, he’d always thought you were pretty.

when you were six, with a scraped knee, and tear streaked cheeks after falling as you chased after his hamster who escaped - pretty.

when you were eight, missing all your teeth except the two in the front, food always ending up smeared all over your face - pretty.

when you were eleven, threatening all his bullies to stay away from him or you would call your dad - pretty.

when you were fourteen and you kissed him because you were curious why your parents were always kissing - so pretty.

when you were fifteen, drowning in a pink puffy dress that ate you up whole - ridiculous, but pretty.

when you were sixteen, at your mom’s funeral, crying on his shoulder, not allowing anyone else near you but him - hauntingly pretty.

when you were eighteen and you both had gotten your acceptance letters for university, excitedly jumping around together - pretty.

when you were twenty and crashed his car because you thought there was a dog on the road, only for it to be the shadow of the tree you crashed into - annoying, but still so damn pretty.

as your best friend, he wants you to see yourself the way he saw you.

if this was what it took to help you finally claim your confidence, then he’d do whatever it takes to make sure it worked. whether or not this was about impressing that boy you liked, he didn’t care. he just wanted to help you feel more sure of yourself.

an hour passed before jaemin finally joined him in the living room, immediately punching him in the arm, “learn to knock,” he huffs out before sitting next to his friend.

jeno chuckles, rubbing his arm, “i didn’t see anything, promise,” he turns to his friend, “you better not have or i’ll literally scoop your eyes out and feed it to you,” his friend grunts making him scrunch up in disgust.

“that’s disgusting,” jeno comments, the mental image making both of them squirm before bursting out into laughter.

“so what did you need?,” jaemin asks as soon as their laughter dies down.

“i actually need your girlfriend’s help,” he smiles sheepishly, piquing the other boy’s curiosity.

“with what?,” jaemin asks.

“with y/n,” jeno says before jaemin nods, getting up to get his girlfriend out of his room and into the living room. the rest of the boys knew who you were, of course, and as jeno had requested, they all looked out for you.

jaemin’s girlfriend listens intently at the plan jeno had - a makeover. he knew he needed a girl’s touch since he didn’t really know anything about the work that girls put into themselves to make them look ‘hot’.

he could argue he thought they just came that way. just like how you have always been pretty.

“well, im kind of done with all of that makeover and stuff,” she briefly smiles at her boyfriend, “but i do know the perfect girl,” shes says smiling, as jeno notes down the girls’ name, paying her a visit.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

two days later, jeno came prepared. plopping down in his usual seat in the library, right next to you, armed with a notepad that was opened to the page:

operation bunny’s glow-up

step 1: the makeover

step 2: closet cleanse and wardrobe upgrade

step 3: posture, confidence and flirting 101

step 4: bunny’s party reveal

you blinked at the notebook in front of you, registering the words written in jeno’s extremely neat handwriting, “what is this?”

“this,” he said, tapping the page, “is how i'm going to help you,” jeno explains.

there were too many steps and you’re suddenly so very aware how ridiculous this actually was, “can we just magically skip to step four where i’m already pretty and perfect and partying?,” you sigh, already feeling exhausted.

jeno almost wants to scold you for thinking you weren’t already pretty and perfect but remembered this is why he was doing this in the first place. to make sure you know you were pretty and perfect.

instead he says, “nope, this is a full process. you asked for my help and that’s what you’re getting, no backing out and definitely no easy way out.”

the sternness in his voice made you realize how serious he was about this. “you’re really gonna do all this for me, neno?,” you ask, a hint of gratitude shining in your eyes.

“of course i am, that’s what best friends are for,” he shrugs, ruffling your hair once again.

which is how you ended up here, seated in a salon chair with the girl you met just a couple minutes ago, your best friend leaving you all by your awkward self with no other than — giselle, third year cosmetology major and one of the school’s hottest girls.

her preppy personality was overwhelming, confidence radiating off her like perfume. you had no idea how to interact with her, no clue how any girl could be so aware of her beauty and completely own it the way she did.

it’s almost unfair how nice she was too. hot, popular girls were supposed to be mean, rude, intolerable. that’s how they’re portrayed in every teen movie you’ve seen. but giselle is kind, easygoing, talked to you like you weren't several social status’ below her in the pyramid you’ve made up.

“alright, so we’re gonna make sure your hair frames for your face perfectly and get rid of all your split ends,” she explains, hands already in motion as she fluffs your hair out, moving it around, parting it here and there to visualize what looks best on you.

once she figured it out, she let out a satisfied hum and got to work. the scissors glide gracefully, almost like they were an extension of her fingers and you can’t help but be mesmerized.

“so, how did you and jeno meet?,” she asks, casually starting the conversation as her hands continue to move through your hair.

“uhm, our parents are best friends,” you mumble, trying not to sound as stiff as you feel.

“ooh, that’s fun!,” she comments and you’re not entirely sure if she means it or if she’s just trying to be polite. either way, you appreciate her effort.

“and you’ve never had a crush on him?,” she adds, eyebrows raised. the shock on your face is evident, the very idea of having a crush on your best friend making your stomach twist.

“uhh no, i’ve never seen him that way,” you reply, a shudder slipping down your spine.

giselle laughs, clearly amused, “i see,” she hums, “your best friend is hot though, you know?,” you smile up at her, nodding, blush creeping up your cheeks.

of course you knew people considered jeno hot but you’re not entirely sure you agree with that statement.

he was the same boy who was crying to you because his hamster escaped, the same boy who got his braces stuck in your sweater, the same boy who ran away when you kissed him, the same boy who almost cried when your acceptance letter came in the mail first, his nowhere to be seen until a week later – your best friend was cute, the same way a puppy was cute.

“soo, who do you think is hot?,” she asks, playful curiosity dancing in her eyes.

is this what girl talk is?

“uhmm,” you shy away under her friendly gaze. you’ve never really had anyone to talk to about boys. with your mom passing away at an early age and all your girlfriends more interested in their anime crushes than real ones, this kind of conversation feels like uncharted territory.

“don’t worry, i'm really good at keeping secrets,” she says, urging you to go on. there’s something about her aura that you trust. and you knew that if jeno didn’t trust her, he wouldn’t have left you alone with her in the first place. so for the first time in your life, you indulge in girl talk.

“i think umm…i think sungchan is hot,” you mutter, shy, eyes immediately darting to the floor.

she gasps, an exaggerated, delighted sound, “i totally agree” she says giggling, “you have great taste,” she giggles. then, leaning in with excitement, she whispers, “i’m gonna make sure sungchan falls in love with you.”

you glance at her reflection in the mirror and despite yourself, a smile appears on your face, giddy and a little disbelieving.

“and…we’re done with your hair!,” she announces, your focus darting at your own reflection. your eyes widen slightly. she made your hair look like what you would see in the magazines – sleek, soft, effortlessly perfect.

the change in your appearance already reflecting back at you.

“this is just the beginning,” she whispers again, a friendly smile displayed on her lips.

she gently reclines the chair you were sitting on then tilts your chin up with practiced fingers, her eyes scanning your face with focused curiosity as she takes your glasses off, “hmm, okay,” she murmurs, turning your face side to side. you can’t help but feel awkward, gaze drifting everywhere else, avoiding eye contact.

“okay…i’m just gonna clean up your brows, and wax a little peach fuzz if that’s okay?,” she asks, voice light and reassuring. you nod, unsure what all that means but trusting her anyway.

giselle gets to work immediately, a new tool in her hand, and wax paper placed on your upper lip and in just twenty minutes, she steps back, satisfied.

your face looks softer…more defined. more you, somehow.

“you’re so pretty, y/n,” she says warmly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “and we barely did anything.”

the compliment hits you harder than you expect. pretty wasn’t a word you would ever describe yourself yet here is one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen calling you that. tears sting the corner of your eyes before you can blink them away.

“c’mon,” she says, voice still gentle but laced with excitement, “we’re not done, grab your stuff, we're going somewhere.”

after spending exactly thirty-two minutes in giselles car, singing along to the radio and laughing at her endless stream of chaotic stories, which you thought was something you’d never ever do, you were now at the mall. more specifically, standing in front of a waxing salon.

you shoot her a nervous glance, eyes wide with suspicion.

“i figured you’d be more comfortable with a stranger you’d never have to see again,” she says with a casual shrug, and suddenly it clicks why you’re here.

you knew what a waxing salon was, you just never thought you’d voluntarily stepped foot into one.

“this is my go-to, they get everything and it doesn’t hurt that bad,” she promises, reassuring, and you swore you look like a tomato with how much you’re blushing.

when giselle said they get everything, she meant they get everything.

even body parts that you didn’t think would have hair on them, body parts that no one else has seen but your own eyes. you almost can’t believe you were in this position right now, but giselle was right – a stranger was better for this. the only thing keeping you from bolting was the comforting knowledge that you’d never have to make eye contact with the person who was currently in between your legs again.

after an hour and several compromising positions later, you were finally done. your skin felt smoother than a baby’s, which was honestly kind of mind-blowing.

giselle was waiting for you at the reception, a bag in her hand, her eyes lighting up as soon as she saw you, “okay!, so i got you a little starter kit filled with makeup, skincare and all the other essentials,” she said, practically bouncing, “let’s go back to my place and i’ll teach you how to use it!”

her excitement was infectious and you couldn’t help but smile just as wide – her bubbly energy sinking into your bones in the best way.

making your way to giselle’s bedroom, you notice how different your rooms were. while yours was covered with posters and music records from all your favorite bands, her’s was covered in magazine clippings of what you assumed are the most popular fashion trends.

while your shelves were filled with books of all genres, she had an entire shelf dedicated to makeup and skincare products. another filled with several handbags and shoes. you weren’t even aware that girls had to have that many.

“sit, my canvas,” she says, lightly teasing, pointing to the chair in front of her vanity mirror as she pulls things out of the bag she gave you.

“we’re keeping it simple, just the basics: primer, foundation, brows, blush, and lipstick of course.”

you nod like you understood anything she was saying. she caught the panic in your eyes and smiled softer this time, “don’t worry,” she said, uncapping a small bottle of primer, “i got you.”

she talked you through every step. primer, foundation, blending like your life depended on it. she filled in one of your brows and handed you the pencil, urging you to try it out yourself. you tried to mimic her, hand shaky, tongue slightly poking out in concentration. this was definitely harder than she made it out to be.

“you’re a natural,” she says, satisfied with your work and you can feel your confidence growing with every second you spend with her. it’s as if she was sharing the amount of confidence she had with you.

by the end of it, you stared at yourself in the mirror and barely recognized your own reflection. not because the makeup was dramatic, it wasn’t, but because you looked like someone who belonged.

like someone who chose how she wanted to be seen.

“there…you look beautiful,” giselle murmurs behind you, chin resting lightly on your shoulder, “i have one last thing for you,” she says, reaching for another bag and you’re not sure how you could ever repay her for all of this.

as if she could read your thoughts, she quickly says, “don’t worry about it, jeno paid for it”

“glasses can be hot, but the ones you have now, completely hides your face so…,” she pulls out two things, “first, i got you these silver ones, they’re smaller but they’ll sit on your face better,” she hands it to you.

you take them, fingers brushing over the smooth metal. the glasses were cute, not your usual style, but when you slipped them on and looked in the mirror, you instantly understood what she meant. they frame your features instead of swallowing them whole.

giselle pats herself on the back, clearly happy with her decision, “and if you’re feeling a little braver,” she trails off, pulling out the last item, “-contact lenses, i asked jeno for your prescription so those should be good, they’re pretty easy to put on too but just in case, i’ll message you a youtube video with step by step instructions,” she smiles at you, soft and sincere.

and you can’t hold it in anymore. her kind actions pull at your heartstrings as the dam breaks – tears sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them.

“thank you, giselle,” you say in full gratitude, voice thick with emotion.

“of course,” she whispers, her eyes matching yours as she pulls you into a hug.

“-now stop crying, okay, makeup is expensive,” she says, laughing as she wipes at her own damp lashes. you both burst into giggles, the room light again despite the weight in your heart.

and then a knock makes its way to her bedroom door, echoing throughout her room.

giselle quickly fixes your tear stained cheeks, “alright, if you ever need anything else, just let me know okay?,” she says, and you nod, thankful for her kindness.

“let's see what your best friend has to say,” she squeals as she rushes over to the door, swinging it open and revealing jeno on the other side.

you hadn’t even thought about how jeno would react or how other people would take in your new appearance. you suddenly felt extremely nervous. he was the first person who was going to see you like this — you wanted him to react well.

jeno steps into the room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, expression casual until he sees you and suddenly he feels like every air has been knocked out of his lungs.

you have always been pretty but right now you look absolutely, breathtakingly, beautiful.

he realizes he’s been staring in silence for too long when he notices you shift in your seat, the words, “what?,” slipping from your lips, almost harsh, trying to sound casual.

he blinks a few times, gulping “n-nothing y-you just look–,”

“different?,” you complete his sentence, afraid he will start teasing you. his stare becomes more uncomfortable with every second of silence that passes.

“-r-really p-pretty,” he finally manages to say. a smile takes over your features, his compliment completely blowing away the feelings of doubt that were starting to cloud.

jeno almost wants to beat himself up for stuttering so much.

“ahh, my work here is done,” giselle beams, looking in between you with a knowing look only she knew the meaning of. she clapped like she’s the proud host of a makeover show, as she should. jeno clears his throat, immediately reminded that you both had an audience.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

a soft knock echoed at your dorm room’s door, followed by jeno’s familiar voice. when you opened it, you caught the tiny flicker in his eyes. he was still trying to get used to your new appearance. its been two days since giselle’s successful makeover and he still hasn’t fully adjusted to this version of you.

but it was time to start step two of the operation - closet cleanse and wardrobe upgrade.

“wait,” you say, squinting at him, “you’re the one that’s gonna look at my clothes?,” you say, bewildered.

what did jeno know about ladies’ fashion?

“yeah, who else would it be?,” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“i don't know, i thought you would’ve brought giselle or another one of your lady friends,” you mumbled as he casually made himself at home on your bed.

he grinned, flopping back against your pillows like he owned the place, “nope, just me, don’t worry…i know what looks good,” he says, a playful smile on his lips as you eyed him suspiciously, “and how exactly are you going to rate my clothes?,” you ask.

he shrugs, “i’ll figure it out as we go, now come on, show me what you got,” he says, making himself comfortable in your sheets.

truthfully, his rating was completely unscientific and wildly biased. he was judging your clothes based on the question: if a girl walked by in this outfit, would i say hi?

and he knows damn well that if you ever found out you were being styled based on his imaginary dream girl, you’d kick him right where the sun won't shine. so he kept that little detail to himself.

“ugh, okay,” you groaned, giving in as you started taking your clothes out of your wardrobe and holding them up for him.

jeno leaned back, arms folded behind his head, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. he was way too comfortable in your space but then again, he always had been.

one by one you pulled clothes from your closet – the shirts you’ve had since middle school, some with funky patterns, others just straight up horrendous. pants with weird patterns and those that didn’t help accentuate your figure at all.

for once, you were thankful for being one of the lucky ones who didn’t have a roommate. no one else needed to witness this humiliation.

jeno, however, was getting the full show. he has never realized how bad your wardrobe was until now. each new item of clothing you pulled out seemed to be worse than the last. and then came the final blow.

the naruto and pokemon shirts. his oversized naruto and pokemon shirts. jeno’s jaw slacks open, like the very memory of those shirts carried his own personal trauma, “why the hell do you have those?!,” he blurted, sitting up like he’d just seen a ghost.

“your dad gave them to me when you outgrew them, i just kept them,” you shrug.

“burn it.” his voice was flat, non-negotiable.

“what?! no!, these are comfortable and i like wearing them to sleep!,” you defend, clutching the shirts like they were priceless heirlooms. jeno stares at you wide eyed, expression teetering somewhere between disgust and betrayal “you cannot let anyone see you in those,” he says, deadly serious, making you chuckle.

“stop being so dramatic, i bet if you wore these now, people would think it’s cool,” you say and jeno shakes his head furiously, like he can't even fathom the idea of ever wearing it again, “no, absolutely not, i’ve buried that version of myself. deep.”

“well, i’m not burning them!,” you declare, shoving the shirts deep into your drawer, making sure he can’t pull it out behind your back.

by the end of it you had two piles. the “i guess that’s okay” pile and the “don’t ever wear that again, that’s going straight to donation,” pile which was unfortunately about three times bigger.

“jeno, i have like no clothes left!,” you say, plopping down on the bed next to him, limbs heavy with defeat.

your room looked like it was run through by a tornado, clothes scattered in every corner.

without a word, jeno pulls you into his arms, fingers brushing your hair out of your face with an ease that only comes from years of friendship, “we’re gonna go shopping,” he murmurs against your temple, “it’s gonna be fine.”

you let yourself melt into his side with a sigh, “okay, but like…in five minutes, i’m too tired to even attempt being a hot girl right now,” he chuckles softly and you feel the sound more than you hear it, sleep tugging you under.

jeno lets his eyes flutter shut too, a small contented smile on his lips.

five minutes, she said. he’d give her ten.

ten minutes turned into three hours and you woke up with your legs tangled with the boy beside you, “neno,” you groaned, shoving him off of you, “you’re so fucking heavy,” you whine.

jeno slowly wakes up, blinking the sleep away as he sluggishly rubbed at his eyes, “fuck, what time is it?,” he says before reaching out for his phone and answering his own question.

it was only 6PM, still plenty of time to run to the mall and get you your new upgraded outfits.

and exactly thirty minutes later, jeno was dragging you around all the stores with the latest fashion trends. you didn’t even know your best friend knew these stores existed, “how do you know so much about this?” you ask him, eyeing him suspiciously.

he shot you a grin over his shoulder, “well, i do listen to every girl i talk to, you know” he points out and you’re reminded of the fact that your sweet, nerdy best friend was also one of the university’s hot, sexy, fuck-boy.

you rolled your eyes, “gross.” you still can’t believe he even has that reputation. wanting to smack yourself every time you get reminded of it. how could your glasses-wearing, braces-clad, cried-over-a-hamster best friend turn into some kind of lady killer? it didn’t feel real.

“hey, it’s called research,” he teased, “gotta keep them interested somehow.”

he grabs a shopping cart, pulling at everything he thought looked nice on the mannequins, as well as a couple of pieces of clothing that fit his previous criteria.

you follow him around like a lost child. you don’t even remember the last time you had a shopping trip and bought something for yourself. you were usually only here to buy gifts or if you’re forced to buy new underwear.

after a while of aimlessly wandering as jeno does all the work, you find yourself in the dressing room, a shopping bag filled with clothes in your arm.

now here you were, staring at your reflection in pure disbelief. the first matching outfit jeno picked out was a tiny pink skirt and an even tinier pink crop top that left your midriff exposed, “uhhm, jeno i dont know about this one,” you say from the other side of the door, nervous.

“step out, let me see,” he says, patiently sitting outside of your dressing room stall, voice relaxed, clearly unbothered.

slowly, hesitantly, your fingers hover over the lock before unlocking the door, debating on whether or not you should let him see you in this ridiculous outfit that is showing way too much skin than you’re used to. before you could completely psych yourself out, you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself before finally swinging the door wide open, revealing the outfit to him.

jeno looked up and almost choked on air.

the outfit definitely hugged your curves in all the right places, made your skin glow and your legs look longer, and god, yes, he would definitely go up to you and say hi if he saw you at a party.

but then he thinks about all the other boy’s who would also go up to you and say hi and do god knows what else and the thought almost knocks him out.

“yeah, that doesn’t look comfortable, i don't like it,” he says a half lie. you quickly agree, relieved, as you go back into the dressing room to try on your next outfit.

jeno feels hot.

the air was too thick and he wanted to dunk his head in cold water to remind himself that this was you.

he shakes the thoughts away. these are thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking about, especially with his best friend. but it was no use. because the next time you stepped out of the dressing room you were wearing a white skirt a little longer than the last one and a light blue top that covered what needed to be covered but was just enough to exude that sexiness he liked in a girl and he swore he needed to get into a bathroom. now.

“this one’s a bit better, i could actually wear this,” you comment, innocently looking at him through those silver glasses that makes your eyes pop out, a small smile on display and all he could do was nod, “yeah…t-that one’s nice,” he says, disguising his stutter under a fake cough.

you smiled, pleased with his answer, and he felt his stomach flip.

he was in so much trouble.

this torture went on for a good fifteen more outfits, tiny side comments coming from him while his sanity continues to slip just a little more. his pants feel more restricted every time you walk out dressed in the cutest outfits that looked like they were made for you.

the worst ones were the ones you liked. the ones that made your eyes twinkle in the mirror and made you smile like you were finally starting to see yourself the way he saw you – absolutely beautiful.

there’s a million f words running through his head.

why the fuck did he think this was a good idea? why the fuckity fuck didn’t he just ask giselle to add this to her makeover process? why the fuckity fuck fuck did he throw all those tiny tops and short skirts into your basket? why the flying fuckity fuck fuck fuck shit fuck are you so fucking pretty? and more importantly – what the actual fuck are you, his best friend, doing to him?

after a long three hours of internal screaming – it was finally over.

you emerged from the mall looking like you’d just won a game show, all smiles and sunshine, bubbling with excitement, happy with the outfits your best friend picked out for you while jeno trudged behind you, hauling ten full shopping bags, half amused, half in pain.

he drove in near silence as you yapped on and on about your makeover with giselle, every detail you hadn’t had the chance to spill yet now tumbling out all at once.

in the middle of your yapping session, you noticed the boy wasn’t as active as he usually was, no silly side comments, no teasing remarks.

