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aisopen · 1 year ago

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BITTERSWEET

synopsis: it's routine— you patch up his wounds and watch them heal, he salts your wounds but doesn't stick around long enough to watch them grow.

wc: 2.7k

pairings: jaemin × fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, uses of petnames, reader ogles at jaemin for a little while, jaemin gives mixed signals but also not really?

notes: I was supposed to post this last week but the formatting was so off anyways happy renjun day, here's a jaemin fic?

even when he was battered, bruised and most probably broken, na jaemin stared up at you with those shiny eyes, almost iridescent under the moonlight.

you havent seen him in weeks.

you'd like to kick and scream and shout at him for ghosting you all this time, the possibilities of everything that could've happened to him, worrying you endlessly up until now.

you hate him for just showing up like this, out of the blue, you think, but his composure suggests that this isn't as big of a deal as you make it out to be—whether it was weeks or maybe even months later, na jaemin would always circle back to you

like always, there he is stood at your doorstep at an ungodly hour of the night, dripping blood all over the welcome mat that lays on your front porch, his usual carefree self

you know you'll be getting a long scolding from your mother about the kind of company you surround yourself with the next morning, before being forced to rub the stains out of said mat, but in this moment, you couldn't seem to care less

perhaps it's because you swear you've never seen anything prettier, even with cuts littered across his skin, and a swollen eye that would certainly discolour the next morning, he looks ethereal.

for a moment, your jaw hangs low and jaemin holds back a chuckle at the sight, though you wish he hadn't, before you slip to the side and let him in, shutting out the cold as he flings the door to a close behind him, finally turning to face you

jaemin however, had always basked in the warm feeling of admiration that came with your look, though it mostly fell straight through his heart and inflated his sky high ego instead, jaemin wonders how despite his cocky nature you seemed to welcome him all the same

there's an unfamiliar sweetness to his scent tonight, his clothes oozing with the smell of cologne and what any sane person could recognise as perfume— women's perfume.

suddenly you find it difficult to keep looking at his stupidly pretty face, almost feeling sick

admittedly tonight your eyes hold a deeper gloominess to them, bloodshot, because you're tired, he tries to convince himself, but he knows a lot of that redness comes from the purple painted splodges against his skin, the bruises that burn deep inside his being— a burning that seems negligible at the sight of you

"cute slippers" he whispers, the sight of your fluffy pink hello kitty slippers causing the heat to rush to your cheeks

the embarrassment fades just as quickly as it seemed to have taken over your entirety— jaemin had seen a lot worse of you "almost as cute as you" he adds

you brush over the topic like it means nothing, frankly it doesn't, like most things with jaemin

"judging by the state of you" you sigh, two hands on your hips as you look him up and down disappointedly, "you didn't win this fight" and jaemin reels back, far too animated for you to assume he's actually in any pain considering the offended expression he wears, but you know him far too well to fall for his, admittedly convincing, acts

"I won, actually" he says weaving his arms through the gaps between yours to pull you closer, letting then hang at your waist

"sure you did" you nod sarcastically but he only rolls his eyes, following you into the kitchen

he knows what it means when you hold out two mugs, specifically the ones you had hand painted on your trip to the park when you were 5, adorned with the same floral pattern in different colours, and a cheesy quote continued across the two cups— his eyes light up

"hot chocolate?"

and jaemin hates hot chocolate, until its made by you, the sweet, almost childish drink something he could only savour in the dim lighting of your living room

maybe it was because of that specific brand of crazy expensive hot chocolate you used, that tasted a little dark and sometimes too strong for your liking, or maybe, most probably it was the taste of nostalgia that would linger on his lips each and every time

all jaemin knows is he would find himself laughing at the moustache of marshmallow fluff that would undoubtedly form over your upper lip as you carefully dabbed against his wounds with the antiseptic you kept on hand, one reserved solely for him since he was allergic to the regular stuff

he nods, attempting to grin before pulling his lip between his teeth at the sharp pain that strikes across it—hissing.

you laugh, despite the dull ache that takes over your chest seeing him like this

flicking your head over to the sofa is all you can do, worried your voice would give way if you gave the instructions verbatim but jaemin seems to get the memo.

as he takes a seat on your mother's favourite buttoned yellow velvet loveseat— you choose not to read to far into his choice of sofa

you're fishing through the drawers of your freezer to find some ice to help his wounds but all you can find is a bag of dino nuggets and a bag of peas— you decide the dino nuggets have a larger surface area and would probably be a little more help as you emerge through the kitchen door, hoping you made the right choice

jaemin finds the faint look of contemplation on your face far too adorable to hide the smile that reaches his now coloured cheeks, one darker than the other owing to the bruise that blossoms over it

