spearb-gf

[spearb-gf]

Begged & Borrowed

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 30.2k

Warnings: infidelity, drinking, smoking, use of pet names, unprotected sex, breast/nipple play, dry humping, clitoral stimulation

Synopsis: A turn of events causes you and your longtime best friend Minho to confront your true feelings for each other- except you’re already getting married to somebody else.

[this work was based off a request from “🌷” anon - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

For as long as Minho has remembered, he’s been in a constant state of grieving. But no one’s passed, nor is there any reason to believe something should happen. Nonetheless, the feeling remains, a cruel reminder of the phenomenon when it hits him suddenly, eating away at his thoughts and boring into his flesh.

Like a seed planted deep in his body, one that suddenly sprouted, and won’t stop growing, and growing. And in his mind, this grieving takes its form in viridian hues of ivy, thin stringy stems that wrap around his bones and constrict him to a life lived within the cage of his own body. Rubbery leaves of green with venules that mirror his own veins and seem to mock him as they replace what’s left of him. And Minho can do nothing except coexist with this heavy sense of grieving, let the ivy strangle him in its unsuspecting embrace and rob him of his last breaths. He’s still in there, trapped somewhere, breathing in labored breaths and stiff at the limbs. But he can’t breathe, and he fears one day this grieving is going to kill him.

*

Minho exhales deeply, balancing a small cardboard box which houses a white cylindrical cake in his hands, his eyes darting nervously over the crowd inside. There seem to be 20, maybe 30 people, already acquainted with the space, chatting amongst themselves with glasses of champagne in hand. He’s tried your cell phone twice, to no avail- of course he knows you’re probably making your rounds, chatting with guests and double checking the hors d’oeuvres are to your liking. But he tries one more time just in case, bringing the phone up to his ear and letting it ring once, twice, three times- voicemail.

There’s no way around this but to go inside and socialize for the next hour, Minho’s personal idea of hell on earth. He grips the box a little firmer with one hand, using the other to slip his cell phone back into his pocket and make sure he can access it easily, just in case he needs to look busy. And with one more deep sigh, he begins the journey inside, mentally preparing to pretend as though he cares about any of this.

The venue interior is spacious, and admittedly a breathtaking view at this proximity, much to Minho’s stubborn dismay. Round white tables line the wooden floors, wrapped in velvety cream tablecloths and glowing in the dim lightning of tea candles. Similar cream-colored lanterns line the ceilings in neat rows, parallel to the strings of bohemian bulb lights that serve more as decoration than to actually brighten the place. And by the marble wall fountain at the back of the open space, there’s you, all dressed up and chatting enthusiastically with a group of women. Minho pauses for a moment, not yet proceeding, as he takes in the sight of your elegant appearance. Your figure is hugged delicately by a slim-fitting dress, a pair of strappy heels complementing the loose curls and simple makeup you sport. And he sighs again, feeling as though this is all going to be in vain the second he approaches you.

Yet he doesn’t even have to- you spot him from across the room first, whispering something in another woman’s ear before making your way toward him, an enchanted smile on your face and such purpose in your step as you near him. Minho’s heart quickens in his chest the way it always does when he’s around you, though his demeanor seems to relax fully once you’re in front of him, your arms extending for a hug as he shoots you a saccharine smile and pulls you into his embrace.

“You made it!” You exclaim enthusiastically, your arms wrapping around the broad shoulders he flaunts under his white collared button-up. He smells familiar, a comforting mix between fabric softener and his musky cologne, and it brings you right back to your days spent alongside him in college, catching late-night movies together and hitting up all your favorite fast food joints.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Minho replies sweetly. He chuckles a little as he speaks, lost in the striking glow of your eyes at this proximity, your long eyelashes fluttering as you smile in response and nod.

“Thank god you’re here,” you voice, glancing around the room inconspicuously. “I think Jung’s friends have had one too many shots. And I asked for pink flowers on the centerpieces- do these look pink to you?”

You gesture to the bouquets of very magenta floral arrangements, shaking your head as Minho laughs in response.

“Hey, remember this is just to celebrate everything being finalized. You can get nit-picky when the wedding rolls around- for now, let’s just enjoy the magenta flowers.”

You smile up at him, always endeared at the way Minho finds the good in everything. He has a special way of taking your fears or reservations and making them seem so insignificant in contrast to the world around you. And he’s been that way for as long as you can remember, quick to fix things and stay by your side through the hardships whenever they crept up on you.

Like the time your car got impounded and he walked nearly two hours with you to get it back because neither of you could afford a taxi. Or the time your holiday office party was all but sleep-inducing, and he didn’t hesitate to drop what he was doing to take you out for burgers, instead.

And of course, being by your side throughout this very burdening wedding process. Minho’s the first person who got the news of the engagement when it happened, nearly shattering the dish he washed during a session of old cartoon reruns and fast food while you were out at dinner with Jung. And it was the last thing he’d expected, too, remembering how the week prior was spent lending a kindly ear to you as you ranted about Jung’s stubbornness and his poor temperament.

“Married?” He’d spoken into the phone, like the proposition of getting an engagement ring implied literally anything else.

And when you saw him again an entire week later, the marquis diamond hugged by delicate prongs and a sterling silver band around your fourth finger confirmed the words, as if your excitement over the phone hadn’t done so already. At first Minho was angry, declining invitations to hang out and forcing himself to stay asleep so as not to feel the sheer pain and regret that came with the news. What does she even see in him? He’d asked himself a dozen times a minute, mapping out the factors you complained about to him and weighing them against the likelihood that you’d actually follow through with this wedding.

He’s messy. He doesn’t like spending money on fancy dinners, so sometimes we’ll only do sides. My parents think he’s a little arrogant and when he’s with his friends, it’s like I don’t exist.

All signs point to negative. There’s no way you’d actually follow through with marrying Jung- at least not if it’s up to you. Maybe you had stars in your eyes, couldn’t say no to the sparkly ring and had thought back to the first date when he first got down on one knee. That has to be why you said yes.

The prospect of marrying him contractually is a headache when Minho thinks about it- and that’s not even inclusive of the idea that comes with spending the rest of your life cooped up in a house with him, with children and in-laws. It would mean years of him talking back to you, undermining you and rubbing his superiority complex in your face. Minho isn’t sure he could stick around for a lifetime of that.

At least he wasn’t sure before- and now, with just two months out till the wedding, Minho is panicking. It feels like some race against time to knock an ounce of sense into you, but the stars in your eyes are still there when he catches you glancing at your ring, or moved by Jung’s actions that scream the bare minimum.

“Did you see the champagne glasses? They’re iridescent! Jung got them just for tonight.”

Maybe that’s what you see in him. His noble trait of picking iridescent champagne glasses over clear ones.

“Cool,” Minho responds, giving you a small nod.

“What’s in the box?” You ask, gesturing to the small white box in Minho’s hands still.

“Oh, just a little something,” Minho replies a little softly, watching as you slowly lift the thin cardboard lid and peer inside. And the smile that grows on your face makes everything worth it again.

“From our favorite bakery? Minho! That place is so expensive, you shouldn’t have!”

“It’s a special evening,” Minho replies with a smile, watching as you admire the intricate icing display for a moment. White fondant ribbons and candy pearls line the frosted surface which enreathes decadent layers of chocolate- all your favorites. As Minho begins to close the box, he’s rudely interrupted by a finger prodding itself into the dessert, swiping across the frosting and moving the carefully placed cake toppers into complete disarray.

“Is this chocolate?” A voice asks from behind Minho, coming forward to sprawl an arm over your shoulders and lick the frosting off his finger. “Damn, that’s good!”

And Minho can practically feel every ounce of hope in his body dissipate as he watches you giggle enthusiastically.

“Hi, Jung,” Minho says flatly, observing your destroyed cake briefly before shutting the box again.

“What’s up, man? Thanks for the cake. Hey, wedding’s in two months- I hope you have your tux ready!”

Minho responds with a thin-lipped smile, not saying anything as Jung laughs loud enough to fill the awkward silence amongst the three of you.

“What do you say we go cut some real cake?” Jung asks, turning to face you as his grip around your shoulders tightens.

You smile back at him, turning to Minho and cocking your head toward the table by the wall fountain.

“You wanna join? We got a variety of pastries, too. There’s those little cream puffs you like, and macarons from the French bakery.”

Minho extends his arms, passing the box of cake to you and giving you both a small bow.

“I actually just stopped by to gift you the cake. I have a work thing really early tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving?” You question, a small pout on your face as Jung scans the room around you, desperate to ditch the two of you, but also stubborn about maintaining his dominance in front of Minho.

“We’ll catch up soon,” Minho replies, trying his best to convey a smile that will make it seem like nothing’s bothersome.

“Okay, okay,” you respond, separating from Jung’s hold on you and pulling Minho in for another hug.

“Thanks for the cake, anyway. I’m still glad you stopped by.”

“Of course,” Minho says, averting his gaze from Jung. “And congrats on finally getting all the wedding plans finalized. That’s a really big deal.”

“She’ll be hitched in two months!” Jung chimes in loudly from behind you. “And then we’ll be on an island celebrating married life!”

Minho just nods at him, shooting him the same thin-lipped smile and bowing to both of you.

“Catch you later,” he says, finally pivoting to exit the way he entered. And he can still hear Jung’s obnoxious laughter from halfway across the room.

*

Fridays were always your designated days with Minho. In college, they meant movie nights and greasy takeout food. Post-graduation, they involved bars and gossiping about your entry level positions and your bosses. And after Jung came into the picture, they quickly became every other Friday, which soon turned to Sunday brunch on a monthly basis, which then transitioned to catching up over the phone or in brief passing. Jung made sure you were always busy doing something with him, his arm slung possessively around your shoulders and speaking far too loudly about your relationship for the whole world to hear.

Minho began to ditch the Friday group dates when Jung started inquiring about his own relationship status, getting drunk off one-too-many jägermeisters and slurring questions and demands about when he’d finally bring a girl to the function. And Minho never had the heart to tell you why he stopped showing- he simply conjured intricate excuses for every instance you invited him out.

I have a headache. I have an early day tomorrow. The cats are lonely these days.

Of course, perhaps Jung could see right through him into the green leaves of ivy that enwreathed his bones and swallowed him whole with this grieving. Grieving for you, grieving for himself, grieving for this life he knew was bound to come to a close the minute Jung made his move. Which Jung did, practically setting the relationship in stone so that Minho would now be subject to a lifetime of his offensive slurred speeches and unsettling presence. And although the grieving grew heavier after the engagement, it’s always been there, perhaps even longer than Jung’s even been in the picture.

“Jung said no male strippers at the bachelorette party, which is a bummer if you ask me. But we are having an open bar, so I’ll be too drunk to care about naked men anyway.”

Minho chuckles softly, bringing the straw in his iced coffee up to his lips and taking a sip from the corner of his mouth.

“But he’s having strippers at his bachelor party, isn’t he?”

You shrug casually, brushing off the question as you take a sip of your coffee, too.

“I don’t really care, either way. I mean we’ll be getting married regardless, so he can look at whoever he wants. I just need him to show up in a tux on the day of, and stand at the end of the aisle crying when I come to meet him.”

Minho doesn’t reply, a string of questions circling his mind, which he chooses not to ask in order to maintain the peaceful silence that now falls over you both. It’s one of the only days this month you two have been able to get some time alone, although it did require Minho taking off work early and you lying to Jung about your whereabouts. You find yourselves at the coffee shop you’ve been meeting at since your college days, an iced americano in Minho’s grasp and a latte in yours.

As Minho takes in his surroundings, everything feels vastly different than it used to- the distance between you two feels much greater, like there are miles separating the beverages you consume at this proximity to each other. The baristas don’t shoot you curious looks like they used to when they were certain you two were an item. And the shiny ring on your finger makes an appearance every sip you take, glistening under the beams of sun that dance through the windows and fall over your enthusiastic figure.

“What are you up to this weekend?” You ask finally, meeting his shy gaze as he taps his fingers on the wooden surface of the table.

Minho shrugs, toying with the lobe of his ear as he thinks of a random commitment to voice back to you.

“Oh, you know,” he stutters. “Moving stuff.”

And he’s completely unsure, himself, of what the words imply as they escape his lips.

“Moving stuff? To where? Where are you moving?”

“I’m not moving,” he emphasizes. “Just… moving stuff. Things. I want to rearrange some picture frames. And maybe reorganize my bookshelf.”

You sigh in response, a small smile tugging at your lips as Minho does his best to maintain the bogus narrative.

“Minho, you never leave the house anymore. Why don’t you go out with Jung or something? He’s doing a golf thing with some of-”

“No, thank you,” he interrupts quickly. “I’m not a golfer.”

And you sigh again, cocking your head at him.

“Okay, mister ‘moving stuff.’ Will you at least call me when you’re done moving your stuff and your things?”

“I’ll call you,” Minho reaffirms.

“I mean it. I’m gonna call you when I get home from the party and you better not be asleep on the couch again.”

“I promise to answer,” he echoes.

You smile at him again, and Minho mirrors the action with a small smile of his own, his skewed teeth exposing from behind his plump lips as he grins sheepishly.

“Moving stuff,” you repeat, mocking his excuse.

“Moving stuff and things,” he emphasizes, chuckling lightly across from you.

*

Bachelorette parties are supposed to be one of two things: freeing, and cathartic. Luckily for you, yours checks both boxes, the two-day retreat to a luxury hotel in the city providing ample time to relax, and the shots you down at the open bar in your venue fulfilling the cathartic part of it. Your girlfriends shower you in presents, ranging from expensive dining sets and clothes, to humorous sex toys for you and Jung to try on your honeymoon. Even the bartenders join in on your two nights of dancing, parading your event with handmade signs and getting everyone in the bar to sing to you. And for the first time since the stress-inducing year of planning has begun, you feel excited, ready for your new life as a bride alongside Jung.

Husband and wife have a nice ring to it, you think to yourself, as you kick off your shoes and lie back on the thick white duvet of the hotel bed. And though you’re still a little tipsy, you keep your promise, selecting Minho’s contact in your phone and giving him a ring. The phone rings once, twice and then three times, before you conclude he’s definitely fallen asleep on the couch again, probably while moving around his stuff and his things. But you’re proven wrong on the fourth ring, a gentle click echoing in your ears as you hear him press the phone to his ear and speak in a tired voice.

“Hello?”

“You’re asleep on the couch, aren’t you?”

“…no,” he responds, after a short pause.

“You’re so predictable,” you chuckle back at him, shaking your head as you sigh into the phone.

“How was the bachelorette party?” He inquires, sitting up on the couch he definitely wasn’t asleep on, to speak a little clearer into the receiver.

“It was amazing,” you reply with a dreamy sigh. “We did karaoke, and danced and even the bartenders were wishing me good luck. It was like something from college.”

“I’m glad,” Minho responds, nervously picking at the hem of his ratty old t-shirt.

“I’m a little drunk,” you say with a gentle laugh. “But I couldn’t help but wish you were there. The girls are great, of course, but I feel like bars were our thing.”

Minho blinks nervously a few times, pondering your words and keeping his gaze locked on the array of neatly-placed picture frames on the wall across him.

“Yeah,” he settles on replying, his breath hitching in the back of his throat.

“Do you miss me?” You query, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. And Minho can’t comprehend what’s got you acting like this, flirting with him in the phone line while Jung isn’t around.

“I do,” he responds after a brief pause.

“I’m serious, Minho. As your best friend, I’d hope that you miss me sometimes.”

There it is- the clarification is enough for him to exhale the deep breath he’s been holding in all this time.

“Yeah,” he says again. “I miss you, as a friend. And I’m glad the night was enjoyable.”

“You hate bars,” you say to him. “But you used to let me drag you out to them. I miss you.”

And he nods on the other end, repressing the real emotions that eat away at him like, you might see them over the phone if he feels too deeply.

“I miss you, too. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say sarcastically. “Goodnight. Thanks for answering.”

“Sure thing,” Minho replies before ending the call. And the room is eerily quiet now that he’s awake, the clock on the living room wall ticking with the passing seconds, as the ivy in his chest constricts a little tighter now.

*

Jung’s bachelor party is nothing short of insufferable. It’s loud, it’s rowdy, and it’s neither relaxing nor cathartic. Unless you define the two as getting lap dances in a smoke-filled limousine driving down the freeway a million miles a minute.

Minho sits quietly on one side, refusing every advance from the female strippers as they flaunt their beautifully-sculpted breasts in his face and dance to the loud rap music. He pretends to use his phone, having no service in this part of town, and yet still resorting to switching frantically between the compass feature and the weather app. And then he tips each stripper a generous amount, apologizing to them profusely as he gets off at the first stop and orders a cab. Where exactly the limousine is taking them, he doesn’t even care to know. Jung questions no part of it, not even having wanted to invite Minho in the first place. And while Minho waits for his taxi, he calls you, frantically wishing he could remind you Jung’s possibly the worst person you could have chosen to marry.

“Hi Minho,” you speak into the phone, shuffling about on your end as you tend to some household work. “I thought you didn’t get reception wherever you were going?”

“I found a way,” he responds, lying through his teeth.

You narrow your eyes, pausing your work to listen in to the phone call a little more closely.

“Minho, did you… leave?” You question, taking note of the way there’s not a sound in the background of the call- not Jung’s booming laughter, nor any music of any kind.

“No,” he says quickly, and you let out a deep sigh.

“Now you’re lying,” you remark.

“I’m not-”

“You’re talking in short responses, and I can’t see you but I know you’re doing that blinking thing. Why would you leave?”

Unfortunately for Minho, you know him like the back of your hand, always quick to clock when he’s lying to you through his nervous habits. The same habits you’ve studied since your days together in college, and ones he’s never been able to stop doing no matter how hard he tries. Minho lets out a deep sigh and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look, it’s just not my scene, okay? I’m still going to the wedding, it’s not like ditching a bachelor party is going to ruin your marriage.”

You shake your head and pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

“What am I going to do with you? Why are you so opposed to just bonding with him?”

“I’m not!” Minho exclaims. “He wanted to go swimming. I can’t swim.”

Another lie.

“Look,” you begin. Would you just come over if you’re not going? We can talk about it here.”

Minho nods eagerly, the idea of spending time by your side sounding much more appealing than a weekend with Jung.

“I’m just waiting on a taxi,” he says. “I’ll be there soon.”

And when he hangs up, you stare briefly at the contact phone of you two, running your fingertips over the dimly lit screen. It’s an older photo, of you guys in college out at a bar, Minho smiling enthusiastically and giving you a piggy-back ride. And although it’s still Minho, it doesn’t feel anything like the version of him you know now.

*

“I don’t want this to set the precedent for the rest of our relationship.”

“Don’t want what to set a precedent?” Minho questions back.

“This! You running away from Jung every chance you get so that we’re only able to bond when he’s not around! You’re my best friend, Min. Why can’t you guys just make it work so that I don’t have to divide my time between the two of you like this?”

“You had no problem learning to divide it when we were in college,” Minho says frustratedly. “Now that you’re engaged it’s like I’m engaged to him, too. I don’t like the guy, okay? Whatever we make of that as friends isn’t in my hands, but it also doesn’t mean I’m gonna jump at the chance to go golfing with him every weekend.”

You’re quiet for a moment, his frustrated speech circling your mind as he remains sprawled out on your couch. He’s right, to some degree- you know very well that the two of them never got along well. And try as you might, they’re just incompatible in every way possible. Jung’s loud, he’s stubborn, he’ll never say no to a social outing and he’ll only make an effort to get along with someone for a finite amount of time before he’s disregarding their existence, much like he does Minho’s. And Minho is quiet, soft-spoken, only social when it comes to you and takes his stance on a person just minutes after meeting them. They’ve already reached the stubborn conclusion that they despise each other, and at this point in your life, there’s little you can do to change it.

“I just want to know things are okay between us,” you remark.

“Things are okay between us.”

“We haven’t had a proper hangout in months, Minho. I get married in a few weeks and then I’m afraid we just won’t see each other.”

Minho seems to understand the seriousness in your tone, sitting up from the couch to finally meet your gaze. You look disheartened, an expression Minho is used to seeing when you try to set him up with a date or when he can’t make it out to an event. But this time it seems like it has more weight to it, the way you sag your shoulders as you slouch over one of the barstools in the kitchen, completely terrified at the prospect of losing your best friend.

“I’ll tell you what,” Minho breaks the silence. “How about we plan something, just us? It’ll be like old times, and we don’t have to worry about Jung or your friends or anyone. Just for a weekend.”

You meet his gaze, too, promptly glancing at the ceiling as you think over his proposal.

“I don’t know, Jung probably wouldn’t like it-”

“This is exactly what I mean!” Minho interjects. “Everything you do is based on what Jung likes or doesn’t like. We used to go out together all the time- if you only want to hang out when he’s around then yeah, things might be a little different from here on out.”

And the words pierce through you like a dagger, yet again filling your mind with all the regrets that will come with shutting him out for the purposes of pleasing Jung. Minho is right- he’s been your best friend for years. Jung might be your future spouse, but that doesn’t mean your relationship with him has to be any more important than the lifelong commitment you’ve made to your best friend, too.

“Where would we go?” You ask reluctantly.

Minho shrugs casually, lying back down on the couch with his hands behind his head.

“Anything,” he responds. “Your pick.”

And you think over his offer again, mentally mapping out your schedule at work and what you guys might be able to do on a quick weekend together.

“Camping,” you say suddenly, straightening your posture.

“You hate camping,” Minho retorts, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah, but you love camping. I’m just doing this to spend time with you, Min. I already spent my weekend in the city. Let’s do something you like and we can have an old friend trip like we used to.”

Minho can’t help the grin that tugs at his lips, endeared by the way you always let him drag you to his favorite places just like you used to drag him. And he knows you’re a city girl through and through- you’ve always been very vocally opposed to accompanying him on his camping excursions. But maybe going together, you’ll have some change of heart if it means you won’t have to listen to Jung share all of his unwarranted opinions.

“Let’s do it,” Minho says confidently. “You’re gonna love it.”

“I’m only doing this for you,” you reply with a smile. “I still maintain that I’m going to hate it.”

*

A yoga retreat.

Jung is made to believe you’re at a yoga retreat, three hours out from your shared apartment, with a close girlfriend you haven’t seen in months.

And maybe it’s because he genuinely believes you, or he simply doesn’t care, but he doesn’t press you for any information about the event, sending you off with a chaste kiss and turning his attention back to the sports he watches on television. He doesn’t even inquire about why you fail to bring your yoga mat, leaving it folded neatly in the closet of your bedroom alongside all your workout clothes.

You do pack warm clothes, blankets and even a matching set of flashlights for when it gets pitch dark like you know the mountains do at night. And as you make your way to Minho’s house with your backpack slung over your shoulders, you’re actually a little excited, the idea of getting some fresh air sounding like a well-deserved treat after the week you’ve had in the city.

“Well aren’t you all ready to go camping,” you say to Minho in an amused tone, admiring the outfit he’s put together for the occasion. He sports a simple white t-shirt and a loose-fitting pair of jeans, coupled with a black cap he wears backwards over his brown hair. He looks a lot simpler than usual- in fact, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Minho in a cap before today.

“You look nice,” you voice to Minho, as he loads his duffel bag in the trunk of the car.

“Me?” He questions, furrowing his brows in genuine confusion. “I’m just dressed for comfort.”

“Yes, you. That cap looks good on you. God forbid I compliment my best friend.”

He chuckles lightly, helping you load your backpack into his car and closing the trunk when he’s finished.

“Ready?” Minho asks, turning to you with a small smile.

“Ready,” you echo, climbing into the passenger seat beside him.

The drive to the campsite is just over an hour long, taking Minho’s vehicle through narrow paths of dirt roads surrounded by trees. The treacherous drive doesn’t seem to faze him at all, as he keeps just one hand on the wheel, while the other rests casually on the car console. You can tell he’s done this drive a number of times before, judging by the way he needs no form of navigation and doesn’t stop to read the directional signs at any point.

“Do we need to pitch a tent when we get there?” You ask, and Minho laughs in response.

“That’s how I can tell you’ve never come here before.”

“What?” You reply with a chuckle of your own. “It’s a totally valid question.”

“Yeah, maybe if we were on Survivor. There’s tents all over the campsite. And picnic tables, and bathrooms and I think there’s a gift shop somewhere.”

You nod at his response, a little more intrigued now that you know it’s not going to be as hands-on as you thought. And when he pulls into the parking lot, he’s right- there are cabins that span the perimeter of the parking lot, presumably bathrooms and information centers about the place.

Minho puts the car into park as he helps you gather your bags, and then you both enter the cabin closest to you, being greeted by an older woman who sits at an information booth.

“Welcome!” She exclaims in a cheerful tone. “Are you folks staying overnight?”

“Yes,” Minho answers, hoisting his duffel bag further up his shoulder. “We’ll be here for two nights.”

“Wonderful!” she replies, gathering a thin stack of pamphlets. She uncaps a red pen, circling a little graphic that indicates a tent, and then slides it over to Minho along the counter.

“You two will occupy this location here- it’s just a few minutes up the hill there. The bathroom is attached to the unit, and there are a few clean towels in the drawers there.”

She slides him two more pamphlets, gesturing to their titles and keeping her gaze on the infographics.

“There’s a guide on plants to avoid, and some wildlife you might run into. Any questions?”

Minho shakes his head, stuffing the pamphlet into his pocket and giving her a small nod.

“No, thank you,” he says, looking over at you.

And the woman shoots you a smile now, gesturing to your hand.

“That is a beautiful ring,” she states, clasping a hand over her heart emotionally.

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile. “I’m getting married.”

She laughs lightly, shooting Minho a thumbs up.

“Enjoy it while you can!”

You’re quick to shake your head at her, taking a step away from Minho.

“Oh god, no, he’s not my fiancé. He’s just a friend.”

And Minho takes a step away, too, giving her a nod.

“We’re just longtime friends,” he echoes your words.

“My apologies,” the woman is quick to say. “Enjoy your stay regardless.”

*

“It never ends,” you say to Minho as you exit. “I can’t believe people still think we’re a couple when we go out.”

“It’s just a common equation,” Minho responds. “Two people. Engagement ring. Camping trip.”

“I know,” you emphasize. “It’s just so weird being so close to my own marriage and still having to tell people we’re not a couple.”

Minho swallows nervously, not entertaining the discussion any further as he takes your aversion to the idea of it as answer enough.

“It’s just up here,” Minho says, gesturing to the narrow dirt path that leads up to your tent.

The tent is a long, rectangular space, the beige tarp even accompanied by clear vinyl windows that zip up for added privacy. The inside houses a small birch wood table pushed against the side, two white folding chairs, and a single bed, just larger than a twin-sized one.

“One bed?” You say as you scan the room, dropping your bags and looking nervously back at Minho.

“All the units have one bed,” he explains casually. “I’ll take the floor.”

“You’re not taking the floor, Minho. It’s freezing.”

“I’ve done it before,” he says, unzipping his bag and pulling out a smaller pouch. “I’ll be fine.”

“But it’s so awkward to have you on the floor while I get a whole bed to myself.”

He disregards your concerns, tossing the pouch to you, which you catch in two hands and examine.

“Bait,” he says with a small smile.

“Bait?” You echo. “You mean like…”

“Fishing,” he says confidently. “We’re catching our dinner tonight.”

*

It’s a fair assumption to say you hadn’t taken Minho’s liking to camping very seriously. Sure, you knew he was partial to the great outdoors and to catching his own dinners. Of course he knows how to pitch a tent and gut a fish. But seeing him do it in action, string a spinnerbait onto his fishing rod and cast his line, watching meticulously as the bobber pulls underwater and he checks if he’s caught a bass yet, you’re admittedly pretty impressed. He looks completely in his element like this, uttering remarks about his “monofilament fishing line” that you don’t understand in the slightest, but you listen to regardless. For a brief moment, you can’t help but feel bad, seeing how much this interests him, when all you’ve ever done in the span of your friendship is drag him to clubs and get takeout together. Maybe you should’ve taken this whole thing more seriously. Maybe you should have accompanied Minho on one of his offers for a fishing trip when you still had the chance to do it without being under Jung’s watchful eye.

“We may need a smaller hook,” Minho says, as he adjusts his rod and stares out at the lake. The atmosphere is lazy and restful, the gentle lull of the lake’s deep blue water sloshing against the rocks that line the shore and swaying with the breeze. There’s a distant buzz of cicadas at this hour, and the swallows circle the vast green trees overhead that rustle in syncopation with the water. You and Minho remain seated on the flat rocks that line the shore, a cooler of ice and a small pouch of bait between the two of you.

Minho’s gaze remains set on the lake, attentively watching the bobber and praying for a bass to latch onto it so that he can instruct you on the de-gutting and cleaning process. But there seems to be no sign of fish anywhere, the only movement being the little ripples that vibrate with the sporadic activity of water bugs.

“When was the first time you went fishing?” You ask Minho suddenly, catching his gaze as he turns to you.

“First time?” He echoes. “I don’t know, maybe age seven? My dad taught me.”

You nod in response, picturing a little Minho alongside his dad, learning the ropes of monofilament fishing lines and all that jazz. You can’t help but smile at the thought of it, knowing Minho was probably so quiet, yet full of curiosity, the same way he is now.

“I wish I would’ve come,” you say finally, letting out a small sigh as you speak. “I wish I came with you on one of these trips.”

Minho shakes his head and waves you off. “Solo camping is one of my favorite things in the world. I didn’t need it to be ruined by all your city girl antics.”

“Hey!” You exclaim with a small laugh, hitting him lightly, and Minho hits you back.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, admiring the way the sunlight glares overhead and sets the water aglow with glints of light that make it almost hard to look at. Minho takes notice of the more casual look you sport, too, void of any makeup and your hair tied back loosely. Similarly, the little imperfections that mark his skin remind you of the Minho you met in college, back when you were both riddled with zits and drank cans of soda for breakfast. And now across from you, acne scars and a handsome face he’s grown into so well, you can’t help but feel your heart swell at the fact that he’s still here, this many years later, regardless of the roadblocks your relationship has taken you through. It’s a miraculous thing to have someone stick by your side knowing you’re getting wed to a person he despises. And you refuse to part ways with him, too, despite the amount of outings he declines in the name of nothing important. What a fascinating prospect, to be reminded that your most unconditional form of love comes in the form of a best friend more than even your fiancé on most days.

You open your mouth to say something, being promptly interrupted by the reel of the fishing line being pulled back, the rhythmic buzzing of the handle startling you both as it’s pulled in circular motions to indicate a catch.

“Oh my god, what do we do?” You exclaim to Minho, a sense of urgency present in your voice as you await his instruction.

“I’ll teach you,” Minho says, as he rises from his spot and gestures to the fishing rod. “Grab the handle, like- yeah, just like that.”

And you do as you’re told, approaching the rod to steady the handle in your grasp. He guides you through the careful motions, steadying your hands a comfortable distance away from the reel seat, pulling back the handle with slow, yet purposeful movements and raising the fishing line away from the gentle current of the water.

“There’s a lot of resistance,” you comment, as you pull even harder.

“Really?” Minho remarks, his hands on his hips as he looks out upon the water. “I wonder if it’s going to be a big one. Keep pulling.”

And you do, heaving the rod desperately away from the water to pull in your catch. There’s heavy resistance at first, and then a generous amount of give to the force, as the line finally glides across the water and begins to pull up toward you.

“Get ready,” Minho says excitedly. “It’s probably going to be a little skittish, just hold tightly and don’t let go.”

As he watches you pull, he takes note of the way the line struggles to move past a barrier in the water, sending ripples down the shore as you continue to pull, to no avail.

“I need help,” you voice frantically. “Minho, take the rod-”

“Just relax,” Minho echoes, coming around behind you and placing two hands over yours. He stands close behind you as he helps steady the rod, gripping tightly and helping you reel it in.

The two of you watch with bated breath as the line finally begins to move again, erratic ripples of water vibrating in the otherwise still lake as you reel in the catch.

“Here it comes!” Minho exclaims, as he continues to reel over your hands with his, his veins protruding with every slight motion as his slender fingers work around yours.

And then the fishing line is promptly pulled out of the water, swinging in front of your view and slowing its swaying motions as you take a gander.

It’s a large, juicy, vibrant hunk of moss.

No fish in sight, no catch of the day, unless for a bottom feeder. Minho says nothing for a moment, placing his hands on his hips again as he takes in the sight of the forest green mass. And then you break the silence with laughter, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laugh at the ridiculous view.

“What’s so funny?” Minho inquires with a breathy chuckle, transitioning into his own fit of giggles.

“It’s fucking moss,” you exclaim, gesturing to the fishing rod and laughing again. “We’ve been here for hours and we haven’t caught anything besides a fucking byrophyte.”

Minho laughs, too, setting the rod down to clutch his own stomach.

“It’s not funny,” he says between laughter. “We don’t have dinner tonight.”

“Yeah we do,” you say breathlessly. “We have moss.”

And the two of you almost collapse on the gravel, holding your stomachs as you laugh endlessly at the ridiculousness of the situation. The fishing rod remains propped up against the rocks, the slab of moss dangling and dripping murky water back onto the gravel.

When your laughter dies down, Minho sprawls out onto one of the big rocks, the palms of his feet flat against the warm stone as he meets your gaze again. You occupy the spot beside him, your knees bent too, keeping your gaze locked on his as you smile.

“I missed this,” you say after a moment of silence. “I missed hanging out with you.”

Minho responds in a breathy chuckle, running his hands through his hair and rolling his eyes in a joking manner.

“You should’ve come camping with me ages ago,” he says. “We could’ve been eating moss for dinner instead of fast food.”

You chuckle too, and the sunlight beams over your listless bodies sprawled out on the rocks, glints of light hitting Minho’s golden-brown hair and his sparkling eyes. He looks so angelic in this atmosphere, so at peace with the nature around him and in tune with his emotions. For the first time in a long while, there’s nothing present between you and Minho that hinders the relationship you have to each other. He’s just as important to you in this moment as you are to him. And not even the knowledge that you’ve lied to your fiancé to be here with him can come between that.

*

Lucky for you, Minho always comes prepared. Of course he’s dealt with the situation of catching nothing while fishing and needing a plan to fall back on for dinner. So it’s no surprise to you that his backpack contains cups of instant ramen and bags of chips.

“Shrimp or chicken?” Minho asks, as water boils on his portable kettle.

“Surprise me,” you shoot back, getting comfortable in one of the two camping chairs across the bed. You feel a wave of tiredness wash over your body instantly, but you also feel fulfilled, having bonded with Minho more in the last few hours than any of your double dates with Jung and one of Minho’s picks from a dating app.

Minho shuts off the kettle, tearing open packets of vegetables and mixing them with your noodles as he pours hot water in both cups.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Minho remarks, handing you a cup and sliding a pair of chopsticks across the table to you.

“Today was fun,” you say to him, as you blow on a generous serving of noodles and guide them into your mouth with the wooden chopsticks.

“You’re not half bad at fishing,” Minho states. “I think it’s just emptier this season. But your technique’s good.”

“Really?” You query. “I feel like you did most of the work.”

Minho shakes his head, slurping a portion of his noodles before speaking.

“Maybe if you ditched your lame golf nights with Jung and came camping with me more, you could get some practice.”

“Ha ha,” you muse sarcastically. “His golf nights aren’t lame, they’re actually pretty fun. You’d know if you came out to one.”

“Please,” Minho retorts, gathering more noodles with his chopsticks. “Artificial grass and polo shirts aren’t really my thing. Of course they’d be Jung’s, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means even his favorite sport is as fake as he is.”

“Minho!”

“What?” He says in a breathy chuckle. “You asked what I meant.”

You shake your head, stirring broth around in your cup with your chopsticks. You normally don't entertain Minho when he insults Jung like this, knowing he’s just going to get mad and list everything he despises about him. But tonight, being so far away from Jung, it somehow feels permissible. It’s not like Jung is going to materialize out of thin air and find out about his little remarks. You don’t get cell reception out here, and it’s possibly one of your last few intimate moments with Minho to just let loose and joke with him. So you don't say anything, allowing him free reign as he cracks jokes about Jung at his expense. And you don’t feel bad about it, either, knowing Jung wouldn’t hesitate to do the same back at Minho.

The tent falls quiet for a moment as both of you finish your meals, the only noises present between the two of you being slurping the remainder of your noodles and setting the cups aside. Minho runs his hands through his hair and spreads his legs out in front of him as he slouches back in his camper chair.

“I can’t believe you’re getting fucking married,” he says with a breathy chuckle. “That’s still so weird to me.”

“Imagine how I feel,” you emphasize. “The word ‘wife’ still kinda grosses me out.”

“Well you have about a month to get used to it,” Minho replies. And then he gets quiet, averting his gaze from yours as he blinks. “Or a whole lifetime, I guess.”

You stay quiet, too, pulling up your legs to cross them in your chair and nodding reluctantly.

“Yeah. ‘lifetime’ kinda sounds like a scary word, too.”

Minho purses his lips, and then he turns to meet your gaze again, a solemn smile on his face.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he voices. “It can also imply a lifetime of happiness. And of love. Permanence isn’t a bad thing.”

You smile at him, comforted by the optimism he brings to the atmosphere, despite his dislike for Jung, and especially the prospect of you getting married to him. He doesn’t change- he’s still the Minho you know very well, the one who takes your problems and makes them seem so small, so unimportant, until you can’t, in good conscience, worry about them anymore.

“You’re right,” you say back at him. “I’ll remember that when I say my vows.”

You think over his words momentarily, and then you meet his gaze with a knowing smile.

“Do you remember when we had to write an essay about where we’d want to travel if we won the lottery? In our literary analysis course?”

Minho’s eyes roll to the ceiling as he thinks for a moment, and then he nods.

“Yeah. You wrote about Europe or something.”

“I did,” you recall. “And you wrote about that one historical town. What was it called again?”

“Shirakawa,” Minho responds. “Small mountain village in Japan where it snows a ton and there are little farmhouses everywhere.”

You chuckle lightly, remembering the countless images Minho had shown you when he was producing his paper on the subject. You can still picture the little brown houses and the vibrant green hills in the summertime. And the winter photos looked like something out of a Christmas movie, fresh snow blanketing the village and painting the town with bright hues of white.

You think over his essay for a moment, remembering just how many times you’d peer edited each other’s papers, and Minho wound up getting the best grade in the class for how poetically he spoke of Shirakawa. He talked about it for several months after the assignment, too, always voicing his desire to visit one day and see all the farmhouses for himself.

“I wish we still had time to go,” you say finally. “I always pictured we’d go one day.”

Minho purses his lips in a thin line, your statement echoing in his ears and the words stinging. It’s moments like these he’s especially regretful you’re getting married to Jung- all the stupid, likely intangible plans you made together and promised you’d fulfill sometime down the line. And now with Jung’s obnoxious presence indicating that of permanence, Minho knows there’s zero possibility you’ll be able to fulfill any of the plans you made together.

“You have a whole honeymoon planned on a tropical island,” Minho says somberly. “That’s far better than little old Shirakawa.”

You say nothing in reply, nodding at his words and thinking back to the plans you and Jung have already booked for your honeymoon.

Honeymoon. Even that word sounds foreign.

“Maybe we’ll plan for when I get back,” you tell Minho. “Little camping excursion in the farmhouses. We can get shitfaced and pet all the little goats.”

He laughs lightly, giving you a smile.

“Sure,” Minho affirms. “We can do that.”

And then his gaze darts to his backpack which sits on the floor, his eyes widening as he sits up.

“Speaking of shitfaced,” Minho says. “I think I brought boxed wine.”

“Boxed wine?” You repeat with a chuckle. “Jesus, we really might as well be back in college.”

He rises from the camper chair to make his way over to his backpack, unzipping the larger pouch and pulling out two small black cartons of wine, giving them a small shake before scanning the room as though he’s looking for something else.

“What?” You query, waiting for him to say something.

Minho says nothing, standing up again and taking long strides to where his fishing rod is, grasping it in one hand and fiddling with the hook.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching as Minho’s expression turns serious again. His slender fingers toy with the small hook, the two cartons of wine balanced in his other hand.

You watch as he unfolds one tab on the box of wine, and then brings down the fishing hook to pierce it through the thin cardboard and string it through securely. When he’s finished, he gives it a little tug, and then raises the box of wine as he lifts the fishing rod once more, reeling the handle in the counter direction to move it out toward you.

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask again, chuckling softly as you watch Minho struggle to balance the carton of wine.

He reels the carton out further, and then slows as he drops it into your lap, moving the rod around in erratic motions and pretending to stabilize the line.

“Get it!” Minho exclaims. “It’s getting away, you have to get it!”

You play along, grasping the carton of wine in your two hands and pretending to steady its slippery grip as it flaps around helplessly.

“It’s slippery!” You exclaim back, holding it up with two hands and angling it toward Minho.

Minho gasps, and then sets his rod down to applaud you generously.

“Congratulations,” he says in a proud voice. “Your first catch. You caught your own dinner.”

And the dark night around you seems to be set aglow as laughter fills the entirety of the tent.

*

Two hours later, it’s half past midnight, empty cartons of wine on the table between you as you talk through your starkly different lives.

Minho shares tales of work you’d missed out on, dating app horror stories and recounts days from college when you’d go to nightclubs together and use fake IDs. You listen attentively for the first time in a long time, no sense of urgency present, nor the desire to set him up with somebody else. It’s you who wants to be here alongside him, rekindling your friendship and reliving your glory days. And Minho feels the same way, a gentle buzz swirling his mind from the cherry merlot and your sweet laugh in response to his tales.

“They so thought we were lying when we turned 21,” you say through laughter. “In hindsight, it’s pretty lucky we didn’t get thrown in jail for a night.”

“Yeah, only because you flirted with the bouncer,” Minho says. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t throw you in jail after offering you a drink.”

You laugh lightly, remembering the bizarre encounter, and then you slouch back in your chair as you shut your eyes.

“We should get to sleep,” you say to Minho. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he responds. “I’ll get my sleeping bag on the floor.”

“Don’t be such a fucking drag,” you protest.

“What?”

“Just sleep on the bed with me. It’s big enough and there’s less of a chance that you’ll wake up with a broken back. I’m not listening to you complain about your fucked-up joints on tomorrow’s drive home.”

Minho laughs lightly, and then he gestures to the bed.

“If you snore, I’m throwing you to the bears,” he says plainly.