“neno..,” you sweetly called out to him and jeno nearly swerved.

god, the things that nickname did to him.

“you okay?,” you asked, eyes flicking over to him.

“yeah bunny, just tired,” he said with a small smile, trying to play it cool.

“that was a lot of shopping for a guy, y’know?” he glanced at you quickly, then back to the road, “keep going, tell me more about your day with giselle,” he says.

you eyed him for a second longer, as if trying to read him, then picked up right where you left off.

he dropped you off and made sure you were safely in your room. before he could leave you surprised him by reaching out and pulling him into a hug. with your arm tight around his waist, face pressed against his chest, you let out a soft sigh, “thank you, neno, sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

jeno chuckles, gently smoothing your hair down with one hand, hoping you don’t realize how fast his heart was beating, “you can never take too much of my time, bunny, you know that” he says, reassuring you.

you look up at him, with that sweet, grateful smile that’s currently driving him crazy, “you’re the best best friend in the entire world,” you say, before leaning up and pressing a sweet, innocent kiss to his cheek.

jeno should’ve been used to it.

you’ve been kissing his cheek ever since you were five years old and playing in the mud together. he argues today just wasn’t his day.

maybe it was the outfit? maybe it was the soft curve of your smile? or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had sex in so long (two days) it was affecting his logic?

whatever it was, that little peck nearly sent him spiraling.

“go and rest,” you said, pushing him towards your door and out of your dorm room, “thanks for shopping with me,” you ended the night with a lopsided grin before shutting your door as he finally made his way out.

he didn’t go home right away. instead he found himself at lia’s place, hands roaming and mind elsewhere, trying to exorcise whatever the hell was clawing at him from the inside out.

he kissed her like he meant it, touched her like he was desperate – because he was. so, so desperate for release. he fucked the shit out of her, releasing all his sexual urges as he guiltily pictured you in those tight, revealing outfits.

pictured you smiling up at him having absolutely no idea the effect you left behind. pictured your sweet voice calling him that nickname you gave him when you were fourteen before you stole his first kiss.

and when he finally finished, breathless and sweaty, staring up at the ceiling of a room that wasn’t his, next to a girl he barely knew, all could think about was: what the actual fuck is wrong with me?

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the easy part of this transformation was over — the shopping spree, the haircut, the subtle change of your appearance had all been external.

you could already feel the power your new look gave you. for the first time in your life, you realized that pretty privilege wasn’t just some exaggerated social theory. it was real. you felt it in the smallest gestures.

on your way to the library, retracing steps you’ve taken hundreds of times before, everything felt a little different. the way people intently held the door open for you, even if you were still several steps away. the way they’d immediately made space for you in the elevator. and the way someone had already rushed to help you grab a book from the top shelf – you used to have to drag the ladder with you just to get it before.

however, just because life became a tad bit easier, doesn’t mean you felt comfortable.

what had once been comfort in invisibility was now replaced with the pressure of being seen. you weren’t used to the lingering glances or the compliments or the catcalls — it made your skin crawl, making you want to hide under the table until everyone leaves.

when jeno finally walked into the library, his eyes landed on you immediately. you wore a soft white top with jeans that finally hugged your frame and a light blue cardigan around your shoulders, collarbones out for display. it was one of the outfits you bought last night.

the guilt on his shoulders felt heavier as he was reminded of what he did — what he thought of.

forcefully shaking the thoughts away, he quietly sits right next to you. his gaze drifts to your legs anxiously bouncing under the table. a sign that something was clearly bothering you. gently, he placed a hand on your knee. you flinched slightly, then looked up at him, your expression distant – like you just realized he was there.

“bunny, what’s wrong?,” he asks, voice low and tender, threaded with concern.

“they’re all staring, jeno,” you whispered, almost like you didn’t want the words to exist.

he looks around the room, noticing the way everyone was too deep into their own worlds and while he didn’t see anyone obviously gawking, he knew it didn’t matter. it wasn’t about them. it was about what you were feeling inside.

“no one’s staring, bunny,” he murmured, voice delicate, like handling glass.

he knew better than to dismiss it. he recalls what it was like when he stepped out without the comfort of his thick-rimmed glasses and oversized t-shirts for the first time. remembers the way his heart was pounding in his chest, afraid of the judgments he might receive. he didn’t need to guess what you were feeling. he’s sure you were battling the same internal conflict right now. but just like how he got through it, he knows you will too. he’ll make sure of it.

you shut your eyes, taking a deep breath, “sorry,” you whispered, exhaling like the breath had been stuck in your chest all day, “im just- being paranoid, i’m not used to people noticing me,” you say softly.

“that’s okay,” jeno said, a warm smile blooming on his face as his hand moved to your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles, “that’s our lesson for today.”

jeno gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he set his bag down beside you, “okay bunny, first thing’s first is it’s all about your mindset,” he taps his head, pointing to his brain and you can’t help but giggle at the silly antics.

“im serious,” he insisted, lips twitching into a smirk, “if someone stares, don't spiral and think ‘they’re judging me.’ instead think ‘i look good, that’s why they’re staring,’” he says.

your eyes pop out of your head, he says it like it was so easy, “doesn’t that sound a little too egotistical?,” you said, nose wrinkling.

“not egotistical, just confident,” he counters, “there’s a difference.”

you gave him a skeptical look but he was already sitting up straighter, leaving no room for arguments.

“next is posture, stop hiding behind your books and sit straight, shoulders back, chin up,” he demonstrates.

you copied his posture, finding his seriousness amusing as you rolled your shoulders back, “like this?,”

“yeah,” he nodded, approving, “you already look more confident”

you laughed quietly, already feeling silly, “i feel like i’m pretending to be someone i’m not,” you point out.

“well, confidence is pretending, at first anyway,” he replied, shrugging, “eventually you start owning up to it, it starts becoming comfortable.”

you studied your best friend for a minute or two. there was a time where he would hide behind his books as well, would even hide behind you. you realized now that his change didn’t just come out of nowhere – it wasn’t just a random growth spurt. it was something he’d worked on, something that took time and practice, just like you were doing now. you wondered how he ever managed to do this alone.

“and the most important thing to know, bunny,” he adds, voice gentler now, “you’re allowed to take up space, don’t ever apologize for being seen.”

you carried his words with you, tucking them somewhere deep, somewhere that had always longed to hear them.

you sat there in silence for a beat until jeno shifted beside you, nudging your arm lightly, “okay,” he said, eyes glinting with a mischievous spark, “time for your first assignment.”

you turned to him, instantly suspicious, “assignment?,”

he nodded, already scanning the room, “see that guy by the window,” he points to possibly the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen reading a worn copy of the hunger games: catching fire. you recognize him. you’re pretty sure he was in your elective art class.

“you’re going to flirt with him,” jeno smirks and your eyes almost bulge out of your head.

“you’re joking! that’s hyunjin,” you whisper, head whipping toward jeno.

“so?,”

“so, he’s…he’s too cool and i don't even know how to flirt!,” you whisper-shouted, hands flailing helplessly at your sides.

he chuckles, “you were the same girl who threatened to beat up my bullies when we were 11, you’re telling me you’re afraid of a boy now?,” his smile is playful, lightly provoking you. and when you don’t reply, he knew you knew that he was right, “just compliment him, smile, say he has nice hands or something.”

your mouth fell open, staring at him in horror, “that’s so dumb, jeno. what if he thinks i'm hitting on him?”

“...you are hitting on him,” he said slowly, like it was obvious.

you groaned, dragging your hands over your face, “i’m not comfortable with this.”

“that’s the point. confidence doesn’t grow in comfort zones,” jeno says and you wonder when he’s gotten so wise. usually you were the one who had these motivational words ready for him.

staring down at your lap, nerves buzzing like static in your fingertips, you take a moment to think it through. you glanced back at your best friend, he was already looking at you proudly – like he believed in you more than you believe in yourself.

you let out a breathy laugh, the absurdity the situation weighing on your chest, “if this ends in disaster–,”

“it wont,” he cuts you off and you knew there was no way to back out of this situation. besides you were the one who asked him to help you. slowly, you got up from your chair, taking a deep breath and making your way towards the boy.

“hi, hyunjin,” you start off quiet, timid, slightly afraid.

hyunjin darts his eyes away from his book, looking up at you, “hey” he replies. when you don’t say anything else right away, he shifted in his seat, “did you need anything?,” he says, an awkward smile on his lips.

you swallowed hard, nerves tangling in your throat, “i uhm…just wanted to tell you—you have nice hands!,” you say, a little too cheerful for your liking. you were internally screaming. curse jeno for putting that in your head. you actually can’t believe you used it.

he blinked. then a soft laugh escaped him, not mocking, but surprised, amused. “oh? uhm, thanks?,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “i like what you’ve done with your hair,” he compliments, leaving you shocked.

“what?”

he points vaguely in your direction, “you got a haircut, right? it look’s nice.”

you blinked, stunned into silence for a second too long. “thank you,” you finally breathed, cheeks warming instantly.

you didn’t realize he noticed you before. let alone remember you enough to notice a change.

“you’re welcome,” he smiles and you awkwardly wave goodbye.

you made your back to jeno, so certain that you looked like a tomato. dropping into the seat beside him, burying your face in your hands, “that was so embarrassing,” you mumbled through your fingers.

jeno tried to hide his laughter behind his fingers, afraid to be called out by the librarian for being too loud, “you actually told him he had nice hands,” he wheezed.

“shut up!,” you groaned, “that was your fault!,” you swat at his arm, “my brain just – stopped working.”

jeno calms himself down, sitting up straighter now, the teasing falling away just a little, “yeah, but you did it…and he talked to you, noticed your hair, said he liked it.”

the memory of hyunjin’s compliment flickers in the back of your mind and a small swell of pride flutters in your chest, “he did, didn’t he…,” a shy smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

jeno nods, eyes full of tenderness, “see? you’ve never been invisible,” he points out.

the words settle over you like a warm blanket and for a moment you just sit with them, the weight of the realization sinking in.

“i still felt like i was going to pass out though,” you admitted, a thin, embarrassed smile on display.

“that’s okay, confidence is scary,“ jeno said simply, “but the more you practice, the easier it’ll be,” he sends you a warm smile, never making you feel like these feelings were wrong.

without thinking, you leaned into his shoulder, seeking the steady comfort he always gave you, “thanks, neno,” you breathe out.

he freezes for a second, just for a second, before bumping his head lightly against yours, “anytime.”

then he pulls back just enough to grin mischievously, “now, go back to hyunjin and say something a little less awkward.”

“wait? right now?!,” you whip your head toward him, horrified once again.

“yes, right now…go,” he’s already pushing you up and out of your seat, laughing under his breath as he watches you stumble forward, nerves buzzing anew.

trying to ignore the way your heart pounds against your ribs, you walk back up to hyunjin, this time with a bit more confidence, capturing his attention once more.

“actually i…i wanted to say that’s a really good book,” you nod toward the hunger games book in his hand and hyunjin lights up instantly.

“right?, i’m on my third re-read,” he says excitedly.

with a casual gesture, he pulls out the chair next to him inviting you to sit as you talked about the masterpiece that is suzanne collins and the hunger games trilogy. the conversation went on for a good twenty minutes, it was easy and light and fun, a little playful sometimes. you lose yourself in the exchange, forgetting the nerves that once clawed at your chest.

when hyunjin bid his goodbye, you practically floated back to your seat. your heart was pounding in your ears but in the best way possible. you can’t believe that just happened. you usually only talk to people in class, if you’re required to.

jeno watched you. watched that twinkle in your eye appear, your smile beaming as the conversation continues and it’s the first time throughout this whole process that he sees the change.

you were slowly bringing back the girl he knew. the girl you lost along the way. the girl he always knew was still there, just waiting for a reason to shine.

when you returned to him, he can’t help but tease you just a little bit, “look who’s suddenly ms. social butterfly,” he grins, earning an eye roll from you as you tried to wipe the giddy smile off your face, “shut up”

“no seriously,” he says, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on the table, “twenty full minutes, i was about to send a search party,” he smirks.

“always so dramatic,” you huff but your smile betrays you, “i didn’t think it’d actually go that well,” you admit, cheeks still pink.

“you flirted, you sat down, talked about hunger games lore like it was natural…if i didn't know you, i’d think you do this every day,” he smirks.

you narrow your eyes, “are you mocking me or hyping me up?,” you say playfully.

“why not both?,” he shrugs, clearly enjoying himself. his tone softens just enough to say, “but seriously bunny, im proud of you,” and you smile at him like he just handed you the stars in the sky.

“thanks…i feel kinda…good.”

“confidence will do that to you,” jeno says, nudging your foot under the table.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the next few days turn into a full crash course in flirting 101 with lee jeno.

one afternoon, he dares you to make eye contact with the cute guy handing out flyers in campus, not just a glance, real eye contact. it sounds simple but it makes your palms sweat. you were able to managed a flirty smile too and when the boy stammers mid-sentence, jeno practically fist-pumps the air behind you.

another day, he made you strike up a casual conversation with the barista at the cafe. told you to be a little playful, a little flirty. you passed with flying colors, only stumbling over a few words, the barista writing his number on your cup as well as giving you an extra cookie “on the house.” you nearly skip back to jeno, face lit up like christmas morning.

each small win builds on the last, stacking slowly, steadily until the idea of putting yourself out there and owning up to your confidence doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

through it all, jeno watches with the same steady pride adoring the fact that you were learning how to take up space and shine again.

but then comes the moment that even he isn’t prepared for.

it’s a warm afternoon, golden light slanting through the library windows, when jeno leans over the table, a mischievous glint in his eye, “alright, new assignment.”

you smirk at him, accepting his challenge, “what now?”

he tips his chin toward the entrance where sungchan – tall, charming, the boy you’ve had a quite, hopeless crush on for years – walks in, balancing a coffee and his bag slung casually over one shoulder.

the air is knocked out of your lungs and you suddenly feel dizzy, hoping jeno doesn’t follow through whatever he had in mind.

“sungchan,” jeno says, making your heart skip a bit. he grins, already knowing the effect he has on you, “go invite him to the dream frat party this weekend.”

you stare at him like he’s grown two heads, “are you insane?!, that’s sungchan!”

“which makes this the perfect challenge,” he teases.

you open your mouth to protest but jeno cuts you off with a nudge on your arm, “c’mon show me you’ve learned something,” he mocks playfully.

you groan dramatically but your feet somehow move anyway, heart pounding so loudly you’re sure jeno can hear it from where he’s sitting. you were determined to show jeno (and yourself) that you have completely embraced the confidence.

you gather every shred of courage you have and cross the room toward the boy who inspired this whole glow-up.

sungchan looks up just as you approach, his smile lighting up the whole room. you send him a smile – a little flirty, a little too sweet.

“hey,” sungchan says, voice warm, “you’re in my psych class, right? you always ace every test”

you blink, a little thrown by the fact the he paid attention to you, “oh yeah, that’s me,” you say with a soft, bashful laugh, earning a chuckle from the boy in front of you.

he leans against the shelves a little, eyes raking over you in a way that makes your stomach twist. it’s not the uncomfortable kind of stare you’ve been learning to dodge lately. it’s something softer, curious, warm. like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“you look different today,” he says, tilting his head, studying you, “—in a good way.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks but you force yourself to stay steady, remembering everything jeno has taught you.

“thanks,” you manage, giving him a more playful, more bold smile, “maybe you just weren’t paying enough attention before.”

this surprises him, eyebrows shooting up before a slow, impressed grin stretches across his face.

“maybe i wasn’t,” he admits, the easy charm in his voice sending your heart into a full sprint.

for a second, neither of you moves. the space between you humming with quiet tension – intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

you clear your throat lightly, breaking the spell, “come to the dream frat party this weekend,” you say it like it wasn’t an invitation. wasn’t a question. didn’t give him any room to deny.

sungchan’s grin turns teasing, a spark lighting in his eyes, “am i coming as your date or…?,” he leans toward you, trailing off, leaving the question open, playful.

you bite back a laugh, finding just enough courage to meet his gaze head on, “i guess you’ll have to come to find out.”

he stares at you for a heartbeat longer. you’ve definitely piqued his curiosity. and then he laughs, easy and alluring, “okay beautiful, you’ve convinced me. i’ll be there,” he whispers for only you to hear before sending you a wink and walking away.

back at the table, jeno watches. something inside him shifts. it’s subtle, a small, tight pull low in his chest but it settles in bitterly.

he pushes it away, refusing to acknowledge it because this wasn’t supposed to matter. he wasn’t supposed to care about anything but seeing you happy.

you make your way back to him, beaming, “he said yes!,” you practically squeal, dropping into your chair like your knees might give out at any second.

jeno chuckles, reaching out to ruffle your hair, a familiar, easy gesture that suddenly feels heavier than it should.

“of course he did, you’re impossible to say no to,” he tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and you’re too giddy to notice any of it. you bat his hand away, cheeks flushed and full of life.

jeno is forced to swallow past the uncomfortable lump rising in his throat.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

tonight is the dream fraternity’s party.

the night where you finally put everything you’ve learned, everything you’ve worked for, to the test. this was it. the final step in your glow up and you felt that electric sense of anticipation crackling just beneath your skin.

you were done waiting. done watching from the sidelines.

you were ready to let loose, to fully step into this new version of yourself.

you stepped into the house, the air thick with excitement. a tight white dress clings to your body, a bold choice you would have second-guessed before. you ditched your glasses for the night, switching it with the contact lenses giselle gave you — embracing the braveness.

this time, when you notice the stares, the double takes, the whispered comments, you don’t shrink back. you don’t flinch. you let them wash over you, feeding the fire inside you.

all those lessons with jeno clearly worked. that change in mindset was all you needed. the attention makes you glow. makes you feel powerful.

looking around the room, you searched for your best friend before finally spotting him in the corner at the back, near the kitchen.

you send him a tiny wave, he sends one back, excitement bubbling through you but before you could make your way towards him, a hand on your arm stops you.

“y/n! you look so pretty oh my god!,” giselle screeches over the loud music, a smile beaming on her face as she pulls you in for a tight hug. she was clearly already intoxicated, her balance a little wobbly but her energy still infectious.

“c’mon,” she says, already dragging you around the room with her, “you have to meet my friends!”

you happily followed her around, giggles escaping your lips, nervousness falling away with every step.

before you know it you were three shots in, dancing with the girls – giselle, somi, and angel, who you already knew before as jaemin’s girlfriend.

the music was loud, your laughters were louder.

and for the first time, you aren’t overthinking a single thing.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

when jeno saw you walk into the front door, it was like time had slowed down, like a thousand cherry blossom petals had burst into the air around you, everyone else blurring into a side character of your story.

you have always been pretty. always been beautiful. but tonight, you were absolutely radiant.

and it wasn’t even the dress, though he can’t deny how much he loved the way white clung to you, soft and luminous.

it was the way you walked around the room with your head held high. the way you glowed with every step, not shying away under anyone’s gaze. the way your smile beamed.

you weren’t hiding anymore.

you have finally stepped into your own skin, finally brought back the girl he knew.

in that moment, it wasn’t just the girl standing in front of him that he saw. it was every version of you that was always beautiful – the girl that was the first one out of the house, chasing after his hamster. the girl that didn’t care if she only had two teeth left, she would still eat what she wanted. the girl who was fighting bullies three times her size just to protect him. the girl who was brave enough to kiss him first. the girl who learned to pick up the pieces.

when you waved at him, he felt like he was on cloud nine. it felt like he had stepped into his shoes all those years ago – a boy hopelessly in awe of the only person he ever wanted to see him.

and when you started walking towards him, it was like his lungs could no longer function. you stole every breath he had.

but before you could give it back to him, giselle pulls you away, spinning you into the chaos of the party, leaving jeno standing there, fighting the urge to follow.

“was that, y/n?,” jaemin says, popping out from nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack as he clutches his chest.

he punches the boy in his arm before confirming that it was in fact, you. jaemin looks at him with a knowing glance. he recognizes the familiar twinkle in jeno’s eye.

“wow,” jisung comments from his other side, making him pause.

when did all his friends show up?