"here" you offer it out to him wrapped in a towel, having learnt from your mistakes the last time you'd accidentally given him freezer burn

"gonna make me do it all by myself doll?" you shoot a questioning look his way "I'm all ache-y"

contrast to his tough demeanor, jaemin looks up at you with a pout and a look of feigned innocence

"yeah? well you should've thought about that before landing yourself in this situation"

you're ready to turn a full 180 on your heels and walk away, until jaemin's fingers wrap around your wrist, bruised knuckles begging for some sympathy

"please?"

ultimately you give in. you knew you would the second he looked at you with those shiny big eyes. you didn't know how to say no, not to him

"fine."

"that's my girl" he beams up at you, you know better than to let his words replay in your mind, his girl, why did that sound so damn good?

as your press the towel to his cheek, the cool feeling against his burning hot skin makes him wince, though you're not sure who's in more pain considering the way you your heart threatens to leap out of your chest

"how many times do I have to tell you to be more careful huh jaemin" you sigh, rubbing circles against his warm skin in an attempt to comfort him, angry eyes latched onto the rough blood stained patches

"don't call me that" his voice drops an octave somehow louder than before despite coming in whispers

"what else shall I call you? is that not your name jaemin?"

his eyes almost flash over completely black as he huffs, "not to you it isn't" and you notice the slither of seriousness that remains unmasked beneath his playful tone— you wonder why jaemin makes no effort to hide the solemnity of his words

but that's who he had always been, hot and cold, difficult to read, even more so to understand, he was confusing at best and so like most things with jaemin, you'd decided putting much thought to it wasn't your best idea, you would only be breaking your own heart.

"oh I didn't know it was different for me" you place a band aid against his wound, reaching to treat the next, your tongue poking out from between your lips causing jaemin to suddenly smile, eyes unwavering from the soft pink skin of your lip

between nights spent in his lousy apartment, cooped up in the illusive comfort of his arms and days spent with tear stained cheeks at the thought of being some disposable little thing in his life, you can't help but find yourself unsure of your place in his life

the acidity rising in your throat should be enough of a reality check for you to know the answer to your question, but self awareness had never been your strong suit.

at times he made you feel like the only girl in the world, most times he made no effort to acknowledge your existence, because jaemin was a man of two extremes

when he cared, or at least seemed to, he did so with his whole heart, and when he didn't— well you couldn't have felt any more worthless

right now his speech is sweet, like his voice is honey and his words are sugar-coated, you're intoxicated by the way his deep cologne overwhelms your senses, making your best attempt to filter out the cheap feminine scent that seems to have blended itself into his

"you know it is doll, everything is different with you" his voice reduces further into deeper whispers, words that hit your mind and soul all at once, heartbeat sounding somewhere in the background as the words echo in your mind

you shake your head.

jaemin had always been adventurous with his words, he was bold to say the least, meaning you knew to take his words with a pinch of salt, or two— however many were necessary really.

drunk on what little love he gave you, you find a sudden dizziness overwhelm you— the good kind that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside even if just for a moment.

honestly speaking, you know you'd believe anything that came out of his mouth— na jaemin could wake up one day and decide the sky was pink and the earth was flat and you'd take it as bible.

you suppose it's just integrated into your genetic coding or something, to be at his beck and call, to let the walls you build around yourself fall down every time, you would protect yourself from the whole world, but the harsh truth was, you couldn't protect yourself from him ,though you didn't mind all that much.

"one of these days I'll leave you at the door to rot" your eyes roll at his words in an attempt to return to the playful mood, and jaemin knows you would never, but the brief mention of the possibility still makes him gulp, sound resonating in his ears

"never" he whispers, suddenly his eyes are glossy and his grip on the warm mug begins to loosen, the thought of losing you never having been one to cross his mind until now, you however, seem as unbothered as before

similar to most things in life, jaemin took you for granted.

but that was the thing, you were unlike anyone, anything, any part of his life— you were special.

jaemin knew you meant a lot to him, it wasn't a secret he tried to hide, not that he was particularly good at expressing it either, but the way your hair falls over your face as you concentrate on patching up his injuries and your skin glows under the dim light has jaemin wondering just how much you mean to him.

jaemin decides you mean the most to him, more than anyone else.

as a man of habit, he wonders what that would mean for these habits of his that you hated oh so much. very little, most probably. he had you amongst a thousand other wrapped around his finger, cast under his spell, deeply infatuated with him but somehow playing with you felt the most special.