“Yeah, well you kick me, I’m dumping you in the lake.”

*

Minho brushes his teeth over the small steel sink in the corner of the room, swapping out to fix the bed sheets while you brush your teeth, too. When you’re finished, you meet him at the foot of the bed, pulling your corner of the blanket down and climbing in beside him. The ceiling of the tent is barely visible in this level of darkness, just an indistinguishable outline of fabric visible as you cross your hands over your chest and exhale deeply. Minho does the same, and though he’s right beside you, he feels miles away, his exhale sounding distant as he focuses on the ceiling of the tent, too.

“It’s really dark,” you comment.

“Yeah,” he says back. “That’s the outdoors for you.”

He thinks for a brief moment, and then he breaks the silence that washes over the two of you.

“Are you excited for the honeymoon?” He asks quietly.

There’s no answer for several moments, the only sound coming from the gentle sway of the trees just beyond your tent.

And you are excited, but you’re more nervous, uncertain and disappointed knowing that everything will be so different upon your return. It’s like exchanging an old life for a new one- one that could be far worse, for all you know.

“I’m nervous,” you say candidly.

“Why?”

��Because marriage is a big deal. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m even doing the right thing.”

It’s Minho’s turn to remain quiet now, his hands folded over his chest as he ponders your words.

“Are you happy?”

There’s no response from you. Not now, not after a minute and not even after several minutes have passed. And you are happy, but you’re still much of the same- nervous, uncertain and disappointed that this new life implies change.

“Jung hates me,” Minho says suddenly.

“He doesn’t hate you-”

“He hates me,” Minho reaffirms a little louder. “The way he looks at me, or interrupts us whenever we’re talking. I’m sorry that I’m so distant from you when he’s around. The guy hates me.”

You stay quiet, knowing he’s right, but not wanting to fuel the fire that burns between the two of them.

“He probably thought we had something going on,” Minho says. “He’d kill me if he knew I was in the same bed with you.”

You scoff lightly, dismissing Minho’s claims with a wave of your hand.

“Please,” you emphasize. “He hasn’t even touched me in a month.”

And you regret the words the second they leave your lips, bringing two hands up to cover your mouth as Minho props himself up to look at you.

“What? Why?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, I genuinely want to know,” Minho reiterates, keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You’re getting married and you haven’t had sex with your fiancé in a month? Who does that?”

“He told me it was a punishment,” you say in exasperation. “We had a fight, and he told me he wouldn’t touch me if I didn’t admit to being wrong.”

“What?” Minho says, turning audibly irate. “Are you serious? What kind of cruel and unusual punishment is that?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? Let’s just not talk about it-”

“There go your excuses,” Minho says. “Your future husband won’t touch you, and you’re still defending him. Jesus Christ, it’s worse than I thought it was.”

“Would you stop?” You say to him, sitting up as he slings his elbows around his knees and shakes his head.

“Stop what? Stop being concerned for my best friend who’s clearly suffering at the hands of her own fiancé? Not gonna happen.”

“I’m not suffering,” you relay to him.

“Sure,” Minho says sarcastically. “So you never wanted to have sex in the whole month he’s kept this punishment going.”

You say nothing, swallowing nervously as you keep your gaze locked on Minho’s. He’s at a painfully close proximity to you right now, one strand of hair falling loosely in his face as his eyebrows furrow together in anger. His plain black t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders as he sits up, his basketball shorts riding up to expose a generous amount of his toned thighs. And his lips remain parted, waiting for you to say something, which you don’t. You simply stare at him blankly, your eyes darting over his gaze, down to his lips and then back up to his eyes.

Minho’s expression turns serious, too, unable to look away from your conflicted expression as you watch him.

“Not… really…” you manage to say in short words.

“Maybe not…” you continue, leaning into him a little as his arms loosen around his knees.

He somehow looks so tantalizing right now, in a way you’ve never seen him before. Sure, you’re aware Minho is good looking, and he always has been. And maybe your fleeting crush back when you first met him was short-lived, quickly moving on to date somebody else you met at a party. Maybe you were a little jealous the time his former girlfriend remarked how good he was in bed, or that she got to touch him when he wore that suit you loved so much at graduation. Maybe you even touched yourself once or twice to the thought of him, conjuring some stupid fantasy in your mind for the sole purpose of getting off to it. But nothing was ever going to come to fruition, not when he’s been your friend for years, you have Jung and you’re about to get married.

…At least not with any intention besides being fucked by him the way Jung has neglected of you for a month now.

“Maybe not until now,” you finally breathe out, your heart beating erratically in your chest as you await an answer from him.

Minho’s gaze flickers down to your lips, and then back to your eyes, furrowing his eyebrows as he makes sense of your words.

“Are you drunk right now?” He asks simply.

“No,” you’re quick to respond, shaking your head to affirm the answer.

“Good,”’Minho says. “Me neither.”

And the two of you meet in the middle, his lips crashing against yours roughly as you kiss him for the first time, hands flying to tug at his t-shirt as he brings to hands around the small of your back.

He tastes like wine, transferring the robust flavor of cherry merlot back onto your lips as you kiss him, his plump lips working perfectly against yours as you pull him closer. You want so badly to position yourself differently, to adjust your body’s awkward spot on the bed so that you can be a bit closer to him, so that you can cup his face and pepper it in breathless kisses. But you fear that the minute you pull away, Minho’s going to somehow realize that it’s you he’s kissing, his best friend of so many years, one who’s already engaged.

It’s Minho who pulls away briefly first, getting a little closer to you, while you scoot further back and lie flat on your spot on the bed.

“This is just to prove a point,” Minho says breathlessly, as he hovers over you now and steadies himself over your body with one strong arm. “It’s not cheating,” he emphasizes, and you nod eagerly at the words, suddenly aware that it’s not even the cheating aspect you were worried about. It was solely the possibility of ruining your friendship with Minho, who’s always been so vocal about his distaste for disloyalty.

“It’s just to prove a point,” you repeat, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him back down to kiss you. “Nobody has to know.”

Minho grins against your lips, pressing repeated, chaste kisses to your already swollen lips and trailing down to paint a line of kisses down the column of your neck. Your heart beats in ways you’ve never felt before, a rapid arrhythmia brought on by the sheer terror of being found out, by the knowledge that this is the one person who could single handedly ruin your engagement to Jung. And yet you couldn’t care less in this moment, as his teeth take your flesh between them and suck bruises down your neck, a generous purple color painting the goosebumps that rise upon your skin.

Are either of you in any place to return with hickeys painting your skin like you spend the weekend at a frat house? Not in the slightest. And yet you can’t help but feel this is what you missed in college all that time, the same actions Minho repeated with the few girlfriends he ran through. Fucking them sweetly in his dorm bed, roping scarves around their necks when he’d send them off and his ears turning a bright shade of red when you’d point them out in your 7am college lectures.

Was there ever a hint of jealousy present between the two of you? Maybe, you think to yourself, as a string of spit connects Minho’s lips to your bruises, peppering them in light kisses. You could never help but wonder what it was like, what those girls had experienced each time they disappeared from his dorm in the early hours of the morning. And Minho, being the gentleman he was, was never one to kiss and tell. The sex was intimate, private, the details living and dying with him only, even if the relationship went awry or fizzled out suddenly.

“We probably shouldn’t go any further,” Minho interrupts, pulling away from you to maintain eye contact. His eyes are hooded with lust, his lips pink and swollen from kissing you so passionately. And his eyebrows arch up in a state of concern, mostly worried you’re going to protest him taking it any further than this. But it’s all you’ve occupied your mind with now, wanting so badly to know what little tricks Minho wears up his sleeve, if he’s just as intrigued with the idea as you are, if he even wants to have sex with you.

“It’s not like we’re dating or anything,” you say to Minho, desperately searching for the words to indicate how badly you want this. “It’s just… some drunken hookup. It’s probably nothing Jung didn’t do at his party last week.”

“But we’re not-” Minho begins, promptly silencing himself. He begins to tell you that he’s not drunk, and you aren’t either- but he’s already caught on to your little plan.

“Yeah,” Minho then says. “I’m a little tipsy.”

“Me too,” you say with a soft chuckle. “Too much wine.”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning into kiss you again. “And I get really horny when I’m drunk.”

“Me too,” you say between kisses. “It’s not like we can just leave each other hanging. Unless you want me to rub one out beside you, and that would be more awkward.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Might as well… help each other out, right?”

“Right,” you affirm, pulling down your panties as Minho separates to pull off his shirt.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, already having witnessed him in this level of undress at every pool party and when you’d come over to his dorm unannounced. But it feels different at this proximity, his tanned skin hovering over yours and brushing against your flesh with every eager kiss.

Minho begins to ask you if he can touch you, but you’re faster than he is, taking his hand in yours and guiding it to your aching clit, letting him circle two fingers around your bundle of nerves as he pulls back to look you in the eyes.

“Jesus,” Minho remarks. “You are wet when you’re drunk.”

And your breath hitches in the back of your throat as he rubs you gently, a smirk growing on his face as you let out little whimpers. It’s been so long since somebody’s touched you like this, Jung hardly even giving attention to the foreplay on most days. His nimble fingers rub at a steady pace, his eyes boring into yours as he makes you writhe in pleasure beneath him. Minho’s eyes are sparkling at this proximity, his big brown pupils exuding curiosity and tenderness as he gauges your every reaction to his touches.

“Minho,” you breathe out desperately, arching into his touch to chase the friction.

“What?” He asks sweetly, his expression shifting into that of concern as he waits for you to speak. But he knows what you’re going to ask, also aware of the tent pitched in his boxers as he works you.

“Don’t make me ask,” you say with a sheepish chuckle.

He chuckles softly, too, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling his hand away.

“Let me get a condom,” Minho says in a serious tone. And you’d completely forgotten about protection, not even having used a condom in ages, since your only partner for several years has been Jung.

With the painful ache between your legs, you wish so badly you could ask him to fuck you raw and help ease the weeks of waiting you’ve had to do just to feel some sense of relief. And a part of you can’t help but think back to your days of college, when Minho would always ensure he kept a new one between the crisp bills in his wallet. Ones that were put to use with other women, Minho always so careful not to make any stupid mistakes or take risks the way you and Jung often did.

But you can’t let him fuck you raw, being in the middle of nowhere, no access to pills and admittedly not the most punctual at remembering to take your birth control. The last thing you can do right now is show up to your own wedding with Jung- pregnant with Minho’s child.

Minho’s cock is fully erect as he fishes around his backpack for a condom, pulling out his wallet and sorting through the bills for one. You briefly wonder what would happen if he didn’t have one- you’d likely ask him to fuck you anyway, and to finish on your face or your tits. But it’d be such a waste not to let him finish inside of you, not when you’re both this aroused and desperate for some sense of relief

You silently pray he won’t think too hard about any of this. Don’t think about who I am to you. Don’t think about how this will complicate things, and don’t think about the fact that I’m engaged to another man. Just fuck me, and we’ll deal with whatever consequences arise tomorrow.

“Got it,” Minho voices, and you feel yourself exhale the breath you’ve been holding this whole time.

Minho approaches you again, pinching it between his two fingers, tearing open the silver packet with his skewed front teeth and pulling out the white rubber. You watch with bated breath as he rests a knee on the bed beside you, steadying himself with one hand and rolling the condom onto his length with one hand.

It’s the first time you’ve properly taken note of the appearance of his cock, and he’s bigger than you’d imagined. His thick, veiny girth is tinted a bright shade of red in anticipation, his head leaking a bead of precum as the rubber grazes his tip and coats every inch of his flesh. You’re a little disappointed at the sight being obscured by the protection, but you take a sharp breath, anyway, wanting nothing more than to just feel it inside of you.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Minho asks, as he hovers over you again and props himself up with two hands. “If you think we’re making some mistake-”

“We’re not,” you say quickly. “It’s not a mistake. I promise you I’m not drunk or out of my mind or anything. I’m just really fucking horny.”

Minho chuckles lightly, and then he leans into graze his lips over yours just barely, delivering a painfully light kiss as he positions himself in front of you.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, pressing another light kiss to your lips. “I promise I won’t get mad or anything.”

You nod eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck, and then you both maintain eye contact with his hands as he carefully guides the tip of his length inside of you. You feel like you could cum at the sensation of his tip alone, your walls contracting around him desperately as he shuts his eyes in pleasure.

“Jesus,” Minho breathes. “You’re tight.”

“It’s been a month since he fucked me,” you admit shyly. “I haven’t even touched myself.”

And Minho takes it as a signal to snake a hand down between your bodies, latching the pads of his fingers to your clit once more and rubbing in gentle circles.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” Minho says plainly. “What a fucking joke.”

You weave your fingers in his golden brown tresses pulling him in for another kiss as he begins to thrust in and out of you with gentle movements so as not to hurt you. And it feels heavenly, like nothing you’ve ever felt with Jung before. There’s so much fear circling your mind, but it simply elevates the arousal you feel at the same time, your mind and body contracting in syncopation to echo the same sentiment that maybe you have indeed, been jealous of some of the other girls he’s fucked. Maybe your jealousy forced you to shut out the idea of anybody being pleasured like this by your best friend. You silently pray it never felt half this good for any of them, that he simply couldn’t get hard for them or maybe he’d neglected the same parts that drive you crazy in this moment. Because the thought of his cock inside of anybody except for you drives you mad, it feels so unnatural to think about when he’s fucking you so sweetly in the privacy of your tent, here in the middle of nowhere. Virtually impossible to feel an ounce of guilt when the nearest human is likely miles away, made even harder considering the only man who’d even care is much, much farther.

And Minho hopes you can’t feel that he’s been trying to stave off his own orgasm for the better part of 20 minutes now. His cock twitching with every thrust, his eyes shutting tightly to give attention to the sensation of your cunt clenching desperately around his thick girth. He can’t remember how he’d imagined it all those years, but he knows this feels much, much better than any fantasized version of you that ran rampant in his thoughts. One he had to stop himself from staring at a little too long when you’d opt to wear short skirts and tight little shirts to the clubs you’d frequent. A version of you he swore would one day come around to the realization that Jung isn’t meant for you, that he doesn’t fulfill you emotionally, or intellectually or even physically. Even a version of you that found exhilaration in fucking Minho behind Jung’s back, because having any version of you belong to Minho in one form or another would always take precedence over your inevitable absence following the wedding.

“Talk to me,” Minho says, as his thrusts slow a little. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You,” you’re quick to respond. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Minho captures your lips in a drooly kiss, gasping into your parted lips as he thrusts in again and holds it there for a moment.

“Is it still okay?” He asks, like he hasn’t already been fucking you for several minutes now.

“It’s more than okay,” you respond, folding your leg at the knee beside him so that he’s hitting an entirely new angle.

“Jesus Christ,” Minho breathes, squeezing his eyes as his cock grazes your cunt even deeper.

Your breaths are labored now, involuntary gasps escaping your mouth with every thrust inside of you. His cock is completely buried to the hilt inside of you, the condom completely coated in your juices and working out of you with complete ease as he fucks you.

And he fucks you like he’s yours, like he’s the one getting married to you, perhaps subconsciously to prove a point to both you and Jung. He could never fuck you like this. I’m willing to bet he never has. He could never want you the way I do so passionately and unrelenting.

“Minho,” you call to him, arching into his touch as he moves a strand of hair out of your face.

“What is it?”

“This is okay, right?,” you state, though your tone takes the form of a plea, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “It feels so good, I don’t want to ruin things-”

“It won’t ruin things,” Minho emphasizes. “We’re drunk, remember?” he says with a light chuckle.

His face is promptly buried in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses along the flesh and whispering promises against you that exist only in the intimate space of your shared tent.

“I’m just helping you out while we’re here,” Minho repeats. “And then you have a wedding to run off to.”

You smile up at him, fingers massaging his scalp lightly as he stays still inside of you, his cock pulsating lightly inside of the rubber as you take him.

“I would’ve asked for help a lot sooner if I knew it’d be this good,” you say with a saccharine smile, allowing your fingers to loop in his hair and tug lightly.

Minho chuckles down at you, his smile instilling an almost immediate sense of comfort once more as he begins to move again, his cock grazing your cervix with every slight movement as he lets out little gasps over you.

“I think I’m gonna cum,” you breathe through labored pants. Your tone sounds surprised, almost, at the prospect of your best friend coaxing an orgasm out of you.

And maybe you are, never having thought that this camping trip would end up with him inside of you, making love to you the way you picture the events of your honeymoon to unfold. Your best friend since college, and the most vocally displeased person at the reality of your engagement to Jung.

And the moment Minho’s been fantasizing since he first confronted his own feelings for you, a time completely unbeknownst to him now. Maybe it was the time you let him stay in your dorm bed when he wasn’t feeling good, or the time you baked him his favorite cake for his birthday most people seemed to have forgotten about. But the pinpointed time doesn’t matter right now- he’s here, your entire being is his for the night, and love or not, he’ll take any form of you he can grasp so desperately at.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, too,” Minho says back, his hands digging into your waist as he moves a little faster.

For several moments, nothing else is said between the two of you, only the echoing sounds of skin and drool and his toned body working itself in and out of you teeming around the dinky little tent like an erotic film on low volume. The sounds are muffled, both of you doing your best to remain hushed in your words and your breathy exchanges to each other, almost as if it’ll all be too real if you voice it any louder than this.

But all of this is very real, the actions serving as a sealed promise between the two of you to maintain this remarkable relationship you’ve developed with him. One in which you traverse the complexities of dating a man who’s never quite fulfilled you the way Minho caught on to very early on. And in turn, Minho uses the opportunity to fulfill you in every way he’s able to, whether it means being there at 3am to lend a kindly ear, concocting your favorite dishes after waking up hungover as a result of drinking to mask Jung’s shortcomings. And even to fuck away the stress Jung instills inside of you. To meet you halfway with his version of intimacy, one Jung has withheld from you for so long, and to remind you that although the marriage implies permanence, things could still be so, so different.

“Cum for me,” Minho says to you, leaning in to keep his lips pressed to yours. “Just let go of everything. Don’t think about him right now.”

And somehow it’s those words that assist you in reaching your finish, the subtle command to eject Jung from all your thoughts and replace him with Minho and Minho and more Minho.

It’s Minho easing the pain, Minho kissing you so tenderly, Minho thrusting his hardened cock in and out of your soaking cunt as you whimper helplessly beneath him.

And it’s Minho who finishes first, squeezing his eyes tightly as he feels his tip releases strings of cum into the constriction of the rubber condom, the finish feeling as though it’s the heaviest he’s had in months.

And the gentle pulse against your flesh coaxes out your own release, contracting around his wet girth and dribbling cum along the length of the condom as he fucks you through your fervent moans.

“God, you’re amazing,” Minho voices, as he pulls you in for a much gentler kiss. He holds his lips there momentarily, grazing them softly over yours, every part of him wanting to stay right here inside of you.

But as his cock begins to soften against him once more, he pulls out without another word, stripping off the condom while you watch him.

Strands of sweaty hair hang loosely in front of his face, framing his flushed appearance as his nimble fingers work to tie the condom off. He looks so attainable, so forgiving as he moves, and every part of you wants nothing more than to pull him close again and keep him tangled in your needy embrace.

“Minho?” You ask, as you sit up on the palms of your hands to meet his gaze.

“Hm?” He hums in response, discarding the condom and running two hands through his disheveled hair.

“Would you stay like this?”

He chuckles softly, occupying his spot again and pulling the blankets up to his chest.

“I’m not taking the floor anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, would you stay... close to me?” You ask shyly, your eyes flickering over his figure as he lies beside you.

He sits up to meet your gaze, reaching a hand out to you, his palm facing upward as he shoots you a sweet smile.

“I can stay close to you,” Minho reaffirms, pulling you close to his chest as he lies flat again, your head resting on his broad chest.

His chest rises and falls with every breath, his eyes shutting gently as he revels in the sensation of you seeking comfort beside him like this. And he can’t help but press a series of soft kisses to your temple, smiling when he hears a soft giggle escape your lips.

When the tent falls quiet once more, your listless bodies welcome the sleepiness that washes over you, euphonious melodies of crickets engaging in the sounds of nightfall outside. And Minho’s hand rubs gentle back and forth motions along the small of your back, reassuring for one last time that you have nothing to feel guilty about.

*

It’s like a moth to a flame, the way you’re drawn to Minho in the morning, despite the promise of it being just one night with him.

You’re hypnotized by the way he pulls on his sweatpants, chuckling as he nearly trips over himself in the confined space of the tent. His veiny hands working nimbly to chop vegetables and crush herbs as he prepares you one of his signature omelets. The silence that falls over you both while you eat, two fascinated gazes stuck on each other knowing very well you’d let him do it all over again if you weren’t so pressed for time. And when he’s helping you hoist your heavy backpack over his shoulders, the pressing urge to kiss him is present again, as though you seek a reminder that what occurred was indeed real and not some lucid dream conjured up within the darkened campsite.

An urge which you act upon, leaning into press your lips to his as he turns to ask if you’re all packed. And one which is reciprocated with a smile from him, grinning against your lips as he takes his time cupping a hand to your cheek and grazing his fingertips along your skin tenderly. With no real purpose, no sexual implication, no rush. Simply a kiss to conclude the trip, which may very well have been everything you needed as it precedes the wedding.

And with shared smiles between the two of you, Minho leads as you make your way back through the informational center. The same woman is sat at the desk, except she says nothing as you pass her by, a scowl on her face at the sight of you. You watch as she bows politely to other guests, inquires about their stay and offers them hard candies from the glass jar in front of her. Except she says nothing to you, almost appearing to shake her head as you pass her by.

“She was nicer yesterday,” you voice to Minho, your concerned gaze scanning his expression for a reaction. But he doesn’t give one, shrugging lightly as he holds the door for you on the way out.

“She’s probably having a bad day,” he says back. “Don’t worry about it.”

And it’s not until he takes your hand in his again that you realize it- this woman who you’d so confidently corrected on the fact that Minho is not in fact your fiancé, has witnessed you kissing him and holding his hand on your way out. Like a scarlet letter you wear upon your chest, except it’s you who put it there. Confirmation that you’re disloyal- a cheater, simply put. You want to defend your actions, but realistically, to whom? Not to Minho, who actively facilitated it. Not to Jung, who would kill you both if he knew.

And not even to the elderly woman, who you can’t explain it to, because it’s different. It’s not cheating, not when it’s Minho. He’s not some drunken hookup from a dive bar, or someone who’s relentlessly pursued you despite your protests. He’s your best friend, one who did you a favor in the absence of your fiancé’s desire to satisfy you. It’s different, you want to say to her. It’s not cheating with Minho- he’s different.

But you settle on the uncomfortable silence that remains when you climb into the passenger seat of Minho’s car, watching the trees melt into a blur of green hues as he backs out of the parking lot. And his hand meets yours over the center console, intertwining your fingers to put your mind at ease like he can somehow read your mind.

Perhaps he can, being the person who’s known every one of your thoughts so intimately since your time in college. And he also reads into your dismissal of the event when you finally let out a gentle sigh, lacing your fingers with his and allowing him to press a kiss to the back of your hand.

*

The arrival home is a non ceremonious one, Minho dropping you off a block before your shared apartment with Jung to avoid the interrogation he knows he’ll get.

He assists in gathering your bags, consolidating your items to ensure you can comfortably carry them up the block. And for a minute, the two of you say nothing as he sends you on your way, a kind of sparkle present in his eyes as he stares at you. He looks different today, a saccharine smile on his face and a much calmer demeanor overall. Every bone in your body wants to jump him and pepper him in kisses, to thank him for relieving the pent up sexual frustration in you and affirming that your fears surrounding this wedding are valid, but they don’t imply that you won’t enjoy married life, either. They’re just… feelings, ones you often find trouble confronting in the presence of Jung, and ones that you realize you’ve probably never confronted at all, if not around Minho.

The fears are valid, and they’re not fleeting in the slightest. But they are lessened with the reminder that Minho’s beside you every step of the way- regardless of how it manifests in your relationship. And the silence remains, as Minho shoots you a small wave, his eyes flickering briefly over the distant outline of your apartment.

“Hey,” you call out to Jung, who’s lazily sprawled out over the sofa, his feet laid flat upon the coffee table.

“How was the trip?” He asks enthusiastically, not taking his eyes off the sports channel that echoes loudly in front of him.

“Oh, you know,” you reply casually. “Just yoga. Always good to see old friends, though.”

“I’ll bet,” Jung replies, chuckling sarcastically as he speaks. “Seems like the only person you’re around these days is Minho.”

And then he reaches for the remote, lazily flipping through channels as you set your bag down.

“He’s my oldest friend,” you say casually, hoping he won’t notice the audible shakiness in your tone. It feels like he can hear how loud your thoughts are, the fears circling your mind, an expression on your face painted with incrimination. You think of your heart racing while Minho kissed you, the way his cock felt inside of you, your clit pulsating gently at the mere memory of it.

“Yeah, well, change is good,” Jung finishes. As you turn the corner, to meet him in front of the couch, you take note of his lap- a small, white cardboard box propped upon his sweatpants, the top ripped to keep it open and his hands working and out of it in rushed motions.

It’s the cake, you quickly realizing, your heart sinking a little at the sight of the frosting in complete disarray, almost half the dessert either smeared around the sides or piled on the fork he brings up to his lips.

“Listen,” Jung says, between a mouthful of food. “I have a golf thing this week and I want you to come see a couple buddies of mine.”

“This week?” You echo, your mind pondering all the potential excuses you can use against him. But nothing comes to mind, as Jung sets the box of cake aside and stands up from the couch.

“Yeah,” he says casually. “My buddy from college is gonna be in town, and he wants to get together before the wedding.”

You want so badly to protest his offer, knowing very well that Jung’s friends are nothing short of insufferable. They very seldom like you, openly voicing their concerns with your flaws, and they’re protective of him, as though Jung is the one who’s sacrificing more by being wed to you.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask, a small smile on your lips to offset the anger that could very well erupt in response to your statement.

But Jung just brings two hands up to your shoulder, rubbing the sides as he turns his attention back to the television.

“Not really. Hey, the game’s on again but make sure to clear your calendar on Thursday for me. And let’s bring that wine we got recently.”

“The white one?” You question, sagging your shoulders a little at his lack of hesitation to offer your favorite wine as a housewarming gift to his friends.

“Yeah, that one,” he says plainly, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead and slinging his body back over the couch.

“By the way,” Jung voices, motioning for you to move out of the view of the tv screen. “Where’s the cake from? Shit’s good.”

Your gaze lands on the box again, completely torn apart, the icing letters indistinguishable and the fondant ribbons in disarray on the cardboard. You can’t help but think of Minho and his careful attention to detail- the way he picked all your favorite colors, the flavors he knows you love, all from your favorite bakery you very seldom even visit because of the steep price points.

“Babe?” Jung calls again, spooning a layer of frosting into his mouth. “I asked where the cake was from.”

And you shrug casually as you pivot on your heel to exit the room.

“Minho picked it,” you say as you stride away from his still-slouched figure. “I wouldn’t know.”

*

“You have to freeze your cake and eat a piece of it every wedding anniversary,” Jung’s friend Kwang explains, as he brings a cigar to his lips and inhales generously. “That’s what we did, and we still have enough red velvet to last fucking years in there.”

“I love it,” Jung replies in a chuckle, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nudging you harshly. “Course, I’m not sure this one could stop herself from eating the rest of our cake for a whole year. She’s got a bigger sweet tooth than I do.”

You distance yourself from Jung a little, fiddling with your golf club as the men share echoing laughter between puffs of smoke.

The golf course Jung frequents is massive, spanning several hectares of land, which means you’re often stuck here for a long while during his golf sessions. His friends are the same detestable group of men he’s usually out with, all old friends from college you’ve since been forced to get acquainted with. And together they talk each others’ ears off about sports, food, making subtle digs at their own wives or partners, and of course, golf. The blinding shade of green hills contrasts harshly against a pale blue sky and depicts an almost cartoon scenery, and you can feel the headache in your temples worsening with every loud chuckle that escapes Jung’s lips.

He hasn’t asked once about your yoga retreat- which may be a blessing of sorts when you recall the events that unfolded. But you know it’s got nothing to do with that, and everything to do with the fact that he doesn’t give a shit.

He probably doesn’t even remember you were gone, nor does he care to fill you in on the details that unfolded while you were away. And it wouldn’t matter, because you know it would be exactly some version of this- his obnoxious friends, golf, sports on tv and bragging about his proximity to a married life with you. Strangely enough, you’re normally able to stomach these conversations when you’re forced to go out with Jung. But somehow today, every word he utters aggravates you, and you’re desperate to find some excuse to make it home again.

Except you also know very well that it’s something else eating away at your mind this afternoon.

“Y/n?” Kwang questions, and you snap your head to look at him, realizing you’ve tuned out most of his talking points up until now.

“Yes?”

“It’s your turn,” he says, gesturing to your golf club. Jung watches you and chuckles, almost embarrassed with you, as he mirrors Kwang’s gesture.

“Go on,” Jung says condescendingly. “Remember how I taught you last time.”

And with the golf club in your timid grasp, you approach the tee, positioning your club out in front of you and doing your best to mimic the way Jung taught you. Or rather the way he yelled at you to memorize, always taking his sports endeavors far too seriously.

The club head rests gently against the golf ball, pulling back momentarily as your hands shift and tighten around the grip again. And Kwang exhales another puff of smoke, a light chuckle escaping his lips as his eyes bore into your standing figure.

“Her form’s gotten a little better,” he remarks to Jung.

“Yeah, because of me,” Jung says back.

“And good thing, too,” Kwang voices. “If she’d gotten better without your help it’d mean someone else was helping her.”

He laughs as he finishes speaking, transitioning to a coughing fit as you turn to meet Jung’s gaze. But Jung doesn’t look back at you, he simply pats Kwang’s back and exchanges laughter of his own.

“That’s true!” Jung echoes through a fit of laughter, like it’s the best joke he’s heard all century.

“Could you imagine if she pulled up here better than you?” Kwang says, flicking stray ashes off his cigar. “Some other man doing your part for you?”

Jung chuckles again, pulling a box of cigars from the pocket inside of his blazer and thumbing at a fresh one. You watch as he flips open a small bronze Zippo lighter, a small metal clink emitting from behind his cupped hand, as he brings the cigar head to the little yellow flame and holds it there momentarily.

“Fuckin’ A,” Jung remarks with the cigar hanging between his lips.

When it’s lit successfully, he pockets the lighter again, taking a generous puff and blowing smoke just past the direction of Kwang’s still-laughing figure.

“They say that’s how you know your wife’s disloyal,” he remarks. “Her sports form never worsens.”

You stand awkwardly, your fingers grazing the rubber of the golf club grip as you say nothing. Their laughter continues to swirl the atmosphere around you, the sound of the birds and the buzzing cicadas drowning out amidst their cackles. The sun beams entirely too bright down over you, the artificial grass seeming to turn an even more obnoxious shade of green as you wait for them to finish.

“Better hope this one’s not disloyal,” Kwang says amidst his jokes, nudging your upper thigh with the tip of his own golf club. “That’s a lot of planning down the drain.”

And somehow the words trigger the familiar arrhythmic beat in your chest, flashbacks of Minho crossing your mind instantaneously. It’s like they know, the way their jokes seem to run on forever, their wicked cackling taunting you with every passing second. They speak of your form and your position, and you can’t help but picture the way Minho had you sprawled over the bed for you, his toned body looming over yours as he fucked you like he was consummating a marriage.

Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead as the sun glares over you, and the feeling is reminiscent of your sweaty bodies tangled together in the confined space of the tent. Was it you who came first? Was it Minho? The details are a little blurry right now as you try to steady your breathing, every single fear coming to life as you use your golf club to keep upright.

Disloyal. Another man. Cheater.

Their words replay in your mind and produce offspring of new ones, alluding to implications of broken trust and shattered plans. Hypothetical talks of one whole year of planning down the drain, another man with his hands all over you fulfilling Jung’s role in his absence and improving your form.

They know. They know you cheated, this is Jung’s way of humiliating you in front of his closest friend before he publicly calls off the marriage. He’s going to confront you about it any second now. He’s going to drag Minho’s name through the mud, and possibly also his corpse when he’s done with him-

“Y/n?” A voice interrupts, and your head snaps in the direction of their still gazes. The atmosphere is quiet now, birds chirping overhead once more, cicadas buzzing rhythmically in the distance again.

“Huh?”

“You want to forfeit your turn?” Jung asks with a chuckle. “We’ve been waiting for you to start for ten minutes now.��

Your gaze falls down to your hands, gripped tightly around the rubber of the club still, the ball remaining immobile on the little red tee.

“Uh, sure,” you reply, handing the golf club to Jung as he shakes his head.

You watch with an embarrassed expression as Jung grasps the club skillfully, pulling back and twisting his heel as he produces a robust hit, the ball lifting off its tee and soaring into the distance over the green hill.

“She can’t be disloyal,” Jung says with a chuckle, as he prods you with his golf club for the nth time today. “She can’t even complete one round successfully. Any other man would’ve taught her that’s not how you golf.”

*

At the one week mark since you’ve seen Minho, he’s aware something is wrong. You haven’t picked up his calls, haven’t responded to a single one of his texts, and you feign tiredness or some made up illness when he offers to stop by at hours he knows Jung isn’t home. But you don’t entertain any of it, fearing still that Jung knows, and that this is going to be the end of your marriage.

A fleeting physical endeavor caused by your fiancé’s stubbornness, and yet it’s effectively going to be the end of what was supposed to be your entire future. Seeing Minho will only reignite every fear present inside of you, causing it to coax the truth out of you and confront your fears in the presence of Jung.

The fear of what a lifetime of marriage implies. Are you meant to feel like teenagers in love for the entirety of it? Do the fights last a lifetime? Are you supposed to find a middle ground, or will there always be a need for somebody like Minho to provide some clarity and help you rekindle things to the best of your abilities?

What if in a week, you hate the cake flavor you’ve picked? What if you find yourselves so comfortable it doesn’t feel like love anymore? What if you spend a lifetime picturing it’s Minho fucking you instead of Jung, just to get off at night?

What happens to the marriage then? Does the love fizzle out until it’s a comfortable state of tolerance, one in which you’re sacrificing happiness for stability? Or does it simply exist somewhere else- or with somebody else? What’s implied by a lifetime of this?

Minho’s always been a worrier at heart, though, and he won’t let up until he’s certain your relationship to him isn’t at risk of dissipating, too. So at 11pm on a Friday, when he knows Jung is out with the same group of friends, he makes his move to confront you.

The living room is completely quiet at this hour, a soft ticking noise from the clock overhead as you flip past a page in your book. A romance novel, one littered with smut and cheesy dialogue, true to the lonely housewife you’re already conditioning yourself to be. And as your gaze falls over the first sentence of a new chapter, a knocking at the front door interrupts you.

It’s not Jung- it can’t be at this hour, his return home always signaled by his loud stumbling through the doorway, the jingling of his keys and drunken steps over the shoes he so conveniently forgets to put on the shoe rack.

You wrap your arms around the knit holes of your sweater, approaching the door hesitantly. It’s likely one of Jung’s friends, late to the party, or even one of your own girlfriends, here for a late night gossip session. But when you unlatch the door and pull it open, your heart drops at the sight of Minho, his hands shoved in his pockets and his figure standing slouched as his head looks up to meet your gaze.

“Hi,” says Minho, giving you a thin-lipped smile.

You give him a small nod, unsure of what to reply.

He looks handsome tonight, in a dark denim jacket and a pair of jeans. His golden-brown tresses fall loosely around his chiseled face, and his eyes look a little tired, like he hasn’t gotten much sleep.

“Minho,” you say plainly, fidgeting with a loose hem on the inside of your sleeve. “What are you doing here?”

Minho shrugs, peering into the doorway behind you, and then his eyes lock on yours again.

“I never taught you how to gut a fish,” Minho replies.

“I was just- what?”

“A fish,” Minho repeats. “I never taught you how to gut one.”

“Yeah, because we didn’t catch any,” you reply, a short chuckle escaping your lips.

“I know,” Minho says. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over and gut one.”

“Now?” You reply, glancing at the darkened street behind him. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, and Jung isn’t home until early morning. There’s a salmon defrosting on my counter as we speak, assuming the cats haven’t gotten to it. And I was wondering if you wanted to gut it.”

And he’s doing that thing again, where he takes the problem at hand and makes it so much more miniscule than it actually is. This state between disloyalty and tension you feel toward Jung, and the conflicting feelings you have toward Minho and the trip’s subsequent events. But he doesn’t address any of that- instead, he takes issue with you never having gotten to gut a fish. And that’s a relief, when you think about the other option of verbally confronting the emotions you keep at bay.

“Is it messy?” You ask with a little smile.

“It’s messy,” Minho replies.

“What if I’m bad at it?”

“Then you’re bad at it. But I’ll help you. Mess and all.”

You turn around to peer back into the hallway, at the book lying open and flat on the couch, the second hand on the clock moving painfully slow and the dim lamp illuminating the room around you. There’s not much of anything to stick around for, not when Jung’s still going to be out for hours on end. And not when a part of you is dying to confront the situation with Minho in the privacy of his place.

“You can’t laugh if I’m bad,” you say to Minho as you turn back to face him, slipping on your shoes in the process

“I won’t laugh,” he retorts. “No promises, of course.”

*

Two hours later, the kitchen is littered with napkins, plates, gloves, filet knives and scales. Minho walks you through how to remove the roe and the milt, discarding them for you as you prep your filet knife. He verbally instructs you how to descale the fish, and when you make minimal progress, he guides your hand up and down the length of the salmon with his, giving a little nod as the scales fall off with ease and uncover the smooth finish beneath.

He’s understanding when your reluctant hands fail to cut through to the back bone, chuckling lightly as he helps you cut that, too. And when you successfully pluck the remainder of the pin bones with tweezers, he nods proudly, giving you a thumbs up as you dispose of the fish parts and slide the plate of pink slabs to him across the counter.

“You did really well,” Minho says comfortingly. “You’re very attentive to detail. I don’t think there’s a single pin bone still on there.”

“It’s a little gross,” you say, shaking off your hands and chuckling lightly.

“But the end result will be worth it,” he replies. “Somebody plucked the pin bones off every filet you’ve eaten.”

You hit his arm lightly, as he laughs, coating the slabs in seasoning as you pull your gloves off.

“Minho,” you voice nervously, as he keeps his attention on the plate of fish in front of him.

“Hm?”

“Should we… talk about what happened?”

He sprinkles dried parsley atop the filet, not looking at you as you hold your breath for an answer.

“We can talk about it,” Minho replies simply. “Or we can choose not to. It was just a favor I ran you.”

You nod in response, watching as he swaps out parsley for onion powder and sprinkles lightly.

“Can we talk about it?” You say finally, twiddling your thumbs together.

Minho sets down the glass jar, turning to face you and pulling off his gloves, too.

“Sure,” he says, leaning back against the counter and giving you his undivided attention. Your heartbeat quickens momentarily at the sight of him focusing solely on you, and you struggle to find the words to say. But Minho is faster, taking reins of the conversation and breaking the deafening silence between you two.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Minho finally says, a kind of sadness evident in his tone.

“I was scared,” you reply. “I felt like Jung knew. It could ruin all of our wedding plans.”

“There’s no way he can find out,” Minho says. “I haven’t said a word to anyone. Unless you felt inclined to say something-”

“God, no,” you reply quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say anything.”

“Good,” Minho then says. “Then it was just a mistake in the heat of the moment. There’s nothing to worry about.”

And somehow the words sting a little, this conclusion that the affair was a mistake. Was it a mistake? You’re not sure- though you are sure of the complete sense of ease it instilled in you, and the fact that it hasn’t left your mind in a whole week.

“Are we okay?” You ask him, a nervous expression painting your face as you wait for an answer.

And Minho nods confidently, pulling on a fresh set of gloves as he reaches for the salt and pepper shakers.

“We’re fine,” Minho reassures. “If you think anything is getting in the way of a decade of you being stuck with me, then you’re mistaken.”

You laugh lightly, pulling on another pair of gloves too and joining Minho in front of the plate of fish.

“You want to pan fry this?” Minho asks, changing the subject. “I’ll walk you through it.”

Your eyes scan the well-seasoned strips of salmon, and then Minho’s comforting figure beside you, as he slides you a pair of tongs.

“Yeah,” you say to him. “Let’s finish this thing.”

Minho’s right- the end result is worth it. The fish is tender, well-seasoned, paired beautifully with his favorite bottle of white wine over an old comedy movie.

And everything feels like it’s back to normal once more as you sit beside him, your plates completely void of food as you finish your glasses of wine and sit back comfortably.

As the end credits roll, Minho lowers the volume, but he doesn’t shut off the television yet, taking another sip from his glass as your gazes fix on the names disappearing on screen.

Your eyes scan Minho’s mostly-vacant walls, at the things and the stuff he’s moved around. And he has, a couple new photographs displayed neatly on the wall in gold frames.

Most of them are black and white photographs you recognize to be cityscapes. And among the collage, placed right in the middle, the only photo with an ounce of color catches your eye.

“Shirakawa,” you say to Minho, cocking your head at the photograph.

It’s a wide shot of the town, bright green grass contrasting the traditional brown farmhouses that span the entirety of the landscape.

“Mhm,” Minho affirms, giving a little nod as he looks over the photograph, too.

You remain like that for a moment, reveling in the view, and then you finally break the comfortable silence once more.

“Could you tell me about it?” You ask him sweetly. “Just anything.”

Minho thinks back to the facts of Shirakawa he stores in the corner of his mind for a moment, sorting through facts and tales he’s held onto since college. Little stories he’s always wished to pass along again one day.

“Those are called Gasshō-Zukuri houses,” Minho says. “Which directly translates to hands in prayer.”

You cock your head in the other direction, nodding at his words, and seeing exactly what he speaks of. The houses do resemble two hands in prayer, the triangular thatched roofs almost reminiscent of a church’s.

“The roofs were designed to prevent heavy snowfall,” he continues. “Which the town is notorious for receiving. But apparently it’s like a little winter land when you’re there.”

His voice trails off a little at the last syllable, getting quiet again as he folds his hands in his lap.

“Which is pretty cool,” Minho finishes, pulling back from divulging too much information about the town he could go on about forever.