“she looks really hot,” jisung adds, eyes following your figure across the room.

a devilish grin appeared on jeno’s lips and in one quick motion, he had jisung under his arm, ruffling his hair, “no, no, no…not the hair hyunggg!,” he struggled from the older boy’s grip before jeno finally released him.

“point taken, won’t say anything about her ever again,” jisung pouts, fixing his hair back into place.

“i don’t know what you mean,” jeno smiles playfully, “i just wanted to play with you.”

chenle chuckles from nearby, “oh definitely, it’s totally not because you’re possessive and way too protective of y/n,” he points out.

“i am not possessive,” jeno argues, his voice defensive, “protective, sure, but she’s my best friend guys, our parents will kill me if something bad happens to her,” he says.

“she’s also a grown woman,” renjun points out, “you can’t keep pushing away every guy who thinks she’s hot, you know?”

“im not pushing away every guy!…just you guys,” jeno protests. he would never let any of his friends touch you, knowing what he knows.

there’s a pause as the group stares at him, “mhm, cause her really tall, really muscular, really intimidating, doesn’t smile at anyone, guy best friend being by her side almost all the time isn’t pushing away any boys,” haechan adds, teasing.

“it’s not my fault those boys don’t have the balls to ask her out,” jeno mutters, looking at mark for some support, hoping that he’d somehow take his side and tell the others that they were being ridiculous.

mark shrugs in a don’t look at me kind of way and jeno can’t help but groan in defeat.

“well, that boy definitely has the balls,” jaemin nods towards the dance floor as jeno follows his line of vision, his eyes immediately on your figure once again.

you're still with the girls but this time, sungchan and a few other guys from the riize fraternity have surrounded you, laughing and chatting with you.

“shouldn’t you get your girlfriend, jaemin?,” mark asks casually, “i know that wonbin guy has a thing for her,”

jaemin just laughs, completely unbothered, “nah, he doesn't stand a chance,” he says, sipping from his drink as the boy’s laugh.

but jeno knew that sungchan definitely had a chance with you. nothing is funny.

sungchan leans in close, whispers something in your ear and you were laughing. the laugh he thought was only reserved for him. he feels his fists clench up on his sides.

“you gonna push him away, jeno?,” haechan teases by his ear, a smirk playing on his lips, earning him a punch right on the stomach.

“shut up,” he says, haechan clutching over, his laughter mixing with his pain. he totally deserved that.

“c‘mon jisung, let’s find your girl for the night,” haechan manages to say in between choked breaths, before he dragged jisung and mark out of the room, resuming their fuckboy101 classes.

jeno watches as sungchan and you continue to talk, his gaze never wavering from the two of you. every inch of him wants to march over there and pull you away but he doesn’t. instead, he stays rooted in place, his eyes burning holes in the back of your head, feeling his pulse quicken in ways he can’t explain.

lia, his current situationship, walks up to him.

“okayy, that’s our cue,” chenle whispers before all the boys dispersed leaving jeno alone.

he doesn’t even greet her, doesn’t make an effort to say hi, eyes still glued on your figure.

“hi handsome,” lia drags her hands up his shoulders, settling on the back of his neck, her lips finding the side of his jaw.

it all happened so quickly.

one second you were still with the girls, the next sungchan dragged you to the side, his lips on yours. jeno’s jaw clenches. his heart dropping.

he needed to stop looking. he needed a distraction.

he finally acknowledges the girl clung to his neck. she reeks of alcohol and vape smoke. jeno turns to kiss her anyway.

he let’s lia drag him up the stairs, taking one last look at you. he let’s her lead him into his bedroom. let’s her strip off his clothes.

he knew you were going to be okay, knew you could handle your alcohol after many beer nights with him and he definitely knew that you were too smart to get yourself into any real trouble.

he can’t ruin this night for you.

“fuck me like you did last time,” lia whispers in his ear, trailing kisses down his neck, “fuck me like you mean it,” her hand travels down, wrapping around his already hard cock and jeno did.

he fucked her like she was all he needed. abused her hole, used her to release all his sexual tension, trying to push away the image of you from his mind.

but he found that every time you appeared, the better it felt and soon he was clenching, body shaking, his orgasm taking over as he came…with your name spilling from his lips.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

bunny: come over please it’s an emergency.

jeno was banging on your door in under eight minutes of that text. which was absolutely ridiculous considering the fraternity house was a twenty minute walk away from your building. a million thoughts were racing in his head.

what happened after he left you at the party that constitutes this emergency text? were you hurt?

you swung the door open, perfectly intact. no tears, no bruises, just you – in shorts and one of his your oversized naruto t-shirt, blinking at him like he was the one being ridiculous.

side note: it’s insane how you manage to make that shirt look sexy.

he exhaled hard, one hand bracing on the doorframe as he caught his breath.

“did you run here?,” you ask, stunned, noticing the sweat dripping down the side of his face.

“you said it was an emergency,” he shot back, chest still heaving.

you offered a sheepish smile, “sorry, come in,” before walking into your room. jeno followed, shutting the door with a soft click.

“what happened?” he asked, eyes scanning you again, just to be sure, as he sat on the edge of your bed watching you pace back and forth.

“sungchan kissed me,” you tell him.

he blinked, processing, he knew that. he saw you. the reminder leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. he pushes it away, playing the best friend card once more.

“that’s good? right?,” he says cautiously, cursing the fact that he was your best friend right now and had to listen to you talk about another guy, “that’s what you wanted?”

“yeah but,” you swallowed, embarrassment already creeping up your neck, “but i didn’t know what to do!”

“what do you mean?,” he asks dumbfounded, “you just…kiss him back.”

“it’s not that simple, you weren’t there – i panicked! i-i froze! i was too into my head and then i just – i ran,” you ramble, cringing as you relived what happened last night.

a snort escapes jeno before he could stop it.

you narrowed your eyes, “don’t laugh!, it was so humiliating, i can’t believe i ran away like a literal child!,” you groan in your hands.

he tried to control his expression but the corner of his mouths betrayed him, eyes twinkling with amusement, “y/n, it’s not a big deal, you were nervous,” he reassures, “just tell him you were drunk and then try again, it's not the end of the world,” he says it so easily – like you didn’t just go through the worst moment of your life. and that’s saying a lot considering you had a dead mom.

“that’s the problem, i don’t know what i'm doing, i always thought when it happened i’d just know but i didn’t,” you whine in frustration, pulling at your hair.

he must be crazy to think you’d get a different result if you went up to sungchan now and kissed him. you’re almost sure the same thing would happen.

“you’ll be fine next time, you’ll be prepared for it,” he says. the thought of there being a next time makes you panic.

“will i?,” you cut in, “what if i freeze again?,”

“you won’t”

“you don’t know that.”

he opened his mouth to argue, but you beat him to it.

“can you teach me?,” you said, voice quiet.

jeno stills, looking at you with wide eyes like he almost couldn’t believe what you just said – “what?”

“teach me,” you sat next to him, eyes locked on his, “add a step five, teach me how to kiss, teach me how to–” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the other things, the dirtier things you wanted to learn, “–how to do other things,” you mumble.

his jaw tensed. he can’t believe what it is you’re truly asking from him. teaching you how to kiss was already absurd but teaching you how to kiss for another man? it makes him want to throw up.

“bunny –no. i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“why not?,” your head turns like a genuinely curious puppy.

“because best friends don’t–,” he faltered, “we don’t cross that line.”

“but it’s not like that,” you looked up at him, voice softening, “it’s just…practice.”

he didn’t move. didn’t blink. he can’t fathom the fact that he was actually starting to entertain the idea.

“it’s for educational purposes…just another step in the glow up,” you added, looking at him with those innocent eyes that makes him want to give you the moon, if you asked for it.

his throat worked as he swallowed, holding on to the last bit of restraint he had, “we can’t,” but it came out too quiet, too unsure, his resolve breaking with every second.

“neno,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. it’s not fair and you know it but you’ve already convinced yourself that this is necessary. that you needed to be taught.

“please…you’re the only one i feel comfortable with, just so i could learn, so i could know what to do when these things happen and i don’t make a fool of myself again,” you say, your tone low, almost pleading.

jeno’s breath hitches in his throat. he must be crazy or maybe you truly have him wrapped around your finger because now his eyes are flickering down to your lips and he can’t look away.

he realizes just how close you actually were and just like that, everything else blurs.

he leans in slowly, cautiously, searching your eyes for any flicker of hesitation.

you remain still, you don’t move, you don’t pull away. just watching him, a mixture of quiet excitement, nerves and something warmer, something softer, spreading through you like wildfire.

“just for practice,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours.

“just for practice,” you breathe back.

and that was all he needed to finally close the final inch – kissing you slowly, carefully.

it hits him instantly. fireworks. the same ones he felt when he was fourteen. the same one burned at the back of his memory. all this time he thought it was just because it was his first kiss, that feeling never once coming again. but here it is. bright, real and alive in his chest.

and this time he sees it for what it is – it’s you.

he feels you stiffen up and he pulls away softly, “don’t think about it too much, just follow my lead, okay, bunny?,” the once innocent nickname leaves you feeling hot, your heart pounding in your chest as you nod.

his hand makes his way to your cheek, warm and gentle, brushing the soft skin just beneath your ear, the small smile on his lips bringing you a sense of comfort as you as he pulls you back in. lips melting in his. you gave in, shutting the rest of the world out and only focusing on the boy in front of you.

jeno tilts his head, deepening the kiss as you follow his every move. his tongue licks your bottom lip, begging for entrance as yours part on instinct. body reacting before your mind could even process what was happening.

you kiss him back – not perfectly, not practiced but with all the pent-up wonder and want you’ve never let yourself say out loud. it was so natural with jeno. like you were always meant to be kissing him.

you can taste the faint mint of the altoids he always had, feel the heat radiating off his skin.

the makeout session grows heavier and heavier as you continue to keep up with him, learning to breathe through your nose.

you shift slightly and your knees brush, thighs pressing together and suddenly you’re aware of how close you have gotten. the lack of space between your bodies is dizzying. your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, wanting him even closer.

as if he could read your mind, jeno moves his hand from your neck to your waist, fingers splaying wide, grounding you and then in one swift motion, like you had absolutely no weight, he pulls you into his lap.

you gasp softly into the kiss and he swallows the sound, “sorry,” he murmurs against your lips, not pulling back. he was completely lost in you. in this feeling that only you could give him. he swears he could kiss you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“don’t be,” you shake your head, straddling him now. your hands find his shoulders, wrapping around his frame and threading through his hair. he kisses you harder now, less careful, lips moving in a messy rhythm, teeth clashing.

almost like it had a mind of it’s own, your hips instinctively grind down on his clothed bulge. the action sending jeno into a frenzy, a strangled groan transferring from his mouth to yours, his hold on your waist tightening.

the sound was so addicting, so intoxicating and it wraps around your head like a sweet drug.

you do it again, not entirely sure what you want to achieve but it felt good. it feels like a million butterflies flying in your stomach. there’s a growing tension in your belly that you can’t pinpoint. the feeling is new, exciting, hot.

jeno was right there with you, every boundary, every line he tried to draw was completely vanishing.

his lips trail down to your jaw, then lower, to the edge of your throat and you tilt your head back with a soft breath. your heart’s pounding. his is too. you can feel it, fast and erratic against your chest.

“y/n,” he grunts your name, like a warning – hoping you would stop him because he no longer couldn’t.

“what were the other things?,” he asks you, eyes completely blown out as he looks at you with a kind of hunger. and when all you do is grind against him once more, leaning into his touch, he’s decided he wants to see you on your knees.

“lesson number two, you’re going to suck my cock,” he whispers in your ear. the vulgar words make you feel hot, your body clenching, “do you want to learn that, bunny?,” he says, voice raspier, teasing, waiting for your go signal.

you nervously look up at him, all you could do was nod, an innocent glow in your eyes and jeno swears he could bust right there.

he reaches for one of your pillows, placing it on the floor beside your bed, “get on your knees,” he gently commands. you’re quick to follow, almost like you were in a trance. jeno tugs his sweats down to his ankles, his bulge prominent in his boxers and you can’t help but stare.

“go ahead, bunny, touch it,” he says. you almost can’t believe this is the same boy who was hiding behind your back, crying, every time the older kids would tease him.

this situation was absolutely ridiculous but that doesn’t stop your hand from wandering. following the outline of his cock as you palm him through his boxers. jeno lets out a hiss, the friction already fucking with his head.

“you can take it out,” he says, almost pleading. carefully you push his boxers off, his cock springing free, slapping against his thigh. you can’t help but gulp at his size, “i-its so big,” you say, making him laugh.

“thank you,” he says with a smirk on his lips and you playfully roll your eyes.

“what do i do?,” you look up at him, waiting for the answer. his eyes darken, that simple question snapping something inside of him. you were so innocent. so pure. and he was about to corrupt you.

he gently grabs your hand, redirecting it to your mouth, “spit,” he orders and like an obedient student, you follow, spitting in your hand.

“you can do anything, you can squeeze it,” he says, making you wrap your hand around his cock. your hand looks so tiny around his member and jeno almost just wants to skip this lesson entirely and fuck your hand dumb but he contains himself.

large hands envelop yours as he guides you on what to do, squeezing just the right amount.

“you can pump it up and down,” he says, guiding your hand to slide up and down his throbbing cock. he releases a sigh of pleasure, the warmth of your hand already making him weak.

“you can twist,” he says, twisting your hand around his cock, “you can put your mouth on it…lick it, swallow it, just keep the teeth away,” he smirks and you take a mental note of everything.

jeno releases your hand, giving you the space to experiment on his body. you’re excited, nervous but excited. you wanted to be good at this.

slowly, you continue his previous ministrations, pumping his cock up and down, squeezing and twisting your hand, just like how he showed you. jeno can’t help but let out a shaky breath, and you’re worried “does it hurt?,” you ask.

“no, bunny–feel’s really good, j-just go faster, please,” he begs.

it was sweet torture – how slow you were going, how much you were edging him on and you weren’t even aware of it. you pick up the speed, giving into his request and jeno grunts, his elbows coming in contact with your bed.

his cock looked so pretty, red and swelling, leaking.

your mouth exploringly wraps around his red tip and jeno curses under his breath, “fuuuck, oh my god.”

your confidence grows, feeling your pussy twitch at the sight of him. clenching your thighs, wanting some sort of relief. the sinful sounds he was making goes directly to your senses — the same sound you heard earlier but clearer now, more desperate, more whiny, and it knocks the breath out of you.

your hand continues to pump him, as you start sucking. you wouldn’t describe the taste of his cock to be good or sweet or like candy but it was addicting — it makes you want more. especially when every swipe of your tongue was accompanied by a breathy groan from him. it fuels you.

you take more and more of his length in until you could no longer fit him in your mouth and slowly you start bobbing up and down. his grunts and groans becoming more frequent.

jeno can’t do it anymore. this teasing was killing him. and the worst part is that you don’t even know how much you were affecting him.

his hand finds it’s way to your hair, gripping lightly, controlling the pace, increasing the speed, until you were choking, gagging, tears brimming in your eyes, “s-sorry bunny, it just f-feels so good,” he growls, thrusting his cock down your throat.

it was too much. he was too big. but you don’t care. you shut your eyes tightly, fighting the urge to gag as he continued to hit the deepest part of your throat.

this image of you on your knees, spit drooling all over your chin, tears in the corner of your eyes as you take what he gives you is absolutely heavenly.

jeno feels the coil about to snap, his breaths coming in heavy pants, thrusts getting messier and messier.

“o-open your eyes, bunny,” he orders. he wants you to see it. wants you to see him unravel. wants you to know how good you’ve been for him.

“p-play with my balls,” he instructs. your hands immediately follows through, squeezing him just where he needed it. heat travels all throughout his veins as he pulls you off, not wanting to force you to swallow his cum.

and then he falls apart – hard.

jaw going slack, eyes rolling back as his body fell into your pillows, abs clenching, cock pulsating. his cum shoots out of his tip, messily squirting everywhere, orgasm completely washing over him.

you watch him fall apart and you’re absolutely mesmerized. he looked so beautiful. so fucked out. and there’s that knot building in your stomach that you still can’t quite place.

you lick him clean, swallowing every drop that has landed on his stomach, his thighs, everywhere.

jeno’s eyes shot open as he tried to slow his breathing, slowly sitting back up, watching you clean him up like he was your last meal.

“how does it taste?,” he smirks and you look up at him through your damp lashes, “not very good,” you smile, earning a laugh from both of you. he guides you back up, as you stand in between his legs.

he lifts the naruto shirt off your body, leaving you in your light blue bra, flower patterns detailing it, “cute,” he playfully smirks and you suddenly feel embarrassed, arms protectively going across your chest.

“nu-uh don’t shy on me now, this was your idea, remember,” he says, before pushing your hands away and placing a soft kiss on the flesh on top of your breasts, looking up at you. your breath catches in your throat. that knot in your belly growing and growing making you push your legs together.

jeno notices.

“you did such a good job,” he compliments you, licking and sucking the skin of your breasts as he continues to look at you. your hands find comfort in his shoulders, stabilizing yourself.

“i did?,” you ask, “mhm, you’re such a good girl…made me feel so good,” he groans in between your breasts before traveling lower, placing a soft kiss on your stomach. his dirty talk has your mind reeling, feeling weak in the knees.

“-and good girls, must be rewarded,” he says, his fingers making their way to the hem of your shorts, squeezing the fabric between his fingers.

“how do you like being touched?,” he asks, softly, waiting, looking up at you.

“what?,” you ask, blush creeping up your cheeks.

“when you touch yourself, how do you like it?,” he asks, littering your stomach with soft kisses, his tongue lightly grazing on your skin.

“i-,” you stutter, “i-i dont,” you say, embarrassed of your lack of experience.

“what?” it was his turn to be surprised, gently sitting you on his thigh, like you just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

sure he knew you were a virgin and had zero experience with men but you had to have touched yourself before? there had to be some part of you that gave in to the desires of the night and experimented?

you groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, “i-i’ve tried but nothing ever happens and i just feel silly with my hand down my pants,” you reason out and that very image alone makes his cock twitch again.

you were going to kill him.

“so you’ve never fingered yourself? never had an orgasm?,” he asks, completely shocked.

“i don’t even know how i’m supposed to do that,” you shrug.

“ok,” jeno says, taking it all in.

he thinks for a minute or two before he finally comes to a conclusion.

you stole his first kiss, it was only fair he stole your first orgasm. right?

“lesson number three, i’m teaching you how pleasure is supposed to feel like.”

his strong arms lift you up, making you squeal at the sudden action before he turns around, gently laying you on your bed.

jeno gets rid of his shirt, throwing his remaining piece of clothing over his head and holy fuck…your best friend is hot. his abs are on clear display, his semi-hard cock hung to the side, and you feel very hot as his gaze focuses back on you.

“when did you get those?,” you ask, fingers ghostly dancing over his six pack, trying to push away the nerves you were feeling.

he chuckles before leaning over, body trapping yours, lips finding that spot he left off of, as he continues to trail kisses on your stomach. your body can’t help but react, arching towards him. his fingers tugging on your pajama shorts.

“let’s take this off, bunny,” you comply, hips raising up, shorts sliding down your legs and you almost curse yourself at the underwear you decided to wear – a white one with cute little brown bears all over it.

jeno smirks, “really mature choice of underwear,” he teases and you scowl, “shut up, jeno,” you say, trying to hold onto the little pride you had left. he chuckles until he spots the dripping arousal your underwear has collected and something inside him shifts.

he wants to ruin you…so bad.

“look at you, bunny,” his voice drops an octave deeper, “already so wet and i haven’t even touched you,” he kisses the inside of your thigh and you feel your pussy clench, “you don’t even know what we can do with all this, huh?,” he says, gazing up at you. you watch him, as he got up, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

jeno’s hands wrapped around his cock and you tense up, “neno, are we about to have sex?,” you ask, your voice soft, timid, a hint of fear – it drives him absolutely nuts.

“no bunny, i won’t take that from you,” he says softly, “just want you to feel something, okay? just a little clit stimulation,” he explains and before you could even ask him what that means his cock was inside your underwear — collecting all your juices, tip hitting your clit over and over again as he slides up and down your wet folds.

“ohhh,” you release a sigh of pleasure, eyebrows furrowing as you try to understand this new feeling.

“feel’s good?,” he says, smirking at you.

“y-yeah,” you manage to breathe out and jeno absolutely loves the way your face was contorting.

he was playing a dangerous game with himself and this is supposed to be all about you. all he wants to do is insert his tip. just the tip. before he could lose control he stops, pulling his cock out of your underwear.

“why’d you stop?,” you ask, frustrated, already missing the lack of contact.

he chuckles, “my fingers will feel better,” he says for his own sanity.

he finally tugs off your underwear, the cool air hitting your pussy, before his thumb starts circling around your sensitive bud – rough, slow, precise circles that elicited a loud moan from you.

you slap your fingers across your mouth, surprised at the sound you made.

