vn-reblogs

[vn-reblogs]

Killer Chat L.I's (Lovestruck Edition) x Reader

I just needed the L.I's acting like losers in love ok don't judge me-

ngl I was giggling while writing they're so silly guys they have infected my brain, I'm done for

Content Warning: Suggestive (??? maybe idk)

Ronin

For someone who has a self-proclaimed, “black heart and soul”, Ronin acts like a total fucking loser the minute you give him the time of day

You’ll never see it, but he’s on the other side of the screen, hand covering his mouth to muffle the sounds that make their way out when you fight fire with fire, replying to his flirting with more flirting (“that's- that’s not fucking fair, you’re too adorable it’s not fair-”)

Once you ask him to make you your own role on the server

“Why in hell do ya’ need your own role huh ?”

“Cause…..I’m cute ?”

A new personal role is added to your profile 30 minutes later

The butcher’s darlin’

No matter how much you tell him it was a joke and you didn’t actually need a role to yourself, Ronin refuses to delete, claiming that you got what you asked for right ? Why are you backpedaling ?

Not that he’d tell you but it’s his own silent way of laying claims on you, something he’s been longing to do since you first made your way onto the server

In Purgatory, Ronin talks while his hands comes to rest on your hips, thumbs rubbing in circular motions, as if savoring something he thinks he’ll never get to do again

He’s catatonic when you kiss him, before pulling you in and not letting go, forcing you to breath into his mouth

After that, he’s insufferable

He’s still Ronin, still the same guy who made you run around in circles trying to find out who he was and whether he was going to kill you or not

But the look on his face when you call out to him is different, softer, his drawl sounding more affectionate every time he calls you his darlin’, his baby, his

Before every date, every meet-up Ronin fins himself paying more attention to his appearance (“this is fucked, why the fuck do I care……I gotta redo my eyeliner”)

He loves all of your outfits too, even if you’re just dressed in a sweatshirt and pants.

“Fuck, you look so hot right now.”

“.....Ronin I just threw up.”

“Sickly sexy.”

He revels in your attention every time, not so subtly grabbing your hand, forcing you to cup his face while he stares at you in that lovesick way of his

“.....Glad you didn’t let me bleed out in Purgatory darlin’.”

Angel

Angel is a professional at staying cool and collected, even if she’s mentally falling apart in her mind

So why is it that you are the only person she can never keep her cool around ???

Every message from you, even if it was innocent, send her spiraling, blushing so hard that she genuinely has to hold her head in her hands as she freaks out over whatever you just said

Angel is so thankful she can’t video call you because how was she going to describe how flushed she got whenever you were sweet to her ?!

It’s on one of your voice calls where you mention offhandedly that you loved the bracelet she wore in her recent video, mumbling something about how you would love to have something like that too 

Angel hums softly (she’d give you the bracelet and more if you asked)

“..If you give me your address, I can have it on your doorstep in 1 day.”

You giggle and tell her the address jokingly

You wake up the next morning to a package on your porch with the sender's name being “Angel”

“You-! Angel you sent-? Oh, it’s beautiful, you shouldn’t have, it must have cost so much !”

“Oh, it was worth the cost if you’re happy baby~”

Somehow you being the one she had to confide in about her manager made it…easier

You calmed her (“....Fuck, my hearts beating out my chest.”)

That night, the night were you assured her that, yeah you were here to stay, she cracks (in a good way)

You wake up with lipstick marks everywhere, on your collar, on your neck, chest, arms, everywhere

Your lips are so kiss swollen that you have to protect them from a still, love high Angel who goes to attack them first thing after she wakes up

You become the central focus of her social media

Shots on your back while you work on another novel, pictures on yours and Angel’s hands intertwined while on a date, a post with Angel kissing your cheek with a beautiful background, she pulls out all the stops

So, so touchy

Angel slips her hands into the waistband of your pants, just to rest her hands against you while you brush your teeth

Lips brushing against your temples while you work become something you’ve come to accept and even expect

She’ll pull you close to her, so close that her heartbeat rings in your ears while you two cuddle on the couch

“Feel like I’m the luckiest girl in the world when I’m with you love.”

Misaki

Misaki dies a little every time you talk to them

Not because they hate you or whatever (DEFINITELY NOT) but definitely because you-

You’re way too-

They can’t think when you open your mouth

It’s not fair

Misaki spends most of her time texting you with a pillow on standby for her to scream into after any compliment from you (“why the hell are you so ... .flirty, god I’m dying here can’t you see ???”)

When they send you voice messages on missions, they re-record often due to how flustered they get from even talking to you

“This guy- Ah shit no my voice cracked that’s so embarrassing I’m re-doing that shit-”

They would never admit to screenshotting you while talking on video chat and then proceeding to stare at that picture for motivation before missions where she can’t reach you

What no, that’s creepy hahahahha-

When you announce your relationship with Misaki to the server, they squeal so loud that their landlord comes knocking at her door, wondering why she was being so loud 

Misaki doesn’t care how damn cringe that was, all their focused on is that their dating you

YOU

Oh they might pass away from euphoria right there and then

Sitting on your window sill, Misaki can’t help the flush that creep up their neck when she looks at you

“....You’re gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous.”

The good luck kiss almost take them out, all she can do is to grab onto you and pray that they don’t turn into jelly and slide out of your grasp cause-

( “I’ve wanted this for so long, fuck, I wanted you for so long, I love you-”)

 Misaki holds you like she doesn’t want to let go, her hand never leaving yours even if you are trying to write

“I’m much more important than some stupid document.”

Misaki announces before grabbing onto you and kissing you so hard you almost lose consciousness

Is there such a thing as a kissing addiction ? Misaki has it

It doesn’t even have to necessarily be on your lips, your fingers, cheeks, neck, hair, forehead

“I gotta savor you while I have you in arms reach ya’ know ? If our time together is precious I don’t wanna spend a moment apart”

V

V is calm, collected, he’s not some school boy agonizing over his first crush, not some lovesick puppy that can’t think over anything else other than the object of his affections-

He jumps up exactly like the lovesick puppies he criticizes whenever you text him

“To ensure I do not cause you unneeded anxiety over not replying.”

Sure buddy, I believe you (I do not)

Talks to you like you are the most precious thing in his life, he never raises his voice, always soft and sweet

A stark contrast to the tone he takes with….literally everyone else

“It’s like night and day wtf- ?”

“Perhaps if you were as agreeable as them, then I would also talk to you like that- Oh hello Y/N, I’m glad to see you have joined vc.”

“The change was lightning fast.”

He does not fix his appearance before video calling you, what, where’d you get that ? 

He also does not let his gaze linger for longer than necessary when talking to you, this is slander (“...This beauty was written about 500 years ago, in poetry people now call masterpieces..dear god I am gone.” )

You could tell this man that you plan to set fire to your town for no reason at all and he would still justify your actions and say it was for the greater good

Would genuinely send you anything you ask for, anything at all

You once mention wanting a new laptop, since yours was getting older now and not as good to write on

The only thing V asks is was your preferred color is and then the next day you have a new laptop, along with a small bouquet of flowers in your hands

“The bouquet was a courtesy of the sending services…not from me I can assure you.” (it has your favourite flowers and a small handwritten note that you swear looks like V’s handwriting, he’s a big fat liar-)

When he comes over, the first thing he does is press his face into your neck, savouring the touch that he has been longing for, the touch he’d been craving ever since you two (and even before) you made things official

After the police leave, be rest assured that V is cupping your face and pulling you into a kiss that has you dizzy before he pulls away and tries to focus on his injuries

You two are so domestic it’s sickening to almost everyone around you

V cards his fingers through your hair, mumbling a love poem as he does so, eyes sparkling as he looks at your relaxed figure

Would spontaneously combust if he ever saw you in his clothes (“...Adorable, so damned adorable he wants to grab and just-)

“You are my beloved, if you’d ask, I’d pluck the stars from the sky for you."

(Screams into my pillow)

I need a significant other (or two) man, I scrolled on tiktok to get inspo for this

[vn-reblogs]

 CONFESSIONS OF A ROTTEN DEAR - Ren x Reader (Smut)

Genre: Smut

Summary: —You were walking and dropped your phone and your sweetie Ren 'friend' found your dirty secret

( Reader is a g.n!)

Content Warning : Nsfw jokes so </3 , Contains Ren/REDACTED kinks, Mentions of roleplay,

goated people would know what this inspired off, This Probably be the last smut I have for a while! THIS CAME OUT SO BAD.

Did not proof read/Rushed.

Everyone’s got secrets. Ugly, dripping little things they bury beneath kind smiles and clean fingernails. You? You’ve got a whole cemetery.

But you never thought this one—the one—would claw its way out like this.

Dear God, you've come to repent your sins. Let His blood wash you clean, for you're — You're, you're, you're a rotten person! You swore you'd never sin again, But your patience is running thin. The temptation's flowing through your veins, You're bound by these shackles of shame. You promised you'd indulge no more, But your heart you can't ignore. In your dreams, they're turning up the heat — You're a dirty, rotten person dear. And yet—

Your fingers tremble every time you open that gallery folder.

The shame coils around your chest like barbed wire, but it's comforting, isn’t it? You tell yourself it’s just indulgence. Just fiction. Just a guilty pleasure. So what if your head’s been drowning in filth lately? So what if you're saving more 18+ fanart than actual contacts? So what if every visual novel you've touched lately ends in sweaty moans and questionable decisions?

You’re still a good person, right?

…Right?

But then your phone slips out of your hand mid-scroll.

Your phone makes a terrible sound when it hits the tile — a hollow, traitorous clack that echoes louder than any sin you’ve ever committed. The screen’s still lit, the last fanart very much still visible: high-res shame.

You freeze.

And of all people—of all damn people—

Ren, who’s seemingly materialized out of thin air — or maybe you had told him to swing by? You don’t remember anymore, your brain’s short-circuiting — bends down slowly, gracefully, like he’s moving underwater. His sleeves slide down over his fingers as he picks up the phone.

No expression. No comment.

Just silence. And your heart punches a hole through your ribs.

You see his eyes flick across the image — once, then again. He stares like he’s trying to decode it, like his soul momentarily left his body and now it’s fighting its way back in through the wrong dimension. The screen reflects in his gaze, casting lurid little glints of pink and red across his face.

He blinks. Twice.

“…You dropped this,” he murmurs, handing it back without looking you in the eye.

His voice is soft. Too soft. Haruko-soft. Which is dangerous.

You feel the blood drain from your face. The last image on screen?

A man, tied up, gothy as hell, mouth open like he’d been praying for mercy and receiving everything but.

Ren stares. No expression. Just stillness. Glassy-eyed and terrifyingly unreadable. You don’t even know if he blinked.

Then—too slowly—he presses the side button to turn the screen off.

He offers you the phone, his fingers just a little too steady. His voice light, gentle, like nothing happened:

“Here you go, Angel. Y-You dropped this.”

He smiles.

So normal. So perfectly pleasant you could scream. You’re sweating through your shirt.

“I wanted to greet you, but… I have to be somewhere,” he adds softly. “Bye, Angel.”

And just like that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the corridor, sweater sleeves flapping delicately at his sides. Like a damn feather duster to your pride.

You want to evaporate. Melt through the floor and haunt the pipes.

Ren.

Library guy.

The shy one. The gentle one. The too-soft voice and oversize knit sweaters. The boy who brought you chamomile tea when you had a headache. The one whose hair always looked like it got into a fight with a brush and lost. Lavender and pink, all messy layers and uneven bangs, like someone trying too hard to seem like they weren’t trying at all.

His clips don’t match. His necklace is… His whole aesthetic is crafted. And you hadn’t questioned it—why would you? You're so dumb, you have no idea. He was nice. Quiet. Twitchy in the way that made your stomach flutter.

But now?

Now there’s this sliver of doubt slicing through you.

Because those eyes… they weren’t just awkward. They were calculating.

Half-lidded, glimmering, flushed around the edges like he was embarrassed—sure. But beneath that? There was something else.

Prey beneath porcelain.

The next day, he greets you like nothing happened.

“Morning, Angel,” he says, voice soft, gaze low. Like he wasn’t holding that image burned into his memory. Like he didn’t spend all night memorizing the file name.

You try to smile. Your throat’s tight.

But he doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t mention the phone. Or the art. Or the way your ears turned red from the shame spiral you drowned in all night.