And he doesn’t know you’d gladly listen to him talk about it forever, being continuously fascinated with his appreciation for the centuries-old town across the world from you two. You nod in response to his words, imagining the winters those tucked away in that little town must experience- blankets of snow and freezing temperatures, and yet so warm inside those historical homes loved by people all around the world.

“We’ll go one day,” you say to Minho finally, turning to meet his gaze.

He turns to look at you, too, a somber expression on his face as he listens to you speak.

“We’ll go to Shirakawa one day. I promise it.”

Minho swallows nervously, well aware of how close you are to him on the couch now. Your face at such a close distance to him, your limbs resting right beside each other as his eyes flicker over your parted lips.

Minho engages in the nervous habits he always does, blinking nervously a few times and toying with the lobe of his ear. But he doesn’t act on anything, not wanting to push the boundaries you’ve practically just set in place. The same boundaries that concluded it was a mistake in the heat of the moment. So then why do you feel so inclined to kiss him all over again, let your body tangle with his and ease your stress as he assists in confronting all your fears preceding the wedding? Why does the idea of a lifelong commitment feel so much less intimidating when you’re in the presence of Minho? And what are you doing having these thoughts about your best friend when you’re getting married to somebody else in a month?

Thoughts that fail to induce an answer from you- instead interrupted and subsequently silenced by your lips on Minho’s again, kissing him with such desperation the way you did before.

And though desperate, it's still tender, his eyes shutting instinctively as his hands cup your cheeks and pull you closer. And you’ve nowhere to go but his lap, straddling his waist with your legs as you refuse to break away from the kiss, your kisses turning hungrier by the second as his hands find your waist.

This implication to fuck you is far greater this time, a pressing urge between the two of you to mirror the night’s actions and confirm it really did happen. That he did fuck you that night in your tent, and that you both came with each other and for each other, your bodies releasing the pent-up frustration you’re now certain has existed for years.

“Is this okay?” Minho begins to ask, his hands grazing your sides, and your kisses trail down his neck to provide a clear answer to his concern.

“Please,” you plead, nibbling a light bruise into his flesh. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty-”

“I don’t,” you say, moving to meet his lips again. “It feels so right with you. Please, could we do it again?”

Minho’s breath hitches in his throat as you palm him over the fabric of his jeans, his erection already visible for you.

“I want to,” Minho gasps. “But you’re getting married. I don’t want you to make another mistake-”

“It was never a mistake,” you say breathlessly. “Not the first time, not now. It feels so different with you. Do you feel it too?”

You pull away momentarily, hands cupped around the back of his neck as you wait for his answer. And Minho shoots a nervous smile in response; sheepishly toying with his hair as he struggles to voice his feelings.

“I… do,” Minho begins. “But I want you to-”

“Don’t worry about me,” you say, leaning in to resume pressing kisses along his neck. “Just fuck me like he doesn’t exist,” you finish, your lips working against his once more and guiding his hands down to your waist.

Although you were the one worried of getting found out, you can’t keep your distance from him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you all over again. Coaxing your own arousal out of you, encouraging you to forget all about him the way you’ve been trying to do in the absence of Minho. But with him here in front of you, you know the only way to shut Jung out of your mind is to fill it with thoughts of Minho, and Minho and more Minho.

“I… can do that…” Minho says with another nervous chuckle, as you unzip his jeans and palm him through his boxers.

“Call me something other than my name,” you say to him, pressing a series of chaste kisses to his lips. “Say it like I’m yours.”

And Minho reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pulling away again to look into your eyes.

“Baby?” He questions nervously, eliciting a smile from you.

“Yeah. Like that.”

“Yeah, baby?” He says again, reciprocating confidently now as you stroke him over his boxers. “You want me to make you forget about him?”

“Please,” you beg again. “You’re so much better than him.”

And amidst the ego boost, Minho can feel his cock swell, painfully hard in your firm grasp now as you stroke him.

“Wait,” Minho says, wincing slightly as you slow your movements. “I don’t want to cum yet.”

“Then hurry up and fuck me,” you smirk down at him, looping your fingers in the waistband of his jeans and tugging slightly. And Minho sits up straighter, smirking back, as he moves to press you down against the couch and hover over you.

“You want me to fuck you?” Minho asks, using one hand to tug his jeans down to his thighs. “God, you haven’t stopped thinking about it, haven’t you?”

“Not once,” you admit, wrapping two arms around his neck and pulling him down toward you. “I would’ve asked you to fuck me years ago if I knew what I was missing out on.”

The two of you share giggles as his jeans are discarded on the floor, followed by his t-shirt, and then your pants and your t-shirt, leaving him in just his boxers, and you in your bra and panties.

Minho lowers himself against your clothed core, rubbing ever so gently against you to provide some relief to his aching shaft as he works his kisses against your drooly lips. And he smiles in between every slight movement, completely satisfied at the fact that it’s him rubbing against you like this and taking care of you instead of Jung. For the second time this month.

The idea that Jung is completely clueless to this game you play behind his back, that he still comes home thinking you belong to anyone except Minho. Both in mind and body, your entire being is intertwined with Minho in every way possible.

And you both know it, judging by the way you grab at each other like a pair of horny teenagers on a first date, trying everything in your ability to hold onto the feeling. Also by the way he’s so patient and forgiving with his movements, stil careful not to move too fast in case you decide you want to stop. And an unspoken promise between the two of you, that no matter what happens, the friendship will remain, that it simply can’t slip through your fingers after a decade of promises to each other.

“Let’s go to Shirakawa,” you say to Minho in a whisper, finally tugging his boxers down and freeing his erection against abdomen.

“You want to?” Minho asks, tugging your panties down, too.

“Yes, I want to,” you reply. “We’ve talked about it for so long. Tell me what we’ll do there.”

“Well we’ll definitely go fishing,” Minho begins, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he discards your panties on the floor beside you. “And I’ll help gut all the salmon with you.”

“Mhm,” you voice in a dreamy tone, massaging his hair with the tips of your fingers.

“And then we can see all the animals there,” he continues, positioning himself over you and lifting your leg a little to get a better angle. His hand massages gentle circles in your inner thigh, careful not to enter without ensuring you’re comfortable first.

“And when it snows,” Minho says. “We’ll be trapped inside. But we can occupy the little attic space, where the walls slant inwards. And I promise to make love to you until it stops snowing.”

“When does it stop snowing?” You ask, as Minho pumps his cock gently over you and positions himself in front of your entrance. He chuckles lightly as he leans in to kiss you, your entrance quickly swallowing his tip and caressing his girth with your arousal as he leans in to push himself even further.

“It doesn’t,” Minho replies finally, thrusting himself into you and letting his hands find the small of your back to steady himself. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, quickly drunk on the feeling all over again. The mesmerizing sensation of his body hovering over you, of his cock inside of you, exactly the way you remembered it from the other night.

And it’s not right, but it feels so right to have him those close to you again, your best friend closing the gap of uncertainty between you and shutting you up with the confirmation that your souls have always belonged to each other this way.

“Fuck, Minho,” you breathe out, beads of sweat dripping down your temples as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and holds it there, pulsating harshly against your cervix.

“Will you go faster?” You ask him, running your fingertips down his back in encouragement.

“Are you sure?” he says between labored breaths, still careful not to hurt you.

“Please,” you practically beg. “I’m so eager for you, please just do something about it, baby.”

Minho’s eyebrows raise a little at the utterance of a pet name. He’s never heard it from you- not in all your years of friendship. He’s hardly secured a nickname from you in all that time. And yet here you are now, taking him so fully obediently, throwing words like baby at him and begging him to fuck you so that you won’t have to think about Jung.

“Baby?” Minho says curiously, capturing your lips in a kiss.

“Baby,” you reply, rutting your hips up against his as he begins to move a little faster. “Baby, and honey, and fiancé.”

Minho chuckles a little at the last word, cocking his head as he digests your response.

“Fiancé?”

“Yeah,” you say back between little moans that escape your lips. “If we were in Shirakawa I think we’d be engaged. And you could fuck me whenever you wanted to.”

Minho feels his cock twitch at your words, his mind running rampant with the fantasy of being engaged to you. The implication of a lifetime of this, fucking you sweetly in the comfort of a shared home and coaxing all your stress out of you. And furthermore, a lifetime of you- of being dragged to all your favorite bars, takeout meals and cheap comedy movies, camping when the leaves turn orange and gutting salmon alongside you.

A lifetime of security, stability. One of sheer, unwavering happiness.

“What a dream that would be,” Minho voices, moving a little faster at your words now.

“You think?”

“I know,” he affirms, his hands finding the mounds of your breasts and cupping them gently to unclasp your bra.

“What a fucking dream it would be to have you like this every night.”

Your bra is promptly discarded alongside you on the couch, the cool air grazing your erect nipples as he brings his mouth down to latch around one in gentle sucking motions. You can feel yourself clench around his cock, taking in the sight of his drooly lips wrapped around your chest and working you in eager motions. It’s still the same Minho you recognize from years ago- still the dorky, yet handsome figure of permanence always present somewhere in your life. And it feels even less unnatural than the last time you slept with him, simply instilling another wave of eased stress and tranquility deep inside of you. It’s like this is supposed to be the relationship between the two of you now- you live your life catering to the stubborn, unmoving personality of Jung’s. Minho tends to his monotonous life away from you. And when you reunite once more, relishing in tales of your separate lives from each other and laughing over glasses of chenin blanc, he concludes the night with a slow, intimate session of love-making, one to seal the promise between your souls that regardless of where the future takes you, this is still permanent.

Neither the college girls Minho’s fucked so well, nor the shitty men you promise yourself to could come between that. And it’s a comfortable truth you both come to terms with as he gives himself to you so lovingly and wholly.

“Are you close?” Minho asks, moving to your lips once more and indulging you in a slow, sensual kiss.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, wrapping your arms around his neck a little stabler and bringing your gaze down to his cock, where he disappears inside of you with complete ease.

“Where do- fuck- where do you want me to finish?” Minho asks, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. “I don’t want to pose any risks to you right now.”

And he’s right, both of you knowing very well that just because you’ve addressed your mutual attraction to each other, doesn’t mean you can run around with Minho’s arousal catching in your walls like you just aren’t engaged.

You still have a wedding to tend to, another person to return home to and a promise in the eventual holy sanctity of marriage that Jung is your only lover. But right now that no official certificate holds you to that, you can’t find it inside you to care, wanting nothing more than to be filled by Minho, and Minho and more Minho, and yet knowing it’s simply not a possibility.

“Wherever you want,” you finally breathe out, placing the option in the hands of Minho. Your breasts, your mouth. Inside of you. You don’t care- all you care is that he’s here, and he’s upholding his end of sealing the permanence between you two.

Minho gives a few particularly harsh thrusts, and then he brings a hand to the base of his cock, pulling out carefully and wincing as he staves off his orgasm. Your hands remain wrapped around the back of his neck, your gaze fixed on his as he works himself in quick strokes and leans in to kiss you.

“Can we go to Shirakawa?” You ask him again tenderly, as he continues to pump himself over your lying figure.

“Of course we can,” Minho responds with a sweet smile, his breaths labored as he nears his finish. “We can go wherever you want.”

“As long as you’re there,” you say to him, smiling up at him as he leans forward to kiss you again.

“As long as it’s the two of us,” Minho clarifies. “We can go anywhere.”

His eyes shut once more, his long eyelashes grazing his eyelids as his lips part open, and then he lets out a whimpered moan as he finally reaches his finish, coating your stomach in the milky white release of his orgasm. He kisses you when he finishes, smiling against your lips as he brings a hand down between you and rubs your clit in gentle, circular motions.

Your moans turn whimpered, too, as you reach your finish, clenching around what you wish was his cock and letting go for him.

And the credits on the television reach their end, transitioning to the hushed echo of a commercial playing. But neither of you are in any rush to leave or clean up just yet, allowing your listless bodies to intertwine lazily on the sofa as your giggles fill the quiet space between you and reverberate off the walls with such mutual fondness.

*

Mondays are heavy with work. Tuesdays, Jung works late. Wednesdays and Thursdays are dedicated time for his friends from college, and every day after that is a toss-up, but they’re often days you spend with Jung, watching movies in your apartment, going on little dates or in uncomfortable silence alongside him as he spills details of his work and his friends.

And he believes this to be your schedule, because he’s clueless otherwise.

Mondays are really for late-night phone calls with Minho, where you run off to the patio for a few minutes of privacy while Jung catches up on sports broadcasts. Tuesdays, Minho cooks you intricate meals at his apartment, alongside old comedy movies and concluded always by his gentle love-making to you. Wednesdays and Thursdays feel like college again, Minho finally agreeing to accompany you to all your favorite bars again and paying for your drinks as he watches you dance for him, his hands all over you as the two of you exchange needy kisses for everybody to watch.

And though the lights by the bar are far too dim for anybody to recognize you’re out with somebody beside your fiancé, a part of you doesn’t care.

Bastard. Facilitator of cheating. Homewrecker.

Sometimes you and Minho joke about the names they’d call him if they found out. Every derogatory term under the sun, like they haven’t already thought it of him for being quieter than Jung’s douchebag friends. And yet they also fail to see he’s more kind, more attentive and more loving than any of them could ever bring to the table in the presence of their own wives.

You also know they won’t find out- not when you’re virtually invisible to Jung and his friends when he’s not showing you off like some trophy to be won. When corporate holiday parties arise, or the need for an even number of golf participants makes itself known, Jung’s there without hesitation, grasping your hand between his clammy fingers and recounting days of when you’d met.

And yet none of his stories involve the present you. They fail to include your successes at work, or the books you’ve taken a liking to recently, or even the valiant efforts you’ve put into decorating your shared space with him, despite his complete lack of assistance. His stories of you exclude the liking you’ve taken to “yoga retreats” recently. And they definitely don’t know you can gut a fish like your life depends on it.

“This wine is better than the last one,” you say to Minho, as he pours himself a glass and slips a crystal stopper into the spout.

“It cost me less than the loaf of bread,” Minho replies with a breathy chuckle. “I don’t think we’ll ever stop favoring cheap convenience store wine.”

You swirl the cherry red color around in your glass, admiring the way the liquid forms a little whirlpool and settles once again, the strong scent wafting upward in the process.

“Notes of cherry, wood, french vanilla and… pocket money,” you say to Minho wafting the scent up even further with a wave of your hand.

He laughs at your words, taking a sip from his own glass and smacking his lips together once.

“Undertones of fruit and nuttiness. And maybe penny pinching, like in our college days,” Minho replies, the two of you chuckling as you set your glasses down.

You look out at the view from his balcony window, the darkened sky providing little to see at this hour, but still outlining the silhouettes of the trees and the bushels that line his apartment terrace.

“The time passed us by so fast,” Minho says in a somber tone, not turning to face you. You keep your gaze on the trees outside, thinking over your shared actions over the past few weeks. It’s been nothing short of thrilling going behind Jung’s back the way you do, but you’re also aware that with every meetup, you’re a day closer to tying the knot with Jung, preparing for a lifetime of permanence alongside the same person you’ve never felt so unsure about before now.

You turn to face him finally, a sad smile on your face as he waits for your answer.

“I wish we did something about this earlier,” you respond finally, taking note of the glow in his eyes as you speak. He looks marvelous at this proximity to you, so attainable and so enchanting all at the same time.

“Did something about what?”

“This,” you emphasize. “Us.”

Minho blinks nervously a few times, and then he cocks his head slightly as he waits for you to continue, too scared to affirm your words with thoughts of his own first.

“All this time I was trying to validate the fears inside of me surrounding this wedding,” you explain to him. “And then there was you, the same person who makes them nearly nonexistent. I wish we did something about it earlier so that maybe the fear was just lessened to begin with.”

Minho nods nervously, as he understands very well now that you’re on completely separate pages.

Minho, who wishes he could shake some sense into you and confess that this isn’t just some physical endeavor soul-searching the way it is for you- that he’s so madly in love with you, and that he chases the reminder of your permanence because the ivy that constricts his veins will surely kill him in your absence.

And thus, he takes what he can get- you, at your most vulnerable moments, unloved and uncherished by Jung, just seeking a kindly ear and maybe a warm body to remind you that there is some semblance of comfort to be felt in the interim.

And yet you, who only partakes in this fleeting act of physical yearning because you’re scared of commitment to Jung, who maybe doesn’t fulfill you every way you wish he would all the time. So you go behind his back, and you chase the fulfillment yourself, and you act upon the fears and the anxieties that have always circled your mind in the presence of Minho.

Maybe he likes you, maybe he’s jealous, maybe he wants to fuck you.

Statements you’ve heard throughout the entirety of your friendship, ones you couldn’t help but ponder, too, as Minho would grow painfully quiet with Jung in the room. But ones you always brushed off, telling yourself that the two just don’t click. And yet the arousal present with the fear makes for some of the most pleasurable moments together in the privacy of Minho’s home, albeit for Minho, on time begged and borrowed from you. The affair with Minho is not indicative of permanence in any form, and yet it exists to confront your very fear of permanence.

Selfish? Surely. Contradictory? In every sense of the word. The concerns raised to you by Minho himself in any way? Never.

So it remains, this tragic cycle of sleeping with your best friend behind your fiancé’s back, blind to the fact that he’s irrevocably in love with you, in a comfortable state of mind knowing that at least you’ll have felt this state of peace for even just a finite amount of time before you give yourself away to the marriage completely.

And yet it’s a beautiful thing in essence, this shared love between the two of you. A trust instilled so deeply on both sides to give yourselves away to each other every night and close a chapter of what once was, regardless of the differences in how it’s perceived.

The incandescent glow Minho’s tender embraces bring forth in you, no matter the fact that he’s simply grieving a very real, living love that still exists between the two of you. Green leaves of ivy that constrict his throat and force words back down them again, so that he may never admit that he’s jealous, and it’s you, it’s always been you. The same suffocating feeling he ponders late at night, asking himself why he’s been so magnificently cursed to only love you under these circumstances, and never in ones that promise him your permanence in return.

But when you're across from him, a glass of cheap wine in hand and your gentle laughter accompanying his, he can’t help but embrace the grand feeling- tarnished, but still grand.

“Maybe it worked out the way it was supposed to,” Minho settles on saying. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be more than this little period of time.”

And there’s a pang of pain in his chest as he utters the words, but he’s met with your small nod in response, visibly comforted by the prospect of his implications.

“Hey,” you say after a moment of silence, sitting up straight and swirling your glass of wine around in your hand again. “There’s a dinner thing Jung’s hosting with some people from the guest list. Don’t say you didn’t get the invite.”

Minho exhales with an audible groan, slouching back in his chair and running his hands through his hair.

“I don’t even like his cooking,” Minho admits frustratedly. “He’s just going to make me feel like an idiot the whole night.”

“But I want you there,” you say to him in a pleading tone. “You’re my best friend. I can’t do this stuff without you.”

“I know you can’t,” Minho replies. “And I don’t want you to have to. But it’s going to be awkward, and painful.”

“I won’t let him cross any boundaries,” you reason with him. “I’ll diffuse anything that comes up. I just want you there, even if it means you’re going to sit there and say nothing. Even that would make me happier than seeing your empty chair all night.”

Minho groans again, swirling his own glass of wine around in his hands and averting your gaze. He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he speaks again, in a reluctant voice.

“He would kill me if he found out, you know. We would never see each other again.”

You feel your heart sink at his words, even the thought of it beyond unnerving to you.

“Why do you say that suddenly?”

“Just… thinking,” Minho finishes.

“Well he has no way of knowing,” you console him. “And I promise to keep things civil.”

Minho thinks for a moment, wanting to press you for more answers about what this even is, about why you’re choosing to let him waste his time like this and what possessed him to agree to attend your pre-wedding dinner as the other man.

But he says nothing, letting a generous sip of alcohol serve as the answer to the requests you press him for- yes, of course he’ll be there, albeit with his long list of fears and reservations. But he’ll do anything, twice even, at your behest.

*

The ebony wood dining table looks particularly elegant when it’s set up for guests. You line the seats with ceramic white platters, shiny silverware and iridescent glasses, paying special attention to even minute details, such as the direction of the prongs for each fork you place on white nylon napkins. Mixed peonies and birchwood make up the long centerpiece, and tall white taper candles are lit in the bronze candleabras.

And the mood is largely set by the guests, who laugh loudly around the table with glasses of expensive beverages in their hands. They speak of their jobs, and their spouses and pop culture references you can’t be bothered to pay attention to. Your eyes scan the emptiness in their eyes, most of them living lives you can tell they’ve simply settled for. And you wonder, briefly, if they’ve ever experienced the unwavering happiness you do in the presence of Minho. Do they ever crack open a bottle of convenience store wine? Do they still let loose at clubs every now and then? Could they gut a fish if they caught one?

You respond to their stories with little nods and fake chuckles, and your head snaps in every direction past your guests to the front door.

Minho’s fashionably late tonight, or at least you hope he is, still holding on to the promise that he’s going to be here. And Minho’s many things- but he’s not dishonest. He’ll show if he says he will, albeit for a few minutes each time when it involves Jung. But he’ll still show, dropping by with a timid smile and greeting the audience before sending you off with a lousy excuse again and leaving his spot vacant for the remainder of the evening. But tonight is different- tonight he’s here as the other man. And you can’t decipher whether that indicates a change in his subsequent actions, that perhaps he won’t show after all, and you’ll be left to your own devices with Jung and his obnoxious friends.

“… And one of our clients is an intern this quarter,” Jung says loudly, as he rants about his work in typical fashion. “Which means I’m going to be carrying most of our partnership.”

The guests laugh and raise their glasses, and you can’t help but wonder how on earth the comment warrants even an ounce of laughter. As Kwang’s wife begins to voice a response, the doorbell rings once, and your head snaps in the direction of the echoing bell.

“I’ll get it,” you say quickly, rising from your seat and smoothing down your skirt. “Excuse me.”

The guests glance briefly in your direction, and then turn their attention back to Jung, who begins to voice another chronicle of his inadequate colleagues. As you march down the hallway, your heart quickens in your chest, admittedly a little nervous to confront Minho after the recent events. You wonder if he’s going to be more awkward, or maybe even shut down entirely around the group. Maybe he’s just here to drop off another cake and send you off with a wave. Endless possibilities you’ve never had to consider when you weren’t actively sleeping with him. You unlatch the front door, taking a deep breath, and then pull it open, your gaze falling instantly onto the standing figure.

And it’s a wave of comfort when he smiles at you, his eyes forming little crescents as he grins and exposes his endearing set of skewed teeth, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he does. He’s much more dressed up tonight, in a black collared button down and a black tie, his light brown tresses framing his chiseled jawline so well. And seeing him is more exciting than any other guest you’ve seen tonight, a present urge to pepper him in kisses and remain right here alone, with him.

“Hey,” Minho says in a shy voice.

“Hi,” you respond, trying to stifle the giddy expression on your face from the guests around you who might be looking. “I saved you a seat,” you continue. “Come on.”

Minho enters reluctantly, glancing around the room and giving a small nod to the guests as you direct him to the vacant seat beside you. And somehow, he looks a little more confident, his posture much straighter and a knowing smile on his face as he occupies the seat beside you.

“Hi,” he says to the guests as they meet his gaze, and he even gives a small nod to Jung, who shoots him a subtle scowl.

“Jung,” Minho voices, gesturing to the table. “Pleased to be here.”

Jung just nods at Minho, and then goes back to telling a story of his business accounts.

But your attention is everywhere except for Jung’s story, hardly even able to take your gaze off Minho’s. His eyes sparkle under the hanging pendant lamp, his lips pulling into a little smirk as you watch him with such fascination. There’s something so enticing about the prospect that nobody here knows he’s fucked you, several times since the last time they saw him, and he’ll likely do it tonight when Jung thinks you’re out with a group of girlfriends. They don’t know the world you two have effectively built together, romantic nights of cooking intricate dinners together over glasses of cheap wine. And they don’t know the history you two share, years of walking through your fears and uncertainty alongside one another and bettering yourselves in the process. He’s your other half in so many ways, and you’re not sure it’s something anybody except the two of you could even begin to comprehend.

You watch as Minho picks up a bottle of wine from the table, rotating it in his grasp and examining the contents. It’s one of Jung’s favorites, an expensive bottle of zinfandel he picks up from a special market a few hours out of the city. And it all tastes the same to you anyway, pairing just fine with steak or fish or even fast food at 3am. In fact, it’s subpar in comparison to Minho’s favorites, which taste like safe intimacy, laughing at comedy reruns and love-making under the warmth of his blankets.

“Anyways,” Jung voices loudly, finally garnering your attention from beside him. “We’ve never been more ready for this honeymoon. I need tropical weather and some margaritas.”

“Amen to that,” Kwang chimes in, raising his glass for the nth time tonight.

I hate warm weather, you want to say. I wish it was Shirakawa, under the safety of the prayer hands thatched roofs and blankets of snow.

“If we don’t come back, just know we opted to stay,” Jung then says. “I’ll stay golfing on the beach and you guys can tough out the rest of winter here.”

Cue the obnoxious laughter, fake smiles, raised glasses.

“You’ll have the whole trip to help on her form,” Kwang says loudly, gesturing over to you with the wine bottle in hand.

“We went golfing the other day, and let’s just say there’s ample time for improvement.”

Roaring laughter, unsightly grins and clinking glasses.

And Minho glances over at you, who keeps a smile on your face at the stupid remark.

It’s exactly this that keeps him from acting upon the urge- you look content. You don’t argue, you don’t maintain a blank expression. Instead you smile, and you agree with his friends and your eyes look like they’re still on the same page of devoting entirely yourself to this less-than-desirable relationship you flaunt. Minho knows he’s just a stepping stone in this chapter, and that he’s going to come out of this hurt. But he also knows that despite your fears, you’re content, and he’s not going to insert himself between the love that you deserve, though it may take a while to materialize fully.

You glance over at Minho with a nervous smile, silently hoping he’ll say something. Just ask me to run away with you, you want to say. Tell me to run, and I’ll meet you there. Wherever.

But you know he won’t dare, too set on the idea that this is still what you want. So he’ll remain like this, in the unfamiliar atmosphere of a dining table you share with another man, and he’ll let himself face what becomes of it in due time.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks quietly, leaning in to fill your glass with more expensive wine.

“Peachy,” you say with a smile. And one he returns, shooting you another gentle smile and nodding at your confirmation.

The two of you listen as Jung segues into another story about his business client, and Minho’s leather heel finds your ankle under the table, grazing it softly as you stifle a smile.

There’s no sexual implication rooted in his actions, maybe not not even romantic implication, as his heel moves up and down the back of your bare calf. It’s just a reminder to say this will always be of permanence.

*

Minho’s hands work up and down the sides of your waist as he kisses you, smiling against your lips as you slot yourself between his legs and grasp the back of his neck.

He kisses Jung’s expensive wine back into your mouth, the flavor complementing the mouthwatering look he sports this evening, and you have to remind yourself several times to slow down.

“This looks so good on you,” you say with a smile, fidgeting with his tie and loosening it from around his neck.

“It’s the same one I always wear,” Minho says with a chuckle. “I can’t be bothered to buy a new one.”

“Don’t buy a new one. I want this one. I want it to be this one every time.”

Minho laughs lightly, a form of verbal agreement, and then he pulls you a little closer to him, rubbing little circles in the small of your back as you stay close in his embrace. He’s sprawled out on his couch, strands of hair hanging delicately in his face as he steadies you in his hold over him, his pink lips visibly swollen from having kissed you for the better part of an hour now.

“Tell me something about Shirakawa,” you ask him innocently, unfastening the first few buttons of his collared dress shirt.

”Anything?” Minho responds, bringing an arm up to rest casually behind his head.

“Anything. Something dreamy.”

“Hm,” Minho hums in response. “There are rice fields, and lily ponds and green orchards,” he says finally. “We can walk through all of them without a care in the world, and we can get drunk off little glasses of sake.”

“And the whole town can be ours,” you chime in, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his toned chest.

“The whole town,” Minho echoes. “It can be whatever we want it to be.”

“As long as you’re there,” you tell him, trailing your kisses lower and undoing the line of buttons as you near his navel

“Anything you want,” Minho exhales in a dreamy tone. “Say it and it’s yours.”

His eyes shut instinctively as the last of his buttons are undone, exposing his chest to you and promptly covered in eager kisses as you trail down to his hardening cock in his pants.

And his arms rest lazily behind his head, feeling completely taken care of, so needy always for your delicate touch. Your nimble fingers work to graze in slow back and forth motions over his flesh, and then you hoist yourself up a little higher to straddle your hips over his crotch.

“Thank you for showing up tonight,” you say to him in a sweet voice. “It means everything to me.”

“Anything you want,” Minho says for the second time tonight. “Say the word and I’m there.”

“You’re my best friend,” you voice to Minho. “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

And the utterance of a friend doesn’t even sting for him anymore. It’s fact- you belong to each other, time and time again, as friends, and lovers in the evening, and everything else in between. He doesn’t fight it, because he’s grateful for any role he can play amidst the grand role you play in his.

“Are you hard?” You ask a little quietly, a knowing smile on your face as you rock your hips gently over his.

“A little,” Minho replies, though he’s in no rush to have you take care of it. It’s enough exactly like this, your bodies intertwined together and infatuated with each other in the secrecy of his home.

“You want me to take care of you?” You then ask, one hand trailing up to wrap lightly around his throat.

And as your slender fingers graze the column of his neck, it’s clear to you at this angle. Sticking out like a sore thumb, so glaringly wrong and indecent from this proximity.

Your left ring finger, completely bare, your engagement ring nowhere to be seen.

At first you’re sure you’re hallucinating, pulling your hand back quickly to examine the thin tan where your finger meets your knuckle, one that’s usually covered by the gleaming jewelry. But as you rotate your finger around under the dim lighting, you confirm it’s not in fact some illusion- your engagement ring is gone.

Minho sits up a little, craning his neck a little to examine your worried expression.

“Y/n?” He questions, taking note of the way your eyes remain fixed to your hand. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s not here,” you say simply.

“What? What’s not here?”

“My ring,” you say a little more panicked, climbing off him and glancing around the coffee table.

“Where’s my ring?” You question, moving aside stacks of books and magazines atop the glass table. Minho sits up, glancing around too, searching desperately for the little piece of silver jewelry.

“Let’s stay calm,” Minho says as he stands up. “It has to be around here. When was the last time you saw it?”

“I can’t remember,” you say in a panicked tone, now scrambling to the kitchen and searching the marble counters.

“Okay,” Minho says calmly. “Was it- do you ever take it off to wash it?”

“I never take it off,” you reply. “I never take it off, why the fuck isn’t it on my finger?”

“Let’s stay calm,” Minho repeats. “It has to be in here-”

“Calm?” You finally retort, turning to face him with tears pricking your eyes. “You want me to stay calm? Jung’s going to kill me, do you know how fucking expensive that thing was?”

“Of course,” Minho says, buttoning up his shirt as he continues to search. “Which is why we’re going to find it.”

And you don’t reply for several moments, still frantically scanning the kitchen counters for any sign of your ring. But it’s a moot point, every napkin you unball containing nothing, nothing in the trash cans Minho searches through, even the dishwasher thoroughly searched, to no avail.

And you can’t help but to cry, tears falling nonstop from the corners of your eyes as you rush about the kitchen and think of every worst-case scenario. This is it. Confronting Jung about it means he’s going to know what’s been going on, chew you out about the cost of the ring and your carelessness toward it. And then call off the wedding, and every single one of your friends will know you’re a cheater and a liar.

“It’s not fucking here,” you cry out to Minho, halting your movements to bury your face in the palms of your hands, letting yourself emit muffled sobs into the sleeves of your sweater.

“It has to be,” Minho says, glancing once more around the room, and then approaching you to pull you in for a hug.

“Don’t,” you order, pushing him away from you, and Minho furrows his brows together. “Just don’t fucking touch me right now.”

Minho gives a breathy chuckle, thinking at first you might be joking, and then his expression softens as he realizes you’re being completely serious.

“What- seriously? That’s it?” Minho questions.

“What?” You say with a choked sob. “I can’t find my fucking engagement ring. The one I was given to get married, in case you forgot. Sorry I’m not in the mood.”

Minho scoffs lightly, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head. And then he meets your gaze once more, a solemn expression on his face.

“What are we doing?”

“What?” You query in response.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Minho repeats. “What the fuck are you doing here if you’re getting married?”

You shrug frustratedly, wiping tears with the back of your hand and saying nothing in response.

“No, answer me,” Minho commands, his voice raising a little. “What are we doing, going behind his back like this? You come here almost every night spewing your bullshit about Shirakawa and suddenly it’s my fault that you can’t find your fucking engagement ring? I mean, who even cares?”

“Who cares?” You retort. “I do. I’m getting married-”

“Exactly,” he interrupts. “So then what the fuck are we doing? Go get married, for fuck’s sake. Will you just leave, for good then?”

“You want me to walk out of your life just because I’m getting married?”

“I want you to leave because I’m in love with you,” Minho says finally, and a deafening silence washes over you two.

For a moment, all that’s heard are your echoing sniffles and Minho’s heavy breathing, as he struggles to find the words to continue.

“You really don’t see it in the way I look at you? You really haven’t realized I’m only okay being the other man because I’ll take any fucking version of you I can get at this point?”

Your gaze fixes on his, taking note of the way tears prick at the corners of his eyes, too.

“I’ve been in love with you for all these years,” Minho says, his voice coming out in a choked sob. “And what a waste, all these talks of Shirakawa when I’ve known all along it was always going to be him in the end.”

His words circle your mind with a sense of urgency, as you struggle to respond.

You have known it, maybe even reciprocating by this point, but knowing that you can’t, not when you’re getting married in mere weeks. You’re happy, and you’re safe here with Minho. But in terms of love, this isn’t permanent. It’s a fleeting thing, one that has to end like this as you approach the next chapter of the rest of your life.

And yet it hurts, like a knife pierced deep into an existing wound, like thick vines of ivy that caress your veins and pull tightly with every thought of it being Minho all this time, all these years.

“I love you,” Minho says almost sheepishly, throwing his hands at his sides in defeat. “I’ve always loved you. I love you in loud bars and over cheap bottles of wine. And I’m jealous- god, I’m jealous,” Minho admits in a choked sob. “And it’s killing me. I can’t do anything about it except watch you plan a life with somebody I’ll spend the rest of my life wishing was me instead.”

Your lips part to say something, but you can’t, simply wiping the tears that fall onto the sleeve of your sweater.

“I love you in the hands of another man and I’ll still love you if you choose him. But I can’t do it at this proximity to you anymore.”

“Minho, please-”

“There’s nothing else,” Minho says, gasping back his tears. “This is it for us.”

You watch as he exhales deeply, wiping his tears and gesturing back to the kitchen.

“Did you check the soap dish?” Minho then says in a quiet voice.

“What?”

“The soap dish,” he clarifies somberly. “For your ring.”

And Minho watches as your gaze falls to the stainless steel soap dish across the room, a bristle pad sponge occupying the rectangular dish, alongside the familiar glint of your silver engagement ring.

One you removed to ensure you didn’t lose it among the plate of pin bones from the cod you helped Minho prepare. And one you hadn’t even realized has been missing from your finger for several hours now.

Your gaze falls back to Minho’s before you retrieve the ring, and his eyes are swollen and mournful. There’s not a glint of hope present between you two- not in friendship, and certainly not in love.

And neither of you say another word as you pivot on your heel to collect the symbol of yours and Jung’s ode to permanence.

*

The polyester-spandex mix of your reception dress is much itchier than you remembered it to be. It’s a simple white piece, long and cascading behind the heels you’ve chosen, a generous v-cut enhancing the curve of your breasts as you adjust the hem in the mirror.

“Is it more comfortable than your wedding dress?” One of the bridesmaids questions with a smile.

You shoot her a somber smile, nodding at her and fidgeting with the long sleeve of your dress.

“Yeah. It is.”

“It should be,” she responds kindly. “Remember, try not to step on the bottom or we’ll have to get it cleaned off before the real thing.”

You nod at her, checking your reflection once more in the full-length mirror across from you. You love the woman you embody- she looks elegant, and sure of herself and well on the path to a lifetime of stability and happiness.

And yet the girl inside of you can’t feel further from the perception.

You want nothing more than to climb out of the tight-fitting dress and leave all of this, damn this rehearsal dinner to hell and call off the wedding. But this is it- the final stretch. Guests at every corner assume their positions and practice where they’ll stand and how they’ll move about so elegantly as you say your vows.

Jung seems so sure of himself, adjusting the cuffs of his suit and shooting you a wink from across the room as you stare blankly. And you can’t reciprocate, still far too preoccupied with the events of last week to care about any of this. Minho sending you off, the ultimatum to choose between your fiancé and the best friend you’re in love with.

Of course you couldn’t choose Minho, whose role in most of this has been to help lessen your fears and prepare you for a lifetime of giving yourself to Jung. And yet somewhere along the way, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was even true, completely smitten with every part of him, too. The fact remains that you’re in love with him, and yet you’ve both been so magnificently cursed to keep it at a comfortable distance and pray that in some version of this story, it’s you guys in the end.

Your family saunters about the venue in their fancy dressed and suits, and your guests chat amongst themselves and sample the foods that have been laid out for them. And your mind circles with images of Minho, and Minho and more Minho. And what he would look like, instead of Jung, waiting at the end of the aisle for you with a toothy grin and tears in his eyes. The cheap wine you’d choose to cater, just a handful of guests the way you know he’d want it. And an innocent, undemanding love shared between the two of you, sealing your promise to each other with a tender kiss and his breathy laugh.

Yet the fantasy is fleeting, it’s rooted in the delusion of a cheater, in every sense of the word, and it would effectively ruin your life had it come to fruition.

“Which way do we go from here?” Jung questions loudly, and your head snaps up in his direction.

“From here you’ll go to the right, just past the foyer there,” a coordinator responds. “Make sure to smile when you’re walking down an aisle at any given point.”

Stupid. The whole thing feels stupid.

“Did you get that?” Jung questions, and you nod meekly.

“Sure.”

“Let’s take five,” a coordinator says, clasping her hands together.

Jung resumes a conversation with the groomsmen beside him, and your eyes fall to the vacant seat across the table, where Minho’s meant to be sitting. A small white folded card rests delicately on a white platter, his name scribbled in loopy cursive to reserve his spot.

Lee Minho.

And you read his name over a dozen times, replaying every last word of your conversation in your head and wondering what he’d do if he were here. Probably criticize the wine, or make faces at Jung’s phony speeches. And love you from afar, but with his entire heart, regardless.

“What do you think so far?” Jung leans in to whisper.

“Yeah,” you reply, nearly evading the question altogether.

Your eyes scan the room at the carefully placed decorations- rows of lantern lights, white tablecloths and organized dishes for the guests, tapered candles are lit at every table. And in the center, bushels of magenta flower arrangements in cylindrical glass vases.

Magenta.

Your eyes do a double take, carefully examining the color as you furrow your brows. Magenta. Neon, obnoxious shades of magenta at every table. Nothing within the realm of the baby pink you requested. Harsh on the eyes and contrasting repulsively against the rest of the decor.

“The flowers are magenta,” you say to Jung quietly.

“Hm?”

“The flowers,” you repeat. “Are magenta.”

“Yeah,” Jung says, audibly a little confused. “They’re nice, right?”

“I said pink,” you respond. “Baby pink. These aren’t pink.”

Jung furrows his brows together, and then he cocks his head at the floral displays set upon each table.

“You’re right,” he then replies. He snaps his fingers at a staff member, and then he gestures to the floral displays.

“These aren’t pink,” he says harshly. “She requested pink and not magenta. Could we get these swapped out, please?”

A coordinator jots something down in a small notepad, and then gives him an understanding nod.

“That’s what we’re paying you guys for, right?” Jung asks sarcastically. “Come on, don’t let us settle for magenta flowers.”

And when he turns back to you, his chuckles get quieter as he observes the displeased expression on your face.

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” You ask him quietly.

“What?”

“Why are you ordering them around like that? They’re just flowers.”

“What? But you just said-”

“You never make things feel like less of a big deal,” you say quietly, a little scoff escaping your lips as you speak.

“What are you talking about?”

“You just take something and run with it. You don’t make things feel like less of a problem than they are. You’re supposed to comfort me, or find the good in magenta flowers. Not yell at the service workers.”

Jung laughs nervously, taking your words for a joke at first, and other guests begin to stare across the table as they watch you rise from your seat.

“And why is the wine so fucking expensive?”

“Please, sit down,” Jung says nervously, waving the guests off as they shoot him concerned looks.

“No, I don’t want to.”

And as you search for the words to say, your heart beating erratically, you realize it’s exactly this that you’ve stopped yourself from doing all this time. Fighting back. Using your voice the way Jung so comfortably weaponizes his against you. Letting your emotions spill out from the years they’ve been bottled up inside of you, and finally coming to terms with the fact that this isn’t the life you want at all.

It’s Minho you love, it’s always been Minho and it’s always going to be Minho.

“I don’t want this,” you say to Jung, as you smooth down your dress and stand up.

“Please, sit,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” you say in a shaky voice. “You don’t fulfill me, you haven’t touched me in weeks, I don’t think you even know that I asked for baby pink flowers, because you’re too busy showing off to all the shitty people you call friends. I don’t think we have ever been friends.”

All of the guests keep their gazes on you, taken aback by your words, but you don’t care, continuing your rant while they watch in horror.

“I hate expensive wine,” you say to Jung. “I want to go on a honeymoon somewhere it snows. I want to watch comedy movies, and go camping and be so madly in love it hardly feels like it some days, because we’re also such good friends when we’re not completely infatuated with each other.”

Jung doesn’t say anything, glancing nervously around the table as the coordinators maintain their silence, too. Your chest rises and falls with gasped breaths as you try to hold back from crying in front of them. And then you shrug, before finishing your speech.

“At the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf,” you say in a shaky voice. “And there’s the man who guts a fish alongside me, mess and all.”

Jung frowns at your words, visible confusion painting his features.

“What?”

“I have to go,” you say to him, sparing him any sort of explanation.

The hem of your dress is balled into the palms of your hands and pulled up to give yourself room to walk, as you kick off your heels and begin to exit the venue. And before you do leave, you pivot around one last time, letting your gaze meet Jung’s visibly irate expression.

“Here,” you announce, pulling the silver band off your ring finger and setting it down on the tablecloth.

“If you’re going to make a big deal out of anything, at least let it be this.”