“don’t do that,” he orders, grabbing your fingers and latching it onto his before bringing it up over your head, a strong hand keeping it there, “want to hear you moan, bunny,” he whispers, sucking that sensitive spot just below your ear, earning another breath of moan from you.

your body arches up towards him, hips raising to his touch and he knew you were ready for more.

“gonna stick a finger in,” he warns, not giving you time to respond as his digit slides inside your hole, making you tense up, “relax,” he places a soft kiss on your lips, distracting you from the stretch, “it’s okay,” even with your dripping arousal, you were so so so fucking tight. he didn’t even know it was possible for someone to be this tight.

with a tiny bit of force, he pushes his finger in through your walls, “gonna make you feel real good, bunny,” he soothes as you slowly relax into his touch.

“gonna add another okay?,” he says and you just nod, trusting him completely. this stretch is definitely larger, and you find yourself biting down your lip. his fingers were so thick.

he slowly, gently thrusts them in and out, giving you time to adjust, “it’ll feel real good soon,” he seals with a kiss to your lips as he continues to stretch you out. fingers scissoring your walls until your pussy finally sucked him in.

the feeling of having something inside you was entirely new, strange, and you’re still trying to figure out if it felt good or not. but then jeno curls his finger and that knot in your stomach is rising faster and faster.

you want to know what happens when it finally breaks.

“ohh…neno,” you breathily moan, the pain completely morphing into pleasure. your walls completely adjusting to him, “please” you plead, not entirely sure what you were begging for.

your sweet, innocent, delicious moans of his name awakens something in him.

“im gonna eat you out now,” he tells you.

before you could protest, the idea of it making you feel embarrassed, he was already in between your legs, sucking on that spot that makes your eyes roll back.

“ohhh fuck, jeno,” you cry out, his tounge lapping up your juices, swirling around your sensitive bud, fingers still curling inside of you.

“neno, s-something’s happening,” you say in heavy pants, your breathing becoming shakier.

“p-please,” you beg, eyes wide, jaw going slack as you start panting, your hands gripping his hair, trying to ground yourself.

that coil in your stomach is hanging on by a single thread.

jeno looks up at you, he can feel you coming to a close. your walls pulsating around his fingers. he decides to finally send you over the edge, fingers rubbing fast, harsh, circles around your clit as the other continues to hit that sweet spot.

“let it happen, bunny,” he whispers, “let go…come all over my hand,” your best friend’s voice was the final push.

the thread snaps. the knot breaks.

you came crashing apart, stomach clenching, toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head. vision slipping into absolute darkness, feeling like you were floating.

jeno coaxes you through your orgasm, letting you ride out every wave. the sight of you unraveling drives him completely insane and it takes every nerve of self control to not ram his cock into you.

“such a good girl, bunny” he praises, littering kisses along your jaw, slow, reverent, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. your breathing is erratic, chest rising in short, shuddery pulls as you come down from everything.

he shuffles around your room quietly, grabbing a clean towel out of your bathroom before making his way back to your bed, gently cleaning you up.

your eyes flutter open at his touch. your best friend’s smile greets you, safe and warm, “you okay?” he asks and his voice is too tender. too full of something you don’t see.

“t-hat,” you clear your throat, a weak laugh slipping out, “that was a really fun lesson,” you smile, still caught in your daze.

jeno smiles back at you but it’s hollow and empty and he hates himself for smiling at all.

reality slaps him in the face, something in him crumples as he’s reminded that all of this – all the care, all the closeness wasn’t for him. it was all just for practice. a rehearsal for someone else. and now he’s drowning in the realization that he’s just the one you trust, not the one you want.

he’s helping you be prepared for another man, still pretending like it doesn’t kill him.

he almost wants to kill every man in the world for you to finally see him.

he stands, needing to put space between you, between what just happened and everything he’s feeling. but you catch him.

“where are you going?,” you ask, when he pulls his clothes off the ground, pulling his sweats up, getting ready to leave.

“back to the frat”

“jeno, it’s late, just stay the night,” you say, casually, easy. like it’s nothing. like it’s normal. like he didn’t just get a taste of something he’ll never recover from.

and it should’ve been easy. it should’ve been nothing. it should’ve been normal. he has stayed countless nights before.

but it’s not easy. it's not nothing. and it’s definitely not normal.

“please,” you say, moving over, making room for him and patting the space he usually took up.

jeno hesitates for a second or two before doing the one thing he never does if you were any other girl — he crawls back into your bed, your sheets and pillows molding to the shape of his body.

you immediately curl into his chest like it’s instinct. filling in that space that’s always been yours. legs tangle. skin touches skin.

it feels normal but it’s not. not with so little between you. not with everything unsaid.

jeno holds you close like he always does but this time he wonders if it’s the last. the sound of his heartbeat lulls you to sleep but he stays awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, counting the cracks in his heart, wondering how much longer he can survive being just your best friend.

his fingers thread gently through your hair, slow and careful, memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. the familiar scent of your strawberry shampoo wraps around him, soft and warm and absolutely cruel. it smells like home, like comfort, like everything he’s always wanted.

and then, in a voice so quiet it barely disturbs the silence, he whispers into the night air, words only for the moon to hear:

“i’m in love you, bunny.”

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the sun filters in gently, casting golden lines across your bedroom floor. you stir before he does, eyes blinking open to the soft rise and fall of his chest, quiet snores filling the air.

jeno’s arm is still wrapped around you, strong and secure, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. his face is relaxed, lips parted slightly, his usually styled hair falls softly on his features — he looks so vulnerable, peaceful.

he looks like the version of himself you remember all those years ago.

you should pull away but you don’t. instead, you study him — every line of his face, older now, more defined, but still him. you’ve seen him like this before, countless times, but something feels different now. you feel different.

and then it hits you, soft and sudden.

the feelings you had for him after you kissed him. the feelings you had for him when you wore your pink puffy dress, him in a pink matching tie as you danced the night away for prom. the feelings you had for him when he held you that night your world was falling apart.

you’ve always just needed him.

all of it crashes back into you at once — feelings you’d buried under years of pretending. years of silence. feelings you quickly tucked away the first time he talked about another girl.

the way you trained yourself to look away. the way you learned to smile through the ache. the way you accepted your fate of being his best friend.

your eyes drop to where your legs are still tangled with his, you notice the bulge in his sweats and memories of last night play in your mind. you feel his warmth everywhere and you wonder how you ever got used to not feeling this. how you ever convinced yourself that this didn’t mean something.

you knew that once he woke up. this would all be over. you would go back to being his best friend. back to the operation. back to the almosts that were always never enough.

so for a moment you let yourself have this, just for a minute longer. the closeness, the warmth, the boy who’s always been there. you snuggle into his side once more, nestling into the warmth of him, letting your eyes fall shut again.

the next time your eyes flutter open, you’re met with the cold reality you’ve always lived in. the warmth that surrounds you is gone. the space beside you is empty.

jeno is gone.

you sit up slowly, a heavy thud echoing in your chest, not of panic or confusion but just that quiet, hollow ache that settles in when you’re reminded that he will never be yours.

your eyes scans the room, no shoes by the door, his shirt nowhere to be seen. no signs he was ever there at all except for the faint scent of his cologne lingering in your sheets.

swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you wrap the blanket around yourself as if that would fill the space he left behind. you check your phone, hoping for a message but there’s nothing.

something twists in your chest — you were just another name on his list.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

forty-eight hours.

that's how long it has been since you’ve last seen your best friend. forty-eight hours of sitting in the library alone. forty-eight hours of him not showing up to your shared classes. forty-eight hours of absolutely no contact. your messages were left on delivered. no goofy tiktoks. no instagram reels. nothing. and you hated every second of it.

you miss him and you’re not entirely sure why he had suddenly fallen off the face of the earth.

giselle: hey girly! <3 go to the party at the dream frat tonight, the girls and i are all gonna be there! <333

giselle: and sungchan will be there ;)

you stare at the messages.

you had nothing better to do and you’re hoping that maybe you’ll get a glimpse of your best friend while you’re there. just to see if he was doing okay.

you slipped on a light blue mini dress that accentuates your figure, did your makeup, paired it with white heels and you were good to go.

the dream fraternity still had a pretty huge crowd considering it was a wednesday night. bodies pressed together, bass shaking the walls, the usual laughter and shouting blurring into one.

you spot jeno almost immediately, in that same corner he seemed to always be in. there’s a new girl on his arm — pretty, tall, fair-skinned. you don’t recognize her. something in your heart twists.

you knew all the girls he was seeing. every girl he flirted with, hooked up with, even the ones he ghosted. usually you were the first one he would tell it to. the first one to know everything about him.

but now? he’s shut you out. it was loud and clear. he has drawn a line between you. the same line he draws once he’s gotten all that he wanted with whoever was his current conquest.

you felt absolutely sick. the years of friendship going down the drain just like this. your heart splitting into two while he’s just standing there, laughing, flirting, completely unaffected by the wreckage he left behind.

if he doesn’t need you then you don’t need him either. if he can act normal then you can too.

you force yourself to look away, scanning the crowd until you spot giselle and the rest of the girls in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, “y/n! you’re hereee!,” she squeals, giving you a tight, buzzing hug that makes you laugh for the first time in days.

“here! take a shot!,” she hands you a drink and you down it quickly, the alcohol burning your throat in the best way possible.

the dj plays a song that gets everyone hyped up and you feel yourself letting loose, having fun, with the girls beside you, already feeling better than you did when you walked in here.

then a hand taps your shoulder and you turn to see the boy that makes your mind race into a million happy tunes, “sungchan!,” you greet him with a wide smile. he looks down at you, amused.

“hi, pretty girl,” he whispers in your ear, hands settling on your waist. his touch is warm against your skin but it doesn’t burn the way jeno’s did. doesn’t leave you branded.

“you’re not gonna run away this time are you?,” he teases, playfully, earning a giggle from you.

“sorry about that, i was just…too drunk,” you lie. the lie jeno taught you.

“are you too drunk now?,” he asks, leaning in, a twinkle in his eye.

you smirk, biting your lips, “no.”

sungchan kisses you, rough, fast and with no room for gentleness. this time, you don’t freeze. you kiss him just as hard. you let his hands roam around your body from your waist to your hips to your ass.

but kissing sungchan wasn’t like kissing jeno.

it doesn’t feel the same. doesn’t feel as good. there were no butterflies, no fireworks, no dizzy, floating feeling.

you’re still grounded. still painfully aware that you’re in the middle of drunk, sweaty strangers. he didn’t take you to a different dimension. your body was just there – moving your mouth against his like a robot programmed to do so. but your heart? your heart’s somewhere else.

and it was so annoying that at a time like this, your lips on your long-time crush, that you’ve made the realization that your heart was where it always was — in the hands of the boy in the corner.

the same boy whose lips, touch, words imprinted your heart in a way that you could never forget.

the same boy who could never see you the way you see him.

suddenly you pull away, too fast, too sharp – the feelings rushing into you all at once, suffocating, overwhelming.

sungchan stares at you like you were crazy and perhaps you are. “i-i need to use the bathroom,” you murmur, forcing a small, apologetic smile. he nods slowly, “alright, i’ll just be here.”

you quietly slip from his arms, pushing through all the bodies, barely noticing the music or the people pressing in on all sides.

and when you finally push open the bathroom door, it’s like exhaling for the first time in minutes. you grip the edge of the sink, chest heaving, trying to gather the pieces of yourself that scattered the moment you woke up alone.

you wished jeno was here.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

almost like he had a radar that went off, everytime you were near him. the second you walked through the door, jeno felt it. his gaze snapped to you instinctively but he looked away just as fast.

he’s not ready to face you. not ready to continue pretending.

the next time he saw you, you were making out with sungchan. kissing him the way he taught you. and god, he needed a drink. lots of it. the image burns in his mind, cruel and unrelenting.

he wants to chop off the guy’s hands. wants to make sure he doesn’t touch you ever again.

he wants him to know that his hands were on you first. that it was his lips he was tasting. that you were his.

but that’s not the case. so he goes and grabs another drink, another shot, another mix of poison to blur the pain.

the sound of your name snaps him back to reality.

“why do you keep waiting around for y/n anyway, there’s so many hotter girls around,” the voice is lazy, mocking, it was that wonbin guy from the riize fraternity.

jeno leans against the the wall, hidden in the shadows as he listens in on their conversation.

“well, one she’s hot,” sungchan snickers and jeno’s jaw tenses.

“and two, rumor is she’s still a virgin,” there’s a wicked amusement in his tone, “and we all know virgins are the hottest in the room.”

laughter erupts around them, sharp, cruel, echoing off the walls and that was all it took.

jeno doesn’t think. doesn’t hesitate.

in one quick second, he marched over, fist landing right on the sungchan’s jaw, the crack loud and satisfying, sending the soccer player tumbling backwards.

“what the hell?!,” sungchan yells, rubbing at his jaw before his expression twists in rage. in the next breath, he lunges. his fist catching jeno clean across the cheek.

jeno barely flinches. the soccer player was stronger than he thought, he’d give him that. but nothing is getting past his rage, adrenaline coursing through him.

he’s not done. not even close.

he charges forward, ramming sungchan into the wall with a force that rattles the shelves beside them, “don’t ever fucking touch her again,” he growls, voice low and deadly.

sungchan pushes back, shoving him hard, “she’s not yours,” and his words hits deeper than any punch could. because it was true. you weren’t his. and he’s almost sure you would kill him for this but he doesn’t care.

jeno throws another fist, connecting with sungchan’s ribs, making him grunt and double over for a second before retaliating with a wild swing.

more people gather now, phones out, flashes going off, chants of “fight, fight, fight,” increasing all around them.

sungchan, lunges, tackling jeno to the ground as they roll, fists flying, shouts echoing.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the loud commotion coming from outside the bathroom door forces you to pick up the pieces.

shouts. thuds. chaos.

you quickly gather yourself, pulling open the door and following the swarm of bodies funneling toward the noise like a moth drawn to a light.

and then you see him — you know that figure immediately, even with his back towards you.

your best friend was on top of someone, fists repetitively slamming down. your heart lurches, legs moving before your mind can catch up.

they roll and you see sungchan’s face bruised and battered.

what the fuck?

around them, the crowd erupts in shouts and arguments, phones raised like this was some kind of show.

the dream boys were trying to get a hold of the situation but they too just ended up shouting and arguing with the riize fraternity, voices overlapping in a haze of testosterone and ego.

“your guy started it first!”

“you’re on our turf!”

the room was absolute chaos and no one’s doing a damn thing. you finally push through the roaring crowd, running over to them, until you’re at the center of the storm.

“stop!,” you shout, but your pleas are swallowed by the noise as they continue to take jabs at each other.

with all your strength, you yank on sungchan’s shirt, sending him stumbling off jeno.

you finally take a good look at your best friend, he had a nasty cut forming on the side of his forehead, face flushed and bruised.

“y/n,” he breathes your name like he’s shocked you’re here.

he stumbles to his feet, eyes darting behind you “get out of here,” he says urgently.

you whirl around only to see that sungchan wasn’t done. he was charging at your best friend again.

without thinking, you step in – fist connecting with his throat – sharp, clean, brutal. completely flying him backwards as he gasped for air.

the crowd cheers.

of course you knew how to punch, you grew up with three men three times your size.

“okay, that's ENOUGH!” mark’s voice rips through the room like a whip – loud and absolutely furious. the crowd freezes, the chaos dies down. he grabs sungchan by the arm and shoves him toward his crew.

“get the fuck out of here,” he commands the room, controlling the crowd. bodies scattering like cockroaches under a light.

you turn to jeno, chest heaving, fury radiating off you, “what the fuck was that?”

jeno flinches at your tone like it was more painful than any of the punches he had just taken. you were never mad at each other. not like this.

when he doesn’t answer, you turn around, jaw tight, ready to leave.

“wait–,” jeno jolts back to reality.

you pause, barely looking over your shoulder, “what?!,” your anger is palpable, brows furrowed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

he softens, “your hand is bleeding,” he says gently. you glance down at your knuckles, raw and stained red, the adrenaline fading just enough for the sting to set in.

“c’mon,” he grabs your uninjured hand carefully and without another word, he leads you through the dispersing crowd, up the stairs and into the safety of his room.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

you stand in jeno’s bathroom, the fluorescent light above casting a soft glow on both of you. he dabs the small, barely any, blood that had stained your knuckles, applying ointment on the tiny wounds.

“you’re being dramatic, there’s barely anything there,” you mutter, watching how focused he is.

“just don’t want it to get infected,” he says quietly, his brows still drawn together.

then with a soft chuckle, “i can’t believe you punched him,” he smiles his trademark smile and for a second, you forget you were currently angry at him.

“no one hurts my neno and gets away with it,” you tease, the words light on your tongue, but they steal the air from jeno’s lungs. you were always protecting him.

your eyes meet his and the moment stretches. but then you remember yourself, remember why your chest is tight and your heart is sore. so you press your lips into a thin line, forcing away the smile that appeared.

a quiet silence hangs in the air, heavy, almost awkward, until jeno’s voice breaks it, “done,” he says, turning to leave the bathroom and into his bedroom.

before he could take another step, your hand captures his wrist.

“your face is bleeding,” you point out.

you guide him to sit on the edge of the tub, slotting yourself between his legs. no matter how mad you guys are at each other, this is what you do. you take care of each other. your fingers are careful, precise, as you press a cotton pad soaked in alcohol to the gash on his temple.

a particular swipe on the cut stings him, a hiss slipping past his lips as his hands instinctively finds the back of your thighs, gripping, like he’s grounding himself through you. the small contact is enough to bring back that familiar knot tightening in your stomach.

“stop being a baby,” you say, dabbing again, “this is your fault.”

he smirks faintly, “how are you so sure i started the fight?”

“please,” you scoff, “in what world would sungchan go up to you and punch you? especially since he’s in your territory,” you point out, quite familiar with the whole fraternity rules.

he sighs in defeat.

“what happened anyway?,” you ask cautiously, not sure if you were ready for the answer.

“nothing,” he says, a little too quickly.

you stop, eyes narrowing, “no secrets between us remember?,” you remind him.

right, that silly rule you made when you were eight years old and still held on to to do this day.

jeno sighs, his shoulder falling, “he said something about you. i didn’t like it,” he confesses and you still.

“what did he say about me?,” you ask, curious.

“that he only wanted you because you were a virgin,” he mutters, jaw clenching again like it’s the first time he’s hearing it. the urge to punch sungchan in the face coming back in seconds.

it was supposed to hurt. it was supposed to leave you angry, embarrassed, hollow — to hear those words coming from the boy you’ve had a crush on since freshman year. but that feeling of heartache never came. instead, confusion clouds your chest.

why did he care? that wasn’t supposed to be his battle.

“hmm,” you hum thoughtfully, tone laced with challenge “and what if i was okay with that?”

his hands on your legs twitch, just slightly

“you shouldn’t be,” he snaps, “you shouldn’t lose it to a guy like him.”

and just like that, the anger ignites. your hands finish cleaning him up in cold, calculated movements. you removed yourself from his space, placing the first aid kit back in the drawer with a little too much force, organizing everything just to keep from exploding because who the hell was he to decide who you should have sex with?

“oh? and who should i lose it to?,” you seethe.

“a guy like you?,” there’s a sort of anger in your voice that jeno can’t quite read.

“aren’t you the same?,” you throw at him, voice trembling with fury.

jeno furrows his brows at your insinuation, like he’s been slapped, “y/n–,”

“you left, jeno,” your voice is quiet, but it slices through the space between you like a blade. you give him one last look before storming out of the bathroom. and jeno finally understands it all.

“wait, bunny–”

you don’t stop. not even as you hear his footsteps close behind you, not even as your chest rises with every breath that feels too heavy to hold.

you make it into his bedroom but before you can reach for the door, his hands close around your wrist, gentle but firm and in the next second he spins you around and crashes his lips onto yours.

the fire in your chest blazes and still, you kiss him back.

the kiss melts into something deeper, hungrier. your hands grip his shirt as his thumb brushes your jaw. he pulls away just enough to press his forehead against yours, both of you breathless, hearts racing.

“that’s why i left,” he murmurs, voice barely a whisper between your shared air.

your brows draw together, confusion clouding your gaze, “what does that even mean?”