He just moves like normal. Sits in the corner seat like always. Opens his book. Flips pages without reading them.

But his eyes?

They’re watching you.

Always.

There’s something off about him. Something you can’t name yet. Maybe it’s the way he never talks about himself. Or how his voice always trembles just enough to seem innocent. Maybe it’s how he lingers by the gothic horror shelves, fingers gliding over spines without ever pulling one free.

Maybe it’s the way you can’t stop thinking about what he saw.

And worse—how little he reacted.

As if that version of you—the dirty, sinful, secret one—didn’t surprise him at all.

As if maybe, just maybe, he already knew..

NOW YOU'RE DEAD.

YOUR WORK SUCKED.

You should’ve closed the tab. God, you should’ve closed the tab.

You told yourself a dozen times already — even dreamed about snatching the phone from his hand in time. But none of that matters now. He saw it. He saw your ass. He saw the art. The position. And he hasn’t stopped being sweet to you since, which only makes it worse.

Now you’re in Driftwood Café, trying to pretend you’re normal again. Night’s creeping in, not quite closing time, and the strawberry cake you ordered sits lonely on the plate like it’s mocking you. You only started liking strawberry because of him. That damn pink-haired menace.

The doorbell jingles.

And there he is.

Ren.

Pink-to-lavender hair still messy and uneven. Soft fingers clutching a library tote.

“Oh! Angel! What a coincidence!” His voice is bright, too bright. Carefully rehearsed.

You swallow. “Ren… I’m so sorry about yesterday.”

He waves his hand fast, frantic. “It’s r-really fine, Angel! Please don’t apologize…!”

Then quieter, gentler, almost wounded:

“In that case… I-I should be the one to apologize. I’m sorry for staring at your screen for so long. I wasn’t trying to… I’m really sorry…”

The guilt stabs at your gut like a butter knife. “I’m sorry for making you see something like that. Something so… horrible?”

His lips part slightly, eyes going wide.

“No! No no no… it wasn’t horrible,” he says quickly — too quickly. “It might be rude to say, but… it actually reminded me of the first time I ever browsed, y’know… that kind of stuff. Smut. I remember reading this one fic, a Haruko—”

Your eyes spark. “A Haruko smut? Wait—I’ve read THOSE! I’m not even a huge fan of Haruko smut but they’re just so—!”

You realize you're shouting. The barista glances your way. You shrink into your chair.

Ren is blinking fast, flushed and visibly pleased. “I—I didn’t think you’d actually read the same stuff…”

You both start talking over each other, laughing too loud. You’re clinging to the conversation like a lifeline — because somehow, he’s not disgusted. He’s not mocking you. He’s just here. Like always.

Then the words slip out of like a popped stitch.

“I’m sad someone like Teo came into my life…”

Ren SAID. You don’t notice.

“Oh! I mean—maybe he was being clear and I just got the wrong idea,” you sigh, dragging your fork through the cream. “But I’m still blaming him. After that breakup, I just… I started coping through this shit. Reading smut. Visual novels. Saving art. It’s pathetic, right? But it fills the void.”

Silence.

Then Ren, voice trembling, says, “A-Angel… If you w-want—”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” you interrupt, waving your fork. “That there’s people out there with the same interests. That I can find someone who likes what I like. But the truth is… I’d need to come out first. Let them know the real me. And that’s terrifying.”

You finally look up.

Ren is staring. Hard.

His pupils are blown wide. His fingers twitch on the table.

“If there was someone,” you say softly, “who wanted me as I am—whatever I am—I think I’d treat them really well.”

Your voice cracks a little at the end.

And Ren… Ren smiles.

Not the softboy smile. Not Haruko’s bashful grin.

It’s subtle. Real. A slow curl of his lips like a secret has just bloomed behind them.

His voice is barely a whisper now, warm and hushed as he leans in, close enough for you to feel the brush of his breath:

“Angel… maybe someone already does.”

You look up. Eyes meet. Yours wide, uncertain—his calm. Hungry.

And for the first time, you get the feeling that Ren didn’t walk into this café by accident.

He’s been watching your sweet tooth. Your orders. Your favorite chair.

And now he’s watching your heart crack open, wide enough for him to crawl in.

You don’t remember how it started. Not really.

One second you were walking home from the café, still buzzing with the conversation, still replaying the way Ren looked at you—like he’d heard everything you said and tucked it inside his chest to keep safe. You’d invited him in. Maybe it was the leftover cake. Maybe it was the way his fingers brushed yours at the door.

But somehow—somehow—you’re kissing now.

Hard.

Clumsy.

Messy.

Your back hits the wall near the entryway, and Ren’s lips crash into yours like he’s been holding this in for years. His hands tremble as they cup your face, one sliding into your hair with a desperation that makes your scalp tingle. His lips are soft but frantic, and when he pulls back just enough to breathe, there’s a string of saliva still clinging between your mouths.

You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before he’s diving back in.

“R-Ren—!”

You gasp it into his mouth, but it just makes him kiss you harder. He whimpers—whimpers—like he’s been starving, and you’re the only thing that’s ever fed him. His tongue slides against yours, messy and wet, and it’s not smooth, it’s not coordinated—it’s feverish.

There’s a sharp edge to the way he kisses—teeth knocking into yours, breath coming too fast. He’s shaking, just a little, like he can’t believe this is real.

Your fingers grip the back of his hoodie, trying to pull him closer, but he’s already flush against you, caging you in. The wool of his sweater scratches your skin when your hand slips up underneath it—heat meeting heat, and God, he makes this soft, bitten-off sound like your touch just lit him on fire.

“S-Sorry,” he pants between kisses. “I—I didn’t mean to—just—y-you looked so—”

You hush him with another kiss, and he melts. Completely. Like he’s dissolving right in your hands.

His hands slide down, shy but greedy, resting on your waist with a grip that contradicts the nervous blush painting his face. His thighs are shaking. His breath comes out in shudders against your mouth, lips still glistening with spit.

You’re both dizzy, high off the tension that finally snapped.

And Ren? Ren looks ruined in the most beautiful way—flushed, wide-eyed, lips wet and parted, sweater slipping off one shoulder like he forgot how to hold himself together.

You don’t know what this means. You don’t know what happens next.

But when he leans in again—gently this time, whispering your name like it’s sacred—

His breath is hot against your mouth, lips brushing, hovering like he’s asking for permission he’s already halfway stolen. You don’t stop him. Not when he dips in again, soft and lingering this time—like he’s tasting you instead of devouring you.

His hands slide beneath your shirt with shaking curiosity, fingers ghosting over your skin like he’s never touched someone before. And truthfully? You’re not sure he has. Not like this. Not you.

“M’kay?” he breathes, words fogging up between your mouths. His voice is raw, syrup-sweet and barely holding together. “Angel… can I…?”

You nod.

And he exhales like you just saved his life.

“Fuck,” he whispers—almost a moan. “Y’re so warm…”

One of his hands stays firm at your waist while the other explores further, gently skimming over every inch of skin he can reach. His fingers are delicate, reverent, tracing your ribs, your back, the dip of your hips—worshipping, really.

But then he giggles.

A tiny, breathy thing that makes your stomach flip.

“Hehe… y’r squirmy.” His tone shifts—playful, teasing, downright dangerous. “D’you like this? Me touchin’ you like that? Y’gettin’ all flushed, Angel…”

His hand dips lower, dragging just beneath the waistband of your bottoms. Not quite inside. Just hovering. Teasing.

"Feels like y’want it bad… been wantin' it, huh?" His voice is a drawl now, a lazy whisper full of bite, dripping down your neck. “God, thinkin’ of me when you touch yourself… while pretendin’ it’s just smut, just fiction—was it really fiction, Angel?”

Your breath hitches.

That smug, shaky grin widens against your throat. “Mmn, thought so… Y’kinda filthy, huh?”

He presses a kiss right under your jaw. Then another, slow and sucking until you shudder. You feel the shape of his teeth in every breath.

One hand creeps inside your waistband now, finally, dragging down over heat, over skin, and his breath stutters at what he finds—slick or hard or aching, whatever you are, however you’re made—he doesn’t hesitate. He moans, helplessly.

“Oh… y’r so wet… or hard… ngh, Angel… s’cute… you’re so cute when you’re messy like this.”

His touch is slow. Experimental. He strokes you gently, deliberately, not looking for rhythm but reaction—watching every twitch, every gasp like he’s studying you. And when you whimper—quiet, embarrassed, hips twitching up into his palm?

He fucking whines.

“D-Don’t do that,” he breathes. “You’re gonna make me—ah, ngh—y’can’t be that cute… not when I waited so long…”

He leans in, licking into your mouth this time—sloppy, open-mouthed, his hand still working between your legs in slow, maddening strokes. “Can’t believe I’m makin’ you feel good… m’gonna die… Angel… y’don’t know what you do to me…”

You try to speak, to say his name, but it melts into a moan.

And Ren? He laughs again, breathless.

“Hehe… y’like that? So cute. Shoulda let me do this sooner… we’d both be less lonely.”

He kisses you again, his hand speeding up just a little, pressure mounting, wet, tight, perfect.

“I’ll make y’cum, Angel. Gonna make you feel so good… and when y’r done? I’ll do it again.”

His fingers dig in.

“Over and over. As long as you let me.”

Your head tips back with a quiet, shuddering gasp when his lips leave your mouth and instead find your throat—pressing there, kissing slow, open-mouthed and wet like he’s tasting every sound you make.

Then teeth. Teeth.

“A-ah—Ren…” you whisper, but it doesn’t stop him.

He’s all over your neck, nosing into the soft curve behind your ear, licking, biting gently, tongue dragging along your skin like he’s marking territory.

His hand has slipped under your shirt now—calloused fingertips brushing up your stomach, over your chest, teasing, circling—pausing right where you’re warmest, most sensitive.

“You're so soft here,” he murmurs, voice low now, confident. He rubs his thumb in lazy circles across your chest, flicking gently when you twitch. “Sensitive too, huh?”

He chuckles—laughs, actually.

And that’s when you notice it.

The change.

This… this isn’t how Ren talks.

Not the Ren who stutters. Not the Ren who blushes when you accidentally graze his hand at the café counter. Not the Ren who hid behind hairclips and baggy sleeves.

No. The voice teasing you now? It’s velvety and slow, slurred like molasses, laced with obsession. It wraps around your spine and yanks.

Your heart skips. “Ren…?”

He leans close, presses a kiss right to your nipple—mouth warm, tongue flicking—then sucks until you're gasping, arching into him. His teeth graze, sharp and teasing. When he pulls back, his lips are glistening.

And then he looks up at you. Really looks.

There’s something wrong in his eyes.

Not shy. Not awkward.

No—gleaming.

Like a child finding their favorite toy. Like a villain unmasking themselves mid-kiss.

“Y’know,” he drawls, fingers still teasing your chest while his mouth goes right back to your throat, nibbling around your ear now, breathing all hot and damp— “I was reading that smut…"

Your blood runs cold.

“I mean, not reading-reading. I memorized it, actually. The poses. The dialogue.” His voice pitches higher mockingly: “‘Please, more~ I want you inside me—’”

Your breath hitches. You try to pull away, but he grabs your chin. Gently. Still gentle. Always gentle.

“You know,” he says again, tilting your face up so you have to look at him, “the way you’re looking right now… You look just like the character. So cute. So desperate.”

His grin stretches.

Too wide.

Too knowing.

“Please, Angel…” he whispers, voice trembling in the wrong way now. “Please teach me more of the things you like… Teach me more of your fantasies. I will make them all true..”

There’s something wild in his smile. Not love. Not kindness. Obsession. The mask is gone. You’re staring straight into the face of someone who’s looks like he waited years to get their hands on you.

And now that he has?

He’s not letting go.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he whispers, thumb swiping lazily over your spit-slick chest. “You don’t want the soft stuff. Not really.”

He licks a stripe up your throat and bites your ear with a low laugh.

“You want this.”

You realize, too late—

You wake up with your mouth dry, your legs sore, and your heart pounding like it’s trying to claw its way out of your chest.

What the hell just happened.

The room still smells like heat and sweat and strawberry cake—sickly sweet and sticky. You’re sprawled across your couch, half-tangled in a blanket you don’t remember grabbing. The chill of the night clings to your bare skin, your clothes long discarded. Ren is sitting next to you, still fully dressed, sweater sleeves pulled down over his trembling hands.