*

The polyester-spandex mix of your reception dress isn’t made to run in. It’s much too long, the fabric bunches up at the sides and its bright white color begs to be kept indoors only. And yet you run- and you don’t stop, not even for a second, until the reception building is completely out of your sight, disappearing beyond the trees and the tall grasses that surround it.

Your bare feet scrape the squelching mud that surrounds the grassland after the recent rains, and overhead, the piercing blue sky and a harsh sun beams down over you in encouragement. And you normally hate blue skies and green grasses like this, always equating them to Jung’s stupid golf courses and the corporate events he’s dragged you to for years.

But today it serves as a sort of blessing, like the world is brighter, lighting your path and guiding you to the beacon that is Minho, and all his unconditional, unwavering love for you. Maybe it took you years to finally acquaint yourself with your emotions like this, and maybe you hadn’t even realized what true love was until Minho. And there’s the possibility, of course, that you’re also too late, and that Minho has already settled on the tragic fact that Jung would always remain a part of you.

And that’s true- he will maintain a role of permanence in your life. He was your first serious boyfriend throughout college, your first fiancé and your first true love before you understood it in a less superficial form. And yet he will also permanently remain the man whose life you walked out on, because he helped you realize he’s nothing near what actually fulfills you.

Once the paved roads are in view again, you waste no time waving down a taxi and uttering Minho’s address to the driver with such urgency. Your dress is caked in mud up to the ankles, and your hair is in complete disarray as you glance out the window at the rows of cars, all belonging to guests here for your dinner rehearsal. And you chuckle briefly, at the thought of them emptying the lot and walking out of your life forever.

Contrastly, Minho’s apartment is in complete disarray, too, as he hoists the last of his immediate belongings into a leather bound suitcase and latches it shut.

What a waste, he thinks to himself. What a waste to have spent so much time comfortably in love with the idea of a finite soulmate, and at such close proximity, too. You’re probably off at your rehearsal dinner, sampling finger foods and laughing at all of Jung’s surface-level conversation.

And he’ll never know you the way Minho knows you. He will never comprehend your fears, your reservations, all your little quirks and the things that make you tick. He’ll never fully understand the prospect of being so bound to somebody in both friendship and love that it’s almost indistinguishable what you are to each other. Perhaps that’s where you went wrong, too- because Minho knows it, that his role in your life has always been to love you, near, far and at every point in between. And yet you deem it just a fleeting thing, one implying an end.

There is no discernible point between the end of my friendship and my love for you, Minho wishes he could tell you. Just like the promise of my friendship to you, it’s a blossoming thing, this beautiful phenomenon. And we can run with it, or we can let it die like this- but it will always remain of permanence.

The chestnut suitcase is hoisted into the trunk of his car, also littered with boxes and duffel bags of his belongings. It’s a vulnerable feeling, to pack up and move on like this. Not forever- just for the duration of which you’ll be uttering your vows to Jung. He can’t bear to be in the same city as any of it, he refuses to let himself love at the proximity of you dolled up in a wedding dress, in the sacred environment of a church surrounded by your family. How could a higher power accept the felicitations of the same man who’s been fucking you behind the groom’s back? Within the four walls of which transforms hate to love, and sin to virtue?

What a waste, Minho concludes again. What a waste to have loved this deeply, and to pacify your fears only for another man to reap the benefits. Try as Jung might, he’ll never know you the way Minho does. And the vast trench that separates you from Jung, one which paints a clear divide of friendship and his superficial love for you- that will remain permanent, too.

As Minho starts up the engine, the last of his belongings all packed and ready to go, he glances around the neighborhood with a somber expression. The sun glares down on the empty concrete roads, birds circling the sky like there’s any reason to celebrate. Maybe they’re ravens, and maybe they circle in a mourning ritual. The only event fitting for an afternoon like this one, as Minho prepares to leave for his parents’ house- like the coward he knows he is.

His apartment grows smaller with every passing inch he drives down the concrete road, and a trembling hand reaches up to adjust his rear view mirror, letting out a deep exhale as he prepares to leave all this behind.

And as the faint outline of his apartment grows smaller, a white figure behind him grows bigger.

It starts as a fleeting blur, maybe a shadow, or perhaps the glint of the sunlight in his mirror. But as he quickens the push of his foot to the gas pedal, it grows faster, too, catching up to the drag of his car along the concrete and approaching him with such purpose.

An apparition of sorts, he thinks momentarily.

I’m fucking seeing things. I’ve officially lost it.

But as the frantic call of his name floats through the air and into the crack of his car window, his eyes widen, the lag of his brain finally reaching a halt as he slams on his brakes and throws open the door.

And in rushed motions, he’s climbing out to face you, doubled over as you catch your breath and hold a hand up in surrender.

“Stop!” You shout, waving your hands and motioning for him to cease his movements.

And Minho’s eyes don’t get any smaller, maintaining their shocked expression as he waits for you to speak.

Your white dress, tainted brown up to your knees in mud and grass. Even your face is muddy, streaks of it painting the otherwise stunning face of makeup you flaunt. And you speak in pleading gasps as you finally break the silence between the two of you.

“It’s you,” you say to Minho sheepishly.

“What are you-”

“It’s you, it’s always been you,” you breathe out. “I was so stupid, and I left as soon as I could comfortably come to terms with it. It’s you I love, Minho. Not Jung and not the idealized version of that life I created in my head. I can’t do any of this without you, and I can’t live the rest of my life without having said something. I love you- now, and in ten years time and I want to spend the rest of my life gutting fish alongside you- mess and all.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment- in fact, he wears a poker face as he watches you continue to catch your breath. And then he scoffs lightly as he shakes his head.

“You waited until the day of your wedding to say something?” Minho retorts frustratedly.

“Rehearsal dinner,” you correct him. “This is just a dinner dress.

“Regardless,” Minho says. “I mean, what are we doing? There’s another man waiting for you, and we’re here doing something we should’ve done years ago if it was meant to be in the slightest.”

You feel your heart drop at his words, confirming the theory you’d feared the most. Too late.

“Please,” you beg, and Minho shakes his head.

“We’re terrible people,” he then states, his voice trembling in the process. “Cheaters, and liars. And this is far too rooted in dishonesty and selfishness to be love.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you watch Minho scan your expression. And perhaps he’s right- but it can’t be anything except for love, not when it feels this right with him.

“Where are you going?” You ask Minho quietly, moving a strand of muddied hair out from your eyes.

“My parents’ place,” he replies.

And you give him a small nod, pivoting on your heel to walk out of his life, forever.

Except it’s the realization of this that causes you to turn back around-

There is no forever in the absence of Minho- not when he plays a role of permanence.

He will forever be the man you fell in love with, the man you’ve been in love with for years, one you risked your life to come find and one who’s defined the limitations of what it means to be a best friend and simultaneously a lover.

That will remain with you always, and near, far and everywhere in between, the love will exist the way it always has.

“Loving me was the most selfish thing you ever did,” you call out to Minho, and he turns back around to meet your gaze.

“And yet you did it anyway,” you continue. “You made love to me and you drank my fiancé’s wine and we’re in love so selfishly at this proximity to each other. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re in love, and that I’m not going back to Jung. And leaving here- depriving yourself of the love you’ve wanted for so long, that’s also a selfish move. You can go as far as you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that the love is still here between us.”

Minho’s lips part to say something, but he doesn’t, instead blinking nervously as he waits for you to finish.

“And at the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf, and there’s the man who teaches me how to gut a fish, mess and all,” you finally finish.

Minho stays silent, pondering your words, and scanning your expression.

And truth be told, he wants to take you in his arms and run, hearing the words he’s longed to hear all his life. But he stops himself, instead emitting a breathy chuckle from his lips and shaking his head.

“Well what do you propose?” He finally asks, cocking his head as he awaits your reply.

And his response is a weight off your shoulders, as you sigh deeply and shrug in his direction.

“I propose we let ourselves be selfish,” you say to him. “And we spend the rest of our lives seeking forgiveness together.”

Minho chuckles, taking careful note of the way your eyes sparkle as you approach him. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you so relaxed before, and certainly not so sure of yourself. You look like the woman he’s loved both near and far, exuding confidence and passion and unwavering comfort in your demeanor. His best friend and his lover, he thinks encouragingly, as he cups his hands around your cheeks and pulls you in for a tender kiss, one that confirms your proposal and implies all of this permanence.

The roads are still empty in the dull afternoon of the hour, Minho maneuvering the car with one hand as you sit beside him in the passenger seat, your hands intertwined over the center console as the harsh blue sky and bright hues of green grass melt into blurs of color beside you. And he speaks only of Shirakawa as he drives, promising you beautiful snowfalls and chilly walks along the lily ponds upon your arrival.

You can picture everything as the tales escape his lips, full of life as you imagine the brown farmhouses and green hills, where you and Minho promise to love selfishly under the prayer hand thatched roofs, the very place your forgiveness will coincide alongside the permanence.

And as he brings the back of your hand to his lips for a chaste kiss, he can feel the green vines of ivy loosen around his soul, but this time you feel it too, viridian leaves finally putting distance between your venules and their harsh grasp. And perhaps it wasn’t grieving all along, but love for you- love which you’re full of, too.

The vines tangle themselves beautifully between your seated figures, blossoming flowers and color and placing life back into you both.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Minho can finally breathe.

[spearb-gf]

Day 29: CNC — Jeonglix | Kinktober

CNC — Consensual non-consent occurs when consenting adults agree to perform an act of non-consensual activity that has been talked about prior to (and actually consented upon).

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Pairing: Jeongin + Felix x gn!afab reader

Summary: You should be careful who you invite in.

Genre: Smut, established relationship

:

WC: 2.5k (2559)

CW: Consensual non-consent, Role-play, reader forced into sex, Unprotected Sex, Dom!Jeongin + Dom!Felix x Sub!Reader, reader gets checked on during it but it’s very subtle, Felix is mean (Apart of the scene), Forced oral (M. Receiving), Fluff at the end yay.

:

a/n: DO NOT READ IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE! Reader does get checked on and I’m sure it’ll be easy to spot because I give signs. All of this is consensual and agreed upon beforehand. Switched this from orgasm control to cnc because I wasn’t confident in writing for orgasm control.

When you told Jeongin and Felix your Fantasies, they weren’t exactly too on board. You were nervous about it, but you explained to them how there were times you wanted to be taken advantage of and used for someone else’s own pleasure. The idea terrified them a bit since they’ve never had thoughts like that before in order to do such a thing. Those kinds of things needed someone to be in a certain mindset, and Jeongin and Felix weren’t sure if they were even able to pull something like that off.

You opted on giving up on the subject, afraid you’d end up making the two uncomfortable, but they quickly tried to tell you that they’d at least try.

Well, trying turned into actually doing a good enough job that you almost forgot they were acting.

You were relaxing in the living room, listening to the TV and just minding your business as you scrolled through your phone. As you began to drift off to sleep, your doorbell rang and you jumped up in surprise. Without keeping anyone waiting, you immediately went to go and open the door, smiling when you saw who it was.

“Oh— Hi, you’re Jeongin and Felix right? I believe we have met before, can I help you?” You say, staring at the two men before you.

“Sorry to bother, we came to ask if we could use your washer? Ours broke and we have a shit ton of clothes.” Jeongin says, pointing to the clothes basket Felix was carrying.

Your eyes lit up, “Why, of course! Just come in! I know how it feels not being able to wash any clothes.” You say, letting the two inside.

You lead them to your laundry area, but as you do, you feel their intense stares from behind you. You were wearing shorts that were a bit too short and a tank top that hugged your curves and chest, making the outline of your breasts visible to them. You shuddered, yet continued to lead the pair until you reached your laundry area.

“Well, this is it. This one’s the washer and this one’s the dryer. If you need more detergent it’s in this little cabinet along with the rest of the stuff.” You say, pointing to everything and explaining how to work the machines.

“If you need me, I’ll just be in my room, you two can sit out in the living room while you wait for your clothes.” You tell them, a huge grin on your face.

“Thank you so much for this.” Felix says and you shake your head and wave your hand.

“it’s no big deal, just Neighbors helping Neighbors right?”

You waved goodbye to the two men and make your way towards your room. Once you make it in there, you shut your door and sit on your bed, scrolling through your phone as you had before. Mere seconds later, there was a knock on your door. You were a bit skeptical since you wouldn’t think that the two would have needed anything, but since they were here there was a possibility that they could’ve needed something.

“Come in!” You call from the other side.

Felix doesn’t hesitate for another second to open the door. It was kind of ominous at first seeing him standing at your door and staring at you the way that he was.

“I’m sorry to bother you again, we just wanted something to eat. We didn’t want to go into your kitchen without you.” Felix says, basically insinuating that he wanted you to come into the kitchen with him.

You eye him before shrugging, “Oh! Sure, I’m sorry. I should’ve offered you guys something before sitting down again.” You say, getting up from your spot and walking to the door.

“It’s alright, we would’ve been fine but, we just realized how hungry we were to be honest.” He says, an apologetic look on his face.

You brush it off and you lead him towards your kitchen. The moment Jeongin sees you two he gets up as well and joins you both in the kitchen.

“Is there anything specific you want to eat?” You ask the two. They only shake their heads.

“Whatever you have — If that’s alright.” Jeongin says.

You nod and turn towards the cabinets, opening them and scanning for anything they could eat. You notice a box of crackers on the high shelf, thinking you could just give them crackers as a snack. You hopped and tried to reach for them but to no avail you kept missing. It was embarrassing to keep missing like that in front of them, yet you didn’t give up. You were about to try again until Jeongin came up behind you, pressing his body against yours and reaching up behind you to grab the item you wanted. As he reached, a stray hand caressed your body and sides, his hands massaging your ass. You shivered and took in a deep breath, thinking you ought to either confront him or to let it be. He finally grabbed the box and you turned to him, but he had a certain look in his eye.

“Jeongin..? Are you not hungry?” You ask, trying to divert the attention from you, backing yourself up against the counter to distance yourself.

Then, Felix comes up behind Jeongin, the same lustful eyes that the other had.

“You know.. You really shouldn’t invite people so easily into your home.” He says, his voice low and a bit intimidating.

Your heart races and you stare at them bewildered.

“W-What are you talking about? If this is some kind of joke I’d really appreciate it if you two cut it out.” You tell them as sternly as you could manage to.

Jeongin made a ‘tsk’ sound and inched closer towards you, his hands planted on both sides of the counter in an attempt to trap you there. You felt scared and really nervous about what was going on. The two cute guys from across the street were no longer acting the way you thought they’d were. The more they stared at you, the more hungry you see their looks were getting.

“I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet.” Jeongin picks up in conversation.

“Figured what out!?” You ask, trying not to show any fear in your tone.

“We’ve been watching you y/n. We’ve watched your every move, every time you leave your house, everytime you are in your house, and we’ve seen the amount of people you invite over too.” Jeongin says, making you gulp.

“It drives us crazy. Watching all these people get a chance to come in and fuck you whenever you want, yet we’re stuck, stuck watching you from afar while you never paid any attention.” Felix adds.

“You guys are crazy— Those people aren’t here to fuck me!” You say in defense and Felix scoffs.

“That would’ve been believable if you learned to close your curtains before any of you had sex.” Felix sasses.

“We got tired of waiting, we want you y/n, and we’re getting our chance whether you like it or not.” Jeongin grits out, and your eyes widen.

“What the fuck are you talking about— Hey! Get off of me!” You yell, Jeongin putting firm hands on your waist to try and pull him towards you.

You squirmed and did your best to try and fight back, but it was almost no use. Jeongin was ten times stronger than you were, making it impossible for you to just escape his grasp so easily. That didn’t mean you gave up though, wiggling and hitting his arms as he moved you to the livingroom.

“Let— Me go—! I’ll call the police—“ You threaten, but none of the two react to your words a bit.

They were too clouded by lust to even care about anything you were saying. If they were to get the police called on them afterwards they would’ve been smiling all the way to jail. Jeongin eventually tossed you to the couch and you landed with a rather hard thud to the back of your head. The impact made your vision a bit blurry and you grew dizzy for a split second, watching as the two men towered over you. Without a second to waste, Jeongin holds you down while Felix tugs your shorts off, leaving your cunt exposed to them. Felix clicks his tongue and stares at you.

“You even went as far as to not wear any underwear, how inviting.” He says, and you squeal in embarrassment and frustration.

“Please— just let me go?! I won’t tell anyone you did this-” You plead, but it was still no use. Along with your upper body, Jeongin held your legs apart for Felix to do whatever he wanted.

Felix took two fingers and ran them alongside the folds of your entrance, hissing at how wet it was.

“Fuck— You’re soaking. You say you don’t want this yet your cunt is drenched, you fuckin’ whore.” Felix spat, and you feel your body blush and grow hot with shame.

Felix stands up, undoing his pants while he stood above you. You still continued to fight back against Jeongin, seeing his muscles bulge and strain from having to hold you down. He was strong, too strong and if you kept fighting him back at this rate you’d end up growing extremely tired. Felix yanks his boxers down, revealing his erection. He was long and girthy and you saw beads of precum dripping onto the sides. Jeongin continued to hold your legs open as Felix dips back to your level, his tip dragging against your cunt. It teased your hole and drew circles on your clit. As he stares at you, you notice his eyes soften for a second, and you try to fight back a smile.

“I’ll give you a chance to beg if this really isn’t what you want, but your cunt says otherwise.” He murmurs.

You stare up at him, tears welling in your eyes. You knew what he was doing, and so you didn't answer him. Your reaction is exactly what he needed to continue with what he was about to do.

“Just fuck them already, their pussy isn’t gonna be wet forever.” Jeongin shouts.

“Please— I-I don’t wa-want this… I’ll do anything..” You cry, but the two don’t let up.

Without any more time being wasted, Felix thrust into you, his dick invading your walls, your cunt taking in the sudden intrusion. You cry out and dig your nails into Jeongin’s arms, tears falling from your face as Felix fucked you. Moans and curse words escaped his mouth as he fucked into you, sharp nails digging into your skin. He was hitting your g spot so well and so fast that you couldn’t help the moans that gave away the obvious pleasure you were feeling.

“It’s so sloppy in here— Oh fuuck-“ Felix moaned out, his face screwed in pleasure.

Jeongin let you go, watching as Felix took over in holding you down. Felix kept you pinned to the couch, not allowing any room for you to escape. He was forcing you to take every inch of him that he gave you. While you were getting fucked, Jeongin had also pulled his pants down, revealing his hard on. You briefly opened your eyes and saw how uncomfortably close his dick was to your face. Before you could really even say anything, he took your face in his hands and yanked it so that you were facing him. He forced your mouth open with his fingers and plunged his cock into your wet mouth.

You gagged and choked as he mouth fucked you, the vibrations of your moans sending a delicious vibration to his length. You could barely breathe as he did, and you kept scratching and clawing at his hips to get him to try and let up, but he didn’t budge.

“It’s like you were waiting for this— to happen-“ Jeongin groaned out, his thrusts in your mouth becoming brutal.

“You see how— easy it was to fuck them? They’re fucking pathetic, bet they were dreaming of this-“ Felix joins in, making your body tremble.

They were both fucking into you at a pace so fast that it made it hard for you to keep up with what was happening. Your mind went numb and you began to think about everything you’ve done wrong to end up like this. It was shameful to say, but Felix fucked you way better than anyone else had, even if it was by force. He was hitting every spot and angle that everyone, even you, failed to reach. You could feel his length gliding in and out of you, every ridge and vein of his dick against your walls. It was an errotic scene for anyone to witness. The living room was filled with your choked moans and gags and the squelches made by your filthy cunt.

Your walls fluttered around Felix, indicating that you were close in orgasm.

“Close already? You’re fucking ridiculous.” He says, slapping your thighs and causing you to make a choked out yell.

“You’re fucking gross and disgusting for enjoying this, letting every hole you have be fucked by neighbors you probably were also spying on.” Jeongin adds and you try your best to shake your head.

With a final thrust you came hard around Felix, writhing and squirming as the wave of your orgasm rolled in.

“Oh shit— Fuck — oh you came you’re so fuckibg filthy— Fuucck-“ Felix cried out, his thrusts getting sloppy.

Felix finally came inside of you, filling you up and watching as it leaked out of your abused cunt. Jeongin watched the scene before him unfold and he finally came into your mouth, thick ropes of cum hitting the back of your throat. You swear you really couldn’t breathe until Jeongin finally pulled out of your mouth, allowing you to breathe and swallow his cum.

The second everyone finished, Felix pulled out of you and immediately jumped on you.

“Oh baby—! Are you okay? Did we hurt you too bad?” Felix asks, dropping his entire act.

You smile as he kisses you and holds you in his arms.

“I’m sorry baby— We didn’t mean to hurt you, can we get you anything? Run you a bath? Feed you?” Jeongin adds, joining Felix in making sure you were okay.

“I’m fine, that was amazing, Thank you.” You sweetly say, kissing the two on their noses.

“Make up sex?” Jeongin asks, consensually of course.

You nod your head, “Only if you run me that bath.” You say, a playful tone in your voice.

“I’m on it! I’ll go and get it started!” Felix says, immediately hopping up and rushing towards the bathroom.

You giggle at his enthusiasm, staring up at Jeongin with loving eyes.

“You guys did amazing, I love you Innie.” You say, caressing his cheek.

He sighs of relief and smiles back at you.

“I love you too. Now come on, let’s get you in that bath.” He says, picking you up.

You yelp in surprise, “Innie?! I can walk, you know!”

He shakes his head, “Nope, you’re getting babied for the rest of the night.”

You smile, who were you to deny that kind of treatment from them?

[TAGLIST]

@seolarpower // @bvb-sd-etf // @seungminsfavoritegirlll // @puppymbot // @compersian // @ihrtlix // @hyuneyeon // @nobody3210 // @chansrealwife // @bratty-tingz // @mal-lunar-28 // @lolareadsimagines // @ot8girlfie // @minhwa // @mariteez // @s00buwu // @strawberry31 // @anskiiz // @prettymiye0n // @yevene // @josienese // @hanjingin // @hynjinnnnnnnn // @iadorethemskz // @nightimescapes // @kookiesbunny // @mrsminho // @hwangshoneycake // @conwunder // @minsungjinho // @minsflannelwrap148 // @starsandrqindrops // @freckleboilix

Comment if you want to be in my tag list. 🦭 (Must be 18+ and have age in your bio.)

[spearb-gf]

another year with you — lee minho. established relationship. extreme fluff (0.5k words)

“Dori, you’re gonna wake him up.”

Your whispers mix together with your giggles as Minho stirs in his sleep. There’s a tickle on his nose. Dori’s tail, he assumes.

He simply nuzzles his face deeper into his pillow in response to the commotion, grip tightening around your waist to keep you in place.

It’s one of his first day offs in a while, and he fully intends to spend it in bed all day with you.

“Minho.” You sheered, running a hand through his hair. He habitually leans into your warmth. “Happy Birthday.”

Dori keeps kneading at the pillow he’s using. Soonie and Doongie seem to have joined not long ago, pooling just by your legs.

Minho grumbles, moving his head so he’s facing you. Though, he doesn’t think he could have ever prepare himself for the sight he’s subjected to.

The sunlight pouring through your shared room bathes your face in a beautiful hue, soft smile on your face.

“Hi.” Your voice is still in a whisper, not wanting to startle him out of the small comfort of your bed. You can see the way his eyes start to open wider, blinking away the sleep. Slowly.

“What do you want for your birthday?” You ask. His lips look plump, pressed together as he keeps his eyes on yours.

He has tells when he’s deep in thought, tongue running over his bottom lip with a slight furrow on his eyebrows. His hand moves from being draped around your waist in favor of tracing the moles on your face.

Dori meows from next to him. Soonie and Doongie have moved to occupy the space between you.

“I have everything I need.” He finally mumbles, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on your lips. Soft, romantic, and lovesick.

You pull away, though unsuccessfully as Minho chases after your lips. “‘M not done kissing you.”

“Mmm.” You hum against his lips, hand moving to play with the ends of his hair. He grew it out recently, admits he likes the way you pull on it.

It lasts a few heartbeats, and Minho exhales when your lips leave his. His eyes are still closed as he cements this moment. He’d film it if we could, running it over and over and never getting sick.

Quiet mornings with you and his cats on his birthday. He feels his heart grow.

“I love you.” The boy rarely says it first, loving in the shadows, but he ponders over saying it more when he sees the way your eyes light up and the way you have to bite down on your lips to suppress your smile.

You feel too fumbly to respond right away. Though, Minho doesn’t take too lightly at the silence that follows.

“Say it back.” He whines, and the pout on his lips solicit a breathy laughter from you. You gently reach out to cup his face, running a hand over his bottom lip.

“I love you too.”

He smiles. Slow blinking from his doe eyes.

“You’re twenty-five.”

Foreheads pressed together. Noses nuzzling. Soonie meows.

“Another year with you.”

Minho wouldn’t want it any other way.

[spearb-gf]

Make Love, Not Porn

Hi, My Name Is

HHJ

Masterlist, Story Masterlist

18+ content – minors, do not interact

wc: 7.7k

Synopsis: You crave a life of normalcy, he craves you. And he'd do anything to keep you, even if you're for the world to see.

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, subby/service top!barista hyune, softdom!reader, oral (m), piv, protected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, consensual recording, lmk if I missed anything :p to be so honest i have no idea what i wrote i kinda blacked out lol so if it’s ass..look away

Past Broadcasts : Puppeteer

Live : Hi, My Name Is

Next Scheduled Broadcast : Sunday

☆ﾟ

Rule number five: know when to cut the cord.

But it was so difficult when he was literally showing up at your front door. You avoided him at all costs, acted like he didn’t exist, even found a new grocery store because it was too close to the coffee shop and you were terrified of the possibility of running into him there even if the chances were slim to none. There wasn’t even a reason for you to be scared to see him, he rejected you. He’s the one that should be embarrassed, turning down a ten out of ten.

Then again, he was a ten out of ten. A twelve out of ten, even. But why did he have to shove it in your face?

You were red in the face, light sheen of sweat all over your body when you’d heard the knock. The middle of the day and you were in the middle of a solo session, breaking in a new toy you’d gotten for the next stream. An hour had probably passed when you realized it just wasn’t working. Nothing was. The last time you’d been with Hyunjin was also the last time you’d cum, and it was frustrating the life out of you. As someone in this industry, cumming as many times as you wanted was one of the few motivators you had left. The amount of times you’d had to fake an orgasm on your streams was hurting your ego, as well as starting to get slightly suspicious to your regular viewers.

And now the sole object of your desire was behind a slab of wood that may as well have not been there at all. Your body heated up as soon as you saw him, like a warm hug. A fucking hug on the chilliest day of winter with a hot chocolate slipping down your throat. There’s also something else that would be awfully nice down you throat, and it’s behind the fucking door.

Through the peephole, you could see flowers and a coffee in his hand, biting his lip waiting for you to open. You hoped he didn’t hear you, that he’d assume you weren’t home and leave you alone for good. If you ignored him long enough, you’ll forget you’d ever even met him.

You backed away from the door when there was a second knock, hand still reached out holding the nob out of habit. The desire to open it was almost strong enough to override the nagging at the back of your head that told you “he’s just using you. He got in your pants so easily the first time, what’s to stop him from coming back for more?”

Almost.

It was a ruse, it had to be, this grand gesture. He was love bombing you. There was something he wanted. If not just sex, then fifteen minutes of fame? Using you for your platform? Still, you wanted to see the best in him, creeping up to the door again and silently looking through the peephole again. He was biting the inside of his cheek, switching the coffee between his hands when it got too cold. At some point he’d put everything into one hand so that he could run his hand through his hair– you gasped a little at how effortlessly beautiful he was, not trying knowing no one was looking and still ethereal. He mumbled something to himself, you blinked then he suddenly dipped out of the frame.

He was finally gone. Another deep breath, your head rolled to the side and your back pressed to the wall, sliding down into a crouch probably a lot more dramatic than need be. But this felt dramatic, fucking theatrical like it was some poorly written fanfiction turned into a D-list casted movie. Twiddling your thumbs as if looking at them long enough would suddenly give you the answer, the small burst of adrenaline had finally begun to wear off, and sulking back into your pitiful showroom you went. 

-

Hyujin doesn’t know how long he’d been waiting outside your house. He’d eventually decided to make himself comfy on the floor with his back to the door. Flowers, coffee, and baked good set aside, he scrolled through his phone and kept himself busy until eventually, he’d fallen asleep. Head lolled to the side, mouth agape, and snoring in the hallway.

Then he’s suddenly falling backwards, beyond startled and looking up at… an angel?

“Definitely not an angel.”

Did I say that out loud?

“Yes.”

Dazed, confused, a little gutpunched, Hyunjin sat up with your help. Just a light hand on his back until he realized you were touching him and he jumped to his feet and scrambled to grab the bouquet. Holding it out to you with shaking hands, “a peace offering.”

You looked at the gifts, leaned against the wall, and back up to his face, “what are you doing here, Hyunjin?”

He glanced around the room to take in the sight of your home without the prospect of sex slightly clouding his mind. It was cute, everything was so you, but also somehow entirely different to what he’d imagined your apartment would look like. It wasn’t reflective of your showroom, which was all neon lights and sultry furniture to keep the mood. The rest of the house was cozy with little pieces of decoration that screamed with personality. The dimming glow of the sunset lighting the living room was the perfect accessory.

Wait, sunset?

You peaked at where he was looking, “did you fall asleep?” Hyunjin nodded.

Now you felt bad, guilty even. You shouldn’t seeing as there was little to no established relationship and you didn’t owe him anything, but you did. His cheeks were puffy, pink tinted, and he still looked a little lethargic. Cute. Very cute. How badly you wanted to nibble on his cheeks cus they looked so edible. He looked edible.

No. Stop it.

“I would offer you a snack but the last time I did that you left me high and dry.”

He didn’t know if you were being serious, turning his attention back to you with a dumbfounded expression. “Really? You didn’t feel so dry to me.” Not a single ounce of shame, but also not trying to be smug. And no filter in his brain or mouth. “You didn’t call.”

Straight to the point.

Hyunjin invited himself in and headed for the kitchen he vaguely recalls following you into for said snack. He shuffled around in search of a vase, pushing the coffee into your chest when he finally found one and bumping into you because you were trailing so close behind. The little sip you took as he filled the vase with water to display on your kitchen counter made your body temperature soothe. 

“You didn’t stay,” the softness of your voice made his heart sink.

“Did you really want me to?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Say that, yes, I wanted you to stay so bad that I chose to ignore you instead of confront you because it’s easier to pretend you don’t exist than risk getting hurt again? Actually tell him that you haven’t been able to make yourself orgasm properly since the last time you were together? That he’s ruined how you view pleasure entirely? That sex and pleasure and dating and basic human relationships seems so fucking pointless if it’s not with him? To a man you’ve known for a week? No, that’s not an option. It’s batshit insane.

What’s also insane is how simple talking to him is. It’s psychotic that you feel more comfortable alone with him than you do people you’ve known for years. You’re delusional to think that this is more than physical attraction, even if it is. It’s so much more than that and every bone in you is telling you let the dainty red string pull you closer, let it guide you towards him. And god, you want to. It’s too good to be real, he’s not real. He’s a figment of your imagination that only exists in fairy tales because little red strings of fate don’t determine your life, they don’t tell you who you’ll love, it doesn't mean anything. Not a single fucking thing.

“Yes.” 

Now, why the fuck would you say that?

“You should’ve told me,” Hyunjin let out a sigh of what you think was relief.  His shoulders slouched forward and smiled up at the ceiling.

His nonchalant made you raise an eyebrow, “I offered! You declined!”

“Don’t yell at me. I left my phone number on your desk, you didn’t call. Drink before it gets watered down.” You frowned and took a sip. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What are you talking about? What phone number?”

“The one on your desk? With the pretty drawing of you and the… y’know?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“What?!” He slammed the bag with the baked item onto the counter and stormed through the apartment towards your showroom. You watched as he scoured the room, searching the bed, corners, your desk for whatever it is he was looking for.

Hyunjin had gotten on his hands and knees to look below it, finally to roll your chair back and pull the cupsleeve out from under it. The cardboard was smashed, crumpled, a little dirty. He stumbled to his feet to hold it in front of you, accompanying his raised, unamused brow.

“To be fair, I thought my chair was broken.”

“You didn’t even bother to look at why it might’ve been broken?!” You shrugged, sipping the coffee again. Hyunjin huffed and tossed the cup sleeve back onto your desk. “You’re insufferable. Where the fuck is your phone?”

“Don’t swear at me.” Pointing at the bed, Hyunjin rolled his eyes before taking it.

“Passcode?” You tell him the six digits to unlock it. “Is that your birthday?”

“...No.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll remember. I’ll even add it to your contact so that I get the notification.” After a few moments, he smiled triumphantly and tossed your phone next to the abandoned cupsleeve. “Now… Dinner?”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive?”

“I left you outside.”

“Yeah.”

“For hours.”

“Sure.”

“You fell asleep on my doorstep.”

“Where were you going, anyway? The sun was going down.”

“To get my mail.”

“What?! At night alone?! Now, that’s unforgivable.” Hyunjin took a step towards you, slim yet broad figure shielding yours from just about everything in your immediate vision. He leaned over, placing both of his hands on the sides of your head to hold you steady as he placed a simple kiss to your forehead.

The sudden affection made your brain short circuit because what the hell? How was he so okay with everything? It was almost like there was a wind up monkey toy holding cymbals inside his head that started clapping whenever his attention was taken somewhere else. But somehow, you were even more attracted to him, if that was even possible.

“Were you doing something in here? It smells like sweat.” He said and casually strolled out of your showroom. 

For hours, you and Hyunjin were in your kitchen. Half of that was spent trying to figure out what the two of you could cook without burning the house down. The conversation was so entertainingly mundane that neither of you realized how much time had truly passed, sun fully set and night sky helping illuminate the dimly lit living room. He insisted on doing most of the cooking when you both agreed that boxed pasta and premade red sauce would be the safest thing.

All you had to do was sit back and ogle his back muscles as he stirred the pot, maybe hand him a napkin or spoon when asked. The white shirt he wore was as thin as they come, tank top more than visible beneath it and making your mouth water. The room had become incredibly warm as Hyunjin put the wooden spoon to the side. With his back to you, you got to watch as both his hands threaded through his hair, gathering what he could, and tying it into a messy ponytail. God, how did he do that? That thing where he just exists and it makes you swoon? He needs to stop– it’s getting ridiculous how hearts were basically replacing your pupils.

“If it tastes horrible, lie to me and act like it doesn’t.” Hyunjin placed a full plate in front of you, taking the seat across from you.

For the most part, the meal itself was silent. There just weren’t any words that you could think coherently enough to speak. Great food, made especially for you, and by the most handsome boy you’d ever seen, why would you need to say anything? Hyunjin didn’t seem to mind. All it looked like he cared about was not taking his eyes off you.

It was just the littlest bit uneasy, but nothing that put you off. His stare was just intense, part of you thought he was reading your mind. However, if he could, you probably wouldn’t have had to spend a week apart.

“I don’t understand you,” you admit as you suddenly find your plate nearing clean.

“Do you have to?” He responded, putting his fork down and sitting back while adjusting to spread his knees.

“I’d like to.”

Oh, how his heart fluttered when you said that. It felt like a step in the right direction. “That’s the first time you’ve asked me something personal that isn’t related to sex.”

You frowned along with the small guilt that lingered over your shoulder. “This is only the fourth time we’ve met.”

“Most people ask this before taking their clothes off. I think I’ve told you before, you’re not like most people.” He could see you bite the inside of your cheek, making a cute pout that he could tell was coming from a place of an unnecessary amount of self awareness. “I like it, though. Why do you think I came back?”

“I don’t know why. That’s, like, the whole point of me saying, ‘I don’t understand you.’”

Hyunjin reached over the short distance between him and you, thumb smoothing the ruffle between your brows and you instantly relaxed. As awkward as he could be, he really knew how to make you feel so at ease, second nature for him to be comfort embodied. There was no judgment on his face or in his tone that you could see. If you had asked what he was thinking about, he would have answered with how pretty your cheeks glow after a good meal.

“That day, you agreed to come with me and… participate..?” Hyunjin nodded along and listened intently, continuing to lightly push your hair from your forehead and trace the outline of your cheek. “Then we showered and snacked and then you just… you left. And didn’t so much as twitch when you looked at me after we were done.”

His jaw wanted to drop to the floor just how it did in the cartoons. That was the only reaction he could emit as it all clicked into place. Why you didn’t look for him or stop by the coffee shop, why you were reluctant to open the door and accept his gift, the slightly cold shoulder you gave him when you so clearly wanted to be nothing but a blanket of warmth. “Is that what you think?”

Hyunjin’s heart hurt a little when you didn’t answer, but he also wanted to laugh in your face at how stupid all of this was. However, he had clocked it the second you two had a real conversation, and so laughing at you was probably the last thing he should do. Instead, he trailed his touch down your jaw, gently cupping your cheek. “You’re more than all this,” hands slid quickly, gesturing down your sides and back up. “So much more.”

The tears wanted to swell in your eyes at how sincere his voice was. He could’ve been lying, for all you knew, but the small part of you that wanted to believe him was also the biggest part of you that had always wanted someone to tell you those small words. The small part of you that wanted to be wanted was also the biggest part of you that wanted him. It was all so confusing, you understood him perfectly but also not at all. Hyunjin could read you easily by now, you were like an open book to him.

“But I was naked.”

“And so fucking beautiful,” practically gritted through his teeth because just saying the words couldn’t express the painfully good clenching in his chest. Hyunjin pulled back for a second to stand up and shrink to his knees in front of you, reaching up again to take your cheeks in both of his hands. “But how could I look at just your body when there is so much up here to get to know?”

There it was again, all the right words executed perfectly in spite of how great of a wall you put between you and him. Hyunjin smoothly pressed a kiss to your forehead, for emphasis or not, it made you shut your eyes tightly and the tears silently rolled. His thumbs were swiping it away before making it over the hill of your cheekbone, and he was standing to take your empty dishes into the kitchen for cleaning.

You were absolutely stunned. Unsure of where to go, how to act, what to say, you simply watched him quickly wash the plates with an endearing smile all the way across his cheeks before he was taking your hand to lead you towards the couch. He sat you next to him, millimeters apart and reading your body language. Definitely in need of a lighter mood.

Hyunjin stuck his hand out for a handshake.

“What’re you doing?” Your voice cracked.

“Hi, my name is Hyunjin. You’re incredibly gorgeous and I’d love to take you out sometime.”

“If this is some kind of roleplay–”

“It’s not,” he took your hand from your lap to connect with his. “This is me wanting to know you, and you wanting to know me. I don’t know what you do for a living, and you don’t know what my dick looks like. Just people.”

Just people, that sounded nice.

You hesitated, then shook his hand. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“So Y/N, can I take you on a date? Maybe have a picnic in the park, grab some cheap painting supplies and go paint near the river, dessert at the best ice cream spot I know. We can make it a nice day.” He tucked his hand back into his lap respectfully, throwing the other over the back of the couch to get just the littlest bit close to you.

“I’d like to, but I’m lactose intolerant.”

“See, I’d say that’s a lie because of your coffee order. But since I don’t know you, I’m going to take your word for it and offer a cake place that I’ve heard great reviews about.”

“I don’t like frosting–”

“Just go on a date with me!” He raised his voice slightly with aggravation, teasing annoyance because he knew you were being difficult on purpose. You couldn’t help but giggle as he pretended to squish your cheeks when in reality, he was forcing down his cute aggression to keep from taking a loving bite out of you.

Your cheeks warmed up at his reaction, endearing and all together cute. He was a weird combination of adorable and sexy, even now with strands of his hair falling in front of his face, glasses hanging on the front of his shirt but a gold chain peeking out from behind the neckline that would look so good dangling in your face. You couldn’t help taking the glasses and opening them, slipping it onto his face. Hyunjin let you toy with his look by lightly brushing his hair away and pulling the necklace out of its hiding place. He raised his eyebrows when you were done. The skin of his neck tingled from where your fingertips had barely grazed.

“If you dress like this, I’m all yours.”

For a second, he didn’t know what to say as that was all he wanted to hear. For all of the smooth moves and suave lines, there were the split moments where he radiated nothing but dorkiness wanting to flood out.

“If you keep saying things like that, I might just kiss you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I– I don’t really know.” There it was, eyebrows knit together in genuine confusion.

While he sulked back into the cushion, you placed a gentle hand over his, just gauging the touch barrier. Hyunjin didn’t seem to mind, but rather he intertwined his fingers with yours as he fell deeper into thought. “I wanna go on a date with you,” the admittance had him darting you a quick, hopeful glance. “But, I don’t know how to do this.”

“That’s okay!” He was quick to perk up and make your grimace back a little at his sudden burst in energy. Hyunjin tightened his grip on your hand for reassurance. “I think our expertise just lies in different areas.”

“I’m not following.”

He jutted out his bottom lip with fake sympathy, scratching the underside of your chin. “If you didn’t notice, I’m not the most intuitive when it comes to sex.”

That was a shock. “I dunno about that,” an honest answer that made him shy away with a laugh.

“My experience is incomparable to yours, and not in a bad way! Just, maybe there were some things I was missing.”

You thought back to the moment you had with him, how unsure he seemed when you spoke about sex and masturbation, he seemed truly mind blown and eager to know more. 

“And I can tell, you haven’t had the easiest times with relationships. I think we can learn from each other.”

“This feels like a weird, illegal exchange.” You frowned again. “But I kinda like it.”

His heart raced, yours was beating a million miles an hour. There was a tension in the air that could’ve gone one of two ways. The first being that you pop open a bottle of wine and put on a good movie. There’s chocolate truffles in the cupboard, you could always grab a bowl to have with the wine. Sweet compliments sweet, Hyunjin might enjoy it. Perhaps you could end the night with a kiss, maybe a cuddle if it went that far. You’d see him again, you didn’t have a doubt about it. You’ve got his number now, there’s no more excuses.

The second, was how things actually went.

You mentally thanked your friend for giving you these dim lights for the living room, they made his honey skin look so edible.

Hyunjin doesn’t know when it happened, you don’t know when it happened. Just that there were half finished glasses of wine on the coffee table, the movie long passed the rolling credits, and that you were on your knees between his legs, staring at his cock with the roundest, glitteriest eyes he’d ever seen.