“can’t you feel it,” he says, guiding your hand to his chest, letting you feel the frantic rhythm beneath your palm, “the way my heart is beating, it only ever races like this because of you,” he confesses.

you swallow hard, barely finding your voice, “but you left,” you remind him, “why did you leave?”

his eyes flicker with something raw, something that’s been buried for too long, “because i couldn’t pretend anymore,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of it, “i couldn't go another day being your best friend–not when im so fucking in love with you that it hurts.”

his confession leaves you stunned and you can’t believe how blind you’ve both been. all these years of mutual pining, years of missed moments, of stolen glances and silent aching all leading up to this moment.

a tearful laugh escapes you, half breathless, half broken, “you’re a fucking idiot,” you whisper, voice shaking with the force of everything you feel, a mixture of love, frustration and the tenderness of finally hearing the truth.

with urgency, a quiet desperation, you pull him back in, leaning up to kiss him.

the kiss is slow but intense, full of everything you’ve both kept hidden, everything you’ve both wanted for so long.

jeno doesn't need to hear you say it. he feels it in the way your lips meet his, the way you kiss him like your very existence depends on it. he knows now that you’ve been waiting for this – waiting for each other, for the truth that was always there.

you deepen the kiss and jeno meets you with equal fervor, tongues moving with an ease that feels natural, as if it’s a rhythm you’ve both known forever.

you guide him towards you, steps slow but deliberate, until the back of your knees hits the edge of his bed, falling into the softness of his sheets, pulling him down with you, lips never once breaking from his.

pushing yourself up until your head hit his pillows. jeno follows your lips like you were magnets drawn together. he couldn’t get enough.

you pull on the hem of his shirt. jeno quickly tugs it off over his head, tossing it to the side, diving right back into you. the kiss is hungry, steamy, full of tongue, leaving you no room to breathe.

your fingers dance through his skin, feeling every muscle. jeno guides you to sit up, quickly finding the zipper in the back of the dress, sliding it off your body, leaving you in a lacy blue underwear that makes his cock twitch.

the dress didn’t warrant a bra, your breasts immediately exposed to the cool air, making jeno groan in satisfaction, his large hand latches on to your tit, loving the way it fits perfectly in his hand.

“you’re so beautiful, bunny,” he praises before his tongue circles against your sensitive nipple. he looks up, not wanting to miss your reaction. light, breathy moans spill from your lips, back arching at his touch, feeling every warmth he left behind.

he moved all throughout your body, taking his time, memorizing every detail, worshipping you with every brush of his lips.

his hand slip under your panties, wet and soaking for him. the familiar circles of his fingers on your clit immediately sends a wave of pleasure through you. you were already shaking, that fire inside you growing.

that delicious stretch of your pussy as he stuck two digits in makes your eyes roll back, overwhelming in the best way possible, a broken moan spilling from your lips. your hips move on their own, grinding on his hand, chasing that friction you can’t get enough of.

jeno has already memorized you. curling his fingers just right, dragging them against that spot that made your thoughts scatter, heat spreading through you so quickly.

“jeno—” his name left you as a gasp, pleasure building deep inside you. this time you knew what it was, “i-m coming,” you moan.

“i got you bunny, let me hear you” he whispered, his pace quickening, matching the frantic way your body moved with his touch, until you were spilling into his hand.

he coaxes you through it, littering soft kisses on your ear, along your jaw, down to your neck — making sure to leave a mark.

making sure everyone knew that you were his.

your eyes flutter open. there was still that growing fire inside you, burning hotter, higher. you needed more.

when you reach down for his belt, fingers clumsily fumbling at the buckle, urgency pushing you faster than your hands could manage, jeno snaps out of the trance he’s in, making his way back to your eyes.

“are you sure?,” he gasped, the words rushed, like he was forcing them out before he lost all sense of reason.

you nodded so fast, so desperate, “jeno, please.”

“we don’t have to do this, bunny, we can take it slow…i don’t want to rush you,” he panted, voice fraying at the edges. the thought of stopping absolutely wrecks him but you are more important than the desire spreading through him.

you refuse to wait any longer, you’ve already waited years. your whole body aches with the need you’d kept buried for so long. the need only he could fulfill.

“neno,” you whispered, voice trembling with need, “i want this…i need you.”

his resolve shattered at the sound of your plea.

“okay,” he breathed, kissing you gently before finally discarding his pants, boxers following suit, leaving him completely bare.

slowly, he removed your panties, the last remaining cloth between you. he reaches over his nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom and wrapping it on his hard cock, a grunt spilling from his lips.

“still sure?,” he searches your eyes for any signs of hesitation because if there was, even the tiniest one, he would stop immediately. no questions asked. no regret. no matter how badly he didn’t want to.

“so sure neno, it’s always been you,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, letting him know that every single piece of you wanted him — heart, body and soul.

that was his final confirmation.

he kissed you once, slow and tender, before his hands roamed, leaving goosebumps that made you ache even more, “i’ll go slow,” he promised, voice thick with emotion “tell me if you need to stop, okay? at any point bunny, i’ll stop.”

you nodded, your heart hammering against your ribs so loudly you were sure he could hear it. fear and want and overwhelming love swirling in your chest.

finally, he aligned his cock against your hole, hand shaking slightly as he guided himself into you.

the stretch burns — it was nothing like his fingers, his cock was harder, thicker, fuller. and you’re not entirely sure if he could fit.

instinctively you tensed, eyes shutting close at the pain, a whiny hiss slipping from your lips.

jeno immediately froze, his thumb stroking soothing circles against your hip, “you’re doing so good, bunny,” he praises, forehead resting against yours, “breathe for me okay? we can take all the time you need,” he was so soft, so caring, so gentle.

your fingers tighten on his shoulder, just for a second, letting him know that you understood.

jeno fought to stay still, fought to put you first. but god, it hurts. you felt so good around him. so tight. so warm. he needed to move.

you forced yourself to relax, letting out a shaky breath and he pressed forward again, slower this time, giving you time to adjust to another inch of him.

“almost there, bunny, just a couple more,” he says softly, treating you like glass. you were so fragile. so pretty. your eyebrows furrowing in pain, lips parted slightly.

it hurt but it was jeno, and that made it bearable. your tight walls continued to adjust around him, molding to the size of his large cock.

with one final, gentle push, he was fully seated inside you, grunts spilling from his lips onto yours.

he stayed there, not moving, just breathing with you. trying to control his own desires. one hand cradles your cheek, carefully pushing away the hair that has stuck to your skin, “you’re amazing,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, “taking all of me,” he continues praising, “so perfect, bunny.”

a few tears slid from your eyes. from the sting, from the love, from everything. jeno kissed them away with such tenderness.

“i love you,” you manage to whisper, his lips on yours in an instant, savoring it. the words makes jeno shift inside you.

that small burst of friction is enough to ignite the pleasure. it still hurt but you needed to feel it, to feel more.

and when you finally whispered, “move, please,” jeno felt like the air was rushing back in his lungs.

only then did he start rocking into you — careful, controlled, every movement meant to bring you closer to pleasure.

he angles his cock perfectly, each thrust sending a a wave of butterflies in your stomach. the pain slowly disappeared as your walls sucked him in, until you were only left with pleasure so mind numbing, you can no longer think about anything but the way the tip of his cock kept on kissing that spot that made you see stars. he was perfect.

“fuckkk bunny, you take me so well, pussy was made for me,” jeno grunts hopelessly. he was coming undone embarrassingly fast. for someone who was supposed to be an expert, you had him trembling, shaking.

it was different with you — he loves you.

every emotion hits him to the fullest. he feels you all around him. his rhythm starting to stutter, abs starting to clench as he tried to hold on to the remaining sanity he had left.

“you’re making a mess out of me,” he grunts, “please come on my cock,” he begs, whines, pleading for permission. his fingers finding your sensitive bud, rubbing slow but harsh circles.

you’ve never felt fuller. never felt more satisfied. that heat spreading down to your toes, your head rolling back in complete bliss as the high came crashing over you in breathy, broken moans of only his name — pussy immediately tightening around him, sending him to his own release as he spilled into the condom.

through it all, jeno whispered against your skin, grunts of i love you’s and praises hitting your ears in the most melodic way.

when you both calmed down, he pulled you into his arms, head resting on the heart that’s always been yours.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

you woke up to jeno’s brown eyes already staring at you, his fingers gently threading through your hair.

“good morning,” he murmured, eye smile on display and in an instant the memories of last night came rushing back, vivid and electric.

“good morning” you whispered back, both of you grinning like lovesick fools.

“how are you feeling?” he asks softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

you smile at him, “i feel amazing,” you say, leaning up to kiss him.

his hand on your waist is hard to ignore. as well as the bulge that’s currently hitting your inner thigh.

“and you’re feeling excited, aren’t you?,” you pull back, slightly teasing him.

“shut up,” he smiles, cheeks flushing, “it’s not my fault i woke up next to my very hot girlfriend”

your eyes widen slightly, “girlfriend, huh?”

“mhm, is that okay with you, bunny?”

“hmm,” you pretend to think about it but the smile tugging on your lips betrays you, “sounds perfect.”

jeno pulled you in for another kiss, his smile pressed against yours. before he could deepen it, you pushed him down to his bed sheets, hovering over him with a gleam in your eyes.

“what are you doing?,” he rasped, the bold movement catching him off guard, making his breath shift, excitement coursing through his veins.

“girlfriend duties,” you smirk.

you littered kisses down his body until you were head to head with his cock, already flushed, thick and throbbing for you.

without hesitation, you licked a slow stripe up his length, tasting him, humming in satisfaction before wrapping your lips around his tip and taking in as much of his length as you could.

jeno watched you, his hands behind his head, a proud smirk on his face. and when you look up to make eye contact with him, his smirk fades into a helpless groan.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” his hand instantly threading into your hair, bunching it up and pushing it out of your face. he wanted to see you. wanted to see your mouth around him.

you hollowed your cheeks and started to move, bobbing your head at that speed you knew he liked.

what can you say? you’re a quick learner.

his hips twitched, barely holding back from fucking your mouth.

every wet, obscene sound filled the room, and you loved the way he was falling apart for you, chest heaving, hands gripping you tighter. his grunts make you clench around nothing.

jeno came in minutes, gasping for your name as he struggled to breathe. his hot release shoots down your throat. this time, you swallowed every single drop, milking him dry, only pulling off when he whimpered from overstimulation, pushing your hand away.

“how the hell are you already so good at that?,” he groans, the aftershocks of his orgasm still hitting him.

“i have a really good teacher,” you chuckle, making your way back to him, kissing him, making him taste his own juices as your tongues battled for dominance.

jeno flips you over, roughly, quickly, the sudden shift making you squeal in laughter, as he settles in between your legs.

“your turn,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

his mouth immediately laps around you, licking, sucking, spitting — filthy and hungry. it was so messy, so wet, so crude, and yet it felt so so good. your head is spinning, heart racing, thighs trembling

you’re right there, at the edge, ready to fall — and then the door swings wide open. you shriek, arms crossing, immediately covering your chest just as jeno scrambles to hover over you, covering every inch of you with his large frame.

“jeno what do you want for break—?” jaemin barges in, stepping into the room like he hasn’t just shattered the moment.

“oh,” jaemin smirks, this situation extremely familiar, “i see,” he teases, tone dripping with fake innocence.

jeno’s entire body stiffens, his butt literally clenching as he growls, “jaemin, get the fuck out.”

he doesn't spare the boy a glance, focused only on making sure he doesn’t see any part of your body.

jaemin bursts out laughing, “alright alright, enjoy your breakfast,” he says before locking the door behind him and leaving the two of you alone.

the second he’s gone, jeno exhales a heavy breath of relief. you both lie there, faces burning red.

“i’m gonna kill him,” he mutters before the two of you erupted in giggles, your shared laughter harmonizing in the air.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

a week of being jeno’s girlfriend could only be described as pure bliss. the perfect balance of best friends and lovers. you were the power couple, always walking into the room like you owned it.

not much has changed between you two, you still tell him to shut up, he’s still dramatic, still the best of friends, except this time there’s a million shared kisses, lingering touches, whispered confessions and sex (lots of sex).

he’s unlocked something in you. something wild, primal, greedy — desire wrapping it’s hands around you. you can’t get enough of him. you craved him again and again and again.

and jeno was just undone, just as hopelessly in love. he thought his sex drive was bad before, it’s even worse now. every little thing you did triggered him — a smile, a glance, a soft laugh, it all sent him spiraling, desperate to have you. his need for you was overwhelming, a fire he had no intention of putting out.

he taught you how to touch yourself, you watched him masturbate. he kissed you in places you never knew were sensitive, made love to you in so many different positions, locations, each one leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms — making up for all the lost time.

today, when jeno walked into the library, he noticed your figure missing from your usual shared table. you were supposed to be here by now, you were always here at this hour.

his eyes quickly scan the space, feet walking around, searching every corner, every dusty nook, trying to find a glimpse of you. he finally spots you at the corner, tucked away in the back with the old shelves filled with forgotten books.

“what are you doing all the way over here?,” he asks, snapping your attention towards him, as he placed a soft kiss on your temple.

“just wanted a quieter place to read,” you feign innocence, picking up your book and pretending to be interested once more. jeno doesn’t question it, just pulls out the chair beside you and sits, his thigh pressed hard against yours. he pulls out his assignments, busying himself.

“neno,” you call out to him, a playful flicker in your eyes as you put your book down, “want to know a fun fact?,” you say.

he smiles at you, still unaware of what you had brewing in your mind, “sure, bunny.”

you lean in close, your chest brushing against his arm, “i’m not wearing any panties,” you whisper, only for his ear to hear.

he gulps, eyes quickly scanning the room, afraid someone was close enough to hear that. when he realizes you two were definitely alone, he finally takes in the fact that you were wearing a cute pink skirt, “fuck, are you serious?,” he whispers.

you shrug, “why don’t you find out?,” picking up your book, a playful grin on your lips, you flipped through the pages pretending to be interested, excitement bubbling inside you.

you didn’t have to tell him twice.

you flinched slightly when his cold fingertips first made contact with your thigh, slowly slipping underneath your skirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps. you barely had time to react before his fingers slipped between your thighs, urging them apart.

and when he finds you bare and soaked for him, jeno can’t help but let out a groan, his cock twitching in his pants.

you just started a dangerous game and he was eager to play. eager to ruin you in this public space. excited to watch you try and hide your moans.

“so fucking warm,” he muttered, fingers collecting your juices as he slowly swiped up and down your folds, making you feel every graze of his finger.

you grabbed the edges of the book, trying to stay calm, trying to act normal even as jeno slowly, deeply slid a finger inside you.

you choke on a silent gasp, disguising it with a fake cough and jeno finds it absolutely amusing. he has no plans of taking it easy on you, especially since this was your brilliant idea.

he moved lazily at first, curling his finger inside you, feeling every clench, every desperate little twitch of your body. watching you bite your lip as you tried to contain the moans that we’re begging to be released.

“good girl,” he murmured, kissing you on the temple.

his free hand picks up his pencil, as he continued to work on his assignment, like you weren’t falling apart under the table, “just stay quiet for me, yeah?,” he smirks.

you don’t even manage a response. afraid that once you open your mouth, a loud moan of his name would slip out.

he starts writing in his notebook, fingers still moving inside you, edging you on with every second. you shifted in your seat, hips tilting up without meaning to, chasing the rhythm he set. needing him to go faster — to finally take you there.

jeno knew exactly what you needed, even without voicing it. he adds a second finger, stretching you wider, making your eyes flutter shut, your grip on your book tightening, holding onto it as if it was your lifeline.

your boyfriend grinned cockily as he fucked his fingers into you.

you thought you were safe, hidden enough until you heard distant footsteps of someone wandering nearby.

your eyes immediately snap to jeno, silently begging him to stop as you tried to shut your legs close.

but his hand was too strong, keeping you open for his fingers, “you wanted this, you’re gonna take it,” he mumbles into your hair. he didn’t stop. in fact, his thumb brushed against your clit, harsher, faster.

you buried your head in your book, biting your lip so hard it hurt, but still a tiny strangled whimpered escaped.

the footsteps paused, just for a second.

you held your breath, heat traveling up to your head, jeno still working under your skirt. the danger of being caught made it even hotter. your pulse pounding loud in your ears, body burning under his touch. and then the footsteps continued, fading into silence again.

jeno chuckles under his breath, fingers thrusting deeper, faster, his thumb never leaving your clit.

“almost got caught, bunny,” he teased, voice low and thick with lust, “bet you’d love that, huh?”

the thought made you tighten incredibly around his fingers, orgasm crashing over you like a wave you couldn’t stop, body jerking slightly in the chair as you hunched over the table, hiding your moans in your arms, desperately trying to stay as quiet as possible.

jeno’s fingers continued to work you through it until you were limp against the table, panting softly.

he pulled his fingers out slowly, letting you feel every second of it. you already felt so empty without him. he brings his fingers up to his lips, sucking them clean with a soft, sinful groan.

you sit up, watching him, wrecked and cheeks flushed, your heart pounding so hard it was all you could hear, a small satisfied grin on your lips.

jeno leans in, kissing you gently. you taste yourself on his lips, then he smirks, that devilish smirk, whispering against your ear, “next time…you’re sitting in my lap.”

𓏲 the end.

—

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

bonus: this is so lee jeno x bunny coded -> click here

—

an: posted this earlier than i planned because if i even spend one more day with this, i’m never gonna stop writing but ahhh i can’t believe my time with this couple is over, i love them so bad!!! i hope you loved them too!

marks story is up next! since he did technically win the poll — pls give me nickname suggestions for mark’s girl! i’m currently thinking kitty but im not 100% sold >.< — she’s going to be a little more feisty than the others! slide in my ask for suggestions or simply comment here! pls!

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

But you don’t say any of that. You just stare at your knees and let the silence thicken.

Gran’s voice saves you both.

“Kids!”

You jump. Caleb straightens like he’s been caught doing something wrong.

She’s standing in the doorway, dressed in her going-out blouse, small rolling suitcase at her side.

“I’m headed downtown for three days. Something came up. Emergency stuff. You two will be fine, right? Like always.”

She’s said the same thing a hundred times over the years. Back then it meant popcorn fights and falling asleep to horror movies on the couch. Now the words land differently. Heavier.

The front door clicks shut behind her. The sound echoes.

Suddenly the house feels too quiet. Too big. Too empty except for him.

You’re hyper-aware of every inch of Caleb next to you. The sleeveless shirt clings to his chest from the humidity, dark at the collar where sweat’s gathered. His shorts ride up just enough to show the thick muscle of his thighs. His arms—God, his arms—flex every time he shifts, biceps rounding, veins standing out against his skin. He’s broader than last summer, taller, filled out in all the ways that make your mouth dry and your core ache.

You stare out the window at the garden like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Anything to avoid looking at him.

He notices.

Caleb chuckles again, softer this time, and reaches out. One finger brushes your cheek—light, teasing, the same way he used to when you pouted as a kid.

“Aww, is my meimei sad? Mm… I’m here. We can spend some quality time together—”

The touch is barely there, but it burns straight down your spine. Your whole body jerks away like you’ve been shocked.

Caleb freezes, finger still hovering in the air. His eyes widen.

“Pipsqueak… are you okay?”

You can’t look at him. Your face is on fire, heart slamming so hard you’re sure he can hear it. Your nipples are already tight under your thin tank top, traitorously visible, and you cross your arms quickly to hide them.

“I’m—fine,” you mumble, staring at the floor. “Just… hot.”

He swallows. You hear it—the dry click of his throat. His gaze drops for half a second, catches the outline of your nipples, then snaps away like he’s been burned too.

“Right. Uh… yeah. Hot.” He exhales, rough. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen. Lemme know what you want for lunch.”

He stands. The couch dips and rises with his weight. You watch his back as he walks away—broad shoulders rolling under the shirt, the dip of his spine, the way his shorts hug the curve of his ass and the powerful flex of his thighs with every step.

The second he disappears around the corner you clench your thighs together so hard it hurts.

You’re already wet. Have been since he sat down. Since he said your nickname. Since he touched your cheek.

You need a shower. Cold. Now.

You bolt upstairs before you can think better of it, lock the bathroom door, strip in record time. The dildo is already in your hand—pulled from under your mattress like it’s been waiting for you.

The water’s barely warm when you brace one foot on the edge of the tub, line up the thick head, and sink down with a broken moan.

It stretches you open in that perfect, filthy way—veins dragging, curve kissing your front wall, heavy balls nudging your clit on the downstroke. You fuck yourself fast, desperate, water pounding your back, free hand braced on the tile.

“Gege—fuck—gege—”

You don’t even try to be quiet. The house is empty except for him, and part of you hopes—prays—he hears.

Downstairs, Caleb grips the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles turn white.

The second you disappeared upstairs he felt it: that familiar phantom squeeze around his cock, hot and wet and impossibly tight. Then the rhythm starts—fast, shallow, greedy.

He’s hard in seconds, leaking into his shorts, breath coming in short pants.

He glances toward the stairs.

He knows what you’re doing.

He knows because he’s been doing the same thing to your toy every night.

And now you’re both home.

Both alone.

Both breaking.

He doesn’t go upstairs. Not yet.