You’re the only one naked.

You shift, the reality of it all settling in your body like an echo. There’s a heartbeat between your legs, a dull ache, your lips still tingling. You remember everything.

The way he kissed you like he was dying.

The way he whispered your name like a prayer.

The way he didn’t undress.

And the way you let him.

Your head falls back with a groan. “Fuck. Fuck, that was—what was that?!”

Ren jolts beside you. “A-Ah—! I-I’m sorry—! Did I hurt you?!”

“No, no—!” you wave your hand, trying to breathe, “That’s not what I meant. It was just—a lot.”

You sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt, covering yourself as best as you can. You glance at Ren and then—God, you say it.

“Do you… want money?”

His head snaps toward you so fast it looks like it hurts.

His expression is shattered. Eyes wide, lips parting but nothing comes out. Just a choked little laugh that sounds too soft to be real.

You backpedal instantly. “Wait—No, I didn’t mean it like that—just—I don’t know what this was, and you didn’t undress, and—fuck, I’m sorry.”

He looks down, into his lap, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

His voice is barely audible. “Y-You think I’d do that for money…?”

“Ren…”

“I didn’t want to take my clothes off.” He’s flushing now, the pink bleeding from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “I-It’s not that I didn’t want to feel close to you. I just… I wanted to make you feel good first. I didn’t want to scare you. Or—or be too much.”

God. Your chest aches.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “That was a shit thing to ask. I panicked.”

There’s a silence between you—buzzing and weird.

Then, because your brain is melting, and your body still wants something, you mumble:

“…Wanna be friends with benefits?”

He freezes.

Looks at you.

And then slowly, so slowly, nods.

His voice is whisper-soft, shaking at the edges.

“O-Only if you want to. I-I’d like that. I mean. I’d really like that.”

He buries his face in his cardigan sleeve. “Ughh, I sound so weird—sorry—!”

You reach out, lightly touching his arm. “Hey. If we’re gonna do this… we need some rules. Real ones.”

He blinks at you through his sweater.

You raise a finger. “If either of us gets uncomfortable, we stop. No questions asked.”

Ren nods hard. “Y-Yeah. Yes. Absolutely. Stop right away.”

“Only sober. No pressure. No expectations. And we talk if something doesn’t feel right.”

“Talk,” he echoes, nodding again, “Right, yeah, I’m— I can do that.”

You bite your lip. “You don’t ever have to take your clothes off if you don’t want to.”

He visibly relaxes. “Thank you…”

“And,” you add, raising a brow, “you promise to make me feel good?”

He flushes again, beet red, sweater practically swallowing his face.

“I-I promise, Angel,” he whispers, and there's this tremble in his voice—this heartbreaking sincerity. “I-I’ll make you feel so good.”

And somehow, those words—

They sound less like a casual deal and more like a vow.

Like this wasn’t just a hookup to him. Like he’s been waiting for this moment—aching for it—for years.

You’re not sure what you just agreed to.

But the way Ren clutches his sleeves like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded?

You know this isn’t just sex to him.

Not even close. You wanted to ignore it.

It had only been a few days.

A few innocent days of awkward texts, nervous good mornings, and that one time he bumped into you and blushed like he was back in middle school. You swore it was fine. You were fine.

Until tonight.

You stepped out of the bath, skin flushed, towel wrapped around your waist. And you stared at your empty room, your messy bed, the faint scent of strawberry shampoo clinging to your hair—and it hit you.

You missed him.

Missed the weight of his body against yours. The way he touched you like you were holy. The desperation laced in every breath.

So, impulsively, you called.

“Hey, Ren…”

“Ah! Angel—!”

You giggled, trying to sound casual, teasing, flirty. Trying.

“So… you busy?”

“N-Not really… Just folding laundry…”

You paused, voice lowering.

“Wanna do it again?”

A beat. Then two.

You swore you could hear his heart pounding through the phone.

“…R-Right now?”

“If you want,” you murmured. “I mean, I just got out of the bath… I feel kinda lonely…”

Another pause.

And then?

That voice.

Not the stuttery, soft one. No. This one was smooth. Whispered like silk. Laced with that eerie little slant in his tone that made your stomach twist.

“…Y’r smellin’ too good again, Angel. You tryin’ to kill me?”

You froze. That shift. That voice.

“Ren—?”

“Used a new shampoo?” he hummed, already at your door—like he was waiting for the call. “Can smell it through the collar o’ your towel. S’kinda cruel, don’tcha think? Gettin’ all warm and soft without me.”

Your breath caught as he stepped into the room—eyes half-lidded, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, pink strands a little mussed like he’d been tugging at them in frustration.

“Y-you came fast…”

He just smiled.

“Couldn’t wait.”

And now?

You’re on your bed.

Still damp from the bath.

Still naked under your towel.

And Ren’s hands are everywhere.

“W-Wait—” you gasp, “t-the lights—!”

But he doesn’t listen. Or maybe he does and just chooses to ignore it.

His hands ghost over your chest first, fingertips brushing across your skin like he’s memorizing it all over again. Your breath hitches as he leans close, burying his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling.

“God… smell so good… wanna bite you…”

“Ren—”

He giggles, hot breath teasing your skin.

“Too late, Angel. Y’called me. Said you wanted it.” His fingers slide beneath your towel, tugging the corner loose with deliberate slowness. “M’just givin’ you what you asked for.”

He kisses down your collarbone, tongue flicking, teeth grazing. His hands gently cup your chest, thumbs teasing at the sensitive peaks with agonizing slowness.

You squirm. “R-Ren, wait, y’r being so—”

“Naughty?” he purrs. “Mmm… y’get all shy when I touch you like this, huh?”

He rolls a nipple between his fingers, watching your reaction with a heated stare.

“Look at that… already gettin’ squirmy… and I haven’t even started.”

You cover your face with your hands, too overwhelmed.

He laughs again—soft, delighted. Obsessed.

“You wanted this, Angel. So lemme make you feel good again.”

He kisses lower, inch by inch, hands now ghosting along your thighs, slow and reverent.

“I’ll be gentle… at first.”

You're panting before he even puts his mouth on you.

Your chest rises and falls like you’ve run a marathon, your towel barely hanging on by a thread, clinging to the curve of your hips as Ren’s hands roam like he’s trying to map every inch of you from memory.

“Y’r so warm…” he mutters, thumbing over the swell of your chest, watching the way you arch into his touch with wide, fascinated eyes. “So soft too… can’t believe you let me touch you like this…”

His hands slide up, fingers spreading wide to cradle you, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with the kind of care that makes your toes curl. Then he pinches one — just barely — enough to make your back twitch, your breath catch.

You let out a shaky moan.

“Aw… s-sorry, Angel… did that feel too good?” he coos.

He leans down, and you swear the world tilts a little when he licks a stripe across your chest — tongue warm and wet, dragging slow before closing his lips around a nipple and sucking hard.

Your gasp breaks into a whimper.

He moans around it, like he's the one getting off on it, mouth messy, lips slick and shiny when he pulls back just enough to breathe.

“Look at you,” he pants, cheeks flushed, mouth parted. “Y’r chest’s so sensitive… ‘s driving me crazy, Angel.”

And then he bites.

Not hard. Just enough to make your skin sting, to feel his teeth graze and his tongue soothe right after.

You twitch again.

He laughs breathily against you, clearly drunk on the way you’re falling apart beneath him.

"You like that?" he murmurs. "Y’want me to keep teasing you right here?"

His fingers go right back to rubbing, pinching, twisting—mean little motions with his mouth still latched on the other side, sucking deep, tongue flicking over you until you’re gasping into your wrist, hips lifting off the bed.

“Feels like y’r chest’s beggin’ for it,” he slurs, moving between the two — from one side to the other like he's deciding which he likes more. “I could spend hours right here. Touchin’ you, makin’ you squirm…”

He glances up through his lashes, breath hot and heavy.

“Y’r so pretty like this. Like you’re mine.”

Your hand flies to his hair on instinct — needing to ground yourself — but he only groans softly and presses harder into your chest.

“You gonna let me keep going?” he breathes, trailing kisses down your ribs now, palms still playing at your peaks, fingertips wet with spit and heat. “Promise I’ll be good. I’ll make you feel so good, Angel…”

He’s treating you like a shrine. Like your body is his altar and he’s ready to worship it until it breaks him.

And from the way he’s looking at you — wild, dazed, obsessed?

Your chest is still tingling from his mouth—slick with spit, flushed and overstimulated from how he keeps switching between licking, sucking, and pinching until your back arches off the sheets, chasing more friction you didn’t even know you wanted.

“You’re bein’ so good for me,” Ren murmurs, voice gone low and syrupy, his breath hot against your skin. “So sweet… Can’t believe this is real… Can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

His hand starts to slide lower, dragging down your stomach with the same lazy worship he gave your chest. You’re still trembling from the attention up top, dazed from the way his lips have practically devoured you there, and your body jolts when his fingers brush over the heat between your legs—so gently, so teasing, like he’s testing the temperature of something sacred.

“Ooh… y’r twitchin’ already,” he whispers, lips pressing soft kisses to the side of your chest. “Sensitive here too, huh? That bath must’ve really worked you up…”

He drags a single finger over your folds or shaft — neutral, unhurried — not quite touching deep, just enough to make you whimper and buck into the contact.

“Shh, shh,” he croons, palm steadying your hip. “Lemme take care of it. I wanna see what kind of noises you make when I play here.”

Then he starts to rub — slow, rhythmic strokes, circling your most sensitive spot with maddening gentleness. His other hand is still at your chest, lazily rolling your nipple between his fingers like he’s playing with his favorite toy, and the combination is dizzying.

You gasp — high and shaky.

“F-Fuck—Ren—!”

“You’re already so wet,” he whispers, lips brushing your sternum. “Or hard. Either way… s’all for me, ain’t it?”

He presses in deeper, teasing you open with two fingers, still unrelenting with the attention on your chest — until your thighs start to shake and your voice starts to break.

“‘S so cute…” he murmurs. “All messy for me already…”

He starts to speed up, just slightly—dragging those fingers in small, filthy little motions that leave your head spinning. His mouth returns to your nipple, sucking hard again, tongue swirling just right while his fingers work you faster, deeper.

“Y’r makin’ such good sounds…” he slurs, a moan in his throat as your hips grind against his palm. “So fuckin’ pretty when y’r close… Angel, y’r—ahh…”

And then—

You snap.

Your whole body tenses, the world blurs, and your orgasm crashes over you in waves, sharp and sudden, so numbingly intense you cry out his name like it’s the only word left in your vocabulary.

Your thighs jerk, your chest arches into his mouth, and you come hard, spilling against his hand, dripping, twitching — every nerve in your body firing like a live wire.

And he doesn't stop.

Not immediately.

He lets you ride it out, kissing your chest gently, fingers slowly easing back, smearing your release along your skin with worshipful care.

“There it is…” he whispers, in awe. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful when you fall apart…”

You’re panting. Dazed. Legs still shaking.

And he’s still fully clothed, flushed red, eyes glassy with affection.

“Y’r not gonna forget this, are you?” he murmurs, kissing right below your ribs now. “Not when I made you come that hard just from my hands…”

Your body’s still twitching, your chest rising and falling with shallow, spent breaths.

The sheets are damp beneath you. Your legs feel like jelly. Your throat is raw from the sounds he coaxed out of you — so loud, so unfiltered — and your fingers are still tangled in the fabric of your own bedding, clinging for something solid.

You didn’t even notice him shifting.

Until his shadow blocked out the light.

Until his clothed chest pressed against your bare one, warm through the soft knit of his cardigan, and he leaned down so slowly you didn’t even realize he was on top of you — not until his voice ghosted over your lips.

“…Don’t ever let anyone else see you like that.”

You blink.

Still dazed.

“R-Ren…?”

He’s staring down at you. Face flushed. Breathing heavy. But his eyes—

His eyes are wrong.

Not shy. Not soft.

Hungry.

Wild.

“I want,” he murmurs, “to be the only one you beg like that.”

You stiffen, lips parted, heart skipping something painful.

“I-I didn’t—beg—”

“You did,” he whispers, a smile stretching slowly across his lips — too wide. Too pleased. “You said my name, like you were gonna break apart if I stopped.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, lips brushing close but never kissing you.

“And I’ll keep making you say it. Over and over and over again.”

