#the juxtaposition of reading of what their relationship used to be vs how its devolved really twisted that knife extra hard thanks mika

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

— ✧ scrawled in sand — j. wonwoo x reader

inspired by hozier’s ‘all things end’

description. "loving wonwoo was like taking a breath of air. you don’t get to think twice before you inhale, and so you never thought twice about loving wonwoo. maybe that’s why he stitched himself a little too deep, and now you’re wondering when exactly did the thread cut loose."

✘ genre. smut (18+ / mdni), break up au, angst ✘ w/c. 2.8k ✘ a/n. sorry ig. anywho! this is for @ressonancee my beloved ^^ and thank u @cheolhub for reading over this 4 me and @lovelyhan for beta reading c:

✘ smut tags. fem bodied reader, fingering, pet names (angel), creampie

If there was anyone to ever get through this life With their heart still intact, they didn't do it right

Your friends tell you that you should have seen it coming.

They’re right, in retrospect—you should have seen it coming—but that isn’t so easy. It can’t ever be easy when you love Jeon Wonwoo, and that’s because loving Jeon Wonwoo is as easy as breathing.

You wonder if you let yourself love him too easily. Too much, you dare say, because you’re starting to realize that when you love too much, Wonwoo begins to stitch himself into the very walls that build up your life.

The needle must have pricked on your first day of high school when you saw him for the first time after summer. Loving him was easy then, because he smiled so brightly and patted your head so fondly you could melt into his arms. It must have sunk a little deeper on your guys’ first prom, when he asked you out with a poster and cheap flowers because it was the only thing his crappy life-guarding job could afford. Loving him was easy then, because he pressed his lips to your cheek and held you close.

Loving Wonwoo was taking a breath of air. You don’t get to think twice before you inhale, and so you never thought twice about loving Wonwoo. Maybe that’s why he stitched himself a little too deep, and now you’re wondering when exactly did the thread cut loose.

It couldn’t have been in college, no, because Wonwoo agreed to study in the same city as you in a heartbeat; because you made love for the first time in your creaky little dorm bed after kicking your roommate out; because through those four years, you were still breathing and you were still loving and that thread was so deeply rooted that it might as well have been a part of your soul.

Late nights on campus when you would sit in the library together and pretend you were studying. Pretend, because loving Wonwoo was too easy and one teasing glance turned into another before the two of you would be giggling like school kids until you were kicked out for being too loud.

Scurrying away with your bags stuffed with unfinished notes to makeout behind some building under the dingy yellow light of a lampost, his lips sucked your breath away, but that’s okay because even if you weren’t breathing, you were loving Wonwoo and that was more than enough.

It couldn’t have been when you moved in together after graduation, because that first night Wonwoo danced with you in your barren living room to the staticky radio the landowner left behind, and when he looked at you it was with flames in his eyes. You loved Wonwoo too easily, and so you forgot that all fires die eventually. Sometimes, when you close your eyes, you still imagine you can feel the embers.

You conclude that it must have happened slowly.

To love Wonwoo was to breathe, but you failed to realize that it is not always easy breathing.

You should have listened to your friends. Being high school sweethearts was a high—it was your peak, you realize now. You and Wonwoo were hiking towards a goal—to make this work—and somewhere along the climb you must have gotten lost.

Breathing was no longer easy because the air was thinning, but of course, that happens slowly. So slowly, you aren’t sure you’ll ever find out exactly when that thread snapped; you’ll only ever know when you finally felt its whiplash.

You wake up rather early for a Sunday morning. You’d like to blame it on the empty spot next to you, but you rather enjoy the extra space.

(You feel plenty warm on your own anyways.)

There’s a rustling outside your bedroom, coming from down the hall, and you aren’t quite sure what he’s doing.

(You’re even less sure if you’re bothered enough to find out.)

You glance at the time. 7:17. You figure you might make use of your early waking, slipping from beneath the covers to leave the room. There’s something heavy in the air when you do, and you feel it in every thudding step you take.

(Does he hear the rumbling as deeply as you do?)

“Wonwoo,” you call out, when you walk into the kitchen to find him pressed against the counter, mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

(When was the last time you called him “Won?” “Woo?” “Love?”)

“What is it?” he asks when you stand by the island, looking up from his phone, but the screen still stays on. You want him to turn it off, but then you think again.

(Why should he?)

Wonwoo glances back at his phone when you take too long to respond. You click your tongue and shake your head, turning away. “I forgot.”

(Ask me, ask me, ask me. Ask me if I’m okay.)

Silence follows as Wonwoo leaves the kitchen to grab a bag from the pantry. “I’m going to the farmers’ market now. It’s my turn this week.”