Instead he leans his back against the counter, the cool edge biting into his spine like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His cock is painfully erect under the thin fabric of his shorts, the obscene bulge straining forward, tenting so hard the waistband digs into his lower abs. Every shallow breath makes it twitch, every phantom slam of your hips upstairs sends a fresh jolt through him. He moans—low, broken, helpless—each sound punched out of his lungs as your rhythm rocks him from the inside out. His knees buckle once, twice; he catches himself on the edge of the sink, knuckles white, hips grinding forward into nothing like he’s fucking the air.

He reaches down without thinking, palm cupping the thick ridge through the cotton. One rough stroke and his head falls back, throat working on a groan. The wet spot at the front of his shorts spreads fast—dark, sticky, obscene. He grinds harder into his own fist, hips rolling in slow, filthy circles, eyes fixed on the mess he’s making, precum soaking through until the fabric clings transparently to the flushed head.

Upstairs, you stand frozen under the cold spray for a long minute, water pounding your shoulders, doing absolutely nothing to dull the ache between your legs. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, still fluttering around the memory of double penetration, still greedy for more. The shower did jack shit. You shut off the water with a frustrated huff, towel yourself off in jerky movements, and stumble back to your room naked, skin pebbled, nipples tight from the chill and from want.

You don’t even close the door all the way.

You crawl onto the bed, legs splaying wide, knees bent and feet planted so you can watch yourself take it. The dildo is still warm from earlier, slick with your earlier mess. You line it up, tease the fat head through your folds once—then slam it home to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your back arches off the mattress with a choked cry, pussy clamping down like a vice, walls rippling around every veiny inch.

Down the hall, Caleb sucks in a whimper so sharp it hurts. His eyes roll back; he has to brace both hands on the banister to keep from collapsing right there on the stairs. The phantom grip around his cock returns—tighter, hotter, wetter than before—and he knows exactly what you’re doing.

He climbs the last few steps on shaking legs, drawn like a magnet. Your door is cracked open. He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t.

He looks anyway.

And everything inside him fractures.

There you are—his sweet, innocent meimei—legs spread obscenely wide on the childhood bed you used to share during storms, tits heaving with every frantic roll of your hips, pussy stretched wide around a thick, veiny dildo that looks exactly like his cock. Down to the upward curve, the heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass with every thrust, the flushed brownish-pink head disappearing inside you over and over.

He can see the way your walls cling to it when you pull back, the slick strings connecting silicone to your swollen lips, the way your clit peeks out swollen and red every time you grind down.

“Mmhhh gege! Ahhh gege fuck—need you—mmpphhh!!”

Your voice cracks on his name, back bowing, tits bouncing wildly as you fuck yourself stupid, chasing that edge with desperate, sloppy thrusts. The sheets are soaked beneath you, wet patch spreading.

Caleb’s sure he would have moaned loud enough to wake the whole coast if he hadn’t bitten his lower lip bloody. It’s better than any porn he’s ever seen—hotter, filthier, because it’s you. His pipsqueak. His meimei. Ruining herself on a perfect copy of his dick.

The realization hits like a shockwave.

It was you.

All this time.

The ghost pussy milking him dry every night.

The way it clenched exactly when he needed it.

The way it knew his rhythm, his kinks, his breaking point.

And he’s been doing the same to you.

He shoves his shorts down in one rough yank; his cock springs free, angry red and leaking, veins standing out thick and pulsing. He wraps a fist around the base, strokes once—hard—and has to slap his free hand over his mouth to muffle the groan.

“Mmhh pipsqueak…” he whispers, voice wrecked, hips thrusting into his own grip like he’s fucking you through the doorway. “Such a needy little meimei… arghhh—it was you all along, huh?”

He can see every detail from here— the way your thighs tremble, the way your fingers dig into the sheets, the way you arch and sob his name like a prayer while you slam the toy deeper, chasing the stretch he’s been giving you in secret for months.

And he’s glad.

Fucking glad.

Because it’s mutual.

You out-freaked him first—ordered a replica of his dick and rode it until you cried his name—but he matched you, customized a perfect copy of your cunt and fucked it raw while whispering yours.

You’re both freaks.

Two depraved, lovesick freaks who’ve been secretly fucking each other stupid across hundreds of miles, and now you’re under the same roof with no Gran to stop you.

He strokes faster, matching your rhythm—every time you slam down, he fucks up into his fist. Precum drips over his knuckles, slicking the way. His balls draw up tight, aching.

You’re close. He can tell by the way your moans turn high and broken, the way your hips stutter, the way your pussy visibly flutters around the toy.

He’s right there with you.

One more thrust—yours, his—and you both shatter at the exact same second.

You come with a muffled scream into your pillow, body convulsing, squirting around the dildo in messy pulses that soak your thighs and the bed. The toy stays buried deep as you ride the aftershocks, whimpering his name over and over.

Caleb’s knees finally give out. He catches himself on the doorframe, biting his fist as he comes hard—thick ropes painting the floorboards, his hand, his stomach—while the phantom squeeze of your pussy milks him through every pulse.

He slumps there, panting, cock still twitching in his grip, eyes locked on you through the crack in the door.

You’re still trembling, legs limp, toy lodged inside you, chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

But the door creaks just a fraction wider under his weight.

And your eyes—glazed, wrecked, still teary—slowly lift.

They meet his.

For one endless heartbeat, neither of you breathes.

Then your lips part on a soft, broken whisper that carries straight to him,

“…gege?”

And everything that’s been building for months finally snaps.

You freak out the second your eyes blink from eye contact.

The sheets fly up in a frantic scramble, bunching around your chest and thighs as you yank them to your chin. Your cheeks ignite—burning, scorching hot—while a high-pitched squeak tears out of you like a startled animal.

“What are you—!”

The door, already ajar, swings wider under Caleb’s unsteady weight. He loses his balance completely—arms windmilling for half a second—then crashes forward with a loud, graceless thud, face-planting straight into the floorboards.

You squeak even louder, the sound shrill enough to rattle the windows.

He groans, low and pained, and slowly lifts his head. Blood trickles from his nose in a thin, bright red stream, dripping onto the wood. He blinks once, twice, dazed, then pushes himself up on shaking arms. His shorts are still shoved halfway down his thighs from earlier, so his dick—half-hard, flushed dark, still glistening at the tip—bobs free with the motion, jumping against his stomach like it has a mind of its own.

Your breath snags in your throat, sharp and audible.

You stare. You can’t not staring.

When you’d scrolled through that sketchy website a month ago, trembling and horny and stupid, you’d picked every detail from memory—the exact length you’d felt pressed against your hip during too-long hugs, the slight upward curve you’d glimpsed once through damp sweatpants, the heavy hang of his balls, the thick veins that stood out when his forearms flexed carrying your luggage. You’d thought it was obsessive fantasy.

But seeing it now—in the flesh, real, twitching, leaking a bead of precum that rolls slowly down the shaft—you realize with dizzying clarity—they didn’t just make a replica.

They made an exact fucking match.

Everything clicks into place like a lock tumbling open.

The “ghost” sensations.

The double penetration every night.

The way your toy always seemed to know exactly when he was close, clamping down harder, milking tighter.

The way his phantom cock always mirrored your rhythm, pounding deeper when you slammed down hardest.

Caleb hauls himself to his feet, swaying slightly. He notices your wide-eyed stare locked on his cock and flushes darker than you’ve ever seen him—red creeping from his collar to his ears. With a rough, embarrassed jerk, he yanks his shorts back up, the waistband snapping against his hips, but it does nothing to hide the thick outline still straining forward.

“Pipsqueak…” His voice comes out hoarse, cracked, half-lidded eyes dark and glassy. A thin trail of blood slides from his nostril, curving over the bow of his upper lip. He doesn’t wipe it away.

You snap back to yourself with a jolt.

“Caleb—your nose is bleeding!”

You scramble forward on your knees, sheets slipping dangerously low as you reach for the box of tissues on your nightstand. One hand presses a wad against his nose while the other clutches the fabric to your chest—but not fast enough. The sheet drops just enough to bare your breasts again, nipples peaked and flushed from everything that’s happened.

Caleb’s gaze drops instantly.

He stares—openly, hungrily—for one long heartbeat before you yank the sheet back up with a mortified squeak. Only then does he drag his eyes back to yours, pupils blown wide.

“It’s not because I fell,” he rasps, voice thick. “It’s because of…”

His stare rakes down your body again—slow, deliberate—taking in the way the sheet clings to your sweat-damp skin, the dark patch between your thighs where you’re still dripping, the toy still half-buried inside you under the covers. You squeak again, smaller this time, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Caleb!”

“Okay—okay, I want you to stop freaking out and listen to me—”

You look away fast, heart hammering so loud it drowns out everything else. You don’t know how to explain this. How to admit that you’ve been coming undone on a silicone clone of him for months. That you’ve whispered his name like a prayer while your pussy clenched around fake-him, imagining real-him pinning you down. That you’re terrified of what it means now that the secret’s out.

Who fucks a replica of their gege’s dick?

You do.

You really, really do.

Before you can spiral further, Caleb’s hands—big, warm, calloused from flight controls—cup your cheeks. Gentle. Steady. He tilts your face up until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

They’re soft. Guilty. Desperate. Everything at once.

“We need to figure this out, okay?” he whispers, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “Wait—I need to show you something.”

And just like that he’s gone—bolting out of your room, bare feet slapping the hallway floor, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.

You’re alone again.

The room smells like sex and shame and him.

Your thighs tremble. The dildo is still inside you—warm, thick, stretching you open—and every tiny shift makes it drag against your oversensitive walls. You clench once, involuntarily, and a fresh trickle of slick leaks out around it.

You can hear him in his room now—drawers opening, something thudding to the floor, a muffled curse.

Your mind races.

He’s going to show you something.

You already know what it is.

A possible pocket pussy.

The one he’s been fucking every night while you rode his replica. The one that’s been milking him dry from three hundred miles away.

And now it’s here in this house with both of you.

You swallow hard, heart in your throat.

The floorboards creak as he comes back down the hall.

You don’t move.

Don’t pull the toy out.

Don’t cover up any more than you already are.

You just wait—sheets clutched to your chest, thighs still spread, pussy still stuffed, pulse roaring in your ears—while the footsteps get closer.

When Caleb steps back through the doorway, holding the black satin box like it’s evidence in a crime scene, eyes locked on yours with something raw and unguarded…

You know.

There’s no going back now.

Not for either of you.

Caleb steps back into your room, the black satin box cradled in his big hands like it’s both a confession and a trophy. He doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t even try to play coy. He flips the lid open right in front of you.

Your eyes blow wide. Your mouth drops into a perfect, stunned little ‘o’.

Nestled inside, glossy and obscene, is the pocket pussy—soft silicone lips parted just enough to show the glistening pink interior. And draped over it, stretched across the entrance like a filthy bow, is one of your missing lace panties. The pale pink ones with the tiny bow at the front. The ones you swore the washing machine devoured months ago.

Caleb—shameless bastard now that the mask is off—hooks two fingers under the waistband and tugs the fabric aside. He drags the pad of his thumb slowly along the outer folds, parting them gently, stroking the slick entrance like he’s petting something precious.

The sensation hits you like lightning.

A surprised, broken moan rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Your pussy clenches hard around the dildo still buried inside you, walls fluttering wildly, fresh slick leaking out around the base.

Caleb flushes darker—cheeks, neck, ears—but his grin is pure sin. He chokes on his own spit when your inner muscles clamp down again, the toy translating every spasm straight to his cock.

“You get it now?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

Your brain kicks into overdrive, thoughts crashing faster than light.

You’d spent months drowning in guilt—convincing yourself you were the only freak here, the only one twisted enough to order a perfect replica of your gege’s dick and ride it until you sobbed his name into your pillow. You’d hated how much you wanted it, how wrong it felt, how right it felt every time you came clenching around fake-him.

But look at him.

Look at your freak of a gege standing there holding a replica of your cunt, wrapped in your stolen panties like some depraved keepsake. He didn’t just buy it—he customized it, scented it, fucked it raw while thinking of you, and then he kept your underwear like a trophy.

“CALEB YOU STOLE MY PANTIES?!!?” The scream explodes out of you, eyes huge, accusatory, betrayed.

He squeaks—actually squeaks—scratching the back of his head with his free hand, sheepish grin wobbling.

“Umm… well… I rescued them to wash but uh… hehehehehe—”

You lunge.

Your fists rain down on his chest, shoulders, arms—smacking him over and over, forgetting the sheet, forgetting the toy still stretching you open, forgetting everything except righteous fury.

“YOU JERK!!! I KEPT BUYING CUTE PANTIES AND YOU STOLE THEM?!??! HOW DARE YOU!!! I THOUGHT THE WASHER WAS EATING THEM!!”

“Ow—ouch—ouch—pipsqueak!”

He’s half-laughing, half-squeaking, trying to shield himself but not really fighting back. The sounds are ridiculous, boyish, so much like the old Caleb that it almost hurts.

Then his arms snap around your waist.

One hard yank and you’re flush against him—chest to chest, hips to hips, the thick ridge of his cock pressing right against your lower belly through his shorts. Your breath punches out of you in a startled gasp.

“I can buy you new ones, yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping low, rough. “Anything you want. But right now… we need to talk about this, meimei.”

The name hits like a shockwave.

You stop breathing.

His eyes are locked on yours—dark, molten, stripped of every layer of pretense. You feel every inch of him: the heat radiating off his skin, the hard planes of his chest, the insistent throb of his cock trapped between you. And lower—the dildo still lodged deep inside you, making your walls flutter every time you shift.

“Take it out, pipsqueak.”

Your cheeks burn so hot you think they’ll combust. You shake your head frantically—no, no, no—too embarrassed to move, too mortified to pull the replica of him out of your dripping cunt while he watches.

Caleb frowns, impatient.

His hand slides down—big, warm fingers wrapping around the base of the dildo where it’s buried in you. He groans low in his throat at the feel of your walls gripping it—gripping him, then yanks.

The toy comes free with a wet, filthy pop.

You gasp sharply—sharp enough to hurt—your pussy clenching around sudden emptiness. Slick gushes out in a messy splash, coating your inner thighs, dripping onto the sheets, making everything even more obscene.

“Come on,” he chuckles, dark and teasing, holding the glistening dildo up between you like evidence. “I know you weren’t shy fucking this replica in Linkon, huh? No wonder the ghost was so needy…”

His eyes drag over the toy—taking in the way it’s coated in your arousal, veins shiny, base slick—and then rake back up your body, slow and hungry.

“I should’ve known it was my naughty little pipsqueak. After all… it’s only meimei who takes this much from her gege, hmm?”

His voice drops to gravel.

You gulp, panting softly, chest heaving. You pout up at him—bratty, defiant—and smack his chest again, weaker this time.

“But… you had a replica of mine too!”

Caleb laughs—low, rough, relieved.

“In that case… I’m guilty too.”

Then he moves.

One step forward and your back hits the mattress. You both go down in a tangle—sheets ripping away completely, your naked body splayed beneath him, still sweaty, still flushed, still smelling like sex and shame and him.

He braces on his forearms, caging you in, face inches from yours.

“Then we should share this sin together, right?”

His hips settle between your thighs. The hard length of him—real this time—nudges right against your soaked entrance, hot and thick and leaking through his shorts.

You whimper—small, broken, needy.

His mouth hovers over yours, breath mingling.

“Tell me to stop, meimei,” he whispers, voice trembling just enough to betray how close he is to breaking. “Tell me and I’ll walk out right now. We’ll pretend this never happened.”

Your hands slide up—fingers curling into his shoulders, nails digging in.

You don’t push him away.

You pull him closer.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathe against his lips.

And that’s it.

The last thread snaps.

Caleb’s mouth crashes down on yours—hungry, desperate, years of pent-up want pouring out in one bruising kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming, tasting, while his hips grind forward, dragging the fat head of his cock through your folds.

You arch up into him with a sob, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.

He groans into your mouth—raw, wrecked.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—been waiting so long—”

Caleb pulls back just enough to drink you in—really drink you in.

You’re sprawled beneath him like a fever dream: lips swollen and glossy from his kisses, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants, eyes glassy and half-lidded with want. His gaze drags down slow—over the flushed peaks of your tits, the soft curve of your belly still trembling from aftershocks, then lower, to where your thighs are parted and your pussy is clenching desperately around nothing. Slick shines on your inner thighs, dripping down toward the sheets in lazy rivulets. The toy’s absence has left you empty and aching, walls fluttering visibly like they’re begging to be filled again.

His whole body burns—not just from the heat of the moment, but from the sheer, dizzying reality of it. His wildest, most shameful dream is right here: you, naked and wrecked and his, finally letting him see you like this. Touch you like this. He’s drowning in emotions—guilt, relief, raw hunger—but he forces himself to focus. He wants this to be good for you. Better than good. He wants to feed every filthy craving you’ve both been hiding, satisfy the hunger that’s been eating you alive for months.

“So pretty,” he stutters, voice cracking as two fingers glide down your slit. He parts your folds gently, watching the way your clit twitches under the lightest brush.

You yelp, thighs jerking inward on instinct. “Caleb!”

He shakes his head, firm but soft. His free hand comes down in a sharp spank to the plush meat of your thigh—hard enough to sting, soft enough to make the flesh jiggle.

“Oh no no no no,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Don’t go hiding from me now. You’re beautiful, pipsqueak. I want to admire all of you.”

You bite your lower lip hard, cheeks flaming, but you don’t close your legs again. You watch—breath hitching—as his fingers continue their slow exploration: tracing your entrance, dipping just inside to feel how soaked you are, then sliding lower. He gropes one ass cheek shamelessly, kneading the soft flesh before landing another weak, appreciative spank. The jiggle makes him groan low in his throat.

“Aw damn…”

You huff, mortified and turned on in equal measure, and reach up to grab his ear—tugging hard.

He yelps instantly. “Ow ow ow—what’s wrong? Did I hurt you—”

You scoff, cutting him off, and slide both palms under his shirt. Your fingers find the hard planes of his pecs, cupping them shamelessly, thumbs brushing over his nipples.

“Take off your clothes too, dummy,” you mutter, voice bratty and breathless. “I don’t wanna be the only one naked.”

Caleb blinks once—then grins so wide it’s almost stupid, ear-to-ear and boyish despite the filthy situation.

“Fair enough.”

He yanks the sleeveless shirt over his head in one smooth motion, muscles flexing under sweaty skin as it hits the floor somewhere behind him. Next come the shorts—hooked thumbs in the waistband, frantic tug downward. The fabric slides off his thighs and his cock springs free, slapping lewdly against his lower abs with a wet smack.

You gasp—sharp, involuntary.

It’s exactly like the dildo. Down to the last detail: the thick veins, the slight upward curve, the flushed brownish-pink head already leaking, the heavy balls hanging low. Your pussy clenches hard around nothing at the sight, a fresh gush of slick trickling out.

“Like what you see, huh?” he smirks, voice hoarse and wrecked. He grips the base and smacks the fat head against your dripping folds—once, twice—coating himself in your mess.

You whine instantly, hips jerking up. “Ahhh fuck—Caleb—mmmpphhh!!”

But instead of pushing in, he pulls back. You frown, confused and needy—until you see him reach for the dildo again.

With a slow, sinful smile, he lines it up and slides it back inside your tight cunt.

“Hai—ahhhh—Caleb!?!”

You can only stare up at his face—pleasure twisting his features, mouth falling open in a perfect ‘o’—as he pushes the toy deeper. A low, rumbling groan escapes him.

“Fuck… exact feeling…”

He keeps going—slow, torturous—watching your face the whole time while he feeds inch after inch back into you. Your walls stretch around the familiar silicone, fluttering, sucking it in greedily until it’s buried to the hilt again: tip kissing your cervix, heavy balls pressed flush against your ass.

Only then does he stop.

But he’s not done.

He manhandles you with easy strength—big hands under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You squeak as he repositions you properly on the bed: flat on your back, head near the pillows, legs spread wide. He climbs over you, straddling your chest, knees bracketing your shoulders.

His cock hovers right above your face—hard, twitching, leaking a fat pearl of precum from the slit.

Your brain empties completely. All you can do is stare: at him, at the dick that’s been haunting your nights for months, now real and inches from your lips.

“You’ll suck it, right baby?” he rasps, voice trembling with restraint. “Mmmh… suck gege’s dick while the replica stretches you open.”

He lowers himself slowly. The swollen head smacks against your lips—hot, sticky, salty.

You open immediately.

Your mouth wraps around the tip, tongue swirling, sucking gently at first. Caleb throws his head back with a guttural sound.

“Ohhh fuck—dual sensation—ahhh… shit!”

His fingers slide into your hair, gripping gently but firm. He starts fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts—careful not to choke you yet, but deep enough to make your eyes water.

“Fuck baby… take it deeper. I know you can—ahh… you’ve been swallowing that dick down your throat, haven’t you? Hah…”

You can barely think—pussy stuffed full and throbbing around the toy, mouth stretched around the real thing, taste of him flooding your senses. But you obey.