You shudder. “W-Wait, I—”

“You want it, don’t you?” he purrs, voice dragging slow and velvety like molasses, “Want me to ruin you again. You didn’t even try to stop me.”

His hands slide up, cupping your face like you’re something fragile and breakable—but his grip is firm, possessive. He’s still smiling. He’s still Ren.

But this isn’t the Ren who stammers and hides behind hair clips and cardigan sleeves.

This is something else.

“Y’know…” he mutters, nose brushing yours, “You sounded just like the smut you read. I even made you say the same lines, didn’t I?”

You freeze.

The realization hits hard. You had read something like that. Last night. That line. That exact—

“W-Wait, how—how do you know—”

He doesn’t answer.

He kisses you instead.

Hard.

Messy.

Spit-slick and greedy. Nothing shy or sweet about it — just open-mouthed want and clashing teeth and breathless need. His clothed body presses tight to your bare one, and his hands slide down your body like he’s mapping out territory. Reclaiming it.

You gasp into the kiss, but he only groans and pins you harder, like he’s trying to brand the shape of himself into your skin.

“I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this,” he whispers, low and husky, lips trailing down to your throat. “Only one who gets to see you like this.”

You try to speak. Try to ask why he’s acting like this, how he knew—

But your voice catches in your throat when his mouth presses to your neck and stays there, mouthing against the pulse point like he’s trying to mark you.

“You’re mine, Angel,” he breathes, and it’s said so softly you’d think it was a prayer.

But you know better now.

It wasn’t Ren’s voice.

Not really.

Something colder.

Something possessive and sweet and obsessive all at once.

Something… wrong.

But you don’t stop him.

You ache. You’re bare. And every inch of you is still tingling from the way he worshipped you just minutes ago.

You could pull away.

Say no.

But instead you whisper his name, so faintly it sounds like a confession:

“…Ren…”

He exhales like a sinner being forgiven.

Money.

A quiet, fumbling gesture — part guilt, part gratitude, part “I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.” The moment felt too good, too much, and you thought maybe giving him something would make it feel a little less dangerous.

But Ren caught your wrist with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

His fingers curled around yours, trembling slightly. You could feel the heat rising up his neck.

“…Y’r not paying me,” he whispered, hurt flickering in his voice like a snuffed-out match. “I’m not—this isn’t some—” He sucked in a shaky breath, hiding behind his sleeve again. “I-I did it ‘cause I wanted to… not for that.”

You swallowed thickly.

“I know. I just… didn’t know how to say thank you.”

He looked at you then — really looked. And beneath the flush of his cheeks, beneath the oversized sweater and softboy persona, you could see something deeper. Something possessive. Craving. Something that had been starving for you.

“I’d rather you ask me..if you feel comfortable enough to do it with me."

The days that followed blurred into a quiet kind of crazy!

Neither of you brought up what it meant. There were no labels. No expectations.

Just a slow unraveling of inhibition.

You found yourself at his apartment after dark. Sometimes at yours. Sometimes on the floor. Sometimes half-dressed, tangled in sheets, breathless and red-faced as Ren whispered filth into your ear — filth you were sure you’d read somewhere before.

It was too specific. Too familiar.

Breeding kink? You’d never said it out loud.

But Ren would growl things like “Y’r takin’ it so well… I bet your body was made for this, huh?” as he kissed down your neck and held your thighs apart like he was trying to memorize every pulse and twitch.

Orgasm control? That came next. The first time, he edged you for hours—smiling sweetly, asking if you were “close, Angel?” before pulling away at the last second and licking the tears from your lashes.

He loved the reactions. Worshipped the aftermath. Especially when he left you shaking.

Praise kink? Oh, he soaked it in like a drug. And he gave it back, tenfold.

“Y’r so good f’me,” he’d breathe against your skin, holding you close. “So, so perfect, Angel. Dunno what I’d do without you…”

Sometimes, you played roles. It started as a joke — you in a maid outfit, doing your best impression of the fanart you’d been caught with. But Ren froze when he saw you.

And then he broke.

“Sit on my lap,” he whispered, voice trembling but low.

You did.

He came undone.

Now! You heard a smut about things, Roleplay! You wanted to ask

You weren’t expecting him to actually do it.

The joke started with a teasing text, something like:

"AW! I want to see you wear a maid costume!"

You’d half-expected him to dodge it, whine, maybe hide under the covers and pretend he didn’t see it.

"I see.."

But when you opened the door to your apartment that evening, he was already there — standing in the entryway with his head down, fists clenched at his sides.

The dress was black and frilly, trimmed with lace. The apron was tied with a perfect bow at his lower back, the hem brushing scandalously high against pale thighs.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Not until you took one step closer.

Then he peeked up through his lashes — wide-eyed, flushed deep crimson, and twitching like he might bolt if you said the wrong word.

“Y-you said I had to,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “So I… I did.”

You blinked.

Then grinned.

“Oh? You really went all out, huh?”

He squeaked when you tugged him closer by the little red ribbon at his neck.

“Angel—!! Don’t—don’t look like that—!”

You laughed and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You look adorable. Don’t tell me you didn’t want me to see you like this.”

He shivered.

You slid a hand beneath his skirt. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Is that lace underneath?” you purred, “Ren, really?”

“I-I just thought it would match—!” he yelped, but the second your fingers grazed his inner thigh, his voice cracked into a gasp.

“You dressed up just for me, didn’t you?” Your voice dropped. Low. Slow. Dangerous. “What do you want me to do to you, pretty maid?”

He was already squirming.

“I—I'll clean… anything you want—Angel, please, I—I can't take it—!”

You pulled him down to your lap, chest pressed to yours, and nipped at his ear.

“Oh, but I thought you said you liked being teased? You looked so cute pretending to be in charge…”

His hands clenched into your shirt.

“I-I’m not pretending…” he whimpered, “I can… be good… I-I’ll be good, Angel, just tell me what to do.”

You dragged a hand down his chest, over the silky fabric, letting your nails scrape just slightly.

“You’re not in charge tonight, sweetheart,” you whispered. “You’re gonna sit there, look pretty in that stupid little dress, and let me wreck you.”

He let out the softest, most broken sound—somewhere between a moan and a whimper.

And when you bit his neck, he tilted his head to give you more.

He looked humiliated.

He looked ruined.

He looked like he loved it.

“Y’gonna clean, Angel?” he drawled, lips wet with spit where he'd been chewing them raw. “Or y’just gonna kneel there starin’ at me like y’wanna cry.”

Your hands shake around the feather duster.

You do want to cry.

He's been edging you for hours — maybe longer — every time your thighs clenched or your breath caught, he’d pull away. Tongue gone. Fingers vanished. “Not yet,” he’d murmur, voice syrupy, mocking. “Too pretty to break just yet.”

Then he'd moan like he was the one being edged. He'd grind against the mattress, against your leg, against you, leaving messy trails of precum on everything like some desperate pup that didn’t know where to rut first.

“Say it,” he whispers now, voice guttural, breathless as his fingers trace your inner thigh. “Say m’good. Say I’m your good fuckin’ maid—fuck—tell me I’m doin’ such a good job makin you wait.”

“Y-You’re good,” you choke, voice breaking as he cups you, just to pull back again. “You’re—f-fuck—Ren, please let me come, please—”

He moans at that.

Like it hurts.

Like praise breaks him worse than pain ever could.

"Y'know I fuckin’ love it when you beg like that, right?" he gasps, hips twitching again as he grinds into nothing. “Love hearin’ that sweet voice all shaky like you're gonna pass out from just needing me—mmf—fuckin’ pathetic lil Angel.”

His voice cracks on pathetic. You almost come just from that.

But he doesn’t let you.

He makes you thank him after each denied orgasm. Makes you say “thank you, Ren” like it’s worship. Like he's doing you a favor by tearing you open and then stitching you back up with denial.

And when you finally do come?

It’s only because you begged for it like you were sobbing prayers to God.

You cried for it. Shaking, trembling, broken down in your little apron.

He came too — untouched. Just from hearing you wail his name, from seeing the way you thanked him for finally ruining you.

Then he crawled on top of you, hands trembling like he couldn’t believe you were real, and whispered:

“Wanna breed you.”

That voice — husky and low, like something ancient had taken hold of him.

"Wanna fuck it in so deep, you never feel empty again. Want you full, always, Angel. Want y’drippin' from the inside out with me."

You shuddered under him.

Because he meant it.

He bit your shoulder next. Hard. Left the mark so deep your skin still burned hours later. He groaned into your skin like he was drinking you, like the taste of your flesh anchored him to the world. He didn’t stop ‘til you sobbed, “Mark me again, Ren—please, please—”

So he did.

All over.

He bit your throat.

Your thighs.

Your hipbone.

Your mouth.

He whispered praise between every bite, trembling from how much he needed to be your good boy. Needed to be told he was doing it right. That he was yours. That you wanted his scent, his marks, his everything.

“Wanna ruin you sweet,” he slurred, nearly incoherent, rutting against you again, flushed and shaking. “Wanna see you walk funny for days. Wanna see my fuckin’ come leak outta you when you go clean the damn kitchen. That’s all I fuckin’ want, Angel—jus’ you, walkin’ around like you’re still stuffed with me.”

You laughed deliriously.

He looked like he was gonna cry.

You made him pathetic too. Because after you came, after your thighs were sticky and your throat was raw, he begged you to finger him. Still in his little maid uniform. Still moaning your name like a holy word.

“Be nice to me,” he gasped, body quaking under you. “M’not gonna last if y’start praisin’ me again—fuck—Angel, please, I’ll do anything—”

And when you whispered, “You’re perfect, Ren,” his whole body seized.

He came untouched, sobbing into your neck, gasping broken confessions against your cheek.

“You’re my only one,” he whimpered. “Y’make me feel like I’m worth somethin’. Like I’m not… a thing. Like I’m—fuck—I’m yours.”

You held him through it. Both of you sticky, sweaty, marked with one another. You whispered filth and praise into his hair as he trembled in your arms, moaning even when the aftershocks turned to pain.

He didn’t want it to stop.

He never wants it to stop.

Because being pathetic with you?

Being yours?

That’s the only time he feels alive.

After that, You guys had your moments in all ways..

✦ Kneeling Between Your Legs

You sit back against the couch, legs spread lazily apart, and Ren is kneeling on the carpet in front of you like an offering.

Still in the dress. Still panting softly. Still shaking, just barely.

The skirt has hiked up far too high, and those stupid little lace panties are clinging damp between his legs.

He looks up at you with those wide, dewy eyes—lashes trembling, lip bitten raw.

“Y’r so mean, Angel…” he whispers, voice breaking. “But you look so good when you’re above me. I can’t—I can’t think straight when you sit like that…”

You brush your thumb across his lower lip.

“Then don’t think. Serve.”

He whimpers and leans in, mouth warm, kisses soft but needy—until your hand grabs the back of his head and holds him there.

He gasps.

And then moans, like he likes being manhandled. Like he’s waited his whole life for this exact moment.

The more praise you murmur, the wetter his eyes get.

“Good boy,” you breathe, and he shudders so hard you almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

✦ SHIT NUMBER 2-Chest and Collar

He’s on the bed now. Laying flat, arms above his head, flushed to the point of delirium.

The dress is hiked up to his waist.

You’ve been teasing his chest for what feels like forever—licking, biting, softly blowing over wet skin and watching him twitch.

He sobs, back arching up toward your mouth, the little bell on his collar jingling softly.

“I can’t—! A-Angel, please, I need—”

“I know what you need,” you purr, dragging your teeth gently across one nipple before biting down just enough to leave a mark.

He screams.

And then giggles. A delirious, high little noise like he’s dizzy from the attention.

“You’re ruining me,” he mumbles, “I-I love it. I love you. I love when you mark me…”

You press your palm flat against his heart.

It’s racing.

“Good. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

✦ FUCKING NUMBER 3 Maid Roleplay… Switched

Later that week, he shyly suggests you let him be the master, just once.

He even has a little script—stolen from your fanfics, of course—where you’re the flustered maid and he’s your cold, commanding “master.”

But it falls apart immediately.

Because the second you drop to your knees and whisper, “Please punish me, Ren,” he turns bright red and hides his face in the skirt.

He can’t even pretend to be in control.

He ends you up back in his lap ten minutes later, grinding helplessly against his thigh and whispering apologies like a broken record.