that was the problem, you were special to him and as much as he enjoyed playing with fire, jaemin had never thought he'd find himself getting burnt.

you don't realise the silence that befalls the room, nothing but the soft buzz of the fridge or the flicker of the soon to fuse kitchen light mixed with your soft breaths— he had noticed they grew louder as you became more exhausted, guilt beginning to settle somewhere in the pit of his stomach, knowing he was keeping you awake

he was always a little selfish when it came to you, he knew that

your eyes land on jaemin, his flooding with something you can only hope is a feeling of warmth— anything but his usual sudden switch up before he'd announce he was leaving, only for you to see him the next time he got himself like this, a couple nights into the next week most probably, a routine you can't say you had appreciated, nor condoned

most things with jaemin were like this, short lived, and bittersweet, although the bitter part seemed more overpowering at times

you can't help but hold onto the little slither of hope that tonight will be different

"hey doll" his free hand cups your cheek, forcing your noticeably distant eyes into his—but instead of the icy cold stare you expect, you're met with fire, his eyes burning with promise

"hmm?" your eyes lock, "what's up?"

"never stop nagging at me, please" he sucks in a harsh breath, hoping you'll say something to stop him from completely losing control of his words and spilling every thought he's ever held back when it came to you, a lot really

but you only take a sip of the warm drink in your mug, the tones of dark cocoa and the traces of coffee so distinct.

the white foam spreading across your lip as you now decide to tend to the gash beneath his eyebrow, though jaemin sees it as an excuse to take ahold of your face between his fingers, thumb tracing over your upper lip

"cute" your wide eyes make him chuckle, noticing a small speck of white still resting on your lip

"would you look at that, I missed a spot" you find yourself being pulled further into his lap, legs messily sprawled across the couch along with his, you don't mind however, his pink glossy lips the only thing on your mind

you'd like to let him ruin you, make you his puppet, blind you with his warmth and make you his and only his. even if you were his little plaything, it didn't matter, nothing mattered as long as you were his.

"and what are you going to do about it nana, hmm?"

you let your nose rest gently against his, soft vanilla scent mixing with the deep musky cologne jaemin wore, you wonder how it manages to last throughout the day considering your perfumes lasted all of 5 minutes, at best

"whatever you'd like doll, just say the word and I'll do it"

"you promise?"

jaemin nods, "I promise" and he holds you tight, because like all things good in life, jaemin knows one day, he'll lose you too

as you pout your lips at his, a knowing smile in his eyes , the first aid box is long forgotten behind you and your lips fall atop each other, like they'd always meant to.

you can't help but wonder how long jaemin will stick to this promise of his, forever you hope, though you know better.

especially when his hot cocoa flavoured kisses, like the true essence of jaemin, were so damn bittersweet.

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aisopen · 1 year ago

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MESSENGER; HRJ [PT15: TWO-FACES]

➥PART 15 OF MESSENGER; a smau about a stranger, a whole lot of animal pics, and a relationship you would never have expected to come from texting a random number written on a public bathroom mirror.

wc: 1.1K

[PREVIOUS PART] [INFO/MASTERLIST] [NEXT PART]

a/n: double update omg

tl: @matchahyuck@theboyz-jacob @hoeshi17 @neoteez01 @hibernatinghamster @luvvsnae @shwizhies @skynightgalaxy @ihrtnyu @kunvibing @liliansun @txpxwxk @is4b3ll3s @rxnexxi @rum-gone-why @she-is-dreaming @chenfleur @haedgaff @twogyuu @jeongintwt @wispystarss @chocorenchin @tinidell @defzcl @funkygoose @gyujunhans @simpforarmihn

THE NEXT LOGICAL STEP WAS FOR YOU TO TEXT HIM, DONGHYUCK SAID.

Which meant the first thing Renjun did after closing Hyuck’s message thread was look into getting a second phone number.

He’d worried about that earlier, back during the impromptu study session when you’d appeared with your gifts— you’d pulled your phone out at the end of the hour and for one bone-chilling second, he thought you were about to ask him for contact information. It made sense; you might’ve wanted to schedule another day to study or something, but he’d frozen like you were about to leap across the table and devour him whole. As stupid as it was, it was only then that he realized he only had one number. And you already knew it. He couldn’t give it to you again, only for the contact to appear as the version of himself he was starting to detest a little more every day, Duckboy’s face popping up on your screen to ruin everything; but if you reached across the table to ask him to put it in, what else would he be able to do?