Your bra strap was slipping off your shoulder along with the entire cup threatening to be overflowed by your breast, he wished it would. More than that, he wished you would stop teasing him. All you were doing was tracing the pad of your finger over his slit, collecting the leaking precum and spreading it around the tip. The warmth of your breath splayed over the skin of his pelvis made goosebumps rise across every inch of his skin, giggling as he shivered.

“How did this even– ah, ah– happen?”

Vibrations of your chuckle prolonged his shuddering, “dunno. I’m not upset about it, though. Unless… unless you are?” You backed away from his cock and expression replaced with something dead serious.

“No, no! God, please keep going.” Hyunjin reached out to thread his fingers in your hair, but a quick slap on his wrist made him retreat.

“Nuh, uh. You haven’t earned that yet.”

Hyunjin repressed a groan, “sorry, sorry.”

He felt overly exposed even if you were just as naked as he was, you actually more so than him. The blurred memory of how this even started was brought back when he glanced at your discarded shirt hanging on the armrest of the couch, your house shorts and his white tee in another pile on the ground next to you. His pants and boxers were puddled around his ankles, and that was what made his face burn. Whatever was to happen next, say you wanted him to carry you to the bedroom or pin you against the wall, he’d literally be caught with them around his ankles. It’s a problem he can’t put on to you, but it still made him flustered nonetheless.

You were a few inches from his bare southern region, now, having to sit up taller so that his leaking dick didn’t obstruct from maintaining eye contact with him. “I… really like you,” tone as small as it could go without turning into a whisper.

“I really like you, too.” As antsy and anxious as he was, Hyunjin restrained from bucking into your face.

“There’s something I wanna do, only if you wanna, too. I think you might like it? Y– you can say no! No hard feelings! I just think that I’ll be seeing you a lot a– and you already know what my job is–”

He leaned forward to tip your chin higher, “I trust you.”

Blush covered your cheeks in a millisecond and it made Hyunjin smile smugly. When you turned around to grab your phone on the coffee table and prop it up against the wine bottle, he got the idea. Before you unlocked it, you spun back to face him. “I need you to say that this is okay.” Not that you didn’t trust him, as well, but you have every reason not to. Not just morally, but this was your career on the line if something were to go haywire.

“I am okay with this. Turn on the camera.”

You nodded excitedly, “this is just for us.”

The angle at which you positioned your phone made it so that his face wasn’t showing, only the view of your body between his knees sitting prettily for him. Hyunjin could see the screen and throbbed even harder, he was torn between looking at you and looking at the hottest video you’ve ever made to date. Or, about to make– with him. Even if no one else is ever going to see this, the act of being recorded made him harder than he’s ever been.

Blipping of the recording being started, you settled comfortably again locked between his legs. Hands strolling up the insides of his naked thighs, Hyunjin’s breath grew heavier the closer in you came. He could feel your body heat again as he prayed you would hurry up. The camera couldn’t pick up the way you ogled his cock, the way you licked your lips, or the way you looked up at him through your lashes just as you stuck the tip of your tongue out to gather the bead precum and swallow. Hyunjin let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in and the sound of his sigh made you giggle again.

“Can I?” You asked all too sweetly for what it is you wanted.

“Please.”

“So kind,” praised before he was about to be destroyed.

Absolutely obliterated, total annihilation, earth-splitting and volcanoes erupting the same way he did as soon as your mouth took in the tip of his cock. He blew on the spot, and you sucked him through his orgasm until he was dry and shriveled up with embarrassment. “Fuck– god, oh my– fuck, I‘m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He continued to twitch into your mouth as you licked up whatever remained.

It didn’t even seem to phase you, his premature finish was more than worthy of a few reprimands, possibly making him leave all together and deleting his number. Less than satisfactory. But it made you all the more excited. Where he crumbled is where you saw potential to create skyscrapers of pleasure, all intended to blow his mind.

An easy swallow of his seed down your throat, you kissed the inside of his thighs in reassurance. “‘S okay. I liked it,” honest as honest can be.

“Tell me if I should pull my pants up and leave so I can save whatever dignity I have left.”

“Dignity is overrated. Degradation is a whooole lot more fun. Plus,” showing off his whiteness on your tongue, you licked a stripe up the center of his dick and Hyunjin shuddered again, “you’re really sensitive.”

Hyunjin sat back and let it happen to him, he couldn’t find the strength to so much as tell you when he was about to cum again because it was so painfully good. It didn’t take very long or very much effort on your part, simply having to massage his balls and pinch the skin of his pelvis while your tongue worked minimal magic as you kept him sheathed in your warm, wet mouth. His nails raked across the couch cushion in a way that made you feel a little bad that he couldn’t touch you. Just a little. “Did so good for me. Think you can do one more, baby?”

He was on the verge of saying no, until you stood up. Amidst his plummeting energy and evergrowing sensitivity, Hyunjin didn’t have half the mind to remember that you were just as needy as he was. You were having so much fun playing with him that you almost forgot, as well. The face he makes when he cums is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, you were this close to rutting against his leg like a fucking dog. You’d do it, too, shamelessly. However, you figured you could save that for another day. This was about him. 

You stood, ass taking up the entire view in the camera. You let him watch you strip, unclipping your bra and tossing it somewhere forgotten. Evening the score, you tugged at the hem of his tank top to discard, although you were teetering back and forth on letting him keep it on. Next off was your panties, left along on the floor before you began to climb into his lap.

Oh god, you were straddling him. Really straddling him. Wet pussy on full display, knees spread and so close to his cock that he could feel the dampness on his own skin. Or was that just cus you were sloppy earlier? He didn’t care, nor did he have to try to get hard again seeing as he never went soft.

You didn’t sit fully, hovering over him with the only skin touching being your thighs on his and your arms draped over his shoulder. Hyunjin found comfort in the heat as you wiped away the sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, leaning deeper into your touch. When you dragged your hands down his arms to guide them to hold onto your waist, he struggled not to buck his hips up into you. He thought about how you might laugh when you rewatch the footage later, but Hyunjin couldn’t bring himself to care no matter how ridiculous it looked. He knows that he was rutting into nothing but the air, but the increase in heat when he got close to your cunt was more than satisfactory if you decided it wasn’t what you wanted.

Except you were ready to go for it and was reaching for the side drawer for condoms, even if it meant overstimulating him even more. He wouldn’t protest, he wanted it just as much. “Are you okay?” You asked concerned when he tucked his face into your shoulder.

“Mhm,” he muttered against you, “want you so bad.”

You reached back and between his legs, dragging a delicate finger up from the bottom of his balls to the base of his cock. Hyunjin trembled and molded deeper into your frame. You chuckled, “I can tell, baby. But can you handle it? You’re so worked up already, I don’t wanna break you when we’re just getting started.”

“I can, I can!” He looked up at you with glistening eyes, full of tears and determination. “Please, please, please.” Hyunjin’s hips bucked up again, hitting the inside of your thigh and you pushing him back down.

“Calm, baby. We’ve got all the time in the world. Deep breaths, now.”

Hyunjin followed your lead when you inhaled through your nose and let out a deep exhale. He continued to do so even though you were pressing your lips to his forehead, even though you were trailing them across his cheeks and skipping over his lips. He puckered them, ready to be suffocated by your kisses. But when you planted just a peck on his, he audibly whimpered, to which you laughed and continued down his neck.

Oh, he was extra sensitive there. And when you sat back on his knees to tweak both his nipples? Ascendance.

Hyunjin threw his head back and moaned just as loud as he did when you put him in your mouth. “No, no, don’t wanna cum again,” he murmured, but didn’t try to resist your touch.

Still, you pulled away and placed your hands on his chest. “No? Too much?”

“Wanna make you cum first,” he suddenly grasped the undersides of your thighs and lifted the two of you off the couch. Neither of you had noticed his shins knocking the coffee table as he laid you on your back lengthwise with the couch, lifting your legs up so he could slot himself between them and over his shoulders.

It was a pleasant surprise, his display in strength and stamina, you were proud that he could keep going. The off-guard giggle you let out only spurred him to continue, cupping both your cheeks and stealing the kiss for himself. You couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to as he fit against you so perfectly. Cut through the tension like a knife did the passionate kiss prove to both of you that it was more than just physical attraction. Still, sometimes words do speak louder than actions.

You reached between your bodies to guide him towards your entrance, needing nothing but a moan against his lips to confirm to go further. The stretch was more than you anticipated, burning so euphorically good with a side of neediness for him to move faster. As if you could take all of him in one go, foolish. It’d been a long while since you’d been with someone worthy of sticking their dick in you, this was much different than a plastic toy.

Though, he was worth the wait, even if it did make you pathetically whimper into his mouth. It was just the ego boost he needed, no longer feeling ashamed of his previous poor performance. You still wanted more, you were clawing at his biceps and he was swallowing every one of your moans until his thighs met your ass cheeks.

He wanted to blow for a third time just being inside you, feeling the pulsing of your walls and slick dripping down his balls. Hyunjin used every muscle in him not to begin fucking into you like an animal, brain somehow stronger than the primal need inside him. But while he watched for any sign that you were uncomfortable, trying to be overly vigilant that he wasn’t truly paying attention to see you locking your ankles behind his neck and beginning to fuck yourself back and forth on his cock. His hands were planted near your head, realizing what it is you were doing when you bit your lip and held onto his wrists.

Hyunjin laughed into the air, the kind of laugh as though he had just won the lottery because holy fuck, he did. He watched as you bounced up and down, swiveled side to side, using him like one of your dildos suction cupped to the wall. Except he was the dildo, being used and abused until you felt satisfied. 

“So tight– so hot ‘nd wet. God, you’re so cute, oh my god. Don’t ever stop fucking me, please, please. So good, too good.”

The drip of his sweat from his forehead onto yours broke your cock-induced fever, “why am I doing all the work, baby? You started this, so finish it.” You stopped dead in your tracks and slumped back into the couch.

Hyunjin was more than happy to fuck you silly, if he hadn’t already cum twice and was running on fumes. Alas, he did his best and it was perfectly enough. You had run him ragged for your first time having sex, you couldn’t blame him for being sloppy. 

His best was still better than average, even if his pants were still stuck around his ankles. As he stood up straight and took the hook of your knees into his hands, Hyunjin let his head fall back to summon whatever energy he had left stored in the tank. Surprisingly, it was a lot. He was dripping in sweat, down his temples, neck, and chest and red blush had flushed his supple skin, but he was still the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

He could say the same thing about you. Although your state was less messy than his, you still looked absolutely fucked out and desperate. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip so hard he was scared you would draw blood, pinching your nipples and occasionally reaching up to claw at his chest. You and him were both worked up and on the verge of crying like a bunch of babies overstimulated by everything around them. 

Your fingers found their way to your clit once he started to move, fast and unrestrained while trying not to blow before you again. Just perfectly did he fit inside you to the point where you were really questioning how the hell you had sex with other people when he was right there all along. This was nothing like your past experiences, fuck whatever it was Hyunjin thought they were like, this was something else entirely. Like waking up on Sunday morning thinking it’s Monday and being able to blissfully fall back asleep. The day when you have no responsibilities or weight on your shoulders and all you feel is relaxed. When you have nothing to do but wake up at noon to feed yourself then crawl back to bed to loaf. A lover coming home after months apart and being able to inhale their scent like it’s the first time all over again. The first cold day of autumn and the first warm day of spring. He’s Sunday. 

Hips against hips, skin slapping skin, sweat mixing and creating the particular cloud of odor where anyone who walked in would know what the two of you did. Hyunjin would stick his tongue out in concentration to make sure he was repeatedly hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back and toes curl. He was so good at it that after a while, he didn’t need to hold you up anymore. 

Eventually he let your legs rest around his waist so he could hunch over you again, kissing your lips so sweetly in stark contrast to how hard his cock was prodding into your soft spot. He wasn’t moving roughly, but rather strong strokes that made you really feel his entire length slipping in and out of your aching cunt. Slick sounds of your bodies connecting layered the already adulterous moans leaving the both of you, your neighbors will for sure have a complaint about it tomorrow.

Hyunjin fell onto his elbows, millimeters from your face as his thrusts slowed. The way he looked at you, as though he’d set his eyes on the most sought after piece of art. In a way, he was. Of all the people that have seen you completely bare and beg for your attention, all the people you’ve met, spoken to, kissed, fucked, he couldn’t bring himself to care about any of that because you were under him now.

The almost stagnant nature of his movements wasn’t frustrating or annoying. You enjoyed it, more than any kind of rough or needy sex you’ve had with past partners. He wasn’t touching you like you usually would’ve needed, but still felt the bubble in your stomach wanting to burst. If he kept looking at you like, if he kept kissing you so delicately and fucking you just like this, it will.

His palm brushed the hair from your face, keeping it on the top of your head as if to surround you in purely him. 

“My sweetheart.”

Why was that what had to make the bubble pop? As soon as the words left his mouth and you saw the smitten smile on his face, your legs locked around his waist and nails raked down his back as white heat suffocated your body. You felt his face hide in your neck and latch onto the skin above your pulse, sucking a bruising mark as you came down and it was your turn to be covered in goosebumps. Hyunjin hadn’t realized he’d cum again until you were hugging him tighter to your chest, falling limp on top of you and all the adrenaline finally wearing off.

Nuzzled tight into him until both your breaths were regular and in sync, shutting your eyes while his tongue kitten licked over the sore spots he’d been teething at, neither of you wanted to leave from behind the thin veils of bliss. Though, returning to reality with him didn’t seem so bad.

“Baby, clean up time,” you cooed in his ear, to which you got no response but a soft snore. The giggle that left your lips was hushed to let him rest a little longer. But after a few minutes, the stickiness of the sweat was becoming uncomfortable, scratching his scalp a bit harder to gently wake him. Hyunjin hummed into you as he acknowledged the signal. “C’mon Hyune, shower.”

Wordlessly, he clambered off of you and let you lead him to the bathroom again, stopping in the hallways for towels together so that you wouldn’t have to leave him alone. Similar routine to last time except when it was time for you to clean, he opted to stand out of the shower stream until you were finished because he wanted to stay as close to you as possible. 

And when the both of you were clean, dry, and ready for bed, Hyunjin spoke again as you walked hand in hand into your bedroom. “You called me Hyune.”

“Hm? That’s your name, isn’t it?” You smirked and pulled him deeper into the room. For a second, he took a look around and immediately felt like he’d been here before, comfortably familiar. 

As you guided him towards the bed and lifted the cover for him to slide under, he suddenly woke up from your unintentional trance. “No, Hyune’s a nickname.”

“Is it okay if I call you Hyune?” A soft question as you get into bed beside him, the pair of you shamelessly naked and tangled in one another’s limbs. 

“Yeah, or baby.” You nodded against the pillow, sweeping a hand through his hair again when he rolled on his side to face you.

The two of you stared at one another for what could’ve been minutes or hours, neither of you knew. But you were on the verge of falling asleep as he placed a supple kiss on your forehead. It sparked the small memory of the long forgotten phone that had recorded the entire event. It jolted him awake as well when you suddenly got up from bed to run through the apartment to retrieve it.

Hyunjin was sat up on his elbows when you returned and gratefully took in the sight of you naked once again, feeling light as a feather.

You had ended the recording and pulled up the video to realize it was four hours long. Hyunjin gawked and laughed when he saw the time stamp. He rolled onto his back and opened his arms for you to lay in as you watched the video together.

Everything was just as he’d seen it happening from the beginning until you took off your undergarments. If the both of you weren’t deadbeat tired, it probably would’ve turned you on and sparked a second round. Instead you both could watch it with admiration and fondness.

“Oh, that was so sexy when you did that,” he said in reference to you running a finger across his balls as you straddled him.

“I like when you hold me like this,” you commented about how far and tightly his arms wrapped around your torso.

You both criticized and critiqued the video, only able to find positives to praise one another about until it was time for him to flip the positions. The clip showed Hyunjin lifting you up then standing, and suddenly the table shook and the camera tipped over. The frame showed the opposite end of the couch that you were on, the only thing on screen being the tail end of your lower halves, mostly his ass in the air and your feet dangling in the air. You both burst into a deep gutted laugh and were unable to catch your breaths at how funny the scene looked from that angle.

“Everything was so good!” You joked, pausing the video and zooming in to see his butt in the air.

“I don’t even remember hitting the table,” he admitted while taking the phone and looking closer. “At least my butt looks good.”

“You do have a cute butt.”

“Look at your little feet!” He zoomed into your feet just barely in the upper right corner of the frame.

“Not for free!” Snatching the phone back, you lock it and toss it onto the bedside table.

“I was literally balls deep in you and you’re worried about me seeing your feet?”

“That’s different!”

He rolled his eyes and untucked his arm from beneath your head to lay his own on your chest. “Whatever. I’m not a big foot guy anyways.”

“That thing poking my thigh says otherwise.”

“I can’t even feel my dick right now, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

☆ﾟ

tags: @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @alexis-reads-fics @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @iadorethemskz @skyvastbunny @mamabymychem @katsukis1wife @woozarts @noellllslut @straykids5star @like-a-diamondinthesky

[spearb-gf]

day 9 · 「watermelon popsicle」

❝𝙿𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚝.❞

➥ Cashier!Minho x Perv!Reader (f) — 3k

➥ The author chooses not to tag every single act to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

⚠ — Crass language, objectification, perversion, heavy sleaziness, corruption kink, anasyrma.

➥ You’re burning alive with the urge to corrupt the quiet guy at the convenience store, but he’s not exactly what you think he is.

Hot summer nights were a bitch when the AC was broken. 

You would think the weather would cool down around midnight hours, but no fucking dice, and the fan was just blowing hot air towards your face at this point. After briefly contemplating sleeping in front of your fridge, you decided to drop by the convenience store downstairs to replenish your cold drink stash and freeload their air conditioning for a while. You left the apartment with whatever you had on—an oversized t-shirt and shorts, perfect for the comfort of your home, and you weren’t about to change to go across the goddamn street at this hour.

You kinda wished you did when you walked into the store. 

There was someone you’d never seen there before, and he looked so stunning that you almost forgot the original purpose of your visit. He could legitimately be a model. Sharpest features you’d ever seen. Eyes that could kill. Bulging veins on his thick forearms.

Which was exactly why it blew your fucking mind that this delicious thing was working at a damn convenience store. How come he wasn’t discovered by some talent scout already?

The new cashier behind the register was eating a reddish pink popsicle while watching something on his phone, and it was a completely normal sight to an average person. People in possession of your dirty mind, however, would hyperfocus on the slender and long shape of the frozen treat, and wouldn’t be able to unsee how those plush lips were obscenely sucking on it as though performing a sloppy blowjob.

Was he aware of how this came across, or…?

You walked to the reach-in refrigerator while mouthing a silent ‘Oh my fucking god’ to yourself, then headed back to the register once you were done cooling off. The sex god reincarnate scanned the items one by one, super aloof, but still refusing to let go of the popsicle in his mouth.

“19.75,” he finally declared with his eyes glued to the screen in front of him.

“Minho,” you read the name tag he had on the left side of his chest and pointed at the ice cream, “Which flavor?”

“Watermelon,” he uttered while bagging your drinks, resolute to not meet your gaze.

He seemed like a recluse. You had to pull the words out of him with a tweezer since he barely spoke except for the required answers, but fucking god he was just so damn beautiful, perfect subject to your female gaze. 

“Do you have any other flavors?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you softly chuckled. 

When he heard the pleasant notes of your quiet laughter, he finally looked up at you, but his eyes inadvertently slid to your chest area. White shirt without a bra under plus the AC cranked up to the maximum equaled a perfect display of your breasts right in front of his face. He didn’t answer you and swallowed thickly, the rosy tint at the tip of his ears getting darker with each passing second.

Really? Just with the masked sight of some tits?

Oh, this poor guy was probably a virgin or something, wasn’t he? Never saw a pussy up close in his life, didn’t know what a pair of breasts felt like under his touch. Your mind suddenly started running at full speed. 

The things you would do to corrupt this beauty rotten…

“I’ll see you around, Minho,” you emphatically uttered his name and left the store.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him after going back home, pacing in your apartment for some reason. You eventually peeked through your curtains wondering if you would be able to see him from three floors up, and there he was. From an overhead view, you could actually see him spreading his legs on the stool behind that counter right next to the door, still with his popsicle, slurping away, but his other hand… was busy.

Five minutes after you left the premises, the guy was indeed rubbing one out. 

You weren’t saying that you were the reason for it, but considering the sequence of the events, you weren’t not saying it. Your hand reached under your shorts, and you started playing with yourself to how fervently he was masturbating.

What was he thinking of? Was it you? Was it some porn he was watching when you walked into the store? Was he already hard when you were there? 

You couldn’t help it. All you were imagining was how he would be a whimpering mess if you walked downstairs right at that moment and straddled him, his huge brown eyes looking up at you, listening to every instruction carefully. You would show him what it was like to fuck someone senseless. You would teach him how to properly eat pussy. You would introduce him to the kinds of pleasure he wouldn’t even be able to think about in his wildest dreams.

How wild were his dreams anyway? You would be surprised if it went past touching someone’s genitals.

That night in front of that window, you had one of the most intense orgasms of your life, which instantly prompted you to pick up a Minho-teasing habit.

A couple of days later day you went there again a little after midnight, properly changed this time and with all the ulterior motives you could carry with you. Low-cut jeans to flash the g-string you were wearing, crop top leather jacket so that he would see your lower back tattoo. When you walked into the store, Minho looked towards the door with the little alarm informing him of someone’s arrival, and his lips parted seeing you. Even though you felt his eyes on you, you didn’t pay any attention and walked around the store for a while, picking up items from different shelves, then went to the very end of the aisle directly in his vision and stood in front of the reach-in refrigerator. Out of everything you could pick, you decided to pick something among the fizzy drinks, which just happened to be on the bottom shelf. You opened the door and bent over all the way down, spending an unnecessarily long time in front of the chilly air blowing towards your face with your hips sticking out, then headed to the register.

You put all the items on the counter and waited for him to scan them, staring at him all the while with a demonic smirk. Peanut butter, condoms, lube, whipped cream, and tonic water for some reason.

“48.60.”

You reached for your purse and started looking for your wallet while Minho was in the middle of severely malfunctioning. He was gawking at your breasts again as if ogling your ass a minute ago did not get him hard enough, and he was thanking everything he could think of that you weren’t able to see through this counter.

“You okay?” you woke him up from his daydreaming, “You’re sweating.”

Getting caught red-handed staring at your chest, Minho got super flustered for a second there, but he was quick to recollect himself and land on his feet.

“I’m fine.”

“Can I also get a bottle of gin?” you pointed at the alcohol shelf behind him.

You weren’t exactly in the mood for a gin and tonic. You just wanted him to walk a few steps back so that you could reap what you sow. In its full glory.

A mouthwatering hard on.

“You liked what you saw I guess,” you quipped with an entertained smile.

He didn’t answer and got to his popsicle again. You put a lot more than the required amount on the counter as you were about to leave.

“Keep the change.”

Right when you were about to walk outside, you suddenly turned back around and leaned over the counter to suck on his popsicle as deep as you could looking dead into his eyes. The total blue screen he was giving was even more satisfying than the orgasm you had several nights before.

“Imagine what would happen if this was your cock. I have no gag reflex,” you spoke utterly seriously, “Good night, Minho.”

You were throwing an internal laughter fit for how cute he was for getting that hard that easily. Once you got back home, you didn’t turn on your lights and walked to your window to see what he was up to. There he was again, hiding his lower body behind the counter and going at it like someone was running after him. Shortly after, he shot a sizable load inside an empty water bottle suspiciously waiting by his feet.

You were already planning how to fry his brain for your next encounter, and you knew it had to be more outrageous. This beauty was working midnight hours all by himself; he deserved a little entertainment.

That Saturday night, you opened your wardrobe and picked out the star player of your plan. The shortest skirt you could find. The rest was irrelevant. Then you headed downstairs with your wallet in your hand. 

The familiar sound of the alarm going off around these hours was like a notification for Minho that you walked into the store. You established brief eye contact with him and started walking towards your usual aisle, but for the first time in an entire week, you heard Minho’s voice calling out to you rather than providing a curt answer to some question.

“The popsicles are half off,” he uttered from his seat completely unprompted.

“Oh, are they? Change of plans I guess,” you turned around to face him, “Where’s the freezer?”

He pointed towards the left of the store signaling you to take a turn at the end of the aisle. You spun on your heels to follow the given direction, but just happened to drop your wallet before you could turn left. Instead of a graceful landing, you reached down without bending your knees to give Minho a perfect view of what you looked like bare under your skirt. Then you went towards the popsicles as if nothing happened, internally laughing at what his face was going to look like once you went back to the register.

He was a recluse; he didn’t talk much; and he was prone to provocation. At least that was what you thought of him. 

You most certainly did not expect him to appear right next to you as you were sliding the storage door close with a watermelon popsicle in your hand. It surprised you, albeit very pleasantly, and you broke into a small grin while leaning against the freezer, watching him come close to you. It was cold against your bare legs, but the heatwaves Minho was radiating towards you were melting it instantly. All this time, you thought you had him wrapped around your finger whereas…

“Pull up your skirt,” he spoke in a very low tone and placed his hands on either side of you.

The serial masturbator who couldn’t look you in the eye, who couldn’t even wait to go home to rub one out, or be bothered to get some privacy for that matter, was telling you what to do. 

Since when was he capable of being so bold?

He was staring at you daringly, eyes slightly squinted, and you had no idea why it was turning you on that much. You reached for the hem of your skirt and pulled it up, confirming once and for all that he wasn’t having a fucking fever dream mere moments ago.

“Spread,” he demanded with his eyes glued to your crotch, “I wanna see.”

You slowly peeled your legs apart from each other and put your pussy on full display for him. His mouth was watering so much that he felt the need to swallow in order not to choke on his own spit.

“You can touch,” you encouraged him with a sprinkle of derision, “if you’re not gonna blow.”

“Why would I?” he cocked a single brow.

“You tell me. You’re the one getting super hard at the mere sight of some tits.”

“You’re convinced I’m a virgin, aren’t you?”

He had an immensely satisfied smirk on his stupidly handsome face, and you could tell he was waiting for your jaw to drop at the revelation. It would be a lie to say that you weren’t surprised, but weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. How unfazed you were was adding heaps to the tension building between you, and you were absolutely loving it. 

“So, you aren’t?” you asked with your nonchalance intact and guided his hand in between your legs.

“No,” he pouted his lips, “I’m just very horny all the time.” 

He touched your moist folds with his middle finger, then looked up at you with his pupils blown wide.

“Especially when pretty girls flash for me.”

Minho’s lips were so soft in your mouth that you were dying to have those munch on your clit. When he deepened the kiss, you clasped your hands behind his nape, and he wrapped one arm around your waist, his other hand still deliciously teasing you.

“Virgin, huh?” he chuckled to himself and nibbled on your earlobe, “I’d love to see your face when you read the kinda rap sheet I have.” 

“Stop getting so cocky. Kissing isn’t exactly rap sheet material.”

“I don’t kiss. I seduce,” he declared with even more bloated self-confidence and caressed your cunt, “I don’t have people lining up for me to give head for nothing.”

“The talk is sexy, but are you gonna walk the walk, or what?”

He reached for the popsicle you put on top of the freezer, now threatening to start melting, and ripped the packaging. One hand pulling your top to your neck, he dragged the frozen stick down your breasts and smeared it all over your nipples.

“Cold?” he asked brushing the goosebumps breaking on your skin.

“I like it,” you licked your lips, looking at the clear red drops clinging to you, “You’re sure you’re not gonna get in trouble for this?”

“Then they shouldn’t have given me the graveyard shift,” he drew a couple of circles around the hardened skin, “Everybody knows past midnight is peak horny hours.”

He closed his mouth on your watermelon flavored breasts and started sucking on them, and you closed your eyes heaving a deep sigh. You flinched in your place when you felt the sudden sharp cold on your clit, lazily gliding down to your folds.

“There’s a reason why this is the perfect summer treat, you know,” Minho looked into your eyes then kneeled before you.

He slurped on the popsicle once then latched his lips to your clit, contently sucking on the sticky shapes he drew with his eyes closed. You ran your fingers through his soft hair and started rolling your hips on his mouth, syncing your rhythm to a pleasant cruising speed.

“Wanted to fuck the virgin guy. You’re one of those, huh?” he let out an amused chortle, “You think a virgin guy could come up with this?”

You felt the tip of the ice cream prodding your entrance, then slowly sinking inside you. The chill was spreading from your core to the rest of your body with every pump of your heart, and your synapses weren’t able to register the right temperature—it was simply paradoxical. Minho’s cold mouth on your clit, the warmth of his tongue gliding all over you, the frost of the popsicle he was fucking you with, and your body in flames with unadulterated lust.

“Here, I got some frosting on it for you,” he pulled out the frozen stick and handed it to you, “Now show me how you don’t have a gag reflex.”

He went back to slurping on your slick with his big eyes looking up at you all expectantly. You took as much of the ice cream as you could inside your mouth, a raging itch at the back of your brain wondering what Minho’s cum on it would taste like on your tongue. The deeper you sucked on it, the more eagerly he lapped at your pussy, licking and sucking each drop that landed on his tongue.

“You got some nerve coming here with no underwear on when you goddamn know I’m not gonna pull out,” he taunted with a beautifully sinister smile, “It’s gonna drip down your legs the whole way back home now. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

“You wanna take my cum home with you?”

“Yes!”

When you exclaimed that desperately, he laser-focused on his target, teasing your clit aggressively fast and getting your legs to shake on either side of him. His tongue felt like a wet vibrator on your soaked cunt turned on to maximum intensity accompanied by his grunts against your skin, and once your moans started climbing higher and higher, he immediately stopped and turned you around on the freezer.

“Nuh uh, don’t you dare. Bend over,” he quickly dropped his pants and aligned his painfully hard girth against your entrance, “You’re cumming on this cock.”

You were so wet by then that he had no problem sliding right in, but your tightened walls were a bit too much to endure. He started rubbing your clit as fast as he could while ruthlessly fucking into you, hoping he could at least last until after he got you to cum.

“Minho!”

It was game over for him when you moaned his name like that, but he was somewhat able to save face when your orgasm hit right after his. You basked into the warmth of his seed spilling inside you, listening to this endlessly gorgeous man moan and quiver right behind you. Because of you. Drowned in pleasure. He rested his head on your shoulder while gathering his wits, then turned you around to give you a very wet kiss.

Also watermelon flavored.

“Some rap sheet you have,” you teased as he pulled his pants back up, “When do you take breaks?”

“Every hour or so. Why?”

Minho kinda had an inkling as to where this was going, but it still didn’t prevent his lips from getting parted when he heard it out loud.

“Third floor across the street,” you nodded towards the exit as you were walking out, “Bring a different flavor this time.”

「© 2023, exxxtraoddinary · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

✉ Enjoyed this? It would be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

[spearb-gf]

waiting for us — masterlist pt 2: electric boogaloo

pairing. OT8 x fem!reader synopsis. At age 16 you either get your soul mark (in the form of your soulmates name somewhere on your body) or you become a blank, someone who doesn't have a soulmate. You've long lost any semblance of hope or comfort in the magic of soulmates, despite the fact that you have 8 of them. genre. soulmate!au, college!au, social media!au + written parts, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut cw. swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendos, skz should be in horny jail, eventual smut (MDNI), domestic abuse, sexual assault/harassment, implied/referenced self-harm, suicidal tendencies/thoughts, male x male relationships (skz are soulmates), polyamory, kms/kys jokes, mentions of homophobia + transphobia, lots of written parts, reader is really bad at feelings, ulzzang pics (this is more so to focus on the fashion), appearance of junhao, yeji and hyunjin are siblings, more to be added wanna support my work? consider buying me a coffee.

go back to masterlist part one. Chapter fourty one. sunset Chapter fourty two. baby ferret Chapter fourty three. more rumours Chapter fourty three point five. a talk w/ hyune

bonus chapters: everyone's sexual preferences. thirst tweets. handsome boys. size boyfriend day! memes part one alignment charts

[spearb-gf]

INSOMNIA 불면증 PROLOGUE (18+!)

🗝 WORDCOUNT: 3.1k

🧸 CONTENT INFO: chan x afab reader, friends2lovers, nonidol!au, university!au, roommates!au, roommate!chan, roommate!lisa (blackpink), roommate!felix, there’s a scene in this which is inspired by my all time favourite episode of New Girl

🍃 WARNING: consumption of alcohol, truth or dare, mention of threesomes, mention of sex positions, mention of masturbating, kissing, (explicit smut in following chapters)

☽ SERIES MASTERLIST ☽

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Also minors do not interact, this post contains mature themes. By clicking on “read more” you consent to nsfw content.

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Even though it’s already been a year by now, it feels as if it was only yesterday you moved into the apartment located in an older part of the city, equally to the building. It’s quite hilarious, you’ve found the advertisement by accident, actually only applying for fun since you weren’t sure back then, if you even want to move to this city, still contemplating on choosing a university that fits your goals.

But when you went there, on a rainy day, droplets of water from the sky soaking through your coat, ruining your first impression to the people who’ve already been living there, you were greeted by not only one, nor two but three kind students around your age, who you call your best friends today.

First, there is Lisa, one year older than you and in fact the mum of the group, since she’s always the one to think of stuff that doesn’t even cross your mind - regardless if it’s appliances for the kitchen, cleaning items or whatever. In fact, she’s also the one you don’t hesitate to ask for advice, knowing she’ll always have an open ear for your troubles, no matter how meaningless they seem. But she doesn’t hold back the ugly truth either, helping you in the long run as she’s watched you grow and gain confidence over the past twelve months.

Felix is the textbook definition of sunshine, you’ve rarely seen him without a bright smile decorating his face, his mood is dangerously contagious. You’ve instantly connected, even though you’re quite the opposite but people around you assume, it’s probably because you complete each other. He’s your sun, you're his moon, while he’s the one to bring you joy on a cloudy day, you’re there for him even in the darkest nights.

And last of them is Chan. He’s definitely the most similar to you, sometimes making it seem as if the both of you share the same brain cells, since you tend to have equal either outer space or completely guaranteed to fail ideas - it really depends on the day. But he could also be described as the unofficial leader of the group, holding everyone close together, always having an eye on everyone so no one gets left behind and you appreciate that a lot, even more than you tend to tell him.

Tonight you’re not only celebrating your one year anniversary of being part of this unique, irreplaceable household, but it’s also Felix’ day turning a year older, that’s why it took almost all day to prepare the big party, getting scolded by Lisa from time to time, because you’re either doing something wrong in decorating the muffins, placing the tiny shimmery sugar pearls half a millimetre too close to the edge, or by breathing too loud or simply ‘wrong’ when you’re near her.

But no one is mad at her, after all she’s the one that has organised everything, always putting others' needs first without even asking for thankfulness.

So when the first guests arrive - Seonghwa and Hongjoong, two mutual friends of Chan and Felix - everyone has reconciled again, already looking forward to a great night, ready to celebrate the birthday boy and get boozed.

Only a few minutes later, Vicky and Miyeon arrive at your place as well, bringing even more alcohol with them, as well as a huge gift coated in hot pink wrapping paper, making you speculate what could be inside.

The last one to enter the apartment is Minho, a childhood friend of Felix, but he’s the one you’re the least closest with, since he seems to be more of the tsundere type, at least that’s what your roommates tell you.

But it doesn’t really bother you, it’s not like he’s your enemy, you simply don’t talk that much, if you even think about it clearly, you can’t remember an occasion when you’ve had a conversation alone with him.

Suddenly, your ongoing circles of daydreaming are interrupted, when Chan walks towards you, currently next to the kitchen counter, brushing your hand yet so slightly to grab the liquor located on the surface.

Yes, you’ve already had quite a few drinks, honestly lost count an hour ago, but since you are still waiting for your crush from your biochemistry level three class to text you back (the both of you are currently dating and he’s in fact a very cute, good looking guy), you blame it on your attempt of trying to get your mind off of him.

The new semester - your third one - has just started two weeks ago, but you can’t lie, you're definitely already burnt out.

But Ben, said guy, makes everything a bit bearable and you’re definitely on the verge of developing a crush on him and your friends sense it, by the way you start smiling bright from ear to ear, eyes filled with shimmery stars, every time he texts you.

So when Ben asked you out on another date last Wednesday, it took everything within you to not stand up and jump through the classroom out of joy right then and there. 

It sounds cliché, but he’s definitely different from the people you’ve dated before, a real gentleman to say the least and you’re full of hopes, this could become something serious.

The only thing that quite bothers you is that he’s so gentle, with everything. Maybe a bit too gentle, for your likings. He isn’t per se boring, just a bit too vanilla, afraid to go too far, even if you’ve asked him repetitively to try certain things.

“Y/N, ready for a round of beer pong?” Lisa asks you, already quite tipsy from the drinks she’s had, giggling at you. “Sure”, you say, as Felix tells you to join their team, already prepared for the big game. You instantly agree on using your usual strategy and when the first few attempts fail, all of you try not to lose your hopes yet, while the other team - Chan, Minho and Vicky - have a head start.

The minutes pass by, at some point it seems like you could overtake the opponent team, but when Chan strikes two red cups filled with beer at once (mind you: doing a trick shot!), you have to come to terms with your disastrous defeat, resulting in Lisa getting even tipsier, that’s why she suggests: “I don’t like this game- let’s play truth or dare instead.”

Since no one gives the impression to contradict her idea, you gather around the couch table, all nine of you sitting down on the floor thanks to the lack of seats in the small living area, as Chan grabs an empty wine bottle and places it on the furniture in the middle of your seating circle.

Lisa wraps her hand around the glass material and spins it around, landing on Minho first.

“Truth or dare”, she asks him and he’s fast to choose the first option.

“Have you ever had a threesome?” You can see it in the eyes of the other guests, they’re as surprised as you are about Lisa’s bold start with her question, already going all in, seemingly the theme for tonight is no taboos.

“Yes, I have”, Minho answers and you can see Felix giving him a wink, before he chuckles and covers his mouth in the palm of his hand.

Minho is the next one to spin the bottle, eyes already glassy from the alcohol, he tries his best to not throw the glass off the table, but still manages it somehow, as the object points in your direction.

“Y/N”, he starts, a mischievous smile on his face and you instantly know it’s because everyone in this friend group thinks of you as the innocent one, “truth or dare?” You gulp down the rest of your wine glass, gasping for air right after, as you choose truth.

“Boring, I hoped you’d choose the latter… What’s your favourite position?” He asks you then, placing his hand under his chin, as he leans forward, sitting on the opposite side of the table. In the corner of your eyes, you can see Chan’s gaze wandering to you. Lisa, right next to you, chuckles a bit, while she softly nudges your side with her elbow, already knowing the answer, since you’ve talk about this topic quite often.

Pouring more wine into your glass, you take another sip before you answer: “Doggy- or from behind in general, but I enjoy being on top as well”. Hiding your shyness, you try your best to drop the personal information as nonchalantly as possible, a rather bored tone in your voice.

“I see- we have something in common then”, Minho says and you’re not sure if he’s trying to flirt with you, but you can instantly feel your face heat up, glad now it's not visible in the dim lights of the living room.

The night goes on you realise you can’t think of the last moment you’ve had so much fun in a while, even though from time to time you glance at your phone screen, still patiently waiting for an answer from Ben, but not receiving one.

The others, at least those who are bolder than you, have to do some either hilarious or quite disgusting dares and you’re glad, the bottle hasn’t landed on you for quite a while.

When Seonghwa spins the glass for yet another time, it points to Chan this time and you realise, he hasn’t been chosen before, up until now.

“Truth or dare?” Seonghwa asks and you can tell from the look in his eyes, he’s already got a brilliant idea.

“Truth”, Chan answers, earning a ‘boo’ from Minho.

But what Seonghwa asks him, lets you hold your breath for a second, heart skipping a beat: “Have you ever thought about one of your roommates while jerking off?”

Chan is thankful none of his roommates are sitting next to him, as his face instantly blushes, turning red similar to a tomato. But considering the time it takes him to answer, he knows it’s useless to lie, that’s why he says, voice yet so quietly: “Yes.”

Instantly pouring down the rest of his drink, he feels the alcohol flooding down his throat, tummy getting warm once the liquid arrives there.

“Oh, so Lisa or Y/N, I guess”, Seonghwa states, a devilish chuckle escaping his lips, as he tilts his head a bit to get a better view of Chan. “Could be Felix as well, we don’t discriminate here”, Hongjoong is fast to reply.

“This isn’t part of the task anyway”, Chan murmurs, as he pours more alcohol in his now empty glass. You don’t catch what they’re talking about after that, head spinning around from the alcohol, at least that’s what you’re telling yourself.

But if you’re honest, your mind is only thinking about the possibility, Chan might have thought about you, while having some fun time alone.

Pushing the thoughts aside, you convince yourself it’s probably either Lisa or Felix, because he’s known them since they were teenagers and teenagers tend to get hornier quicker, suffering from their hormonal changes.

Some more rounds pass by and at one point everyone has agreed on a new rule, determining it’s now only allowed to choose truth three times in a row and when the bottle points at you for the fourth time, you’re left to your fate.

“Dare it is, Y/N”, Miyeon says, almost stumbling over her own words thanks to her level of intoxication, “oh- I have a great idea! Whoever the bottle lands on, when I spin it again, has to kiss you.”

Instantly gulping down in fear, hoping for your best it doesn’t land on Seonghwa since he’s been uncomfortably eye-fucking you for the last hour now, you attentively observe your friend, as she wraps her hand around the bottle again, giving it a slight push, as it starts rotating on the table.

You swear, time has never been this slow before, as you feel your heartbeat increase its pace and when the bottle comes to a halt, you don’t dare open your eyes first.

“Oh, how convenient”, Minho says and for a second you fear, the bottle is pointing at him.

“Chan and Y/N.”

Immediately opening your eyes wide, you autonomously look in your roommate's direction, as his gaze is already fixated on you, mouth slightly agape. “What a cute match”, Lisa bursts out, bringing one hand on her chest, right where her heart is. 

When Chan gets up from his seat and sits right next to you, you swear, he’s never looked as beautiful before. Bleached curls hiding not only his forehead, but also the shyness in his face, you can tell he’s just as nervous as you are.

Even though there’s really no reason for it, it’s just a game, right?

For possibly one and half minutes, you just blankly stare at each other, as no one dares make the first move.