✦ FUCKING NUMBER 4, ONE OF HIS KINKS MENTIONED AGAIN! LIKE GOD! WHY! HE'S FREAK! FREAKY AS FUCK - DON'T WORRY, I CAN BE YOUR FREAK !

It starts with a slip of the tongue.

You’re fucking into him with slow, filthy intent. One hand gripping his thigh, the other pressed to his throat just enough to make him tremble.

And he moans something into your neck:

“Wanna keep you inside, Angel…”

You pause.

“What was that?”

His face erupts in blush, but he doesn’t stop rolling his hips.

“Want—want to feel you fill me,” he sobs, “Wanna be full of you. Want you to make me yours forever, f-fill me up so no one else can—ah, ah—!”

You pull him tighter, watching his mind spiral as you fuck the thought deeper and deeper into him.

“You want to be bred that bad?”

He nods frantically, whining.

Like it’s not just a kink.

Like it’s a need.

✦ How He did it, Aftercare

After the fifth time that night, Ren is a puddle.

Still in the ruined maid outfit, now sticking to his skin. Your hand gently strokes his hair back, and he’s curled in your arms, clinging like a sleepy animal.

“I........,” he mumbles, barely audible.

You pause.

“Ren…”

He blinks up at you, dazed.

“Sorry. I mean. We’re just f-friends with benefits. Right…?”

You kiss his temple, trying to ignore the ache in your chest.

He smiles. Small. Secretive.

But you don’t see the way he stares at the bites on your neck after.

Or how tightly he clutches your used towel the next morning.

You weren’t sure when it stopped being about pleasure.

It started with curiosity, with desperation. With late-night phone calls and shy invitations. With Ren showing up in skirts too short, lashes too long, voice trembling as he asked if you wanted to "do it again."

And you always said yes.

Because it felt good. Because he made you feel worshipped. Because he let you use him in every way and asked for nothing in return.

But maybe that’s what hurt the most.

That he never asked for anything.

He gave and gave and gave—every piece of him shaped around your desires. You liked lace? He wore it. You liked to be dominant? He begged. You liked roleplay? He studied. Every moan, every sob, every obedient whisper of “Angel, please” was tailored to you. Seamless. Faultless.

Too perfect.

And when he smiled, it looked happy.

But now, sitting alone in your room, after the high has faded and the silence has settled in, you wonder if any of it was real. Or if he just wanted to be whatever you needed—no matter how much it cost him.

You felt sick to yourself.

Ren never said no.

And now it made you sick.

You are using him, Memories of how 'Teo' treated you..? You do know he never told he was into a relationship but-

You still blamed him.

and Now.

You heard the knock before you saw him.

Ren stood in the doorway, arms crossed in front of him, sweater sleeves pulled over his hands, hair messier than usual.

“Hey, Angel,” he mumbled. “I-I brought your charger back. The one you left…”

You stared at him.

Something in your face must’ve shifted, because he faltered.

“I… did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head, slowly. “Ren… I think we should stop.”

His eyes widened—raw panic, like a kicked puppy. “Stop—what?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye.

“This. Us. What we’ve been doing.”

His voice cracked. “Did I mess up? D-Did I push too far?”

“No,” you whispered. “That’s the problem. You didn’t. You never did.”

He blinked rapidly, trying to understand. “Then why…?”

You shrugged. “Because I’ve been selfish.”

He said nothing.

“I used you. Because it felt good. Because you made it easy. But you never told me what you wanted, Ren. You never said no. And now I can’t tell if you’re doing this because you like it, or because you think I’ll leave if you don’t.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

You finally looked up—and the pain in his expression made your stomach turn.

“I’m not mad,” you added gently. “And I’m not asking you to disappear. I just… I need space. We both do.”

He stood still for a long time.

Then: “C-Can I still check in on you? Sometimes?”

Your throat clenched. “Of course.”

Ren nodded once. Then turned, slowly. Quietly.

You didn’t say goodbye.

He didn’t slam the door.

You weren’t supposed to cry.

You’d made the decision. You told yourself it was the right thing — to stop, to give him space, to be kinder than you had been. But then he showed up again.

So quietly. So stupidly soft.

Standing outside your door in the early hours, hair sticking to his forehead from the misty rain, sleeves tugged over his fists like he was trying to hold himself together by the seams.

“I don’t care if you’re using me.”

His voice was quiet. Steady. Unnervingly calm.

“I don’t care if you only call me when you want to feel good, or if you never ask me what I want. I don’t even care if you forget I exist after.”

You stared at him, heart sinking.

“I—Ren, don’t say that—”

“I mean it,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t care. If it’s for you, Angel… it’s fine. I just—” His breath hitched. “I want to be yours. Even if I’m only a body to you. Even if I’m just someone you call when you’re lonely.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

His hands were trembling.

His smile was cracking at the corners.

He looked like he’d break if you touched him.

“Stop it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Ren, I don’t want to use you.”

He blinked, stunned.

“I never wanted that,” you said, stepping forward. “I didn’t know I was hurting you, but I see it now and I—I can’t keep doing it.”

Your hand cupped his face before he could flinch away. His skin was cold, but soft under your palm. His lashes fluttered. You saw it then—how tired he was. How desperately he’d clung to the idea of being needed. How all of this was just a performance so you’d never stop looking at him.

“I don’t want to be someone who breaks the person they care about just because I’m scared to be alone,” you said. “And I don’t want you to think you’re only worth what you can give.”

Ren didn’t say anything.

He just stared at you, lips parted, breathing shallow.

Then, suddenly — he kissed you.

It was messy. Soft. Desperate.

His hands trembled against your cheeks. His lips tasted like rain.

And when he pulled back, he whispered, “I don’t feel used when it’s you. I don’t. I love you. I’ve loved you since I was a kid. Since before you even remembered me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed.

“I’ll wait forever, if I have to,” he said. “I don’t care how long it takes. You don’t have to say it back. You don’t have to love me. I just want to stay near you.”

Your chest ached.

Tears spilled before you could stop them, and you laughed — short, choked, trembling.

“You’re such an idiot,” you whispered, brushing a thumb under his eye. “You’re the angel in my life. Not me.”

He smiled. That soft, broken smile.

And then you both sank into each other, clinging like two people trying not to drown.

You barely had time to breathe.

Ren was relentless — like once he’d been granted permission, he wasn’t ever going to stop. You kissed, again and again, mouths crashing, teeth clicking, tongues slipping wet and eager. It was feverish, dizzying, and so fucking wet — spit running down your chin, smeared across your lips, and he didn’t stop to wipe it away. If anything, he chased it. Licked into your mouth with a guttural sound, like he needed every trace of you inside him.

His hands roamed now — still shaking, still reverent, but bolder. He gripped your hips, then slid one hand up the small of your back under your shirt, fingers cold, palm hot, holding you like something he’d die clutching.

And then you felt it.

A slow, subtle grind.

You gasped into his mouth.

Ren whimpered like he couldn’t hold it in. His hips pushed forward again, a soft, deliberate motion — pouching against you, rutting through the layers of clothes with a trembling need that caught both of you off guard.

“I—I’m sorry—” he choked, forehead pressing to yours, eyes squeezed shut, “fuck, Angel, I didn’t mean t’—I can’t stop—”

You swallowed his apology with another kiss, and he melted, his moan caught between your lips.

His pouch brushed you again. Again. Slow but deliberate, and then faster, messier — like instinct had taken over. He was panting now, lips swollen and wet, tongue flicking out to taste you again.

“Feels s’good,” he babbled, voice cracking, “can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop—Angel, you—you said I could be your boyfriend and now I—now I need—”

His hand clutched the back of your neck as he rocked harder, the friction maddening, your name slurred into every breath he exhaled.

And you saw him.

Red cheeks, hazy eyes, lips swollen and spit-slick, clinging to you like a lifeline — grinding helplessly, desperately, as if every slow rut of his clothed cock against you was a prayer. You kissed him again, tongue dragging wet and deep, and he shuddered, hips jerking like he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You mouthed hotly at his jaw, his neck, licked the sweat and desperation off his skin. He cried out, muffled against your shoulder, pushing against you faster now, panting like a fever dream.

“‘M gonna make a mess, Angel—‘m sorry, s-sorry—” he whimpered, grinding harder, eyes rolling back, “c-can’t help it, fuck, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours—”

And then you felt him.

Freezing. Shaking. His hips stuttered one last time before he collapsed into you, gasping, burying his face in your neck as he whimpered through it — breath hot and shaky, the pouch between you suddenly wet.

You held him, kissing his hair, his temple, whispering, “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

And he sobbed softly into your skin, ruined and happy and so in love, whispering:

“Thank you. Thank you for letting me be yours.”

“W-Wait, Ren—!” you gasped, your back hitting the bed, hands scrambling for his sleeves as his mouth chased you down.

But he didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen.

Not when he’d tasted what it meant to be yours.

His cardigan, his breath ragged as he pressed you down, panting above you with that dazed, messed-up look — flushed, tear-glossed, lips swollen red from kissing you too much and still not enough.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered like a prayer, voice thick with heat and awe. “So pretty like this... d’you know what you do to me, Angel?”

And then he was on you again.

His mouth found your neck first — hot, open kisses, tongue dragging, teeth scraping just enough to make you jolt. Your fingers twisted into his hair, and he moaned at the contact, grinding down into you with a low, hungry sound.

“I wanna ruin you,” he slurred, lips brushing your ear as his hips rutted slow and hard. “Wanna make you cry like you make me cry. Sweet little sounds—fuck—just for me…”

His hands slid under your shirt — palms calloused, trembling — and found your chest.

“Ah—Ren—!” you arched, voice breaking, as his thumbs grazed over your nipples through the thin fabric. He was watching you fall apart with glassy eyes and a crooked, filthy grin, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be the one doing this to you.

“Sensitive, huh?” he whispered, circling lazily, tugging with just the edge of a whine in his throat. “Bet you’d let me suck on ‘em, too. Bet you’d let me do anything…”

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t wait for permission — just ducked his head and took your nipple into his mouth through your shirt, soaking the fabric with spit. You choked on a moan, thighs twitching as he groaned low and possessive against your chest, grinding harder now.

“R-Ren—ah, wait—” you gasped, overwhelmed, but your body betrayed you — bucking into his hips, clutching his head closer.

“Can’t wait,” he panted, looking up at you with wrecked devotion, lips wet and red. “I’m gonna be good—I swear—I’ll make you feel s’good, Angel, I swear I will—”

And then he kissed you again, mouth slick, messy, open. Tongue dragging yours into something hot and desperate.

You barely noticed his hand between your thighs until he rubbed there, slow and deliberate, and you gasped against his lips, breaking the kiss with a moan.

“Already makin’ a mess for me, huh?” he teased, his voice wrecked, sinful, loving. “Angel, you’re unreal…”

And then he was rocking into you again — chest flushed against yours, mouth claiming yours over and over, hips grinding harder, wetter, deeper—

“Say my name,” he begged, panting into your mouth. “Say it while I fuckin’ ruin you.”

“W-Wait, Ren—!” you gasped, your back hitting the bed, hands scrambling for his sleeves as his mouth chased you down.

But he didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen.

Not when he’d tasted what it meant to be yours.

His cardigan, his breath ragged as he pressed you down, panting above you with that dazed, messed-up look — flushed, tear-glossed, lips swollen red from kissing you too much and still not enough.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered like a prayer, voice thick with heat and awe. “So pretty like this... d’you know what you do to me, Angel?”

And then he was on you again.

His mouth found your neck first — hot, open kisses, tongue dragging, teeth scraping just enough to make you jolt. Your fingers twisted into his hair, and he moaned at the contact, grinding down into you with a low, hungry sound.

“I wanna ruin you,” he slurred, lips brushing your ear as his hips rutted slow and hard. “Wanna make you cry like you make me cry. Sweet little sounds—fuck—just for me…”

His hands slid under your shirt — palms calloused, trembling — and found your chest.

“Ah—Ren—!” you arched, voice breaking, as his thumbs grazed over your nipples through the thin fabric. He was watching you fall apart with glassy eyes and a crooked, filthy grin, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be the one doing this to you.

“Sensitive, huh?” he whispered, circling lazily, tugging with just the edge of a whine in his throat. “Bet you’d let me suck on ‘em, too. Bet you’d let me do anything…”

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t wait for permission — just ducked his head and took your nipple into his mouth through your shirt, soaking the fabric with spit. You choked on a moan, thighs twitching as he groaned low and possessive against your chest, grinding harder now.