(When did you stop slipping into the car together, Wonwoo’s thumb brushing over your thigh as you sing along to the morning blues? When did you stop holding hands, skipping through the market, grabbing samples, and feeding each other through hushed giggles and soft-lipped kisses? When did you start taking turns?)

“Do you remember what you wanted to say?”

(If you held out your hand, would he take it?)

“Remember to get the tomatoes.”

(Loving Wonwoo is too easy, and maybe that’s why you never really noticed when you stopped.)

You imagine this would hurt less if there was a ring on your finger. It isn’t difficult to admit you married the wrong person, tied by legalities and social burdens pressed down on you.

It’s harder to say you’re bound by a love that once was.

It’s okay, in some ways; you’ve learned to live with it. Most days, you two work your way around the elephant in the room. But today, you’re tired. You’re so, so tired and it’s getting just a little too hard to ignore that the calf has grown into something much, much bigger.

Loving Wonwoo was like breathing, and now it’s hitting you that you’re at a loss for air. When you step through the front door, you think everything might give out.

Wonwoo sits on the living room couch on his laptop, and you aren’t sure what he’s doing, but you think it hardly amounts to any level of importance right now. “Wonwoo? Wonwoo?” you call out and there’s something in your voice—like you’re searching for him even though he’s right there—and Wonwoo just caves.

There’s worry laced into his tone when he calls your name and for a second, you think things have already been mended. The stitches feel as they have tightened and you let yourself dream that this will be your rebound, but then you realize that Wonwoo is only concerned because your eyes are welling with tears and you’re staggering against the wall, limbs trembling and lids heavy. He stumbles a little to get to you, and you think that Wonwoo always used to find it easy to come to you.

(When did things change?)

“Hey, what’s wrong? You’re crying—” When Wonwoo grabs your arm, you kiss him fiercely, not because you feel fiercely, but because you hope it will ignite something tonight.

Kissing Wonwoo is almost as easy as it was to love him. Years and years of his lips against yours and now it’s just like second nature, the way your tongues glide and prod into each other’s mouth. Wonwoo’s lips are chapped, and he tastes faintly of the coffee that sits on the corner table.

(Wonwoo likes to make it on the French Press, for 4 minutes and 15 seconds to be precise, with a dash of milk and 3 cubes of sugar.)

“Wonwoo,” you whine like your throat knows so well—hoarse and desperate just how he likes and tonight it works, because Wonwoo is wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you deeper. His palms dig into your flesh so hard you want to cry—but you’re already crying—so you press your face into his neck and suck instead.

He groans into you, his hands slipping underneath the hem of your shirt, and so you move on to suck and lick against him again because you once loved the sound of his breathy moans and you’re convinced that if you hear it just once more, it might just make you fall right back in love.

It doesn’t, but you’re not really surprised. His hands are running all over your waist, your stomach, and still, it feels good, at least for now. You know Wonwoo knows how to make you feel good, after all, it was just that he never really did it anymore.

(No hard feelings though, because when was the last time you unbuckled his belt and palmed him through his boxers like you’re doing right now?)

Warm hands creep up, brushing over your hard nipples, pinching and tweaking between deft fingers, and you throw your head back and moan. You’ve always been a bit sensitive there, and as he roughly yanks the buttons of your work shirt loose, Wonwoo uses what he knows to his full advantage.

“Bedroom,” you breath out, tangling your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging softly. If it hurts, Wonwoo doesn’t say anything.

(Has he ever told you if it hurts?)

He nods, limbs still tangled with yours as your feet follow the silent path down the hallways. You stumble through the door together and your back is hitting the mattress before you can even discern what is left and what is right.

(When was the last time your bed felt this warm?)

“Angel,” Wonwoo mumbles into your mouth, pulling away just an inch to slip the shirt off his head. “Angel,” he says more intensely this time, speaking from his throat and oh this will be your undoing, because you are no longer Wonwoo’s angel but for this moment, you two can pretend.

Shimmying your shirt and bra off, you leave it fall on top of Wonwoo’s on the ground before playing back down on the sheets and opening your legs. He’s got his hands at your waistband, yanking the pants right off your legs and something about the way the cool air hits your bare skin makes your ache run a little deeper.

“Wonwoo,” you mewl, reaching for his face so you can smash his lips into yours once more. He doesn’t taste much like coffee anymore. Now, he just tastes like Wonwoo.

(You aren’t sure which you prefer.)

“Oh fuck,” he moans against your cheek when he grinds down into you, bulge pressing against your thigh as your body grows warmer and warmer.

(Is this the fire you so desperately tried to light?)