“You can go to one of your rooms as well, if it’s more comfortable”, Felix suggests and from the corner of your eye you see Seonghwa scoffing under his breath.

“We can do that, if you want”, Chan offers and you give him a barely visible nod, as you both stand up and head towards the corridor. In the distance, you can hear Minho complain that both of you could just be lying at this point, since no one will be witnessing the kiss.

Trying to ignore the bickering, you choose to go to your room, as you open the door quickly and close it behind you again, once you’re both inside. The atmosphere is tense, but not in an uncomfortable way, comparable to doing something you know exactly isn’t the smartest idea.

“You know, we don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to, we can just lie to them”, Chan offers quietly, his gaze fixated on the floor under him, as he anxiously plays with the metallic rings around his fingers.

“No, it’s alright. We’ve agreed to this game and it’s just a kiss, right?” You tell him, as you take a few steps towards him. Chan gets even shyer now, but still manages to nod yet so hesitantly.

But the curly haired boy’s thoughts are all over the place, he feels like he’s never kissed someone else before, even though he’s in fact experienced when it comes to that. It’s just different with you, he can’t explain exactly what it is.

Maybe it’s the smell of your shampoo so near, scent slowly travelling up his nose, every time he takes a deep breath, initially to calm him down but resulting in the opposite now.

Maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him so expectantly, big eyes fixated on his own.

Or Maybe, just maybe, it’s because he’s waited for this for so long and the way you stare at him, full of hopes to make the first move, whereas he’s getting even more nervous, his heart starts beating out of his chest.

“Chan, just kiss me already”, you basically beg him at this point, getting even a little closer in the process, as your noses almost touch each other. 

“No, not like this”.

His answer leaves his mouth way too quickly and he immediately regrets his choice of words, squinting his eyes shut, hoping to just sink into the earth.

And in this moment you hear a ‘ding’ sound from your phone laying next to you, revealing you’ve got a message from Ben. Out of reflex, Chan’s and your eyes immediately flicker to the screen.

Ben: Hey beautiful, sorry for replying so late. Can I pick you up tomorrow at 4?

“If you’ll excuse me”, Chan says, as he toddles out of your room, trying not to die out of embarrassment, as he leaves you standing there completely dumbfounded.

You take your time to regain your thoughts, not believing what he’s just said, trying to convince yourself you were just imagining his words.

Not like this.

So he’s thought about kissing you before?

The party goes on for another thirty minutes, but everyone is already visibly tired, that’s why you call it a night and say your goodbyes to everyone. When all of the guests have left, Lisa and Felix have already passed out on their beds and you make your way to the bathroom.

Taking all the time you need, you’re reminiscing Chan’s words from earlier yet again.

Not like this.

Well, if not like this, what did he have in mind instead? Shaking your head, while you squeeze some toothpaste onto your toothbrush before putting it in your mouth, you push the thoughts aside.

You’re on the right track of getting into a serious relationship, with Ben you’ve got everything you’ve waited for so long - well almost everything if you ignore the lack of passion and how boring he is in bed.

Your little meaningless thoughts of Chan’s words won’t ruin this.

When you leave the bathroom, you’re greeted by Chan in the corridor and he’s visibly in a better state now, hopefully overcoming his embarrassment.

“So, what are you and Ben doing tomorrow?” He asks, trying to do some small talk in order to get rid of the still lingering tense atmosphere and you allow him to engage in a conversation with you. “We’re going to the art exhibition in the museum near the harbour.”

“Sounds great, he seems to make you very happy”, Chan says, while he feels the stinging feeling in his own heart, hoping you would deny his assumptions, telling him to choose him instead.

But you don’t.

“Yes, he really does”, you answer. Some seconds pass by, neither of you are sure what to say next.

“Well, I should probably go to sleep, good night, Channie”, you tell him and he mumbles a quiet ‘sleep well’ as you’re already heading towards your door.

But then he grabs you by your wrist, turns you around, everything happens in the blink of an eye, and faster then you’re able to realise what’s happening, he places his plump lips on yours, pulling you yet so close to him, you’re sure your bodies will melt together.

Instantly laying your arms around his neck, you give in, as his lips move against your own, big hands landing right at your hips.

Allowing him entrance, your tongues dance together, fighting for dominance and you can feel the strings of saliva mixing into one, as your heart tries its best to resist his passionate touches, but you’ve already given up at this point.

Pulling you closer one last time, you swear it’s only you and him on this earth right now, he suddenly disconnects his lips from yours, still holding you tight, before he says, almost inaudibly:

“I meant something like this.”

He then turns around on his feet, yanking his bedroom’s door open and disappears in his room, leaving you there completely dumbfounded again.

Chan doesn’t sleep that night at all.

And neither do you.

TAGLIST: @heelover5 @chimmycupcake @avyskai

© j-0ne25 2022 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

[spearb-gf]

shy reader who wants to give felix a blow job but can’t confess it. he teases for a bit but guides her into giving her first ever bj. i need this to go off the outfit he was wearing in the recent skz talker. tight black turtle neck lix.

Warning: smut below! mdni.

Felix’s slender fingers toy with the lens of his new camera, rotating two notches to the right as he brings it up to his face again.

“I dunno why it’s not zooming properly,” he says, his thick Australian accent sounding more prominent amidst his frustration. “It gets all blurry.”

You watch him curiously from where you’re sitting on the floor, your legs crossed as you scroll on your phone, chuckling softly at his attempts to snap another photo. Aim, rotate, click.

“See! This looks nothing like the ones I took yesterday.”

“Let me try,” you say, setting your phone down on the floor beside you and reaching a hand out. He places the camera in your two hands, resetting the knob back to its original position before loosening his grasp.

“Careful, it’s heavy”, Felix warns, watching closely as you bring it up to your own face and squeeze one eye shut. You point the camera up at him, and Felix holds out a peace sign while you snap a few photos of him.

“Cute,”‘you say, observing the photos and admiring the way his tight black turtleneck hugs his body so nicely.

“Let me see,” he replies with a smile, taking the camera from you and sitting on the wooden bench at the edge of your hotel bed to scroll through the photos.

When you turn to look up at him, you realize how close he is to you, his hips almost next to your face as his legs spread lazily on either side of him. His outfit is particularly distracting today, his toned abs peeking through a thin fitted black turtleneck, coupled nicely with a dark blue pair of jeans. When he leans back to rest his weight on one arm, his shirt lifts up a little bit, exposing a thin strip of skin above his waistband. He shifts a little bit in his spot, and your gaze skims over his crotch momentarily, the outline of his bulge visible through the sculpted jeans.

“These are nice,” he says, “but why does it only work when you do it?”

You swallow nervously, your mind admittedly wandering to places it shouldn’t be, as he sits here innocently indulging in his hobby beside you.

“I dunno,” you reply, averting his gaze briefly.

Felix takes notice of the change in your demeanor, furrowing his brows together as you turn your attention back to your phone.

“You can try again, if you want,” he offers, fearing you took offense to something he said.

“No, that’s okay,” you reply quietly, desperately scrolling through your social media in an attempt to look preoccupied.

“Seriously,” he says, now standing up from the bench to move in front of you. “You’re better than me, anyway. Have at it.”

You swallow nervously when you look up, well aware of the way his crotch is right in front of your face now, his jeans almost grazing your face as he towers over you. Felix looks down on you with a gentle smile, one hand reaching down to thread through your hair and tuck a strand of hair behind you ear.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Nothing, it’s fine.”

“Tell me,” Felix says again, now moving his other hand to tilt your chin up. Your eyes are wide, curious with lust now as his bulge hovers over you from this proximity.

You want to ask him- so badly, but you’re nervous about being so straightforward with him. He somehow looks so tantalizing today- the outline of his cock practically visible from every angle, his knit black turtleneck rising up to flaunt a subtle v-line whenever he holds up his camera. The simple, yet elegant outfit exudes sex, and you’re itching to see him underneath- or rather, to taste him.

Without uttering a word, you bring your chin forward just an inch, resting it just below his groin and staring up at him with silently pleading eyes. When he gasps a little, you press one small kiss to the bulge of his jeans, pulling away to gauge his reaction. Felix’s eyes look wide with curiosity, the little action already arousing him through his jeans, but surprising him nonetheless.

“If you’re trying to tease me, it’s working,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

You don’t respond, your eyes flickering down to his jeans and back to his face, hoping the action will signify what it is that you want so badly. He glances down at your expression, observing the way you now sit up on your knees, scanning his outfit from head to toe.

“Is it… that you want to have sex?” Felix inquires bluntly with a chuckle. His words ring somewhat true, but truthfully, you want to pleasure him. It’s something the two of you have never engaged in before, all of your sexually intimate moments always involving a bed, and having enough time to equally undress and finish together. The two of you aren’t partial to quick bouts of pleasure, but seeing him loom over you like this, you’re eager to try.

“I want… to taste you,” you say finally, heartbeat quickening the minute the words leave your lips.

Felix pauses in his tracks, finally understanding what you’re asking for, and then a smile grows on his face.

“You want to suck me off?” He says, a breathy laugh emitting from his lips as he speaks. “Is that what you’re so hot and bothered about?”

You nod sheepishly, still keeping your gaze on him as he looks down.

“Yeah?” Felix says, his fingers tangling in your scalp again and pushing your hair out of your face.

“You could’ve just asked,” he says in a teasing tone. “You don’t have to feel so embarrassed.” He sounds amused, almost dumbfounded at the proposal.

Your cheeks flush a dark shade of pink as you begin to feel regretful for asking- it’s uncharacteristic of you to say it out loud like this, much less engage in an act that you’ve always felt seemed so degrading. But you still do want to, a little unsure of how to go about it.

“Hey,” Felix says, tilting your chin up to look at him. “I’ll guide you if you really want to do it, yeah?”

You nod up at him, relieved that he’s agreed to help walk you through it without you needing to ask him. He caresses your cheek lovingly with his thumb, snaking one hand down to undo his belt buckle, sliding it out of his belt loops in one quick motion and tossing it on the bed.

“Are you comfortable?” He asks, and you shift a little so that you’re sitting comfortably on your knees.

“Mhm,” you reply, waiting for his next instruction.

Felix unzips his jeans slowly, pulling them down so that they pool around his ankles, already visibly hard against his boxers. You’ve seen his cock plenty of times, but somehow, this being the first time you get to taste him, you’re admittedly a little nervous. You reach up to palm him gently over his boxers, earning a soft moan from him as he positions himself a little closer to you.

“You want to take them off?” Felix asks, cocking his head at the way you stare up at him with wide, lustful eyes. You nod up at him, your heartbeat quickening a little as he waits for you to proceed.

And in slow movements, you reach up to graze your fingers along his waistband, tugging over his now-hard bulge and freeing his erection. His cock swells against his abdomen, looking almost different to you from this new angle- his veiny length protrudes straight in front of you, the pink tip of his cock glistening with anticipation as you bring your face a little closer.

Felix smiles at your hesitation, bringing his own hand to the base of his cock and pumping gently over you as you watch in wonder. The same hand reaches out to your face, grazing your lips gently before cupping below your chin.

“Spit for me,” he orders, and you swirl your tongue around your mouth, gathering a generous wad of saliva between your lips before trickling a stream down into his hand.

Felix brings his hand back to his cock, laying his palm flat against the tip of his cock and coating himself generously in your spit before moving back down to the base.

He whimpers at the contact, doing his best to save the pleasurable parts for your mouth only.

You watch intently as he pumps himself a few more times again, his cock now glistening in saliva and making a light sloshing noise as he works his length. When he’s wet enough, involuntary whimpers escaping his lips with every stroke, he stops at the base again, looking down at you.

“You still okay to do this?” Felix asks, and you nod affirmatively.

His free hand finds its way to the back of your head, softly massaging your scalp in encouragement as he brings his cock to your lips.

“If you want to stop, just give me a little squeeze, okay?”

You nod again, blinking a few times as he now taps the pink tip of his cock against your lips. His flesh feels hypnotic against you, almost pleading for entrance as he trails a coat of your own saliva back onto your lips. You part your lips for him, holding eye contact, as he finally guides his cock inside your mouth and slides in with gentle movements. You wrap your lips around his girth, moaning softly around his cock as you feel him hit the back of your throat.

Tears prick your eyes at the sensation, and your mouth dribbles with drool, Felix using his thumb to wipe the corners of your mouth clean and tangle back in your hair. It’s your turn to grasp the base of his cock, holding him just firmly enough to steady yourself, and then you start moving. Your head bobs down his length, swirling your tongue generously around his tip, and then back up again, where your moans vibrate around him. You repeat the action a few times, Felix’s eyebrows arching up in pleasure as he takes in the filthy sight, his entire cock disappearing into your mouth with every move.

“Fuck, yeah baby just like that,” he breathes out, hardly even needing to guide you anymore. His hands steady themselves on the back of your head, where he pulls up your hair into a makeshift ponytail, caressing strands behind your ears and shutting his eyes in pleasure.

“Mmh-” you whimper around him, pulling back to his tip to utter something between drooly lips.

“I love it,” you breathe, trailing your wetted lips around the side of his shaft, where you press drooly little kisses along his flesh before taking him back into your mouth.

Felix feels like he could cum any minute at the sound of you, your lewd moans and sloshing noises as you work him so skillfully, the sight of your fucked-out face so needy for his cock instilling a pure state of euphoria in him. But he holds off, wanting to make the moment last as long as possible, because he can tell you’re getting equally as pleasured by this, too. Beads of sweat form on Felix’s forehead as he looks down at you, his blonde tresses falling into his eyes and caressing the collar of his ebony turtleneck. His once put-together appearance looks completely disheveled now, face flushed a dark shade of red as he pants heavily over you.

“Ah- baby, will you touch my-”

You don’t have to hear him finish his request before obliging, reaching a hand up to caress his balls in your palm and massage them at the same time you work him in your mouth. Felix moans fervently at the sensation, a stream of drool dribbling from the corners of his lips too, as his breathing grows ragged with pleasure.

“God, you take me so well,” he breathes out, moving your face down his length and gently fucking your face with his hips. “You’re so good,” he says, shutting his eyes as he feels his cock pulsate between your lips, desperate for release now.

Your mascara is pooled below your eyes now, eyelashes fluttering up at him innocently as he fucks your face a little faster.

“Is this okay?” Felix asks, his voice coming out shaky. You nod with him in your mouth, pleased with the way he’s completely losing himself around you.

Felix throws his head back in bliss as he feels you swirl your tongue down his base, giving kitten licks to the underside of his shaft and his balls, before maneuvering to his tip again and showering him in wet, drooly kisses. He tastes a little salty, but the flavor is intoxicating on your tongue, a reminder that it’s your boyfriend fucking your mouth and filling your mouth remnants of him. Sucking him makes you hungrier for him, eager to watch his reactions with every move and feel him hit every inch of your throat.

You pull off of him entirely, releasing him with a gentle pop, and shooting him an amused smile when he looks down at you, almost trembling.

“Don’t stop,” Felix says, his eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure as he guides your face close to him, silently begging to feel you around his length again. You chuckle lightly at his reaction, feeling confident in how you’ve taken the reins after having him guide you so sweetly.

You don’t deny him the pleasure for another second, trailing his aching tip over your lips and delivering little kisses before taking him in your mouth again, gagging lightly when he hits the back of your throat.

“Do it again,” Felix says, massaging the back of your head and guiding you even lower. “Gag on it for me, baby, yeah? Feels so fucking good when you do that.”

And you obey his commands, spit bubbling in the back of your throat and around your lips as you struggle to keep him inside, his tip almost brushing against your uvula and making you wince in brief discomfort. But you feel his abdomen contract once against you, his cock twitching in pleasure, and you can tell he’s close.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Felix says, pulling back a little to let you breathe.

“You want me to finish in your mouth? Or on your pretty face?”

You take him a bit deeper, answering his question by swirling your tongue around him once, earning a deep moan from him.

Felix grips your hair in both hands, holding it out of your face as he gives shallow thrusts.

“Gonna cum,” he says in between labored breaths, his eyes shut in pleasure.

And gives one more thrust, pulling out halfway to rest his hardened cock on your tongue as you moan around his girth, gasping lightly when you feel him shoot ropes of his milky white release all over your tongue. He lets out a series of moans as he does, reaching one hand up to the base of his cock to pump the remainder, a few remnants falling onto your lips and your cheek. You shut your eyes instinctively, smiling a little when you feel him finish on you, the sensation feeling simultaneously so filthy and delightful at the same time. Felix pulls out of you slowly, watching with hooded eyes as he slows his breaths and looks down at you.

“You don’t have to swallow,” he says, visibly concerned as you smack your lips together lightly and relish in the flavor of his arousal.

But somehow his words feel like encouragement, and you shudder a little as you slide your tongue to the back of your throat, swallowing his release with a loud gulping noise and wiping your chin clean.

Felix chuckles in disbelief, in awe at this new side of you he’s never experienced.

“Wow,” he breathes out, helping you off the floor and steadying your balance as he wraps his arms around your waist.

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

He rubs his thumb across your cheek soothingly, leaning down to press a series of tender kisses to your still-wet lips as he smiles against you. Felix’s heartbeat steadies in rhythm with yours as you stay like that for a moment, wrapped in each other's warm embrace.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, holding you close. “You’re beautiful, and you drive me absolutely crazy.”

[spearb-gf]

blue side of the sky (lmh) | ten.

♡ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: waking up after 3 months with no recollection of your past, your friends do what they can to help you remember. except, they omit an important piece to the puzzle - afraid you would remember the heartbreak and hurt all over again.

—pairing: lee know x f. reader

—genre: (18+) exes to lovers, bestfriends to lovers au | fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

—word count: 5.5k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, dancer lee know and dancer hyunjin (choreography video linked for inspo), implied jealousy, oc x minho are incredibly cute and share a lil dance moment heh, heated conversations/arguments, flashback at the end - lots and looots of crying/breaking down, jisung to the rescue 😔, worthy to note that this is an important chapter but it's not the only thing that occurred in their past..

—ON ROTATION: every kind of way - h.e.r | pray you catch me - beyoncé

"Uh, yeah. We'll start in about 5 minutes or so." You hear Minho's voice just as you turn the corner and arrive at the dance studio. You had closed up at the flower shop tonight, so you thought it would be the perfect time to watch Minho's class. He sent you the address and offered to come pick you up, but you told him you'd catch a ride over instead. Besides, his class would have been starting soon— you didn't want him to be late or missing for a class he was leading.

"You sure you're good?" San asks, just steps away from the studio. Minho catches sight of San escorting you near the door, and it instantly makes his heart sink.

So, San dropped you off.

Fucking great.

"Mhm. Thank you, Sannie." You look up at him with those eyes and it's so obvious San adores you. Who wouldn't?

"Let me know if you need me to pick you up? I'll be at the gym for awhile working out with a few friends."

"Okay." You wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a hug, and Minho has to divert this attention to something— anything— to prevent the irritation from increasing. "Hey." You tug on your bag strap as you walk in, already feeling a little out of place especially without any other familiar faces by your side.

"Hey." Minho gives you a tiny smile, brushing off his feelings about San. "You made it."

"I said I would. San was nice enough to drop me off."

"Yeah, I see." He clears his throat a bit.

"I'm definitely not dressed right." You nervously look down at your leggings and oversized crewneck before scanning the room again.

"It's alright." He lets out a small laugh. "You're just watching, anyway."

"Still." You chuckle and step inside, nearly hugging the wall with how many people are in attendance. You follow Minho to the far left corner in front of the room where you can peacefully watch without being in the way, setting your things down and taking a seat on the highchair.

"This gonna be okay for you? You can always move down if you think it's too loud or too crazy."

"Yeah, I'll be okay."

"Bathroom's just out the door and down to the left if you need it."

"Thanks."

"Don't make fun of me, okay?"

"I'll try not to." You chuckle as he starts to play his playlist, instructing for people to start stretching. It's nice to see Minho in this element because although you'd really like to remember this side of him, you can't. A few faces look your way with small smiles creeping up at the corner of their lips, making you wonder if they found you familiar. Surely, you'd been here with Jisung before— that's a given. 

When you look out at the center of the floor, Minho is talking to another individual. He's tall, with longer black hair nearly hitting his shoulders; a bucket hat on with a longsleeve and sweats. They look at you every now and then while Minho mutters something, followed by a nod from the unfamiliar individual. Then, he walks over to you, a small, toothless smile painted across his face.

"Hey Y/N, it's nice to see you."

"Hey." You say, doing a head tilt to observe him a little more.

"I'm Hyunjin. We've met when you used to visit before." His smile grows a bit. "It's nice to see your face again, glad to know you're doing well."

"Yeah, it's nice to see you too." You respond, unsure of how to move forward with Hyunjin. He seems nice though, and he seems fond of you.

"Hope you enjoy the class." He says once more before shutting off the music and calling attention from the class. They begin to explain what the choreography will be like for today— something quick, but fun and upbeat. Minho and Hyunjin start playing Bryson Tiller's On Top, demonstrating the choreo to the class. The class yells in excitement and it makes you smile, seeing how involved and supportive everyone gets. 

Class officially starts with Hyunjin and Minho breaking down the steps, allowing people to ask questions and get comfortable with the piece before practicing it a few times, then moving onto the next set. You even join in some laughs every now and then when Minho and Hyunjin start bickering, the rare moment Minho messes up his own choreography and catches himself with that look on his face.

He's cute. 

Very cute.

Especially, when he looks your way and throws a smile every now and then. You have to look away from time to time to stop yourself from feeling these feelings over your bestfriend because why did it feel so familiar, yet brand new? Situations like this can get awkward and weird quickly, but for you— it didn't feel that way at all.

It felt.. right. Like this is supposed to happen, like how things are supposed to unfold— somehow. 

After timeless practice and choreo clean up, the class is successfully dancing the piece flawlessly alongside with Minho and Hyunjin. Towards the end of class, they split them into different groups— allowing each group to do the piece together and freestyle a bit at the end. It's fun, and you love the atmosphere. You must've really enjoyed it back then. 

Too bad you aren't sure you could handle it anymore.

Once class is over, the class gathers their things and thank both Minho and Hyunjin for yet another fun piece. They wave and bid their farewells, with Hyunjin shortly following behind. He yells a quick goodbye to you with a wave, greeting Minho on his way out.

"How was it?" Minho brushes his hair back and throws his cap back on, sweat still dripping down his forehead profusely. He's trying to gather his breath as he walks towards you, wiping away at his forehead and neck.

"You looked really good out there." You smile. "You looked like you were having fun."

"That's good, right?"

"Pretty cool, I'd say." 

"Nice. At least you think so." You laugh.

"Did I use to come to class before?"

"Uh, yeah." Minho nods. "With Jisung. Chan and Seungmin would join too if they had time and were up for it."

"Sounds fun, and it looks really fun. I just don't think I could dance like that again. Wish I could."

"You can." You raise a brow. "Here." Minho holds his hand out for you to take. You give him a small smile before grabbing his hand, letting him lead you to the middle of the studio. "I'll teach you something simple, okay?" You chuckle.

"I-I don't know, Min."

"Trust me. You'll be okay. I promise."

"Okay, but don't laugh at me in the process. I'm probably very rusty and bad at this."

"Never." He smiles. "Alright." He says, standing next to you. He starts to show you the first 8-count, slowly guiding you through every step—patiently. He rehearses with you time and time again before teaching you another 8-count. It's a little more complex than the first set, but not anything incredibly difficult. You have to pause and ask Minho to repeat himself a bit, shyly laughing and apologizing at how many times you need to see him demonstrate. He makes you feel comfortable with the way he laughs along and tells you it's okay, reassuring that you're doing well— that you're hitting every step perfectly. Then, there's the other side that makes you incredibly shy and reserved again, especially when he asks you to do it for him while he watches. He finds it adorable how you cover your face and tell him 'no' repeatedly, only to finally be encouraged to step out of your comfort zone and do the steps on your own.

You feel good.

This feels different, but good.

But, at one point, you stumble on your own feet— causing you to trip. He catches you before you could take a nasty fall, holding onto your waist just as you slowly turn to look at him. He looks you in the eye and gives you a soft smile before helping you adjust your position.

"Woah." He laughs. "I got you. Are you okay?" He subconsciously brushes the hair away from your face and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, unsure of where the sudden action came from.

"I am." You look up at him with those eyes. "Thank you." He chuckles as he lets you step aside and brush yourself down.

"Mhm. How about we do it one more time then call it a night?" You laugh.

"That sounds good with me." He starts to play Every Kind of Way by H.E.R, showing you the steps to the song before having you practice along with him to the beat. Sooner or later, you're doing the steps alongside of Minho for a couple of times before he praises you and calls it a night, just to make sure it doesn't overwork you and put too much on your body.

"You did really well, Y/N. See, I told you you'd be great."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I mean it." He looks at you and smiles. "How do you feel?"

"Tired? But, good. It was simple, and not too much."

"Good. You're a natural, anyway. My words don't mean shit." You laugh.

"You're the instructor here, of course they do." You give him a playful punch on the bicep. "Thanks for this. I really enjoyed it."

"Yeah?" He smiles. "That's good. Hope that means you'll be back to watch more."

"Yeah, I will." You grab your things as Minho continues to clean up around the studio. "I'll probably get a good sleep tonight."

"As you should." He grabs his keys as he takes a swig of water. "Ready to go? Wanna grab something on the way home?"

"I'm okay. Uncle Adrian made some food and stashed some away for me." You smile. "Thank you, though."

"Course. Let's go then, princess." You look up at him as he walks ahead, subtly biting your lip at the pet name. It rolls off his tongue so smoothly, it almost seems like this was a typical nickname for you— from him. 

During the ride home, you feel at ease with Minho to the point where it's a little sad you'll be leaving him soon. You've longed for his company for quite some time. Now that you finally have it, you don't really want to let go of it. He makes you laugh on the way home, cracking these jokes and showing off his dad humor to the fullest. Even though some of the jokes can be incredibly cringy to him, he loves hearing you laugh and giggle. He also loves the way you smile at him, the way your eyes sparkle every time you talk to him.

You're just beautiful.

You are love.

He hates that you have to part ways.

"Well." He parks the car in front of the house and looks at you. "Time for you to get some rest."

"Thanks again for today. I enjoyed it. It was a lot of fun." You smile at him and give him a small pinch on his arm. "I'll come by again."

"Good." He chuckles. "Have a good night, Y/N. Rest well."

"You too." You give him one last look and a wave before walking off. After watching you walk through the side door to get to your humble abode, Minho drives off to his next destination. He's in a good mood, but at the same time, he's not looking forward to his next interaction.

He knows he has to do this.

It needs to happen.

He parks his car in an open spot on the street, sighing to himself as he gathers his things and hops out the car. He's punching in the code to the lobby door before flying up the two flights of stairs. He heads down the familiar hallway, knocking on the door and anxiously standing aside as he waits for a response.

"Hey." Minho says as he stands in front of the door, watching as Kat smirks and tries to wrap her arms around him. He steps back though, and she confusingly looks at him when he gently pushes her arms back. "Sorry, I'm just here to talk. Do you have a quick minute?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess?" She says, gently closing the door behind her and stepping outside into the hallway. "What's up?" She crosses her arms as she eyes him up and down. Minho can tell she already knows where this is going, and there's really no way of sugarcoating the situation anyway.

It needs to happen.

Minho needs things to change.

"I, um—" Minho swallows the lump in his throat. He's just not good with this stuff in general, so he struggles. But, he manages to spit out the important part of this, which is: "—I don't think we should continue seeing each other anymore." She doesn't say anything for a moment to process whatever the fuck he just said, and the next response that comes out of her mouth is a pathetic little chuckle. Minho awkwardly shifts his weight from his left foot to his right foot, digging his hands into his pockets. 

"Of course." Her voice breaks off a bit towards the end of her response. 

"I'm sorry. I think you already knew where this was going though. I'm not sure what else to tell you." He probably looks even more like an asshole right now, especially with the way his expression doesn't really change; he's not doing much to explain, nor is he even trying with her in the first place. "This needed to happen."

"This needed to happen." She repeats as she crosses her arms and tears begin to fall down. She looks away to make it less obvious that she's starting to cry, but Minho catches on. She's hurt. Why wouldn't she be? He's a complete dick, and he has no one else to blame but himself for letting it get this far.

For ever letting it get this far.

"I'm sorry, Kat." He repeats because he doesn't know what else to do.

"Save it." She finally looks at him. "So, I was right." Minho just stupidly shrugs. "What's new, Minho? I don't know why I thought this time would be different."

"Kat." Minho lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "You and I both know we wouldn't work." He sighs again because truthfully, he did think they could at one point. He did try. He liked her.

But, he couldn't take it any further. It was just.. that.

"Okay, and then.. what? You're just gonna continue on with your sick little game and keep making her think that things are okay between you two? That your history is all pristine and angelic? Like you were always so fucking loyal—" Minho furrows his brows and lets out a little chuckle before shaking his head.

"We're not going there. Whatever goes on with Y/N, however this turns out— it doesn't concern you. As far as I know, it never did. At the end of the day, she's still my bestfriend and I need to prioritize her."

"Of course you do. That's your way of prioritizing her?" She rolls her eyes. "Goodluck with that Minho. She's gonna realize how much of a dick you actually are and want nothing to do with you." She gives him one last look before she's slamming the door in his face.

"I'm sorry." He repeats softly before turning on his heel and heading back down the hallway. He lets out a shaky breath of relief mixed with confusion, unsure of how to feel about everything because again— he's no good at this. And Kat is right, in a sense. You are eventually going to find out about all this shit, about how much of an asshole he was. Then, what? Would you want nothing to do with him? Would you stay away and keep your distance?

He's so dumb.

Why did he have to go and make all of this so fucking complicated? Now, he feels even worse. Because even if this page is closed, he still feels like he'll lose you.

And that's his fault.

Minho plops into the driver's seat, tempted to call you and ask if you've gotten settled at home. But, he stares at his phone screen for a good minute before he's shaking his head and setting his phone back down onto the middle console.

He should give you some breathing room. 

With that, he takes the drive home, letting the music in the background fill the emptiness. He's not sure if he has an appetite for anything. He'll probably drink some tea when he gets home and hop in the shower before laying in bed; staring mindlessly at the ceiling. Eventually, his thoughts will travel down memory lane, then they'll fix on you. Sooner or later, he'll find he only gets an hour or two of sleep [if he's lucky] before he needs to tackle another day.

Surprisingly when he arrives home, he doesn't see Chan or Seungmin's car out front. It's not uncommon for Chan to be home late, but Seungmin? He knows that boy would never miss an opportunity to hop in bed early. He sighs as he steps inside— tossing his shoes and keys aside before waddling into the kitchen to heat up some water. He can hear Jisung clicking away at his keyboard while throwing f-bombs and other curse words at his computer screen. Minho continues to dig around to see what's around and in the fridge, but still— he doesn't find himself getting hungry for anything.  

Once his water is done heating, he pours it into a mug and steeps his tea approximately for 4 minutes. He heads up the steps with his mug in hand, placing it down along with his things on his bedroom floor before walking to Jisung's room.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jisung's yelling turns into a whine. He kicks his head back onto his computer chair before letting out a deep sigh, body slumped into the chair.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just played such a shitty round." Jisung sighs.

"Where's Chan and Seungmo?"

"Chan's at the studio, and Seungmin's cousins are in town so he's out with them."

"Surprised he's out."

"Yeah, well." Jisung shrugs. "They don't come often." He turns to look at Minho. "How was Y/N during class today?"

"Uh, good." Minho shrugs a bit and chuckles. "I taught her something easy and slow afterwards. Then, I brought her home."

"Hm." Jisung hums as he eyes his bestfriend. Minho does that thing he does when he's trying to hide something [even though he's terrible at it in the first place]. He looks down at the floor and subtly bites on his bottom lip to prevent himself from smiling. "Okay, what is it?"

"Huh?" Minho chuckles a bit. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Jisung repeats, already suspicious. 

"It was just a good class?"

"All of a sudden? Cause Y/N was there?"

"I didn't even say anything like that—" All of a sudden, Minho can tell Jisung is angry. Especially with the way he cuts him off and stands from his seat.

"What the hell are you trying to do here, dude?" Jisung angrily looks at him, and Minho knew this was coming one way or another. He knew it'd happen soon. 

He just didn't think it would be today. But alas, here we are.

Fuck.

"Okay, relax. I didn't even say anything. Classes are chill regardless." He repeats as he looks at Jisung, matching his energy. "Why are you getting angry?"

"Because! I told you. Don't do this. Don't make it harder on her. I asked for one thing from you and you couldn't even do that." Jisung spits back. 

"No one is doing anything! I let her watch class and I taught her something. Big fucking whoop."

"Right. You took her home after."

"And?"

"And? Don't act stupid."

"What do you want from me?" Minho pathetically laughs.

"I know you. I've known you for years and I know the way you get with Y/N. You're trying again, aren't you?"

"Because she fucking came to class and we hung out for a bit?" Minho rolls his eyes, then shakes his head. "Besides— even if I was, what is it to you?"

"What is it to me? You're joking, right?" Jisung pauses. "Have you forgotten about all the shit you pulled with Y/N?"

"Stop acting like I have because I haven't! Thanks to your wonderful ass reminders." Minho's tone raises a bit, and he adds a bit of sarcasm to his statement. "You can't come at me for being the only one in the wrong here when you're hiding all of this from her. If you were really worried about her, you should've came clean from the beginning."

"Oh, please. You have no idea what it was like to fucking see her crying over you!" Jisung yells back. "That's why I do it! You weren't there to comfort her and console her for days, Minho! Why? Because of all that shit with Kat! I know I can't protect her from everything but I'll be damned if I let history repeat itself. So, yeah, you might be right in a sense— maybe I should've told her from the beginning so she wouldn't have these expectations. But I thought of you, too. I didn't think you'd want to lose her that way either." 

"She's my bestfriend, too."

"Stop using that excuse. It's played out and it's old. You haven't treated her like that even after the accident happened. Get a fucking grip." Jisung lets out a small groan. "You know what she's been through, you know what you've done— yet, you're trying because she doesn't remember. You're so incredibly selfish." Jisung shakes his head. "Whatever though, you do you. If this gets all twisted and blown up at the wrong time, I'm putting that on you." Minho clenches his jaw for a moment while he looks at Jisung, but Jisung doesn't look like he's going to give this up anytime soon. 

So, Minho lets out a sigh before shrugging. "I made some stupid mistakes and I know I still do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I started this mess and I'm sorry you had to see that because of me."

"Yeah, you should be. I don't know what I'll do if I see her hurt again, so please don't fuck this up any more than you already have. "Jisung sighs. He's upset, so he's saying whatever comes to mind first. But, the words hit Minho quick before Jisung can even apologize— cutting new, fresh wounds hearing his own bestfriend talk to him that way. 

"I'll say it one more time before I let this go. I know I fucked up, but I'm your bestfriend too. Sometimes, it'd be a little nice if you cut me some slack. I'm learning from my mistakes and I'm trying to do better. It doesn't happen overnight but I'm not completely hopeless, you know?" Minho turns towards his room and shuts the door, causing Jisung to groan into his hands.

"Fuck."

☁︎ FLASHBACK | SENIOR YEAR IN COLLEGE

It hadn't been too long before Minho was texting you, letting you know he was outside. You smiled to yourself and grabbed your jacket— tossing it on before shutting your door behind you. You waved when you saw his car, but you were quick to notice how unhappy Minho seemed in his car. He had his hood over his head, sitting in the driver's seat with a blank expression. You were excited to see him, but that faded once you realized he wasn't feeling the same way you were.

"Hey." You say softly as you step into the passenger's seat. "You okay?" He lets out a shaky breath before giving you a tiny, pursed smile.

"Yeah. Is it okay if we go for a quick drive somewhere?"

"Of course." You sit in the seat, uncomfortable with all the anxiety bubbling up in your stomach. Everything about Minho— his body language, his tone— says that things aren't okay, and you aren't sure if you're ready for what's about to happen.

Even though, you have an idea where this is going. Judging by how disconnected he's been from you lately.

Minho pulls up to a trail, lining the lake nearby campus. You and your friends have been here before, so it wasn't unfamiliar to you. What is unfamiliar is this Minho, how silent and cryptic he's being— how he's avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

But, he finally speaks. Even though it's a lousy:

"We should talk."

"Um, yeah. I think so. What's on your mind?" He sighs, but he still isn't making much eye contact with you even as you turn in your seat to face him. The silence is lethal, and you wish he would just come out and say it.

Why hold it off when it's clear where this is going?

"Babe." You say softly. "Babe, what is it, just—"

"I think we should break up." He finally looks at you, even when he doesn't feel enough courage to. There are tears lining his bottom lids, but they don't spill. He looks out the window again, finger brushing against his lip as he waits for your response.

The main reason why he immediately breaks eye contact is because he knows you'll cry. And you do. He hears you sniffing in the passenger seat, and he hears you holding back the sobs, the sounds that threaten to leave your throat. 

He hates this, but he thinks this needed to happen.

"Why?"

"Don't you think we should? Look at us. We've just been fighting lately. We've been distant. One moment, we're okay and then the next, we aren't. It's been a cycle and I know you're tired of it just as much as I am."

"No, you don't speak for me. I would never be tired of this. I wouldn't look at us as some kind of chore, Minho." Your tone raises a bit.

"See, that's what I'm talking about!"

"No, you don't know what the hell you're talking about! Because if you did, you'd sit through this tough phase with me and work it out instead of finding the easy way out." Silence. "All these years and you think this is how we go about it?" You scoff. "Why don't you be honest and tell me what the real reason is."

"That's the reason."

"It's not. It's Kat, isn't it?" Silence again. And this time, it shatters you— breaks you into bits and pieces more than you can imagine. Because even though he isn't saying anything, the silence is telling. "Please just tell me the truth." You say close to a whisper, your cries becoming heavier when reality starts to settle in.

This was it.

He was done.

Where did you go wrong?

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I just think it's the right thing to do." He isn't answering the question, and you don't know if that makes it worse.

Scratch that, it does.

He can't even tell you the truth.

"How long has it been?"

"What?" He looks at you again.

"How long has it been, Minho? With Kat. How long have you liked her?" He sighs and shrugs.

"I don't know? A couple of weeks or so?" It's fitting, the timeline is fitting. It could be close to a month when Minho has been distant. He tried, thinking this was all a silly little phase, a stupid infatuation. But it wasn't, and now he's to the point where he's too curious and can't even focus on fixing his relationship with you.

Such a shame, you think.

You tried to think of all the signs that you missed. The parties that he had gone to recently without you there, the small conversations in the library, the random texts. Hanging out with people on campus that he normally wasn't around. Jisung questioned it too, but didn't think too much of it.

Fuck. You are so stupid.

All these years and it wasn't enough— you weren't enough.

"I should've—" You pause as you start to cry into your hands. "Where did things even go wrong— I—"

"Y/N, please don't do that. We've just run our course and I think we have to accept—"

"Don't. You chose, we didn't just run our course." You groan. "I'm so stupid." A few tears drop when he continues to hear you sob in the seat next to him, but he quickly wipes it away and starts the car. He's just unsure of what else to do or say at this point. 

He's no good at this.

"I'm sorry." He says softly. "I'll take you back home, alright?" You don't say a word because you're exhausted from all of this already. Everything was wrong, everything felt wrong, uncomfortable, awkward. You hated this, and as much as you wanted to try and work this out—

There was nothing to work out.

You couldn't change his mind. He was set on it. 

You just wanted to get home.

And when you do finally get back, you simply unbuckle the seatbelt and swing the door open even as Minho calls for your name one last time with a pathetic 'please.' You don't even know if he said anything else, you don't care enough to figure it out. You just needed to get away from him.

As soon as you step back into your room, you feel yourself getting more lightheaded and sick to your stomach. You sit on the floor, back pressed against your cabinet as you shakily pressed Jisung's number on your phone. It rings twice before he's picking up, saying his hello's as brightly as he always does.

"Cielo! Yo! What's up?" You can't even get the words out. Instead, you let out a breath before you're silently sobbing into the phone. It's easy for Jisung to tell. Besides hearing your light whimpers, you haven't said anything since he picked up the call. His heart drops as he stops what he's doing and immediately begins to grab at his keys. "Hey, cielo. What's going on?"

"J-Jisung." You stutter in between cries. "Can you come over please?"

"I'm already hopping into my car." He says as dashes to his car, shutting the door and starting it up. "I'll be there really soon, okay? I'll be there." He repeats.

"Okay." You end the call and wipe away at your face. You tuck your knees to your chest, silently weeping as you wait for your bestfriend to arrive. Minho's words continue to repeat in your head, and you feel what's left of you slowly crumble into pieces. 

He wanted to see other people.

He didn't want this anymore.

He didn't want you anymore.

You try to rewind and think about every single moment you had shared with Minho— wondering where you went wrong and where you could've done better. None of this was your fault, but at the same time, everything felt like your fault.

Where could you have gone wrong?

"Cielo?" Through your silent cries, you hear Jisung scrambling outside of your door. He quickly shoves his shoes aside and swings the door open, his heart instantly dropping when he sees you crying on the floor. "Y/N, what's going on?" He worriedly asks as he drops down next to you, pulling you into his arms.

"He broke up with me."

"Minho?" Jisung furrows his brows, the anger rising within him. He knew Minho had been acting a little weird and distant lately, but he didn't think much of it. Maybe he should've, then he could've talked to him about what was going on in his mind. Find better ways to handle this.

But, you can never change someone's mind once they're set on it.

"It's Kat. He didn't say it, but I know it's her." Jisung sighs. Of course. It makes a little more sense. No wonder Kat had been around him a little more.  No wonder he seemed disconnected.

"I'm so sorry." He whispers onto your head as he continues to hold you close, letting you drench his shirt with your tears. "I'm so sorry he did this." He repeats. "Swear I'll kill him."

"No." You softly respond. "Don't."

"I hate that he hurt you." 

"H-He must really like her, doesn't he?" You pull back to look at Jisung and his heart shatters seeing you like this. The last time he's seen you this torn up was when your mom passed.

He knows you are hurting.

You hurt, and you hurt.

"I don't know, Y/N. I wish I knew more about this, but I'm in the dark as much as you are."

"He doesn't want me." Jisung lets out a breath before pulling you back towards him. "What did I do wrong?"