“R-Ren—ah, wait—” you gasped, overwhelmed, but your body betrayed you — bucking into his hips, clutching his head closer.

“Can’t wait,” he panted, looking up at you with wrecked devotion, lips wet and red. “I’m gonna be good—I swear—I’ll make you feel s’good, Angel, I swear I will—”

And then he kissed you again, mouth slick, messy, open. Tongue dragging yours into something hot and desperate.

You barely noticed his hand between your thighs until he rubbed there, slow and deliberate, and you gasped against his lips, breaking the kiss with a moan.

“Already makin’ a mess for me, huh?” he teased, his voice wrecked, sinful, loving. “Angel, you’re unreal…”

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, knees weak, breath catching as Ren pinned you there like a man possessed — body pressed tight to yours, hands caging your wrists above your head.

His thigh pushed between yours, grinding up, forcing you to open for him.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice thick and ruined, nose brushing yours. “Already this fucked out? You’re shaking, Angel…”

You whimpered, hips jerking — trying to get more, more anything — but he didn’t let you have it. Not yet. He kissed you again, wet and messy, teeth dragging your bottom lip until it stung.

Then he dropped one hand, sliding it between your legs with deliberate slowness.

And then he started to ride you.

Slow at first — grinding down with a ragged moan, body rolling against yours with filthy precision. His mouth fell open, lashes fluttering as his hips rocked, again and again, dragging pleasure from both of you with every grind. You could feel how wet the friction between you was — clothes damp, his breath coming in frantic, desperate little bursts.

“Feel that?” he groaned, mouth at your ear, voice wrecked. “You’re makin’ me so wet, Angel—God, I could fuckin’ drown in it.”

He rolled his hips harder this time, and you cried out, head thunking against the wall, wrists trembling in his grip.

“Don’t cum,” he breathed. “Not yet. Not ‘til I say.”

You nodded — barely — but your body betrayed you. He was so good, so relentless, his hand now teasing your chest again, the other reaching down to rub over your overstimmed heat with dizzying pressure.

And then you gasped, loud and helpless.

“I said don’t, Angel—shit—” Ren growled, voice shaking. “You’re fuckin’—you’re cumming anyway, aren’t you?”

You moaned — high, cracked, unable to speak — and he felt it. Felt you pulsing against him, trembling, overwhelmed and overstimmed already.

“Ohh my God,” he whined, slamming his hips harder, grinding into your mess. “You couldn’t wait, huh? So greedy—fuck—so perfect like this—”

You were crying out now, breathless, twitching, trying to pull away from the overstimulation and nowhere to go with your back pinned to the wall.

But he kept going.

“Don’t-,” he breathed, licking into your open mouth. “You wanted this, Angel. Look how pretty you look when you break for me…”

Your legs were giving out.

Ren had you pinned, trembling against the wall, and he hadn’t stopped moving — not once. His hips rolled slow and deliberate, dragging every second out, every pulse of overstimmed pleasure as you squirmed in his grip, breathless and begging without words. His hand was still between your legs, teasing just light enough to make you sob.

“Shhh,” he purred against your cheek, tongue flicking your skin, tasting the sweat. “You already came once, Angel. That mean you’re done?”

You whimpered.

He grinned.

“Ohh, I didn’t think so. You’re too sweet to stop now, huh? Too good for me…”

His fingers dragged down again, featherlight, and you jerked, gasping against his neck. He groaned — low and filthy — as if your reaction turned him on more than anything.

“Sensitive, baby? Yeah, I can feel it… you’re pulsing.”

He grinded down just right, riding you slow and messy, and you nearly cried out again, thighs shaking.

“Aww, you gonna cry for me?” he cooed, voice soft and mean and so in love. “C’mere—lemme kiss that pretty little mouth…”

His lips were hot, wet, unrelenting — swallowing your breath as he rolled his hips harder, grinding just enough pressure to make your back arch again.

“Nuh-uh,” he whispered between kisses, licking into your mouth, “don’t you cum again. You’re not allowed. Not ‘til I say. Not ‘til I ruin you properly.”

You were babbling now, incoherent, trying to twist your wrists out of his grip just to grab him, hold onto something, anything. But he had you pinned.

He moved one hand back to your chest — teasing, slow circles over your nipples, dragging the fabric, making it worse. You shivered, thighs clenching.

“Bet I could keep you like this all night,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “Just right here. Cryin’. Soaking your underwear. Begging me without even sayin’ a word.”

His mouth moved down — wet kisses trailing to your neck, biting lightly, then sucking, marking. You felt his teeth. You felt the bruise blooming.

You whimpered.

“Fuck, I love that sound,” he moaned, grinding harder. “You gonna make it for me again? Huh?”

He moved faster — not enough to let you finish, just enough to keep you right there, at the edge, clenching and gasping and shaking. His fingers rubbed your clit with maddening slowness, a gentle flick, a cruel pause, a sudden press that made you writhe.

“Still holding back, Angel?” he teased, his voice sticky sweet and sadistic. “Good. That’s good. I’m not done with you yet.”

He kissed your cheek, so tender, while his hips kept rolling into yours, wet heat dragging through soaked clothes, grinding his cock against your overstimmed heat until your knees buckled.

“Y’feel that?” he whispered, voice rough with need. “That’s how bad I want you. That’s how hard you make me. And you’re still not allowed to cum.”

You sobbed — a pretty, broken little sound — and he shivered.

“God, Angel,” he growled, licking the corner of your mouth. “If you cum again without permission, I’m not gonna stop. I’ll just keep going ‘til you can’t think anymore. ‘Til you’re nothing but mess and moans.”

You couldn’t hold it in.

You came again — full body trembling, eyes rolling back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your thighs clenched around nothing, soaked, pulsing around the ghost of him.

Ren froze when he felt it.

“Ohh—fuck—you came again?” he gasped, voice all breath and disbelief. “God—look at you, Angel. Can’t help it, huh? Can’t stop. I didn’t even put it in yet…”

You whimpered, still twitching, and clutched at him.

“Please,” you whispered, barely a voice. “Please, Ren. I c-can’t—don’t tease me anymore—please, I need you in me—”

And that broke him.

He groaned, something guttural, and pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wild with a filthy kind of love.

“Nothing other than you turns me on,” he whispered, grinding against you one last time before pulling back — enough to slide you down, pull you both into position.

He laid you down flat, then moved like he was in a trance — wrapping his arms under your knees, tugging you up until your legs rested on his shoulders, folded under him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staring at you all laid out. “I always wanted to be inside you like this. Wanted to see your face when I ruin your insides. Wanted to feel you from the inside out.”

You sobbed, biting your fist, nodding over and over, and he lined himself up — finally, finally — and pushed in.

“Ren—!”

The stretch knocked the air out of your lungs. The way he filled you, slow and deep, had your back arching, mouth wide open in a gasp.

He was trembling. Moaning. Eyes locked on where your bodies joined, watching the way you swallowed him down inch by inch, like your body was made for him.

“Say it,” he begged, voice cracking. “Tell me what you want, Angel. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“So good,” you choked out, tears in your eyes. “I’ve never felt this full, never felt this—happy, Ren, fuck, y-you’re—you’re making me feel so good—”

And he moved.

Deep, slow thrusts at first — dragging against every nerve, every raw edge — and then faster, harder, pounding into the mess he’d made of you, hips snapping as he buried himself again and again.

“Louder,” he begged. “Wanna hear it. Wanna hear you say how bad you need it.”

“I n-need you,” you cried. “I always need you—!”

“Yeah? Then take it,” he growled, snapping his hips. “Take all of me, Angel. Let me make you a mess inside. Let me fill you ‘til you can’t think anymore.”

Ren was gone now.

Drunk off the sound of you, the feel of your walls clenching around him, the way you sobbed every time he shifted even a little deeper. His hair clung to his sweat-damp forehead, eyes wild, lips kiss-bruised and swollen from mouthing every inch of your skin.

And his smile?

Wicked.

"You really are the cutest when you’re pathetic," he purred, voice ragged and so full of dark sweetness it made your chest ache. “Look at you. Can’t even think, can you? Can’t say my name without crying…”

His hips slammed forward, and you screamed.

He laughed, a breathless, broken little sound — not cruel, just obsessed. “There it is. That sound. Gonna keep it forever, Angel.”

He pulled out suddenly, just to watch your hole flutter and clench, a slick mess between your thighs.

“Fuck, you’re still twitchin’. Still greedy.” He leaned in, kissed your temple, then grabbed your wrists and tied them above your head with the cardigan he’d been wearing earlier. “Guess I better slow down... make you beg again.”

But he didn’t slow. He pushed back in so hard your breath caught, and your tied wrists yanked above you as your back arched off the bed.

He leaned over you, hand wrapped around your throat — gentle, filthy pressure — while he fucked into you, deep, letting his pelvis grind against your swollen heat every time.

And then…

He flipped you.

You yelped, face pressed into the pillows as he pulled your hips up, ass in the air, wrists still bound behind your back now.

“Ohhh, look at you,” he groaned behind you. “All spread out for me… ruined… soaked… and still beggin’.”

He drove in again — deeper, meaner — and you wailed, thighs shaking from the overstimulation. You could barely breathe, barely think.

And he was loving it.

“You’re makin’ a mess on me,” he moaned. “Again. You just keep cumming, huh? You want me to break you? Is that it?”

You couldn’t answer. You could barely breathe.

So he pulled you up again — this time into his lap, forcing you to straddle him, his hands on your waist as he bounced you down on his cock.

“C’mon,” he growled against your lips. “Show me how bad you want it. Ride me. Make a mess. Cry for me again, Angel. Just one more—fuck, just one more time—”

You slammed down, again and again, dizzy, sobbing, drooling against his chest, the drag of him inside too much and not enough and perfect. You collapsed into his shoulder, voice raw, throat dry from moaning nonstop.

And he held you, thrusting up from beneath while you shook, body breaking from the inside out.

“‘M gonna fill you up,” he whispered. “Keep you leaking for hours. Gonna tie your legs together so it doesn’t drip out. You’re mine, Angel. Always fuckin’ mine.”

And the next orgasm hit — no warning, no control..

You didn’t even know what you were saying anymore.

Your voice was nothing but choked gasps and broken cries, babbling nonsense against Ren’s shoulder as he slammed up into you, arms wrapped around your waist like he was holding onto salvation.

“Ren—ah—Ren, I can’t—please—”

“Y’can,” he moaned into your neck, voice unraveling. “You’re gonna. C’mon, Angel—one more. F-fuck—give it to me—let go—”

He was trembling underneath you, hips stuttering, lips kissing everywhere he could reach. His hands cupped your ass, helping you grind down onto him as he thrust up, again and again, the slick sounds between you loud and filthy.

Your whole body locked up.

It hit you like lightning — sharp, white, wet — your back arching, your wrists pulling against the tie, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as your body gave in.

You came hard — twitching, clenching, soaking him all over again — and he felt it.

That was what did it.

Ren shouted, voice cracking in your ear, and slammed you down one final time as he came, buried deep inside you.

Hot. Wet. Endless.

You felt it pulse, thick and messy, and you whimpered at the warmth flooding your insides. He held you tight, hips grinding even as he came, like he couldn’t stop himself, like the only thing keeping him alive was staying inside you.

“Angel—fuck—fuck—fuck,” he sobbed, shaking under you. “You feel too good—too tight—can’t—can’t stop—”

You collapsed into him, both of you panting, shaking, drenched in sweat and slick and each other. He kissed your temple, your jaw, your lips — over and over, whispering, trembling, clinging.

The first thing you remember was the sunlight on Ren’s chest.

Bare.

Tattooed.

And gorgeous.

You blinked blearily, head fogged from sleep, your cheek squished against a pillow that didn’t smell like yours. Ren's warm arm was draped over your waist, his face tucked lazily into your shoulder, pastel pink hair tousled, the sky-blue ribbon slightly loose from where you'd tugged it during... well.

And then your eyes drifted down—

“...Ren,” you croaked, voice raspy from sleep (and a little too much use). You squinted at the elegant cursive along his neck. Your name,

He made a soft noise against your shoulder. “Mmh?”

You blinked again. “Your tattoo... it says my name..”