Your hands fly up—gripping the firm meat of his ass, nails digging in as you pull him forward. You relax your throat and swallow him to the base in one slow, greedy glide.

Your nose buries into the neatly trimmed, newly shaved patch of pubic hair. His scent—musk, clean sweat, him—overwhelms you. Your eyes roll back, lashes fluttering, fingers sinking deeper into the thick muscle of his thighs while tears of effort slip down your temples.

Caleb’s head snaps back, face contorting in raw pleasure—jaw slack, brows furrowed, a broken moan tearing from his chest.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—good girl—fuck—”

He holds himself there for a heartbeat—letting you feel every thick inch pulsing on your tongue—before he starts to move again.

Slow, deep thrusts into your mouth while the dildo stays buried in your cunt, every rock of his hips making the toy shift inside you just enough to drag against your walls.

You’re stuffed at both ends.

Full.

Claimed.

His.

And he’s not stopping until you both break again.

Caleb keeps fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips—balls smacking wetly against your chin on every deep thrust, the filthy sound echoing in the quiet room. His moans are low and ragged, pleasure ripping through him in waves as your throat flutters around his length, tongue pressing flat against the underside, sucking greedily.

You snap your hips forward uselessly, clenching desperately around the dildo still buried deep in your cunt. The dual fullness—mouth stuffed with real him, pussy stretched by fake him—has you trembling, thighs shaking, slick dripping down your ass in steady rivulets.

That’s when he breaks.

Caleb’s whole body locks up, shaking violently. His fingers tighten in your hair—almost too hard—burying himself to the root until your nose presses flush against his pelvis. A guttural groan tears from his chest as he starts cumming.

Thick, hot spurts flood your mouth instantly—salty, bitter, overwhelming. Your eyes roll back so hard you see stars, throat working frantically to swallow it all, but there’s too much. It overflows the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy strings.

He doesn’t stop.

He pulls out with a lewd, wet pop—cock still jerking—and shoots the last few ropes across your face: warm streaks painting your cheeks, your nose, your swollen lips. You gasp for air, tongue darting out instinctively to lick what you can reach, tasting him everywhere.

Caleb pants above you, chest heaving, staring down at the mess he made. You look wrecked—face covered in his cum, eyes glassy and dazed, lips parted and shiny. He knows he should feel ashamed. He should apologize, clean you up, stop this madness.

But fuck—you look so hot like this it’s rewriting his brain chemistry. Ruining him for anything else.

You flutter your lashes up at him, slow and deliberate, tongue tracing your lower lip to catch another drop. The sight snaps something inside him.

He groans, low and broken, and reaches for the dildo. One rough yank and he pulls it free from your overstimulated pussy.

You arch violently off the bed, hips jerking, a gush of slick squirting out around the sudden emptiness. “F-fuck—Caleb—!”

He stares, mesmerized. “Fuck… you’re so hot, meimei. I think I’m losing my mind.”

You’re panting, trying to catch your breath, body still twitching with aftershocks. Guilt crashes over him like cold water—he reaches for the tissue box on your nightstand with shaking hands and starts wiping your face clean, gentle despite everything.

His cheeks are crimson, burning with embarrassment and leftover heat. “Ah shit—sorry pipsqueak, didn’t mean to… fuck… I’m sorry, okay?”

You just stare up at him—brain fried, body humming—and reach out. Your fingers wrap around his still-hard cock, slick with spit and cum.

He hitches a sharp breath. “Ahhh—oh god—mmhh—”

You give him lazy, teasing strokes, smirking mischievously through the haze.

“I want it, Caleb,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I want your dick.”

He groans, hips snapping forward into your touch. Hearing you talk like that—filthy, needy—makes him throb harder in your palm.

“Say it again, meimei,” he rasps, voice trembling. “Say it… properly.”

You bite your lower lip, thumb flicking over the sensitive head, circling the slit, smearing precum.

“I want your dick, gege,” you purr, slow and deliberate. “Please?”

You don’t stop. Somehow you sit up—legs shaky—free hand sliding up his arm, over the thick muscle of his shoulder, then flicking his hard nipple. You lick your lips again, eyes locked on his, and climb into his lap.

“Need you inside, gege,” you breathe against his throat. “Not the… toy. Need your dick to fuck this pussy—mmhh!”

Caleb snaps.

Since when did his sweet pipsqueak become this seductive little tease?

He hauls you up the bed in one swift motion—then slams you back down onto the mattress. Not too rough—just enough to make you squeak in surprise, tits bouncing with the impact.

“Fuck—look at that sultry expression,” he growls, voice dark. “You’re such a tease, meimei. Such a dirty girl begging her gege’s dick.”

His palm comes down in a sharp smack against your pussy—wet, obscene. You whine, arching hard, the sting turning into molten heat that makes you even wetter.

“You bought a dildo to fuck this needy little cunt, huh?” Another smack—harder. You sob, mindless, hips grinding back toward his hand. “Used a replica of your gege’s dick to train this pussy?”

You can only nod—whimpering, desperate—grinding shamelessly against his palm.

“Fuck—but who am I to judge?” he chuckles darkly. “I’m a freak too, ain’t I?”

He presses the fat head of his cock to your entrance—hot, leaking, real—and snaps his hips forward in one powerful thrust.

You both nearly scream.

The bed shakes beneath you as he bottoms out—thick, burning, stretching you in ways the toy never could. Your walls clamp down instantly, fluttering around every veiny inch.

Caleb grips the headboard above you, knuckles white, hovering over your body. His other hand slides between your legs—fingers finding your clit, pinching and flicking with his thumb while he watches your face twist in pleasure.

“Good thing is… I don’t have to train you for my dick anymore, hah,” he pants, hips rutting in sloppy, messy thrusts. “You’re nice and ready to take me full… fuck… I never thought—”

He throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut. Tears well at the corners—not from pain, but from too much everything: pleasure, relief, fear.

He’s terrified he’ll cry in front of you. Terrified you’ll disappear when this ends. Terrified he’ll lose you after finally having you.

So he fucks you deeper—hands roaming everywhere: groping your tits, spanking your ass, squeezing your thighs. Rough, unpracticed, desperate. He can’t help it. He’s never done this before—not like this, not with anyone.

Suddenly he stops—mid-thrust, sweat dripping down his chest in rivulets. He looks down at you, panic flashing in his eyes.

“Hey—hey hey hey, pipsqueak… hah… are you like—feeling actually good? Like… or…”

His whole face is on fire. He gulps, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

Your brain is too fried to process deeply. You just grin—mindless, blissed-out—and grind back against him with a small, innocent smile.

“Mmhh… best big brother ever…”

Caleb’s mouth falls open. He chokes on a laugh—or maybe a sob—then shakes his head and goes back to fucking you.

He’ll ask when you’re sober. Right now you’re too drunk on his cock to think straight.

He finds your clit again—rubbing tight circles—and feels the telltale shiver in your hips. You’re close. He can see the faint bulge in your lower belly every time he bottoms out, and it makes him shy and so fucking turned on at the same time.

The fact that he’s claiming you like this—fucking you so deep you’ll feel him for days—makes his head spin. He prays this isn’t a fever dream.

His own brain is melting from the pleasure, the sensation, the sight of you taking him so perfectly.

He reaches down—presses the heel of his palm against the bulge in your belly—and pushes.

Both your eyes roll back at the same instant.

Broken moans spill from your tongues as you cum together—hard.

You squirt violently—soaking his cock, his abs, the sheets in messy arcs—walls clamping down like a vice around him.

Caleb comes with a shattered whimper—hips stuttering, spilling inside you in thick, endless pulses until it leaks out around his base, dripping down his balls and onto the ruined bed.

He collapses next to you—breathing ragged, eyes half-focused and glassy.

After a long moment he reaches over—gentle now—brushing damp hair off your face. A soft, satisfied smile curves his lips.

“Thank you…” he whispers, voice hoarse and raw.

You turn your head—still panting, still trembling—and press a lazy kiss to his palm.

“Gege…”

He pulls you close—bodies sticky, tangled, hearts hammering in sync.

Caleb’s hand comes up slow—almost reverent—caressing the side of your face, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he’s memorizing the texture of your skin. His breath hitches when he feels the warmth, the realness of you still flushed and glowing against him. A low, stuttering rumble escapes his chest.

“Did you… like it, pipsqueak?”

You’re draped over him now—breasts cushioned against the hard plane of his chest, cheek pressed to the thick swell of his pec, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat slow. You grin lazily, voice cracked and hoarse from all the moaning, all the screaming his name.

“I fucking loved it, Caleb.”

His smirk falters—just for a second—something soft and vulnerable flickering in his eyes. His thumb circles lazy patterns over your hipbone, the touch grounding and possessive at once.

“Me too.” He swallows. “I thought I was pushing things too fast… making it uncomfortable since I’ve never—”

Your eyes shoot open. You half-scream, half-gasp, bolting upright so fast your tits bounce against his chest.

“WAIT—you… YOU MEAN YOU WERE A VIRGIN?!?!”

Caleb’s whole face ignites—crimson flooding from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut in pure mortification, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward in a faint, sheepish grin.

“Yeah yeah… first time got my dick wet. Kinda nervous.”

You beam—bright, wicked, delighted—and crash your mouth to his in a messy, giddy kiss. Then you’re scrambling off him, lunging for your phone on the nightstand.

“Wait—lemme take a picture of us losing our virginities together!”

Caleb’s mouth drops open. You were a virgin too. The realization hits him square in the chest—funny, warm, possessive—and a smug grin spreads across his face before he can stop it.

You flip the camera to selfie mode, crawling back into his lap, thighs bracketing his hips. His arms snake around your waist immediately—tight, claiming—pulling you flush against him while you stick your tongue out in a naughty little pose.

“Say cheese!”

He looks straight at the lens—smug as hell, eyes half-lidded and dark with leftover lust—while you giggle and snap the photo.

Caleb huffs softly after, nuzzling into your neck. “You better not show this to anyone.”

You wiggle your eyebrows mischievously. “Oh, I’m gonna show it to any guy who’ll bother me like—you should be scared of my big brother.”

He wheezes—chokes on his own spit—and bursts out laughing, arms squeezing you until you squeak in protest.

“Diabolical.”

His palm comes down in a light, playful spank on your ass—watching the flesh bounce with open delight.

“You’re a menace to society, you know that?”

“I get it from you.”

You bite your lower lip, rolling your hips back slow—grinding your slick folds along his still-hard cock. He groans low in his throat.

“Fair enough.”

He dives back in—kissing you deep, tongues tangling messy and hungry. You both moan into each other’s mouths, hands roaming, relearning every inch now that the barrier’s gone.

“Fuck… I’m gonna miss you when I go back to Skyhaven…”

You grin against his lips, crawling higher up his body until you’re straddling his chest. Your hand wraps around his cock—still slick, still leaking—and guide the head to your mouth.

“That’s what the toys are for, gege.”

You hum as you wrap your lips around him again—slow, teasing—tongue swirling over the sensitive slit. Caleb lets out a low, rumbling moan, hips twitching up into the wet heat of your mouth.

“Ahhh… I almost forgot…”

His fingers slide down—two thick digits pushing into your dripping pussy without warning. You moan around his cock, the vibration making him curse under his breath.

“Three days left… fuck, I can’t get enough of you, meimei…!”

Neither can you.

The next three days blur into one long, feverish haze.

You fuck like rabbits—hours bleeding into hours, positions changing, surfaces shifting—bed, floor, shower, kitchen counter when Gran’s still gone, even on the old couch in the living room where you used to watch cartoons together as kids.

He eats you out until your thighs shake and you’re crying his name.

You ride him slow and deep until he’s begging.

He pins you against the wall and fucks you standing until pictures rattle on their hooks.

You suck him off in the hallway while he tries—and fails to stay quiet.

Every time one of you starts to flag—exhausted, sore, spent—the other just reaches over, touches, whispers filthy encouragement, and the fire reignites.

Even after Gran comes back—bags in hand, cheerful questions about your “quiet week”—you keep sneaking.

Late-night tiptoes down the hall.

Muffled moans pressed into pillows so she doesn’t hear.

Quick, desperate fucks in the bathroom while the shower runs to cover the sounds.

His hand over your mouth while he grinds into you from behind, whispering “quiet, meimei, or Gran’ll hear how much her good girl likes her gege’s cock.”

When the vacation finally ends, you stand on the platform watching the train to Skyhaven pull away.

Caleb leans out the open window one last time—hair mussed, eyes soft and dark—and presses a final, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Be good,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You grin, wicked. “No promises.”

The train starts moving. He disappears down the track.

You stand there until it’s gone, thighs clenched tight—still feeling the fresh load he stuffed you full with this morning before dawn, warm and thick and leaking slowly down your inner thighs under your skirt.

You shift your weight—feel it drip a little more—and smile to yourself.

Three hundred miles apart again. But the toys are waiting. And now you both know exactly what the other needs. You turn toward your apartment in linkon, already counting the days until the next break.

A broken little sound escapes as you circle your clit, slow, teasing, the same way you’ve imagined he would if he ever—God—if he ever let himself unravel like this.

“Mmh… gege, are you worried about me?” The words come out filthy, breathless, wrong in the best way. “Do you… think about me when you’re alone too?”

You press two fingers inside yourself, curling, pumping, thighs shaking. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit and your hips jerk forward like you’re fucking your own hand, like you’re chasing a ghost that wears his face.

You’ve never touched each other. Not once. Not beyond lingering hugs that lasted too long, not beyond his thumb brushing your cheek when you cried after graduation, not beyond falling asleep on his shoulder during long flights home and pretending both of you didn’t notice how neither moved away.

But you know.

You both know.

“C-Caleb—” His name cracks in your throat as you come undone, clenching hard around your fingers, knees nearly buckling. Water pounds over you like it’s trying to wash the sin off your skin, but it can’t reach the stain inside your chest.

You stay there until the water starts to cool, forehead pressed to the tile, panting, ashamed, and still aching for him.

Because even an entire city apart, even with new lives and new rules and the Hunter Academy waiting to swallow you whole tomorrow—Caleb is still the only home you want to go back to.

And you’re terrified he wants to come back to you too.

You step out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but steam and guilt, skin still tingling, cheeks flaming hotter than the shower ever got. Droplets race down your neck, your spine, between your ass cheeks; every trickle feels like a reprimand. You don’t even bother with clothes. You just belly-flop onto the bed, wet hair fanning across the pillow, and immediately start flailing like a dying shrimp.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” you hiss, kicking the sheets, punching the mattress, rolling side to side until the towel finally gives up and falls open. You lie there spread-eagle, panting at the ceiling like it personally offended you.

You miss your stupid, overprotective, stupidly hot gege this much.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

You need to do something about it before you lose the last shred of your sanity.

With a groan you drag the laptop Caleb bought you—matte black, way too expensive, has a little fighter-jet sticker he slapped on the lid as a joke— onto your stomach and flip it open. Fingers hover over the keys for half a second before shame loses the fight.

You type: “best sex toys for beginners”.

The screen explodes with color and silicone and words like “thrusting” and “suction” and “10 vibration patterns”. Your eyes go wide.

“Oh WOW…”

You scroll, jaw literally on the floor, until you hit the prices and wheeze. Eight hundred dollars for a rabbit vibrator? Who has that kind of money? Certainly not a broke freshman hunter living off instant noodles and Caleb’s guilt-money transfers.

You slam the laptop shut, fling yourself backward again, and whine at the ceiling.

“Too broke for that… damn, I can’t even get a proper dildo shoved up into my pussy, life is unfair—”

Ding ding.

Your phone lights up on the nightstand. Unknown number. A link.

Normally you’d ignore it. Today you’re desperate and dumb, so you squint, see “70% OFF FLASH SALE!!” in screaming red letters, and click before your brain catches up.

The site that loads is… questionable. Neon pink, flickering banners, probably one virus away from stealing your soul. But front and center is a product that makes your heart stop.

“Feel Like Someone You Love”

100% customizable hyper-realistic silicone sleeve + internal texture mapping

“Upload a photo, choose vein pattern, pick warmth settings; experience the exact cock you’ve always dreamed of.”

Your mouth goes dry.

There’s a little heart icon that says “Most Wishlisted Item of the Year”.

You shouldn’t.

You really, really shouldn’t.

But your finger is already over the “Customize Now” button and your thighs are already squeezing together remembering how your own fingers felt pretending they were his.

Ten minutes later you’ve uploaded the clearest photo you have of Caleb—him leaning against the cockpit of his fighter, flight suit half-zipped, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. You pick the length you’ve definitely never measured in your head while hugging him goodbye, the exact girth your dirty imagination has circled back to for years, the upward curve you’ve caught a glimpse of once through his sweatpants and never recovered from.

Veins: raised, prominent, just like the ones on his forearms when he carries your luggage without breaking a sweat. Warmth setting: “always hot, like he just worked out”. Internal texture: “tight but yielding, the way you bet he’d feel if he ever snapped and pinned you down.

The total, with the sketchy discount, is suspiciously low. Delivery: 3–5 days, discreet packaging.

Your finger hovers over “Place Order”. Morals scream. Pussy throbs harder. You hit the button before you can talk yourself out of it.

Order confirmed. You drop the phone like it’s on fire, roll facedown into the pillow, and muffle a scream that’s half horror, half unbearable anticipation.

In three to five days, you’re going to fuck a perfect replica of the cock belonging to the one person you’re never, ever supposed to want.

And you already know you’re going to call it gege while you do.

Five days of checking the mailbox like a lunatic. Five days of that stupid website 404-ing every time you tried to track the order. Five days of punching training dummies with your entire soul while screaming internally about getting scammed out of your last paycheck for a ghost dick.

“FUCK, IT WAS A SCAM!” you snarl, slamming an uppercut into the dummy’s throat so hard the stuffing starts leaking, “WHAT WAS I THINKING!”. Your squadmates give you a wide berth, whispering. Whatever. Let them think you’re unhinged. You are unhinged.

Then your phone buzzes against your hip. Package delivered.

You don’t even wait for the instructor to dismiss you. You just bolt, boots pounding pavement the whole way back, lungs burning, sweat cooling on your neck in the evening air. The second the apartment door slams behind you, you spot the box.

Plain brown. No labels except your name in printed font. You drop to your knees like a woman possessed, nails clawing at tape, ripping cardboard like it owes you money. The lid flies off. And you stop breathing.

Nestled in black satin is the most obscene, perfect, terrifying cock you’ve ever seen.

It’s huge. Stupidly, ridiculously huge. Thick veins snake up the shaft, only these are flushed dark, pulsing faintly with the built-in warming tech. The head is that deep brownish-pink, flared and glistening from whatever hyper-realistic coating they used. Heavy balls hang low, weighted, shifting slightly when you nudge the box.

You don’t remember setting the length slider this high.

You don’t care. Your mouth actually waters.

“Oh wow…” It comes out strangled. You fall back onto your ass, legs splayed, staring at the thing like it might stand up and walk over to you itself. “Oh my god.”

Your pussy clenches so hard you feel it in your throat.

You haven’t even taken your sweaty training gear off and you’re already dripping down your thighs.

You pick it up with both hands—jesus, it’s warm, heavier than expected and the second your fingers close around the shaft it pulses again, like it knows who it belongs to.

Like it’s been waiting for you just as long as you’ve been waiting for him.

You press the thick head against your cheek without thinking, dragging it down to your lips, breathing in the clean, new-silicone scent mixed with whatever insane tech makes it smell faintly like his cologne.

“Fuck, gege…” you whisper against the tip, voice cracking.

The toy throbs in your grip like it heard you.

You have never sprinted to lock your bedroom door faster in your life.You don’t make it to the bed.

The second the lock clicks you’re already peeling off your sweat-soaked clothes, sports bra flung somewhere, shorts kicked aside, panties dragged down your thighs and left dangling off one ankle. The toy is still in your grip, hot against your palm, veins pulsing faintly with the internal heater like it has a heartbeat.

You drop to your knees on the rug, legs spreading wide without shame, back hitting the edge of the mattress. The thick head nudges your lips and you open instantly, greedy, tongue flattening against the underside as you take the first few inches into your mouth. It’s too big; your jaw aches immediately, drool already spilling down your chin, but you force yourself deeper, gagging softly, eyes watering.

You pull off with a wet pop and a broken moan.

“Need you inside me, gege… please—”

You flip onto all fours, ass in the air, face buried in the sheets that still smell like the detergent he used to buy for both of you back home. One hand reaches back, guiding the fat tip through your soaked folds, coating it, teasing your clit until your thighs shake.

Then you push.

The stretch is obscene. Your pussy flutters, resists, then gives all at once. A strangled cry rips out of you as the first half sinks in, thick veins dragging against your walls, that perfect upward curve kissing spots you’ve never reached with your fingers. You claw at the sheets, hips jerking back on instinct, taking more, more, until your ass meets the heavy silicone balls and you’re stuffed so full you can’t breathe.