"Don't say that. Don't ever question yourself. None of this was your fault. He'll realize what a dumb fucking mistake this was." He rubs your arm. "He let go of someone great and that is his biggest loss."

"Jisung." You cry even harder and Jisung has no idea what else he could possibly do to alleviate the pain. He wishes he could take this way from you. "This hurts." You repeat. "This hurts so bad. Why didn't any of this matter to him? This hurts." You go on.

"I know. I'm sorry Y/N. I'm here." He hugs you tighter and rests his chin on the top of your head. "I'm here. We're gonna get you through this. You have me."

☁︎ END

⇢ read jisung's thoughts in 10.5: [cloudy days] here

♡ taglist: @ppiri-bahng @jihanlovic @meloncremesoda @sweetlikecherry @hoes4lino @skzddicted @skzho @edgaralienpoe @harui-zen @bestleeknowstan @havenwithleeknow @septicrebel @heesdazed @borahae-reads @yoontaethings @pearbunny @bintificreads @lukeys-giggle @ajxreads @everglowdaisies @allaboutsan @endzii23 @leeknowsramen @heres-your-ramen2000 @morningstardada @mal-lunar-28 @downbadreading @lilysophie @feelikecinderella @urmomma0324 @ddazed-lhs @djeniryuu @melanctton @i8rsie @maru-matt @sleepyleeji @taerifin @nattisbored @jisunglyricist @m111nho @drhsthl @nixtape-foryou @arminseas @guiltycoco @syuuji @sulkygyu @cadihyo @reianagarcia @leeknowyah @smndjdufuehr @dprkbyn @xxibreinaxx @mxnsxngie [bold = can’t tag 🥺]

[spearb-gf]

Stray Kids Seo Changbin fic recs

Here is my fanfic recommendation list with a man with principles  - Seo Changbin of SKZ (줏대 있는 사람). Fics are added by ascending order. Slowburn lovers, you’ll find your fics here.

Let’s all say thank you to all the writers that dedicate their time and effort to create amazing fanfiction.

Readers, reblog fics, please. Tumblr works on reblogging system.

Special tag as promised @staytheword 😉

Minors DNI!

💪 Pinned against the wall in the elevator by @ppiri-bahng

Genre: suggestive

Word count: 694

Summary: prompt “pinned against the wall in the elevator”

💪 Drabble by @ppiri-bahng

Genre: suggestive

Word count: 832

Summary: prompt “the sunset doesn’t even begin to compare to your beauty” “ew that’s so cheesy”

💪 Tales of a third-wheel by @sulfurcosmos

Genre: fluff, humour, college!au

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: having your crush gently touch your arm or put an arm around your shoulder while you have a conversation.

💪 Control by @ballelino​

Genre: smut.

Word count: 2k

Summary: changbin doesn’t always have to be in control.

Keep reading

[spearb-gf]

linovrse's straykids fic recs! bold means personal favs ✧.*under construction; ever-updated·˚ ༘

༉‧₊˚. chan bahng mayhem by @kpopchangedme - 12.8k illicit & priceless by @missinghan - 26k wolfsbane by@healinghyunjin - 16.7k sanguis limerence by @jl-micasea / @jl-micasea-fics - 150k  warming her pearls by @dianalikecats - 6.8k priceless by @chaoticminhos - 14.3k bubblegum by @cb97percent - 8.3k mamihlapinatapai by @sunnyville36 - 25k+ no place for you here by @kpopsfic - 10.3k cockwarming drabble by @planet-dusk

༉‧₊˚. lee minho the enemies to lovers project by @softukiyos - 18k+ love equation by @hanjisungz-remade / @hanjisungz - 11.5k wedding season by @ballelino - 79.3k soft cuddly minho thoughts by @lino-nyangi - 0.5k pas de bourée by @sweetsungie - 24.4k [this one is actually amazing] sanguis limerence by @jl-micasea / @jl-micasea-fics - 150k  monarchs: weight of worth by @abiaswreck - 13k bubblegum by @cb97percent - 8.3k do you feel my hand? it is there by @blossomwritesthings - series wrapped up by @joyfulhopelox - 12.4k and they were roomates by @huenjin - 11k a fairytale that lasts by jeonginks on ao3 - 13.7k

༉‧₊˚. seo changbin untitled by @hwanghyunjinenthusiast - 1.3k set on you by @changbeanie - 20.2k

༉‧₊˚. hwang hyunjin dreamlike by @jinhyun - 8.3k your (not so) friendly neighborhood superhero by @bbujiikseu-archived - 25k the boy is bad news by @milkandhyunnie - smau pluto by @seospicybin - 16.7k four of wands by @straywrds - series super bored by @straywrds - series sparks by @fizzydrink698 - 2.6k

༉‧₊˚. han jisung young god by @maatryoshkaa - series competition by @fizzydrink698 - 14.7k jealousy, jealousy by @candlewaxandp0lar0ids - 4.2k a penny for your thoughts by @hardskz - 11k

༉‧₊˚. lee felix Paralian by @abiaswreck - 9.3k come as you are by @killedpink - 11.4k lee felix's guide to hating you by @yyxgin - 21k

༉‧₊˚. kim seungmin the view by @j-0ne25 - 5.6k no nut november by @gimmeurtmi - 5.6k what i'm looking for by @rachalixie - 3.4k

༉‧₊˚. yang jeongin we're friends by @yoongihan - 11k kisses 'nd tangled legs by @hueningoo - drabble

: ̗̀➛ multiple member headcanons/reactions: 3racha as your plug by @bngpxw you getting scared during a thunderstorm by @yangfleurs

[spearb-gf]

set on you ↠ seo changbin

◦ genre: enemies to lovers!au, brother’s best friend!au, fuckboy!au; angst, fluff

◦ pairings: reader x changbin 

◦ word count: 20.2k

◦ description: you think life hates you because you’re convinced that the universe conspired to help seo changbin exist at the same time as you do.

◦ warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, suggestive remarks (!), slow burn

◦ a/n: happy birthday, bin! the world spins for you (or at least mine does)! enjoy this mess of a fic y’all. i have no idea how all those aus come to play… but it will… trust me; this is probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written fml & you have been warned :)

one.

Summer is packing your belongings in a dilapidated suitcase that has been through many airport terminals, throwing your t-shirts and jeans on top until it’s filled to the brim with too many items of clothing and too little occasions to dress up for. It’s taking that burdensome stack of essays you’ve accumulated throughout the semester and tossing them down the trash chute with the rest of the banana peels and ramen cups. It’s taking a breath of fresh air without the imminent stressors of “midterm prompt will be posted at noon” or “printer is low on toner”.

Summer is the honking of Chan’s car outside of your apartment complex, the incessant vibrating of your phone with caller ID that reads “asshole™”, which leaves you questioning why your brother brought his entire entourage to pick you up from college.

The moment you step out of the building complex, you’re greeted by the familiar sound of Jisung’s voice—penetrating, raucous, grating, and other big words for annoying. But that’s not the point.

The point is:

“Hey, hurry up! Changbin says he can’t fall in love without you!”

Ugh.

Keep reading

[spearb-gf]

in the pocket of your ripped jeans

pairing: changbin x afab!reader

warnings: smut🔞!!!! thigh riding, oral (m), cum swallowing, wet n messy, changbin talks you through it

note: this was solely inspired by CHANGBIN IN THESE FUCKING JEANS. i couldn't stop myself from writing this if i tried

you both let out twin sighs as you settle yourself completely on top of his muscular thigh. changbin kicks his head back against the back of the couch to collect himself before looking down at where his hands are softly rubbing your hips. he rucks up the hem of your shirt so that he can trace the band of your panties with his fingers. 

“you like them that much?” he smirks, eyebrows raising. you’d shoot him a glare if you weren’t so worked up, and hell, he’s so sexy when he’s confident. so you nod at him instead, looking up at him through your eyelashes how you know drives him crazy. he huffs a laugh and sends you that sweet downturned smile of his. “what should we do about it then?”

you reach down and gently grab his hands that are now petting your waist and bring them out from under your shirt so that you can press kisses against his knuckles. your mouth is still pressing kisses to his fingers when you begin to slowly rock down on his thigh. he grunts and looks down to see the way you’re moving against him. 

“bin, oh my god…” you sigh. changbin bites his bottom lip and drops his hands back to your waist so that he can help you move. 

“yeah?” he questions and you nod, whimpering. “fuck, does it feel good?” 

you fold yourself against his chest and tuck your face into his neck. “so good changbin, it’s so good,” you whine. he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, it’s like he wants them everywhere on you at once. his hands travel from your waist and sneak under your panties to grab your ass and keep you moving. 

you lift your face from his neck so that you can kiss his lips. it’s wet, sloppy, and changbin can’t get enough of you like this. when you’re so desperate for him that you can’t control yourself. you’re sucking on his tongue just the way he likes, moaning like a whore for him until you pull away. he lets you tilt his head back and he grunts when you suck softly on his chin, tongue flicking over his scar. his tongue lolls out of his mouth when you pull off of his chin to kiss him again, the sloppy sounds your mouths are making gets you even wetter in your panties and the rolling of your hips turns frantic.

he’s breathing heavily into your mouth and one of his hands leaves your ass to pull your panties to the side so that he can finally feel your pussy bare against his leg. you keen high in your throat at the contact, and you’re not surprised how wet his thigh feels already.

“fuck! fuck, baby, ‘s so wet, i feel it. lean back? shit, lean back for me.”

you do what he says knowing he wants a better view of your pussy humping against his leg. you’re practically vibrating against him, movements so frenzied that you jolt when your clit catches against the denim. you’re almost in tears as changbin unexpectedly lifts you from his thigh until you see him take a strip from the biggest hole in his jeans and rip it even wider so that you have more access to his bare thigh. 

“keep going, keep going, use me to cum,” changbin tells you and promptly pulls you back down onto his leg. you start rubbing against him again without a second thought, drooling against his chest when you see the hard outline of his cock straining through his pants. 

he knows you’re close when your moans climb in pitch. changbin grips the nape of your neck and guides you so that your foreheads are touching, and he pecks your lips while looking into your eyes. you feel his lips ghosting against yours as he starts murmuring to you.

“you’re so close aren’t you? oh i know, binnie knows it. you’ll feel so good, won’t you? you’ll feel good for binnie? my baby is gonna cum so hard, gonna cum so good. yes! like that, baby, keep going just like that. fuck, there you are, look at you! cumming so sweet for me. that’s it, my love, that’s so good.”

he talks you through it, voice gentle with sultry eyes looking into your own. changbin holds you close as you hiccup and slowly come to a shuddering stop. he rubs your back while you come down from your high, and you know him well enough to know that he’s also trying to hold himself back from rocking his hips up against you. you give him a tired smile and slip down to the floor where you wait for him on your knees. changbin rubs himself over his pants while you look up at him from your spot on the floor. he’s happy to get himself off that way, but that’s not what you want.

“bin, stand up?” you ask, and he complies easily. he towers above you from where you’re kneeling in front of him, but you feel safe doing this with him. you’re always safe with your changbin. his calloused but gentle fingers tip your chin up so that you can look him in the eyes. he goes to unzip his pants but before he can get there you’re leaning forward and opening your mouth, trailing your tongue up his thigh and collecting the wetness you left there mere minutes before. 

“what the fuck,” changbin whispers, “what the fuck, that’s so hot.” he quickly unzips his pants and pulls his thick cock out, tugging his underwear down so the band tucks under his balls. he picks up your frantic rhythm from earlier and jacks his cock over you while you tongue kiss his thigh. the look on his face is so sweet, his eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is dropped open in a silent moan. it almost looks like he’s in anguish, like he’s ready to crumble any second for you. 

your mouth finally leaves his thigh just to join changbin’s hand on his cock. that pulls a pretty moan out of him. changbin starts whimpering on every exhale once you begin making out with the tip of his dick, the movement of his hand is still frantic but he’s shortening his strokes so that he doesn’t accidentally bump you in the chin. 

“love this fat cock,” you whisper against his tip.

“yeah?” changbin replies, and you nod. “he loves you too.” he makes himself laugh with that, and you can’t help but smile too. 

you’re back to mouthing at him, this time you suck him into your mouth and changbin’s knees buckle when you hollow your cheeks. 

“shiiiit. fuck, i’ll cum. i’ll cum in your pretty fucking mouth,” changbin cries. you hum out a muffled mhm, and he hisses. while you’re sucking on the head of his cock, he reaches under his balls to lift them closer to his dick, now circling his balls and his cock loosely in one hand so that you can have easy access to both. he almost blacks out when you suck him further into your mouth, and he shouts when you manage to teasingly lick at his sac with the wet tip of your tongue at the same time. 

“baby, fuck, tiny mouth.” he’s definitely a mouthful. “your hot little throat… binnie’s gonna cum, oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum down your throat. you’ll take it for me?” he’s whining now, and you hum again, and that’s it. 

changbin keens sweetly when he cums, both hands rushing to the back of your head to hold it gently while he curls over you. you keep sucking until his hips falter and let his cock fall from your lips. you make a show out of swallowing, and changbin plops back down on the couch. he sits forward and takes your chin between his fingers again. “open,” he says, and you do, sticking your tongue out and showing him your empty mouth. changbin smirks and leans forward to lick your tongue. you squeal at that and he laughs, giggling in that special way only he does. when you stand up, he pulls you bridal style into his lap and pats your ass. 

“what am i supposed to tell the stylist noonas when i bring these pants back with extra rips in them?” 

you swat at his chest. “hey! that was all you, bruce banner, you ripped your own fucking pants, not me! aaaand you’re not giving them back.” you tell him resolutely. 

“oh i’m not?” he asks, eyebrows raising. you shake your head. “that doesn’t sound too bad to me. if this is how you react i guess i’ll just have to wear them every day for the rest of my life.”

[spearb-gf]

Bang Chan Fic Recs Pt.2

🌸 = personal favourites

Pt.1

Oneshots

Domesticated by @/mostlycompetentwriter 🌸🌸🌸

Better or Worse by @/jl-micasea-fics 🌸🌸🌸

Saviour by @/jl-micasea-fics

I Really F**king Like You by @/jl-micasea-fics 🌸

The King of the Forest by @/therhythmafterthesummer 🌸🌸

Runaway Princess by @/therhythmafterthesummer

Wolfsbane by @/healinghyunjin 🌸

Promise This by @/changbeanie 🌸

The Eclipse by @/changbeanie

From Grace by @/changbeanie

Non Ducor Duco by @/chanluster

When the Clocks Stop Ticking by @/chaninfused

Waiting For Us by @/j-0ne25

SURFIN’ by @/j-0ne25

From Eden by @/lvandrmoon 🌸 🌸

Fragments by @/petrichor-han

Between the Lines by @/straylightdream 🌸

Almost Losing You by @/straylightdream

Outta my Head by @/straylightdream

Where Were You? by @/straylightdream

No Place For You Here by @/kpopsfic

Illicit & Priceless by @/missinghan

My House by @/formidxble

Parasitic by @/luvknow

Falling Rain by @/staytheword

The Chance of Love by @/maatryoshkaa

Of Floral Lace by @/setsugekka

Domestic Disturbance by @/huenjin

Enemies-to-Lovers by @/taelme

Priceless by @/chaoticminhos

Thinning by @/seospicybin

Kill Me Slowly by @/inkedtae 🌸

Gold Rush by @/koorminii

Mayhem by @/kpopchangedme

Yours by @/imhereforbrownies

MANIAC #1: Chris Bang by @/cb97percent

Where The Train Never Stops by @/hanibalistic

[spearb-gf]

HENTAI, han jisung

⎯⎯ pairs ‣‣‣ han jisung x fem!reader [no pronouns used - fem terms used] ⎯⎯ rating ‣‣‣ 18+ ⎯⎯ genre ‣‣‣ smut ‣ barely any plot ‣ perv!jisung ‣ established relationship ‣ dom!jisung x sub!reader ‣ 'stuck in wall' trope ⎯⎯ warnings ‣‣‣ smut ‣ originally dub-con tones if you squint ‣ explicit language ‣ creampie ‣ unprotected sex ‣ perverted behaviour ‣ almost fingering [fem!rec] ‣ marking ‣ spanking ‣ possessive behaviour ‣ perverted behaviour ‣ breeding kink if you squint ‣ illusions to underwear fetish ‣ praise ‣ slight degrading ‣ pet names ‣ dom/sub dynamic ‣ let me know if I missed any ⎯⎯ word count ‣‣‣ 2.3k words ⎯⎯ notes ‣‣‣ what was once a drabble has turned into a full fic,,, highly obsessed too I'm actually in love lmao

fuck, it was like something out of his dreams. well, more like something out the porn videos he watched before meeting and dating you. if he was honest with himself, jisung did still watch those videos, his cock always getting hard, but it never worked out for him.

he needed you to cum, so he had pushed those sick fantasies of his away to not lose you.

but here you were. a short skirt barely covering your ass and socks that rose up to the middle of your thighs. white panties leaked from under the skirt, dampened as they were pushed between your pussy lips. you shoes had been lost from the weak kicks you made in your struggle.

jisung was sure you also had on a tight blouse, he could see the beginning of the thin material around your torso. but he couldn’t see much further.

after all, your body was caught in the wall, your arms on the side with your face while jisung was left with your ass and cunt. it really was like something from those perverted hentai videos he would watch in the dark night, when his hand would clasp around his cock.

he had always pictured how you’d look like this, every time you would bend over around him making his cock erect and ready. but the real thing was so much better than those fantasies.

jisung walked up to you, his glasses fogging slightly as he deeply breathe through his mouth. his pants tightened, the tent grew, but jisung couldn’t tear his eyes away from your struggling body. from how your cute panties got sucked in by your needy cunt.

how the dark spot reflected that you were wet.

“sungie?” your voice was muffled through the wall, but your legs made a few happy kicks, your ass shaking. the skirt flipped up, more skin on your ass showing. skin he was desperate to grab.

his hands hovered over your ass, but jisung settled on placing them on your clothes hips. you shook your lower body at his touch, saying his name once again. “what happened?” his voice was so low, raspy and steeped with need for his beautiful girlfriend, jisung was sure you could tell something was wrong. his voice always got like this when he got horny, especially when it involved taking you like this.

you giggled, enchanting and airy, “i got stuck.” there wasn’t even a hole in the wall when jisung had left that morning, he didn’t question it though, neither did he question the way your voice lifted more than usual, speaking higher than usual. his mind was too clouded by lust, all those perverted dreams he would have at night of you bubbling to the surface. “you can help me, right jisungie?”

another wobble of your ass, pushing against his body. against his hard cock. the way you acted was right out of his hentai and jisung was too focused on how pretty you looked, how your skirt was completely flipped up and your smooth skin (paired with the panties jisung wanted to push to the side) was right before him.

jisung couldn’t hold it back, his hands lifted from your hips and landed on your ass, kneading the fat. you gasped, airy once again, and wiggled. “what’re you doing, sungie? is everything okay?” he squeezed you, tucking his fingers under the material of your panties. when he let the panties go, it snapped against your skin.

jisung loved that noise. but he loved your reaction more. how you had moaned, and even though it was muffled through the wall, it was nice and loud. it went right to his cock, making it throb and poke at your ass, which was flush against him.

“sungie?”

he ran a finger down your panties, moaning quietly. more material got caught in your lips, getting wetter and wetter until he reached your hole with the tip of his finger. you were sopping wet.

did you like his perverted behaviour? he hoped that you did, maybe then he could show you more of those disgusting desires he has without worrying you’ll run away.

“how long have you been trapped like this,” it took him a moment to say the word, practically taunting you as he said it. he curled that finger around your panties and pushed them to the side. fuck, you were practically dripping.

you wiggled again, pushing the pad of his finger so it was right on your hole. “a while,” you almost forced the words out, a moan blessing him when you finished. “needed you to help me.”

he loved those words. you grunted softly as jisung circled his finger around yoru hole. his cock was still confined in his pants, and while it annoyed him tremendously, jisung did not want to remove either of his hands from your pretty body. instead, he pushed his cock harder against your ass and he heard that gasp once again.

“sungie, you’re hard…”

he stayed silent and took his fingers away from your cunt. though it did pain him to do so, especially when you whined from the other side of the wall. jisung took a step back, watching your legs kick around once again, in defiance almost.

he watched with a grin, dipping his hand to his pants and pushing them down, cock out and dribbling precum. he was painfully hard, throbbing, and jisung bit his lip to stop the groan from when he wrapped his hand around his cock.

there were so many things he could do to you, his pretty girl, jisung didn’t know where to begin. so, he settled on taking off his pants entirely, watching you wiggle from your trapped position with baited breath.

“where are you, sungie?” you called out, and jisung wasn’t the type to keep his love waiting. he walked back up to you, free of the jeans and cock still waiting to have your warm cunt around him. you gasped, and whimpered, when jisung put his cock on your ass, precum dripping into a small pool on your panties. “o-oh,”

that’s when he decided what he would do.

jisung tucked his fingers under the hem of your panties, lightly, and slowly pulled them down your clothed legs. he was purposefully lighter on the areas of skin, making you shiver and your legs freeze their flailing kicks. he bent down with the panties as he slid them lower, watching your stomach for the rise and fall of your shallow breaths.

when they were off, he was once again slow to rise back up, having far too much fun with your compromising situation. in his defence, jisung had this fantasy long before he met you, and when he did meet you, you became the shining star.

he wasn’t going to lose this opportunity by moving too fast.

jisung kissed your body as he rose, starting on the bits of your king socks, before placing those featherlight kisses on the skin of your inner upper thigh. he was sure you were clenching your pretty cunt, you always did love when he took his time like this, and his cock throbbed once more. the nirvana between your legs being so tempting, even more when you were like this.

when he reached the skin of your ass, jisung stopped kissing and instead spread the cheeks. he could see all of that pretty wetness spread over your skin, sliding everywhere it could. you were just so needy for him.

jisung stood up from his knees and kneaded your ass in his hands once again, before lightly spanking it. you helped, bouncing in his arms. he could picture how your tits jiggled from the shock, the thought a blessing as he closed his eyes to picture it. he pushed your skirt up more, leaving him with more skin to grope and fondle.

you were completely at his mercy, after all.

“sungie, please,” you wiggled around, bare ass rubbing on his hard cock. the noise you made upon feeling it, and feeling his slick precum on your skin, was divine. he adored all the noises you made, but that was something more. better than many others.

your frustrated noises were only ever rivalled by the beautiful symphony you would create upon orgasming.

jisung adjusted, making it so your needy cunt was along the length of his cock. his hands tensed and squeezed your ass as he felt all your need for him rub on his cock. you moved your ass, rubbing your cunt against him and spreading that desire.

you were so wet. and jisung didn’t think he could wait much longer, not with how he throbbed in anticipation. he spanked your ass again, making you jolt and moan. jisung loved how it made your body shake, the ripples that run through your skin and show in your broken moan.

he lined his cock, pushing the tip inside your dripping cunt. you cursed and whimpered, he wanted to chuckled at your behaviour. jisung pushed further in, feeling himself squeeze deeper inside of your warm peace of heaven until he was bottomed out.

but jisung wasn’t heartless, he gave you a moment to adjust. he could hear your muffled pants, and the loud noise of your palm hitting the wall for balance.

he could stay there for a while. let you slowly lose your mind over him filling your cunt up, but jisung wasn’t patient enough. not when there wasn’t a promise this would happen again. which is why when jisung was certain you had adjusted completely, he moved.

and it was a rather brutal pace.

jisung kept one hand on your hip, the other still groping at your bare ass. he squeezed his hands nice and tight, while he pulled his cock out (leaving just his tip) and forced it deeply back in. you clenched around him so well, those beautiful noises ruining any sense of normalcy that jisung still had.

he used the hands on your body to move you as he wished, moving you like a toy made for his cock. your hands slammed on the wall again, another loud noise (probably your head) following. dumb babbling flowed from your pretty lips, both quiet and loud, mixed in with your whimpers and moans.

jisung grunted as bottom out in you again, your ass flush against him and cunt clenched. his mind was delirious, all he could think about was how perfect you looked. how perfect you acted.

like you were made to be at his complete mercy.

“fuck, sungie!” you cried, his hands moving your body up and down on his cock again. “you’re-“ the sentence never found its end, you were too busy echoing another moan as he spanked your ass.

the hand once on your ass went to the wall, a stabiliser, and jisung’s glasses slid down his nose. his teeth were deep in his bottom lip, eyes entranced on watching every way your body reacted to his control.

your noises grew in pitch, going even breathier as jisung manhandled you. your hips spammed, a high squeak and hypnotic moan complimenting the things jisung knew all too well. you continued to curse and mutter your pleas of pleasure, as your body tensed and shook in his hands.

“fuck! i’m- shit!”

he placed his hand, from the wall, on your stomach, almost cradling you to his body in this new position. it was something he did ever since you started dating, so he could feel. “do it,” he grunted, pressing his hand harder into your stomach and still fucking his cock deep inside of you.

jisung could feel his own orgasm arriving, the way your beautiful harmony danced in his ears not helping him hold out. his breathing was shallow, hair messy and sticking to his forehead, glasses stilly foggy from before.

“you’re gonna take it,” his voice was still gruff, raspy and deep from his desire. jisung hissed as you clenched around him, body tensing as a loud moan left you. “gonna cum inside your pretty body. and you’ll take all of it. take all of me.”

grunts left him, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin, probably hard enough to leave little marks. but jisung knew you loved his marks, you loved when he would get all possessive of you, leaving proof of him on your skin.

he could leave even more proof on you now. jisung was going to cum inside your warm cunt, make sure everyone knows you’re his.

“fuck,” he hissed, slamming his hips into your ass hard, cock inside you fully. hot cum pumped inside you, and jisung rolled his eyes back at how good it felt. how good you felt. “good. taking it so fucking well,”

he caressed your ass, teasingly grabbing at it and slapping it softly. your body still jolted and you whimpered, milking his cock of all his cum. “so good,”

jisung kept himself warm inside of you, making no plans of pulling out anytime soon. it was his favourite place to be, besides having you in his arms (or he in yours) and leaving it was horrible.

“that’s it,” he praised, gently kneading your ass as your breathing calmed. his head was clearing, even with his cock still warm inside you, of that perverted mess he preferred to hide from you. “you gonna tell me how you got here, now?”

you laughed, your real laugh not that high giggle from earlier, with a cock-drunken slur. “you don’t exactly hide things very well, sungie. whenever i’d walk in and you were watching porn, you were always so obvious.” jisung groaned and playfully tapped your ass, making you laugh again. that beautiful noise of yours already helping his embarrassment fade, though he adjusted his glasses to help hide his face still. “i saw it one day, and decided i might as well help you recreate it. now get me out of here i’m actually stuck.”

if you’re able to support me and my writing, you can buy me a coffee here ♡

© COMET-FALLS 2022

⎯⎯ tags ‣‣‣ @twinklix @snow-pegasus @zoe8stay @svintsandghosts @starlostseungmin @alyszaen @dazzlingligth @therhythmafterthesummer

[spearb-gf]

Give it to me Straight

Pairing: Minho x afab!reader

Genre: Best friend's forbidden older brother

Word Count: 9.1 k (yeah we got carried away once again)

Warnings: Based off of inspo (here) and (here) that is also literally porn so dont click if u dont want to see you have been warned.

Also contains: smut, worshipping, angst, mentions of alcohol and intoxication, fingering (f receiving), kissing, penetration, lots and lots of praise, semi soft smut

Notes: HEY!! this is a fic i wrote hald of last year and just forgot about it and found and decided to finish it, hope oyu enjoy !!

Summary: You had enough of your best friend brother, Minho, giving you mixed signals as you grew up, but this. This was the night that you were finally going to do something about it

The night was pretty much over, or well, it should have been. But here you were, sitting on the floor of a random person’s apartment, giggling over and over as you looked at the other 8 people also sitting down in a circle next to you. There were your friends, Sana and Hyunjin, and there were the others. Actually, quite frankly, you did not know these people until tonight. There was one person that was there, that you did know, all too well.

Minho, Lee Minho. Friend, foe? You weren’t sure what to call him, but all you knew was that you were grinding on him in the club an hour ago, hands roaming across your body, lips, teeth on your neck. It was fun, one shot after another had your mind racing, thinking about the possibilities of what could happen after you went home, with him. What wasn’t helpful was the guilt that came with such excitement. 

“Fuck okay,” the stranger yelled, clapping his hands before swinging them, taking the empty vodka bottle off the kitchen bench, “let’s play a good ole fashion game of spin the bottle. Who’s in?”

“Me me me!”

The small crowd cheered in unison, but all you could do was stare at him. More guilt, more excitement, more adrenaline. The thought of kissing him did nothing but intensify the want, the need, the desire to. Wanting to hook up with your best friend’s older brother was the worst thing that you could want at this very moment.

The relationship with Minho was always strange and never straightforward. Even from the first time the two of you met. Your best friend of almost 10 years since you had been in elementary school, he was just different towards you. When you were younger, all he did was pick on you. The short scrawny boy, only a couple of years older than you. Would always chase you around the school yard, always until you fell over, or hurt yourself in some kind of way. You hated him, and had no idea why he always picked on you specifically. 

It changed in middle school, however, after puberty, well, more for him. His face changed, grew taller, much more attractive in your 14 year old eyes. You denied it though, remembering how cruel he was to you. Not much changed personality wise, he was still mean. Picking on you, your grades, his sister, her grades. He was ruthless, and it made you hate him even more. Minho’s looks were easy to overlook when everything that came out of his mouth was rubbish.

It wasn’t until he left for college, and came back for summer after finishing his first year, did things change. He had grown even taller, started working out, and had joined his college’s dance team. Holy fuck did things became different. His smile beamed as soon as he walked in and you in his house, sitting at the kitchen bench. 

***

“Y/n?”

You turned around, jaw dropping the moment you laid your eyes on him. He dropped everything, fast walking towards you as he picked you up, spinning you around with a large chuckle erupting from his chest. He put you down, eyes doing a quick check up and down your body before biting down on his bottom lip.

“Minho?”

“Wow, you look, really, really good.”

His stance was close, almost lingering over you, that was, until your best friend walked in, causing him to step away, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked to the fridge so nonchalantly. Your friend gave you a weird look, mouthing a ‘sorry,’ solely for his presence in the room. They never were that close.

“I forgot to tell you that he got back a few days ago and is going to be here for the summer.”

“That’s okay,” you scoffed, overexaggerated manner, “why would you need to tell me that.”

“Because I know how he can be,” she whispered, “rude, mean, very obnoxious and super, super arrogant.” 

The second half of her sentence was louder, looking straight at him to make sure she knew. You just laughed, nervously, unsure how to take in the interaction.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she sighed, “please don’t bully my only friend while I’m gone.”

The man rolled his eyes, laughing as he took a large gulp from his water bottle. He walked forward, waiting for her to leave before reassessing his position. His hands leaned against the bench, body pushing forward as he leaned towards you, a smirk appearing on his lips as he looked down at you.

“I have to go, meeting a friend at the gym, but it was really, really good to see you. We should hang out sometimes if you’re free, you know, without her?”

“We should?”

“Yes,” he smirked, biting down on his bottom lip, “definitely.”

***

“Okay,” the stranger announced to himself, “I’ll go first.”

The game felt like torture. Simply watching the bottle, casting your eyes on what seemed to be an infinite amount of times, spinning on an axis. It didn’t help you at all. If anything, it intensified how dizzy you truly were feeling. Concentration was getting harder, but you refused. Refused to give up anything. You did not want to prove Minho’s point. That you would always be this little girl that is easy to pick on.

“Oh my god,” Hyunjin nudged you, “Y/n, psst, the bottle is on you.”

His knock cloaked you out of your drunken daze, bringing some sobriety back as he pointed towards the bottle, eyes opening when you saw it land on you. You looked up, seeing the stranger was already there. He was attractive, short black hair, hazel eyes, freckles. He was really cute, and your brain melted the longer he gazed at you.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you whispered, hand in front of your mouth as you giggled at his proximity. You didn’t have to look. The feeling of a pair of eyes burning into the side of your head was more than enough to know who had their eyes on you, and who didn’t. Chan did not, already ditching the game and sloppily making out with the person next to him. Hyunjin followed in pursuit, and Jisung and Sana, well, that was another story, a long time coming. The glance was brief, not long enough to focus on anybody, but well enough to know your surroundings. Enough to see the girl, who looked very familiar, but not enough to be identified by name, whisk her fingers across his inner thigh. He stayed still, not paying any mind to her as he fixated on you. The man joined in the staring contest, noticing Minho’s obviously unimpressed glare. 

He swung his head back in your direction, pushing his body weight on you in the slightest. You followed, back now adjacent to the floor as he leaned over, lips hovering over your own. You brought your index finger to his lips, curious to know more about the man before he kissed you.

“Wait.”

“Is something wrong?” His facial expression changed, unsure as to why or what made you hesitate.

“Oh, no,” you giggled, full of giddyness and intoxication, “your name. I just wanted to know your name before we, well, you know.”

The man smirked, cupping your face in adoration as he leaned closer, lips wisping across your ear as he spoke.

“Well aren’t you just the cutest?”

He pulled away, eyes back in level with your own as he spoke once more, “Felix. I’m Felix.”

That was all you needed, wrapping your arms around Felix’s neck as you pulled him in, eyes closing and mouth opening and lips attacking yours. The kiss in reality, from an outside perspective, would have looked very messy. Very sloppy as lips missed each other, teeth crashed together, and also the fact that you could feel Felix’s hips moving against your own in the slightest, already half hard member grinding against your thigh. It did feel good, you couldn’t fib to yourself. The gentle friction was delicious. It was enough to make you moan discreetly, the sound lost in Felix’s mouth as the two of you continued. 

You were enjoying yourself, but you also remembered not to lose yourself in the moment. Felix was fun, but he was just part of the plan. A simple pawn in a game of chess, of course being the queen and Minho the king. Sometimes you have to make some unnecessary moves to win in the long term. Even with your eyes closed, you could still feel his own burning into the back of your head. If sober, you most likely would have been feeling some kind of guilt. It wasn’t like you to rub things in other people’s faces. But you felt like it was only fitting. Yes, you wanted Minho, but after everything, your timeline with him, having a crush on him for the longest time regardless that he made your life hard, it only felt right to drag this out as much as possible. 

Your eyes fluttered open, empty lidded shooting daggers at him. Appraisal came to your mind when his daggers were returned, gaze still very much fixated on you, with Felix, making out with another man right in front of him. His blood was searing, reaching boiling point at a very rapid rate. He knew you were a lot of things. Sarcastic, blunt, ‘indifferent’ towards him as you got older, or so he thought. But he didn’t take you to be a tease. He was reaching the point of no return, and if you didn’t stop this act, this play scene just for him, he was going to do something he regretted.

“Hmm fuck,” Felix grumbled, pulling away from you, “has anyone ever told you that you’re a really good kisser?”

Your eyes flickered back to the man on top of you, quickly averting your gaze to avoid any deflections from Minho, Chan, or any of the others there that you knew.

“Hey man, what are you doing?”

You sat up immediately, looking up to see Minho’s friend, Jisung, standing over you. His tone was playful, but the adrenaline was kicking in. The several times you met Minho’s friends, they were decent enough to be nice to your face. Anytime you went over, you could hear them. Talking about how you look, always asking Minho about you. Just them teasing him about you. Maybe it was the reason as to why he had so much disdain for you. They were also protective, very protective of him, and probably the reason why they were standing over you right now.

“Oh hey man, you’re not her boyfriend are you?”

“Who, me?” Jisung laughed, hard, almost hysterically, bringing a hand to his chest to calm himself down, “no no, not me, but the guy over there might be a little mad that you’re making out with his girl.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing onto Felix’s arm, other hand tucking under his chin as you pressed another haste kiss to his lips. You gave Minho one more look, noticing his fists turned inwards, hard shaped as he watched your interactions with the new guy accelerating.

“Good,” He smirked, standing up, and reaching a hand out to you as an invitation, “Did you want to hang out in my room? It’s just down the hall.”

“Sure,” you replied bluntly as you took his invitation. You allowed Felix to guide you, taking one last look at Jisung. Before making your way, you were interrupted one more time. It made you scoff when Minho grabbed your wrist, finally able to do something himself, not his friends doing it for him.

“Y/n?”

“What do you want?”

“Where are you going?”

“What do you think?”

With a heavy grip, attempting to shake yourself out of his grip. There was no way you were giving up on this act yet.

“You just met the guy tonight?”

“Okay and? It’s not like that ever stopped you before. At least I’m not at home, forcing everyone else to hear you late at night.”

He looked down, knowing he had been beaten to the punch. You resisted once more, able to come out of his grip as you looked up and down at him once more, “Stop acting like you give a shit what I do.”

You watched him open his mouth, but missed out on whatever he was going to say. You laughed to yourself, the swift motion of the man from the other side, Felix, the one who was giving you the attention you needed right now. Without a word, he closed the door behind you, spare hand placed on your lower back as he lead you to what seemed to be his bed.You sat down first, Felix making quick work as he stood over you once more, index finger stuck on your shoulder as he effortlessly as he ‘pushed’ you over, torso hovering on top of yours, just like he did previously. You had to give it to him. This Felix guy was smooth. The way he looked down at you, raking your body with every single eye nerve, the gentle twitch when he noticed extra skin showing on your body for a slight moment. He definitely was contributing to your uprising arousal, but the thing that really turned you on was the mere possibility of Minho hearing this. Having his ear up to the door, curious to see what you would really do.

“Hey,” Felix whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, taking you out of your thoughts completely, “everything okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, where were we?”

You brought a hand to his arm, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion as his own came back to your chin, pinching it forward, lips doting to reconnect with his. His lips were smooth, not a crack or dry spot in sight or in feeling. The kiss was a lot more connected, a lot more teamwork and passion. His tongue lazily slipped inside of your mouth, picking up with much brute and force as his hips charged, recreating the prior friction against your core. Felix had one hand on the side of your jaw, the one on your chin snaking around and cascading down, in between your cleavage, past your navel, brimming on the edge of your undergarment line. You gasped, immediately, not expecting things to move so quickly. A stifled whimper escaped your lips, enjoying the friction his fingers created around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh,” you groaned, slightly high pitched and confused at first, but once his fingers dived past your dress, underneath your core, right in the center of your sweet spot, you groaned again, a deeper, more gratifying noise bellowing in response.

“Does that feel good?”

“Mhm,” you whispered, looking up at him, “feels so good already.”

Your hand felt dizzy again, a lightheaded texture adding. You weren’t sure if it was his fingers or the alcohol speaking, but it most likely was the loud bang that came from the east part of the room. You jumped immediately, bumping heads with Felix as you quickly covered yourself, given no time to fix your hair as you were being dragged out, Minho’s jaw clenched as he walked you out.

“Sorry, uh Felix, it was nice to meet you,” you yelled down the hallway, pushed all the way to the front door.

“Minho what the fuck?”

“Shut up and get in the car,” he growled, not putting up with any nonsense that you were about to spew at him, “Jisung’s taking us all home, your friends included.”

“Ugh, whatever,” you scoffed, the digging of his fingers becoming slightly painful. You opened the door, seeing Hyunjin’s smirk as soon as he saw you, hand in hand with Minho. He never had to say anything, he always knew how you felt about him, even when it wasn’t clear to you. 

The midnight breeze was very apparent, hitting you like a truck. The goosebumps on your skin raised in an instant, shiver running down your spine as you walked. Minho let go of your wrist, removing his jump over his head, and plopping it on top of yours. You wanted to turn, scream at him for ruining your hair, not even thinking about your makeup. But honestly, you were just tired. It was late. 

***

You pushed the button down in the backseat, letting the cool breeze smack you across the face as Jisung drove down the highway. It felt nice, distracting you from the imminent pressing of your best friend’s brother inconveniently pressing up against you, too big for the middle seat. Of course he had to sit next to you. Invade your personal space, your privacy. He was still overprotective of you, even when you were by yourselves. It was annoying, and you really didn’t know why he was always like this with you after the needless torture that was gorwing up with him around. 

You decided to put the window up, a sudden drowsiness coming over you as you leaned your head against the window. Your eyes were fluttering, half lidded when you felt someone whispering, right up to your ear. His lips were cold, roughly but incidentally lingering on your lobe.

“Y/n,” Minho hushed, patting your arm lightly, “y/n, baby.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows, “what is it?”

“We’re here, wake up.”

“Oh,” you sighed, releasing your weight on the window. Your eyes opened, turning from the window, which was a big mistake. You caught yourself, inches away from your face. Apart from the club, it was the closest you had been ever to him. You saw him, looking down at your lips, causing you to gulp loudly. You wanted to lean in, push away all the doubt you had in your mind, and follow your heart. To have him on your lips, around your body, caressing every crevice, every curve. It was something you had fantasized about in your head several times, whether you wanted to or not. Your hand flew to his chest, truly speechless and unsure what to say.

“Minho. I-”

He licked his lips, fingers latching onto your jaw, thumb against the subtlety of your lips. He flipped, lip bouncing back as he leaned even closer. His breath had never felt so imminent, not even the first time the two of you had shared a kiss.

***

“Did you need help?”

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest, about to lose balance on the stool. The tea bags were high in the cupboard, and you weren’t the tallest person going around. Minho put his arms out, helping you adjust yourself before stepping down and back onto the ground.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “you know me, never able to reach anything.”

“It’s okay, they’re stored pretty high up.”

Without giving you time to move, he reached over, torso pressed against your chest, half of his body weight leaning on you as he reached up to grab one for you. Your face rose in heat as he placed it on the bench behind you, keeping firm in his position.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, still not moving, “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“Oh, uhm no, it’s okay” you mumbled back, pushing the hair behind your ear. He beat you to the other side, lifting his fingers, watching how delicately the fibers of your hair curved along your ear lobe. 

Faces inching closer, it felt like do or die, but you would rather get hit by a truck than make the first move. Minho was the type to flirt, hard. He knew he could get anyone he wanted. College really changed him. For the better though, even if it meant he became a mass fuckboy.

“You have a really, uhm, beautiful face.”

He had become nervous all of a sudden, and you couldn’t help but smile. Smile at both his nerves and slight awkwardness, as well as his proximity. 

“Uhm thanks,” you mumbled again, scared that if you attempted to speak at a normal volume, it would squeak, “you have a nice face as well.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, piercing eyes boring into yours.

“Make me.”