His eyes cracked open—barely—and his mouth twitched around the lollipop stick still tucked between his lips.

“I-It’s not what it looks like,” he mumbled.

You rolled over to face him, wide-eyed. “What does it look like, Ren?! You got my name on your neck!”

“I-It’s—it's ironic!” he choked, suddenly fully awake, grabbing the blanket like it could protect him from your screaming. “It’s not your name, I swear—! Maybe, I...”

He flushed instantly.

"WAIT THAT GOTH GUY HAD THE SAME TATTOO LIKE YOURS. is that why you were sweating that day?!"

“I-It’s not like that!” he sat up straighter, flustered. “I—I was, uh… I was cosplaying Haruko. Y'know. That one time. T-To celebrate stuff.”

You stared at him.

And then it hit you.

Your eyes widened. Your jaw dropped.

“NO. NOOOOO.” You screeched, scrambling backward on the bed. “NO WONDER I KNEW YOUR HAIR WAS A DYE!! IT WAS YOU?”

Ren looked like a deer in headlights. “A-Angel, I can explain—!”

You grabbed his face, both hands, eyes wild. “You—You were the goth e-boy I showed Violet?! The one I said I’d fallen in love with at first sight?! THAT WAS YOU?!”

He looked like he wanted the mattress to swallow him.

“…Y-Yeah.”

You screamed again.

“REN YOU’RE—YOU’RE BUILT?! YOU HAVE A FULL- YOU HAVE A BARCODE ON YOUR RIBS?! WHAT IS XIV? WHAT IS THIS ‘V’ SYMBOL ON YOUR HIP? REN, YOU ARE TATTOOED?!”

Ren groaned, dragging a hand through his pink hair. “Angel, please, I was gonna tell you eventually—!”

“EVENTUALLY?!” You pointed an accusing finger at him, still gaping. “You mean to tell me you saw me showing Violet a blurry photo of you, me drooling over ‘some hot e-boy’ and you just stood there pretending like you didn’t know?!”

His face was crimson now. “W-Well, I didn’t know if it was me at first and then you said the bakery and the pier and the outfit—and I panicked!”

You stared.

He cringed.

You died.

“Oh my god."

“Angel,” he groaned again, voice breaking, “I wasn’t trying to trick you! I just— I liked you. And then you said you liked that guy...and.."

You were silent.

Then you whispered, utterly destroyed, “Ren.”

You both sat there—devastated, breathless, the weight of the ridiculous, spiraling, rom-com-from-hell moment sinking in.

“…Do you still think he’s hot?” he asked quietly, rubbing the back of his neck....

[vn-reblogs]

He would look great pregnant!!!

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Depression M/C (2)

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Depression M/C (1)

I remember reading somewhere in Tumblr about how he treats M/C if They are in this state and locks them up but he can't leave them alone and will break the door to comfort them, which I find so cute about it

Gotta post this before i forgot , you can check in my wall if you want to read more ,lmao

[vn-reblogs]

Ren owes me 19 dollars😤💸

What if mc finds out rens stalking them buuut they aren't freaked and are happy /estactic about it? And what if they start stalking Ren now too... (Just an idea I thought of, you can get around to answering this when you want or not at all! Have a good day 🫡)

I'm not really answering any Angel-centric questions right now, but here is a fic I wrote involving a yandere Angel, and here are some posts with similar answers to what you're looking for:

Ren's reaction to a yandere Angel

Ren's reaction to an Angel who's just as obsessed as he is

Ren's reaction to a soft yandere Angel

N's reaction to a yandere Angel

Ren with a yandere Angel who's obsessed with someone else

I'd like to reiterate once more that I'd really appreciate it if people could search the blog before sending in any asks, as I tend to skip over the ones that have been answered multiple times before.

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ren getting upset when you don't use his card to buy things 🚬 he takes any and every opportunity to spoil you but he's also trying to train you into spoiling Yourself 🚬 so he praises you after you send a screenshot of a big purchase and says to keep going 🚬 he's got the money to spare 🚬

[vn-reblogs]

Random Solivan Brugmansia Headcanons Part 2

Art Credit: @ Chemziere on IG or @ cheamiiii on Tiktok (in case you can’t read the watermark)

Sol’s a D1 Gooner for m/c

⚠️Warning: Suggestive Language, and Violence Mentioned

—————————————————————

Headcanons 🎃:

Has considered getting more piercings, but you heavily influence this decision. If you told him you like his piercings he’d say something along the lines of “I was thinking about getting more…”in order to get a response out of you. He wouldn’t outright ask you this because he’d be nervous. If your response is along the lines of:

“You should definitely get more! Piercings are cool!” then he’s immediately getting more. Just imagine him straight after lecture speed walking off campus to a piercing shop. Also Bonus points if you suggest a certain piercing. The next day in one of your shared courses he has said piercing(s), though a bit swollen

“Oh that’s nice…” or No response would result in him tweaking out internally. Outside he’s non chalant about it and doesn’t bring up piercings into a conversation again. But He’d crash out, you can imagine he rips out all the piercings and punches the mirror at home, personally I don’t. Sol seems more like the type of person to keep his piercings. But he’d try to take breaks from wearing them, or even wears piercing retainers, since he had piercings before he even “officially” met you. He likes you but those are his piercings man. This is getting to logistical but in theory if each piercing costed about $50 USD (depending on where you go and location on your body and all that, it’s way more than $50 but let’s say $50 and not factor piercing guns which are cheaper) his upper body piercing including his ears would be about $700 USD since he has 5 on each ear, and he has his nipples pierced plus the spider bites on his lips. Only if you outright said “I don’t like piercings” is when he would consider removing his piercings.

Moving on from that analysis about his piercings, he would have some freaky piercings. I saw a person talk about him having a dick piercing and yeah I agree with them (shout out whoever said that) but I wanna add on that he’d have a stack…

Also! Imagine Sol with a tongue piercing… lowkey he’d have a silver one instead of a black one. Yeah he’s mismatching his jewlery but silver ball is superior (I’m sorry don’t cancel me)

Sol would go to great lengths to take care of his piercings! He cleans them daily with saline and does the whole salt water soaks if necessary.

Imagine Sol with a septum, not a ring or the the one withs the ball ends. A SPIKEY ONE!

Sol seems like the type to stretch his septum (if he had one) or his ears. Speaking of stretching his piercings I don’t think he’d be the patient type. He’d probably experience blowout (ouch if you’ve experienced it) because he couldn’t wait.

He gives off impaitient in general. Sol does not wanna play the waiting game anymore

This is more piercing talk but if you have piercings Sol has definitely thought about asking you about matching ones! But if you take the initiative he’d be cheesing, like kicking his feet in the air giggling.

“I was thinking that we get matching piercings Sol” his Jaw drops then he freaks out inside.

I can see Sol getting tattooed since he already has several piercings. Definitely would tattoo your name on him, though its between somewhere visible like his neck or arm or somewhere private like across his chest or above the groin (quite freaky if you ask me).

Some other tattoos that seem very “Sol” could be something Edgar Allan Poe related, maybe a raven in reference to “The Raven” or a line from a poem. A silly idea would be a pumpkin since yk you’re his “pumpkin”

Speaking of that imagine if he had a raven tattoo and you say something like “wow I like your Crow tattoo!”… like Crow? Which sounds like Crowe? Crowe as in that Ichabod?! Yeah Sol’s getting a coverup tattoo or if he’s feeling extra violent he’d scratch his skin off…

This idea is just goofy and doesn’t even sound like a headcanon but imagine Sol tattooed your face on his body somewhere like “aww” but also “wtf?”

Enough with the body mods and tattoo talk, moving on

Would love matching anything. Matching clothes? YES. Matching Jewlery? Sol might as well buy you a wedding ring and propose to you right there. Matching Hair? He already has the hair dye ready. He’s obviously crazy about you so Matching is beyond what he can imagine. Plus it would show others that you belong to him.

Speaking of matching I don’t think he would enjoy any commentary such as “awww you guys are so cute together!” Or “I love the matching the sweaters” like yeah boosts his ego but also “WTF?!” like what do they mean they love the sweaters? Do they love you? Also why are they complimenting you?! Why are they speaking to you?!(Sol is included in the compliments but he’s crazy so no logic there) The Brightside is that ygs are recognized as being together…

He’s probably really into smelling you, even if you are stinky and you came back from the gym or something. Your smell drives him CRAZY.

Forgot to mention but if you ever make him something, he tweaks out. Like oh you made him a bracelet? He wears it even in the shower. You made him lunch? He’s cheesing and finishes every last bite. Wrote him a note telling him “good luck” on a final? Yeah he’s keeping that note forever, of course he laminates it. As mentioned in part 1, he’d have a shrine, and everything you made for him resides within that shrine.

Your Opinion matters as stated on multiple occasions. If you ever say something like “oh short hair looks good on some people” then he’s getting that haircut. Same thing if you like long hair, he’d grow it out for you.

Quite literally everything he does is for you.

While we don’t know information about Sol’s family and if he even has any, if you asked him about his Family he’d get really quiet and you should take that as a hint to move onto a different topic.

I forgot if I mentioned this in my last post, but Sol is the type to wear guyliner and do his eyebrows….

Keeping up appearances is important to him as it directly impacts your perspective on him.

On my Sol you are the apple of his eye

He would enjoy intimate moments: sharing a pair of earbuds with you, video calling late at night, falling asleep next to eachother.

But if you wanna get freaked out and have sex all the time then he doesn’t mind that…

Sol’s down for all kinds of intimacy because it’s with you.

Even though your first “hangout/date” was the arcade at the movie theater, Sol would put in effort towards a “makeup hangout/date” so that you can see the better of him. Plus he’d like to know you and spend time with you. (He does know everything about you but he’ll pretend like he doesn’t know your social security number especially at a moment where you’re aware of the time you’re spending with him god he’s such a freak)

He manifests you. Sol is not exactly the religious or spiritual type but I mean if collecting crystals and getting tarot readings will help him date you then hell yeah. He needs all the help he can get, he already knows he has you but just for security I suppose…

We already are aware that he stalks the shit out of you and likely has photos of you but just imagine Sol walking to a print store asking the cashier to buy a 6 foot poster of you. The cashier isn’t paid enough to question Sol but they’re also like “wtf?”. Logically Sol would probably ask Hyugo for help since Hyugo has resources or Sol has a used and abused printer at home (Lolz)

As Stated in the last headcanon Sol doesn’t seem to be studious but if he needs to then yeah he can lock in. On one assignment he could get a D; the bare minimum, but he can easily get an A. Though the professor would question him if they cared enough.

Sol would lock in for class if it involves you. Although Sol is irrational and aggressive it doesn’t mean he isn’t academically Smart.

Socially he sucks and is awkward plus antisocial. This is seen with his interactions towards you and given the fact that his only friend is hyugo (albeit through a mutual agreement or contract). I mean you don’t just ask someone to get married after they compliment the lunch you made.

Anyone who’s not you isn’t worth his time. Regarding assigned partner work, he’d ask to do it alone or Hyugo in advanced helped him out and had the professor assign the two together. I can see Hyugo also helping Sol out by bribing your professor to pair you together on several occasions.

Sol is the Crazy ex. If you managed to breakup with him he’d go insane. He’d isolate you and kill everyone you love like duhh but let’s start out slow. His immediate response would be to get back together with you, he’d apologize and literally get down on his hands and knees begging you to come back. You’re stupid if you think he would let you go so easily. If he can’t get back together with you through apologizing and begging then he’d move onto finding out the cause. He’s stalking your socials, and also your friends to see if they were the reason. If Sol can’t deduce anything from his investigation then that’s when he becomes hysterical and takes it out on everyone with an axe of course!

Scenario

You: “I’m breaking up”

Sol: “I’m pregnant!”

You: “I meant the phone”

Sol:”Sorry I panicked” ahhhh Sol

Really suggestive but regarding sexual intimacy he’s so freaked out, if you can match his freak then you’re in for a long ride. Sol is the type to be into anything. He has to be open minded for his pumpkin.

An Idea I had is rather than let’s say Sol having photos of you up on his walls, he has portraits and all kinds of paintings of you on his walls plus the photos but more so Art of you. If he was into sculpture then he’d carve a marble statue of you. You are his muse. An analogy that can explain this relationship is how the ancient greek scuptors idealized the body and human form, Sol is the greek sculptor and you are the ideal form of the human body. You are beauty.