“F-fuck—Caleb—”

You pull forward until only the head remains, then slam back. The impact makes you scream into the mattress. Again. Harder. Faster. Your tits bounce with every brutal thrust, nipples dragging against the rug, thighs slapping against silicone like they’re slapping against his hips.

You lose count of how many times you fuck yourself on it. You lose language. All that exists is the wet, filthy sound of your cunt swallowing him, the burn in your thighs, the way your clit throbs every time the base grinds against it.

You flip over, legs thrown wide, knees hooked over your elbows so you can watch. Watch the way your pussy lips stretched thin around his cock, watch it disappear inside you again and again, slick coating everything, dripping down your ass, pooling on the floor.

“Look what you do to me, gege,” you sob, voice wrecked. “Look how wet you make me—how empty I am without you—fuck, I’m such a slut for you—”

Your free hand flies to your clit, rubbing frantic circles, and the orgasm barrels into you like a freight train. You squirt, actually squirt, a gush that soaks the toy and your thighs and the rug beneath you. Your walls clamp down so hard the dildo almost slips out, but you shove it deeper, riding the aftershocks, grinding, crying his name like a prayer.

You don’t stop.

You can’t.

You pull it out only long enough to flip the toy around and shove the slick head against your ass, teasing, not quite brave enough yet, but the thought alone makes you come again, smaller this time, a full-body shudder that leaves you gasping.

When you finally collapse, the dildo is still buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around it in lazy pulses. You’re trembling, sweaty, ruined. Tears and drool and cum smeared across your face and chest.

You reach down blindly, fingers brushing the base, and give it one last slow thrust just to hear yourself whimper.

“…come home soon, gege,” you whisper to the empty room, voice hoarse. “I don’t think this is gonna be enough anymore.”

The toy stays inside you the rest of the night. You fall asleep clenching around it, dreaming of the real thing finally splitting you open.

—

—

Skyhaven, DAA parade grounds, 18:47 local.

Caleb is standing at parade rest, flight jacket crisp, medals gleaming, trying to look like the perfect poster boy for the Deepspace Aviation Academy while the brass drones on about honor and vigilance. The formation is dead silent except for the wind whipping the flags.

Then it starts.

A faint tingle at the base of his spine. He shifts his weight, ignores it. Probably just nerves.

Gideon elbows him from the left. “Dude, you good? You’re sweating bullets.”

Caleb forces a laugh, teeth clenched. “Yeah, just hot in this jacket.”

The tingle turns into heat. A slow, syrupy, pooling right behind his balls. His cock twitches once, then again, harder, like someone just wrapped a fist around it and squeezed.

He locks his knees to keep from swaying.

The sensation climbs. Something slick and impossibly tight slides down his shaft, inch by inch, swallowing him whole. His breath stutters. The wet spot blooming at the front of his dress pants is impossible to hide now; he angles his body behind the guy in front of him, praying nobody notices.

Another squeeze. A rhythmic drag. Something soft and spongy kissing the tip over and over and over.

His vision whites out for half a second. He breaks formation without permission, muttering a choked “bathroom” to Gideon’s startled face, and bolts.

He barely makes it to the nearest restroom, slamming the lock, back hitting the door as his trembling fingers rip his belt open. The second his cock springs free it’s flushed angry red, leaking like a faucet, veins bulging exactly the way you spent hours customizing.

He doesn’t even touch himself.

He doesn’t have to.

The feeling slams into him again: tight, wet heat clenching around him, riding him hard, fast, merciless. Invisible hips slam down, grind, pull up, slam down again. His balls draw up so tight it hurts.

“F-fuck—!” The moan tears out of him; he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back, hips jerking into empty air like he’s fucking someone bent over the sink in front of him.

Every thrust feels real. Too real. He can feel slick walls fluttering, a cervix nudging the head on every brutal stroke, the phantom slap of skin on skin he’s never actually heard but somehow knows by heart.

His knees buckle. He grips the porcelain with white knuckles, forehead pressed to the cool mirror, panting like he’s running a marathon.

“Ah—shit—stop—please—” he doesn’t even know who he’s begging.

The pace only gets rougher.

He comes without warning, a broken cry muffled against his own arm, thick ropes painting the sink, the mirror, his dress shirt. His cock jerks and jerks like it’s being milked by a throat, a pussy, something greedy and possessive and familiar.

The orgasm doesn’t stop. It rolls straight into another, smaller but sharper, and his legs finally give out. He slides down the door until he’s sitting on the cold tile, cock still half-hard, twitching with aftershocks, cum dripping down his fist even though he never stroked himself once.

Chest heaving, he stares at the mess in dazed horror. “What the fuck was that…?”

Three hundred miles away, you’re still sprawled on your bedroom floor, impaled on the toy, whispering his name like a prayer while it throbs inside you.

Neither of you has any idea the link goes both ways. Yet.

Every night for the past ten days it’s the same ritual.

You stumble through the door still in your sweat-drenched hunter uniform, kick off your boots, and don’t even bother with the lights. The second the bedroom door shuts behind you, clothes hit the floor in a frantic trail. You’re already soaked before you even touch the toy, thighs slick, pussy throbbing like it’s been counting the hours until you get home to it.

You keep the dildo in the top drawer now, wrapped in one of Caleb’s old flight academy T-shirts like a dirty little secret. The moment your fingers close around the warm shaft it pulses, eager, like it missed you just as badly.

And three hundred miles away, Caleb starts sweating through whatever he’s doing.

Day 4

You ride it reverse on the desk chair, feet planted wide, rolling your hips slow and deep just to feel every vein drag inside you.

In Skyhaven, Caleb drops an entire tray of coffee in the cadet mess, doubles over the table with a choked gasp, thighs clamping together while his cock leaks helplessly into his boxers. Gideon has to drag him out by the elbow while Caleb stammers something about food poisoning.

Day 6

You’re on your knees in the shower, toy suction-cupped to the tile, slamming back onto it until your ass is red and the water runs cold.

Caleb’s in the middle of a night-flight simulator run. Mid-loop his whole body locks up; he yanks the stick too hard, fails the exercise, and spends ten minutes curled in the cockpit seat coming untouched while the instructor screams over the headset.

Day 8

You can’t wait anymore the second you get home. You don’t even make it to the bedroom. You drop onto the hallway floor, legs over your head, fucking yourself with both holes now—the replica so slick from your pussy it slides into your ass easy. You scream his name until your voice cracks.

Caleb’s in the barracks laundry room folding clothes. One second he’s fine, the next he’s on the floor, biting his own forearm to stay quiet while his cock jerks and feels violated by invisible forces. He comes so hard his vision blacks out. When he can move again he finds the crotch of his pants soaked front and back and has no explanation.

Day 10

You’re greedy. You strap the toy to a pillow, mount it like you’re riding him for real, hands braced on the headboard, hips snapping down so hard the bedframe slams the wall in rhythm.

“Gege—fuck—harder—please, I need—”

You sob it into the dark, tears streaking your cheeks, pussy gushing all over the silicone balls.

In Skyhaven, Caleb is supposed to be asleep. Instead he jerks awake in his bunk with a wounded sound, sheets twisted around his hips, cock so hard it hurts. The sensation hits like a punch: tight, wet heat swallowing him to the root, grinding, milking. Something inside him —his ass—clenches around nothing and everything at once. He shoves his face into his pillow and comes instantly, whole body convulsing, biting down so hard he tastes blood.

When it finally fades he’s shaking, drenched in sweat, heart hammering like he just ran ten miles.

He drags a trembling hand down his stomach and finds his cock still-hard cock slick with his own release and something else—slicker, warmer, smelling faintly smelling like you.

For the first time, real fear cuts through the haze. Because whatever is doing this to him isn’t random. And it’s getting stronger every night.

Caleb hasn’t slept properly in twelve days. Every night the “ghost” comes back. Every night it rides him harder, tighter, wetter, like it’s learning exactly how to unravel him.

He’s stopped trying to fight it. He just locks his door, shoves his face into his pillow, and lets the phantom cunt milk him dry while his cock leaks and his ass clenches around nothing and his brain short-circuits with the same voice that’s haunted him since puberty.

Your voice.

He’s started jerking off to the memory of it in the showers, biting his own fist so his bunkmates don’t hear him whimpering “pipsqueak” like a prayer.

He’s losing his fucking mind.

So when he’s alone in the dorm common room at 0300, half delirious, cock still half-hard from another unsolicited orgasm, he does the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life.

He googles the symptoms.

Ends up on the same neon-pink, virus-looking website you found weeks ago.

The banner screams: FEEL LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE — NOW WITH REVERSE SYNC!

He doesn’t read the fine print. He’s too tired, too desperate, too turned on.

He uploads the clearest photo he has of you—last summer, you in that sundress, laughing at something he said, hair sticking to your sweaty neck.

He customizes everything with shaking hands,outer lips soft and plump, exactly the way he’s imagined a thousand times when you walked around the house in tiny sleep shorts. Inner walls textured like crushed velvet, tight at the entrance, then fluttering deeper. Clit hood pronounced, sensitive node swollen —because he’s spent years pretending he doesn’t notice how you squirm when he hugs you too long enough. Warmth setting: “always soaked, like she’s been thinking about you all day.” Scent module: the exact peach-and-vanilla body wash you’ve used since you were fifteen.

He pays triple for overnight shipping. The box arrives two days later while the entire barracks is out on a weekend training hike. Caleb locks himself in his room, heart hammering like a jet engine.

He tears the packaging open with his teeth. Inside, nestled in black satin, is the prettiest pocket pussy he’s ever seen.

Soft, dusky outer lips, flushed pink inside, already glistening with the self-lubricating gel. It’s warm to the touch, pulsing faintly like it’s breathing.

He exhales a broken “fuck… so pretty…” and runs two fingers down the seam, parting the lips gently. The toy quivers. A bead of lube rolls out like it’s already wet for him.

He doesn’t make it to the bed.

He drops into his desk chair, sweatpants shoved down to his hips, cock springing out thick and flushed and already dripping. He drags the head through the slick folds once, twice, coating himself, groaning at how realistic it feels.

Then he pushes in.

The sound that rips out of him is inhuman.

Tight, hot, velvet walls clamp down instantly, sucking him deeper like they’ve been waiting years. The inner texture ripples around his shaft exactly the way he’s fantasized your pussy would—fluttering, squeezing, dragging over every vein.

He bottoms out in one brutal thrust and his vision whites out.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—” he chokes, hips jerking helplessly. “Is this how you’re supposed to feel? So good—so fucking real—”

He starts slow, savoring it, pulling out until just the tip kisses the entrance, then sliding back in with a wet squelch that makes his balls draw up tight. The toy makes obscene sounds—soft, wet, exactly like a real cunt taking cock—and every noise goes straight to his spine.

He loses control fast.

Hands gripping the desk, he starts pounding into it like he hates it, like he loves it, hips snapping hard enough to rattle the chair. The pocket pussy sucks him back in on every stroke, walls fluttering wildly, clit hood bumping his pelvis on the downstroke.

“Take it—just like that—fuck, you’re so tight for me—”

He doesn’t notice the way the toy seems to clench harder when he says your nickname. Doesn’t notice the way it gushes fresh slick every time he groans “good girl” under his breath.

Three hundred miles away, you’re in the middle of a lecture at the Hunter Academy when your body suddenly locks up. A phantom cock—thick, burning hot, veiny—slides into you from nowhere. Your pen clatters to the desk. You slap both hands over your mouth to stifle a scream as invisible hips slam forward and bury something huge to the hilt inside you.

Your pussy spasms around empty air. Your clit throbs like someone’s grinding against it. Your chair creaks as your thighs snap together, trying to trap the sensation that isn’t there and is there all at once.

The “ghost” fucks you right there in the lecture hall, in front of thirty other cadets, relentless and deep and merciless.

You cum biting your own wrist so hard you leave teeth marks, tears streaming down your face, soaking through your panties and the seat beneath you while the professor drones on about wanderer migration patterns.

Back in Skyhaven, Caleb’s losing his mind in a different way.

He’s hunched over the desk now, one hand braced, the other brutally fucking the toy up and down his cock, chasing the edge.

“Gonna—fuck—gonna fill you up, pipsqueak—take every drop—”

He comes with a guttural shout, hips stuttering, cock pulsing so hard the toy overflows. Thick ropes of cum spill out around his shaft, dripping down the silicone lips, painting his fist, the desk, his thighs.

The pocket pussy keeps milking him through it, walls fluttering like it’s trying to drain him completely.

He slumps forward, forehead pressed to the cool wood, panting like he’s run a marathon.

The toy gives one last gentle squeeze… almost affectionate.

And somewhere far away, you’re curled in the academy bathroom stall, legs shaking, pussy still twitching with aftershocks, a flood of cum you didn’t make leaking out of you in thick, warm pulses.

You both whisper the same thing at the exact same second, voices hoarse and wrecked and terrified,“What the fuck is happening to me?”

—

—

The entire summer break is a slow-motion torture.

You arrive at Bloomshore first, two hours early because the Academy let out sooner than DAA. Grandma hugs you so hard your ribs creak, pinches your cheeks, stuffs you full of peach cobbler and gossip. The childhood house smells exactly the same: sun-warmed wood, sea-salt breeze, the faint lavender sachets she still keeps in every drawer. Your old bedroom is untouched, posters curling at the corners, the same twin bed you used to share with Caleb when thunderstorms scared you.

You dump your suitcase, unzip it, and there it is: the dildo, wrapped in one of his old flight-school hoodies like contraband. It’s been two days since you last used it and your body is already twitching, thighs pressing together every time you remember how it feels.

You shove it under the mattress and try to be normal. Then the front door opens downstairs and you hear his voice.

“Gran squeals, “Caleb, my handsome boy!”

You freeze halfway down the stairs.

He’s… bigger. Shoulders filling the doorway, hair longer and tousled from the wind, sunglasses hooked in the collar of a white T-shirt that clings to his chest. He’s grinning at Gran, but the same crooked smile that’s been haunting your wet dreams for months.

Then his eyes flick up and find you. “Hey, pipsqueak… and Gran.”

Your stomach flips so violently you almost trip on the last step. You launch yourself at him anyway, because that’s what you’ve always done. He catches you mid-jump like you weigh nothing, arms banding around your waist, laughing low in his chest as you collide.

“Yup, gege’s here. How’s my meimei doing in Linkon, hm?”

The second his palm settles on the back of your head, petting like when you were kids, every filthy memory slams into you at once—the toy stretching you open, the way you sobbed his name into your pillow, the phantom cum that leaked out of you for days afterward.

Your face ignites. You feel the heat of his body through his shirt, the flex of his biceps as he holds you, the faint cedar-and-jet-fuel scent that is just him. You jerk away like you’ve been electrocuted.

“Huh… me? …oh… uh… good! I’m doing… good!!!”

Your voice cracks on every syllable. You practically sprint past him, suitcase banging against your leg, and disappear into your room so fast you almost take out the coat rack.

Caleb stands there frozen, arms still half-raised, cheeks flushed crimson for reasons he refuses to examine.

Gran raises an eyebrow. “You two are acting mighty strange.”

He clears his throat, grabs his own duffel, and mutters something about needing a shower.

That night neither of you comes down for dinner.

You lie in your childhood bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on the ceiling together when you were ten, thighs clenched so tight they ache. You can hear him moving around in the room next door, the creak of his old mattress, the low thud of his bag hitting the floor.

You wonder if he brought it too. You wonder if he’s touching it right now. Across the wall, Caleb is wondering the exact same thing about you.

Both toys are hidden under respective mattresses, pulsing faintly like they know they’re finally under the same roof as their match.

The air-conditioner rattles. Crickets hum outside. The house is asleep.

Neither of you sleeps a wink. And somewhere in the dark, two identical warming circuits kick on at the exact same moment, waiting for someone to break first.

The first night back home, the dam breaks at 2:17 AM.

You’ve been tossing in your childhood bed for hours, sheets tangled around your ankles, thighs slick and aching from the constant low thrum of need that started the second you heard his laugh downstairs. The house is silent except for the distant crash of waves on Bloomshore’s cliffs and the faint creak of floorboards in the next room.

He’s right there.

Walls so thin you can hear him breathing if you press your ear to the plaster.

And under your mattress, the toy waits, warm and heavy and calling to you like a siren.

You give in with a muffled curse, fishing it out, fingers trembling as you drag it between your legs. No prep. No teasing. You’re already dripping, have been since that hug, so you just line up the fat head and sink down in one brutal slide.

The stretch is immediate and vicious, your pussy clenching around silicone veins like it’s starving. You bite your pillow to stifle the moan, hips rocking slow at first, savoring the drag, the way it kisses your cervix on every grind.

In the next room, Caleb jolts awake with a strangled gasp.

His cock—already half-hard from dreams of you—suddenly feels like it’s being strangled in velvet. Tighter than ever. Hotter. Wetter. The phantom walls clamp down so hard his vision spots, every ridge and flutter magnified tenfold, like whatever’s fucking him is twice as desperate tonight.

He scrambles for his duffel under the bed, yanking out the pocket pussy with shaking hands. No way he’s enduring this alone. He shoves his boxers down, spits into the toy’s slick entrance, and thrusts in without mercy.

The second he bottoms out, you scream into your sheets.

It’s like a second cock slams into you alongside the first—thicker, hotter, splitting you open from the inside. Your walls flutter wildly, stretched beyond reason, the dual sensations overlapping in a filthy symphony: the toy’s familiar curve grinding one spot while the phantom one drags against another, both pounding in perfect sync.

“F-fuck—gege—what—” you whimper, confused and wrecked, hips jerking up to meet nothing and everything. Your clit throbs like it’s being sucked, your ass clenches around air that feels full. You shove the dildo deeper, faster, chasing the burn, tears leaking down your cheeks as your body tries to process being double-fucked by ghosts.

Caleb’s teeth sink into his own bicep to keep from roaring loud enough to wake Grandma.

The toy is a vice. His cock feels like it’s being crushed in the best way—walls so tight they might snap him in half, rippling and milking with every brutal thrust. It’s wetter than before, slick gushing out around his shaft like the thing is coming alive, and every time he pulls back it sucks him in harder, deeper, the inner texture fluttering like a heartbeat.

“Pipsqueak—shit—too tight—gonna break me—” he growls through clenched teeth, one hand braced on the headboard, the other fucking the toy up and down his length so fast his arm burns. His balls slap against silicone with every snap, heavy and aching, the pressure building so intense he’s terrified he’ll black out.

You both lose track of time, separated by one flimsy wall, fucking your toys in frantic rhythm without knowing you’re fucking each other.

For you, it’s endless—the dildo splitting your pussy while the invisible cock mirrors every move, stretching you to your limits, making you gush so hard the sheets are soaked beneath your ass. You come once with a muffled sob, clenching around both, but it doesn’t stop—the sensations only amp up, phantom veins dragging inside you, a second head nudging spots that make your toes curl.

“More—gege, please—fill me up—” you beg the dark, fingers flying to your clit, rubbing frantic circles while you slam the toy home again and again.

Caleb hears something—a faint, wrecked whine through the wall—and it snaps his last thread.

He flips onto his back, legs spread wide, and fucks into the pocket pussy like a man possessed. The tightness is agonizing now, walls constricting so hard around his cock he swears it’s going to cut off circulation—hot, pulsing, fluttering like it’s alive and greedy and his. Every thrust sends sparks up his spine; his free hand claws at the sheets, hips bucking off the mattress.

“Take it—fuck, just like that—my good girl—” he rasps, voice hoarse, imagining your face, your body, the way you’d look split open on him for real.

The orgasm hits you both at the same instant.

You arch off the bed with a silent scream, pussy spasming around double fullness, squirting in thick arcs that drench your thighs and the toy. The phantom cum floods you—hot, thick, endless—leaking out around the dildo, pooling between your legs, making everything slicker, messier.

Caleb comes with a guttural “fuck—pipsqueak—” bitten off against his fist, cock jerking so hard the toy overflows instantly. Cum spills everywhere—his stomach, the sheets, the silicone lips stretched thin around him—but the walls keep milking, squeezing tighter than humanly possible, wringing every drop until his balls ache and his vision tunnels.

You both collapse in sweaty, trembling heaps, toys still buried deep, aftershocks rippling through you like shared electricity.

The wall between your rooms might as well not exist.

But neither of you moves. Neither knocks. Neither dares whisper the truth.

Instead, you pull the covers over your ruined body, the dildo still twitching faintly inside you, and pretend your heart isn’t pounding loud enough for him to hear.

Next door, Caleb does the exact same, cock softening in the vice-grip of the toy, a single thought looping in his wrecked mind,

Tomorrow night, he’s doing it again.

And so are you.