He hesitated for a brief moment, before bringing both hands to your face, pressing his lips to yours. It was soft at first, a series of gentle pecks you wrapped your hand palms around his neck, keeping him close. His body felt good, right when close to you.

It didn’t take long for things to heat up however, Minho’s tongue begging for access as you gave it to him willfully, a gentle hum as he simultaneously rolled his hips into yours once. A soft groan escaped your lips, causing him to pull away. The smirk on his face was priceless; you knew he was satisfied with himself. His hands snaked down to your waist, lifting you up and placing you on the kitchen bench. Minho nudged your leg with his left knee, spreading them wide, allowing himself to fit into the curve. He kept his digits across your fingertips, gently tapping as he leaned back in, skipping the innocent kisses and heading straight to a heavy, heavy makeout. The noises erupting were increasing in quantity, and it wasn’t until you heard footsteps running down the steps were you snapped back into reality. Hands on his chest, you pushed him off quickly, pushing your hair back in front of your face.

“Y/n what’s taking you so long?”

“Oh uhm, I was just trying to reach the teabags.”

“Yeah,” Minho joined in, helping you cover your ass, “I just grabbed it for her, seeing as she was already in my way to get to the glasses, annoying ass.”

“Okay whatever weirdo,” she replied to him, “stop annoying Y/n.”

***

The memory of the flashback playing in spurts, ones that your intoxicated mind was probably failing to accurately recall the event. It was, however, enough for you to pull away. Saying nothing, you turned away, opening the car door, semi-stumbling onto the ground as you jumped out the car, heading towards his front door. Luckily your best friend was out of town, away on a camping weekend with her boyfriend and her parents, because if she heard you walking in with Minho, it was game over.

“Y/n,” he whispered, tone harsh like he wanted to yell, “y/n.”

It was nothing but a faint noise in the distance. You stood there, in front of the door, impatiently waiting for it to be unlocked. It wasn’t until you could feel him. He grabbed your wrist, almost having to yank you back to stop you.

“What,” you whispered back, similar in tone, “what do you want?”

He waited. It looked like he was trying to put a thought together, knowing that he needed to say something very important. It could make or break: everything. He took a step closer, that familiar feeling of adrenaline, no, some other feeling that you couldn’t describe. Made your heart race, body sweat. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was. All you knew was that it only happened when he was around you.

“I’m, I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, adoration at how gentle his skin glowed in the moonlight. Fuck, this was annoying. Why did he have to be so hot? It would have been the easy way out to forgive him and let him do what you craved, yearned for. But it was simply too much to do so. This man had been toying with your heart for a long time. Whether he had a crush on you for the lingering amount of time that you had, you deserved better than someone who played with you for their own amusement.

“What are you sorry for?”

Your tone was calm, yet still firmly questioning him. It was easier to just deny the night events than argue about it.

***

The music was loud, deafening as Minho, dragging you by the delicacy of your poor wrist, locked in a spot right next to the speaker right beside the DJ of the club, aka pole position. At first the dancing was innocent, a bright smile of pure joy (and intoxication) plastered across your face, holding each other’s hands as you pushed and pulled them back and forth. It wasn’t until the motions of arms were not moving in the opposite directions, somehow were both pulling in his direction, right up against his waist. The music was much too loud to allow your rational cognitions to process the sequence of events. Facing him, not facing him. Appropriate distance, very much appreciate distance. It was hard to explain how you ended up with your back pressed against Minho’s chest, somehow in the monstrosity of alcoholic beverages and shots actually moving your hips in a synchronized way with his. Maybe it was the firm grip, thumb digging into the soft flesh that was hardly hidden under that dress, making sure that this was the only place you needed to be, that he wanted you to be. 

Your hands easily followed too, palms on top of this tendon illuminating the side of his hands as his lips rested on the outside of the cartilage that made up your ear. The second time you could feel the magic that was his lips. The crowd that was Minho’s friends and the new, yet very much fun strangers that would end up making the later house party were long gone at this very moment. The only thing you could remember was coming with Minho, and the last thing you wanted to do was leave with him.

“Mmmm,” was all that could be heard, well no, felt from the man behind you. The vibrations of his lips were the only indicator that he was trying to say something. His teeth soon followed. Gentle, almost kitten-like nibbles nipped at the heated flesh of the neck and shoulder, head falling limp against his own shoulder as he continued to chuckle inbetween. There seemed to be an innocence to his antics, almost like he didn’t want to hurt you. Yet knowing the downright filthy desires, things he wanted to do, for a numerous amount of time was very much ironic.

Turning around, you pulled away, eyes boring into yours and his face came closer and closer. Eyes fluttering shut like a butterfly's wings for a brief moment, desire had never been stronger.

“There he is, Jisung!”

And just like that, it was over. Reality came back and your Minho clouded fog dissipated in a matter of moments, and it must have for him. You had never seen someone take their hands of someone with such speed. The timely reaction of Minho brought you back to a realistic part of your life. The one where this was nothing but a dream, and Minho was once again out of reach, and the many barriers that were his friends, your friend being in the way, made you nothing but a pawn in his chess game.

***

You stood there in silence, the only sound that could be heard was the ringing in your ears from the loud music prior. The want for him to explain himself was one of such desperation. A sign, anything at this point. Yes, you were very much exhausted from the games but if it was all worth it for him to finally do something about it in the end, the fatigue would be easily wiped away.

“I don’t mean to be this way. So, uhm, aggressive? Or the opposite, I don’t know I-”

“Minho in the nicest way possible, I’m tired and we’ve both had a big night. We can talk about it in the morning.”

Using the spare key that your friend had so graciously given you as a symbol of how much time you truly spent at her house, his house, over the years, the door was unlocked, you ripping your shoes off and letting them laz sprawl against the living room carpet as your body heavily dragged up the stairs. Your feet automatically knew the way to her room, 4 paces straight and two to the left. To get to his it was 7 paces straight 2 to the right. The 4th step on the second floor felt unnatural at this moment, body wanting nothing more than to be pressed up against him in a deep slumber, you craved it; but you knew better at the same time.

“Y/n.”

Silence. You could feel him coming closer, but it’s honestly just too painful at this point to even wait for anything more.

“Y/n.”

Silence, again. It wasn’t until you could feel the unintentionally harsh pull at your wrist, once again pulling back and up against him.

“Y/n wait.”

“For fucks sake Minho,” you huffed, yanking your arm away from his grip, “leave me alone.”

“No, I want to talk about it now.”

Nothing but an eye roll followed, ignoring him and storming into her room. He followed in pursuit, the first time any kind of behavior like this from Minho had happened before. Sitting on the edge of the side of her bed, you turned away as you took off your jewelry, precious earring and delicate chain necklace lying on this decorative plate placed on the bedside table.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Can we please stop pretending like there isn’t something going on between us?”

He was not serious. His bold statement made you stop, turn around and face him.

“You have to be joking right now.”

“Why would I be joking?”

“Minho” you yelled, standing back up and right in front of him, “this is nothing but a fucking game to you! We don't have a problem, YOU do.”

“I don’t play games with you,” Minho scoffed, eyes wide in his own disbelief, “you play games with me.” His voice was also beginning to rise in volume.

“That’s such a fucking lie! You’ve been playing games with me for years. Three quarters of my life! I know that you hated me or couldn’t stand me for most of that but then all of a sudden you come back from college and you want to be around me and all over me?”

“That’s not true-”

“Yes it is! You couldn’t stand me!! Then the kiss in the kitchen? Tonight, you were all over me and I could tell, drunk or sober, that you were enjoying yourself. Until your friends come along and I’m nothing but a secret little game-”

“No Y/n, shut up, that's not true!”

“Explain yourself then!” 

Both of your chests were heaving simultaneously, the heated exchange taking the breath out of the two of you. There was no part of you that was wrong, and you knew better than to lack confidence, especially to someone who has kicked you around for what felt like your whole life.

“I never hated you,” he whispered, once again shifting the tense atmosphere in the room. He took a step closer, that goddamn palm resting on your cheek, fingertips pushing the baby hairs sticking to your forehead as you took him in, listening deeply to his words, “I could never hate somebody like you, Y/n.”

His tonality had become the softest you had ever heard someone speak. It was empowering to keep him on his toes, gaze fixated on him, but lips refusing to move. You could see it. The dip in his own gaze below your eye line, past the tip of your nose, and right to where you wanted his lips to be: your lips. The right thing, like your previous thoughts, was to pull away, save yourself the heartbreak.

“Let me take the time to show you how false that statement really is.” 

But god, was it it easier to just give him. His approach was gentle, but the texture of his lips felt like the key to everything. The light weight of his lips were equivalent to a tuft of feathers falling from a clear sky. Your lips tussled in return, wanting to kiss the man you were in love with so much passion, yet so much reservation. His lips, unlike the first time, had so much admiration for you, somehow the feeling was communicated in the way his lips touched yours, the way his tongue slipped into your mouth, colliding with your own. The world stopped spinning, and the only thing that mattered was Minho’s lingering touch.

His hands scrambled to find an appropriate spot. His palms spread across your waist, the pressure of his weight pushing you to the edge of the bed, a small shriek escaping your lips as the sudden knock of balance leaves you lying against the material of the bed. His hands left your sides, one coming to your face as he broke away, taking a moment to admire you underneath him in all your beauty. He lifted his fingers to your forehead, brushing the baby hairs on your skin before smiling and leaning back in for another kiss. Hands around his neck, you brought him closer, gasping into his mouth when you felt the roughness of his knee conveniently sitting between your inner thigh, spreading to make room for his own. 

You decided to take the liberty of breaking the kiss back this time, Minho rising on his own as he pulled his shirt off in one swift motion. Even the way he moved his limbs was majestic. Eyes widening for a brief moment as the shock of Minho’s body that you had seen many times, especially post-college transformation, it still amazed you how attractive this man was. The proximity all these years amounting to this moment. All the teasing, ignoring, negative behavior came as the collateral of coming to this moment; and you would tolerate all of it again if this what it would lead to. Which is why you refused to rush things, savor the moment as much as you could.

“Minho, wait.”

“Yes?”

“Can we just,” you were hesitant to ask for what felt like a silly request, “I don’t want to rush anything. Can we just make out a little longer?”

His chuckle was one of the most adored. He nodded as he got up from the bed, sitting back down at the edge of the right side. As he turned to put his leg atop of the bed, he leant on his left elbow, patting the empty spot next to him, a very adorable invitation that you simply could not resist. You shooed over, facing Minho as he pinched your chin, bringing your lips to his again. The kisses, for the moment, stayed soft, sweet. He was allowing you to take your time because he was ready. Minho wanted you so bad, but he knew better than to rush. If anything, the anticipation made him fall for you more.

However, the heat was unconsciously beginning to turn up once bodies became involved. The subtle grind of his hips against yours was sending you into a frenzy, and the friction was something you needed to chase. At first you were holding back, only wanting the generosity of his tongue and lips, but now the selfish part of you was taking over, and there was nothing more that you wanted than to have sweet passionate sex with the man in front of you. Gently pushing his chest away, he looked up, confused as you turned away from him, standing up and undoing the zip on the back of your dress.

“Oh,” was all he could say, a smirk plastered on his face as he dragged your body back toward him, now covered in undergarments, back to the bed. His hands became a lot more adventurous, taking the signal of you undressing yourself as an acceleration of what you wanted. Still facing each other, Minho placed a gentle peck to your lips as his arms wrapped around your waist, bringing you much closer to him, and exactly where you wanted to be. 

Once the lack of space was established, Minho brought the tip of his digits just above your panty line. A small gasp elicited from your lips once his fingers dipped down to your clothing covering your core. Just above the center of the folds. Minho’s lips quiver at your body relaxing underneath his touch. The more vulnerable you became, the more in love he fell with you. Each second. Your eyes fluttering almost shut, hips gently bucking underneath the pressure of his fingers had his mind screaming with adoration. His gaze was making you shy, causing you to bury your head in his naked chest. You giggled with innocence at how good his fingers felt. The other times you reminisced, romanticized what this would be like was tenfold of what you actually expected. 

“You’re so beautiful” he whispered, a soft kiss to the tip of your forehead. Your head came out of his chest, a somewhat fucked out expression already coatign your face as his fingers traveled back to the top of your panties, fingers grasping the hem before asking, “Can I take this off?”

You nodded, this time without hesitance as you turned to your front, assisting Minho in letting the thin fabric subtracted from your body. Your bra soon followed, leaving you completely exposed. Minho still had his pants on which you felt to be a little unfair, but the tent that was beginning to form in his pants was a reason enough for him to keep them on longer. 

Turning back to your side, you reached him in another sensual kiss, bodies now as close as they had even been. Minho’s fingers had much more to travel, left palm already reaching for a gentle squeeze of your best breast. His touch was noticeable enough to break away, a small groan at the digits brushing your nipple. Another chuckle escaped his lips as he watched your nipples get harder under his touch.

“Wow,” Minho gasped, gently pinching the soft flesh his eyes couldn’t help but be glued to, “you look amazing.”

“Do I?”

“More than I could have ever  imagined.”

Your silence made him giggle, fingers snaking back down to where the two of you wanted them to be. It was almost embarrassing how easily his index and middle finger slipped between your folds, already coated in your arousal as his digits swirled around your pussy hole. It was evident that he wanted his fingers coated, so when he brought them up to his lips, tongue evidently out as he licked them clean, then slid them back down to your waist once more, spreading your folds apart and pushing on your clit like a button. Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders for support, the sudden amount of sensation in comparison to before sending you into a frenzy. Your jaw had already become slick, the gentle whines and moans spilling out sound after sound. 

“Fuck,” He cursed under his breath, lips right in front of your tits, teeth grazing over the geneoristy of the skin, “you have the features of an angel.”

His shower of compliments caused a louder moan to slip from your lips. It really wasn’t something that you expected. The fantasy you had of Minho being a rough, man handling lover contrasted to the man that presented in front of you right now. But it was much better than anything you ever thought he was to be.

His fingers moved in delicate circular motions, Minho himself groaning at how pretty you looked under his fingers. He kept his curiosity peaked, fingers traveling back down to your hole before plunging them inside, tips instantly curling to bring his lips right up against his own.

“Minho oh my god,” you gasped, short breaths hinting at a rapid pace from your throat as he started to move them back and forth, “your fingers are so good.”

“Your welcome,” he smiled, wrapping his free arm around your chest to adjust for the way your torso squirmed against him. Your own hands soothing his arm that did all the work as he picked up his pace, a slight bump forming into your pussy. Minho’s pace became quickly unforgiven, a spill of curse words that made you feel extremely dirty coming from your mouth. The irony of feeling dirty from cussing and not from the two fingers being shoved into your whole was comedic. 

“Lift it,” Minho grunted, attempting to fix his position so he could get a better angle to finger you from, “lift your leg and put it on my hip.”

You did as he said, a gut wrenching moan that was bubbling in your throat bursting at the seams as your maneuver allowed his finger to enter deeper, stronger, harder. The combination of skin slapping and wetness could be heard by anyone in the house if there was anyone in there, the noise echoing the room as you watch his eyebrows furrow, bitten bottom lip in concentration. All this time, Minho wanted nothing more than to see you be happy, make you feel good. It was in half disbelief that he was present in this moment that he had dreamed of several times. And his perception of you, with his fingers inside of you, moaning his name over and over exceeded expectations to say the least. The temperature that began to rise on your cheeks was spreading to your limbs, muscles slowly coiling as the pleasure continued to build at your core. Minho’s jaw clenched, increasing his effort and strength in, with much effort, fucking you with his fingers. His pace became even quicker, desperate and motivated to make you shake under his fingers.

“Minho please,” you cried, suffocating his lips with yours to muffle the continuous noise that baffled the room, “so good.”

Your sentences, if you could even call them that, were not coherent in the slightest. Yet it did not matter. All Minho could focus on was how beautiful you looked with your lips pouted, the gentle teeth marks under your bottom lip from biting down on your precious skin too hard. The condensation beginning to cover the skin of your forehead as your eyebrows scrunched together, your facial expression could have been interpreted as anger. However, Minho failed to see it that way. He saw you as nothing but an angelic woman that he had the gratitude of being allowed to share a moment of vulnerability with. There was no judgment in his eyes as he felt your tight pussy clench around his knuckles, knowing how close to what you were, and what he wanted to achieve for your sake.

“It’s okay baby,” he whispered, wiping the moisture glistening on the nose, half of your face shimmering in the moonlight as he withdrew his fingers, rubbing the sensual juices all over your swollen clit as your legs began to shake in response to the overwhelming stimulation you were experiencing.

“Can you feel it?”

“Mhhm,” you whined, suppressing your lips together as you focused on him, analyzing to him the intricate details of your body. His lips moved with vigor, leaving a string of semi wet kisses along your shoulder, kissing every little skin contusion, beauty mark, scab, wrinkle, dimple. You name it, Minho was eager to use his lips to analyze you, analyze the way your skin felt against him. The idea increased your arousal to a level you thought would not be possible.

“I’m gonna cum Minho I-”

“It’s okay baby,” Minho hushed you, wanting to relive any pressures or expectations you may think you need to fulfill “even the way you speak such vulgar things is angelic to me.”

“I’m cumming,” was all you could cry out. You know that once this was over, you would be appreciative of how gentle and warm his presence was to you during this unguarded moment, but right now all you could focus on was the tight coil in the pit of your stomach that would give out at any second. Like your foreshadowed, your body was coming undone under him, Minho unable to give up the succulent ability that was your pussy as he reinserted his two fingers back into your hole, thumb almost ghosting over your clit in an attempt to not overwhelm your body in sensation.

Minho thought you couldn’t get any more fascinating. Even the way you orgasmed was angelic. Legs spread wide open as you let him have his way. The trust you developed in him in this intricate moment was such an attraction but mainly an appreciation. He knew that he had not been the most trustworthy person to you. His mixed signals and just overall treatment of you was simply a mind of confusion.

On the contrary, every negative moment that you shared with him melted away. The part of him having his fingers inside of you, bringing you to climax was not what you were focused on. You were focused on the attention. Solely the attention, his words held so much more weight than his actions to you in this moment, and all he did was mumble sweet nothings, adoring every single part of you that you wanted Minho to love.

“Fuck baby,” Minho groaned, finally withdrawing his fingers entirely from your core as he palmed his own arousal. But he merely wasted any time on that as he stood up and discarded his pants in an instant. A half lidded gasp came from your throat as you watched his length spring free from the suffocation of his previous undergarments. Minho laid back on the bed, back against the bed as you extended a hand in which you willingly took, enjoying the sudden rapture that Minho had tangled the two of you in. His fingertips came to your face once more, brushing those delicate strands away as he took his precious time. Willingly ignoring the fact that your very slicked up pussy was creating friction against his tip, he was more focused on your face. The crinkles underneath your eyes that came up when you smiled. The way your lips turned upwards in the slightest. The longer he looked up at you, on his lips, body pressed up against his, the more he fell in love. Both of your hands now came to his face. It felt like hours upon hours that the two of you had been looking at each other. Calmness fell over the room as you leant down to kiss him again. The taste of him was simply nor enough. You needed him. On you, next to you; it did not matter. His presence was something that you truly craved. Sexually, platonically, romantically, it did not matter. Any closeness with Minho was more than adequate. Deciding to lift your hips slightly, your hands followed, gripping him as you slowly slid onto him, a deep groan leaving his lips, a soft moan leaving yours as he stretched you out. Before you could even initiate any moment, Minho grabbed your arm lifting your palm to his face as he sent kisses up your arm, almost as if he was in complete disbelief of what was happening in this moment.

“I just want to worship you my god,” he whispered, making you giggle in the slightest.

His lips traveled just under your shoulder, arms wrapping around his torso to bring you into another embrace. It was that his strength was brute enough to lift you up, and put your back down. Hisbody almost moved with vigor, wanting to make sure the experience was an equal one. A sharp whine came from you as he established a gentle pace, your whole body being used in an attempt to pleasure the both of you. Someone may have seen this as selfish, Minho controlling the pace, but really, he just couldn’t get enough of how much he wanted you. The amount of times he had thought about this moment over the years almost derailed him. But nothing could be more perfect than the moment right now. 

Your arms were wrapped around his neck, then on his chest, across his face, you were too stimulated to be organized with your hand placements. It’s just what he did to you. Minho could tell that you were unsure, so instead he just put his head in your chest, almost wanting you to wrap your fingers though the bse of his scalp, the gentle texture of your fingers against his scalp could have honestly made his toes curl. Just like you, Minho craved your touch in any way shape or form, so the combined combainton of your closeness, tussling digits, and tight pussy was sending him into a headspin.

“Minho,” you hesitated, unsure, if he could hear you in the muffle of your chest, “Minho.”

You were desperate for him to hear you, yanking on his locks to pull him away from the darkness and back into your gaze. His eyes were glazed over for a moment, an innocent peaking on them as he looked up at you with intent.

“Yes my princess, my Y/n?”

“Yours?”

The skin slapping, volume of each time your ass landed on his hips was increasing, but no matter the crescendo, it was never loud enough to get in the way of the intimate looks the two of you had a silent agreement to fixate on.

“Mine,” he moaned, hands snaking back down to your hips, breaking this distance and once again guiding the speed of how fast he filled you up, “all mine.”

“You’re so gorgeous,” you mumbled, barely able to talk at this point, “I want you so bad you have no idea.”

“You have me,” he almost chanted, “you have me. I have you. Always.”

Your head rolled back, the intimacy of his words, rather than his cock, bringing you closer to the brink of pleasure. The attractiveness of finally putting his walls down, striking his fear of vulnerability was unmatchable. Even if things didn’t work out with Minho in the future, you knew that deep down, no one else could ever make you feel this way. Minho was a witch, and the spell he was casting on you was something that would be everlasting.

“I love you,” you cried, throwing your head back in somewhat embarrassment, “I love you Minho.”

“I love you too baby fuck,” he grunted, increasing the strength in which he filled your pussy. He couldn’t handle this anymore. Flipping you over, his body hovered, cock pressing your back into the mattress. On his knees, Minho trusted deeper and deeper, your eyes almost cloudy from how good he truly felt inside of you. Another sensuous kiss ensured, the combination of his deep moans and your vibrating whines slipped into each other 's, easily one of the most intimate things that could ever be done. 

“Mhhm,: You whined, breaking away and placing a hand on his face, “I fucking love you.”

“I fucking love you, my Y/n.”

“Oh god,” you breathe heavily, free hand gripping on his shoulder, “I love when you call me that?”

“What? My Y/n?”

“Yes,” you hissed, piercing into his eyes, this time with vigor, “it makes me yearn for you.”

“You have me baby,” he smirked, eyebrows soon furrowing as he realized his hips were getting sloppy in motion, “I’m all yours.”

You could not stop kissing him. He was just too hard to resist. His words, actions, everything, you were so in love that your chest began to hurt. That pit was developing again, and all he had to do was say the words and you were there. Minho took your hand away from his face, pinning them on either side of you as he slid his fingers in between, allowing your hand to intertwine with yours. The affection was the icing on your cake, because as you felt the swirls of his finger prints trickle onto your palm, your hips were spasming.

“Minho I’m-”

“I know baby, it’s okay, he cooed, “I can feel your pussy clenching hard.”

A little giggle escaped your lips as your body raked itself of an orgasm. Back arching, the loudest noise you could have possibly made erupted from your mouth, the unintentionally new angle allowing Minho to plunge even deeper, keeping it slow as he allowed you to come down from the high. He pulled out right after, pumping himself a few times before finishing just above your core. He fell to your side, immediately lifting your body, wanting to feel that constant warmth as he placed your head against his chest, arms wrapped around your back as he kissed the mount of hair in front of his face. His heartbeat was warm, fast, but stil, a sense of comfort felt over your body as you listened to the organ pump in his chest. The moment was silent, yet comfortable, the both of you simultaneously soaking in that delicacy of affection that you both oh so craved, longed for.

Even after all of that, you still had the energy to do so. Minho read your mind, giving you a quick peck before quickly pacing out of the room. The ache in your heart had already reappeared at his absence. The craving would never stop. Luckily he was quick, grabbing a paper towel, cleaning you up, running back to the bin, the running back and jumping onto the bed, your body flying in the air as he caught you, snuggling up to your side with his head pressed into your chest. Your hand came to his hair, letting those fingertips frolic across his scalp. A silence fell over the room as the two of you simultaneously stared at the ceiling, the dim shine of the moonlight shining through the window, lingering across Minho’s side profile.

“I was being serious, you know.”

“About what?”

“Hating you.”

Minho turned onto his chest, wanting to make sure that you were staring at him when he said this.

“I could never hate you Y/N, my Y/N.”

He crawled up to your side, tall enough to press one more kiss, lips lingering across yours as your eyes fluttered shut from his touch. Lifting the cover, Minho invites you under after climbing in first, turning to the side to hover over your now very tired frame. Lips nudged behind your warm Minho kept mumbling, a combination of kissing you and whispering, the tiny vibrations from his voice tickling the bare skin.

“You’ll have to kill more before I ever let you go.”

[spearb-gf]

day 18 · 「craving you」

❝𝚃𝚊𝚕𝚔.❞

➥ Cop!Minho x Sex Worker!Reader (f) — 3.7k

➥ The author chooses not to tag every single act to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

⚠ — Voyeurism, corruption kink, references to virginity, crass language.

➥ He knows you’re in possession of the information he needs, but you’re not willing to give it up that easily.

Third fucking time this month.

Yes, The 81st Precinct was thankful you were colluding with them on their narcotics operation, but your antics were getting a bit old. You were here every fucking week claiming you had some new intel for them. You had to get yourself arrested first to make it look convincing to your pimp, when in fact, it just seemed like you wanted a free ride with not many tip-offs worth a damn. Just a couple of misdemeanors here and there, and that was it.

Then again, if they wanted Seo Changbin, they knew they were handcuffed to you, and you weren’t going to give everything on a silver platter in one go. Not when you had the opportunity to see him whenever the fuck you wanted.

Lee Minho. Your personal Cop Charming that got your pussy dripping with a single look.

“She’s here again bullshitting at optimal performance, Lieutenant,” Hyunjin walked into Minho’s office, dark circles under his eyes very telling of the inhumane hours he was working lately, “She wants you, or she won’t talk.”

Minho was holding onto the last crumbs of his sanity for dear life himself because he hadn’t slept in three fucking days working on the loose ends of some murder case. He wouldn’t admit this to Hyunjin, but hearing you were at the precinct gave his stamina the tiniest of boosts. Even in that condition, he kept a perfect façade of maximal annoyance to not show any color.

“What does she want this time?”

Rhetoricalest of questions. He didn’t give a single fuck. You could be in the precinct for murder charges for all he cared. The bottom line was you were there.

He strolled towards Interrogation Room 3, walked into the suffocatingly gray space like he was forced to meet a friend, and slammed the thin file in his hand on the table.

“Talk.”

“No pleasantries?” you cocked a brow with a knowing smile on your lips, “That’s very rude, Lieutenant.”

“One of these days you’re legit gonna end up behind bars, you know that right? You’re like that boy who cried wolf.

“First of all, that’s Christopher for obvious reasons,” you corrected him while crossing your legs under the table, “You never come to see me so I have to come see you.”

God, you were such a classy whore. What kind of a prostitute wore a fucking blazer over a damn bralette? Do up two of those buttons and you could actually go to a job interview.

Minus the micro mini skirt, of course.

“Look, I don’t have time to play your games anymore,” Minho lied through his teeth, “You’d better start talking soon, or…”

“Or what?” you interrupted him and leaned into the table clasping your hands, “You let me go. Bin kills me. Your case is cold. Is that what you want?”

Well, if he said what he wanted out loud, he would have had to hand in his badge and face some jail time maybe. You were lucky there were people behind that two-way mirror. When he didn’t answer, you leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and put your feet on the table.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to fuck you in the backseat of the patrol car, but since you never come to pick me up, we’re gonna have to make do with the interrogation room, I guess,” you squinted your eyes with a calm smile and pointed at the mirror behind him, “I don’t mind an audience.”

“Fucking christ…” Minho got up to his feet to leave the room seemingly irked, but the reality was it was getting a little hard to be around you, pun fully intended.

“Why are you being so stubborn?” you called out after him, “You like me, Lieutenant.”

“Excuse you?” he turned around with a dangerously angry face.

“Just say you want to fuck me. I won’t charge you, I promise.”

All Minho could do was slam the door behind him whereas you broke into a laughter fit. Who needed to go to the movies when Lee Minho existed for entertainment, really?

“Thank fuck she only talks to me. Very valuable information obtained,” Minho stormed into the observation room and scared the shit out of Hyunjin, “Go get us some coffee. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

“And tell Jisung and Chris to get their asses over here!”

He plopped down on one of the chairs and fixated his gaze on you. He was alone in the room now. You were also alone on the other side of the mirror. Why? Why were you doing this? Why did you keep getting yourself arrested every fucking week if not to see him? Did you really want him to be the one to come pick you up? Did you really mean what you said?

You suddenly stood up and removed your jacket, and after hanging it behind that godforsaken chair you were sitting on, you walked towards the mirror. You were concerningly close to him even though there was this huge mirror separating you, and you were looking right into his eyes.

How the fuck could you even tell where he was sitting?

You removed your bralette and pressed your breasts against the mirror, then blew hot air all over the print you left behind and started writing on your condensed breath:

I ❥ U Mean Hoe

Minho unwittingly snorted and pressed the intercom button.

“You spelled it wrong.”

“No, I didn’t,” you walked back to your chair, “You’re very mean.”

“Put your clothes back on.”

“Make me, Minho.”

“It’s Lieutenant Lee.”

“Sorry,” you jumped on the table and spread your legs to flash your pussy at him, “Make me, Lieutenant Lee.”

As if the sight of cunt wasn’t enough, you started playing with yourself right in front of him, spreading your labia and teasing your clit to torture him. Minho loudly swallowed and he could feel how painfully hard he was getting inside his pants. 

“Come play with me,” you licked your fingers and started fondling your breasts, “You’ll like how they feel, I promise.”

You started rubbing yourself, not slowly whatsoever. Full on to have an orgasm with brisk movements of your wrist. Minho’s hand reached inside his pants like he was hypnotized, palming himself while gawking at you and thinking just how many strokes it would take for him to shoot his load. God, he would cum so much. You would look fucking pretty with his seed dripping down your face, out of your pussy, on your—

What the fuck am I doing?

“What’s taking so goddamn long?” he mumbled to himself and stood up to head to the interrogation room to put a reluctant end to your show. When he opened the door, however, you were fully dressed. Minho thought he was going crazy for a second there.

“The fuck are you playing at?” he creased his brows, utterly confused.

“What did I do? I’m just sitting here.”

“You were just by the—”

Minho pointed at the two-way mirror, but the deviously cute message you’d written was not there anymore.

“Are you abusing the coke stashes you’re confiscating by any chance, Lieutenant?” you looked at him with bootleg concern.

The sleeplessness must have been finally catching up to him. He needed to go crash in his bed as soon as possible before he actually crashed somewhere in the precinct.

“Never mind.”

He closed the door behind him and slapped himself on the way to get a grip. This was not the time to have delusions. Nevertheless, when he walked into the observation room…

Right inside that mirror, like his personal porn or intricately customized torture, he saw you fucking Hyunjin on that table, legs wrapped around his waist, eyes rolling back, moaning his name over and over again as he was ravishing your neck.

“Do you have a fucking death wish?!”

He marched back towards the interrogation room, pupils blown wide and fuming out of his nostrils. Running into him on the way, Chris and Jisung almost ended up as collateral damage.

“Everything okay, Lieut—?”

“Get the fuck inside that observation room!”

When Minho barged in, fully ready to knock a bitch out for some reason, he found you by yourself again at the exact spot he left you in. 

Chilling.

“Where’s that fucker?” he snarled, frantically looking around as if there were any places to hide.

“Who?”

“Hyunjin.”

“Who?”

“He was just here. I saw you two!” 

“Doing what?”

He was about to rip his hair out. He slammed his hands on the table and invaded all your personal space, bringing his face close to almost occupy the same space as yours.

“Are you fucking with me?!”

All you did was smile. Crooked. Twisted. Sinister. Not intimidated in the slightest. 

“Yes.” 

Teasing Minho was endlessly entertaining, but when he was this close, of course you were going to take advantage of that. It could have been the chase. It could have been the amount of electricity you both were emitting every time you were in a confined space together. Or it could have been the unbearable amount of palpable tension between you two, but at the exact moment you pecked his gorgeous lips at long last, the power went out. A loud locking sound came from the door, which prompted Minho to instinctively dash towards it.

“Chris! Jisung! You hear me?” he banged on the door, “Get over here!”

No dice. The heavy door wouldn’t budge, nor was anyone coming. Minho made a mental note of assigning these three to fucking traffic duty for an entire month the second he got out of there.

“Looks like you’re stuck here with me,” your sing-songy voice echoed in the room and pulled him back to reality, “Is that really so bad?”

Why yes, it was the worst fucking thing that could happen at that moment. Minho had no way of making himself scarce anymore, and you were blasting your damn pheromones at him at full force, and he was trying so hard not to bend you over this table, and why the FUCK did you smell so—fucking—good?!

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then sat on the chair in front of you, allegedly to think of ways to get out, but his mind had stopped working. 

Could you blame him?

“Have you ever eaten a prostitute’s pussy, Lieutenant?” you casually asked out of nowhere.

“Do I take a bath in herpes water?” he menacingly responded, “No, thanks.”

Okay, good. This was good. All he needed to do was be insufferably antagonistic, and he could walk out of this without a scratch.

“Are you saying you’re not daydreaming about eating mine right now?”

“Why would I willingly put a cumdump in my mouth?”

“Cumdump?” you started laughing scornfully, “Oh, you don’t know, do you?” 

You intertwined your fingers and rested your chin on them, then declared very nonchalantly like you were just telling him your favorite color or something.

“I only do anal. I never let my clients fuck my pussy.”

Minho felt a loud thump in his ribcage. Maybe his heart skipped a beat, maybe it beat a lot stronger than it should have. Whatever that was, his blood flow changed tracks, and all of that was rushing to his crotch now.

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

Were you? Did it really matter? Why were you talking about this all of a sudden now? Why? Why were you taking so much pleasure in torturing him like that?

Just what the fuck were you after?

“W-Why, though?”

You left your chair and leisurely walked behind him to whisper your answer into his ear.

“Because I’m saving myself for you.”

It wasn’t visible to the naked eye, but you just knew goosebumps were breaking all over his body. You placed your hand on his shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“I always imagine you when someone fucks me,” you continued and found yourself a spot to press your lips on, “I imagine you’re claiming me over…” 

You kissed his earlobe.

“...and over…” 

You kissed his cheek.

“...and over again.”

You kissed his jawline, and now he was on the brink of properly losing it.

“If you break me in, I’ll never let anyone else even touch my pussy,” you ran your hands down his thick biceps, “It’ll be yours forever.”

The man had nerves of steel because he still wasn’t doing anything. The only movement you could observe was his Adam’s apple bobbing with thick gulps and the way his chest was steadily rising and falling.

“Don’t you wanna know why I have this many clients, Lieutenant?” 

He knew. He knew already. You were fucking beautiful. You could seduce a man with a single look. You were nothing short of a demon asking him to sacrifice his firstborn to merely breathe the same air as you, and deep inside he was more than willing to worship the ground you walked on.

“I’ve had people cumming in their pants while eating my pussy,” you leaned against the table and started caressing his hair, “Yes, it tastes that good.”

Minho was so hard it was ridiculous. He was in so much pain, and all he wanted was to shove your head down and make you choke on his cock to save him from his misery, but that stoic face was simply unreadable.

“You’re scared you’re gonna like it and keep asking for more, aren’t you?” you chuckled softly, “What if a cop gets pussy drunk over a whore? How are we going to go on with our lives then?”

You sat on the table and threw one leg over the other side to trap him between your legs. Now he was locked here in more ways than one.

“Cave already,” you held his beautiful face in your hands, “Admit you want me.”

He finally looked up at you. Into your eyes. The blush on his cheeks was barely visible, but it was enough. That was the first sign of him cracking at long last.

“Do you… really not let people…?” he trailed off into a mumble.

“Does it really matter?” you countered with another question, “Do you want to be my first that much?”

“I do,” he spoke with a lack of hesitation surprising even to himself.

“Why?”

Because I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you it fucking kills me that other people touch you that way when I can’t.

“No reason,” he failed at his lying attempt miserably.

“You’re gonna have to take my word for it,” you tugged on the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, “Do you believe me when I say I’ve been saving myself for you?”

He wasn’t going to be able to take this anymore. He either needed to die right fucking now or else…

“Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I wanna devote myself to you?”

“Yes, I do.”

He had imagined kissing you so many times before, but nothing could ever compare to this. You wanted him. You wanted him so much. It was so obvious from the way you were dissolving between his lips, asking for more and more with a quickening pace.

“Are your little cop friends watching us right now?” you breathily asked in between your kisses.

“They are.”

“Would they enjoy watching me pleasure their iron lord lieutenant?”

This was way beyond teasing at this point. You were forcing it. You were forcing him to become something he was going to despise himself for, but it was too late for logic to kick in. That ship had sailed three touches ago.

You spread your legs wider, and Minho’s heart almost gave out. It was real. He didn’t imagine it. You really weren’t wearing any underwear. Dripping. So wet. Aroused out of your mind, just waiting to be consumed by him.

“Eat my pussy,” you pulled your skirt up to your waist, “You know you’re dying to know what it tastes like.”

Yes, he was, but he was so scared he was never going to be the man he once was if he went through with it even though every single one of his cells was screaming at him to do it.

“Eat it, you sick son of a bitch.”

Complete silence for two seconds. Very reminiscent of that eerie calm before a storm. Two seconds, but it felt like hours. He did everything he could to stop this from happening, but you were the one relentlessly insisting. There was nothing he could do anymore. No turning back. 

Minho pulled your legs towards himself so swiftly that you found yourself lying on your back on that table in a split second. He buried his face into your soaked cunt and started absolutely ravaging it. Fuck licking it clean, he was getting you even messier, spit everywhere, tongue smearing that concoction all over your folds until it dripped down to your ass. What did you expect, dragging him through hell for weeks on end, and he was supposed to be all loving and tender when you quite literally shoved your pussy into his face? How about no?

He was going to fucking devour it like his last meal. Angry grunts, harsh sucks, impatient licks, even some bites here and there. Until he got his entire face drenched with you. Until you begged for mercy.

“How does a virgin cunt taste, Lieutenant?” you deliriously laughed watching him go to town on you on your elbows.

Minho lost the ability to speak. All he could process was your moans in his ears and your clit throbbing on his tongue, wet sounds of his lips smacking against your pussy reverberating in the room. It tasted like his wildest dreams. Melting in his mouth, perfectly savory, making him go completely berserk.

“What if you came on that mirror and made me lick it clean?” you pulled his hair to make him look at you, “Because I will.”

Pouring that insanity fuel on the wildfire in the room was an utterly reckless move. Minho suddenly jumped at your lips and painted them with your slick, tongue still coated with your intense flavor, then lifted you up and carried you to the mirror so easily as if you were a piece of leaf. He hurriedly dropped his pants behind you and aligned himself with your entrance, trying his utmost best not to just shove his cock inside you, but…

He met absolutely no resistance sliding into your dripping hole whatsoever.

“Oh, you got a whole lot of goddamn nerve to lie to me.”

He fully rammed himself in one go and bottomed out, eliciting a delicious moan from your lips. You didn’t deserve to get adjusted to his girth anymore; you were just going to take him, all of him over and over and over again until you memorized where the veins on his cock bulged the most.

“How many men have been inside you, huh?” he sank his fingers into your ass, “Did you think about me while fucking them?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes!”

“Did they give a fuck about making you cum at all?”

“N-no, they… didn’t!”

“Wanted me to break you in. Then have at it,” he abruptly changed his rhythm, and his thrusts got much sharper, “This is what a cock feels like inside a pussy. This is what it means to fuck.”

You were beautiful. Even when getting decimated by him, you were so fucking beautiful. He swiftly turned you around to look at you, to admire the expressions you made when he disappeared inside you. The only place he belonged to. In the secluded corners of his goddess. So tight, hugging him snugly to never ever let him go.

“You’re going to stop working,” he demanded in between his rough kisses, “This pussy is mine now.”

“Are you going to ask for my hand in marriage from my pimp?” you derided.

“If it comes to that, I fucking will,” he wrapped one leg around his waist and aligned himself again, “I love you, you hear me? I fucking love you.”

Minho felt how hard you throbbed when he said it out loud. With several pairs of eyes probably on you doing god knows what behind that mirror, he ravaged your neck, marking hickeys on your skin like eagerly signing his name on a marriage license while fucking you as deep as he could.

“You love me, too. You know you do,” he uttered in between his moans, “Bringing your ass here every week for some lame excuse, pretending you have names for me when this was what you wanted all along. You get arrested for me.”

“Minho!”

“No Minho for you yet. You’re gonna call me Lieutenant Lee until you earn it,” he touched your cheek, “Say it.”

He asked you to say it, but he wasn’t able to stop himself from kissing you hard. Your lips were so raw like you were gnawing at them, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Lieu…ten…ant Lee,” your brain was barely functioning, completely rendered obsolete to produce coherent words, “Lieut– L–”

It was actually cute that you couldn’t even fucking talk anymore. You wanted this, now you got it. His sleep paralysis demon. The owner of his heart and his ass.

Anything for you.

“Say it!”

“I– I lo– I love y… Lee…”

You were physically unable to say it, but Minho heard it echoing in his mind nevertheless. He was going to cum to this, breed you for himself so that no one else could fucking touch you anymore. If they dared breathe in your general direction from this point on, he was resolute to gladly commit his first cold-blooded murder.

Lieutenant Lee. Lieutenant Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee!!!

“Lee. Yo, Lee!”

Minho snapped his eyes open with a harsh smack on his arm and was suddenly sucked back to the reality of the stakeout he was a part of in this decrepit building for the past three days.

“Yes, Captain.” 

“Wake the fuck up and get your gear,” you grabbed your weapon and spoke from the door before you left, “We’re going in.”

He slapped himself fully awake and began to quickly assemble his gun. Once you left the room, he quietly spoke to himself like a fucking maniac.

“One of these days, Captain,” he placed the gun in the holster and started walking towards the exit with quick steps, “Your ass is gonna be mine.” 

「© 2023, exxxtraoddinary · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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