Speaking of art, he has definitely crashed out after drawing or painting you. Maybe the lightings off or he drew your eyes wrong, he’s putting that piece into storage or something. While he wasn’t able to capture your essence properly, he can’t bring himself to throw it away or destroy it because he thought of you while making it. The next piece he spends extra time on it.

He’s such a yearner. He has that yearning playlist dedicated to you on Spotify. I can already envision the Jeff Buckley “everybody here wants you” or Radiohead “all I need” albums on the playlist

Speaking of Music Sol looks like the type of listen to pierce the veil and sleeping with Sirens or some other alternative music but in actuality he’d listen to your favorite music (if it is actually PTV and SWS then hell yeah) or some other sort of yearning music directed towards you

Sol has written Poems about you. (Yk Since he likes Poe)

Sol’s Poems would range from Haikus about you to feelings of rage towards Crowe but also the frustration he feels waiting for you to notice him.

He is the ultimate Crowe hater. D1 Anti-Crowe.

To be honest Sol’s obsession with you is quite deluded. He is self aware that he is unhealthily obsessed with you but he doesn’t care. Feelings of doubt towards you are nonexistent and he’d shut down any contradictions. If Hyugo were to comment on Sol’s infatuation with you, Sol would be infuriated and say something snide like “your advice wasn’t a condition I agreed to” or straight up “shut the fuck up.”

In the “No Witnesses ending” where you strangle him with his choker, he probably enjoyed that. The physical part, not the part where you’re crying about Crowe because you love Crowe and not Sol. Boo Crowe👎 also Boo Hyugo👎 after he stabs you

It’s canon from Fantasia Tumblr that after the NW ending that Sol begs Hyugo to kill him. But if Hyugo doesn’t kill him, Sol would die exactly how you did. Sol would stab himself in the chest, kind of sweet in a sense, but it’s symbolic. It’d be retribution for your death indirectly caused by Sol.

Sol has a belt collection and specifically a studded belt one. Just imagine Sol with a green checkered belt.

Sol would change his aesthetic for you. He’d be like Ren from 14 days with you (if yk). If you say that you prefer softer aesthetics then he works on becoming your preference. You’re funny if you think you can have a type, like what do you mean type? Sol is your type and Your type is Sol. Sol becomes your type, your ideal boyfriend and eventually husband.

Sol pours his blood sweat and tears into you. All of his being goes towards you. You are his reason for living (duhhh)

I feel like one of Sol’s main methods for courting you is through imitation he’s like the periwinkle purple audio. If you like a certain food then all of the sudden that’s Sol’s favorite food. Your Likes, dislikes and hobbies become a part of Sol. Imitation is a smart tactic since people tend to go for others that are like them/ similar. Shared tastes is an easy way to make conversation,

Sol doesn’t care about the “opposites attract” trope, especially if its aesthetic wise . Only if you believe in the “opposites attract” trope then Sol would be fine with it

He’d let you yap about interests, some drama you heard, complaints. He’s a listener, but he can be a yapper (only if you want him to be)

I feel like sometimes Sol get tired of cooking since he cooks lunch for Hyugo and himself all the time.

Sol has a high tolerance for mostly anything you do. Mayb you kept burning the food while you guys were cooking at you apartment, he doesn’t mind it happens! Plus it’d be an honor for him to taste your cooking. Or Maybe you made stupid financial decision, dw Sol’s got you. But if you spend more time with someone other than Sol? That’s his final straw.

—————————————————————

Okay That’s enough. I spent over 2+ hours writing these and I can see a part 3. These have been checked for errors to the best of the abilities. Again thank you for all the support! And Suggestions are appreciated! I noticed in this series of headcanons I jump back and forth between ideas, apologies in advance, things just come to mind. I know I said I would write Crowe headcanons and I will soon! Also I don’t know if any of you notice but my formatting is between two types as I progress as a blogger. Okay enough thanks again you perverts… Also let me clarify that I do not condone the things Sol has done to m/c in the game, let me live and have imaginary headcanons, though some are on the far side of headcanon much less canon behavior.

[vn-reblogs]

love your self

Damn it , I forgot to post this again

(Its just a joke, Lmao dont kill me )

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rendacted wip

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What’s on your mind , pumpkin ? Focus ... only on me .

（Really proud of this piece! Gonna share it here too~）

[vn-reblogs]

Got motivated so here's Ren (repost)

[vn-reblogs]

dang. i really liked the shape of the eye (I feel like it added some charm to it)

Please Tumblr don't censor the drawing just because of the tasty male breasts and poorly rendered muscles🙏😭

anyway this was supposed to be something like a selfinsert nsfw page (I forgot the right name)

but i got lazy (again :3)

[vn-reblogs]

Heyyyy MOMO!! 💖

Can you write me Teo fic?/silly /lh

lol jokes apart, but I have had this lil headcanon of artist Redacted and their muse angel. Or a WEBTOON creator redacted and their editor angel, slow burn pro max hehehe ✨✨

Blowing you up mwah mwah 💥 🖤🖤

forgot my own formatting WHATEVERRR

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Unsociable Webtoon Artist Ren yayyy

"Thank you for supporting us! Enjoy the rest of the con!" With a bright smile, you wave away the two attendees and sit down. 

The man beside you gives off a grumble as he loudly slides your chair closer to his. "Finally. 'Thought they'd never leave." He practically drapes himself over your shoulder, pink hair brushing against you. [REDACTED]'s lips press to your cheek, chin, then find a favored spot on your neck.

"You're gonna get us kicked out," you whisper, but make no move to get away. 

"Don't get my hopes up."

You let him be. It was your last day in the artist alley. They'd done almost everything to keep people away from the booth, but the allure of Always With You merch and an autograph from the (disgruntled) creator was enough for a few devoted fans to approach.

Some even stopped by more than once. 

"Heyyy you guys!" came the voice of a patron you'd seen plenty over the weekend. They wore an obscure cosplay each day, and today's outfit was a sight to see.

You stood up as they came closer — both of you ignoring your partner's tch of annoyance. "Oh my god. A Gloomy cosplay??" You scrambled out of the booth to get a closer look.

"Yeah, I just had to after yesterday. It was rushed, and I didn't really do too well with the wig—" They shake their head to let the dark bangs fall over their face. "—but I think it looks great, right?"

"It's amazing!! Ren, we've gotta take a picture!" Excitedly, you turned back to him. 

He reluctantly stood, dragging himself over to you as if pulled by a leash. "We're not supposed t'leave the booth unattended, Angel. Regulations."

You give him a look. The gall of him to say that after running sabotage all weekend. "Okay, nerd. Make it quick then."

[REDACTED] pushes up his glasses and pulls out his phone. As you scoot beside the cosplayer, you suddenly remember his… horrible picture taking etiquette. "Actually, let me do it."

You take his phone — despite the screen being cracked to shit, it did have much better photo quality than yours — and nudge him towards your number one fan, then line up the shot.

The fan wore a huge grin, completely opposite to Gloomy's character. But someone had to be smiling in this picture. "Rennn," you goaded him. 

He managed to draw his mouth into something more presentable than his trademark frown, and gave a sarcastic thumbs up.

It was the best you'd get. You snapped the photo.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

You spent another twenty minutes gushing with the fan about AWY while [REDACTED] openly sulked. Having someone else around to match your non-stop-yapper energy had other attendees coming up to take a look. In spite of your partner's menacing aura, the cheery atmosphere of your booth didn't drop when the Gloomy cosplayer left. There was even a line for a little while.

By the time the artist alley closed, you'd sold way more than you expected. But you were exhausted.

"Ugh, I'm so glad we're not tabling tomorrow," you mutter as you shove the remaining merch box into his car. 

Your blue eyed companion gave a smug smile over the open trunk.  "Never goin' to a con again?"

"Not what I said." You roll your eyes and lean against the car. "Come here."

He slams the trunk shut, all too happy to have the ordeal over with. As they step closer, you're tempted to collapse into his arms. 

Instead, you reach up to ruffle his pink mop of hair. "You survived another ten hours of people who aren't me. Good job."

The sudden blush creeping up his neck betrays his outward calm. "... 'S fine as long as y'had fun."

With a quick look around the parking garage to make sure no one was around, you decide to tease him further. "Who's my good boyyy?"

"Me," came his instant, proud reply. He lets you go on a bit longer before leaning down to bump his forehead against yours. "Ready to go home, love?" 

"Oh good you're still here!" The smile on [REDACTED]'s face melts away into pure disgust, and you turn around to find the source of his mood. 

The Gloomy cosplayer waves as they run over. "I forgot to give you my socials so you can tag me!" Surprisingly, they approach your notoriously unfriendly partner. 

You can see the angry gears turning in his head as they hand him a crinkled napkin scribbled with their information. 

They seem unperturbed and continue talking as he stands there with a frown. "I can't wait to see the picture! And for the next Always With You chapter. Gloomy is such a great love interest! He really compliments the main character so well and — I mean I don't need to tell you that but honestly they're my OTP!!"

"... … … … Thanks," [REDACTED] eventually replies. You stare in amazement. He hadn't said a word to them all weekend.

Someone across the garage shouts for them and they hurry away. "Bye!!"

Confused but somehow satisfied with the interaction, you take the paper from his hand before those unhealthy urges get the better of him. You both get into the car. [REDACTED] mulls over his thoughts, biting the corner of his lip for a few moments.

"I coulda ripped that stupid paper up in front o'them just now," he suddenly says. You nod. "But I didn't." 

You nod again. "Yeah, you didn't."

He confidently nods along as he starts the engine. "So I deserve more praise n' head pats when we get home."

"That's not how it works."

[vn-reblogs]

Crossover

Sol and REDACTED have the same energy and looks. AND I LOVE THEM ALL!!!😻😻😻❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

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I beg of you please, PLEASE, a CRUMB of soft/fluff [REDACTED] content p le a se

I just wanna- I just- I wanna- hhhhhhnnnnghh-

(sorry i’ve gone absolutely bonkers, feel free to ignore this!)

⌞♥⌝ I got a bit angsty at the end with this one, sowwie

"That's it. Now move your hand here." With the utmost gentility, your beloved hacker moves your fingers along the fretboard until it's in the correct spot. "Just like that."

He gives you enough space to strum the guitar yourself, though his chin doesn't seem to move from its spot on your shoulder. Cold, blue eyes peer down with a look of pride in them as you fumble around with the strings, and [REDACTED] pays no notice whenever you mess up a note or rush through the tempo. Instead, he gives you an encouraging nod of his head and steadily taps your thigh in an attempt to keep you in time with the rhythm.

Soon enough, [REDACTED]'s bedroom is filled with a soft melody, and you beam up at your partner with a wide, accomplished grin on your face.

"Here," Leaning back into the warmth of his chest, you shift the guitar in your shared laps so that [REDACTED] can easily reach over to grab it. "Why don't you play something for me now?"

A look of genuine consideration pulls at their features before they take you up on your offer — gently pulling you and the guitar closer to his chest before peering over your shoulder once more.

It must've been second nature with how easily his fingers fall into place, and before long, the immediate sound of a soft, haunting song starts to fill the once-empty silence once more. Although you weren't able to see his expression, you could tell that [REDACTED] had found their flow state with the steady rise and fall of his chest, as well as how languid their grip on the instrument seemed to be.

After what feels like hours, his melancholic song soon comes to a slow stop — until the only noises left are your shared breathing and the quiet hum of your partner's PC in the background.

"I used t'play that song for my sister when we were younger." He muses, "It used t'calm her down whenever—"

Almost suddenly, you feel [REDACTED] adjust his position from behind you before his grip on the guitar returns. "Here, d'you wanna learn something else? Why don't I teach you another easy riff?"

[vn-reblogs]

Ren owes me 26 dollars.

Dang idky, but i was thinking how embarrassing it would honestly be to have Ren/ redacted watch us on cameras cuz i personally fart alot when im alone, so i have to ask, would he ignore it or find it funny maybe??

⌞♥⌝ Ren will play a game where he'll try and guess what sound of fart you'll make based on the food he (lovingly) watched you eat earlier. If he gets it wrong, he has to turn off the camera feed for .5 seconds. If he's correct, he gets to take a whiff of your dirty laundry.

In any other scenario, Ren won't think anything of it since he knows it's natural and everyone does it 🫶 Normalise tooting lmao