Thankfully all you’d been doing was checking a text, the same one that made you look up at the clock and curse before sliding all the books off the desk into the open maw of your book bag and darting off. All you left in lieu of a goodbye was a promise to catch up with him again soon and another thanks for the help.

Even as his heart palpitated from the near miss he smiled a little as you ran, and even managed a laugh when you had to twirl, ballerina style, to avoid crashing into an oblivious tittering couple wandering out of the cafe. He promised to figure out the number thing that very night, but of course got caught up with his Econ studies again and forgot.

But now with Donghyuck’s heads up, he couldn’t afford to forget again.

It ended up being significantly easier than he thought. Maybe guilt made him think it would be a tedious process; having to meet someone at some seedy back alley tech shop somewhere, using cash to slip a brandless simcard into his pocket at midnight— but it only took a single Google to gain another unlimited texting plan under his contract within the minute. It appeared like a brand new string of digits right under his regular one— a shiny new number, quite literally, just for you.

And not a moment too soon. Because your promise to catch up with him again soon apparently meant the next day, where you appeared at his usual spot in the library again, brandishing your phone in his face like court summons.

“I’m not staying long,” you’d said, “I only just realized I should probably get your number if we’re going to do this studying thing again, right?”

And in just the way he’d memorized, he’d entered his new number with a smile.

He’s not going to lie; at first, he’d felt pretty clever about it. Two phone numbers is a pretty good way to get around his unique, two-faced predicament. Another layer of safety in the stupid game of identity that’s become his life, another potential crisis avoided. But that night, as he laid in bed and prepared himself to reply to the usual textbook’s worth of texts from you, the relief from dodging detection turned into shame like everything else has been doing these days.

What he's doing isn't right. Despite his actions, trust and believe, Renjun is fully aware of that fact.

This had all stemmed from one innocent lie, hadn't it? One born out of honest desire to make things right again— as right as he could without actually telling you the truth, which may of spoke to his cowardice better than he really understood— the idiotic, in hindsight, decision to not immediately tell you who he was. He was worried you wouldn't like what you saw, that he couldn't live up to whatever version of him you seemed to like so much in your head. He was worried you'd think he was some sort of voyeur, showing up at your game without asking for something more nefarious than just wanting to see you.

He was scared something would go wrong if he told you the truth and lied to cover it up. Something small, something that would stay small if he stuck to the plan of leaving you alone.

But he couldn't leave you alone. And somewhere along the way that lie began to... grow. Donghyuck's library ambush, to helping you study that night, to telling you Duckboy moved back to China, to your thank you gifts: every interaction with you fed that lie, and as it grew bigger and bigger, it fabricated into something he couldn't recognize as... genuine, anymore.

Renjun was no longer coming from a place of pure intention. He was being selfish. A kid who craves the party and the cake, someone who swears they only want some but cries and whines for all of it when it so dangles tantalizingly close. Mystery Girl, the version of you in his phone, was the slice. Perfect on its own, the right amount to be full, just enough sugar to satiate; all he thought he needed.

But the you he'd met on the court that day had been the whole, gittering, gleaming, buttercream double-decker. He'd pushed you away on principal, knowing he'd been fine with the slice, that it wasn't fair for him to have it all, that he didn't deserve to have it all. It wasn't even his birthday. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve you.

But you didn't know it wasn't his birthday, and as you inched closer and closer, none the wiser to the truth, he got... greedy.

(Accepting your thanks in the library had been his hand reaching out, and offering to help you study had been his fingertip dragging through the icing, forever marring that barrier between before and after. And he knew this. He knew that once he went as far as to taste it he'd be a goner, which was why he knew he had to tread carefully as the lines blurred further. There was no going back when it came to you; once he let himself into your orbit, he'd never, ever be strong enough to leave.)

He flinched as his screen lit up in his hand.

Right above the dozen messages from you as Mystery Girl, was one new text from you. The actual you, the last four digits of the number you’d told him to look out for.

02-939-0…, 8:12PM: hihi!! it is me (y/n lol)

Renjun sat up fast enough to make himself dizzy, immediately forgetting that he'd meant to text you back first in the other thread, too focused on not keeping you waiting. The real you, anyway.

(What he hadn't really realized yet though, was that the moment he met you on that court, he'd already committed the fatal act of placing the sugar on his tongue. All that was left was to fall deeper and deeper into the high.)

[PREVIOUS PART] [INFO/MASTERLIST] [NEXT PART]

♥︎ please leave a like if you enjoyed! every time i get a notification it motivates me to work on this series faster ♥︎

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