With your hands caged around his cheeks, Wonwoo looks at you with heavy lidded eyes and you wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. There was a time where you could tell, but that time has passed and now you’re panting into his neck when he brings his fingers up to your soiled panties.

Rubbing against the nub over the slick fabric, your blood buzzes and your back arches into his touch, legs spreading and spreading until they have no further to go. “So beautiful,” Wonwoo tells you, thumb circling over clothed clit as your tits heave up and down in tandem with your harsh breaths.

(Beautiful, because you are beautiful. You’ll always be beautiful, but being beautiful will not always matter.)

“More,” you whine, thrashing against the sheets when his thumb is no longer enough. Hooking your finger under your panties and tugging it to the side, your core is all shiny and flutter and beautiful when it’s on display to Wonwoo.

His finger is in your cunt before you can plead with him again, because now is not the time to make you beg. It has not been the time to make you beg in a long, long time. One turns into two and soon you’re moaning incoherently as his knuckles plunge into you, caressing your warm walls so methodically one would think it’s ingrained into Wonwoo’s very DNA.

You feel yourself coming close to your end and so you wrap your fingers around his wrist to make him stop. He looks up at you and—oh, those eyes—his lips are on yours again, so your legs wrap around his bare torso as you roll around in the sheets.

If you think hard enough, it feels like one of those blissful mornings. The ones you see in movies, lovers entangled in nothing but kisses and souls as they exist in the world they’ve built up in their head. You imagine that could have been you and Wonwoo, if only you had found your way back home.

Soon, you’re pushing him onto his back against the headboard as he kicks off his pants and boxers, and there you are, climbing onto his lap, pressing your naked back to his chest. Settling the back of your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, you lift your hips just high enough so Wonwoo can hold the fat head of his tip against your swollen folds, and you brace yourself.

There’s a mangle moan that erupts from both of your lips when you sink down, and for a second, you almost fall back in love. He’s filled you to the brim as you shake above him, adjusting to the size and you wonder if Wonwoo has always made you feel this full. So full you feel you might implode if you get any closer, but still, you dig your heels into the mattress and grind down anyways. If you’re going to burn tonight, you might as well enjoy this while it lasts.

Wonwoo’s throbbing inside of you, hands holding their iron grip on his waist as he helps you lift yourself up and then bounce right back down. You can’t see the look on his face, but you imagine he’s got his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, eyes shut, and eyebrows pinched together every time your cunt envelopes his cock.

“Angel,” he mutters into your ear when you reach one hand up to grab at his hair. One of his own large hands grabs at your tits, squeezing the soft flesh as your hips begin to swivel more and more erratically. Wonwoo teeths at your neck and collarbone, leaving splotchy red marks that you’re sure will bruise the next morning.

(No worries though, they’ll fade eventually.)

“Fuh … fuck,” you cry when your stomach starts to churn and your vision starts to grow bleary. It’s so much—so, so much, and you start to think that your body won’t be able to handle much more when your limbs grow limp. Wonwoo starts to fuck upwards and into you now, and the sound of skin slapping against skin leaves a ringing in your ears.

Just a little more. Just a little more. You’re sure Wonwoo feels it too, and thus his hips jerk just a little bit harder and his grip grows just a little bit tighter.

When you cum, it’s with Wonwoo’s name on your tongue. It’s broken and it’s strangled, but it is there and he soon follows suit, moaning about his beloved angel into your skin from behind as he spills his hot seed into you.

You’re both messy all over—sweat and cum and drool slips between your bodies and you should feel gross, but your body still trembles with the aftershocks of your orgasm and you find yourself reveling in bliss.

You sober up a few minutes later, but still, you sit in a haze.

Nuzzling into Wonwoo’s neck, you search for a fire—a spark of anything, really. Desperately, you rake for a glimmer of heat in his heart, and as you begin to grow colder and colder you drift.

Did you douse the flame? Months ago? Years ago? Or did it fizzle out on its own? You learn that you won’t ever know. Wonwoo probably won’t ever know either, so you figure if there’s one way you’ll spend eternity with him, it’ll be in ignorance.

You’ll start packing your things tomorrow. You’re sure Wonwoo will understand.

For now, he wraps an arm around your stomach and presses his mouth to your shoulder, and the soft brush of his lips makes you shudder. Your friends were right: all good things come to an end, but you figure that if this is how they come to a close, you don’t really mind.

And all things end All that we intend is scrawled in sand Or slips right through our hands And just knowing That everything will end Won't change our plans When we begin again

a/n. reading this over i was like owie why did they do that and then i realized that i wrote this and now i’m kind of wondering why i decided to do this to myself in the first place but it was fun so i don’t rly care

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